#I WROTE THIS IN ONE SITTING WHEN I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DOING NANOWRIMO SHIT

[glowstickhaloboy]

klance roommates au

usual disclaimer: its long as hell

keith is the newly hired, up-and-coming sales rep of his office job. hes fresh out of college, determined, and as awkward as he is in real life, he knows how to make a sale because its all scripted. his boss, doris, a wrinkly old lady who brings in cookies for the office at the end of every month, adores this strapping young man with a real work ethic.

his brother, shiro, is an ethics professor at the local university, Bullshit University (BU). while shiro is glad that keith is doing really well in life for this age, he has this annoying habit of constantly asking keith if hes alright, or if he needs anything, or if theres anything he feels like he wants to do to make himself better. keith always says no.

BU has a bs program called Apprenticeship, wherein a student will be mentored/sponsored by a professor, and the ethics department is head of the program, so shiro also hand picks his own apprentice and its a Big Deal and there are so many kids who apply for it not only because professor shirogane is hot as balls, but because this program gives out credits like candy. this semester’s lucky apprentice is none other than lance mcclain.

lance, if you ask him, will say that this all went completely according to plan and he never once doubted that shiro would pick him. on the inside, he is in an eternal state of wtf wtf wtf wtf how did i do this??!?!?!!!

keith knows that this is something shiro does because shiro likes to update keith on his life, so he’ll call and they’ll chat for a while and usually there will be some mention of an apprentice and whats going on with their studies. as the school year comes to an end, keith obligingly asks shiro who his chosen apprentice is for the upcoming year.

the line goes quiet.

“shiro? did i lose you?”

“no, im still here.”

more silence.

keith says, “what is it.”

“i have a small favor to ask of you.”

lance, if you asked him, would say that his interview with shiro went very well. he would say that he had shiro eating out of the palm of his hand. in reality, there was a lot more crying about money and family matters and anxiety for the future, and when shiro offered lance a tissue lance mistakenly grabbed shiro’s tie and blew his nose into it. two weeks later, he was asked to submit a final letter of intent, which he almost didn’t do because he was too embarrassed, then stayed up all night before the deadline because he couldnt not take a shot at it.

the problem with an apprenticeship position was that it was not like a residency staff position, wherein lance could live on campus without being charged a room & board fee, and he could not be both a part of residency staff and an apprentice. (the residency staff made his decision easy by rejecting his application, but still, it was a bummer.) that being said, lance had absolutely no money to stay on campus next year, and he could not commute because he lived four hours away from the school.

keiths apartment, shiro had not failed to notice, was a convenient 32 and a half minutes from the campus.

“you want me to what?” keith asks shiro, paling, staring into his categorized fridge. he knows where everything is. he decides where everything is. he is not sharing his living space with some kid.

“hes not some kid,” says shiro. “hes 20 years old and he needs this. i really want to make this opportunity work for him, but the school wont let him stay with me. please, keith. i think this would be good for both of you.”

“what is that supposed to mean?”

“can you honestly tell me that you arent lonely all by yourself?”

“no, im not. im comfortable and in control of my own life. i dont want one of your projects from the projects ruining everything ive worked to get, and i think its bull-headed of you to assume that you know whats best for me, like you always try to do, and i think its rude of you to invite someone to live in my apartment.” 

“he likes mus-”

keith hangs up on shiro mid-word, fumes for a few hours as he gets some work done and eats dinner, then goes to sleep.

the next day, keith feels guilty, sure, but he stands by what he said. shiro would call him in a few days and initiate the apology, and they would both put it behind them without mentioning it again. until then, he would throw himself into his work and pretend that everything was fine.

at 6pm, doris knocks on the side of his cubicle, smiling down on him in all her wrinkly glory. shes 60 going on 80 with graying hair and a cozy southern drawl. “darling, why are you still sitting at that desk? its a friday night. youre young, youre cute, you must have a sweetheart you wanna spend it with, or some friends at least.”

keith smiles politely. “thats alright, doris. id rather work, honestly.”

“you sure, honey? i admire a good worker, but if youre working good for the wrong reasons, thats nothing to be proud of. dont you have a nice girl to go home to?”

keith isnt even going to touch the last part of that statement because he doesnt know doris’s political views and doesnt have the time nor patience for a lecture from her in case her warm hospitality is all a condition of keiths being a Model Young Man. he grimaces and says, “no, i dont. and if i did have someone to go home to, it wouldnt be the start of a night going out on the town, it would be someone to have a relaxing night in with.”

“that sounds nice,” says doris, with a minor suggestion behind it that keith should get his coat and get the hell out of here.

“but id really prefer to work,” insists keith. doris clicks her tongue and tells him to suit himself.

meanwhile, lance is panicking. here he has this amazing opportunity, and no way to make it happen. hunk, allura, and pidge all live on campus, apartments nearby are way too expensive, and nobody on the forums is responding to his roommate pleas. he has made it clear that he will take literally anything, and still, no bites.

“im sorry,” shiro says at the start of their meeting. “i tried to set something up, but it fell through. there are a couple of scholarships you can try applying for, but their awards arent given out until december, so youd have to find a way to make ends meet until then.”

“and i cant be a part time student working,” says lance, “because part time students arent eligible for the internship.”

shiro sighs grimly. “thats right.” for a moment, he does nothing but frown at the wall, and lance has nothing to say so he doesnt interrupt. slowly, without explanation, shiro picks up his desk phone and dials. after a moment of patience, he sets it back down and pinches the bridge of his nose. “i want to figure something out for you, lance. do you have any ideas?”

lance shakes his head, shrugging. “i asked a couple of my friends to get an apartment with me, but two of them are residency staff, and the other one takes too many classes a semester to be able to work enough to afford an apartment.

shiro is about to say something, but the phone rings. he snatches it up. “keith? i thought you were ignoring me. oh. no, thats not it. actually, um, i have him sitting in my office with me. i was hoping you had reconsidered.” there was a very long pause. “i understand that,” says shiro. lance’s organs are all mixed up. his heart is beating in his throat and his stomach is somewhere near his feet. “i understand that,” he says again. “im sorry for what i said. you know i didnt mean it that way. i worry about you, thats all, because im a worrier. im not trying to influence your life at all, i really am just asking for a favor. ive exhausted all my other options. keith, youre all ive got.”

he covers the speaker with his mouth and looks at lance. “are you comfortable talking to him?”

lance balks. “who is it?”

“my brother, keith, the person im trying to get to let you stay with him. he wants to talk to you.”

lance holds his hand out for the phone, and shiro passes it over. lance says, “hello?”

“give me one reason why i should let you stay with me,” says a voice that is not exactly what lance is expecting, but still intimidating. “its not a trick question or a test, but it is pass-fail.”

lance’s mouth is so dry, he isnt sure he’ll be able to speak. “i,” he starts, then decides that he cant, then realizes that he has to. “i dont know what im doing. everyones trying to tell me what i should do, or what i have to do, but your brother--um, professor shirogane--is the only person whos asking me what i want to do. that means a lot to me, and so does the fact that he chose me to be his apprentice. so i want to give this my honest to god best shot to repay him, and because i need to know for myself what im capable of. so, um, sir, if you can give me my foot in the door, i promise i would be grateful for that, and if it doesnt work out, then you can kick me out, and i’ll still be grateful that you gave me the chance. um, thanks for giving me the chance to talk.”

there was a long beat of silence. shiro’s mouth was covered with his hand, so lance couldnt tell if he was smiling, but his eyes were definitely shining.

keith said, “shiro always does make people want to be the best version of themselves. dont tell him i said that. put him back on the line.”

lance shakily handed the phone back. shiro put it to his ear. “keith? uh huh.” he chuckled. “i know.” he closed his eyes, the tension seeping out of his shoulders, and lance couldnt help but feel his hopes soar. “thank you, keith. i promise i’ll pay you back for this, and you wont regret it.” he hangs up. “lance, you have a place to live next year.”

come the end of august, keiths career is running itself. he clears out the storage room in preparation for a temporary guest with the help of shiro, whose job it is not only to set up the room, but to pay lance’s half of the rent if lance should default.

two days after the bed and desk are built, lance mcclain moves in. hes weighed down by bags when keith answers the door, looking boyish and disheveled. “whoa,” he says, and stumbles back, almost loses his balance, then manages to catch himself.

keith prickles. “what?”

lance’s eyes swoop up and down keith a clean once.

“youre shiro’s younger brother,” he says, blinking in surprise. “i didnt expect you to be so... you sounded older and mea-- um, on the phone. i thought i was going to be living with a forty year old dude or something, but you’re. um. hi, im lance mcclain.”

he sticks out his hand, strapped down by bags. keith shakes it.

“keith kogane. your room is down the hall and to the left. the bathroom is the first one on the right. my bedroom is the door at the end of the hall, the one thats always shut.”

lance nods. “right,” he says, sounding choked. “i’ll just put this stuff away then...”

he gets inside his room and calls hunk, freaking out about how the guy he has to live with is a lunatic and might also be a serial killer. how else did one explain his bathroom being so freakishly clean? hunk tells lance to calm down and that its just first-day jitters. everything will feel normal once lance gets the routine down.

but lance does not get the routine down. if keith isnt telling lance not to move the milk in the fridge (lance needed somewhere for his blueberries), then he was shouting through the bathroom door to shut up (lance sang in the shower! big deal!). lance was positive that keith hated him, which, between getting his ass kicked at school and feeling like a burden at the apartment, made for a hellish first month on lance’s part. he and keith never talked to each other, because keith was always leaving for work in the mornings before lance woke up, and lance would get back sometimes at 9pm or later, when keith was already showering and getting ready for bed. on weekends, lance booked it out of there to hang out with hunk and pidge, but keith was usually still awake when lance got back, either reading or watching something on TV.

the best way to describe the tension was frigid. keith didnt acknowledge lance so long as lance kept to himself. and the biggest mistake lance made was to break that tension while keith was home.

of course, lance didnt know at the time. he was pretty sure that keith was out, but too scared to check because the door at the end of the hall was daunting, and lance was pretty sure that keith was the only one who could pass through it without damaging his soul permanently.

lance had assignments, okay? he was a music major. that involved some instruments being played from time to time. usually, he was able to work around keith’s schedule, or quiet enough that he could do it when keith was sleeping, but when he wasnt worried about it, he wasnt worried about it. which led to a high pitched scream from a certain college student as keith banged on his bedroom door.

collecting himself, lance went to open it. “sorry, i-”

“what the hell are you doing?”

lance sighed. “look, keith, im grateful that youre letting me live here, but that means letting me live here. i have assignments, and music relaxes me. so if i can put up with your alphabetical cereal boxes, i think its fair that you let me get some work done.”

“im trying to get my work done.”

“youre not even at work!”

keith pinched the bridge of his nose, a very shiro thing to do. “i dont have a problem with the music,” he said at last. “but we better not get any noise complaints from the neighbors.”

lance saluted him and shut the door, breathing a sigh of relief.

after that, tension melted a little more every day. lance’s outburst seemed to have triggered a chain reaction wherein keith and lance actually learned how to live with each other. after respectfully asking lance to remember to take his beauty products out of the bathroom when finished with them, he realized that what lance really needed was his own shelf, so he adjusted. when lance left on saturday mornings and saw keith taking his usual post at the coffee table with his stack of files, lance would ask if keith wanted anything from mcdonalds before coming home. slowly, surely, they became roommates.

until one day lance came home and saw keith watching his favorite show. it was a tidal wave of loud that keith had never had to experience before. youre only on the first season okay scoot over can i put my feet up im going to who do you like best so far what do you think of the villain isnt the actor who plays jack so hot-

they both freeze a little, lances face going red. “um,” he said. “its not like im going to be bringing any guys home, so we dont have to-”

“im gay,” keith says bluntly, because it looks like lance is about to have a heart attack. he feels a little like doris in that moment, although he doesnt know why. “yeah, hes hot.”

lance melts into the couch. “that makes that easy then,” he says. “that makes this the gay-partment. actually, we cant call it that, because im bi for real, and gay-partment doesnt sound good anyway, but you get what im-”

“i get it,” says keith, a mercy killing. he presses play with finality.

shiro checks up on keith frequently enough, but he never asks about lance any more than “is everything okay between you guys?” keith suspects that shiro does not want to push, and is waiting for keith to be the person who actually brings it up.

keith doesnt. even when he waits for lance to get home from classes so they can watch an episode together before keith goes to bed (because the last time keith watched it without him lance threw a fit), or when lance’s awful car craps out on him so they have to share for a week while the mechanic handles it, which involves a lot of carpooling and, as lance calls them “jam sessions” where he blares his horrible music and sings along (but isnt actually so bad because sometimes he improvises lines to the songs and he can be funny when he wants to be). 

keith realizes over the six days that lance is gone for thanksgiving break, not even a full week, that the apartment feels too quiet without him, and at the ripe old age of 23, he might have found his first genuine friend.

after thanksgiving, the barrier melts more. keith is cool with lance having friends over as long as he gets a heads up, and lance invites keith to his occasional open mic night performances at BU.

one day, lance comes home and sees keith hunched over some files on the kitchen table, tie loose on his neck, a half-finished bowl of leftover pasta abandoned near him. lance realizes that he has no idea what keiths job is.

“sales,” keith informs him. “i convince people that they need to buy eco-friendly plastic cups in bulk for their business or school.”

“sounds boring.”

“its not.”

“do you supply cups to my school?”

“theyre not one of my clients, no.”

“if you cant sell cups to your own brother’s school, how good of a salesman can you be?”

keith rolls his eyes and--hey, finally--looks up. “im the best in the department,” he says. “because i take my job seriously, lance. as seriously as you take your apprenticeship to shiro, which is the only reason i agreed to let you stay here.”

“wow,” says lance. “thats harsh. all work and no play makes keith revert back to his old angry self, i see.” he leaves. keith sighs, decides he can no longer focus, and packs up his files. he cleans up his wasted dinner and knocks on lance’s door. lance doesnt answer, so keith persists. when hes ignored again, he grits his teeth and says, “oh, real mature.”

he turns to go back to the living room and sees the bathroom door open. lance steps out, shirtless. “who are you talking to?” he asks, shirtless. he scratches the back of his head, shirtless.

“are you hungry?” asks keith. “i was thinking we could order a pizza and watch an episode or two.”

lance considers keith for a moment, shirtless, then rolls his eyes, still shirtless. “if thats the best you can do for apologies, mullet, then you have a lot to learn. i was going to take a shower.” he reaches around keith, shirtless, and pulls a towel off the inside of his bedroom wall. “call and order, i’ll be fast.” before he shuts the bathroom door again, he says, “i don’t are what else is on it as long as there are green peppers.” and then he’s gone, shirtless.

keith wakes up and wonders why he blacked out for a second.

the pizza arrives, and lance gets out of the shower, clothed, and one or two episodes become six or seven, with keith continuously having to pause because lance is talking and getting carried away because hes getting so excited. its thursday and keith has work tomorrow, he knows, and yet hes denying it. his stomach is full of warm pizza and lance has just stopped talking about the way it rained when they filmed this scene, but keith hasnt reached over to his play yet.

“you would be a good salesman,” he tells lance. “youve got the charisma for it.”

“keith, that is literally the meanest thing youve ever said to me. no offense, but to suggest i would spend my life sitting in a cubicle is unforgivable. to each their own, though. when all the little kids in your third grade class were saying, i want to be a firefighter! and, i want to be a princess! what made you snap up your suspenders and say, i want to sell eco-friendly plastic cups!”

