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platinumshawnn · 4 months ago

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Bound by Blood and Fire -- benjicot blackwood x tully!oc (pt i)

A/N: Hi, if it's terrible and has some stupid stuff in it that doesn't make sense i beg of you to pity and be gentle with me as it was written over the course of a spontaneous overnight shift that turned into a sixteen hour work day <33 Also, character was given a name because I don’t like writing “y/n”

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Synopsis: Lady Tully and Kermit travel to Raventree to reunite with a long-time family acquaintance amidst finalizing the details of the pending nuptials with Lord Blackwood.

"To my dear Lady Serra," he announced loudly enough for all to hear, "who, I am told, has a tongue as sharp as her needlework. Pray, let's hope she proves as skilled with her wifely duties as she is with her embroidery."

warning(s): Mentions of blood, era related content/sexism/violence, adult language (i.e., innuendos), mentions of arranged marriage, mentions of family physical violence (father-son, shoving).

word count: 6.6k

Lady Tully was not the type who particularly enjoyed wandering beyond the walls of Riverrun. She only ever left the safe confines of its boundaries under circumstances in which she had little to no other choice -- if only by force of her father’s hands by whatever command; often it was an event of necessity in which her father insisted her presence was vital, “To put on a strong, united front -- that the House of Tully and its members remain united as ever.”

It was always a conversation that required a lot of begging on her father’s side, pleading with his daughter to see reason, and often ended in a bribe that would prompt her to reluctantly agree. She wasn’t one for negotiating and often did not want more than to be left alone with her books, to stay back at home in the comfort of her library, but she was stubborn and would only cave out of guilt and obligation for her dear father. She truly did love the man -- as did her love her; his little dove.

She hadn’t been nearly as close to him as a child, but following her mother’s passing, she and her father had worked to build something of a relationship. Before that moment, she had always been closer to her mother -- a kind, soft-spoken woman who embodied what it was to be a proper household lady; one who upheld duty and honor. She was loving and gentle with her children, and if her daughter had been anything like her, she would have been the perfect woman to model her likeness after. Instead, she had been considered odd -- a little “out of sorts” according to other children of House Tully, who had relentlessly teased her as a child. She could recall the years of sneers and jabs, tugging on her dress and pushing her into mud puddles, leaving her sobbing in the fields behind her home. And despite her mother wishing she had just enjoyed playing “lady of the house” and making pretend with the other girls, or wishing that she enjoyed dresses and fantasizing about the day she was married to a doting husband like the other girls her age, the sight of her daughter running inside with tear streamed cheeks; covered in dirt and desperately reaching for her mother with her chubby hands as a young child, her mother’s facade would drop; all those selfish wishes out the window as she consoled the girl who clung to her skirt. If there was anything she remembered about her mother, it was how fiercely she loved her children and how willing she was to set fire to the realm to protect them despite her gentle nature.

And often on days like this, she yearned to have just one more moment like that with her mother.

The ride to Raventree Hall was long and silent as the two siblings sat across from each other, having not said a word to one another since their journey had begun two days prior. Kermit had tried to spark conversation by making small talk, making the odd comment about the weather, or the journey -- he had even tried to scold her on the first day, face pinched into a scowl of annoyance when his hours of rambling and several attempts at even joking with her were left unanswered.

“You can’t ignore me forever -- please, you have to see reason, sister. I did not have any other choice.” He pleaded, reaching across to attempt to take her hand, her gaze only briefly turning to look at him, eyes scanning his face as she had noted the way his shoulders dropped; slumping forward and looking defeated as though he had just lost some bet. “If I had had any other choice, I assure you I would have taken it.”

Since then, she hadn’t even bothered to look at him. More often than not, she felt his gaze on her, watching her carefully as though he was waiting for her to change her mind and say something. More often than not, he would be met with silence and not even as much as a look in return, only to then realize she was stubbornly still behind decision to ignore him and huffing in frustration before looking out the other window of the carriage that rocked and swayed over the bumpy trail. She knew they were nearing Raventree and despite that she was not happy with the circumstances of her presence there, she would be grateful to get out of the small space she’d shared with her brother for too long -- although the memory was vague and distant, shrouded in fog, she could recall this journey from a time in her childhood; clinging to her mother’s hand while Kermit and Oscar excitedly babbled to their father about their time spent there, spewing stories of their training and the mischief they had gotten into with the Heir himself. She just needed space from him.

“I do not understand….” Kermit suddenly said, her gaze still fixed out the window to look over the vast pastures that seemed to stretch on forever. The only thing that implied otherwise was that if she squinted close enough, really focused, she could make out the shape of the Brackens estate, Stone Hedge, fully aware that somewhere between here and there there was some invisible line that separated the two houses. “I do not understand why it is such a big deal to you. Of all the lords and their heirs…” he spat, that same temper she had become all too familiar with boiling over the edge once more, ”I combed through the realm as best I could, as painstaking as it was to ensure you were promised the best match, I did it. I searched high and low for someone with honor and loyalty, a husband who I could guarantee would treat you well. Of everything I have done for you…and you can’t even be grateful for all the effort I have made?” He rambled, scoffing.

Her gaze darted up towards the sky as she wrung her hands, the orange hues of sunset blending into something beautiful as she processed his words; her chest rose with a sudden sharp inhale as her chest seemed to fill with emotion she couldn’t quite put her finger on -- frustration? Anger? Grief?

“You know Benjicot-- we have known him since we were children. He is a dear friend of mine and I would trust him with my life, sister.” Kermit added, his gaze burning into the side of her face.

Her left hand rose, fingers coming to her lips and absentmindedly rubbing across them as she fought the urge to anxiously chew at the skin there; to gnaw until they were bloody. She suddenly dropped the hand back into her lap, “But I did not choose him, Kermit.” She suddenly replied, her hands clenched into fists so hard her nails dug into her palms as her gaze finally turned to him. It was then, for the first time in two days, that his features softened as though he was relieved to just get as much of a word in response -- that finally he was not just speaking into the air, met with silence; even if she did not agree with him, he appeared grateful and even guilt-struck as she stared at him. “You could not have even given me that decency at least.”

Kermit nodded, a meek gesture as his gaze dropped briefly to look down and away from her. He was silent for a moment, her attention being fixated back out the window to take in the last of their journey and the sights that came with it as a silence fell over them once more that she broke again after a pause. “He tore that blue dress I used to love…do you remember that?” She suddenly spoke.

Kermit frowned, his head tilting to the side as he looked at her with his mouth opening, searching through any memories he had of them as children alongside a young Ben. She looked at him again, scanning his face as though she was hoping for a sign of recognition to her prompt. “With the red stitching, I wore it all the time when I was ten and two. Mother had gotten it for me on my name day just before she died.” She explained, her voice softening slightly as she recalled the memory — and suddenly, there, she saw the recognition cross her brother’s features as his eyes went wide and eyebrows rose with his mouth open in the shape of an ‘o’.

“You wouldn’t leave your chamber without it— you caused quite the stir anytime anyone suggested you wear another one.” He suddenly said, sitting up straighter with a small smile on his face.

“You don’t remember what he did, do you?” She asked again. She could see the confusion sink in, struggling to grasp the memory. “He tore it right down the back of the skirt— stomped his heel right into it and shoved me into a puddle twice the size of me. He said it looked stupid— that the sigil was crooked. He ripped it and Father forced me to burn it, saying it smelled so bad it was lingering all through the house. It was the last gift I had from her.” She quietly explained, her hands suddenly clasping to one another and wringing themselves as she looked down at them.

Suddenly it dawned on him. Kermit had only caught bits of it and had not been present when it happened, but he remembered that day — behind Raventree just six moons since their mothers passing; Benjicot had just received his new dagger as a gift from his uncle as a gift on his name day and had been quite proud of it. Kermit had been so preoccupied with their sparring game he had hardly noticed. Even when he did, he did not think that things would escalate so quickly. He’d heard the sudden yelling after Ben had tripped over her, not seeing where she was crouched, distracted by a caterpillar that was crawling along her hands that she hadn’t noticed him when she stood up suddenly from the tall grass. Ben had been rushing backward and tumbled over her, sending the pair into the mud — and while Ben didn’t mind mud, he didn’t appreciate the gash in his arm from his dagger just nicking his bicep when he fell.

Shame filled him as he recalled looking away and not intervening as Benjicot had gotten into her face, hurling insults at the poor girl who was more distracted by trying to find her bug companion to even issue an apology; wide-eyed and teary-eyed as she looked up at him in absolute terror. Even as children, Benjicot had had a temper, crushing the bug in her hand and shoving her — only then did Kermit rush to her aid and intervene. He knew Benjicot had felt bad for the whole situation, guilt and shame on his face as soon as he had done it — Kermit had seen the tears in his eyes even; only to then be hurried back to the house to be tended to for his wound. But he realized there had never been any apology afterward and in the years following, there hadn’t been many opportunities to speak about it or mend things as they hardly found themselves in each other’s company.

“How can you promise that he will be good to me?” She asked, interrupting her brother’s thoughts.

He suddenly looked at her again, his voice wavering in confidence, “He’s grown, sister. He is not the same boy he once was.” Kermit tried to reason, knowing the truth behind it — Benjicot had grown and matured since they had last seen each other; learned to cool his temper where necessary. But that didn’t seem to be enough for his sister, a grim look on her face as her mouth pressed into a fine line, eyes narrowing slightly, her skepticism written clearly on her face.

“He will make a loyal and dutiful husband, I promise you. Is that not what matters?” He asked, pleading with her.

“I did not choose him, Kermit.” She said once more. “I did not want this.”

—

They had fallen into silence once more following their conversation and she had returned to not looking at him for the rest of their ride. Thank the Gods, it was only an hour more, but Kermit wasn’t sure if he felt more relieved or discomforted by the conversation; eyes on her and chewing his nails as the guilt he had suppressed these past two days returned, rearing its ugly head in his face. Maybe he had rushed her too soon and been rash in his decision — maybe he should have fought harder to postpone any betrothals or for anyone else. But it seemed to be a cause too far gone to be possible to turn back on now as they pulled into the gates of Raventree.

Kermit had gotten out first, offering his hand to his sister who was slow to follow in stepping out of the carriage to where Lord Samwell and his counsel stood ready to greet them. He’d been relieved that she had accepted it, though her apprehension was visible as she eyed it before taking it and stepping down the stairs, hanging close to his side as they approached the house. Lord Samwell immediately stepped forward, excited at their arrival but containing it as he smiled at the pair, "Kermit, it is an honor to host you at Raventree Hall as usual. I’m glad to see you made it safely.” He said, his attention turning to his sister just as she offered a polite smile and a curtsy to the Lord, “Lady Tully, it is a pleasure to see you again, too. It has been many moons since we have last seen one another— though, I presume we will be seeing more of each other soon.”

"Thank you, Lord Samwell. I bring warm regards from my father as well as his regrets as he could not join us tonight, he will be arriving later tomorrow instead -- he had some business to attend to.” Kermit replied, a hand reaching out to his sister and encouraging her hand to his elbow as he looked between the two, “He sees great promise in this match and believes it will bring strength and unity to the Riverlands. My sister, Lady Serra, is eager to meet Benjicot -- seems she hasn’t seen much of him since she was all but… ten?”

Samwell chuckled, “Come now, Kermit, there is no need for such formalities so soon. You’ve only just arrived.” He said, encouraging the younger man to approach and come inside, “I imagine your sister and Benjicot will have much to catch up on, but first I imagine she would like to get settled. Melinda, see to it that Lady Tully’s belongings are brought to her chambers immediately.”

Kermit’s face flushed in embarrassment, a subtle pink that spread up his neck and into his cheeks as the older Lord led them inside; the Tully’s sharing a glance as they timidly followed indoors, just as a slew of servants hurried to gather their belongings from the carriage, brushing past them. “I do apologize for my son’s absence— seems he decided now was conveniently the best time to go on a hunt with his cousins. Though I do imagine you are as best familiar with his antics as anyone.” Samwell rambled, glancing back to Kermit with a knowing look — even through the humor in his tone, she could sense his annoyance.

As they entered the hall, her gaze wandered to scan their surroundings, reminded once again of the few visits she had taken there in her childhood. “You have a beautiful home, Lord Blackwood. I forgot…how beautiful it is out this way.” She softly said, just as the trio stopped near the door of the stairs, Samwell’s face pulling into a smile.

“Soon enough this will be your home, too. I want you to feel as at home as you do in Riverrun— if there is anything we might be able to do to make your stay more comfortable, please,” he said, stepping forward to take her free hand in his. “Do not hesitate to ask. I will see to it myself that all your needs are met.” Lord Samwell stated, his tone laced with sincerity.

She stared at his hand over hers for a moment, freezing at the gesture and sucking in a deep breath as her gaze was forced up to his face. A polite smile once again graced her features, “Thank you.”

“I’ll have Alistair show you to your room— I imagine you would like to rest. Are you hungry at all, my lady?” He inquired, a look of concern etched into his features as he waited for her reply, releasing her hand as she then took the chance to pull away from her brother with a quick look in his direction.

Maybe it was the uneasiness at the realization she was now in his territory, but the thought of food churned her stomach, “No, no. I am fine, thank you, Lord Blackwood. As you said, I thought I might get settled and rest ahead of tomorrow’s feast. It has been a long journey.” She explained, her voice sweet as she spoke, the same polite small never leaving her face — however, she was eager just to get away from the stifling reality of just what was in store for her over the next couple of weeks. She watched as the Lord nodded, waving over a guard who hung close to his right, stepping forward with the gesture.

“Alistair, see to it that Lady Tully finds her room okay.” Samwell instructed, his attention turning to her brother. “The young Lord Tully and I have matters to discuss then.”

Kermit’s gaze once again bored into her as she began to follow the guard, her head turning to look over her shoulder at him; though they were silent, she gave him a look that assured she was okay — a small nod that was subtle, but enough assurance for her brother to nod back and follow Lord Samwell as he began to stride in the opposite direction towards a gathering room.

—

She didn’t know how long had passed. It could have been minutes, hours, days even — she wasn’t even aware at this point. She had been too lost in the sight of the flames that licked at the singed walls of the fireplace to even pay much attention; having curled up with her knees to her chest as she sat on the floor in front of it, playing with the ends of her hair that had been braided and laid over her shoulder. Some young servant girls had been sent to help in unpacking and getting settled in, but just as quickly as they had arrived, they were gone and since then, she had taken to her spot on the floor and had yet to move. The castle was silent at this point, though, aside from the distant shouts of guards who were still hankering down for the night, sinking into the routine of night shift.

It was only when her stomach grumbled that she thought to move, her joints aching with the movement as she pushed herself to her feet and brushed off her skirts, debating on dragging herself from her room to venture down the hallways in hope she could find something to eat. Though she doubted she would have any luck, she had timidly opened her door, coming face to face with the guard who had lead her to her room hours prior posted outside — his expression hinted confusion and curiosity as she emerged from her room, stepping into the hallway, “My lady?”

“I was wondering if it was possible to get something to eat— I understand it’s late, I just…” she quietly said, her hands smoothing over the fabric of her gown.

He seemed to consider her request, nodding after a short pause and turning, “Follow me, my lady.”

She was quiet as she followed the guard — an older man, probably near that of her father’s age and without hair, stoic and still-faced. With her hands clasped in front of her as he lead her through the hallways, she was lead down the stairs back towards where they had entered earlier, her eyes taking this opportunity to better scan the contents of the walls — the artwork that displayed paintings of the Blackwood’s sigil and their history. In better lighting, she could presume it would be breathtaking, but in the dark there was almost eerie shadow cast upon them, making each line look more harsh than the next; like the paintings were staring down at her, watching her every move.

Her gaze was torn away at the sound of voices carrying from the meeting room her brother had descended to when they had parted ways, laughter heard through the doors as she gathered her skirts in her hands, lifting them out of her way as she walked down the stairs; ensuring she did not trip over them, her eyes fixed on the large, ceiling tall doors. She had wondered what the source to her brother’s laughter was— surely, forcing her hand to a man she hardly knew was not a laughing matter? Her eyebrows furrowed as she stopped at the base of the stairs, her head turned to face the doors, despite Alistair calling her name in an effort to regain her focus on the task at hand, but his calls fell on deaf ears. She slowly approached the doors, the two guards standing outside them sharing a look before looking down at the woman, who reached out; fingers brushing the wood of the doors, curious...

The two guards moved, pushing the doors open for her, prompting them to swing open at the nod of Alistair, who had long given up on stopping her. The doors opened to reveal her brother and Lord Samwell sat at the table, caught mid-laughter as she entered; hands filled with goblets of what she could only assume was wine. Their laughs died down as their attention was suddenly turned to take in her startled appearance, her hand still raised to reach out in front of her as she looked between them. Lord Samwell cleared his throat, her brother and him both standing at her arrival, “My lady, what a surprise.” He greeted, his head bowing to her, a smile on his face. “Benjicot, here, was just telling us about his hunt.” He announced, his eyes landing on his son to his right, sitting directly across from her brother.

Her gaze followed his, landing on the man who resembled nothing of the boy she had once known -- a handsome man grown, tall and lean in build, with broad shoulders adorned by a blood stained tunic and cloak. His hands were still stained with dried blood as he lifted his own cup to his mouth, taking a large gulp of its contents as he let out a muffled chuckle with full cheeks. The sight of blood on such a handsome face, however could have made her sick to her stomach.

