#a long excerpt but I'm proud of that section

[rosemochi]

Bone Marrow (FFVII, AeriSeph)

Gradually, she comes to, but this world is nothing like the one she left behind. The marble city is replaced by utter nothingness: a floating, green-tinged cosmos, both liminal and everlasting. Aerith stretches out her hand and feels nothing. She opens her mouth and breathes nothing. She lifts her hands to her face and touches nothing; they pass through her body like air, meeting no resistance. Looking down, she sees her body, but sees the cosmos through it, as if she were made of gossamer—though she notices, with some chagrin, that her dress is still bloodied. The afterlife has stolen her physicality but can’t even be bothered to repair her dress. As soon as she’s capable of feeling emotion—it takes a moment, considering her newfound non-existence—she feels everything at once. Rage, sadness, the utter desolation of an eternity spent alone. She had known that death was a possibility, had expected it more than not, but Sephiroth’s sudden blow had still come at a complete surprise. She hadn’t even heard him coming. And now he’s still living in the world, and she’s trapped in this absolute void, damned to an eternity of listening, watching, and observing events that are too far away for her to influence. It’s a curse that some might consider a blessing—but for Aerith, who has always embraced life and living, laughter and love, being forced to look and not touch is a burden as excruciating as her murder was.

Aerith, immortal and bitter, has to contend with Sephiroth's everlasting company in the cosmic void of the Lifestream. Written for @aerisephzine!

(Read on AO3)

[justhere4thevibez]

annual writing self-evaluation

thank you @pipergirl17 and @erythromanc3r for tagging me!

1. List of works published this year (in no particular order):

oh gosh, I've been busy-busy this year with fanfic, so here goes!

Complete works:

... And a Hellcheer New Year 

Galentines and Valentines

Hold Onto Me

Devil in the Woods

Every Time I Run, I Run to You

Eddie and Chrissy Go to a Wedding 

Knocking Me Out With Those American Thighs

Cooking Up Something Sweet

Please Don't Say You Love Me

Let Me Start Over Again

You Got Me Good

Be My Breath (Through the Deep, Deep Water)

This Old Man

Do You Wanna Touch Me

My Words Will Be Your Light

She'll See I'm Not So Tough 

She Knows What She Wants

Give Me a Taste

The Right Kind of Sinner

Release My Inner Fantasy

Hooked on a Feeling

Whiskey & Wine

The Graveyard Smash

Long Is the Road Out of Hell 

In a Sentimental Mood

Set My Soul On Fire

Burnin' Out of Control

WIPs:

Looking For Something Dumb To Do

I Can't Get Rid of You 

If You Fall, I Will Catch You 

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

hmmmmm, that's a tough one! I love them all for different reasons, but I will say I'm very proud of Long Is the Road Out of Hell because it's my longest fanfic to date (almost 60k!) and at one point I really wasn't sure if I'd be able to finish it. but I did!

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

tbh if I'm not proud of something, I won't publish it. but I think the work that frustrated me the most was Whiskey & Wine, my kinktober fic. I pushed myself too hard with too big of a goal and burnt myself out halfway through. but I did learn the importance of setting boundaries for myself (and why I need to be careful committing to challenges 😅)

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

not gonna lie, once I publish something, the words tend to leave my brain, so I don't always remember what I write lol. I should probably keep a doc of good lines from my fics so I have something to present when people ask me 😂 but here are two excerpts that I'm pretty proud of.

Devil in the Woods: He had loved her since the first time he opened his eyes to find her snuggled up on his chest. He had loved her longer, since the moment he’d held her in his arms on that endlessly rainy night. And longer still, he’d loved the little girl who played jacks with him on May Day and laughed at his wild antics.

Hooked on a Feeling: He knew he could be… a lot, as kinder people said. A goddamn nuisance, according to everyone else. He didn’t mean to be, he just tended to… latch on to things. Kind of like a bulldog (but in a nice and lovable way, thank you, Jeff). And right now he had ChrissyChrissyChrissy clamped tight between his jaws, and he hoped to god she didn’t ask him to let go.

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

I have a few regular commenters who give me the longest, loveliest comments where they literally analyze each chapter section by section 😭 it makes me feel so loved. but as for one individual comment, I distinctly remember a commenter from one of my early fics commenting on a really tough scene I did re: chrissy's eating disorder. they said that they also had an eating disorder, and that chapter was very healing for them. I don't think I'll ever get another comment as powerful as that.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

I go in and out of mild anxious/depressive episodes, mostly due to outside stressors, and that makes it really hard to write. writing is the one constant joy in my life, and when I don't even feel like doing that, I know something is very, very wrong. but luckily, they don't usually last too long!

7. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you:

mike's redemption arc in Long Is the Road! that one was a total curveball to me, and it only came about because it was the closest place I could think of to have Chrissy walk to after her mom kicked her out. total accident, but it spawned on of my favorite sibling-ships for chrissy that I've ever written!

also writing wayne's pov! i never intended to do that, but once I started, his voice just kind of stuck in my head 😂

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I wrote a lot. like over 300k of fanfic. and i even got back into writing some original fiction, which I'm so excited about!

I also started writing smut for the first time in 2023, which was something I never anticipated doing, let alone enjoying! but it's been super fun

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I'd like to work more on my original fiction, maybe get a short story published. I'd also like to get better at world-building! I tend to get so focused on the characters that I forget they exist in a place I should spend some time creating lol

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

@slumped-in-the-arms-of-fiction all the way! she's been such a wonderful beta reader, cheerleader, and overall positive influence on my writing. I Can't Get Rid of You wouldn't ever have happened without her support and feedback!

11. Anything in your real life show up in your writing this year:

ooh, buddy! pieces of myself get sprinkled all over the damn place 😂 but as for specifics...

Galentines and Valentines opening scene was reminiscent of the girls' nights me and my college friends used to have (and still have sometimes)

Hooked on a Feeling had elements of my own past experiences of being laid up in a hospital (and being very annoyed about it)

This Old Man was absolutely inspired by my love of Columbo

You Got Me Good definitely included some of my own thoughts and feelings about when I get a little too high 😂

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

give your writing time.

it's so tempting when you have a new idea to jump on it and then get frustrated when it doesn't immediately turn out the way you want, but I've found that if I give myself time to think over a piece before I write it, and let it sit for a little while after I write it, I'm much happier with the end results!

13. Any new projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

finishing my three WIPs! and hopefully a little christmas fic 😂 I don't have anything else immediately in the works, thank god!

14. Tag three writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read:

@1lostsoul0fishbowl @pearlypairings @rose-n-gunses and anybody else!!!

[kalevalakryze]

Baylan Skoll was never chosen to be a padawan, in this essay I will...

(this is only going to look familiar to a handful of you)

Warning, long post below with excerpts + notes about "The Jedi Path" by Daniel Wallace

"Everybody thinks they know what a Jedi is-that we all serve in the Army of the Light and fight the Sith Lords, or that we're all lightsaber battlemasters and starfighter aces. It just isn't so. Jedi can serve the Republic in other ways too. The Jedi Service Corps is an honorable alternative for any graduating Initiate, and he or she should be proud to serve among its ranks. When most initiates hit early adolescence, they seek to pair up with Masters to begin their Padawanship apprenticeships. If you are not selected, then what? You can try again the following season, but eventually, the Temple Instructors may tell you that you've run out of chances-and then the Reassignment Council steps in. So I'm thinking there was just something Baylan couldn't get; Maybe even the connection to a Jedi Master, he just didn't seem like the kind of Jedi that should have been on the battlefront, he was more of a homebody Jedi, like Yoda, or even Jocasta Nu. Maybe, after failing so often, the Reassignment Council steps in, and I see him joining the Educational branch, staying at the temple to help teach and to help in the archives, one of these devouts of the pillar of knowledge. A Note in the Book From Palpatine: "I imprisoned the surviving Jedi Service Corps Members on Byss. Even the strongest were easy to turn to the dark side." Maybe Baylan was one of these survivors, and while it's clear he didn't go full dark, what did he have to do to survive? Knowing that the younglings he'd so caringly guided were lost to the Force, that the world he'd devoted himself to studying and understanding was gone, and that this new world was just dark, and it was an 'adapt or die' situation The Jedi Path section about the EduCorps: The Education Corps, or EduCorps, consists of Scholars, teachers, and archivists. All Jedi are expected to be teachers to some degree, but the EduCorps goes far beyond that. They work under the supervision of the Temple's Chief Librarian and spend most of their days cataloging and translating. So my thoughts here are, as an archivist who spends his days combing through Jedi Holocrons, he would hear about the Mother, or Abeloth, would read about these Mortis Gods and have an intimate understanding. And when the Jedi were killed, he could recall these stories, he was the last one alive who'd ever heard them from the holocrons, after all. He would be able to remember the powers these holocrons detailed the gods as having, would trust that if anyone could save their history, it would be them, but only the Mother sounds powerful enough to stop the Empire. Finding Shin was a mistake. He was no Master, after all. He'd been granted the rank of General in the republic like all the others, yet he didn't command an army, he worked in libraries and traveled to conquered/liberated worlds to read their texts and to enter their stories into the history of the republic. He goes to a planet in the expansion zone, and he meets a child, there are so few left in this world, no one for him to share his stories with, that when she displays force sensitivity, he takes her, just as the Jedi had done to younglings all those years ago. And he trains her, he gives her a Padawan's braid and he calls her Initiate, and when it's time for her Initiate Trials, he is happy to accept her as his Padawan, like no one had ever done for him. And Shin is so attentive and an amazing student, just like the younglings in the temple, but he cannot burden her with the knowledge of Abeloth. Does not want to ruin the perception he knew she was creating of the Jedi, but he also keeps her training limited, 'The old ways led them to ruin so we will create our own,' 'yes,master' etc etc

