#I’ll probably tag the things that inspired my book project then stop on tags

[mydarlingclaudia]

every word I meant to say

note : ermmmm hi. don't ask where I went for like almost a month work is eating me alive and I was sad. this was inspired by that the unsent project thing andddd idk if I really like this it's def ooc but I was thinking about it again today and this has been in my drafts since September so I figured why not

wc : 2.1k

tags : @luvrgreyy @clitorphosis @sonya-semyonova

desc : letters that went unsent. kind of unrequited love, angst (???), more Leon focused, re2r!Leon - DI!Leon, fem!reader, ooc, not proofread

"I meant to write sooner, I really did. I know it's been a year, my life is so different now, I don't think you'd even believe me if I tried to explain it. I hope you're doing better than I am, I'm happy you weren't able to move to the city with me."

Leon hasn't written a letter since, what, his first few years in the academy? Maybe the end of his senior year of high school? He can't really remember, but he knows that this letter is important because it's to you, his friend he hasn't seen since the night he left for Raccoon City. This isn't even an actual letter, he's scribbling out what he thinks might be good excuses as to why he hasn't talked to you in a year on the back of pieces of scrap paper he took from the office.

He's supposed to be asleep right now, same as everyone else in boot camp, but it's been a year since Raccoon City and he's wondering if you ever tried to reach him. Maybe you tried to go to Raccoon City to look for him, only to see the pile of rubble that stood in its place, sectioned off by the government. Maybe you thought he was dead, he wouldn't blame you.

You and Leon had stuck together all throughout high school, even managed to stay friends when he went off to the police academy and you moved a few hours away for college. He doesn't even know if your address is still the same, he really hopes it is, there's no phone-books in boot camp if he wanted to try and call you, you're supposed to have your loved ones numbers memorized.

The last time Leon saw you was the night before he was supposed to move to the city, before he got a letter in the mail the next morning telling him not to come in, he really wishes he had listened. You were so happy for him, starting out as a city cop was a big deal and he had worked so hard to get there, you and a few friends had thrown him a going-away-party, telling him not to forget you once he got to the city. Leon couldn't forget you if he tried.

You had talked about moving to the city with him for a short period of time, it was really just ramblings the two of you kept bringing up. "Oh, when we live in the city..." "I can come visit you at work..." "I'll handle dinner, you'll handle cleaning..." Nothing ever really came of those ideas, but it gave him a warm feeling in his stomach knowing you wanted to come to the city with him.

He hopes you’ve been well, that life has been kinder to you than it has to him. Leon hopes you got that job you were gushing about the last time he saw you, he hopes you still think of him on his birthday because he thinks of you often.

He shouldn’t have gone to Raccoon City, he should’ve stayed home the day he left and instead stopped by your house to bother you about going to see a movie. Or he should have taken you to lunch, anything would’ve been better than walking into a city that was beyond saving.

"I’m not really sure what I’m saying, but I know I miss you. How have you been? I hope I’m able to come and visit soon, everything’s been moving so fast, but I’ll figure something out. Maybe we can get dinner, or something. Whatever you want, I’ll pay for it, don’t worry."

Leon's hands shake a tiny bit when he thinks of you, it's that school boy nervousness that movies portray whenever there's a boy with a crush on a girl who he knows is probably too out of his league. You were friends, at least.

"You're done with school now, right?" He knows you are. "I wish I was there for the graduation ceremony, I know your parents are proud. Do you remember my graduation party? Someone spiked the punch and we both ended up passed out in the bathtub at your house, you looked really pretty that night. I hope your graduation was better than mine. This would probably have been better as a phone call, but I don't know, you said letters were always more thoughtful.

– Leon"

–

That letter never got sent. Every letter needs an envelope, Leon just never got around to finding one, but he kept that scrap piece of paper tucked inside his pillowcase on the odd chance that he got his hands on one. He had stricter rules to follow than the other recruits, being legally dead and all.

But even after he got out of boot camp, he kept the letter. It's hidden away in some drawer in his house, he's not sure where, though.

He didn't make it into the army, he's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but being in the position he was in now wasn't much better. He's stronger now, hardened, more mature.

Leon's written a few more letters to you over the years, ones that still never got sent because he either deemed them unworthy or because he became unsure of himself halfway through writing it. But he hasn't thrown any of them away, he'll send them one day, he swears it.

Leon's not using you as a way of journaling, either, even though he should find some way to actually write down his thoughts to get them out of his head. What he writes to you is mostly memories, telling you that his life keeps changing and that he misses you. He knows you're different by now, too. You're both grown, no longer in high school, no longer in college or the academy. If he could turn back time, go anywhere other than Raccoon City, he would. He thinks that's selfish of him, him not being there would've left Claire and Sherry in that city, but how would he have even known?

"Me again, hope you're doing better than I am." Leon's way with words gets worse and worse by the week, not that he cares. "I met someone who kind of reminded me of you, she's a sweetheart, like you. You'd probably become fast friends if you were ever able to meet."

Leon's not allowed to tell you about his mission in Spain, or about the president's daughter. President Graham is putting more body-guards in place for his daughter once she steps foot in D.C. again, Leon's sure the president considered appointing Leon as one of them at some point since breaking the news that she was going to be coming back home safely.

Leon should stop thinking about you so much, it's not like you were his only friend in the world, you've probably forgotten him, anyway.

"My life is still different, but yours probably is, too. This probably sounds stupid, but I miss being in high school. You probably don't, your mom was up your ass all the time and you worked yourself to the bone. Has that changed at all?

I remember that one year I went to Thanksgiving at your house, your uncles were all drunk and your cousins kept trying to get me to come sit with them, your grandpa was trying to get me interested in football. I haven't had a holiday like that since then, your family was always really nice to me."

He's not sure what to say anymore, these letters always just end up dragging out, but Leon has a lot of memories and he hopes you think of them as often as he does.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited. It's harder for me to get time off of work these days, even though I could really fucking use it. I promise one day I'll come back, it's just not going to be for a little while. Just don't do anything dumb.

– Leon"

–

Those letters he's been writing you have piled up in the drawer of his nightstand.

He's definitely sure that your address has changed by now, you're probably not even in the same state anymore. He could always try to find you on Facebook, explain everything that's been building up over the years in a simple text, but there's still rules he's supposed to follow even in his personal life.

Leon didn't stop writing, though. The letters did eventually get shorter, he's not sure if you like the same things anymore or if you'd even be interested.

He writes now mostly about how different his life would be if he was with you, if he had just asked you out in high school or kissed you the night he was supposed to leave for Raccoon City. It almost feels real to him when he goes to sleep, but that might just be the alcohol numbing his brain, not the dream of you sleeping next to him or the feeling of your breath on the back of his neck, not even the little pitter-patter off tiny footsteps coming from down the hallway.

It does make him feel a bit pathetic, dreaming of a life with someone he hadn't talked to in years. Leon can't help but think of you, he always thought you were pretty, and the past always lives in the back of his mind, but it comes alive late at night.

You're an entirely different person by now, someone who he hasn't had the opportunity to meet yet. You're probably married, maybe you even have a few kids running around, Leon's jealous of that. That could've been him, but it's not. But he's not even sure if you'd recognize each other if you passed by on the street, so is it even worth it to dwell on all the maybe's?

"I'm not sure I'll get to visit you for a while, not without a lucky fucking twist of fate, anyway."

All these letters are starting to sound the same, but Leon clings onto the thought of someday sending them to whatever corner of the country you were hiding in and hoping that there's still room in your life for a stranger.

"Do you still want me over for dinner? You don't know what I'd give to just eat a shitty meal with you right now."

You don't know what he'd give to do anything with you, really. He knows that there's a lifetime worth of things he's missed out on and that maybe every once in a while you think about him in the same way he thinks about you.

"I don't know how to ask this, but are you married? I know you'd look stunning in a wedding dress." You probably are, you're a catch, who wouldn't want to put a ring on your finger? Your husband's probably a better man than he is, too. One who hasn't had years worth of trauma jammed into his brain with the proof of it marked across his body, your husband probably takes you out on a date every week, maybe even surprises you with breakfast in bed and kisses the nape of your neck to gross out your kids. "I really hope you're happy, in my head you are.

I wanted that to be us, I never told you, but I was a chicken-shit kid and didn't know how to say it. You show up in my dreams sometimes, you deserve nothing but the best. I meant to get back in touch with you forever ago, but I think it's probably too late.

– Leon"

–

Two years after his last letter and Leon's still thinking of you, seventeen years after Raccoon City and the image of you sitting across from him for the last time still loops in his mind. He doesn't really remember your voice but he knows that you thought handwritten letters were romantic, and he still reads over the ones he meant to send to you but kept avoiding.

He's done with the letters, hasn't written one in a long time. But he just got back from California and your old favorite song is playing on the radio, and he's remembering how in love he is with your memory.

"I don't know what I'm doing. I'm too old for this and I'm sure you'd tease me if we had somehow kept in touch. I don't blame you if you thought I died in Raccoon City, I hope you're still alive and that life is good to you.

You were always important to me, I think you've given me something to cling to over the years. This letter won't find you and I'm not even really sure if I want it to, but I hope you'd still call me if you were able to. You wouldn't believe the things I've seen, but I'm happy you never got to see them.

Love, Leon

p.s. I'd say I love you but it feels like something you'd say in person"

[hessdalen-globe]

Hi, thanks for stopping by my blog. I’ve had this up for a while now but thought that maybe I should do a little intro post for myself. I’m not the best at talking about myself, but I’ll give it a shot.

I like to go by Rhett, and I’m in my early 20s. I’m from way out in the country, and my town has about 1000 people. We’re off the beaten path out here, and if you were coming from a city you’d probably feel pretty far from civilization. But we’re out here. As a result I have some country boy tendencies lol, such as frequently wearing cowboy boots and listening to Alan Jackson.

I started writing a couple years ago. My first project was an early, early draft of what would become Cozar, and my skills at that time were pretty rough around the edges. But we have to start somewhere, and gradually I think I’ve been getting better. I’ve also done a lot of world building for my setting, a planet I’ve named Hessdalen, and I’ve been posting maps and bits of lore on here.

I plan on rolling out some chapters from Cozar here, once I get out of my rut and back into seriously writing it again. I hope to meet some new writing friends on here as I try to get back into the swing of things.

__________________________________________

A little about my interests:

Shows/movies I like: Star Wars, My Hero Academia, Heartland, Murdoch Mysteries

Music I like: Country, rock, certain soundtracks when I'm looking for inspiration

Books I like: Growing up I loved the City of Ember series, and I go back to it every now and then. I loved the Rule of Three by Eric Walters, and right now I'm reading Blood Red Ochre by Kevin Major

__________________________________________

My WIPs:

Cozar (under tag #hessdalen)

The whole reason I started this blog. Takes place on my fictional world Hessdalen, and follows a firey, straight to business teenage mercenary leader as he suddenly finds himself no longer holding the reins of his life, and is forced to confront his dark past.

(I plan for this to be a 6 part series. I know that's ambitious, but I do have a plan lol)

Royal Ranch (under tag #hessdalen)

This takes place on Hessdlaen as well, about 30 years before the events of Cozar. Nathan lives on a farm, and has for all of his 16 years. It isn't easy, and he wishes for something greater in his life. He gets his wish when a man shows up on the farm and tells him he is next in line for the Daskosan throne. The boy's life is turned upside down, and he is left to wonder what he really wants.

Aspen Island (Not Hessdalen)

A small island town is still dealing with the aftermath of a horrible tragedy that occurred more than a decade ago, and that ticks Nick Barron off. If anyone should still be upset about that, it's him. But no one lets him forget it. But when a new girl visits town, maybe Nick will be brought out of his state as a grumpy loner, and instead live the life he should have had.

[interact-if]

Taking the spotlight for Day 6... Lucirene!

Lucirene, author of An Angel’s Song

Latino Heritage Month Featured Author

In the forest of Bres an otherworldly sickness corrodes the soil and changes the creatures within. “A parting gift from the fallen angels”  say the citizens of the Hyaku Region and the mark on your hand confirms it.

Though the scent travelling in the air is sweet and enticing everyone knows better than to get closer. But the mark, it pulses, it burns, the pain spreading as fast as the corruption of the forest does.

Your masters are calling, and it seems like this time you cannot escape them.

An Angel’s Song Demo | Author’s Ko-fi | Author’s Patreon | Read more [here]

Tags: dark fantasy, romance

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: So, tell us a little bit about the projects you’re working on!

I have so many, but the only one public is An Angel’s Song. It’s, more than anything, a story about grief, loneliness and overcoming it all while navigating a hostile environment and discovering long lost secrets about the Divine and about the MC’s country. That one is very cathartic for me to make because of the themes, I feel like I’m working through a lot of feelings I didn’t even realize I had by writing it.

The next one is also an IF and it focuses on comedy, adventure and character interaction. It’s supposed to be more lighthearted, more fun, but knowing me… I don’t know if it’ll stay that way. Basically, it goes: A Captain’s boat falls prey to the storms and the strange creatures living under the sea, and they and their crew end up washing ashore an icy, snowy country. I already have the main cast written down and they have so much synergy, it’s amazing.

And the last one I’ll talk about (a traditional novel) actually happens in the same setting as my second IF, but many, many years before, when their local deity/guardian was born. It’s more of a romance-fantasy than anything, a love story between a Goddess and a half-dragon, however it also showcases many of the situations the people had to navigate and face before their country could become the place you’ll see in my second IF.

Q2: What excites you most about using interactive fiction? What are some of the biggest challenges?

What I like most definitely is how much freedom we have as authors. Of course, one is constrained by one’s ability to code but I think, for the most part, we can do so many things, reach an entirely new level of immersion that would not be possible with a regular novel. It’s amazing how sometimes I’m reading something and get so into it, feel so connected to the MC I feel dread when they do, panic when they have to make a choice that will clearly impact a lot of people in their world. With IF you can really feel like you’re part of the story.

Another thing I like is being able to explore other paths with my writing. Like for example, what if the MC had done this instead of that? How would that have affected their relationships, their world state? Writing branches is a lot of work, especially because they could change so many things, but it feels oddly satisfying when you do decide to include them. 

Challenges… Coding, mainly. I feel like a lot of new aspiring IF authors are a bit afraid of coding and I can understand that, especially since, had it not been for the help of the community, I would have taken way longer to actually start using Twine. Hopefully with time for resources come up and it becomes less daunting.

I don’t know if any other author feels the same way but, though I think branching is a blessing, it is also a curse. I can only write the same conversation so many times, I mean I know I’m writing it in different tones and sometimes with different results but it gets frustrating after a while because it feels like you’re stuck, like you’re not progressing at all.

Another one would definitely be finding a balance between reader interaction and just following your vision. Since it’s IF at times I feel like I have to meet a quota of branches or ways in which you can react, sometimes I also find it difficult to make the MC feel like a real person instead of a reader-insert. I’m working on that.

Q3: What has been something in your project you’ve had to do a weird amount of research for?

That’s a difficult one… I don’t know if I would consider it weird but I do tend to investigate a lot about fashion, especially when designing the main outfits of the characters. I spend hours trying to find out what colors were used back then, what they meant, who was allowed to use them. I have this little image with some palettes for kimonos depending on the season.

I also spend too much time coming up with names, especially for places. Like I look up names of places that already exist, what they mean, I try to investigate if the words that I want to use make sense, then I panic because I can’t find anything, but I think that’s usual for writers. I also spent more time than necessary researching for the name of a tree that you will see way later in the book, which no one will probably notice what the name of the tree means or what it symbolizes but it makes me happy.

Honestly, I feel like the amount of research I have had to do has not been particularly weird? If anything at times I think I should research more, even if some aspects of Japanese culture will not apply to Kyou.

Q4: Which of your characters is most like you? How?

The initial version of the MC from An Angel’s Song, which I miss dearly since they had more personality. They were autistic coded too, and I hope some traces of that still remain. Apart from that I feel like all of the characters from the main cast share something with me, even if their experiences are, of course, more dramatic than my own.

A lot of them have issues with a paternal figure or an absent mother, which also resonates with me. Some of Saori’s traits draw inspiration from ways in which I talked or acted before I became a little better at masking, before I became more self-aware. Hazuki being emotional and caring, K being a bit clingy but devoted, Masa having a temper yet loyal, Miwa being friendly but reluctant to open up beyond surface level information. I think those things describe me.

There’s also Rei but I don’t think I’m writing her book anytime soon. She’s someone that’s very family oriented, she’s a bit temperamental but she means well and she’s not afraid to speak her mind. Now that I think about it, maybe Rei is more the person I want to become.

Q5: Does your heritage influence your characters as you create them? (How? Why or why not?)

I’ve been living in Venezuela my whole life so I think so, even if most of the time I don’t even notice it. I believe that this happens especially in regards to relationships because people in Venezuela are very family oriented and also, from what I’ve experienced, they form strong bonds with their neighbors, which creates this strong sense of community —sometimes it goes well, sometimes it doesn’t, but my mom and her friends always make at least some friends in their neighborhoods and they gossip with some coffee about the happenings of the rest—. So when it comes to writing a character it is very important to me to make an emphasis on family relationships because those are a strong part of my culture, of my identity. 

In An Angel’s Song you have the main cast having issues or conflicting emotions about one or multiple members of their family, which influence their behavior and their outlook on life, but for the most part they are (or will be) able to form similar relationships with people that are not related to them, or to work towards restoring that relationship, transforming it into something healthier. 

In my other books family dynamics are also immensely important. For example, I’m going to mention Rei again because I love her. So, Rei has a sister named Rin, and they are both very close, even if they haven’t spent much time together. Their bond and trust in each other helps them overcome a lot of obstacles and they rely on each other when they need support or encouragement. Rei also has other people that she thinks of as siblings, and restoring that relationship with them is one of her main goals. There’s also this recurring guilt she feels at leaving her birth family and her home to explore, because to her, families are supposed to stay together.

Another aspect that I think influences my writing is religion, even if I wasn’t raised in a particularly religious household nor do I belong to any religion. Religion is a big deal in this country, we have so many events and holidays relating to religious figures. I remember when I was very young I loved going to one of the churches here because the Virgin of that town had a building filled with pretty clothes to dress her with. 

So, in that vein, I try to think about the character’s relationship with religion, do they believe in the Gods? Do they trust them? Do they follow local deities or prefer the main pantheon? How does this religion shape the way people interact with each other and the world? In regards to characters that are Venezuelan or Venezuelan-coded… I do have a few that are Venezuelan, but I don’t think I’m going to be releasing their stories soon, so I’ll keep it quiet for now.

Q6: What is something you love to see in interactive fiction?

People being passionate about their work! This isn’t something exclusive to IF, but it is something that I love seeing. I also like seeing the different ways people innovate within the genre. I feel like sometimes, especially with newer writers, there is this idea that an IF has to subscribe to a specific format and that’s simply not true. If you don’t want to use a stat system you don’t have to, if you want to add combat then go ahead, if you would prefer to write an MC that’s already pretty pre-established (which is something that I personally want to try) then there’s nothing stopping you and I encourage you to give it a go. IF is very versatile and it’s wrong to try and fit authors into a box, especially if they want to bring something new into our little corner of the internet.

Q7: Any advice to give?

In general, I advise people to have fun writing, to not worry so much about how good it is, about if people will like it. Writing, at the end of the day, ends up being a pretty solitary activity and having those thoughts in your head too long will make you spiral. Be kind to yourself, be open to feedback when it comes (and learn to distinguish constructive feedback from destructive feedback) and enjoy the exploration of your world and characters. 

You are not alone in all of this. If you can, join a group of writers you can talk with, exchange ideas, get feedback from or just exchange memes (the ultimate bonding experience). Don’t be afraid, you’re not alone.

[weuschoiceheart]

🔑Keiys To Your Heart - Romeo and Juliet

~Inspired by @bluejayjay and @choi-seonset​ conversation about Seon acting out Romeo and Juliet....

Taglist:  @baekhyuns-star @choi-seonset @raftel-is-waiting @mysticpenguincreation @lifeisamuffin @bluejayjay @soft-black-teabag  (dm me to be tagged!)

Genre: fluff, mostly CrAcK, pining, Pining, PINING, theater!au, Seon playing matchmaker with Jaeho as his sidekick, K x female!reader

Warning: cursing,  prepare yourself for cringe

Summary: In which Seon is sick of seeing K and Y/n pine for each other, so when the school play started up, he forced the K to audition, hoping he’ll get the main role while Y/N (typical theater student) gets Juliet. To his shock, however, another student snatches Juliet’s role and Seon is forced to rethink his plan.

Part 1/? : Next —>

————— ————— ————— ————— ————— —————

“Seon.”

“K.”

“Seon.”

“Seoff.”

K threw his hands up in exasperation. “No!”

Seon crossed his arms, lips pursed in a thin line. “Oh, come on. You know it’s a good idea! I’m so tired of you being whipped for her, and not even doing anything about it!”

“I’m not whipped-”

Seon rolled his eyes, “sure, and Moona isn’t whipped for Jay.”

K frowned. “Doesn’t she like Heeseung?”

Seon waved his hand carelessly, “same thing, same thing.” Before K can open his mouth to say that they are, in fact, not the same thing, Seon pressed on. “Look, this can be your chance to show something, give her some signs, get closer. And if she doesn’t like you back, which is impossible because I’m sure she does, then it won’t matter ‘cause you’re just playing your role as adoring Romeo. AND-” Seon glared at K, who was about to interrupt, -”it’ll look good on your college application!”

