#I also have a whole father's day WIP that's just sitting in my drafts about dad Jonathan but I digress

[jonathanbyersphd]

Please can I have every dad! Jonathan headcanon you have 🥺 What is he like when the baby gets sick for the first time, takes their first steps, experiences water in the bath for the first time? Experiences snow for the first time? What does he do when the baby gets hurt for the first time? What is he like when they’re a newborn? Does he use baby talk or no? Does he play music? Does the baby make him cry? What would he do if the baby lost their favorite stuffed animal? Does he ever get jealous if the baby reaches for Nancy when he’s holding them? Does Nancy get jealous when the baby reaches for him and does he love it? Is he overprotective of his baby? Does he let anyone hold them or does he hesitate when family members start reaching for his baby? What are family gatherings/holidays like? Does he use his baby as an excuse to avoid social interaction? How lenient of a dad is he? Does he want her crawling around freely or does he nervously carry her around and not want her to explore? I want everything. All the fluff please all of it I had a bad day!!

SAY LESS ANON, WE'RE ABOUT TO TURN YOU DAY AROUND (hopefully)

I think he def knew he wanted kids before Nancy did but he was very patient about it and they have a lot of talks about it (I personally headcanon that they get married november 1990 and don't have their first kid until September/October 1997 because they spend their 20s getting established in their careers)

Then one random sunday they're sitting in the park and she points at some kids and is like "I want one"

I just know that man is SO EXCITED when Nancy tells him she's pregnant and then he checks out every baby book at the library.

I've said it before but I'll say it again, to me Jonathan Byers is a certified girl dad. Tea parties, ballet recitals, fashion shows, barbies my man is down for it all.

Then he does the whole nursery and has Will paint the characters from bambi (the nursery is bambi themed I'll die on that hill)

I don't think he uses baby talk but he does use the SOFTEST voice in the world when talking to her

And I def think that Nancy is like "music is good for the baby" during pregnancy and Jonathan switches it to a mixtape of Talking Heads once Nancy falls asleep

As a consequence, sometimes the only thing that calms the baby down is Remain in Light or Speaking in Tongues (which confuses the fuck out of Nancy) (it's also important to note that Mike is like wtf is wrong with this kid to Will because of this)

I LOVE Jonathan but I think he is like the biggest worry wart of a parent (bc he doesn't want to be a bad one) so when the baby gets sick for the first time he thinks it's somehow his fault. And Nancy has Joyce (and Hopper) call him and reassure him that he's doing great

I don't think either of them get jealous per se but Nancy definitely teases him because their daughter is such a Daddy's girl

That being said when Jonathan catches Nancy & the baby having a moment he gets all choked up and sniffly because he loves them both so much and never thought this would be his life.

Also that man 100% uses the baby as an excuse to not interact with other's he's just like oh she's fussy I better take her and then they disappear for hours on end until Nancy finds him in the rocking chair with the baby fully asleep on his chest.

I think because she's the first grandbaby anytime they're with The Wheelers & the Byers, like at Christmas, she gets passed around all night and Jonathan has to struggle to keep track. Because Nancy is always like where the fuck is my baby when she's out of her sight.

(Nancy is def a mama bear but I didn't tell you that)

He goes above and beyond babyproofing the house when she starts crawling and he's determined to catch her first steps on film so there's just a TON of tapes of baby girl just sitting there

I think Mike def nearly dropped his niece on like day 2 and was not allowed to hold her until she could fully support her head. And even Jonathan limits Mike's baby time.

Her first word is dada and he SOBS

Jonathan's def a "it's all going by too fast" kind of parent and also cries when she starts daycare.

Nancy takes up scrapbooking because Jonathan takes way too many pictures of their kids. And their bookshelves are filled with.

Of course he keeps a picture of Nancy and the baby in his wallet.

[fandomn00blr]

Days 50, 51, and 52

of @the-wip-project’s 100 Days of Writing

50. What fic/story made you?

I’m not sure how to answer this, as I don’t feel entirely ‘made’ yet. lol...and I have a feeling I probably never will. But today, at least, I am at peace with that.

I tend to flit around from story-to-story a lot, but the one that has held my attention for the longest amount of time (and with the highest word count), and definitely absorbed soooooo much of my personal journey in turn, teaching me things about myself and my writing along the way, has been my first fenhanders series (sort of being neglected atm...*grimace*), Lost & Found. The end has been written for a long time, because I’ve always known how I wanted that to go, and I’m still very excited to share it some day. As well as several other important (and less important) parts in between where I left off with posting it on AO3.

51. Do you use tools for plotting and what are they?

I outline a lot...and I have a chaotic system of bookmarks and links in my drafts that tie into those outlines/second/third drafts. I should totally start using one of those fancy story organizers, but I see all the “fill this in” type boxes and I’m like “no.” And then it’s just back to my more comfortable chaos. [Author’s note: After looking up the ‘shopping list’ method in order to answer the next prompt, I’m like, “Oh! That IS what I do!”]

52. Pick an idea and write a short "shopping list" of what will happen in the story.

I haven’t had many opportunities to sit down and write this week, so I’ll do the shopping list for the Castlevania Family Reunion fic that I’ve had to revise/rethink way too many times for just a silly, wish fulfillment, happy epilogue. Spoilers ahead, obviously, so it’s under a cut, just in case I ever get around to finishing it and posting it.

1. 15 years after season 4 ends, Lisa tells Vlad it’s time to see their son (something about her mortality...Vlad’s denial of it becoming a concern, yadda yadda yadda)

2. They get to the Village of Belmont (travel not important?), but it’s more of a bustling town now (Lisa is delighted, Vlad is...less so).

3. They speak with Roda, the tavern owner, who gives them the ‘Welcome to Belmont’ spiel (Lisa happily plays along to get information). Roda is also an excellent judge of character and is sort of checking them out...good-naturedly.

4. While that conversation is going on, some weird things happen that only Vlad notices, and might be easily dismissed as paranoia: a drunk guy stumbles into him, an old man passes by and eyes them both suspiciously (maybe a third thing...IDK...three’s a nice number...)

5. They pretend to go to the Inn (the Belmont Estate), but sneak off toward the castle when they think no one’s watching them.

6. They get to the castle and find the doors are open, but a small mob tries to stop them, including the drunk guy and the old man (see 4.), who claim to have been tracking them down since they crossed the mountains in the west. They manage to get inside and close the front doors on them before too many other people show up.

7. Vlad tells Lisa to go find Alucard while he holds them off at the entrance, promises not to hurt anyone cuz they both know if he does, this whole ‘I’m better now’ thing will be over.

8. Lisa finds Alucard having dinner with his family (Greta, Sypha, Trevor, and little Adrian Danesti Belnades-Belmont, who is now 14, and goes by the name Dani). Did they hear the doors closing? Are they on high alert? Yeah, probs.

9. Lisa has to convince Alucard she is real, and then tells him that his father is out front holding off an angry mob with pitchforks. Greta and Trevor immediately go to help with the mob, while Sypha and Alucard tell a very eager-to-prove-herself Adrian to stay back...Lisa asks the girl if she thinks she could protect her, a helpless old lady (wink wink), and she finally agrees to stay.

10. Trevor and Vlad do some fun banter, while Greta goes out and handles her people, calms most of them down and sends them home before Alucard and Sypha even get there, except for a group of ‘outsiders’ (cultists?) who insist they are harboring the Lord of Darkness and Roda (and her axe) helps deal with them.

Bonus 11. Vlad now has to convince not only his son, but his son’s three spouses and an entire town he’s not going to turn all Dracula on them again. Lisa helps. Lisa and Sypha and Greta get along great. Dani and Grandpa Vlad have some kind of weird special bond that raises eyebrows sometimes (she is a Belmont, after all...sorta), but it goes a long way toward building up trust between everyone.

[cloudcover23]

A super rough-draft excerpt from my angsty Percy Jr/Rupert wip

(Background: Percy and Rupert are both 13 years old)

(This is rated G but the final story will be rated T)

(This whole undertaking was inspired by @callmefitz‘s post about Rupert and Percy being in love before Rupert ran off to the forest.)

He cautiously crept into the Library through a back door.

Percy was mad at his dad and wanted to do something reckless, something he knew was against the rules. He knew his dad would be snide and condescending if he knew his son was going to the library, evidently to read. Knew he would be downright angry if he knew Percy was actually going to see Rupert. And just what WAS he doing here anyway? Why did Rupert haunt him? What was it about him that made Percy want to know more, to get closer?

The library was warm and comforting, despite the storm raging outside. He crept around the stacks of books and quickly found Rupert sitting at a table as usual. Percy hid himself behind a bookshelf. This was stupid. Why had he come here?

There was a bright flash of lightning and thunder boomed outside. The noise was so loud and intense that it rattled the windows. Percy let out a shriek and fell to the floor, protecting his head with his arms. As he lay there in a heap, breathing hard, waiting for another strike or at the very least harsh words, he felt something cold and wet nudge the back of his hand. He looked up to see the face of Rupert’s lanky puppy. As soon as it was exposed, the dog promptly proceeded to lick Percy’s face eagerly.

“Uhg! Get off!” Percy sat up, wiping away the slobber and trying to push the dog away.

However, undeterred by Percy’s disapproval the dog sat itself down in Percy’s lap and panted happily.

Percy tentatively pet his furry back. He was soft and warm and heavy against him. He felt good. Percy sighed and started to relax.

“He’s good at that isn’t he?”

Percy startled and looked up to find Rupert himself sitting on the floor across from him, smiling gently. Percy panicked; this was not how he wanted Rupert to find him! This was not how he wanted anyone to see him!“

He’s good at helping when you’re feeling scared.” Rupert added kindly.“

Oh, scared? Me? Haha! Oh, no I wasn’t scared.” Percy tried feebly to sound strong and sure of himself, but his voice squeaked. “I am a future knight, after all. And everyone knows that knights are brave.”

Rupert hummed in dubious agreement and looked out the window pensively. “Doesn’t being brave mean that you do something even when you’re feeling afraid?”

“Well, yah. Duh.”

“Then being brave doesn’t mean you don’t feel scared! It just means that you keep going even when you are scared.” 

Percy shook the panic-cobwebs out of his head. “No no, that can’t be right. Being brave means that you’re… strong and… and fearless!”

Rupert turned back to Percy, a glint in his eye. “Fearless? Like not having any fear?”

“Uh, yah, that’s what I said.” Percy rolled his eyes.

“But if you were truly fearless, then I think you would also be a bit of an idiot.”

Percy gasped. “How dare you suggest--”

“No, hear me out! Say you’re a knight facing down a ferocious dragon.”

“Well, dragons don’t exist.” Maybe the other boys were right and the prince really was crazy.

“And the dragon is breathing fire everywhere,” Rupert continued undeterred, “and your fellow knights are being turned into ash around you.”

“Ooookay?”

“What does the knight who feels no fear do? Probably run head on towards the dragon. Right?”

“Yah, that sounds like what a brave, fearless knight should do.” Percy quipped. 

“But what does it get him? He runs in, sword held high, probably yelling like a dunderhead. And the dragon immediately turns him into a puff of smoke.” Rupert blew on his fingers for added effect.

“Well, I’m sure that--”

“But what does the afraid knight do? He looks around at his fellow men-at-arms and sees what’s happening and says, ‘I don’t want that to be me!’”

“Sounds like a sissy who would run away and leave his kingdom at the mercy of a fire-breathing beast. Not very knightly if you ask me.” Percy sniffed.

“Ah, but that’s where the bravery comes in right? The afraid but BRAVE knight says ‘I don’t want that to be me, I’ll find another way’ and he doesn’t go screaming into the flame, he sees the failings of the others that went before him and comes up with a new solution.”

“Which is?”

“Well, I don’t know – dragons don’t exist.” Rupert smiled playfully. Percy huffed out a laugh despite himself. “Hmm.” He leaned back to think about it. “I bet he would sneak around the dragon and chop its tail off.

”Rupert relaxed back against the bookshelf behind him as well. “Hah! And then what? Wait for it to bleed to death before it turns around flames you?”

“No way! It would be so distracted by the pain in its behind that I would have time to run around to the front and stab it in the heart of course! I’d like to hear how YOU would handle it Mr. Knows-Everything-About-Fighting-Imaginary-Dragons.”

<Add more back and forth with increasingly silly ways to defeat a dragon>

“Well I bet while you were standing there laughing at me it was getting ready to chomp you!”

“No way! I already would have distracted the dragon with a giant tree branch, and then uhhh… climbed onto it’s back!”

“Ooh yes! And then stabbed it in the head?”

“No way! I would have ridden on the back of the beast! Off into the sunset!” Rupert gestured widely with his hands.

Percy erupted into laughter. “I can see it now! The brave knight riding on the back of the dragon that he has no control over at all, while it torches all the villages on it’s way to the castle.”

Rupert giggled. “Well, at least I would be having some fun before the entire kingdom went up in flames!”

Percy wiped a tear from his eye and sighed, still chuckling. “You would go down in history as the worst knight ever.”

Rupert’s laughter died and he looked off to the side. “Yah well. Probably would anyway.”

That’s right. Rupert had wanted to train as a knight but for whatever reason wasn’t allowed. It seemed to be a sore subject.

Rupert’s dog got up from where he had been resting in Percy’s lap and went to nudge his head into Rupert’s leg.

“Hey Fitzroy. Rupert smiled and pulled the dog close.”

“So… uh…” Percy felt awkward. He had killed the vibe on the most interesting and entertaining conversation he had ever had with another person. He knew they were both thinking of that day at the training yard. Percy longed to ask more about it, but felt that it would probably make things even more awkward. “So… your dog is named Fitzroy?”

Percy kicked himself. He had just told himself that he wasn’t going to mention it, and here he was bringing up the fake name that Rupert had used for himself that morning.

“Oh yah. Haha.” Rupert rubbed Fitzroy’s head making his ears flop around. He seemed somewhat cheered as he looked into the dog’s face. “I kind of froze out there you know! Didn’t know what else to tell him! I had thought as far as the disguise,” Rupert looked back over to Percy and tapped his eye, “but forgot that I would have to give them some sort of name! Although, I thought I didn’t do half bad under pressure – he let me in didn’t he?”

Percy snorted out a laugh. “Yah, I guess so.” He had no idea what he was doing. He wanted to know so much more about this boy. The Prince. He didn’t seem like a prince really, he seemed like a normal kid. A normal kid that sat here with him on the floor of the library telling him it was okay to be afraid and making him laugh in a way that no one else had done before. Rupert seemed to be regarding him too. “You’re not like the other boys.” Rupert’s odd declaration seemed to be half question half statement. Percy suddenly realized how vulnerable he had allowed himself to be with this other boy. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. He put his defenses back up. “Hah! Well I should think not! I am a Percy and far better than all of them, just like my father of course.”

“Hmm.” Rupert’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment before he looked back down at Fitzroy. Percy squirmed, the air seemed suddenly chilly.

Rupert’s head snapped back up and he smiled strangely. “Can I tell you a secret?” Rupert whispered conspiratorially. “Uh. Yah. Sure?”

Rupert looked around them to see if there were any eavesdroppers around. “I’m sneaking out. Next week.”

Percy didn’t know what to do with this information. It seemed very random that Rupert would suddenly change the subject to this. “You… are?” He replied, confused.

“Mmmhmm. I lost something along the edge of the forest, I’m going to go find it.”

“Why do you have to sneak out? Why not just go look for it?”

Rupert scrunched his face in frustration. “My mother would have a fit if she heard I had gone so close to the forest in the first place – no telling what she would do if she knew I wanted to go back.”

“I mean, everyone knows the forest is dangerous. Maybe she’s just trying to keep you safe? Seems reasonable to me. Just ask a guard or something to go find whatever it is.”

“Uhg! I knew you would…” Rupert grumbled for a moment. “Listen, I’m going okay? Midnight. In exactly one week. Do you want to come?”

If Percy had wondered if Rupert was crazy before, he knew it for certain now. The passionate gleam in his eye that he had worn that day in the training ground was back, but Percy had no idea why this boy with no skill in weaponry would want to go so close to the dangerous forest in the middle of the night, or why he would suggest that Percy, a boy who he had only known for an hour or so, go with him. But what better quest for a future knight than to protect his prince on a dangerous mission? He made up his mind. “Okay.”

“Yah?” Rupert grinned. “Yah.” Percy confirmed, feeling more confident about it now.

“Okay then.” Rupert got serious. “Meet me in seven days at midnight by the greenhouses. Wear black. Bring your sword.”

A thrill ran through Percy’s body. He was excited and a little scared. He would be breaking the rules, and helping Rupert defy the queen, but he was feeling reckless. “Yah, okay. Yah! I’ll be there.”

