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pidgebeifong · 5 years ago

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atla artist au

Aang is a painter. He’s loved painting ever since he was a child and first experimented with finger paints on the walls- which was, in hindsight, maybe not the best idea. He loves the way it detaches him from his worldly concerns. It’s almost like a form of meditation for him- the rest of the universe just falls away whenever he picks up his paintbrush, and all he can see is his canvas and the worlds he will create with a swirl of lemon yellow sun here, a wave of cerulean blue ocean there, a blur of sunset orange clouds at the edges. Everything he owns has been stained with paint in at least three places, which makes dressing for formal events a real pain. Sometimes he’ll deliberately paint his jeans with sunflowers or bees or anything that’s a sunny, bright yellow- his favourite colour- and wear them proudly for days. Katara jokes that she doesn’t even remember what the real colours of his hands look like, because they’re forever stained with paint that’s sunken so deeply into the folds of his skin that it makes it nearly impossible to rub off. People always ask him what his favourite thing to paint is, expecting it to be something like sunsets or mountains, but the truth is his favourite thing to study and paint is his Labrador, Appa, the first thing he ever drew. He started drawing at around five, the same age he adopted Appa, and to this day he can never get the way Appa’s golden fur shines just right under the blinding sunlight. He loves going to nature reserves and parks to study how light affects the leaves and flowers. Sometimes everything will just be too much, and he’ll jam as many paints into his pockets as he can, take a sketchbook, a water bottle and a paintbrush, and get on the bus to a park. He’ll sit quietly for hours, trying to capture moonlight on water or the flapping wings of a hummingbird.

Katara is a writer. She literally can’t remember a time she hasn’t loved to write. She has stacks and stacks of unfinished manuscripts lying around on the floor, tacked up to the walls in her room, and crumpled on the bedsheets. She has easily over a thousand different scenes written for her future novels on the Notes app in her phone, and she has a bad habit of scribbling ideas down on her hands on the rare occasions she doesn’t have her phone on her and there’s no paper in sight. She’s practically nocturnal at this point, because all her best ideas come to her at 3am, when she’s sleep-deprived and half-hallucinating. She always carries at least three pens on her at all times, and gets panicky when she’s forced to remove them whenever she has to dress up for anything formal. She’s really hypocritical whenever she gets on Aang’s case about his hands always being paint-stained, because all her hands are covered in ink, too- half-finished notes and ideas that got left on the cutting board. Katara hates cutting out characters that simply aren’t necessary to the scene and don’t add anything of value to the plot, because they’re her babies damnit and she worked hard on them. One would think that this would make her more sympathetic to her characters, but Aang and Sokka are appalled the first time they’re allowed to read one of her (mostly) finished manuscripts (who is she kidding, she doesn’t have a manuscript that’s even remotely finished for the life of her) and see how much torture and anguish and heartbreak she’s put her characters through. Katara is a huge advocate of making all her characters hit the lowest point they could possibly go, and then instead of making them get back up again, she gives them a shovel and instructions to dig lower. However, she’s a huge sucker for happy endings, and she practically dominates the tag #angst with a happy ending on AO3. She gets around three hours of sleep every night, none of them consecutive, and survives on black coffee and willpower alone. Everyone knows her as an avid reader, but she hasn’t really read an actual book since two years ago, and spends most of her time scrolling through 250k fanfictions at 2am.

Sokka is a photographer. He doesn’t have the skills that Aang has with his paintbrush, or the way Katara can make entire universes come to life with a few words, so for a long time he used to think that he was just going to be the ordinary guy in the group who’d only be known for loving meat to what is frankly an unhealthy degree, and that his only contribution to the team would be a slew of bad jokes and sarcastic remarks. He finds his calling very late in life, but the moment he picks up his first camera at age fourteen, everything just seems to fall perfectly into place. Sokka’s world always moves too fast and changes too quickly, but he can capture moments that will last forever with the click of a button, and he guesses that that’s what he loves about photography- that he can freeze moments in time and always be able to come back to them. Well, as long as he doesn’t lose his camera, but he’s got the photos all backed up on iCloud anyway, so that’s not really an issue. Sometimes, he’ll accompany Aang to nature parks, and Aang will paint the twisting vines of a plant while Sokka captures Aang’s relaxed, happy expression. His favourite photos are the ones he takes of his friends when they’re caught unaware- candid portraits of Suki laughing or Katara ruffling Aang’s hair or Toph trying and failing to hide a grudging smile. He loves old photos, too- loves the aesthetic of black-and-white photos, how they capture a scene that he knows full well happened decades ago but somehow make him feel like he’s living in the same moment. Experimenting with light is one of his favourite things to do- he loves playing with golden hour sunlight or early morning rays, loves hearing the satisfying click of his camera and knowing that he’s got another picture for the album (and his hugely successful Instagram account that has well over 50k followers).

Toph is a sculptor. She was born blind and never really got to experience art the same way the others did, so for a long time she buried her disappointment deep within her and never let jealousy rear its ugly head whenever she heard Katara singing praises about the latest painting Aang had just finished, or the beautiful photograph Sokka had captured of all of them laughing as a group, but then she discovered sculpture. An art she could appreciate from beneath her fingers, an art she could see by running her hands over it and feeling the crevices and curves and edges breathe themselves into life beneath her touch. Despite discovering the term for it late in life, Toph found that she’d actually been sculpting at a very young age. She’d been experimenting with PlayDoh and clay since before she could walk, but she’d never known that there was actually an art form in it that people did professionally until Aang had taken her to a museum and put her hands on a beautiful sculpture of an ancient Greek god. It was one of the only times she’d ever cried in her life, but those had been tears of pure joy- she didn’t want to sound like a sap, but she hadn’t realized that something so beautiful in the world existed until that life-changing moment at the museum. Sure, they’d been chased out by one particularly angry security guard who kept waving his baton around threateningly (‘can’t you two juveniles see that the sign clearly says no touching?!’ ‘actually sir, I’m blind so that would be a hard no’) but it had been worth it. Ever since then, Toph has been addicted to sculpting, feeling things take shape under her capable hands. She’s been told she can replicate faces with an accuracy that’s both astonishing and unnerving, despite not even being able to see (it only took a lot of years and lot of hours spent tracing the lines of Aang’s face) and her work has been proudly displayed on Katara’s bedside table, Sokka’s desks and Aang’s shelves.

Suki is a martial arts instructor who has a degree in badassery. She started her own school at just fifteen years old, and named it the Kyoshi Warrior Academy, in honour of Kyoshi, her late martial arts instructor whom she had a deep respect for. She had black belt status in five different martial arts by the time she turned thirteen, and was a legend for her skill, hard work and talent in the martial arts community. She’s lost quite a few matches, but she’s more than made up for it with every win she’s achieved. The first time she met Sokka, she thought he was trying to steal from her, so she judo-flipped him, pinned him down and tied his wrists together, all of which took a maximum of three seconds. (‘wow, that’s kinky. so are you into that kind of thing?’ ‘shut up, asshole. what do you want from me? my wallet?’ ‘actually, I was going to ask you out on a date, but I mean sure, if you’re offering. I could use a little cash right about now, actually, because I think you just broke all the cards I have in my wallet when you body-slammed me to the ground, along with at least ten of my bones.’) Sokka had severely underestimated Suki’s skill at first, despite their rather unfortunate encounter (during which she actually had broken the bone in his arm, but he’d tried to wave it off and say that he didn’t mind, then subsequently screamed in pain because he’d tried to wave his broken arm), but he knew that he’d have to change his mindset in order to win her over. Eventually, he ended up changing his misogynistic mindset not only to go out with Suki, but because he realized that it was the right thing to do- something Katara was over the moon about. She and Suki have been joined at the hip ever since, and Sokka often jokes whether Suki is only dating him for his sister (‘damn, suki, it’s like you only come over for katara’ ... ‘wait. why aren’t any of you saying anything. katara did you just wink? sUKI DID YOU JUST KISS MY SISTER’S CHEEK-?! oh my god this is the worst betrayal I’ve experienced since toph said that she didn’t need to see my photographs in order to tell that they were ugly’). Jokes aside, Suki adores her boyfriend and his sister, and often teaches them self-defense in her free time. One of her best students is a girl named Ty Lee, who all her friends except Zuko seem to really hate for some reason. However, Ty Lee is a natural at self-defense and she and Suki get along like a house on fire. Katara still refuses point-blank to go to classes whenever Ty Lee is in attendance, but Suki has given up trying to understand why. In conclusion, Suki is one of those movie heroines who can munch a sandwich while apprehending twenty supervillains all twice her size, and still come out victorious.

Zuko is a theatre kid and aspiring actor. (Was anyone surprised by this, really?) His natural melodramatic emo kid personality makes him the perfect role for starring roles in school plays (at least, that’s what Azula always likes to say) and acting to him comes as naturally as breathing. He’s not-so-secretly a Shakespeare nerd and can literally recite Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet, two of his favourite plays, word for word. He also loves Hamilton and Dear Evan Hansen- and alright, maybe he also harbours a love for High School Musical (he’s never told anyone that, but everyone knows anyway because he made Azula suffer through all five movies with him which eventually led to her becoming so fed-up constantly belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs that she recorded the audio and sent it to everyone at school, including Mai, whom he couldn’t look in the eyes for a straight two weeks). Before his mother left them, she used to say that Zuko got his acting genes from her, because she used to play the lead role in Love Amongst The Dragons every year in her old high school. Zuko asked Ursa if that meant Azula got her dancing genes from Ozai, and they’d both have a quiet little laugh as they imagined Ozai trying to dance ballet. Although Zuko adores the drama and the poignant atmosphere that comes with performing Shakespeare’s plays, Love Amongst The Dragons holds the top spot for his favourite play by far. He goes to see it every time the ache for his mother is too painful to ignore- even though the new actors, a group called the Ember Island Players, all but butcher it every year- and sometimes, he’ll deceive himself into thinking that his mother’s somewhere in the audience too, watching the play right there with him like they used to do all the time. He once took Azula to see it with him, just like they used to do when their mother was with them, and Azula cried when he told her that the reason he liked it was because it reminded him of their mother. The sight of her crying was so unnerving that Zuko went alone after that. Azula never protested, though, or teased him for liking the play again.

Azula is a dancing prodigy. She specializes in ballet, but she also does contemporary and modern. She tried her hand at tap and jazz, and although she naturally excelled in it, as usual, she decided that it just wasn’t for her. At the age of fourteen, Azula is already a world-renowned dancer and has broken records and made history with how skilled she is at dancing. She moves her body so fluidly that it’s hard to believe she’s even a person and not just a wisp or smoke, delicately floating and twirling and twisting through the air. Azula has a lot of pent-up anger and frustration about having to constantly seem perfect all the time in order to make up for the failure that Zuko is, and she’s found that physical exercise- namely, dance- is the best way to relieve her stress. She also knows a fair bit of martial arts- out of everyone, she and Ty Lee are the only ones who have managed to defeat Suki at hand-to-hand combat. If asked about it, Suki will vehemently deny that such an incident ever happened, which only serves to amuse Azula further. Azula started ballet at age three and advanced much further and quicker than any of her peers, which incited a lot of jealousy and basically ensured that she had virtually no friends in the ballet community, but it wasn’t like she was particularly desperate for companionship in the first place. She’s so famous that she’s a verified account on Instagram with over a million followers- she does some spare modelling work on the side when she can, and her stunning looks combined with her raw talent have made her into one of the most unattainably perfect girls to ever rule Instagram. Somehow, her dancing doesn’t distract her from her grades, because she also has a stellar report card that’s displayed on the wall of her numerous trophies and awards she’s achieved over the years. (Zuko has a half-broken shelf that sports exactly two awards, and one is a certificate of participation.) Azula was born for the spotlight. Whenever she steps onto a stage, the room goes completely, eerily still, as if holding on to her every move. She’s one of the most beautiful dancers to ever perform, and audiences sing praises about her every twirl, her every arch, as if a single pirouette she’s executed is already perfect enough to win her ten awards. She’s mesmerizing on stage, and kind of terrifying in the way that one would find someone too perfect to be terrifying. Her every move is effortless, graceful, as if she’s a weightless feather drifting through the breeze. She’s incredibly captivating and is set to be one of history’s stars.

Mai is a musician/singer. Her parents were extremely traditional and gave her piano and violin lessons for her fifth birthday, but she actually ended up enjoying them a lot. She has a great voice, too, so she started a YouTube channel a while back that features her doing covers and singing her own original songs sometimes. It’s now amassed a few thousand followers. Zuko has an admittedly great voice, too, and sometimes she invites him to her channel and they do these amazing duets. All of their followers ship them together, but Mai always denies that she likes him, despite her cheeks always blushing a bright pink whenever he’s brought up on live-streams. Her parents don’t approve of her channel, which they only found out about because they were being overbearing and went through her phone yet again, and they want her to go to school to study business instead. Mai doesn’t plan on giving up on her YouTube channel anytime soon, though. Before she discovered singing, she was clearly passionless about most everything, but now that she has, it feels like a fire slowly consuming her from the inside out. And she kind of likes it, to be honest. It feels good to be so passionate about something, especially since Zuko likes it just as much as she does. She’ll never admit it, but she knows how to play quite a few My Chemical Romance and Panic! At The Disco songs on the piano (which Zuko absolutely loves her for, because he’s the picture perfect stereotype of an emo boy). Writing and singing songs provides her with some sort of cathartic relief that she can’t really obtain from anywhere else. She’s incredibly musically talented, and was playing grade eight piano material at just eleven years old. She taught herself the guitar and the harp after her parents refused to give her any more lessons for fear that she would become too invested in music (Asian parents, y’all- they provide you with piano lessons but expect you to become a doctor or a lawyer because God forbid you pursue a career in music despite having studied it since you were five) and refuse to pursue a career in business.

