#also can someone please tell me where to find the aforementioned fics because i cannot seem to find them myself and i'm curious

[justagalwhowrites]

i’m interested to see how joel would react to doc getting killed!! or bitten…. i love the angst tbh! 😅 maybe during that awkward time period where they weren’t really talking but still hooking up.. they still loved eachother so much couldn’t say it because they “hated” eachother 😮

OMG Hi Bestie! 

OK so because I'm a masochist (who shares in this fun hobby of tormenting myself with images of pain with someone who shall remain nameless) I've thought about this a lot. Shared below, with permission, is some of the noodling I've done on this topic with the aforementioned anonymous person who likes to give me INCREDIBLY ANGSTY AND DEPRESSING THOUGHT EXERCISES I SWEAR THIS IS A TWO WAY STREET Y'ALL. Please note that none of this is in story format and Doc is she instead of you because that's how I think about the fic in abstract terms? I guess? I don't know lol it's a mess in my head.

ANYWAY 

Putting this below the cut because it's probably a step beyond angst. I cannot stress enough that this is like... super depressing and also COMPLETELY RAW AND UNEDITED, all I did was pull out comments/prompts from the other person out of respect for them. So please limit your judgement as much as possible this stuff is real bad lol 

Below is Joel if she got bit on the Harvard run.

how terrified he was when he thought she might be bitten, how the first place his mind went was "I can kill her and I'll only need to be around for a few seconds after she's gone"If she got bit and he needed to kill her, he'd try so hard to keep it together for her. She'd be low key panicking and be like "Please don't let me turn into one of those things, please just kill me, please" and he'd just brush her hair back and hold her face in his hand all gentle and be like "I won't baby, not gonna let you go through that, OK? I've got you, it's OK. It'll be real quick, won't feel a thing and I'll be right behind you, OK? I'm right behind you, it's OK" and he'd hold her when he did it so she didn't feel alone and he'd keep holding her when he did it to himself, too

If Doc died in the tub the night that Joel left her in the QZ 

Joel is trying to avoid herTommy goes to the clinic that day and she's not there, which he expects because she's not supposed to be there on Sundays, but hears someone say her name and how they aren't sure how they're going to cover everything without her and there's a "...I still really miss her" at the end and he's like "wtf' and so he asks until he finds someone who will actually talk to him and he's like "no, we're old friends, I just haven't seen her in a few weeks, what happened?" and Marta just kinda looks at him like "how can you not know this" and says "She died. They weren't really sure how, if she did it on purpose or if she passed out but she drowned in her bathtub" and Tommy is, of course, reeling because he loved her, too. But he's also like "Oh fuck I have to tell Joel" and he's kind of in a daze and just walks around the QZ for a few hours and he gets home and Joel is just like "the fuck is your problem" and he's like "Joel... brother, you... I need you to sit down, OK? Need you to just... stay calm for me, OK?" and he says her name and then kinda stops and Joel gets this bad feeling and is like "what" and Tommy is quiet and he's like "what, Tommy. What is it. She fuck up something else, what'd she do, what's going on" and he's just like "She's dead, Joel." and Joel is silent for a minute and then asks what happened and how and Tommy really doesn't want to tell Joel what they told him and so Joel just gets up and Tommy tries to stop him and he's like "Don't fucking touch me" and he goes to Andrew's and he pounds on the door until Andrew answers and Andrew looks like hell, he's lost weight and he looks like he's hardly slept and he looks kind of dead in the eyes until he sees Joel and then he just looks like he wants to just set him on fire and he's like "The fuck are you doing here"

and Joel is like "what happened, you have to know what happened, please, fuck, please tell me what happened to her" and Andrew shoves him and just yells "You! You happened, you fucking happened! She died that night you fucking asshole, she lived for you and she fucking died for you, too. I hope you're fucking happy" and Joel is just practically frozen there and just lets Andrew wail on him for a minute before he looks at him and goes "you must fuckin hate me, right?" "Oh I more than hate you you fucking..." "Good. Kill me. Don't... don't care how just... please, fuck just..." and Andrew just kind of laughs at him darkly and says "No, no I'm not doing you any fucking favors, Miller. I have to live with the fact that I left her alone that night. You get to live with the fact that her blood's on your hands." Jess pulls Andrew back inside and Joel just trudges home but Tommy is kind of waiting for him, he's already stashed all the guns and the knives and he got Tess because he knows what Joel is like when he loses someone like thatand Joel only asked Andrew to do it because he couldn't risk flinching again, he had to do it right this time and he goes for where he keeps his gun as soon as he's in the door and it's gone and Tommy is just crying and he's like "Joel, you can't, I'm sorry..." and he's like "Just give me the fuckin' gun, Tommy! I can't do this, not again, I can't, I can't" and he just drops to his knees and Tommy holds onto him Tommy and Tess take turns, he's literally never alone for months. Eventually they think he can be trusted on his own and he's OK for a while but I think it wouldn't take all that long before he's gone, too it wouldn't be as obvious as a gun, it'd be him making a stupid mistake and getting bit or shot or an accident on a job in the qzand all the time in between he'd be such a shell of himself, Tess and Tommy always sharing a look when it's especially bad like "this has to get better at some point, right?"and when it eventually happens, neither Tess or Tommy are ever sure if it's really an accident or not. Joel wasn't really sure either, he just knew that the last thing he thought of was that last morning before Doc flew back to New York where he got her pregnant in the water and her and Sarah made French toast

SO YEAH that's just the most depressing shit in the world lol 

LOVE YOU!!

[phoenixyfriend]

I'd like to hear ur thoughts on a sex pollen au! ^_^

OKAY COOL I actually have been having many thoughts, most of which are pretty disjointed, and I’m tossing them under a cut. Thank you for giving me an excuse to share them.

This started with me going “I have a fucked up fic desire, I'm scared to look to see if it exists because if it does then it's probably not going to be done in a way I can stomach, let alone enjoy...”

But you know what, let’s talk about it.

So as a general rule, I can see the Anakin and Rex being like "Ah, you're hot, but one of us is in committed monogamy and the other is functionally a slave to the Republic, so we'll just high-five and move on with our goddamn lives because there's a war to fight."

The three kinds of fics I want to read with this in mind are like

Less fucked up: Padme urges Anakin to find release where and when he can, ends up with an arrangement to have sex with Rex whenever they're feeling wound up, which Padme is entirely open to happening (and on her end IDK one of the handmaidens), but there's a running undercurrent of 'is this really okay?' for Anakin because of the limited freedom the clones have and fraternization laws and all that fun stuff

More fucked up: Rex is quietly lusting after Anakin but doesn't actually ever acknowledge it out loud, partly because Padme exists and partly because wow fraternization laws, and Rex is vaguely under the impression that if he asked, Anakin would fuck him, but only out of guilt for the slave army situation, because what's Star Wars without a mess of ethical bullshit? Except then Rex gets hit by some sex pollen, and needs to get fucked to survive (or at least to not be in a whole lot of pain), and the only person he actually wants that way is Anakin, if only because everyone else in the area is either a brother or Ahsoka (who is baby), and like... obviously, Anakin's going to help however he can, but the ability to consent is muddled on both ends due to the coercion and reluctance etc.

