#and it took FOUR YEARS to edit this goddamn

[lostximagination]

11/8/24

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It was just a few scant months ago that Issac Riley and Anna Kahale met with a literal lightning strike. A lot happened very quickly, and the both of them are still adjusting to the changes in their lives.

Anna has to learn to control her newfound magic, and Issac has to deal with the drastic changes to his life from finding out he was the legendary magical figure known as the Master.

Kevin Anderson is still at large, leaving the both of them in grave danger, especially Issac, as he’s still recovering from his last encounter with the dangerous witch hunter.

This is made much worse as threats from the far past are returning, and quickly… And as the first Master in centuries, it’s on Issac to deal with them, and defeat the returning Darkness before it gets too strong. Can he handle the pressure, even with Anna’s help, or will he crack under the strain, and potentially doom the world with him?

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First book's ebook is free until release day

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Six

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Sorry it took so long. I just haven’t been satisfied with this, but I think I just need to bite the bullet and let it go. I’ve had this in the drafts for a while and have edited it three times.

A/N: I think I might focus on some blurbs. Or, if y’all want, y’all can submit ideas for what Smalltown is gonna be like. I gotta write down a general background for Reader’s childhood there. I have a plan, but wouldn’t mind y’all toss some ideas on to the pile.

A/N: Thank you 🐑 Anon for the happy birthday wishes!

Warning: Kidnapping, Hostage Situation for Reader, Guns, Violence, Death, Yandere Behavior and themes

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

After the initially panic and dread of being kidnapped settles into Reader’s bones, they’re quickly brought to the Iceberg Lounge. Where a Penguin waits to discuss the details of their ransom with them. He’s kidnapped a Wayne or two over the years, but with how well hidden the family has kept their newest member he might as well scope them out and see if he can make a pretty penny from ransoming them. Give them a proper Gotham introduction.

When Penguin finally has Reader he wrongly expects typical Gotham high society behavior. Threats, insult, bargaining, begging, bribing, hell, even crying. But, Reader, even while terrified, keeps being polite. Referring to him as Mr. Penguin, Sir, and saying please and thank you, while doing exactly what they’re told. Honestly, Reader’s more polite and respectful than half his goons and his own goddamn children. Such a damn shame they couldn’t have been his brat.

So he chats with them. Just for a bit.

How does Reader like Gotham? Who’s their favorite bat brat? What’s their favorite food? How much money did your Momma and Daddy leave you? Just friendly get-to-know you questions to help with the nerves. No need to worry. Everyone’s a bit scared during their first kidnapping. But, do they usually live past the first one, sir? Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t ya? You’ll have to be careful with that.

It’s all quite tense for Reader, just sitting in an empty club with a dangerous man. That is, until word comes in that Bruce Wayne is paying the ransom in full. Apparently, it made Gotham headlines. The newest Wayne kidnapped. It’s all over the News, nearly every channel. Yet, Reader notices something. Why don’t they show my face, sir? It’s because this isn’t going to be your last time getting kidnapped. You’re in Gotham, baby bird. We’re all hostages in this city. How sweet of them to try to protect you from it.

It isn’t long after that, when the lounge gets visitor before the ransom money could even be dropped off.

Red Hood.

One of the Bat Brats, as Penguin calls him. His arrival raising Cain. Rubber bullets and real ones flying everywhere. Penguin gets a hold of Reader, rest his umbrella gun to their temple. Come now, Red. Don’t make me blow their pretty little head off. I’m actually fond of this one. Best of the Wayne bunch, in my not-so-humble opinion.

And, in one of the few times since becoming Red Hood, Jason hesitates. Because if he fails, if Reader gets hurt like he did, he’ll probably burn Gotham to the ground. It’s not an option. He can’t, he won’t, and he will not allow it. And, that thought, is at the forefront of his mind as he looks at Reader’s terrified face with a gun pointed at their head.

The pause, however, is noticeable. Not just to Reader, but to Penguin as well. A sign of weakness or a sign of something more foreboding. It last for a brief moment. Then Red Hood is back in action. Only, in that single moment, a decision was made. A dark decision. Something that had been healed and supposedly buried.

Batman had always fostered the importance of preparedness in them. So, of course, Jason had a magazine of live bullets ready to go for an emergency. And, this was a fucking emergency. Who cares about a few goons? And Penguin fucking deserves it.

Bruce will understand this time. How sad is it that he does?

Penguin barely escapes, with only a handful of his men still breathing and a few bullets in his shoulder, but he lives. Along with the information that the newest Wayne brat is precious enough to a Bat Brat to break the no-kill code again. Though, that might in itself become a problem for Gotham. Once again, Gotham will baptized in blood. Only, the sins are still growing under the red water. Perhaps, this time Gotham will drown in it instead.