“I thought you were asleep.” Kermit suddenly said, noticing her gaze frozen on the young man opposite of him, attempting to redirect the conversation as he stumbled over his chair in an effort to approach her. Her eyes only darted to him briefly as she watched him stagger towards her, obviously noticing his disheveled appearance and evident drunkenness. Benjicot’s gaze, too, followed his friend as he made his way across the room towards his younger sister, whose face screwed up in a look of disgust at her brother’s current state; the younger Blackwood Lord’s lips parted as the trace of a grin danced on the corners of his mouth, teeth bared as his tongue pressed against to the corner of his mouth. “We were just celebrating your marriage, here— sister, come toast with us.” Kermit slurred, stumbling into his sister, who reached out to catch him just as her brother slung an arm around her shoulders.

Her gaze lingered on her brother who giggled stupidly, her eyes downcast as her cheeks heated from the embarrassment of his behavior -- if only their father had been there to witness it.

Suddenly, Benjicot’s gruff voice spoke up, drawing attention from the three members of his audience as he stifled a laugh, “I have a toast. For my betrothed..” He announced, glancing around at the three as his eyes then stopped on her, catching her gaze and causing her cheeks to further burn. His words had even caused Samwell to stand at attention, eagerly awaiting his son’s next words as the young boy lord had to suppress a laugh, that same grin on his face as he then tilted his head.

Kermit let out a drunken snort from beside her clearly not understanding the suggestion in his state, her body tensing and becoming rigid as she stared back at him, her eyes widening in horror at his words. Even his father, who she could make out in the corner of her eye, looked horrified, his cup faltering as it had risen to the toast; only to be slammed down onto the table as she stood frozen in shock that the words had even just come from his mouth, his mouth now preoccupied with gulping down the remainder of his drink before dropping the cup to his plate with a loud clatter that caused her to jump timidly.

“Benjicot!”

“Oh, father, please…” Benjicot began to say, amusement laced in his words as he began to walk away from his seat and in her direction, “I only jest. Surely, Lady Tully knows that.” He said, dismissing his father as he looked at the woman who began to grab her brother by his waist, teeth clenched and avoiding his gaze suddenly and beginning to back away in the direction of the door she had just come through.

“Come, brother, I think it is time for bed.” She muttered, earning a laugh from Benjicot when Kermit stumbled over his own two feet in the attempt to turn around. Samwell quickly circled the table away from his seat, striding towards the pair with an outstretched hand.

“Here, let me help you.” He stated, concern laced in his warm voice.

“It is okay, we just…need to go to bed, right, Kermit?”

“Don’t be foolish, here.” Lord Samwell insisted, grabbing her brother’s opposite arm and hauling half his weight off her shoulders as he supported him in his walk towards the door and to the stairs to their rooms. “Alistair can help you both to your rooms-- I think we have all had enough for tonight.” Samwell stated, his head turning to look pointedly at his son.

Benjicot watched on as his father then exited the room, along with their sibling guests, pacing back towards the table where he leaned into it with his palms; preening to see watch as the doors were closed much to his disappointment -- though, he had caught a glimpse of Kermit standing up and waving off his sister as he clutched onto the staircase railing with a grumble. He let out a hum.

He knew that the servants would have a hay day with the dining room when they arrived to tidy it, dried bloody hand prints smeared across the furniture and dishes, the floors soaked by the rain he’d dragged in with him as he seemed to leave a trail of water behind him. He hovered over the table that was nestled right perfectly in the center of the room, the torchlight above still faintly glowing but slowly dying out as he plucked through the contents of what was leftover from dinner, his gaze cast down on the table as his father hurried back into the dining room where they had been gathered; hearing his footsteps approach as the doors were closed behind him.

“Could you not have had the decency to be kinder to her?” Samwell asked, his voice low as he stood opposite the table to where his son stood. “You’re already covered in blood, the poor girl is probably already scared enough as is-- you are going to scare this one off and we cannot afford…”

“She was your choice, father, yours. Not mine.” Benjicot replied with a sigh, as he glanced into a jug he had found amidst the scraps to confirm that there was indeed wine left at least, his mouth turning upside down and eyebrows raising briefly with a subtle shrug — not much left but it would suffice for the heir, taking an empty goblet that clanked against dishes as he plucked it with his free hand. Benjicot turned the goblet upside down, dumping out any remaining traces of drink that had been leftover, “She’s…a half-witted moron. I do not see why I must be the one to marry her. Why not you?” He said, sighing as he reached for another couple of grapes from the table, tossing them into his mouth and washing them down with a gulp of wine.

Samwell watched on as his son moved to sit, mouth partially agape in utter horror at his words. There was no doubt that Benjicot had not been keen to the idea of marriage these past couple of years -- not since his mother had passed, but there was no denying the shame his words brought their house. Samwell tensed, seething as he sucked in a sharp inhale as his gaze went to the doors that may have been the only source to conceal his insult from the prying ears of Kermit Tully and his sister; abruptly lunging forward and across the room towards his son, who had been mid-sit, however jumping straight back up on his feet just as his father reached him. The two men were suddenly face to face, Lord Samwell’s face screwed up in a scowl of disgust whilst grabbing the collar of his son’s cloak in a stumbled wrestle of Benjicot’s free hand coming up as if to shield himself with the still half full goblet in his other hand.

“You— petulant, spoiled child.” Samwell hissed, shoving his son backwards on his feet, knocking him into the side of the chair he had once gone to sit in; an arm flying out to grasp for something to catch himself and instead losing the goblet that had been in his hand in a clatter of dishes and food being flung from the table to the floor. Benjicot’s eyes were wide as he stumbled back over the mess, his wine spilled somewhere between the table and floor, his sleeve stained and sticky against his wrist from the fall as he landed on his backside; left staring up at his father, who had let him go and caught himself against the table.

His eyes wide, mouth open like a fish out of water, stuttering, “Wh- wha — ” he had begun to say, hurrying to stand back up on his feet, scuttling back a few steps as his father fought the urge to lunge for him again, Benjicot’s gaze going down to his legs; watching, waiting — like his training, awaiting his opponent's next move but yet cowering like a scared child as they stared back at one another, both breathing heavily in the aftermath. The servant girl who had entered to help with cleaning up had even been startled by the outburst and gone cowering out of the dining hall; seeking shelter in the kitchen with her cloth in her hands. Benjicot glanced towards the table and door quickly, his left hand wiping off the slick of wine on his tunic, squaring his shoulders as he attempted to stand upright, straight as a board and regain his usual composure that eluded some false facade that his father had not bested him and that he was brave even in the face of his rage. He swallowed, his mouth closing as he looked back at his father, who was still evidently stewing in his fury, his fist clenching finally as he let out a frustrated sigh that bounced off the walls.

“Do you not understand how much I have done for you? To secure your future? As my heir?” Samwell growled, approaching his son again who took a quick two-step backward, nearly bumping into another chair, his feet banging into silverware that had fallen to the floor. Samwell Blackwood was typically a cool, level-headed man — never one to put a hand on his son, even when he acted up and defied his orders in his youth — but now, amidst the war looming near, something about his words had caused something inside him to snap. His shoulders slumped, relaxing, as his fist unclenched with another sigh as he took another couple of steps towards him, his hand reaching up to grab Benjicot’s face, “This war is bigger than just you and I, bigger than some childish feud over stones and boundary lines with the Brackens, Benjicot. The Brackens have declared for Aegon—”

Benjicot’s wide eyes stared at his father, swallowing thickly as he spoke, processing his words. Of course, the Brackens would declare for Aegon—

“This will be a war of dragons. This war will bring all of the realm to its knees.” Samwell said, voice low enough that just the two of them could hear. His hand released his face, going to the back of his neck, “We must be prepared and find strength in our allies. Our house must live on. You must secure the longevity and future of this house— it is your birthright, Benjicot. Just as it was mine before, and my father’s before. If I die, this house is yours. Do you understand?” He muttered, his tone now pleading as he searched his son’s face, eyes wild and desperate as they awaited some response from him that suggested he understood.

Benjicot felt as his father’s grip tightened around the nape of his neck, squeezing and giving him an abrupt shake that was more of a jerk, his eyes still wide in shock at his father’s outburst. His father’s eyebrows rose as he gave a weak, timid nod in reply, hesitant as he grits his teeth and clenched his jaw, “Yes?”

Benjicot nodded again, more confidently this time, “I understand.” He said.

Samwell hesitated, blinking a couple of times before he nodded too, releasing his son and frowning as he glanced down, mumbling something incoherent that resembled ‘good’ before he glanced at the mess he had made. Benjicot remained tense and frozen in place even after his hold was gone, hands falling to his sides as his father slowly receded towards the door that led back to where the Tullys were left, at the landing of the stairs. “Ser Eryn, see to it that this is…tidied up, fetch the servant girl. We are expecting guests tomorrow…for the heir’s betrothal feast.” He quietly said, approaching the guard who stood by the door, leaving his son in his spot as he withdrew to his chambers for the night. The guard nodded in response to his father’s order, not even glancing at Ben as he walked past the kitchen to fetch the girl as instructed.

Ben waited for a few moments before he timidly followed his father’s path towards the door figuring he was best to get some rest ahead of the day’s festivities. He paused at the doors before opening them to smooth out his bloodied tunic, straightening his cloak and once again, squaring his shoulders as he stood upright and attempted to regain some sort of composure; knowing that Kermit and his Lady sister were presumably just behind those doors, waiting. He sucked in a deep breath with one last glance to the floor, his mouth pressed into a tight line; his bottom lip quivering for a moment as he stifled a cry, sniffling to himself once, twice… he lifted his head, using his sleeve to wipe his nose and blinking back any sign of weakness in the form of a tear before he shoved the door open and emerged from the dining room. There, as expected, Kermit and Serra stood, their eyes on him and failing to suppress their pitiful looks as Benjicot found his usual stoic gaze, and expression blank as he nodded his head in the direction of the siblings.

Kermit’s expression hardened, nodding back in return, in part because he understood — a silent understanding between the two young men. Benjicot’s gaze then shifted to the girl who stood on the second to last stair, clutching onto the railing as the dying orange glow from the torches of the hall lit up her expression; her gaze softening as she looked on at him, her expression something of sadness, “Benjicot…” she quietly said, his name a breathy sound on her lips.

“I apologize for my appearance, my lady. I did not anticipate you to already be here upon my return.” He gruffly said, voice quiet. “I would have cleaned up had I known.”

He held her eye, watching as the wheels turned in her brain, confused by his sudden change and reaction as she glanced around before blinking rapidly and nodding, “It’s alright, I…understand you were away on a hunt.” She mumbled, voice soft.

“I assure you I will be cleaned up and much more presentable ahead of tomorrow’s celebrations.” He said, hesitating as he swallowed before taking the few steps to close the distance between them, his eyes darting briefly to Kermit who watched on; his eyes looking up at her from the end of the bottom step, their height difference only then balanced out by her leverage on the stairs as they were suddenly eye to eye for the first time. His right hand reached out for her left, inquiring as if to confirm it was okay before taking her hand in his, “You should get some rest. I will see you in the morrow.” He said, his gaze on hers as his head ducked, lifting her hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles before allowing her hand to drop from his. He watched as she gave him another timid nod just as he released her hand and began to walk up the stairs, brushing past her to withdraw to his bedchambers for the night, leaving the pair at the base of the stairs.

Benjicot appreciated the awaiting bath drawn for him when he returned to his rooms more than he ever had and wanted nothing more than to wash the events of the day off of him as he undid the pin to his cloak; sliding the fabric from his shoulders and throwing it over a chair as he walked further into the room. His expression was blank as he stared into the flames of the fire that had been started to keep his room warm enough to his liking as he stripped down. Once he was fully naked, he approached the tub and stepped in, slowly sinking himself into the warmth of the water that came up to his chest once he was sat flush in the tub, his hands still gripping the ledges. Quickly, he could already see the blood that had stained itself into every little crevice of his skin wash off and rather, mingle into the water in diluted swirls as the dirt, grime and blood dyed the water. He sucked in a deep breath before sliding forward, submerging his head under the water.

TAGLIST: @deltamoon666 @drwho-ess @callsigncrushx @clarityisnofun @jhepolie @juhdoche , @username199945

#benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader #benjicot x reader #davos blackwood fic #davos blackwood #davos x reader #davos blackwood x reader #bloody ben #hotd #hotd 2 #house of the dragon

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liyawritesss · 2 years ago

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ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ...

Characters: Ellie Williams x Black!Fem!Reader

From: The Last Of Us Part II (Game Series)

Type: Headcanons

Synopsis: What would it be like to fall in love with the smart-mouthed badass Ellie Williams in a world recovering from a zombie apocalypse?

Warnings: mentions of game-canon violence, mentions of weapons (primarily guns), mentions of blood, mentions of mental illness, cursing

A/N: Yet another tag I gotta fill with x black!reader, cuz lets be honest - let Ellie get a black gf; all manners and common sense are going out the window. JOEL IS ALIVE AND WELL IN THIS

Tags: @verachii @percsane

You and Ellie first met when she was sent to your little garden/apothecary to assist you in finding some plants that had been rebudding around the Jackson community area. At first, she was apprehensive to the idea - why did she of all people had to go out and collect fucking flowers and leaves? - but her mouth had already gotten her into trouble today, and she couldn’t bear another lecture from anyone, so she bit her tongue hard and went to find your little greenhouse near the center of town.

Her amazement comes across as a look of confusion when she steps into the greenhouse. She’s met with a pleasant scent of lavender, bundles of it hanging from the doorframe. She finds you tending to some plants in the middle of the room, and when your eyes lock, her breath catches in her throat, because holy fuck, no one told her that this herbalist lady was her age, and fine as fuck.

You greet her with a smile and hand her the list of things needed, telling her to take her time since you know that some of them may be difficult to find. She flips through the notebook you’ve given her, paying special attention to the detailed drawings, commemorating them to memory, before she sets off with only the thought of pleasing the herbalist girl with her findings.

When she comes back, it’s the dead of night, and she’s a bit durtied and bruised from what you’re sure to be a fight with some undead, but she has every item on the list you’d given her. From that point on, the two of you became close acquaintances, friends, and more.

She finds your presence so peaceful. When you’re up making ointments and remedies for the patrol squads, she joins you with her sketchpad. The two of you sit together in perfect silence, some jokes being shared here and there. Her sketchpad quickly fills up with drawings of you doing various activities - drinking tea, watering plants, grinding leaves into powders, making dyes, etc. Watching you becomes her favorite pastime.

After a while of knowing each other, she becomes more comfortable with being a smartmouth with you, and is excited when you match her energy. You always have a rebuttal to one of her remarks and it sparks something in Ellie that urges her on more and more.

She becomes more touchy, too, though that aspect is primarily reassured by you. Although neither of you have disclosed much information about your past, you can tell she’s been through a lot, and could only imagine the worst when she would pull away from your touch in the beginning. It takes a long time, but the sweet hugs shared after accomplishing yet another supply run for you were definitely worth the wait.

And they’re quite literally the best hugs you’ve ever had. It could be a simple side hug with her pulling you by your hip to her chest, or it could be one of the longer ones, where her arms slip around your waist, her head dipping into your neck as she inhales your scent. You love them all.

Ellie claims that all your plant stuff is boring and lame, but she’s so very attentive when you’re rambling off a new herb or a new concoction you’ve made, and learns the names of the flowers you like the most. She soon learns that lavender is your favorite, which is why it hangs everywhere around the greenhouse, but also because it smells heavenly and reduces anxiety and provokes calmness. It quickly becomes her own, too.

She loves when you braid her hair. The two french braids leading into a bun is her favorite style, and even though she’s always messing it up when she’s on patrol, fighting and escaping from zombies and enemy groups alike, you’re happy to wash and redo her hair every time.

Ellie’s confession obviously doesn’t go the way she planned. And yes, she did plan on confessing to you her affections at some point, but she tells herself that she’s waiting for the right time. While part of that may be true, the bigger picture was her general fear of rejection - which was absurd to her, she never gave two fucks about what people thought about her. But when it came to you, everything mattered.

You’d never looked at Ellie’s notebook before. It was her privacy, and you were one to respect boundaries, but when she left the book open to go talk to Dina and Jesse about something, especially on a particular page that had your face drawn onto the cream paper of the sketchbook, your curiosity took over your senses.

It was a drawing of you drinking tea and reading a book. You remember that day - she was exceptionally quiet that day and only wanted to be around you. So you let her chill in the greenhouse with you while you did your normal routines. The intricate and detailed lines on the page sparked something in you that you thought you had pushed away, a surge of emotions reawakening in your stomach.

Ellie comes back in and nearly goes into a rage when she sees you seemingly flipping pages in her sketchbook, and although you try to reason with her, she’s not having it. She thinks you invaded her privacy, and she continues to think so as she leaves the greenhouse for the evening.

She comes back though, at the dead of night as you’re cleaning up and setting things up for the next morning, looking remorseful like a lost puppy. She apologizes, and you come to sit next to her, your legs touching, and you tell her that you accept her apology.

Ellie pauses for a moment, looking into your eyes for what seems like forever, before she begins speaking. The way she speaks is damn near contradicting about she feels about you, but in the end she gets her point across - she likes you, a lot, and needs to know how you feel about her in order for her to get some form of clarity and sanity back to her brain

And you tell her that you feel the same, that you’re attracted to her in such a way and so strongly that it shouldn’t even be possible - surely isn’t wise or sane considering the times the two of you currently live in, and yet, you still found yourself yearning for the brunette when you knew you shouldn’t

At this point the two of you are impossibly close, and the way Ellie’s eyes keep darting between your own and your lips, it’s definitely got a pool of heat swirling in your stomach. And before either of you realize it, her lips are on yours, and you’re experiencing your first and the most electrifying kiss of your life. And just like that, you become Ellie’s and she becomes yours

She makes a vow to protect you in every possible way she can. When and if you do go out on the search for supplies, she’s always accompanying you regardless of whatever she may have been doing prior. She teaches you how to use a gun and a bow and arrow (of which, you favor the latter) so that you have the skills to protect yourself when she’s not there.