Still fucked up: The same as number 2, but Anakin’s the one that gets hit with sex pollen.

I was prompted with that last one on discord and ended up SPIRALLING around "Anakin is hit by sex pollen, only sapient individuals in reach are clones (ethical violation), Ahsoka (BABY), and the natborn officers (they'd all refuse); Rex offers, both angst"

Various lovely angst options, including

Anakin initially tries to refuse by insisting he can't cheat on Padme, Kix (who is monitoring the health situation until someone gets their sexy on) just straight up calls her and says "Hi, your husband is going to be in extreme pain for several days unless he gets fucked and we don't have time to get back to Coruscant. It's not usually lethal but he's going to feel like he's on fire for all that time, partly because of a significant fever. Please give him permission to sleep with someone because this isn't actually safe to ignore." Padme is. Well aware of the clone situation and asks who's volunteering, then asks to speak with Rex directly to make sure HE wants this, and not that he's just volunteering because he feels like he has no choice. Eventually she's at least convinced that Rex is doing this as a "Help out my bro because he's in pain" thing, rather than a "help out my CO because that's what I'm for" thing, gives permission, but also says "And the Captain is coming to dinner when you're on leave." (Rex legit likes Anakin That Way in this scenario, but he can't TELL her that.) (Even though that's what she's LOOKING FOR.)

Anakin's "get out of ethical jail free" card has been stamped and voided, he cannot opt out of Destroying A Friendship By Hurting Someone, begs Rex to let down his mental shields so he can at least Know that Rex wants this, really, and that's enough to get us to a fade to black.

Anakin avoids Rex for days because he feels terrible, and Rex keeps wanting to apologize because he feels terrible, the clones are all confused, that's obviously all fun and games until Rex eavesdrops on Anakin demanding Kix tell him who else knows, did anyone tell the natborn officers

First assumption is obviously "he's ashamed of sleeping with a clone" but Rex isn't stupid enough to leave before he's eavesdropped to the end of the topic, but the actual reality is much worse, because it's a legitimate fear: Anakin's worried that if the natborn officers find out a clone slept with a Jedi because the Jedi "needed" it, someone'll take it as blanket permission to proposition the clones, and the clones... don't legally have the right to refuse, because they're not people.

Even if the clones do have the right to refuse (which Anakin is adamant they do, all of them, under his command and that of any Jedi), the natborn officers might twist a situation and leverage threats, etc, just because they want some fun.

Anakin's panicking, Rex is worrying, the clones are all Very Hush Hush about this. The Jedi Council was informed of the incident and Anakin's insisting that it not get reported anywhere beyond the clones involved and the Council reviewing it for the aforementioned ethical violations, because he does not want to become the precedent that people use to assault clones that way.

IDK probably this gets twisted into Palpatine trying to convince Anakin that it was Fine, Actually in a way that Anakin later confesses to Padme makes him feel uncomfortable and she's like "darling... that's fucked up, he shouldn't have said that and all your guilt comes from a place of caring for your friend right now, you need to talk to Rex and ask if he wants to be transferred if he's uncomfortable sharing a ship with a commander he slept with for reasons beyond your control, it's a bad situation all around and the Chancellor trying to alleviate your worries by telling you what he did was actually really bad, don't listen to him" and that snowballs into Anakin doubting everything Sheev tells him and IDK fix-it somewhere in there

Poly, yay

BUT THE TERRIBLE THOUGHT WAS MOSTLY ANAKIN WORRYING ABOUT NATBORN OFFICERS TRYING TO USE THE INCIDENT AS PRECEDENT FOR ORDERING CLONES TO GRANT THEM SEXUAL FAVORS

It’s likely that natborn officers were already coercing clones into sexual relations where the Jedi couldn’t keep control over the situation, but the thing is that if word got out that a Jedi did it, that a Jedi was treating a clone like that, that a Jedi implicitly approved...

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Hallucination

Prompts: i love your fics insanity and real or not real!! can i request another fic where a side is struggling to tell what's real and what's a hallucination? can be in the same like universe (carrying on with one of the stories) or a completely different universe/person, idm - anon

 *crashes into ur asks*

Hey if you’re still taking requests could you do just Janus comforting someone on the verge of a meltdown? Like lots of soft words and caring Janus? He’s my comfort character and I love him - anon

Thanks for the prompt!

Read on Ao3 Part 1 (ish) 

Warnings: talk of hallucinations, uncertainty

Pairings: focus on creativitwins, intrulogical, dukeceit, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic, you decide

Word Count: 3864

Sometimes Thomas watches things and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

Sometimes Thomas decides to watch something late at night, when it’s dark outside, even though Virgil tells him it’s a bad idea, and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

 Sometimes when Virgil has gone to his room and he’s fine, but Thomas’s mind can’t stop playing it over and over and over and over, he starts to expand on it and it isn’t Remus’s fault.

 He can’t remember the name of the video. Something to do with being stuck on a misty island in the middle of nowhere with a monster and villagers that wait to sacrifice tourists to the monster to sate its hunger. Something about a daring rescue or an escape plan doomed to fail.

 Something like…

 “Do not go outside. Do not turn on the lights. Don’t make sounds.” The old man draws the curtains sharply across the window. “And whatever you do, do not look out the window.”

 It’s late now. Patton’s asleep. Virgil’s in his room, probably asleep. The rest of them are still awake in the Imagination. It’s slumber party night for the twins, having created a big sprawling mansion in the Imagination for them to run around in. Logan is here, Janus is here, Roman is here.

 Villagers?

 They’re talking about what Thomas watched.

 Logan straightens his legs out. “It’s not a bad practice, staying quiet.”

 Janus rolls his eyes. “Come on, what is this, some haunted island?”

 “You saw the people in the video.” Logan rests his weight on his elbows. “Something was amiss.”

 “The only thing amiss was how awfully boring you lot are being.” Janus sighs and stands, stretching. “Well, I think a night of entertainment sounds wonderful.”

 “The old man said to be quiet,” Roman points out. Wait, is the old man real?

 “Do you know how prone to flights of fancy old people are?” Janus smiles. “Incredibly.”

 “Hmm.”

 “Oh don’t start that.” Janus rolls his eyes and his gaze lands on Remus. A smirk crawls across his face. “Well,” he drawls, sauntering across the room, “someone’s being awfully quiet.”

 Remus just shrugs. Janus crouches down.

 “What do you think about this monster,” he asks, tapping his fingers on his chin, “about the thing that sneaks around this island, peering into windows, through the keyholes of locked doors?”

 “Janus,” Logan warns.

 “What? I just want to hear what our other little scientist thinks about this.” He raises his eyebrows when Remus won’t hold his gaze. “No? Nothing? Need more data? Well, I’m sure you could ask around if you wanted to.”

 “We’re not supposed to leave,” he says softly.

 “I know you’re a goody-two-shoes, Remus, but you’ll never get anything done that way.”

 “Leave him alone, Janus,” Roman says with a wink, “he’s just mad at how pathetic the monster design was.”