Jason grabs a shaking and terrified Reader while leaving the lounge filled with bodies. He’ll take care of it later. Right now he needs to get Reader back to the manor, or somewhere anywhere safe. Away from Gotham, away from its criminals, and, most of all, away from him.

For a moment he had been… enraptured when he saw how scared his precious Reader looked with a gun to their head. How they looked at him with such a pitiful pleading expression. The way the shook and quaked. How fucking big their eyes got in fear.

Reader kept looking at him with those same watery fearful eyes. Those shaking fingers. A tremble that they must be all the way down to their bones. Cute. Cute. Cute. Cute. Cute.

He didn’t make it for before he snapped, grabbing Reader’s face to ask what they talked with Penguin about. What did he want from you? Why did you look so friendly with him? Don’t you know he’s a criminal. He’s dangerous. He just wants to see them cower like that again. Just once more.

It takes a long moment for him to calm down and pull himself away from terrifying Reader. Eventually, noticing an oncoming storm and realizing he had better get Reader somewhere safe and back to Bruce so he can go back and clean up the trash.

Jason leaves a throughly shaken and distraught Reader on the GCPD roof. Right next to a lit Bat Signal for a tired Jim Gordan to find.

Jim finds Reader in the storm, mildly despondent from the entire ordeal. After ushering them inside and trying to lightly question them, he makes a call to Bruce that Red Hood had rescued Reader and they the GCPD had them safe. Bruce, naturally , breaks all sorts of traffic laws to get to them when he hears the concerned tone in Jim’s voice.

Reader, exhausted from the days events and shock, falls asleep in one of the spare chairs in the GCPD building. Bruce practically melts in relief when he finds them, picking them up and gently loading them in his car. NOT A DAMN TRUCK. To take them back home. Most of the GCPD find the gesture touching. What a sweet father he is. How lucky Reader is to have such a loving father.

Arriving home, Bruce puts Reader to bed, and makes sure Alfred is on stand by to comfort them and see to their every need. Watch them. Let me know if there’s even the slightest sign of a nightmare.

After taking a moment to let his eyes linger on a sleeping Reader, he heads down into the Batcave. Calling the family together for a meeting.

Stephanie is distraught. It’s her fault Reader got taken, all her fault. She shouldn’t have left them alone. She should have been right there be their side the entire time. At every moment and got every second.

And, Bruce, with deceptively calm yet devastating words, confirms just as much.

Surprisingly, there’s no shouting. No disagreements. Not from Stephanie, and certainly not from any one else. Just the cold realization that it was her fault Reader was nearly hurt and the solemn acceptance of it. They were supposed to have a chance to get close. Stephane won’t ever let it happen again. She’ll always be close from now on. In every way she can. Even if she’s not worthy.

Jason having gone back to clean up his mess before reporting back to Bruce and the others had more startling news. No one mentions a thing when they see the blood on him. Nor the empty magazines. Nor that familiar look in his eyes that reminds them of when he first came back. Someone had torched the Iceberg Lounge before he got back. Penguin is still running free, but the lounge is up in fire and smoke.

He did manage to see a figure leaving when he finally saw past the flames.

A Talon.

The Court of the Owls was active once more.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

With the whole Kidnapping thing and the Court being active again despite its previous destruction, Reader’s life went on completely lockdown. They aren’t allowed to go into Gotham at all. Not that they wanted to. The only reason Bruce didn’t just unenrolled them from Gotham Academy is because Damian, Cassandra, and Duke vow to watch them closely and report everything back to him.

Alfred, from then on, drives them all to and from school. Leading to quiet, bordering awkward, mornings and afternoons.

After the whole ordeal with Penguin and Red Hood, Reader is ninety percent certain the family is Gotham’s Bat vigilantes. Mainly due to the fact that Red Hood reminded Reader eerily of how Jason acted to be around them. Luckily, he barely managed to hold himself back. But, it was clear, enjoyed their fear and wanted to scare them. The whole situation resulted in Reader’s momentarily loss of control.

It also didn’t help that everyone seemed to disappear now.

Sure, Reader rides to school with Cassandra and Duke everyday. Damian is also there, but he just silently watches them with those poisonous green eyes of his. The three of them now hovering in the distance down the back of Reader’s neck. Nevertheless, as soon as they were all back in the Manor, the place becomes like a ghosttown. Even Alfred disappears for hours on end now.

Reader rightful assumes it’s more Bat work. But, there’s no one there to talk about how the incident made them feel. To help them verbally process the ordeal. It hurts.

What hurt the most, however, was Stephanie avoiding them.