“For your information, I’m already certain that I’m getting into college through an athletic scholarship,” K said. “So right now, I just need to focus on track, not some fancy theater play that I never even tried out for.”

“Well, it will make you even more appealing because it shows that you’re versatile and willing to try out new things!” Upon seeing K’s still unconvinced face, Seon decided to cut the dramatics (ugh, bad pun). “I’m only saying that you should try, you know? If you don’t make it past the audition, fine, whatever. I’m only trying to help you out.”

“Thanks, but I think I can handle my love life myself.” K turned back to the stack of books in front of him, burying himself back to studying for his calculus exam. Curse his math teacher for giving him a test on such a short notice, even though it’s only been a few weeks since everyone had come back to school.

“With how you’re handling it right now, it would be graduation and you still wouldn’t have confessed,” Seon mumbled to himself. He stuffed his essay papers in his bag and stood up. “I gotta go, Jaeho’s waiting for me outside. See you later.”

“Mhm.” Seon sighed at K’s incoherent muttering, before making his way out of the library. Well, if you don’t decide to speak up, then I’ll have to play matchmaker here and you’ll thank me later for keeping your nonexistent love life from dying. 

K stretched his arms above his head and yawned, before ducking his head sheepishly as the librarian glared at him, probably done with his and Seon’s constant bickering. Ah well, at least now he could finish studying in peace without someone pestering him to grow some balls and ask his crush out. None of that, no distractions—

His phone vibrated and lit up with a message, making his eyes widen at who it was from.

Y/Nie ❤❤: Hey K! I hope you didn’t forget about our meeting for the group project :)

K gasped. Oh shit-

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

K opened the door to the cafe, panting slightly. He had ran here as fast as he could (thank god he’s on the track team) and upon seeing you pressing your face to the window with a worried expression, he mentally chided himself. How can you be so stupid? You’re supposed to meet her twenty minutes ago - wow, she looks so beautiful - and now you kept her waiting - her pout is so cute-

Shaking his head, he realized that he have been standing at the entrance of the cafe, staring at you for who knows how long, and now some of the customers were giving him weird glances. Making his way over, he sat down in front of you and tapped your shoulder.

You jumped slightly in surprise, your face relaxing into a bright smile upon seeing him. “You’re finally here!”

“I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean—for keeping you waiting—” Lovely, now he can’t even form proper sentences in front of you. Y/N! Stop smiling at me like that! It’s frying my brain!

Thankfully, you just let out a short laugh, finding his stuttering cute. “It’s fine, we all forget sometimes. Should we start working now?”

Nodding, K took out his laptop, grateful for a distraction so he doesn’t make a fool of himself again. The two of you started to work in relative silence, comparing notes every now and then. After half an hour, you called for a break. 

“How have you been doing these days?” you swirled the straw around the cup of your Frappuccino. K had offered for pay for it, though you adamantly refused. K sipped his own ice tea, pondering on the question.

“Stressed over exams, because apparently my teachers decided that they should all give tests right as the school year started,” K rolled his eyes, making you laugh. God, he loves your laugh. “Besides that, training for track because we have another competition coming up in a month, trying to get all these assessments done, dance team...yeah it’s a lot,” K ruffled his hair in frustration. You made a noise in agreement.

“Yeah, I have a research paper I still need to finish, as well as stupid lab reports about bacteria,” you wrinkled your nose. “Not to mention, I need to practice for the upcoming play.” You sighed. “I don’t know why they decide to pick Romeo and Juliet out of all the shows we can do, I bet my English teacher bribed Ms. Lee so she can ramble on about the importance of Shakespeare’s plays again.”

“Oh right...you’re auditioning for Juliet’s role, right?” K suddenly flashed back to his conversation with Seon. 

You nodded. “I probably won’t get it though, I’m not that good at portraying medieval characters. Besides, the only time I got the lead was when we couldn’t find enough people to play Sleeping Beauty last year.”

“I remembered that,” K still recalled how jealous he was seeing you kiss another boy, even though it was just acting. Seon had practically dragged him over to the stage after the performance ended, berating him to confess, but K had wimped out. “I’m sure you’ll get the part though, you’ll make the perfect Juliet.”

“You think so?” you could feel your face heating up, and looked down, flustered. K realized what he just said, and blushed, fumbling around with his fingers. “Thanks, but...I’m not that good, really. Me getting the role of Juliet is as likely as you dropping out of track or auditioning for the play.”

“I’m going to audition though.”

“Huh?” you looked at him confused. K stared back, as his words started to register in his mind.

Oh crap, why did I just say that—oh my gosh, how can you be so stupid— “Oh, I didn’t mean to—”

“Wait, really?” You smiled, your expression a mixture of surprise and excitement. “I didn’t know you were into theater....I mean, I don’t think you’re going to be bad or anything, um—” Y/N, get your act together, this is your crush for fuck’s sake. “I think you’ll make a great Romeo!” You winked at him, before internally cringing at yourself.

The wink almost gave K a cardiac arrest. I am so gonna regret this. But he couldn’t say no to you, especially when you’re smiling at him so radiantly like this. So he forced a smile, already imagining Seon laughing at him. “Yeah, I hope I get the part!”

[clarasimone]

Fic interview tag

tagged by @lodessa thank you <3

Name: @clarasimone

Fandoms I write for: Games of Thrones. The series; not the books. Yes, I’m nuancing for you, obtuse totalitarian purity subscribers ;-)

Two-shot: I have NO idea what this is.

Most popular multichapter: UNDER QARTH’S SHELTERING SKY (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383854/chapters/50938501) but maybe that’s cheating because it’s really a collection of stand-alone short stories. The real multi-chapter fic to win this category is THE KEEP (https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416008/chapters/72264993)

Actual Worst part of writing: Writing the first draft. It’s like walking in mud, I swear. It’s all clear and flowing in my mind so why is the actual writing so HARD? (Plus, english is not my mother tongue so, ya know). But I love, love, love writing the next drafts and polishing and polishing and polishing. I love finding the right word, the rare word, the right-sounding word... It’s like finally seeing the garden you were trying to grow :-)

How you choose your titles: I have to confess that I am drawn to hommages. Hommages to past works of fiction or cinema, so my first instinct is to aim for a playful title. For instance, UNDER QARTH’S SHELTERING SKY comes from THE SHELTERING SKY by Paul Bowles and adapted to the screen in 1990 by the amazing Bertolucci. Not his best film, alas, but the atmosphere, the desert location, the perfume of eroticism were so right for my collection of Jorleesi erotica, taking place in Qarth’s jewel desert city! The title just popped in my mind. More recently though, my script-ed @terisrog​ pointed out to me that I also have a fondness for titles evoking the concept of home which, as any Jorleesi fan knows, is central to what binds Ser Jorah and Daenerys in the series. So IN A LIBRARY WITH RED DOORS (which became THE LIBRARY in our discussions), THE KEEP (or The Ghost and Ms Targaryen) for my two real multi-chapter tales.

Do you outline: I don’t. Isn’t that bizarre? Then again, THE KEEP is a remake (of the movie The Ghost and Mrs Muir) so the film’s narrative structure acted as an outline of sorts... but I imploded its story by adding many scenes.

Ideas I probably won’t get to but it would be nice: Ask @terisrog ;-)... More seriously, Jorleesi is sooooo inspiring to me, I think I might continue on and on, so I hope I’ll get many WIPs out... including writing again with @houseofthebear, I hope :-).........  The ideas I won’t get to, I think, have to do with other projects, like finishing the Gladiator AU I began 20 years ago and stopped to have kids. Thankfully that mandate is almost over LOL...

Best writing habits: When I start a new project, I work at it every day. It’s why I don’t have actual WIPs. I mean written WIPs. If people ask me to drop a line from a WIP on Tumblr, I actually have to write something because I don’t have WIP folders. I have WIPs in my head. So, yeah, as soon as I begin writing, I WRITE; many hours each day, and I don’t stop until it’s done.

Spicy opinions: Those who know me know what I am about to write, so feel free to scoot ;-) (Deep breath) I hate, haaaaaaaaate reductive fanfic labels: smut, fluff, angst... OK, I’m slowly making peace with the expression fluff because, yes, fluffy things are cute. But to call a fic “fluff” is such an echo of mainstream bashing of fanfics that I choke on the word. When a regular editor or author labels something “fluff” it is NOT a compliment. But OK, in our world, it’s a positive thing...... The one I truly have a hard time with, and I’ll be on a life-long crusade about it, is “smut”. A synonym for that word is dirt and, I’m sorry, but are we still in a world where sex has to be deemed dirty to be hot and arousing? Sex can be luminous. Explicit erotic fics can be funny, poetic, joyful, dark, romantic, sad and all the while be arousing without having to be termed “smut”. I hate it, I hate it, I. HATE. IT.  So my banner is Erotica, and if that sounds intellectual or pretentious, so be it. (p.s. I’m aware that my peeve stems from cultural differences. I’m not American. I’m not even Anglo-saxon. French literature has long given credentials to erotica so I’m like: hum, we’re not on the same page, are we? ;-)

Tagging @gettingovergreta @houseofthebear @terisrog @rileypotter17​ @toas-tea​ @chryssadirewolf @fandomsbyladymelodrama @bridgr6 @memoir-of-stars @here-we-blog @wizfrog​ and @salzrand

[rosesisupposes]

sweet tea in the summer

in what is definitely a shock to all, i really love folklore.

read on ao3

characters: Patton, Roman, Virgil, Brief Logan, Brief Remy

pairings: platonic to romantic royality; paternal prinxiety; paternal moxiety

word count: 3,980

tags: trans Patton, parental transphobia (including deadnaming, misgendering), parental homophobia, gender euphoria, childhood friends to lovers, heavily closeted trans boy, coming out, endless fluff

a/n:  inspired by both “seven” off folklore and "It's Nice To Have A Friend" from Lover

⁂

Part 1: seven

They grow up as neighbors, just a street away, enough that Ro passes Pat's house going to and from school, and they walk together sometimes.

Roman may not be the smartest, book-wise, but well. Some things he just gets. And it does not take much for him, even as a seven-year-old, to pick up on the way Pat tenses up going home, to connect that with the distant yelling he hears some nights.

He finds Pat one afternoon, hiding in a little group of trees. The pink frilly dress is a mess- and Pat's hair is dramatically shorter than it was yesterday.

Pat's also crying in a way that Roman can tell has been going on for a while.

"You're Pat, right?" Roman says, plopping down by the same tree.

Pat looks shocked and surprised but nods.

"I'm Roman! We should play!"

"You want to play with me?" Pat asks.

"Yeah! You seem fun! C'mon, we can go over my house, Papa won't mind!"

Pat flinches. "Are you sure?"

"Yup! Let's go!"

And Pat would question it more but Roman is ebullient and it seems easier to just go along with it. It can't be worse than crying alone.

Roman's Papa is not surprised that Roman's acquired a friend somewhat by force. Virgil just smiles wearily and asks if Pat would like some crackers with banana and cinnamon, too?

Pat nods, and Roman's delighted, already talking a mile a minute about ideas he had for playing pretend!

Virgil eventually cuts into the flow and reminds Roman that he hasn't actually introduced his friend yet.

"Oh! Sorry! Papa, this is Pat!"

"What's Pat short for?" Virgil asks, smile gently at the wary look on Pat's face. "Is it cause he's only got little legs?"

Pat's face splits into an enormous grin at the pun. "It's short for- um. Actually, I don't think I like it very much?  It feels icky. I like the Pat part though."

"Can I give you a nickname?!" Roman asks, starry-eyed. "I think, um. Pat pat. Pipat. Patton!"

"Patton?" Pat tries out. "I like that. Patton. Hi, I'm Patton!"

Virgil smiles. "Nice to meet you, Patton. Now, that dress looks very messy, and not easy to play in, would you like to borrow some shorts?"

Patton smiles, eyes tearing up just a bit. "I would love that, are you sure it's okay?"

"Yes! Yes it is!" Roman interjects. "Here, you can come pick out something of mine! They'll probably fit!!"

"Slow down, my dashing little princey," Virgil says, grabbing the back of Roman's tee with the ease of long practice. "You need to finish eating your snack. Patton can come with me and we'll pick something while you finish. Okay?"

"Yes, Papa," Roman says, pouting. He sighs dramatically as he eats his crackers with exaggerated effort.

Patton walks behind Virgil down a hallway covered in dozens of drawings. Many are half-finished, but all clearly show enthusiasm and more than a little glitter.

Virgil grabs a couple of options, taking some of the clothes Roman's just starting to grow out of. Patton is just a bit on the smaller side still. He gives the boy a stack of clothes and shows him the bathroom, where he can change in private.

But, some sixth sense of Dad Instincts tells him he should wait in the hall right by the bathroom door. Just in case. (In case of what, he's not quite sure yet, but-)

Fuck, yup, that is definitely the sound of a little boy trying to cry as quietly as possible.

"Patton? Kiddo, you okay in there?"

Patton sniffles and replies, "I'm fine!"

Virgil frowns. "Can I come in, buddy?"

A pause.

"Oh-okay."

Patton has put on khaki shorts and a blue polo, but his hands are shaking as he looks at his discarded dress.

"Hey, kiddo, what's wrong?" Virgil asks in his softest Papa Voice.

"I'm being bad," Patton whispers. "I ruined my dress and I'm not wearing it and I cut my hair myself and I wasn't s'posed to and-"

Virgil hesitates, then sits on the tiled floor, pulling the sniffling boy into his lap.

"Hey, Pat, it's okay. It's just clothes and hair, okay, kiddo? Do you like how it looks?"

"Yes, but-"

"That's all that matters, buddy. And if you don't like it, hair grows back, clothes can get cleaned. I can clean your dress while you play, so you don't have to bring it home dirty, if you want?"

"I don't want him to be angry," Patton says in a tiny voice. "He scares me when he's angry."

Virgil tries very hard to be level-headed for his son, who really needs a solid presence. Which means he's had seven years of practice to be able to not swear loudly at the fear in Patton's voice, to not go off on a rampage to the Corwan house and give Mr. Corwan a piece of his mind. Instead, he hugs Patton into his chest, shushing quietly, rubbing the little boy's back as he sniffles into Virgil's hoodie.

"You know what we're gonna do, Pat? I'm gonna make sure your dress is all cleaned up, and when we're all done playing, we'll walk you home, okay?" He suppresses the fury from his voice as he adds, "And I'll tell your dad that it was all your idea to make sure you got cleaned up, and that it wasn't your fault it got dirty. How's that sound, kiddo?"

Patton nods, face still buried in the soft material of the black hoodie.

"Let's go, okay? Roman should be done with his snack by now."

Patton holds Virgil's hand on the walk back to the kitchen. Virgil has already half-committed to adopting this boy into their household if Mr. Corwan makes him cry again.

Roman is still in his seat, but barely. One of the crackers is just a pile of crumbs, and there's banana smooshed on his cheek. The minute he sees Patton, he's leaping out of his seat.

"Let's go play! I think we should be pirates! Or knights! Or-"

"Hey, what do we say about playing with guests?"

Roman catches himself. "I should let him have ideas too?"

"That's right, princey. C'mere."

Virgil has to let go of Patton's hand to wipe up Roman's face, because getting him to stand still is a two hand job.

He stands them shoulder-to-shoulder. "Okay, boys, you have a quest today!"

Roman's eyes are shining with excitement already.

Patton looks more concerned. "A quest?"

"Yes," Virgil says solemnly. "Your quest is to make sure your friend is having fun the whole time, and to listen to each other. Okay?"

Roman bounces in place. "Yes! I'm gonna be the best quester ever! Promise, Pat, you're gonna have so much fun!"

Roman grabs Pat's hand and they run out together to the back yard. Virgil sets himself up to clean the dress right by the big window to keep an eye on them, one ear always open for the cries of skinned knees or a-little-too-roughhousing

Patton smiles, face glowing as he listens to Roman's idea of how they can be pirate-witch-knight-ninjas.

It's nice to have a friend.

⁂

Part 2: thirteen

"Psstt!!! Patty!"

Patton turns to see Roman grinning hugely from his locker across the hallway. He waves frantically to get him to come over.

"What's up, buttercup?"

"It's here! Papa texted me, it just arrived!"

Patton freezes, eyes wide. "Already? Really? You mean it?!"

Roman nods, grinning hugely. "So you're coming over today. We'll say it's for that bio project if we have to, kay?"

Patton brushes at his eyes, making sure he's not tearing up visibly. He surprises Roman with a fierce hug. "Thank you, Roro."

Roman hugs back just as tightly, but he responds in a whisper so quiet that only his friend can hear. "You deserve it, Patton."

Patton can't stop smiling, even as his eyes feel like they're getting misty. "Oh gosh, how am I supposed to focus on algebra now? Can we just skip the last two periods?"

"Pat Corwan, 8th Grade Class President, wants to skip classes?" Roman replies with a mock gasp. "I'm shocked and appalled. And no, I have long-block scene study, there's no way I'm skipping."

"I know, I know. I'll see you soon!" Grinning, Patton walks away to his class, practically floating.

His desk-mate takes one look as he sits down and arches a brow. "So, Corwan, did he finally ask you out or what?"

"What?" Patton asks, barely aware he'd spoken.

Logan Williams sighs. "Sanders. Did he ask you out? You're smiling even more than normal. If I sunburned easy, I'd be concerned right now."

"Um, no? Ro and I are just best friends," Patton replies.

Logan rolls his eyes. "Best friends? You go to his house half the time after school, everyone's been waiting for you two to officially start dating."

"I-"

"Actually, if you were waiting for an excuse, you should run for Homecoming King & Queen together, I have a bet on that being the timing."

Patton frowns. "I have no plans to run for homecoming anything. I'm on the selection committee, that would be favoritism."

Logan shrugs. "Suit yourself. My only interest is in getting to finally hear a different topic of speculation during the lunchtime gossip mill. But you should probably know-"

Patton looks apprehensive. "Know what?"

Logan adjusts his glasses. "Half the grade already calls you The Future Mrs. Sanders."

Patton swallows a lump in his throat, fingers fidgeting with the material of his skirt. "I don't care what they all call me. He's my friend."

Patton turns his focus back to the lesson, but he keeps spacing out and missing parts, thinking about Logan's comments. But soon enough he's through algebra, and history passes without incident, and he's on his way to the Sanders house on Roman's bus.

As they walk through the door, Roman trills loudly, "Paaapaaaa!!!!!!! We're hoooOOOmmmeee!"

"I think I missed the part where I raised a rooster instead of a Roman," Virgil grumbles, emerging from his home office. "Heya, Patton!"

"Hi, Virgil," Patton says, grinning happily as Virgil immediately opens his arms for a hug. It's been years since he's even tried to call Roman's dad 'Mr. Sanders', because Virgil objects that it makes him sound like some corporate square.

"You wanna see it now or do you need to decompress first?" Virgil asks.

"Now please!" Patton says, and Roman claps and runs to the entrance hall to find the package waiting there.

Practically bouncing, Roman hands the package to Patton as he goes into the spare bedroom that's practically become his. His hands shake a little as he tears open the packaging.

"Patton? Kiddo, you okay in there?" Virgil asks through the door.

Patton emerges, tears leaking down his cheeks. He's changed into some of the clothes he keeps here, plus his new addition - pants, a polo, and his brand-new binder.

Roman bursts into applause, wolf-whistling and cheering. Virgil just smiles. "How's it feel, kiddo?"

Patton smiles at them, eyes damp. "It feels perfect. Thank you so much for letting me get it sent here."

"Anytime you need, Patton," Virgil says. "You know you're an honorary Sanders. Now, do you remember the safety tips we talked about?"

"No sleeping in it, or wearing for too many hours at a time, and try not to exercise in it?"

"That's right, kiddo. And you can keep it here until you feel comfortable wearing it out and about."

Roman hugs Patton carefully, not squeezing as tight as he normally does. "You look very handsome, Pat."

Patton just blushes and hugs back, amazed by the new feeling of the less-squish-in-the-front of the hug.

"Also I know it's our excuse but can you actually help with me bio, I can't get the hang of the cycles."

"Anytime, Roro."

Much later that evening, after a spaghetti dinner and several hours of 'homework' that actually accomplished one half hour's worth, Patton leans back against the bedspread with a happy sigh.

Roman looks up, eyes glowing in contentment. "Hey, you. You good?"

Patton looks down at his flatter chest and smiles. "Yeah, it's- I'm so happy, Ro. Thank you again."

"It's what you deserve, Pat," Roman says earnestly. "You deserve to have your family fully embrace and accept you, too, but until then you've got us."

Patton makes grabby hands, and Roman scoots over to hug him tightly. They don't always need words.

"Ro-" Pat says quietly, a thought suddenly popping into his head and out his mouth. "Did you know that half the grade calls me The Future Mrs. Sanders?"

Roman stiffens, not making eye contact. "I've, uh. Heard that once or twice, yeah. I know it sucks, Pat, but I don't know how to discourage it without outing you."

Patton takes a breath. "That part- I mean, I'm used to it. But-"

Roman sits back, looking concerned. "You know you deserve to have people use your pronouns and honorifics, right? It's not too much to ask. It won't be an imposition, I promise, it's just courtesy-"

"I know, Roro, thank you. No, I um. Yeah, that Mrs. part is still an unyeah, but-"

Roman waits, a little confused.

Patton closes his eyes. "Does the other part bother you? The part where they're implying that we- that we'd get, you know."

"Married?" Roman squeaks out.

"Yeah, that."

"I- I mean, you'll be my best friend no matter what but um, maybe, occasionally, Ithinkaboutthattooyeah?" Roman says all in a rush, blushing furiously.