She never let anyone talk to you any kind of way, but its amplified now because she has an obligation to make sure people know who the fuck they’re talking to. No one talks out the side of their neck to her girl and gets away with it. If all she does is curse them out, as long as they get the idea and don’t pull anything anymore, all is good.

Introducing you to Joel as your girlfriend is the most awkward thing for her…and you better believe he’s poking fun at her about her stellar choice in a significant other (trust me, he’s been waiting for this moment, because he just knew that she’d go after you of all people in the community. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was in on organizing your initial meeting. He’s definitely the wingman Ellie didn’t know she needed.

She doesn’t engage in PDA, but when it’s just the two of you alone? Best believe she’s getting her fill of hugs and kisses whenever she can. You’re not promised tomorrow, so she wants to love you to the fullest extent she can.

Brings you back flowers from her patrols that you don’t even ask for, but because they’re pretty and remind her of you. You can try as you might to tell her you don’t need them - it’ll only provoke her to bring you more

On the longer nights where she’s too exhausted mentally and physically to speak, she curls into you and just lets you take over her senses. It’s a rather rare occasion, so you savor it while it lasts. You take care of Ellie at her most vulnerable and that’s all she could ever really ask for from someone.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

#black reader #black tumblr #black tlou #tlou #the last of us #tlou 2 #the last of us 2 #tlou 2 ellie #the last of us 2 ellie #tlou2 x reader #tlou2 x black!reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x black!reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x blk!reader #ellie x black!reader #ellie x reader

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be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie · 1 year ago

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Longass Crop Circles Notes (for Lately, I've Been Thinking and I Don't Think I've Changed Chapter One

Finally delivered to @spicymiilk our king. My apologies that these longass notes are not as detailed as last time. I shall endeavor to get more detailed as I read more of the fic. I will post my rage thoughts on chapter eight of for the nights and days of life by @mochalottie tomorrow though, and that shit will be novel length. Anyways:

Lately, I've Been Thinking:

-Me when Andrei says Spider will have a bad time: but does he ever have a good time for you??

-NORM CONTENT. *airhorn blares*

-I gotta love the tragic Shameless vibes you bring into my Spider fics, man.

-Retweet, Spider, we all hate men. We are all scared of men.

-Rip Paz, the fandom tries to tell me you weren’t a bitch but I don’t buy it. You totally were. Justice for Trudy, who was way cooler.

-Wait, did Spider do drugs too? The needles are around his bed? Or did he steal his moms bed?

-Lol, Paz is in and out, there is SO MUCH Shameless in this story. You can't hide from me, bastard.

-YESS, THE FAST FOOD AU.

-Also, Andrei, what is it about beating the natural joy and zest for life out of Spider that gets u off?

-Neteyam will lOVE fixing this guy tho. Spider is his wet dream at this point.

-I actually know a kid in my grade who was placed with one of my family friends when he was seventeen, he is fantastic. He’s the oldest of like, seven kids and the littlest ones go to the elementary school I work at now. My mom works there too and she always says you can tell when this kid is home because the little ones are showered and on time, and he takes them to get haircuts and stuff. He used to walk 45 minutes to work every day. He’s a great guy but he doesn’t stay. He doesn’t let them drag him down. :/

-Spider, on the brink of death, unloved and abused and neglected, dirty and with one single tangle of hair: hi

Neteyam: that is my soulmate.

I Don't Think I've Changed Chapter One:

-WHATS YOUR DAMAGE THE FIC? That’s the one line I quote more from any other type of media. Every day I go “WHAT IS YOUR CHILDHOOD TRAUMA??”

-N E T E Y A M VS SELF ESTEEM. MAN MANAGES TO HATE HIMSELF EVEN IN THE FACE OF SPIDER.

-Also the fear I felt when I saw Miles and Norm are best friends actually, I’m comforting myself like “no no, he meant Spider it’s okay.”

-The hilarity of getting rid of Lo’ak and Kiri who are the canonically closest to Spider and leaving us with Tuk and Neteyam and Jeytiri. That excited me lITERALLY SO MUCH. The fast food au did start with only Tuk and Neteyam, and that’s juicy. We are forced to develop and explore relationships that are underdeveloped in canon and are harder to justify as instant sparks. You took away his natural in canon support systems so he has to learn to develop even faster with the other Sully's and that is a banger idea.

-W H E E L C H A I R J A K E. God I love wheelchair Jake aus, I love making them positive because I don’t like the way the first movie just fixed his disability. Give me Jake Sully being a positive disabled male father figure in his kids lives, just as present and happy and in love with his wife while paralyzed then he would be with mobility. What creative stuff has changed in their lives to accomidate? I need to know.

-Delighted by this Neytiri pov, my god. I feel like less people than I need in my life just let Neytiri have no bad blood at all with Spider in modern aus. She would be all over a neglected child.

-GET THE STICKY TOYS, thats so cute. And useful, I need him to get the magnets some kids got stuck to the ceiling in the gym at my work.

-Tuk is already bullying Neteyam about liking Spider and he isn’t even there yet. I’m lOVING the little bits of the fast food au I spot. She is going to be a menace. And clearly Neteyam is a lovesick clown.

-He is indeed about to get the shit loved out of him, and that is what every Spider Sully writer says before writing their fic.

-WHAT DID THE MCCOSKERS DO SPIDER, NORM SHOULD KNOW, THEN HE WON’T PLACE OTHER KIDS WITH THEM BUDDY.

-Love the descriptions of how Spider feels when Norm’s body relaxes, just noting the way he backs off. So specific and accurate to any abused child. That tension and hypersensitivity to anyone's emotions, even people you implicitly trust, like never goes away.

-Norm thinking someone didn’t let Spider pee in the bathroom is so tragic and funny I feel bad for laughing.

-Spider: heart palpitations upon seeing Neteyam

Spider: NORM YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU WERE WINGMANNING ME?

I am picturing Norm and Tuk in the back of a Burger King setting up an elaborate plan while Neteyam sighs and watches Spider from a booth while writing Neteyam Socorro on all of his notebooks.

-i am cACKLING. You’ve never seen rizz as strong or as intense as “MILES??” and “WHOS THAT? WHAT’S SCHOOL, I DON’T KNWO WHAT THAT IS?” Their dumb clown asses belong together.

-In all seriousness though, I can't imagine how humiliating it would feel to Spider to know some random acquaintance at school was now privy to all your personal problems and business.

-I want to know how often Neteyam frequents the local Burger King. He's probably so embarrassed at how ready he was to big brother this kid. He's gonna be like "looking hot today, uh, I mean, did you need help with your homework champ???"

-This is now like To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, Neteyam can call Kiri and Lo’ak on the phone and gossip about boy problems

-JAKE INTRODUCING HIMSELF AS A MILITARY MAN TO EVERY CHILD THAT GETS BROUGHT INTO THEIR HOUSE, NO ONE VETOED THAT SHIT?? Kiri hasn't been like "sTOP TELLING EVERYONE YOU LOVE THE MILITARY, YOU ARE EMBARASSING US."

-Also wow does Norm not know Spider’s dad was former military and he way not vibe with that at all?

-The way that Neteyam is still stalking Spider at McDonalds Or Burger King we can’t be sure. The mention of both places has sent me to space because it makes it seem like Spider used to work at McDonalds and then switched to Burger King and deeply obsessed stalker Neteyam Sully switched establishments to frequent.

-Spider’s fear of Tuk is hilarious and deeply sad, that is your bestie.

-I LOVE love the idea of Kiri and Neteyam watching video essays. I love video essays, I wish my brothers did gOD. Also love a late night owl Neteyam head canon.

-Spider really is a wet rat. Have you ever actually seen a wet rat? The saying is so accurate. Kid was fed properly for the first time in years and then it killed him. Love kills Spider at first, as we have learned from all Spider Sully fics. He's like a dog eating chocolate, it's good, but at what cost.

#spent the whole beach week with my in the closet gay cousin andrew and thought of u king #names close enough #he's quoted in my insta bio because once he said to me #“i don't understand lesbians won't they get in each others way in the kitchen?”#pay me money to get me to believe lo'ak hasn't said that to kiri #i hope u enjoyed tho audience and andrei #i am back from vacation and missing my gay cousin aj and i'm ready to spend my entire day tomorrow catching up on fics and posting #brace urselves #if you have any more asks or want me to post another of those otp ask things now would be a good time #miles spider socorro #spider socorro #neteyam sully #nocorro #norm spellman #neytiri sully #jake sully #jeytiri #tuktirey sully #lo'ak sully #kiri sully #paz socorro #avatar #avatar the way of water #james cameron avatar #melissa og #melissa on avatar (cameron)#fic recs

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mandalorianbrainweasel · 6 months ago

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hello!! I’m reading ‘born to play this game’ and I’m really enjoying it! Love the use of language in the story, every location we visit, the details of the cooking/serving/social behaviour, and every new character we meet!

(Thank you for sending me that way after ‘beautiful without our war paint’!) I will review as soon as I’m done (chapter 19!!!), but I was wondering if you have a tag or more written stuff on Tar vs Ka’ra, or overall a worldbuilding primer? It’s all so interesting, I’d love to know more!

Also, and sorry if I missed this, but ‘born to play this game’ is the first in the series, right? Is it intentional that we figure out Spar’s backstory alongside the main events? I ask because i got the impression that there is an obvious affection between him and Jango but I was also wondering how did Jango get (emotionally) to the point of seeing Spar as a family member? And does he think the same of the rest of the clones? If you ever explored this anywhere else in writing let me know, I’d love to read it! And if it’s just a matter of reading the rest of the series, then I will surely do that!

And thank you ahead of time for writing and sharing such a great story!!!!

Hi! I’m so glad you’re enjoying the fic so far! “born to play this game” is the first one in the series and while I may eventually write a fic about Spar on Kamino in the ‘verse, btptg was as early as I wanted to start the series because in the end it’s a series about Spar’s journey grappling with agency, legacy, and identity. I’ve kind of stopped making unique posts about my AUs on tumblr unless requested, because of lack of interest, but the tag “ssitb verse” has some stuff including stories that don’t quite fit the actual verse so get a “ssitb au verse” tag iirc. But here are a few more details to answer some questions.

Kar versus Tra

Kar and Tra as a system are very much still evolving as I write this series. I have used it in other fics since coming up with it, though. I’m marking down to write a more detailed bit about the mystical world building I’ve used in starstuff in the blood but that’s…a lot more than just Kar and Tra.

Spar’s backstory and his relationship with Jango

The important parts of Spar’s backstory will be revealed as things go on, but how he and Jango got to the familiar relationship they have in btptg probably won’t ever be touched on directly. Grappling with Spar’s issues was a fundamentally intimate experience between them, one that sparked both mutual sibling affection and an absolute mess of other emotions. There’s also some things that will be revealed later in the series that kind of primed Jango to make this relationship as is. But. Basically, Spar knew too much to ever be Jango’s child. They started off way more like a master and young padawan, but Spar’s knowledge of the family and Jango’s history meant he automatically and unconsciously undermined a lot of Jango’s authority over him. He’s probably the only Alpha who can get away with absolute screaming rows with Jango. And Jango kind of saw Spar as his own do-over. Spar never had to worry about being Mand’alor, but had Jango’s experiences, and that also led to a lot of affection. Jango trying to straddle the line between parent and teacher ended up with him falling into more of an older brother (promoted to parent trope) role. When Spar left Kamino, they formalized that.

How Jango sees the rest of the clones

Hhhh okay I’m going to preface this by saying. Spar isn’t a perfect person/character by any stretch. And Jango is even worse. I love him but he’s an absolute dick. Part of his arc in the series is literally learning to care about anyone who isn’t Boba or Spar, including himself.

So. Jango is fond of the Alphas like many teachers are of their students. He doesn’t have nearly the patience with them he does with Spar (who already gets less than Boba, especially because annoying little brother), but he likes them. He absolutely has favorites but will not speak them. As for the other clones…some he likes, though doesn’t really have affection for. Others he doesn’t. And generally he doesn’t care at all about them. And he also doesn’t have much consideration for their agency. Everything he does for them in the series is pretty much because he either sees it as necessary for soldiers’ morale or because someone makes him do it. Or because it serves another purpose for him.

#ssitb #ssitb verse #jango fett #alpha clone spar #long post #alternate universe #my fanfiction #pax yaps

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freeuselandonorris · 1 year ago

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7, 24, 32 for the writer ask!

writing asks!!!

annoyingly i filled most of this out and then tumblr ate my answers SO take two!

What is your deepest joy about writing?

so this isn’t joy, per se, but i had a conversation with @lost-decade recently where i mentioned that i think a lot of my attraction to writing comes from the fact that i am, at heart, a horrible little control freak (positively unheard of in kink community etc etc) and thus it is very satisfying to me on a deep lizard brain level to put characters in situations and then make those situations conform to my wishes. my writing output always goes up dramatically when i am feeling overwhelmed or uncertain in life and i think this is a big part of it.

but also, i am a person who gets obsessed with things! i am all or nothing! i get obsessed with people (or rather their public personas, fourth wall and all that) and media and scenarios and kinks and tiny little details and big philosophical concepts. writing lets me poke at all those things. picture me like gollum holding a snow globe, shaking it up over and over again to watch how the flakes fall.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

i’ll talk about fic first as that’s what people on here know me for writing-wise. the answer here is: it depends! for my slutty little one-shots i tend to do very little research; stuff like crosstown traffic or a lot like life are largely unplanned or inspired by one real-life event that sparks an idea (although i guess you could say i researched the njoy plug in a lot like life in the sense that i own one lmao).

with longer fics, particularly RPF, i LOVE fitting my fic timelines into real-life events. this is particularly satisfying with motorsport RPF because the races give the year a very particular and easy-to-research structure. so for longer fics like there was always warmth between us i watched a ton of youtube videos and clips of max and daniel for both timeline inspiration and characterisation (although honestly i read that fic back the other day and my dialogue for them is so generic at times gjrskjfs), plus i wrote it relatively soon after the season itself.

with the toto/christian sequel to all the blood runs hot before it’s cold i’m working on, i wrote myself some notes of what themes i want to explore, plus a timeline of last season so that i could tie those themes into the arc of the season, like so:

i probably won’t use all those notes in the final piece, but it gives me a structure to work from.

for original writing, again it depends. for short stories and poetry i tend to free write for a bit beforehand until something appears from the ether that i can use as a starting point. for my novel-in-progress, when i wrote the first draft i basically did…maybe a page of planning? this was a bad idea. it was a mess. i resisted planning for ages but eventually i had to admit that for long-form pieces i cannot adequately structure my writing without one. so i went back and wrote a very elaborate plan using the six-arc story structure, which allows for much more freedom than a traditional ‘save the cat’ style beat sheet. highly recommend. i try not to do too much research beforehand (which is hard given i’m writing a novel about AI, something i have very little practical knowledge of!) because i just get bogged down and end up procrastinating.

jeez, that was an essay.

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

oh lol there are SO MANY. i have a few of them tattooed on me. let me answer all three of those with the first example that comes to mind:

for poem, ‘turning and turning in the widening gyre / the falcon cannot hear the falconer’ from the second coming by wb yeats haunts me. the whole poem haunts me, actually, for reasons that should be obvious upon reading. but those lines utterly terrify me.

for novel, again there’s hundreds but the one that first came to mind was ‘you can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style’ from lolita by vladimir nabokov. lolita is one of the books i’ve re-read the most because it is a complete masterpiece, and this line embodies that to me. it’s clever, it’s funny, it’s defensive, it slides in a fantastically important plot point in the shape of a joke. amazing.

from fic, this is maybe a random example but the first one i thought of was this line from darkest little paradise (F1, pierre/charles) by heroics: 'Charles clutches him for another moment, squeezes the back of Pierre’s neck, resists the urge to drop to his knees right here and let Pierre do whatever he wants with Charles’s soft body.' i don’t know what it is about it, something about ‘soft body’. it’s just a line that has really stuck with me as a beautiful example of a dynamic (both in the relationship sense and, a bit, in the kink sense) described with such restraint.

eta: fuck at risk of making this post even more unnecessarily long i just realised i would be utterly remiss not to mention ‘She wants to know where this moral fortitude was when he had her flat on her back in that dark little cottage. Wonders if he had to fuck her to find it. If she has to always be the one to pay for it.’ from @widespindriftgaze’s astonishing taskmaster RPF masterpiece broke both early and late (part 2 in a series), which i have never managed to read without crying.

thank you for asking! ❤️

from this writing asks post. i love shit like this (as you can see from how fuckin long this got); please feel free to ask more if you're reading this!