Now, if Stephanie had just given them even an empty excuse and left the room it probably wouldn’t have hurt so much. But, to watch the blood drain from Stephanie’s face at the sight of Reader and then physically run away from them was offensive and down right painful.

Then there’s the additional fact that, coincidentally, Jason starts showing back up at the manor. Undoubtedly, helping the others with whatever they’re doing in the library. But, Reader sees him as more often as they pace the empty halls of the manor. And, that hysterical gleam in his eyes reminds them of that night they were rescued.

Tim has been like a ghost since the beginning of Reader’s stay. Every time Reader seems to make progress befriending him, he disappears. Only to reappear and act like nothing happened. Unnaturally, he acts like they’re somehow even closer than before. Each and every time. Like he’s never let Reader alone. Ever. Like he’s always been there watching. And, then he disappears, again and again. Only staying for brief moments.

Barbara is just a thought in Reader’s mind. Reader has seen more of Jim Gordon, her father, than Barbara in the recent weeks.

Mr. Gordon had been wanting to check in on them after the incident and ask them a few questions on what happened that night at the Iceberg Lounge. He was quite gentle in his interrogation, if you could call it that. Barbara had told him Reader wasn’t used to Gotham’s madness and must be treated gently.

Not to say Barbara isn’t checking on Reader. Tim’s not the only on constantly checking the manor cameras as Reader paces.

Dick was like a stray wind. Blowing through the manor, knocking Reader over with the shower of affection then disappearing again. To the library. To Buldhaven. To the ends of the world and back for all they knew. Unfortunately, Reader was growing desperate for any sense of comfort and would cling to him when he came. You have no idea how happy that made him. It was so cute how sad Reader was when he left now. How nice it felt to be needed.

Bruce was different, though. After the incident, he somehow managed to find a way to suffocate Reader with his presence without even being in it for long. Appearing at random to just watch them before disappearing again. Nothing was ever said. He just watched them then vanished.

Reader dreads having to bring up the whole incident with Penguin and Red Hood to Nana. They don’t want to cause anyone back home to worry. Besides, it’ll just remind everyone about that incident a few years back. The one that Reader does everything to forget about. The incident that would probably change a few things for better or for worse. For the family and for Gotham.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Yeah, Penguin lives. But, for a reason. Don’t get mad, please. (I did research and found out he was basically Yandere for his mother and killed his father and brothers to have all her attention for himself. And, he has children. 👀)

A/N: Also, reader’s getting some mild tragic backstory. It’s the DC universe. Everything’s gotta have a bit of bitterness. It’s all for the plot.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Taglist:

@starsdotalk @sleepyghoster @maicenitas @box-of-kinderjoy @yandereheros @skwunkler @cl0esblogg @delias-stuff @rosecentury

[undead-supernova]

Brutal! / Masterlist / 18+

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 - tbc

Playlist

pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

plot: it's all fun and games, all soft kisses and gentle words until the past is revealed and new perspectives are learned

contains: talks about past sexual trauma, eddie reliving trauma, confident!reader

note: this chapter is different than the others and it is on purpose. when we erase the stories and feelings of victims, we erase the possibility of recovery and healing. especially those of us who are forgotten amongst recognition.

please do not read this part if the subject of sexual assault is triggering for you

song inspo: Seven by Phinehas

wc: 4.1k

special thanks to @jo-harrington for helping to edit and @littlexdeaths for your lovely divider. i appreciate you both for being so encouraging and lovely friends

You didn’t want to admit that what happened at the party had upset you.

Well, not the part where Eddie made you cum. That had been heavenly—euphoric. It couldn’t even be considered a state of bliss. It was more like an inferno, the lascivious flames pulling you further and further into the blaze.

But there were his words in your head again, the ones hurled at you before he realized his mistake.

Are you using me?

If we even fuck, is that it?

Will the chase be over for you?  

The water rushed down your neck, the steam billowing throughout the tiny bathroom as you turned up the heat again. You had to let it scorch your skin, had to let the sting pull you back down to a state of normalcy.

There was a memory that you dared not touch from freshman year. One that still crept up every now and then, in half-asleep states and furious daylight. A growling beast, one with a four-letter name and a specified interest in IPAs as if he was the Christopher Goddamn Columbus of beer. 

You shut your eyes, convinced that his hands were pressing in on the grimy tile behind you, stretching the wall to tear the veil and grab you. Like that one scene in A Nightmare on Elm Street, he was always trying to split you in two.

Further and further he pushed, so close to gripping your throat. So close to suffocating you once more and pulling you back down to the shadows. 

Knock, knock.

You gasped, jumping back and almost slipping before steadying yourself.        

“Hey, Eddie’s here!” Aron called from behind the door.

  “Okay!” you shouted back.