Patton opens his eyes to see Roman's red face, then reaches out and takes Roman's hand. "Oh thank goodness."

Roman stares at their interlocked hands for a long moment, face growing steadily redder. "Really?" he manages to squawk out. "You- you really- me?"

"Who could I possibly like more than you, Roro?" Patton replies, and he's blushing too, now. "I- I love you, Roman. As much as I know how."

Roman makes a strangled sound of delight, only able to smile and nod. He swallows, trying to compose himself, and whispers, "Patton - will you be my boyfriend?"

Patton is fairly sure he could never contain more warm fuzzies than he does right now, hearing "boyfriend" applied to himself, from this wonderful, wonderful boy that has been his best friend for 6 years.

"Only if you're be mine too, buttercup," he whispers, happy tears sparkling in his eyes for the second time today.

⁂

Part 3: twenty-one

Roman watches Patton moving around their dorm room as he paces.  In his head Roman counts how many minutes have elapsed and decides it’s time to interfere.

“Honeycake, you can always decide not to, you know that, right?”

Patton flashes him a distracted smile. “I know, sweetheart, but that’s the problem. I want to, I’m just-“ He twists his hands nervously. “I’m nervous, Ro.”

“Would it help to talk over why you’re nervous, or do you want to not think about it?”

Patton paces again, back and forth, then sighs. “I’m going to do this eventually, so I might as well do it now. I want to remember tomorrow without regret.”

Roman stands and grabs Patton’s fidgeting hands, holding them in his and looking directly into Patton’s eyes. “Let’s do this, Pat. I’m here for you, always.”

Patton smiles weakly. “Can you dial, I’m going to chicken out.”

Roman nods, and unlocks Patton’s phone. In just a couple buttons, it’s ringing on speaker.

“You’ve reached the Corwan residence.”

Patton takes a breath, and says, “Hi, Dad.”

“Ah, good, we were beginning to worry we’d miss the ceremony tomorrow!”

“Yeah,” Patton says, a little shaky. “Well, I’ve asked, and there will be tickets for you and Mom at the box office.”

“Thank you. You know how excited we are to watch you graduate! We are so proud of you, Patricia.”

Patton flinches, and Roman immediately grabs his hand and squeezes.

“Um, yeah. I- I don’t know if we’ll have time to go out after, there’s a lot of stuff for the program and student leadership-“

”If you think we’re not going to take our daughter out to dinner on her big day, you’ve got another thing coming!” he replies in a jovial tone. Patton flinches again.

“Oh- okay then, Dad. I’ll see if there’s time. Um. See you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait!”

Patton hangs up, head bowed. Roman immediately starts to peppering his face in kisses.

“My sweet, dear man, you are so brave and wonderful and also I will absolutely make those tickets disappear if you’d like them not to come after all.”

Patton leans into Roman’s chest with a shaky chuckle. “No, I think it’s time, love. I don’t want to keep hiding.”

The next day, the campus is a zoo, filled with families and balloons and people trying to find an open spot for photoshoots in their caps and gowns.

Roman and Virgil have teamed up to convince Patton to be subjected to full model treatment, Roman earnestly whispering “Make it fashion!” from behind Virgil’s clicking camera. Patton’s laughing as he tries to balance on the hippo statue that is their school’s mascot.

Then, though, it’s time, and Roman and Patton wave to Virgil as they file into the huge staging area with their classmates. They’re a sea of maroon robes, brightened by cords and stoles in various colors for all the school’s affinity groups and activities. Patton’s got so many, he looks like he’s wearing a rainbow. He fidgets with his colored stole. “Ro-“ he says, grabbing for his boyfriend’s hand.

“Patton, my light, you look amazing,” Roman says, leaning in close so only Patton can hear his murmur. “You are so, so strong, and so brave, and I love you to the moon and to Saturn.”

Patton smiles into Roman's shoulder, and manages to relax. They share a quick, chaste kiss, then separate to their halves of the alphabet.

Luckily, as they file in, their seats end up just across the aisle from each other, and Roman keeps turning to blow kisses.

The good thing about being in the Cs is that Patton doesn’t have too long to sit and let his nervousness fester. He walks up to the stage in procession, seeing Roman mouth “You’ve got this!” from the crowd of graduates.

“Cosgrave, Alicia” walks across the stage to the cheers of her family and accepts her diploma. Patton takes a deep breath.

“Corwan, Patton!”

He pushes his various cords out of the way to reveal his stole’s colors: stripes of light blue, pink, and white. He squares his shoulders, and walks across the stage. He’s not looking at the crowd, but he recognizes Virgil’s whooping.

He accepts his diploma, shakes the university president’s hand, and poses for the staged picture all before allowing himself to look up into the bleachers.

He can immediately see the Corwans. They don’t look mad, just- confused. His dad seems to be studying the program intently. He turns back to his seat, to see Roman’s smile glowing from across the aisle.

“I’m so proud of you,” he mouths, eyes shining, and Patton lets out a relieved sigh. He did it. And Roman’s here. It will be okay, no matter what happens next.

The rest of the ceremony melts away, and all Patton really remembers is Roman pulling faces at him as the speakers drag on, and him having to muffle his giggles.

The minute they’re standing to proceed out, Roman leaves his place in line to sneak over and slip his hand into Patton‘s. He sticks by his side until they’re out in the meeting area.  Patton has a deathgrip on Roman’s hand with nervousness as he looks around the crowd.

Virgil finds them first, and Roman’s very flamboyant uncle Remy is there, too, stealing Roman’s mortarboard to pose dramatically.

Then Patton hears the polite cough behind him that he knows is his mom. He turns, Roman’s hand in his still, with the Sanders brothers at his back.

“Why did they say your name like that?” his dad asks bluntly.

Patton straightens. “Because that’s the name on my diploma.”

“Patricia, what’s the meaning of this-“

“It’s Patton, dad. I changed it legally.”

“Patty, what are you saying?” his mom asks, frowning.

Patton plucks at his stole. “I’m trans, mum. I’m a boy. And I was always meant to be one, no matter how many dresses I wore.”

His heart is in his throat, beating like mad, but Roman’s squeezing his hand in pride and Virgil and Remy are behind him. He can practically hear Remy sliding his glasses down his nose to glare at the Corwans.

”And you’re okay with this- this delusion?!” Mr. Corwan demands, turning to glare at Roman.

“Absolutely,” Roman replies immediately. “He’s been my boyfriend for 7 years, and I love him as he is and exactly as he is.”

”This- no, that’s ridiculous, Patricia,” his dad spits out. “No daughter of mine is going to be part of this trender nonsense. I thought that was clear.”

“You made your position clear he was seven and scared to go home,” Virgil cuts in acidly. His hand is warm and comforting on Patton’s shoulder. “You made it clear that he’d have to hide himself from his own parents because they couldn’t find a way to love their child as a son.”

Mr. Corwan sputters, turning purple, as Mrs. Corwan turns white.

“Well- you can say goodbye to any help from us-"

“What help?” Remy drawls. “Ya boy’s graduated, been hired, and signed a lease without you. He doesn’t need your assistance even if you wanted to give it.”

Mrs. Corwan purses her lips. “Well, I hope that he,” she says tightly, exaggerating the pronoun in what is clearly intended as mockery, “is prepared to go through life without a family.”

Roman takes a step in front of Patton at that. “You’re not ashamed to say that to your only kid? Really? I’ve got news for you, ma’am. He’ll always have a family.”

“What, you mean that?” she asks with a derisive sniff at Virgil and Remy still holding Patton’s shoulders.

“No,” Roman says, suddenly calm. “I mean this."

He turns, smoothly sinking to one knee as he smiles up into Patton’s shocked-into-smiling face.

“Patton Corwan, my gorgeous man, love of my life, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

All the heaviness in his chest melts away and the knots in his stomach dissolve as Patton smiles down into Roman’s adoring gaze. “Oh Roman,” Patton says. “I would love nothing more.”

“I will not stand for-“ Mr. Corwan gets out, but Patton’s gaze locks onto his.

“Congrats. You don’t need to. You already said no daughter of yours will be like me, and you were right. You’ve made it clear I’m not your family. And as long as that’s how you feel, I don’t want to be.” Before he can sputter out an answer, Patton adds, “Plus, it’s way too late to object. Should’ve been there over Christmas if you wanted to, now you’re gonna have to forever hold your peace.”

“I’m- what?”

“Can I tell them?” Roman says, standing with a huge grin. Patton nods, starting to laugh.

“Patton asked me to marry him way back in December, the minute he got his early job offer. It was a beautiful ceremony. It even had the kind of dress I’m sure you were picturing, and I wore it particularly well, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, rough luck babes, looks like your invites got lost,” Remy drawls. “Well, maybe you’ll get to get to your other kid’s wedding. Oh wait.”

Virgil grins. “You two spouses want to go get graduation lunch now? My treat. I think they’re gonna need a minute.”

“Or a couple thousand,” Remy mutters.

Patton turns away from his parents, beaming at his family. “That would be wonderful, Papa.”

⁂

[aritany]

Hello! I hope you don't mind me asking, but how do you successfully complete your stories? And how long does it usually take you? I was wondering because I noticed you said WTTW has gone through several drafts and you're almost done with Sound Carries, when they're both enormous projects. What's the secret (haha)? :)

hi! this is a great question, and i apologize in advance if it gets a bit long - i have a lot of thoughts about this.

everything i’m about to say is from personal experience, and i know that what might work for me might not work for other writers (and sometimes what worked for me in the past doesn’t work for me in the present!), so take this with a grain of salt. 

the way things stand as of may 2020, i’ve written three first drafts and i’m almost finished with a fourth. i think i can boil down that success into 3 main points: i outline, i write my way out of boredom, and i don’t commit to a writing a story until i’m certain i have to tell it.

i outline.

there are a lot of ways to do this, and i’m not going to claim any one of them as ‘right’. i know there are lots of different ways to outline, but mine is pretty simple. don’t worry about chapters, just write out scenes. you can organize them into chapters afterwards. 

i’m tempted to call my outlining a draft, because i go pretty in depth. i don’t believe this is necessary for every writer, but it’s necessary for me. if this isn’t your style, you can skip this part. 

this is an example of my outline for the first couple of chapters of what no one wants to hear.

example from the first 4 chapters of where the trees whisper:

like i said, you don’t have to outline. the most important thing is: know how your story ends. it’s so much more difficult to finish a draft if you don’t know how or when it’s finished. 

again: in depth outlining is not the be-all-end-all and i’m certainly not saying that if you don’t do this you won’t finish. i’m saying that if i don’t do it, i probably won’t get very far. 

if you have any questions about outlining or my process for that, i’m really happy to answer in more detail! on to the second point.

i write my way out of boredom.

it’s inevitable. you’re writing, it’s going great, inspiration is flowing, you’re writing like you’ve never written before, and then all of a sudden, everything comes to a screeching halt. what? you ask yourself. but it was going so well! this happens. you are going to get bored of every single book you write at some point because that is a normal part of the process.

change your approach. this is where people give up (it’s not fun anymore! i know. it will be again.) or start to doubt themselves (maybe i’m not good enough for this! shut up! yes you are!). this is the part of writing that isn’t glamorous. ask yourself why you’re bored. too much writing not enough life? it’s more likely than you think. 

(if you’re burnt out, that’s a different story. that sucks, and you should probably take a break. read some books and watch some shows and definitely listen to music. you’re human and deserve a break. don’t drive yourself into the ground.)

solutions for boredom include: going for a walk, listening to music that makes you think about the project, writing with a different medium than you normally would (if you write on the computer, try writing by hand and vice versa). 

more solutions: write differently than you normally would (write only dialogue, or try your hand at writing setting descriptions for a bunch of different places in your story, even if it won’t end up in the book. no word is wasted!).

best solution (in my opinion): try writing sprints. just write some words. you can edit them in a different draft or after the timer goes off, but set a timer for 10-15 minutes and don’t delete anything! you will be surprised (pleasantly!)

don’t let boredom get the better of you. words beat boredom like paper beats rock. 

i don’t commit to writing a story until i’m certain i have to tell it.

i’ll say it. i’m an intense person. i let ideas mull in my head for a long time, sometimes up to a year before they’re ready to be written. i wrote what no one wants to hear in 3 months, but i think that was only possible because i first came up with the idea a full year before and let it sit. i think one of the most important parts of writing is daydreaming. if you want to finish a book, daydreaming is the best start. 

i really do believe that the goal in writing a story should be to tell a story that other people will fall in love with. if you aren’t obsessed with the idea, other people won’t be either. (okay, someone out there will. but generally, enthusiasm starts with you.) 

in summary: know where your story is going, don’t quit when you get bored, and make sure it’s a story worth telling.

just because you didn’t finish that one wip that one time, it doesn’t mean you never will. give yourself permission to stop and start if you need to (i wrote 2/3rds of sound carries, stopped, and wrote what no one wants to hear before i came back to it. that’s okay!), but don’t call it giving up.

as for how long it takes, that really depends. these are the stats for the first drafts of my books: 

- my first novel, fatal flaw, took 8 months. i never revisited that draft and i probably never will (i was 15 and it was... something else).

- my second novel, where the trees whisper, took 8 days. (i... don’t have an explanation for this. it was nanowrimo, i’d been planning/outlining it for 3 straight months.) it’s an entirely different story now (and about 30k words longer).

- my third novel, what no one wants to hear, took 3 months (with a year of daydreaming and planning behind it)

- my fourth novel, sound carries, is the longest running first draft i’ve ever had. i wrote the first scene in january of 2019, and i’m about 3/4 finished, maybe a little more. i’m hoping to be finished it by june 2020, though!

_____________

thanks for the ask! it was a lot of fun to write all this out.

in other news, i’m starting a writing advice taglist! i’ll be tagging anyone who’s interested in longer posts like these about any writing/plotting/outlining advice. let me know if you’re interested! the actual tag will be #advice with abby if you’d like to follow along but don’t want to be tagged.

taglist: @morgan-s-writes 

ask to be added/removed!

[dragons-bones]

Writing Process Meme!

Rules: Bold/color the things that you relate to and then tag some people to play.

Tagged by: @autumnslance and @frostmantle! Thank you both!

I write: daily | most days | a few times a week | a few times a month | random

I’m not great at keep to a consistent writing schedule, and sometimes it’s just difficult to get words out even with inspiration, so my schedule is best described as “sporadic.” I’d ideally like to work on this.

I write most often: when I first get up | later in the morning | afternoon | evening | the wee hours of the night | whenever

This is absolutely the result of my shitty, shitty commute, which meant I had only a handful of hours properly to myself in the evening, so evenings are when I did most of everything. (Taking part in FFXIV Write really compounded it. XD) For whatever reason, I now find it incredibly difficult to focus on writing in the morning or early afternoon; this is probably also related to my old night owl tendencies.

In one sitting I tend to write: a few sentences at a time | a few hundred words | a few thousand words | a complete chapter/section no matter how long | An outline | whatever comes

When in the moon is in the right phase and the gods are pleased, I can sometimes push out a couple thousand words; “The Bluebird of Ishgard” from FFXIV Write 2020 comes to mind. Most of the time, however, it’s a words, a few sentences, perhaps a paragraph or two. Sometimes it’s not even that, and I just edit what I’ve previously written.

I tend to write scenes: in chronological order with no skipping | mostly in order but with some filler/skipping | whatever scene I feel like | who knows what’s gonna come out????

Once upon a time, I used to only write in the story’s chronological order with no skipping. I don’t bother sticking with that anymore, elsewise nothing would get written now. Instead, I’ll write whatever comes to mind; sometimes that’s something in the story’s beginning, sometimes it’s somewhere in the middle, sometimes it’s the end. I can’t complain overmuch, as writing out of order seems to make it easier to connect the Part A’s and Part B’s I typically have a firmer idea on.

The things that comes easiest to me are: dialogue | description of senses | description of action | description of characters | exposition | other

I really, deeply enjoy character interactions, and dialogue is one of the best ways for me to do that, so I really enjoy letting my characters just talk. I also love to worldbuild, but I have to be careful with the exposition; sometimes I can stop myself, sometimes I can’t. In cases of the later, I’ll edit back (but save a copy of the original word vomit elsewhere for easy reference). I also really like describing how characters are moving or emoting; I actually really enjoy trying to describe hand gestures! (My mom’s off-the-boat Italian and live the joke that if you tied our hands we wouldn’t be able to talk properly.)

I do want to get better about describing senses or setting the scene or characters; with fanfiction, I can get sloppy because there’s the assumption that the audience is already familiar with most of the locations and the characters, and it bleeds over to both original things in my fanfic plus my original writing. Things to work on.

I tend to write: on a phone | on a laptop | in a notebook | on whatever paper I can find | with speech to text | in the blood of my enemies | it doesn’t really matter to me | on paper first and then typed up | old school typewriter | on a computer

My laptop’s my only computer, soooo yeah. I type much faster than I write, so it’s easier to just type out my thoughts; it’s also much easier to refine a sentence or phrase with typing, so I can very quickly and neatly edit. I absolutely fucking despise writing on my phone; the most I will use it is to quickly record in either the notepad or my diary server a one off bit of dialogue or narration if I’m not close to my laptop.

There’s something really fun and elegant in handwriting in notebooks, but ultimately they now feel super limited to me because I can’t go back and edit or embellish as I like.

When I take a break from writing, it usually: lasts a few days | a few weeks | a few months | it’s kind of random

This pretty much ties into question one. It’d hard to say when I’ll write, so I don’t plan breaks.

My favorite thing to do when I’m on a writing break is: recharge with other creative hobbies | read/ consume other media | do something physical | catch up with old friends | work on my WIP in other ways like with playlists or art | other | play video games | get lost in work

I like to knit, and listen to horror podcasts, read books, and occasionally watch movies, and also I actually like to play the video game upon which all of my fic is based. XD And also play other games: Hades is my favorite go-to mindless slaughter game, but I’m also very fond of messing around with Stellaris and Frostpunk.

In general, I think my writing habits are: pretty much what I need them to be | okay, but I’m working on making them better | non-existent | not great :/ | i’m excited to develop them further | totally random | perfect for me

I could stand to work on my writing habits, honestly, even if it’s just make the effort to write a couple of words a day. I would like to be more prolific, but therein lies the issues of having a traditional nine to five job; making time is a lot more difficult than it initially appears, especially with all that needs to be done in the day. Still, I think I’ve gotten better at it over the years; last year I did a couple more projects than usual outside FFXIV Write, and the same for this year, so let’s see if I can continue the momentum!

I’m not sure who’s been tagged yet/answered this... @gunbun, @punchelf, @to-the-voiceless, @efrmellifer, @scrollsfromarebornrealm, @msviolacea, and YOU. (Yes, you.)

[purrincess-chat]

Kill Em With Kindness CH2

Thank you all so much for 3.5k (and growing)! You are all so wonderful, and I’m glad that you all enjoy my content enough to stick around and follow. I have a lot of plans for the future, and I just hope that you all will like them! Here is part two of this next spite filled adventure.

The opening scene and really this whole fic were inspired by lenore’s post from forever ago after Chameleon came out so shouts out! Also, I know several of you wanted me to tag you when I updated this, and I will do my best to get everyone, but I suggest getting an AO3 account and subscribing to the fic there instead. You’ll get an email whenever I update, and I always post on AO3 first before tumblr. 

Read on AO3

Previous chapter Next chapter

Chapter 2

“You know, when you made these plans with Adrien, I thought you meant to be nice,” Tikki said chidingly in the bathroom as Marinette washed her hands several days later.

“I am being nice,” Marinette said with an innocent pout.

“You put a ‘Coping with loss’ book on Lila’s desk yesterday.”

“She said her hamster died.”

“And the safety glasses by the napkins in the cafeteria?” Tikki cocked a brow.

“Max was worried about losing an eye.”

“You did your science presentation on tinnitus.”

“Well, after the music festival with Juleka’s mom, I was worried about our hearing.” Marinette snatched a paper towel from the dispenser and dried her hands.

“Your history report on the greatest liars and cheats in history?”

“I became fascinated with P.T. Barnum’s life after that movie and finishing with a comparison of Volpina and Rena Rouge was just a modern-day example everyone could identify with.” Tikki gave her a look. “I got a standing ovation for that presentation.”

“What about the fact-checking robot you petitioned Max to make?”

“For Alya for her birthday! I’m just trying to help her become a better journalist because I’m a good friend.” Marinette placed her hands on her hips haughtily.

“Speaking of Alya, you’ve been telling her to just hang out with Nino lately.”

“She said she wanted to spend more time with him. I’m just being supportive of their relationship,” she shrugged.

“Marinette,” Tikki sighed.

“What? We can’t expose Lila, so we’re just playing along until she inevitably exposes herself which I will watch probably with popcorn,” Marinette said with a laugh. “It’s called kill em with kindness.”

“It’s called being petty.”

“Semantics,” Marinette waved it away, but Tikki was unamused. “Look, I can’t beat Lila at lies. She just makes more, so I’ve come up with another plan that doesn’t harm anyone and keeps everyone from getting mad at me for calling her out. I mean, you saw what happened the other day when she got me expelled. Scarlet Moth almost made a comeback, and I was on the frontlines.”

“I guess we can’t let that happen again…” Tikki reasoned, tapping her chin.

“Exactly. Lila wants everyone to believe those things, so I’m just gonna let her keep falling down the rabbit hole until she eventually hits the bottom,” Marinette said with a twisted grin. “If I happen to push her a little deeper along the way then so be it.”