“i dont wear suspenders.”

“thats not the question i was asking.”

keith shrugs. hes laying down more than hes sitting up, which as a rule, is frowned upon when using couches in this apartment. lance has been a bad influence in this regard. “its practical.”

“did you have to take business classes and everything?”

“i took them, yeah.”

lance throws his head back and groans, pokes keith’s thigh teasingly with his big toe. “man, i cant imagine going to school to actually learn a useful life skill. whats job security like?”

staring up at the ceiling, keith is unsettled to find that he knows the answer. “boring.”

lance sits up. “huh?”

“its too easy,” says keith. “every day, its just selling cups. a moron could do it. and my boss doris is a peach, but this morning she stood at karen’s cubicle across from mine for a straight hour talking about plants.”

“plants are so practical,” says lance. “you have a house plant in the corner.” he points at herman.

“his name is herman.”

lance’s eyes blow wide. “dude! no way! you named your plant! i didnt think you were the type!”

“ive never said his name out loud with another person in the room before.”

lance covers his face with both hands and wheezes. “you talk to herman when no one else is in the room.”

lance does not say that he had been calling herman shelby.

“theres a smaller one on my desk at the office named sherman,” says keith.

“not judging, dude, but why would you give so much of yourself to this job if it isnt what you want to do?”

keith shrugs again. “its practical.”

“im a music major and i dont buy that shit. why dont you do what you love? like, how does the time that you spend not doing whatever it is you love not a giant waste?”

“because...” keith feels like a robot. “its practical.”

“if practicality didnt matter, what would you do?”

keith considers lance, considers himself. he finds the answer but decides that its too scary right now. 

“i’d sell cups on the moon.”

lance busts a gut. the seriousness of the topic derailed, keith presses play, and they go back to watching the episode. lance doesnt interrupt for the remainder of the episode, and when keith looks over, he realizes its because lance has fallen asleep. with his legs spread over keith’s lap. when had they gotten there? keith couldnt move now. he had work in the morning.

he was also already in his pajamas. and the sofa was warm enough, and the heating was on in preparation for winter. and keith was already up later than he normally stayed awake...

he woke up with sunlight streaming peacefully on his eyelids. that was usually a luxury saved for the weekends. SUNLIGHT? keith’s eyes popped open, and he remembered all at once talking with lance, falling asleep, lance. last night had been a lance-heavy night. his toes were underneath keith’s shirt, his face smushed into the cushions.

keith clawed his phone out of his pocket as he extracted himself from the couch, from lance. 9:08. shit shit shit shit. 2 missed calls from doris. he ran into his room, where his alarm clock had been screaming for two and a half hours now, and threw on a dress shirt, pants, and shoes, then he rocketed out the door, his phone already pressed to his ear. hi doris sorry sorry sorry i overslept im leaving now i’ll be right here this wont happen again.

his coworkers dont let him live it down. all day its, how ya doing, keith? hows that perfect punctuality youre always harping about? crazy hook up with your take-home pile, was it? doris is the only one who is understanding, and, luckily, her opinion of the situation is all that matters.

“whatever kept you,” she says, “i hope you had fun.”

keith is exhausted by the time he gets home. he unknots his tie on the way to his room, and as he passes lance’s door, he hears the soft tones of music from inside. he pauses. knocks. lance calls, “come in.”

keith pokes his head inside. theres lance, several instruments sprawled across his floor, and him in the center of them, a ukulele in his hands. keith smiles. “sounds good,” he says.

lance gives him a sympathetic eyebrow raise. “you look like shit.”

“thanks.”

“come sit down.”

grateful for the invitation, keith obeys, unraveling his tie all the way. he likes that lance doesnt make him say anything. he goes back to playing music, singing, a soft song that has keiths eyelids fluttering shut and his shoulders relaxing before they can help it.

the next week, lance’s semester ends. he heads home to swap the old year for a new model, see his family, catch up with neighborhood friends. theres the weirdest disconnect he gets where he turns to make a comment to someone, expecting them to be someone else, and gets frustrated.

keith, meanwhile, has resorted to calling shiro at night to somehow break this god awful silence. they get together on christmas, which helps. hes ready to spend new years alone with the LGBT section of Netflix when, at 10:14 PM, his phone rings in a way it doesnt usually. He presses accept, and suddenly Lance is grinning at him in a room full of shouting Cubans.

“Keith! My man! How’s it hanging! No, shut up Marcia, I’m busy. Hey, what’s up!”

Keith is a little bewildered. “Um. Hey.”

“hold on, its super loud in here. let me get to my room so i can actually hear you.”

“why did you call?” asks keith.

lance gives him a look as he enters a much more quiet space. “because my spidey senses told me that you were sitting alone on your couch like a loser right now.”

keith frowns down at his comfortable pajamas. “i am not a loser.”

“of course not,” lance agrees. “thats thanks to me, by the way, and my amazing ability to be in two places at once, thanks to facetime.”

“hows home?” keith asks, aware that suddenly they were chatting, and that the frown he’d been carrying around for days had magically lifted itself off his face. lance is as excitable as ever, even when hes miles and miles away, and keith wonders at the idea of all this distance theyve lived with between them suddenly closed. its an interesting thought.

he doesnt realize how long lance has kept him talking until 11:59, when lance brings his attention to the countdown clock. the inside of keith’s chest feels warm and calm knowing that lance didnt want keith to be alone on new years, and that he cared enough to sit in his room for two hours talking at a screen, and that he was choosing to spend the passover to midnight with keith.

at midnight, keith clinks a glass of champagne against his phone, as does lance, and they drink together. then, lance sombers.

“hey, um. i wanted to thank you for everything you did for me last semester,” says lance. “im still trying to put things together for the spring, but if you want, i could let you know how it goes. i mean, i dont want to stop talking to you, or knowing you.”

keith is utterly lost. “what are you talking about?”

now lance looks confused. “the end of the semester,” he says.

“what about it?”

“my apprenticeship.”

Apprenticeships only lasted a semester!

keith actually slapped his forehead. “lance!” he said, sitting up and clutching his burning phone tighter. He’d had to plug it in an hour ago. “why didn’t you remind me? are you trying to tell me you left? that you literally left to go back home without saying goodbye?”

“you didnt say goodbye!” lance defends, voice getting shrill. “i thought you werent the type!”

“i thought you werent leaving! or, i mean, i thought you were coming back right after!”

“I literally packed out my whole room, keith.”

“people need things when they go home.”

lance shook his head, dumbfounded. “i cant believe we’re having this conversation. what are you going to do without me? yes, keith, im back home and scouring the forums for a new roommate next semester. im trying to have a bonding moment where i thank you for everything youve done for me, but youre ruining it by being an idiot.”

“damn it, lance. you dont have to move out. youre more than welcome to keep living here. lance? did you freeze?”

“what? no. i just. i kind of thought you hated me.”

hate? the literal opposite. keith had to fight not to be sarcastic. “i dont hate you. i want you to stay here. not as a favor, but because this place feels weird without you here now. its as much yours as it is mine. we can put you on the lease if you want.”

“keith, that is the grossest, most adult thing youve ever said to me. of course i will legally sign a binding contract with my name next to yours.”

did lance just... keith’s smaller face went red next to lance’s bigger face. keith sat up a little straighter. “um, cool. cool. when you get back, then. so, you are coming back?”

“yes,” said lance. “and thank god it means i dont have to live with smelly jeremy and his flea-ridden dogs. just your flea-ridden mullet.”

keith narrowed his eyes and hung up.

he got a text from lance saying, see yr flea-tastic self on january 25th, then marked the day down in his phone. afterward, he opened the door to lance’s room, which was indeed empty. keith’s heart went a little spastic at the thought that january 25th could have come and gone, and he would have had no idea that lance had not been planning to return. he called shiro and berated him for not talking about the apprenticeship more often, so keith would have been prepared.

lance comes back and brings the sun with him. keith, who has been this close to quitting his job every time he walks into work, could not be happier. they move lance’s things in together, which involves a lot of stopping and making fun of lance’s possessions on keith’s part. lance grins and goes for the mullet, and somehow they end up wrestling on the floor.

keith thinks, i cant not kiss him.

and then his phone vibrates against his leg. he remembers that lance is living here because he has nowhere else to go, and that putting him in this position if he doesnt feel the same way about keith is a horrible thing to do. he untangles himself, guilty.

“where are you going?” demands lance. “i was winning!”

“its doris,” says keith. “gotta take it.”

speaking of doris, she notices. at 6pm the next day, she stops by keiths cubicle. “been a while since we last met here, sugarcake. trouble at home?”

theres no one else in the office, and keith is close to a meltdown. he swivels to face doris, hangs his head, and says, “i think im in love with my roommate lance.”

her face doesnt betray an ounce of shock, but rather, shes giving him the same look shiro used to when keith would talk about nightmares. keiths heart shatters from being touched by kindness. he doesnt leave the office for another hour, not because he was working, but because that night doris lets him tell her everything.

lance is still in class when keith gets home, eats, showers, and gets ready for bed. he almost doesnt know what to do with himself now that theres a whole other conscious entity living in this house--his fucking emotions. he has his hair pulled back, his pajamas on, and hes just getting ready to call it a night when the front door opens and lance tosses his bag in its usual spot under the window.

“hey,” he says, surprised to see keith up. “dont want to miss the early bird special tomorrow. what’re you doing up?”

“can we play?” asks keith.

lance is clearly doubly surprised, but he guides keith into his room. its as blissfully messy as it was before lance left for break. “you said we. do you play?”

keith picks up a lap-sized keyboard. “i used to.”

“i didnt know that. why didnt you say?”

“because you wouldve asked me to play with you.”

“thats true.” lance picks his ukulele, and they start to improvise together, each learning how the other plays, adjusting. “you werent kidding, you really play.”

“i wasnt kidding,” says keith.

suddenly, lance stops. “hey, is everything alright? youre acting weird. dont tell me youre regretting asking me to move back in.”

“no,” keith says immediately. “no, im just wondering if maybe... are you happy here? or is this just a roommate situation?”

“what do you mean, is this just a roommate situation?”

“you know what i mean.”

“no,” says lance. “i dont.”

“i mean,” says keith, “do you actually like living here, or do you live here because im your only option?”

lance sets down his ukulele. “i like living here because the bathroom tiles are cold when i get out of the shower so i hop to the rug by the door and pray to god i dont slip and break my neck. and because the sunset turns the kitchen wall purple while i make pasta. and because im the only one who can put my feet up on the coffee table. and because the cereal is arranged in alphabetical order and the plant’s name is herman. i like living here. here feels like home.”

keith kisses him. he stands up and backs away just as quickly, guilty, unable to believe he had just crossed the line like that. god, he’s going to have to tell doris about this. she would rip his head off so politely.

“what the fuck?” says lance, blunt and surprised. keith winces, about to apologize, when suddenly he’s being crowded up against the wall of his storage room, of lance’s bedroom, and kissed like his lips leaked chocolate. he melts. lance snakes one hand behind keith’s neck and the other around his waist, and keith tugs lance closer by the hips. the hand at keith’s neck digs into his hair and pulls out the hair tie. the hair tie disappears. keith pulls lance closer. 

lance pulls back. “finally.”

“you had the option to make the first move, you know.”

“nah, not me, i’m a coward.”

“yeah, right.”

they kissed again, with keith holding tighter and lance staying longer. keith thinks, doris isnt going to believe this one.

that night, the taboo on keith’s bedroom door breaks when keith invites lance to sleep on a queen sized mattress. it takes lance a full five minutes to stop laughing at the clear cowboy paraphernalia keith inherited growing up in texas, but he doesnt mind curling up to sleep by the potted cactus on the nightstand, whose name he politely asks for.

keith stops killing himself working to sell eco-friendly plastic cups, and with all his spare time, he and lance start writing songs together. shiro, in a display of good sportsmanship, never points out that he was right.

[clevercatchphrase]

2020 Year Review~

2020. Pretty unique year, don’t you think? It’s the first year since 2002 to have only two different digits in it. After 2022, this won’t happen again until 2111. Yep. Absolutely nothing more interesting than that.

Anyway! It’s time I reflect on my 2020, look back on my yearly goals and rant about things that happened to me this year. I made a post like this last year, where I went over my 2019 goals and talked about what I accomplished and what I didn’t, and it’s only fitting I do the same again this year. Read more under the cut for a random stream of consciousness ramble!

So, first things first, let’s look at my 2019 goals;

Finish paying off that last student loan

Put more stuff on my redbubble

Illustrate my own fan fics

Sew at least one stuffed animal

Make an enamel pin

Read one new book a month

Write one page a day/Complete at least one new fan fic

Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make

Finish fully scripting Ghost Switch

Boost my patreon

 Paying Off My Last Student Loan: Going down the list, I am proud to say that I FINALLY paid off all my student loans! (and not a moment too soon. The last payment I made was literally days before the first quarantine rolled out). It took me roughly 4 years on my part-time paycheck to pay off all my loans, and once I finished, I had no money to my name (literally; I had less than 1k as emergency money in case of car troubles or health issues). Heck, I’m STILL living at home as a save up for a place of my own. Finally paying off all my student loans DID activate my secret 2020 new year’s resolution, which was to adopt a cat! I did this too, literally a week later! She is the best thing that’s happened to me this entire year and I love her so much and she is the snuggliest cuddle bug I’ve ever met. I’m so happy she’s in my life now~

Put More Stuff On My Redbubble: ah ha ha ha… I thought I did this, but then I went and checked, and it turns out-! I did not. I made art I intended to go on my redbubble, but haven’t put there yet. They are all drawings of some OCs from a game I want to make, but because I haven’t progressed on making the game this year, I never got around to putting more stuff related to it on my redbubble. At the time of writing, there are 7 days left in December, so I guess I could go and put it up on my redbubble right now, but without context on where the characters are from, there wouldn’t be much point, now would there?

 Illustrate My Own Fan Fics: Another goal that I was so stoked to actually do… and then just didn’t. Gee, I wonder why I couldn’t find the energy or motivation to do it this year? Truly a conundrum. (Hey, you know what? If Ghost Switch counts as a fan fiction in a visual form, then I am doing GREAT on this goal. 2.5 years in, 1 of ~4 arcs done, and still going steady~)

 Sew At Least One Stuffed Animal: Okay, I have a valid excuse for not doing this one. I even knew which stuffed animal I wanted to make, and had the pattern drawn out and everything, but I had no money for materials because I had just paid off my student loans. And then, by the time I did have enough money again, quarantine was in full effect and I couldn’t go out to the fabric store. I’m still trying my best to stay out of public places even if the rules are laxer now, because I don’t want to catch the plague even if everyone in my goddamn city thinks and acts like the problem is over already. Even if they’re all wearing masks, even if they’re staying 6 feet apart, I still don’t want to risk it. I will stay inside until health experts give the all clear, and when that day comes, then I will buy some fleece and make a plush.

 Make An Enamel Pin: I ACTUALLY DID THIS ONE. TWICE! Halfway through quarantine, I was feeling anxious and depressed about my job and how they were planning to have me work with the public despite climbing infection rates and positive covid cases. I didn’t quit then, but in a desperate move to try and become self-sufficient, I went to madebycooper and made two enamel pins based on some butterfly dragons I drew last year. They’re on my etsy store now! I even went out of my way to open a P.O. box just to start a small business! I haven’t sold a single pin yet, and I’m actually really nervous to sell my first because I don’t trust the efficiency of the postal system thanks to the actions of the GOP that really screwed them over this year! (If you would like to see my enamel pins, click here!)