You placed a hand on your chest to still your thrumming heart before you really processed her words. Letting out a scoff at your own absentmindedness, you shouted, “Be out in a minute!”

Maybe you always felt like you were being split in two, now more than ever. Having these emotions that you’d pushed down for the sake of survival. Changing yourself to fit the way you wanted others to see you. That mask, all gnarly and scary just to prove to yourself more than anyone that you were no longer the fool.

It made you wonder if you’d been putting this mask on for Eddie. But things would be better with him. 

They always were.

It started with midterm study time, you swear. You really tried, pulling up a three hour long video of Cozy Fall Oldies Muffled In Another Room Next to a Fireplace While it Rains to help keep both you and Eddie focused. Going back and forth, you took turns helping the other with flashcards. While you were honing in on 20th Century Lit, he was groaning through his Algebra I equations. 

Within twenty minutes, Eddie decided it would be more motivating if you gave him a kiss every time he got the equation right. 

Though you rolled your eyes, you indulged him. Whatever got him to study.

“What happens if I get an answer right?” you asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“That’s up to you,” he replied with a shrug, looking back down at his TI-84 calculator. But you noticed the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips as he quickly glanced back up at you. “We could always play Strip Study.”

“‘Strip Study’, huh?” you teased.

“Yeah, it’s a good game. Very helpful in trying times.”

“And what are the rules to this so-called Strip Study?”

“Well…” he trailed, setting the calculator down before shifting closer to you on your twin-sized bed. Counterintuitive to the point of your study date, Eddie pushed aside your textbook and came to hover over you. You refused to move, challenging him with your faux expression of disappointment. It was impressive, seeing him this forward. Above all else, however, you were quite amused.

“If you answer correctly,” he started, slowly pushing you down into the mattress. “then you’ll just have to take off a piece of clothing.”

You snorted, shaking your head at him. He mocked you, shaking his head right back, tickling you with his curls. “And that’s supposed to be for my enjoyment?” you pondered.

Eddie leaned down, taking the opportunity to leave a kiss on your neck. You could’ve sworn you heard him take a deep breath, like he was desperately inhaling your scent. There was a part of you that wished to do the same.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll take off a piece of clothing. How does that sound?”

“Hm,” you hummed as your fingers traced his collarbone before you pushed him back. He shivered as you crawled on top of him, his dominance cracking in an instant. Without thought, you grabbed his wrist before bringing it up to your mouth. You closed your eyes momentarily to breathe in his cologne, his being. You made sure to meet his eyes as you lightly bit down on his skin.

He was opening his mouth to fill the silence, but you quickly leaned down, gently ghosting your lips against his before whispering, “Not a chance.”

Immediately you sat up and scooted away, grabbing your textbook before he could retaliate. 

He laid there for a moment, a heavy sigh leaving his lips before sitting back up and giving you a look. Was it annoyance? Disappointment? Who could say. 

“You really hate me, don’t you?”

Shrugging, you felt around for your TV remote before turning up the music. “I hate the thought of you failing your Algebra midterm because I gave you a free peep show.”

When you looked back at him, he finally wore a grin. “It would be a metal way to go.”

“Well, maybe if you pass your midterm I’ll let you have a look,” you challenged.

You were amazed when that is what got him to shut up and get back to work.

After a few hours of real studying, Eddie dramatically collapsed on top of you, burying his face into your sweatshirt. He planted a swift kiss over your belly before sighing.

“Okay. Nap time.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle. “I think you earned it.”

“I think that’s the longest I’ve ever studied.”

You peered down, watching his mahogany eyes soften, drooping ever so slightly. Without thought, you ran your middle finger across the stray hairs of his now too-long bangs to keep away from his eyes. You pocketed the thought to trim them for him.

“I’m proud of you,” you said quietly. And you meant it. 

Though his words had stung, he’d done nothing but apologize for them. You’d had several conversations with him owning up to his mistakes and asking you those questions he hadn’t thought to before. You told him about Sam, about Blake and John and Meghan and Maggie—all of which got a little too close for comfort. Those were the ones who’d actually given you their names, had made it a point to introduce themselves before their hands wandered. Before they called you a slut and walked away.

He’d listened the entire time, nodding while trying to hide his frustration. You knew he’d do anything to avenge you—he said as much before you’d shushed him with kisses. Kisses that promised that he was forgiven. That you were thankful for his efforts. That you were starting to fall desperately in love with him.

There was just one other instance you hadn’t divulged yet. 

“Yeah?” he asked.

But that could come later. Much later.

You nodded. “Yeah.” Eddie let out a soft hum. “Get some sleep.”

For now, you focused on the way Eddie’s eyelids shut and the gentle smile on his lips loosen. For now, you focused on someone who you couldn’t quite admit was the most important person in your life.