 Long limbs. Dark eyes. Moved like shadow.

 “And the Boy Scout, coming to the rescue.” Janus rolls his eyes as he stands. “Aren’t you tired of being so boring?”

 Roman holds his hands up. “Hey, I’m all for exploring!”

 Janus sighs. “Ever the dashing prince, are we?”

 “Ask nicely and I may sweep you off your feet too.”

 The banter continues. Logan just sighs and pulls out a journal, the pen emerging from god-knows-where as he writes. Remus swallows and glances toward the window.

 In. Out. In. Out.

 Roman and Janus are still tossing barbs and jests back and forth. Remus cannot help but notice how loud they are being.

 The old man said to be quiet.

 Logan looks up when he begins to crouch down and shuffle behind the bed.

 “What are you doing?”

 “Changing.” He gives a half-hearted smile. “Texture spoons ran out.”

 He nods and goes back to his writing. Remus glances at the nightstand. Only 8:00. The conversation gets progressively louder. Logan joins in eventually, rolling his eyes at Roman’s increasingly elaborate proposals to bring in jukeboxes, disco lights, and speakers.

 “Let’s think about this logically. If the ghosts or whatever the hell the monster is sensitive to sound, why not pump everything to like, 300 decibels and blast their eardrums out?”

 “Or it could be that they just hear things like we hear things,” Logan remarks.

 “Mm.”

 “Why do I have to be quiet?” Roman spreads his arms. “I should not have to deal with that!”

 “Actually, you know what,” Janus says gleefully, “I agree. We shouldn’t have to be quiet. If this place doesn’t have adequate monster protection, that’s on them.”

 This place…didn’t they make it safe? Roman said they made it safe. Is it not safe anymore? Are the shadows—is the monster here?

 “Always the entitlement,” Logan sighs, seemingly resigning himself to the voice of reason as he settles his journal to the side, “assuming that everyone should cater to your needs.”

 “Oh come on, Logan. You have to admit that having a hotel that isn’t secure makes little to no sense.”

 Hotel? Isn’t this still the mansion?

 The low buzz of an LED sign comes from outside. Remus blinks. Has…has that always been there?

 “Not respecting the rules of wherever you choose to go makes little to no sense.”

 “That’s gotta hold up in court though.” Roman glances at Janus. “You get me?”

 “Yes, Your Honor,” Janus says, drawing himself up like a lawyer, “I would like to sue on the grounds that my intestines were devoured horrifically by a terrifying, savage beast that the hotel owners neglected to inform me of. How am I standing here, you ask, if my intestines have been devoured? Simple. Spite.”

 Roman’s off, cackling to his heart’s content. Logan bites back his own smile.

 “And how, may I ask, is this not the fault of yourself?”

 “May I say, Your Honor, that victim-blaming is not cute—“

 “Here here,” comes Roman’s voice.

 “—and also, the information about aforementioned monster came from someone who was not an employee of the hotel,” Janus finishes grandly, “therefore they can suck my—“

 Logan hits his hand against the nightstand, still fighting down laughter. “Defendant is charged with contempt of court.”

 “Do not pass go,” Roman chortles as Janus swoons dramatically, “do not collect 200 dollars.”

 “Remus,” Janus cries out, “avenge me!”

 Remus does not respond. He is too busy trying to figure out when the mansion became the hotel.

 “Remus,” Janus cries again, crawling dramatically across the floor, “save me from this indignity.”

 “No, thank you,” he mumbles instead.

 Janus huffs, pushing himself off the floor. “Then by all means, please tell us your ingenious solution to this monster problem that we find ourselves in.”

 Remus looks up, his face carefully blank except for a small smile. “I’m going to hide underneath the sheets,” he says in a soft, small voice, “because everybody knows monsters can’t get you when you’re under your sheets.”

 “That is adorable,” Roman chuckles.

 Janus’s eyebrows raise slowly until another fiendish smirk crawls across his face. “Are you scared?”

 “Yes.”

 “Aww,” he coos, “hiding under the sheets to get away from the monsters, how adorable.”

 Remus doesn’t respond.

 “If only the others could see you now,” Janus crows, “they’d know how intimidating you really are.”

 Logan takes his glasses off, polishing them with the handkerchief from his pocket. “As if you’re any better, crying over a torn seam in your cape.”

 “That bastard took two weeks to get right!”

 Remus ignores them once more, glancing at the clock. 9:45. An acceptable time to try and go to sleep. He moves slowly and quietly as he tries to get into the bed. The monster could be here. The banter continues behind him as he pulls the sheets tight around him.

 He does not see Logan glance over. He does not see that Logan frowns and glances at the clock, thinking perhaps Remus is more tired than he appeared, but…still. He does not see Logan look back at the others still talking, they’re probably not going to go to sleep for a long while.

 He does not see Logan look over at him as Janus leaves the room, claiming he’s going to go find somewhere more fun to sleep. He does not see Logan frown, looking to see Remus still on his side, huddled under the sheets. He does not see when Logan starts to count.

 One, two, three, four.

 One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

 One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

 He does not see Logan beckon Roman closer.

 He does not see Roman frown as he comes closer, sighing at the notebook in Logan’s hands.

 “Logan, why the hell can’t you take a break for…” he trails off when he sees Logan’s face. “What?”

 “Perhaps I like to keep myself occupied,” Logan says smoothly, even as he nods insistently to the notebook, “even in times where the circumstances might be less than ideal.”

 Roman raises an eyebrow. Subtle, Logan.

 “You are chronically incapable of taking a break, aren’t you?”

 “Perhaps.”

 “Do you know any words other than ‘perhaps?’”

 “Perhaps.”

 Roman hides a smirk as squints at the text.

 I think Remus is actually afraid. Don’t tease. - L

 Remus does hear Roman exhale sharply. He does not see him glance up at the bed before he looks back at Logan and nods.

 “Well,” he sighs, stretching and yawning exaggeratedly, “on that note, it’s probably a good idea to try and sleep.”

 Logan snorts. “And here I thought you were supposed to be an actor.”

 He swats at him halfheartedly as he starts getting ready to go to sleep. What that means is just a matter of snapping his fingers to change out of the prince costume. He packs his other clothes away and crosses the room, keeping his footsteps loud but not too loud.

 Now that he’s paying attention, he can see how scared poor Remus is. He’s frozen under the sheets, barely moving. As Logan starts talking quietly to himself, he sets his bag down next to Remus’s and sighs, moving around to make a bit more noise.

 Remus still doesn’t move.

 When he’s made all the noise he can reasonably make, he walks a little closer to the bed and reaches to fix the curtains, unable to stop the soft noise when his shadow falls over the bed.

 “Hey, Re,” he whispers, leaning down and brushing the sheet a little further from his face, “it’s just me, it’s just Roman. Can you open your eyes for me?”

 It takes him a moment but his eyes do open. He smiles down at him and cups his face for a moment.

 “Hey, there, Re,” he murmurs, “can I come join you?”

 He barely nods.

 “Thank you.” He frowns when he doesn’t move over. “You gonna let me in?”

 He can tell by the way his eyes glass over that’s not a good idea unless he can convince him otherwise.

