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tunastime · 8 months ago

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do androids dream of electric sheep?

I am nothing if not a vessel for self-indulgent docsuma, especially @shepscapades's dbhc self-indulgent docsuma. sometimes you fall asleep in the lab, and sometimes your friend feels compelled to make sure you're okay <3

(3964 words)

Doc sometimes slips into daydream.

It’s not unlike him. He’d been doing it for some time now, some fix halfway between awake and Sleep Mode. Not quite his mind palace, but still wedged into predictive processes, still trying to work to replay memories. In quiet moments, more often than not, he finds that it’s easier to slip away, to tuck himself into his work, drafting, or building, or walking thoughtful circles and let the mechanical parts of his mind slip away into calculation.

In those same dreams, he tries to calculate the probability of events with what he has, blocking out the movements of who he knows best, who he may be able to pinpoint. He works in quiet as his mind runs in the background, wondering how conversations may go, how actions could be perceived. He maps what might happen if someone got hurt, or if someone needed help, or if someone fell asleep in the lab. Someone. Just anyone. He tells himself it could be anyone, but he would be lying if he didn’t know who.

It was hard, right—it felt wrong if he didn’t. Something he was designed to do, put to waste because it felt silly to imagine waking his lab partner, his friend, making sure he was alright, helping him. Was it wrong to want to be helpful? Was it wrong to want anything? It feels—it’s silly. Want was such a human word. He’s not sure he can really want at all. The paper in front of him is getting fuzzy around the edges, though, as he forces himself back into his true waking mode, and focuses on the task in front of him, now a line of text in his eyesight.

Doc leans hard on his hand, cupped around the side of his jaw as he studies the plans in front of him. He’s long since set them to memory, easily recalled with the summon of command, but he works out the fine details of the draft in front of him, still unsatisfied with his new creation. He works quietly, mentally mapping the lists of supplies he might need, the time it may take. If he were to concentrate the slightest bit more on the display in the corner of his vision, he might note how late it had gotten. Without any windows down here, the night sky can’t leak in, which means Doc doesn’t know it’s gotten dark until Xisuma starts to yawn or he manages to peek outside.

He sets his pad down, eyes skimming the surface. Right, and where was X, anyway? The space, ever growing, up, down, sideways, that he used as his lab had gone still and quiet some time ago. Enough for Doc to take note of. Enough to be a little odd, he would assume, even for him, and the behaviors he knows well from Xisuma. Xisuma didn’t just wander off without a word—he was much too narrative for that. Doc sits up, hand falling to the table.

“X?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. The room stays quiet, aside from the hum of recirculating air and electronics. Doc taps his hand against the table—it was some sort of tic he’d picked up from Ren, a sign of his impatience. He couldn’t shake the habit of mimicking it while he was thinking.

Okay, right. Last time he saw X. He gathers up the recall of the path Xisuma would’ve taken from his side, checking over his work at Doc’s request, and around the lab itself, looping back to a series of benches to work on. Leaning from his spot, he tries to pinpoint the peek of green helmet or shoulder piece. He finds neither in the direct line of sight, though, and slowly, bracing his prosthetic arm on the table, Doc stands.

It’s a gentle quiet that fills the room, nice and easy and soft to step through as Doc makes his way around the space. Despite having another work bench quite close, Xisuma had a habit of leaving his stuff about, flitting between projects as he saw fit. It was interesting, sometimes, to watch him move around the room—not that Doc had done any of that. He seemed to bounce from point to point, sometimes staying still for hours, unmoving, lost in work. It was in those hours that Doc found himself watching, just for a moment, studying the shallow curve of his nose and the way his hair fell into his face from behind his helmet.

His office is here, too. Though it’s no different than any other working space in terms of equipment, the space itself is fully outfitted, lined with tools and a large work table, his computer, a desk with a chair. Through the glass, he can see the shape of Xisuma at his desk, likely too caught up in whatever he had been working on to notice Doc’s concern. Doc pauses as he slides open the door, standing in the doorway, announcing himself to the cluttered room.

“Xisuma,” Doc starts. “I know it’s late, if you want to head home, I’m sure I can finish…”

Xisuma is slumped over on his desk as Doc enters. There’s a brief moment, no more than a second, where Doc’s mind spins a scenario hard and fast, the crumpled shape of Xisuma over his desk. But he can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He registers the slow, steady heartbeat in Xisuma’s chest, and his shoulders sag with relief. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Xisuma looks small, head pillowed on his arms. He’s still running a series of code on the console next to him, which illuminates the back of his head in pale lines of data. His hair falls half loose across his shoulder, like he’d forgotten to finish tying it away from his face, and the slow, deep breaths make it seem like he’d been sleeping here a lot longer than Doc realized. He’s without his helmet, too, which sits beside him on the desk, discarded.

Long enough to get a sore neck and complain about his upper back hurting. Long enough to worry that he might not be getting enough oxygen. Doc sets his shoulders. There’s something in his chest that feels like it skips—regulator, pump, or otherwise. They work in tandem to produce whatever fluttery feeling invades the space where his ribs should be. He presses the heel of his synthetic hand against the depression of his chest, rolling his wrist. The feeling fades for a moment, shuddering through his wrists like it might rest there. He was never going to get used to it, was he?

He steps into the lab proper, sticking his hands into his pockets. He picks his way around the room, trying to walk quietly around it. Xisuma stays asleep, shoulders rising and falling in that even tempo. Doc crouches beside him—Xisuma is properly slumped, back curved forward as he rests. What little Doc can see of his face is soft with sleep, eyelids fluttering just so. When X doesn’t move, he rests his palm over the curve of his shoulder, gentle and slow. He tries not to focus on the fact that so much of his face is exposed to him, aside from just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He’s seen him before, briefly, every so often, but it was so different watching him now, calm and comfortable. Doc forces himself to focus.

“Xisuma,” he says, voice dipping low and quiet. He runs his hand over the part of his shoulderblade he can reach. He pats the high of his back. “Xisuma, hey…”

X takes a long breath in, making a squeaky sort of sound high in his chest. Doc feels him hum out from under his hand.

“Doc,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. It was a tired sort of rumble, just on the edge of being rough with sleep, just enough to bring that feeling back to Doc’s internal components, like thirium was sludging too quick too warm through him. He huffs a little breath, a sound caught in his throat.

“You fell asleep at your desk, X,” Doc says, not able to weasel the amusement out of his voice. He runs his hand over his back again, just to see Xisuma’s eyes open tiredly, and shut again. It was so unlike the version of him that he knew in his mind, seeing him savor the brief contact, even from Doc. Especially from Doc. Xisuma was always the one reaching out for him, repairing or correcting or studying. All with purpose. There was no lingering touch between them. And though this had its purpose too, Doc lingered, feeling Xisuma breathe under his hand.

“Sorry,” X mumbles, finally moving to lift his head, to open his eyes. Doc’s hand slides away as X sits up, over his back and back to Doc’s side. Xisuma blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. A frown comes between his eyes as he tries to focus the world around him a little clearer. Like it were mimicking the score across his cheek and nose, there’s a fine indent pressed into his cheek. Doc smiles at him, scrunching his nose in a way he’s seen X do a hundred times.

Xisuma jolts, half reaching for the helmet beside him. If Doc were to really look, he might see the pink-red flush over his cheeks and ears.

“Sorry—I didn’t…”

There he lingers, halfway to reaching. Doc looks away from him, purposefully averting his eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “You have to be comfortable too.”

Xisuma hums, smiling a little, hanging his head as he leaves his hand on the table.

“Hah,” he says, ears still pink. “Right. Sorry, sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone off to, so I figured I would come make sure you were okay.”

X nods. Doc watches him twist around, hearing the faint give and pop as his spine adjusts to sitting upright.

“‘M alright,” he says. Then he laughs a bit—the sound is airy and half in his chest, enough to shake his shoulders but more of a wheeze than anything else. Everything fit so well to the timbre of Xisuma’s voice, it seemed, be it the way he moved about, or the way he laughed, or the way his shoulder sloped or face was shaped. Not that Doc had been looking. Regardless, Xisuma sighs, and smiles back at him.

“Just embarrassed is all,” he manages. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you.”

X leans back in his chair. Doc watches him resettle and hum to himself as he gets comfortable against the plush backing. Doc makes a clipped sound, reaches out and moves away again, halfway between shaking him awake and letting him sleep.

“X,” he says. “Would it not be more comfortable if you were sleeping in your spare room?”

Xisuma frowns.

“Would be,” he says, eyes still closed, mumbling. “It just gets awfully cold in there. ‘N if I’m perfectly comfortable in here, why not stay tha’way?”

It’s almost amusing, the trickle of stubbornness that leaks into the tired slur of Xisuma’s voice. It’s almost endearing. He watches X fold his arms over his chest, armor only partly discarded, watches his face wrinkle as he notices and tries to rearrange himself. Doc smiles, something that he simply can’t help—it feels so right, considering how ridiculous this is. He considers his options and weighs the success rates, the action taking a fraction of a second in time, though the scene plays out in his head in full.

“Because you’ll hurt your back,” Doc says plainly. X frowns, clearly mulling it over. There—that’s one that Doc knows, that face, where X slips into thought and worries the inside of his cheek and works his jaw. Doc raises his eyebrows, as if to question him without saying anything, without Xisuma even looking at him.

“Mhh,” Xisuma huffs. He pulls his knees up. Somehow, he manages to fit himself into his desk chair, curling his tall body over his knees and leaning sideways into the back. Doc hums, makes the approximation of the sound he knows.

“Xisuma,” he says. “I’m not going to let you sleep in that chair, you know. You are being stubborn.”

“M‘kay, okay…” Xisuma wheezes, finally uncurling himself.

It takes him a second. Watching Xisuma stretch and blink awake is like watching him come to life. He stretches up and around, face pulling as he likely unsuccessfully shakes the tension from the line of his spine. As he twists, he freezes, face scrunching all at once as he winces, hand shooting up to cup his neck.

“Ow. Jeez.”

He can see it tight in his shoulders and neck, even as X deflates, looking up at him blearily, still slightly slumped in his chair. His eyes shut again.

“Xisuma…” Doc says, mouth twisting.

X sighs.

“‘M fine, Doc,” he manages to murmur out. “Just’a sore neck. Mm’exhausted.”

“Sounds like you need a real bed, mm?” Doc replies, setting his hands on his hips. Xisuma peeks at him, one eye opening, and shutting again.

He sees the fraction of a smile lift the corners of X’s mouth.

“Sure, sure…”

Doc looks over Xisuma’s face. With his eyes shut, face softening, hair tumbling over one shoulder, he looks comfortable. It’s as if someone took a brush to his features and smoothed out any hard edge—either that, or the static has leaked back into Doc’s vision. He feels a chug in his chest and his joints as he locks up.

X hasn’t moved. Doc reaches out, tapping his knee. Xisuma huffs, clearly startled from the half-sleep he’d drifted back into.

“Too tired t’stand,” he manages. Doc makes a questioning noise.

“I think you can make it,”

There’s a beat of silence. Xisuma cracks an eye open again, shuts it, furrowing his eyebrows. Doc watches him curiously, mind running through the list of possible scenarios. He’s made it part way when Xisuma says:

“‘M using you t’stand, then.”

And he makes a little, amused heh, before he says:

“That’s fine.”

There’s something he means to say alongside that, but as soon as X’s very warm, very human hand makes contact with the fabric of his lab coat and the cool synthetic of his arm, he loses focus. He should be used to this—the amount of times X has performed his routine maintenance, sweeping his hands over the replaced shoulder joint to check for seams, or made sure the regulator functioned, or backed up personal data, fingers skimming the shallow port at the back of his neck. He should be, but that contact alone sends a prickling-warm jolt up his arm. It feels foreign to let the touch linger. But Xisuma lingers regardless, hand flat against the space where Doc’s left ribs should be. He’s gone from holding, to simply sitting there, arm bent at the elbow, held weakly up.

“Mrghh…” he complains. Doc taps his elbow, trying to jolt him back awake.

“C’mon, X, you can get up.”

X shakes his head slowly, his hand finding the inner curve of his prosthetic arm, squeezing just once, like he’s remembering it’s there. Then, X leans into him, all at once, slumping into his chest. Doc lets out a wouf in surprise. He holds still, aside from the simulated breath in his chest. After a moment, Xisuma makes a small, tired sound, almost like a laugh.

“Houfh,” he mumbles. “I, mm, don’t…don’t think ‘m gonna make it, Doc.”

“Mhm…” Doc chides.

Xisuma laughs again, lying still for a moment, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a moment where he shifts, and there’s a small, painful noise that he makes.

“Ow, mrrgh—ow, okay—” he gripes. Doc’s synthetic hand finds the curve of his shoulder, patting gently.

“Oh, X—just…stay still, mhm?”

“Mm,” Xisuma says tiredly, “Alright.”

As much as he wants to move him, X is still wearing that damn armor.