“That’s very underhanded of you, Marinette.”

“I don’t like it when people use my friends and threaten me.” Marinette clenched her fists. “She almost got me akumatized multiple times now, and we can’t ever let that happen.”

“You’re right. Just be careful,” Tikki advised.

“Don’t worry, Tikki. Coming up with solutions is my superpower.” She winked as her phone buzzed in her pocket with an akuma alert. “Speaking of, we have a city to save. Tikki, transform me!”

***

“Ladybug!” Alya waved her down after the battle, brandishing her cell phone. “Do you have time for a quick interview?”

“A little,” she said with a shrug. “Make it quick.”

“Okay, okay, many of my viewers want to know what advice you have to help people stay positive to avoid being akumatized,” Alya began, pressing record.

“Well, I would recommend changing your perspective a little. Instead of being bummed out about failing a test, maybe commit to studying harder next time. If you get into a fight with your friends, just take a deep breath and remember that if they’re your real friends, they’ll forgive you.” Ladybug replied, placing her hands on her hips. “And if you do get akumatized, don’t make a big deal out of it. Chat Noir and I will always be there to save you. Negative emotions are a part of life just like positive ones, and everyone can have a bad day, even me.”

“Next question, with the passing of Hero’s Day, my viewers want to know what they can do to help you and Chat Noir.”

“Just do your best every day. Lift each other up instead of tearing each other down and do your best to help others who need it,” she said with a smile.

“My friend Marinette is like that, always helping others and helping us stay positive,” Alya remarked, and Ladybug bit back a smirk.

“I think I’ve met her a few times. She’s alerted me of a few akumas here and there.” She tapped her chin with a coy smile. “Not everyone has superpowers like me and Chat Noir, but there are a lot of ways to help out in your school, in your community, or even in your own home just like your friend. I think that everyone should strive to be a Marinette.”

She pressed a hand to her earrings as they beeped and palmed her yoyo, flashing Alya a peace sign. “Gotta go before I change back.”

“Thank you for your time, Ladybug!” Alya bounced on her heels, clutching her phone to her chest as Ladybug tossed her yoyo over the roof.

“Bug out!”

***

When Lila walked through the doors of the library that afternoon, she stopped short when her eyes locked with Marinette’s sitting at the table with Max. They held that same taunting innocence that made Lila’s blood boil, and she knew this was another one of her “nice” schemes.

“Oh, Lila, there you are,” she greeted with a smile, and Lila did her best to suppress an eye roll. “You haven’t been doing so well in class, so I’ve asked everyone to pitch in helping you catch up. Max is here to help you with your maths and science, Rose has agreed to help you with Literature, Sabrina can help you out with history, and then Nathaniel said he would be more than happy to help you with the art project we have due next week.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. Adrien agreed to help me,” Lila said, waving it away. “He should be here any minute.”

“Actually, he had a pop-up fencing lesson with Kagami this afternoon. She insisted because her mother is so hard on her to improve her technique, and Adrien is the only opponent who challenges her enough, so he just couldn’t say no,” Marinette explained.

“Adrien does score well across the board on all of his exams; however, his schedule guarantees an 87.96% chance that you won’t get sufficient help in order to pull your grades up in time, so Marinette reached out to the rest of us to step in on his behalf so you don’t fail the semester,” Max stated, and Marinette smiled sweetly beside him.

“As class representative, I’m just looking out for the needs of everyone,” she said, standing up. “Thanks again for your help, Max.”

“No problem, Marinette.” Max waved it away. “Oh, and I will have prototype designs for that software you asked me for later this week.”

“Awesome! You’re the best, Max!” Marinette clasped her hands together cheerfully. “Good luck, Lila, and let me know if you need any more help.”

Lila offered her a forced smile before her face fell into a scowl.

“Have fun at movie night!” Max called, waving as she left.

“Movie night?” Lila quirked a brow.

“Yes, many of our classmates are convening to watch movies at Kim’s house this evening, but seeing as it’s a movie I’ve already seen, I agreed to help you catch up on your studies tonight instead,” Max explained, pulling out his textbooks. “I’ve assembled 100 maths problems for us to work covering each section of material that you missed while you were traveling then I have a PowerPoint reviewing over our particle physics unit from last term-”

Lila glared at the door Marinette had gone through, gripping her pencil with white knuckles. She wasn’t quite sure what game Marinette was playing with her, but she was definitely up to something. No matter, she wasn’t about to be defeated so easily. After all, she had Gabriel Agreste on her side.

***

“How did Lila react to Max?” Adrien asked as Marinette grabbed a juice from the snack table.

“She looked half ready to strangle me,” Marinette replied, popping the tab and taking a sip.

“There isn’t going to be a lot I can do if my father decides to use her in photoshoots again, but I’ll help you in any way that I can outside of that,” he said, grabbing a cookie.

“What are you two whispering about?” Alya asked with a smirk, and they both stiffened.

“Uh, I was just asking Marinette if she wanted to sit with me during the movie,” Adrien said, nudging Marinette with his elbow.

“Y-Yeah, I- of course. You don’t mind, do you, Alya?” Marinette fumbled, and her friend gave a proud beam.

“Not at all. I was actually on my way to tell you that I want to sit with Nino.” She winked.

“Great. Then it’s settled.” Adrien waved as they moved to their bean bags.

“How did she sneak past your father anyway? I thought he was some impenetrable wall?” She asked, and Adrien threw his head back with a sigh.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Is it wrong I kind of wish she’d teach me?” He chuckled, popping a popcorn kernel into his mouth.

“Your dad let you come to this, didn’t he?” Marinette pointed out, but Adrien averted his gaze guiltily.

“I’m technically supposed to be meeting with my Chinese tutor right now, but I may have told him I lost my voice while also telling Gorilla that this was his address,” Adrien admitted, tapping his chin with an impish grin.

“Sneaky,” Marinette complimented, but he curled his shoulders.

“I feel kind of bad disobeying him, but all I want to do is see my friends. What’s so wrong with that?” He shrugged, and Marinette offered him a smile.

“Nothing, and I’m sure your dad will come around eventually,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Marinette. I really hope so.” He smiled weakly, his gaze softening on her. “You really are the kindest girl at school. Lila won’t know what hit her.”

Marinette bit back a smile, cheeks pink and heart pounding.

“Ya know, Adrien, maybe if your dad ever allows it we could-”

“Lila, Max, you made it!” Kim called, and Marinette felt her blood run cold.

“I’m a really fast learner,” Lila said, shooting Marinette a pointed glare, and her jaw clenched as Nathalie entered through the doorway beside her. “Oh, Adrien, I ran into Nathalie on the way over. She was worried about where you were, so I told her we could check here for you.”

“Adrien, you’re supposed to be at Chinese right now,” Nathalie scolded, and Adrien stiffened, face falling. “If you come now, I won’t tell your father about this.”

“Yes, Nathalie,” he said glumly, shooting Marinette an apologetic wince. “I’ll see you at school.”

“I’m sorry, Adrien. I didn’t realize you’d get in trouble.” Lila winced, pressing a hand to her lips in an ‘oops’ manner. “Nathalie said your father was worried.”

“It’s okay, Lila. It’s my fault,” Adrien said as he passed, head hung low as he made his way out with Nathalie.

When the door closed behind them, Lila curled her shoulders and turned to everyone with a pout.

“I’m sorry. I feel like I ruined everything. I didn’t realize that Adrien was here without permission,” she said, covering her face.

“Don’t sweat it, Lila. You didn’t know,” Nino assured her, and she peeked over her hands.

“I hope he doesn’t get into too much trouble,” she fretted, but Nino waved it away.

“Nah, Nathalie totally sticks up for him. If she says she won’t tell, then she won’t,” he said, and Lila relaxed a little.

“That’s a relief,” she sighed.

“Well, since Adrien had to bounce, why don’t you take his seat next to Marinette? You two have been getting along so great lately,” Alya suggested, pointing to the empty beanbag beside Marinette, and Lila flicked her gaze to meet Marinette’s with a grin.

“Do you mind, Marinette?” She asked, a challenging glint in her eye as if to say, ‘your move.’

“Not at all.” Marinette smiled sweetly as Lila paced over to sit down, and her phone buzzed in her pocket with a text from Adrien.

Well, looks like we have our work cut out for us.

Marinette glanced at Lila out of the corner of her eye, chatting with Rose about Kitty Section before typing a quick reply.

So it would seem.

*sigh here we go*

Tagging: @teresarosiadeviluke2112 @sam-spectra @posyfoot @captain-rice @aloeveraspeaks @somethingelsefine @crazylittlemunchkin @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @rlv29 @kaleigh-girlonfire @kokoa-vb @fanwarrior-at-your-service @liebredavinci @starberry-mina @dalandana @rose-sparks13 @foreverblindedbystars @a-6-yearold-inside @redheadeddemon16 @deerestaurelia @graduatedmelon @janaikam @zatanni @shamefulllove @lunar-wolf-warrior @french-dog-joke @magnitude101999 @pinkittwice @musicallylara @summersprit-sims @timelinegodabandoned @patronusxcharms @azureocean33 @zazzlejazzle 

[faejilly]

I was tagged by @la-muerta​ & @facialteeth​ & @thedivinemissema​ for the WIP/Title Game

rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and interests you and i’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!

AND THEN  by @shadoedseptmbr​ @msviolacea​ & @ravenclawnerd​ for the ��stories you want to write... but for some reason haven’t yet”

so this will be a mish-mash of both? The WIPs will mostly have blurbs in this case (to fit the second meme) but you are still welcome to ask follow-up questions, if you’d like ;) Assuming you make it through the list, it is uh. Not Short.

Anyone who would like to play with their WIPs, please consider yourself tagged in either or both of these. :D

Misc Fic Folder:

“untitled document” - where I’m working on fictober fills so I have word-counts for my GYWO tracker. I am not working on these because Brains Are Dumb and also Going Back To Work Is Exhausting

I made a file called “YULETIDE!” which has nothing in it but I’m determined to finish this year so that is definitely technically a thing in the Unending WIP List of Doom worth mentioning. (Tho obviously that’s all I could say even if I had started, because anonymous.)

“coda-fics, rewatch!” -yes, that exclamation mark is important! it’s to keep me motivated! (it didn’t work). Much like untitled, this is for putting stuff so I can do word count tracking even if I don’t know what I’m doing. Currently I think it just says “MARYSE” because I was working on my SH 1x6 coda-fic and then got distracted and haven’t typed anything up yet. (Yay notebooks? Boo notebooks? Not even sure at this point.)

WNIP (works not in progress) Folder:

“TOG” - I had one vivid mental image of how Nicky & Joe met (blood-stained evil smiles?) but then no idea for a follow-up story and also the fandom is insane and I’m not sure I want to deal with all of *gestures vaguely* all that

“Shan Xia Notes” -for a TTRPG that never quite got off the ground; she was a semi-tragic selkie who was still in love with the evil queen/lady who stole her skin and I got to play her for like one session and she was surprisingly chaotic neutral, which wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting. But the game never really got off the ground, so I never had enough info to really delve into writing backstory fic

“post-Kruschev” -Kruschev’s List was the last episode of Scarecrow & Mrs King, and I was debating writing an epilogue in place of the s5 we never got, to try and tie up some loose ends, but the fandom’s three old-ladies in trench coats and I never quite worked up the gumption to get it anywhere

“Code Realize warm as silk sequel” -there is literally nothing in this file except “SEX! Only a little angst” because I wanted to write some “we can’t actually touch each other” smut but never actually did. 🤷‍♀️

BioWare (also all Not-In-Progress Anymore)

“seb/adelaide”, “Theia” & “DAI Erana” -these WIP folders were cannibalized for ficlets for the last few times I did fictober, and while originally I had ideas for longer epilogues for all three of them, at this point I don’t think any of the remaining bits could support a story any longer.

”whispers in the dark” -Maia Ryder never really got much fic at all; the cancellation of any further Andromeda stuff was really disheartening, and at this point I’d have to play the game again, and I don’t think I’m gonna manage that any time soon

”TSP” -a Mass Effect 3 Shepard AU collab project that kind of went off the rails, and our mutual brains/lives never quite seem to line up so we can try and rebuild it ”Ngaio & Tane” -my one truly ruthless Shepard (Alliance background, who romanced Traynor) whose father Tane Shepard was, I think, in PsyOps, and I wanted to figure out their complicated relationship but never really did know where I was going with it

”JE Zu & Yaling” -so I’ve rambled about my Tragic Sagacious Zu Romance Thoughts regarding Jade Empire more than once (#Icy Yaling should have most of it) but apparently I want to yell about it more than I want to actually write it? Whoops.

”CI sequel: 5 times fic?” -Cruel Intentions is a kinkmeme fill that I started and then it sat for like five years before I actually finished it, and I liked the ending, but it does leave a giant fucking question mark in terms of how those people got from there to where they are after the game, and I kind of wanted to write a proper h/c fic rather than just... leaving them wallowing in all that trauma?

But I didn’t. I don’t even remember for sure how I wanted to frame the 5/1 of it all, besides it being something sad about allowing people to see you or touch you in some way. (Prayers maybe, since I think there was definitely some Sebastian & Fenris & faith stuff going on in there.)

“candles” -Merribela prompt fill that I never was happy with? Not sure what I might do with it at this point, so it’s just sitting there all sad and lonely and neglected-like.

Shadowhunters

pt1: WIP LIST ONLY

“Persuasion” -so I keep trying to write Persuasion AUs in many fandoms because it’s my favorite Austen, but I think I like it too much, I have no real solid concept of how I’d transform it, and if I don’t have anything else to say about different characters within that framework, I have no push to actually write anything? Also this SH version of it suffered from MASSIVE scope creep when I started outlining and it got too big for me to handle so I like, killed it twice? Whoops. This one is really probably never gonna happen.

“oosdt sequel” -I wanted to write more about the Forest That Eats People and Magnus & Alec as Guardians Between Worlds, and also some background Magnus’ Found Family & Lightwood Family Feels (maybe some clizzy?) and I left a Madzie plot-thread dangling from the first one on purpose even but I think this one had too many ideas and not enough focus so it’s sort of sprawling all over a doc with a lot of “???” in it

“procedural-ish” -this was originally going to be a sex-farce. and then it turned more serious. and then maybe kind of copaganda which was uncomfortable in terms of the Everything That Is The News in 2020, and then maybe it was more a Mafia AU and at that point I had self-inflicted tone whiplash and I wished the voices in my head were a little more forthcoming about their plans so I stopped before I brained myself on my computer monitor in frustration.

“I had rather a rose than live forever” -I started a reverse!verse Malec (Shadowhunter!Magnus, High Warlock!Alec) for bingo last year, and I couldn’t quite get it together in time, so I made a moodboard inspired by the bits I’d started instead. I may see if one of my prompts from Bingo this year help me finish it?

“fall fright fest (practical magic  au)” -exactly what it says on the tin! almost exactly a year old & neglected! IDEK ANYMORE (I talked about this one with the WIP meme last time tho: here)

“priest!kink theology?” -I thought it was gonna be smut? I like priest!kink. I have made other people like it and yell at me even! But then I kept diverging into demon!Magnus thinking about Priest!Alec’s faith and as usual, IDEK ANYMORE *laughs*

(If they’re remotely canon-adjacent or divergent, a bunch of these are in here because I need to rewatch the show to get the pacing/timing/tone right and I haven’t, and I don’t know why, because I enjoy the show, but BRAINS! Are Dumb! So I guess that’s it?)

“I do” -I have tried to write this damnable Malec arranged marriage fic like six different times. I have signed up for fic exchanges and bangs with it, I have rewritten massive sections, trying to change tone or structure or POV or whatever, and it basically comes down to they like each other too fast and I keep not gutting it enough to get back to a useful pace, but by the time I realized that I was on take six and kind of sick of it. I may get back to it eventually

“wing!fic” -canon divergent in early s1, trying to deal with the consequences of Simon’s kidnapping as the Truly Serious Event that it should have been. It uh. Got heavier than I expected with those consequences (considering it was originally just supposed to be Alec’s wings flirting with Magnus) and also see above re: rewatching for pacing.

“2x20 aftermath/date night/pandemonium porn“ -yes that is the actual wip title. It used to be “spite fic” because I was originally inspired by fighting against a lot of fic!Alec characterization that was clearly based more on the books and ATG syndrome than the Alec in the show, which is the Alec I know and like and want to read about. BUT, pacing and etc. again, I think. Also I have somehow entirely lost my knack for writing porn, which makes it difficult to finish something originally intended to be smut!fic. Or even teasing almost!smut.

“rubbish heap” -so this is about three different fics that I realized complemented each other really well so they’re now all in the same file as I try to turn them into the sequel of “with an if in its soul”. It includes amnesia, parabatai lore shenanigans, a s3 rewrite, and some truly awful Owl adjustments that make me wince in horrified authorly delight and pain. BUT, as with the other ones in this file, the scope is large and I normally write short-fic and I kind of just threw up my hands in exasperation. I may have to break it back up into the three different fics instead, if I ever actually want to write it. Them? But also I need to take better notes on s3 to make sure I have what I need in here.

SH Pt 2: Started posting or not yet in hiatus because it’s actually almost ready to be a thing in the real world! maybe!?

“kisses (firsts)” -I actually started publishing this one, a “series of firsts” that was supposed to be kind of relationship milestones and kind of an excuse for smut, and then there wasn’t that much smut and I lost momentum and also dear lords & ladies the timeline is stupid, wtf. I may not ever add to this one, tbqh. It doesn’t stop in a terrible place, and they’re all ficlets so they stand alone all right.

“clizzy epilogue” -this is blank atm, it’s more a reminder for me to keep poking away at my “girls who can’t breathe air, only fire” collection BECAUSE I WOULD LIKE TO ACTUALLY GET TO THE CLIZZY AT SOME POINT

"mer!alec" -pts 2-4 of a series, but apparently having an actual plan gets in the way of me *writing* the thing, and I haven't managed to throw the half an outline far enough away from my brain to be able to write again. Or something like that.

"ibhww" -if broken hearts were whole is a soulmate fic I started a million years ago, and purposefully set aside to finish some other WIPs because I thought they'd be quick, and now it's just buried under two and a half years of regret and shame so it's hard to get back to it

"iafy" -i am for you is a delightful & frothy semi-epistolary fluff piece that also just lost momentum because Life & 2020 & etc. It's far and away the most popular thing I've ever posted on AO3, which also makes me feel weird sometimes, and I feel like the fact that there's no grand conclusion planned, just a bit more fluff and settling in, might end up being disappointing? Basically, it's the first time I think I've psyched myself out about reader expectations, and until I get over that I'm going to have trouble finishing the last couple chapters. (There really are probably only two more chapters though. IT’S SO CLOSE, I wish I could just... write it. And yet?)

“fake-hating” -I do not like fake dating as a trope that much, I just do not get it, but I love outside POVs and arranged marriages and there’s this delighful tumblr post about how they wished there was more fic about people who were together but had to pretend they werent’, and uh. This may be that? Eventually? I’m not exhausted by my failure to finish it yet, so it’s still in the regular folder rather than the hiatus folder, even though nothing’s been posted for it.

AND I THINK THAT’S IT?

Not as terrible as it could be, but still. MANY WORDS THAT MAY NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. Posting the equivalent of one’s old ratty sketchbook is always a weird feeling. :D

[2sunchild2]

Daminette au: Slow burn

I’m writing this instead of my fic because I just got hit by a little bitch, named inspiration.

Au by the great and powerful wizard of Oz @ozmav

Tags owo: @mindfulmagics @realrandomposts @chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay @slytherinsheashire @kelelamentia @justatempo-writes @jaynintodd @maribat-archive @starry-bi-sky @ayuchan07 @kaitlinmarley @miraculous-mangoes

ՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁՁ

15 year old, the meeting

Damian Wayne was never the social type. He mostly kept to himself and tended to stray away from any social interaction. There was plenty of that at home. He repeats to himself every time he gets upset over not having a friend.

He walked up the steps of Gotham Academy so he could escape whatever embarrassment Jason was planning on putting him to. The kid around him began whispering, and although immune to it (they talked about him a lot), he couldn’t help but eavesdrop at th conversation going on two feet away. He didn’t want to be obvious so he didn’t lean in too much, but he heard snippets.

...new girl...

...Paris...

...just moved...

A new girl? Interesting. He would look into that when he gets the chance. He made his way to the science classroom, bumping into an unfamiliar body. The people around them quieted down, staring curiously. The body ended up being a girl, who unfortunately dropped her books. She blushed in embarrassment and started speaking in a language he knew, but never really spoke.

She was rambling in French.

She was unfamiliar to him.

Oh... she was the new student.

She stopped when she noticed the silence and looked down, probably more embarrassed than before, if that was even possible.

“Damian Wayne.”

He had no reaction to the voice of Olive Silverlock (a real character I swear I looked it up) who marched up to him with a steely gaze.

“Are you trying to scare our new student on her first day?” The silver haired class president didn’t give him a chance to answer since she turned to face the flustered French girl, “You’re Marinette, right?”

The girl managed to nod. Olive grinned and locked their arms together, “Let’s get you settled in your dorm, ‘kay? And then I’ll give you a tour.”

The girl smiled at that, her blue eyes shone brightly. She let out a soft ‘merci’ to Olive and she turned to Damian before being dragged away.

“Je m’excuse.”

16 years old, the first step; starting out

Damian Wayne was not one to go out with a girl. That was Dick’s job. And yet, he looked at his best friend, whose head rested on his shoulder as she thought of a new design.