 “Come on,” he whispers again, “scoot to the other side for me.” He nudges his shoulder gently. “Logan misses you.”

 Loren doesn’t let his mumuring falter but he does reach across the small space between their beds to lightly pat the side closest to him.

 Remus moves, as skittish as the new dragon pups, clutching the blanket tightly to his chest, his pillow gripped in his other hand. Roman swiftly takes the warm spot he’s vacated, wincing in sympathy as he shivers on the cold sheets.

 “Thank you,” he sighs, making a show of getting comfortable before reaching out for him, smacking his lips together in sleep, “now come here.”

 At his quickly stifled questioning noise, he drops the act and opens his arm wide.

 “It’s okay, Re,” he whispers, far too quiet for Logan to hear, “I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s okay.”

 He stares at him a moment longer before he realizes that shit, he’s not going to be able to move on his own right now.

 “Can I come get you, Re?” Roman smiles when he gives him another one of those jerky nods. “Thank you, I’m gonna pull you over to me, okay?”

 He takes him into his arms slowly and carefully, wrapping him up in the sheets until just the very tops of their heads poke out. He relaxes just enough so that he can maneuver him to where he likes, but he’s far from the sleepy pile he expected.

 “Hey,” he whispers, tucking his hair behind his ear, “you want to stay here with me, Re?”

 He blinks sluggishly. Roman bites back a curse and leans down to rub his nose against his.

 “Hey, hey, Re, you just focus on me, okay? Stay with me here—“ he tightens his grip— “right here…I’ve got you.”

 He frowns when he makes a small little noise that sounds like it could be his name.

 “Yeah, Re? You calling for me?”

 He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He kisses Remus’s forehead.

 “Nonverbal,” he whispers, “or just scared? Or both?”

 A moment passes.

 “Both it is then.” Roman tucks his head under his chin. “Why don’t you go ahead and close your eyes, Re, I’m right here.”

 They stay there, wrapped in the blankets, Remus warm and snug up against Roman’s chest. He plays with his hair, one of his legs slung over his to hold him close, working to lull him out of his frozen state. After a while, Logan stands from the other side of the room and pats Roman’s shoulder.

 “Your turn, Roman.”

 Roman rolls over. “Huh?”

 Logan nods his head toward the bathroom. “Shower.”

 Roman sighs dramatically and presses another kiss to Remus’s forehead, leaving his brother dazed, blinking up at Logan. Logan watches Roman leave before he turns his gaze downwards. Remus tries to pretend the shiver that goes through him at the way Logan softens his gaze is just the cold.

 “Remus,” he calls softly, voice barely louder than a whisper, “Remus, may I join you?”

 A pause.

 “Tap the bed twice if yes, once if no.”

 A pause, then Remus hesitantly reaches out to make two little taps.

 “Thank you.”

 He slides smoothly into the bed, reaching out to carefully slip an arm under his and pull him off of the sweat-soaked sheets—when did that happen?—and into his arms. Remus moves pliantly, tucking his chin into the space left between his chin and the pillow.

 “Hey,” he whispers, gentling his voice as he tucks his head closer to Remus’s, “hey.”

 Logan is warm. Is Logan—Logan said it made sense to be quiet. Logan knows. Logan understands. Logan always understands.

 “What’s the matter,” Logan calls gently, “can I help?”

 Remus swallows. “Monster.”

 “Are you afraid of the monster, Remus?”

 Remus nods. “Black eyes. Shadow. Kill you and Roman and Janus and then go find Patton and Virgil and Thomas. Bad.”

 “The monster isn’t real, Remus,” Logan says softly, running his hand through his hair, “it doesn’t exist.”

 Remus shakes his head. “We’re in the hotel on the island. It’s real. Roman left and the monster will kill him.”

 “Roman is just in the bathroom,” Logan corrects, moving his head to indicate the running water sound, “he’s alright. We’re not in a hotel, we’re in the mansion you two created.”

 “But the LED sign is buzzing outside.”

 “Would you like to look and see?”

 “No!” Remus wraps his arms tightly around Logan’s waist. “We’re not supposed to look out the window, the old man said not to.”

 “The old man isn’t here,” Logan says patiently, “I’m here. I have you. I’ll keep you safe.”

 “He said—he—he’s not real?”

 “No, Remus, he’s not real.” Logan gives him a gentle squeeze. “This is real. This is real, Remus, I’ve got you.”

 “You’re real.”

 “I am.”

 “You said it’s safe to look out the window?”

 “It is.” Logan squeezes again. “Would you like me to show you?”

 Remus nods. Logan leans up and pulls back the curtain, peeking outside. There’s no bright red light from the hotel LED sign. Just soft moonlight.

 “There’s no sign, Remus,” he murmurs, “you’re not in a hotel.”

 Oh.

 “The scar,” he blurts, his hand flying to his chest, “from the stab, what if it’s already got us?”

 “I don’t have a scar,” Logan says, lying back down and taking Remus’s hand, “here…feel.”

 Logan presses his palm to his bare chest, pulling his shirt out of the way so Remus can see. There’s no scar.

 “You don’t have one either…may I?”

 When he presses his palms against Remus’s chest, there’s no scar.

 “We’re…not there?”

 “No, Remus, we’re not there,” Logan says gently, “we’re here, in the mansion, safe, there’s no monster.”

 The water stops. A moment later and Roman emerges, tossing a towel over his shoulder. He sees the two of them in the bed and pouts.

 “You stole my spot!”

 “I had Remus to comfort,” Logan says smoothly, waving him over, “though you are welcome to help.”

 Roman ruffles Remus’s hair. Remus leans into it.

 “Ro, are you real?”

 “Yes, of course, I’m real, Re, what…” Roman trails off and his eyes go wide. “Oh, Re, did we—did I push you into hallucination territory? I’m so sorry, yes, we’re real, we’re here, we’re in our mansion, we’re safe, Re.”

 “Safe?”

 “Yeah, Re,” Roman murmurs, getting in to cuddle his brother properly, “we’re safe.”

 “Real?”

 “This is real.”

 Remus buries his nose in his brother’s real neck and holds him close. Logan stays by his side, stroking his hair and murmuring that Remus is here, they’re real, they’re safe.

 After a moment, Remus takes a deep breath and pulls apart.

 “You know the rules, Ro-Bro.”

 Roman grimaces, his head dropping to rest against Remus’s sternum for a moment before he nods. Logan looks back and forth between the two of them.

 “What are the rules?”

 “When Remus gets pushed into hallucination territory,” Roman says softly, “he sleeps alone.”

 Logan frowns. “But surely it would help to have us reassure you and help ground you?”

 “Wouldn’t help for the intrusive thoughts and hallucinations to include you too.”

 Logan winces. “I suppose not, but—“

 “Lolo we’ve tried,” Remus mumbles, “we—this works. It sucks and I hate it and so does Ro but this is what works.”

 “I trust you,” Logan says, squeezing Remus’s hand, “and I trust you to know what works for you.”

 “We’re just overprotective.”

 “I’ll say.”

 Roman gives him one last hug before standing and pulling Logan to his feet. “You know we’ll come as soon as you call.”