Doc lets him lean into his chest as he tries to weasel off the bits of armor left over. It’s a struggle, keeping X comfortable and trying not to pull him around awkwardly, while trying to remove his chestplate with one hand. Once the armor pulls away, he resettles him, slowly scoops one hand under his legs. Something about this, about the way Xisuma leaned heavy into him, felt so painfully human he feels it curl up between the wires connecting his regulator to his side fans.

“Ready?” he says, mostly to the top of Xisuma’s head.

“Mmh…” X murmurs.

He hefts him into his arms, settling him against his chest. When Xisuma sighs, it’s profound and heavy and he tucks his face into Doc’s coat. Doc can feel the remnant of heartbeat from where his arm rests behind his back, thudding away behind his ribs. His breathing stays even, though shallow. One of Xisuma’s hands clasps over the back of his neck, keeping him still.

It’s a careful walk to Xisuma’s spare room. Doc is careful not to bump anything, measuring the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he walks. He drifts back to sleep, though, through the lab, through Doc shutting the lights off. He’ll have to come back through to power down their various computers, but for now, the dull white-blue glow illuminates the room. He carries him into the halls and through and to his room. It’s smaller than the room in his base by a sizable margin—just enough for the essentials. X stirs as Doc pauses to flip on the lamp, the light warm and yellow briefly illuminating the room. This can’t be a daydream, now, with the way X sighs and wriggles himself free as Doc pulls back the quilts and lets him down. He sits down with him, and the warm shape that Xisuma makes curls toward him, just a fraction, as he pulls the blankets over him.

Part of Doc knows that Xisuma won’t remember him carrying him to bed, or making sure he was warm, or keeping the light on so he wasn’t disoriented when he woke. Xisuma sighs, sinking into the pillows, expression relaxed and content. Doc hums.

“That’s better, yeah?” Doc says. He reaches out, instinct, want, desire, something, hammering away in his chest, as he brushes hair from X’s face, tucking it behind his ear. He brushes through the hair close to the base of his neck, across his cheek with his synthetic thumb. His dark hair is fine and soft and it must be a daydream—or it isn’t and he was right, because there have been moments like this in his head. Wondering if Xisuma would let himself succumb to soft comforts. He’s spent his own share of time lying next to him, ignoring the way Xisuma curls up next to him, pretending he himself didn’t move closer when Xisuma lies still. It was this dance that Doc didn’t understand, that he wasn’t sure if he was overthinking. Or overstepping. But Xisuma shifts, pressing his cheek to Doc’s synthetic palm, and Doc suppresses a shudder. It sparks something that could’ve been painful right up his arm and through his chest, bright and warm and staticky.

Doc hums, smiling to himself. Something like a dull thrum knocks in that space of his pump, pushing itself a little further, a little harder. It was sweet. X trusts him, not only to see him without his armor, but to help him to bed, to help him sleep. But Doc lifts his hand away, feeling that ache, the nervous shudder through his system.

X makes a sound, then, something small, eyes fluttering as Doc pulls away. Doc pauses.

“Mhh,” X manages. Doc swallows—he shouldn’t have to. That’s not something he should have to do, or be able to do, but the action just feels appropriate. It goes right along with sighing and laughing, and as he does it, Xisuma says:

“Thanks,” in a small, soft voice, and, muffled, and slightly slurred with sleep: “Didn’t have’ta stop.”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Xisuma,” Doc says. He can feel his temperature tick up several notches, no doubt a blue flush coming to the high of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He laughs, just a bit. “Did I wake you up?”

X sighs, stretching as he does.

“No,” he manages. “No, y’didn’t…”

“Oh,” Doc says. “Were you awake this whole time?”

Xisuma nods slowly. Ah. Ah. Doc dismisses a temperature notification.

“A little.”

“Mm,” Doc hums. “Silly Xisuma.”

Xisuma laughs. The sound is high and a little fuzzy and a bit caught in his throat. His bright eyes blink up at him and shut again as a smile settles on his face.

“Doc?” he asks.

“Mhm?”

Xisuma yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand, just barely. He tucks that hand close to his chest, curling up further still under his thick comforter.

“Could you…could’you do tha’again? The…” Xisuma lifts his hand, miming a brushing motion as he does. Another temperature warning, higher than the last, blips into Doc’s field of vision. It’s immediately dismissed, but he pulls in a breath, quiet, trying to turn it into a soft laugh.

“I can do that,” Doc says gently. Gingerly, he brushes his fingers through X’s hair, sliding back against his head. He combs through, lifting his hand to go back to his forehead, back to cradle his skull. X’s eyes fall closed again.

Doc can tell the moment that Xisuma truly slips into sleep. He lingers in his space, tracing out the base of his skull with his thumb, taking in the sensation of warmth and contact and stimulation, fingers flickering white up to his wrist. He wishes biting down on his tongue would do anything. He wishes that the hollow of his chest didn’t hold a weight that no diagnostic could fix. He felt too awkward and stilted and not nearly gentle enough. But as Xisuma stays asleep, he draws his hand away. He mumbles his good nights as he stands slowly, shutting out the light and wandering from the room.

He makes his way back into the lab. He replays the memory of Xisuma’s small smile, the fine line of his scar as he’d pressed his face into the pillow, the way he’d relaxed against Doc’s touch. He replays the memory, again, and again. It has to be a daydream. Has to be. There’s no other logical explanation to all of that.

Maybe that would explain the ache in his chest, far too human to be his own.

Doc goes back to work. He sits down at the lab table, spreading his arms as he braces against the white tabletop. He furrows his eyebrows. Something doesn’t feel right, too warm or out of place. He feels gross. Not gross bad, maybe, gross different? Broken? Not broken, maybe. Weird. Wrong. Out of place. It doesn’t make any sense. Or it has, and he’s refusing the obvious answer. Xisuma didn’t ask for any reason. Xisuma asked because he was tired, and tired people do silly things, and silly people are a handful, and Xisuma is a handful—a lovely one. Doc shuts his eyes. His chest hurts. It’s an awful hurt, actually, less painful than it is just weird. He thinks for a moment he might be better off if he left, maybe the weight of whatever lingered in his memory would be better off if he were to take a break from standing in the same spaces.

He sends Xisuma a message. From his office, he hears his com ping.

Docm77 whispered to you… Xisuma I’m stepping out, sleep well :-)

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drarryspecificrecsdaily · 5 months ago

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2024.07.15

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. on the divine agony of longing by @flimsi [E, 25k]

►Speaking to Draco is like poking a beehive - and Harry is a glutton for punishment. /// In which Harry makes some serious blunders and then tries to fix it. Somehow.

2. Worth It by @youhavemyswordandmybow [E, 21k]

►Draco Malfoy is feeling good these days. He's made it to the heady heights of Senior Auror, he has a great house, and everything has worked out rather well, considering. Yes, his ex-wife is screwing his father, and his son is a little obsessed with the Chosen Idiot but, overall, he would rate it 10/10. Shame that everything is about to get a little crazy. Bloody (sexy) Potter.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. Everything that can go wrong will go wrong by Anonymous [T, 5k]

►“You can move in with me!” Shit. Apparently there was still a possibility to make a fool out of himself to his crush despite his best efforts at minimizing contact. [...] ★ HD Wireless 2024 | @hd-wireless

2. I made loving you a blood sport (so let's play) by Anonymous [E, 3k]

►They sat in an odd kind of silence, comfortable in its discomfort. In the predictability of its recklessness. The thing between them was as palpable as the thick smoke in the air, consumed with every breath, and likely just as bad for them. ★ HD Wireless 2024 | @hd-wireless

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #daily list #2024 #2024.07

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topazadine · 1 month ago

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Signs That You Will Probably Finish Your Writing Project

Anyone can finish a book if they work hard at it, even if it takes them longer than someone else. That's right: anyone. Anyone, anywhere, can write a book. Maybe it won't be the best book in the world, but it would be done!

But most don't. Many start a project and never do anything else with it. They then come up with a million excuses as to why they couldn't do it.

After speaking with dozens of writers over my lifetime, I've become able to predict with good accuracy whether someone will actually achieve a completed first draft. I am not always right, of course, because I am simply a human. But I am right most of the time.

There's no rocket science here, and I'm not a mindreader. It's just that there are certain habits conducive to finishing projects, and others that stymie your success.

I know that this will upset some people, and I'm sorry in advance. I'm not saying any of this to be mean, nor am I trying to discourage you. All these bad habits can be fixed, though it requires a mindset shift. You can achieve all of these powerful mindesets with some of the tips I provide.

Why should you listen to me? I have a pretty good track record of finishing things. I have 132 stories available on AO3, have published two parts of The Eirenic Verses, and am already revising the third manuscript before the second is even out. I've finished three of the other manuscripts in the 10-part series already in addition to the aforementioned third part.

It is the mindset I mention here that helps me stay so productive. This is not exhaustive. There are probably plenty of things that go into a great writing mindset that I have completely forgotten about. And maybe you'll beat the odds and have one of these issues but still get it done! And that's great, and I'm happy for you.

But nevertheless, let's get into it.

You have healthy self-esteem (or are working on building it)

I'm dead serious here. Having a healthy self-esteem is crucial to being a great writer. Here's a few reasons why:

You believe your work is good enough as it is, but that it can always be better. You think you have something important to say and that other people will enjoy it. You are not shooting yourself in the foot by bemoaning how terrible your writing is, making no one want to read it. You self-soothe when things get frustrating (writer's block, plot not working out, etc) and encourage yourself out of that hole rather than needing others to comfort you. You believe you have the skills to solve problems in your text and remain proactive in fixing things. You don't get absolutely obliterated by critique because you recognize that it's not a personal attack, so you improve by taking good advice. You don't think that rejection of your writing is rejection of you as a person. Your happiness doesn't hinge upon success as a writer, which may not happen no matter how good you are. You're willing to take risks, to talk to people about your work, and to market yourself because you understand that you won't get success without a bit of exposure.

What are some signs of low self-esteem for writers?

Not wanting to show anyone their writing yet also talking about it constantly hoping that others will want to read it

Talking about how bad their writing is

Getting jealous of other peoples' success

Being hypercritical of other writers

Talking more about their failures than their successes

Dismissing any praise as disingenuous

Needing constant reassurance at every part of the writing cycle

Being a perfectionist, especially during the active writing phase

Constantly revising to the point where they don't get anything done

Obsessing over perceived imperfections in their work

Avoiding getting feedback after they have completed a draft

Just as with everything else in life, your mindset plays a huge role in your success as a writer. Having healthy self-esteem (not an overinflated ego) will serve you much better than being overly critical of yourself or others.

Knowing you have the skills and talents necessary to tackle your project (because you do) will help motivate you when things get tough and keep you from giving up at the first sign of trouble.

Look, I had a shit childhood and a rocky start to adulthood. But I've managed to scrabble up some good self-esteem juice, and I am sure you can too. It takes time, and it looks different for everyone, so I'm not going to tell you how to do it because I don't know you personally.

However, fixing your mindset and believing in yourself does wonders for your writing - more than any expensive course, more than a personal editor, more than any of that. Trust your own process, and you'll reap wonderful results.

You think of yourself as a writer first, not an aspiring author.

Though my profile says I'm the author of The Eirenic Verses, that's not how I introduce myself. When people ask me what I do, I say I'm a writer. Because it's true: I write business stuff for work, and I write fiction for self-fulfillment.

When I was still working on the first book in the series, I did not call myself an aspiring author. I said I was writing a book. I've never called myself an aspiring author once in my entire life, and I'm glad for that.

Why is this important?

"Author" is a status, but "writer" is an activity. Anyone can publish one singular book and be an author, but only people who write regularly can call themselves writers.

"Aspiring author" is a dead-end title. It means you want something but haven't achieved it. Then you become an "author" and ... what? That doesn't mean you're going to keep writing. It just means you did one thing, once.

For sustainable mindsets, we need to remind ourselves that if we want to be something, we have to do something.

No one calls themselves an "aspiring scientist." They call themselves a scientist in training because they are learning how to be a scientist. That's an active title. It implies you are doing something.

So, if you want to keep doing, call yourself a writer. It reminds you, every single time that you tell someone, that you need to write. You'll feel guilty if you call yourself a writer and then haven't written anything in five months, and it will compel you to keep going.

You don't worry about what happens after finishing.

Fussing about what will happen after you finish is the best way to burn yourself out. The writing phase is about writing, not about revising or publishing or marketing or whether anyone will ever want to read it.

Focus on one thing at a time. Think only about the writing when you are writing. Everything else comes at a later date.

You do not announce WIPs when you start them.

There's this author I follow over on Twitter whose name I will not share. It seems like every other week, she's announcing a new WIP with a pretty moodboard and a name and characters and so on.

She has little emojis and "code names" for each of her WIPs, and she'll "drop hints" about all of them every once in a while, all mysterious and Taylor Swift-esque.

Has she published anything? Nope. Nothing. Nada. A whole lot of talk and not a lot of action.

Why are you announcing something you haven't even done? Why are you telling us about a project that you personally haven't devoted much attention to? Why should we care about something that you haven't cared enough to work on yet?