Ty Lee is a gymnast. She tried ballet along with Azula, but didn’t like the discipline it took and ran out of patience with all the tedious instructions necessary to follow along with the class, finding that gymnastics was more to her liking. However, she and Azula make an awesome duo whenever they showcase their talents together. Ty Lee’s actually so good that trainees are already speculating that she could achieve a spot on her country’s national gymnastics team. She can do backflips, handstands, cartwheels and splits on a beam one after the other without even needing to catch her breath, and she’s impossibly fit. She loves crop tops- she thinks they show off her figure, which is nearly unattainable for most people. She’s also naturally talented at martial arts, and Suki frequently tells her that she learns faster than Suki can teach. She’s done every form of gymnastics imaginable- rhythmic, acrobatic, artistic- you name it, she’s done it. Originally she only took an interest in it because Azula begged her to join ballet with her, and Ty Lee found that she did like the strenuous physical exertion that ballet entailed, but everything just moved too slowly for her. Ty Lee likes fast-paced action, so gymnastics is the perfect fit for her. Sometimes, Azula will teach her some new ballet moves she learnt in class, and in return, Ty Lee will teach Azula a few gymnastics moves she invented by herself after following the standard textbook forms grew too boring. They once entered a talent show together and blew the crowd away with Azula’s captivating dancing and Ty Lee’s breathtaking gymnastics.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #aang #the gaang #Zuko #prince zuko #princess azula #Azula #atla #atla modern au #avatar the last airbender modern au #modern au #artist au #katara #suki #sokka #toph beifong #mai #ty lee

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adventuresloane · 4 years ago

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The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) -- Ch. 4

“They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short ‘n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids.”

Hurley’s a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Updates every Friday. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story–more significant changes to come in later chapters. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

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"Absolutely no way."

"Oh, yes."

"Nope. Nope. You can't possibly hit that thing."

"Bet you anything I can."

Sloane snickered. "I'll take that bet. That bird is at well over a hundred meters away, faster than shit, and you're going at it with a goddamn revolver instead of a proper hunting rifle. Not possible."

"Shh, don't let it hear you." Their heart pounded against the ground like a closed fist as they lay flat on their belly, fixed on the roadrunner. Without thinking about it, they did what they always did, tilting the gun up an inch for every twenty meters. Just like hitting clay. They aimed for the question mark-shaped neck. Next to them, Sloane, meanwhile, had rolled onto her back with her hand flopped lazily over her stomach. Her neck was arched all the way back to look at the bird with a droll grin. She was looking at the thing upside-down. What did she know anyway?

"It's not gonna hear shit from this distance, which is, I'll remind you, very fucking far," she said.

"It could! You don't know!"

"You manage to hit that thing, I'll eat my ha--"

They shot, and the bird dropped with nary a squawk.

Hurley popped up from the ground. First they smiled at the still dark lump on the ground very fucking far in front of them, then, without changing their expression, turned to a gaping Sloane. When she glanced their way, they raised their eyebrows and swung their revolver by the trigger guard, back and forth, on one finger. Admittedly, they made a show of milking it.

She snapped her mouth shut and narrowed her eyes. Then, without so much as a sigh, she removed her hat, walked over towards the unlit fire pit, held it for a moment over the skillet sitting nearby, and, with a certain solemnity, dropped it.

They laughed. She didn't, but she smiled in this particular way they had come to recognize, where she wrinkled her nose, as though it were a grin repurposed from a failed sneer.

"I'll go grab the bird," they said.

She watched them the whole time they were walking back. When they got close enough, they could see the studying glint in her eye, her head cocked.

"Hey," she said. A second later, she tossed an empty can into the air. They drew and picked it off, hearing the satisfying tang as the bullet connected.

They took a moment to watch it fall to earth, diverted from its original course, before looking back at her. "Whoo!" They pumped their fists in the air, despite the fact that a carcass still swung from one.

She chuckled. "Damn." Holding her hand out toward the bird, she said, "Give me that." When they handed it over, she started plucking the feathers.

"You don't have to do that."

"It's fine. You ever had roadrunner before?"

"Nope. Have you?"

"Oh, a few times. It's alright."

"So you've shot them before!" They sat beside her cross-legged to watch her work. "Why were you giving me shit about it just now?"

"No, I've only trapped them. Just a few times, when I'm away from any towns for a good long while."

"Isn't that harder?"

"Yes, which is why you should be impressed." She glanced at them, then went on, "Also, I'm a terrible shot. Things look blurry to me when they're at that distance away, so there wasn't much point in learning."

"Really?" As her words sank in, they felt their previous excitement congeal in them like a blood clot, stopping them up. They wondered if she might be lying, but they weren't good at spotting that kind of thing in anyone, least of all her. She had not tensed or looked away as she had spoken, at least that they had seen. She just kept pulling the feathers. Anyway, it would have made for an odd thing to lie about in this moment.

The number 113 flashed through Hurley's head over and over. Abernathy had been shot from 113 meters away, the distance from the door of the bank to the general store's porch. Her bad sight and the clean gun and the fact that--they could tell--she hadn't thought to shoot when she had gotten caught. Her reaction to simply hitting Hurley in the nose. Would the law know all that? Would it care? It wasn't what one would call hard evidence, certainly nothing capable of proving her innocence, but it didn't add up. What did it mean to bring her back to a Goldcliff unaware of such things?

They didn't ask all that. Instead, they pushed past the stewing in their guts to ask, "Are you often out here for a long time?"

She shrugged. "Depends. Sometimes I have a harder time getting some sheriff off my trail, and I have to hide out here a little longer before I go back to a town. I can be here for a few weeks without much of a problem." She cocked her brow at them and jabbed, "When I'm prepared."

They flicked a spot of dried mud from their boot. "That sounds lonely," they said in the most neutral way they could, which was probably not very.

She snorted. "No. The quiet's nice out here."

Hurley looked around. "I think I agree. It's funny. I didn't like that about it when I first got out here, but being in a place that's sort of...stuck out of time, that's a nice distance to have."

"You can disappear, yeah." She passed the featherless carcass to them, and they began to slice its belly.

"I wouldn't want it all the time, though. Eventually I think I'd want someone around."

"I don't like answering to anybody."

"I'm aware of that," they said with a grin.

"Well, do you? 'Cause you seem like you'd rather be the person people answer to."

"Do I?" They paused when their knife was partway through the thin, shining muscle under the skin as they held the bird over the dead charcoals. The blood rose up out of it and dribbled onto the ashes, so that it would be soaked up. "I don't think it has to be about answering to anyone. You can just be with people."

"Where'd you learn to shoot?"

"Well, when I was young, maybe seven or eight, my mother--"

"Oh, gods."

"Hey, do you want to know or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's just I should've known you'd make it something sentimental." She gave them a flippant wave while still looking down at the roadrunner. Hurley chose to be optimistic and assume that was her version of a joke. "Go on."

They huffed. “Well, I’ll make it quick for both our sakes, I guess. I was gonna say that my mother always told me I thought with my belly.”

“Huh. Rude.”

“No, she didn’t mean it like that. She meant I listen to my gut before anyone else, including her, or my own brain. Like how I’d go running out the door in my underwear to frighten off the foxes if I thought I heard them near the chickens. I was maybe three when I did this, I should mention.”

“Oh, wonderful.”

“Anyway, finally Mom decided that if I was going to keep running into things without thinking about them, I might as well figure out how to protect myself while I did it. I started off with a slingshot when I was maybe seven, but I wanted a gun before long. She managed to put off giving me one until I was, oh, twelve or so.”

Sloane chuckled. “Very irresponsible. I love it.”

“Hey, at least she found someone to teach me before she let me lay my hands on the thing myself. I’ve been practicing ever since.”

“I can tell.”

“Yeah.”

It was some time before either of them spoke again. Several times, Hurley took in a big breath to speak, held it and let it grow hot and tight inside their chest, and then let it all out. The sun had melted into a band of fading yellow on the horizon.

Finally, they said, “Hey, let me switch out your shackles.”

They went to chain her ankles so that they could remove the irons around her wrist, but she rolled out of the way at the last second, flopping onto her back. “Nah, don’t feel like it,” she answered, playing up the lazy tone.

Hurley snorted. “Don’t be an ass, come on.”

This time, she flipped over onto her belly, still skirting just out of reach. Her head was in her hands as she fixed them with a playful grin. “You gotta catch me first if you want to do that, Red. I thought you were good at that.”

They stared her down and made a point of being unsmiling. “Sloane, it’s got to happen eventually anyway.

The smile slid from her face fast. She cast her eyes down to the ground. When she finally let them approach, it was while she was turned away from them and looking out to the fading light. She had closed.

Over the nearly three weeks that they had been on their own together, this was what Hurley had come to dread far more than the dark of the nights and the heat of the days. It was the feeling of collapse, of having to knock down something that they had built up themself. Because they could almost pretend, before they remembered the chains again. It seemed, sometimes, that she almost forgot them as well.

They had been sleeping closer together lately. On a particularly cold night, Sloane had even conceded to being under the same blanket with them, so long as Hurley kept their hands curled up against their chest. But it wouldn’t be tonight, regardless of how much either of them shivered.

#for christmas i would like comments <3 #hurloane #taz #the adventure zone #taz fanfic #the zone cast #taz balance #hurley #sloane #the wanted

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theastrophilearchitect · 4 years ago

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Reworking the plot & getting my hands dirty.

Writing journey #2.

Sat 06/03/2021 - Word Count: 28,150 19.38 So, a month ago, today, actually, I started writing a book. For context, I've sorted out scenes and planned my plot; I'm now simultaneously writing my first draft and outlining scenes in more detail - I'm just into act two of my draft and just into act three of the outline.

I included today in my first writing post, which you can find here, but, while outlining, I realised something that will result in a major plot change (even though I probably should wait until revisions, it sorts out the climax I'm currently incredibly vague on, and will help me actually be able to complete the draft), and felt it was time to start a different post, because the other one was long, and already had its own focus.

Previously, I've been setting mildly insane word count goals, and even though I'm sticking to vague targets, I'm going to drop that, because I need to do a major plot change, and that'll mean the word count isn't going up that much for a while.

So, I have my first and second acts good, but while outlining act three, I've realised the event at the start of act three would work better as a climax than the vague battle idea I have. It just seems more original, more effective, but it means I need to shift events around and re-figure the first block of act three. I'll begin tonight, but it's already 8pm, so I'll probably do most of it tomorrow.

Sun 07/03/2021 - Word Count: 28,365 08.24 I'm reworking act three, and I think I may just drop drafting for the moment and focus on incorporating the edits I have in mind, then start drafting over. I know all the advice says not to go back and edit, but this is a big change I can't wait to do, so it seems opportune to just make the others, too.

08.31 I've now finished reworking act three, and I'm much more satisfied with it than I was before. I do now need to go through the scenes again, however.

13.57 Still re-scening. This is frustrating, but I've decided when I'm back to drafting, I'm going to drop my daily minimum to just 500 words - even though I'll make very little progress at that pace, it's more realistic considering I'm about to be plunged back into the world of homework and commuting, and it's something I'll always be able to meet to help me keep in the habit of daily writing. Word count isn't applicable when I'm doing re-scening like today, though.

Something else I've noticed, when I'm writing literally anything, I'm just scribing the words I'm literally hearing in my head, which is a little bit of a problem because where I wrote 'meet' just now, I meant 'meet' but heard 'eat' in my head and wrote 'eat'.

17.07 I feel like I'm finally making some progress - I've been writing on-and-off all day. My word count has actually decreased a couple hundred words since yesterday, but Scrivener is convinced I've written 42,000 words today, which I obviously haven't. I've typed a lot of words, but not that many, not all of which added to that since deleting words takes words off that number. It thinks I've written so many, however, because I duplicated my act one folder twice (then deleted it, obviously, because I don't need three copies of the same act) but Scrivener doesn't take off the words when you delete the file, only when you literally hit backspace.

17.50 Sorting out my climax, I'm realising how bad it was before. Which I guess is good, because it shows internal criticism and growth...? Or something...?

21.04 I've totally planned out the majority of act three, but I haven't finished it because where I'm up to ends with my characters essentially making a game plan, and since I'm not yet sure what that game plan is, I can't outline the bit where they carry out the plan, but I'll do that later. I've incorporated some of the edits I wanted to make, though I've left a couple out because they're less drastic and I'm not sure whether or not to include them, so I'm going to sort that either during or after my first draft.

Since I've made quite a few changes that will affect the parts I've already drafted, I'm going to start my draft over, and reset my word count, but I'll do that tomorrow. For now, Scrivener thinks I've written 42,385 words today, which I absolutely have not, and my word count is currently 28,365, but I'm going to remove every outline and drafted piece I've done so I can start from zero for what I'm going to call draft #1.4, because I already wrote a version of about 40% of it.

God, my word count has gone back to 0 of my minimum 50,000. That hurts. It really hurts. My actual goal is more 70-90K, but 50K is my minimum, so that's what I'm going with for now.

Anyway, goodnight, and good luck me.

Mon 08/03/2021 - Word Count: 820 So, I wrote 820 words before school, then got home, attempted to do some homework and lost all motivation and will to do... anything. Which means I'm very glad I did over my 500 words this morning.

Tue 09/03/2021 - Word Count: 1,367 15.07 I called this a #1.4 draft, but it's more like a #1.3. Anyway, writing is so much less stressful when I'm working from something I've already written - with the first section, so far, at least, I'm basically just editing the writing itself rather than the events because I'm pretty happy, at least at the moment, with my first couple chapters. Very little thinking required.

Also, it's been over 30 hours since I've written because I did my writing before school yesterday, but haven't written yet today because I've got so much work to get done for school. It feels like it's been forever.

16.17 I've finished rewriting chapter one, and still have a lot of fuel in my tank (that's a hideous metaphor) but I think I'm going to cut off today at 547 words, just because I have quite a lot on my plate this week, and I'd like to invest some time in actually reading the book I started eight days ago, and am only 200 pages of the way through.

Wed 10/03/2021 - Word Count: 2,082 I could write significantly more than 500 words most days, but it really is easier to set a minimum that doesn't feel like a strain, so that's what I'm sticking with for now.

Thu 11/03/2021 - Word Count: 2,801

Fri 12/03/2021 - Word Count: 3,405

Sat 13/03/2021 - Word Count: 32,211 07.40 I've just had nothing extra to say the last couple days, which is ironic considering how much I wrote each day of the last post, which went up yesterday! Anyway, it's finally Saturday, and even though I have exactly zero motivation to do anything this morning, I've been awake for two hours already (I recently discovered I like mornings??) and I think it's time to get going. Still sticking to my 500 word minimum, but since it's Saturday, I'm going to invest most of the day in writing, so I should surpass that.