Rupert beamed then held out his hand across the aisle toward Percy. Percy regarded it for a moment before clasping it firmly. They both schooled their faces as they shook hands stoically. This was a serious agreement and required a serious moment. It didn’t last. They both erupted into giggles as soon as they let go. It felt good to just laugh and be silly and not worry about anyone thinking he was weird or not tough enough or… whatever! It felt good just to be himself.

Percy sighed, wiping happy tears from his eyes for a second time that evening. He looked over to the window to see that the storm had stopped raging outside. “I should probably get going. My father’s expecting me home.” Percy rose and dusted himself off.

Rupert uncoiled himself and stood up too. “You doing castle guard duty again this week?”

“Yah.” 

“Then I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yah, see you around. Bye Rupert.”

“Bye Percy.”

[ev--writes]

Master wip Intro Post (I’m so sorry lol)

I mentioned in my last post that I had notes for upwards of 15 projects in a ton of different formats (side note to myself:whyyyy). Ergo, I thought it would be helpful to do a short overview of all of them, as I’ll probably be doing update posts for all of these at some point.

Also: Thank you for 6 followers already??? I honestly didn’t think anyone would see my last post (especially as I had no idea how tags worked until after I posted it).

Novels

GRACE

“After the sudden death of her childhood best friend and crush Vicky, Robin is invited to spend the summer with her estranged father, his new husband, and her half-sister at their Maine cabin. As her relationships with her father’s family and a fellow vacationing teen Claire grow, her relationships with her remaining friends and mother back home begin to fracture.”  

Oh boy does this book have a backstory.It’s a little complicated to get into right now (I’ll talk about it in my post for this wip), but I got the idea for the original version of this book in April 2016, and it’s been through three major overhauls since then. I’ve done enough planning to start drafting the newest version, but I’m waiting to get a few mostly-complete projects done before I jump in. 

Attic (working title)

“The discovery of a dead body in the attic of Theo’s new house puts a damper on his fresh start. When a singular death becomes a series, Theo and his new friends decide to investigate and discover that the explanation isn’t able to be explained.”

This story also has a long history. I wrote this for NaNoWriMo 2017, overhauled it for NaNoWriMo 2019, and overhauled it again in the middle of that month. I’m currently stuck with a certain aspect, so I’ve put it to the side for the moment.  

Pinewood Guild

“A group of scholarship students at an elite private boarding school obsess over the seemingly unexplainable death of a fellow student.”

This is very much a baby idea, from April of this year. I was having a grand old time writing a different project Three Can Keep a Secret (which I’ll get to later), and I wanted to write another book about terrible people being horrible to each other. I don’t have very many plans for this book at the moment. 

Blood in the Water

“Paul returns to his hometown for the first time since high school to attend the funeral of his brother when he starts to receive anonymous letters. What starts as innocent and quirky quickly turns dark and potentially deadly”

I got this idea in February of this year, as I wanted to write a novel with the letter format. I was supposed to start this project as my “I’m Leaving Highschool Emotional Support Book”, but I’m not sure if I’m going to actually do that.

The Lion Tattoo

“Jordan bonds with classmate Cade over their shared foster care status. As Jordan starts to spend more and more time with Cade, they see a darker side to the boy. When one of Cade’s adventures ends with them sent off to different foster homes, Jordan must turn their life around.”

This is a very old idea that I honestly forgot about. However, there’s still a lot I want to explore with this story, so I’ll probably get to it someday.  

Anthologies

Sunny

“August ‘Sunny’ finally gets engaged to her long-time girlfriend Tatsu, sending her back to the beginnings of their relationship as camp counselors.”

This is a short set of vignettes I wrote as a birthday present to a friend. As it was just for shiggles, it’s not my most sophisticated story, but I’m okay with it. You can actually read this on my Wattpad if you’d like (I’ll add a link here when I figure out how to do that). I also adapted it as a short film because I was bored, if I’m being honest. 

Hypocrite

This is my poetry collection! Some of these poems are based on real life experiences (for example, the poem I named the collection after was based on a friendship that exploded), and others are completely fiction. This might just be my favorite project I’m working on, if I’m being honest. 

Short Story Collection

I can’t title this wip for the life of me, so the name is relatively self explanatory. I’ve written four stories for this so far, and I have three brewing in the notes app.

Safety Orange

“When an accident kills her father and sends her mother into a coma, Angie and her brother Oliver are sent to live with their Aunt Marie. Romance should be the last thing on her mind when a local barista Natalie catches her eye.”

This was my “Quarantine Emotional Support Book”. I had two simultaneous itches--to write something cute and fluffy, and to try out prose poetry. These two ideas birthed this story. I want to get a printed copy for me and my mom, but I don’t have any plans for it after that. 

Three Can Keep a Secret

 “Hattie, her girlfriend Regan, and her best friend Vincent return from a weekend camping trip to discover their town has been ravaged by the undead. Sophie and her brother Joseph are driven from the military’s safety by a tragic accident. Aspen discovers something wrong with her younger sister Paris that might prove more difficult to handle than the walking bodies around every corner.”

This was my other “Quarantine Emotional Support Book”, written for Camp NaNo 2020. It’s technically a short story collection, although I structured the stories with chapters. I also enjoyed the little flash pieces that appeared in-between each story. Like Safety Orange, I want to get a printed copy of this book, but I don’t think I’ll seek publication for it. 

Screen

Horror Web Series

“Outcast sisters Heaven and Eden make a new friend--one that gives them special abilities. While Eden is more timid about her powers, Heaven is almost too excited and drags her sister along on her quest for revenge.”

This is another one of my projects that I just Cannot Title.The description makes it sound kind of lighthearted, but it’s one of the darkest ideas that I’ve come up with. Right now it’s outlined on my phone, and really all I need to do is dedicate a day to pounding it out. 

Video Games

I’m Sorry This Happened

“Archer’s attempts to cheer up her girlfriend Helena accidentally awakens Sylvia, a playfully violent ghost who convinces the girls to get revenge on the two boys that caused her death almost half a century ago.”

This is a visual novel my sister and I are teaming up with to create. We’re still not sure whether we’re going to publish it, but nevertheless I’m having a grand old time writing it, and I guess that’s what really matters. 

Swanhill Convenience 

“A misfit crew of the local gas station convenience store have a strong customer base. When new employee Pearl becomes suspicious of the group, the whole town’s careful facade crumbles.”

This one needs...more time to brew. There’s a lot of basic details that I’m having trouble making solid decisions on (for example, whether the store is a coffee shop or a convenience store), so this will probably have to sit until I have an epiphany or something. 

[I can’t put the working title here because it’s a blatant spoiler]

“You should not have gone into the forest. Now escape, however you can.”

I debated whether to put this on the list because it’s so hard to talk about without ruining the whole thing. It’s a puzzle solving game that I think has some really interesting lore that I can incorporate. I think that’s literally all I can say lol. 

Wow, that post was LONG. Thank you for reading all the way through! Each of these projects will get dedicated post when I start working on them more frequently. Moral of the story: I have absolutely no self control when it comes to starting projects. 

Note: Any photograph used that I did not take myself came from Unsplash.

See you around,

-Ev

[mimzy-writing-online]

10/10/10 Tag Game

Thank you to @emdop for tagging me in this. This is their tag game here

How it works, answer ten questions your tagger gave you, make ten new questions and tag ten new people to answer.

1. For any of your OCs: What’s their favorite drink?

Ulric: black coffee or cappuccino for a treat

Anna: Earl Grey tea

Felix: English Breakfast tea

2. What very specific thing do you like to write the most?

The scene when two characters sit down and talk, opening up to each other

3. Favorite Tropes?

Friends to lovers, slow burn friendship, slow burn romance, found family, 

4. Least Favorite Tropes?

Enemies to Lovers with no friend stage, 

5. What is something you’ve always wanted to write?

A Witch’s Memory is something I’ve wanted to write for the longest time, but other projects I think about a lot:

A whimsical magic in a completely different world. A Witch’s Memory is only a different version of our modern world, one where magic is normalized like science and technology. I want to write something in a fantasy world that completely turns everything we know upside down, with climates and natural environments only from our wildest dreams and an era that is only partially recognizable in its fashion and technology, pulling from every era into a wonderful cluster of confusion and fascination.

Soft-fantasy novel set in the 1990′s with 90′s era technology, libraries and librarian aesthetic, dragons, witches, 

Most recently I’ve also been playing with the idea of a steampunk royalty story with a romance plot.

6. Do you make playlists for your WIP ideas?

Yes, and they usually either a “if this book was a movie this would be its soundtrack with this song for this specific scene” or it’s a “this would be this character’s personal playlist of favorite songs”. Anna, Ulric, and Felix have their own playlists.

7. When you’re having trouble writing, how do you inspire yourself?

I also make a pinterest folder for my WIP ideas, and A Witch’s Memory has its own board for its world building as well as a board for Anna, Ulric, and Felix. I look at that when I’m stuck and don’t know how to start or continue a scene.

If I’m drafting, I look back at my outline and work through what I have planned. Sometimes I have to deviate from the outline a little and figure out a way to reconnect back, or alter it altogether. 

If I’m very stuck I go back to other works of fiction that have inspired me in the past, specific for that story. That includes rewatching them, rereading them, listening to soundtracks or looking at fan art.

I get out of the house and spend some time with a friend. My friend (A) and I usually work through a story problem by talking it out. (K) usually distracts me and takes me to random places. Sometimes I call or message (C) because she lives far away and we talk. They all help.

8. Where do your WIP ideas typically come from?

“I really like this story, but I kind of wish it went differently, involved these tropes, had this world building, had these characters, etc.”

Nothing is really original, no matter how far back in fiction you go. Everything is inspired from something else, so for me what I do is find the aspects of fiction I love most and see what I would do with them personally.

Example: witches are cool, but if it takes place in the modern world then it has to be a secret and humans can never know, but if it takes place in a hard-fantasy historical world then everyone knows about magic and has access to it somehow. - - - > And it becomes the whole premise for this world I built

Example: why do werewolves hate being werewolves? And why must they blackout during a full moon and go total beast? And they’re either always alone or there’s this whole alpha pack thing which isn’t technically true of real wolves - - - > and it becomes a thing that werewolves are proud of being werewolves, they easily form bonds and friendships with other people, even non-werewolves, and when the full moon comes around werewolves run in a group as a fun activity, something they enjoy

Example: Amnesia makes for an interesting story, but it’s not very realistic when you know actual medical stuff, and it’s always one-sided so people are always trying to make their loved one remember or trying to “reconnect” in the exact same way they did before - - - > Which lead me to amnesia through magic curse and mutual loss of memory, forgetting the entire friendship, so now they genuinely start from scratch

Example: Long distant pen-pals is a popular trope, especially since the invention of the internet, but every time I see it, it involves people who have met in real life even if it was only for a moment and they never knew it / didn’t give each other enough information to figure it out. - - - > It turns into, they couldn’t possibly have known each other before, they live in different parts of the world, but they want to meet one day, and then by a twist of fate (or meddling) they do meet

9. If your OC was a breakfast food, what would they be?

Felix: unsweetend English Breakfast tea and jam toast: When I say jam toast, I mean his humor is a little dry like toast, but he’s still enjoyable company, sweet if he wants to be. He can also be a little bitter sometimes, the kind of person you need to know a little bit before you develop a taste for it

Anna: Earl Grey tea and honey on an English Muffin: she’s calming company but complex like the flavor of earl grey tea. As for the English Muffin, it’s a joke that she’s English-adjacent, not actually British. She spent her first eight years in America and then lived in the U.K. with Felix’s family for the next eight until their family moved to America. Her accent is slightly changed and she uses some U.K. English vocab instead of American English, so most people think she’s British. English muffins aren’t actually English. They’re an American breakfast food based on crumpets. 

Ulric: A cinnamon roll and cold butter. This is a weird one. I think if you met Ulric and got to know him, he’d be someone you’d want to protect. He’s polite, kind, and shy. Life keeps throwing him lemons (literally throwing, between his emotionally abusive father and suddenly being blind, dealing with new anxiety/depression after going blind, etc) but Ulric’s just trying to do his best. Absolute cinnamon roll. But that’s not a something he’d let you see. Most people don’t know about that part of his life, so he’s like cold butter. He’s friendly but it takes a while for him to warm up and soften those walls to let you in.

Mason (Ulric’s best friend, who I must add): sweetened coffee - very energetic and hyper, a sweetheart of a friend. There’s no coffee-bitterness, by this I mean that it’s easy to enjoy his friendship, you don’t need to develop a taste for it like you do with black coffee. (Mason is also a precious cinnamon roll if you ask me)

10. Explain one of your WIP ideas in the most ridiculous way possible?

I’m going to do this AO3 tagging system style

A Witch’s Memory

Multi, T, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Anna St. Claire & Ulric Matthews, Anna St. Claire & Felix Robbins, Felix Robbins & Ulric Matthews, Felix Robbins/Hayden Watson

Anna St. Claire, Ulric Matthews, Felix Robbins, Mason Shepherd, Elmsley St. Claire, Veronica St. Claire, Hayden Watson, Katarina Matthews, Tobias Matthews, 

Memory Curse, Amnesia, Pen-Pals, Found Family, Adoptive Family, Slow Burn Friendship, Enemies to Friends, Platonic Soulmates, M/M Slow Burn Romance

Disability, Blind Character, Bisexual Character, Three Bi Disasters, Trans Character, Elmsley is trans, Elmsley is a Good Uncle, Tobias Matthew’s Terrible Parenting, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Emotional Abuse

Magic, Witches, Werewolves, Werewolf Ulric, Witch Anna, Witch Felix,

Graphic Violence is only in two scenes, two different characters get punched, and there’s some blood

Tagging: @snowblossim @thephantomofwriting @novel-scribe @the-moving-finger-writes @sapphoopages @owlsofstarlight  @mayvinwrites @belles-library @maggie-wolff-writes @thewritingpirate

Your Ten Questions:

1. What’s your favorite trope to read but not to write? Or vice versa, to write but not read?

2. Some of your favorite aesthetics?

3. Ideal writing environment? (Time, place, sound, drink/snacks)

4. What’s your favorite side character in your WIP?

5. How would your OCs interact with your favorite characters from other works?

6. An embarrassing fact about your OC that they would never tell anyone?

7. What book do you think should be made into a movie?

8. What’s the last mean thing you did to your OCs?

9. Write an Incorrect Quotes post between your OCs

10. I’m stealing from emdop too! Explain one of your WIPs in the most ridiculous way possible?

[marshmallowgoop]

how about "love"?

[Send me a word from my WIP!]

There is no love in this story. Only suffering.

Lol, just kidding (?) Here’s one:

Indeed, there are many stories that the man who meets with Princess Satsuki cannot tell.  

He cannot tell, for instance, the story of a demon who had fallen so deeply in love with a human that she would do anything for her.  

He can only say, when Princess Satsuki asks if a demon could ever truly care for a human being, that he hopes so, he thinks, somewhere deep in his heart that is freezing away.  

Anonymous said: heart

The demon clutches the spot, his hands closing over the heart that is no longer his and his alone, and he thinks, more than anything else, It is so heavy.

Anonymous said: brain

Well, I got brains, even though it honestly should just be a singular brain, haha:

“I’ll eat your soul,” said the creature. “And suck your blood and knock out your brains….”

Anonymous said: sister

His mother and his mama are outside waiting for him. His sister is there too, her arms crossed, what might be considered guilt covering her face.

Anonymous said: air

By this time, the mother is quite soaked to the skin. The cold, biting air seems ever colder against her, and when the wind blows, go-o, go-o, the mother wonders if she is not going to soon be a corpse upon the ground, too.  

Anonymous said: fire

“You are indeed very sorry,” says the empress. The fire in her words has vanished now. There’s an air of calm to her, as though she is very tired of this whole affair.  

Anonymous said: scissor

Surprisingly, no instances yet!

But scissors will play a part later on…

Anonymous said: dark

She ran hands through her dark hair, and red demon noticed more than he had ever noticed that beneath his mama’s eyes were great black circles that were so dark they almost seemed to resemble bruises.  

Anonymous said: rainbow

The last draft only has one instance of “rainbow,” and I think I like one from the original short story this whole novel was based on better:

The empress was exceptionally beautiful. She was blessed with magic, and everyone knew it, for her eyes shone like bright red rubies, and her hair was a sparkling, never-ending rainbow of colors. Light followed her every movement, and to be in her presence was to be filled with beauty in every fiber of your being.

Anonymous said: wall

Now, Ryuko tries her very hardest to make it seem that she is not crying. The last time Mouse called her by that name that boils her very blood, Ryuko had responded by grabbing him by his tail and threatening to throw him to the wall.

Anonymous said: surreptitious

This is not a word in my usual vocabulary, lol. But how about “secret”?

Across the years, the man will meet with the girl many times, and she will come to him in the way he had told her was best, through the secret passages hidden in the palace’s underground tunnels, because he cannot always be rescuing her from the cold and snow, you see, because he hasn’t much time left in the world before he really does become a ghost.