#ask meme #fic meta

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localvoidcat · 1 year ago

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i keep on meaning to ask this but keep forgetting can we. hear more abt tmc fmr au bps (thats. a lot of letters wow) mayhaps?? :3

YES okay so

as mentioned. adam is a mortem witch, sarah is a vita witch (slightly werecat on her mother's side but not enough to transform. she's just a little beasty at times) and jonah is a witch that lost his magic after dying + becoming a vampire.

i'll talk about some different things, starting with all of their magic!

adam's ties to magic are very loose when we first meet him. similar to josh in first arc, he isn't fully into it yet, and just views his magic as an additional part of him that he uses for kicks. this changes after a...certain event that ties him closer to magic than he'd like ^_^

sarah, being the one that cursed thatcher, is pretty well versed in her magic. after mark's death, she wanted to take on the mantle of upholding what he wanted to do + his strong ties to the gods. usually cursing people is seen as a taboo in the fmr universe (most of the time, it's easily reversible, but it still became a crime in recent years due to the effect it had on the curseholder), but she isn't strongly opposed to it at all. she doesn't really uphold religious practices the way her brother did, she has more of a lax mindset when it comes to her use of it.

jonah, as i said, used to be a witch before his death. to explain this, once you die, your magic returns to the earth to feed the cycle. however, for witch-turned-vampires, when they wake up their magic's already been stripped from their body. most people have sympathy for these individuals, but a loss of magic isn't something to be taken lightly among religious witches, and he's kind of shunned from most circles for this. sarah and adam, not being too big on the whole practice, didn't really care, and he's been with them ever since.

uhhh sarah's . what's the cat version of lycanthropy. i'll figure that out. as i said she got that from her mother, but it didn't affect her as strongly as it did, say, her uncle. during full moons it just causes some pain + sharper teeth and nails and all that. i think mark might have been slightly more cat i think that would be fun. clouded leopard maybe

jonah, for the most part, takes the vampirism very well! his methods of taking blood range from acquiring it legally to. just straight up breaking into stuff. they don't enjoy actually attacking people though, as much as he might threaten it if in danger + as a joke. they hang upside down in the bps headquarters he's fallen asleep like that several times

adam gets his magic from his mom! probably part of the reason why he still uses it, it's one of the only things she left behind after her death. he won't admit it though

bps is focused on hunting ghosts! they occasionally stumble across a spirit/manifested curse or something along those lines, but they're very inexperienced in it. adam (being the only one that can use the ghost magic) is the most drawn to it, he tends to find the most fucked up things LMAO. describes the ghosts in excruciating detail

like i said, they also deal with curses on occasion. that's part of why thatcher keeps asking them for help he's so desperate. sarah won't budge despite how much everyone else tells her to fix things though and there isn't anyone else with her blood to help out (dave's really only considered a witch by blood, best he can do is a couple sparks). adam was the one that found the curse in the first place but he doesn't really feel bad about it

uhhh. what else. they're all just really silly in general they're friends. i love them. fmr bps my beloveds

#sorry this took me 30 minutes i loev them #tmc fmr au

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lykegenia · 1 year ago

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For the commentary track, I'm so curious to know about your thoughts during the Chapter 12 interrogation scene in Like Glitter and Gold :) (-wayhavenots)

Chapter 12 gave me such trouble XD I'd love to talk about it!

The difference between Samantha and her husband is stark as she sits on the far side of the table in the interview room, prim in her work blouse and heels, defiant rather than cowed. Leah watches in silence from the observation gallery, chewing the inside of her cheek. Mason and Rebecca work seamlessly together in their questioning, like a pair of collies herding sheep towards the inevitable gate at the end of a field. It must have taken them years to become so used to each other, and the thought sparks an unwelcome resentment in her chest, a twitch like a phantom limb. She stamps it out before it can fully form. That Rebecca’s colleagues know her better than her own daughter isn’t news, even if this is the first direct evidence she’s seen of it; the disappointment should have worn off long ago. Besides, she should be paying attention to the interrogation. Next to her, Nate stands poised, utterly still in the way she’s noticed vampires go sometimes. They don’t need to breathe, or fidget, but he at least only forgets to do so when something has captured his full attention. His arms are crossed, the knuckles of one hand pressed against his mouth as he frowns through the glass, as if it’s an effort to bite back whatever is on his mind. She spares a glance to look at him properly, but he doesn’t meet her gaze, and it worsens the discomfort dancing like static down her arms. Unaware of this small drama, Rebecca slides the photo of the murder weapon across the table. “You know what this is.”

So, first off, this whole fic was very inspired by crime dramas so there was a very cinematic quality I was envisioning when writing. In this scene especially, I was trying to split the focus between Rebecca and Mason doing the interrogation, and Leah and Nate reacting to it. There's not much to say about Rebecca and Mason because the emotional weight of the scene is with Leah, seeing how practiced they all are at this sort of stuff. In a way, the cuts back and forth were meant to feel disjointed because there's a lot of emotional turmoil going on: Leah is worried about the shadiness of the Agency (which I don't dismiss as easily as Mishka) and Nate is hung up on the fact that relationships between humans and supernaturals don't always end well. And of course there's the lowkey jealousy Leah always feels when one of Unit Bravo shows they know Rebecca better than she does - she doesn't want that familiarity, but she recognises that it's just a little bit fucked up.

“This is taking too long,” Mason huffs, and leans forward, reaches out. “Why don’t you relax?” A cold shiver crawls across Leah’s shoulders. The sterile scent of a blood lab, an iron grip around her forearm. Without meaning to, her thumb strays to the silver bump of scar tissue on her left wrist.

Leah likes to pretend Murphy doesn't affect her, but he does. I specifically went back to Book 1 to find Murphy's exact words to properly freak her out. It's not just her reaction to the pheremones that's important here, though, it's that Mason is so casual about using them to get what he wants. Is it simpler than due process? Maybe, but the ethics of it don't square away with her sense of justice.

“He thought I loved him. He thought I could love him after I found out what he was. How could anyone? I had to do it. God, I let him touch me. And the chain – when I –” Her hands come up clenching around imaginary iron links. “The chain was stuck to his skin. His eyes were so dark, just… staring. But I had to do it. I had to.” By now she’s nodding to herself, rocking on the chair as her lips press together and her arms snake around her middle as if otherwise she’ll shatter.

The whole process of weaving together the details of the mystery took a while, and I'm not sure when I decided who the murderer should be. The most important thing was the thematic parallel between that relationship and the one between Leah and Nate. There are obviously Dark Tragic Backstory things about Nate that we don't know about yet, but the idea of secrets and revulsion leading to rejection is something that's clearly on his mind.

This particular bit was tricky to get right, because I couldn't quite find the right level of despair in Samantha without her seeming to lack remorse for what she did. She's horrified by Russell, by what she did, and by what the aftermath looked like, and that was surprisingly hard to convey.

“Are you ok?” Leah asks. He glances up from the floor, but can’t quite break his face out of a grimace. “I can’t believe she did it.” “It’s not so surprising. People have committed murder for less.” “For less?” He says it like an accusation. “Leah, you don’t… you cannot think as she does.” “I can understand her motive,” she retorts. “Isn’t that the whole reason all of this is secret? Finding out there’s an entire world of supernatural beings hiding in plain sight isn’t something everyone’s going to be happy about, even without insane vampire serial killers wanting to hunt you down.” She thinks of Verda, of the way he hunched over his desk in the morgue and the deep, exhausted shadows under his eyes. “He hid a lot from her – lied to her. All I’m saying is I understand why she was angry.” His hand drops from her waist, leaving a cold echo behind. “Her reaction goes a little beyond anger.” “Yeah, well, maybe if Russell had told her what he was instead of letting her find out through someone else it wouldn’t have gone that far.” It’s a bitter point, spiteful, but the day has gone sour and he’s the only person left to take it out on. For a moment he just stands there, searching her face for something he cannot see. She recognises fear in his eyes. “Sometimes people have reasons for keeping things to themselves,” he replies at last, quietly, looking away. “And he did tell her in the end.” “Only when he was forced to,” she snaps. “Pretty familiar, don’t you think?” He reels at that, like it’s a physical blow. “It almost sounds like you blame him for what happened.”

They're misunderstanding each other so much here. The real point of the argument is so I can have them make up in the next chapter, but the heart of the problem is that they're talking about different things. As already mentioned, Nate is thinking about the things in his past he's worried about sharing, but Leah doesn't know that exists, and instead she's seeing parallels to Book 1 and the fact that it ended badly partly because everyone around her was so determined to keep secrets. The body language between them is important here as well - most of the time, Leah isn't a very touch-y person, but Nate is the exception, and it means something when he pulls his hand away. It's a fine line to draw between letting the dialogue speak (haha) for itself and detailing every little gesture, but I wanted to get the broad strokes of how they move towards or away from each other.

#commentary track #plasticdodecagon #the wayhaven chronicles #detective leah kingston #nate sewell #nate x leah

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yeuphoric · 1 year ago

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nervously throwing this list out there of plots ideas / genres i am dying to write. if you give this post a like, i’ll dive into your messages to talk about plotting together. or you can shoot me a message with what you’re interested in if you want to speed up the process <3

just some things to know before we get to the plot ideas: a) none of these have to be romantic ! platonic equally welcome. also i only write f/f and f/m. b) active and enthusiastic partners appreciated. i love worldbuilding together and coming up with lore and little tidbits of info about our plots and ships. the more detail, the better !

okay, onto the plots :

hollywood verse. original characters only. think a group of a-list celebrity friends who cause a scene wherever they go. or a newbie paired with an iconic celebrity for a project and either sparks or fists fly. a fictional band on their first world tour ? i would also love to explore the darker side of hollywood too. cults and scandals and secrets and all that juicy stuff.

animal crossing inspired plot. just want something cute and fun for the summer. i go into more detail about this here.

science fiction. literally anything. colonies ? spaceships ? aliens ? yes please. cyberpunk ? anarchy ? crime ? absolutely. robots ? technology ? philosophy ? i’m begging. apocalypse ? end of the world ? war ? gimme. just need more sci - fi things.

greek mythology. anything. everything. historical. modern. you name it.

road trip plot. an ex couple broken up but have to travel together for whatever reason ? estranged family members trying to reconnect ? criminal and the hitch-hiker they picked up ? best friends driving across the country before / to college ? runaways trying to get far away from home ?

twilight / true blood inspired plot. cosy small town vibes. everyone knows everyone and everything. supernatural creatures roaming in plain sight. secrets hidden everywhere. freaky stuff going on. first loves. unrequited loves. love triangles. you get the idea.

historical / fantasy. anything welcome but if you give me cowboy x someone they pick up along the way, or a gang of outlaws mumu ( rdr2 style ) i’ll empty my bank account into yours.

horror / scary plots. i don’t watch a lot of horror movies but i’ve had a need for a more horror driven plot lately, particularly a friend group stuck somewhere and there’s something ( a killer ? a monster ? a supernatural entity ? ) on the hunt.

bratz mumu. i have a yasmin and sasha and need a cloe and jade for a fun / camp / nostalgic verse ?

#1x1 rp #indie smut rp #indie rp #indie discord rp #╰ * wanted : ⧽ plot .

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brandwhorestarscream · 1 year ago

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Unicronia? Can you tell us more?

I am so, so glad you asked

So, this takes place in the Unicron Reborn AU, which is a side-story what-if of Hindsight's Timeline 5. If you're not familiar with it, uh. Check the tag cuz I'm not retyping all of that XD under the cut cuz this bitch is long

Switchover, Unicron's reincarnation, has just had the double bomb dropped on him: 'oh my god, I'm literally the devil' along with 'oh my god, my children are a bunch of dark gods'. He's just become a brand new carrier to a small litter of 4, and each of his newsparks radiates a dark, ominous power. His first time seeing his own blood was in the delivery room, deep purple and very much not blue. His carrier quietly explains to him the truth, and he's completely shocked.

He and his sparklings are incredibly dangerous. The youngest, who he names Requiem, literally holds death in their hands. A tiny newborn God of Death, capable of snuffing a spark with a single touch. That pushes Switchover to make a realistic difficult decision: to leave home, forever.

He's never even been outside of his family's home in the temple before, let alone off the planet. He has no idea what to expect, all he knows is that he needs to get away, now. His babies are dangerous, but he loves them too much to ever think about abandoning them. They can't be safe here, and they're a threat to everyone around them. For everyone's safety, they must all leave.

So he takes his 4 newborns–Paucity, Pandemic, Artillery, and Requiem–and runs away from home in the middle of the night. He secretly bought a single room on a large freighter ship leaving Cybertron that night, gathered up any baby stuff and memorabilia he could carry, and silently slipped out of the house without saying goodbye. He makes it to the ship, called the Lost Light, just in time for boarding.

Now, I don't wanna go suuuper in depth with all the nitty gritty details because this post would be like 8 pages long, but long story short: Rodimus ends up dead because of Switchover and his bitties. Because he has contact with the anti-spark, he was barred entry to the Allspark; his soul was left wandering aimlessly, nowhere to go and rest, homeless.

At this point Switchover has taken his sparklings to an uninhabited planet where the five of them will be safe and not be a threat to anyone; suddenly Roddy's soul appears before him. It tears him apart to think that this poor mech died for the sole crime of helping him escape, and so deigns to help him. Using his newfound godly power (that he still doesn't really know how to control), sculpts Rodimus a new body and gently transplants his spark into it, filling the form with his own dark energon. Roddy rises again, no longer a prime, but as Rodimus Unicronus (sans the ugly mustache). He can't ever return to Cybertron, but Switchover offers to let him stay; he gratefully accepts. The so-called "evil god" just saved his life and asked for nothing in return… maybe he's not actually all that bad?

For awhile they're happy; this uninhabited planet gives them shelter and Switchover feeds them with his own energon. The bitties grow well and their godly powers start to blossom: they're about 3-4 when shit hits the fan.

Cybertron attacks them, an entire fleet sent to wipe out Unicron, The Spawn, and the Avatar of Chaos. Long story short, one of the children, Requiem, gets mortally wounded; if they weren't an immortal godling, they would have died. Seeing them cradled in Rodimus's arms, bleeding and plating torn up, gasping short, shallow little vents, Switchover just sees red. For the first time in his life, in this life, destructive rage completely overtakes his body. He tells Rodimus to get back, to get his sparklings to safety, because he's about to lose control of himself.

Switchover reverts to what we're calling his primal form; the original Unicron stands before the fleet, incomprehensibly massive, and completely lays waste to every single ship, every single bot on them. He kills thousands in his rampage, roaring at them, "HOW DARE YOU?! HOW DARE YOU HURT MY REQUIEM?! DIE, DIE, DIE, ALL OF YOU WILL DIE!" His bellows create such intense soundwaves it shatters their audials and breaks the glass of their ships, he's that powerful.

Once the fleet has been reduced to little more than scrap metal and dust, Switchover-Unicron grabs Rodimus and his sparklings, and flees into deep space. They travel to unexplored depths of the universe, further than cybertronians have ever gone. They travel for weeks… months… years, being sustained by the great god's body. Once they've traveled millions of lightyears away, Unicron starts slowing down, and gently releases the five of them from his grasp. In a move mimicking his twin brother, his giant body start folding down, transforming and rounding out, becoming a planet suitable for them to live on. Rodimus dubs it Unicronia, as he is the first of the Unicronians.

Unicronia develops over time, thousands of years. Switchover's mortal form emerges from the planet's core, the great antispark, and the sparklings are overjoyed to at last see their carrier at a size wherein he can snuggle and hold and kiss them. Switchover thanks Rodimus for taking such good care of his sparklings while he was in his primal form, and the six of them start settling in. Building a proper home to live in, but there's even more to do!

One day, near the Pit of Anti-Sparks, they find a brand new protoform just… sitting there. Peering down the edge of the Pit, looking so lost and alone. Think like the terrans, but instead of white protometal with blue, they're black with purple. The first truly born Unicronian, and even more follow. Rodimus takes on the responsibility of looking after the newcomers, seeing as Switchover is still very busy with his relatively young, needy sparklings, but the newsparks from the Pit are naturally drawn to him. He is the giver of their lives, after all.

Unicronia slowly over time turns into a mirror planet to Cybertron–all of their citizens are birthed from the anti-spark, they worship Unicron and the Spawn as their gods rather than Primus and the Primes. Cybertron is ofc still searching for Unicron, but they're looking specifically for his godly form, and have no idea which corner of the universe he's in. When/if they do find Unicronia, it's already become a prospering planet with multiple city-states, their own technology, culture, religion, etc, and they're at a complete loss for what to do.

#unicron reborn au #unicronia #send me more asks about this and I will love you forever #ask me about the spawn! about the first unicronians! about their society! all of it!! 🤩#also if you have any ideas to pitch please send them cuz uhhhh. i am ALWAYS down for your wonderful ideas

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dystopicjumpsuit · 4 months ago

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An update (and it's good news).

Hi everyone! Thanks for being patient with me. I have some good news to share. I'll put details below the cut for anyone who is okay with reading medical stuff, but for those who prefer to avoid it, the TLDR is that things are going very well, and I am hoping to start making a slow return to normal Tumblr/fandom activities very soon. I have missed you all so much, and I'm so grateful to everyone who reached out with such kind and supportive words. I love you all more than I can say.

And now, the details.

Gratuitous Darcy gif because I can't find one of Mr. Bennet saying, "Read on, Lizzie!"

We are at the midpoint of my partner's treatment course, and they had a progress check yesterday. We discovered two things: first, the bad news was that it was not just one blood clot, but many, running all through their thigh. For whatever reason, that information was not disclosed at the initial diagnosis. The good news, though, is that ALL of the deep vein clots have dissolved, and only the superficial ones are left. The risk of complications from the superficial ones is far lower, so a huge amount of stress has been lifted.

It took weeks for cardiology to see them, which was incredibly frustrating and nerve-wracking. But they finally did a full workup and found that their initial diagnosis was either inaccurate, or it had resolved in the interim, which was a massive relief. It honestly felt like we were sitting on a time bomb, and so not having that looming over us feels very freeing.