08.20 I don't think I've mentioned yet that I dubbed this WIP Bay Tree in this post. Sorry if I have, but I skimmed this post and can't find it. So, this is about to get messy. I'm basically just cleaning up my prose, but there's so little point doing that when I'm not certain each scene will stay. There's no point editing a chapter unless I know it's sticking around.

So we're reverting, and this is about to get messy. I didn't quite finish my initial draft of chapter seven, because I wasn't sure how exactly the event at the end of it would happen, but I think I'm just going to delve into it. I'm going to add everything, including outlines, back to my word count, finish writing chapter seven, then pick up where I left off in chapter nine. Okay. That's why my word count is jumping around.

And, just like that, I've gone from 4,074 to 28,864. Well, 500 words accomplished. Surpassed, in fact, by just 24,290.

I'm going to aim to just hit 30K by the end of this weekend. I can easily do 1,136 words in two days.

As I've mentioned before, I haven't outlined all the way to the end and through the climax--I have a fairly clear idea of how I want it to do go down, but I'm not sure what I want the characters' plan to actually be, so I currently have 21 chapters, but I'm projecting 23-26, which, at about 3,000 words each, is pretty damn good, especially when it'll just get longer as I redraft (she says optimistically).

Already feeling more motivated now my word count's higher.

09.54 Oh! Also, I logged onto Tumblr today to find someone reblogged my last writing post with a really positive, encouraging comment. It's nice to think I'm bringing someone else a little joy with this.

11.13 And we hit 30K! I'm not quite done for the day, but I do need to go pack. Also, I've been operating under the impression the minimum word count for a novel is 50K, but it's actually 40K, which, though I'm only about 40% of the way to my projected total word count, I'm officially 75% of the way to being able to say I've written a novel.

I'm so glad I've gotten as far as I have, and I just hope I can keep myself going to the end.

12.27 This post is going to look really strange to read - if you're only looking at the word counts, it looks like I've written nearly 27K words today. That makes sense.

Oh, and I finished chapter seven. Like an hour ago.

13.52 At this point, I have literally no idea what continuity things I've already established, so I'm just going by a let-my-future-self-suffer philosophy.

14.36 That's chapter nine done. That leaves chapters 10 to nobody-knows. I'm going to stop writing now, but I wrote nearly 4,000 words today (plus recounting about 20K) so I don't exactly think this cut-off will be detrimental.

Sun 14/03/2021 - Word Count: 35,548 07.58 I’ve written over a thousand words already, and it isn’t even 8am yet. Being a morning person is genuinely the best thing ever as an introvert--I’m asleep when people want to socialise, and awake when no-one else is. That makes me sound like a hermit. I love it anyway, and feel like I’m stacking up for a good writing day. 35K is probably a little overambitious, but what’s life without aspiration?

09.04 As I’m going, I’m realising my plot is actually coherent, and being surprised that I can actually make a story without plot holes (as of yet.)

09.21 And that makes the first eleven chapters drafted!

...And, Houston, we have a problem. Dammit. Eleven chapters, and I haven’t established one of the most important world-building points. Which is especially irritating because it needs to be established by chapter twelve. Unless I can establish it at the start of chapter twelve? We’ll go with that, so I don’t have to go back, then I’ll sort it out in edits or draft two or something.

I’ve just started writing chapter twelve, but I think, having written 2,600 words today already, I need a break. I have less than 500 words until I hit 35K, but I’m going to leave it for now, and come back this evening. I should be able to hit 40K this week.

18.19 And that makes 35K. Chapter twelve is only two scenes, and I’ve written one, but having written 3,000 words so far today, I’m going to leave it until tomorrow.

Mon 15/03/2021 - Word Count: 36,337 17.19 So there’s a crucial plot point just after my midpoint, and I’m not completely sure what to do. I mean, I know what I’m doing--I just wasn’t sure exactly how I wanted it to go, but now I know. The issue is other stuff needs to be pre-established, and I’ve worked out where it needs to go, but I don’t know whether or not I want to go back and write those bits now, or just make note of it and add it in draft two.

I think I’m just going to make note, plough ahead, and deal with it in draft two. I’m trying to figure out exactly how I’m going to operate after this draft: things generally say put it down for a few weeks, come back for edits, then go into your next draft, but I feel like I’m already going to have so many edits gathered by the time I reach the end of this draft, I should just go back into it, but time will probably be beneficial. Not that it actually matters now. I’m only just halfway through an under-draft (by that I mean it’s going to get a lot longer). I’m going to add new scenes in my next draft and generally fiddle with plot aspects, but as quite a linear writer, I think I’m more naturally inclined to just incorporate aspects in a draft rather than as edits. I’m not sure. Does that even make any sense?

Depending on when I finish this draft, I think I’ll plan to pick it back up May 1st, and just see how I’m feeling. But, again, this all depends on when I finish the draft, and how I’m feeling when that time comes.

Tue 16/03/2021 - Word Count: 37,025 I bought my Scrivener license today! Yay!

Wed 17/03/2021 - Word Count: 38,408 08.04 This is mostly irrelevant to my project, but I just wanted to mention the odd fact that I’m definitely a plotter when it comes to longer pieces, but when I do shorter pieces, creative or essays, for school, I hate planning, and just start immediately, then go back and edit. Huh.

Thu 18/03/2021 - Word Count: 38,950 I’m going to edit this, but writing the date just now I noticed I’ve put 2019 for the last three days. It’s absolutely not, and I know why I did that, but still.

14.31 Also, Oxford commas? Found out what they were. Granted, that was actually a few days ago.

Fri 19/03/2021 - Word Count: 40,139 06.55 Even though I wrote 500 words yesterday, I didn’t quite reach my goal of 39K, just because I had to stop writing 50 words off, and by the time I had the opportunity to go back, I just wanted to go to bed. So, today, my goal is to hit 40K words, and officially be able to say I’ve hit the minimum word count for a novel.

Honestly, I’m starting to lose my love for this project. I’m still enjoying working on it, don’t get me wrong, but I’m anticipating finishing it because I know exactly what I want to write next. I feel like I’m mostly still working on it as a lesson, and I know it’s not what I ultimately want to write--mostly because it’s not super high-concept, and high-concept stuff is what I want to be writing. I am still enjoying working on it, I’m just not sure I’ll get to the ‘final line-edits’ stage. But who knows?

10.19 And that marks 40K. We’re in novel terriority, people. And, yes, I could correct that spelling, but I’d like to draw attention to how bad I am at spelling when typing. I’m excellent at spelling in writing, and wrong spellings bother me, but when I’m typing, my fingers are just trying to keep up with my mind, which means I try to type a letter and the one after it at the same time, and often end up with letters in the wrong order and punctuation in the wrong place. Or I just hit halfway between two keys instead of the key I’m going for, and type a wrong letter. Anyway, that was meant to say territory. See? I can spel..

Or I just double the punctuation instead of the last letter.

So I’m definitely not meeting my old goal of 80K words or a finished draft by the end of the month--that’d be another 40K words in just 12 days--but I’m definitely on track to finish by the end of April.

Sat 20/03/2021 - Word Count: 40,692 15.30 God, second acts are hard. I hate being in the middle. At the start, you have novelty, and at the end (not that I would know from experience) you have the knowledge you’re near the end, that you’ve already written most of it.

I’m currently operating the reminder, ‘You’ve written an act before, why not again?’, in hopes that’ll eventually extend to, ‘You’ve finished a draft before, why not again?’ and ‘You’ve written an entire book before, why not again?’

I’ve literally written 243 words so far today, and I just don’t want to. Normally, I sit down, I slog through the first hundred or so words, then pick up momentum. Maybe it’s just because chapter 13 is a boring part to write. Ha. 13. Just my luck.

I’m being nice to myself because a lot has happened in my life over the last few days, but I still want to write a minimum of 500 words, even though most Saturdays I can write more like 3,000.

21.41 I’d like to be asleep. That sounds like fun. Today slipped through my grasp, and I haven’t even written 300 words, but I am going to try to at least hit 500. And then maybe write thousands and thousands tomorrow, but I’m also going to bake a cake, and I’m notorious for being able to make cooking and baking take at least three times as long as is necessary.

21.57 So I got just past 500. Relatively speaking, that’s not that impressive for me, but it’s more words than most people in the world added to their manuscripts today, so I have to give myself some credit. (I’m working on crediting myself for productivity rather than degrading myself for not being productive--I could go on for hours about how much it pisses me off that capitalism teaches us productivity=worth in everything, not just business, but I’m going off on a tangent.)

Sun 21/03/2021 - Word Count: 41,466 08.08 Cakes baked! And I’ve come to a conclusion about how irritating I am to myself--I didn’t fully outline the latter half of act two (by which I mean I have each scene and a purpose of each scene, but virtually no detail) which I can absolutely cope with, but it does slow me down. Anyway, I’m waiting for my cakes to cool, then I can ice them.

14.28 I wanted to write up to 42K this weekend, which I don’t think is going to happen. I’ve written 774 words, so passed my 500-word minimum, but haven’t yet reached 42K, and don’t think I’m going to this weekend. I just don’t have much motivation, which may just be because of the part I’m on, but I’d rather work through this part really slowly then pick up the pace when I get to the part I want to be writing, than force myself to write this section quickly and poorly, then not want to continue into act three. So, sticking to 500 words a day; I may do more later, but I’m leaving it for now.

Mon 22/03/2021 - Word Count: 42,006 17.56 God, I don’t want to write today. I’m going to anyway, because I haven’t yet failed 500 words. They can be a shitty 500 words, but they have to be 500 words. Also, the scene I wrote yesterday? Absolutely getting deleted. But I’m leaving it for now because I refuse to lose those 800 words.

I really enjoy putting edits at the bottom of scenes in brackets and making them unnecessarily wordy so Scrivener thinks I’ve written significantly more words than I actually have.

18.31 Yay, did it. I’m really hoping I can just work through this low spot and don’t have to take a break. I’m on the penultimate chapter of act two, and the first few chapters of act three are really exciting, so I’ll know if I need to take a break based on whether I get motivated when I get to that part.

Tue 23/03/2021 - Word Count: 42,124 16.37 GOD, I need a break. I don’t have motivation, even for 500 words. You know what? I’m just going to make a note of the scene idea I had earlier, and I’m going to take a week’s break. Unless I get antsy, in which case I may end it earlier, but, I’m not going to write again until Tuesday the 30th. Unless I get antsy. FUCK.

I’m just reminding myself breaks are good and important, but I still hate that I’m taking one without finishing my first draft. Tue 30/03/2021, I will be back! Though my word count may increase between now and then as I note down any ideas I have, which I will update with. Okay. Just leave it.

Sun 28/03/2021 - Word Count: 42,150 10.47 Since Tuesday, I’ve made some notes on my phone of little things I want to change, but haven’t added them to my project file, so the word count hasn’t gone up.

Last night, I was just thinking about how badly I wanted to get back to this project, but this morning, I just... don’t. I’ve been thinking it through, and I’m not ready to drop this project yet, but I’m just not happy with what I have at the moment. So, I’m going to add my notes to the file, and then leave it for a few weeks, so I can return with edits in mind, apply them, and then start what I guess will be like a 1.7 draft, because I didn’t finish this draft.

In the meantime, however, I do want to keep writing, so I’m going to start another project in the meantime, which I can work on a lot in the next few weeks because, in a few days, I get a couple weeks off, which won’t be completely free of work, but will give me a lot more time to dedicate to this.

I think I’m going to say I’ll return to Bay Tree (or at least review, if, say, I just want to dedicate a little more time to whatever phase of the new project before I move on) on May 10th, because that’s basically when I get to relax after my exams finish.

So I’ll add the notes I have so far, keep making notes on my phone, and return on May 10th.

Which wraps up this writing update--a new one will come with my new project!

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barisifictionarchive · 4 years ago

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Author: sarahcakes613

Preferred Name: sarah

Have any events in your personal life ever influenced the things that you've written?

Oh 100% - I often write little moments and experiences from my life into my characters lives. It's usually the silly stuff, I try not to let my traumas influence my writing because that's depressing af and I don't like writing angst!

That being said, my only chapfic to date is a Game of Thrones story about sobriety and recovery, and the idea came to me while I was sitting in a church basement watching someone I love receive a multiyear sobriety medallion. That story pulled a lot of it's core dialogue and traits from this person in my life and was largely inspired by the pride and love I feel for addicts in recovery.

Do you have a favorite movie?

I love visually strong storytelling, so the Lord of the Rings trilogy is up there. I also love Mel Brooks comedies, especially Blazing Saddles and Robin Hood Men in Tights.

Who is your favorite author?

Leonard Cohen only wrote two novels in his life but they're both perfect examples of their genres. In recent years, I've become a huge fan of Cat Sebastian, her queer regency romances are absolutely charming feel-good bites of chocolate.

How did you start getting involved in fanfiction?

I've been reading it since high school, but never felt like I had a fandom story of my own to tell. In 2015, I was heavily involved in the Game of Thrones fandom on Tumblr, particularly for the ship Sansan (Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark) and began participating in the occasional drabble/prompt challenge just for fun. In 2016, a bunch of us decided to collaborate on a supremely cracky circus AU. I'd already written a handful of things but that was when my interest in writing fic took off. And the ladies I met writing that are still some of my absolute best friends!

How did you get involved with Barisi?

It was VERY roundabout. I watched SVU on occasion back when I had cable and I do remember watching both Barba and Sonny, but nothing about them stuck out to me in terms of shipping, probably because SVU was always a pretty casual watch for me so I never looked at it with fandom goggles. I got really into Raul Esparza's voice over this past winter (I have no idea what triggered that interest, probably a random Youtube find) so occasionally in searching I would see SVU gifsets on Tumblr and was like ah yes, I remember them, but again, never really stuck in my mind.

Meanwhile, sometimes when I'm looking for a new read, I'll choose a tag at random and just scroll for something that looks interesting. This past February I somehow wound up in the tag for Konmari/Marie Kondo, and found the fic Tidying Up by Robin Hood (kjack89). I thought it was absolutely the sweetest dang thing and started adding more Barisi fic to my marked-for-later page. Then in March, I actually started going through them and in one month I read about 200 stories.

What inspires you to write?

The Barisi fandom is easily the most inspiring group of people I've ever talked to, with all the back and forth on Twitter with ideas and music and gifsets and headcanons, it all sparks ideas! Music especially, I'll see a whole story play out in my head over the course of a four minute song. I'm also often inspired by an aesthetic image, I'll see a pretty photo and want to write an entire story based around it.