They were at the park today. Marinette mumbles something about the need to be inspired. They were in the manor at the time and Titus, with his amazing timing, wanted to go outside. It was a win win for everybody.

Damian watched as she focused on the blank page she seemed to be at war with. It was actually funny to see her this frustrated. He tried to hide his chuckle and failed. It was rewarded with a bone-chilling Marinette Dupain-Cheng glare. He put his hands up in surrender and smiled sheepishly. She went back to her glaring match with the paper.

Damian sighed and leaned back against the bench, “Don’t stress too much about it Angel, inspiration will surly make its way to your lap in no time,” he gestured towards the book set on her thighs.

It seemed like someone was in fact listening to him. A pretty pink petal had landed in the middle of the sketchbook. Marinette picked it up curiously before letting out a gasp. She turned to Damian with the biggest smile he’d seen today, “My best friend Damian,” she started, “I was hit, by a little bitch called inspiration.”

Damian let out a laugh. Only Mari.

17 years old, the second step; accepting

Damian Wayne didn’t like a lot of people. And Chloe Bourgeois was far from being one of the few. She arrived in Gotham, claiming to be a friend of Marinette’s. He was doubtful but the girl kept insisting and frankly, he wanted her to shut up.

Turns out the blonde girl was right because the next think he knew she was being tackled by his best friend. They were both on the floor, laughing in the lobby of the student dorms.

They sat in the cafe and he couldn’t help but notice how much lighter Marinette seemed to feel with this girl. She looked happy.

Damian decided that Chloe Bourgeois wasn’t so bad. As long as he got to see his Angel smile, he was content.

18 years old, the third step; falling

Damian Wayne was not an emotional person. He didn’t cry when he failed that one exam. He didn’t cry when he got badly hurt in a fight (though he tried to reassure Mari he was okay but she was not having it and he kept flinching every time he moved). Hell, he didn’t even cry during graduation.

So you can imagine the shock he was feeling when he felt a tear rolling down his cheek as Marinette stepped out of her dorm room in her prom dress. He could see Olive smirking at him from the corner of his eye but he paid no attention to her, he was to busy gawking at the beauty in front of him.

He never left her side during the party. And if she ever walked off to talk to some friends, he would always be watching her. Some guys kept telling him how ‘whipped’ he was. He did was he did best and ignored them.

The last dance of the night was surely something he’d remember for the rest of the night. They held each other closely while the music was playing in the background. He stared at her bluebell eyes as though nothing else mattered. It was just them.

It was safe to say he wasn’t expecting a slow kiss. But it happened. He enjoyed it. And he kissed back.

19 years old, the fourth step; realizing

She left.

Well, not entirely. She just wasn’t in Gotham at the moment. And she wouldn’t be back until Christmas.

Marinette had gone off to college abroad, in Paris, specifically, to pursue her fashion career.

And even tough they video chatted every weekend, it wouldn’t fill the gaping hole in his chest. He wanted her there, with him. He wanted to snuggle up to her while they watched one of those cheesy rom-coms she enjoyed so much. He wanted to sit in the kitchens and watch her hum a Disney tune while she baked. He wanted to hold her whenever she cane running to him with good news. He wanted to be with her while she sat down and sketched. He thought it was adorable the way she scrunched her brows in concentration, or how she stuck her tongue out when she was sketching, or, whenever she had artist’s block, when she’d doodle little things on his hand. He wanted to hold her dammit. He wanted to take her out, court her. He wanted to be with her, and for her to be with him. He wanted to hug her so tightly and tell her how much he loved her.

Huh. Love.

That’s something he hadn’t thought about before. Did he love Marinette? Or was this just admiration?

No. Fuck that. Fuck admiration.

He loved her. He fucking loved her.

He was in love with Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

20 years old, the final step; confessing

Damian Wayne was not nervous. Of course he wasn’t! He was Damian Wayne! He was Robin for fuck’s sake. Surely that would be harder than a little confession.

Right?

That was what he had initially thought.

And he was wrong. Oh so very wrong.

Damian Wayne was a fucking wreck.

Marinette had been rambling about one of her design projects. One she, obviously, passed with flying colours. That wasn’t what he had been paying attention to though. Maybe it was how the July breeze seemed to brush her hair, making it fly. Maybe it was the way she used her hands so animatedly whenever she told him a story. Maybe it was the way her eyes sparkled when she got exited over something.

“I love you.”

That made her stop. And it made him regret opening his mouth.

She stared at him, mouth agape, face as red as the strawberries in the bowl she was holding.

“I...you...what?”

Well, he couldn’t take it back now. And he did mean it. God this was noth how he had imagined confessing.

“I love you,” he took a sharp breath, “I’ve loved you for quite some time now actually. I only realized it last year.”

He raked his had through this hair and let out a shaky breath, “I honestly don’t know how it happened, but it did. And I’m glad it it.”

He looked back at her to see how she’d react. Her eyes were still wide and it didn’t seem like she’d be saying anything so he decided to continue.

“You don’t have to answer immediately! I was uhh... wondering if... you would let me court you... you don’t have to accept I mean you already have so much going on but if you’re willing—”

He was cut off. It took him a second to process what was happening.

She was kissing him.

Holy shit! She was kissing him!

But before he could kiss back, she pulled away, much to his disappointment.

“I love you too, silly,”she gave him a big toothy grin, he swallowed the lump in his throat. He could practically hear his hear beating in his chest.

She intertwined their hands and leaned in, “And I would love for you to court me.”

They were about to kiss again, but, this time, someone else decided to interrupt.

A faint ‘yes!’ was heard near the bushes, the voice sounded scarily familiar to Dick’s, which followed by a slap and an offended ‘ow’.

“Should we tell them we know they’re spying on us?”

His Angel laughed and shook her head, “Let them have their fun.”

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥

Last post before I start school!

[princecupcakee]

Park Bench | Reddie

Read on AO3

Rating: E

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Word Count: 3,112

Chapter: 1/8

Next Chapters: Chapter 2 (AO3), Chapter 3 (AO3), Chapter 4 (AO3)

Summary: Recently divorced and ‘incapable of love’, Eddie Kaspbrak moves to Los Angeles for work and a small, small hope of a fresh start. Broken up and never dated again, Richie Tozier tries to get back into love with help from his love of music. Quickly meeting eyes and one concert later, they think that maybe love isn’t that bad. So they try it one more time.

Chapter 1: Richie Tozier’s Plan, Eddie Kaspbrak’s First Vinyl & Beverly Marsh’s Plan

Tags/Warnings: Angst / Unhappy Ending / theres only one sex scene but this is explicit anyway / Bisexual Richie Tozier / Gay Eddie Kaspbrak / Post-Divorce / Implied/Referenced Cheating / Inspired By Remembering Sunday (All Time Low) / Inspired by The Book Ninja by Ali Berg / Implied/Referenced Child Abuse / Implied/Referenced Abuse / Implied/Referenced Manipulation

Tag-list: @richietoaster, @s-s-georgie, @mikeuris​, @gazebobullshit, @that-weird-girls-blog, @tozierking​, @thoughtfullyyoungduck, @s-onora, @bellarosewrites, @lermanslogan, @ambitiousskychild, @ghostnebula, @vanillaredvelvet, 

(Ask if you wanna be on the tag-list!!)

Chapter 1

Richie Tozier’s Plan

If Richie’s love life was written into a song, it would be called ‘Disaster’; named after his sad attempts at everything even just slightly involved with it. It would be a ballad, slow at first, some depressing line about how dreams don’t become reality. The chorus would hit loud, deafening if rock music wasn’t something you’d find yourself listening to, ‘He loved the sound of their romance’ is the loudest line in the chorus followed by: ‘But he messed up the steps to the dance’  then a sudden melancholy beat, ‘He failed his audition and he lost his chance.’ Toward the end of the song, as the sounds of the drums faded, and a slow guitar was the dominant sound, ‘It’s hopeless’ and the song would close.

Richie’s love life was an utter disaster if you tried to put it to words. He hadn’t had a single normal date in a very long time (he wonders if he ever did, really.) It wasn’t as simple as, ‘I spilled my drink and now there’s going to be a stain and that embarrassing’ those dates wouldn’t stand a chance on his. A few from his museum of failed dates:

Exhibit A -

James: Hey, I saw that you live in Los Angeles

Richie: Yeah! What about you?

James: I just got out of jail and my ex changed the locks. I really need a place to stay?

Exhibit B -

“I love this band so much,” Abigail gushed.

“Me, too! I’m really glad we were able to catch them here.”

And later that night on the news: ‘Woman arrested for jumping on stage to pull a strand of hair from a celebrity in a Los Angeles concert.’

Exhibit C - Connor. Connor Bowers was perfect with Richie, at least as Richie thought. The two had been dating for 2 years until Richie proposed, only to be rejected. Connor confessed that he was cheating, that he didn’t even actually like men. The night they got together, Richie had bought him a drink. Connor really only wanted to try it, but it clearly wasn’t for him. The next morning though, when they woke up in Connor’s bedroom, Richie decided that they were together. Richie wasn’t really thinking, he was just in desperate need for love. After Richie was kicked out of Connor’s apartment, he ended up in Stan’s house, unable to stay alone his own.

Richie never really moved out of Stan and Patty’s house. They didn’t really mind Richie living there, but they did mind that Richie was still bitter about the breakup. Stan and Richie have been friends since they were kids, he’s seen Richie in every way. Patty and Richie became close friends right when Stan introduced them. They would try to set Richie up with a few of their friends but he would just sulk in his room. He claims to be ‘done with love in the most chill way possible’ but the sad love songs, the bitterness on Valentines, and the sulking would beg to differ.��Love isn’t that bad you know, you could try”

“I don’t need to try. I’m fine,” Richie countered.

“There’s a lot of fish in the sea,” Patty said, kindly.

“Not anymore. All I get is plastic bags now,” Richie said bitterly.

Stan sighed, “you’re just gonna be alone forever?”

“Yes,” Richie replied immediately, standing up to get ready for work. Aside from a few comedy gigs, he works at a little record store a few minutes from where he lives. The store had the best speakers, phonographs, Walkmans, discs, headphones, everything. Richie loved it there, always being surrounded by music. The store was always pretty empty, aside from the occasional customer, it was just him. Like its always been.

He took his car from the driveway, heading for the city.

~~~

“Morning, Ben, Bev,” Richie nodded at them, smiling.

“Good morning Richie,” Beverly greeted with a wave, “How have you been?” Beverly was Ben’s wife, she has always been nice to Richie. ‘Nice’ didn’t compose of only greetings and coffee and being professional, they were close friends who went out to movies and heard each other’s lives play. Beverly designed clothing lines, while Ben was an architect. They don’t spend much time in the store, usually just leaving it with Richie.

“Pretty good, you?”

“Fine, but this one forgot to fix the thing on this table yesterday and was insanely worried all night,” Beverly pointed to Ben over her shoulder.

“It could break!” Ben argued, continuing to fix whatever was wrong with the table. Beverly walked over to Richie, who is sat down on the sofa. “So… I have this friend. He’s smart, good-looking, and really nice-“

“No, Bev, I’m not going to date. I’m single and unwilling to mingle.”

“More like, single and afraid to mingle,” she tiredly rolls her eyes, “Richie, there are good people out there, you just have to try.”

“I don’t see that. All the good people are with the other good people. Look at you and Ben! Both of you are like, super hot and nice. Guys like me got no chance- not saying that I want a chance, because I’m fine being alone.”

“You just have to keep looking.”

“Its a waste of energy to ‘keep looking.’ People who like me are not okay. Remember Abigail? Not to mention, people have shit taste in music.”

“You’re such a music snob,” She weakly laughs and shakes her head.

“Alright, its good. The screws were just-“ Ben says, getting up and walking to them.

“Ben, we love you but I don’t understand a single thing you say about architecture and furniture, and whatever else there is,” Bev jokes.

“I try. I’m out for today though, I have meeting, and I’m not sure if I’ll be back,” Ben says to Richie.

“Thats fine, I’ll just sit back here,” Richie smiles putting his hands behind his head and leaning further into the sofa.

“See you then.”

Richie picked up a vinyl and put it in the player. He had been playing around with cassettes, and a few of his own vinyl for a few hours now (‘few’ probably not being the case) and thinking and writing. After he’s finished a chunk of the script he was working on for his Friday performance at a local bar, he had gotten bored and just casually sat by the sofa. ‘Love’ the word danced around his head, taunting him. Or at least, to him, it was taunting. ’He woke up from dreaming and put on his shoes’ sung the player.

The song carried him around as he sang, “Forgive me I’m trying to find, my calling, I’m calling at night. I don’t mean to be a bother but have you seen this girl?” The lyrics took him strongly, his heart tight and loose at the same time, feeling each beat. He drums his fingers on the sofa, following the beats, “She’s been running through my dreams. And its driving me crazy it seems. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“you’re such a music snob,” rang in his ears, and he knew what he was going to do. He ran to his collection of vinyl seated by the left of the speakers, under the small table and began to search. He had his own few pieces of vinyl in the store, his own music that he listened to on the empty days of work. The Beatles, Green Day, Aerosmith, he took all the classics in his hands and grinned.

~~~

“Explain to me your plan again?” Stan asked, shocked.

“I’m going to get the best vinyl, write my number or email- whatever, and see who calls. Go on a date, see what happens. I’m gonna leave the vinyl all around the city’s subway all that, ” Richie explains excitedly.

“That might actually work!” Patty says, joining Richie’s excitement.

“This can get you more crazy dates than the ones you got before, Rich,” Stan says, unsure.

“Then, its material for my shows! Like Abigail and James!”

“See, Stan? Its great! Richie tries to go back to dating and he gets show material, win-win!” Patty hopes.

“Where will you get all the vinyl your leaving?”

“Thats the only downside, I’m going to use my own vinyl, maybe beg Ben to let me use the ones at the store?”

Stan sighs, softly smiling and nods, “this could work.”

~~~

‘Hot Fuss’ sat on his lap as he traced over the letters. Richie was in doubt now, his heart racing as he sat in the train. This was the first vinyl he would be leaving for this project of his. His stop was in a few minutes, so he pulled out the Sharpie from his pocket, bit the cap off, and wrote: ‘If you’ve enjoyed listening to this, would you enjoy a date too? Email me, Richie Tozier, @Remembering_Records.’ Richie set the vinyl down subtly and walked. “@Remembering_Records?” Stan asks.

“I was listening to Remembering Sunday, it was influenced,” Richie replies, hopping over the gap, he takes a deep breath and looks over at Stan, “Let’s hope this works,” he smiles, dashing away.

Eddie Kaspbrak’s First Vinyl

“I can’t believe we’re not using our cars,” Eddie mumbles, grumpily.

“Says the New Yorker,” Mike jokes.

“I drive there! Bill’s from there too! Subway stations are so unsanitary, so many people-“

“P-please! Enough with the com-complaining!” Bill says, frustrated, “M-Mike’s car broke down, and there’s no other way to get to B-Ben and Bev’s shop.”

“Its your day off! You landed in LA at midnight, and now we’re going to meet up with old friends,” Mike says happily, walking into the train.

“Exactly! Midnight. I shouldn’t be running around in this germ-infested-“

Mike looks at him tiredly.

“—I’m doing this because Ben and Bev are great and they’re our place to stay, Florida,” Eddie rolls his eyes.

Eddie doesn’t fit in LA. At all. He’s not used to the weather, the lifestyle, everything. He doesn’t like it here and just wants to go home. And Los Angeles seems to not want him here either. He lost one out of three of his suitcases the moment he got down, he had to wait an hour for Mike and Bill to pick him up from the airport, Mike’s car breaks down on the way to meet a friend, and now he’s taking the dirty subway.

He’s only really here for work. All three of them are. Bill and Eddie are from New York, and Mike is from Florida. They were transferred to the Los Angeles branch as a way to teach and help the new workers there. Bill’s ex-girlfriend, Beverly, lives in Los Angeles with her husband. They’re all good friends and Ben and Beverly offered to let them stay at their house (scratch that- mansion) for as long as they’re there. Of course, they took the offer instead of some crummy hotel, too far from their jobs.

Now here he is, on a train, heading to EighthNote to meet Ben and Beverly. But something isn’t right in this train, Eddie doesn’t know if this is just Los Angeles, but there, two seats away, is a light blue, paper casing, with the words ‘The Killers Hot Fuss’ sprawled across its center.

“Look, its Hot Fuss,” Mike points, “someone must’ve lost it.”

“We could put it in the l-lost and found,” Bill mumbles.

“Do not touch that. Who knows where its been?” Eddie says immediately, grabbing Bill's wrist and lightly pulling him back.

But Mike was already on his way to the seat, hand already about to grab the record. Until some guy in his late twenties took the record and sat on the seat. “Oh, is this yours?” He asks Mike.

“Oh, no, it isn’t mine,” Mike says walking back to Bill and Eddie.

~~~

On a street corner, a glass door, big windows, and a small wood sign that says EighthNote hanging above, Ben and Bev were talking inside when Bill, Mike, and Eddie walked in. “Ben! Bev!” Mike smiles, arms open wide.

“Its been so long!” Beverly sings, piling them into a group hug.

“It really has. I didn’t even know you had this shop,” Eddie says, admiring the speakers.

“At this point, it isn’t even ours, one our friends who work here basically one the place at this point,” Ben explains.

“You guys have a whole staff for this?”

“Nah, its just one of our friends. We pretty much just lay around here, the few customers here and there,” Beverly smiles, “he’s got comedy gigs though, he should honestly be a star now.”

“What’s his name?”

“Richie. We met him through Patty—one of my friends who model for me— her husband, Stan.”

“I’m probably pulling at strings here but are you talking about Stan Uris?” Mike asks, surprised.

“Yeah! How do you know him?”

“Best ex I ever had.”

Beverly laughs cheekily, “do tell.”

“Nothing! I just know from college, we dated a while, then he swooned for a girl, Patty Blum.”

“Thats her alright. Gorgeous.”

Eddie had moved on from the speakers by then, knowing they’d be reminiscing college in the next few minutes. Eddie only knows Ben and Beverly through Bill. Bill and Beverly had dated in college, but broke up and just stuck to being friends. Nothing is really awkward between them, all still close. Ben and Eddie both get along with architecture. He really just wanted something to do, he didn’t know what anything in this store was. “Its the thing from the train,” Eddie points, not exactly talking to anyone.

“Oh yeah,” Mike says walking over to Eddie. Mike’s reply startling him.

“Train?” Ben asks.

“We found a vinyl in the train on our way here,” Bill explains.

The conversation didn’t go into the details anymore, as Beverly took the record and put it in… Eddie didn’t know what that was. Was he supposed to? He saw Walkmans from his classmates when he was in middle school, but he never paid too much attention to it. He simply didn’t have the time or energy to care. Its just music. The song started oddly, in Eddie’s opinion. ‘Save some face, you know you’ve only got one’

“What the fuck is this?” Eddie wondered as the song continued.

“You’ve never heard ‘Smile Like You Mean It’?” Bill asks making Eddie slightly uncomfortable.

“I- No?”

Beverly cheekily grinning, “Well, since you’re in LA with us, you’re gonna finally see what good music is.”

~~~

The day took longer than Eddie had hoped, but now, he was in a car (thank God) heading the Marsh’s house. Grateful that Bill and Mike were just as exhausted and quiet as he was, he finally caught up with his thoughts. He was finally able to think again, about how the shop looked, how much he disliked the album Beverly basically threw at his ears, how cute the boy who walked into the shop earlier- no. No. Not what should be running threw his head right now. “Do you guys know the guy who walked into EighthNote earlier?”

“The tall, Hawaiian shirt guy with the glasses?” Mike asked, not looking at Eddie as he turned the wheel.

“Yeah.”

“I th-think that was the guy who works there. Who would randomly bring food into a store and y-yell ‘I brought Chinese, fuckers!’ If they didn’t work there?” Bill answers.

“Right,” Eddie says, his mind wandering away from the topic. He found himself opening his phone and searching ‘Hot Fuss’ into Spotify’s search bar. As much as he’d hate to admit it, it wasn’t that bad. And the guy at the store was cute.

Beverly Marsh’s Plan

“I brought Chinese, fuckers!” Richie shouted as he walked into the store. He instantly dropped his hands when he saw a man right in front of him.

After a quite lengthy moment of staring, “Excuse me,” he said, moving to the right of Richie, out the door, two men following after.

“Who were they?” Richie asked, setting the food on the table in front of him.

“Old friends of ours. They’re gonna be staying at our place,” Beverly explains.

“Okay,” Richie drags the word, “anyway, I have an amazing plan that was already put into action before any of you two hets try to stop me—”

“Uh-huh,” Ben cautiously nods.

“— so. Here’s how it works. I’m gonna set out a bunch of vinyl and shit on subways, with an email written on the back, and see how calls. I write if they wanna go on a date on the back, and if you’re worried if that'll be a bunch of people like Abigail and shit, I’m not saying you’re wrong. But if it is, it’s show material. It’s gonna be great.”

“This is amazing! You should’ve told us earlier, I totally would’ve come with you!” Beverly laughs.

“Wait. Did you start today?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“Which?” Ben smirks at Beverly, as she returns the look.

“Hot Fuss,” Richie smiles. Ben and Beverly snicker. Richie rolls his eyes, “Yeah I know I played Mr. Brightside to a girl before, but I didn’t know the song was about cheating!”

Beverly’s laughter doubles, “That’s not it but okay.”

“Whatever. But, anyway, who was the short guy earlier?”

“We told you, old friends. Why?” Ben says.

“Dunno. He was kinda cute I guess.”

“See? I told you you’d like him. That was the guy I was telling you about,” Beverly smiles knowingly.

“You tried to set up Eddie and Richie?” Ben wonders. Beverly sneaks a wink at Ben, “There’s a concert next weekend, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Think you could get us three more tickets?”

“Sure?”