Their doctors have not attempted to find the cause of the clots, but they have a follow-up appointment scheduled with their vascular surgeon at the end of the treatment (in six weeks). We are hoping that they will try to track down the root cause at that point, but we also know that they are likely to need surgery to repair the vascular damage from their preexisting condition, so this is likely to be an ongoing issue until that is resolved. That said, it seems that the immediate, life-threatening danger has passed, and for the first time since early June, I feel like I can breathe again.

During the past several weeks, we've had some long conversations about how we are going to move forward from this, and one of the decisions we reached was that we will likely be staying in this house longer than we originally anticipated, so we need to make some changes to it to make sure it is accessible and will accommodate our bodies as we age. With that in mind, we started planning several significant renovation projects, some of which are now already underway. These range in scale from installing safety railings, to a large remodel of our downstairs so we can have our bedroom on the ground floor. We honestly should have done this years ago, but living in a construction zone is my own personal version of hell, so I've been procrastinating. But this situation was definitely a wake-up call that we need to take care of these things now instead of waiting for them to become emergencies.

As you can imagine, planning and carrying out those projects (in addition to dealing with the medical stress and continuing to work full-time and take care of all my usual responsibilities and commitments) is taking up all of my energy and attention right now. I haven't had time or inspiration to write, but since getting such good news yesterday, I can already start to feel the sparks of creativity coming back, so I am crossing my fingers that I'll be able to pick that up again soon. I hesitate to commit to any deadlines, though, because my brain is just too unpredictable, and what little inspiration I've had recently has been for original fiction.

All of which is to say that I'm hoping to start returning to the fandom very soon, but I will likely be a bit less active than I was before, at least for the next several weeks. Thank you again for your patience and for sticking with me through this. You've all been so kind and lovely, and I feel incredibly lucky to have you in my life.

🩵

Hiatus announcement.

Hi friends. I've got some stuff I need to focus on in my personal life right now, and I'm not able to balance that with keeping up with Tumblr and Discord. I'll be taking a hiatus starting immediately. I'm not sure when I'll be back, but hopefully it won't be too long. If you have submitted a request for a fic, design, or artwork, please know I'll do my absolute best to fill it when I'm back, but for now, I need to be present in my real life.

I love you all, and I'll miss you, and I can't wait to come back! I'll put a few more details below the cut in case you're interested. CW for medical issues.

My partner has been unwell recently, and this week, we discovered that they have a blood clot in their leg. Further testing revealed they have a serious heart condition. Unfortunately, they also have a preexisting vascular condition that makes blood thinners risky, but their PCP went ahead and prescribed a three-month course of medication for the clot since it's an immediate issue. We are waiting to hear if insurance will cover the meds; apparently this prescription gets rejected by insurers frequently due to the cost. (Thinking about the fact that some analyst in a cubicle could decide that my partner's life is worth less than a three-month course of medication is making me feel absolutely sick.)

They have more appointments scheduled with a cardiologist and a vascular surgeon, so for now, we're just kind of stuck in limbo. Their PCP gave us a long list of, "If x happens, go to the emergency room immediately. If y happens, go to the emergency room immediately. If z happens - you guessed it - go to the emergency room immediately."

At this point, I'm still trying to come to terms with it. My partner just turned 44. We have an active lifestyle; we eat healthfully; we don't drink to excess. We just got fucked over by genetic risk factors.

The scariest part is that we wouldn't have found out about any of this if they hadn't gone to the doctor for a completely unrelated issue. I'm trying not to think about it too hard, or my imagination starts to send me into a spiral.

Please allow me to get sappy for a moment:

If you've read much of my work, you probably know my partner better than you might think, as they inspire a lot of my characterization, either directly or indirectly. If you enjoyed the way I wrote Waxer in "The Sixth Language" or Jesse in "In Which Jesse Gets What He Deserves," then you have a good idea of their personality. They are extraordinarily kind and patient, funny and sweet. They have been here for me consistently for twenty years, first as my friend, and later as my everything. They've held me when I cried, and they've made me laugh every single day since I met them. They know me better than anyone in the world, and I trust them with my soul.

They are the only person IRL who even knows that I write fanfiction, and they have read every single fic I've ever written. They've served as my guinea pig when I needed to work through the physical mechanics of a scene, and they've listened to me ramble for hours on end about plotting and characterization. They've supported and encouraged me in this and so many other areas, and now it's my turn to support them through this.

If you've read this far, I just want to say thank you for all the love, support, encouragement, and kindness you've given me over the past year. This fandom community has truly changed my life, and I am more grateful than words can communicate. I hope to see you all again very soon, hopefully with good news. But in the meantime, please know that I love you all.

May the Force be with you. 🩵

#finally some good kriffing news #life update #hiatus update

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havocskies · 2 years ago

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hi u can do vance hopper x shy male reader who loves reading horror books and drawing gore horror stuff

THIEF | VANCE HOPPER X MALE READER

ofc i can !! i love this sm actually omg, thank you for requesting !!! as a shy horror nerd and someone who loves drawing this will be so easy to write i think

also i know requests are getting done very slowly it's bc i'm trying to work on all of them n most of them are fics 😭 i have stuff goin on irl too </33 also this is not proofread unfortunately 🫶

TWs: none

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

"What are you drawing?"

As a particularly familiar voice greets your ears you look up, your attention stolen away from your sketchbook. It was your boyfriend who was currently hanging out with you. At the moment he seemed to be watching you draw, looming over your shoulder. In any other circumstance this would likely seem intimidating but he was your boyfriend no matter how scary he accidentally was sometimes.

"A killer from this one new horror movie I saw - Texas Chainsaw Massacre I think? It's pretty cool. I'm drawing Nubbins, the weird hitchhiker dude." You explain, the tips of your mouth being pulled into a careful smile. You didn't often talk this much about your drawings but you knew Vance was genuinely curious, even if he had no idea what you were drawing half the time. He liked horror movies but he wasn't an avid fan like you were. Plus you liked books more than movies, and books weren't really Vance's thing.

"Oh, I heard about that I think. I thought you liked books though?" Vance questioned, watching the careful movements of your pencil on paper with interest. His question made you giggle a little which earned you a small glare in return.

"I do, it just seemed interesting. I can still watch movies, y'know. I did draw Carrie earlier today, though. The girl from that one book by Steven King? She was bullied a lot and got pigs blood dumped on her at prom, went absolutely crazy?" You tried your best to explain the book in hopes your boyfriend would understand but he simply stared blankly, his mouth pushed into a frown. You tried your best not to giggle but Vance looked so much less intimidating while he was confused you couldn't help but find it a little cute.

He didn't find it as amusing as you did. Instead he huffed and rolled his eyes. "I'm not a nerd like you, I don't read every book that I see." He shot back despite nothing being said in the first place.

"I think you'd actually like reading. If you weren't on that pinball machine all day, I mean. I swear you like it more than me." You joke. This seems to spark some amusement in Vance. He laughs, and you laugh in return. Even so, he's quick to defend himself as always.

"I do not! You might as well love your books more, you stare at them more than you stare at me." He playfully pushes your shoulder which may have been a little too hard but you know he means nothing by it. You decide to drop the subject and turn the page to the drawing of Carrie you had finished before Vance came over. It was the scene where Carrie was dying at the end and Sue found her. You liked that scene a lot, it was nice to know Carrie died knowing Sue didn't hate her.

Vance stares at the drawing, his brows furrowed. "What's going on in it?" Oh. You had forgotten he wasn't aware.

"Carrie, the one dying, is kind of reading Sue's mind before she dies. She finds out Sue didn't actually hate her and didn't know what was going to happen at prom. I just like the scene, I don't know." You shrug, dismissing everything else you'd like to say about the book. While you're practically obsessed with it you know Vance doesn't really care for books at all, so you decide not to bore him about it. To your surprise he inquires more about it, anyway.

"What's the rest of the book about?" He seems genuinely interested, his gaze fixed on the drawing as he stares at every part, every detail. You hesitate for a second before answering briefly.

"This girl, like 17 or 18 I think, is bullied at school for being really sheltered by her mom. She doesn't really know a lot and is just kind of an outcast, I guess." You watch Vance's expression and surprisingly he's still listening, waiting for you to continue. You do. "Anyway, Sue gets Tommy to take her to prom so she can have a good time and live her life like an actual person. Her mom's super religious though so she didn't like it but Carrie went anyway. Another group of people poured pigs blood on her while they were crowned queen and queen."

Vance seemed as though he were in thought for a moment before he quickly fixed his expression. "It sounds okay, I guess." He shrugged and tapped his fingers against his arms. He normally fiddled with his pocket knife but you had recently asked him not to do it around you, it often made you nervous. He was understanding, and you knew he would be. Vance was without a doubt scary but you were his boyfriend, he wasn't going to scare you. Not with any harm, anyway.

Instead Vance had a habit of simply sneaking up on you or showing up behind corners while you were distracted. He still took joy in being an absolute menace, unfortunately. You're taken away from your thoughts as your boyfriend takes your pencil from your hand and more carefully takes your sketchbook. You allow him, you knew he had no malicious intent.

Often times when he took your sketchbook he simply wanted to look through it or occasionally doodle. This time it seemed as though he were trying to copy your drawing of Carrie right beside your own. His lips were pressed together and his brows furrowed as he focused, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly more when he messed up and had to erase his mistake. You weren't sure if he was frustrating himself until he threw the pencil down onto the bed and looked at you with a proud grin.

You take your attention away from Vance and look at his copy of your drawing. A small smile is placed upon your face as you study it. It really wasn't that good, but Vance was proud of it and it certainly was a bit better than it normally was. If your drawing wasn't right there you'd be able to guess it was Carrie. Had he been practicing or something?

"You have some competition, now." Your boyfriend boasted, his arms crossed as he looked down at your sketchbook and then back up to you. You snort, shaking your head a little in disbelief. "Clearly. Stop practicing, i'm supposed to be the artsy one in this relationship, that's my job. Not yours."

Vance let out a laugh at your response. "Maybe I will take your place. Be careful." You rolled your eyes in attempts to show your false lack of approval but the smile plastered onto your expression proved otherwise. You couldn't believe it, before you had dated Vance you would've assumed the most artsy thing he was interested in was carving things with his pocket knife. You were proven wrong, apparently.

Whether it was from an actual new interest in drawing or his competitive nature in general you weren't sure, but you weren't complaining. You were glad he at least had some sort of interest in the things your interested in, even if it was just to try and be better than you at it. An idea popped up into your head, an idea anyone else would get punched for even considering. You were his boyfriend though, so you were pretty much safe.

"I'll just beat your highscore at pinball or something. Doesn't seem that hard." You shrugged, taking a quick glance at Vance's expression. He looked shocked, his mouth slightly opened and his eyes wide. You almost laughed but you managed to bite your tongue. As much as you knew Vance wouldn't actually hurt you you couldn't count on him putting you in a light headlock, which was probably what he was considering right now.

"You wouldn't even get close." Vance's voice got lower, his tone nowhere far away from threatening. Still, the spark of amusement in his eyes is still there. He's only teasing.

"I'm thinking about it. Since we're picking up new hobbies and all." You flip through the pages of your sketchbook to try and seem as though this conversation wasn't interesting you in the slightest. You probably just looked a little dumb.

"You absolutely will not!" Vance quickly moves forward and holds you close in a position where you could barely move. You can't help but laugh, your fists flying backwards in an attempt to get out of your boyfriend's grasp. It comes nowhere near working but you can feel the vibrations of him trying his best to stop himself from laughing, too. It wasn't really working that well.

"Vance Hopper I will break that pinball machine instead!" You cackled, finally landing a hit on Vance. By the way he grunted and seemed to almost stagger a little you could tell you had accidentally hurt him more than you wanted to. Before you could even pause and apologize he was back to teasing as if you hadn't even done anything at all.

"I'll just take your sketchbook, then." Your boyfriend stated in a matter-of-fact tone. You barely even get your words out before he lets go and grabs your sketchbook before you get a chance to. Vance quickly gets off of your bed and you copy his movements, the two of you pausing as you wait for the other to move. You move first, grabbing for your sketchbook only for him to let out a bark of laughter and run out of your room. You want to say something but you decide to save your breath for the chase you knew he was likely going to win.

Vance ran from cops significantly more than you did. You never ran from cops, you didn't have to. This wasn't the first time he had unceremoniously stolen something from you and ran, unfortunately. He seemed to find it entertaining and while you did, too in a sense it didn't always end in you winning. Still, you decide to feed his already overgrown ego and chase him around your house in hopes he won't accidentally break anything in the process.

It doesn't take you long to catch up, once you get downstairs you find him waiting right in the living room. The second he sees you, though, he starts running again and you do, too. You dodge various pieces of furniture, almost knocking one of the chairs in your dining room over. Thankfully Vance is much less clumsy than you and as far as you have seen hasn't come close to breaking anything or knocking anything over.

"Give it!" You demand, your breath overtaking your voice as you struggle to get it back. Vance is struggling too, his chest rising and lowering as he stands with your sketchbook on the other side of the table. Rather than a proper response he gives an out of breath laugh. You know you won't get your stolen property back by simply catching him, that boy has outrun probably half of the police officers in Denver easily.

You try your best to formulate a plan in your head. You could trick him, but you weren't really sure how. Even though he had already failed two grades and was easily going on year three he wasn't an idiot. Whatever you quickly came up with he'd definitely figure out without a doubt. Bribery, maybe. The only thing he cares about his pinball, though, and you weren't that keen on wasting money when you knew he'd give it back eventually.

Even so, you wanted to win. You may be the polar opposite of your boyfriend personality wise but you were equally as competitive. You were going to get that sketchbook back on your own.

"I'll give you money for pinball if you give me my sketchbook." You try your best to hide your growing smirk. Vance raised one singular eyebrow, his breaths becoming more regulated as time goes on. You don't need a verbal response to know he's considering and likely wants you to go on.

"Enough for like - a few games maybe? I know you're short on change right now, you were complaining about it earlier at the Grab n' Go." You knew this because you were the one Vance was complaining to. You often watched him play pinball the same as he often watched you draw.

"Okay, deal." Vance shrugs, stepping forward. You know Vance, and you know he's not just gonna give it to you that easily. You're gonna have to be equally as mean if you want that sketchbook as bad as he does. As soon as he walks close enough you waste no time to tackle him to the ground, catching him off guard and causing both of you to tumble into the ground.

Before Vance has enough time to react you grab your sketchbook from his hands and try your best to get up. Instead he grabs your ankle and pulls you down, crawling forward in attempt to grab your own sketchbook from your hands after you had just taken it back from him. You loved him, but the audacity this boy has sometimes is truly unbelievable. Determined to not let Vance take it again you slide it across the floor, causing your boyfriend to pause and curse under his breath.

You could tell he was beginning to take this seriously. You were too, in a sense. You really wanted to win for once and Vance could tell. The two of you rush forward, your socks sliding on the floor of the dining room as you both try your best to get there first. Without thinking you push Vance's face away to try and give you enough time and stop him a little. It works, and you feel your sketchbook in your hands once again.

You decide to not make the mistake of lingering again and bolt upstairs deciding running outside with Vance chasing you would look a little odd without context. You also didn't feel like getting your socks dirty. Your boyfriend wastes no time chasing after you as you make your ways upstairs, the thumping of two pairs of feet on the stairs probably enough to cause an earthquake if you both tried hard enough.

You make it into your room before Vance does and, knowing exactly what he's gonna try, shove it into one of your drawers right after closing the door on his face. It opens right after you shut the drawer closed, leaving you to stand in your own room empty handed and a little nervous. Your boyfriend looks over your room in a frenzy to try and find your sketchbook and quickly gives up, accepting the sketchbook is gone but not yet accepting you actually won.

A proud grin adorns your face, your whole body shaking with leftover adrenaline from being chased around your own house and being knocked to the ground once or twice. Vance stares at you before huffing and sitting down onto your bed, the mattress shifting with the new weight of your boyfriend. You join him.

"So I don't get the change for pinball?" He asks, his voice full of disappointment that really doesn't match his personality at all. You sigh and roll your eyes ever so slightly, the smallest of smiles appearing as you fished through your pockets for change. As you hand it over to Vance his expression immediately lights up and he affectionately punches you in the shoulder, maybe a little harder than necessary. "Alright, thanks." He laughs, putting the coins into his own pockets. You really got robbed twice.

You snort in response and Vance seems to stare at your small bookshelf, his eyes apparently caught on a specific one. You follow his gaze but can't tell exactly which one he's looking at specifically, there are quite a few.

"Hey, isn't that the book you were talking about?" You narrow your eyes in thought before you finally come across the memory.

"Oh, yeah. Carrie. Why?"

"Can I uh - borrow it or something? I probably won't finish it, I'm not a literal nerd like you, but you seemed to like it so maybe it's not that bad." He shrugged nonchalantly, though his fixed attention on the book broke his 'cool guy' facade. You smirk, standing up and grabbing the book from the shelf.

"Sure, I don't mind. Just give it back at some point, please." You can't help but chuckle, holding the book out towards your boyfriend. He gives an indignant snort in response and takes it from your hands.

"No promises."

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graphitesatellite · 3 years ago

Note

Okay alright!

So I have a request!

For the arcana, either the main 6 or the main 3, could you maybe write a headcanon where mc gets hurt really badly and the li has to take care of them please? I don't know if you do that, because it is a little angsty, and potentially a little gorey too, but if you do, I would really appreciate it! Thank you!