What is your favorite fic that you have written?

Oh my god Karen you can't just ask someone what their favourite fic they've written is. There are definitely multiple answers.

The fic I'm proudest of is Gods Grant Me the Serenity, the Game of Thrones chapfic I mentioned - it's "only" 20k but it took me 3 years to write because it was sometimes so painful to explore that relationship.

I also really love a gen/non-ship fic I wrote called The Holy or the Broken, which is a series of vignettes that explores each of the Avengers and their relationship to their own Jewish faith. Because all the Avengers are Jewish. I said so, and therefore it's true. I loved exploring aspects of my faith through fic, and the response was extremely gratifying.

My favourite Barisi fic that I have written is "I'll use you as a focal point (so I don't lose sight of what I want)" because it's the first one I wrote. When I first started exploring Barisi, I found the Archive on Tumblr and had a look at the prompt page. I saw one that really spoke to me but I was reluctant to do anything with it, because I was like, do I really want to start writing for a totally new fandom that I'm only just barely in? But then I went for it, and I haven't looked back!

What is your favorite quote from a fic of yours?

Oh man, you expect me to remember what I wrote?? The cheesy answer is all of it is my favourite, because I'm actually quite proud of my writing.

This may not be my #1 favourite, but it's definitely one that stands out, from my Barisi story Perfect situations must go wrong:

"Don’t you get it, Rafi?” Sonny asks, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper. “A life bond like ours, it’s a living thing. The beginning of our story is just that, a beginning. We chose the steps that came after. How can you say none of that was real?"

What is your personal favorite fanfic? (Can be any fandom)

OOF. In Barisi, well, I did just post two whole full rec bingo cards on Twitter, so I have a LOT of faves, but A Healing Year by anni_scovill is one of my favourite fics of all time, Barisi or otherwise. Throwing it back to other fandoms, the story Kiss the Girl by Jillypups is the definitive Game of Thrones modern AU Sansan. It's also the origin of the tag you've almost definitely seen floating around, "tale as old as time, burn as slow as fuck". I'm not a big fan of kidfic but Jillypups wrote a really engaging and realistic original child character who steals the show in every scene she is in.I have a few other favourites in other fandoms, some a little spicier than others. I can rec fic all day long, to be honest! If anyone ever wants recs outside Barisi in Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Game of Thrones, or Marvel, my DMs are always open!!

Anything else you would like to add?

I'm extraordinarily honoured to have been asked to do this. I've been a published Barisi author for just under three months and in that time I've already written 50k words over 27 stories. I have 32 stories in the Game of Thrones tag and that is after six YEARS in the fandom. When I say you all are the most inspiring and motivational bunch, oh boy do I mean it!

A question you’d like to ask another author?

When I finally finished Gods Grant Me the Serenity, I swore I'd never write another chapfic, or at least never begin posting one until the entire thing was done. How do you keep yourself motivated to keep updating ongoing fics? How far in advance do you plot/plan? Tell me all your secrets for being a successful chapfic writer!!

#barisi #Author of the month #sarahcakes613 #Author recommendation

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elliot-orion · 4 years ago

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Fanfiction Is Real Writing

Mkay so Elliot has officially had 1 too many people look at me condescendingly when I say I mostly read fanfic so it’s time for a Post. Let’s get one thing clear here right off the bad. Fanfiction is real writing. If you write fanfic you are a writer. You don’t need to tack fanfic on there. You are a writer. You can participate in all the writing spaces without shame. You are just as worthy and valid as any writeblr on this site and what you do is impressive. And on the same vein, reading fanfiction is not inherently lesser than reading published books you get from Barnes and Noble. 50 Shades of Gray was a mistake, but at the very least it proved that. I have read books by canonized authors that were less engaging, dynamic, and well written than a fanfiction I found on AO3. Yes, fanfic might have the occasional gratuitous blow job, but that means nothing. Still real writing.

Now that that’s out of the way, I want to get just a wee bit more in-depth with this, because I know I can say however many times I want that fanfic is real writing and still people won’t believe me. So let’s bring forth some actual arguments on why fanfiction is super fucking valid and fanfic authors are actual authors.

Reason #1 - Published Fanfiction

Fanfiction is out there all over the place. You see people reading it all the time. They teach it in classrooms. They make movies of it. Don’t believe me? Well Dante’s Inferno is a three part, self insert, super self indulgent fanfic of the bible. Literally any Christian literature would also count under this bible fanfiction collection, and any and all biblical paintings? Those are fanart buddy. I don’t know how to break it to you, but Caravaggio’s St John the Baptist reclining with a single cloth covering his nether regions is on the same level as a digitally drawn Tony Stark with a flower in his mouth saying draw me like one of your french girls in terms of fanart credibility okay. It be like that.

And trust me, it’s not just biblical shit. Ever read a book with some sort of Frankenstein’s monster in it? That’s making fanfiction off the goth queen Mary Shelley. Any single piece of vampire literature? Dracula fanfiction. Hotel Transylvania is an epic slice of life crossover with some OCs thrown in for spice. Are you starting to see my point here? Because if not I’ve got more examples, just send me an ask, I can go for a while here. Like, you know, literally anything that’s got to do with Romeo and Juliet, or Sherlock, and so on and so forth. Get it? 50 Shades is super far from being the only published fanfictions and if you think it is then wow you need to get out more.

Reason #2 - AO3 Is Just Digital Publishing

As a self published author, I can confidently say that making an AO3 publication is super similar to self publishing something. I used Kindle Direct Publishing to publish Sparks Fly. I had to age grade it, like I have to put down General, Teen, Mature, or Explicit on my AO3 fics. I had to add tags for people to find it, much like you tag stuff on AO3. I had to mark off it was explicit. I had to list the genre, like one may tag Gen, M/M, and so on for an AO3 fic. I wrote a summary. I gave it a title. Really, taking an au fanfiction, changing the names, and publishing it as an E-book would be remarkably easy. Just actually let a beta read it this time, format it, and make a quick cover, and boom. You’re published. Does that extra step mean you’re any more of an author for doing so than you were already? Of course not, unless I missed the memo that said you need to know how to format and make covers to be a writer.

Reason #3 - Fanfiction Is Fucking Hard Okay?

Fanfiction is no less creative or difficult than original writing. It requires a plot, characterization, worldbuilding, because even if it’s not an au canon gives us all very little to work with half the time, and dedication. You need to have a grasp on the English language and how to make written dialogue, description, and internal worlds. The only difference is that fanfiction has something to go off, but that does no make it lesser. In fact, in many ways I argue it’s harder. If your character is slightly out of character, no one will know. If you write Han Solo out of character, you’re in for a nightmare.

Actually, fanfiction is an excellent way to develop as a writer, and I highly suggest trying it if you haven’t already. You can assume your audience already has a fairly decent grasp of the characters, their basic interactions and characteristics, world (unless it’s a new au), and general backstory of anything canon. You don’t have to spend time with developing a relationship from the ground up if you don’t want to, you don’t need to waste space on exposition, you can, as I like to say, get to the good stuff from the get go. If you start your fanfic off with Harry kissing Malfoy, people are going to understand the dynamic between those two and their history together, meaning you can skip all that and get right into the aftermath of two rivals kissing and whatever you want that to mean for your story. You have so much more room for characterization, and you don’t even need to stick to canon. I find the best fanfictions to be the ones where they take canon elements and break them. Canon means nothing you fools, the writer is now god and if they want those two to have a 200k slow burn coffee shop au then they will and it doesn’t mean shit that they are 2 ageless warriors from hell. It’s coffee time baby. But no matter how much you snap and step on canon, those characters need to be recognizable, which is especially difficult when it’s not a written media and that means you’ve got no idea what the inner world of the character is like and only 2 hours of material to work with and oh god.... Yea, fanfic is harder than you think folks. Again, as both a fanfic and original fic author I can say I’ve struggled equally as much with my 50k Hydra Peter Parker hurt/comfort au as I did with writing The Other Beings.

And these are so very far from the only three reasons!! And even if there weren’t it wouldn’t matter because fanfiction has characters, plot, and is words on a page/screen, whether it’s a 100 word drabble or 200k agonizingly slow burn (seriously how do you have the PATIENCE) and guess what last I checked that’s all you need for fiction writing don’t you think? So now if people could stop snickering when they catch me pulling up AO3, that’d be just great. Have a good day.

#Elliot is bitter and decided to rant about it #fanfic

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mad-madam-m · 6 years ago

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So I'm just curious, how do you get yourself to write? And do you use prompts and if you do where do you get them? I meant to use NaNo to get me to write but it took 4 days into November for me to realize November started so I failed lol. I've been meaning to start this original thing and it's just not...working.

First of all, anon, you could start writing RIGHT NOW (yes, with 10 days left in the month) and you would not fail NaNo. You might not hit 50k (although I know people who have hit 50k in that amount of time, or less), but you won’t fail. NaNoWriMo isn’t about hitting 50,000 words so much as it is about putting a stake in the ground and saying, “Here. Today. I will start writing the project I’ve always wanted to.” And doing it. Doesn’t matter what that project is—original novel, short stories, fic, poetry, revising something, a series of blog posts—NaNo is about just. Fucking. Doing it. And you still have time to Do It.

To answer your questions:

Do you use prompts and if you do, where do you get them?

For original stories, particularly novels, I usually don’t. For fic, particularly short fic I’m writing for events, I do. Tumblr has a wealth of writing prompts that range from “here’s a situation” to “here’s a line of dialogue GO,” and I tend to reblog them under the tags “fic prompts” or “writing prompts.” Honestly, most of them would work for either original fic or fanfic, so if you are a writer who likes to work from prompts, go forth and enjoy!

How do you get yourself to write?

That’s kind of a big question, and uh, the answer to it got long. Very long. (I said once that if you give me half a chance, I’ll talk about writing all the live-long day, and this answer is no exception.)

Different things motivate me for different projects, and as with all writing-related advice, YMMV, but here’s a few things that really help for getting myself to write:

1) Develop your story.

The current original story I’m working on, for example, I have not really had to struggle to get myself to write at all because 1) I’m stupid excited about it and 2) I have developed the hell out of it.

I’ve talked before about outlining my stuff here, so I won’t go too much into it again; suffice it to say that I have done about the same amount of development on my current original story that I had on ADA by the time I started writing. I started around the very end of September developing my characters and spent a good chunk of October working on setting, worldbuilding, plot, and finally my notecards.

Shockingly, having some idea of what’s happening and where I’m going is making this story easier to write.

Right? Like WHO’D HAVE THOUGHT.

Because of that, I’ve been excited about writing my story, so getting myself to write on it has been (comparatively) a cakewalk.

That’s not to say any of the writing is good (oh God no) or that there aren’t parts that need fixing, or that I haven’t been stuck. But it’s been stuck like “how do I describe seeing a tree-covered mountain in the middle of fall from the POV of someone who has never seen something like this” rather than “I have no fucking clue what happens next uh…”

The stories I struggle the most with writing are the ones that I’ve worked the least on developing. The stories that have been the easiest to write have been the ones I’ve spent at least a month doing prep work on before I ever start drafting.

2) Love your story.

Being in love with a story makes it a lot easier to write, at least for me. Because here’s the thing, ideas are easy.

If you’re a creative person, you’re going to end up with a file of story ideas—maybe prompts you liked, dialogue that stuck with you, one of those “humans are space orcs” tumblr posts that’s just really clicking in your brain—that will be longer than you could conceivably write if you had a hundred lifetimes. That’s okay! That’s great. But it means a lot of them are never going to get past the idea stage.

For me, the stories that get finished—the ones that not only get started but actually make it through the first draft and then three rounds of editing and revisions—are the ideas that I’ve been percolating on for months, if not longer. They’ve been cooking in the back of my brain while I’ve been doing other things, sorting themselves out, and most importantly: they will not let me go.

Coming up with ideas is easy. Finding an idea that will last and sustain a story and my interest for at least a year, if not longer? That’s harder.

Y’all know how much I’ve been talking about Tiger & Bunny over the past year? We’re talking that level of obsession with a story that I want to write, whether it’s fic or original. Sometimes it takes months or years for all the puzzle pieces to come together. Sometimes the whole thing will congeal within a few weeks, or there will be one crucial piece of story that will just make EVERYTHING come together, I will literally shout “OH MY FUCKING GOD” and that’s it, I’m off to the races. (In this particular case, it wasn’t anything I’d done in the first two weeks of poking at steampunk-y ideas; it was the realization that I could put a circus on an airship. The whole story just went WHOOSH after that.)

BUT. But. Sometimes you don’t have that. These stories are great and I love them and they remind me why I love writing so much (and if you’re writing something that’s gonna be 90k+, like I have a tendency to do, you need to be in love with it, IMO), but sometimes you’re in situations where you just have to get it done. In those cases:

3) Resort to bribery.

I’ve been poking at the third part of Alpha & Emissary, oh, basically since I posted the second part. My problem is that my fandom focus has been, shall we say, split for the past year. *coughs delicately, shoves Tiger & Bunny fics under the bed*

But here’s the thing: I hate having a published WIP on AO3 (it’s why I don’t publish long!fics until they’re completely drafted and mostly edited). I hate—HATE—having an unfinished series on AO3.

So that’s the rub: I have an unfinished series that I want to finish because I hate that it’s not finished. I also have a new fandom that is wresting my attention and inspiration away from said series. What’s a girl to do?

A girl tells herself she can’t write any more Tiger & Bunny fic until she finishes this one WIP, that’s what she does.

And it’s motivated me to sit my ass down and work on that WIP, because goddammit, I have a “but there was only one bed” TaiBani fic that I would really like to have up by New Year’s.

Your bribery will be different. Maybe you get to watch 1 episode of your favorite show per every 1k you write, or you get to try a new knitting project when you finish this short story. Maybe you binge-watch an entire season of your favorite anime if you exceed your NaNo goal. Or you write 50 words and get a cookie. The point is, find what works for you to get it done.

4) Figure out a minimum daily goal and stick with it.

For me, this was 500 words a day. 500 words. That’s it. That’s one 30-minute word sprint for me. That’s something I can do without stressing myself out.