~~~

Beverly walked into to her and Ben’s room, grinning. “Are you gonna explain why you’re so happy?” Ben asks.

“We’re gonna get Richie and Eddie together.”

Ben gives an unsure look at her, “Richie’s going back to dating with this vinyls-on-trains thing he’s doing. Are you sure you want to set him up? You know how unhappy he is about love and stuff, its surprising enough that he’s willing to try again.”

Beverly takes a moment to think. She knows Ben is right, but she also knows that this will be good for both Eddie and Richie. Well, the second one, she isn’t so sure of. “I guess,” Beverly says, slightly disheartened, “but, we could ask them and, y’know, try?” She says hopefully.

“As much as I worry about this, I also think that it could be good. We’ll take them both to the concert and see where they go from there. What do you think?”

“Perfect,” Beverly smiles.

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 10

Hey y'all. Got this chapter written out pretty quickly because I'm super excited for what comes next. There's one more chapter until we get into arc 2 of the fic. At that point, I'll probably take a break from updates until I finish planing out some stuff (probably about two weeks or so). Thank you as always for your comments and Kudos! Also: let me know if you can’t find my fic in the tags. For some reason I have to delete and repost 3 times before it shows up.

Read also on AO3 or see the Masterpost for more chapters!

The room was filled with the cracking of the fire. After her interaction with Coco, she and Gallant had upped the drama tenfold. Em felt like she was back in high-school -- the wanna’-be Abercrombie and Fitch models and America’s Got Talent stars whispering amongst themselves and snickering. You always knew they were talking about you because they wanted you to know they were talking about you, eying you up and down just to make a point.

So Em wandered to Langdon’s office. She had grown up, but it didn’t make the pair’s antics any less annoying. They had taken up the library as a show of power so the brunette had gone to the only place they couldn’t go.

Curled up on the sofa, Em was writing in a journal. Her knees pulled up to her chest and the radio playing lightly in the background, she could almost pretend she was back home on a rainy day.

Langdon was working across from her at his desk, typing away at a laptop he had smuggled inside. Ever so often, she’d look up at him. His eyes were always focused on the task at hand. Dark brows would furrow as he turned away from the screen to check something he had written down in a notebook.

It amused Em. So, he did have work on a higher level, beyond the interviews and selections.

“What’s your opinion in regards to your fellow residents?” Langdon asked out of the blue. It took a moment for his words to process, but after a moment she finally responded, eyes still focused on her notebook.

“With all the lurking you do I suspect you know my opinions.”

“You hate them,” He noted, still typing away at his laptop, “Yet you help them. Why?”

“I reserve my hate for people that matter,” She corrected, “They annoy me.”

“Yet you help them.”

Em sighed and looked up at him, offering a half-hearted shrug, “I’ve always had a problem saying ‘no,’ and Coco isn’t used to hearing it.”

It wasn’t entirely true. She had said those words to him ample times… Venable as well. It meant she deemed Venable as deserving of her anger, but what about Langdon? What did he mean to her to warrant being able to say that one simple word?

He didn’t push it.

“Gallant isn’t too bad,” she noted, “he just wants to be something to someone.”

“What about the Stevens?”

“Is this another interview?”

“Conversation,” He corrected, briefly looking up from his work, “It isn’t as if we can talk about the weather… and I value your opinion.”

She smiled and placed her notebook to the side.

“Andre…” she mused, looking off to the side as she thought, “He’s a wounded animal. Stu and I clicked and we only knew one another for a week at best, but anyone with eyes could see they cared deeply for the other. Besides Timothy and Emily, they were the people I considered myself close to.”

“And Dinah?”

Em’s answer was quick.

“Would do anything for her son, but after the incident we don’t talk much anymore. Andre needs her and considers everyone else an enemy in some shape or form.”

“The incident?”

Her voice was surprisingly matter-of-fact. There was no sign of distress or shame. She was reading from a history book that resided in her own mind.

“Venable fed us a person,” the brunette explained, “of that, there is no doubt. Timothy still has the finger to prove it. Just a bone, but I know a human finger when I see one.”

“Who was it? They said Stu was contaminated.”

Em read him like a book.

“Why do you ask when you already know the answer?”

Langdon ignored her question, only offering a shrug as he continued to work. “How did that make you feel?”

“Different.”

“Different?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He dropped the subject, grabbing a file from his desk and slowly walking over to her as he read it. So, this was just a conversation. The blond would be much more attentive if it were an interview, more calculating.

Stopping at her shoulder, he sat on the arm of the sofa. Em stiffened as his hand absentmindedly grabbed her own as he continued to read. The file was rather thick — too thick to be a file on one of the residents. Unless he had one that contained the contents of Coco’s twitter page. From what she could see there were no pictures, ruling out that theory entirely.

With a frown he set the file on the back of the chair, pulling her hand into his lap and playing with her fingers as he stared into the fire. They trailed over her palms as if the lines across it were a map to whatever he was searching for. Her neck felt hot, red splotches rising up it and onto her cheeks.

“…and I already know your opinions about the other four,” he mused, more a mutter than a statement, “Evie?”

He sensed the look she gave him without turning his head. “Right.”

“Then again I’m biased,” she noted, pulling her hand away before her palms could start sweating. Langdon seemed to realize what he had been doing and quickly straightened. Standing off to the side, he straightened his jacket and returned to his desk.

The blond’s questions brought up introspection on her own end, insecurities and worries rising to the surface. There was an argument to be made about projection. When she looked at Emily and Timothy, she saw people who were like her, like all the friends she left behind. If the pair survived then somehow Em’s friends survived — the ones who worked hard and deserved so much better.

Langdon was watching her. Blue eyes narrowed in on the absent void in her eyes he had seen in the hallway before.

“You look tired,” he noted, pulling her from her thoughts, “trouble sleeping?”

“No,” Em admitted, returning from her trance and sitting up on the couch before she fell asleep. The room was so warm. “I sleep fine… just wake up heavy.”

“Heavy?”

“Like my limbs are made of led,” she explains before waving a dismissive hand, “I just tampered off the last of my medication so it’s probably just withdrawal. Would certainly explain the weird dreams I’ve been having.”

This caught his attention, “What sort of dreams?”

“You really sound like your interviewing me,” she noted.

He smirked, sitting on his desk, “ye of little faith.”

“Now it sounds like an interrogation. We seem to talk about the same things over and over.”

“There’s little to talk about,” he reminded with a chuckle, “remember?”

She merely shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“Well?” he prompted, waiting for her to answer his question.

“My mind is what I hold most dear.”

“Some think the mind dies with the body.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I’ve learned threats don’t work on you.”

Em rolled her eyes, much to his amusement, “you can be one of the most annoying people… and I’ve spent the last year with Coco and Gallant.”

“You’re hedging.” Langdon sang, laughing as she held up her hands in defeat. Biting her lip, she tried to stay annoyed. The second she saw his grin, her own began pulling at her lips. He just stared at her. He could have stared at her for hours.

The smile eventually faded as she sighed, relenting to his demands. “I dreamed I was burned alive, but I wasn’t myself… I was someone else. Couldn’t tell you who.”

Langdon stiffened, but only for a moment.

“Do you often have dreams like that?”

“My dreams have always been weird,” She admitted, “side effect of an overactive imagination.”

He nodded and took a seat back in his chair, flipping his laptop back on and waiting for the screen to load. “I imagine confinement in the after-effects of the nuclear apocalypse does little to help.”

Em was quick to change the conversation. Her dreams were something she both took pride in and felt embarrassment from. They inspired her stories, but also made for awkward conversation when anyone asked for the source of said inspiration.

“What are you working on?” The brunette asked.

“Classified,” he replied on instinct, tone telling her something had popped up which required his focus. However, he had made a promise.

“Langdon.”

He looked up and sighed, eyes flickering to her before returning their attention on the task at hand. “My job doesn’t end once the selections are completed. I have to arrange transportation back to the Sanctuary as well as keep tabs on operations on the inside which have taken place in my absence.”

“Sounds like you’re an important person?”

The man smirked at that, “you think they’d let just anyone decide the fate of residents?”

“You know what I think.”

“That I do.”

They lapsed into silence once more. One minute passed… two… twenty. She went back to writing in her notebook and Langdon went back to typing away at his computer.

He would occasionally reference back to files, one hand keeping his place while his other typed. His movements were a soothing white noise that helped her think upon her notes.

Langdon had been right. Em would never fully trust him until she got into the Sanctuary. When that time came, she’d then have to prove her own honesty.

Her morality refused to let her friends die, however. No matter what oath she made. Loopholes… she had to find loopholes. Em couldn’t tell them what she learned or about her deal. Atop all that, she had to give Langdon a wide berth to work.

She didn’t necessarily have to tell them anything. Not if she manipulated them, pushed them in the right direction. It wouldn’t compromise Langdon’s mission. It wasn’t as if she was getting them into the Sanctuary by giving them all the answers. She was just pushing them to find the truth. Timothy and Emily were already on the right path, after all.

Em hoped they found something of weight in the man’s room. Then she could assess the situation properly.

Langdon flipped through his files, trying to find a specific one. Not outwardly marking them was a pain in the ass, but it was a needed secrecy. Something caught his eye and he stopped, flipping back a few pages and looking up at his companion.

“Happy belated birthday,” He said. Em’s nose scrunched in confusion as she looked up from her book. For a moment she seemed to be doing the math in her head. “You were born an exact week before Halloween.”

“When’s Halloween?”

“In two days.”

She hadn’t even noticed. It wasn’t as if there was anything to look forward to. If she was being honest, she had forgotten what day it was. The hours seemed to blend together the longer she stayed in the outpost.

“Halloween was the theme of many birthday parties,” she said with a smile, trying not to look too disappointed, “explains a lot, if I’m being honest.”

“Such as?”

“Fascination with the macabre and occultism,” she admitted, “all those… weird things.”

“I don’t find it weird at all,” he reassured, “how old are you now?”

“23.” She said, the pair lapsing into silence before she spoke again, “when is your birthday?”

“March fifth,” he answered.

She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling as she thought before letting out a frustrated sigh. “I was going to try and guess your zodiac. That’s how people flirt, isn’t it?”

“It was also the trademark of the Zodiac killer.”

“Well… shit.”

He laughed, shoulders shaking as he wandered back towards the couch.

“Pisces,” he said, plopping down opposite of her.

“That means you’re… that’s the fish one, right?”

His cheeks hurt, “you’re terrible at this.”

“I don’t exactly have the Sunday paper to reference.”

“Are you trying to tell my future now?”

She rolled her eyes and swatted him with her book. He watched red crawl up her neck and to her cheeks as he continued to chuckle at her antics.

“Okay, fine,” Em relented, “another topic then — what do you miss most about the old world?”

“You’re filled with questions today,” he noted, trying to hide his amusement but unable to rid the smile that took up his entire face.

“I’m tired of having one-sided conversations,” the brunette corrected. She tried to look stern, but failed miserably. “Believe it or not I don’t actually like talking about myself as much as I have.”

Langdon rose an incredulous brow, “oh?”

“Okay,” she admitted, “maybe a little, but who doesn’t?”

He laughed and she smiled. God, it had been so long since he had laughed.

“What do you miss?” the blond countered, chuckling as she sent him a scathing look.

“Did you not hear a word I just said?”

Rolling his eyes with as much dramatics as he could muster, he finally gave her an answer.

“There are many things I miss about the old world, but things must be sacrificed for the new one.”

“I’ll hit you. I really will.” She snipped, “that’s not an answer.”

Em knew with one look that he was doing this on purpose. His smile was shit-eating and smug. The game of cat and mouse continuing.

“Yes, it is.”

“For a politician, maybe.” She said, staring at him silently until he gave her the answer she wanted. He had to think long and hard. Langdon hadn’t lied — he missed a great deal of things. But what did he miss the most?

“The freedom,” he decided with a nod of his head before gesturing to the rest of the room, “dress these places up as much as you want, but they’re still cages.”

“And the sanctuary is different?”

“No,” he admits, “but it’s certainly larger.”

“By how much?”

All he gave her was a smirk, “you’ll find out soon enough.”

“Will I?”

He just stared at her and she stared in return. Both of them were trying to read something from the other as if there was some sign that they were telling the truth.

Em didn’t know what to feel. There was a fascination she felt when she looked at him. When she spoke, she felt a familiarity, their conversations were so easy and natural. She would see the twitch of his lips as he read or the way he crossed his legs and it felt like she sat there a hundred times before. Part of her wanted to see it a hundred times more.

Landon’s brows furrowed and sat up a bit.

“You’re crying,” he noted.

Confused, Em placed a hand on her cheek. When she pulled back it was wet. Her brows furrowed as well. Why was she crying?

“Odd,” she muttered, “allergies, possibly.”

“There’s nothing living here.”

“There’s dust,” Em noted, chuckling a bit, “lots of it.”

They weren’t stopping, her eyes watering over and over again. Langdon found himself reaching forward to wipe them away. Why did he have to get so close to her? She’d bump noses with him if she leaned towards him even half an inch.

“I have a few more interviews to conduct,” He noted, pulling away quickly and rising to his feet, “I hope to speak with you soon.”

“Yeah,” she noted, swiping at her eyes and grabbing her notebook, “same time tomorrow?”

He smiled and shook his head, “would I be able to stop you?”

“Probably not.”

Carefully closing the door behind her, Em both ways before making her way back to her room. God, the tears weren’t stopping. It was more annoying than anything. She could hardly see.

Turning the corner, a force slammed into her shoulder. The brunette stumbled back slightly before hands centered her once more.

“Hey,” the familiar voice of Emily chuckled. Then she noticed her tears, “What’s wrong?”

“Allergies,” Em said, scrunching her nose and fanning at her face, “god, they haven’t been this bad in years. I feel like I’m chopping a fucking onion.”

Emily could only laugh, stepping back and pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully she dabbed at her friend's eyes. “Here.”

“Ugh,” Em groaned, gently taking the piece of fabric from her friend’s hand, “maybe it’s a hair. Can you see anything?”

Em turned her head up and did her best to keep her eyes open. Emily shook her head.

“Nothing.”

With a sigh, Em went back to dabbing the tears away and started to move down the hall, “maybe it’s a stray hair. I’ll meet with you and Timothy later, okay? Need to get whatever it is out of my eye.”

Emily could only step back and let her friend pass.

“We’ll be in the library!” She called after Em. The only sign the woman heard her being a thumbs up thrown up above her head before she turned another corner.

There was something going on with that girl. Emily could feel it in her gut. She just didn’t know what.

***

“What did you find?” Emily asked her as soon as she entered the library, barely giving the brunette enough time to take a seat.

Em looked around the room, ensuring the three musketeers were the only people in the room. Timothy leaned on the other side of the table. Emily was pacing behind him as always.

“Nothing,” she said, her heart twisting as she blatantly lied.

Timothy scratched at his head, cheeks puffing out before she let out a long breath. He glanced at Emily who paused her pacing, lips pursed as she held back her disappointment.

“Nothing?” She echoed.

“He’s like a shadow,” Em said, turning sideways in her chair to face them properly, “always lurking somewhere. Was barely in there ten minutes before he showed up.”

Dragging his hands down his face, Timothy punched his brow and flexed his jaw. God, he was not made for this kind of work. He wanted to be an engineer, not a spy.

“We should stop while we’re ahead,” he said, glancing between the two women.

Emily gave him a look somewhere between shock and anger. “Don’t you want to know the truth?”

“He could kill us for this,” Timothy hissed, “leave us for the cannibals. Don’t you remember what he said?”

His girlfriend rolled her eyes, “I have ears, Timothy.”

The man shook his head, tapping his knuckles against the table and avoiding her gaze. Em watched their interaction. She wasn’t about to get in the middle of a lover’s spat.

“Is the truth really worth it?”

Emily’s response was immediate, “Always!”

Timothy sighed, “look, why don’t we wait till after the selections to find the truth. That way we don’t die.”

“And be trapped in another cage?"

“He has a point,” Em noted, the ebony-haired woman turning on her heels to face her. Emily felt betrayed, face contorting with anger.

“If you two want to die in your ignorance so be it!” she hissed before storming out, the door slamming shut behind her.

Timothy was staring at the floor, hand going up to scratch at his head and then rub at his neck. It didn’t take a genius to see he was conflicted.

“She’ll cool off,” Em reassured.

“I know.”

“She has a point.”

He turned to look at her in disbelief, “I thought you—”

“You both have points. Good points.”

“But which one is best — being screwed over now or later?”

Em shrugged, “depends.”

“On what?”

She sighed, taking a moment to articulate her thoughts, “I can’t answer that for you… you have to fill in the blanks yourself.”

Timothy could only nod. Such seemed to be the consensus. If only the waters weren’t so murky.

“What did y’all find?” Em finally asked.

“Venable has been making her own rules,” Timothy noted, “… abstinence and all that.”

“And that’s what Langdon’s focused on?”

“He has a laptop,” Timothy explained, “There were lots of emails between himself and the Cooperative. Emily thinks he has a satellite hook-up or something.”

“What kind of emails?”

Timothy shrugged, “general updates. Last outpost had extremely depleted resources, surrogate tests were failing, status updates…”

“… and?” Em pressed, knowing there was more.

“He plans to execute Gallant and Venable,” Timothy said. His eyes flickered as if he were reading the email to her. “there are two promising candidates so far that he’s considering taking to the Sanctuary.”

Em let out a breath of relief. So, Langdon had been listening to her. She nodded for a moment, thoughts spinning.

“Go to Emily,” she said.

“What?”

“Apologize,” she says, rising from her seat and starting towards the door, “you have to work together to find out more.”

Timothy gaped for a second, pushing off the table as he watched her leave.

“What about you?” he finally spoke.

“I’m the distraction, remember?”

The boy could only stand there as the door closed behind her; brows furrowed. God, why did she always have to be so… cryptic? Scratching at the back of his head, Timothy paced back and forth for a moment.

The creaking of the door caught his attention once more. Freezing mid-step, he rose his gaze to stare at the new arrival. Emily was peeking her head in, looking for any sign of Em before walking back inside.

“What did she say?”

Timothy let his hand drop to her side, “That we need to work together.”

“Did you tell her about the emails?”

“Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing,” Timothy replied, “but she’s always examined our findings before saying a word… even to us.”

Emily sighed, reaching out for his hands which he carefully placed in her own. She stared at them as her fingers smoothed over his knuckles and traced circles on the back of his hands.

“She’s hiding something,” she said, biting her lips and eyes welling with concern, “Langdon must have done something to her.”

“Or maybe she didn’t find anything,” Timothy reminded, “She’s honest to a fault… a really, really big fault.”

A small smile graced Emily’s lips. It was quickly gone, replaced by an expression of determination. Finally, she looked up at him.

“We need to investigate on our own.”

Timothy opened his mouth, but she quickly cut him off, “without Em. He can’t silence all of us.”

***

“Who deserves a shot at salvation?” Langdon’s questioned, voice booming across the room as he strode to his desk with a bounce in his step. Venable stood by the fire, back straight and lips pressed into a thin line. The woman was like a statue. Then again, the Greys had come to call her the ‘iron woman’ for a reason. Even iron rusted.

He eyed his files, hands hovering over the names of Purples. He knew exactly how Venable viewed them, the rage she felt at their presence.

“Let’s start with… Coco St. Pierre Vanderbuilt.”

Settling in his chair, Langdon placed a hand on either side of the desk, keeping his posture open. Body language was a key part of communication. It was processed so subconsciously one didn’t know they were telling a story with their whole bodies. He needed Venable to feel like she was in charge. Give her the power and then yank it out from under her feet.

Venable scoffed before her eyes narrowed on him, “The Vanderbuilt girl is a vacuous abomination of inbreeding. She’d be my last choice to propagate the human race.”

Langdon simply stared at her and she continued on with her rambling. Each insult pulling her spine straighter and straighter, giving her a pathetic illusion of power.

“The hairdresser is a cowardly homosexual. His grandmother is a festering pustule who just will… not… die.” She ranted, eyes alighting with a fire of superiority and a satisfied smirk crawling onto her face. Recognizing her own hubris, she pulled back and tapped her cane quietly. “And the talk show host…”

The woman balked at that one, glancing at her feet as she searched for something to say.

“Well, actually,” she admitted, “I don’t know that much about that one.”

“And Emily?”

When he looked upon Wilhemina Venable he did not see a leader. He didn’t even see a person. All he could see was the woman who had tried to hit Em, the fear in her eyes when the brunette refused to cower. Langdon had no pity for those who abuse their power.

“I’m surprised we haven’t run out of oxygen with all her preaching,” Venable scoffed, “She’s an ungrateful brat that’s never satisfied. A mangy mutt that thinks she’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Langdon showed no reaction to her words. His face was an iron mask that, unlike Venable, he knew how to regulate.

“Mutts can still bite.”

The woman chuckled, clearly amused, “all she knows how to do is bark. She lacks the backbone needed to carry out anything of substance.”

Langdon offered a mocking smile that Venable quickly mistook for validation. Her eyes glimmered with the satisfaction of a queen on her throne.

“At this rate, you and I will have the Sanctuary all to ourselves.” He noted. The woman made no move to react or acknowledge his statement.