Anonymous said: pets

I got nothin’…

But if this is about the pets people have, don’t worry! Guts is in the story, and he actually does stuff:

The mother had been trying very hard not to give up hope ever since they had discovered the girl gone, but as the sun shines down upon her and the father and the dog that they had brought along in a fruitless attempt to smell the poor child out, she feels very hopeless indeed.

Anonymous said: cold

Since this fairytale takes place in a land that’s magicked to be frozen over, there is a lot of cold, aha.

Here’s one:

I am a fool, then, the princess thinks as she runs out into the snow, and she feels it must be true. She is not clad in her usual attire for leaving the palace, wearing only her practice clothes and fine palace slippers not meant even for grass, let alone ice and snow. A chill comes over her and deep inside her, a kind she had once thought she was used to from being in the presence of her mother, but the intensity of this cold is more than the princess could have ever imagined, and even her older master manages a mangled, ravaged cry at her actions.

Anonymous said: empty

All the beds are empty. The doctor sits on one with his wife and daughter and dog, kishi, kishi, creak, creak. The man sits on another with his own daughter, gii, gii, squeak, squeak.  

Anonymous said: face

His face burns as green as the trees and as green as his blood at the sight of her. He shakes his head, as though he is simply imagining this girl left collapsed in the snow, but there is a wonderfully sweet scent in the air that he recognizes with a sickening, sinking feeling to be the scent of her blood.  

Anonymous said: bones

I only have something that I’ve already shared:

But the little red demon knows this story. It is the story that fills his blood and built his bones, and it is the story he will dedicate his life to believing.  

Anonymous said: eyes

“You would rather die, wouldn’t you?” he asks. He is crying, and his words are not comprehensible, though he knows that they should not be comprehensible to the girl anyway, spoken in the language of the demons. He says, “If I had the power to wake you, and if you opened your eyes and saw me, you would rather die than accept my help, wouldn’t you?”

Anonymous said: shadow

I got shadows, and I’m not sure that it’s the right usage of that idiom, lol, but:

But that day, that night, that time when the two first come together, and they are bathed in a dim but powerful starlight, the girl does not speak a word. She is silent, her body blue and her breathing nearly vanished. The fluttering of her heart, and the once-loud haa, haa, wheeze, gasp that had filled the air, are both only shadows of what they had been only moments before.  

Anonymous said: bad

Princess Satsuki nods very solemnly.  “A fourth stillbirth would be a bad omen,” she says.  

Thank y’all for sending so many words! I don’t think I’ll take any more ‘cause I might just reveal the whole novel in little bits like this, but if you’re curious, you can read the little (incomplete) short story that this book started from right over here. It’s not very good, and the plot has undergone a lot of changes, but… maybe it gives an idea of what the final product will look like.

(Also, I was inspired by Seanan McGuire’s Sailor Moon fairytales, which are super sweet, and y’all should totally read them.)

[rosewinterborn]

11/11/11

I waited too long to do this, so now I have 44 questions to do. RIP. Tagged by @writersblockandapotoftea, @arwallace (I know you tagged @expositionpreposition but it’s easier to do it here!), @shit-she-wrote, and @atinydino

Cap:

Who was your childhood hero?

Honestly, probably JKR. Again, RIP.

If we didn’t start the fire, who did?

People like my dad who say “millennials” like it’s a derogatory word probably

What made you start your wip?

Reading too much Dresden Files and also looking at magic academia posts on Tumblr (Gutter Witch); Reading Eragon (Companion to Dragons); Wanting to make an open magic world (Witches Anthology); Reading too much Stucky fanfiction (Fractal); Listening to the Magnus Archives three times through in a month (CHAF3k); wanted to go on a magic adventure with my high school friends (Children of the Light)

Hogwarts house?

Gryffindor!

Star Trek or Star Wars

Star Wars, though I like both

What was your pre-teen bop?

Uhhh Taylor Swift’s whole second album

If you could have a fantasy creature as a pet, what would you pick?

A dragon about the size of a cat that could sit on my shoulder and talk to me

What’s your pet peeve?

Feeling like people are upset with me but won’t talk to me about it

Dracula or Frankenstien’s Monster?

Haven’t read Dracula so Frankenstein’s monster, I guess.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve said to a friend?

I mean I had a conversation with two lesbians about dildos yesterday, soooo

If you had to murder someone, who would it be?

No one. I honestly don’t think I’d be able to live with myself after.

A R Wallace

Which book(s)/series would you compare your current WIP(s) to?

The Dresden Files. Though I did have someone say it was like reading a better-written Mortal Instruments. I was tickled.

Would you be willing to adapt your WIP into a movie one     day? Why or Why not?

Yes. Please. Let me see my work come to life.

What is your ‘writing ritual’? (do you make sure     you’ve made a cup of tea, sit in a particular spot, etc.)

I don’t have any particular ritual, I usually just try and seize the energy when I have it. Right now I am trying to sit at my actual desk to work, though, and during school if I had anything that I desperately needed to get done I took my ass to a coffee shop and told myself I wasn’t allowed to leave until it was done.

How much has writeblr helped you with your writing?

It helped me find a writing community that inspired me to get back to work after the depression had taken it away from me. I’m not as active on writeblr as maybe I could be, but the writing discord I found through it has been a lifeline.

If you could be one creature (real or mythical), what would you be?

A dragon. But like, one of the ones that can shapeshift. I also like being human.

Sum up your favorite WIP in one sentence

Oh god I’m supposed to have a favorite? That’s not gonna happen…

Gutter Witch: Local teens sick and tired of prophetic bullshit

Children of the Light: Estranged assholes learn to love each other again and also stop the apocalypse

Fractal: Hell on Earth in so many ways

Companion to Dragons: Girl’s asshole father sends her and her sister on a suicide mission and thinks that’s the end of it (surprise!)

Witches Anthology: literally a whole bunch of short stories so I’m not gonna try

Which of your characters is your favorite?

Whyyyyyy idk in GW probably Hunter, he’s fun to write. Overall maybe Sterling, my enby necromancer in the anthology

Which of your characters is your least favorite?

Hunter’s mother. Like honestly, every time I write about her she gets worse.

What do you believe is the most overused trope in your WIP’s genre(s)?

Melodrama.

Favorite season?

Autumn

If you could travel anywhere in the universe, where would you go?

Several places in Europe, in no particular order.

Eva:

1.     What’s the first story you remember writing?

A story about a cat and a mouse becoming friends.

2.     How has your taste in books changed since childhood?

I’ve tended a lot less towards high fantasy. I think it’s too much of an energy investment to try and understand the worldbuilding right now, whereas you can usually just jump into urban fantasy. I’ve also gotten a lot more interested in horror.

3.     Do you see any similarities to your favorite books in your work? If yes, what are they?

If I’m being real honest, most of my wips are direct rip-offs of stuff I’ve read/watched/listened to, at least in the first draft. I usually try and direct my obsessions into creative energy at some point, with differing amounts of success.

4.     What sort of music inspires you?

Stuff with strong beats/baseline and vaguely rebellious lyrics. So like, lots of Imagine Dragons and Fall Out Boy. But also trailer music like Epic Score and Two Steps from Hell

5.     Favorite book?

These are the most evil kinds of questions you guys.

I can’t think of any published books I’d call my absolute favorite, but I do have a handful of fanfics I read on at least an annual basis: War, Children, by Nonymos; To Be Vulnerable Is Needed Most of All, by perfect_plan; and Schroedinger’s Romance by lesbuchanan

6.     Favorite mythology (Greek, Norse, etc.)?

Probably Celtic? I’m really rusty on it though

7.     Dream vacation?

A long, long trip through Europe without having to worry about money

8.     Favorite writing snack?

I don’t really eat when I write because its too much of a distraction :P

9.     What tea do you drink the most while writing?

Irish Breakfast

10.  Do you have a special writing cup, that you drink tea out of specifically when writing to fill you up with inspiration?

I have a couple I’m more likely to grab, like my Night Vale Community Radio mug or my white Starbucks mug with the gold lettering

11. Write your favorite quote from your recent wip!!

Just outside the beam of light was a circle of what looked like black paint, tiny sigils scratched into it, shimmering uncannily in the dark. Wisps of that grim light drifted from the sigils to the figures at their center, dancing around Mara’s hands, clutching at Hunter’s shirt. Anywhere they touched his skin, blood seeped from a new laceration, sluggish and dark and horrible. 

“Hunter,” she breathed. 

Then she heard him. 

“Run, Cady,” he croaked. “Tell my mom...she’s a bitch.”

Ames:

1.     What’s your favorite season and why

Autumn! I love rain and also that it’s not super hot or super cold

2.     What’s your favorite food?

Bread.

3.     Who’s your favorite character in your most recent WIP?

Hunter Bishop, asshole extraordinaire

4.     Do you hide easter eggs in your writing? If so tell me a few.

Hm. If I do, I don’t consider them easter eggs, just references. Though I did have someone in my creative writing class ask if the sandwich my protagonist was eating was based on one served in one of the restaurants on campus (and he was right)

5.     Would you prefer your WIPs to be turned into a movie or tv series? (feel free to tell me about more than just 1)

Gutter Witch should just be a movie, and I’m leaning towards that for Witches as well. Fractal could go either way, though I’m leaning towards TV show. Children of the Light could go either way. CHAF3k will hopefully be a podcast at some point.

6.     If you could have a writing studio anywhere with anything in it, what would it be like and where would it be?

I like the nook I have, though I think I’d adjust the height of my desk chair and add a coffee maker and a closer bathroom so I don’t have to walk all the way across the apartment. Oh, and I’d get a massive whiteboard so I can go all conspiracy theory on my wips.

7.     What music do you listen to to get you in the zone? (the writing zone)

Trailer music! Epic Score and Two Steps from Hell. I can’t listen to music with lyrics while I try to make the words go.

8.     What’s your worldbuilding process?

Panic.

But actually, I think of the aesthetic I’m after and then try to make everything build off of that. Along the way I usually try to figure out what thing I’m consciously or unconsciously basing it off of so that I can make necessary changes.

9.     Who are your most influential authors?

JKR (sorry), Laini Taylor, Juliet Marillier, Tamora Pierce

10.  What’s your favorite kind of cookie?

French macarons

11. Give me your favorite excerpt for your recent WIP!

“I wanted to talk to Madge.”

“Madge is dead,” Hunter said, confused. 

“I’m aware,” she said. “I asked Death to take me to her, but she said she couldn’t and suggested projection instead.”

Hunter turned from the stove with the most dumbfounded expression Cady had ever seen outside of cinema. “You asked Death,” he repeated.

Cady snorted. “Yeah. I asked Death.”

“The cosmic power, Death.”

“The cosmic power, Death. We’re good friends. She comes over for tea on occasion.”

Hunter stared at her, expression halfway between disbelief and suspicion. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not fucking with you,” Cady said. “Death is the whole reason I came to this Coven. She sent me here when I was thirteen.”

Hunter sank back against the counter, looking almost faint. Whatever he’d been cooking began to sizzle alarmingly. “Death has been...in this apartment.”

Cady nodded.

Not tagging anyone else on this one. I’ve learned my lesson lmao.

[lovelylogans]

stings and stripes

pairings: moxiety (which is new for me, I think!)

warnings: it’s too gosh darn stinkin cute. food mentions, I think that’s it?

notes: do I have a ton of prompts sitting in my drafts? yes. do I have not one but two wips? yes. am I doing this anyway? YOU BET.

I’m at a reunion right now, and one of my baby cousins noticed one of the oldest cousins has her fav animal as a tattoo, and so now my older cousin is The Coolest Ever, and I also have a plot bunny. tagging @tinysidestrashcaptain, because obviously (funnily enough this isn’t the first little sides fic I’ve written, but it’s the first I’m publishing) ON WITH THE FIC!!!

Logan’s favorite place ever was the park just down the street.

That suited Patton just fine; it just meant that whenever he deemed that his son needed some fresh air and a distraction from his latest learning obsession, he’d propose a trip to the park and Logan was out the door before Patton could say “Get your shoes on.”

Patton wasn’t entirely sure why: Logan loved libraries, schools, an apiary Patton took him to once, but he’d never puzzled out why this park was so special in Logan’s mind. Logan’s usual ideal day was one with lots of jam sandwiches and lots of books—Patton still wasn’t sure where he’d inherited that from, but as long as Logan was happy, Patton was happy.

This was one such day: Logan had been deep in researching bumblebees for the thousandth time when Patton proposed a picnic, and Logan immediately agreed.

Logan and Patton walked hand-in-hand as Logan happily told Patton about the construction of apiaries and Patton tried his best to keep the picnic basket from whacking into anyone passing on the sidewalk. As soon as they laid eyes on the park, Logan was practically vibrating until Patton let go of his hand with a chuckle and a “go on, then,” and he was off like a shot, straight to the playground, mostly ignoring the other children. Patton watched him clamber up a ladder fondly, and with only a bit of worry. Logan wasn’t very personable—not quite shy, just uninterested in people unless he especially liked or disliked them. Another reason why the park’s idolization was a mystery.

Patton scouted out a bench, and found a decent one in the shade with a good view of the park, and he settled, splitting his attention between tracking Logan and reviewing course materials for the fall. When he glanced up from a list of books for the first semester, it was to Logan bee lining straight towards him, immediately grabbing his hand.

“Papa he has a bee,” Logan said breathlessly, tugging him off the bench, and immediately dragging Patton.

“I—who?” Patton said cluelessly.

“Him.”

That narrows it down, bud, Patton thought, before he asked, “How does he have a bee?”

Logan did not deign to explain, and Patton was about to ask him to use his words when they rounded the corner of the playground and Patton saw one of the most gorgeous men ever. Patton felt his knees go weak.

He had black hair that glinted in the sun, and a number of silver piercings that did too—in his ears, his eyebrows, his lip, his nose. The silver pointy studs on the shoulders of his leather jacket did, too, and he was smiling a little, only enough that someone really looking could see—out at the playground, at the kids running around.

Logan did not have time for Patton to gawk; another tug, and they were heading straight for that beautiful man.

“Here he is,” Logan said breathlessly. “Can I see it again?”

The really offensively handsome man smiled at Patton. “You’re his grownup?”

Patton smiled—vague enough to be inclusive, and clear that he’d asked Logan to get his grownup to make sure Logan was comfortable.

“I’m his father, yes,” Patton said, before extending a hand. “Patton Kassipoeg.”

“Virgil Sanders,” the man says with a nod, before kneeling to Logan’s height, shrugging his jacket so it slipped down his shoulders, and tilting his head.

He had a bee tattoo on the side of his neck. Amongst others, Patton noticed, seeing the swirls of color down his shirt, and stop staring Patton he could be married.

“Wow,” Logan breathed, reaching forwards.

“Ask, Lo,” Patton said, and the very pretty man—Virgil—smiled at Logan.

“It’s all right,” he said, “just be gentle.”

Logan touched at his neck, tracing the outline of the bee tattoo. It was a little doodle, yellow and black striped with dashes behind, forming a little heart. Patton could only guess there was another bee below the neckline.

“Did it hurt?” Logan asked, hushed, and the man shrugged one shoulder.

“A bit,” he said honestly. “Kind of like getting a shot at the doctor’s office. I’m kind of used to it, though.”

Patton wanted to see the tattoos. He wanted to see all of the tattoos. He immediately scolded himself for leering at a park, next to his own kid.

“Papa said his hurt too,” Logan said, and Virgil lifted one studded eyebrow at him.

“You got ink?”

Patton shrugged with a smile. “Rather not take my shirt off in the park, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course not,” Virgil said immediately. “Did you go to a studio round here?”

“Uh, Remy? Remy Spavati?”

Virgil made a noise of recognition. “I’m a tattoo artist, too,” He says. “Rem’s good. Neat linework. I’ve got a couple by him too.”

“DADDY,” a very loud little boy said, and Patton turned to see a boy—Logan’s age, he was guessing—reaching over to tug at Virgil’s leather jacket. “Show the coloring one!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Little brat,” he said, but his tone’s so fond it belied any of the harshness in his words. “Introduce yourself, please.”

The little boy puffed his chest out and held his hand out for Logan to shake. “Roman,” he said. Logan said his own name, and shook back with the kind of solemnity seen at business exchanges. Virgil shrugged off his leather jacket, revealing a tight purple t-shirt, and brandishing his (rather muscular) arms for Logan and Roman’s inspection.

Roman pointed proudly to one on Virgil’s forearm that Patton would wager was colored in with magic marker. “I colored that one,” he said to Logan.

“Meant for it to be just a black ink bit,” Virgil said to Patton, as Logan adjusted his glasses and looked closer. “Princey here has made it his personal coloring book.”

Roman gave his dad a toothy grin—Patton noticed a gap in his teeth.

“That’s cool,” Logan said immediately, and turned to Roman. “Wanna see something cool?”

“Yeah,” Roman enthused, and they dash off together, Patton blinking after them.