As Eddie fell into his half-asleep daze, he could vaguely picture a certain kind of monster. One who slips into dreams, coating the edges of the scene with a fuzzy filter. Not Freddy Krueger, per se. One with a better grip on how to lure men to their deaths. Maybe like a siren, with jagged teeth and turquoise eyes that brought sailors to their knees along rocky shorelines and brutal seas. 

But what happens to a man when he is less than interested in their attempt at temptation?

Eddie, as steady as his breathing was, began to descend into some dream that felt like a memory inside an alternate reality—could the two coexist? Because there his van was, parked on a beach. The air was thick with salt, digging into his forearms like thousands of tiny push pins scraping along the first few layers of skin. He had enough sense to wait in the back of the vehicle. Waiting for what, he could hardly remember. Waiting for who, well…

The moment the recollection stirred, there was a pounding on the back doors. 

“Munson, come on!”

When he looked out the window, he saw Charlotte Stevens. She was a regular, scoring weed here and there when she ended up fighting with her aunt and uncle. He only knew because her parents died in a car wreck only a month after her senior year—Eddie’s second—began. He let her yap off to him about her problems whenever she came by. Some of his “clients” were chatty, growing quiet over time when Eddie told them to go see a different therapist and slammed the door on them. 

But it was Charlotte.

She was lonely. Heartbroken. Sure, she was part of the popular crowd, but he knew better after his few interactions with Chrissy Cunningham. A lot of those girls did what they had to in order to survive. It didn’t make them a villain. He really thought Charlotte was the same way. He cut her some slack, watching the light in her eyes wither and die. Saw how the school year thinned out her dirty blonde hair, living off of half-eaten salads in the cafeteria. 

After all, he was heading off to college soon without his close friends. Who didn’t need a near-stranger to lean on?

“You’re late,” he said as soon as the door swung open. 

He wasn’t prepared for the sunlight pouring in, eyes catching on the sight of pavement and grass. Were they no longer at the beach? Where were they?

And why did it feel so…familiar? Like that day behind The Hideout. It was where she usually met him, feeling too paranoid to do it literally anywhere else. He could vaguely see the rutty door to the bar behind her. His refuge. His escape.

Charlotte huffed, her white tank top clinging to her body while sweat dripped down to her cut-off jean shorts. “As if you have anything else going on.”

“Do you want your weed or not?” he snapped. 

“Geez, what’s gotten into you?” she asked as she sat opposite him. Eddie made sure their knees didn’t touch. 

He wasn’t one to make connections with these people. The less he knew, the better. Even with someone he took pity on. Because, believe it or not, tragedy never truly made someone nicer. He’d seen enough damage done to the redhead that lived across from him. After her brother died, she changed everything. And she was definitely no longer interested in casual conversations without an insult or two thrown in.

Needless to say, he knew when to leave well enough alone.

“Do you care?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not really.”

Exactly.

“Okay, well, it’s fifty even,” he said absentmindedly, trying to locate his metal box. 

“Maybe I could pay a different way.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked back up at her. Of course she’d try to cheat the system now. “Trust me, Stevens,” he said. “There’s nothing I need more than money right now.”

And when she put her hand over his, he realized just what she was proposing. 

“Are you sure about that?”

Eddie pulled his hand away. “Uh, yeah.”

“Come on, Eddie.”

Something evil twisted in his gut at the sound of her saying his name for the first time. 

“Hate to sound like a douche, but I’m not interested in you. So, yeah, nice try. I’ll take that fifty bucks. Now.”

She moved suddenly, quick to pounce as she threw her hands on either side of his head, caging him in. Like he hadn’t said a word. Like he was prey.

Charlotte was a siren; he was sure of it. Waiting for him to slip, to give in to some desire that was nothing but an unlikely daydream. Her breath fanned over his cheek, invading his nostrils with the scent of her spearmint. Those teeth, smacking gum as she promised that it would be worth his while. Pinning his hands to his sides as he suggested again that she just pay him and leave. But Charlotte couldn’t take no for an answer, straddling him instead.

“I’ve always wanted to see what the freak felt like.”

That’s when Eddie wondered: what if these sirens didn’t even have tails, had nothing to do with what lied undiscovered and unencumbered by the rules of mythology? What if that was what made them lethal?

“That’s fucking weird,” he replied through his teeth.

“You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to fuck one of the popular girls. I saw you looking at Chrissy with googly eyes all year.”

He had. He didn’t feel ashamed of that. Back then, he didn’t feel ashamed of much at all. Especially when he was finally escaping this town. Who cared who he did and didn’t fawn over now that he was searching for new faces?