“Come,” he sighed, rising from his desk once more and rounding it to stand at her side, “There’s no need for us to be adversaries, Ms. Venable.”

The woman seemed to consider his proposition, chin rising ever slightly to look into his eyes. They were so blue it was easy to see why many residents were mesmerized by them. There was an… attraction to the man, a magnetic quality. Perhaps a man she could tolerate. A man Venable could use to get out of this hell hole to rise to a position more suitable to her skills.

Langdon allowed her to stare for a long moment. He stood close to the woman, but not close enough. She would have to make the move… at which point he would land the final blow.

“Take off your dress,” he ordered, tone and words off enough to make Venable falter. Her eyes widened in surprise as she processed his request, but made no move to put distance between herself and Langdon.

“I will not,” she gaped, incredulous and chuckling as if he were telling her a horrible joke.

Langdon’s face remained as it was.

“Part of your cooperation includes a physical examination,” he reminded.

Venable, like Em, knew exactly what a physical examination required. She kept her eyes on the man, refusing to give him any more ground than he had already conquered. “You can read my file.”

The blond’s head quirked to the side as he assessed the woman before him, “Your file won’t show me what I need to see… your shame.”

Venable’s confident smirk disappeared and his own quickly formed. It was as if he was sucking the power from her and fueling himself. Slowly, he began to circle with his hands behind his back, a vulture around a wounded and slowly dying animal.

“I want to see that part of you that humiliates you the most.”

His hand trailed up her arm and over her shoulder where it came to rest by her neck, touch light as a feather. Her hand sank into his like a claw before it could reach the zipper just a breath away from his fingers. He placed another hand on her other shoulder, caging her in place and leaning in so his breath fanned her ear.

“You won’t get a second chance.”

Venable’s breath made her chest rise and fall, panic rising from her belly and into her chest. She stared at the ground, weighing her options before she finally retracted her claws.

Langdon’s hand trailed to her back, slowly pulling down the zipper of her dress to reveal a twisted spine, the flesh around it a deep bruised purple.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, hands trailing down her spine.

Venable spoke with all the conviction she could muster. She focused her eyes on the wall and willed her tears to return back into her eyes, “no.”

She felt his face come closer to her cheek, voiced hushed as he spoke, “Does it bring you great pain.”

It took Venable a moment to gather the breath to even formulate a response, shoulders shuttering. A single tear fell down her cheek, the shame too much to bear.”

“Yes.”

Slowly, she turned her head towards him. His nose was almost close enough to brush her own and she tilted her head as if she hoped he’d kiss her.

“Is this part of my test?” the red-haired woman asked, eyes staring into his with a vulnerability she hadn’t show in years.

He shook his head, moving slightly towards her, “isn’t everything?”

“So then,” she said, eyes flickering to his lips, “Do I pass?”

Langdon leaned forward, her eyes closing in expectation as his nose brushed her own. His breath and the expectation of his lips made her heart hammer in her chest.

Then it was gone, a wicked smile forming before her eyes on the man. She felt the humiliation before he had even said a word. More tears trailed down her cheeks.

Revenge certainly was sweet.

“No.”

***

Em sat in the salon, Coco on the couch opposite her. The blond was posed, resting her elbow atop the back of the chair and her head upon her dangling hand. It was an Instagram-worthy pose. One Em was supposed to be capturing… instead, she was drawing Langdon from memory. She was merely using Coco as a reference to draw the couch he was leaned back on, legs crossed and eyes on his file.

“Are you almost done?” Coco snipped, “my elbow is cramping.

To her credit, she had drawn Coco. She just hadn’t told the woman she had finished.

“Do you want it done right?” Em asked. There was no hard in torturing the woman just a little longer. For once the salon was quiet. Coco was deep in thought about something, a rare occurence.

“My family was supposed to be here,” Coco said, breaking the brief respite with her quiet words, “My dad purchased the tickets.

Em glanced up at her before her eyes returned to her drawing. She was unsure of what Coco wanted from her. “So you've said.”

Green eyes flickered back to the blonde as she shifted uncomfortably. Halting in her ministrations, Em watched her for a moment. It was like a sudden ripple in the water, something either falling below or coming towards the surface.

Coco’s eyes flickered to the fire. She remembered being a tiny tot having lavish bonfires with her family in flannel shirts that cost more than a small New York apartment. Her little brother would be such a menace, chasing her around with dirt-covered hands or a worm dangling off a stick. She’d scream but always found herself laughing when he’d toss it at her. He always had the worst aim. Their father had to bribe the high-school baseball team into letting the boy play.

The woman turned in her seat, Em closing her sketchbook to give Coco her attention. The blonde sunk in her seat. Her lips twisted and eyes focusing on the empty spot in front of her, furrowed brows darkening her expression.

Finally, she looked to Em, scooting towards her and crossing her legs on the couch. “You’re one of those… smart people, right? Do you think they suffered?”

“I—” Em was blindsided by the question, mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish.

Coco was quick to press the subject, “They were in Hong Kong — right by the first blast.”

The woman’s eyes were so desperate Em couldn’t even formulate a thought. What was she supposed to say? What was the truth? Was it better to tell her a lie or the harsh reality?

“Coco, I—”

“Did they?”

Jaw tensing, Em took in her eyes welling with unshed tears and her hands which tightly gripped at her arm. This wasn’t something the woman wanted, but something she needed. They were all facing death and with it their own guilt and regrets.

“They would have been… incinerated in a matter of seconds,” she found herself saying. Em's voice was slow and even in an attempt to keep it from trembling. Her hands reached to squeeze Coco’s as if her touch was a soothing balm to the wounds they were reopening. “If they did feel any pain it would have been like a paper cut— sharp and then… nothing.”

Coco nodded, chest rising and falling as she tried to keep panic from rising. Trembling lips formed an uneven smile as she looked up at Em. The action shocked the brunette. It was a part of Coco she had never seen, a part of Coco she empathized with.

“Thank you,” Coco whispered, squeezing the other woman’s hands. Em was too shocked to move. She was still processing the situation, her own words and the meaning behind them, the weight they held.

Coco fanned at her eyes, tilting her head back.

“Oh,” she whined, “I can’t cry… I only brought enough eyeliner to last me a year. Mallory!”

She was gone before Em could even realize. The brunette’s brows were furrowed as she stared at the floor, confused and… sad — so, so sad. The kind of sadness that hit you like a punch to the gut, strong enough to make you double over.

Her own breath became labored as the voices once again welled in her head. They screamed and begged for life, just one more moment to apologize for their wrongs… to make right arguments that turned into their last words. A million hands gripped on to her, dragging her into the black and gaping void. She could feel their fingers digging into her skin, bruises rising to the surface.

Em jumped as a hand touched her shoulder, squeezing it and pulling her out of the river Styx. She wiped her face of tears and turned to the man she hadn’t even heard approaching.

Langdon was blatantly concerned, kneeling beside her and holding her hands. It centered her somewhat, kept her from drowning.

“Why do you cry?” He asked, voice quiet and gentle.

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a shake of her head. Suddenly, she stood, Langdon mirroring her actions. Green eyes looked everywhere but at him and her hands slipped from his grip. “Excuse me.”

His hand shot out; grip strong enough to stop her from turning away. It loosened, and he let his hand drop to his side as he willed her to look at him.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yet I feel guilty all the same.”

Langdon shook his head and took a step towards her, hand hovering over her back as his body curled around her front. “You couldn’t have saved them.”

Em’s hands curled into fists at her side. She remembered her brother, her nieces, her nephews — all too young to die. Taking a step away from him, she finally spoke. “I could have made sure they didn’t die alone.”

Langdon loosened his grip, allowed her to walk away. His eyes didn’t leave her as she left the room, palms swiping at her cheeks as she made her way down the hall.

That was the difference between them — Venable and Em. The former played at caring but used it as a weapon. The red-haired woman was a Puritan preacher, rising the heat on who she perceived as sinners. She didn’t really care about what she preached. It only served to keep those around her in line.

Em, however… Em cared. She cared even when she didn’t want to, when she wanted to be annoyed. Satan did not hate the humans just because they were mortal, flawed. Lucifer was once an angel, after all. An angel dedicated to justice against the sinners.

***

The salon was a place none of them could stay away from for long. It was like the living room of your house, a place you always wandered to when you didn’t know what to do.

Em didn’t like looking weak. She had already cried in front of Langdon more times than she had cried in front of her own mother. Perhaps it meant she was comfortable with him. The thought of anyone seeing her with snot running out of her nose and eyes puffy and red was still humiliating.

Much to her surprise, Gallant was in the salon. His eyes were dead as he stared into the distance, his usual shades missing to reveal the face of a man who had lost everything.

She had heard about what happened, the torture brought to him by his own grandmother’s hands. Coco wasn’t exactly good at keeping things quiet.

“I don’t want to talk,” Gallant grumbled, sensing her presence.

“I didn’t come to talk.”

Gallant turned to look at her over the back of the couch. He had expected Coco. Somehow this was even worse. The hairdresser wanted to hate her, but he knew it was Langdon he was really angry at.

“Here to gloat?” he asked, slumping back into his seat and picking up a glass which had fallen to the side. He picked it up, closed one eye to stare at the bottom, and then downed the rest of the water.

“You aren’t the best man in the world, but you certainly aren’t the worst,” Em said as she took a seat opposite him. She left a cushion length between him and herself. “But there’s no sin in that.”

Gallant glowered at her and scoffed, “great pep-talk. You and Dinah should be co-hosts.”

Em watched as he stared at his glass once more and frowned, letting his hand drop to his side once more. Gallant may be pouting like a child, but it wasn’t without reason.

“Do you want some water?” she asked and he numbly nodded his head. She rose from her seat and brought over the pitcher, sitting closer to him to take the glass from his hands. The man was nearly catatonic like a sad drunk. With a sigh, she placed the pitcher on the coffee table and the glass back in his hands.

“You’re not disgusting Gallant,” She assured, squeezing his hands around the glass, “a bit arrogant, perhaps, but not disgusting.”

After a moment she pulled away. “And it’s okay to mourn what could have been.”

The man stayed silent, sparing a few fleeting glances in her direction. He reminded her of a lost puppy. A petulant one — the kind that would tear up your shoes and your house until you came home. Somehow, they were endearing despite the annoyance they brought.

Gallant sat still for a moment before leaning on her shoulder. Tears began to flow freely from his eyes and he curled into her like a lost child. Slowly, her arms curled around him and she held him to her chest.

“Welcome to the shitty family club,” She jested once he had finally calmed himself down. The man shook his head and chuckled through tears, using the corner of his dress shirt to clear away his tears and snot.

“You tell anyone and I’ll kill you,” he said, a smile forming on Em despite her previous feelings towards the man. She half expected him to run off as Coco had, use her for the therapy and then go back to his day.

“Twenty questions?” he asked, grabbing the pitcher and pouring himself and Em a glass. He held it out expectantly and she slowly took it from his hands.

“With no drinks?”

“Don’t remind me.”

[theartoflovingthomashunt]

HWU101: A Transfer

Masterlists: [Hollywood U] || [Red Carpet Diaries]  || [Baby Hunt]  || [Love & Scotch HWU/OH]  ||  [#HollywoodHacks HWU/LH]

Characters: Alex, Thomas Hunt, Addison Sinclair, Holly Chang, Mike Tanner, Ben Park (#LoveHacks)

Series Background: This takes place in my current Hollywood U AU a couple of years before Love & Scotch. It also is set before the #LoveHacks Choices series. 

Hunt and Alex are dating openly. He had his tenure stripped and they are both on probation, but they are in the clear. With the success of Permanent Wound and the press from outing Richard Sheridan and The Silver Circle, Alex is in high demand. She wants to produce her first movie and Hunt has agreed to direct (coming out of retirement). Now if only they can agree on it!

(This starts off with the canon storyline of them moving forward with Centaurus Lost, but it falls apart at the start of this and moves on with an original story.)

Chapter Synopsis: Hunt agreed to come out of retirement to direct Alex’s first solo-produced film, Centaurus Lost, but the production is going anything but smoothly. Will things change with the arrival of new student, Ben Park?

☆  ☆   ☆   ☆   ☆

 “Cut!” Hunt shouted. His fingers dug through his hair as he turned away trying to gather his thoughts. “Get out! All of you! OUT!”

 “Professor?” Addison questioned, looking up from one of the actors, whose costume she was adjusting. “We still have two more scenes to shoot today.”

“Leave! That includes you, Miss Sinclair. I know how you feel about following directions, but just this once do as you’re told,” Hunt grumbled. “Everyone out! This isn’t working. I need to think.”

“Let’s wrap for today,” Alex stepped forward attempting to calm the cast and crew of Centaurus Lost. “Get some rest and be back tomorrow ready to pick up where we left off.” 

“It’s okay,” Alex continued, noting the looks of uncertainty on the faces of those around her. “Go! Enjoy the beautiful afternoon.”

Alex helped the crew clean up and put the equipment away for the day, her gaze shifting to Hunt. He continued pacing off to the side, deep in thought.

 “Hey.” Alex ran her fingers up Hunt’s back, once everyone else had left. “Tell me what’s going on.”

 Hunt shifted away, Alex’s hand falling beside her.

 “This film isn’t working.” Hunt’s scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Miss Chang and Mr. Tanner did not stop bickering about the script all day. Every time we went to shoot a scene, one or both of them, decided there should be changes. They both have some ideas of merit, but right now, they’re hurting this film far more than helping it.”

 “Thomas,” Alex breathed. She attempted to move closer, but he avoided her once more.

“I walked away from directing once because studios fed me uninspired projects. I refuse to compromise my artistry or ethics,” Hunt ranted, his gaze stern and unrelenting. “As I said, the project has to be right for me and this one isn’t working.”

“Let’s just talk about this,” Alex suggested.

“I know how much you wanted this to work… You’re the producer, find some way to fix this!” Hunt paused for a moment before continuing. “Or... I’m leaving this production.”

Alex felt her eyes misting at his tone. “Fine!”

“Alex,” his voice was softer now at the hurt in her eyes. He moved closer.

She shook him away. “Compartmentalize. I know.”

He nodded. “Go fix this. Convince me why I should take a chance on this film when so many facets of it are falling apart already.”

Alex turned and walked away. She didn’t dare look back. The past few days had been a strain between them. Even if they had agreed not to bring work home, it was hard to turn her feelings on and off. It was one thing when she was just balancing Professor Hunt, with boyfriend Hunt, now she also had business partner and director Hunt to keep separate.

 She knew before she could fix the film, she had to save the screenplay. 

Alex texted Holly and Mike. “Campus Brew. 30 minutes. This is not an option. Be there or you’re out.”

“Nice try, sweetheart. You can’t make my movie without me,” Mike replied.

“Whose movie?” Holly answered. “I believe I’m the lead writer. My name is first on the script.”

“Relax, Pixie Dream Girl. No use getting mad and looking all hot when I’m not there to see,” Mike argued.

“ENOUGH! Act like professionals. Show up for this meeting. Or breach your contracts and be out. I’m serious.”

No wonder this film was sinking. These two were never going to play nice, which is why she had chosen a public venue for their meeting, at least that would force them to keep it together to some extent. (She hoped.)

Alex stormed into the coffee shop, barely looking up from her phone as she followed the heated text exchange from her screenwriters. At this point, nothing short of an epiphany would save the film and she knew it. Hunt was right. 

“Ahh!” A deep voice startled her as she bumped into someone, scattering their books and papers all over. 

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t even looking.” Alex quickly apologized. “This is all my fault.”

“It’s okay, Jesse Quick,” He chuckled more to himself than anything else. He adjusted his glasses.

“I’m not sure who Jesse is?” She looked at him curiously. “I’m Alex!”

“She’s just..." He paused, noting how Alex’s red shirt hugged her petite figure and the way her brown hair appeared windblown from seemingly rushing off, perhaps to save Central City. His mind had already begun sketching her before he could stop it. Everywhere he looked he saw inspiration. He quickly shook the thoughts from his head as he noted the change in her expression. "You just kind of remind me of a character from one of my favorite shows.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She smiled softly. 

“You should! She’s great.” He bent down to pick up his fallen papers. 

“These are amazing,” Alex marveled as she helped collect his scattered sketches. “You’re very talented… I don’t think I ever got your name.” 

“I’m Ben, Ben Park,” he repositioned his books and sketches in his arm so he could shake her hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Ben. I don’t think I’ve seen you around campus before,” she noted. She would definitely remember a face like that. 

“It’s actually my first day,” Ben admitted. “I just transferred from Grantmore University.” 

“In that case, can I buy you something to drink? It’s the least I can do for running into you,” Alex suggested. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he replied. 

“I want to,” Alex insisted. “I can offer you some tips about classes and any professors you may have–if you’re interested and have a few minutes.”

“I don’t want to intrude, you look like you have a lot going on,” he smiled shyly. 

“I’ve got a few minutes before my meeting. You’d actually be doing me a favor, keep me busy until then?” 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

“Great! So tell me more about yourself, Ben. What are you studying? Please tell me you’re here as a graphic artist, because if not you need to change majors ASAPs,” Alex laughed, she didn’t mean to come off so insistent, but she meant what she said. She ordered coffee for the two of them. 

“I am.” Ben blushed at the compliment. “I’m also looking into the writing program.”

“Oh, do you want to be a screenwriter?” Alex questioned. “I’m actually meeting with two screenwriters in a bit if you want to meet them.” 

Alex hesitated after she made the suggestion. Perhaps Holly and Mike were not the best exemplars of the program… at least, not at the moment. 

“I’m more interested in writing a graphic novel.” His fingers grazed a sketchbook, that he held tightly. “I’ve written drafts of a few ideas, but…”

“Do you mind if I take a look?” Alex asked cautiously. She knew how temperamental some writers could be about their unfinished work. 

“They’re probably not good,” he shook his head, considering her request. 

“You got to start somewhere, right?” Alex offered.

Ben reluctantly handed her his sketchbook containing his draft of an outer space superhero adventure. 

Alex leaned back in the armchair in the coffee shop and began flipping through his draft. Page after page, her expression changed as the story hit highs and lows. She followed the characters through joyful, devastating, and humorous moments. “This is really good, Ben.”

“You don’t have to say that,” he took his sketchbook back. 

“I mean it. It’s really good! You should definitely look into the writing program. Clearly you have a talent for it too!” She encouraged him. 

Alex and Ben continued drinking their coffees while Alex waited for Holly and Mike to arrive. Her mind had lightened with seeing the joy in his eyes as they talked about his creations, it was a lovely sight. One she had almost forgotten about while on the set of Centaurus Lost. No, it wasn’t just joy, it was passion. Passion for his creations, that’s what was missing on set. She just needed to figure out how to inspire Holly and Mike to that level of creative passion. If the screenplay had heart, the rest of everything would fall into place.

☆  ☆   ☆   ☆   ☆

Perma tags: @lilyofchoices ; @simplymissjulia ; @mfackenthal ; @the-soot-sprite ; @virtuallytakenby ; @zeniamiii ; @kaavyaethanramsey; @choicesobsessed; @xjustin-ethansgirliex

Thomas Tags: @alleksa16  ;    @flyawayboo    ;  @alj4890  ;  @twin-skltns   ;    @ab1901 ;   @riseandshinelittleblossom  ; @hopelessromantic1352  ;   @thearianam  ; @trappedinfandoms; @zodiacsign1 ; @curiouslittlefreak ; @sharrybh20​ ; @awkwardambition ; @jodibo ;

[nodesiretogrowup]

LET’S GET READY TO RE-CAAAAAAAAP

“I have numerous science-based questions” I mean, same. It also sets up that Huey is gonna be out of his element this episode

SCROOGE HAS NO TIME FOR SCIENCE

“I AM THAT CHAMPION.” A bit full of yourself there. I couldn’t hear this line without saying “I’M. THAT. HERO.” Oh VeggieTales, you’ll always be with me

THEY ALL LOOK SO ADORABLE!!

I like that Louie does a finger gun when Scrooge gets to him

Like I said earlier, I DO NOT care Scrooge already putting pressure on these kids

Poor Dewey seems like he’s the unfavorite, which is probably how Donald felt as well

Huey makes a good point and I do NOT like how dismissive Scrooge is of the twins

That being said...they totally killed someone in battle

SOMEDAY WE’LL FIND IT, THE RAINBOW CONNECTION!

Why didn’t Launchpad crash? I know he can land w/o crashing but it’s usually when he lands in water. THIS FEELS IMPORTANT SOMEHOW though it probably isn’t

“THEY FOUND A WAY TO MAKE RAINBOWS BETTER!” God, I love Webby

“This is the best day.” WEBBY, YOU ARE REACHING CRITICAL LEVELS OF ADORABLE

Birds with beards look odd

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” Poor Huey, magic and mythology aren’t his strong point

I love that it says Odin’s Closet over the shirts. It’s the little details

“Guess Louie knows what Louie’s doing today.” And then he disappears into the shirts. I can appreciate someone who knows what they’re about

I want ALL the shirts from this episode!