 Read One Book A Month: I did this! With dragon books I bought a couple years back! In fact, I read FOURTEEN dragon books, and still have more books for next year to read! The 14 books I read this year were:

 The Hive Queen

The Poison Jungle

Wings Of Fire Legends: Dragonslayer

Dealing With Dragons

Searching For Dragons

Calling on Dragons

Talking to Dragons

The Bronze Dragon Codex

The Brass Dragon Codex

The Black Dragon Codex

The Red Dragon Codex

The Silver Dragon Codex

Dragon Strike, and

Hatching Magic

 To be honest, I had read The Red Dragon Codex years ago when it first came out, but completely forgotten what it was about. I remembered liking it, and I knew the reading level was on the lower side, but the whole dragon codex series was pretty good! So far, the Silver dragon codex was my favorite, and black dragon codex was probably the worst! Hatching Magic was also really slow and bad and had plot points that went nowhere, but the book was written in the 80s, so I don’t know what I expected. The Dealing with Dragons series was very charming and great for the most part, save for one line in the last book that really rubbed me the wrong way, and all the Wings of Fire Books go above and beyond in this third arc. The second legends book could be a little tighter, though (sky and wren are the best duo and I want a book solely about them, but I honest to god do not care about leaf and ivy’s stories.)

 Write one Page of any story every day/ complete at least one fic: I… did this? Okay, I kinda cheated near the end of the year. I was keeping up the one page a day thing for the first four months, but then the world went to shit and my schedule and habits got disrupted and I fell off my good track record. I completed 7 out of roughly 12 one-shots I had planned for this year (my goal WAS supposed to be one short a month, but… you know how it happens) I kept trying to catch up on this goal all year, but the days kept piling up…. Until November hit. I managed to write over 250 pages for Nanowrimo, and I consider this goal a win. 365 pages of fiction in total, which averages out to about one a day~. SHUT UP IT COUNTS.

 Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make: Another goal I didn’t have the mental energy to commit to this year. Truly a mystery to where all our willpower went in 2020.

 Fully Finish Scripting Ghost Switch: still haven’t done this one yet! The Snowdin arc is completely planned, but I just haven’t gotten around to getting the other areas. I’m not worried, though. I know all the major plot points I gotta hit, it’s just weaving them together in a way that flows nice is the final task. I’m not too worried though. I don’t expect to finish the Snowdin arc for another year and a half, at the bare minimum.

 And my last goal of 2020, Boost My Patreon. I did this at the beginning of the year, but then very intentionally stopped about a third of the way through. It didn’t sit right with me to tell you guys to donate to me when suddenly EVERYONE was financially strained from layoffs or being furloughed. I told my patrons the same, and if you ever need to stop donating to me to take care of yourself first, then by all means, please do. I would feel much better knowing you’re using your money to see yourself fed and housed instead of given to me (where it is pretty much only used to buy gas for my car, honestly)

 Welp! That was all my goals for 2020! I achieved 4 out of 10 goals plus 1 secret goal! Pretty much the same ratio as last year, but now this time I can blame all my failures on the pandemic! I don’t feel so bad about myself anymore~

 ON TO 2021!

 I have 11 goals for the new year, again some rolled over from this list, and some from even older years. They are, in no particular order;

 Read 12 new books (roughly 1 book a month)

Finish the first draft of 2019’s Nanowrimo project and rewrite it

Script TDV

Finish Scripting Ghost Switch

Build A Comic Buffer

Sew 1 Stuffed Animal

Finish 1 Song Comic

Make another Enamel Pin

Finish 2 short original comics (this one counts as 2 goals)

Finish the 5 remaining one-shot fics

 Now to go into depth on each one, more for my own sake, really. I want to know exactly what I have planned for each goal this year, and sometimes just looking at a short list doesn’t capture all the smaller details.

 1)Read 12 new books. Same as last year! I The only difference is I might not be able to make it all dragon-related books. (I try my hardest not to buy from amazon anymore, but half-price-books doesn’t always have the obscure stuff I’m looking for)

 2)Finish 2019’s nanowrimo project. If you read my 2019 year reflection, you’ll notice I said I wanted to do some original writing. And I did! The story I wrote for nanowrimo back then was a story I’ve been toying with since 2017, but it was only last year I finally got pen to paper. Now, you may find it odd that the keyword says “finish”. You may think, “but isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for nanowrimo?” and to that I say, WRONG! I wrote 50k words for nanowrimo, but the draft was only about halfway complete. I was kinda discouraged about what I had written last year, because I didn’t like how it was coming out, but I did manage to get it half done. Now it’s time for me to bite the bullet and just finish the thing so I can finally revise it and make it into something I DO like. (It’s still gonna be hella long, tho. That’s what I get for trying to write an epic fantasy, I guess.)

 3)Script TDV. TDV is the abbreviation of the game I want to make. I… still need to do so much for this project OTL… In addition to getting the story solidified, I still need to draw art and game assets, and learn how to code for it, both of which are no small task. I keep having some sort of new year’s goal related to this on my list, and every year I just don’t hit this one. Will 2021 be different?

 4)Finish Scripting Ghost Switch. (Or at the very least, get the waterfall arc completely written out). I have a plan to break this down into simpler steps, by focusing on just one arc for a month or two. Every major arc has 2 to 3 parts, broken up by flashbacks, and if I can just finish one section a month, then I should have the entire thing scripted by the end of the year. It’s not a difficult pace, but seeing if I stick with it will be the real challenge, as it is will all my goals it seems.

 5)Build a Comic Buffer: I’m actually working on this one right now! Since I paid off my last loan and got a new job this year, my current Patreon goals are kind of out of date. They had all been centered around me paying off that last loan, and working towards full-time employment, but those are both completed now! So instead, I would love to get to a place where my patrons could read pages at least a week ahead, and to do that, I need to build a buffer. And since I’m working 5 full days a week now, I can’t afford to fall behind. But you can’t fall behind if you constantly stay ahead! I would like to have… a 10 to 12 page buffer. That’s roughly 3 months’ worth of pages to always have on hand in case I get swamped with work, or something. Right now I currently have a buffer of 3, which will cover me for half a January, which is better than not having anything at all, but still not the best. (ultimately, I would love to have a buffer so big, I could queue them up for the whole year. Wouldn’t that be something?)

 6) Sew one stuffed animal: same as last year. ASSUMING the plague gets under control in 2021, I don’t expect to get to this goal until the summer at the earliest.

 7)Finish 1 song comic: I have 7 song comics planned. One is a gift, one possibly for wandersong, one is a collab that’s currently in the works, but I’m waiting on a friend to do their part before I can continue mine, 2 are UT related, and 2 (well, technically 3, but one is the collab) are KH related. It’s one of the UT ones that will probably get finished, if I’m being honest. It’s completely story boarded, and now I just need to ink and color it. I would like to get it done for UT’s 6th birthday, since I made a song comic on the fly for the anniversary this year, and it was fun, and I’d like to do it again! So, look forward to that next september~

 8) Make another enamel pin: I have a dolphin design I’d like to make because dolphins are cute, if not little murder machines. (need to save up some expendable income first, tho. THESE THINGS AIN’T CHEAP TO MAKE.)

 9 and 10) start and finish 2 original short comics: I’ve got some comic ideas I want to do, but I need to get them written out first. I don’t think either would be too long. Each maybe a couple “episode’s” length, if envisioned on a website like webtoons or tapas. They’d both be heavy in allegory, but not overly drawn out (hopefully)

 11)And lastly, Finish the 5 remaining one-shots I had planned for this year but never got around to. I’m going to try to write one every other month. Pure self-indulgent shipping fluff. If I finish these 5, then maybe I’ll ask other people for more prompts and ideas, which I’ve never done before. We’ll see how it goes~

 Also, Like last year, I’d like to look at everything that’s happened to me this year, though to be honest, I’m not sure how much I remember/how accurate it’ll be. God, I don’t even remember what January was like. Who was I back then? Who were we all back then? I guess I’ll start my yearly retrospective in march because, heh, god we ALL know what started happening in march.

 Firstly, I paid off my last student loan! Then a week later on March 18th, I drove half an hour out of my city to adopt a cat and I love her and it was the best day of this year for me. Spring break is just beginning this weekend, but the attendance at the zoo is shockingly low this year. Apparently, a lot of people watch the news, and they’re all taking precautions about social distancing. I wasn’t too disappointed. Fewer people at the zoo, the easier my job is for me. I was looking forward to getting some free overtime on spring break, since I’m broke after paying off that loan, and I’m a cat parent now and have a furry child to feed. Monday rolls around. My manager calls me and tells me that the zoo is going into lockdown until further notice. I worry for the birds I take care of, but understand it’s for everyone’s safety.

 For two months I sleep in and watch way too much YouTube. I join a couple writing discords. I have nightmares about my birds escaping their enclosure and I dreamed one of the security guards I really like at the zoo gets covid and has to go to the ER. I woke up really upset.

 I started and finished BBS for the first time. I also replayed and finished KH2 final mix for the first time. It had been about 5 years since I last played KH2 before my PS2 died, and it was like coming home~ I also finished tearaway, and played and beat Ryme for a second time (which I can’t remember if I did that last year, but it was a fun experience regardless)

 Mid-June, and I’m allowed to start going back to work, be it on reduced hours. The zoo is still closed to the public, but I’m loving it! I get to work with full-time keepers and do full-time keeper things. It’s so much fun not having to deal with the public. August starts to creep up and there’s a rumor that the zoo will be opening to the public again, which I’m not stoked about. I don’t want to go back to standing in one exhibit all day, talking to guests who don’t listen to the rules or to me. 2 of my younger coworkers (who had both only been there a couple of months) get chosen for full-time positions, while I get passed up which really pisses me off. My other 2 coworkers quit when they think we might be reopening because they cannot risk catching the virus due to at-risk family. I am now the last keeper in the interactive bird exhibit.

 I keep working, the zoo slowly opens, but with me as the only interpreter in our interactive bird exhibit, we can’t open because I can’t run the entire exhibit by myself. So my exhibit stays closed. September comes and goes, and then October starts. Now there is more serious talk of opening my exhibit before the end of the year because the zoo expects to bring in larger crowds for the Christmas lights event in November/December. I ask if I get hazard pay or health insurance since I’m doing full-time hours until they hire more staff. They say no.

 I immediately start searching for a new job feeling incredibly indignant/hurt/slighted/insulted/used/abused/ALL the negative feelings at my job. I had been there for 4 years, but never got a chance to work full time, while the two newest hires who had only been there 2 months both got moved up. I can’t help but feel they were holding one mistake I made two years ago against me and never wanted to give me a chance. (that, or they knew I was reliable when it came to showing up for work in such a volatile position that sees a lot of new faces, and they didn’t want to bother going through the process of hiring someone new) I don’t want to risk my life working around guests who don’t wash their hands and don’t properly distance. I don’t want to gamble with my health when they won’t offer me health insurance because I’m part time.

 Mid October, I get an interview for a full time job and get hired on the spot. I peace out at the zoo 2 weeks later, literally 3 days before they planned to open my exhibit to the public. It was a close call for me to escape before they opened to the public (and pettiness was only partially the reason I dipped out so close to opening). Sorry new hires who are now in charge of the bird feeding exhibit. I taught you the best I could in the short time I had. If the managers are struggling with what to do with one less person, I can’t say I feel bad. I can only hope they delayed opening/closed you down again for your own safety. You are not lightbulbs. I really hope the higher ups stop considering you as replaceable as one. Will I go back to the zoo to visit? Probably. But not for a year at least.

 I started my new job the very next day after I quit the zoo, and have been there ever since, (which isn’t that long yet, tbh. Christmas day was my 2 month anniversary). It’s full time, but it’s also a small business, and everyone’s hours this year have been on the short side due to the plague. I understand, though. They don’t want us to work if they can’t afford to pay us. Everyone is nice enough, though some people smoke and it’s hard to avoid them with how frequently we have to go in and out, and I really don’t want to get lung cancer, sorry not sorry, please and thank you. Also, with such a small team, gossip is certainly harder to go undetected, so it’s a relief knowing people don’t talk behind one another’s backs.

 I participated and beat my 4th nanowrimo in a row, I made TWO apple crisps on thanksgiving, and made baklava on Christmas and both of these recipes were my first time making them, and they both came out adequately! I voted the first day of early voting, and I did an art trade/collab with two of my friends for my birthday! (normally we would have done monthly “art days” where we get together and do art projects for fun because we’re adults and we can spend our time together however we want, but the plague said otherwise this year) We drew pokemon and it was fun! (hopefully I can show you all the results soon. At the time of writing, I’m still waiting for the last two colored parts to get back to me)

 I reached 100 pages on my undertale comic, and finish the first arc out of…! (im not sure. It’s either going to be 4 or 5, I haven’t decided yet)

 Over all, I managed to stay healthy as far as I know. I wasn’t as productive as I wanted to be this year, but then again, who was? (don’t answer that. I don’t need that kind of comparison in my life right now)

 Will 2021be any better? Honestly? I don’t think so. Not right away, at least. Just because a new year is about to start does not mean the slate is completely wiped clean. The change of the calendar year doesn’t magically make all our current problems disappear. Covid will still be here and cases will still climb when January starts. Small business will still be strained when the month rolls over, police will still go on murdering innocent civilians and getting away scot free, amazon and disney will still be monopolizing all consumer goods and media, and I can’t help but feel like there’s an impending shit show about to go down on inauguration day. I do hope things will get better, though. It’ll be arduous and unpleasant, but I do hope things will improve, because sometimes hoping is all you can do.

 Good night.

[ethereousdelirious]

Okay, here’s that thing I wrote. Since it’s an original thing, I will also put some context under the cut haha

This was originally supposed to be classic whump but my brain was like “no. fevers and puking.” and who am I to deny whatever impulse crosses my tiny little mind

Context: I was possessed by a writing demon and wrote fanfic/a potential ending for my (unfinished) NaNoWriMo 2019 story. (I still have no idea if it counts as fanfic if I’m the creator of the source material haha)

Setting: A fictional steampunk universe. 2 neighboring nations are locked in an intense cold war. Our story takes place in Agria, one of the countries. The Agrian government has just sent agents to covertly steal a design for the first-ever aeroplane, which they will then develop into a weapon, allowing them to conquer much of the surrounding area and start a war.

Cast:

Gilles: Mid-twenties, Black man. Dark skin, dark hair kept in dreadlocks. As this fic begins, Gilles has just stolen the only aeroplane the government has managed to design and crashed it into a lake to prevent them from manufacturing more and starting a war.

Whitney: 60s, Black woman. Dark skin, white hair kept in an afro. She is Gilles’ mentor and the person who invented aeroplanes (in this universe). She has been waiting at her home to see if he survives.

Sterling: Mid-twenties, mixed race man. Medium brown skin, black hair grown out long into a ponytail. He helped Gilles break into the facility and destroyed the government’s blueprints so they couldn’t build more aeroplanes.

Hewitt: Mid-twenties, white man. Pale skin, blond hair kept in wild, unruly curls. He helped Gilles break into the facility and destroyed the government’s blueprints so they couldn’t build more aeroplanes. 

One Final Note: I wrote this on my phone and did not have time to proof read it. I am not looking for a beta reader at the moment. Please excuse any minor typos.