“And you think you’re Chrissy? That’s fucking hilarious, Stevens. Funniest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard,” he growled, fighting against her grasp again. Instead, she moved her hips against him, trying to get him hard. 

But it wasn’t working. Eddie was far from aroused. If anything, he felt like he was going to puke. Maybe if he conjured enough willpower, he’d be able to spew all over Charlotte and get her to leave him the fuck alone forever.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m better.” 

Just as her hands reached for his belt, there was a pounding against the van. It was so violent, so powerful that the car began to shake. Eddie could’ve sworn they were going to flip before the rumbling stopped and the back doors ripped off their hinges. 

Standing there, in a thin black dress littered with glitter and stars, was you. The ends of your nails were sharpened into charcoal claws, one hand wrapped around a bejeweled whip. A shiny crown sat atop your head, gleaming in the scorching sun.

He caught your stare, piercing him with the fierce fury that clouded your eyes. But you immediately looked at Charlotte, frozen on top of him.

“It’s not what it looks—” he choked, trying to catch his breath. But it was failing him. He was failing. 

But there you were, cracking the whip before shooting it forward, snaking around Charlotte’s throat and dragging her down to the bed of the van. Her forehead smacked against the metal box Eddie had been searching for. 

You let her cough, let her head bleed before curling your fingers into claws. 

“You better wake up, Eddie,” you said as you stalked forward. 

He watched in horror as you jumped on top of Charlotte, shoving your nails into her wrists to keep her right where you wanted her.

“Wake up,” you repeated.

Eddie jumped out of the van, barely catching a glimpse of you ripping into her throat before the light consumed him.

“Wake up!”

Eddie gasped for air, his eyes flying open to see your face above him, eyes alight with concern. 

“Woah, hey,” you whispered, hands coming to pull him back down into your grasp. He immediately relaxed, falling into your arms once more as you began stroking his hair. “Eddie, hey.”

“Fuck,” he said, trying to fight the tears welling in his eyes. “Fuck.”

His vision clouded, the blurry images of his dream flashing each time he blinked. He couldn’t shake what was really there, what really happened.

Because that wasn’t how it ended. 

There was no one to save him back then. No Gareth or Grant or Jeff. 

No you.

Dragging his hands down his face, Eddie wondered when the distorted voices would dissipate. They came in all crackled, like Charlotte’s voice over the intercom during homeroom. It echoed in his head every other night, locking him in his cage of beige cinder block. 

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s just me.”

But here you both were, in your prison cell. And instead of beige cinder blocks, it was decorated. Prints of famous paintings littered your walls, covering up most of the beige with genuine color and vibrancy. It was a museum of your own curation.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

And if it was decorated, then it wasn’t really a cell, was it? No, it was a home.

“Bad dream?”

And he liked the thought of home.

“The worst.”

With you.

“Wanna go on a walk? Sometimes it helps me to just, like, walk around campus.”

He’d give anything to have that forever.

“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

Campus always felt different after negative experiences. College seemed to darken with something untoward. You started to notice the way your unhappiness contrasted those who walked along the same path with their friends. A pearl of laughter from a stranger on the phone with their mother. The brushing hands of a honeymooned couple. The sight of cackling men throwing a football on a grassy patch.

It could hide that girl hiding her head in the brick to suppress her sobs. The guy running across your path, breathlessly saying Sorry, excuse me as he races to his next class. A certain boy next to you who hadn’t spoken once since you left.

The sun had poked through the clouds, illuminating campus with vibrancy. But when you looked over at Eddie, he kept his head low, fiddling with his fingertips. 

He was more solemn than usual, seemingly deflated after the dream he’d had. All you wanted was to grab his hand, keep him from picking his nails or his skin. Remind him that it was just a dream. 

Instead, you kept walking. Kept whatever distance he was setting, letting him take the lead. You caught him sneaking a glance at you every once in a while, always returning his somber gaze with a smile.

He never smiled back.

You wound in and out of pavement and grass, looping around the library and the food hall before turning around and heading back. And as you rounded the last corner back to your dorm, Eddie finally spoke.

“How did you…get to be so confident?” Eddie asked.

His question caught you off guard, causing you to stop. 

Not only that, but his question caught on a spiral of barbed wire like cloth. The wire that you’d used to cage your insides from anyone and any thing unwanted. It tugged at something you’d been dreading to bring up with him. Especially after the other night. 

And just like that, you had to shred what was left of his poking.

“You know men,” you started with a fake smile, letting the mask consume you. “Can’t keep their hands to themselves. No means yes and all that. Nothing for you to worry about.”

You waved your hand around, turning away to keep walking but Eddie caught it, pulling you back to face him. 