[dark--whisperings]

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

Response to this ask game!

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18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

They win the month—does losing a quarter of his battalion even count as a win?—before rushing to the aid of the 41st battalion who are locked in a harrowing skirmish on the edge of Wild Space.  After six weeks of cutthroat and calamitous battle, the lives of another Master and padawan are sacrificed to the ravenous and relentless war machine. There is nothing he can do to save them. Obi-Wan watches their slaughter. The sight is burned into his retinas, and Obi-Wan is afraid he’ll never be able to see past the scars the blaze leaves in its wake. But there is no time to grieve.  No, there is never time to mourn the dead while locked in the throws of merciless warfare.  They all tell themselves that there will be time to lament the dearly departed once the war has drawn to a conclusion, the Republic victorious, but they all know better; there will be almost nothing resembling their previous selves left by then, and what pieces do remain will desperately desire to join the peaceful ranks of their comrades in eternal sleep. Instead, they are ordered to race to the assistance of the 501st—or what’s left of them—where they’re stranded in Separatist space riding only on dilapidated hope and a fatally damaged hyperdrive.  A nerve-wracking three hours of crew transfer, the arrival of two squadrons of battle droids, and one resigned self-destruct sequence later finds Obi-Wan finally reunited with Anakin back in the relative safety of Coruscant airspace, almost three months after that fateful conversation. - Chapter 3 of 'Suffocate Me (I'm Still Breathing)'.

Yes, I'm going to focus another ask on this fic. But I was answering some comments last night, and I was reminded of this excerpt (which a reader highlighted specifically).

This section was actually a bit of a writing experiment for me. I'm a bit... long winded when I write. I was working on this chapter and it was already getting a bit long, so I decided to throw myself out of my comfort zone. I tried to come up with a passage that conveyed a large passage of time, but without taking 2k words to explain it. I was also experimenting with a difference cadence in my writing. I wanted to also convey a sense of emotional whiplash and a stilted experience of reality. The result turned out quite... lyrical, if you will? Almost like Obi-Wan was being dragged along with life without his consent, and given no time to process the events he was experiencing. Either way, I'm super proud of the result!

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Keep 'em coming!

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

💬

Oho another anonymous! And another snippet from Hiraeth, because apparently that's the story I'm sharing bits of today :P

Okay so this section was terribly hard to write, for reasons that ought to be obvious, but in the end I'm unexpectedly proud of how it came out - I mean - well, I hope you know what I mean. This is the bit that continued from the previously shared snippet, that I decided not to share then, but here it is now. The 'she' referred to is Aelwen's mother, and 'he' is her father.