“Huh.”

“What?” Virgil asked, shrugging his jacket back on.

“It’s just,” Patton said, and shook himself. “Logan usually takes a bit to warm to people, that’s all.”

“Roman is the most extroverted person I’ve ever met,” Virgil said dryly, rising to his feet. “I really don’t know where he gets it from.”

“Logan’s going to be outreading me in two years,” Patton reassured Virgil, sticking his hands in his jean pockets so he wouldn’t do something impulsive, like reach out and touch the bee tattoo. “No idea where he got it.”

Virgil gives Patton that same little smile, the hard-to-find one. “None at all?”

“None at all,” Patton said with a sigh. “I mean, I’m a kindergarten teacher—“

“So that’s where I know the name Kassipoeg,” Virgil said, and then shook himself. “Sorry, sorry, I interrupted.”

“No, it’s okay,” Patton said, smiling. “I didn’t think I saw a Sanders on my fall list this year?”

“You didn’t,” Virgil said dryly. “I wish you did, though, you seem—“ he pauses.

Seem what? Patton wants to ask, but he clears his throat. “If he’s in Foley’s, he’s with Logan.”

Virgil let out a huff of air. “Okay, good,” he said.

Patton tried not to smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, and looked at him sideways. “It’ll be good to have a... friend. Amongst the parents. Sometimes they get nervous about,” Virgil said, and gestured to his whole being.

“Well, I’ll put a stop to it,” Patton said reassuringly, and cleared his throat. “Um. I’ve got a pretty good bench claim over there, if you—if you’d like to join me?”

Virgil smiled, a little wider. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”

They’ve barely sat down for a minute before Logan and Roman come crashing out of the playground, skittering to a stop just short of the bench.

“Hey there,” Patton said. “Explore much?”

“Lots,” Roman enthused, and flopped down in the grass. Virgil nudged him gently with his boot.

“If it’s okay with you, Virgil, I have some extras in the picnic basket?” Patton said, digging through it. “If you like jelly sandwiches, that is.”

Roman’s head popped up from the grass as Logan settled primly on the ground. “I love jelly sandwiches! They’re my favorites!”

Logan turned to gape at Roman. “Mine too!”

“No way,” Roman said immediately, sitting up.

“Yes way,” Patton said, amused, handing each child a jelly sandwich. “Virgil, chicken salad, turkey and cheddar...?”

“I’ll take turkey? If you don’t mind,” he said hastily. Patton handed it over.

Patton learned a lot about Roman as they ate. He learned that Roman turned five just two months ago, that he’s going into kindergarten, that he’s seen every Disney movie ever, and he is VERY EXCITED! that Logan is going to be in his class.

“You should give Mr. Sanders your number,” Logan said, in the voice that meant he was trying to be sly, and took a bite of jelly sandwich. “So we can play together.”

Patton narrowed his eyes a little at his son, who’s too smart for his own good sometimes.

“Yeah,” Roman said brightly, in a voice that also probably meant he was trying to be sly but mostly sounded like he was being mischievous, “Dad, definitely give him your number.”

“You two could talk about stuff too,” Logan said, noncommittal.

Which Roman immediately ruined by blurting out, “Like how you’re both single and ready to mingle~!”

Patton felt his cheeks burn bright red. Virgil said calmly, “I’m going to kill your Uncle Rem. You spend too much time with him.”

“No I don’t,” Roman said with a wide grin, and stuck out his hand to Logan. “C’mon, Lo!”

“You were supposed to be subtle,” Logan complained, and as Roman dragged him away, he chirped, “I don’t know the meaning of the word!”

“He really doesn’t,” Virgil said, and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, I’m—sorry, about him. He and Rem both have it in their heads that I’ve been single too long, and—“

Patton hesitated, before turned to face Virgil and he said softly, “You said. Earlier.”

Virgil has this look on his face, soft and guarded all at once. “Yeah?”

“That I seemed something,” Patton prompted. “Seemed like what?”

Virgil’s cheeks tinged pink, and he coughed. “Seemed,” he began, and looked out at the park. “Seemed lovely,” he said gruffly.

Patton took a breath, took a chance, and took Virgil’s hand.

Virgil’s eyes darted to his face, and Patton smiled, felt his cheek dimple.

“Well,” he said simply, and digs out his phone, offering it to Virgil. “That sounds lovely.”

a/n: Patton’s last name, Kassipoeg, is kitten in Estonian. which I thought was a) adorable and b) a great last name. in a similar vein, Remy’s last name is sleep in Croatian.

[james-stark-the-writer]

My new WIP

So, just thought I'd introduce you people to my new child. As I (think I) said in the Get to Know the writer tag, I've decided to put off The Immortals till I feel confident enough to write it and till I finish this one. The title of the new WIP [as of this draft which I haven't started yet] is A Year At The Opera (or AYATO for short).

There's also a tldr at the end if you don't want to read this.

First off, why am I writing this? It's not a very long or interesting story. I was watching (for the first time in over a decade) Sabrina The Teenage Witch and I'd gotten to episode 20 of season one. I was sitting there, ready to watch another episode, have a good laugh, and episode 21 just blew me away. The episode is called As Westbridge Turns. If you haven't watched it, here's a short summary. The episode has a really good concept (that I'm not sure there are any books about but I'm sure mine's different). So, Sabrina's bored out of her mind cause there's nothing interesting going on in her life. And, to help spice it up, she goes to her Aunt Hilda who gives her a can of Worms. And, once she opens it, for a day, Sabrina's life becomes an episode of a soap opera. Hilarious chaos ensues.

Like why the heck has no one made a book on this that I've heard of?!

So, you've probably guessed off the title and the episode summary what the premise of the book is. But, here's a version of it. (as non spoilery as I can keep it). It's kind of written like a blurb because that's just how I like it. It's a urban fantasy (not a whole lot of magic involved at least so far) about a murder mystery and with soap-opera-ish vibes. And if it's sounds cheesy and cliché, it's supposed to be. Its a book about soap operas. It's gonna be cheesy (but hopefully well written and reasonably cheesy).

'When you're sixteen, everything is a soap opera.'

Summer is over and school is about to start. Everything seems to be going fine. There's new people in town (Svetlana and Ivana), the town's hottest boy (Ingram) is currently in a relationship, the kid with the abusive father (Boris) is alive, the quiet girl (Sabrina, just cause) is keeping secrets, the writer (Aaron) is still sleep deprived and on the first day of school, multiple fights break out. Just an average day of a high school.

But this serene scene is about to be shattered.

Aaron Adler's life is changed when his father, the only man who's ever been there for him, is tragically killed in an accident at work.

And on the night he receives the news, Aaron makes a wish. A wish that changes his life. A wish his father wasn't dead. A wish his life was more interesting. A wish the world was like those soap operas Sabrina enjoyed.

And, to Aaron's absolute shock, his wish is granted. When he wakes up the next morning, his father waits downstairs for him, eating breakfast. And it dawns upon Aaron what he's done. Athea (the town) is about to get a whole lot weirder. With a serial killer on the loose, the party of the year drawing closer, relationships at stake and a year of this, Aaron's life is about to get a whole lot interesting.

Tldr: Aaron's a writer. His dad dies. He makes a wish his life was a soap opera and his wish comes true. Chaos ensues.

My progress on the project: I haven't actually written anything yet, but... I've outlined the first two chapters. The inciting incident is the beginning of the third chapter. I'll start writing once I have the first five chapters outlined. Why am I outlining? I've only tired outlining once before (and that was a short story) and all my other books have been without an outline (at least until two-thirds of the way in and they're riddled with plot holes). Thought I'd give it a try. See how much coherent I can make the story.

Anyway, I'll probably be posting excerpts in a few weeks (once I get to work, you know). Let me know if anyone wants to be tagged. And, I'm still working on the character board I promised I'd post today, so, sorry. It's impossible to find the right pictures.

Also, before I forget, if anyone goes to high school in the UK or America, what usually happens on your first day?

Edit: A Year At The Opera Masterpost

[kaylewiswrites]

Drunk WIP Week Day 2 - Knifepoint

Welcome to day two of the week where I rant about my wips like an excited drunk person because I’m tired of trying to make coherent and professional sense. Yesterday, I made an extremely long post about my main WIP Walk, so go check that out if you like morally grey characters, almost-dystopian settings, and found families that, every once in a while, get along with each other. 

But today? Today, we’re talking about....

Knifepoint

Sometimes I start off a story with a vague idea in my head, and sometimes I literally just start writing words to see what happens. In this case, it was 75k of a slow-burn enemies-to-lovers lesbian romance in the desert between three politically fraught invented nations. It was almost entirely about (a) not having enough water and (b) deep conversations about feelings, so I decided to actually try drafting for the first time in my life, and now we have a plot! but the slow-burn romance and talking about feelings in a desert is still a thing. Like, a big thing. 

Premise: 

  So we’ve got three countries living together, with a rich (not so thought out) history, and a desert sitting in the middle of the peninsula they occupy. 

Ceathyia: This is a peaceful country of diplomats, fine artists, scholars, and doctors. They’re, like, pretty stuck up. They’re all proud of themselves because they value selflessness and kindness above everything else, and their neighboring countries can get kind of defensive around them. Not too defensive, though. They’re the best at selling and marketing to the more distant countries, so the other nations sell most of their goods to Ceathyia. Besides, they’re a bit annoying, but ultimately harmless. It’s not like a Ceathyia is ever going to stir up trouble. They worship the sun as a symbol of all they aspire to be (warm and giving and selfless and all that stuff). 

Koden: Separated from it’s neighbors by a strip of desert, it’s only been two hundred or so years since Ceathyia and Haryth even knew that Koden and it’s people existed. Before then, both countries just assumed they had rights to the whole desert if they wanted it, but when they found out the other was there, they got...pissed. Koden raises it’s kids in kind of a weird way: each citizen is trained to live for only three things. Any three things, but only three. Is it money? Is it family? Is it peace, or lust, or commitment or happiness? The country doesn’t really care, and it believes everyone has the freedom to do what they need to do in pursuit of these ‘Aspects’ of their ‘Selves’. Murder a man because your aspect is ‘violence’? Fine with us, but that man over there with a ‘justice’ aspect has just as much right to slit your throat. So it reads as pretty lawless and chaotic. 

Haryth: They want to fight. They want to fight ALL THE TIME. They want that desert that Koden claimed for themselves. Harythian people aren’t born with names. They have to die a glorious death on the field of battle to be worthy of remembering, so it’s easy to encourage young people to train to be soldiers. They have to pass ten tasks in order to be received: archery, hand-to-hand combat, sword fighting, stealth, on and on until their final task: walking the length of the enemy country of Koden and back without being killed. If you can do that, you’re a soldier, and you’re one step closer to getting your name. 

Characters:

We’ve got one main character from each country, because how else would we do it? 

Sian: Late teenage Ceathyian (why would I know my characters ages?). He’s studying to be a doctor, but for right now he’s accompanying his dad on a diplomatic trip to Koden. In a country of kind and selfless people, he feels an unhealthy need to be the MOST kind and the MOST selfless, because he’s terrified that people will find out that he’s faking. He thinks he’s terrible. He’s always felt this desire to live carefree lives the way the other nations do, and he’s been bottling up his resentment of his society since his mother died. So he compensates by donating the most, volunteering the most, getting the best grades, but the more praise he gets for his behavior, the guiltier he feels, and the harder he feels like he needs to work. He’s just a big ball of self-loathing anxiety. Oh, and he’s about to find out he’s not as straight as he thought he was. 

(Side note, I’m pretty sure the only (maybe) straight people in this book are the villains. Like, even all the named side characters at this point are somewhere in the LGBT alphabet.)

Mona: Like all Kodens, she has a Self: Simplicity, Survival, and Self Control are her three aspects. She’s a blacksmith that makes really cool weapons, and her workmanship is so good that people come from Ceathyia to make requests. This is good, because all that money means Survival is happy. Simplicity likes the process of making everything, the repetitiveness. Self Control is happy to get rid of any trace of anger buy hitting things with a hammer over and over again. So she’s got a pretty chill life. Until these other two nerds come hurtling into it, ruining everything. When she can’t satisfy Simplicity, she gets intense stomach pains (Anxiety), but Self Control refuses to show weakness, so she just smiles. The more upset she is, the more she smiles. If she’s really panicking, she starts laughing. It throws the others off, and makes them think she’s an asshole, but she’s mostly just trying to make it through all these stressful situations without an ulcer. 

Rada: That’s not her real name (since she’s not dead, she doesn’t have one), but it is a nickname Mona gives her to piss her off. Actually, most of want Mona does pisses her off. Rada is basically the  (ง'̀-'́)ง emoji. She has a short temper, is extremely impatient, and a little too curious for her own good. She tends to feel everything very passionately, which is why she takes every accidental slight from the other two very personally. She’s also ridiculously impulsive. Like, deciding to jump into the final task of breaking into Koden without actually learning the language first kind of impulsive. Like gambling away her only weapons in an enemy country kind of impulsive. Like stealing new, very expensive knives from a famous Koden blacksmith in front of a Ceathyian, leading all three of them on a chase scenes that ends with the discovery of a political plot kind of impulsive. You know the type, right? 

Plot

So yeah. Look at the last two sentences of the last paragraph, and that’s basically how we start. Turns out Ceathyian has been manipulating the other two countries into war for decades, for their own gain, and these three idiots have to figure out a way to stop them before another war breaks out. This will require them to: Cross a large, inhospitable desert, make their way through two different countries that members of their party are not welcome in, deal with disapproving fathers, coming to terms with different sexualities, coming to terms with the idea that your enemy might not need to be your enemy, learning new languages, discovering what platonic love feels like, and one very drunk night of dancing. 

I really did try to make this one shorter than yesterday BUT it didn’t work. Tagging @aomory and @concerningwolves. Let me know if anyone wants to be tagged in posts about Knifepoint in the future, or in the rest of Drunk WIP Week. If you want to see a more professional explanation of Knifepoint, you can see the WIP page here

Below is a snippet of Knifepoint. Critique and criticism is always welcome!

We’ve already established I’m not good with the mud, right? That point’s been made clear to you? No review necessary? Great. So you understand that while I’m running from the second shop keep of the day, I’m not doing too well.

Each step feels like a gamble, a chance. I’m usually fast—the Speed Task was the first one I passed, after all— but each step I take lands deep in the mud and it’s hard to call what I’m doing running when it takes so long to lift each foot up. Some people yell as my attempts to sprint splatter them with wet dirt.

While it seemed clear pretty quickly that the used salesman wasn’t interested in a pursuit, I’m getting a different vibe from this encounter. Maybe because you actually took something this time, I remind myself. Technically three things. Three very expensive things.

Stupid broach. Stupid Ceathyian. Does he think he’s doing the right thing? Does getting someone killed over a piece of jewelry make him morally superior?

I take a glance over my shoulder, wondering if it’s safe to slow down. The shop keep probably isn’t hard to lose, and the Ceathyian wouldn’t want to get his nice clothes all dirty. But I don’t find either of them behind me.

The blacksmith. The blacksmith running with her hammer in hand. The blacksmith that is running barefoot through the mud like she was born in it.

She probably was, I growl to myself. I take a sharp turn into the market square, using a pole to pull myself in the right direction. It’ll be easy to disappear into the crowd here, I think. I take a few steps leaning back to slow myself down quickly…

…and slip. I slip right into a tent with a wooden board of a gold painted sword.

The poles fall, the cloth collapses, and from inside I hear the sound of clanging metal and an angry roar. I roll off the cloth, just in case any of the sword happen to be sharper than they looked. I right myself quickly, but the blacksmith is only a few tents away, and that hammer doesn’t look friendly. I pull my feet out of the mud and keep running.

So the market plan was a bust. But if I can get into some of the tighter side streets, I might be able to lose her there. I need to, fast. She’s gaining on me with every turn. She might be able to run better in mud, but a Harythian will always be able to outsmart a Koden.

A left, a right. The paths get skinnier, the backs of the buildings point toward us. The paths don’t make sense, houses built and added to at a whim. I’m going to have a hell of a time finding my way out of this, but I guess being lost is a privilege of being alive.

Left, left, right, and then a fork in the road. Perfect. I run to the left, then shove myself into an alley way on the right, folding my body behind a barrel. She’ll have no idea which way I’ve gone.  She won’t be able to—

A hand grabs my hair and yanks me up. I pull the new knives out of my sleeves and swipe, but I only gaze the hand pulling back. Even that, though, is enough to draw a thin, shallow line of blood across the blacksmith’s palm.

She smiles as she lifts the hammer. “You give up, you get to live. You fight, I leave a corpse back here. This is your choice.”