The Story, finally:

Soaking wet, aching all over, and with blood dripping down his forehead, Gilles walked. Pain became the frame by which he viewed the universe as the moon rose and he continued to stagger down the hiking trail, forcing himself to pick up his feet so he didn't stumble over the uneven ground.

He dried slowly, his fingers and toes aching with the cold. Eventually, he wrapped his arms around himself and shoved his hands into his armpits. Wind rustled the leaves on the trees and made him shiver, but he kept walking, his breath loud in his ears.

Dimly, he knew he needed to make some sort of plan, but the inside of his head was radio static and impulses, little fragments of imperative.

Get to Whitney. Don't get caught. Don't pass out. Keep walking.

A sigh of relief passed his lips when the trail evened out and he emerged into the park. It was abandoned but for the fowl asleep on the edges of the pond. They barely stirred as Gilles staggered past.

He made sure no one got a good look at him when he hit the main street. The only people out at this hour were drunkards and the people serving them. Gilles resisted the urge to hail a carriage and continued to stagger down the road. The last thing he wanted was to walk the 8 miles to Whitney's house, but she was his alibi and walking was better than imprisonment.

So he walked.

At this point, every part of his body hurt so uniformly that he could almost tune it out, just keeping himself anchored on his final destination.

The lights were on at Whitney's house and the driveway was empty of vehicles. Gilles accepted this with relief, though he did try to keep an eye out for other potential signs that anything was amiss. Surely if the government suspected her of the crime, her estate would be in uproar. This had to be a good sign.

He reached the door and knocked, leaning heavily against the porch railing.

To his surprise, it was Sterling who answered, looking haggard and slightly ill.

"Gilles!" he said, and all the tension seemed to go out of his body with that one simple word. "You're alive!"

"I'm…" Gilles rasped. His head was spinning too badly to think straight. "I need…"

"Come in, come in, we'll take care of you." Sterling steered him inside, locking the door behind him, and sat him down on the couch.

Whitney and Hewitt were seated in overstuffed armchairs and leapt to their feet with joyous exclamations that Gilles was too exhausted to acknowledge. He slumped back against the couch cushions breathing shallowly, his eyes only half open.

Moments later, a glass of water was pressed into his hand. Gilles leaned forward and drank it down gratefully, only to immediately be presented with another. He took a few more cautious swallows, not wanting to make himself sick. Too tired to hold himself up, he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees.

"Where are you hurt?" Whitney asked, sitting down beside him. 

"I don't know," Gilles said. For the sake of cooperating, he tried to think. Dimly, he noticed he was shaking badly enough that he was sloshing water out of his glass.

Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Hewitt appeared at his other side with a throw blanket. "Here," he said, wrapping it carefully around Gilles' shoulders. "Sterling is making tea."

"Thanks." Gilles took another sip of water and tried to assess himself. "I don't think I'm hurt much. I landed in the water and there wasn't really anything to crash into. I hit my head on the dashboard and I think I have whiplash, but other than that…" He shrugged and winced at the pain that shot up his neck.

"You're going to be sore tomorrow," Whitney said. She rubbed a hand over his knee. "Did anyone see you?"

Sterling entered with the tea and Gilles gratefully accepted a cup. "Nobody saw me," he said. "Not up close, anyway. I was in the air before the housekeeper was even halfway across the lawn." He drank some of the tea, a light chamomile. Warmth flooded his body and rushed into his cheeks like a blush. He shrugged the blanket off his shoulders and shifted in sudden, added discomfort at the heat.

"What about you? How did you get out?"

Sterling and Hewitt exchanged a glance before Hewitt decided to take up the burden of explaining.

"Well, you were a pretty good distraction once the plane was in the air. We were going to run for it, but Sterling wanted to go back in the house. We were able to go straight in the front door."

"Why did you go back in?" Gilles demanded. His temples throbbed and there was an odd tickling sensation crawling up his chest and down his stomach. He gave a shallow sigh.

"I cut their main phone line," Sterling said with just a hint of a smile. "To delay their ability to call the authorities and hopefully give you an opening to get back into town if you, um. Survived."

"Oh," Gilles said. His whole body was hot now and his breath was shallow, frantic. Reality was graying at the edges.

"Are you okay?" Hewitt asked. "You don't look--"

Almost before he realized what was happening, Gilles bent double and vomited straight onto the hardwood floor. Tea poured out of the teacup and spattered across the toe of his shoe, but he was too distracted to do anything about it. His abdominal muscles contracted violently and he vomited up another thin stream of water and bile. Someone took the teacup from his hands and he tried to swipe his locs out of his face but his hands shook too badly and his body refused to stop dry heaving even though there was nothing left to vomit up. Tears were streaming from his eyes now as he continued to gag helplessly between his legs.

At the edges of his consciousness, he was aware of panicked voices and a gentle hand on his back.

"Shit, he's burning up."

"Gilles, honey, can you try to relax?"

Gilles took a deep, shaky breath and sat back. He was still hopelessly nauseated, wary of opening his mouth or putting his abdomen under too much strain, and he wrapped his arms around his middle like a shield. 

"Do you want some water?" Hewitt asked.

Gilles shook his head. "S-sorry. I can clean that up."

"I'm taking care of it." Sterling reappeared from the doorway to the kitchen, arms full of rags. "You just lay back and try to relax. We need to take a look at that head injury."

"A concussion wouldn't cause a fever," Hewitt argued, his voice a touch more shrill than usual.

"It doesn't hurt to be thorough."

Whitney's return to the room was preceded by the sound of her footfalls on the stairs. She shooed Hewitt out of the way and sat down next to Gilles, placing a stained, industrial-grade plastic bucket in his lap. "Can I take your temperature?"

Gilles nodded and opened his mouth to accept the thermometer. The mercury began to climb up the glass and Gilles' stomach did an unsteady flip.

He tried to swallow back the sharp salt tang in his mouth and only succeeded in jostling the thermometer a bit.

"Try to sit still," Whitney said gently.

Gilles nodded his understanding, clenching his hand in the damp fabric of his shirt, trying to will his stomach to settle down.

The mercury continued to rise and Gilles went cross eyed trying to watch it, hoping it would finish before the mounting pressure in his stomach became too much to bear. The cold weight of inevitability weighed down on his belly and made him shudder.

At his feet, Sterling gave his leg an affectionate stroke and straightened up, carrying away the dirtied rags and water basin with him. Another wave of nausea lapped at the back of Gilles' throat and he swallowed with difficulty, again jostling the thermometer in his mouth.

He caught Whitney's eye and tapped the waterlogged watch on his wrist.

"2 minutes to go," she said, catching his meaning.

Gilles nodded his thanks and went back to staring at the opposing wall, willing the nausea down. It wasn't working. The illusion of control was rapidly slipping away and it was Gilles could do to hold on. He was shaking all over now and his mouth was starting to flood with saliva that he couldn't swallow down around the thermometer under his tongue.

It reached a point where Gilles couldn't take it any more. He tore the thermometer from his mouth and pitched forward, retching.

He spat stomach acid into the bucket and let his head hang. His stomach was starting to cramp up, his abs protesting the work.

When he resurfaced, Whitney was there to slip the thermometer back between his lips.

"I'm sorry," she said, smoothing a few errant locs out of his face.

Gilles just nodded and accepted the thermometer, letting his head rest on Whitney's shoulder. Hewitt came over and sat by his other side So he could hold Gilles' hand.

"You're pretty sick, huh?" 

"Mmph," was all Gilles could manage.

"What happened?"

"His system was probably already fighting off a bug." Sterling's voice came from the other side of the room. "Crash landing in a lake and walking all the way here was probably enough of a stress on his body to let the virus get the upper hand."

"Oh." Hewitt gave Gilles' hand a light squeeze. "Don't worry; we'll take care of you."

Unable to say anything, Gilles squeezed Hewitt's hand back.

They sat in silence until Whitney leaned over to pull the thermometer out of Gilles' mouth.

"103," she announced to the room.

Gilles, half asleep against her shoulder, barely stirred. That did explain how awful he felt.

"Bed?" he managed, his voice barely more than a piteous whine.

"One last thing," Sterling said. "Can you open your eyes for me?"

Gilles did, though it made pain drum fiercely behind his forehead. Sterling shined a light in his eyes and disinfected the cut on his forehead.

"Alright," he said once he'd finished his examination. "Let's get you to bed."

"I have a room in the back," Whitney said. "I'll show you."

"Up we go." Sterling draped one of Gilles' arms over his shoulders and helped him stand. Every muscle in Gilles' body screamed in protest, but he let Sterling help him to his feet and down the hall.

They were almost to the bedroom when Gilles' vision started to tunnel. His knees started to buckle and he swayed into Sterling.

"Easy, easy." Sterling started to lower him to the ground. Gilles' awareness faded out.

"You're sure we shouldn't call an ambulance?" Sterling again.

"I don't know. I'm worried about calling too much attention to us."

Gilles stirred, not bothering to open his eyes. He was in bed now and felt marginally better. Evidently someone had stripped him down to his underwear, because he could feel the soft cotton on his chest. He gave a sigh of not-quite-contentment and shifted slightly.

"Just wanna sleep," he begged.

"We'll let you rest," Whitney said. "Hewitt can keep first watch."

It took a while for the meaning of the words to permeate  the fever heat boiling Gilles' brain. He was in darkness now but if he listened closely, he could hear Hewitt's light breathing.

He lay there a bit longer. The night's events kept playing back through his mind in fragments. He was quite sure no one had seen him, which was a relief. But the plane… He hadn't flown to very far; he'd been able to make the journey on foot before the night was over.

Was it enough? At the time, crash-landing in a lake had seemed like the surest guarantee, but what if they were able to dredge it up? Or drain the lake? It wasn't enough. He had to go back. If he dived down enough times, he could dismantle it piece by piece, steal parts of it, make it completely unsalvageable.

Gilles sat up and tore the covers off. He had to go.

"Whoa!" Hewitt was by his side in an instant, hands on his chest. "What's wrong? Are you going to be sick again? There's a bucket over--"

"No, no." Gilles was frantic, he didn't have time. "I have to go back, it wasn't enough--" He tried to get up, but Hewitt was still holding him fast by the shoulders.

"What are you talking about?"

"The plane! I didn't, it's not-- Hewitt, please let go of me!"

"Lie back," Hewitt pleaded. "Your fever isn't going to get any better if you don't rest."

"I can't rest yet, I'm not done."

"You're done." Hewitt's voice was surprisingly forceful. "I'm going to get something to cool you down. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then stay here. Okay?"

"Okay."

Hewitt left and clouds formed just below the ceiling. Gilles watched them float by, forming shapes of animals and objects. It must have been another ingenious invention of Whitney's, a little machine to make clouds appear indoors. They took on the shape of a train and the engine puffed out even smaller steam clouds that took on still more shapes.

Then Hewitt was back and it all disappeared.

"Thank you for staying put," he said, leaning over so he could drape a damp cloth over Gilles' forehead. "Sterling would have killed me if I'd let anything bad happen to you." He adjusted the cloth a little and fussed over the placement of the covers on Gilles' chest. "Will you sleep now?"

"Yes," Gilles said. He closed his eyes, his brain still whirring with frantic activity.

[shouldiwritetoday]

Camp Nanowrimo 7/20 Day 7

Words: 4902/20000

I’m a little over where I need to be right now. I’m really happy with that. Wrote more fanfic because I’m a piece of trash. :)

Snippet:

He couldn’t get her off his mind. The guilt was weighing him down. He didn’t do the right thing — or he did, he just didn’t do what was expected of him. The worst part is that nobody knew he did something he shouldn’t have. Nobody knew that he was guilty of letting a person go. 

It was weird to think of it like that. In all regards, she was innocent. A young girl travelling with a caravan between Ba Sing Se and one of the small towns and cities surrounding it was hardly suspect of being a spy, or wanted enemy, or even someone capable of getting in the way of the Fire Nation’s noble plans. She was harmless.

He kept telling himself that, and yet what if it wasn’t true? What if she was secretly a covert operative for the Earth Kingdom relaying important information regarding the Fire Nation’s plans all across the kingdom? What if he royally screwed up in leaving her be?

On the other hand… he doesn’t exactly regret it. His father had taught him about honor. Honor was earned, it was gained, it was challenged with every action you committed, every word you spoke. It was something that was tethered to your spirit. 

Not that he could talk to his father about it for fear of actually being subjected to a court hearing for defiance of what is supposed to be a standard, and for actual fear of potentially dishonoring and disappointing his father, but if he could talk to his father about it, he imagined it would go something like this:

“Father,” Lu Ten would greet with a bow.

“Son,” his father would respond, a large smile upon his face.

“This is a summary of what I have done. Was it right to do? Was it honorable?”

“I understand, son. This is a complicated situation you have created. For our country, there is a possibility of disservice. However, the sparing of a life is not something to take lightly. Ask yourself this: if you had done the opposite, if you had pulled the girl out to be put in a camp, how would your spirit feel? As it stands now, do you feel like you have lost honor? Or would you have felt dishonorable if you had subjected the girl to the title of prisoner?”

And this entire scenario only left him with more questions. 

He couldn’t sleep. He had been in his assigned tent, laying on his assigned mat, Sejoon to his left, a newer recruit snoring to his left, hands under his head, thinking and thinking and thinking.

Eventually, Sejoon must have looked over at him because he asked, “Something on your mind, your highness?”

Lu Ten snapped from his reverie. He looked over at Sejoon sitting on his mat, legs crossed, arms resting on his knees, one of his hands propping his head up as he leaned over. Lu Ten sighed and sat up. “You know you don’t have to call me that.”

“When you look all serious like that? Risk a mood that could have me sent to the Firelord for punishment on grounds of upsetting his oldest grandson? No, thanks. I won’t take that chance.”

Not for the first time, Lu Ten wished he had a pillow to throw at him. He had wanted to understand what it was like, really like, for recruits on the front lines, what their lives were like so that he could better understand his people and the soldiers who fought for his family. He thought it would make him a better leader. It was very hard not to act entitled, however. And sometimes, he wished he could throw pride to the wind and act how he wanted.

Sejoon’s shit-eating grin really bothered him, though.

[the-progress-bar]

You Wore Out a Path Recap

I haven’t written something this long in … well, I don’t want to check.

The Inception

I don’t remember where the idea for this came from, specifically. I wrote the beginning of the first chapter for Camp NaNoWriMo, along with a whole slew of other FE:A material. It turns out that I’m extremely bad at writing linear narratives, given the absolute mess and if you say goodbye is to straighten out and more casually in the boy across the hall.

Chapter One

The fairy tale was written first actually. I filled in around its scene breaks with Robin being in a Bad Mental State™ as a way to carry this. weird, meandering fairy tale. Also, there’s a much more comedic story in the works that involves Grima and Robin again and I wanted to do something more serious on that vein at the same time.

He strikes to the south east. For some reason, Donnel didn’t stay in the armed forces as Robin hoped but went back home for good.

Donnel! I love Donnel for the sheer comedy of some country boy latching onto the Shepherds, which is otherwise comprised of nobles, and him being able to take on a whole battlefield by himself, leaving the rest in the dust. But he doesn’t stay in Ylisstol and Robin and I are forever sad over that lost potential.

Thunder crumbles around the spirit. They press a stone into the prince’s hand and sighs.