“Please.” She took an involuntary step forward, desperation in her voice. “Please, please, come back with us, even just once, I beg you—try it again, or talk to me—to us—” He lifted his head and glanced at her, looking older than his years. There were shadows on his face, still largely covered by his capable hands. “Don’t bother me with it,” he replied tiredly. “I’m not coming. I’ve had all the years to try, and I tried, I tried to believe, and I just couldn’t. Don’t try and pretend that it’s a thing that I can just will into being.” He leaned his head on his hands again and added, “I wish it were the case, but faith is harder than that, and I simply don’t believe any more. This is the harder way out. If I’d been any weaker, I would have stayed, kept on going with you, but it would be hypocritical of me to do that, don’t you think? As it was, it was terribly hard to convince myself to come clean to you all and tell you about it.” It was as if, Aelwen realised as she stood there, very still and horrified, he had finally snapped and decided to tell them everything that he had not revealed before, no matter how much it may hurt them in the process. “If God was real,” he continued, in an impassioned voice, “I’d know about it. Goodness knows I’ve been searching for years and years, and not found any evidence. I just didn’t want to bother you with it, but eventually, it became too much. I dislike to live a lie,” her father said, biting off each word precisely. “I have been a hypocrite for far too long throughout my life, and it changed when I finally told my family how I truly felt. I am not intending to go back and become one of those sheep again, following a system of belief just because it seems convenient, easy or what you grew up in.” “Believing the Bible in truth is not the easy path,” said her mother, sounding like she was scarcely holding back tears. He ignored her. “I’m not coming. Please don’t ask me again. If I ever decide that I will come back, whether to stay or just to confirm that I’ve made the right decision….” There was an unnecessary jab, put in because he was angry and upset. Aelwen could recognise it far too easily: he wanted to hurt them, maybe because he still wanted his faith back. “…I will. But don’t try and push me. If you do, you’re liable to get results that you didn’t actually want.” “Such as?” Her voice trembled even more. “Trust me. You don’t want to know.” He got up, abruptly, and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

If from the point of view of the other side this interpretation of his emotions doesn't really make sense, don't forget that all this is from Aelwen's POV - she may or may not be interpreting his reasons correctly. She still holds her faith, and doesn't understand how he can not, even though at times she is slipping into despair.

I would love feedback on this. (excerpt #4 for today)

[mixedstyles]

Author's Note: This isn’t a fanfiction, this story isn’t anything I’m planning on fully posting. Though I would love some feedback 🤍. I was looking at some things that I was writing a couple years ago, and found an excerpt from one of them. I was going through a tough time just as the character I was writing was. So I channeled (sp?)as much of those feelings into writing her story as I could. I'm really proud of this section of writing which is why I want to share it with you guys. If this is relatable to any of you I am so sorry that you are going/have gone through this. I know what it's like to feel this way.

If you need to talk or rant my ask box and direct messages are always open. I'm not the best with advice, but I'm a great listener.

WARNING: this whole piece of writing is how a character was feeling while going through an anxiety attack. If you think that it might trigger something please do not interact with this.

Aisha looked across the small apartment over to where her close friend was sitting. His hair was unkempt, the sun gently peering through the window behind him, creating a scattering of sunlight against Sebastian’s face as he gazed at his phone. Aisha was still. Muscles weren’t moving, eyes not blinking, just the steady inhale and exhale of her breath. Which soon picked up. The breathing was ragged and unfamiliar, as if it wasn’t her own. Her eyes took in every part of his face but the longer she did the more she felt as if her soul was being ripped away from her body and time was suddenly frozen. The feeling was unfortunately familiar.

It was almost an out of body experience, she knew where she was and she knew who was with her, but the hum of the fan and the sounds coming from Sebastian’s phone vanished. Her chest was tight as if she was being submerged in a pool, not by another person, but herself. Her own mind not letting her come up for a breath. When she was able to breathe, it felt as if she was taking in copious amounts of water. Her happiness quickly turned into panic as the acknowledgement to her surroundings turned into confusion and the hands in front of her were no longer recognizable. Instead, they felt like weights attached to an unfamiliar body. Aisha began to feel something warm on her cheeks, as if the sunlight that had been filtering through the window was now pressed up against her face. “-sha? Aish-? Can you- he- hey- sha-?” a voice appeared through the water. “Aisha? Hey,” the voice got louder and the water that was in Aisha’s lungs escaped in a sob, wracking her chest. Aisha leaned towards the couch right in front of her, placing both hands on the back, catching herself. Her vision began to clear up and the heat that was developing on her cheeks turned out to be tears. “Hey, are you okay? Can I touch you?” Sebastian’s voice was soothing but his questions made her want to close in on herself. He remembered to be cautious with physical contact after she goes catatonic. She nodded and he embraced her into a familiar, safe, hug. She wasn’t sure how long she cried into his shoulder or how she had ended up sitting on the couch she had once braced herself against, but she had to remind herself she was safe. Though, the realization that her friend had once again witnessed an anxiety attack made Aisha want to cry even more. She didn’t like that she would go blank, she didn’t like that she would panic, she didn’t like being detached from the world around her. Even if it was for a moment. Aisha had always been independent and disliked showing strong emotions; it was something she was trying to work on. But there were moments when they would become too much. When she wasn’t able to manage or submerge them under an ocean of distractions. When they would overflow, cascading into her life with nothing to stop them.