 Remus nods. “I know.”

 The room feels empty when they leave.

 The night passes.

 During the witching hour, he startles awake.

 The sheets are soaked in sweat directly under him. His eyes are wide. His breathing is too controlled.

 The monster is not here but the shadows are.

 Somewhere in this house, he knows, something is here. He can hear the voice in the movement of the curtains, hear the step in the way the floorboard settles. Hands never meet his tender flesh, a mouth never bites his fragile throat, but something is here.

 Step. Step. Step.

 The fear clouds his eyes as it drips into his ears. The light flickers. Something brushes a knuckle up and over his cheek. Something pauses outside his doorway.

 Through the depths of the fear filling his ears, something knocks.

 The chill rips its fingers out of his mouth and smears them over his throat. Something knocks again. There’s something outside. There’s something outside.

 “Sweetie,” he calls as he opens the door, “Sweetie?”

 Janus steps inside.

 “You’re awake,” he says, shutting the door and sitting on the edge of the bed, “it’s quite late.”

 “I know,” Remus says as he sits up, wary, “sorry.”

 Janus hums, reaching out to idly brush his hair off his forehead. The chill curls and lingers around his fingers, the shadows diving to hide in the lea of him, greedily drinking the fear from Remus. Janus goes to pull his hand away only to notice the prickles on Remus’s skin.

 “Are you cold, my dear?” He frowns and lightly dusts his forearm with his fingertips. “You look it.”

 Remus shakes his head. Janus raises an eyebrow, pressing his thumb hard against his arm to reveal a white imprint. It takes long seconds for the chill to let blood color the flesh again.

 “Let’s not lie,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking back up to catch Remus’s, “shall we, sweetie?”

 Janus reaches up to trace the air around the curve of his cheek, one finger lightly tracing his jaw. The electrifying tingle clenches his hands in the sheet. He tilts his head and hums softly.

 “What’s keeping you awake, sweetie?”

 The chill snarls, refusing to let go of his throat.

 “You can speak,” he encourages, lightly knuckling the underside of his chin, “it’s alright.”

 “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head a little.

 “None of that, now, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He closes his hand around his. “To be afraid is nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie, you know that.”

 The shadows move slowly, wary of him, eager to taste his fear. The chill huddles around it, icing it in place, refusing to let him breathe without reaching its fingers into the pit of his throat.

 “Oh, my dear,” Janus murmurs, running his fingers along the side of Remus’s neck, “can I do anything for you?”

 He shakes his head quickly. Too quickly.

 “Sweetie…”

 “You’ll be annoyed.”

 “I’m concerned,” Janus corrects gently, “that’s all.”

 Remus risks a glance at the shadows.

 “And you know, Remus,” he continues, lifting his hand to press a chaste kiss to its back, “taking care of you is never annoying.”

 A different type of fear tingles along his fingers as they brush the curve of his jaw. This one reaches deep, deep along his fingers, up his arm, down to the curve of his shoulder, wriggling in between the cold knots to pulse against him. The shadows bloom in the corners of the room, shying away from the light flickering over his face, his shirt, his hand.

 Through the mouthful of fear, his tongue wets his lips. “You’ll find it stupid.”

 “Never, sweetie.”

 “The dark,” blurts shamefully from his mouth, “I’m afraid of the dark.”

 “The dark, sweetie? Is this about…”

 “I got pushed into hallucination territory earlier.”

 Janus makes a noise of sympathy, murmuring an apology for teasing earlier.

 “I can’t see anything but the shadows,” Remus whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, “and the noises, and how empty it is because I know it’s not empty.”

 “And what helps this go away,” he asks, still cupping his hand, “what makes the shadows leave my sweetie alone?”

 “S-stay? Please, with—with me?” Remus’s breath starts to catch again. “Don’t—don’t let them hurt me.”

 “Oh, sweetie, of course,” Janus murmurs, ���of course I’ll stay.”

 The poor thing chokes out a sob. Janus reaches forward to lie him back down when his hand brushes the edge of the sheet. He frowns. Picking the sheet up between two fingers, he winces. He can feel his fingertips rubbing together, it’s barely warm enough.

 Remus’s breath still hasn’t caught when he returns with a thick quilt, spreading it over him to banish the last of the chill.

 “Hush now,” he soothes, smoothing the corners of the quilt, “hush, sweetie, it’s over, you did so well, shh…”

 Janus climbs into bed, pulling the shaking Remus to his chest, his arms wrapping tightly, tightly around the poor thing as he cradles Remus protectively.

 “Come here, my sweet,” he whispers, “come here, now, shh, shh, you’re alright now, sweetie, shh, shh…”

 His cries soften, gentled into mewls against his chest as he warms him against his skin. The poor thing is still clenched tighter than a fist. He croons, taking his wrist in his hand and pulling him flush against him.

 “It’s alright, sweetie, you did so well, it’s gone now, you did it, there you are, here you are, right here, sweetie.”

 The poor thing whines.

 “Oh, sweet one, shh, shh, shh, my dear, you’re alright…” He makes a noise of sympathy when he doesn’t stop. “What’s the matter, sweetie, tell me, say it, come now…”

 He brings his hand up to stroke gently under Remus’s chin.

 “Say it, sweetie, tell me what’s troubling you so, let me help, I’m right here, I’m right here.”

 “The shadows,” he whimpers, “the shadows, I can—I can hear them, they—they’re everywhere—I—they’re looking at me, they’re touching me, I can—I can feel them—I—“

 “I’ve got you, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, pressing a kiss to Remus’s cheek, “I’m right here, nothing can touch you, here—“

 He pulls the blankets up and over their heads, creating a little bubble of intimacy in the dark room.

 “I’m here, sweetie, it’s just me, I won’t hurt you, you know I won’t. Shh, shh, hush now, sweetie, it’s alright.”

 They stay like that for a little longer, Remus sobbing out the rest of the fear as Janus hushes him softly, pulls him close, soothes away the last of the tremors with gentle hands and tender words.

 After a while, Remus pulls away.

 “…thanks, Jan.”

 “I promised,” Janus murmurs, “I promised that I’d do it when you need me to.”

 “I know.” Remus sniffles. “I just…wish you didn’t have to.”

 “Don’t ever feel bad about needing something,” Janus chides softly, chucking him lightly under the chin, “especially not when you really need it.”

 “Already sent Lolo and Ro away for hallucinations, you—“

 “They’re fine, sweetie, a little worried, but they came and told me what was happening.” Janus kisses his forehead again. “They’re not angry, they don’t begrudge you needing things, and they’ll be here for you. They always are.”

 “I know.”

 Exhaustion begins to seep into his eyes. He blinks sluggishly.

 “This is real, right?”

 Janus gives him a squeeze. “It’s real.”

 “Can I sleep now?”

 “Oh, of course, sweetie,” he murmurs, leaning back up to rest his head on the pillow next to Remus, “you go right ahead. I’ll be right here. I’ll keep the shadows away.”

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[shadowsong26x]

On the subject of Korkie Kryze...

Inspired by a post I saw elsewhere when I checked tumblr on my phone earlier this afternoon.