Here’s an instance where it’s clear that I didn’t outline the first chapter at all nor was I thinking about how the pieces fit if I expanded the story. This stone was supposed to do your normal fairy tale shenaniganry with like. Blessings and shielding and magical properties. Then I completely lost that vein and only left the part in where spirit!Robin basically gives Chrom, the prince, their heart. Good job, me. This constantly bothers me, but I also don’t have the motivation to rewrite this bit.

He freezes at Frederick’s stare.

I sincerely love Frederick for reasons that are spoilers for a giant FE:A fic I have in the works, but he’s also so, so fun to wind up.

Chapter Two

So, now I had to actually sit down and outline how this story went. Just a bunch of sentences jotted down, but enough to make me realize how bizarre the geography in this game is. Like, what even is going on with the story’s timeline? Do you know how long it takes to move an army over a continent, when its fastest mode of transportation are horses? I never get how they’re able to run from Plegia over to Mount Prism, then back to the opposite side of the continent and onto Grima’s back. Did Grima just wait for Chrom and co. to arrive? Like, they’re extra enough, but Nintendo, come on.

Let me just say, the FE:A world map has been a permanent fixture in my browser for months and I’m glad to see it gone.

Chrom sinks onto the bed and stares at the coat in his hands.

It’s been almost a decade.

The reason it took Chrom so long to appear among the character tags is because he wasn’t supposed to appear. Not until the last scene. Somehow he snuck into the open and close of the rest of the chapters and I didn’t kick him out.

“I died, Frederick,” Robin snaps. “Please leave it alone.”

Rereading the earlier chapters, I’m a bit surprised myself about how bitchy and defeated (?) Robin is. Being possessed by Grima sucks, and so does slowly turning into a dragon-human thing, but wow boi. Normally my characters are more on the “body slam our problems into submission” side of the spectrum. It all works out eventually, but for a while I had to deal with the nasty problem that apparently only the female characters have any of their shit together.

“Blood magic is a sorry inheritance,” his mother said sadly, thumbs rubbing at the brand on his hand.

I hope you all love Modron as much as me, because I love her and aggressively ignore how Nintendo did her dirty by including her as a key character in a whole bunch of fics coming down the pipeline. Though in this particular fic, her presence snuck in while I wasn’t watching, but not enough to recreate the Chrom situation.

The fisherman knocks on the wooden door of his younger brother’s stone house.

I planned on putting a fairy tale of my own creation into every chapter, with each linked in a tangentially narrative way to Robin’s family. Obviously that didn’t happen. This tale was supposed to be involving Robin and two Morgan’s. That plan derailed immediately.

Chapter Three

Robin’s daughter greets Chrom in Chon’sin’s silks and lacquer, the twists of dark purple contrasting her currently golden hair.

I keep making Say’ri a lesbian. That point doesn’t come up in this story, because Chrom wasn’t supposed to take over so much, but Morgan and Say’ri are together by this point, even if that gets muddled a bit by their weird work relation. I’m just saying, like father, like daughter.

And yes, Morgan dyes her hair. This is more established in the remix I wrote out of boredom of yet another chapter of Robin and Frederick yelling at each other in the snow.

“It’s a wonder your wayward mother never tried fleeing the continent all together,” Grima says.

At this point, I just accepted that I had no control over character barging in because they felt like it. Grima kept the story interesting at least, or else this whole plot would have been the slowest, most boring road trip ever.

At the cost of bloating this chapter and shoving out some other content I initially wanted to cover.

Due to Ferox’s waveringly official stance of neutrality, we spent a few years moving back and forth here.

[Cackling laughter]

Lon’qu and Olivia drop unannounced into the unoccupied seats at the table while Frederick and Robin waited for their dinners.

This scene is … weird. A slight mess. Originally, Lon’qu and Olivia had the same level of screen time as Donnel and Nowi did in the first chapter. But I already had the outline sectioned off into five chapters and writing even more scenes on boats was not a good usage of my time. Presumably, the khans got word that Robin and Frederick were back and heading to Valm and since Lon’qu and Olivia were already in the area with the same destination, they decided to do a favor and sent a message ahead.

What are the Ferox kids doing in Valm? Spying Something, wasn’t important.

A hazy memory of before. Sumia stumbles into Robin’s shoulder, the two of them laughing, drunk on wine and mirth.

In my drafts, there’s half of the fairy tale that was supposed to go in this chapter. Sumia drunkenly tells an equally sloshed Robin the story as they stumble around in the castle. It’s a more standard tale paralleling Modron hiding her children from the Grimleal and made much more sense than whatever was happening in the last chapter. Unfortunately, I cut it out because certain parties used up too many words when they weren’t even supposed to appear.

Chapter Four

Chapter four and five were supposed to come out back to back because I assumed I’d have time to write over the holiday break. As we all know now, that didn’t happen, like so many of my plans.

More importantly though, at this point I realized that Robin needed to start getting his shit together, fast.

A beat from Grima’s many wings carried them on the hot winds blowing off the fires below, covering several hours march in a fraction of the time.

This passage from the bad timeline is one of those sections I wrote nearly immediately since it just clicked. (The other significant passage is the final scene.) Honestly though, I was starting to have a hard time not repeating the same imagery and words over and over again. My grasp of English and vocabulary has never been anything to write home about, first language notwithstanding, and I literally had to pull out the thesaurus a few times in the later sections so I wouldn’t keep writing “scream” but completely forgot what other words existed. Linguistics amazes me, but it is so not my department.

Is it anger? Is it despair? Is it exhaustion, ascending to the Exalt’s throne alone, …

How to Tell I Wrote a Section by Hand Rather Than on My Computer: when the sentences get long and on this roll of phrase after phrase after phrase, that’s me with a pen. This whole section from Chrom was handwritten on my then-new iPad to test out some software.

By this point, I accepted that Chrom was just going to Be There and started working on his scenes to also try ramping up the tension in the fic by going backwards in his history to when the grief gets rawer and rawer. you wore out a path isn’t primarily about grief or depression, but some of those beats snuck in?

Chrom is a Mess™ at this point.

They dream feverishly.

What the fuck was this section.

“How am I supposed to keep this army and your father alive if you won’t tell me what happens? You’re one of our greatest sources of information and you refuse to share with anyone. Stop hiding.”

I hate! This dumb trope! Of not sharing info when traveling back in time! What’s the point of time traveling with the express purpose of changing history and then not! Changing history!

I have strong feelings.

By private captain, Robin means pirates. They must find pirates to board with.

This was entirely for my own amusement. There’s no other reason. Another key sign that my characters are getting a handle on their lives is that the writing starts getting snarkier.

Chapter Five

If by some future machination, the count increases to three out of three, he’s going to wholesale stop trusting magical mountains.

Case in point about the snark.

The master revived, the blood burning, the sacrifice slain, the master revived, the lORD, the FelL DRAGON, death, glory, the gOD and its vessel, returned, returned.

It turns out, messing with AO3’s formatting to have some font fun is a pain in the ass involving work skin shenanigans. The picture work skin already failed to do its job, I wasn’t going to wrestle with another skin just for this sentence. How it’s supposed to look:

A good two-third of this chapter just all came at once, in a sudden dash of productive writing. The muses are fickle that way.

Back on the point about how I Did Not Outline, there were a few items I wanted to reappear through the narrative. Elements from the fairy tales come back in this fight, for example. Another point I decided in the fourth chapter when writing the opening scene are the cathedrals. 

(Disclaimer: I’m not religious and thus don’t know the full symbolic significance in cathedrals. What I know can be distilled into: You Thought New York Construction Was Slow? and Very Pretty Because Very Important and Yes, The Organ is Behind You and Very Loud. Not a lot.)

“Why do you fight for Chrom?”

Robin getting interrogated on this point keeps coming up in my fics, but the scenes are always fantastic short bursts that are good at breaking up a section that’s been running too long.

Suddenly, Robin is quite literally on fire.

I already drew the picture. The boy’s on fire. There was a good explanation when I first thought this up, but then when it came time to writing the scene, I forgot why, and my outline didn’t have any notes. Bonds? Naga’s flame? Dramatically dissolving Grima’s marks from Robin’s body? All of the above?

“One last tale for the road,” Modron says to her son, …

Modron’s name. I’ve seen people taking cues from Morgan and going with Morgana, but I’m a contrary soul that always resists whatever fandom decides is a good idea. This works out well half the time.

Morgan and Morgana led my brain to the Arthurian legends, and I decided to see what some of those character’s mothers were called. Went to Wikipedia, clicked a bunch off links radiating from Morgan le Fay and somehow landed on Modron? She’s interesting. Nor did I know about the DnD Bill Cipher thing. 

Normally, though, I would not have started with a Welsh name. Some of the name choices for Plegian characters have vaguely Middle East origins (which is a completely different discussion about real world politics in that casting decision) and I would have started there.

I’m not a linguist though. Or someone that knows about naming conventions. So.

Now he stands grounded and as well rooted as the Mila Tree, the fire traded for a calm glow and Robin’s so grateful.

And this line here, this line here, is the sole reason I humored Chrom kicking his way into the story. This final scene was one of the first things I wrote after deciding to expand past the first chapter.

Look at these two dumb boys growing up.

In Conclusion

[staring at my file archives]

Have I ever actually finished a multi-chapter fic before?

[sorbriquette]

Tagged by @basic-banshee Thank you Ban <3

1. How did you begin writing? I was writing from childhood. My primary school tutor was really encouraging so I started posting fanfic on FF.net illegally at like age 9. It was bad. When I was about 13 I started doing online RP and fell in with a group of brilliant people who helped me keep that up for YEARS and is kinda how I got into writing properly, not my shitty childhood fanfic. 

2. What was your first writing project? Tell us a little about it. Like I said, shitty childhood fanfic. First legit project though would probably be last years NaNoWriMo (where you write 50k in a month). I wrote the first draft of a high fantasy kinda thing I’m working on but like the entire plot of that has been scrapped and I’m starting from scratch this year so...

3. What is your preferred medium for writing first drafts? Oh, I use ywriter 5 (link here) it’s like a free program that lets you write (without a spell check importantly so I don’t stop) and like add in like character and location and item tabs so you can keep track of what and who appears in the story and what each scene fulfills and shit. Imma shut up before this turns into an add but it’s really good and yall should check it out (even if I basically just use the POV system myself)

4. What rituals or habits do you have around writing? 

I don’t really have any I don’t think? For me it’s kinda just sit down and go for as long as I’ve got the motivation. Usually late at night admittedly but yeah there’s nothing particularly consistent about the way I write.

5. We all have a “type”– of character, plot, theme– what is yours? I feel called out. 

Probably wit though. Across all my characters RP, actual story, weves, I like the snarky asshole ones. I’m weak for that banter. 

Also kinda both theme/character: good characters bore the shit out of me. I like ‘em morally grey or immoral and as such I write a lot about the subjective nature of morality in my original shit.

6. Introduce us to one (or more!) of your OC’s. Right so my current original shit has 6 mains and asking me to choose between them is inhumane so you get the 4 starting ones and the other two will remain a mystery.

Ren --> Brings a knife to a gun fight because ‘you gotta live life on hard mode’, makes bad choices for fun, stupidly reckless, very loyal but issues with authority. Military deserter turned pirate. Unofficial leader of this band of misfits. 

Marcel --> Brings 2 knives to a gun fight because he is both a follower and coward. Just here for a laff and a taste of freedom. Prince of a country but does not want to rule. Falls in love with the first man who pays attention to him. Alignment is chaotic dumbass.

Kia --> Supposed to be the party thief but ‘it’s easier to loot a corpse than pick a pocket’. An actual proper coward, will leave everyone else to die if it saves her. Can’t take anything seriously. Tries to life-hack everything. Thinks murder is the solution to everything. 

Corvus --> Absolute pacifist regardless of the danger. RLLY into blackmail (and plants). Lowkey the token evil teammate. Perpetually rolling his eyes. Makes all the plans and then gets salty when no one follows them. Would sell you to Satan for one corn chip.

7. What’s your favorite genre to read? FANTASY! Which is why, despite only really writing fic for Carry On, I’ve not actually read any of Rainbow Rowell’s other work. Contemporary romance doesn’t really interest me.

Also I’m weak for anything featuring like crime, but the criminals doing the crime, not the crime solving. 

8. Your favorite genre to write? Fantasy again! Both high and low but with a preference for high because I like to world build. 

9. How do you conduct your authorial research? LMAO what?

Like I said I like to write high fantasy so I don’t so much research as like to perpetually learn and incorporating things I like in. 

10. What does your editing (gasp) process look like? So in 3. I said ywriter doesn’t have spell check? For fanfic I give it a cursory read over and fix anything glaring, then I copy it into word and use spellcheck and also grammarly. Then to the betas for the final round (I should do more but also?? Just fanfic)

My NaNo project tho? Never got edited at all. 

11. What are your favorite tropes? BRuh I love all the tropes. I am WEaK for tropes. So trimming down to the favs:

I have a weird thing for catagorising so I love me some Cast Calculus

I try but never quite succeed with Blue and Orange Morality

Arson, Murder, and Jaywalking barely counts but I love it

A comedic Rashomon  AKA that thing where everyone is being interrogated and they all tell completely different stories

I high key love a Magnificent Bastard in any form

And I mean a nice round five would have been good but how can one resist a Deadpan Snarker

Also I don’t think this is what I was meant to do for this segment but I enjoyed it so wevs

12. Show off your writing space. ABSOLUTELY NOT MY ROOM IS A MESS

13. What is the most useful piece of writing advice you’ve ever used? Don’t write for anyone but yourself. Write what you want to read. 

I know it’s been said a multitude of times but idk the first time it really resonated with me was when VE Schwab mentioned it. I can’t find the source but I think she was quoting someone, soz!

14. What is the least useful piece of writing advice you’ve ever ignored? Write what you know.

Like get fucked? What I know is fucking boring. Let me write what I can imagine. 

And though I don’t consider it real writing advice cause it was just 1 dumbass post on pinterest I saw one time “when writing a woman's pov make it more about emotions than a males. Her emotions, other peoples emotions’ etc. etc. Basically a load of shit. Don’t write a gender, write a fucking character. 

15. Your writing beverage/snack of choice? I drink a lot of tea but it usually goes cold. 

16. How do you compile your ideas? I don’t mostly, it’s a bad habit. Sometimes I drop stuff in my phone for fanfic or I have a couple of pocket sized leather note books I used to carry around for my original shit. 

But mainly it’s just left in my head to get forgotten :\

17. What are your controversial opinions ™ on the craft of writing? I’m about to get crucified but here goes:

Writing isn’t hard. 

Originally and concepts and stringing together a proper story? Yeah it’s a challenge. But just writing? Nah. not for me at least. If I’m sitting in front of a blank word document it’s because I have a problem with the scene. It doesn’t happen that often but when it does I find the best thing to do is go back and redo the sequence because going off no 13. It probably means I’m not interested in the scene. 

But that’s just my opinion so please extinguish your torches and put down the pitchforks.

Tagging: @mydamnsunshine @thatsbitchcraft and any of my mutals who write. Chances are if you haven’t been tagged I thought you already had so go ahead and consider urself tagged. 

[puckyeahmightyducks]

Today’s word count puts me slightly ahead of where NaNo goal is! I want to do somewhere around 2K words a day, so I’m doing good.

I’ve also decided to share a little bit of what I write each day. Since i didn’t share yesterday’s, you’ll get a longer piece today! Please excuse sloppy grammar/prose and errors. This is totally unedited.