Oh, and your work is amazing, by the way! Like everything you post is so good to read! I really love it so much!

jdhdjdkshsj omg anon you are too sweet, thank you so much <3 stuff like this keeps me writing

for the record im almost always down for angst, so no worries there, and as far as gore goes I can handle blood and vague viscera but I just Do Not fuck with detailed descriptions of organs (think the pinkie pie cupcake creepypasta, shit scarred me for life)

so yeah I’m gonna hurt mc pretty bad but hey at least they’ll never get disemboweled :)

content warnings: severe burns, broken bones, blood, bugs, and vomit

Asra

it happens so fast — so fast, nobody can tell exactly where it started. After such a dry summer, all it takes is one spark to turn the maize maze into an incinerator.

you entered separately this year, figuring it would be fun to meet each other in the middle and find your way back out together. It was a good idea in theory, and you were enjoying yourselves until a voice somewhere shrieked, “FIRE!”

the flames tear through the dry maize like it’s tissue paper. You’re surrounded in an instant, and Asra is beside himself because he doesn’t know where you are, or how to get to you. That doesn’t stop him from sprinting through the maze, completely disregarding his own well-being as he calls your name, choking on smoke and the inside of his own throat. Magic surges through him, acts on his instincts. It might be the only thing keeping him alive.

he finds you unconscious in a dead end, trapped on three sides by towering walls of fire. His heart hammers so hard it hurts. You’re so still. Are you breathing? Images flash behind his eyes: fine sand, charred bone, ash. His panic overwhelms him, and he blacks out. Next thing he knows, he’s laying on cool ground, somewhat singed but mostly okay. A few kind strangers kneel over him, encouraging him to relax and breathe. He can’t do either until he knows what happened to you.

the good news is you’re alive; somehow (try as he might he can’t recall the details), Asra managed to drag you out before the flames engulfed you entirely. The bad news is you sustained severe burns across your legs and torso. It’s painful to look at, and Asra finds himself thankful you’re still passed out. That feeling is quickly displaced by the urge to get you home and make you better, as better as his magic will allow. Exhaustion be damned.

one of the bystanders offers a free ride to center city on their wagon, and Asra graciously accepts. He spends the entire time hunched over your unconscious form, gently smoothing his hands over your burns, again and again, like they’re stubborn wrinkles in a piece of cloth. Each pass restores your skin a bit more, building it back layer by layer. It’s gruesome work, but by the end you look mostly okay. Covered in scars, but okay. Alive.

back at the shop, he’s not convinced he could carry you up the stairs in this state, so he drags some bedding down and makes a nest in the back room, surrounding you in the softest blankets and pillows he can find. Only then, after he’s sure you’re cozy enough, does he take a pause. It’s so quiet here. No crowds of concerned onlookers, no squeaky wheels or braying animals. Just him, and you, breathing. Hot tears well in the corners of his eyes. He stifles a sob, catches himself on the edge of a table as a wave of dizziness rushes over him. He really overdid it. The last thing he wants is to take his eyes off you, but on the verge of passing out, he settles down at your side, lays his head on your chest, and quickly falls asleep to the sound of your beating heart.

some time later, when you come to, confused and panicking and weeping, he doesn’t feel rested, but he sits up anyway. You need him more than he needs sleep, as far as he’s concerned. He takes your face in his hands, whispers assurances that you’re okay, you’re safe, you’re home. You swear you feel your skin smoldering. Asra shows you the fresh scars, gutted by the fact that while he can heal your physical wounds, he can’t magic away the trauma. That’s something you’ll have to work through in time. That’s something he’ll help you navigate, one step at a time.

Nadia

maybe what stings the most is how preventable the situation is — the puddle of water you slip on could have, should have been mopped, should have been noticed by someone and taken care of before it caused an issue, but for whatever reason, it wasn’t. It’s an untraceable failure Nadia nonetheless blames herself for when it throws you off balance and sends you tumbling down the grand staircase.

she watches it happen, notices the puddle just an instant before you do. There’s not enough time to warn you, not enough time for her to reach out and steady you, but she tries. You slip, she cries your name, the tips of her fingers graze your shoulder as you topple over and fall, fall, fall… it takes so long for you to fall. You seem to bounce off each step, limp as a ragdoll by the time you hit the bottom with a sickening thump. She runs down the stairs after you, almost loses her footing and collapses next to your prone form. You don’t respond to her voice, nor her touch. She cradles your head to her chest as she calls for someone to help.

it’s a miracle you didn’t split your head open. You’re covered in bumps and bruises, and a few of your ribs might be cracked, but Nadia is, at the very least, grateful you’re not hemorrhaging from a head wound. She refuses to move until a doctor examines you, deeming you unconscious and badly hurt, but alive. Then, with the help of palace staff, she lifts you off the ground and carefully transfers you to bed.

You sleep for several days. It kills Nadia that she can’t ask if you’re comfortable, if you need anything. She tries her best to do what she thinks you would want, lighting your favorite incense, gently washing your face, sitting with you and holding your hand as she reads or fills out paperwork. Any meeting she can’t take in your room is swiftly postponed or canceled. Her duties as countess are important, and she takes them very seriously, but they’re not more important than you. Nothing is more important than you.

she wears a very brave face around the staff and doctors. To them, she seems perfectly calm, a portrait of composure. In private, she’s never felt so scared, so helpless. She wants to fix this, but she doesn’t know how. She doesn’t think she can. There’s so little she can actually do for you right now. She needs something to do, something concrete and direct, something to make her feel useful. But all she can do is putter around, and wait. It’s her own personal hell.

the day you wake up is easily the second happiest day of her life, right after the day you got married. Your eyes crack open, you whisper her name, and the tears are instant. She can barely keep from smothering you in kisses. She helps you drink, pets your hair as you adjust to the waking world once again. You reach for her hand and ask how long you’ve been out. She answers, and you, shocked, ask if she’s been with you the whole time. But you already know she has. The look on her face, the love in her eyes, says everything.

Julian

you don’t remember the name of the bar — it can’t be the rowdy raven because you’re not currently in Vesuvia, but it’s a similar sort of deal, the kind of place where “unsavory” characters hang around and “make trouble,” mainly by drinking violently strong alcohol and bickering over card games. You and Julian have your own booth, and you’re a couple drinks deep, teetering on the edge between tipsy and buzzed when you decide a game or two of cards might be fun.

half an hour later you’re on a hot streak and the other people at the table are starting to get pissed. You excuse yourself from the next round to use the restroom, giving Julian a kiss for good luck. When you return, he’s raking in the pot, and you’re so happy for him that when you go to sit down, you don’t notice the guy next to you pulling your chair away. You lose your balance and fall backward, throwing your arm out to catch yourself. Big mistake.

you land hard, all your weight coming down on your forearm, which buckles with an awful crunch. There’s no doubt that it’s broken, but you don’t realize how bad it is until you sit up and look. Julian is at your side in an instant, wincing at the unnatural angle, murmuring it must have been a clean break before asking the guy what the hell he was thinking. The guy gets defensive, saying it was supposed to be a joke, you don’t have to be all up in arms about it. The rest of the table laughs. Julian seethes. You can tell he’s about to do something reckless, so you tug on his coat with your good hand and tell him you just wanna get out of here. He shoots the table one last withering glare before he helps you up and leads you out of the bar.

the adrenaline of the moment wears off while you walk, so by the time you make it back to where you’re staying, you’re in incredible pain. Julian ushers you to the bed, sits you down and gently takes your arm. After an excruciating moment, he tells you he’s going to have to set it, and it’s unfortunately going to hurt. A lot. You hate the sound of that, but you tell him to do it, get it over with. He asks if you want him to count down, you say no. He asks if you’re sure, and before you can fully say yes, he sets the bone, and you pass out.

when you come to, you’re tucked into bed, arm splinted and wrapped. Julian dozes in a nearby chair, an open book in his lap. He startles awake when you try to sit up, tells you not to exert yourself, asks if you need something. You tell him some water would be nice. He brings you a glass in record time, carefully props you up so you can comfortably drink. His touch is so mindful it borders on reverent. Teasingly, you ask if he treats all his patients this way. He quirks a brow at you, then grins his signature grin, saying other patients have to pay extra for the special services he gives you. You try to laugh in a way that doesn’t jostle your arm too badly.

Julian’s expression falls in a very sudden, very familiar way. You cut him off before he can even start, firmly telling him this isn’t his fault and he better not start apologizing. Basically pouting, he asks if you’re sure it’s not at least a little bit his fault. You give him A Look. He sighs and glances away, softly admitting he doesn’t like that fact you got hurt when he was right next to you, and there was nothing he could do. He just wishes he could have protected you somehow. You understand this, you really do. It’s horrible to feel helpless when someone you love gets hurt, but you remind him he’s not entirely helpless. He made you better, didn’t he?

after a pause, he says he hadn’t thought of it that way. A smile creeps up his lips, and with a chuckle he says he’s glad you’re around to help him think straight. Smiling right back, you tell him you’re glad he’s around to make you better. He promises he will always make you better, whenever you need him, no matter what, and you know he means it with all his heart.

Muriel

it’s a beautiful day — the sky is clear, the sun is bright, the air is warm. The forest around you seems to glow green with exuberance. What a perfect day to go fishing; or, more accurately, what a perfect day to visit the river with Muriel and watch him fish. He’s better at it, anyway, and you’re having a good time balancing on big rocks at the edge of the water in the meantime. They’re a bit slippery, but you’re pretty confident you won’t fall. And if you do, it’s not like it’s a long way down. What’s the worst that could happen?

from the middle of the river, Muriel frowns as you walk across the rocks like you’re a performer on a tightrope, his heart spasming each time you pause and sway. He audibly sighs in relief when you make it to the other side, then tells you to please be careful. You flash him an impish grin, saying not to worry, you’re being so careful. As you do, you take a blind step forward. Your foot hits one of the rocks at an angle, and your ankle bends in a way it’s not supposed to. You pitch forward, falling first onto the sharp rocks, then into the shallow water below.

you hear Muriel call your name as you fall, and you’re underwater for mere seconds before he’s at your side, lifting you out. He holds you mostly upright against his chest, rubbing your back while you cough up a mouthful of river water. You cling to him, shivering from the cold, ankle throbbing. The rocks scraped you up pretty bad on the way down. You feel the sting of small wounds along your face and arms, though none of them hurt as bad as the area right above your knee, which struck the rocks most directly. It’s hard to tell how bad it is, but judging from how it burns, it must be big.

Muriel lays you on some soft grass under a nearby tree. His eyes are wide with panic as he looks you over, and once he gets to your legs, he freezes. With some difficulty, you push yourself up to see what he sees. That’s… wow, that’s a lot of blood. That’s so much blood, gushing from your leg. It makes you woozy, so woozy you lose all the strength in your arms. You drop backwards onto the ground, snapping Muriel out of his trance. He takes a deep, deep breath. When he exhales, his expression is less horrified and more… determined. Resolute. He rips a strip from his shirt and ties it tightly around your leg, apologizing softly when you whimper, telling you he’s going to get you home, and you’re going to be okay. You believe him wholeheartedly, and when he picks you up again, you let yourself relax against him. You’re so tired. You’re so cold. You tell him as much. Holding you securely, Muriel takes off running for the hut.

by the time he gets you inside, you’re barely conscious. The makeshift tourniquet has slowed your blood loss significantly, but not entirely. Muriel peels the wet, stained clothes off you, his shyness overpowered by the need to save you, whatever it takes. Then he lays you on some furs by the freshly-lit fire, letting you warm up while he gathers supplies to clean and bandage your wounds. He doesn’t say much as he does, mostly urging you to stay awake, to keep looking at him so he knows you’re awake. You try your best. You really, really try, but you’re just so tired. A solid black curtain falls over your vision. Muriel’s voice grows distantly frantic, but you’re too far gone. Blobs of color swirl beneath your eyelids as you slip from the waking world.

next thing you know, Muriel’s cradling you against his chest, hopelessly bargaining for your life, saying he’ll do anything, give up anything. He only stops when you manage to wheeze out his name. Then, after a pause, his shoulders shake, and he heaves a great sob. He pulls back to look at your face, sobbing again when he sees your open eyes. You realize he’s wrapped you up burrito-style in the softest furs you have, making it somewhat challenging to wiggle your arms free, but you do, and you reach up to hold his face in your hands. He leans into your touch like it’s his salvation, and honestly, maybe it is.

he weeps another moment or two, letting you wipe his tears with your thumbs. When you think he’s nearly calmed down, he asks, voice cracking, that you please never, ever do that again. You agree immediately, and you tell him you’re sorry. Suddenly puzzled, he asks you why. You say you’re sorry for worrying him, and he tells you that’s just the way it is, he always worries, especially when it comes to you, it’s nothing you can control or have to be sorry about. Still, you should have been more careful, and you promise him you won’t put either of you in that situation again. Muriel finally starts to relax. He thanks you, tells you he loves you. You ask him to say it again, pretty please, and when he goes pink, you giggle.

Portia

following an unmarked, unfamiliar trail through the woods maybe isn’t the best idea — but it’s certainly an adventure, and it’s one Portia is excited to share with you.

though you’ve taken plenty of hikes together, you’ve never come across this trail before. It branches off the main path suddenly into a deeply forested area, so naturally Portia wants to see where it leads, if anywhere. It’s not the most outlandish place she’s taken you. You don’t get a great feeling from it, but it’s not like the two of you are helpless. It should be fine, you think, and soon as you make up your mind, Portia happily grabs your hand and pulls you in with her.

the first moments are uneventful, which feels like a good sign. Portia wonders aloud what you might find, throwing in a few ridiculous ideas just to make you laugh. You easily slip into some banter, then some flirting, then some flirty banter. It’s turning out to be a pretty fun time when you feel a sharp pinch on your leg. Then another. Then another. Ow. What the hell? You look down, expecting to see some sort of nettle, but it’s so much worse than that. Bugs. So many bugs, crawling up your leg. You scream. Portia turns to see what’s wrong; she screams louder.

before you can react, Portia takes off running in the direction you came from, pulling you by the hand so you’re forced to run with her. The pinching travels up your legs, across your waist and your back. You try to shake the bugs off, but it’s difficult to do without stumbling. Portia just manages to keep you upright until you emerge onto the main path, where she grabs the first leafy branch she finds and uses it to sweep the little bastards off you. Every now and then she beckons you forward a few steps, stomping at the ground to kill the persistent stragglers. Each sting throbs in time with your rapidly beating heart; you’re sure you can feel them swelling.

you’re also sure you can feel more bugs on you, crawling across your skin, under your clothes. You swat at yourself in a panic. Portia hurries you along, telling you it’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay. You have a hard time believing this, but you trust her. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, you make it home. Portia starts stripping you down before the door’s fully closed, and even though you don’t see any bugs, you can still feel them all over you. You squirm, squeak out a sob. Portia checks you over, tells you finally that they’re all gone, despite what you feel. She asks that you stand still for just another moment so she can remove the stingers. You do, though it seems like you stand there for much longer than a moment, flinching as Portia gently scrapes a playing card again your skin, apologizing each time, promising she’s almost done, almost done.

the pain is constant and burning. You nearly weep when Portia finally leads you to bed and helps you lay down on your stomach. The cool sheets provide you momentary relief while she rummages around for some sort of soothing balm. You close your eyes, take some deep breaths, try to accept the fact you’re safe now. Portia warns you before she touches you again, which you appreciate. She takes a damp cloth to your skin, cleaning each sting and dabbing it with a bit of balm, helping you roll over so she can get to the ones on your front as well. You close your eyes as a wave of nausea passes over you. You tell Portia you might vomit, and she passes you an empty container just in time.

once you’ve emptied your stomach, Portia takes care to wipe your mouth, and only then do you notice the tears on her cheeks. She blurts out that she’s so, so, so sorry. If she hadn’t urged you down the trail this never would have happened, but it did, and now you’re hurt because of her. You tell her she couldn’t have known, it’s not like she did it on purpose. And yes, it hurts, but its not permanent. She supposed you’re right… but insists that since it was her mistake, she’ll take responsibility by caring for you until you’re better. She asserts she won’t let you raise a finger, and really, you don’t think you can argue with that, even if you wanted to.

Lucio

I don’t wanna put a bunch of effort into writing a serious one sees for him cuz I don’t think he’s capable of taking care of himself much less anyone else

if you want my honest opinion on how he would handle an injured MC tho, I think he would whiff it super hard, try to make it better himself even tho he has zero (0) grasp on medicine and would end up making it worse. Like if you don’t bleed out or die from shock, you’ll succumb to infection within days. Dumbass doesn’t know how to properly clean a wound, he only knows how to hurt. It’s the only thing he’s good at.

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana headcanons #the arcana asra #the arcana nadia #the arcana julian #the arcana muriel #the arcana portia #good gracious goddamn writing this was an odyssey #but it was also very very fun #thank you anon

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f4nd0m-fun · 9 months ago

Text

So I had a whole bunch of stuff but Tumblr deleted it and wouldn't post so I'm going to try and remember what I wrote.

They probably respond to the revival a la "someone magically trashed our graveyard so hello we're here now" just because I feel like they're all like shits about stuff. Either that or they go full dramatic and flood it with magic themselves so it goes on the news.

I almost feel bad for anyone who sees the echoes. Also, Alfred isn't technically dead but, well, I'm sure with him letting out his ghostliness there's a few things that creep up that even he can't really control. The laughter and eyes like you mentioned, but I love the idea that, sometimes, even before he started letting himself slip, maybe his voice would sound older and wiser than it is as Alfred, something used to enforce his authority over the household, or maybe a little peek of blue skin at certain times. Maybe, if you look at him for just the right split second, you see the Master of Time Himself, but Only if He Allows It. And yeah, he's not Time but it's A Time. He's not the Personification of All Time, just that of Certain Times, maybe even a fragment All Time created to watch over Certain Times for Him.