Anyway, I don’t want to wait to get my thoughts out til I backtrack there now that I’m on my laptop where I can actively tumblr, (also don’t want to take the thread off on a wild tangent), but I do have some (many) Thoughts on the subject so I figured I’d make my own post!

Behind a cut because we all know I like to ramble sometimes...

So, I do actually subscribe to the headcanon/fanon that he is Obi-Wan and Satine’s biological son. I think it makes sense; I think the political fiction of her being his nephew makes a lot of sense; I think he resembles Obi-Wan a fair amount, both physically and in terms of personality, so I like the idea. But I’m...not actually all that interested in the Obi-Wan Has A Kid part of it?

(...I mean, apart from as a means to get to Rey Kenobi, which remains my favorite theory but that is an entirely separate conversation.)

Like...all right, especially at the point where we meet Korkie, I don’t think either of them is really interested in a relationship with the other of the father-son variety (which I think came up in the post I’m thinking of). They have their own lives, which are separate, and neither of them really needs/wants this.

(...that being said, I’m pretty sure Korkie did have a few Moments in the way that all teenagers who are fighting with their parents do, especially when they know there is at least one potential parent who is Not In The Picture whether through adoption or divorce or w/e, where he Thought About It, whether or not he knows who his actual biodad is (though I think he does). But not in any, like, serious way.)

Now, if Obi-Wan and Satine actually got back together, it would of course be a Thing, but I honestly don’t see that happening without further action from some external forces/further encouragement of some kind. That ship, so to speak, has sailed. While they still love each other and always will, that time in their lives has passed. A part of them will probably always wonder what might have been, but they have their separate lives, and can’t go back to where they were fifteen-plus years ago.

But as for Obi-Wan and Korkie--I think there would be that moment of awkward “here is this person I have a biological connection to, but not an emotional one. What does he want/expect from me?” And then they will both be very relieved when they find out neither of them really feels or wants the parent-child bond. (And then they’d probably be friends because they would be, and given the generation divide/age gap there might be something of that dynamic? But it wouldn’t be super pronounced/on the level of found-family/etc. If that makes sense?)

Okay, to be fair, I am kind of interested in it in that sense--Star Wars deals a lot with adopted and biological family, and what each of them means. But there hasn’t, to my knowledge, really been a dynamic like this--where the bioparents and biokids are alive and connect/known to one another somehow, but don’t...really have that kind of bond? They’re certainly not indifferent to each other, in part because they both love the person who connects them very much (though obviously in different ways), but it’s not...you know what I mean? Where the bioparents don’t matter as parents, even if they matter as individuals.

But beyond the sort of concepty part of it, I’m not actually super interested in that story. I’ll admit, I have toyed with the idea of using the contrast with the biological-but-not-emotional connection as fuel for a Eureka Moment about a found family/actual emotional bond, but that’s about it.

And now, having spent quite a bit of time on the part that I’m less invested in, lol...

What I’m really interested in? Is the other end of this thread. I.e., not Obi-Wan as Korkie’s father, but Satine as Korkie’s mother.

And, even more, how Bo-Katan and their relationship plays into all this.

Because, look. Barring the existence of a third unknown Kryze sibling (which is certainly an interesting story in and of itself and God knows I love me my OCs...)

...anyway, barring that, Bo-Katan is Korkie’s legal/actual--if not necessarily biological--mother.

Don’t get me wrong, Bo-Katan as biomom is also a really interesting idea! In terms of...as Korkie starts drifting closer to Satine’s politics, how Bo handles that, why she chooses to leave him behind when she and her sister have their final falling out and she leaves for Death Watch...plus, the question of who Korkie’s father would be. Someone we know (Pre Visla? Please no. Fenn Rau? ...interesting...)? Someone we don’t?

But let’s talk about Satine as biomom, and Bo-Katan having adopted/claimed him. And what that means for their relationship--both at the time when they make this choice, and when they have their aforementioned falling out.

Look, we don’t know a whole heck of a lot about where Bo was during this whole year, other than not with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and Satine (because Obi-Wan clearly doesn’t recognize her except through context/that is pretty obviously a first meeting). We can also assume that, much like Satine’s experience on the run during this civil war situation, Bo’s experiences,whatever they were, profoundly shaped her and her politics as an adult woman.

But all that comes later. In the short term, after it’s over, they reunite. Satine is pregnant, and for a variety of personal and political reasons, she cannot openly have/claim this child. Her throne, while more or less secure now, is not necessarily stable. Plus, she has massive reforms planned. She can’t afford a Scandal right out of the gate.

And the personal reasons are just as strong--if Obi-Wan came back to her, she would be thrilled. (She can’t ask him to give everything up for her, but if he chose it himself she would accept in a heartbeat.) But if he came back out of a sense of obligation to her and to their child...no. No, she can’t let that happen. That would be very very bad for all three of them.

On the other hand--again, political and personal motivations for wanting this child to exist.

So, Satine asks, and Bo-Katan takes the child. Claims him as her own. She agrees to this, and why? What goes into this decision? Is she protecting her sister? Protecting the child? The future of Mandalore? Does she simply want a child herself?

And then, after the decision is made--what is her relationship with her son like? What is Satine’s, especially after Bo leaves? At what point, if ever, do they tell Korkie about any/all of this? Plus, all the above about Bo’s decision to leave him behind when she breaks away still applies because she’s the mom who raised him.

HELLO IS THAT A STORY I’M INTERESTED IN.

Give me all of the Kryze girls and their complicated relationship. The politics and war and trauma that first bind them and then drive them apart. This boy who, whichever of them is the biomom, in a sense has both of them for mothers.

What kind of man does he grow into, assuming he survives Maul/Death Watch’s takeover?

(note: whatever confirmation we do or don’t get about Korkie’s parentage, I would like confirmation one way or the other on that...)

And that’s not even getting into what this would say decades later, when Bo turns up in Rebels. Whether or not Korkie is still alive at that point.

...yeah, for those of you who also follow my writing tumblr, a lot of this would be the plot of the first huge chunk of Our Faces Like a Mirror so I’ve been thinking about it A Lot. It’s been kicking around in my head for a while, but pushed into overdrive the last couple days, lol...

(also anyone who can guess the reference in the working title gets a cookie. virtual cookie. fic prompt? something.)

So yeah. Those are my thoughts on Korkie as Obi-Wan’s son. I like the idea, I think it’s plausible, even likely, Bo and Satine, guys.

...idk, what are your thoughts?

[mystrangebooks13]

Writing Lessons I Learned The Hard Way #1: Higher Word Count Does Not Automatically Equal Better Content

In general, people seem to be a little obsessed with word counts/page counts, when I was younger I remember how my freinds used to boast about reading books that had four hundred pages, five hundred pages, six, seven, eight... and they wore it as badges of honor, some teachers insisted that their students only read books with a minimum of X pages- especially for reports, and it always felt like the longer the book, the better the content

That mindset didn't change when I started reading fanfiction

For as long as I've been in fandom (13 years at the current moment) I've seen the same behavior, but with word count rather than page count, now please don't get me wrong, I know WHY reading longer work makes people feel accomplished and that is DEFINITELY not a bad thing, but I've noticed something the longer I spend both as a reader and a writer...