[fantastic-nonsense]

hi noticed your post about meticulous writing process and i think thats rly cool as hell of you and now i wanna read your stuff

*nervous laughter*

Okay, so here's the thing: I haven't actually published any fic in the past like...8 years, and what fic I have published desperately needs major overhauls and rewrites, because I was in high school the last time I seriously looked at them. Everything that I have published is on my old FFN profile, and the newest fic on there? I wrote when I was 16. So...meh. I'm proud I wrote them, but they are absolutely not reflective of my current ability to craft a story or write.

In terms of Batfic, I've got a collection of half-written fics and outlines, some of which are research minimal and some of which are these long, sprawling works that will never see the light of day to anyone except me unless I manage to get over halfway through them (because I have a personal policy not to post any long fic unless it's already halfway done, so as to give myself proper spacing and motivation to actually finish it). So while you can't read any finished work, I'm happy to post an excerpt or two for you (and maybe it will compel me to actually finish and post them).

So...UNEDITED excerpt from a funny but ultimately rather sad fic I'm doing (tentatively titled 'Leave Me and Live') about Jason and his accidental mother/mother figure acquisition habit, written because the boy canonically collects women who want to mother the shit out of him but also loses basically all of them. Each section of the fic is designed to explore Jason's relationship with one of his moms; this excerpt is a tiny bit from near the end of the fic, from a section that takes place within the DC Bombshells universe:

There is only this: Jasón, proudly waving the flag of the Republic, running down a burning street with determination in his stride and a thrilled defiance in his smile.

There is only this: the cruel report of gunfire, eyes widening in shock, and a faint gasp of pain. He’s propelled forward by the force of the bullets, his cap knocked clear off his head as he falls to the ground, quiet and unmoving.

There is only this: a woman clad in cheetah print, a cruel smile on her face and a rifle in her hand, looking Kate directly in the eye from across the smoke-filled street as she and Renee stand stock-still, struck dumb by the shock of watching bullets hit their son’s chest. The world stands still, breathless for a single moment, before the sounds of battle again sound in her ears.

There is only this: Jasón, bleeding out on the street as one mother cradles him in her arms and the other sobs brokenly while standing guard, determined even in her grief to protect her loved ones. There are no last words or comforting hands in this moment, only the shades of red that fill their tunneled vision: the blood dripping from Kate’s fingers, the gloves decorating the Cheetah’s hands as she walks away, triumphant, the tangled mess that is Kate’s hair…and the ever-present red cap, dirtied and bloodstained as it lies on the ground beside its fallen wearer.

There is only this: a gravestone in a cemetery on the outskirts of Zaragoza, bearing the name Jasón Kane-Montoya, the words “Beloved Son,” and an inscription in honor of a boy who refused to leave his country behind: “But Who Would Be Left to Fight for Her?”

In this universe, Jason Todd loses two mothers not because he is left behind, but because he himself leaves them behind. For Kate and Renee, it's a loss from which they never recover. Renee throws herself into her work, her face a stony mask of grit and determination and guilt. Kate spends the days afterwards in a haze of grief, only moving because she must and only rising out of bed because Renee forces her to. What good is fighting Franco if Jasón will not be around to see their success? Whether they win or lose, the stubborn Basque boy with a heart as big as the sea will remain cold and still, buried quietly in the dead of night while on the run from Nationalist spies. Their relationship does not survive the loss, and Kate returns to Gotham City alone and empty-handed…but not without a new cause.

When Commander Waller inducts The Batwoman into the Bombshells three years later and sends her off to Berlin, offhandedly noting that she has “more reason than most to hate the National Socialists,” it is not the safari Kate thinks of. It is not her broken relationship with Renee or the ruined dig in Egypt or the pathetic man selling the names of Jewish refugees to the Nazis that she hunted down in a warehouse three nights ago. No, she thinks of a bright-eyed boy in a red cap, curling up against her side that night in Huesca and making her laugh as the bombs rained down from the sky.

The Bombshells section wound up being in a bit of an experimental writing style, and I also inadvertandly ended up doing a frankly ridiculous amount of research on the Spanish Civil War for a section that's ultimately only around 2.5k. So...look forward to this fic being published some time around Christmas, if I can get my act together and re-read some of Jason's pre-Crisis stories to get the Nocturna section right!