I feel like Halfas would have something similar, but almost settled into their skin like a birthmark. For Danny, that's the litchenburg scars along his skin, maybe a raw 'spark' of a scar upon his throat. Perhaps he shouldn't even be able to talk because his vocal cords are mutilated, but ectoplasm does what it wants. For Vlad, he has scars from the Ecto Acne, and some burn-like markings faded years ago but never gone. And Jason? He looks like kintsugi almost. Sure, the Lazarus pits patched him up, but there's that inkling of ectoplasm and blood almost visible, with almost Golden scar tissue, almost as reminiscent of the explosion as the dulled burns are.

Oh gods those poor rogues and goons. They're gonna have even more nightmares, especially if Frighty goes all "I am the night" to force Bruce into taking a break because he probably needs one. Almost feel bad for em.

Also, now that Thomas is awake, I can just see Alfred going up to Joker with a gun (that's him limiting himself), popping one, and it's like he was never there. Thomas makes sure he's the first one to find Joker's ghost and just... chains him up for the ghosts of his victims to go crazy on. If he wants to, Jason gets first whack at him. Of course, that also depends on one detail. IE, one HC I had to further explain why they don't kill rogues is basically the equivalent of curse possession, IE if they die someone else has to take their place and we'd Rather deal with an unstable known.

Aww how sweet, they're good friends. I bet Lois joins in of she's allowed too.

I bet much agree with the poor Clark statement. And double on Diana. Like, anyone who knows Bruce will enough can tell that something is going on, even if they don't know exactly what, but they also usually know a bit.

Honestly, that psychic awareness is something I wanted to bring in more. Sure, MM can't exactly tell what being Said, just that there's a lot of Emotions that are flowing, but he's more Aware than most people at least. Plus, if he finds out about the GIW, he'd be as livid as Batman considering what he's gone through. So, Uncle Jonn might be a factor at some point, I dunno.

Oh definitely. Vlad still regrets that he was never the dad he should have been with Ellie, which is part of why he's trying so hard with Danny. He still wanted Danny as his son, but that doesn't mean he doesn't wish he had both of them. Actually, CK probably got mauled after that garlic attempt because all Vlad saw was someone using sauce to target someone he loved/was attached to/wanted to protect.

Oh man yeah. Public appearances and reporters going crazy. After they eventually figure things out, they probably get Clark or Lois to cover the story though. 😂

Gruncle Alan and Grandpa Thomas. Bruce's dad is 'Thomas Alan Wayne' so they go cheeky and swap the middle and first for Frighty. Also, the batkids made a few different helmets/masks that he can wear, not all of them look good but it's a temporary face so it sorta works.

Also, Connie is gonna need like 20 drinks. Preferably the kind that will send him to heaven (or hell, he doesn't really care) for a few hours or days before he has to deal with all of this.

As for liminality...

Dick: Slightly barely stronger than human. Just, imagine this. You're a goon, doing your job, and you notice Nightwing chewing on something. Clearly he must be distracted! Turns out he's teething, because apparently that's what his species does well into his human adulthood, and he's denting cold metal. You can't feel your arm anymore, not even sure it's attached, all you know is Pain. Batman swoops down and decides to check that Nightwing's teeth are okay. They both communicate in that strange grunting static that Ḧ̸̢̳̲̗́͘Ư̴̢̦̞̲̞͎̳̞͛̽̈̑̑̊̓̉̍͋̈̽͠͝R̵̦̞̠̗̠͍̼͍̝̎̈̽̿͐̐̍̃̋̈́͌̀̔̈́̾͝Ṫ̷̩͙͍̤͇̙̩̗̯͊̈̉͆̆̇͑S̷̢͚͖̹̞̫͚̦̤̳̰̗̼͕͇̹͍̈̀͒̑̾ your head. Also, maybe a minor limb detachment, not in full but like 10x more flexible, exorcist worthy even.

Babs: Not sure, tech interface? Or maybe she gets supernatural Sight, something Alfred helps her learn to deal with.

Cass: She becomes more like shadows given life rather than a human raised in them. Yes she's taking lessons from Grandpa and Gruncle. There isn't much more going on though than Batblob, which Bruce seemed to do naturally for years, and a little bit of dampening of people's senses.

Jason: Full on halfa, although still weak as he only got the bare minimum healthy ecto recently. Probably grows into something fire related, I do like the idea of him trying to be cool and balance three names, with the ghost name being Phoenix, or maybe he goes for a name from the classics, dunno what tho.

Tim: Just... minor durability and healing factor please. Kid needs it with how he pushes himself. Probably still spleenless but eh.

Steph: Sleight of hand but worse. Just, you see this figure, you can't seem to look away without a lot of willpower, and yet they still sneak up on you, or do something, but you can never catch them red handed.

Duke: Least liminal, eye shine please.

Damien: Just take his mimicry to the max. Not only is he good at voices but, while he can't change a lot, if you aren't paying attention you're almost sure he was someone else, if not Something else.

I'm not sure about a title but... A Colony of Liminals maybe?

Meme Prompt 2

Thinkin of feral halfa Jason again. No surprise there.

#colony of liminals #dp x dc #dpxdc

648 notes · View notes

serendipitous-magic · 3 years ago

Note

What is your writing advice for young people who want to write fanfiction and original stories in the near future?

If this is just Way Too Much, skip to the end (#16). My most important piece of advice is there. I also happen to think #5 is pretty good.

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1) Literally just write. Write whatever you want, and do a lot of it.

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2) You don’t have to post everything. In fact you don’t have to post anything. You can, don’t get me wrong, but it can be intimidating to sit down and think “I will now write something that other people will see and read and judge with their eyeballs.” Because that’s probably gonna lead to nerves and writer's block. Just write down the ideas that you have, the things you want to write, whatever’s in your brain that you want to explore and expand upon and make into something. And then if you want to, share it. Or don’t share it. I have plenty of half-baked ideas and documents and random story chapters and shit hidden away on my Google Drive that will never see the light of day, for a whole number of reasons. I wanted to write it but it wasn’t ~Spicy~ enough to warrant posting, or it’s only like an eighth of a good idea, or it’s like one scene with no story around it, or it’s just something incredibly self-indulgent I just wanted to write for my own enjoyment.

Point being, don’t write for other people. Don’t write so that other people can read it; write what you want, write for yourself, and then if you want to share it, do.

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3) You can pretty much ignore any and all of these for fanfiction. In fact, you can ignore pretty much any rules or guidelines you want for fanfiction. Fanfic is a sandbox. You don’t have to be a “professional writer” to post fic. No one expects you to be Stephen King or Margaret Atwood. Fanfic is just for playing in a fandom and having fun. If you wanna write a 50 chapter slow burn with very little plot aside from the OTP slowly getting to know each other, and no real stakes or central conflict, I guarantee people would read that. Really, fanfiction is the Old West of writing: lawless, wild, unpredictable, and free.

However, here are the rules you must follow:

-Separate your paragraphs. (I’m sure you know this already, but I’m gonna say it anyway just in case.) Do not post one big block of text. Make a paragraph break when someone new is talking, when the characters are in a new place, when a new event occurs that changes the scene, when a chunk of time has passed, and when there’s a major change in subject.

-I know it’s obvious, but... grammar, punctuation, and capitalization. They exist to make writing easy for readers to read, and more people will read your stuff if they don’t have to stop and try to figure out what you meant.

-Use tags and labels, as is possible with whatever site you’re using. Especially if you include possibly triggering content in your story. Again, I know it’s obvious, but it’s common courtesy. Bonus: tagging the themes and content of your story helps readers find it and read it :)

-If possible, limit the use of all-caps and exclamation marks / question marks. 99% of the time, one ! or one ? will do. If you overload the page with a lot of all-caps and long rows of exclamation marks or question marks, it hampers readability.

... That’s literally all I can think of. And, like I said, it’s all pretty basic stuff. You were probably rolling your eyes like, “Uh, yeah, Gwen, I know.” But that’s literally it. You can pretty much do whatever you want in fanfic.

That being said, here’s my advice for both fanfiction and original work...

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4) A quick and dirty rule for coming up with a plot, starting a story, keeping up pacing, or maintaining tension: figure out what dreams, desires, and goals are nearest and dearest to your main character’s heart (see #16). Then set up the main conflict to be directly in opposition to that goal. It doesn’t have to be in a tangible way, though it could be. But, if your main character wants more than anything to reach the ships on the southern coast of your world and sail to a new life, make sure the main conflict immediately prevents them from doing that - in fact, make sure to send them north. If your main character just wants to keep their loved ones safe, kidnap the loved ones. If your main character just wants to date their best-friend-turned-crush, make sure they think they have no chance - or, make them cocky about it, and make sure it makes Person B determined not to ever like them. You get it. Figure out what your character most wants, and then keep them from having that. Boom - your conflict now ties in with your character's motivation. It's like instant yeast for plots.

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5) If you’re anything like me, you want your first draft to be Good, despite all that advice about how the first draft doesn’t have to be good and it’s just to get words on the page, yadda yadda. And if you’re somewhat of a perfectionist (like myself), it’s easy to get stuck looking at a blank page because you don’t have The Perfect Words, and you want what you write to be Good the first time.

Here’s how I cheat that:

Instead of trying to write a Good First Draft from a blank page, hit the enter key a few times, skip a little down on the page, change your ink to red (or blue, or whatever - just something immediately identifiable as Not Black) and just thought vomit. Write whatever the hell you’re thinking, exactly as you think it. Don’t worry about it being readable, don’t worry about narrative flow for now, don’t worry about covering all the details, don’t worry about anything except either a) getting all the details of your idea out onto the page, whether that’s a lot or whether it’s just a sentence or two, or b) if you don’t have an idea yet, finding your way there.

Because this method is also very good for finding your way to ideas when you’re stuck in writer’s block.

Because of how human brains work, getting this stuff out onto the page - in all its messy, stream-of-consciousness glory - will likely spark more thoughts. As you write your original idea about the scene, it’ll likely spark more ideas. Creation begets creation. If you just start thought-vomiting your ideas onto the page, chances are you’ll think of more things as you go, and you’ll start filling out description or dialogue or tone or action or whatever, and pretty soon the scene starts writing itself.

Not sure where you’re going with the scene or which ideas you wanna use? Use a lot of ambivalent language in your “thought-vomit draft.” My pre-writing notes are chock-full of the words “maybe,” “perhaps,” and the phrases, “At some point...” and “...or something like that.” In this way, I don’t tie myself down to one idea; it’s just an idea, and I’m keeping it on the page in case I use it, but I might chuck it in the trash or change it or whatever.

And then, once your ideas for the scene (or story, or chapter, or whatever) are on the page, then go back to the top and start translating them into a “real” first draft. Use black ink, and start copy-pasting chunks of the thought-vomit up into the top part of the document and translating them into Draft 1. Separate out paragraphs where paragraph breaks should be. Add the correct punctuation and whatnot. Change “describe the lobby here - include potted plants, fancy carpet, blood stain, etc.” into an actual description of the lobby. Flesh it out, or condense, or whatever it needs. And if you’re still stuck, change back to red ink and ramble some more until you find a path that feels right, then plug that in. This keeps you from looking at a blank page, and it allows you to generate a kind of Draft 0.5, somewhere between a plan and a first draft.

You don’t have to use every idea. Like I said, jot down whatever comes to mind, put a “maybe” before or after it, and keep working. If the idea grabs you and you wanna keep expanding on it and exploring it, cool. If you just wanna jot it down so you don’t forget it and then move on, also cool. Red-ink draft / “thought-vomit draft” is your time to jump around in the timeline, add or finesse details at whatever point your brain moves to, etc. Don’t try to do it exactly in story order, because you will get tangential thoughts and ideas, and you will not remember to write them down five pages later when you finally get to taking notes on that scene. Trust me. On that note...

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6) Write everything down the moment you think of it. Seriously.

“I’ll remember it when I get around to writing that scene in a couple days / weeks / months (/years).”

You won’t.

Write it down.

Phone, journal, google docs - hell, my family regularly laughs at me for grabbing a napkin during dinner and scribbling thoughts down alongside pasta sauce stains.

And then, once you have it written down somewhere...

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7) Consolidate your writing ideas in one place.

Maybe this isn’t really your style, and that’s totally chill.

Buuuut, if you’re Type-A like me - or if you tend to be somewhat unorganized and you know you’ll lose track of your writing notes if they’re scattered across multiple notebooks, journals, napkins, phone notes, etc. - having one consolidated document of notes is a life saver. I keep mine on Google Docs so I can access it, add to it, and look through it for inspiration anywhere at any time. When I have one of those Shower Thoughts that I jot down on my phone or on a napkin during dinner, I set myself a reminder on my phone to type it up in my Story Ideas document later.

(Or, if the idea I had was for a story of mine that I’ve already started planning / drafting / whatever, I put it in the document for that story instead of the Big Random Story Ideas doc. You get it.)

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8) Have other ways to collect and save writing ideas, besides just writing stuff down. If you like Pinterest, make pinterest boards of your characters or stories or settings or whatever. If you’re big into playlists, make a playlist for your character / setting / story / etc. Or both. Or something else. I’m not good at drawing, but maybe you are, and maybe you like to draw your ideas. Whatever form it takes, having another way to save ideas and think about your stories is invaluable.

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9) Some writers can just start writing with no idea where the story is going, and they just kind of figure it out as they go. I envy those writers. And I do that sometimes for fanfiction, where the stakes are somewhat lower and the audience is reading more for scene-to-scene enjoyment (and to see their OTP kiss) than for a Driving And Compelling Narrative.

But here’s the thing: especially if you’re just kind of starting out, writing without some sort of plan is really, really hard, and will likely lead you into a slow, meandering narrative that will likely frustrate you.

Even if you think you’re someone that just can’t write with a plan (and again, I have the highest respect for pansters out there - I don’t know how you do it, you crazy bastards, but you keep doing you) - even if you think “I can’t work with plans, they’re too prescriptive, I just want to write and see what happens -”

Try at least making the most skeletal of plans.

Even if you have no clue what 90% of the story is, yet. That’s fine. But you need to have some idea of what you’re building to, even if that’s nothing more specific than a feeling, or a turning point for your character. Even if your entire plan for everything beyond Chapter 1 is, “At some point, Charlie needs to realize that Ed was lying to her.”

This is where those Draft 0.5 notes come in handy. Because, more than likely, working on your current scene that way will spark ideas for later scenes, which you can put down at the bottom of the document and save for when they become relevant. In my experience, the line between planning ahead and making a Draft 0.5 is exceptionally thin. One can quickly turn into the other.

If you’re really, really resistant to the idea of planning ahead, that’s okay. It’s not everybody’s style. But for the love of all that is holy, write down your ideas for future scenes, even if you’re a person that doesn’t like to plan and writes only in story order, because you will not remember that idea once you get to that scene.

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10) You don’t have to write in order.

Here’s the thing: I’m a person that can only do my Draft 1 in story order (meaning, chronological order). I just have to be in that flow; I need to write in story order for me to best channel where the character is at from scene to scene, both narratively and emotionally.

But my Thought Vomit Draft is another thing entirely. By using the brain hack of putting my notes in red (or another color, it doesn’t matter) and going down to the bottom of the document / page and taking notes there, and then integrating them into whatever plan I have, and then translating them into Draft 1 once I get there in the story - by doing that, I can get my good ideas onto the page (and expound upon them and let my muse carry me and ride that momentum while I’m in the moment of inspiration) without writing out of order.

Maybe that’s just me. But if you’re a person who really prefers to write in story order, that could be hugely helpful to you. It is to me.

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11) Emotion and motivation will do more for your story than technicalities of plot.

If your characters really care about something, and their journey through the (shaky or weak) plot is emotionally engaging, it will be a much more compelling story than a story with a “perfect” plot and unrelatable or unmotivated characters.

If your characters care about what they’re doing, and it means something to them, and their goals and actions are driven by dreams or fears or emotions that are integral to who they are, your audience will care too. If you have a perfectly crafted plot that hits all the right beats and has high stakes and fast pacing and drama - but your characters don’t connect with what’s happening in a way that’s deeply meaningful or emotional for them? You’re gonna have a hard time engaging readers.

When in doubt, prioritize character emotion and motivation over plot. Emotion is what drives story.

This power is highly exploitable. (Just look at pulp novels and shitty but entertaining movies.) You can even use it to glaze over plot holes or reinvigorate a limp narrative. Use it that way sparingly, though. It’s a band-aid, not a surgery.

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12) Evil villains are hard to write - mostly because there are very few truly evil people in the world. (There are a few. Billionaires and several big name politicians come to mind.) But by and large, there aren’t that many evil people. There are plenty of bad people, but bad people have some good in them, somewhere in there. Trying to write an evil villain is hard, because they often turn very cartoony.

Here’s a tip: it’s much easier to write antagonists who aren’t evil. Even if they’re bad people. Of course, there’s no reason you can’t write a villain that’s just truly evil - a serial killer, or an abuser, or a billionaire, or someone who legit just wants to hurt people or blow up the earth or stay in control of an oppressed population, or whatever. But chances are, it’s gonna be really hard to make them feel real, and even harder to create a plot around them that doesn’t feel forced or contrived.

Instead, try writing an antagonist / villain whose motivations and goals directly clash with your protagonist’s - but not because they want to take over the world or see people suffer. Write an antagonist who’s chaotic good, but whose perception of the situation is completely opposite from your hero’s. Write an antagonist whose only desire is to save people, and who will do anything to achieve that goal - anything. Write an antagonist who believes in the letter of the law, and will hinder and oppose the hero’s methods even if they agree with the hero’s motivation. Write an antagonist who got in way over their head and did some things they regret, and now they don’t know how to get out, and they’re doing their best but whatever they set in motion is too powerful for them to stop now.