Because of this point and point 3, I wrote more than 7000 words on a story I’d been stuck on for the better part of a year before I had to stop to work on NaNo stuff. Another 7k, and I’ll probably have it finished.

Your minimum word count will almost certainly be different. Maybe it’s 300 words a day, maybe it’s 1000. Hell, maybe it’s 100 words. Again, find what works for you, what you can write regularly without stressing yourself out.

Another important thing: If I didn’t hit 500 words, I didn’t beat myself up about it. Maybe I wrote 350. Or 220. Or just 93. The point is, did I write? Yes? Then I did good. I got myself a sentence or a paragraph closer to finishing. And it all adds up.

(And hey, you don’t have to write every day. I do, or I try to, because that’s what works for me. If it stresses you out to do so, then find another way to make it work.)

5) Deadlines, deadlines, deadlines.

This one’s hard because I can rarely keep a deadline that’s not set by an external source. If you tell me on December 20 that you need a story by December 22? Then on December 22, you’ll have a story, edited and ready to post. But when it comes to something I set for myself, the chances of a deadline working are 50/50.

That being said, it is something that helps me keep on track and even if I don’t finish something by a self-imposed deadline, it does get me writing.

6) Sprint with friends!

NaNo is really great for this because all your writer friends are coming out of the woodwork going I need to hit 5k by the end of today, will you sprint with me? Sometimes it just helps to have that kind of accountability. You all get together (I’ve used Discord, Google Hangouts, IRC, and Twitter DMs for this), set a timer, and write for 15 minutes or 20 minutes or 30 minutes. Then, when the time’s up, you post your word count, everybody congratulates everybody else, and then you take a break before doing the next one.

Sprints are the reason I’ve been able to make some pretty significant headway on my word counts, and few things get me writing like knowing I’m going to have to tell everybody in my group what my word count is in 30 minutes or less. >.>

Like I said earlier, YMMV on all of these. What works for me may work for you, or it might not. But if you aren’t sure, it’s worth giving it a shot.

Happy writing!

#Anonymous #M answers #long post #M talks writing #can I count this toward my NaNo count for the day or nah

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couchcushings · 6 years ago

Note

I want to start watching old movies. What would you rec as the starter pack? (I've only seen "Harvey" and a few audrey Hepburn films)

i’m so sorry it’s been a week since i got this!! but, here i am, ready to rec you some old movies c: so, disclaimer, i follow actors more than genres so this list might be a little all over the place. anyways, i’m sorting this by decade and i’ll include links wherever i can!

(also here’s my letterboxd where i write semi-incoherent reviews of stuff that i watch)

(oh so the first link is the link to the letterboxd summary and the 2nd link is either a trailer or the movie on yt)

all my old movie nerd followers feel free to add to this if you want c:

1910s

his wedding night (1917) [x] [x] one of buster keaton’s earliest shorts. it’s got fatty arbuckle and it’s adorable.

the bell boy (1918) [x] [x] another keaton/arbuckle production and also adorable

if you like those, i would recommend any of the other keaton/arbuckle shorts

1920s

the 1920s is just a laundry list of buster keaton movies for me so i’ll just link a few of my faves:

one week (1920) [x] [x]the scarecrow (1920) [x] [x]the haunted house (1921) [x] [x]the high sign (1921) [x] [x]sherlock jr (1924) [x] [x]

1930s

i know you said you don’t like horror, but i wouldn’t be doing my due diligence if i didn’t reccomend any of the universal monster movies. the ones that were made in the ‘30s were the best, but the later ones are some goody cheesy fun.

night world (1932) [x] [x] this one stars boris karloff is a semi-comedic role. it’s very... noiry, but it’s got some good laughs.

aaaand more buster keaton shorts.

1940s

road to morocco (1940) [x] this is one of the first “road shows” with bing crosby, bob hope, and dorothy lamour. i grew up with these movies. they were my favorites, even if i didn’t get any of the innuendos, lol. this one isn’t on youtube (i might own a dvd copy of this) but this is the theme song. the ones on yt are:

road to utopia (1946) [x] [x]road to rio (1947) [x] [x]road to bali (1952) [x] [x]

sherlock holmes movies (1939-46) [x] [x] these are the ones with basil rathbone and nigel bruce. they are so SO cheesy, but since sherlock holmes is my cryptonite, i have to rec them. the playlist i linked isn’t complete but it’s got all the good ones c:

up in arms (1944) [x] there appear to be no links to this anywhere online so idk where you would watch it, but, holy shnikes. this is the beginning of the film career of MY BOY danny kaye. i’m in love with danny kaye. i’ve been in love with danny kaye since i was nine. i used to have a danny kaye themed url. i’ll be reccing more of his readily available movies later but like... i love danny kaye.

arsenic and old lace (1944) [x] this clip is the only thing you need to know about this movie. well, that and it’s got cary grant and peter lorre in it.

wonder man (1945) [x] [x] the first of the danny kaye movies where he plays 2 people. not readily available but still a fuckin’ fabu movie. if you speak spanish fluently, there is a copy here. fun story, this was the movie that convinced me that dan was some kind of poorly disguised trickster sun god.

my favorite brunette (1947) [x] [x] this one also stars bob hope and dottie. it’s so funny. it’s got lon chaney jr and peter lorre. idk i keep reccing it to people lol.

the secret life of walter mitty (1947) [x] this is another danny kaye movie. in fact, it’s the first one i remember watching from way back when. it’s all about a daydreamer who’s daydreams get a little too real... oh and it involves this song.

abbott and costello meet frankenstein (1948) [x] [x] about as far from a horror movie while still being idk kind of a horror movie? is there a word for a comedy with slightly suspenseful moments? idk, but this was another one i watched a million times during my childhood.

the inspector general (1949) [x] [x] another danny kaye movie!! this one is readily available on youtube in varying quality. i just linked the first one that i saw, but i’m sure there’s a better quality one floating around somewhere.

1950s

on the riviera (1951) [x] [x] and another danny kaye movie. this one also has gene tierny who is arguably the most beautiful woman in the world. and he plays two people again. it’s so good. the one i linked to is kinda shitty quality, but it’s worth it.

knock on wood (1954) [x] [x] more danny kaye!! this one is a fun little musical (which all of them are really, because my BOY was a song and dance man) but it includes this scene.

rear window (1954) [x] [x] yay!! finally a movie that might actually be normally included on a vintage movie rec list!!! this is a hitchcock flick. yes, he was a royal douchebag. but this is a good movie. mostly because of grace kelly and jimmy stuart but like, watch if you can!!

mister roberts (1955) [x] another movie that might actually be recced by normal people!! i would link u the trailer, but, honestly, this scene describes the movie much better.

the court jester (1955) [x] this movie was a Formative Influence for me. danny kaye in this movie is the reason that i love gentle boys. the songs are catchy and it’s so technicolor and cute.

me and the colonel (1958) [x] [x] *incoherent crying noises* pls its so good (yet another danny kaye movie)

the hound of the baskervilles (1959) [x] [x] this one, despite being made by hammer horror, is not really a horror movie. it’s a sherlock holmes movie. and it involves my bae, peter cushing. who i dedicated my url to. and maybe at least 50k words of fanfiction but that’s irrelevant.

1960s

on the double (1961) [x] sorry that all these are danny kaye movies, but i love this one.

ten little indians (1965) [x] [x] a silly little mystery based on an agatha christie story

that darn cat (1965) [x] on the other end of the kooky 60s movies we have the disney movies of the era. this one is super cute and it has roddy mcdowall c:

our man flint (1966) [x] [x] a fabulous bond parody he’s got literally 5 girlfriends

the adventures of bullwhip griffin (1967) [x] another super cute disney movie!! im lowkey in love with roddy mcdowall.

anyways, there they are!! if you want me to do the 1970s let me know~

#hi my name is chelsea and i have SHITTY TASTE IN MOVIES #but these are all good #chelsea replies #faekin-it

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anachronisticallysynced · 7 years ago

Text

Lessons of the week:

It takes a village to reject a person; some cities are discreetly but incredibly Stepford Wives-ish.

Learned behavior from parents is still at the root of my behaviorial issues.

Money would solve everything. What's the point of complaining about once down and out though? Figuring it all out when others always wish they would, from the uncomfortable disposition of being the biggest failure. And if you're an empathetic musician or artist, it's still a sound way to make money once your finalize and polish your media.

The institutions of capitalism really do fail the best of Americans in a sort of oddly targeted way. If you finally have the insight and experience, you are likely not financially satisfied or worse, suffering, and are even more subject to the cruelties of modern society. Critical thinking with proven record of predicting outcomes is incredibly valuable to GDP but no one knows how to let millennials get paid for it, when it means companies loss of profits.

The people are never even looking at the largest issues of our time anymore. It's clear we are subject to what they want us to focus on. Democracy isn't dying, it's distracted and ADD.

Mental health science and stigma has complete disregard for most actual stress factors, and are bought by the companies that continue selling the Rx at the blame and criticism and self-condemnation of the individual. At all times, this authority reinforces a survivor bias that harms GDP for years to come. There are too many degree bearing alumni and not enough jobs and they need victims to continue unethical profit making.

Society spends a lot of money against an individuals well being. It puts a strain on resources and costs much less to intervention financially from the very beginning. Many studies now say a homeless person who could be back in the work force with a grant of a few thousand dollars also ends up costing the tax payers and systems 6 digits or more in a year's time. It's not that hard to believe these are well funded pools against the success of the American people.

Don't sleep in 20 degree weather, you can die.

There's a breaking point awaiting all of us. Whereas others my continue to alienate you, you'll see the magnet and combinations a really bad dilemma can bring, especially if financially. There's sometimes no amount of money to then make right what a person might have accomplished for humanity.

Those angry and fighting and looking crazy, like myself, do so with a sense of forced shamelessness. If I only know how to be loser, then how do I, and other broke and studious creatures who develop their thinking, figure out the news of the week with alarming accuracy from an armchair at their worst?

When does money still pause for situations of humility and vulnerability? Let's not kid ourselves, our greed is also a track record, and while some know about hardships and will say they suffered for every penny, they are so many of spectrums they couldn't endure honestly because of their wealth. Perhaps even I would have ignored the ground-level, brutal humility of many on this Earth, and once well-off, lose my way.

My situation is so bad, I keep thinking it's alright I'm going to win the lottery. But what I really mean is, I keep getting things right, had plans, now their broken dreams. I worked in ways America punished last minute, many for all of us for the last ten years.

I understand how things are good for lots of other people, and that they'll never even care to know what the hell I'm talking about.

But I think it's sufficient; we can't ignore the feeling that it's still going to get worse. And if that is just me, then yeah, ignorance is bliss, prayers don't really get answered that often, everything is money, just for fun they keep saying get a job, and there are probably a million Tesla-like biographies still in the making today, where some people just don't have what it takes to be immoral people for the sake of their success in a viciously complex economy.

I understand what celebrities limit their words online. If we all said what we're feeling, we'd all admit at least one thing that loses you audience. And that's fine, try again. Good business is showing people the cause and effect of their purchasing power.

Morality is better than marketing, still.

The millennials that aren't mad, are also being patient, but see no platform to address their concerns about what should matter first and foremost: like the largest issues with policy and economy that effect us all.

The adults see the millennials still struggling and delayed, yet don't discuss the philosophy at home either, to even make sense of perspective. That once was democracy- honesty at a family dinner table. Love as a main reason to serve others and make money, and enjoy your community.

Contracts aren't anything if you couldn't afford the legal in the first place. If you do business based on a handshake, wild west diplomacy doesn't all of a sudden occur.

Learn to judge others. And again, it's not so bad to be poor and irritable if it's all you can do from being actually unlawful. Freedom of speech is greater than money. God Bless America and our common bond there. Poets and artists and creatives and the future leaders will find their salvation there under we the people.

And yeah it's going to hurt. If you'll notice, there are still a few remaining rags to riches stories and our entire generation is banking on them. Just know, if a person survives what he said, a certain forgiveness will expand with his commitment. If you say something that can outcast your career, but said it with little logic or reason to disprove you, you may be one of many who find the unpopular, but correct, answer. Congratulations, welcome to the storm before the ivory towers.

My last notes of the week

I probably have relation that with a few thousand dollars, I could have been lottery winning wealthy and I have a secret to share with all. Stop what you're doing and start spending below your means but stay high income earning to your best ability or until that situation stays the case. With your savings, and I mean like, if you make $50k salary then try spending $10K for just one year while doing it, and take that $40K and invest in the companies that worked with you when could only spend the average budget of the millenial in the first phase of the recession. This could and has in my book, decide the outcome of the upcoming recession.

I still have thoughts every hour about what I should have been like at this age with a sort of baseline normal financial situation for multiple years... I would have thought of have of what I have and find a way to carelessly lose it all. Be thankful for the lessons even on your worst day, not because it makes sense, but because just maybe your mind will do something about it that effects the timeline of humanity. Why not you?

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lorcleis · 7 years ago

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Hey! What’s happening with the Corinthians?

well, november was nanowrimo, in which i wrote like 3/4 of monarchists (which still clocked in at over 50k at that amount so y’all should be happy). and right now it’s exams, so you won’t get an update until january at least. but here’s a lil teaser for you for being so patient. send me another curious anon if you like it.

Dimitri smiled for a moment and Valya had to convince herself she'd seen it. They reached the open door of the classroom and she dropped his wrist, indicating that he should wait as she went inside.

"Valya!" A flash of red hair launched itself at her, giggling wildly.

"Saskia!" Valya said, imitating the girl's enthusiastic tone of voice. "How are you?"

"Good!" Saskia brushed long, copper curls out of her face. She was barely four feet tall and on the cusp of turning eight years old. In a flash, she took Valya's hand and tugged her further into the classroom. "We've missed you."

"I was on a mission, malyshka." She squeezed Saskia's hand. "Is Sanya here?"

Saskia nodded vigorously. "Sanya's not been answering any of my questions about you. He's not very helpful."

"Saskia!"

"I'm not wrong." She shrugged. "He had us make paper lanterns for a whole hour and wouldn't say where you were. I was dying."

Valya kneeled down to be on eye-level with Saskia and brushed a strand of hair out of her face, smiling warmly. "Well, I'm here now."

Saskia led Valya to the far corner of the classroom, which was covered in various art supplies. Paint was precious, so the children often worked with other things like paper, cardboard, fabric, and metal and there, in the middle of the mess, was Sasha Amin covered almost entirely in feathers.