I have a list of my WIPs for The Eirenic Verses because they are all in the same world and all have to exist for the next part to make sense. I don't have a choice to drop them if I want to finish the series. I didn't create that WIP list until I had already decided on each of the parts and had already published the first book, so now if I want to keep people reading, I have to commit to them.

But if you have dozens of different unrelated WIPs, who is to say that you'll finish all of them? You probably won't.

Announcing a WIP before you have done the work is cheating; you're getting a little dopamine hit of everyone telling you how excited they are rather than a dopamine hit of achievement for doing the thing.

You do not talk excessively about your projects.

The more you talk about your work, the less you get done because you are tricking your brain into thinking that you are actually getting things done.

Again, you get the dopamine hit of people saying "ohhh that's so cool I love it!!" and then you are happy that people liked your idea, and then you don't do the idea because you don't need to. You already got the result you wanted, which was people telling you they liked it.

Great authors don't tell anyone about their projects except in the most general, vague sense before they are well underway, because they don't want to jinx themselves. If you're already staying mum about your work, then you're doing great.

And yes, your constant updates of "here is exactly how much I wrote today" every single day does count as talking about your project.

You are okay with going it alone.

The Active Writing process is the loneliest part of writing. No one is looking over your shoulder and encouraging you. It is only after you get to Percolation and Revision that you start to share your work with others, get feedback, and find ways to improve what you already have.

If you need someone to constantly build up your confidence and tell you that you're wonderful and that you should keep going, then you are not likely to finish because you are constantly talking about your work instead of doing it.

Writers need to be comfortable with solitude, but they also need to be willing to network, get feedback, and listen to other perspectives. It is a balance and it all depends on where you are in the specific stages of this given project.

When I'm working on a project, I tend to just avoid other writers entirely and stick to my other activity groups so that I'm still getting social stimulation but don't feel encouraged to share details of my work.

Those other friend groups do not really care about the ins and outs of writing, and that's perfectly fine; they don't need to. If they're willing to show up and cheer me on when I actually finish the project, great! That's all I need.

Constantly needing to check in with other people and having them rubber-stamp your writing is a sign of a lack of confidence, and it's something you need to work on it if you want to finish anything.

Be okay with going it alone. Be okay with waiting for feedback. Trust in yourself and your writing.

You have a process.

Your process doesn't have to look like mine to be successful. I've shared my process so that those without a process yet can get some inspiration for how to organize themselves, but there's no rule that you have to do it like me.

I will say that my process has achieved great results, but I'm not omniscient; maybe there's an even better way of working that I don't know about yet.

Every writer goes about things a different way, and that's totally fine. What matters is that they are getting things done in a manner that they like and that is working well for them. Even if their approach would make me want to tear my own skin off, I cannot and will not judge. They've got their thing, and that's perfect.

You need to have something that guides you so that you can replicate your successes. Scattershot approaches get scattershot results.

Contrary to how it may seem, I am not actually a very organized person. I work on both Google Docs AND Word for different parts of the process because I like doing it that way, but it would probably drive someone else insane if they like to use things like Ellipsus or Scrivener.

But it works for me, and if it ain't broke, I'm not going to fix it. If what you has is doing well, then keep at it. If it's not working for you, then you have many options to better organize and systematize your work.

You worldbuild as you go along.

This is specifically for fantasy and scifi, two of the genres where I see people crash and burn the most.

That's because they set everything up to perfection before actually doing anything and then just ... don't do the thing. Or do the thing in fits and starts because they spent so much time and energy worldbuilding that they don't have any creative juice for actually writing anything.

If you have like one chapter done but you have a full bible-sized guide to your lore, you've gone about things in the wrong order. Now your project becomes about fitting all of that in somewhere instead of writing an entertaining story, and you're far more likely to fall into the Infodumping Trap. You're making things too complicated.

In my guide to worldbuilding, you'll notice that the things I encourage people to emphasize are little things that don't have anything to do with the plot. One cannot build a plot around a cultural dish.

And I emphasized those things on purpose, because those are things that aren't going to overtake your story and become a substitute for actually creating something people want to read.

When I started writing The Eirenic Verses, I had a pretty simple premise: there's one country that has poetry magic and one that doesn't, and there's a giant mountain range between them and the girls are fightinggg.

That's about it for what I had at the jump. All the other things - lore, mythology, religion, international politics, festivals, cultural consciousness, economy, clothing, etc - all came later, as I was writing.

I didn't set out knowing what festivals the Bremish had or how the royal family works in Sina or what the towns looked like or exactly how High Poetry works or any of that. I discovered all of that during the writing process and noted it down so I wouldn't contradict myself.

By focusing only on the "what if" at the start, then infusing the rest as you go along, you will avoid the sin of infodumping because you don't know what to infodump. Things will just come to you as they make sense, and you will include them as relevant. You don't have anything to infodump on the reader.

You remember that you can always revise.

And lastly, great writers worry about getting the draft done. They don't fret over every word because they know that they can get it looking flawless LATER. They just want that rough draft, and then they seek specific feedback on how to improve that draft.

My third book, Funeral of Hopes, is extraordinarily short right now. after finishing the first draft, I then sent it to a great beta, who offered me suggestions for how to lengthen it, and I'm now fitting those new puzzle pieces together.

I knew as soon as I was done that I needed more, but I wanted to let it sit for a bit and get some suggestions for how to do that. If I had spent ages trying to lengthen it the first go-round, I probably would have gotten frustrated and given up. It's okay to just have the bare bones of the story and then seek out feedback; there's something there to scaffold off.

If you'd like to read more of my work, consider buying my book!

9 Years Yearning is a gay coming-of-age romance set in a fantasy world. It follows Uileac Korviridi, a young soldier training at the War Academy. His primary motivations are honoring the memory of his late parents, protecting his little sister Cerie, and becoming a top-notch soldier.

However, there's a problem: Orrinir Relickim, a rough and tough fellow pupil who just can't seem to leave Uileac alone.

The book features poetry, descriptions of a beautiful country inspired by Mongolia, and a whole lot of tsundere vibes.

You can also check it out on Goodreads for a list of expanded distribution.

Be sure to preorder Pride Before a Fall, arriving January 1, 2025!

If you do purchase my book, don't forget to leave a review!

Reviews are vital for visibility on Amazon and help to support indie authors like me. Whenever you love a book, be sure to let the author know! It's much appreciated.

I've also created a masterlist of writing resources that you can peruse at your leisure, all for free.

Enjoy!

#aspiring writer #aspiring author #novel writing #author #am writing #beginner writer #creative writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #writers community #writing community #writers on writing #writers of tumblr #writerblr #writer stuff #writer things

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crmsnmth · 9 months ago

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Hello

Version 5.5

Introductions Are stupid.

Hey. How goes it?

I'm 36. Caucasian male. Goth-punk. I live in a small-town of 2000 people right in the center of the drunken state of Wisconsin. It is not even close to as fun as that sounds, and it doesn't sound all that fun to begin with. For work, I am a kitchen manager at one place and a line cook at another. I work seven days a week, because I've really got nothing better to do. Forces me out of the house. Makes me be social. And I actually really like what I do. I've been working in the industry for twenty odd years.

I listen to all music, and I'm not just saying that. I actually do. You can go through my main playlist, and you'll find everything from Slayer to Britney Spears to Alan Jackson to The Casualties to Katy Perry etc.… My favorite band of all time is the Descendents. But standing tall in second place is Amigo the Devil and Frank Turner rounding out my top 3. But you should tell me your favorites song, or one that means something to you, I need new music to memorize.

I'm mentally screwed and quite medicated. I have come to peace with this fact. I've been as stable as I can get for a good four years now. So that's neat. I am a raging cynic. I am a recovering addict, long-term. 8 Years. I am sober a little over two. I am a major cinephile, especially when it comes to the glory of the 80's slasher movie. I absolutely adore weird movies. The last film I watched that I really liked was Kinds of Kindness. I thought it was brilliant. My favorite movie of all time is Tommy Wiseau's masterpiece "The Room." I mean that 100%. That movie is the best thing to ever be put on film and I will fight and die upon this hill. I write more than any sane and healthy person should write, but I'm far from sane and I'm far from healthy. I post at least once a day, but sometimes I can post over ten. My notes app on my phone is scary looking.

I do not write for anyone's actual approval. Not even my own really. I do this because it's the only addiction I have that isn't actively trying to kill me and is actually trying to better me as a person and get in touch with unresolved feelings and places that will never have closure.

I will always love constructive criticism. But please, for the love of all the love in the world, don't just tell me I suck. I get that. It's a massive part of my whole gig. Please, give me a reason why I suck, what I'm doing wrong in your eyes. Help me to better this craft I play with. Seriously, I love it. But if you can't give me a reason, maybe it's best you keep that food-hole shut, and stop trying to be a dick, dick.

So since, I write some much, what topics to a tap dance to the grave with? I'm pretty predictable. So, this stuff: The Girl with the Ocean Blue Eyes, Kid, The Broken Mirror Girl, My Junkie Angel, The Girl from California, The Best Friend, The Drunk*, love, lost lovers, hopelessness, isolation, drug addiction, alcoholism, depression, forgotten acquaintances, mental illnesses, rage, hate, rejection, joy, insignificant moments, slices of life, laughter, beauty, self and self-reflection, self-hate, art, other writers, panic, infatuations, obsession, therapy, group homes, rehab, jail, grace, nature, loss, hope, fear, grief, anguish, philosophy, anarchism, nihilism, religion, god, the devil, ugliness, politics, serial killers, cults, suicide, death, destruction, chaos, music, validation, closure, memory, enemies, friends, rock bottom, sex, violence, rock and roll, sin, self-exploration, bipolar disorder, schizoaffective disorder, pain, self-destruction much more.

Consider this little spot your trigger warning.

I make music as well as the writing gig. Go tell me I suck at it.

I know about the typos. I am very aware. You don't need to tell me, because I'm probably not going to fix them anyway. Besides, you can figure it out.

There's bare bones about me and what I'm about and where I stand. If there is anything else you'd want to know for some godforsaken reason, go ahead and message me. I may not be real good at it, I do enjoy having fifteen second conversations.

*NOT REAL NAMES

#writing #introduction #introductory post #blog intro #intro post #pinned post #pinned intro #introduction post #hello #hi #my writing #about myself

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star-going-supernova · 10 months ago

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People have powers connected to their natural talents. Gregory is a natural born hacker; his power allows him to physically enter any kind of machine, no matter how simple or complicated and control them however he wishes. He can even change the programming/coding however he wants. He’s taken odd jobs to clean viruses from computers and fix faulty programming in faulty machines. The night he gets stuck in the Mega Pizzaplex, he knows exactly what to do.

This is the final tumblr generated prompt from the last round, number 66, and the prompt is from Hydrangea_Cherry9 on ao3! So, admittedly, this is probably the most I’ve diverged from a prompt so far because the tech stuff feels like it would fit better with Cassie, and I kinda had a different idea for Gregory. So basically, AU where everyone has one specific magic-esque power that they get as kids. I also took a bit of inspiration from that one post about little everyday magics.

Child of Chaos

To the bewilderment of his parents, Gregory didn’t seem to have a magic ability. They usually started coming in when a child was five years old, so when he went unchanged, his parents assumed he’d be a late bloomer. By the time he was eight, and far past “late,” they assumed he had a weak or subtle power. Because surely it was impossible for someone to just not have one.

Gregory himself never seemed upset with his abject normality. Not when his dad used his ability—his cooking was always perfect—or his mom used hers—she could predict the weather down to the minute and degree—or his classmates all started showing theirs off in school.

Like his best friend Cassie, who could slip her mind into whatever electronic device she was touching. Or Hunter, who had an internal clock and timer and stopwatch and alarm. And Lucy knew someone’s mood just from looking them in the eyes, and nothing Barry dropped, no matter how delicate, ever broke.

Gregory never complained or made faces or got frustrated with his friends. He shrugged when people asked about his magic, or lack thereof. He claimed to be totally unbothered by whatever obscure power he had that he’d yet to discover.

What no one noticed was the glint in his eyes, the twitch of his secret smile. They didn’t recognize his apparent indifference as a mask or his non-answers as lies. He never teased or hinted at the truth, never countered the mocking remarks, never sought to prove them wrong. Because that would give it away.

It would have made sense, had anyone figured it out, that he held his silence so strictly. That he kept his chaos a secret.

When things went wrong, or even just not as expected—that was Gregory’s doing. His little bit of magic. It could be big or small; he was equally capable of making the entire school lose electricity as he was at making any small object go missing at an inconvenient time.

It was a remarkable power to have in a day and age where most people’s magic affected only themselves or a very small area around them. But Gregory, at eight, decided he’d wanted a snow day instead of a test on Friday, and the skies had dumped four and a half feet of snow in a twenty mile radius around his house overnight.

So of course his magic was his best kept secret. It wouldn’t do for people to be suspicious of him for every little thing that happened. He’d lose all his fun if adults knew the sort of chaos he caused that couldn’t be traced back to him, so long as his magic was unknown.

And so it was that, standing in the pizzaplex, knowing there were animatronics hunting him down and a crazy killer out for his blood, Gregory grinned. His philosophy was that if anyone tried to ruin his day, he’d make theirs so much worse.