I growl and slash upwards, but the movement is awkward in this cramped space. I realize this is the first fight I’ve ever had outside my training yard, and it couldn’t be more different. Narrow alley, muddy ground, and a girl with a hammer—everything I’ve learned in training is failing me. In less than a minute she has me on the ground, knives in the mud, holding me up by my wrist. I wait for her to bring the hammer down on my head and end it, but she keeps looking at me with the same vague smile. “Well? I demand, knees sinking into that godforsaken mud. If this is how I die, I’d rather get it over with.

“You didn’t happen to steal an ax as well, did you?” She asks. Her voice is soft and smooth, not at all what I expect, and I’m wondering if that has something to do with the fact that I’m obviously not hearing things right.

“What?”

Wet running footsetps and wheezy breath narrowly give us warning to the arrival of another person. I feel both ashamed and hopeful at the idea of someone finding me like this, but the person that almost runs by and has to double back is not some savoir but the Ceathyian snitch that put me in this position in the first place.

“Stop!” he pants. “Don’t—Don’t hurt her!” He’s leaning heavily on the silver staff he was holding when I ran.

“Did you steal that, too?” The blacksmith asks.

The boy closes his eyes and pants harder. “No, i…it was in my hand when I chased you out of the shop, and I didn’t realize it until I had gone all the way down the street, and I was afraid it would get stolen if I put it down, so I thought I’d…just return it in person when I found you, but the important part is, don’t hurt her.”

“Did you happen to bring an ax?” The blacksmith asks. Ok, I know I didn’t mistranslate this time. Between her vague smile, calm voice, and irrational questions, there’s something going on with her.

When the Ceathyian looks confused, she continues: “Do you think Gadum was being serious? About bringing back her hand?”

Instinctually, I try to twist out of her grip, but I swear the girl is made of the same iron she works with.

“You can’t cut off her hand!” The Ceathyian cries.

“I know,” the blacksmith answers. “All I brought was this hammer.”

[josselinkohl]

10 Year Angsty Reunion - DRAFT WIP Chapter 1

Warning: Only a tiny fraction of this fic is written, so it might not be finished for a very long time or ever. However, I welcome encouraging comments that might help me regain enthusiasm for writing more of it.

Chapter 1

Damen found her sitting at her dressing table with Kyrina styling her hair. Jokaste nodded at Kyrina, who curtsied and left murmuring Damen’s title. “Good morning,” Jokaste said. She picked up an earring from the dressing table.

“Good morning.” Damen took the earring from her and she tilted her head obligingly as he put it on her. “I would like to visit you this evening,” Damen said. It was a habit he’d adopted years ago when they had first negotiated this arrangement. They didn’t spontaneously fall into bed the way they had when he had first been courting Jokaste and she would tease him at an entertainment and then permit him to follow her to her chambers afterward. Their arrangement now permitted each of them a greater degree of privacy in their affairs. Damen did not take advantage of this freedom for himself. He suspected Jokaste did, but she did so discreetly, and he didn’t care.

He knew her well, now, so he could see her thinking as he made his request. It was still a mystery to him what she was thinking, though. She could be mentally rearranging another visitor, perhaps, or simply thinking about what to wear. “Of course,” she said. She handed him the other earring from the dressing table and turned her head the other way.

Damen placed the second one, careful not to disrupt Kyrina’s work with Jokaste’s hair. He fingered the earring for a moment. “Would you like anything from the festival?” he asked, remembering that the earrings she was wearing now had been a gift he had brought back from a trip to Patras.

Jokaste had turned back to her dressing table, and she made a face at Damen in the mirror. “It will be mostly Veretian merchants, will it not? Gaudy trinkets?”

Her earrings were simple gold and a single pearl. Jokaste set fashions for the ladies in Ios that harkened back to the traditional styles that resembled Damen’s mother’s dress in her statue at the summer palace. Damen made a noise of agreement. “Only if there is something tasteful, then?”

Jokaste turned in her chair to look up at him. “I would never turn away a tasteful gift,” she said. Damen had rested his hands on the back of her chair, and she placed her own smaller hands on top of his delicately. “Do you wish—now?” she suggested quietly.

Damen shook his head. “This evening,” he said, and then he pressed his lips gently to the top of her head and left her in her rooms for the morning’s business.

Nikandros presented the route selected to the festival mapped out on the table of geographical features that Damen’s father had used with his kyroi to plan for war. Instead of chariots and legions, the map now simply had a series of wagons and horses representing their course from Ios to the festival in Delpha.

“It would be more appropriate to call it Delfeur,” said Leon to Nikandros, “given that it is currently a Veretian holding.”

Nikandros’s expression indicated that he would never personally be calling Delpha ‘Delfeur’ in the Veretian style, but he didn’t contradict the prince. Damen had been trying to involve his son increasingly in the business of the kingdom as he became older. His father had done the same with him. It seemed the best way to teach Leon what he would need to know when he became king some day.

Nikandros nodded a greeting to Damen. Leon was still looking at the map laid out on the table. “The route seems circuitous,” he said. “The territory here,” he was pointing at a portion of the map near Marlas, “would permit us to proceed directly, and yet you have us crossing the stream to go at least a day to the east—that will add at least two days to the journey, which is another wagon of—”

“It’s better that way,” said Nikandros, glancing at Damen.

He had done it, Damen could tell, to avoid the half-constructed new palace they had left when Leon was a child. And he was being oblique about it because everyone in Ios was oblique in Damen’s presence about Laurent, as though mentioning the king of Vere might cause him to break down or enter a fit of rage or some such nonsense. Damen met Nikandros’s eyes and said nothing.

“But why?” said Leon. “It’s wasteful and it isn’t necessary—Father,” Leon turned toward Damen, “wouldn’t it be better to take the shorter route? Especially for Euandros—” that was Damen’s youngest son, who was thrilled to be taken along with them “—he’s not accustomed to riding at this distance,” Leon continued.

“We can take the shorter route,” said Damen.

Nikandros was still eyeing him warily. “Are you certain that’s wise?”

“As Leon said, it’s a fine area of the country for riding.”

Leon looked back and forth between the two of them, clearly sensing an undercurrent to this debate but uncertain what it was.

Nikandros reluctantly adjusted the procession of riders on the map. Leon asked a question about the length of time they would need to spend on the ship at the start, and the tension in the room faded.

Leon left to go and meet with one of his tutors.

“Would you like to spar this afternoon?” Damen asked Nikandros.

Nikandros shook his head. “I’m spending the afternoon with Xanthippe.”

Damen nodded. “Is she sure she doesn’t wish to join us? We could adjust for a carriage, and no one would mind—“

Nikandros shook his head. “She doesn’t like the fuss that accompanies travel of that distance, and she said sporting tournaments she can’t compete in aren’t worth the bother.” He said it with a smile, and Damen could picture the tone Xanthippe would have used for that announcement. Xanthippe was a warrior from Isthima, and she and Nikandros had met when she’d been recovering from an injury in Ios, and Nikandros had been obviously infatuated with her since their first meeting. Xanthippe’s injury meant that she couldn’t walk unassisted, and she made her way around the palace at Ios with crutches and specially designed chairs with wheels.

Damen was about to offer again that they would be happy to have her on the journey, but Nikandros was blushing very slightly. “Also,” he said, “we’re expecting.”

Damen’s eyes widened. “Old friend! That’s wonderful!”

Nikandros was definitely blushing now. “In the winter,” he said.

Damen clapped his friend into a hug and squeezed him. “I’m so happy for you. Fatherhood will suit you,” he said, squeezing Nikandros again, “I know from how patiently you have dealt with my children.”

Nikandros was smiling. “As long as mine isn’t like Eradne when she was—”

Damen groaned. “I’m sure not.”

They laughed together remembering how much of a terror Eradne had been. “I can’t believe you had another after that,” said Nikandros.

“He was already conceived before she hit that stage,” said Damen, “or I probably wouldn’t have.”  He grinned at Nikandros again. “I’m so happy for you. Are you certain you wish to come to the festival, then? I wouldn’t blame Xanthippe if she wished for you to stay.”

“I am coming,” said Nikandros, sobering. “I would not leave you to face it alone.”

Damen favored family meals over the gatherings of the whole court in the hall that his father had preferred, and for his last night in Ios he had requested only a small family gathering.

Even a family meal was a boisterous affair. Leon spent half of the meal lecturing his siblings on the geography of their upcoming trip, and only Aratia paid any attention to him throughout his talk. Euandros just talked over Leon excitedly to anyone who would listen to his enthusiasms about his first horse, and Eradne had snuck a book in to the table somehow and was reading next to her plate. Jokaste would generally have taken the book away. She was less tolerant than Damen of Eradne’s habit of reading at odd moments. But Jokaste was distracted by Xanthippe’s news, and the two women spent much of the meal chattering about the best type of tea to drink in the mornings and whether carrying high or low was a sign of a boy or a girl. Nikandros was listening in on Jokaste and Xanthippe’s conversation and Damen let his eyes drift warmly over his entire family gathered together.

After the meal he retired with Jokaste to her chambers. She resided in the queen’s chambers in the palace. It had been a minor scandal when he had first installed her there without marrying her first, but she had wanted it as part of their negotiation and it had meant nothing to Damen. He didn’t care who lived in what rooms of the palace and he’d made no secret of the fact that he had no plans to marry again, so there was no worry about what would happen when he took a wife. Ten years later, it seemed hardly remarkable, and it was convenient when he wished to visit her that they both lived in the same wing.

She offered him wine, and he accepted, and then she sat down at her dressing table and began to remove her jewelry, until Damen stood behind her and brushed her hands away and did it himself. He set the earrings he’d put on her that morning back on the dressing table and unfastened her necklace and laid it next to them. Her hair was a mystery of pins, so he drank a mouthful of wine while he watched her pull gold pins out of it and it fell loose in waves around her shoulders.

They spoke lightly of Xanthippe and Nikandros. “I didn’t know if Xanthippe’s injury would prevent it,” said Jokaste. “I am happy for them.” She turned to Damen and undid his jewelry as well, removing his father’s ring to go next to her earrings and setting his brooch next to them.

“I am happy for them also,” Damen said, imagining Nikandros with his own babe in his arms. He suspected that Nikandros and Xanthippe had wished for children for some time, and he hoped that there were no complications with the birth.

He thought back to when he’d first held his own child. He’d still been bedridden with his injury from Kastor when Laurent had arranged for Jokaste and Leon and Leon’s nurse to be safely brought to Ios, and it had been Laurent who had carried Leon in to first meet with Damen and placed him into Damen’s arms. Damen had quite suddenly realized that he had very little experience holding an infant, and was terrified he’d let Leon drop through his hands to land on his lap, but Laurent didn’t hesitate.

“Is he mine, do you think?” Damen had asked Laurent, and Laurent had said, “He is, and you must never question it again.”

Damen didn’t know if Laurent had truly believed Leon was his and not Kastor’s, or that Laurent had meant it in more of a future sense—there was a tone of ‘he will be yours’ to his pronouncement. He’d been hesitant to ask Laurent about it directly for fear of having to confront Laurent’s Veretian distaste for bastards. But Laurent had told him not to question it, and Damen never did. Damen acted as though Leon were his son; Jokaste acted as though Leon were his son. It was either true or Jokaste found it advantageous to act so. Laurent actively proclaimed to the court that Leon was their son, and if there were further questions about Leon’s paternity Laurent hunted them down and they weren’t made openly at court.

He felt wistful, thinking back to when Leon had been a baby, remembering Laurent holding Leon—Laurent had had a little carrier made to keep Leon in a pack. Damen smiled remembering it.

Jokaste had removed her dress and and hung it on a hook. She unwound Damen’s garment and draped the fabric over the chair in front of the dressing table.

She gestured toward the bed, and Damen reclined. She joined him, sitting on the edge. He began to touch her, lazily, occasionally reaching over to his wine glass next to the bed for another sip. He spent a long time fondling her breasts with his hands. She indulged him. She had told him once that she found his attention to her breasts no more interesting than any other part, and yet Damen himself found it more interesting, and their arrangement was based on a frank admittance of what they each wanted.

Jokaste encouraged him to move his attentions lower, after a time, and he allowed himself to be pushed down the bed between her legs. He brought her off with his mouth, and then he crawled back up the bed, and she bent her knees a bit and he eased inside of her.

His thoughts were still tied up with thoughts of babies as he took her. He began to think of another child, and then the thought grew in his mind. He pictured Jokaste thickening with a fifth child, and then holding another little one in his arms. He imagined Euandros holding a new baby with wide eyes. Perhaps another daughter, he thought, or a son, either one. Euandros would like being an older brother as well as a younger brother, and there was something precious about the smallest ones and the way they rested their heads against his chest when they were sleepy.

He liked the idea more and more. He thought of spilling within Jokaste; perhaps they could conceive again. She had various methods for contraception and sometimes told him not to finish inside of her, but she had said nothing about that this evening. That likely meant she had taken some other precaution to avoid a child, but Damen indulged the idea in his mind nonetheless.

He rested for a moment after he finished, staying inside of Jokaste as if that would somehow contribute to planting the seed deeper within.  He had heard once that women were more likely to conceive if they orgasmed after the seed was within them, and the thought of that was enough to draw him down the bed once again to apply his mouth a second time.

Afterwards, Jokaste raised an eyebrow at him. “Something on your mind?” She thought he was thinking of Laurent, Damen realized suddenly. She thought he was thinking of the festival and of seeing Laurent again and what--distracting himself in bed to draw his mind away? Pretend she was Laurent? Perhaps she didn’t know.

“We could have another baby,” he said, trying to keep his tone light even though he’d spent the last quarter of an hour imagining it.

Jokaste sat up in the bed. “We had an agreement about four,” she said sharply. “Euandros was four.”

Damen made a noise. He remembered their agreement, and he didn’t really wish to renegotiate at the moment, but he also didn’t really want to let go of his fantasy of another baby.

Jokaste was watching him closely. She could tell, Damen thought, when he was thinking of Laurent, and sometimes she would ask him all-too-insightful questions about what he was thinking, and Damen did not wish to answer discuss Laurent with Jokaste, so he tried to think on other things when they were together.

“Are you going to sleep here?” said Jokaste, pulling a light cover over herself.

Damen sighed. “No,” he said. They both slept better separately, and he had a full day of travel ahead of him the following day. He levered himself off the bed, leaned in to kiss Jokaste gently, and then retrieved his own clothing from the back of the chair to make his way back to his own chambers.

[wamawamachihuahuamama]

1. Favorite place to write.

On break during school or work.

2. Favorite part of writing.

The exciting, vibrant, fuzzy feeling I get when something comes out really good.

3. Least favorite part of writing.

Writer's block.

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals?

Not writing but still holding onto the someday mantra.

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most.

I don't really know, I read a lot. Like A LOT a lot.

6. Favorite character you ever created.

Justin Gabe Leon of The Consequences of Beth. He is supposed to be like the good guy, but he is way worse than anyone realizes.

7. Favorite author.

Stephen King.

8. Favorite trope to write.

Hurt/Comfort.

9. Least favorite trope to write.

Anything with a bad ending.

10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about.

l'd write a story with my middle school best friend that shall not be named. Likely a romance because we both are reluctantly prone to writing them.

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

I write like crazy and professionally for like a week and then I get busy with something else and the inspiration disperses and I only write sometimes. Like only when I get an idea or something. A lot of fanfictions to be honest.

12. How do you deal with self-doubts?

I tell myself it is in my head. Most everyone who had read my stuff thinks it has a lot of potential.

13. How do you deal with writers block?

I try to write through it. If I'm really stuck, I rewind and rewrite already written scenes until I get a further idea of what to do with it.

14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book?

Probably when I wrote a fanfiction of Soul Eater and I needed some information about some secondray characters. Most of the time i go by a write what you know mantra.

15. Where does your inspiration come from?

My inspiration comes from other writers works.

16. Where do you take your motivation from?

My motivation comes from nothing except random feelings of "what the hell am I doing with my life."

17. On average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

On average, I write very little. It's mostly whatever I have to write for class.

18. What’s your revision or rewriting process like?

I rewrite as I go. Then again at the end. Then repeat. It just keeps going.

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

“I was woken by the gunshots.”

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

Amidst a dreary fog, a young woman finds herself disoriented by looming lights, becoming closer and larger by the second. Her vision glares and the few paces she could see in front of herself fade away. She blindly throws her arms out to keep upright as she continues towards her destination and, more importantly, away from the glowing orbs behind her. Just as her vision begins to return, it is enveloped in darkness again. Had the lights dispersed? She glances over her shoulder for a moment. They are still there, but smaller, and concealed by the trees. She sighs relievedly and turns back around. A cold chill rushes past her. Annoyedly, she tugs at the strings of her hoodie. The thick fabric falls over her eyes. Before she can even reach up to move it out of her view, she kicks herself in the heel. Flailing about wildly, she stumbles forward. Long blades of grass grab at her ankles. 

A strangled yelp escapes her as she finally hits the ground. Her palms burn, sending worse tingling sensations up her arms until they give out completely. She fights to sit up again, flailing backward and landing on her butt. Cold rainwater soaks through her jeans. She grimaces. 