"Sanya!" Saskia called, drawing out her vowels.

Sasha's head whipped up from where he was helping a boy twist wire on a sculpture. Feathers floated into the air. "Valechka."

Valya plucked a feather from his hair. "I like the feathers. It's a good look on you."

He broke into a smile. "Come to help me herd cats?"

"Something like that." She sat next to him and brushed feathers from his face before placing a peck on his cheek. Valya gestured with her thumb towards the door. "I have an unfortunate tag-along."

Sasha glanced at the doorway, where Dimitri was leaning against the frame, observing the chaos that reigned in the art room. Valya was unsure if he felt out of place more than he had in other situations at Corinth; there was something about his quiet, composed stare that said he didn't mind a bit of chaos now and then, he might even miss it.

Did he have any children of his own? She wondered.

"Has he come to help me get twelve wriggly kids to express themselves through art? Because if so, tell him to grab a chair and get Aaron Teller to stop putting glue in Nicola's hair." Sasha organized a stack of papers on the nearby desk. "God, I don't think this place has been cleaned in weeks. Let me add that to the growing list of things I have to do."

"You worry too much." She smiled and stole another quick kiss. "I'll put him to work if that's what you want."

"Definitely," Sasha replied. He gestured to Dimitri and waved him in.

"Sanya," Saskia whined. She clamoured into Sasha's lap. "I finished cutting up the paper. What do I need to do next?"

"Sanya?" Dimitri muttered to Valya out of the corner of his mouth.

"Saskia's a fan of nicknames," she clarified. "They found her in a house that had been hit by Strigoi, only two years old and babbling in Russian about this or that." She paused. "Actually, I think it was Sasha's team that found her. It was one of our local training missions."

Dimitri clasped his hands behind his back. "He is very good with children, your boy--"

"Don't," Valya interrupted. She absentmindedly played with a feather on the ground. "Don't call him that."

Silence stretched between them as they watched Sasha guide Saskia's hands to complete the art project. He was patient and kind, a model citizen in anyone's eyes.

"He doesn't have to be here anymore, you know," Valya said. Her eyes felt strained, red. She blinked away tears that were threatening to form. "They gave him community service for it, but he finished up those hours months ago."

Dimitri remained silent, but Valya could feel him shift next to her, something in him moving, permeating their conversation. After a calculated moment, he asked, "What did Aleksandr do?"

She sighed, exhausted and fiddling with the edge of her shirt sleeve. "Sasha's not like the rest of us, you know? He wasn't born into this, he didn't choose it. Sometimes that's hard on him. He likes choice, freedom." Valya paused for a moment. "So when he finally got his arrival file out of Hollis's cold, dead hands he knew what he had to do."

Her hands began shaking. She wasn't there to witness it, not even close, but something terrible invaded her thoughts any time she thought of this story. No mission could even come close to the idea that someone she loved could do something so terrible; not even her nightmares of Rokin came close.

"He tracked him, and you're not supposed to do that here," Valya continued. Her voice wavered slightly. "No secret missions, no private vendettas. Everything we do is for the benefit of the community; there's no room to pull punches in the dark. He made sure to find his way onto a mission that was heading to New York. I don't know how he did it, he still won't tell me."

She paused for a moment, the sureness of Sasha's fingers as he folded paper, the brightness of Saskia's curls catching her eye. So quiet, so pure.

"They found the guy's body the next morning, Sasha's hands covered in blood. Only, it wasn't the right man, this guy was human. Working with a blood-running syndicate of Strigoi, but still human." Valya tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze trained downwards. "He came back in handcuffs. I'd never been so terrified."

A minute passed as Valya let out a frustrated breath, attempting to find the right words. Dimitri put his hand on her shoulder. She sat there for a moment then, ever so slowly, she laid her hand on top of his.

"I don't know why I told you that." She laughed humorlessly, her voice just above a whisper. "It's been almost two years; I've never told anyone, everyone here just knows. We don't talk about it, but we know. The way people look at him... like he's a monster."

"We all do what it takes to quiet the demons," Dimitri said, his voice a low rumble. "We are not the sum of our actions."

Valya leaned her head against his arm. "I hope so."

Dimitri looked down at her and for a quick moment, a gaze of understanding passed between them, then, a flicker of recognition surfaced in his eyes. He knew her, Valya thought, somehow. Maybe he was seeing her mother, whole and alive, flesh and blood.

"I know so."

A childish squeal pierced the air and shook both of them from their reverie.

"Valechka!" Saskia sat with paper stuck to her hands, looking quite distressed.

Valya chuckled to herself. "Duty calls."

She stood and knelt next to where Saskia was working, gently pulling the paper from the little girl's fingertips. "Next time, don't glue things to your hands, solnyshka."

"That's what I've been telling her, but she never listens." Sasha ruffled Saskia's hair as he picked up pieces of scrap paper off of the floor.

"Sanya!" shouted Saskia indignantly. "I was just doing what you told me to!"

Sasha shook his head and continued on to the next table, cleaning as he went.

"Don't listen to anything he says," Valya whispered to Saskia with a small smile. She arranged Saskia's art project on the table. "He likes to make you crazy."

Saskia frowned. "That's mean."

"That's life, solnyshka," Valya said. She locked eyes with Sasha from across the room as he was being pestered by a young boy with dark hair. He mouthed 'I love you' and broke out into a grin. "For better or for worse."

#corinthians #fanfic questions #honestly surprised someone who isn't amy em or gaya is sending me something about this #have a cute scene #Anonymous

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onceuponamirror · 7 years ago

Text

heart rise above

///// CHAPTER 10

summary: It wasn’t an experiment with freedom borne of some Americana fantasy; rather, a road trip of purely logistical intentions. The plan was simple. Drive from Boston to Chicago for his sister’s college graduation. That’s it.

Or, he drives a Ford Pickup Named Desire.

Mechanic!AU

fandom: riverdale ship: betty x jughead words: 50k chapters: 10/19

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

I wonder about the love you can't find And I wonder about the loneliness that's mine

Veronica asks Betty to meet up at her apartment before the double date, even though they have plans to drive themselves separately. But Ronnie sounded very cryptic over the phone, so there’s no hesitation.

And, like the good Cooper girl she is, Betty arrives promptly at eight as requested. When she knocks, Veronica throws open her apartment door, still dressed in her work outfit of a pressed black pantsuit. “Ugh, would you believe I only just got home?”

Veronica sighs heavily as she unpins her pearl earrings and drops them in a bowl by the door, gesturing for Betty to follow her into the apartment. There seems to be something wearier around her shoulders than the usual post-work frustration, but Betty can’t get a good look at it, as she’s already crossing the room and reaching for the uncorked bottle of white wine on the dining table.

She pours Betty a light glass, and then takes a hearty sip of her own. “I am so ready to quit, B. Thank god I only have two more months.” Having spent the last two years listening to Veronica bemoan the life of an underling paralegal in a small town law firm, this is nothing Betty isn’t used to.

“I swear, I’m only one more night of overtime without pay from finding my inner Carrie,” Veronica says dryly. She gives Betty a quick once over. “Cute outfit, by the way. Just enough décolletage to make your mail-order love interest swoon.”

Betty smiles in relief, given she’d spent a solid hour throwing on every shirt she had before settling on the original choice: a cropped baby blue top with a wide scoop neck and a pair of high rise black jeans. She sips her wine and glances around; something seems different about the apartment. “Did you rearrange the furniture?”

Veronica takes another gulp of wine, glancing at Betty over the rim of her glass in the way that usually precursors a conversation about law school, Veronica’s upcoming move to Los Angeles, or her opinions on Betty living with her mother.

(Which she finds a little rich, considering Veronica’s own mother lives in the apartment upstairs.)

“I started selling some things,” Veronica admits hesitantly. “I figure if I get started now, I won’t be so overwhelmed come Judgment Day. Apparently, it also helps the realtor show people around and ‘envision this space as their own.’”

“Makes sense,” Betty says, trying to stamp out the queasy reminder that her best friend is moving nearly three thousand miles away.

Veronica sees right through it, as usual, and sighs as she leads them back into her bedroom. Betty plops down onto her canopy bed, as Veronica starts to sift through her closet absentmindedly. “Remind me again why you’re not coming with me?”

Betty rolls her eyes, because they’ve been down this road so many times she could map it from memory. “Because my family is here, and so is my business.”

“But your best friend in the entire world is moving to LA,” Veronica replies, batting her eyelashes with mock innocence. “And sorry, do you mean the business you own half of and share with your mom and sister, or the one where you’re an unpaid nanny and live-in housekeeper?”

She appreciates the way Ronnie is always defensive on her behalf, but sometimes, it feels a bit too pointed. This is one of those moments, but at Betty’s look, Veronica just sends her a pouted bottom lip and puts down her wine glass. “Please come with me.”

“Okay, I’ll come with you,” Betty says, with obvious sarcasm.

Veronica claps her hands together. “Yay! Alright, I’m thinking Echo Park for neighborhoods? It’s small, but supposedly it’s an ideal blend of useless artisanal products and effective bohème. Deeply gentrified, of course, which is a consideration—”

“V, I was kidding. You know I’m not moving to LA,” Betty reminds her, for the umpteenth time.

She huffs. “I just don’t understand why not,” she snaps, and Betty once again gets the impression that Veronica’s mood is more tightly wound than usual. “Do you know why I’m going to the city of angels, Betty? I could’ve gone anywhere for law school. Stayed in state—god knows it would’ve been cheaper—or at least found a nice little city on the Eastern seaboard. But people have been going west in search of meaning for hundreds of years, B. Isn’t that something we’re all looking for?”

Betty opens her mouth, but Veronica sees the cornered look on her face and spares her the misery. Her expression softens. “I’m sorry. You know the last thing I want to do is project. But…sometimes I just wonder. And worry. You hate Riverdale.”

“I don’t hate Riverdale,” Betty insists, which is true. “I…am sometimes frustrated by the way things turned out, but there a lot of people with a lot worse—”

“Yes, there are starving children all over the world, I know, I know,” Veronica interrupts. “Doesn’t mean your problems aren’t also valid, sweetie.”

“You know, I don’t see you having this lecture with Kevin, who is also staying in Riverdale,” Betty points out, but it’s a weak attempt, even for her.

“Kevin is an out gay man in a long term relationship who wants to be a politician, Betty,” she explains, even though they both know the reason. “He has to start on a local level, so his hometown is ideal. It’s tragic and ridiculously erroneous, but unfortunately where we’re still at in America 2017. And you and I both already knew that. So don’t even.”

Betty exhales, because Veronica has been broaching the topic of Betty moving with her a lot more often lately, in a way that she loves to play off as a joke, but tonight, something seems different. Betty has spent so much time convincing herself that she’ll manage without her best friend, that she’ll miss her so much but she’s happy for her—that she hasn’t stopped to think about how Ronnie will manage without her best friend too.

It’s one thing for Betty to say goodbye to Veronica knowing she’s off in pursuit of her dreams, and it must be another for Veronica to do the same, all the while knowing how secretly trapped Betty feels.

They need to get ready to go soon, so there isn’t much time for Betty to ruminate on this, but she knows it’s a thought that’ll keep her up over the course of the week.

“Is this why you asked me here today?” Betty asks softly, tucking her hair behind ears. (She’d decided to wear it down again today, having liked the reaction it got before.) She cracks a smile. “Another attempt at practicing your lawyer voice?”

Something moves across Veronica’s face, as if she might be about to say something. Instead, she quickly turns back to face her closet.

“Psh. As if I haven’t been arguing my way into everything my whole life. No, obviously I asked you here for fashion advice.” She twists back, holding a lacy black dress up against herself and giving it a little swish. “What do you think? Too much?”

“For the bowling alley? Yes,” Betty says emphatically. Veronica waves a dismissive hand and returns to her wardrobe; after a little bit of debate, they both agree on a mid-length polka dot skirt and a silky black tank top, to be worn tucked in.

Veronica appears pleased, but as she settles in front of her vanity and starts her make up, Betty catches a glimpse of Veronica’s reflection. There’s a spot of something waning, and it passes quickly, but not before Betty sees a thought moving faraway in her mind.

She and Veronica walk into the bowling alley arm-in-arm, but separate as they near their dates, who are waiting just beyond the entrance and outside the parallel arcade. Archie is saying something, one hand moving animatedly, but Jughead doesn’t seem to be paying attention. He bounces on his feet and stares at the ceiling in the way Betty has noticed usually does when he’s distracted by his thoughts.

Veronica passes Betty a sly look, because clearly she sees it too, and then strides forward, wiggling her fingers at the two of them. “Hello, boys,” she calls, with a voice like wind chimes. She and Archie greet each other with a comfortable kiss, while Betty slows her steps a few feet before reaching Jughead.

“Hi,” she says quietly. He gives her a long once over and her whole body warms under his gaze.

“Hey. You look really pretty, Betty,” he says, scratching his neck.

She looks down at her outfit, pleased that she’d trusted her instincts rather than allow Veronica to play Barbie; there had been a brief, last-minute struggle for control in which Veronica had tried to push her into a skirt that had been inappropriately short for an activity like bowling. But if this is the reaction a plain pair of high-waisted skinny jeans gets, Betty wonders how the skirt would’ve gone over.

“Oh. Thanks,” she breathes.

She gets a good look at him, and realizes he too looks a bit dressier than normal. Still clearly, purely Jughead, but smoothed around the edges; he’s wearing his typical outfit of black jeans and drooping suspenders, but rather than his usual aged t-shirt and enclave of plaid, he’s donned a dark navy button up of a fine caliber, open over a black undershirt.

And, she notices: again, no beanie.

He looks good.

“Nice shirt,” she adds, reaching forward and straightening his collar. His Adam’s apple bobs, tracing the movement.

She means it as a compliment, but he appears suddenly self-conscious. “Well, I need to do laundry, so it was either the ancient System of a Down t-shirt I accidentally brought or the one I got for my sister’s graduation. I know it’s kind of dressy for just bowling, but…not that this is just bowling—”

“Juggie.” His mouth promptly clamps shut and she smiles up at him. “I meant it looks nice.”

Betty glances around and realizes they’re alone. Veronica and Archie have slipped away, and she spots them across the alley, clearly giving them their space. She breathes a sigh of relief; Veronica had promised not to tease her about this double date, but Betty honestly hadn’t believed her until now.