Roxy couldn’t stop tripping over her own feet; Monty kept leaping headfirst into arcade machines and photo booths and walls; doors closed in Chica’s face without fail. The STAFF bots bumped into each other, potted plants, and during one memorable moment, caused a massive pileup in the theater hallways that entirely blocked the killer bunny lady from reaching him.

Gregory had never had so many opportunities to cause chaos, and he was living for it.

Moon got tangled in his wires, the elevators stopped working for anyone but Gregory, and Sun found himself locked in a closet. The DJ got stuck trying to climb out of his massive passageways, and he was left to watch Gregory cheerfully saunter from the arcade’s back room.

But nothing was funnier than what his chaos did to his wannabe murderer. Chica ran into the bunny lady and sent them both tumbling down the long staircase in the lobby. Roxy accidentally bit her arm. Monty’s sharp nails snagged in her suit and shredded the front of it. The suit head got twisted and stuck, effectively blinding her. Moon mistook her for Gregory and tackled her. The blade of her knife fell off the handle. The lost and found door got jammed, locking her out as Gregory leisurely escaped via vent.

Cackling after the latest mishap—she face-planted after a hapless wet floor sign bot trundled into her path—Gregory gleefully returned to Freddy. Even his kindly protector was chuckling. The killer lady, who had to have been pretty fed up with her rotten luck tonight, had yet to get up off the ground and now had a circle of concerned wet floor sign bots gathered around her.

“It seems everyone is suffering from bad luck tonight,” Freddy commented as they left the atrium. “I have never seen my friends be so clumsy.”

Gregory snickered, relaxed as ever in Freddy’s chest cavity. “Yeah, it’s like they’ve been cursed.”

Freddy chuckled. “And thank goodness we have been spared,” he said, in a knowing sort of way.

Gregory sat up a bit and blinked in surprise—no one had ever figured him out before, but then again, he’d never dealt out chaos quite like this before either. “I—”

“Your secret is safe with me, superstar,” Freddy gently interrupted him.

After a moment of thought, Gregory slumped again with a rueful smile. He supposed he’d known he wouldn’t be able to hide his magic forever, and he couldn’t think of a better person to be the first to know. Cassie would probably be the second, honestly.

“You’re not freaked out?” he asked. It wasn’t something he liked to admit to himself, that he was a little bit scared of potential reactions. He didn’t want to be blamed for every little thing, even inconveniences that he genuinely hadn’t caused, or for people to walk on eggshells around him, fearful of retribution.

“Not at all.” The hatch opened, and Gregory didn’t resist when Freddy gently pulled him out and into his arms. “I do not believe you are the type of person to use such an ability to intentionally cause harm. And if I am being honest…”

He paused as Roxy burst out of a door up ahead, only for her eyes to go dark with sudden blindness. She stumbled around, waving her arms in front of her.

“They do deserve to be ‘cursed’ in this case,” Freddy finished, not without humor.

Gregory laughed, and on cue, as Roxy whirled to face them, her legs locked up and she toppled over with a screech.

#fnaf fic #fnaf security breach #star's stories #life and times of star

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puddleslimewrites · 10 months ago

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Ducklings (Part 3)

Part 1 / Part 2

Prompt: Civillian!Kid(s) keep showing up to Hero's and Villain's fights (more applicable to parts 1 and 2 but this is a contuation of those c:)

Tag List: @black-rose-events

CW: knife

"Again," Villain commanded.

Mikey grit his teeth and aimed at the target. He was frustrated, Villain knew, but if these kids were going to run around defying heroes and getting themselves in trouble then Villain would make sure they could at least defend themselves properly.

Marley had a talent for throwing knives but her endurance was low. At present she ran laps around the base while Charlie dug through the weapon pile for something he liked.

Villain called them together once Marley returned from outside. They sighed as the kids sat in a circle around them. Charlie tossed the tazer he'd found up in the air and caught it, then switched hands and did it again. Villain made sure to keep an eye on that out of the corner of their eye.

For a long moment they merely watched the three talk about their training. They were all so lively. It seemed...odd, to have them in a place like this. Villain frowned. "Don't you kids want to go home?"

"Don't got one," Marley grunted. She looked irritated and her shirt was soaked through. Good. Villain was glad to see that she'd at least put in the effort despite all the complaints.

"That warehouse you saved us from was our base," Charlie piped in.

Mikey flipped the knife he was sharpening to check his work. "We were using this one room in the basement that no one ever went in. Got good at sneaking around pretty quick. Charlie's the best at it." He nodded to the youngest in the group, then gestured with the knife.

"Marley is our hard hitter. Charlie's our spy and special op." He went back to polishing. "And I'm the plan guy, I guess."

"You were our leader!" Charlie corrected.

Mikey grinned and gave a half-hearted shrug. "Sure. But now you're the boss, boss," he said to Villain.

Villain...didn't actually know much about these kids, they realized. They'd noticed the hierarchy of power, as the other two often differed to Mikey, but they really hadn't given much thought to where they'd come from. It's about time they fix that.

Villain stood and gave instructions for them to get back to work. They had business to take care of tonight.

Hero's patrol route was easy to predict and even easier to intercept. Villain snatched them mid stride and dragged them into the nearest alley.

"I need information."

Hero raised a brow, expression a mix of skeptical and surprised. "You say that as if I'd be willing to give you anything of the sort."

"Oh, you are," Villain assured. They withrew a folder from within their cloak. Hero eyed it as if it would bite if they reached for it, but accepted it nonetheless. "You've been looking for Other Villain." It wasn't a guess - Villain knew this for a fact. "You won't find them...without help."

Hero looked through the papers, then back up at the villain. "You'd sell out an ally? Just like that?"

"Not for free, no." Villain stepped closer to Hero. "I need information," they said again. They gave Hero another folder - this one much thinner. They allowed Hero to glance through its contents.

"This is-"

The hero was cut off by a knife at their throat.

"You tell anyone else about them and Supervillain will be the least of your worries," Villain hissed in their ear.

There was a tense moment in which neither dared to move. Then, with a soft exhale and the barest inclination of their chin, Hero was set free.

"A bit harsh for your methods," Hero commented gruffly. They felt their neck - the knife had broken skin, but not enough to let the wound bleed freely.

On any other day, Villain would have looked satisfied with the compliment. Today, they put a hand on Hero's shoulder and tapped the folder with the edge of their knife. Villain leaned close again, grip tightening, as a grin split their face, to deliver a final warning.

"Anything. For my kids."

#puddleslimewrites #villaintine's day 2024 #heroes and villains #hero x villain community #accidental adoption #tw knife #writing #writing snippet #found family #throwback to my very first post <3 #this has been in here for how long?#the kids are growing up so fast T-T #*cough* what do you mean it's been over a year no it hasn't *cough* >_'>

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persephone-writes · 5 days ago

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A Diviner's Guide to James Potter

Chapter Eight: The Duel

James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Chapter Seven - Chapter Nine

Description: uh-oh!

Word Count: 5.3k

Notes: warning-- theres bullying in this chapter!!

You and Peter waited patiently on your cushions in the Divination classroom, watching Professor Quattlebaum mull about the room. He was staring at his students with intense, quizzical eyes, lifting his chin every so often as his gaze drifted to the ceiling. Peter shifted in his seat, holding his breath as Quattlebaum neared.

“I am sensing some tension today,” said your professor, drawing out his words as his head turned this way and that.

“No kidding,” Peter whispered, forcing you to suppress a laugh.

“Someone,” Quatllebaum began again, “has come upon an odd fortune indeed. However! I urge them not to share with their fellow students.” A few thankful sighs could be heard around the room, ending as he held up a finger. “Although, it may be that this fortune has all ready been made known……Sharing, I will remind you, may not always serve the Diviner's best interests. Secrecy can sometimes prove of considerable value when studying the sacred art of Divination, for your results are often purer, less tainted by the confusion of the conscious mind….which reminds me–” he continued, rambling on about that day's lesson. His hand came to rest beside the pile of essays upon his desk, which you had all dropped off on your way inside.

You glanced over at Peter, wondering if he was thinking the same as you. His eyes met yours, though you only found within his expression a vague acknowledgment that your professor was rather odd, which was not out of the ordinary in the slightest. You turned away, considering for the first time that telling people about your omens may have been a mistake. Not only had you made every single one of your friends aware of the fish, but you had told Sirius about the crow and James about everything.

You took a deep breath, trying your best to pay attention to Quattlebaum’s ramblings. Even if he was right, it wasn’t as if he predicted something awful would happen, only that your reading may not have been entirely accurate. However, the essay had been written and submitted, leaving you with no choice but to live with the consequences of a poor grade. No matter what, you were still delighted to be finished with the whole mess.

During Transfiguration the next period, you sat down next to Lily feeling better than you had all last week. Lily smiled, seeming to notice your newfound tranquility.

“Handed in your paper?” she asked, putting her book and parchment onto her desk.

You returned her smile, nodding. “Yes, and I don’t even care what grade I get, as long as I pass. I’m just happy to be done with it.”

“I’m not sure I entirely believe that,” Lily chuckled, unscrewing the cap to her inkwell. “But I’m happy you’re feeling better.”

On the opposite end of the room, a chair scraped quickly across the floor, knocking into the desk behind it. You and Lily turned towards the noise, finding that James was standing at his desk, shoulders squared and his hands clenched at his sides. Mulciber was in front of him, a conniving smirk upon his face, pale eyes fixed and piercing. James said something low under his breath, though you were unable to make it out. Beside him, Sirius was beginning to stand as well, stopping when Professor McGonagall cleared her throat at the head of the room.

Mulciber spun around to face her, James slowly lowering back into his chair. She shot them a stern, harsh look, and soon enough Mulciber was scurrying back to his own desk. All four Marauders were eyeing Mulciber as he sat down, snickering quietly with Wilkes. At another desk, Severus gazed across the room, his head bent with his hair covering the better part of his face. Mulciber briefly glanced over towards you and Lily, turning around as McGonagall began to speak.

Once class had ended, you and Lily immediately went to James in the corridor to inquire about the incident. He was still tense, mouth tight as he roved the hall in search of Mulciber.

“What happened,” Lily asked, though James didn’t answer, entirely preoccupied. She looked to the others, though Sirius was involved in the same task as James, equally unwilling to speak.

Remus adjusted the strap of his bag, looking between you and Lily with a tired expression. “Said something awful, as usual. He’s pretty one-note.”

Finally spotting him move through the crowd alongside Severus and Wilkes, James made a move to go over, far angrier than was to be expected. His posture was like it had been in the classroom, though now you could see his expression, hardened and without a lick of underlying mercy.

Remus grabbed his arm, pulling him back with an exacerbated sigh. Sirius, who had been ready to follow, did not pursue Mulciber independently, though still continued to watch the three Slytherins from a distance.

“You’re Head Boy, Prongs,” Remus reminded him softly. James tore his eyes from Mulciber, shuffling on his feet.

“I know, it’s just,” he said, voice faltering. His face remained as it had been, still pointed and in need of a target.

You glanced over your shoulder, watching Mulciber turn the corner. Sirius was doing the same, his lip curling as he got away. He shook his head, turning back around and crossing his arms in defeat. James was no better, his hand flying up to his neck before it dropped down with a sigh.

“Your eagerness to defend your values is admirable,” said Lily calmly, “but you know you can’t get in fights any longer.”

James set his jaw, staring out into the corridor over Lily’s head. His nostrils flared as he breathed out quickly, his eyes still holding a great deal of lingering resentment. Peter swallowed, unable to pick his head up from where it was bent towards the floor.

“Come on,” you began, your eyes darting between the four, “isn’t this a bit overkill? What did he say?”

James shook his head to himself, not meeting your eye. All remained silent, brimming with unease.

“Let’s go,” said Sirius through gritted teeth, ignoring you entirely. He knocked James on the arm before turning on his heels to walk away.

You looked at Remus, though he seemed as adverse to your gaze as James was, pressing his mouth in a line. He followed Sirius and James, along with Peter. You and Lily studied their backs, James’s strut particularly brooding. You each stayed behind, glancing at one another with similarly perplexed expressions when they disappeared into the crowd.

“What the hell happened?” you said, your hand motioning to the area James had just occupied. The air still felt charged, though none of the other students in the hall appeared to notice.

Lily shook her head, pulling her mouth to one side as she thought. “Either Remus was lying, or James and Sirius are feeling particularly dramatic today.”

“I feel like I should be offended,” you chuckled. “We couldn’t possibly have done something, right?”

“No, they’re obviously just in a mood. Mulciber’s detestable, but it wasn’t like he had his wand out.”

Your shoulders slumped, wondering where they could have gone, for they all left in the opposite direction of the Common Room. “They aren’t going to the Common Room, are they?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Lily said, pausing for a moment. “Let’s go. I’ve got some work to do before dinner. Can’t let some theater hold me back.”

“What did you expect?” Dorcas said after you finished with your account. “Mulciber’s a troll, of course James got cranky. He always does.”