Write villains who are human. Write a killer who thought they were doing the right thing by taking their victim out of the equation, who vomits at the sight of the body and sobs over the grave they dig. Write a government leader who truly believes she’s doing what’s best for her people in the long-term, even if it might hurt them in the short term, and is willing to endure the hatred and belligerence of the masses if it means securing what she thinks is a better future for her people. Write a teenage bully that thinks they’re the one being picked on by the world, and they’re just fighting back, standing their ground. Write a scientist who will break any code of ethics and hurt anyone he needs to - in order to bring back his baby sister from the grave, because he promised her he’d protect her and he failed. Write an antagonist who is selfish and self-centered and capricious - because in order to survive they had to look out for Number One, and that habit ain’t about to break anytime soon.

Write villains who aren’t even villains. Write antagonists who oppose the hero because of moral differences. Write antagonists who are trying to do the right thing. Write antagonists who treat the heroes with kindness and dignity and respect and gentleness.

They don’t have to be good. They don’t have to be Misunderstood Sweethearts who “deserve” a redemption arc. They can be cruel and nasty and dismissive and callous and violent and etc. etc.

Just hesitate before you make them Evil-with-a-capital-E. Because evil is hard to write, and honestly, boring to read. Flawed human beings with goals and motivations that directly oppose the main characters’ are much easier to write and much more interesting to read.

Ask why. Why is your villain trying to take over the world? What does that even mean? Are they trying to create a Star-Trek-like post-capitalism utopia, but they know that won’t happen in a million lifetimes, so they’re trying to do it by force? Are they actually super in favor of human rights, but they got very impatient waiting for the world to do anything about poverty and war, so they decided to take it into their own hands? Are they determined to fix the world - no matter the cost? Are they terrified and overwhelmed, but committed to see it through to the end? Or - maybe they’re just doing it on a dare. Maybe they don’t really give a shit about world domination, they were just a mediocre rich white guy who decided to fuck around and find out, and now he’s kind of curious how far he can take this thing. And now he’s kind of an internationally-wanted criminal, so he’s kind of stuck living on his hidden private island in his multi-billion dollar secret base, strapping lasers to sharks’ heads for the hell of it. Gross, selfish, uncaring, and dangerous? For sure. Evil? Depends on your definition. See, now we’re getting somewhere.

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13) It’s tempting to let the plot control the characters. It’s easy to drop your characters into a situation and see how they react. But here’s the thing: that doesn’t drive plot. In fact, it bogs down pacing. Instead, try to build you plot off of your characters’ actions and decisions. Let your character build their own situation. Not to say it should go they way they wanted it to go; in fact, usually, their grand plans should go to hell very quickly. But having the characters take action and make decisions, and letting the plot develop based on that, is much easier to make compelling than making a rigid series of events and then trying to herd your characters into them.

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14) Having trouble justifying a character’s actions? Consider having them make the opposite decision, or having them approach the situation in a different way. For example: you need your character to go meet the bad guy, for plot reasons, even though there’s no way it’s not a trap. If the character goes, readers are gonna be groaning with their head in their hands, because c’mon man, that was really fucking stupid. But he’s gotta go, because the plot needs that. Two ways you might handle this: a) He knows it’s probably a trap. He decides not to go. The plot conspires to get him near the villain anyway. Or, b) He knows it’s a trap. But he needs to go, for (insert reasons here). So, he approaches it in an unexpected way. He brings backup, recruiting a side character we met earlier in the story. Or he arrives on the back of a dragon, because ain’t nobody gonna fuck with a dude on a dragon. Or he goes - early, and ambushes the villain. It may work, it may not. He may get himself kidnapped anyway. But it moves the plot along without having Stupid Hero Syndrome.

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15) This is a legit piece of advice: if all of this sounds overwhelming, literally just ignore it and write what you want. For real. Writing should be fun, and every single writer operates differently. If you’re sitting here like “I’m getting stressed just reading this,” just flip me a good-natured bird and get on with your life. I promise I won’t take it personally. Same goes for literally any other writing advice you see. Lots of rules and guidelines can very quickly make anything thoroughly un-fun. Just write. If you’re passionate about it and you do it for long enough, you’ll start figuring out the tips and tricks on your own.

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16) Here’s the best piece of advice I can give you: know your characters. More importantly, know what’s important to them. Build their personality and decisions off of that, and build your plot off of their decisions.

I see a lot of character building sheets that ask a shit-ton of questions like “What’s their most prized possession?” “Do they like their family?” “What’s their favorite food?”

And while these are good questions, my problem with this type of character building is that if you start there, with the little stuff, you’re building on nothing. IMO, to make a truly strong character (not strong like Inner Strength, strong like effective), you need a strong foundation.

Here are the things you must know about your character:

a) What are their greatest fears / deepest insecurities? And I don’t mean “wasps” or “heights.” I mean the deep shit. I mean fears like “living a meaningless life,” or “turning out just like their parents,” or “that no one will ever love them,” or “being powerless.” You may say, “But they’re really scared of wasps! They fall into a wasp nest when they were little and got stung so much they almost died!” Great! That’s a fantastic bit of backstory. They should absolutely be afraid of wasps, and that should absolutely be an impediment later in the story. But dig deeper. What about that event actually scarred them? Was it the helplessness? Stumbling around, swatting at the air, not being able to do a single thing to stop what was happening to them? Was it that they were alone, and no matter how loud they screamed, no one was coming? Was it the bodily horror of feeling themself turn into an inhuman creature as they swelled up from the stings, unable to move their fingers or face normally anymore?

And don’t forget insecurities, because those factor in, too. Are they deeply insecure about their identity? Do they believe, deep down, that they’re ugly? Did they grow up poor and they’ve always been really touchy about that? Why? Dig deep. Figure out what really, really bothers them.

b) What are their hopes and dreams? What do they truly want out of life? What do they consider the most valuable to their experience here in this thing called life? Is it the freedom to forge their own path and be independent? Is it the approval of their family or peers? Is it a home? Is it knowledge, or understanding? Spiritual fulfillment? Is it deeply important to them that they contribute to their community, or protect those they love? What do they need in order to feel truly and deeply fulfilled in life?

Figure out those two things (each one encompasses several things, btw, you don’t have to stop at just one for each), and then use that to inform how they behave and the types of decisions they make within the story.

It also informs character behavior and personality.

Let’s say we have a character who’s afraid of helplessness. They’re probably gonna be the person that always wants to do something, try something, no matter how hopeless the situation seems. They’d despise just sitting and waiting, probably, because it makes them feel powerless. They might even be the person that makes rash decisions and acts impulsively and puts themself in danger unnecessarily, because in their mind it’s better than being at the mercy of fate. This is one way you could use a character’s personality to inform their decisions, which in turn helps to inform plot.

Or, let’s say we have a character whose greatest fear is being left behind or forgotten. We may have a chatterbox on our hands. They might be obnoxious. They might love the spotlight, constantly vying for attention no matter the situation, because deep down they’re so afraid that they’d be forgotten otherwise. Or, it may go the opposite way. They may be so afraid of people leaving them that they’re terrified of bothering people. They don’t want to do anything that could annoy people, anything that might give people a reason to leave them. They might be exceedingly polite, quiet, accommodating. A push-over, really.

These are two nearly opposite types of personalities, both stemming from the same core fear/insecurity. You can go a lot of different ways with it. But if you build on that strong foundation, you’ll have a strong character, and a stronger plot.

Likewise, the structure of your story can and should inform the design of these character traits. If you need your characters to team up near the end, it may be impactful if you give your main character a deep fear of commitment, an insecurity about being unwanted or left behind, and make them highly value independence and freedom. That could make their team-up for the final battle very meaningful. Conversely, you can use your character’s deepest fears and desires to help design the plot. Is your character deeply insecure about voicing their opinions or taking a stand, because of trauma they faced in the past? Make them face that. Build that into the climactic third act. Give them the big inspirational speech where they stand up and talk about what they believe to be important, what they think the group should do. And then design that character arc to run through the story, giving you more handholds and stepping stones, more pieces of foundation on which to design the plot.

In this way, character should inform story as much as story informs character. It’s a feedback loop.

Bonus: if you build your character and your plot off of each other in this way, it automatically starts to build in the foundations of that emotional investment I mentioned earlier. If your character’s decisions are based on what they most want and do not want in life, you basically have your character motivation and stakes pre-built.

Note: you need to know these things about your villain, too.

-_-_-

I’m genuinely sorry about the length of this, lmao. But you did ask.

Best of luck!

Edit: I forgot an important one:

17) Start when the scene starts and end when the scene ends.

What do I mean by that?

If your notes say “Danny asks Nicole out after school and majorly flubs it,” start the scene when Danny approaches Nicole after school. Better yet, cold-open the scene on “I was wondering if, you know, you’d wanna. You know. Hang out some time?”

Don’t start that morning when Danny goes to school, unless you’re gonna cover the school day in like one or two sentences. Don’t spend whole paragraphs going through the school day, unless it’s to cover other plot points first (in which case apply these same guidelines there), or if the paragraphs are there for a specific reason, like to illustrate how stressed he is and how it seems like every little thing is going wrong. Even then, trim the fat as much as possible. Expounding and describing everything Moment-to-moment is for the meat of the scenes, not the leading-up-to and coming-away-from.

Here’s my rule of thumb: study how and when movies cut from scene to scene. Movies have exceptionally strict, limited time for storytelling; they’re excellent examples of starting a scene when the plot point starts and ending when it’s over. If you can’t picture a movie showing everything you showed, start the scene later and end it earlier.

#asks #anon #writing advice #writing tips #writing #fanfic writing #fanfiction #character creation #plot development #character development #my advice #original writing

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malarki · 3 years ago

Text

Harry Potter FanFiction I greatly enjoy (it’s just tomarry and sevitus)

Fair warning, I’m not good at describing stuff, and most of these are not complete (yet) but if you have similar tastes as I do then you’ll definitely like these stories.

Meddling of a Mischief Maker - by Athy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380535/chapters/12427268

I enjoy this fic because it shows a more human Voldemort with him still being an asshole as per usual. They do a good job of having Voldemort believably change into a not crazy murderous bastard haha. It also has Sirius interacting with Voldemort and for some reason I find those scenes hilarious in any fic I read.

“Harry's being a horcrux is a bit reworked here in this AU Story set during the summer after 5th year. A Mischief Maker intervenes in the Ministry during Voldemort and Dumbledore's duel, changing the course history. MorallyGrey!Dumbledore, Sirius, Restored Souls, HP/TR”

Draw Me After You (Let Us Run) - by ToAStranger @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327684/chapters/53334382

This story is a delight, it’s tone is very good and they do a great job of writing in the characters ‘voices’ for their pov’s. I especially like the posh way Voldemort talks and acts. This story is also hilarious on top of just being a very good slowburn, AND it has Sirius, which as you might have guessed, I love dearly. They also don’t bash any of the characters, and instead make them well rounded but flawed individuals, which I really appreciate.

“Harry Potter,” comes the soft, sibilant hiss of a voice he has heard in his dreams, in his nightmares, in his waking hours for years.

Slowly, carefully, Harry twists over and pushes up onto his hands and knees. He stays there, short breath fogging in front of his face, and his pursuer lets him. Harry has no doubt of that; he’s being allowed this respite. This small moment to catch his bearings, heart pounding in his ears, blood singing.

“It seems I have finally caught you.”

Consuming Shadows - by Child_OTKW @childotkw

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7040089/chapters/16011331

I’ve read two of childOTKW’s fics and both of them are fantastically written and attention grabbing stories. This one was the first one I read, and it has a very interesting take on lily Potter (one which I really enjoy) and the plot can leave you on the edge of your seat at times. The characterization is great, and the process of Harry and Tom getting to know each other is done very well.

“His attention skipped passed the students and moved to the politicians’ pavilion. His gaze locked with crimson, and he nearly faltered under the sheer hunger in those eyes.

It unnerved him how fixated the man was on his dirtied, exhausted figure.

But what troubled him more was the slight smirk he could make out on the man’s lips. It was almost pleased.

On the night of the attack, Lily managed to escape with her infant son, but at the cost of her husband’s life. Distraught and distrusting of her friends, she fled to France with Harry, to raise him away from the corruption in Britain and the rising influence of the Dark Lord. She trains him to the best of her abilities, shaping him into a dangerous, intelligent and powerful wizard.

But when Britain re-establishes the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry is forced to return to his once-home, he finds himself questioning whether he really wants to kill the Dark Lord. Voldemort finds an unexpected challenge in the child, and as his intrigue and amusement grows, so too does the desire to possess the spark in those defiant green eyes.”

A story that is kind of similar but not really: The Train to Nowhere

You Belong To Me (I Belong To You) - by child_OTKW

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270490/chapters/25203408

This is a story inspired by the manwha ‘At The End Of The Road’ by Haribo. A comic I read before reading this, which is very good I recommend it. They do not take the exact plot from the comic though, obviously changing significant details for it to work properly as a Tomarry Fic, but one main thing stays the same, which is that this is a body swap. Honestly I really enjoy childOTKW’s works, and this is no exception. The characterization is wonderful as always, and Harry is Fantastic. Plus I’ve always been a fan of time travel fics. (Fair warning this is another slow burn and Harry centric)

“What I find absolutely fascinating,” Riddle said, stalking closer, “is you.” He marched forward, backing Harry up until he was pinned to the cool wall of the common room. “Do you know why?”

“No. And I’ll be honest here, Riddle, I don’t particularly care.”

The taller boy grinned at him, small yet infinitely pleased. “That. Right there.” One hand rose and brushed some of Harry’s fringe from his face. “Nathan Ciro was a spineless little boy too afraid of his own shadow to dare even glance in my direction. But you…”

He leaned closer, “You look at me like you want to stab me.”

“After an accident, Auror Harry Potter wakes up in the body of fourteen year old Nathan Ciro, a tormented Slytherin who recently tried to end his own life. Seeking answers to his strange predicament, Harry returns to Hogwarts, and causes quite the stir through staff and students - especially when they come to realise he is not the same boy as before.

He tries to avoid suspicion, but as his quest for the truth draws more and more attention to him, Harry begins to think that he might not like what he will discover.”

Some Bonus AU tomarry

A Thousand Paths Among The Stars - by Haplessshippo @haplesshippo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015060/chapters/27191238

This is a star trek au and it’s honestly my favorite tomarry au fic. Granted, I am a huge sci-fi fan. There’s also a bit of a twist at the end, or at least it surprised me, due to the way we usually expect tomarry plots to go.

“Harry Potter, newly appointed Captain of the Marauder and son of the famous Captain James Potter, was falling apart at the seams. His crew didn’t respect him, he was lost in the empty expanse of space, nightmares plagued his sleep, and his Commander deserved the Captain position more than he did. Good thing multiple attempts on his life and a vicious warlord after his head was all it took to turn it all around.

Alternatively, that space fic in which Harry Potter almost dies too many times, Tom Riddle slowly becomes the most smitten fool on the ship, and the rest of the crew are all just a bunch of assholes with popcorn watching the show. And exploding ships, don't forget the exploding ships.”

The Matchmaker - by TanninTele

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16507676/chapters/38664089

I am ALSO a huge true crime fan, and this story has a criminal that kinda reminds me of one that might appear in Hannibal (but with less murder). I enjoy the characterization, though tom is pretty tame in this compared to more cannon fics, considering he’s not the criminal and instead an investigator. Harry is also different from how people usually portray him, but I still like it.

“'The Matchmaker' is a serial abductor whose modus operandi consists of pairing two same-sex individuals together in a coffin, six feet underground - buried alive. He isn't a killer. He's a kidnapper with morals, and Detective Chief Inspector Tom Riddle finds himself obsessed with solving the case.

Unfortunately for Tom, the Matchmaker is just as intent on knowing him.”

And on to the Sevitus Stories

Far Beyond A Promise Kept - by oliversnape

https://archiveofourown.org/works/547431/chapters/974693

A classic, Harry stays with snape and unintentionally proves all his assumptions wrong and makes snape care about him. Both the stories have this aspect, but this one has snape a bit nicer from the get go. Probably because it takes place during the third book, so they’ve only known each other two years. It’s quite wholesome though, and I rather enjoy the progression of their relationship.

“Snape never wanted anyone to know of his promise to Dumbledore, but has realised that he can protect Potter much better by taking a less passive role in the boy's training. Actually liking Harry Potter has never been part of his plan. mentor/guardian.”

Crime And Punishment - by melolcatsi

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102232/chapters/58018174

Snape and Harry have way more of a rocky start in this one, and Snape having to pick Harry up from the police station Really Doesn’t Help Snape’s opinion of him. This story very realistically shows the progression of their relationship, going from enemies to family, and near the ‘end’ (it’s not finished) it becomes very wholesome with Snape trying to help Harry with his mental and physical health after years of abuse/ neglect.

“Harry is accused of burglary. The Dursleys leave him to rot. Dumbledore sends Snape to remedy the situation. Harry finds himself in the care of an irate Snape. Not slash, gen-fic w/ focus on Sevitus relationship. Angst galore. Warnings: coarse and suggestive language, mentions of abuse/neglect. Un-betaed and un-Britpicked.”

#tomarry #tom riddle #harry potter #sevitus #severus snape #fanfic #fanfic reccomendation #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #tom riddle x harry potter

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