Then, she gasps. Little shards of rocks cover her palms, trapped in tiny cuts. She brushes them away the best she can. Most of the pebbles fall onto her lap while others remain deeply embedded. Cursing to herself, she looks around for something to work them out with. More of the same tiny rocks surround her. They stretch far in front of her and even farther to her left. It’s a driveway.

Scrambling to her feet, she begins to dash down the road. Nothing appears in front of her or changes around her. She slows to a stop, breathing heavily. It’s too dark to tell if she is heading in the right direction. Everything is either black, gray, or disguised by scattered, glittery orbs. The lights begin to form into one, brightening the path in front of her. Not too far away is a house.

Despite how long she has been looking for it, it’s nothing extravagant. A simple trailer hidden by trees and lined by bushes. It’s hardly visible at all in fact. As she gets closer though, she notices good elements to the structure. A small porch leads up to the door, beside it is a bush, and between the two is just enough space for her to slip between.  

Crouching down, she pulls dead leaves and other muck over her like a blanket. Another sickening feeling moves through her as the moist goo makes contact with her bare skin. Or maybe the twists through her gut are caused by the sound of gravel crunching under the wheels of a car. The vehicle stops and the lights go out. 

A door flies open and someone steps out. He wanders cautiously towards her without shutting the door. Of course he saw her and of course he is going to be smart about confrontation. She closes her eyes and listens to him walk. Each stomp is closer than the last. Then it stops again and her eyelids turn orange. 

The yellow circle from a flashlight luminates the siding above her head. It rests there for a moment before dashing across the house. It reaches the woods and turns around again, following the same path before landing on her. Their eyes meet and he drops the flashlight. 

A minute passes and neither makes  an effort to retrieve it. It’s all so overwhelming. He anticipated a startled racoon; or even a deer; not the cowering eyes of his highschool sweetheart. Her name and everything else he wants to say attempts to seep between his lips, but he bites down before his thoughts become verbalized. If he allows himself to say, or do anything for that matter, he’s terrified of what he would do. 

The light was on them for merely a second, but that's all it took for him to recognize her and hear him. Six years should have been more than enough time for them to become strangers, but with her expression it is obvious she had no trouble identifying him as well. Picking up the flashlight and redirecting it to her, he takes in her aged form. Her hair is the same length and she bares the same expressions. Her name fights at the tip of his tongue again, the only thing he can think to say. “Beth?”

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

Not again, not again. 

22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you?

Yeah, haven’t figured that out yet. 

23. Single or multi POV, and why?

Single, definitely single. It can get confusing and I find it to be a bit of lazy writing... don’t come after me. 

24. Poetry or prose, and why?

Definitely poetry. I write a lot of it to decipher my feelings and it just sorta sounds cool. 

25. Linear or non-linear, and why?

It depends on the story. I definitely have a habit of writing non-linear. I’m not the type to start with a whole bunch of background, you learn as you go just like when you meet someone. 

26. Standalone or series, and why?

Standalone. I don’t like it as a reader because I want the conclusion within reach and I have a feeling a lot of my readers feel the same way. I can live with torturing with a dead character or two but I cannot make them die of anticipation. 

27. Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished? 28. And who do you share them with?

I used to share rough drafts with people, but now I don’t even share polished stories. I don’t want to upset people or make them worry about me or get a bad review or to have my ideas stolen and done better... yeah, they are kinda for my eyes alone. 

29. Who do you write for?

I write for my future readers and for my own enjoyment. 

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

My favorite line I have ever written has to be “Don’t let the probable be more important than the definite.” 

31. Hardest character to write.

The hardest character to write is someone very positive. 

32. Easiest character to write.

The easiest character to write is Madeline from The Locket. 

33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing?

Sometimes. It depends on where I am when I am writing. 

34. Handwritten notes or typed notes?

Handwritten. It’s more memorable based on some studies I’ve read on studying and I have an addiction to notebooks. 

35. Tell some backstory details about one of your characters in your story

 Bethany is the accidental baby of a successful business women who abandoned her and an abusive, alcoholic father. She pushes people away to avoid being hurt and doesn’t really want anyone around anyways. Then she befriended the new boy at school and kissed him during a spur of a moment, last minute spiteful action against her late father. An orphan, she must trust the one person who doesn’t let her push him away. 

36. A spoiler for story 

Peter dies at the end. 

37. Most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you.

“It’s not the absense of fear, it’s over coming it.” - Emma Watson.

38. Have you shared your outline of your story ________ with someone? If so, what did they think of it?

No, I’ve never shared an outline. I shared verbal ideas with my friends in middle school and “finished” stories with friends in elementary school. 

39. Do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one.

No, I don’t base my characters off of real people. I think it is wrong. It is a way to deal I’m sure, but it is also hurtful. 

40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why?

Both. I write fanfiction for practice and fiction as the “real deal”. 

41. How many stories do you work on at one time?

I work on one and will do random little prompts in between. 

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

My characters are the first thing that comes to me. I don’t really know how I think of them, they mostly come from my dreams. 

43. Are you an avid reader?

Yes, I read and read and read and read some more. 

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

The best piece of feedback I’ve ever gotten was from my 5th grade teacher after just I started writing and finished my 1st “novel”. I still have the sticky note hanging on my wall she stuck on the inside of my notebook. 

45. Worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

The worst piece feedback I’ve gotten is when my media teacher (I write articles) told me I’d make a good librarian because I’m organized, punctual, and love to read... but wouldn’t make it as a writer. 

46. What would your story look like as a tv show or movie? 

My story would definitely be a movie. It would have a cloudy, depressing filter on it like in Tim Burton films, but be live action and happy in parts. 

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

I start with the characters. I get attached and I form the world around them. 

48. Favorite genre to write in.

Realistic fiction. 

49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end?

The middle of the story is the hardest to write. When I begin I know how I want to start and end and am “faking it till I make it” in the middle. 

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

The weirdest story idea I’ve ever had was definitely based on some dream I’ve had. There has been a lot of odd ones, but the one I actually made into a book idea was about a dystopian family with a father who is a part of a cult who kidnaps children and chemically manipulate the brains so they appear different then they really are. Or feed them to a giant, invisible man to keep them from killing the entire cult. 

51. Describe the aesthetic of your story in 5 sentences or words.

My stories are dark with a sarcastic overtone. 

52. How did writing change you?

Writing has made me more sensible to myself. Like, I understand me more. 

53. What does writing mean to you?

Writing is a way of living and of communication. 

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

To just do it. You don’t have to do it now or for the next twenty years. Having a colorful language and huge imagination is what makes you one, not how many words you have written. 

[zeta-is-writing]

Original Fic Fest - Day 1: Character Day

Day 1 of @originalficfest and I'm already late to the party... welp. At least I decided to post the first chapter of my WIP. It's meant to introduce the protagonist Yrelia to the reader, so I think it fits the topic rather well.

I haven't had time to proof-read it yet, and also this still is some kind of a draft. Sorry for all the errors in there.

But still: Have fun reading!

Also feel free to leave comments either here or on my site. I really appreciate them!

With a sad expression on her face, she watched her brother in his comatose sleep.

His state hadn’t changed, ever since she was gone. But since she had returned to this place, he hadn’t even dared to enter his room yet. As if she was worried to worsen his condition, if she did. Instead, she had only opened the door to his room a bit, while still standing in the hallway.

After a while she nodded and calmly closed the door.

“Don’t worry...”, she whispered. “I know I can help you.”

She turned around and walked down the empty hallway. Before she was gone, it used to be so lively here. Her family used to have many servants, who hurried from room to room, cleaning, preparing food, doing laundry and taking care of all kinds of chores everyday. But in just these few weeks, things had changed. It made her feel lonely like this. Even Sanna was gone, so it seemed. Ever since she returned, she hadn’t seen her friend.

With bare feet she went down the stairs to the ground floor. She didn’t like wearing shoes, she never did. Her mother was always complaining, she’d get her feet dirty and her father only mentioned, she was a noble and should behave like one. There was only a single reason to walk around bare-footed and that was, if you couldn’t afford them, if you were a peasant.

Whenever she was caught up in another argument with her father, she started wearing shoes again.

The floor beneath her feet was cold. Her family was even saving on the heat.

Or maybe there was just no one anymore, who could take care of the heater.

With slow and careful steps she approached the door to the saloon. His father was usually meeting guests there, but in the evening, he was often sitting there, reading, drinking or smoking, in company of his wife.

But once she stood in front of to knock on the dark, thick wood, she was hesitating and clenched the book in her arms, pressing it closer to her frail and weak body. A couple of minutes passed, until she finally found the courage to knock and wait for her father to reply.

“Yes.”

Slowly she pulled down the handle and the door in front of her opened.

The saloon was dark and warm. On the other side of the room was a fireplace with two huge armchairs in front and a small table in between them. Since they were turned in the direction of the fire, she couldn’t see the faces of the people sitting inside these chairs.

Slowly she stepped inside and closed the door, so the heat wouldn’t leave the room. Then she hesitated again and remained silent.

Her father only gave her a quick gaze, as he leaned to the side and looked at the person, who had just entered the room. Then his attention returned to the book on his lap.“What is it, Yrelia?”

It felt as if it had used up all her courage just to knock at the door. He knew, why she was here. His question was mere order for her to talk. And Yrelia had already tried to reject his words, yet nothing she could think of was able to convince him.

Suddenly it felt so much easier again to just turn around and leave. But then again, nothing would ever change.

“I...”, she began, immediately lowering her gaze. “I don’t… want to be married.”

Her father was silent for moment. She could hear the sound of him turning over the pages.

“Rivaille is fine, young man”, he replied. “And his family is rich. You’ll quickly find a liking to him, if you’d just open up a little.”

“I can’t just… marry a man I’ve never met in my life”, Yrelia said. Her father took a deep breath and after a while, he closed the book and put it on the small, empty table to his right.

“I’m afraid, you’ll have to get used to it”, he said and crossed his legs, folding his hands. “I told you before, that being a noble’s daughter comes with certain obligations. I’m the one to choose your future husband and when you’ll marry him. You should be grateful, that he’s in your age.”

A cage.

Her whole life had Yrelia dreamed to be free, fly across the blue sky on her own, without being held down by obligations or her status. Sometimes she looked at the citizens on the street and felt envious, that they were able to go after their daily lives they had chosen for themselves. While she was kept in a cage, she wasn’t able to escape from for so long.

And now, even the smallest gap, even smallest chance to escape began to shut close in front of her eyes.

She couldn’t let this happen. She didn’t want this to happen. She wanted to be free.

“The tailor will come over tomorrow and take the measures for your dress and in the evening Monsieur Gustéau and his family will dine with us. Please show your best behavior, I don’t want you to embarrass us.”

“I-I will embarrass you”, Yrelia said and stepped forward. “If you force this on me, I’ll do anything to -”

“I hope I have misheard you just now”, her father cut her short in a strict tone. “I demand for you to show your best behavior. If you mess this up for us, the downfall of the Maurenio family will be your fault. Don’t be childish, Yrelia. Your own wishes and desires have be neglected for now.”

Yrelia became quiet again. She pressed the book in arms closer to her body. That was the only way she could think of. The only way out. The last chance to escape.

“If my… if my brother were to wake up again...”, Yrelia said in hesitant tone. “I wouldn’t need to be married, right?”

Her father seemed to be thinking for a moment, as he put his chin on his palm.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Well, if, if you… wouldn’t have to spend any more money on his treatment, you wouldn’t need the money anymore.”

Her father began to chuckle. “And what do you propose? What can you do, that a docent mages and priests weren’t able to do?”

“I… I can...” Yrelia hesitated again and averted her gaze. “I can… sing.”

Now her father stood up and turned around to her. “I’ve had enough of your jokes. Return to your room.” “It’s true, I can help him!”, Yrelia suddenly insisted, confronted with greater resistance. “I can heal him, when I sing! I swear!”

“What a bunch of nonsense. What are you, a magician?”, her father spouted at her. “Have you studied at the Academy, while you ran away?”

From the other armchair a hand grabbed his sleeve.

“Wolfgang, please be quiet. Raphael is asleep”, a female voice whispered. Yrelia’s father looked at his wife for a moment. On her lap sat a boy, snuggled in his mother’s arms and being half-asleep.

“Go back to your room, Yrelia”, her father now said in a calmer tone than before and turned around.

“Please let me proof it!”, Yrelia begged. “Just one chance. Give me one chance to prove to you, that I can be more than just a noble’s daughter.”

Wolgang’s hand went over his face and he sighed, before he turned around again and walked around the armchairs in Yrelia’s direction.

“Very well”, he said and passed by her, approaching the door with fast steps. “Then show to me your ‘magic’, if you will.”

So they left the room together and returned upstairs. Wolfgang went up ahead, while Yrelia followed him with the book still in her arms. Once more she passed through the empty corridors, until she ended up at her brother’s room again. Without hesitation her father opened the door and stepped inside, while Yrelia remained outside, opened the book in her arms and began to turn over the pages, as she looked for something in a hurry. Her father waited inside, watching what she was doing in impatience.

Yrelia became nervous, as she skipped through the pages, until she finally found it: A song. While this was in every way just a regular song book, beneath the notes, where there was supposed to be the song’s text, there were just a wide variety of shapes and simple figures lined up, that didn’t appear to make any sense in particular. At the top of the page, the song’s title could be read.

The Night’s End.

Yrelia went over the lines quickly to recall the song’s rhythm and melody, until she nodded and entered the room. Her father stepped aside, his arms crossed, as Yrelia approached her brother’s bed. She remained silent for a moment, until she spoke.

“Ryan”, she said and put down the book on his bed. “I’m going to help you now.”

For a last time she went over the song’s notes. She had sung this song before, all she had to do now, was to do it again. To create its effect and let the melody turn into reality. And with a soft and gentle voice the first tones left her lips, as she began to sing the song.

Yrelia had closed her eyes. She listened to her own voice and the melody in her head, as she made the feelings the composer put into the song’s notes her own. This had always been the way she had sung, ever since she was a little child. Songs were more to her, than just a melody and words. They were feelings, that were given a place in the world. In reality. And these song’s were given a place in the world, so they could change it.

But even so, the words that Yrelia sang to the song’s own melody were her own. Even she couldn’t read the letters, so she made up her own.

Darkness leaves again Twilight fades in morning’s eyes And as I raise my gaze I see night’s end arrive.

But she felt the feelings of the song. It was song, full of hope and the promise, that darkness will be followed by light. Even the longest night will eventually end and new day will begin. But it wasn’t just about hope, it was also about a new begin. To start over, from zero.

And as Yrelia sang, she was hoping, that these feelings, her own feelings, reached her brother and became reality. So that she could bring him back and save her own freedom.

But she quickly came to the realization, that something was off.

The song seemed to disappear in the room. Like a voice in a silent room, without a response, and she was merely talking to herself and wasn’t listening. The words she sang began to become twisted and lost their meaning. The feeling vanished, her heart became empty. And as the first strophe ended and she opened her eyes again, nothing had changed.

Even the itching pain in her left eye was missing.

Yrelia paused for second, before she repeated the strophe. Again and again, she sang the same lines. And as time passed, they became more and more blurred, leaving nothing behinds but sounds with no meaning. No feeling. She began to miss the right notes. Her song became twisted and turned into something different. The melody couln’t be recognized anymore. And Yrelia noticed it and tried to make it right again. But it was no use.

Tears were already dwelling up in her eyes and made it impossible for her to sing. Her legs gave up and she fell forward. Her book fell to the ground, as her face fell into the beds sheets and she started sobbing.

Her father watched her for a few more moments until he finally turned around.

“I wasn’t expecting you to change anything”, he said with a stern expression and left the room.

[chimericalwrites]

Tag Game Compilation

Tagged by @prycarious. I really enjoy doing the tag games, but actually sitting down and doing them is another matter.  Also I tag anyone wearing red while reading this.

First Three Lines

Rules:  Post the first three sentences of a current WIP–either the first three sentences of the entire WIP itself, or a specific chapter.

Here’s the first three sentences of Parlous Heritage Chapter 6

    On her second exploration of Laoris, Kari decided even the streets were threatening. The buildings on either side of them were built too close together, and leaned inward. It was more mouth than alley; stony rows of teeth on either side. 

Character Moral Alignment Chart

I’m just going to hit up my main three and Kari’s sister. Be warned that my info on this is the first google result that gave more than a known character image to explain.

Kari Spearce- Lawful Neutral Kari’s moral compass is dictated by the teachings and traditions of the Demon Hunters. While the events of the novel come to challenge her beliefs, Kari tends to cling to her identity as a Spearce and therefore a Hunter over much else.

Jamie Spearce- Neutral Jamie doesn’t share her sister’s strong dedication to upholing their father’s name. She will challenge the status quo to protect those she loves, but she doesn’t go out of her way to change the world or adhere to it’s social laws.