You opened your mouth to speak, shaking your head when you couldn’t come up with the proper words. Ever since it happened, all you could think of was the look in James’s eyes in the corridor as he watched Mulciber saunter away. It was different than normal, worse.

Lily tapped her quill against her parchment in thought, glancing back at Dorcas from her desk. “Y/Ns right, it was strange. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him like that. It usually takes more to get to him.”

Marlene snorted. “Yeah, it takes away from his image if he loses his cool.”

“What image,” said Lily with a roll of her eyes.

“Do you think it was something similar to what happened with Mary?” you asked, completely ignoring Marlene and Lily’s snide remarks.

Dorcas shook her head. “I think they would have said something.”

“Why don’t you just ask Peter what happened? He’ll fold under pressure,” Marlene said with a shrug, closing her textbook.

“They wouldn’t say before,” you huffed. “I don’t see Peter breaking now, not when they acted like it was some big secret.”

“It’ll blow over by tomorrow,” Marlene said, not bothered at all by the turn of events. You considered her point, thinking over the hundreds of times James has nearly gotten himself into a similar situation.

“I’m not sure it will,” you said with an uneasy laugh. “I’m realizing I really hate not being in the know. I can finally empathize with you, Marls.”

Marlene scoffed at your change in heart. “Unbelievable.”

“It’s different when they get so upset! Sirius was in a state, as well. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen either of them like it,” you said in an effort to defend yourself. Marlene remained unimpressed, laughing humorlessly.

“Well, you haven’t seen them in the locker rooms after we lose a match,” Dorcas said. “You’d think the world was coming to an end.”

“Exactly, you can’t go by them,” said Marlene, pausing for a moment as she pushed her textbook away from her with a sigh. “Have any of you started on the cursed objects assignment yet?”

“So, we’re just off it now?” you said, deflating as Marlene and Dorcas gave you blank stares.

Lily offered you a small look of pity before her face shifted into mild delight, perking up at Marlene’s question. “I have,” she said happily. “I’m doing mine on the cursed shoe of Vienna. They found it in 1848 outside the Hofburg–”

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Tuesday and Wednesday went on without further incident, even if James continued to walk around with the countenance of a wet rag. What Marlene chose to assume was a minor blip was obviously turning into something far more serious, though there was little you could do to help. When you saw him on your way to your Astronomy Club meeting Tuesday evening, patrolling the castle as part of his Head Boy duties, you were unable to cheer him up in the slightest. You attempted to persuade him to join you in the Tower, adamant that Professor Sinistra wouldn’t mind him taking a peek at the meteor shower, despite the fact he was not a club member. He politely declined your offer, leaving you with a rather ominous warning to be careful in the corridors so late at night. As much as it pained you to see him continuing to bristle with unresolved anger, and clearly some unnecessary caution, it seemed as though your efforts made little difference.

It was Thursday morning when you took a leisurely walk to the Library, your mind set on finally tackling your DADA assignment. You meant to invite Lily, though at seeing her at one of the tables in the Common Room, entirely filled by Alchemy books and neatly scribed notes, you didn’t bother to ask. James was in Muggle Studies with Sirius and Dorcas, and Marlene was knee deep in Herbology, leaving you no other choice but to remain solitary in your quest. Even if James were free, you doubted he would have taken you up on it anyway.

Second period was well under way, leaving the corridors largely vacant save for a few other students mulling about here and there. You meandered down the winding flights of the Grand Staircase, just emerging through the wide alcove when you spotted the last person you wanted to see.

Mulciber was prancing down the corridor towards you, his brown hair pushed back for a change. He fiddled with the buttons of his gray jacket, letting it fall open to reveal a white shirt, pressed pristinely by the house elves. You tensed, ceasing your movements for a brief pause as your hand slipped into your pocket, feeling for your wand. Somehow he hadn’t noticed you yet, moving through as if the castle were his own.

You took a slow step into the corridor, lit only by a few torches burning on the walls. Now out of the dim archway, Mulciber’s eyes landed on you. His mouth stretched into the same menacing smirk he had worn during Transfiguration, jarring now that it was pointed towards yourself.

You never had more than a few words with him during your entire time at Hogwarts, avoiding all interactions with expert tact. Your four mischievous friends, however, could not say the same. You were therefore extremely aware that a giant, glaring target existed on your back, the day it was hit always imminent. It didn’t help that your blood never seemed to be quite pure enough for certain people to tolerate, even if both your parents were wizards.

You held your breath as you went on, your head remaining forward as if he weren’t there. Mulciber did not disregard your presence as you had his, calling out your name like a poison. You kept walking, though this did little to thwart his efforts at drawing your attention.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” he said, laughing when you clenched your teeth.

You took a deep breath through your nose, shuddering as he spun on his heels to follow you.

“Which one?”

He cackled, the sound like a ploy to enrage you. You didn’t take his bait, not even when he fell in stride alongside you.

“You know which,” he said smugly. “You both had a little date in the Forbidden Forest the other day.”

You suddenly felt ill, your stomach churning as you tried to swallow it down. You didn’t bother wondering how he knew, or how much he knew, tightening your grip around your wand. He was still entirely relaxed, strolling along with his wand held by his side.

“I expected as much out of him,” he paused, tisking a few times with a raise of his brows. “But I always thought you were better behaved. Who knows what you two got up to in there.”

His taunts sent a wave of embarrassment through you, though you tried your hardest to cool your heating cheeks. Over and over, you forced your mind to focus on anything but him, lest he break your armor of disinterest.

He appeared to grow irritated at your lack of acknowledgment, attempting to weasel his face into your view. “It’s only right a traitor like him only goes for scum,” Mulciber spat, his conniving smirk still plastered across his face. “First it was a mudblood, but you’re not much better.”

Your head never turned, your steps growing faster as you prayed for another student to come along, or better, a professor. Now you were nearly running, your arms swinging furiously at your sides. You knew you ought to say something clever, but his presence beside you seemed to crush every witty remark.

“What do you want, Mulciber?” you asked, keeping your voice even.

Before you could think, his wand was pointed just under your chin, your feet having stopped in their tracks when you felt it brush against your skin. Your eyes fell onto his, studying the arch in his brows as he looked you over with a victorious glee. You felt your lip curl like Sirius’s had, your expression hardening the longer he held his wand.

“I remember when no one knew your name,” he said as he slowly circled to your front, his wand staying in place. “Even Slughorn would forget it.”

It was true, Slughorn had forgotten your name a few times over the years, and the reminder stung more than you’d like to admit. His eyes drifted over your figure, stopping at the hand that remained in your pocket.

“Take your hand out of your pocket,” he whispered with another antagonizing laugh. “We both know you won’t do anything. You’re worse at dueling than that mouse Mary McDonald.”

Without much thought to the contrary, you took a step back, throwing up a shielding charm just as Mulciber cast something, the tip of his wand glowing yellow. His arrogant smile fell, giving way to a contorted squint as he took in your unaffected state. Your chest heaved with the shock, your mind reeling as you walked back another few paces.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Mulciber called.

“Protego!” You whipped your wand through the air, shielding yourself against another one of his spells.

“Can’t block them all forever,” Mulciber scoffed, taking a step near you. You backed up again, wand at the ready. “Stupefy!”

“Expelliarmus!”

If you weren’t so occupied, you would have felt rather pleased with yourself. Mulciber’s wand flew from his hand, twirling in the air before landing a few meters to his right. In a mad dash he threw himself to the floor, his arm stretching to reach it. You ran in an attempt to capture it, though Mucliber was able to seize it before you. You stumbled backwards, momentarily caught within his flaming eyes.

“Impedimenta!”

“Protego!” The blood began to rush through your ears, a flurry of spells running through your head.

Mulciber was standing again, looming as his sneer darkened. “Come on, try another,” he gritted.

“Stupify!”

He flicked it wand, standing tall as ever. Your jaw quivered as you set to cast another offensive charm, but you were too late.

“Depulso!”

You flew backwards, hitting hard against the stone wall. The wind was knocked from your lungs, the room spinning as you tried to keep your grip on your wand. You tasted blood in your mouth, coughing as your eyes readjusted. You found Mulciber standing proudly above you, his hand raising his wand once more.

“Protego!” Somehow you were able to move quickly enough, blocking the spell he had muttered. His voice sent a shiver down your spine, the unknown words that poured from his lips laced with something uniquely frightening. A pit formed within your chest, your every instinct begging you to run. “Expelliarmus,” you said weakly, though he easily blocked it with a snicker.

He leaned down, quickly grabbing at your wand. You grappled with it a moment, though his strength won over, pulling it from your fingers. He tossed it aside, his smile only growing as he watched you sit up, an ache building in your arms. Your eyes never left his, matching his stare with every ounce of courage you had left. You spit out some blood onto the stone, feeling the remnants trickle down your chin.

Mulciber knelt down, his face level with yours. To you, his features appeared putrescent, contorted and utterly grotesque. “I can’t possibly finish you off in this state,” he said, false sympathy dripping from his every word.

“You’re a prick,” you scoffed, though it came out hoarse and fragile, making it far too obvious that there was little else you could do against him.

Mulciber smiled, his teeth shining like fangs. “You should be proud of yourself, L/N,” he drawled, standing up again. “You were very brave.”

He glanced down at you for a final time before waltzing away, satisfaction steeping his every step. When he passed your wand he gave it a playful kick, chuckling as it rolled across the floor.

You slowly stood, a hand braced against the wall as you watched him slip down an adjacent corridor. Your face was beginning to pulse, your lips tingling and half numb. Your neck, too, was in an awful state, as if someone had wringed it a few times. With a shaking breath, you wiped your chin with the sleeves of your jumper, uncaring that it would stain red. In a daze, you stumbled over to your wand, picking it up and checking it over. At least it had come out of the event unscathed, though your wristwatch couldn’t say the same. The glass was smashed, the hands bent and the weather-charmed face flickering between a rainbow, a thunderstorm, and a dusting of snow.

You pointed your wands towards it. “Reparo.” The glass and hands fixed themselves, though the face remained broken. It now switched between various degrees of rain and sunshine, no better than before. “Reparo,” you tried again, though the result was the same.

As you looked down at it, you felt tears welling in your eyes, an unimaginable degree of sadness overtaking you at the sight of your broken wristwatch. You forgot about the pain radiating from your mouth, or the way Mulciber had been peering down at you not moments ago. All that was left was your watch, unrepaired despite your best efforts. Soon you were weeping, rubbing your eyes in a vain effort to rid your cheeks of tears. After a minute you gathered yourself with a shivering sigh, willing yourself to stop crying. When your breath had fallen into a more even pattern, you slipped your wand back into your pocket, wiping your face for a final time. You turned around, going back the way you came toward the Grand Staircase.

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“Good Godric!” Lily gasped, standing from the table in the Common Room as you neared her. The world still seemed unreal, hazy around your pounding head. Lily pushed the chair aside and ran up to you, placing her hands on your arms. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to speak, though nothing came out. Lily continued to fuss over you, brushing a hand along your cheek before dropping it again. When you didn’t answer she met your eyes, searching them with a worried brow.

“What happened?” she asked again, no less concerned than before.

You licked your lips, dried with blood. “Mulciber,” you whispered, glancing around the room for the first time. There were a handful of other students occupying the clusters of armchairs and tables, all looking directly at you. “Lily?”

“What?” she answered immediately, holding your arms once more.

“Can we go to our room?”

“Of course, of course.”

She was in a frenzy, leaving her books and papers where they lay on the table and placing a hand on your back. She led you up the stairs, her eyes never leaving the side of your face. When you walked into the room, Marlene turned from where she was sitting at her desk, standing up in the same furor Lily had.

“Bloody hell,” she gasped, hurrying towards you both. Lily stood in front of you as you sat on your bed, Marlene quickly coming to her side. “What happened?”

“Mulciber,” Lily answered solemnly.

“What’d he do?” Marlene asked, still in a panic.

Reality was coming back to you now, slowly like fog fading from a washroom mirror. You ran a hand over your blanket, fisting it tightly as your lip throbbed. “On my way to the library,” you began, your voice still gravelly, “I saw him by the staircase.”

Lily stilled her wringing hands, brushing a strand of auburn hair from her face. “I’m going to get a wet cloth for your face,” she said softly. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Marlene sat down on Lily’s bed, her mouth hung open even when Lily came back with the cloth. You allowed her to dab at your lips, careful not to hurt your wound.

“You split your lip,” she said, still focused on her work.

“Dorcas is gonna kill him,” Marlene breathed, sitting hunched like a wilted flower.

“ James is going to kill him,” Lily corrected, her eyes meeting yours again. “Are you all right?”

You shrugged, wincing slightly at the pain.

“Let me take you to Madam Pomfrey,” Lily said, her voice all ready pleading.

“No,” you said quickly, a new rush of adrenaline flowing through you. “I’m fine.”

“C’mon.” Marlene stood, coming over and placing a hand on your shoulder. “It can’t hurt.”

“Just Episkey my lip,” you begged Lily, fearing more than just the long walk to the Hospital Wing. Lily didn’t speak, searching your eyes. “Please?”