“Hey, you don’t have to brush that off, you know. You didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes poured compassion into yours, breeding a kind of fear that you’d never experienced before. This exposure to your innermost hurt without even a scalpel. It caused you to wonder if it was even fear. The wire now scraped along your ribs, each stroke against the bone growing gnarlier than the last. 

And it was in that torture that you snapped. 

“Oh, I know,” you said with a strained chuckle. “You don’t have to act like you know anything about it, though.”

You could tell your harsh tone surprised him, his eyes widening with each word you threw out. But it didn’t stop him from his expression changing, eyebrows narrowing. Something fell over his features, a darkness you hadn’t encountered before. There was decay behind his stare, his gentle nature starting to crack.

“You don’t have to act like you’re the only one who’s gone through something like that.”

A huff left your nose as you jerked your hand away. “Yeah, one in six. I’m well acquainted with my gender’s statistics.”

“At least you have a number,” Eddie fired back before looking at his feet. “At least…at least you don’t drive yourself crazy going back and forth from one in six to one in thirty-three.”

And then it clicked.

Are you using me?

Like, if we even fuck, is that it?

Will the chase be over for you?

“Eddie?” you asked, like the question you wanted to ask had already been spoken. “You’ve…you’ve…”

“Um. Yeah. Some girls aren’t as willing to ask permission as you are.”

And it was in that moment that you both realized how trauma had different effects on different people. Still mirrors, only with different colors reflecting off of your shattered edges. Yours came out all fiery red, all flames and guns blazing. His was something more somber, a devastating blue that desperately hid in the background.

“When…”

“Last summer.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

His furrowed eyebrows softened, eyes turned glassy as he asked, “Did you?”

You were at a loss of words. How could you even begin to think of what to say when all you could picture was the worst. Eddie, suffocating at the hands of a girl. Unable to escape, unable to run. Just like you had.

But Eddie never donned a mask. He’d never truly hidden himself away, not really when you were the one begging him to come out of his shell. And he was always out there, still taking chances on himself. Even when he slipped up, he still found ways to try again.

Could you say the same for yourself?

 “Eddie,” you started, closing your eyes to make it easier. “you are so much more than what happened to you. And because no one gives a shit to say this to men, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you went through something like that. Especially when all of your friends were gone. When I got r—” You stopped yourself, unable to even utter the word. “When that happened to me, I ran into Aron for the first time and she helped clean me up and… Well, I guess what I’m trying to say is you should’ve had someone be there for you. And I wish that person had been me.”

Eddie whispered your name, shaking his head as the tears spilled over. It was a broken kind of sound, like he was pleading for help. Pleading for reassurance, pleading to forget.

“Come here,” you whispered, feeling choked up yourself.

That’s when he fell into you, tightly winding his arms around your waist and burying his head into your neck. You felt the sudden release of tears and snot, the release of something buried down inside him coming to the surface.

 You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. But you went back to that September night, feeling Aron’s arms cage you in as if she could hide you from the monsters that walked amongst you. So you gave that to Eddie. Your hand came up to press his head further in, obstructing any light from either side of you. An obsidian of solitude for him, your fingers weaving into his hair. Scratching down his scalp until you felt him shiver, felt his locked up posture fall into something resembling ease.

“You’re okay,” you cooed. “I’m here now. I promise.”

Another strained cry erupted from him, louder this time. You tried to suppress your own tears, but there was no use. You could still be strong for him and share his sorrow.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” you asked.

He leaned back a fraction, puffy eyes meeting yours. You watched him hiccup, trying desperately to take a deep breath. Moving with him, you exaggerated your breath to help him move with you. His stare continued to pierce through you, indecision falling over his features before something seemed to click. 

And with his first successful steady breath, he finally spoke.             

“Please.”

If you are a victim of sexual assault, I hope you know that you can love again and that it will get better with time. I'm rooting for you. You don't have to be afraid. And you do not have to shut yourself off from letting love in.

I know I keep popping in and out to post things so thank you for continuing to read if you're still here. I've spent months wanting to post this chapter, but there was a lot of shit going on in my personal life — but I had to return to give y’all this.

[taylormarieee]

Co-Stars turned Lovers A Callum Turner love story

Chapter 2: "Falling behind"

Pairing: Callum Turner x Fem!Bestfriend!Actress!Reader

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: angst, reader feels down, Callum and reader's relationship is on pause, special guest: Barry Keoghan, hurt to comfort, reader feels left out, long talks with Austin + some smexy tension, PLOT TWIST, fluff, reader goes out with Austin and has fun... enjoy!

PARTIALLY EDITED<33

Summary: {In this chapter, reader finds herself in her thoughts after being out with friends. All of her friends are falling in love and she's falling behind... Her feelings for Callum slowly fading away but she will have to face the fact that she can't have it all...}

THIS CHAPTER IS BASED ON THIS SONG:

Previously on Co-Stars turned Lovers...