Longer word counts can sometimes be more trouble than they're worth

Both from a writing and a reading standpoint

From a reading standpoint, I have limited time to read, and limited patience to read things on a computer screen, over the years I've found it alot more gratifying to read something short that I enjoy and alot less upsetting to read something short that I don't enjoy than I do to invest hours or even an entire day in something that I only feel lukewarm to or, worse, that I end up disliking or completely hating by the ending, my reading time is valuable and I’d prefer a quick hit of something good than a slowburn of something less favorable, but from a writer's standpoint, I've found the word count thing to be a much deeper issue

I've only ever used a word counter a couple of times, and that was always for kitten related motivation rather than meeting an actual goal, I don't have a word counter on notepad (the program I use) and I've slowly started to count that as a blessing, I do, however, measure my work by file size (15KB, 59KB, 148KB, etc) and in it's own way it's similar, it's a unit of measurement, regardless

I've found that word counters are particularly a dangerous tool for me, as I have number-related OCD and so landing on a number I find unfavorable can be... frustrating, I found, when using a word counter to write, that I would go back and change my work just to have a word count number I found satisfying (IE: If I had 3,838 words I'd have to find some way to plug in two more words just to get 3,840, on the worse accounts, if I had 5,878 words, I'd go the long way around and try to fit in an extra 122, and so on and so forth) This could often ruin something I really liked in a story just to make the words fit, a line I liked but felt the need to change, adding in a detail I didn't feel was necessary, drawing out a scene past it's prime, etc, it was... upsetting

So word counters, for that reason alone, are not my freinds, but the thing is, any unit of measurement- no matter what kind- cannot determine the quality of work, and sometimes, shorter is actually necessary

One of the reservations I've always had about getting published was worrying that I could never write anything long enough to be an actual book, I always related "published books" to being 400+ pages even though I am very aware of the fact that there are plenty of books that aren't nearly so long- hell, I tend to read shorter ones myself, just out of personal taste, and anyone who reads my books will know that I don't tend to make any one particular story all that long, but what I didn't know until I started putting out longer books- bigger anthologies, with longer stories- is that bigger word counts can actually hurt a writer, rather than help

Price, as I found out a few years ago, is determined by page count, that means that smaller books are cheaper, and although that may not sound revolutionary, you'd be surprised at just how much an extra twenty or thirty pages- or even extra five or six pages- can make the price jump up

From a business perspective, I have to be wary of high prices, books are expensive, generally speaking, and though alot of readers don't mind paying an extra two dollars or three dollars for a book they really want, some do, and most people are on a budget, atleast in some manner, some people can't afford bigger books even if they want them, and even from my personal perspective, as I use hybrid publishing, I have to pay 50% of the cost of my books to get inventory, meaning that the more expensive the book, the more I ultimately have to pay as well

This is actually why my books are published in sets of two, back when I put out the first set of Faerytales, it was originally going to be one book of 100, but my publisher told me that the price for that would be astronomical, so I had to split it in two just to maintain a decent retail price

The first set of Faerytales are one of my shorter sets of adult books

Even with that, I still always have had the mindset of longer = better, the bigger the number on my computer screen, the more proud of something I can be, and the shorter something is, the less it's worth, that's not a good mindset to have, not only is it flat-out wrong (most of my favorite books and fanfictions are incredibly short) but it's also somewhat dangerous to me as a published writer

My upcoming books, The Book Of Alice, volumes 1 and 2, will be the largest and most expensive books I've published to date, and although I'm incredibly happy with the stories I wrote, although I wouldn't shorten any of them if given the chance, I do reflect now on when I was writing them, how I would tweak things here and there to make some stories longer, and how I would instantly favor longer stories over shorter ones, and how that probably wasn't my best move, I wish I had known then what I know now and maybe taken a chill pill on the length of some of them, maybe without feeling obligated to make certain stories a certain length, I could have gotten the same result in smaller form, and thus, a cheaper price

Even so, there's another completely different facet to this, and that concerns fanfiction, namely, that in my experience, the longer something is, the less likely people are to read it

I have a range of word counts in fanfiction, from about a thousand words to over sixty-thousand at my longest, and though it's important to note that my longer works were usually passion projects that I did for myself, not expecting many readers, it always surprises me just how enormous the difference is in reader volume for my short, "Wrote this in two hours" ficlets versus my enormous "This took me three months" novels, and something I learned about those aforementioned novels is that, although they were, again, passion projects done for my own enjoyment, I stopped being passionate when I started trying to make them longer, and it didn't improve my reader count like I always thought it would

Last year for Sterek Week, after pumping out three beastly long fics and seeing that my ideas for the other four would also be fairly lengthy, I decided to experiment, to try making everything no less than 15,000 words and it nearly killed me, not only because writing four 15+K fics in about two weeks (the time I had left after the first three) was INSANE, but also because I often found myself really dissatisfied with the end product, ideas I had been really happy with early on had turned into mountains of frustration because they wanted to end early or because I added too much and was taking too long to finish them, and although I've gotten great response from the people who read them, I honestly don't think I would have gotten less readers if I had made them a few thousand words shorter- in fact, I may have gotten more

I've been frustrated for the last few months over my inability to really work on some of the longer projects I've wanted to do, in large part because the sheer size has been putting me off, so I've procrastinated here and procrastinated there and I'm left feeling very... bleh about alot of it, this year for Sterek Week my projects are going to be alot shorter and in complete honesty, some of them are going to be REALLY short, I've been upset with myself over that for a wile now but it's time for me to stop feeling that way

I started a 31 Days Of Halloween challenge this year in addition to my annual week long werewolf party, and I'm pretty sure none of the fics I've done so far have exceeded 6K, wich is fine, I actually expected going into this that nothing would go over 2K (to be honest, I've always had a problem with underestimating how many words go into even my simplest ideas) so I'm impressed with myself more than annoyed, and it got me wondering.... why am I ok with- even impressed with- doing short things here, but not in other aspects? Why do I keep obsessing over long = better when I know that isn't necessarily true, when I know that I don't get more readers for longer things (in fact, I usually get less) and when I personally have never cared about the word counts or page counts of what I read?

I've found myself many times sticking to my guns with people about my preference for reading shorter things, so why am I so less likely to stick to my guns about writing shorter things?