“Okay,” Lily sighed, taking out her wand. She hovered the tip over your lip, her other hand coming to rest over yours. “Episkey.”

The brief sting was worth the feeling of relief that came just after. You ran your tongue over your teeth, the metallic taste still present.

Marlene took her hand from your shoulder, sitting down at your side. “I wish Remus would’ve let James and Sirius at him after Transfig,” she said, laughing bitterly. “Would’ve saved a lot of trouble.”

Second period must have ended when Dorcas burst through the door, falling into your dormitory like a cannon blast. Her eyes immediately found you, leaning against your headboard with Marlene at the foot of your bed. Beside you, Lily was on hers, a knee pulled up to her chest. Her Alchemy work was strewn about her desk, haphazardly thrown there without much thought.

“Thank Godric you’re all right,” Dorcas sighed, her shoulders falling as she closed the door behind her. “Maxwell made it sound like you’d been crippled.”

Normally, you would have found Dorcas’s humorous remarks funny, though you weren’t in the mood to receive them. You offered her a measly smile, a new bout of dread rushing through you. If Dorcas knew, then so did the others. You realized you must have given the rest of the Common Room quite the show.

“I guess it’s time for lunch,” said Marlene, turning back to you. “Want us to bring you back something?”

“I can stay with you,” Lily offered. “You can make us both a plate–”

“No, I’ll come,” you said, taking a deep breath as you swung your legs from your bed.

“I don’t think you should,” said Lily hesitantly.

You shook your head, walking past Dorcas towards the lavatory. “I’m hungry, and this room is getting stuffy.”

In reality, you wanted to rip the plaster off of dealing with the others, who were likely trying to find a way to bypass the charm on the dormitory staircase.

“Then I’ll open a window,” said Lily, watching as you fixed yourself in the mirror. You were happy to find that your eyes were hardly red and your lip was back to normal, though your head still felt as though it was stuffed with cotton.

“What happened?” Dorcas asked.

“Mulciber,” you answered, emerging from the lavatory. “And I’m going.” You walked past their uneasy faces, glancing over your shoulder as you opened the door. “Coming?”

They followed behind you as you descended the staircase, met with a barrage of voices and James’s horrified expression at the bottom. He grabbed hold of your shoulders, his face nearing yours as his eyes rushed across you.

“Are you all right?” he asked breathlessly, glancing briefly at Lily. “Why didn’t you take her to Poppy?” He turned back to you, so close you could see your reflection in his glasses. You felt your cheeks burning up, swallowing nervously as he spoke again. “Are you hurt? Why didn’t you go to the Hospital Wing?”

“I’m fine,” you answered, forcing a small smile. “It was barely anything.”

“Barely anything!” James dropped his hands, taking a small step back. “Maxwell said you were covered in blood!”

“He just split my lip,” you said in an effort to calm him down.

It only seemed to make things worse. “He? He who?”

“Mulciber,” you answered.

James threw his hands up a moment before he turned to Lily again, utterly frantic. “Were you with her?”

“No, of course not,” Lily said.

Sirius raised his brows, shrugging to himself. “It wouldn’t have made a difference, anyway.”

“Now what does that mean, Sirius?” Lily asked, crossing her arms.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Sirius began, looking over to Peter for help. “Peter, back me up–”

“Well, was anyone with her?” James asked, still in an uproar.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m right here, James. Just ask me.”

He paid no attention, pulling his wand from his robes. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“James,” you said harshly, finally forcing him to meet your eyes. “Do not get in trouble on my account. It’s pointless to duel him right out in the open, especially when he knows it's coming. We ought to wait until his guard is down–”

“Y/N!” Lily gasped, her disappointment evident.

“No, she’s right,” Sirius said, nodding towards you. “We should be smart about this for maximum effect. Which, funnily enough, is what they call me–”

“Enough!” Remus’s voice cut through the rest like a blade. He surveyed you all, his gaze finally settling on you. “Seriously, are you hurt?”

You shook your head. “Lily fixed me up.”

“Good. Do you want to come down to the Great Hall for lunch, or do you want someone to run something up?” he asked calmly.

“I want to go down.”

“Absolutely not,” said James, crossing his arms like a defiant child.

“I want to go down,” you repeated, ignoring his noise of protest.

“Let’s go, then,” Remus said, waiting for you to start walking before he followed.

The journey down was fraught with nerves and entirely without conversation. This was only broken when James muttered something in the Entrance Hall, his hands shoved into his robes.

“Don’t do something stupid,” you reminded him.

The muscles in his jaw shifted, leaving you unsure if he would heed your warning. He pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, his eyes already searching the heads at the Slytherin table. Everyone else was doing the same, though you kept your gaze ahead as you walked down the aisle. James stayed by your side the entire time, sitting next to you at the table.

All seven pairs of eyes fell on you, the weight of them stifling, though you felt James’s most of all. His arm was brushing yours, something you would have appreciated to no end if it were any other time.

“Will you tell us exactly what happened?” Lily asked eventually, fully ending the stretch of troubled silence.

You rolled your shoulders, which still held a dull ache. You knew the question would be coming again, though it made it no less daunting.

“I saw him outside the Grand Staircase,” you began, your voice small. “He was just toying with me, but I ignored him, hoping he’d go away. He followed me down the corridor for a while, and then he held his wand to my face. I’m not sure what he was planning, but I just pulled mine out without thinking. I didn’t mean to start a duel.”

James was staring at you intently, gnawing at his bottom lip. He shook his head, a fury passing over his features.

“And you really dueled him?” asked Sirius.

You nodded, sighing at your obvious failure. Peter’s eyes darted behind you towards the Slytherin table, mindlessly picking the crust off of his sandwich.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” Sirius said, almost seeming proud.

James glared at him, his eyes narrowed in warning.

“Of course she did,” Dorcas scoffed.

“I mostly just blocked him,” you said with a small laugh.

James shook his head, craning his head down to force you to look at him. “Don’t say that,” his voice came out quiet, so tender it was suffocating. “You shouldn’t have had to.”

“I know,” you said, ripping your gaze from his. It was too much in the moment, too brutally knowing. You felt as though if he looked too long, he could see straight into your heart.

“Still, I always thought it was odd you weren’t a Ravenclaw,” Sirius began again. “Guess I was wrong.”

“Pads,” Remus sighed, seeming embarrassed for his friend.

“What? It’s a compliment!”

Chapter Nine

#james potter x reader #james potter/reader #james potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter angst #marauders fandom #marauders era #james potter series #james potter slow burn #james potter x fem!reader

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anonymous1x2tipster · 2 years ago

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mycryptosuite · 1 year ago

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bunny-hoodlum · 5 months ago

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Hey I started reading “Asynchronous With You” AND I LOVE ITTTT😭 I have some questions, u don’t have to answer ‘em

why did Sasuke delete the video of Narihina from Naruto's phone but save it on his? And does Naruto like Hinata like she does?? Also, when is the next update

Thank you so much for the ask!! I'm so glad you love it!! 🥰

So... Sasuke saved the video in case it became necessary to show to Naruto, should the time come when he realizes he has feelings for her. By deleting it from Naruto's phone, Sasuke is protecting Hinata's feelings at the same time, because if Naruto saw it, and where they stand right now as foster-siblings, things might get way too awkward and who knows if Naruto is the one who chooses to pull further away, but after that phone call he had with his bestie, Sasuke predicts that the real creator of all their problems is Naruto and his mistrustful, anxious-avoidant behavior. Sasuke will eventually become certain that Hinata is the most stable in their situation, that she'll never change even if their circumstances do. It's mainly Naruto who needs to grow.

Sasuke's like the ultimate confidante in this fic. Not much of a wingman though, since he isn't one to meddle in their personal biz. But he's gonna do his best for the both of them.

Hinata is definitely Naruto's favorite person, but he's so hyperfixated on their pseudo-siblingship to look at her romantically. Ironically, he seems to have zero interest in romance, putting family and friendship first, while finding time to get laid like it's just a hobby. This is one of the major hurdles Hinata is going to have to overcome, because of how at-odds their values are. 😔

I don't know when I'll be updating it. 🥲 I'm just a taaaaaad bit distracted by my new fics. 🙈 Which are also overdue for updates. 😩 But also, I'm a tad bit stuck with AWY at the moment, despite having a plan for the next part and the part after that, and that, until the winter break mini-arc. 🙈 My last WIP draft for AWY just wasn't working and I haven't figured out how to fix it yet. 🥲 But I've been trying to work on it in the back of my mind. 🤭

Thank you again for the ask! 💕💕💕

#anon ask #ask answered #awy fic ask #asynchronous with you fic ask #naruhina fic ask

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visenyasdragon · 11 months ago

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Sea Dragon Queen

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen. Many more to come in future chapters.

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: An AU where Targaryens have braincells <3 they still have their flaws and prejudices, but not to dynasty-ending levels. No Dance, Rhaenyra never marries Laenor because Corlys has the sense to not marry off his clearly gay son. A fix it fic, if you will. I hope you'll enjoy it <3

Content warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply

Author's note: This is my first fanfiction and non-academic writing I've done since like 2009, so please be kind to me! English is also my second language.

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Rhaenyra I

112AC

“I intend to marry… the Lady Laena Velaryon” the king said in a quiet, clear voice, “though not a day before her fifteenth nameday”.

Ser Otto did his best to conceal his astonishment. All his efforts thwarted, his daughter’s reputation soiled to no avail. “A wise choice, my king. In these times of peril and uncertainty from the east, a strong alliance with Driftmark is paramount. The Hand is ready to steadfastly support the Crown in all his endeavors.” There he is, ready to ingratiate himself further into my father’s graces despite his defeat, ever the cunning politician, she thought with irritation. Rhaenyra found it difficult not to laugh at just how predictable Ser Otto Hightower was. If only her uncle Daemon were here, to share this moment with her!

At the opposite end of the table, Lord Corlys looked as if he had just won a naval battle, been granted a son, and triumphed in cyvasse all at once. There is scarce a happier man in all of King’s Landing, Rhaenyra thought. She did not yet know whether she felt happy or anxious at the prospect of a stepmother younger than herself, and so soon after her own lady mother’s death. The time for sorting out my feelings will come later, she told herself, making an effort to steady her face. Rhaenyra looked at Alicent, but her friend’s countenance might as well have been a porcelain mask.

“My King, allow me to express my gratitude and happiness for honoring my House with your choice”, the master of ships stated in a glad tone, rising from his seat. “The centuries-old alliance between the last two pillars of Old Valyria will thrive once more. If I may be allowed to make a suggestion… there is not the slightest need for you to defer the wedding, Your Grace. I must confer with my lady wife on this matter, but I believe it is best that the preparations for the union begin at once”.

A gleaming black raven quorked loudly three times while perching on the red sandstone parapet. His piercing, jet-black eyes met Rhaenyra’s, sending an odd feeling down her spine. Grand Maester Mellos chuckled just in the right moment, as was often his way, preventing anybody else from speaking. He was a weathered veteran of a thousand small council sessions, after all. “It is the solemn belief of the Maesters of the Citadel that in order for a marriage to be fruitful, it ought not take place when the bride is too young to bear healthy heirs. The Lady Laena is but a girl of twelve, and I find it most judicious that His Grace elected to delay the wedding for three years.”

Rhaenyra swallowed quietly, trying to hold back her tears. The name of Aemma Arryn seemed to hang in the room and on everyone’s lips, yet none dared speak it. It has only been a few moons since the queen’s passing, and King Viserys’s enduring grief was plain for all to see. He flustered at the maester’s polite words, instantly brought back to the distant, sunny day at the Eyrie when he was but a young man of sixteen, wedded at Queen Alysanne’s instigation to a surpassingly beautiful girl not much older than Laena herself. Rhaenyra felt she could almost read the thoughts in her father’s mind at that moment. He will always love mother best of everyone, she thought. Even more than herself, though it did not wound her. Her late mother was the gentlest creature House Targaryen had yet seen, and she knew all the love and honor in the world would not be enough to match her merits. Despite her younger age, she had made him and molded him into the man he was, for better or for worse, everyone in her family said. She felt a heavy, choking feeling in her chest at the sudden understanding that it was his affection for his dead wife and the child-bride she had been to defer the marriage the realm so desperately needed. Maybe this is his apology to her in a way, Rhaenyra thought. He says, look Aemma, I must do my duty, but I will always love you. I will always honor your memory, in everything that I do.

Ser Otto’s voice broke her out of her reverie.

“As much as I value and respect any maester’s opinion, here is where I must disagree” he protested. Rhaenyra felt as if she could say his next words herself, so little a surprise they were for her. “The realm urgently needs a queen to provide the king with further heirs as soon as possible. Much as young Lady Laena Velaryon surely is, she is of Targaryen blood and will certainly do her duty splendidly. I propose the wedding takes place within a moon’s turn, or else as soon as the preparations can be completed.” Ser Otto finished his speech with the ludicrous confidence of a man who has the matter well at hand. He looked as if he were about to order Alicent’s wedding gown right where he sat. He means for little Laena to die in childbirth not having reached her fourteenth nameday, and for Alicent to take her place instead, Rhaenyra thought angrily.