NaNoWriMo 2018 Days 1 & 2: Klegghorn looked around the sizable kitchen before taking a seat at the table. Nosedive had been uncharacteristically quiet on the walk there. Even now, his movements were subdued, slow. “Let’s start this at the beginning, okay.” He watched the duck closely. The close relationship between the bothers was widely known and he’d seen firsthand just how far they were willing to go to protect each other. He really didn’t think Nosedive was a suspect, but needed to rule him out anyway. “Whatever.” He slouched in the chair across from Klegghorn, arms crossed. “You were the first one on the scene, right?” He made note of the closed off posture. “Yeah.” “Can you describe it for me? How did you find him?” “Um. I was on my bike and looking for any signs of where he might have been. Tanya and I split at the dealership to cover more ground. I don’t remember what I saw, but I drove down that side street. He was behind a dumpster…” He frowned. “He was covered in trash bags.” Klegghorn quickly wrote his record of events in his notebook. “What else?” “Um, nothing? I checked for a pulse and he was still breathing. I called Tanya and the others to come help. I mean, you’re not supposed to move someone who’s hurt like that. But we did… What if we made it worse?” “I’m sure Tanya’s doing whatever she can for him.” He had to stay professional about this. As much as he didn’t want to believe one of them could have attacked Wildwing, he knew the drake was not an easy target. It’d almost have to be someone he wasn’t expecting to take him down like that. He didn’t want to think of the alternative: that there was an enemy out there strong enough to overpower the team captain and almost kill him without alerting the rest of the Ducks. “What did he look like when you found him?” “Bloody? Dirty. I dunno, man!” “What about his shoes? Was he wearing them?” “Um…” He shrugged. “Look, I’m sorry; but…” he sighed. “This is not the best day. I can’t remember that much.” “Did you notice anything missing? Anything he normally wears or keeps on him?” “No! We got him here. I dunno, man. I haven’t been through his stuff.” “Okay, for the record then, what does he usually have on him?” “I dunno.” “For example,” he tried to stay calm. This was the victim’s only remaining family and he’d been the one to find his brother. A shock like that always affected memory. “Every morning, I put my wallet in my back right pocket. I put on my watch and then my tie. After I get to work, keys go in the left pocket. Stuff like that. What’s his normal routine?” “Um…” Nosedive’s gaze unfocused while he thought. “Yeah, his wallet. But I think it’s in his left pocket. And his comm. And, uh… Quick change. We always have that on us.” “Quick change?” “Yeah. The beacon thingy so we can get our armor if we need it.” He gestured to his sternum. “We usually pin them here.” “Alright… Anything else?” “Um... Shit! The Mask!” His eyes went wide and he rocketed upright, hands on the table. “I don’t know if he had it with him! What if they took that!” “You mean that magic mask that lets him see through stuff?” “Yeah! I mean, he usually keeps that one with his armor; but, what if he wore it to the signing today?” He headed towards the door, intent on checking that the Mask was safe. “Let me know what you find.” He raised a hand to indicate he’d heard him. “And send in Duke if you see him!” Klegghorn leaned back in the seat and mused while he waited. It wasn’t unusual for witness details to be sketchy, especially when they hadn’t fully come out of the shock yet. Nosedive displayed all the classic signs: hugging himself, vacant stare, unfocused. He’d talk to him again later. “Hey,” Duke poured himself a cup of coffee before sitting at the table. “Want any coffee?” “No, thanks.” He flipped to a new page in the notebook. “Can you describe the scene when you arrived?” Duke stared at him, silent. His face was closed off, impassive. Both hands stayed above the table, open and in sight. After several moments, he spoke. “Mallory, Grin, and I arrived in the Aerowing. They kept the plane hovering while I went down to check on things. Tanya had already field dressed his wounds. Looked like he’d been stabbed and his bill was cracked. Not sure what else. We got him on the board and hauled him up, rushed back here, and Tanya started working on him while Mal and I got help.” “Stabbed with what?” He was well aware of Duke’s penchant for swords. “Not sure.” “What was Wildwing wearing?” “Clothes.” “What kind of clothes?” “T-shirt, jeans.” He shrugged. “They were pretty blood soaked by the time we got to him. I think it was something dark colored to begin with.” “When was the last time you saw Wildwing before the incident?” Duke raised an eyebrow and waited again before answering. “Last night. We ate dinner as a team, then he and Dive went to a movie. Crime’s been down and it’s the off season, so we didn’t practice. We went our own ways after dinner. I’m guessing he went to bed when he got back.” “And you? What’d you do after dinner?” “Got a little workout then slept.” He was straightforward with his answers but never provided more information than was requested. “Were you alone or can anyone corroborate your story?” “Mal and I sparred.” He nodded and jotted that down. “Was Wildwing wearing his shoes when you found him?” “Hm.” He scratched his lower beak. “Come to think of it, no.” He leaned forward. “What’d you find at the scene?” “Like I said, can’t discuss that yet. If I have any other questions, I’ll call you. Send Mallory in next.” “Fine.” He stood and refilled his coffee before grabbing a plate of food out of the fridge and heading out. He couldn’t tell if Duke was hiding something or just didn’t like him. Something about the way he moved was too quiet, too unsettling. There was more to him than he let the public see, that was for sure. “Klegghorn.” Mallory came in and sat down right in front of him. Her posture was military perfect. “Mallory.” He nodded pleasantly to her. Her military background was no secret and he hoped she’d be more cooperative. “Can you describe the scene when you arrived?” “Nosedive called at fourteen twenty and we were in the air and to the scene by fourteen twenty eight. I piloted and Duke was copilot. Grin remained on board while Duke went down to help. We retrieved Wildwing and made it back to base by fourteen thirty five. Tanya assessed his injuries en route and began treatment immediately. I retrieved Dr. Lowes and escorted her to the infirmary before receiving direction to retrieve two other doctors, Dr. Carol Maps, Dr. Scott Giles, and his assistants Jewel Everts, Briann Herrera, and Mary Thiele.” “What was Wildwing wearing when you found him?” “His regular clothes. T-shirt and jeans.” “And his shoes?” “Um…” She frowned. “I don’t recall.” He nodded. “When was the last time you saw him before the incident?” “This morning in the galley. We’re usually the first two up. I go for a morning run and he’s preparing breakfast by the time I get back. I had yogurt, trail mix, and apple, and brie. He had cereal, two bananas, and orange juice.” She was certainly thorough with her details. “How about last night?” “Duke made pizzas and we watched Star Trek. Nosedive and Wildwing went to see a movie… Um. It had that white haired comedian in it and looked really stupid. Nosedive would know the title.” “And after?” “Sparred with Duke and went to bed.” Well, that lined up. “Thank you. If I have any other questions, I’ll let you know. If you’ll send in Grin?” “Affirmative.” She stood and left. He was not looking forward to talking to Grin. He just prayed the over sized poultry spoke in plain English this time.

[thefakeredheadwrites]

Shop The eBooks|Writing Tips

All NaNoWriMo long, 100 Original Writing Prompts by TFR is on sale of 99 cents! BUY NOW

“We’re going to lose the war.” “Wars don’t have winners.” Emmerson sighs, “You know what I mean,” she says. “I have a plan though, but it doesn’t work without you. Or-“

Excerpt from this week’s #GroundhogOne efforts (who is Emmerson? Good question), and proof that I DID actually write this week.

I’m not going to lie and say that my NaNoWriMo efforts are going swimmingly, because they’re really not. Writing is difficult, and there’s a chance I’ve gotten stuck. Oh well, shit happens. That doesn’t mean I’m giving up on this story, because I’m not, but it’s going to take a little longer than I thought to get it to where I want it to be.

Going into this year’s NaNoWriMo, I knew that there was a chance something like this would happen, because this really is an ambitious project, and it’s a kind of story I’ve never tried to write before (okay, scratch that, not never, but it’s been a VERY long time and the thing that I did write that would be considered ‘similar’ is…also not similar at all. I digress).

My initial plan going into this was to write this story in order.

Let’s just say that that went out the window, but here’s why it’s a GOOD thing that it did.

What I realized this week (aka the span of time between last Thursday’s post and this one) is that there’s no reason for me NOT to write certain scenes that I’ve already thought up. There really isn’t. Why would or should I STOP myself from writing something that’s going to be in the story ANYWAY?

So, I went ahead and created a ‘Misc’ document in the Scrivenerfile (don’t know what Scrivener is? It’s like Word, but awesome. Use it. 10/10 would recommend) and started writing all the scenes that happen AFTER the last scene I left off on, which yes, includes the end. I’ve mentioned before in my Writing Tips posts, that knowing in advance how and where your story is going to end is critically important to finishing your story. If you don’t know how it’s supposed to end, how are you going to get TO the ending? I know most people aren’t like me and don’t know how EXACTLY it’s going to go down, but all you need is a vague idea, a vague endpoint, and drive your story in that general direction. It may change, it probably will change, but as long as you have a direction, you’ll be set.

Now, I may be about 10,000 words behind where I should be for NaNoWriMo standards, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on #GroundhogOne, even if things are getting a little crazy at work and the holidays are starting up. Like I did with the #WhoIsTalyaNightingale novel, I’m going to write when I have time, whenever I can. It may be a little at a time, but a little at a time is not the same as NOT writing. We can’t all sit down and bang out 5,000 words or more a day. That’s always the goal, but even for people who are full-time writers, that doesn’t happen for every.single.writing.session. Temper your expectations and understand that writing is as challenging as any other art. You’re creating a world that ONLY exists in your head. Only you can do that. It may take longer than others, but you can and will accomplish your goal as you keep working at it.

AND, as another bonus to saying ‘screw it’ to writing #GroundhogOne in order is that I now know some other things that are going to happen in the story, which I wouldn’t have figured out if I pressed on with my original plan of writing in order. There’s going to be space fights, arguments, an attempt at infiltrating a prison that’s going to go SUPER wrong, like, wronger than the other attempts at infiltrating said prison (and even as I think about this, an attempt that’s going to go SUPER WRONGER than any of the other times I’ve planned on writing. Here’s another short tangent: talk it out. Sometimes, if you get stuck, if you talk about what you’re working on, you’ll go in ways you never imagined if you just talk to someone or write it out. Try it.), and a realization about birthdays.

Remember friends, in space, no one can hear you if you never finish your book. So, don’t be like space.

Also, maybe don’t try to write your What I Wrote This Week post before the coffee’s kicked in.

The writing adventures continue, and now I need to figure out how to kill off my characters in the fun news ways that I just figured out as I was typing this post.

Need some resources? Don’t forget my Writing Tips page, or the NaNoWriMo Writing Tips Countdown, which starts with Part One, and the rest of it is linked below this paragraph. Need prompts? Well, I have hundreds in the Prompt Library, or the exclusive Prompt eBooks in the Shop. Don’t forget that 100 Original Writing Prompts by TFR is on sale of 99 cents, all NaNoWriMo long. Or head on over to the NaNoWriMo forums for advice and inspiration of any and all kinds.

Part One: 4 Reasons Why You Should Participate In @NaNoWriMo

Part Two: 6 Tips For A Successful @NaNoWriMo

Part Three: 5 Ways To Focus During @NaNoWriMo

Part Four: Pre-@NaNoWriMo #MondayMotivation

Part Five: 3 Reasons Why It’s Not About Winning @NaNoWriMo

All NaNoWriMo long, 100 Original Writing Prompts by TFR is on sale of 99 cents! BUY NOW

[authorcatherinenogle]

Author Question Tag

Decided to procrastinate today for NaNoWriMo as this tag caught my eye. Decided to fill it out, just for fun. 1. Favorite place to write. My favorite place to write is on my couch. It has tables nearby, it’s hella comfy, I have all the pillows I need to nest in, and is close to the kitchen for coffee.

2. Favorite part of writing.For Original Fiction: Outlining. It’s quick, dirty, and I can find out what happens next super fast. For FanFiction: Playing through/re-reading source material to check facts.

3. Least favorite part of writing.For Original Fiction: Editing. I suck at it. For FanFiction: Editing--so I don’t do it. My chapters I post are somewhat edited as I go, but I don’t re-draft my fanfiction.

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals? Cup of coffee, and a cup of water, always. Coffee for fuel, water because otherwise I won’t hydrate myself.

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most. Honestly, I can’t answer this. I genuinely don’t have a favorite author, or a favorite book. I enjoy books plenty when I read them, but they just don’t stick with me that way. What influences my writing is characters that my friends and I have created while playing RPGS, or campaigns I’ve played in or run in the past.

6. Favorite character you ever created. Always and forever will be Abby Arana from a Scion RPG campaign I played in a few years back. She was the child of a war God, (Huitzilopochtli for those of you that are interested) and was all sarcasm, pranks, and badassery. She killed many a villain in the campaign and grew so much as a character that I will always hold her near and dear.

7. Favorite author. Shit. If I have to pick one, Anthony Burgess, simply for A Clockwork Orange. (Viddy well, droogs!)

8. Favorite trope to write. The ‘will they, won’t they’ trope. Mostly for fanfiction.

9. Least favorite trope to write. ‘True love at first kiss’. Because, really, there is a negligible amount of people that will ever experience that (if any), and if your story isn’t believable or relatable, you’re doing yourself a disservice.

10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about. My husband and I have spent time spit balling an idea of his this past week. He wants to do a dystopian war novel, and has some amazing ideas. (Now if I could only get him to write them down….-_-)I know this answer seems like a cop-out, but he is truly the only person I get on well enough with, and are so on the same page that I feel we could actually accomplish finishing a book without murdering each other.

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish. The only process I have that is tried and true (for me) is for fanfiction. I’m still figuring out this novel thing.

Come up with your twist on the cannon.

Agonize for days over how to make it new and interesting.

Give up and start writing, and self-edit as you go.

Chapters take forever, but it’s better than going back through later.

Laugh at your own dialogue at random and scare your husband.

Finish the chapter, read through for consistency. If that checks out…

IMMEDIATELY post to ff.net and A03.

Wait impatiently for feedback

12. How do you deal with self-doubts? Xanax.

13. How do you deal with writer's block? I do something else creative. I do character sketches, or work my outline, or try writing from another character’s perspective for a while.

14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book? The one I’m writing now will be a hefty amount, but so far, fanfiction wise, probably Abduction. I got the itch to write for MassEffect, but didn’t want to go through the games again for a refresher, so I perused the wiki for a long, long time.

15. Where does your inspiration come from? Mostly, RPGs I’ve played in, and conversations I have with my chosen family. My boys are hilarious and some of their zingers end up giving me dialogue, or some story from their past will create a scene for me.

16. Where do you take your motivation from? From the need to start acting like the adult I’m supposed to be. I’m 27, I’m a homemaker, and deal daily with major depression and anxiety issues. I am currently using my need to help provide for my family to get me through this novel and get published. (Either self, or possibly an agent--not sure yet.) My husband is a great provider, but I want to help and make our lives more comfy. ...and pay back debt.

17. On avarage, how much writing do you get done in a day? Fanfiction wise: I will write all day. Like, maybe a get a coffee, and take the random smoke break, but other than that, ass to cushion until it’s done. I can pound out a thirteen page chapter in an evening if I have a good enough surge of creativity. Original: Before NaNo? I got a good 6k done in two days as I fleshed out the first arc. Now that NaNo has hit, I’m getting maybe 2k a day? It’s only day three, so we’ll see what happens, but I spend a good amount of time building my author platform, doing sketches for the world, world building, and taking care of the house.