I've always been someone who believes in letting your muses guide your writing, letting them make the decisions, and that means letting them decide how long or short something is going to be, they decide where to end it, and I don't ever want to go against that, I know not all writers think this way and that's more than fine, but my personal style has always been to let nature take it's course, I'm just a vessel along for the ride, the muses steer the cart, I've never believed in pushing them to tell a part of the story they don't want to tell and when I try to push word counts for the sole sake of pushing word counts that's exactly what happens

It's time for me to stop letting myself worry about numbers (atleast, in this form) and just do what I've always done- let my writing start and stop where it wants, and be as long or short as it wants, without trying to be Extra about it (literally) and without feeling bad for not having a high number

This obviously doesn't mean that I'm going to stop writing long things- like I said, the crazies run this circus, I'm just a vessel, and there are more times than I can count that I've had a small word count in mind and six hours later I'm staring at a novella ready to scream into the void from being exhausted, but it does mean that I'm going to stop trying to push things that don't want to be pushed- and stop punishing myself for things that don't matter

My readers may not notice a difference, but I think I will, and that makes me happy

As a note, before people start flaming me, things like Big Bang challenges, NaNoWriMo, writing marathons, and other word-count dependent challenges, are not bad things, and if YOU like them and are motivated by them, then that's GREAT, I've actually written for Big Bangs a couple of times before, they weren't my cup of tea (surprisingly for reasons that don't involve word count and reasons I'd prefer not to get into on my professional site) but I know plenty of people who enjoy them and I'm happy that some people find them motivating, so this is in no way trying to bash them

I wanted to write this, though, because I know alot of writers feel very obligated to make their stories long, to match a specific goal or higher, and there are alot of writers out there who are like me and rather than finding those goals motivating, they find them unnecessarily difficult, not necessarily because they can't reach that count, but sometimes because the story just doesn't call for it, and believe me, there's nothing more frustrating that getting to 18,000 words out of a 20,000 goalpost and then your muse goes "Ok, we're done, we're ending it here, I have nothing else to say" and you have to milk out another 2,000 words of filler

This post is for any writer or reader who doesn't personally enjoy higher word counts or page counts, or who feels pressured to meet them and doesn't necessarily want to

The important thing about writing- AND about reading- is to make yourself happy, and if trying to match a specific goal or trying to read or write something long just for the sake of it being long doesn't make you happy, then you shouldn't feel obligated to do it

I'm going to be alot happier as a writer now that I've made peace with this, and that's what matters in the long run

[parapluiepliant]

Creator 2017 Tag Meme

I was tagged by: @tenthebookworm, @sly2o, @tracylorde, @stardust-blake and @pendragaryen.

Thank you so much, ladies! It's an awesome idea that boosts not only our confidence in our work but hopefully also the knowledge about well-deserving but maybe still overlooked content providers in the fandom. :)

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you’ve created in 2017 (fics, art, edits, etc!) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world. Tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want (fan or original!) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works. <3

In no particular order:

1. Bellamy Blake Modern AU –  Blake returns with new album and band  “Patroclus Perish” (Fake Instagram page plus mini fanfiction):

First of all, I have no Photoshop so all the edits and gifs I do are made from scratch and for some features that are easily done in PS, I have to experiment to get the same effect (or to get it close enough) in my editing software.

That's the reason why this one in particular was pretty fun but also challenging because I wanted to include a video preview (and I also wanted to get the font close to the original). Overall, the edit as well as the mini fanfiction in form of a news article (did I get the tone right as someone who is a learner of English?) were done within a short amount of time because I had this weird creator's rush. You feel the spark and suddenly, you're in a flow and you're eager to finish it. One of the best moods to be honest!

Tumblr messed up the formatting at first which caused the text to disappear, so I had to make a new post. Bad tumblr!

2. Morning Routine (Fanfiction about Baby!Bellamy)

Morning Routine was born pretty much the same way after I had a spark of inspiration. It's also the fanfiction I consider a Parapluiepliant Original and which I consider my very first fanfiction I have ever written (and posted!) because Token , Faith and Foresight, were still inspired by dialogue bits from Lord of the Rings (even though the mix of LotR dialogue bit with Bellarke has some scenes I came up with). And I got some nice comments for that one which is a plus. ;)

The story is basically about Bellamy's father taking care of his son on the Ark before he is called to help out engineers on a routine check up. I really liked how I wrote the ending paragraph and it all came together in the end. It is bittersweet with all its implications, same as the title with its double meaning which only adds to the the feeling when you have finished the story.

3. Exactly how long does it take to tell someone you love them? (Gif Set to one of wellsjahasghost’s 5(+) fic celebration)

This one was inspired by wellsjahasghost‘s 5(+) sentence fics celebration. When I read that specific paragraph for the first time, I was hit pretty hard by all the Bellarke feels, something which only a few have managed so far with their writing. I was immediately struck by the idea of how I'd want to use each sentence.

You could say that I tried to visualize a fanfiction and to get the feeling right, I also played a bit with fonts and colours to indicate memories and text passages in contrast to Bellamy's thoughts.

4. “What if our hearts could be connected like constellations?” (A Bellarke Gif Set using a quote and a folklore about Altair and Vega/Hikoboshi and Orihime)

This is the one I'm really proud of because it is the first gif set where I tried to be a bit more creative. It combines a few thoughts I had here: I used an overlay of the Milky Way to indicate the separation of Bellamy and Clarke similar to Altair and Vega, thus having Altair's star on Bellamy and Vega's on Clarke.

In many stories all over the world, Altair and Vega were lovers separated by the Milkyway. And in Japan, there is a tale that Orihime (literally a weaving princess) and Hikoboshi (literally a star boy), coresponding to Vega and Altair respectively, are only able to meet once a year. Clarke Princess Griffin and Bellamy Starfreckled Blake had to wait 6 years to meet again. So basically their hearts are like stars connected like the constellations aforementioned.

5. The 100 Season 5 Poster Competition

I tried my luck but without any success. However, I'm actually quite proud of it though. Especially, the delinquents in space looking out of the window was challenging as heck (because finding decent pictures of their backs is hard!).

Honorary mention goes to:

> https://parapluiepliant.tumblr.com/post/156548344371/ice-king-baby-i-cannot-believe-that-aaron-and 

(Season 4 Countdown picture of Roan in which I gave him a E-guitar instead of a sword, so he can enter the song-clave to battle them all with his rendition of Ice Ice Baby and which might also be a good idea to get Zach's signature on)

> https://parapluiepliant.tumblr.com/post/162841250346/your-list-was-pragmatic-2x09-remember-me-4x04

(aka the one where I contrasted Clarke's way to tell people that the list was pragmatic and is offended that Jaha implies that other's misundertood it as her telling them they are without value with the famous 'It's worth the risk scene' because Clarke often has that problem to really articulate what she means...WHICH IS WHY SHE TELLS BELLAMY IMPLICITLY THAT SHE THINKS HE'S SPECIAL BY SAYING HIS SISTER WILL COME TO RECOGNIZE IT IN TIME AS WELL. MY HEART!!!!)

> https://parapluiepliant.tumblr.com/post/166082564056/inspired-by-lang-leav-lovers-paradox-from-the 

(really liked how I was able to make the list scene colours look warm but still maintained a bit of the blue light; I also thought that Leav's poem with a little change worked perfectly with some of the communication issues those two idiots in love have)

[btw I never noticed how much edits and text posts I already did! Maybe I'm going to reblog/queue them again because my tags are a mess(TM) and trying to find them all was a hassle...probably missed some due to that too]  

I encourage everyone seeing this to participate, no matter how small or insignificant you think you are. Let's make some noise and have fun! I really like to see some new blogs and boost their creative works, so please tag me in your post and I put it into my queue to keep it going. :)

No pressure tag: @blyedeeks, @thehundredbellarke, @as-inevitable-as-morning and @moonaskingtostay