[ladyluscinia]

Midam Week - Sept. 26, 2021 - Expectation

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I used all my recent writing energy on a SPN Archangel Week submission (posting tomorrow!) but I wanted to celebrate some Midam too, and coincidentally that's what I'm writing right now in (still in progress) Chapter 2 of Eternal Godhood Comes With Problems (AO3 Link). It even kind of fit the prompt.

Below the cut is a roughly 1700 word, basically finished excerpt from the Adam POV section. This is Adam's first appearance in Eternal Godhood, so while I'd love it if you went and read Chapter 1, it's not relevant or necessary to understand anything here. The setting is after 15x19 and un-raptured Adam is miserably holed up in a motel room.  Kind of angsty, since Michael is dead and all, but it's going happier places (eventually).

Enjoy!

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Adam is trying to decide whether he currently hates the water stain in the left corner of the ceiling or if it has once again wrapped around to the kind of neutral interest that used to drive him to watch clouds.  His opinion has been going back and forth for weeks, ever since he first noticed it. It gives him something to do, at least. A way to mark the turn of his thoughts even at his worst moments.  Does it make him mad today?  Is it hate or interest?

…Hate.  He’s definitely still on hate.  Fuck.

He’s been on hate all day.  That’s his most consistent red flag.  Hate, it turns out, is not a great motivator for him.  Still, he tries.

Adam hates that water stain.  He hates the lumpy motel bed, the horrid shade of paint on the walls, the way the sun barely gets through the window at the best possible angle, and the complete lack of a kitchen.  He hates the stack of takeout menus he’s been living off of, the cell phone that only rings with his half-brothers’ numbers, the credit card some redhead had promised would be good as long as he needed, and the bible he found in a drawer that he can’t look at.

He hates that he’s cold, despite knowing he turned the AC off the moment he stepped in the room and its current temperature makes him sweat around midday.  He hates that he’s hungry and, simultaneously, has lost most desire to eat. He hates that he’s making himself do so anyway with scheduled meal times.  He hates how his muscles ache.  He hates how his eyelids droop.  He hates the faint throb of pain in his temple that wants to become a migraine.

He hates that he’s alive and out of the Cage yet getting up to take a shower every afternoon feels like a chore more often than not.  Hates that he remembers not that long ago when the relief of hot water was a well enjoyed luxury.

Adam hates that all that hate he’s feeling is just really, really exhausting.

He’s tired.  He should really get out of bed.

Hate is such a shitty motivator.

“I’m not just laying around here for no reason,” he announces to the empty room.  No one responds, of course.  There isn’t anyone to hear him, and every reminder hurts like a knife in his gut. He can’t really forget about it, but the list of actions that will jostle or twist it is ever expanding. And Adam being Adam, he keeps poking at the hurt on purpose because why the fuck not?

Can’t forget about it, but he might as well confirm it’s still there and just as fresh.  Again.  And again. And again.

The self-pitying turn to his thoughts finally provides the push he needed to sit up.  Not that he can really go anywhere, but it’s the first real action he’s taken in several hours.  His mother would be proud.  Adam had already faced the worst this world could throw at him in the Cage.  He’d spent uncountable years of flexible Hell-time wallowing in how he didn’t deserve the suffering he’d been stuck with.  Now that he’s out, nothing is allowed to be bad enough that he warrants pity.  Nothing.

Ugh, why of all places does he have to be stuck in a motel room?

“I haven’t forgotten how to take care of myself,” he says.  Winces. He drags himself to the side of the bed and stands up, miserable but steady.  There’s a cinnamon roll left from the pack he bought yesterday.  Not that he really wants it, but apathy does not fill stomachs.  Adam was raised by a nurse and studied pre-med before his untimely death.  He will not be brought down by lack of appetite due to psychological distress.  “Today is just a bad day.  You know how it is.”

Ouch.

Does this count as praying?  Adam always thought prayers were supposed to be a more formal thing.  Something you did with intent, maybe kneeling, but he supposes talking out loud to a dead archangel isn’t that dissimilar.  Especially one he does formally pray to, sometimes, on the days he can step into that church.  If he didn’t know his half-brothers would never have even considered it, he’d think the motel being within (admittedly long) walking distance of a St. Michael’s had to be deliberate.  Maybe the universe is fucking with him.  Or Jack. Does Jack seem like the type to fuck with people?  He hasn’t seen him since that first day.  Can Adam judge?