She loves her best friend dearly, but Veronica can be so insufferable when she’s proven right and Betty would never have been able to have a good time if she was spending the whole evening fielding off smug smirks.

Now that it’s just her and Jughead, it seems like—well, just the two of them, joking under the hood of his truck or bantering over eggs. The simplest act of just being around him; this is the part that has always felt easy.

And yet, somewhere between waking up knowing it was because he was no longer holding her and the tense conversation about things very explicitly unsaid, something has definitely changed. What it is, Betty doesn’t know, but it hangs between them; headier, hushed, and curling slowly like a tendril of smoke against the light.

A shift that makes the world feel just slightly tilted beneath her feet, drawing her closer towards him as if gravity itself commands it.

With a start, Betty realizes her fingers have slid down slightly, moving from his collar to his chest.

It feels thrillingly new; beyond the spare pull on his arm or the bit of snuggling on the couch last night—which had honestly been a daze of post-panic haziness, so she’s not even sure it totally counts—she hasn’t experimented with any kind of physical closeness with him until now.

Normally, she’d have already been finding excuses to lay her hand on his shoulder, or sneak in little touches, but up until this afternoon, she’d been so confused by what he wanted. Jughead seems like a guy who deeply values personal space until he's comfortable, so she hadn’t wanted to overstep or make him feel awkward.

But she knows it’s mutual now. He called this a date. So she presses her fingers gently against the fabric of his shirt and gladly plays with fire.

“Hi,” she says again.

“Hi,” he returns, his voice very low. His eyes rake across her face; it’s an expression she’s only seen him wear from afar, furiously typing away in the back of a booth at Pop’s, like he’s concentrating on some kind of thematic riddle.

“We probably shouldn’t keep them waiting,” Betty says, but she hasn’t moved.

Jughead scoffs, and the moment seems to fizzle out, like a sparking rope of dynamite that never quite reaches its point. “Look, I just spent the last hour listening to the saga of Archie’s battle for creative integrity over a talking duck commercial, so he can fucking stand to wait a bit.”

“Quote the quack, ‘Nevermore,’” Betty giggles.

Jughead laughs outright. “Yikes, Cooper. Should I make a joke about why a duck is like a writing desk?”

“Edgar Allen oh-no,” she says, and Jughead sighs with aplomb.

“Jesus, that’s terrible, Betts. Terrible. This joke is over, I’m calling it,” he says. “Poor Poe. He’s probably rolling in his grave as we speak.”

“Pretty sure he was waiting his whole life to sulk from beyond the grave, so I think it’s fine.”

His lips are pursed against a grin. His eyes sweep over her once more, and at this angle, Betty is sure he’s got a decent view of her cleavage. “Did I mention you look really nice?”

“It’s just jeans and a top,” she says, reluctantly dropping her hand from his chest because she can’t stand here forever, half-groping him with what she’s sure is an absurdly dopey expression.

Jughead snorts playfully. “I’ll be happy to prove you wrong on that. In iambic pentameter, if you want. Or, do you like haikus?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Betty sighs, but feeling ridiculously pleased. She loops her hands around his arm and tugs him towards Archie and Veronica. “Come on, Shakespeare.”

Upon the reunion, the four of them settle into the line for bowling shoes and lane assignments. Archie and Veronica are so deeply wrapped around one another that Betty feels nervous with just her elbow crooked around Jughead’s arm in comparison, so she drops it. She misses the warmth right away and instantly regrets it.

Veronica appraises Jughead with a nod. “Lovely shirt, by the way,” she says approvingly. “Nice to see you can clean up a bit.”

“Want me to take off my glasses so you can realize I’ve been beautiful all along?” Jughead drawls acerbically, which Betty expects is just because he knows a compliment on his wardrobe is a big deal coming from Veronica and it clearly embarrasses him.

“But you don’t wear glasses,” Archie says, his brow wrinkling with confusion. Jughead huffs, half exasperated and half amused.

“I gotta be honest,” Betty says, lacing her fingers behind her back as Jughead glances back her way. “I was almost expecting you to wear a tuxedo t-shirt.”

“No, this is good,” Jughead says, without missing a beat. He waves a hand between them. “Let’s just get what you really think of me out on the open early on.”

“Dude, you definitely owned one of those in middle school,” Archie says, tucking Veronica under his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head. He grins goofily at them.

“Whatever, shut up,” Jughead replies, so quickly that it veers on defensive. “I can’t be held accountable for my adolescent bullshit. Anyway, I have it on good authority that you still own a keyboard tie.”

“Uh, yeah, because those are funny,” Archie replies, like this is obvious.

“Oh my god, Archiekins,” Veronica says, twisting to look up at Archie. She looks so personally offended that Betty almost laughs out loud. “I’m so going to pretend I didn’t just hear that.”

In response, Archie just nuzzles against her neck until her expression turns soft again, leaving Jughead and Betty to exchange unimpressed looks.

It’s finally their turn in line, and everyone gives out their shoe sizes to the teenager behind the counter. As he runs off to collect their bowling shoes, Archie leans up against the counter and surveys Jughead with an expression of pure impishness.

“Too bad we’re not in Boston,” he says. “Because Jughead owns about four pairs of shoes—and one of those pairs happen to be bowling shoes.”

Betty looks up at Jughead with surprise. “You own your own bowling shoes?”

Jughead shrugs indifferently, his hands in his pockets. “What? They were on sale.”

“I just didn’t peg you for such a diehard,” Betty says, failing miserably at hiding a smile.

“Are you kidding?” Jughead says, raising his eyebrows. “It covers all my bases. It’s 90% sitting down, every bowling alley in America sells hot dogs and nachos, and…it’s a game of patience. Balance. Momentum. A certain je ne sais quoi,” he says, pinching his finger and thumb together and speaking in a terrible French accent that Betty knows Veronica would like to correct. “And again, a strong case to be made for the nachos.”

Honestly, when he explains it like that, bowling does seem like arguably the most Jughead-approved activity in the book. The conversation turns to the costs, which Archie and Jughead offer to split, but Betty tries to insert her own credit card, while Veronica admits she has no qualms about being treated to a free evening when she's about to go off to an expensive law school. Jughead rolls his eyes good-naturedly and doesn’t seem to mind Betty’s attempts to help pay, but Archie insists it’s the least they can do after all she’s doing for the truck, so eventually she withdraws her bid.

Meanwhile, the pimply teenager returns from the back and presents them with their shoes and available bowling lane. Immediately, Veronica has procured a moist towelette from her purse and is already wiping down her pair. She uses it to pick them up and carries the shoes in front of her at arm’s length, her lip curled into something very sour.

Jughead watches the whole exchange with interest. “Veronica doesn’t like germs,” Betty supplies in a half-whisper, leaning in against Jughead. He bumps her shoulder playfully and glances up at Veronica with amusement.

“Please. Find me a sane human being who does,” Veronica says over her shoulder. “Honestly, I still can’t believe I agreed to go bowling, of all things. Curiously, what’s the process on reporting identity theft?”

“C’mon. You said yes because you like me, babe,” Archie smirks, his arm dangling around her as they head towards their lane.

Babe, Jughead mouths at Betty, his eyes widening mischievously. She tries not to snigger.

When they all sit down, Veronica’s eyes are elsewhere beyond the alley, and it’s not until they’ve all changed into their rented shoes that she finally seems to snap back into the moment. Betty files away the moment for later, as it’s the same the faraway look she’d noticed back at Veronica’s apartment.

And it’s one thing for her best friend of over a decade to zone out when it’s just them, but it’s very unlike Ronnie to not be socially present among others.

“So,” Betty says, once they’ve set up their lane computer with their initials and game order. She sinks into the seat next to Jughead and puts her hands on her knees. “Should we do teams, maybe? Girls vs. boys?”

“Oh, honey, I would never do that to you,” Veronica replies, with a commiserating sort of look. She holds up both hands, her glossy manicure gleaming at Betty. “This is a seventy-five dollar manicure. I’m strictly bowling granny-style tonight. No, let’s stick with our dates. I have no problem leaving Archiekins to his own devices, but I couldn’t do that to my best girl.”

“Aw man,” Archie whines, as if he can’t help it. Veronica swivels towards him with a look that screams you did not just, so he very hastily adds, “Jughead’s just really good. I wanted him on my team.”

Jughead stretches his arms across his chest in a show of mock machismo. He grunts a little dramatically and glances over at Betty. “I mean, yeah. I don’t wanna brag, but…I’m gonna wipe the floor with all of you.”

Betty raises an eyebrow and shifts in her seat, crossing her legs so that she faces him. “Really, now?”

His arm slips around the back of her seat as he too twists towards her. “Oh, yeah,” he says, his voice dropping almost conspiratorially. “Hold onto your hat, Cooper.”

“I’ll put it with your missing beanie.” She means it jokingly, but the mood instantly shifts. Frowning, Jughead’s fingers dart up to his hair, as if about to tug on the hat that isn’t there.

“Yeah. I’m trying something out,” Jughead mumbles, dropping his hands back into his lap.

“What’s that?”

“Adulthood, I think,” he sighs, briefly glancing off at nothing. “Jury’s still out.”

Betty pauses, wondering what he means. But if nothing, she’s noticed the way the hat skirts around a sensitive subject, and seems to be some sort of long-held security blanket, so she suspects it has at least something to do with that.

“I like you with the hat,” she says gently. “But I also like you without it.”

His head is bowed slightly, but his eyes flick up. Clouds move across his face and Betty can’t begin to interpret the shape of them.

“So, Betty’s up first,” Archie says, with an air of impatience. Betty realizes that she and Jughead have been leaning in towards one another and having a very private conversation. She knows it’s a bit rude for a double date, but it’s a hard balance to strike for what is also her and Jughead’s very first.

The affection and comfort between Archie and Veronica only serves as stark reminder that Betty is on borrowed time with Jughead; she feels sorely behind schedule on where she’d like to be, so she consciously decides she wants to enjoy this.

(And she can’t help it if every time he looks at her, she feels like she’s about to jump out of her skin.)

She wants to know what her hands would feel like moving across the planes of his chest. Wants to brush the pad of her thumb against his bottom lip and memorize each freckle on his jaw.

It’s that thought, however, that forces Betty to accept that she must distract herself, lest she actually jump him thirty minutes into their first date.

She stands and selects a predictably pink bowling ball. Finding her pose, she swings her arm back, and lets the ball roll. It tumbles along the lane and takes down a comfortable number of pins. She manages to get all but two on her second try, and when she turns around, Jughead is grinning at her.

“Not too shabby,” he says, as she returns to her spot next to him.

Archie is next, and he does better than Betty, ending up with a spare. He throws Jughead a competitive sort of leer while Veronica very begrudgingly rises for her turn. As promised, she hugs the ball against her chest and simply lets it drop onto the smooth lane with a loud bang. It moves agonizingly slowly, but in the end somehow earns a perfect split.

When Jughead gets up, he takes his sweet time. He selects a green ball, puts it back, tries again with a black one, then a blue one, his fingers running deliberately over the surfaces all the while. This process goes on to the point where Archie calls out, “Dude, we don’t have all year, just bowl already,” and Jughead finally finds his mark.

He lines up against the lane, brings the ball up to his nose and then swings it back, dropping into a lunge as he sends it barreling down. It’s a perfect strike.

Betty and Veronica clap as he turns back around, but he just waves them off. “No paparazzi, please,” he mutters, dropping down next to Betty. He flashes her a wide, toothy grin that straddles the line of cocky, which is all the ammunition she needs for her imagination to start up again. Or, at least, that’s as PG-13 as she’ll allow herself to admit now that she’s noticed there’s a family of four bowling in the lane next to them.

This is getting ridiculous.

The game continues in a similar succession, and true to his promise, Jughead easily earns the highest score. Archie snags second place, while Betty and Veronica vacillate between third and fourth. Veronica’s technique of more or less dropping the ball onto the lane and walking away tends to either work radically well or not at all, so in the end, Betty manages a narrow defeat.

The decide they should try a second game (read: Archie demands a rematch), but Jughead insists he won’t play until he’s refueled, so he and Archie head off to the fast food grill in the back of the alley in search of greasy salvation.

Once they’re out of earshot, Betty scoots over to Veronica’s side of the chairs, excited to analyze how she think their date is going. But Veronica is staring off into space again, her chin propped up on the back of her hand, and doesn’t seem to realize Betty is even there until she says her name.

“Sorry B, did you say something?” She asks, blinking slowly as if to clear her thoughts.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” Betty demands, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve been acting weird all night.”

Veronica appears mildly shocked to have been called out—but to her credit, doesn’t deny it, which is probably what Betty would’ve done. She sighs and folds her hands carefully in her lap. “Do you think things are moving too quickly between me and Archie?”

It’s the last thing Betty expected her to say, so she’s briefly stunned silent. She nibbles her lips over the words, but decides Ronnie will want the truth. “Well, you know this is kind of what you do, right? You always throw yourself so fully into whatever you’re doing, right away. But I don’t know, V. Only you can answer that. Why do you ask?”

“I think you might’ve been right,” Veronica says in a half-whisper. Her eyes are lingering on a young couple giggling a few lanes down. “About why you were hesitant about Jughead. I’m starting to wonder if dating two highwaymen was a bad idea.”

Feeling like the air has left her lungs and alone with the thought you’re telling me this now?, Betty stares at Veronica, completely at a loss for words. Realizing the implications of what she’s said, Veronica turns to face her.

“I’m sorry, I don’t say it to scare you. You know I like Jughead, and I can tell he’s, like, Baroque-levels of romantic over you. But…honestly, Betty, I’m a little freaked out by how fast things are moving. We’re just spending so much time together. I see him on my lunch breaks, and then we’re together every single night,” she admits, worrying a red lip delicately between her teeth.

A pause sits like a body between them.

“Well, what would you tell me, if I was in your place?” Betty asks. This is the advice she always falls back on when she doesn’t know what else to say, but it doesn’t really apply here, since Betty is more or less also in Veronica’s place.

Veronica’s laugh is tinkling and sad as she uses the tip of her finger to stave off a tear. “To throw yourself into sex, probably,” she says around a scoff. She meets Betty’s eyes and sighs again. “I just… I thought that we were just having fun.”