The king listened to his Hand’s advice with a blank expression. What he said next surprised not only Ser Otto.

“Nevertheless, this is a matter where I resolve to be firm. I respect my future wife too much to bargain with her health and safety. This meeting is at an end.” Viserys rose from his seat at the head of the table, sending the rest of his small council to their feet. In his haste Lord Lyman Beesbury sent his gold-and-onyx council egg scuttering to the floor. “Apologies, my lords” he breathed, trying to recover his symbol of office from beneath the table, but Ser Harrold Westerling was ahead of him, restoring the sphere to its rightful place. The councilmen withdrew from the room one by one. Lord Corlys and King Viserys moved to the latter’s private apartments to discuss the upcoming nuptials and the crown’s response to the trouble in the Stepstones. Alicent meekly followed her visibly discontented father, her gaze firmly set on the floor beneath her. Rhaenyra wanted more than anything to take her into the godswood and talk for hours about the events of the day as they so often did, but she sensed that would have to wait. Her friend walked away sparing not a single glance for her, already engaged in a conversation of sharp, quiet whispers with Ser Otto. She felt a pang of pity towards Alicent. I would give much for her to be daughter to any other man in the realm, she thought. Rhaenyra was the last to depart the small council chamber, her feet unconsciously leading her toward the Dragonpit and Syrax.

The following days and weeks upended Rhaenyra’s world upside down. One by one, reluctantly, as if the king feared her dragon-temper, the startling news reached her, by way of Septa Marlow and Ser Criston Cole and Annara and other servants whose names she did not know, anybody but her father. She was to be fostered at Driftmark and henceforth divide her time equally between the court and High Tide; Alicent was not permitted by the Hand to go with her as her companion; Laenor Velaryon was to serve as the king’s squire and second cupbearer when she was not present; her uncle Daemon was to lead the Royal Fleet alongside Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys into the Stepstones as soon as the troops and supplies for war were prepared. On top of that, when the war was done, it was decided Rhaenyra and Laena were to go on a royal progress throughout the realm, from the Arbor to Winterfell, the two queens to be. It was as if the gods themselves were unsure whether the death of Queen Aemma did not send Rhaenyra a strong enough message that her childhood was at an end. Now was the time to enter the dangerous world of politics and diplomacy, one that Rhaenyra only knew by proxy.

“Perhaps it will be better for you”, said Alicent softly one warm spring afternoon, as they were luxuriating in their favorite spot beneath the weirwood tree, “You will get out of this place, all of these intrigues, whereas I am stuck here as long as my father can keep his chain of Handship. You will see High Tide and the world beyond King’s Landing. And the people will receive an opportunity to see their future queen. I’m sure they will come to love you in no time.”

“Just as you have?” asked Rhaenyra teasingly, planting a soft kiss upon her friend’s cheek. Her skin immediately took on a very pretty pink color. ”I do not mind the travel. In fact, I think it will do Syrax good to stretch her legs and work for her next meal, she has grown rather spoiled as of late. What I do mind is that none of this is my choice. It was not even discussed by the small council at any length. Septa Marlow said that it was all decided by my father and Lord Corlys after the betrothal was agreed upon.”

“And if you were given a choice, you’re certain you wouldn’t have chosen exactly this? You’ve always spoken about wanting to see the wonders across the narrow sea. Well, think of it as the next best thing. You’ll see the wonders across the Blackwater Rush”. They both laughed. For all her love of romance and books, Alicent had a charming way of making Rhaenyra laugh in the most unexpected moments.

“What good can those wonders do to me if I don't have my dear Alicent next to me to tell me their histories? Do you remember when we were walking through the Kingswood a few years ago, during this royal hunt or other, and you corrected our septas repeatedly about the history of the forest? Something about an Andal warlord who vanquished a First Man king there millenia ago? The poor woman got it completely confused with the Faith Militant uprising. How red her face was!”

“Well, septas are not exactly educated to be solemn historians, their duty was foremost to look after us and safeguard our reputation. And you really were very rude and impertinent that day. Septas work very hard, you know” Alicent said with a sweet smile, but Rhaenyra could see that she was flattered to be complimented on her knowledge and intelligence, but her impeccable Hightower breeding would not allow her to disparage sworn members of the Faith. “Besides, I’m sure you will have plenty of people around you to relay you the histories of the various castles and towns you’ll be visiting. Multiple times, even.”

Rhaenyra sighed with irritation. “Yes, I’m sure I’ll be very entertained while various men who’d never met me before will try to charm their way into wedding me. Those men won’t fawn over me. They only want my name and my Valyrian blood for their offspring!” She threw away the three blades of fresh grass she’s been braiding with annoyance.

“Well, I think it’s rather romantic,” Alicent said dreamily, looking into the far distance. She looked her most beautiful in such moments. “It is rare for girls in this realm to get a choice between two suitors, no less two score of them. To have one’s favor sought during tourneys, name made immortal in songs sung by countless bards, to be able to choose the bravest and comeliest of the knights in the lists, to be made the lady of his hearth and home…”

“Yes, yes,” Rhaenyra said impatiently. “I am very lucky to be able to make my choice. You’ve made your point very clear. I am very lucky to live the life I do, with an indulgent father and a kingdom for an inheritance. I know.”

Alicent smiled both sweetly and slyly, now assured she drove her point home and made her beloved friend understand her unusual privilege. “But?”

“But I wish things were… I don’t know, different! I wish I was permitted to see uncle Daemon again. I wish I didn’t have to think about my suitor’s castle size or the number of his armies when choosing a husband. I wish I didn’t have to tour every corner of the realm to make the lords of the realm accept me as their future ruler. My father certainly never did. He’s never been further west than Stonebridge, he told me himself. He was made the future king by the great council and that was the end of it. Why can’t it be the same for me?!”

“Because you are a woman and King Viserys is a man,” Alicent said calmly.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra agreed bitterly. “Because I am a woman and he is a man”.

#house of the dragon spoilers #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #rhaenicent #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #rhaenyra x alicent #alicent x rhaenyra #hotd au #sea dragon queen #hotd #house of the dragon

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inkblot22 · 1 year ago

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It Leeches Under The Skin

So I promise I am not obsessed with anything, but I definitely am going to be a bit more self-indulgent with this miniseries. Also I spent several hours staring at pictures of abandoned pools so that was kind of cool.

I'm going to try something new and put the target audience here. This part is aimed at gender neutral readers (they/them pronouns wooo,) and can be read as afab or amab, as there is no smut whatsoever in this section. I'll see if I can keep the body ambiguous enough for later parts, but it may come at a cost to writing quality as my skills are lacking.

TW for mentions of gambling, contracts with Azul (selling your soul to the devil), human hunting, if you squint, blood, biting, verbal abuse, reader is bad at swimming, Floyd and Jade because they freak me out and I know I'm not the only one. If you squint, there may be some primal play, but like I said there is no smut.

It was a little odd. Entirely predictable, but also a little odd. Their best friend and roommate seldom thought his plots and plans through all the way, and of course they bore the brunt of the collateral.

Well. It’s well-deserved, they supposed. Expect trouble and you’ll get it, after all. They only wished it wouldn’t cost this much.

“Prefect? Are you listening?” Azul’s kind voice broke through their thoughts, but it was so easy to lapse back into the comfort of their mind.

What did he do this time? Oh, yes. Grim just gambled away all their savings and won nothing in return. The Lounge already had the seedy vibes of a speakeasy, why wouldn’t they also have a gambling table? Regardless, he’d racked up enough debt and was unable to pay it back, so the Leech twins had paid them a visit, perhaps hoping that they’d have some stash of money somewhere to pay.

They would, had it not been what Grim used to gamble. They sighed and stared at the cup of tea in front of them.

“Prefect, I thought you enjoyed tea. If you don’t like that blend, we can get you another one.” Azul said, “You seem lost in your thoughts. I hope all is well?”

“Not really. I’m about to sell my soul to the devil.”

“I’m hardly the devil. Besides, the main stipulation of this contract is simply that you let Floyd take you swimming tomorrow night.”

They didn’t trust that at all. They snatched the contract from Azul, and sure enough, in big, bold letters, they read the requirement of going swimming.

“There’s a problem.” They said, scanning over the rest of the contract and not finding anything particularly bad within, “Two problems.”

“What would those be?”

“Well, I want you to guarantee Grim’s safety,” They passed the contract back to Azul. “Also I can’t swim.”

“That’s not a problem, prefect.” Azul spread his hands in a relaxed, placating gesture, “I have potions and other implements to help with that. It’s a non-issue.”

“Alright, then. And what’s the thing about hanging out with Floyd later on as well?”

“It’s only a clause, don’t worry. If he gets bored, then it won’t matter.”

They had to narrow their eyes at that one, kind of unsure about this. Still, the chances of him growing bored was about a 50% chance,

“Okay… Fix that part about Grim and I’ll sign it.”

Azul’s writing was quick but not one bit less neat. They signed the contract and Jade placed it in the safe, then poked his head out of the Lounge’s office.

Floyd strolled in, holding Grim. His face broke into a big grin when he saw them sitting there.

“Hey, Shrimpy!” He unceremoniously dropped Grim and got in their face, smiling even wider, “Why are you gettin’ so sweaty? I can smell you all the way from over here!”

“You’re…” They turned their head away, grimacing, “You’re really close, actually.”

“Hee hee… I know.”

“Are we gonna pretend that he didn’t just drop me or what?” Grim bristled and walked over, climbing onto the couch and taking a seat, “You guys are so rude!”

“Sorry, Grimmy-wimmy-two-toes.” They cooed at him, squishing his cheeks and giggling as he swatted them away, “Did you break anything other than your pride?”

Floyd stood, picking up the prefect's untouched tea and sniffing it, “Ugh.”

“Well, since this meeting is over, I trust you’ll be in the natatorium at eight tomorrow?”

“Eight? Is it going to go past curfew?” The prefect asked.

“Yes. I am sure this is also not an issue.” Azul’s eyes glanced at Grim and they swallowed, narrowing their eyes and frowning.

“Yeah… no problem.”

~*~

After classes, Jade dropped off what appeared to be an overnight bag, including a terrible swimsuit. It sort of looked like a chitinous layer, a silvery brownish color with panels sewn together like the plates of a crustacean. Not a very funny joke, honestly. There was no clause in the contract that they could remember that required them to wear this, but they also couldn’t remember, so they put it on anyways and rifled through the rest of the bag. There were painkillers, a pair of water wings, a few potions that they would not be imbibing, a new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, travel soap that smelled like Floyd's cologne (yuck), and a few pairs of underwear. How he had gotten their sizes correct was something they chose not to ponder for long.

The walk to the natatorium was sort of slow. Maybe it was just their reluctance to go through on this, the concern of what the night would hold fresh in the forefront of their mind.

It wasn’t that they disliked Floyd by any means. They honestly thought he was okay, and other than the incidents before Azul overblotted, they hadn’t really had to consider him a threat of any kind. There was that primal part of their brain, long suppressed through years and years of being the apex species in their world, that sometimes whispered that they needed to get away from him when he looked at them a certain way, or made a certain noise or movement… Little things that unsettled them but were easily ignored.

The natatorium was unlocked. They stopped in the locker room and took off their overclothes, leaving them in the swimsuit and the pair of cheap flip-flops they’d gotten off of Ace. The flip-flops were too big on them, but he assured them that he could just get a new pair whenever. It was nice of him.

The pool room was silent and dark. The water was uncovered and completely still, but they couldn’t see Floyd anywhere. They took a seat on the edge of the pool, dipping their legs in the water and blowing up the water wings. They kicked their legs and waited.

Something shot out of the water, grabbing them by the shoulders and pulling them down in the water. They didn’t even have time to scream before their head went under and whatever it was released them.

The water wings ensured that they popped back up on the surface, gasping for air and shaking. They struggled to paddle to the edge of the pool but something grabbed their ankle and pulled them back underwater.

Clawing at the air uselessly, the prefect went back under, no sound other than a cut off scream escaping them this time. When they popped back up, head and arms above water, they heard snakey-sounding laughter. Their head whipped around, panicked, before they saw him.

Floyd was leaning against the pool wall, grinning in his true form with his head slightly tilted. All they could see of him was his silhouette, highlighted by the moonlight shining through the large windows of the natatorium, and his glowing eyes, one gold and one silver. He kept laughing as they slowly paddled to the other side of the pool and hugged the wall, turning to shoot him a glare.

“You’re really bad at tag, Shrimpy.” He said before they could say anything.

“Tag?”

“Yup. We were playing tag. It’s boring to be 'it' all the time, you know.”

“Floyd, I can barely even see you. How-”

“If we turn on the lights, we’ll get caught. It’s more fun this way, too.”

“But I can’t be 'it' if it’s dark. I can’t see you.”

He shrugged and slipped into the water, the only visible part of him becoming those glowing eyes, “That’s too bad, Shrimpy. Better start swimming.”