18. What’s your revision or rewriting process like? Sporadic at best. When I do my first draft, (or only draft for fanfiction), I self edit as I go for continuity and plot holes, so it's hard sometimes to work in details that should be there, or add in new scenes as it makes major restructuring necessary.

19. First line of a WIP you’re working on.

The ticking of the old hand-me-down cat clock on the wall drilled into my brain with every mechanical swish of its tail. -from Whispers in His Ears

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

As my eyes traveled up it's naked form, I noticed a distended gut, and a hollowed chest. Every bone was visible, and every time it moved, the space around it seemed to shudder, as if the air itself was disturbed by this thing's presence. -from Whispers in His Ears

21. Post the last sentence you wrote in one of your WIP’s.

Not able to spot anything out of the ordinary in the woods, Ray turned back to Samuel and I and just shrugged. -from Whispers in His Ears

22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you? On fanfiction: One usually does it for me. I just want to get content out, and it’s usually edited well enough that I haven’t gotten any real complaints about grammar/spelling. Original fiction: We’ll see. My first chapter is on draft 6. The second is still on one.

23. Single or multi POV, and why? Both have their uses. I have a multi POV I’m working on and it helps me with moving the story forward, and gives good insight into my MC’s.

24. Poetry or prose, and why? Prose. I am shit at poetry.

25. Linear or non-linear, and why? For my WIP, it’s linear, and for most of my back burner projects, they’re linear…nothing against non-linear, but I haven’t felt that the non-linear format would benefit a story I’m telling thus far.

26. Standalone or series, and why? My fanfictions thus far are all standalone stories. None of them connect to any of the others. Different AU’s and all that. My WIP novel for NaNoWriMo, is plotted out for three books, because there was so much more to tell.

27. Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished? I always share with my husband. He beta read Alone Together for me (poor guy), and is always willing to hear a snippet from whatever I’m working on. Anyone else, though...it’s going to be somewhat polished before you read anything.

28. And who do you share them with? The husband. Sometimes my little sister when she has the time.

29. Who do you write for? For me. My depression makes it hard for me to stick with things during the day. I always need to be moving around and am jumping from project to project...but writing? I am wearing so many hats as a writer, and my passion is so great that I just chill. I sit there, and I do my mental gymnastics and get shit done.

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written. Well.. series of lines:

"You drugged your foster mom?" Kerrie raised one of her slender hands and combed her long dirty blond locks from her view.  "It's not a habit," Ray spoke from around my middle where he had begun to lightly tickle my hipbone, causing me to squirm in his firm grip. "This is only the what...third time?" -from Whispers in His Ears

31. Hardest character to write. I’m going to go with Ray from my WIP. He’s a genuinely good kid. He was raised right. He shows respect, and cares for others...trying to have him not come off as a cut out character has been driving me insane. He has flaws for sure, but I’m not sure if they’re substantial enough to offset how good he is.

32. Easiest character to write. Frank, from my WIP. Frank is a family man who served in Desert Storm. He’s Ray’s dad, and is also a genuinely good guy--but he’s seen some shit, and he wouldn’t recommend it. He also swears very creatively, which has been fun. My husband is a vet, and so I just ask him how Frank would say something in ‘drill speak’ and husband translates. He just makes me want to create for him.

33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing? Nope. Can’t--too distracting. I do make playlists of what my characters would listen to and play those while doing character sketches/outlines, though.

34. Handwritten notes or typed notes? Handwritten. I have 2 notebooks dedicated to my WIP and NaNo.

35. Tell some backstory details about one of your characters in your story Whispers in His Ears. Okay, a little bit about Samuel Peppard:

Samuel wanted for nothing as a child, and was very much loved by his mother. However, his mother, Sharyl was only able to give him so much because she had taken out credit cards and a mortgage in her mother’s name and then proceeded to not pay. When Hattie, Samuel’s grandmother sued the shit out of Sharyl and took custody of Samuel when he was 10 years old. He has special permission to live in the 55+ active living community where Hattie lives.

36. A spoiler for story Whispers in His Ears. One of the major characters gets partially decapitated.

37. Most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you. “The First Draft of Anything is Shit.” Wait...didn’t I just admit to posing first drafts?.....shiiiiit...

38. Have you shared your outline of your story Whispers in His Ears with someone? If so, what did they think of it? Shared it with the husband, and he’s real with me. He doesn’t blow rainbows up my ass, so when he told me it was a good, tight, sound plot--and then asked about a sequel, I knew I had something good.

39. Do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one. Yes. I do base some aspects of my characters on real people. Example: Kerrie’s moral compass is based off my little Sister’s, as well as her body type.

40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why? Both! I got my start writing in fanfiction, so I have a soft spot for it. Really, though, I think it’s beautiful that artists can create something people love so much that they feel the need to expand on the world, and the characters and make it new, fresh, and exercise their own creative muscle.

41. How many stories do you work on at one time? Fanfiction wise: I alternate writing chapters between four separate stories I have going on.Now that I’m delving into original fiction, however, I’m putting my fanfiction on hold to put my full attentions on WIHE and make it the best it can be.

42. How do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc.

Step 1: I pick a name that I like (or surname) and start there. Step 2: I write in Bibisco (freeware, it’s amazing) and it has a really great character section. There are different sections with interview style questions so you can thoroughly plan your character, AND there’s a space for images. Seriously, it’s amazing. Step 2.5: I sit and think long and hard (lol) about what my story needs, and how this character can fulfill that need in full or part. They need a purpose to be in my story. Once they have their purpose, I think of quirks to individualize them and make them more real. Step 3: Google models/actors for a GENERAL idea of your character, or in some cases, roll through your facebook for someone you feel fits the character--I do this to help with general descriptions.

43. Are you an avid reader? Sadly, no. I have issues sticking with things...so I try to read, but after maybe ten minutes or so, I’m bouncing off to go do something else. I am hoping to change that, though.

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

“Okay so it's 3000% bullshit that this doesn't have any other comments, so because of that I'm gonna comment the fuck out of this fic because it's phenomenal.You're writing is so good, like the figurative language alone is amazing. Even tho I'm a writer and I want everyone to read every word I've written I'm also shitty person and I like to skim fics when I only wanna read smut. But not this fic. I started skimming and was like oh no wait, this is like actually legit good writing and I went back to start it over, and then stayed after the smut was over.” -a review on my fanfiction Between Love and Hate (Stardew Valley)

45. Worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten .It sounds stupid, and like I’m low key patting myself on the back, but I looked through reviews on work I’ve posted and I didn’t really find anything negative other than comments about minor grammar and spelling issues. I’ll get some negative feedback soon, it’s bound to happen.

46. What would your story Whispers in His Ears look like as a tv show or movie? It would do better as a TV show, I think, due to length and depth of the mythos. It would probably be compared to Stranger Things due to the age of the MC and her friends.

47. Do you start with characters or plot when working on a new story? Plot. Always plot.

48. Favorite genre to write in. The spoopy ones!

49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end? The beginning. I put so much pressure on myself to set the story up right so the  reader will continue on.

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had. For the life of me, I have no idea. I’m primarily into fanfiction, so that's easy. WIHE is my first foray into original fiction. 

[aureafaepoetry-blog]

The Remedy: A NaNoWriMo Novel

Yasmine Grey is a college freshman who struggles with depression as she finds the confidence to start and finish writing her first book.

I’m really excited about NaNoWriMo. This is my first year participating and even though I started late I feel like I’m making great progress. I mean, I wrote 17,751 words in 14 days!!! I know I’m behind but that's ok. Because life happens and I believe I will catch up and reach 50k before November ends. Anyway, here is an excerpt from my novel.

Chapter One:

You could tell me that the sky is a beautiful shade of orange and blue hues, but all I will see is this suffocating fog. That’s all I’ve been seeing for the past few years. A muted reality. No light at the end of this long, dark tunnel. An empty glass. Sad brown eyes holding oceans of tears that may never fall staring back at me every morning. I wonder if all my dreams are stored in these bags under my eyes. Is that why they get darker after every sleepless night?

Monday, August 21st Feeling Words: Sore and Fatigued.

I promised Julie, my high school counselor, that I would start writing in a daily journal again. Once I entered my senior year I got way too busy to write every day. And besides, I found myself feeling a lot better just talking to her during lunch break. The cafeteria was way too loud. I hope life is quieter in college. I doubt it. From what I’ve seen in the movies it’s worse… But I could always eat in my dorm room… I also promised her I would keep in touch. Were going to skype either once a week or once a month depending on how crazy classes get.

I was going to buy a new journal and school supplies once I settled in but my dad gave me a going away present. He brought me this beautiful light brown leather journal that looks like an envelope. It has this long thin matching leather string that wraps around three times. I don’t see a point in having just one string. I would rather have two strings so I can tie a nice bow. Not that I can tie a fancy looking bow or anything. I like the idea of being able to tie a nice fancy bow. I love the smell of it. It’s earthy yet sweet. It kinda smells like I’m walking through the woods after it rained in the spring. I love it. So… I tried to write this fantasy story I’ve been thinking about. It’s based on this dream I had a few weeks ago. I was in a forest alone with a white horse waving a wand trying to cast a spell on the horse but it didn’t work. Eventually, I threw the wand down in frustration and cried. Then my parents came and comforted me. They told me it was okay and that they still loved me. But I felt like they were disappointed in me because I wasn’t as strong as my sister. (I don’t have a sister in real life but I wish I did. I always wanted an older brother and a younger sister. But I’ll probably be an only child forever…) Ever since then I wanted to write about this girl who would do anything to be just as strong and vigilant as her sister and win her parents love. But when I sit down to write I can’t find the words. The world is so vivid in my head but I can’t find the words. I’ve been up since five this morning thinking about this story. I got one of my old journals out of the box and sat there for three fucking hours. Three fucking hours and this is what I produced:

She stood there swinging her wand wildly and yelling the chant over and over. But no matter what she did the horse didn’t sprout any wings nor even a feather. “I’ll never be able to go to witches school like my older sister,” She thinks to herself and sits on the tree stump behind her. She scans the forest for signs of her parents coming to look for her. Nothing but green and orange specks of sky peeking through the thick forest trees. She sighs. The horse snorts and moves closer to her bending his head down enough for her to rub him as if trying to comfort her. She rubs his snout and fishes for a few sugar cubes in her pocket. Before even getting them from her pocket the horse sticks his mouth down to chomp. She giggles “Can I at least get them out my pocket first?” The horse nods and backs away waiting patiently for his treat. She rewards him for his patience and he munches away with excitement. She lies down on the over-sized tree stump, watching the clouds go by and the sun dips below the horizon. Thinking of all her sister was able to accomplish before her age. Thinking of the high expectations she was supposed to meet before today. Thinking of her parent’s hidden disappointment behind their encouraging voices.

“Witches school… bending his head down for her to rub… sticks his mouth down to chomp… munches away with excitement…” this is shit. I know this is just a first draft but I feel like I could do better than this. I kept reading it over and over and over again trying to find better words to replace that garbage. But nothing. And I still can’t think of anything. Maybe I should just do what my mom says and focus on graduating college and starting a career. Working nine to five would be a lot easier than waking up at five in the morning to write bullshit for three solid hours and regret every word. I know if I told Julie any of this she would say something encouraging. I wish she could come with me. She could probably get a job as a counselor at this college. Do colleges even have counselors? I guess I’ll find out when I get there. My parents and I are taking turns driving to the campus. It’s a five-hour drive and I’m due to drive in three hours. I should take a nap until then.

We arrived at the campus at three pm. My parents and I finished unpacking my things and organizing my side of the room within the next two hours. It’s a lot smaller than I thought it would be. Two long twin beds were on opposite sides of the room. One against the wall next to the window overlooking the student parking lot. The other a couple feet from the door. And two desks beside each other against the wall across from the bathroom. And next to the bathroom was a shared closet. I think it should be big enough for two. I can probably put a divider in the middle so we could have privacy while getting dresses. Since I arrived before my roommate I got to choose which side of the room I want to live in for the next four years. I chose the side with the window. I kept the bed where it was but pushed one of the desks in front of the window. My mom insisted that we go shopping for curtains and carpet to add some color to the room. As much as I want to I would rather wait until my roommate gets here so we can pick colors and patterns together. For once she agreed with me. Speaking of roommates, I should be meeting with my roommate after orientation. All I know is her name is Melody King and she’s an Environmental Management major. I keep reading roommate horror stories to prepare myself for the worst. I thought it would help with my anxiety but it just made me more anxious to meet her for the first time. What if she’s a bitch or a slob? What if she’s inconsiderate and parties while I’m trying to study? What if she’s pushy and annoying? So many what if's and not enough time to prepare myself for the worst…

I can’t stop thinking about that story. I can’t stop thinking about those hours I wasted writing bullshit. I could have gotten a good night’s rest. But I didn’t and now my body feels like lead and I just want to lie down in my nice new bed and pretend that I don’t exist. My body has felt heavy all day. I’m not sure if it’s because I only got three hours of sleep or if it’s the depression.I have this feeling even when I get a full eight hours of sleep. It feels I have this wet wool blanket wrapped around me. It’s so heavy and slows me down. I feel like I’m moving through syrup or something. I can see my parents are worried about me because I’m moving slow and not talking much. They’ve been giving me the look. They want me to talk to them about how it feels and why I feel this way. They know how hard it is for me to explain to them. At least they got over the “it’s my fault you’re like this” speech. Or at least I think they did… I don’t know why I keep trying to write. I wish these ideas would stop coming to me. I hid my box of journals under my bed. Mom suggested I do that so it won't distract me from my studies. But now I can’t stop thinking about how she used to love when I shared my fantasy worlds with her. She used to be proud of my writing. But since I told her that I wanted to write books for a living she changed… I don’t understand it… I don’t understand her… Did I lose my talent? Did she lose faith in me? Did I have real talent or was she just being nice to me because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings? No… That can’t be because dad still loves my writing. I can always go to him when I’m inspired to write. I’m going to miss our late night chats about our favorite fantasy novels over hot chocolate. I’m going to miss telling him about the fantasy world I dreamed about. I can’t believe I’m saying this but… I’m actually going to miss my mom…

After walking around campus for an hour my parents and I grabbed an early dinner, late lunch before they drove back home. I finally have an hour to myself before orientation. I’m exhausted and I just want to sleep. I’m tired of being around so many unfamiliar people trying to make as many friends as possible. But the day isn’t over yet. I have orientation at 8:30 and I’ll be alone with my new roommate. Not looking forward to that but I just want to get it over with. Not exactly sure what I should do with this new freedom. No mom hovering over my shoulders making sure I’m keeping my grades up. No dad to share my stories with or discuss books we like. No more homemade meals. Although mom promised to drive five hours just to bring me leftovers once a month I highly doubt she’ll keep that up.