Camden- Neutral Good As soon as I saw that the nickname for this one was “The Benefactor” I knew it was Camden. Through his job as the librarian Camden is a major figure in his town’s society. On top of his secret-trading day job, Camden can’t see someone in trouble without wanting to help. He doesn’t hold any special respect for the law or leaders, but he seeks to do any good that he can.

Aleksander Herst- Chaotic Good Alex does whatever he thinks is right in a situation, screw the consequences. While he doesn’t take on as many projects as Camden, he’s not as conscientious of his own limits. His actions don’t always have awful repercussions, since his tactic is to diffuse most situations with words. However its not rare for his meddling to cause problems that Camden has to sort out.

Old Writing Meme

1. Post a quote or short excerpt from your early days of writing. (I’m talking old fanfics, slash fics, original fics, etc., that are barely edited and have a ton of technical errors and misspelled words.) This is the cringe part. Don’t edit anything! Let it be horrendous. Don’t Panic.

OOOOOk, I found a true gem, a horrible thing that should be burned. Because if I’m gonna go back, why not all the way back to my 12 year old self’s novel that I wrote in a 3 subject notebook. The first four pages were ripped out and lost, suffice to say a girl was walking home and got drugged and kidnapped. Idk why that needed four pages.

When I wake up my surroundings have changed again. I was in a cage a lot like the ones from old zoos before they had the whole habitat thing going for them. There were more cages that varies in size around me. All were filled with kids my age and younger. My age... what is my age? I try to think past before the day I was taken. Nothing, I just come up blank. I don’t remember my name, where I was going, or even my family. I’m pretty sure I had a family though. 

Then my eyes took in all of the other kids here and I had to stifle a gasp. One kid had at ail, one was a girl with red eyes and long fangs. The list was endless, all of the kids around me had some kind of weird mutation. 

2. Post a quote or short excerpt from one of your most recent works/WIPs. Something that you’re proud of. Something that you’ve written that makes you smile when you read it.

This isn’t the best thing I’ve written in this draft of Parlous Heritage, but it is one of my favorite pieces. Mostly because the initial collision of these two characters has changed drastically through the drafts. I feel like this version sets up their dynamic better than any of the others. 

3. Tag a writer you admire, anyone you think is amazing, new friends, followers, writeblrs, anyone who you’d like to know more about. If you think someone is a great writer and you want to see how they’ve developed their skills, tag them! Everyone started somewhere.

Last Sentence Tag

“This wasn’t any magic she knew, and it probably wasn’t Accaven approved.”

Cool Words for MCs Tag

This one is neat.

Camden-  Esoteric- Understood by or meant for only the select few who have special knowledge or interest.

Aleksander-   Irpe(urp)- a smirk of the face; a twisting of the body.

Kari-  Hiraeth (Welsh word without a perfect English translation)-a longing for a home you can't return to, or one that was never yours. not necessarily a house, but a homely feeling such as love.

[hyacinthetic]

end of the year writing meme 2k17

because i did this last year and i want to gloat over my truly embarrassing uptick in wordcount.

Total number of completed stories: 8 + 1 wip + 1 snippet.  Total word count: 151,100, MOTHERFUCKER. Fandoms: voltron, persona 5, natsume’s book of friends.

Overall Thoughts

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted? TOO MUCH VOLTRON. WAY, WAY TOO MUCH VOLTRON.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? i have 40k of lotor/matt sitting on my hard drive. it's going to break 60k after edits. i don't want this life.

What's your own favorite of the year? the post-series winter cult au was my favorite bit of writing, but i am gonna clutch the pseudo-utena pastiche (disclaimer: not actually related to utena in any way) to my chest all the more because nobody else will. 36K WORDS, MOTHERFUCKERS.

Did you take any writing risks this year? mmm. i've used the second-person pov before to varying degrees of efficacy, but the junior detective kurusu akira fic and the every day au were the first times i really tried to use it as a proper conceit -- a choice that related to the way the character wanted the story framed. ymmv on how well they worked (ha! ha! most of the second-person punch in the junior detective fic happens in the ~20k after the prologue, oh god, nobody even knows what i'm talking about). at the v. least, i still think the every day au's ending wouldn't pack such a punch from any other perspective.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? WRITE STUFF THAT ISN'T VOLTRON, FOR FUCK'S SAKE. i've been reduced to just clawing at doors hissing LET ME GO... LET MY PEOPLE GO ...

From my past year of writing, what was...

My best story of this year: definitely the post-series winter cult. people keep describing it as hard to get into, which, yeah, it is. but it's also the most polished piece from this year.

in general, my best fic is always still the dazai/yosano thing from 2016. i didn't even round out all the subplots for that one, but because it's a crack ship, the whole dynamic is something i made, and i think that earns it a place on the trophy shelf.

My most popular story of this year: the shrine guardian au, i guess? which is bewildering, frankly: it's very fluffy, but i don't see that it does anything better than my other works. not to be all lucille bluth, i love all my children equally!!! and its prose is fine, but i wouldn't call it a standout piece.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: it is a tie between my two big voltron aus -- i understand why the pseudo-utena flopped as hard as it did (60k worth of fic crammed into 36k, badly edited, had to cut two subplots and it still turned out a mess), but the darkest timeline auniverse fic was decent work with mediocre prose and a fuckton of worldbuilding. i'm this close to digging up a worldbuilding meme and answering all the questions that literally nobody will ever ask. THERE WAS SO MUCH TIMELINE BUILDING IN THAT ONE.

Most fun story to write: fun & joy are lies. all fic is suffering. only the motor fic came close, and that was awful in a different way: two characters with little established personality having to build chemistry and worldbuilding at the same time. fuck you both.

Story with the single sexiest moment: hilariously, despite the amount of porn i like to write, none of my fic's been personally sexy to me since 2013's mikorei pwp in which mikoto blew up some buildings and then convinced munakata to fuck him into a wall. what can i say, i'm an arson kind of girl.

Most "holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story: nothing posted this year! but i'm gonna talk about my impending january posts because god, fuck, i'm not waiting a year so that i can talk excitedly about my 60k nightmare, i plan to be fucking burned out on voltron by february.

anyway: the first time i tried to explain lotor/matt to my best girl, she promptly texted back in horror: "DID YOU WRITE FIC WHERE LOTOR SOULBONDS MATT AND LEAVES HIM TO GET GANGBANGED." and, like. i want to explain, but the actual explanation wasn't really that much more comforting. so, there'll be that. i guess.

(there's actually no non-con involved! it's not even dubcon! IT'S NOT EVEN MATT WHO GETS LEFT.)

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: the fucking motor fic. i knew what i liked about lotor as i was going in -- 90% of my motivation in writing it was "okay, i can't make any of the existing major lotor ships work for me, let's just throw this ridiculous spaghetti galra at a shipping wall and see what sticks" -- but matt was much more nebulous to me. i know fanon matt isn't all that far off from the matt we actually saw in season 4, but i was interested in someone who wasn't an older, cheerful, ingenious, meme-loving version of pidge. and the detail that i really got stuck on was the fact that he was a cadet when he went to kerberos, even though keith was the best pilot in his class and keith couldn't go. why?

obviously the simpler answer's "narrative convenience" and "why would anyone trust keith enough to send him into space with millions of dollars' worth of space equipment". but i really did want to play with the alternative too.

Hardest story to write: fucking god. the european travelogue was downright awful to get out. i think it's partly that there's an emotional density to it that isn't really present in my other fic, and partly that it's 25K OF SHIRO DESCRIBING ARCHITECTURE THAT IS PERFECTLY EASY FOR ANYBODY TO GOOGLE AND LOOK AT WITH THEIR OWN EYES.

i also found sheith particularly hard to build as a convincing slowburn. i have no idea how anyone does it. the ship's selling point, to me, is that keith would give shiro anything. if shiro weren't romantically interested, keith would live and die for him in every other way and be absolutely satisfied by that. i never write keith as secretly wanting more than shiro can give -- he'll do it by accident, when he misunderstands what shiro's capable of, but ultimately that's not what keith wants himself to be. shiro plays by the rules a little better, understands the risks + selfishness of dating someone only to leave them for a dangerous ten-month expedition -- but when it comes down to it, i can't write them as anything other than two people who understand each other at the baseline, where it counts. like, shiro may not actively acknowledge it, but i don't think he DOESN'T know that keith has no breaking point when it comes to him, and that there is very unlikely to be anyone else who could ever be what shiro is to him.

anyway: 25k of no-plot fluff! jesus! it was a fun little experiment, and i'm still amazed and delighted that anyone hunted my tumblr down to ask for fic. but i'll probably never write anything like that again.

Biggest disappointment: can you believe that i wrote 36k of psychic bonding fic and it didn't lead to telepathic porn? there's a lot in the utena pastiche that made me go "mm, not enough", a lot that was flatly messy first-draft fumbling, and i've never been happy about how it turned out, but that's still the biggest outrage to me. like. what was even the point. there's so much about it that makes me itch to rewrite, but the number-one reason that i never, ever will is that i'd have to find somewhere to fit porn to make it worth my time AND SOME THINGS ARE JUST IMPOSSIBLE.

Biggest surprise: i!! posted!! 100k+ words!!!!!!! WITH OVERFLOWING PUNCTUATION BECAUSE I DESERVE IT, MOTHERFUCKER. ficwise, though -- the lotor/matt au. why the fuck would you ship two characters who literally have no screen time together, share nothing in common, and are unlikely to develop a dynamic in future seasons, let alone this one? answer: ME: You have to promise to read the Lotor/Matt thing even though I've realised that their portmanteau is "Motor". MY GIRL: WELL now i have to read it ME: ME: Never mind, your boner killed mine.

but the joke's on me, because the one way to guarantee that i'll write something is a hot girl telling me she'll read it.

i love how most of this meme is grim self-encouragement to finish a fic that feels like it is literally killing me by dint of being the longest goddamn thing i've written in my life.

Most unintentionally telling story: well, it was GONNA be the junior detective kurusu akira fic, but i DIDN'T FINISH THAT.

on a more personal note: the every day au's ending was never in question for me. i'm rarely in the mood for conversation, but i can't stand keeping my feelings to myself: i don't feel real unless someone else can see me. it's why i like to yell in my post tags and do memes even though i follow like three actual personal blogs and a significant portion of this tumblr's designed to actively discourage 90% of people who stumble across it from adding me. the idea that, when you strip the viewer out, the object disappears -- that's probably as 'me' as a story gets.

Highlights + Wrap-up

Favourite Opening Lines (3):

The courthouse's a brushfire of camera lenses.

You wake up. [ ed. nt: not really the most unique or interesting of opening lines, but i've started to appreciate how this echoes throughout the piece and then builds into a clusterfuck chorus by the end. ]

[ nope. the other first lines weren't that great. fuck you, meme.]

Favorite 5 Line(s) Ficbits from Anywhere: [ ed. nt: fuck you, word limits & punctuation. ]

"I knew you were gone—long gone. No one could've called you back. But I just kept saying—if they were really Voltron, you'd be with them. You'd have come back for me."

"You stand," Allura whispers, "on territory that was consecrated by the five rituals of essential transference. You stand within the walls that my grandfather built, the walls for which my father sacrificed everything to keep from enemy dominion. The planet Altea remains because I lay claim to it, because I have not yielded to time and I will not yield. You may have served as Zarkon's witch; but in these halls, your very life hangs on Altea's mercy, my mercy. Either you'll remember an Altean's manners or a prisoner's—but so long as you speak to me, Haggar, you will choose one." -- so this fic was a series of dramatic triumphs that i did not build up to and therefore had no right to put in, but i don't care. if i'm going to write 100k++ of fic in a year, it's gonna be spread out over like ten different fics. and this is my favorite of the dramatic non-love confessional speeches that i wrote this year.

Keith lisps briefly and nastily under his breath. "Why would anyone pronounce an apostrophe?” <-- me throwing shade at a hundred years of scifi.

[ fuck you, listicles. ]

[ fuck you pt. 2. all the other sentences sucked. ]

Trivia left out of three fic:

pidge survives the events of the every day au and does eventually go on to form voltron. i left the fic where i did as a dramatic stopping point; in my head, i always knew where things were going to go afterwards. this clarity was helped in no small part because i had to immediately spill my guts to my best girl after she finished reading and realised in outrage that i'd given her a 19k fic in which her otp kissed zero (0) times. but yeah, everything works out -- albeit with a superdose of trauma -- and keith and pidge in particular have a moment which appeals to all my friendship kinks. i couldn't write the sequel in second-person, though, which is probably why i'll never do it. if i can't be pretentious and tragic, and i still can't work in any porn, then what is the point.

shiro, in the weird tattoo porn thing, has no idea of the effect he's having. in his mind, he's just being reasonable. this ties into my preference for writing s3-4!shiro as someone who thinks of himself as the same man who fell to earth a year ago, someone who has survived the galra over and over, someone who wants to lead in the war and deserves to do it. the trouble with this is that about one-point-five of those things are not necessarily things that the original shiro actually believes. i love this discrepancy between writing the two: there's one who buys into his own mythology of being a hero, and there's one who just wants everyone to survive and be happy and safe. in an ideal world (note: ideal to nobody but me), project kuron would be a thing where they created a perfect clone of shiro with all his memories but accidentally infused it with just enough galra beliefs about strength and the importance of war that it sabotages voltron's mission. that particular shiro doesn't mean to be fucked up, but his beliefs are, and he doesn't realise it until after the fallout of everything he's done hits the team. it's the entire basis for his behavior afterwards. this is one of those character development things that fell into the margins between the tattoo porn and its weird au sequel. i should have written the fic in between, i'm sure it would've been less confusing for everyone who read the goddamn sequence, but honestly, you could not pay me enough to write about keith and shiro's relationship falling apart.

this was never made explicit in the fic itself, though it seems pretty clear to me, but here goes. of the ten photographs, nine are pictures that shiro takes for keith to remember them by. the last is one that keith takes for shiro.

Lessons learned about writing in 2017:

when in doubt during edits, read the paragraph out loud. you don't have to do it very loudly, but people respond to something that flows off the tongue even if they aren't actually reading it out to themselves.

you're a niche writer. you write for you. that means you don't really have to edit if you're tired.

deadlines are bullshit. don't sign up for any more events featuring those.

with the way i write, there's always an element of mistrust. in my shorter fics, people are breaking up because they can't trust each other, or they're teetering on the brink of getting together -- but. in my longer fics, i really, really love to throw an unexplained element of mistrust into the mix (see: the fic where shiro leaves his own dimension and refuses to go back without any explanation) and only 'reveal 'it at the end. mistrust is an easy shortcut to tension. it's a good way to reframe the story, but it's also ... hm. predictable if it's literally all you write? i like to think that i'm capable of writing plots whose value isn't entirely based on the way they're told. i just need to let the story breathe once in a while.

the comma before 'too' is grammatically incorrect when that's the end of the sentence. my entire life is a goddamn lie.

there's such a thing as overdetail. a loose sketch and a twinkle of atmosphere will do better than three dense paragraphs detailing exactly where all the cathedrals are. my god, i never want to leave this continent again.

the best writing feeling is posting something and then tweaking all the small mistakes out of it. the second-best writing feeling is bringing someone you like a freshly-killed (read: edited) piece of prose, then demanding pets and cuddling for your great act of magnimity and courage.

looking back on my life, i should have been born a cat.

Fic-writing goals for 2018

post/finish all 80k of my existing drafts, THEN LEAVE VOLTRON FOREVER, I'M SO DARKLY EXCITED ABOUT THIS EXODUS.

seriously, write for any fandom but voltron. oh my god.

maybe i can just dive headfirst into ocean's eight and write a lot of bantery f/f until everyone forgets my embarrassing gay robolion phase.

a sci-fi au for nirvana in fire, heavily influenced by recent military scifi, in which (contrary to all the imperial death traditions) the chiyan army's memories and consciousness are ostensibly deleted from the imperial archives as punishment for their betrayal. several years down the line, jingyan finds his political influence rising with the advice of a helpful and very insistent ai advisor. IT'S TOO COMPLICATED AND I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT IT.

did you know that the natori/matoba section on ao3 has no explicit fic at all? like, zero. 2018 goals, baby. i don't care that nobody needs to know what horrible things they'd do to each other in bed. i'm gonna be this ship's rule 34, or the arsonist who burns down the house of the person who gets to it before me.

[serenephenix]

Spilled Milk 2/3

Sometimes, talking to a stranger can be a huge relief.

OR

Sometimes, you don’t even need advice to come to a conclusion.