“WHOA, IT’S WRESTLING!” He looks so dang happy, it’s ADORABLE

“THIS IS AWESOME!” Chanting is fun

“So these guys just copied professional wrestling?” Huey, you’re form of logic is not welcome here

Does that mean Scrooge told someone about his battles and inspired them to create pro wrestling? I’m gonna go with that

“And they will love me for it!” Dewey, sweetie, that’s only how it works half the time

I loved all the man-snake stuff. Made me giggle

Man snake be THICC. HOT DAMN

I love the little pig ref. HE’S SO CUTE

Jormungandr knows how to pump up a crowd

So, like, is everyone in the audience technically DEAD?! That makes this episode slightly darker. I dig it

 I wonder if Jormungandr sees Earth’s destruction as a good thing for Earth. Like if he genuinely thinks they’d be better off in Valhalla. Or if he’s just a bastard who wants to watch the world burn

Scrooge is a bit too into playing the heel

The way Scrooge moves and the faces he makes as the Millionaire Miser remind me of Glomgold

“I watch a lot of wrestling while I fly.” “Wait, while?” This exchange always cracks me up

“Uncle Scrooge is the greatest hero of all time.” “Huh, I guess not everyone thinks so.” I feel like this is foreshadowing later events

RIP Announcer Puffin

“DIBS ON ANNOUNCING!” A dude just got KO’d bro! Have a bit of respect

And the return of the dynamic sports announcer duo. Glad Huey got his badge

I NEED MORE WRESTLING ANNOUNCER LP

Strongbeard is DOPE

“How did you know that?” “Just calling it like I see it. WRESTLING!” The real reason Launchpad knows is because he’s actually Thor but doesn’t remember. I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL

FEAR THE BEARD

“What matters is I’m doing the right thing.” I don’t know, you really seem to enjoy being a heel

This whole match is great

Dewey, there ARE NO RULES IN WRESTLING. Plus you aren’t the ref, so you can’t make that call

I have very inappropriate jokes go through my head when only one arm absorbs the beard energy

“I am so confused.” CONSTANT MOOD

DID SCROOGE NARUTO RUN AT STRONGBEARD?!

I like that Scrooge dives onto him the same way he dives into his bin

LP is so excited he pushes Huey out of the way for NO REASON

HOLY FUCK THAT DUDE THREW A CHAIR AT A CHILD!

All the bone cracking in this episode made me uncomfortable, as in my bones hurt during it

“He is such a good guy.” I’d say he’s a fair guy, not necessarily a good guy

“Which two of you will fight for me?” Webby has been waiting for this moment her WHOLE LIFE

Louie, always taking time to make that money

Who gave him a shirt cannon?!

I love that the dude comes up wearing the shirt

Dewey just slaps Scrooge in the face

Champ POPular! Too cute! I love his hair and outfit. Though I don’t think Champ POPular’s “too popular to hate.” If anything he might annoy people due to his popularity

I thought he was gonna pull out yo-yos as his “finishing touch” and I was sad when it was lollipops even though that makes more sense. BRING BACK THE YO-YOS!

“Do all the fighting and make sure he doesn’t die.” That is a valid concern

WE WILL WE WILL ROCK YOU! I’D KNOW IT ANYWHERE

Huey taking notes is adorable

“Just in time for the tag-team round.” “Wait, they’re playing tag now?! MAN!” I love how Danny says MAN

How does Huey not know what a tag-team is? It’s a pretty common term

I love Launchpad’s reading face

Dewey has red, blue, and green lollipops. Cute

“HE’S THROWING LOLLIPOPS BECAUSE HE THINKS WE’RE SUCKERS!” That took me off guard and I laughed so hard

“I’ve known you my whole life, I kinda knew how this would play out.” Louie is genre savvy. Perhaps too savvy. He’s gonna figure out he’s in a tv show

“More like Champ POP..ulation zero because he has no friends...in Friendtown.” I fail to see how that was any worse than LP’s “more like Champ UN-POPular.”

“WE HATE YOU NOW!” Tough crowd

Huey’s face after that. I just want to pinch his lil cheeks

WEBBY DON’T NEED NO WRESTLER NAME

It TOTALLY went over my head that they censored Hela with Hecka (at least they used her better than the MCU did. WE COULD HAVE HAD SO MUCH BETTER)

I would let her pin me to the mat and crush my skull in

“Oh, COME ON, THIS is what you like?! A creepy goth and her pet dog!” SHUT UP, DEWEY, THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANT! I’m surprised Webby didn’t slap him for the “creepy goth” comment seeing as Lena is goth and misunderstood

“HECKA YEAH! HECKA YEAH!” SHE’S SO COOL AND SEXY AND SHE HAS A DOG

Poor Huey, he’s doing his best. Hope he takes a shower later because he got pretty sweaty

HECKA COULD STEP ON ME AND I’D SAY THANK YOU

Why did Huey have all those corn puns?

“YOU’RE THE WORST! YOU’RE THE WORST!” It’s just not Huey’s day

“You don’t have to try to make it sound great, it already is.” Did this remind anyone else of Dewey’s “don’t overthink it” advice to Launchpad from Double-O Duck? He’s doing his best to help Huey

I WANT HECKA TO DESTROY ME

“EMBRACE THE BOOZE BOOS.”

Poor Dewey

WEBBY IS A BEAST! SHE WAS BORN FOR THIS!

“EMBRACE YOUR INNER HEEL!” Cuz being a heel is fun!

DUDE, WEBBY TOOK DOWN THE GODDESS OF DEATH WITH NOTHING BUT HER LEGS AND THIGHS! WE STAN!

I like that Fenny has knee pads on

“AW, YOU’RE SO DANGEROUS AND CUTE! I JUST WANT TO PET YOUR LITTLE BELLY!” WEBBY IS ME

“A classic ‘who’s a good boy?’ gambit!” AND I’D FALL FOR IT TOO! SUCH A GOOD BOI

“Wait, am I the Launchpad here?” Bitch, you WISH

“YOU CAN’T GIVE CANDY TO A DOG!” This is why you don’t have a pet, Dewey

“WHOA, back from THE DEAD for the QUEEN of the DEAD!”

Kind of a dick move, Louie

AIR GUITAR!

Jormungandr looks like a Masters of the Universe knock-off toy

WHO’S A GOOD BOI? YOU ARE!

“With a toxic personality” I think you’re projecting a bit, Jormungandr 

How does Huey not know what a battle royale is? That is a very common term! Hell, there is a well known book and movie with that title!

“I’m just a humble, noble snake man of the people.” Why does the term snake man make me laugh so much?  

WOY REFERENCE FTW

Dewey needs a hug! And some therapy would probably be a good idea

Scrooge’s speech started on a good note then went downhill FAST

“And lastly, I’ll use the dust of your bones as sweetener in my tea.” DAMN

“TOO FAR!” I DON’T THINK IT’S FAR ENOUGH! TELL HIM HOW YOU WILL BATHE IN HIS BLOOD

FUCK YEAH BEAKLEY!

SHE GAVE HIM THE CHAIR! I think this CONFIRMS Beakley as a wrestling fan

“I know we’re supposed to take over for Scrooge one day, but do you ever wonder if maybe we’re not cut out for it?” YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TO WONDER THOSE THINGS AT ALL! 

Louie’s like WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS SHIT!

“Be LP” My new mantra

Aw, Louie sees Dewey as a hero. Like how LP saw Drake as a hero. I think @drakepad is onto something, this scene and the fight scene seem WAAAAY too much like Drake’s intro to be just a coincidence

I keep saying this, but Louie should consider a career in motivational speaking. He knows what people need to hear

“Let’s do this!” “I don’t know.” “Let’s Dewey this?” “I’m in.”

“I’LL SHED YOUR SKIN FOR YOU!” If he hadn’t of had an old man back moment that would have been a BRUTAL CUT

OMG WAS LAUNCHPAD WEARING THAT THE WHOLE TIME? You see his clothes fly off when he jumps in the ring

“Whoa. In a COMPLETELY UNEXPECTED TWIST, the announcer was Captain Crash THIS WHOLE TIME!” LP does underground wrestling matches in his spare time, TELL ME I’M WRONG

“YOUR CATCHPHRASES ARE FORCED!” I agree, Dewey could have done WAY BETTER

I like Louie just GLARING at the dude who insulted Dewey’s catchphrase

LP looks so proud of Huey

“I don’t care at all, why should I?” Methinks the snake man doth protest too much

I like how Jormungandr’s pupils are thinner during the climax. It shows off his true nature

Dewey should have been the one to do a spin attack, ya know, cuz he’s Sonic? I’ll go now

“The Pop never Stops.” That was better

WHERE ARE ALL THESE CHAIRS COMING FROM?!

I LEGIT thought Strongbeard was gonna throw Dewey his axe and I was like Dewey wouldn’t be able to lift that

SUPER SAIYAN DEWEY! Also was that a TIGER SNARL?

I like the ice pack on Launchpad’s head. Just because he can take a lot of damage doesn’t mean that LP is immune to pain

I like that the crowd CHANGED THEIR BANNERS! Nice

LOUIE AND WEBBY LOOKED SO CUTE!

LP tearing up

“A true people’s hero” I feel like that phrase will come back in relation to other characters (cough DW cough)

Scrooge is such a little shit, it’s kind of adorable

THAT END SHOT! THAT SONG!

This was a SUPER FUN EPISODE! I couldn’t really tell where they were going and I LOVED EVERY SECOND OF IT! I wish we had gotten Huey in some wrestling gear but maybe next time. I like the message that doing the right thing isn’t always popular but I kind of feel like Dewey getting the crowd on his side muddled the message somewhat. Poor Dewey needs therapy or something so he doesn’t feel like he needs CONSTANT approval. Again, he’s 11 YEARS OLD and shouldn’t be put into such a serious position. LP was VIP this episode. I’m bummed we’re on hiatus again, but WHAT an episode to end on!

[queerchoicesblog]

Ghost of You (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele)

So this is my very first SC Titanic fanfic: I am excited to post it and well I suppose I should warn you that probably Zetta x Adele fictions will be rather long as this love story features themes that are very dear and meaningful to me, such as 1. well, obviously the Titanic story, 2. references to beginning of the century cinema (love very old and b&w movies), 3. sapphism and 4. femminism/suffragette movement. It’s basically everything I could have ever asked for. The Gentleman Jack fans out there might find a reference here...

So here I tried to imagine what brought Zetta to write that little note to Adele after basically disappearing. Loved that scene and I had to try and portray her turmoil, her missing Adele but also, as any historical lesbian (maybe not only historical), fearing the strings of society and their effect on their love and her beloved suffragette. Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I quoted some pieces of dialogue from the original book

Word Count: 2555

Zetta x Adele Tag: @marmolady @animus-and-anima @hayley-carter19 @escako @everlastingchoices @andrxrneda @aestheticsayeed @eleanorwaverrley @indescribablechoices @ahrielstuff @lvcley @nazario-sayeed

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Two rapid knocks on the door then:

“Are you there, doll? Can I come in?”

Richard’s voice abruptly brought Zetta’s back to reality, involuntarily making her jump in her seat.  She blinked twice as if wakingg from a dream and took a quick look around. She couldn’t recall how long she had been sitting at her vanity lost in her thoughts with a brush in her hand. She just couldn’t focus that day as she was haunted by memories of the past. But Richard didn’t have to know, mustn’t have to know. She put down the brush and quickly fixed her hair before adjusting her robe to limit the skin exposure to the minimum: after all, they weren’t married yet…and her heart didn’t belong to Mr. King. Only after that, she answered loud enough to be heard on the other side of the ebony door:

“Sure, darling”

She resumed her interrupted makeup session, pretending to be fully taken by that routine that didn’t bring her the usual joy anymore. She looked at herself in the mirror and put on a practiced smile: it would have been enough to fool her fiancé.

Richard entered her boudoir and theatrically opened his arms as a seasoned professional: he mentioned that he started as an actor before becoming a stellar director.

“My love, every time I see you I’m completely blinded by your beauty. You’re the brightest star in the sky, even brighter than Venus itself” he said moving closer and kneeling beside her chair.

“…And you’re gonna be the most radiant woman at the party tonight. The belle of the ball, la plus belle” he added, courtly taking her free hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles.

He looked up at her with a dashing smile.

“Trés charmant, Richard…but are you done with poetry?” she smirked, retrieving her hand and resuming her previous core.

“Ah, la belle dame sans merci!” Richard exclaimed before falling back to the floor holding a hand on his chest.

“Silly” Zetta laughed and she was soon joined by Richard who stood again and leaned on her table.

“I can’t help it around you, doll, apologies” he shrugged, flashing her another smile.

Zetta had to summon all her acting expertise not to cringe at “doll”. She hated it when every fiber of her being when Richard -or any other men- called her “doll”. Even her first director called her so, even her husband…doll, as if that was all she was to them: a beautiful toy, maybe a collectible but not truly a woman. Not truly Zetta.

Instead, she mirrored his smile and threw him a quick look before methodically applying some rouge on her cheek.

“So, what are you dying to say that can’t wait?”

“Seeing you isn’t a reasonable excuse?”

Richard was a charming man, without doubt. He wasn’t a bad man or so it seemed to her but she had been deceived by men who swore to only want the best for her that it was hardly possible for Zetta to fully trust any of them. And a man could have never won her heart.

As she flashed him just one of her enigmatic smile, he spoke again:

“Fine, you got me: I just wanted to see you and to remind you that our producers are expecting us at Rao’s for dinner in an hour. We should leave soon” he gave an apologetic smile and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Will we be there in time?”

“We will, I promise you” Zetta confirmed then made a show of shooing him away. “Now shoo, call Sabine and let me get dressed or else we will be late”

Richard raised his arms in surrender, laughing. Then he pressed a kiss on the crown of her head.

“I’ll get off of your hair, doll”

Zetta resumed her makeup as Richard moved towards the door. He was halfway out when

“Oh I almost forgot! I spoke to Alan yesterday and he loved the movie: the story of the two sisters reunited in the midst of chaos on the sinking ship is just perfect, so heart-warming-“

“Yes, it truly is heart-warming” Zetta commented, losing focus again.

“The story is real, right? You met at least one of them on board, didn’t you?”

Zetta’s voice lowered as memories started surfacing back.

“Yes, we were…rather close”

“If they survived, we should track them down and invite them at the movie: it would be great if they could talk to the press. Journalists love stories like this: I can see the headlines alrea-“

“We’ll see, Richard. Now please go call Sabine”

She tried to keep her voice from betraying her feelings, but she could feel a rush of anger surging. She would have never handed the Carrem sisters and such a private and tragic moment of their lives to those shameless sharks who go under the name of journalists. The subtle hint of heartbreak and they prey the unfortunate victims like vultures over a corpse: they wouldn’t stop until they had dissected those aching hearts, leaving them to bleed out. No, she would have done everything in her power to prevent this.

The story she wrote down when asked to bring the grim fate of the Titanic on the big screen was fiction: inspired by true facts but fiction. Zetta was smart enough to know that life and fiction are two separate things and that an edulcorated tale of those most tragic hours was all the world could take: the people of New York, who weren’t there that night, would have been overwhelmed by the real story.

Still, when she sat at her desk and started writing a draft of the script her mind immediately turned to…Adele.

She didn’t even notice Richard leaving the room as the silhouette of Miss Carrem clouded her thoughts. Finally alone, her face fell and she shut her eyes as if to prevent the memory from fading away.

Adele, most gracious, fearless Adele…

Her lips curled into a sad smile as she reminisced their first meeting. She was sitting in her suite smoking and listening to James making some pointless speech when the door opened and Teo stepped in followed by Adele. She had the beauty of a Greek goddess and the look of someone who was going through a lot. She clearly felt out of place among finely dressed first-class passengers in the lavish room but she kept her head high. Zetta remembered feeling the urge to know what troubled her but she put on her mask, the sardonic film star ever out of reach. And then…was it a brave move or just an insane one? Adele told her of her arrest, of prison. Everyone else would have hidden from her, a new employer and Zetta Serda…not Adele. She handed her everything she needed to destroy her life as if it was no big deal. Zetta was taken aback and searched her green eyes for any sign of mockery but find none: the stranger girl truly trusted her with her life. That’s when she realized how unique Miss Carrem was.

Adele found a way to her heart effortlessly as if she had the map from the very start. When she placed her hand over hers in the projection room, she startled Zetta: whenever she had made the fatal mistake to show her vulnerable side to anyone, they would have used it against her to make her feel weak or small…clearly in need of someone who would tell her what to do, to guide her. They would have refilled her glass with wine again and again instead of going for the simplest gesture: taking her hand into theirs and comfort her. Making her believe with that touch that everything would have been fine, and she was stronger than whatever life threw her.

For a moment, as Adele held her hand, she felt safe, pacified, something she had never experienced with any of her supposed lovers. She couldn’t even be mad at her secretary when she revealed her James’ plan and the true reason behind his bailing her out of jail. She was shocked, obviously but she also couldn’t believe that Adele, brave foolish Adele, had put her life into her hands again. “I’m perfectly aware of the risk I’m taking by revealing this to you but you deserve to know. I cannot keep this from you” she said, looking her right in the eye.

Those eyes…they took Zetta’s breath away whenever they ignited with the fire sparking inside her. She could have lost herself in their green depths when they gleamed with pride and mischief as she proposed a toast to the vote to women or whenever their eyes met. She got lost in them when their lips touched, and they grew dark with desire. How daring and foolish they had been in the Turkish baths…but she couldn’t bring herself to regret that moment of ecstasy when she felt free and truly loved, for once. She could still shiver remembering Adele’s touch, the way her lips traced down her body with reverence and adoration, the soft moans the tender girl in her arms suffocated hiding her face in the crook of her neck as she melted under her caresses. In those stolen embraces she knew happiness.

How happy she felt whenever Adele was around: just exchanging a brief look across the room would make her heart flutter.

Then other memories surged and Zetta felt tears welling her closed eyes. Her birthday night, that cursed birthday night…Adele and her sneaking away from the party to find a private spot on the deck. The wine, the cold breeze of the ocean, Adele’s silvery laughter at her tipsy enthusiasm, how she craved those sweet lips all night.

“If I’m honest, I don’t even want to reach shore, I don’t want to go back to the party…I just want to stay out here with you. Forever.”

Adele’s tender smile in agreement.

“Let’s just make a tent of this blanket – we can live off seal meat and rainwater”

Her tipsy proposal made the two of them laugh again.

“What about your acting career?” Adele inquired, a smile lingering on her face.

“We’ll make our own plays. Whaddya say?”

God, how those words sounded different now…how she would have given everything to have Adele there to cup her face and give her a slow, deep kiss. But Adele wasn’t by her side anymore…she lost sight of her when her agent and Richard dragged her and James away from the crowd at the New York pier.

She hadn’t written her ever since that day and she felt so impossibly guilty because of that: Adele must have thought she had forgotten about her after all her words of love on the ship. Maybe she felt used, maybe she hated her by now and cursed the memory of her. She would have reasons to hold a grudge to her…the truth was that happiness and love are hard to accept if you have never truly had them before and if they came from a woman loving another woman.

Zetta had tried to write her a thousand time but every time she had made an effort to put her feelings into words, her lines rang hollow. Yet the words that got stuck in her throat when Adele pulled her into a corner and confessed that no matter what happened that night she needed to tell that she loved her were clear in her mind.

The months spent parted from you are the saddest time of my life. I’m haunted by you, the ghost of you. You’re everywhere: even if I’m silent, not an hour passed where I haven’t thought of you. I tried not to, but whenever I closed my eyes, there you were. I love you and I can’t live without you, without your smile, your wit, your touch. I just can’t but how can I ask you to be with me in the dark? I can’t step back from this wedding and I don’t want you to be a secret mistress: that would squalid and offensive when you are the one I want to give all of me. To marry, if that was even a possibility for us so that I could spend every single day of my life with you, waking up with you by my side, taking care of you…making you happy. Your absence makes even breathing hard, not to mention smiling to strangers, “capitalist pigs” as you would say…I even try and talk like you do, you see? But I find myself wondering: will I make you happy if I have to hide our love from the world? Kiss you only behind closed doors? Let you see me marry a man? You’re a free spirit, my love, I don’t want to put you in a cage because our love, our pure love would be a scandal and a scandal would ruin everything I worked for since I was even younger than you. I don’t want you to spend your life as a ghost yet I find myself craving to see your face one more time as living without you is barely surviving but all the light has gone as I lost you.

Suddenly she felt someone placing their hands on her shoulders.

“Let me help you here, Madame”

She opened her eyes and saw Sabine, smiling sympathetically down at her. She tried and failed to mirror her smile as her mascara was now running down her cheeks.

Sabine helped her to her feet and took care of everything. Zetta let her washed up her face and helped her into her shiny evening dress: she felt like a child in the hands of a loving mother. When she was putting on her earrings, the final touch, Sabine handed her a small stack of envelopes.

“The invitations to the movie screening and party” she explained. “It’s October first, I would suggest to send them first thing tomorrow to ensure that everyone get the invitation within reasonable notice. It wasn’t easy to find all the addresses, but I did my best”

“I’m sure you did, Sabine. Thank you for taking care of it.” Zetta said as she checked the succession of familiar names of former passengers and famous colleagues. “I will sign them personally when we come back from the party”.

“Excellent” Sabine nodded.

Then as Zetta placed the stack on her desk, she presented her a single envelope.

“I hope you don’t mind if I requested a faster delivery for this one” she added before bowing her head curtly and leaving the room. “Have a nice evening, Madame”

Zetta read the name handwritten on the last envelope where a different stamp had been appointed.

‘Mademoiselle Adele Carrem’

A lump formed in her throat but she forced herself not to cry and just smile, mentally thanking Sabine: she had found her. Following nothing else but her instinct, Zetta picked out the invitation and signed it with her fountain pen. Then, as Richard called her name, she grabbed a slip of paper and wrote a brief note:

“Please come, my love. I must see you again. Yours, Zetta”.

She folded everything back into the envelope and finally left her room as a newfound hope kindled inside her.