The kid had seemed stupidly earnest, but then Michael had also seemed pretty sincere in his whole ‘I need to borrow your body to create paradise’ thing when they first met, and hindsight on that one was a bitch. On the other hand, if Adam doesn’t trust Jack then what the hell is he still doing here?  Even Sam’s carefully spaced out calls were getting more obvious in the suspicious prying.  He doesn’t know what Adam isn’t telling them, but he’s stopped pretending he’s not trying to find out.

“Think they’ll even consider that I’m waiting here on simple hope?” he muses, pulling the pastry apart and popping the first bite into his mouth.

Michael doesn’t answer.

Michael can’t answer.  Hasn’t been able to since Adam sucked in a desperate breath in a city park, heart still racing from whatever it was that they had sensed moments before, and realized something had gone horribly wrong.

He remembers the panic so perfectly.  It probably helps that he’s not entirely sure he’s stopped feeling it.  Everything had hit like a tsunami.  With Michael… it would be so wrong to say he felt less, but it all felt different. Even when pulled as far back from the driver’s seat as he ever got, Michael had been infused into every cell – every atom – of Adam’s body.  All sensations went first through the filter of them.  The sudden loss of that…

Adam swore being a human couldn’t actually ache all the time.  Humans couldn’t actually feel their bodies aging.  It was probably in his head, right?

The rationalization didn’t help.  Without Michael, everything was off in a way that was probably seared into his soul by this point.  After the shock faded, he thought he could get used to it.  Survive.  Maybe even – far, far down the line – move on, but it would never feel quite normal. Back then, though… back then Adam had though he was dying slowly, somehow abandoned by the only being that was holding him together.

He hadn’t felt his legs give out.  Still wasn’t sure of the sequence of events that had left his back pressed against a tree and his head between shaking knees. Didn’t know how long he’d been gasping breaths, reaching out for Michael with everything even as his voice caught silent in his throat.  No one had been there to find.  Adam remembered learning back in a long-ago class on stress that panic attacks couldn’t actually kill you, but it had sure as Hell felt like he was never leaving that moment alive.

He’d been so, indescribably cold, and that’s when Jack had appeared.

“How long do you think it will take him to decide if you get to come back?” Adam wonders aloud, “There’s not, like, a committee. Did you get a Heavenly advocate or something?  Is he rocking the white robe and the throne thing while some angel tries to prove your bicentennial performance reviews are evidence for your second chance?”

Adam tries to picture it.  Even manages to huff what could be a laugh at the mental image of the skinny kid from the park drowning in godly white fabric, trying to keep a stern yet thoughtful expression aimed at an angel who looks like a tv show lawyer.  Michael would have gotten a kick out of his joke, at least.  Maybe Michael still could.  Eventually.

Jack’s side of the conversation had been… rushed. Admittedly, Adam had been in no shape to have a conversation at all – that couldn’t have helped – but the infodump and immediate disappearance had been jarring.  Hi, I’m the new God.  The old one is dealt with but by the way he killed Michael.  Michael, who betrayed everyone except maybe not really so I might bring him back, but I’ve got bigger problems so don’t wait up.  Here’s Sam and Dean’s number so they can help with human essentials like food and a roof.  Good luck.

Ok, so maybe Adam’s mood is making the kid sound more dickish than reality, but that was the gist.  Michael was suddenly a dead traitor and Adam was relying on his half-brothers’ generosity while he tried to process that.

The last bite of cinnamon roll tastes like ash, and he’s inordinately relieved to be done with it.  The bed is tempting his return.  He can already see another few hours lined up to disappear in a cloud of lethargic hate.

“I just,” Adam stutters, doubling down to finish his cobbled together prayer, “I just want you back.  I can’t… I don’t want to do this alone.”

“It doesn’t matter if you went back to your dad. I mean, we absolutely have to talk about it, like, a lot, but it doesn’t matter for this.  It’s not like I don’t know the worst of you, halo.  And full offense to the Winchesters, I don’t buy that they have the faintest fucking idea why you did anything, ever, so I need to hear the story from you.  So I need you back.  You can’t explain anything if you don’t come back.  And I know you, so I’ll probably be mad and you’ll probably deserve it, but it- it doesn’t matter.  There’s literally nothing you can say that could make this empty room better than having you.”

He hesitates, swallowing the lump of emotion in his throat.  Saying the rest of it out into the ether is one thing, but when he knows Michael isn’t listening… Fuck it.  “I love you. The good and the bad.  I loved you in the Cage, I loved you when we got out, and it doesn’t matter what you did or how pissed I’m going to be – I love you now. Just.  Come back.  Please.”

Nothing happens, of course.  The room stays silent.  His archangel stays dead.