(I’m breaking tradition since this won’t be from Shiro’s POV for once)

Also: shout-out to @banditywrites and @musicanddancingthroughlife for indulging me. It really helped! This goes for @beloved-key as well who was screaming at me to resolve this. Sorry, but in the next chapter you will get the promised hugs. <3

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Spilled Milk 2/3

[Fandom]:Voltron: Legendary Defender

[Rating]: Gen/ Gen

[Genre]: Friendship, Team as Family

[AU]: Shenanigan(g)s series, college AU

[Word count]: 3.900

[Status]: wip

Original AU by  taylor-tut

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lance threw another stone with as much force as he could muster, preparing for impact, and watching as it was about to make contact with the clear, reflective surface. Anticipation filled him, hoping the sound would blast away all his tension and anger.

The stone soared and broke the surface of the lake with a tiny bloop.

Lance made a face, disgruntled that even something as simple as skipping stones was not working today. He kicked at a pebble, sending it flying and watching as it was swallowed by the murky water as well.

He took a deep breath before squatting down and looking for more suitable ammunition, inspecting each and every stone, running his fingers over smooth or coarse surfaces, weighing them in his hand individually, and dropping whichever did not suit his needs.

He was glad that the park was exactly where he needed it to be: not so far away from the apartment that he might regret coming here later, but not close enough for the others to come searching for him here.

He hadn’t yet gotten around to showing Hunk this spot and maybe it might be a good decision to not do so in the future. He needed a place to unwind, needed a little room to breathe when he was already this angry and agitated.

He stood, listening as the wind rustled the leaves of a willow bending over the shore, watched as a few leaves drifted lazily down onto the water’s surface and wiped away the ones that got caught in his hair and hoodie.

In the distance the honking of cars and the deep rumble of bus engines broke some of the magic of the peaceful atmosphere.

He positioned himself, legs spread a little to stand more firmly and motioned his arm back and forth, focusing on a spot on the other shore. Then, with one swift movement he sent the stone flying, positive that this time he had found the right angle, but again the stone broke surface and sank.

If Lance possessed one quality that had helped him throughout his life, then it had to be his inexhaustible stubbornness. He would stay here until he finally got what he wanted, even if it took him all day. Which sounded kind of appealing if he were being honest.

He did not think he had it in him to face his friends right now. Not after their faces filled with something quiet but undeniable.

It was why his phone had been muted and then, as a precaution, he had not only turned it off but removed the battery entirely. He knew what Pidge was capable of doing with a laptop and a keyboard, and he was not keen on her trying out her witchcraft-like hacker skills on him when the last thing he wanted was to be found.

The other reason had been the notification of three missed calls from his mom’s cell. Now that was a conversation he definitely not did not want to have. For all it was worth, he would give her some time to cool down a little – his mama could be fearsome when angered and that’s exactly what Lance had managed to do.

Ignoring his initial objective, Lance threw the next pebble with as much force as he could muster, drops spraying everywhere, tiny waves gently lapping at the tips of his sneakers.

All that hard work, all the smiling and pretending for months and Keith had to ruin it with one damn question. All of his hard work – destroyed like a house of cards by a draft from a window.

The next stone did skip, but only once. Still, Lance could work with that.

He wondered where it had gone wrong.

Maybe when he had invited Keith into his and Hunk’s room… But that was unfair. Lance had been planning on introducing his new friends to his family at some point, Keith just poking his head in while he was Skyping had been a coincidence, and one he had taken advantage of.

Maybe when he had not taken back the conversation where it was supposed to go?

Or maybe, just maybe, when he had started this whole mess five months ago.

Lance could pretend all he wanted but he was well damn aware of the fact that it had started with one lie.

A lie he had told straight into his mama’s face and which went against any and all agreements they had made upon his enrollment into college.

One single lie disguised as a gentle whisper that he was going to be fine, that he’d pull through.

He remembered the many evenings he had sat at the kitchen table with his parents, discussing the options, discussing the costs, discussing the terms, discussing his future.

Their family was big, children of all ages ranging from adults already done with their education and working to young tots barely old enough to begin primary.

And as much as anyone might want to argue with him, Lance knew that education was a privilege, involved so many long nights pouring over textbooks just so he could have a chance to get to where he was now.

If it hadn’t been for his parents pushing and lifting him up when necessary, Lance really could not say if he ever might have achieved his goal.

And after everything his parents had done for him, all he’d wanted to do was give them back a little bit of that care they had shown him his whole life.

The next stone skipped three times but Lance was only distantly aware of it as he remembered his parents sitting at their kitchen table while he peeked through the door and saw his mama heave a deep sigh, papers and flyers spread out before her.

He had never seen her head hang so low, had never once seen his father look at her with such dark, understanding eyes. It was an image to forever be burned into his mind.

Someone gave an appreciative whistle: “Not bad, not bad at all!”

He jumped, shrieking and whirled around to see a girl his age sitting on the boulder right next to him.

She giggled, her dark hand coming up to hide her smile, amber eyes crinkling.

It took Lance a moment to get his heart to calm down, the girl looking at him kindly as she reclined back and watching him in interest. The golden hoops she was wearing swayed when she cocked her head to the side in clear amusement.

He swallowed, chuckling as he made a show of adjusting his jacket. Soon enough he had his best, confident smile at the ready.

“Thanks. It comes with practice.”

She hummed, casting a contemplative look at the lake’s surface.

“It sure does, but I think it’d work better if you used smoother stones.”

“Yeah…”, Lance admitted, his hand coming up to rub at the base of his neck, “I’m usually better at this but it seems like today’s just destined for everything to go wrong.”

He smiled at her, the corner of his mouth tugging down briefly despite his greatest efforts. The girl blinked at him before making a face of feigned hurt he instantly knew was only for show.

“Oh my, this has to be the first time someone has told me that meeting me was a bad experience.”

Although he knew she was only dragging him for fun, Lance felt punched to the stomach. He hadn’t thought when he had said that, had not in the slightest considered what it might mean and yeah, the girl might have been joking but that blunder had to be rectified immediately.

“That’s- that’s not what I meant. Not at all!”

Either it was the deep blush or his wild flailing, but she broke out into peals of laughter that had her rocking back and forth on the boulder. She really had a nice laugh, rich and unrestrained.

“Of course not. I’m just messing with you.”

Trying to salvage what he could of his image, Lance gave a shrug with one of his shoulders, waving about one of his hands.

“Well, so did I.”

He really worried she might fall off again when she just kept on laughing and Lance could feel himself relax.

“So, what brings someone as lovely as you to such a lovely place?”

It was all in good humor, a simple compliment towards a person that had been able to make him forget for just a moment why was running around in circles, sulking, chucking pebbles into a pond until his shoulders burned.

She leveled him with a meaningful look, a tiny impish glint in her eyes.

“Careful now. If my brother hears you, you gonna be in trouble.”

Lance reeled back, arms up as though ready to confess to a crime. If there was one thing he knew for certain from his own family, it was that you did not mess with a girl who had brothers.

“What? Are we no longer allowed to tell people they look great? Please, tell me he’s not here right now, waiting behind a bush to get me into a headlock,” he whispered, looking around the shore with wide eyes for dramatic effect.

She shook her head, the golden hoops glinting in the sunlight. Her smile was sweet and innocent.

“No worries. He isn’t in town anyway.”

Lance made a sound of surprise, going back to his scavenging for good stones as the mystery girl remained seated, merely watching him in interest.

“And why’s that?” He looked at her while weighing the stone he was holding in his hand and dropping it when it became clear it was once again too heavy.

She made herself more comfortable, letting her feet dangle over the edge of her perch, the tips of her sandals barely brushing the surface of the water, ripples ghosting over it. He was kind of amazed how someone could feel comfortable running around dressed as lightly as she was – knee-long gypsy skirt and strappy top- when he was suddenly reminded of Hunk, burning furnace extraordinaire.

“Well, he wanted to go over some numbers again this week-end to make sure everything was in order and since our company’s stationed at the next town over I just thought I’d pay a good friend of mine a visit,” she explained, shaking her head when Lance held up a stone and agreeing that it obviously wasn’t suited. He still flung it into the lake over his shoulder the tiny ‘bloop’ it made very satisfying.

“That’s cool. I bet they’re excited.”

She hummed, inclining her head and looking at the sky as though she needed to think about it, that little quirk of her lips never leaving.

“Probably not, since I did not tell him.”

Lance made an appreciative sound as he pushed away a fallen log with his feet: “So a surprise visit. Now that’s even better.”

This time the pebble was a beautiful black, smooth and slim and a perfect oval – far too pretty to be tossed out onto the water but just perfect in every way he could have wished for. Oh, this was a tough one. To throw, or not to throw…

Mystery girl watched as the find silently glided into the pocket of his jacket before mutely pointing at some stone to his left. He instantly followed her silent instruction, searching for the exact one she had in mind.

“And what kind of business do you have?”

He held up a brown pebble and she shook her head, small smile quirking her lips. He let it fall down instantly, the clack satisfying to hear as he dove back down.

“We’re a construction company. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Bahlmeeran Constructions?”

“Nope, sorry.” He gave an apologetic smile, holding up the next one, mystery girl just snorting. Yeah, that one looked like a misshapen potato. It disappeared with a splash.

“It makes sense, I guess. We’ve never worked outside of our hometown until recently. My brother thinks it’s time we expanded our business.”

Lance nodded along with a hum, search ongoing but still signaling his interest. Mystery girl took the invitation, obviously enjoying herself as she talked about her family, telling him everything from how her father had started from scratch with just his brothers, his wife, and a few cousins, how he had always faced struggles head-on, how much love and dedication he had put into this company, how he had proven wrong all of those people telling him it was a pipe dream and how, inevitably, she had been drawn in.

All the while Lance listened, adding stories and little mishaps from his own family history into the mix, laughing alongside his new friend as he meticulously selected stone after stone with her help.

“Sometimes, I like to imagine the lives of the people that will live in the houses or tenements we construct.”

It was the sheer warmth underlying those words that had him look up at her, uncaring of the throw that would now miss. Her smile was indescribably soft.

It had him a little dumb-struck, so much so that it took him a moment to react to her outstretched hand, fingers signaling for him to pass her another stone from the sizeable pile he had gathered over the length of their conversation. He could feel his cheeks burning as he dove for the desired item, his new friend all the while laughing good-naturedly.

Her stone skipped at least five times.

“Any kind of special scenarios?” he asked, genuinely curious as to what she was hiding behind that distant gaze.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Just…,” she worked her lips as she considered the question and Lance used that moment to skip his own stone. It sank after only four wobbly leaps.

“I just like to think about how we’re making a home for everyone. Somewhere they like to go back to after a long, hard day. A place they’re happy to return to again and again. I hope that if I put all of my hard work and love into it… that the people who will one day live there will feel it somehow.”

Her blush was adorable and would have even been more charming if she didn’t look so flustered.

“I’m sorry. I know it must sound silly. Rax thinks it is anyway.”

“No!”

It was louder than he expected, making him and mystery girl jump in surprise. Her eyes were huge as she stared at him mutely, Lance feeling mortification seep in, his arms flailing before his brain got any say in it.

“What I mean is that it’s actually really sweet.”

He took a deep breath, letting his arms fall to his sides, one hand slowly snaking up to rub at the skin at the base of his neck, fingers playing around with strands that had gotten a little too long. When his eyes met hers, there was no longer a trace of alarm, giving Lance enough determination to go on.

“And I’m pretty sure that people do pick up on these kind of things. It’s hard to miss when something’s made with love. Also, your brother sounds like a stick in the mud.”

She gave snort, her hand coming up to cover the bottom half of her face, and even when she seemingly had her facial expression under control it was painfully obvious that she was having a hard time keeping her amusement at bay.

“As his sister, it is my duty to defend my brother’s honor in public.” Her eyes darted left and right, Lance mimicking her before the smirk slowly stretching her lips caught his full attention. “But seeing as there is no one else but us, yeah, if you look up the definition of party pooper, you’ll be sure to find his picture next to it.”

It didn’t matter how much his back would hate him for it in the days to come, Lance found himself on the ground, laughing like he hadn’t done in a while, mystery girl snickering quietly but leaving him painfully alone to ride out his fit.

“Wheew, that was great.”

He smiled up at her and she perched down to retrieve new ammunition. Lance just listened to the sound of stones hitting the water’s surface, staring up at the sky that was slowly fading into rich evening colors, although he knew it could not be any later than four in the afternoon.

The quiet atmosphere between them was nice and he was glad for the company, not really having looked forward to stewing in his own thoughts for too long.

The sudden reminder as to why he was actually here and not in a warm apartment in his bed, settled over him like a heavy, leaden blanket.

He knew he had overreacted. He knew he needed to apologize at the end of the day.

As for the other issues… what was he supposed to do? He may have promised his parents that he would not work more than one job but that did not change the fact that, sometimes, at the end of the money there was a whole lot of month left.

Although it had become somewhat easier to set aside whatever tips he got at his jobs now. Which might have had to do with the fact that he was no longer spending more than half of his earnings on rent. But only maybe. Just maybe.

His brows were almost welded together as Pidge’s assertions, on point and painfully true, reverberated in his skull. Of course she was right, she was a freaking genius for heaven’s sake! If anyone knew what they were talking about, it’d be Pidge.

He rolled onto his side, head wedged between his arms, eyes following the path of every stone. It was entrancing, mystery girl leaving him to ponder in silence. It might have been his expression or his body language tipping her off, but Lance could not be entirely sure of that.

Mystery girl was different from him. She loved what she did with her entire heart and soul. There was no denying it, and to a certain degree he might have felt a little jealous.

Lance did not dislike the nature of his second job per se: interacting with people, drawing a smile out of (most) of them when there were metaphorical clouds hanging over their heads. But none of that could gloss over the fact that his boss, a man as mean as he was intimidating, had made it his personal mission to make Lance as uncomfortable as possible whenever he came through the personnel’s backdoor.

The constant glances over his shoulders as he worked on an order, the quiet threats to keep him longer after exchanging a few words with another poor college kid in need of a pep talk, the ill-disguised insults about his efficiency or his intellect if anything, no matter how insignificant or beyond his control, disrupted the dreadful routine.

Lance knew that that kind of behavior involved levels of pettiness he could never understand. And all of this, only because he had accidently spilled a venti cup over the counter on his first day, and over the man’s polished faux-leather shoes.

Lance even wondered why the man had not fired him at once.

Probably because Lance was the perfect victim: an almost penniless college student in desperate need of any kind of job, no matter how bad the salary or the treatment by the one in charge.

The groan leaving his throat was deep and guttural, his hands wiping over his face.

Why did Pidge always have to be right?

“You okay?”

He glanced at mystery girl, her face filled with open concern and kindness.

“Nah, I’m fine. Just realized something.”

He turned, pebbles and fallen twigs digging into his back through the fabric of his hoodie.

“Doesn’t sound like it was a pleasant one.”

His chuckle came out rougher than intended. “Not really, no.”

Maybe it was time he quit. Maybe he had really gotten so desperate that he had lost sight of the long-term aim, as Hunk had reminded him.

He had reserves now; probably enough to get him by until he found something else. Some other job where his boss would not be a complete asshole.

As nice as Pidge’s suggestion had sounded, there was no way that his contract with Anita would allow him to take any more shifts. Also, and that thought alone drew a smile out of him, he no longer had to fear that he might have to choose between starving himself or paying his rent. His friends would never allow that to happen.

He wasn’t alone anymore, in a city far away from home. He had friends now.

But first, he needed to make things right again.

As for the situation with his mama… that would demand very careful planning and possibly cajoling Shiro into helping him write out a speech to formally ask for forgiveness. Honestly, the man was so good with words it was scary – he’d probably get people to jump off of roofs for him, no questions asked, if he really put his mind to it.

Okay, so:

1.       Apologize to the others.

2.       Apologize to his mama (and hope both his limbs and dignity would remain intact).

3.       Ditch his shitty job and get a new one.

Having a plan felt nice and it was with renewed vigor that he leapt to his feet, his new friend blinking at his sudden activity.

He threw her a smile, mind already working in overdrive.

“Sorry, but could I borrow your phone? Gotta call someone.”

He wasn’t even finished before the phone was already being pressed into his hand.

It took a few minutes, and a lot of reminders that he was owed for his generous services throughout the semester, but by the end of it all Lance was practically buzzing with unrestrained energy and thirst for some real action. Handing back the small device, ornamented with stones and glitter, he beamed at his friend.

“Man, thank you so so much! You’re a life savior!”

His enthusiasm was met with laughter.

“I hope this works out for you. Sounds like you have a long afternoon before you.”

“Naaah,” Lance drew out, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture, “easy as pie.”

The joke earned him another chuckle, before amber eyes glinted with determination that mirrored his own.

“Now goooo! You got a job to do.”

“Well, if that ain’t the truth.” His hands automatically snapped into finger guns as his feet already carried him back up the slope.

“Good luck!”

And with one last wave back at her he ran for his next stop, feeling lighter than he ever would have thought possible after the morning he’s had.

It’s only later, when he is almost literally elbow-deep in his little project, that he realizes with a sudden curse that he completely forgot to ask for a first name.