So I overreacted. My roommate is nice. Although I regret telling her about my depression I feel like we bonded a little. She has kind eyes and a soft voice. She looked a lot different than what I imagined. I thought she would be taller than me but were about the same height. I saw her unpacking some books that I have read and talked about with my dad. I’ll have to use those as icebreakers someday. She also seems to be keeping her side tidy so far. She threw away all her trash and laid out her textbooks on her desk with her spiral notebooks on top. Everything is color coded. I’m kinda jealous I wasn’t that prepared. I was going to go pick up my textbooks tomorrow and then get supplies. We made plans to explore the campus before classes start next week. So we know all the shortcuts in case we miss our alarm. I’m going to turn in early. I had a long day and I need to be well rested to take my ID picture tomorrow. Good Night…

[empyreanturtle]

The Darkest Hour, Chapter 2 (A Final Fantasy XV Story)

A/N: Chapter 2... in which I start to explore exactly why Gladio is such an asshole for a few chapters in the game, and we start the slowest burn of relationships in existence XD I wrote these scenes a while ago, long before the Episode Ignis trailers came out, which means they're no longer canon-compliant to the DLC patches - but I don't plan on editing/changing them at all. Also, I currently plan on using this story for some writing practice during NaNoWriMo - I'm not sure of how much of it will actually get shared in the end, but I'm pretty content with these couple of scenes!

AO3 | Chapter 1

Gladiolus sat in a chair in Noctis’s room at the First Secretary’s estate as the prince lay unconscious. Doctors had been in and out of the room all day trying various methods to wake him up with no success. They had initially frowned on Gladiolus’s usual methods for waking Noctis up in the mornings, but even those were tried eventually. In the end, they had concluded that Noctis was under some sort of magical slumber caused by the Hydraean. The stream of people had fizzled out not long after, leaving the room quiet.

“Guess She really took it out of you,” Gladiolus said to the silence. He leaned to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a long, drawn-out breath. What good is a Shield with no one to protect? The Marshal’s words haunted Gladiolus as much as anything they had seen on their journey.

“Just means I’m gonna train you even harder when you wake up,” Gladiolus taunted. “After all, you still have three more blessings to get.” Gladiolus waited for Noctis’s voice, making some wise-ass remark or dismissing the idea entirely. It never came.

Gladiolus frowned and leaned back in the chair once again. “Can’t sleep your way out of this one either. I’ll be here as long as it takes,” he said.

Gladiolus wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake from a day before. He had been too far away, and it had taken him too long, to get back to Ignis after the Imperial shell hit. It was nothing short of a miracle that only his face was damaged. Gladiolus couldn’t help but wonder if Ignis would have been hurt at all, if only Gladiolus had stayed with him instead of splitting up.

But Ignis had been hit, and was recovering in the next room with Prompto at his side. The only thing Gladiolus could do now was wait until Noctis and Ignis recovered, and make sure nothing like this ever happened again.

He picked up the closest book he saw - an autobiography of First Secretary Camelia Claustra - and began flipping through the pages to pass the time. Gladiolus was barely into the second chapter when Prompto peered around the doorframe.

“Uh, Gladio?” Prompto asked meekly.

“Yeah?”

“I really gotta go,” Prompto replied as he shifted back and forth on his feet uncomfortably. “Can you watch both rooms?”

Gladiolus held back a laugh. Prompto might not have been a fighter like the rest of them were, but his loyalty and devotion were unparalleled. And, his silly optimism had helped take the edge off of Gladiolus’s moods more than once.

“Can’t you piss in a cup or something?” Gladiolus replied with as serious of a tone as he could manage.

“W-w-what?!”

The panicked look on Prompto’s face was exactly what Gladiolus had expected. He smiled at his friend to reveal the joke, then walked to the door. “Why don’t you sit with Noct when you get back? I’ll take a turn with Specs.”

“Ha ha ha, good one, Gladio,” Prompto replied through a forced smile. Gladiolus clapped him on the back to send him down the hallway, then walked into Ignis’s room.

Ninety-eight. Gladiolus bent his elbows and lowered his head to the padded carpet in a hallway of the First Secretary’s estate. He held himself for a beat, then straightened his arms again. Ninety-nine. He repeated the motion one more time. One hundred. After his arms were fully extended, he let his legs fall to the floor and stood up straight.

Gladiolus grabbed his shirt and ran it across his forehead. The rest of his workout would have to wait until Prompto was awake and he could get out of the estate for a while. After only two days of recovery, Altissia was still pretty messed up, but there was a stretch between the estate and the southern camp that was good for a couple sprints. Between sitting at either Ignis’s or Noctis’s bedside, and the broken bits of sleep in between, he was eager for any chance he had to get out and do something.

Gladiolus settled himself in a chair in Ignis’s room. Ignis had first woken up nearly a day ago, but the doctors insisted he stay on bed rest while his wounds healed. Gladiolus and Prompto had been taking turns sitting with him in case he needed anything, while the other stayed with Noctis. To all of their disappointment, Noctis was still out from his battle with the Hydraean.

Ignis’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His bandages completely covered his eyes, but his stillness made Gladiolus conclude that he was asleep. Gladiolus leaned back in the chair and replayed the day of Leviathan’s summoning through his mind again, analyzing every detail to see what could have been done differently for a better outcome.

He never liked the idea that he, Ignis, and Prompto had to be the ones evacuating the city, but the First Secretary was very clear on her requirements. After Prompto had left on that Imperial craft to fly Noctis up to Leviathan, he and Ignis had worked to direct the citizens to safety. Gladiolus would have preferred to be at Noctis’s side, but again, the situation hadn’t given him any chance for it.

Of course, he’d done a piss poor job of protecting Ignis, too. He knew Ignis would tell him that they had done the right thing - splitting up to help more people, instead of sticking together - but it still didn’t change the fact that Ignis had gotten hurt while Gladiolus remained unscathed.

“It should’ve been me,” Gladiolus grumbled under his breath. He clenched both his fists tightly. He couldn’t change the past, but he was going to do everything he could to prevent it from happening again. The Empire was going to pay for what they did.

“Did you say something?” Ignis’s voice came from across the room, startling Gladiolus.

“Shit, Iggy,” he replied. “Thought you were asleep.”

“Unfortunately, my injuries have intervened,” Ignis replied.

“They make pills for that.” Gladiolus walked to Ignis’s bedside table and poured water into a small glass. “Which ones do you want?”

“None, for the time being,” Ignis said. “I can’t think clearly when I’m on them.”

“You’re not supposed to be thinking, you’re supposed to be resting,” Gladiolus replied. He picked out a few pills that he remembered giving Ignis once before.

“I doubt your sentiment would be the same, were you in my position.” Ignis struggled to sit up, but shoved Gladiolus’s hand away when he tried to help.

Gladiolus shook his head in frustration. “Yeah, well, I’m not in your position.” He shoved the glass of water and pills into Ignis’s hands.

Ignis’s mouth turned down in a frown. “There is presumably no shortage of willing Imperials, if you would like to be,” he said sharply.

Gladiolus stepped back in surprise as Ignis swallowed the pills and water. The only other time Ignis had been so short with Gladiolus was that time he interrupted some coffee date nearly five years ago. Even after losing that Imperial Commander at Fort Vaullerey, Ignis hadn’t snapped at Gladiolus or the others.

“My apologies,” Ignis added more softly, when Gladiolus made no reply.

Gladiolus shook his head again. “No,” he replied. “You’re not the one that needs to apologize, Iggy. Niffs did this. They’re gonna apologize for it.”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Ignis asked. “You can’t be reckless right now, Gladio.”

“What other option do I have?” Gladiolus asked, hearing his voice grow louder. He felt his anger and frustration rush hotly through his limbs. “I’m tired of sitting around and waiting for them to make their next move.”

“You bloody well know that is not reason we are still here,” Ignis replied, matching his raised tone.

“How could I forget,” Gladiolus grumbled. If Gladiolus had been the Shield he was supposed to be, they would all be healthy and on their way to the Crystal instead.

“Guys?” Prompto walked into the room. “What’s going on?” Their argument must have woken him up, because he was still rubbing the sleep from one eye.

“Gladio was just leaving,” Ignis said, before Gladiolus even had a chance to open his mouth. Prompto spun his head to look at Gladiolus, noticeably confused.

“Yeah, sure,” Gladiolus confirmed resentfully. If Ignis wanted him gone that badly, Gladiolus wasn’t going to object. And running some sprints to the southern camp was sounding pretty appealing. He could at least check in on Weskham while he was there.

“You’ll be back in just a bit, though,” Prompto said quickly. “Right?”

“We’ll see,” Gladiolus replied. When neither of them replied, he added, “Call me if something important happens.” As he walked out of the room, he heard Prompto quietly asking Ignis if he needed anything.

 Felicity sat in the center of a small sailboat between four crates of fish. She was headed back to Altissia to unload her catch and deliver one crate to each of the four relief kitchens that the city had set up. One week had passed since Leviathan’s awakening; the First Secretary and the Empire made sure the necessities were handled before focusing on clean up and repair.

After Felicity’s confrontation with Gifre, she had been herded by an Imperial relief force to long rows of tents set up at the outskirts of the city. Not even a full day later, they found her again - one among a short list of names that had classified themselves as a fisherman during the internment process - and herded her to the only pier that had survived Leviathan’s awakening. They had assigned her a number and a boat, much smaller than the Cormoran, and tasked her with filling four crates of fish every day. The Empire hadn’t given Felicity much of a choice, but she didn’t mind providing fish for the city’s recovery.

Three working boys were waiting at the docks as Felicity finished her approach. She barely finished tying off the boat when they grabbed the crates for their respective chefs and began pushing their way through the crowd of people gathered. The crowd wasn’t there for food - the Empire had provided enough ration vouchers for each of them. Instead, they spent their time begging and bribing the fishermen to take them to Lucis to go home, to start a new life, or to just be anywhere other than Altissia. The Empire wasn’t allowing any transport away from the city, so the fishermen’s boats were their only hope.

Felicity double checked that her fishing gear was tied off and that her map and compass were secure in her waist pouches. She lifted the final crate out of the boat, intended for Weskham’s tent, and began pushing her way through the crowd. People immediately started shouting at her from all sides and shoving money pouches in her face as they tried to garner sympathy or intimidate her into helping them get to Lucis. Felicity set her mouth in a thin line and continued pushing through with no response. She wished she could help them, but one less boat bringing in fish meant less food for everyone.

As she got closer to the Imperial tent, where each fisherman had to check out in the morning and check back in at night, the crowd’s volume dropped to whispers before suddenly ending several paces from the tent. They hadn’t taken long to learn the consequences of an Imperial overhearing their attempts to illegally get out of the city.

Felicity quickly filled in her catch amount in the log, beneath the writing of the three worker boys that had taken her other crates. A young Imperial soldier hovered over her shoulder as she finished, and the way he read her record aloud, she knew he was new to the post.

The Imperial smirked, “So Merric failed to pick up the last load.”

Felicity shook her head. “I told him not to. I prefer to deliver it myself, sir.”

The soldier clucked his tongue at her. “Not your decision to make.”

“So long as the delivery is done, does it really matter who makes it?” Felicity asked. She gave the soldier a shrug and a smile before picking up the crate again. The soldier mumbled under his breath, but waved her on.

Felicity’s smile dropped as soon as her back was to the soldier. In truth, Felicity learned from Weskham that Merric, the fourth working boy, only had a younger brother left for family after the chaos from a week prior. Ever since, Felicity tried to make sure she would be the last boat to dock, so Merric could go off his shift early and take care of his brother. She knew it wasn’t much, but since the only inconvenience of it was to herself, she had to do what she could.

Felcity entered the perimeter of the southern camp where Weskham’s food station resided. The Empire and First Secretary had set up each of the chefs with a larger tent than most, in exchange for help preparing food for the people in their respective camps. As Felicity got closer, she heard Weskham talking to a deep-voiced man inside.

“And where are you headed?” Weskham asked.

“The tomb at Cartanica,” the other man replied.

Felicity rounded the corner, clearing her throat. I doubt I was supposed to hear that.

“Ah, welcome!” Weskham motioned towards his stove in the corner. “In the usual place.” The man sitting at the long table inside tensed and eyed Felicity suspiciously. He had more muscles than even the ironsmith, brazenly on display beneath an unbuttoned shirt. Felicity averted her eyes and carried the crate over to the corner indicated.

“Are you going by boat the whole way?” Weskham asked the man. Felicity waited for his reply, but before it came, Weskham spoke again, “Don’t worry about her. She can be trusted.”

“Yeah,” the man said after another second. Felicity had never seen him before at Mhaago, but the way he so quickly accepted Weskham’s judgement, he had to be someone who knew Weskham well. “It’ll take a while, since we’ll only travel in the day,” he continued. “Won’t know enough of where we’re going to travel at night.”

Felicity snorted as she tried to hold back a laugh. Guppies. She looked up to see him raising his eyebrows at her, and she couldn’t tell if the look on his face was from annoyance, amusement, or both.

“You don’t need to know where you’re going to travel at night by boat,” she clarified.

“That so?” the man asked.

Felicity nodded. “All you need is a compass and a good map.” From his work counter, Weskham chuckled softly.

The man crossed his arms and made a noise of contemplation. “Hm. Don’t suppose you mind sharing the how of all that,” he said.

Felicity gave him a knowing smile then walked to the empty side of the table. She pulled out her map and opened it to the sea around Accordo, then set her compass on top. “Here,” she said. “Easier if I show you.”

The man came over and leaned over her shoulder to look at the map. Felicity tensed up, despite silently reminding herself not all men were leches like Roux. To her relief, the man took a step back from her and leaned on the edge of the table instead. She cleared her throat, then pointed to a spot in the sea.

“Say you’re here. And you want to go over here,” she dragged her finger across the map to another point. “You’ll want to sail west-north-west, and go a total of ten miles.”

The man nodded along as she spoke.

“If you know how fast you’re going, and have a way to keep time, you know how far you’ve travelled,” Felicity finished. “Just be sure you know exactly where you are before you start.”

“Seems easy enough,” he said. “But what about rocks and shit?”

“Maps are good for more than just directions,” Felicity stated. She pointed at a few symbols that littered the area between Accordo and Lucis. “Those indicate rocky waters. Stay clear of those at night, and you should be fine.”

The man smiled at her and crossed his arms once again. “Last question. Where can I find a good map and compass?”

Felicity smiled back. It had been far too long since someone had genuinely asked for her advice, and even longer since they had taken it. “Take those,” she offered.

He raised his eyebrows at her again. “Won’t you need them?”

She shrugged, “Nah, I know these waters well enough. And if I do need another set, I can get them easier than you could.”

“Thanks,” the man mumbled as he worked on folding up the map.

“Just remember, lad,” Weskham chimed in, “Speed doesn’t help if you’re dead before you get there.”

“I just want all this done with as quick as possible,” the man said. He tucked the map and compass into his pockets. “I should get back. Take care of yourself, Weskham.”

“You as well,” Weskham replied. “Give my regards to the others.” The man nodded his agreement, then left the tent.

As soon as the man was gone, Weskham turned his attention to Felicity. “How are you doing? What news is there from the docks?”

“Nothing new,” Felicity replied as she took a seat at the table. “More people arriving daily, getting more desperate to get away.”

Weskham nodded. “I imagine the crowd will only continue to grow.” He paused, then asked, “Has there been any word of the crew from the Cormoran?”

Felicity shook her head, but averted her eyes. Weskham already knew most of the crew had perished, but she hadn’t told him the details of her final encounter with Gifre. She certainly didn’t regret anything she had done, but Gifre was the first man she had killed that wasn’t an order from someone else. It was easy to ignore emotional burden of the decision to take someone's life when it could be excused as just following directions.

“Well,” Weskham said, filling the brief silence, “If they never find the captain, I for one wouldn’t be disappointed.” Felicity gave him a grateful smile in return. “Did I ever tell you about the time Clarus fought off pirates during one of our fishing trips?”

“You have,” Felicity replied as her smile grew into a grin. “But I don’t mind hearing it again.”