“Are you not anymore?” Betty asks softly. She wonders if she’d read the wrong energy between Archie and Veronica; if she’d somehow mistook affection for a compensation for discomfort.

“We are, we are,” Veronica insists. Her eyes fall out of focus again as she fingers a gold chain around her neck. “But I just haven’t felt this way since Cheryl.”

Betty’s eyebrows shoot up; this is something that Veronica would never say lightly. She was with Cheryl for over three years; they talked about things like marriage and all other things that serious relationships get into. “How—”

“It’s not the same feeling, obviously,” Veronica interrupts, almost defensively. “They’re so different. The situation is so different. Cheryl and I had years and years of mounting tension before we ever did anything about it. Archie…it feels like I know him so well already. But really, hair color is the only thing they have in common.”

That and an obvious streak of competitiveness, but it won’t do any good to bring that up, so Betty just waits for Veronica to continue.

“With Cheryl…I loved her so much—and I always will, of course—but she drove me so crazy. She projected all of her insecurities onto me, she was so manic-depressive half the time, and refused to get help while we were together,” Veronica sighs, sniffing loudly. “Not that I didn’t play my part in that too—I got to the point where I’d just pick fights with her rather than ever try to talk about our issues. In the end, I was so exhausted. We were two immiscible liquids.”

She meets Betty’s eye as she dabs at her own, almost desperately trying to preserve her perfect black cat-eye makeup. “Archie is nothing like that. What you see is what you get; there’s no double meaning, no passive-aggressive repartee. It’s so relaxing, and so easy to be around him.”

Betty wants to say that Veronica can’t know that, can’t know him well enough to be so sure, but then she thinks of Jughead. Has she not already privately compared his strengths against Trev, locked away in the pink bedroom with the old thoughts? Has she, even just tonight, not thought about how it easy most things feel between them?

“And the sex, oh my god,” Veronica groans, pressing on her temples and pulling Betty back into the moment. “With Archie, it really feels like it could’ve been the start of something. And that, B, that is the crux of my crisis. I knew when and why Cheryl and I had run our course. But Archie and I are just getting started, and we’ll never know what we could’ve been.”

Betty understands all too well what Veronica means.

“This is all so uncharacteristically depressing of me, Betty,” she looks over at her with watery eyes, “but how much longer until the truck is finished?”

Betty exhales shakily. “Not much,” she admits warily. Like Veronica, things are moving faster than she anticipated, especially once she got the compressor ahead of schedule.

Veronica reaches over and grasps Betty’s hands. “Slow it down?” She asks, half a demand and half a plea. “I need more time to feel like this romantic tragedy isn’t being puppeteered by the Bard himself.”

She almost considers it. Almost allows the thought in, entertaining visions of more time, longer days, less anxiety, less impatience—but he has been very adamant from the get go that he has to be in Chicago at the end of the month, and she can’t betray him like that.

“I couldn’t do that to Jughead, V,” Betty says softly. “He’s going to his sister’s gradation, and I could never take that from him. And you know you couldn’t do that to Archie, either. Forcing someone to stay will only make them resent you.”

Veronica nods, like she expected this, but something exasperated swims in her eyes. “Are we still talking about the boys, or about you?”

Point taken, Betty thinks.

“Do you regret it?” She asks, after a long moment. She hooks her arm around Veronica and draws her against her shoulder, in the way they always do for one another when one of them is upset. “Starting things up with Archie?”

“No,” Veronica sighs. “But yes, in the more imminent sense.”

With a loud inhale, she sits up and attempts to settle into her usual perfect posture. “Sweetie, if you’re asking me if I think you shouldn’t pursue things with Jughead any further, unfortunately, my answer is still the same. I’m deep in the throws of ambiguity right now, but I still maintain that life is better lived as an Elizabeth Taylor than a Judith Campbell.”

Betty doesn’t get much of a moment to consider this, as Veronica quickly murmurs, “Oh, here they come,” and becomes an utter visage of composure. Jughead and Archie return with trays of drinks and piles of food, including a hefty pile of nachos that Jughead announces he intends to put away by himself.

He presents Betty with her requested order of curly fries, and the rest of the evening is spent eating and bowling. After the second game, Veronica opts out entirely and busies herself with online window shopping, and by the end of the night, Betty has definitely gotten a few helpful pointers from Jughead.

“Pretty soon you’ll be giving me a run for my money,” he says, after she uses his technique to win a strike.

“Yeah, sure. I bet you use these moves on all the girls,” she teases. “What is this, a sports movie?”

Jughead scoffs. “What girls? Betty, you’re the first person I’ve asked out in years. Actually—” He pauses, clearly thinking. “Wait, nope, Ethel asked me out. Unless you count the time I asked Ginger Lopez to dance because I lost a bet to Archie, you’re the first official one.”

Her eyes widen with this information, because she thinks Jughead is way too good-looking for this to be true. But not every attractive person spends their entire life fielding off romance like Veronica or Cheryl, so maybe she shouldn’t assume. Some of this must show on her face, however, because a flush quickly appears at the tips of his ears.

“Not that—I mean, I’ve had—shit,” he mutters, scrunching up his face. She doesn’t understand what he’s stammering around at first, but then she realizes he’s talking about sex. “I’m just not much of a relationship guy, I mean.”

This sends a stone straight to the bottom of her stomach, even though, in reality, it should make her feel relieved. If he isn’t looking for a relationship, she’s really got nothing to be worried about, right? It’s better that he’s upfront with her about it, so they can mess around a little without any strings or expectations on Betty’s end.

This is good, she tells herself, even as it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

Later, when they’re finally bowled out, there’s a half-hearted attempt to muster enthusiasm for drinks, but Veronica and Archie exchange completely obvious eyes of yearning and announce they’re feeling too “tired.”

Betty and Jughead watch the other two practically race each other to Veronica’s car, and once the vintage Mercedes is out of sight, Betty turns to him. “Want a ride?”

Jughead licks his lips. “Oh, sure. I was just gonna call a Lyft, but…always looking a way to pinch a penny.”

The whole ride back to his motel, something like anticipation creeps very slowly up her neck. It’s unnervingly satisfying in a way that is absolutely torturous, and given the way Jughead’s knee is aggressively bouncing up and down, she thinks he feels it too.

When they pull into the parking lot, it’s completely empty. A blue road sign overhead begs for vacancy, there’s not a soul in sight, the wind rustles a tree, and it feels like they’re the only people left in town.

She cuts the engine and glances over. “I had a really fun time tonight, Juggie,” she says as she twists towards him, unprepared for the distracted, darkened look in his eye. He fidgets with a thought, and then he moves.

His hands cup her face in order to present her with just the tiniest amount of warning before he’s kissing her.

He pulls back quickly, just enough to say something. His eyes dance rapidly across her face. “I—” He starts, but it’s promptly muffled by Betty chasing after his lips, desperate for an excuse to exorcise the tension between them. With the gearshift on the wheel, the front seat is nothing but a continuous cushion that they can stretch out along, so she crawls back against him until he’s pressed into the passenger door.

She’s not sure what exactly she’d been expecting, but whatever it was, she would’ve been wrong.

Their mouths move open against each other with an almost frenzied type of haste, as everything that’s sat slowly boiling between them finally begins to whistle its warning. Every touch lights her on fire; even with the simplest way where he presses his thumbs into the dimples where her back dips lowest, Betty’s whole body finds a new way to warm.

Maybe it’s the fearful, watery confession from Veronica still haunting her thoughts, but Betty is suddenly overcome by a wanton impatience. She wants him, and she wants him now. Jughead’s hands move to her arms, and seem to be trying to slow her down, but she ignores it. Doesn’t he realize how much time they’ve already wasted?

In the back of her mind, she knows this might be too much, too fast, but her skin is flushed with gooseflesh and all she cares about is chasing the burn between her legs. So Betty wraps her arms around his neck, smothers the thought, and sings a silent hymn for the life of vintage cars.

She kisses him in the type of car made for a midnight rendezvous and love in the time of moonlight; she kisses him like the whisper of a willow tree rippling along the water, in the secluded kind of hideaway known only by lovers.

She kisses him with a ticking clock, like the very one that still sits on the dashboard of her car. The second hand has been clicking into place for over fifty years, and won’t stop now.

Time and momentum are funny things, she realizes dimly. If momentum is the mark left behind as proof of time, but time is just a human perception, what is truth, as that clock quietly ticks along? Is it counting down to something, or forever going in circles?

All she knows is the two must work in tandem, ever passing one another and never quite meeting, and both seem to be a measure of something that both poetry and science have been trying to put to pen for centuries.

Betty has wanted more time before.

She’s felt the imminence of change, from childhood into adulthood and from having a life into just living. She’s said goodbye to the job she loved and the new city that held nothing but possibilities. She’s held her dying father’s hand and sobbed into his hospital bed and learned far too much about appreciating what you have, when you have it.

Like the bowling ball curving down the lane with intentions to strike, momentum swings into collision between them, and she’s never wanted more time than what she has with Jughead.

She fists a hand into his hair as he sits up slightly against the car door in order to drop kisses onto her neck, shoulder, and anywhere in reach that isn’t her mouth. She throws her head back to give him better access, and enthusiastically murmurs, “I want you,” into the air.

“Betts,” he attempts to mumble against her skin, but she’s afraid to hear it, so she shifts forward and drags her teeth against his bottom lip.

“Betty,” he tries again, more urgently, when she finally breaks for air. But she’s not known for much more than apple pie, fixing cars, and an acute case of tunnel vision, so she carries straight on.

“Do you want me to come up?” She whispers, sliding her palm down his stomach as she peppers his jaw with kisses. He’s straining beneath her and she has only one thought: I can help with that—but, to her surprise, he catches her hand just before it can reach the edge of his pants.

She blinks up at him, sure she’s about to see rejection in his face. Instead, his eyes are practically black with want, but his expression is nothing short of tortured. “I don’t…have anything,” he says, with meaning. “I wasn’t expecting—I didn’t want to assume—”

She squints at him, and then understands. He doesn’t have condoms.

“I’m not on the pill,” she tries to say, but she’s breathing so heavily that it takes a moment. She hasn’t been on birth control since breaking up with Trev, for no real reason except what was probably some kind of unconscious defense mechanism against moments exactly like this one.

Their shoulders rise and fall with a long breath as they catch the disappointment in each other’s eye.

It gives her a moment to finally gets a good look at what she’s done to him; his neck has all the makings of a warzone, his once pristine, crisp shirt is shoved forcefully half off and the black tank top underneath has been pushed up, exposing the defined expanse of skin she’s only seen once before and thought much of since.

She can’t see herself, but assumes she looks about the same kind of ruined. Her hair feels tangled and wild down her back, and she at least knows her own shirt is ridden up to her ribs.

His head falls back against the fogged window with a palpable thump.

With a start, Betty remembers where they are, and immediately blushes madly—not that it’s anything redder than the flush she already had. Betty Cooper, as you live and breathe. She can’t believe she nearly tried to give him a handjob in parking lot of a motel.

An empty parking lot, save for themselves, but there’s no way to know someone hadn’t walked by and seen them aggressively making out in a car like horny teenagers. Betty groans with embarrassment and hides her head in the crook of his shoulder; he’s still hard beneath her, but he chuckles anyway.

He curls a lock of her hair around his finger as she shifts against him, and tucks herself into a position that is decidedly less compromising. Still spread out along the length of the car, he welcomes her new spot against him, as one leg dangles off the driver’s seat and the other is propped up around her. They’re still breathing heavily.

“This is probably for the best,” Jughead says after a long moment, which makes Betty still. He notices, and rushes to add, “I just mean…we should take things a little slower, right?”

She can feel him looking at her and so she resolutely keeps her head down. She picks at a loose thread on her jeans. “Why?”

“Why?” Jughead repeats, confused.

Betty still can’t make herself look at him. “Do you not want me?”

“I think you can still feel the evidence to the contrary,” Jughead mutters, his hand on her knee. “There’s nothing not to want.” Something in his tone is asking her to look at him, but she won’t be able to get through this if she does.

“Okay, then. Well, we don’t have a lot of time together,” she says slowly. She thinks of Veronica and her advice; bravely going after what she wants, even in the face of doom. She thinks of all the forgotten promises she swore to herself, fresh off her father's death, that she would enjoy the people in her life for whatever little time she had them. She thinks of the ill-fated lovers on the pages of Jughead’s mind, and the fact that he isn’t a relationship guy.

“We’re just getting this out of our systems, right? Just sex? So we don’t wonder ‘what if’ down the line? So why take it slow?”

Finally, she glances up, but has no idea what to make of his expression. It’s guarded and thoughtful and mutable all at once and reveals absolutely nothing. “Yeah,” he says at last. “We’ll keep it just physical.”

It’s what she asked for, what she’s decided as the safest inevitable route to hell, but it still digs like a knife to the gut. “Yep. We’re adults. Our eyes are open,” she says, in a strange voice she doesn’t recognize as her own.

She wants to ask—what would you say if things were different? What would you want from me?

If they’d met in a circumstance less looming, if they’d known each other longer, had more time together—would he still have so casually mentioned he’s not interested in relationships? Would she have changed that in him?

Probably not, she thinks. She’s never been enough to will fate into her bidding before, so it’s unlikely this would’ve been any different.

Jughead’s mouth opens and closes, as if he can’t wrap around what he’d like to say.

A moment earlier, and she might’ve pointed out that there’s still plenty they can do without the need for condoms, but she now recognizes her impatience as overcompensation for fear of losing him. The resulting embarrassment is all she needs to kill the mood.

“Do you still—” He starts, but Betty slides away, back towards the driver’s seat.

“I should get home,” she says, facing the wheel and pushing her hair back from her face.

Jughead doesn’t move, still strewn out; his foot jiggles nervously against her thigh. “Are we—”

“We’re good,” Betty says firmly, forcing herself to look at him. The makings of tears start to sting warningly at her eyes, so she blinks quickly in order to keep them at bay. She stretches forward and squeezes his hand. “We can go out tomorrow night, and…try this all again?”

His eyes sweep over her face, and then he relaxes, slumping against the door. “Okay,” he says, somewhat tentatively but smiling all the same. “And I’ll, uh, be more prepared next time.”

Right.

Even so, Betty thinks she won’t be.

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #like is this how i should be tagging things i'm still unclear #anyway this one's a fucking doozy #like #can't even so

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