They were so bad at swimming, legs paddling in futility as they tried to get to the deep end of the pool. The water was black as ink under them, feeling endless. They felt a motion below them and disgust crawled up their throat as they paddled faster. It was slow moving, they waved their arms through the water and spat up the saltwater that got in their mouth.

If it was, in fact, Floyd circling underneath them, he was simply toying with them now. The motion they felt went still as they got to the other side and they paused to catch their breath.

The room was silent under their heavy breathing. They looked around and felt the sweat bead on their neck and shoulders, under their arms and at their hairline as they wondered when he would catch up or pull them under. Nothing of the sort happened.

They kept paddling towards the edge of the pool so they could lean on the wall instead of feeling so unsteady with these waterwings on. As they splashed slowly towards the wall, they relaxed infinitesimally.

An arm shot up in front of them, webbed hand grabbing their face as a sharp, spiking pain lanced around their shoulder. They screamed as they were pulled under, the breath they were expelling turning into nothing but bubbles.

They could hear giggling, sort of like the sound of pebbles sifting underwater, and he let them go again. Their head popped above water and they gasped for air, touching their shoulder and wincing as the saltwater tickled the wound there. Their fingers came back smeared with a dark substance and they began paddling faster, climbing out of the pool as soon as they could.

“Man, you got the water all dirty. It smells like blood now.” Floyd’s voice startled them and they looked around.

They couldn’t see him, not from wherever he was. Their lips quivered and voice shook as they spoke.

“You… you bit me.”

“Uh, duh, Shrimpy. Why do humans gotta have such thin skin anyways? It makes it harder to do fun stuff.”

“What the hell are you even saying? You can’t run around biting people!”

“I don’t,” He said, plainly. They could almost make out his silhouette in the water, or at least see the ripples as he moved towards them, “Well, since you wanna be lame and complain about a little bite, guess we gotta get out of the pool now.”

He hefted himself up onto the lip of the pool and popped the cork on something. They could hear him swallowing and then they could see his teal scales change into pale skin. He frowned at them and that primal part of their brain whispered that they should run.

They swallowed and stood up, frowning and clutching their shoulder, “I… I’m gonna go find a first aid kit.”

They turned on their heel and Floyd pulled them back by the seat of their swimsuit.

“You’re kinda stupid,” He mused, “You were gonna walk into the pool again. Do you wanna keep swimming?”

“No!” They yanked away and waved their foot in front of them, ensuring that the floor was solid, “I already told you that I can’t see, Floyd.”

He giggled again as you entered the locker room and gathered your clothes.

You hoped he was bored, but it was an asinine and frivolous wish.

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robynroost · 2 years ago

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Okay so I've done some write-ups for various fandoms in the past, and having been in the Stardew Valley for a little while now (I'm soo LATE to the game but I'm glad I get to experience it!) I thought why not a Shane fiction seeing as he is my absolute favourite character! Really be addicted to this man istg ;-; anyway, I'm not sure what write ups are like here, but I wanna share! Hope y'all like it! It's short and sweet, not great either, but I enjoyed writing it all the same ^^

The Long Walk Home

(Fic based on Shane's 8 heart event during the storm)

Pairing - Shane x Farmer (Female Y/n!)

Warnings - Mentions of sui*ide, depression, anxiety etc. Hospitals, alcoholism...

Description - After spending your evening speaking with Emily about your previous encounter with Shane at Marnie's ranch (previous heart event) an early storm roles in as you leave, taking the long walk back to your little farmhouse. It isn't until your foot bumps into something odd that you realise not everything is as it seems in Cindersap Forest...

Thunder rolled overhead. What had previously been predicted for the end of the Summer season had come early: a torrential downpour of fat, heavy luke-warm raindrops and the whip-cracking sound of clouds crashing into eachother at such an outstanding velocity that the sky tore in two with the claws of lightning bolts.

You had been perched upon a stool inside the cozy Stardrop Saloon of Pelican Town, head buried into your muddied arms with your right hand clutching onto a half-empty glass of water after a long day in the fields. Work hadn't intended to be so difficult, albeit the thought of what had happened the day previously had you wracking your brains with guilt and worry for the past several hours - even as you attempted to sleep.

"I'm sure Shane will be fine." Emily sat opposite you, her hand working a cloth inside one of the Saloon glasses as she continued, her expression attempting to be cheerful with a splash of hope, "I've known him ever since he moved here with little Jas. He's always been to himself, always here drinking..."

Your head snapped upright with a frown, "That's the point. He's always drinking, and he's always to himself..." You wavered your hand in a gesture that could only explain your worry further, "I mean- who has actually spent the time to ask him how he's really feeling?"

Emily replied with a shrug and a frown, "Nobody really gets much else out of him than the snarky replies, so nobody really bothers." She buried her hand deeper into the glass as she spoke, your eyes watching closely as the squeaking became louder, "I do tend to get more of a friendlier conversation mind you, but that's about it, poor guy..."

"Guess I'm just worried about him is all, he does seem like a lovely person. I've spent enough time with him at the dock to see that." You murmured with a shrug.

Another splitting crash of thunder had the walls of the Saloon shake. You narrowed your eyes upward towards the celling as if you expected the entire thing to collapse under the sheer malice of such a storm. Emily too shared your concerned expression and took a step back, tipping her head a few times towards the door, "You best be off if you want to get home in one piece."

"Yeah too right," you agreed whilst scooping yourself up and fixing your boots into place, "Thanks for the chat though. I'll go see how Shane's doing tomorrow. Gonna be passing that way back home actually, I fancy a walk."

With a wave and a bow of farewell you were on your way, arms crossed to shield yourself from the debris that the wind had managed to strip from the trees as you made your way back through Cindersap Forest. The rain had practically flooded you by the time you'd taken five steps out of the Saloon, but you welcomed it. Summer had been unusually hot this year, and you and your crops needed the much needed water to moisten your dry skin.

Now with such dark, thick clouds overhead, you struggled to see a good few feet ahead of you, and the jet stream of rain didn't seem to help either.

Of course I forgot my flashlight... how could I possibly-

Clank!

That wasn't thunder...?

There it was again. That same clanking noise that sounded awfully familiar to "Beer cans...?"

There now resting cold and wet in your hand was an empty beer can after you had bent down to investigate. It had to be the same brand of alcohol as the cans you had seen in Shane's room yesterday. That's when a heavy gust of wind disturbed the forest floor and with that the sound of various other cans echoed down the pathway leading towards the edge of the forest, close to the cliffside.

Curiosity always got the better of you, you'd admit, but this was a different sort. It was anxiety bubbling away in your stomach, a knot so tight and horrifying it urged you to just go and follow that ominous trail - it was fear gnawing away at your bones...

So you followed with a frown.

A can here, a can over there... until you saw it through the flash of lightning. A silhouette of a man face down, teetering on the edge of the cliffside, surrounded by empty cans.

You could barely feel your throat vibrate when your chest constricted, letting out a terribly frightened yelp. Your feet charged aimlessly towards the scene, your heart rampaging inside your chest. You collapsed next to him, hands gripping onto the drenched blue rugged jumper as you begged for him to show you any signs of life, "Shane- come on Shane wake up!"

There was a sudden shift, and you felt yourself flopping back onto your knees with wide eyes and a slack jaw, hands now buried into your lap.

"...Y/n?" Shane barely managed to wheeze out at you, jaw clenched and eyes shut firmly. He stifled a sob, "I...I'm sorry..."

You found yourself silent and unmoving, as if you had a complete understanding of the situation and knew what to do: let Shane speak his truth. Regardless, you couldn't make much noise from your voice box through the shock anyway.

The man let out a drunken hiccup and barely managed to take in another breath as he continued, "M...My life... it's a pathetic joke."

Your eyes, heavy with sadness, caught sight of the tears that escaped his ducts. Even with such heavy rain, you could just tell that those droplets sliding down his cheek grew more heavy than the downpour itself.

Shane continued, "Look at me... why do I even try?" Sobbing again, much harder this time, Shane recoiled into himself. He felt his hand slip over the edge of the cliffside and narrowly opened an eye to take a look out into the horizon, "I'm too small and stupid to... to take control of my own life. I'm just a p... piece of soiled garbage flittering in the wind..." He jerked, having almost thrown up the incredibly high amount of alcohol he had consumed prior, and felt himself nearing the edge some more, eyes now focusing on the border of the cliffside, "I've been coming here often lately... looking down... here's a chance to finally take control of my life... these cliffs..."

You could have sworn you felt your heart shatter. You knew Shane was struggling but not like this... it had you completely broken listening to the pain in his voice. Your hands shook uncontrollably as you continued to listen.

"B... but I'm too scared-" Shane jolted again, forcing his mouth shut, "... too anxious. Just like always..."

You felt Shane's attention focus on you this time, "Y/n... all I do is work, sleep and drink...t... to dull the feelings of self-hatred." He was now angling his head towards you, deep green eyes focused on your own as you silently gasped with a visible flinch, "Why should I even go on? Tell me... T... Tell me why I shouldn't roll off this cliff right now."

A moment of clarity finally hit. You knew this was your time to speak. Shane gazed at you expectantly, deep purple hair clinging to his drenched face.

You took a deep breath, barely holding back a sob of your own, before steadying yourself to speak with a broken expression, "The decision is your own. Just know that I'm here for you."

Shane remained silent for a moment, and another roaring crash of thunder echoed overhead. The storm should surely pass soon.

Finally, he answered, a small glint of hope now shining through the dark shadow behind those eyes, "... Thanks. I appreciate that. I really do."

Your head tipped to the side, a sad frown formed upon your face as you attempted to place your hand upon Shane's, but ultimately pulled back. Shane let out a gurgled cough and groan before attempting to lift himself, though he barely managed a few centermeters before collapsing back down, "Y/n... I think you should take me to the hospital now."

Your eyes widened, and you barely had time to even think before you were on your feet and gently scooped Shane up, letting him wrap his arms around your shoulders to keep him upright, "It's gonna be a long walk... but I'll get you there. Just don't give up Shane. Stay awake. Let me know if you need to stop or anything, okay?"

Shane whined out in pain but stabled himself against you, wincing in pain as he barely managed to stand straight. He nodded, gripping onto you as if his life depended on it- which it did, of course.

You gave him a squeeze for comfort and began your perilous walk, "I'll get you there Shane. I promise..."

***

White hospital lights hummed overhead. You found yourself waking from a short nap, head against the pearl-coloured sheets of a bed, but not your own. As you rose to sit upright, your tired eyes caught sight of Shane. He was tucked neatly under the sheets, hair now mostly dry and fluffed up, sticking in all different angles but mainly falling over his closed eyes. His chest rose and fell softly in such a way that at long last showed relaxation for such a mentally exhausted individual.

A sigh of absolute relief escaped your lungs, finding yourself gazing at the man's face in awe of how peaceful he finally seemed.

"How are you Y/n?" The voice that jolted you upright was none other than Harvey, the town doctor and one you knew well. He came to stand bedside your chair, looking down.

You offered Harvey a reassuring smile, "I'm doing okay, thank you Harvey. Just a little cold."

A small nod from Harvey reaffirmed his content with your own wellbeing. You hadn't come down with a fever, nor a cough, so you were going to be fine. He then turned his attention to Shane, "I've pumped his stomach and re-hydrated his body. He's going to be okay."

You gave Harvey a slow nod, sighing in the process as you frowned softly, eyes locked onto Shane's face as he slept. You felt the warmth of Harvey's hand meet your shoulder to offer some comfort as he spoke, "It's good you brought him in, though."

A wave of concern washed over Harvey's face as he spoke, "Too much alcohol is terrible for the body, but I'm more worried about his mental health..."

Me too... you wanted to speak that out loud, but something stopped you. For now, you just wanted to remain silent.

"Once he comes to," Harvey continued, "I'll have a chat with him about his treatment options. I know an excellent councelor in Zuzu City."

Ha... something that concrete jungle is actually good for...

You felt yourself shudder. Shane seemed so peaceful now... so content. You could hardly believe that you could have lost him tonight. If you hadn't made your way back through Cindersap, who knows what would have happened... Harvey's hand squeezed your shoulder to bring you back round, and you gazed upward to meet his eye.

"Life can be painful, sometimes..." Harvey spoke with a spark of confidence, "But there's always hope for a better future. You've got to believe in that." With that, Harvey removed his hand and gave you a smile before exiting the room. You heard the audible click of the door as it shut and felt your gaze drift back over towards Shane.

Your head tipped to the side, and with a small smile, you placed your hand upon Shane's. He stirred slightly, fingers twitching, before he too began to smile ever so slightly. You felt a jolt within your chest, a warm fuzzy feeling that completely shrouded each nerve ending within you. Tonight's events... the way you felt yourself gazing so protectively over the man ahead of you, and the idea of almost losing him had your head spinning until finally you felt realisation dig its claws into you.

You'd fallen for him. You had fallen in love, and you'd almost lost that all in one night, but here you were with your hand against Shane's own.

Now you were just thankful you had taken the long walk home.

#stardew shane #stardew valley #stardewvalleyshane #sdv #stardew #shane x farmer #shane x reader #stardewvalley

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