Adam squeezes his eyes closed, and the knife twists.

[To Be Continued]

[themagiciansreccenter]

The Great Blank Spot: @sadlittlenerdking

So much goes into creating fanfiction even before the first words hit the paper. And in-depth spotlight on our writers and the process behind their work.

Tell us about your current project.

I have so many, but the Big Dog I'm working on is my 39 Graves fic. I've got timeline 22, so no pressure lol

Do you try to write daily? Do you have a word count or other goals you try to hit for each writing session?

I try, but I work 14 hour days usually, so I've got limited writing time. I made a new years resolution to at least write a poem a day, so I've been doing that. To at least have something written.

What was the inspiration for this fic?

Man, I just really, really love killing my favorite characters.

How do you stay motivated between chapters/stories?

i rewatch the magicians? That and when people randomly comment on old fic I wasn't too proud of. That's like a +10 on motivation, just because it's like heroine for the soul.

Did this fic require any research? How much research do you typically do for your fics?

Not really? I mean, I rewatched the show just to look for hints into past timelines, but I'm completely flipping the script and going hogwild on how i can hurt everyone.

Do you typically write ahead or post as you go?

I post as I go, because I like pressing F5 nonstop for six hours for some reason lol

How much planning and outlining did you do before you started putting words on paper?

I'm HUGE on planning. In my old apartment i had a whole wall dedicated to planning. Write now, my outline for this fic is about 5k words, and i'm still tweaking as I get further into the plot outline.

Has it been pretty smooth sailing or rough waters? When things get rocky, how do you handle needing to rewrite sections or scrap scenes entirely?

Rough. I started writing, but I've rewritten the opener eight times, because i'm just not happy with my starting point. I get really frustrated when I can't get something write, so I just end up in this cycle of madness and rewriting. I do tend to rewrite sections over scraping entirely, though.

Anything else you want to add/think we should cover?

Should I mention that Mayakovsky raises Eliot in this? Maybe.

Excerpt

The man in the vest quirks an unenthused eyebrow, almost like he can’t believe he’s wasting his time on him. “Todd?” He asks, before reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a small white card. He flips it using his index and middle fingers. It just says Todd in all caps, like the card is yelling demands. “No last name? What are you? Beyonce?”

“No—“ Todd shakes his head, “I have a last name.”

The man tilts his head, a wayward curl falling in his face. “It’s—wait, hold on—where are we?”

The man rolls his eyes, before looking over his shoulder at the school behind him. “Brakebills University,” He says, turning his gaze back on Todd. “Elite school of Elite Magicians. Apparently you’re up for the part.” He holds the card out for Todd to take, waving it when it takes him a moment too long. Once Todd’s fingers wrap around the edges, the man lets go and turns to stalk off to the left. “Come along, Mr. Knowles.”

The Great Blank Spot is an in-depth spotlight focusing on the writing process and previewing in-progress fics for our fandom. It is meant to be an organic, ever-evolving feature. Previously interviewed fic writers can reach out to us here, to have a specific work featured. If you’d like to have a work featured but haven’t done the author spotlight, reach out to us to get started. If you have suggestions for questions you’d like to see answered, shoot us an ask!

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

💬👀

Hello anonymous! Here's another bit from Hiraeth. It's part of a significantly longer bit that I'm pretty proud of, but I cut it here rather than also sharing the next section. After all, I probably shouldn't be sharing everything of this story anyhow :P

[...] She snorted in near silence, annoyed by her own blind inability to see truly. Ever an optimist. Ever cast down by the true reality as it unfolded before her. Ever a lover of nature. Aelwen looked out the window with a weary sigh. Everything felt hard, and not only hard—remote and nothing that she needed to care about, really. Apathy had long since shown itself as a viable option, and—to her shame—she found herself grasping at it, instead of the despair that settled more and more deeply into her bones at every passing day. The clouds chased each other, white and fluffy and clean, across the clear blue sky. They were so beautiful, and she longed to feel the wind on her face. If they hadn’t been just about to go to meet with the other believers, she would have gone out and tried to appreciate the beauty she had long adored.

Fun fact: I have a note that I put in this section that reads 'Aelwen is SPIRALING here I think!' which somehow amuses me. Especially given when I wrote this first.

I think I would have more sympathy with Aelwen if I were writing this now (looking at you '--to her shame--' line).

I would love feedback! Also (keeping this straight for myself) this is the third excerpt I've shared, chronologically sharing, today. There's chunks between them, of course.