That night was a night you've never forgotten but what you were completely oblivious too was that that night was unforgettable to Callum too.

He thought about that night everyday he looked at you... everytime he touched you... everytime he sees lip gloss coat your full lips.

It plagued his mind like a virus corrupting a humans mind. He wanted you badly but he knew he couldn't have you. He couldn't ruin this relationship he had with you, this beautiful friendship, but goddamn were you addicting.

you and Callum were polar opposites yet destined to be together...If only you two could open your eyes and see what is right in front of you.

You and him were made for each other, you just needed to find each other. Like two lost souls searching for a purpose. Like the Earth and the Moon, they look platonic but one can't live without the other. Destined to fall in love either way.

Love, fate, and desire... Something you two need to give into in order to find yourselves.

You were out to brunch with a couple of your friends from high school. You guys were a tiny knit group, just the four of you, together all the time and never breaking up.

The one thing you hated about being in this group was... you were the only one without a man. You were 32 years old and still to this day haven't found a man.

The main problem was because nobody met (Callum's standards) your standards. They weren't like Callum. Another main reason was because you never really wanted to do that dating thing, going online then meeting up with them only to find out there a total dick.

It was sad though, it still broke your heart. Vanessa would have a funny story to tell about her husband, Sandra always had gossip about these guys at her boyfriends job, and Stacy would always have something to say about her husband and his family and how spectacular they were.

Whilst you, you never had anything to contribute to the conversation. They would ask you about work and if you've gotten a role or a casting call but never, EVER will they ask you if you have a man unless you bring it up.

Because they know. They know you haven't gone out to find one, they know your phone has zero messages or notifications from a dating app about how you and some random named dave matched.

They know that you're stuck up on one man and one man only.

"Did you hear me?" a muffled voice said. You look up and realize they are all staring at you. Vanessa was next to you with a hand on your shoulder (she was the one that spoke) and Sandra and Stacy were in front of you with worried looks on their faces.

"Huh, what did you say?" you ask with confusion. You chuckle and speak again, "Sorry, I was zoned out badly wasn't I." When you realize that that didn't exactly lift the mood your smile fades and you clear your throat.

"I said, when are you gonna tell him?" Vanessa repeats her previous statement. "Huh, tell who what?" you ask confused.

"Callum silly!" she says with a smile. Your eyes widen and she laughs. "Hi! Hello, do you remember who I am? Awkward me could never tell him I love him." you respond taking a sip of your lemonade.

"Oh please, you already tell him you love him, you need to tell him you're in love with him. There's a difference." she ends in a sing songy voice.

"yea well even if I did do that, he doesn't feel the same." you say with your head down.

"EXCUSE ME!" Stacy yells out. "Do I need to remind you of the story you told us about a thousand times? "OMG Callum kissed me last night and we were all alone!" Do you remember now?" She says with a scrunched up look on her face, her eyes narrowed at you in an accusing manner.

"That was not what I said at all Stacy... I said that we were a bit tipsy and he called me beautiful and then kissed me. He immediately apologized and we both forgot about that night like it was nothing." You say with your head in your hands.

"Babes, that was clearly not nothing." Sandra says. "There's no way being a little tipsy makes you all lovey dovey and kiss someone like that. You remember us in our college days. Being tipsy doesn't make you do bold moves like that."

You shake your head, "well then if he was still in his right mind, why didn't he confess his feelings right then and there? Why apologize and make a deal to forget it ever happened?" You counter to her argument.

"Maybe he's scared? Doesn't wanna ruin a good friendship and make it awkward if you didn't feel the same?" Stacy responds.

"Or maybe he's a pussy." Vanessa says. You all look at her shocked. Stacy is shaking her head while you and Sandra are just staring at her.

"What!? it's a fact though isn't it?" she defends. You all shake your heads. "Anyways..." Stacy says, "He's doing the same thing your doing. Testing the waters and as soon as he feels he's going too far, he overthinks and then shuts down."

"Stacy does have a point girl. Communication is always key in a relationship. That's how me and Brad got through are arguments so well. A majority of the time is was over a lack of communication." Sandra says.

"Yea but you guys were already in a relationship. You both have already gone through that stage of getting to know each other. Me and Callum have known each other for years now, and still I don't know how to approach him. I feel like if I put all that on him, he'll get scared and leave me. I've become to attached to him for him to leave me..." You say sadly with tears in your eyes.

Before anyone can say anything, you get a phone call. "It's uhm it's Barry, I gotta take this." You say wiping away the tears that escaped.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Are you busy right now?" He asks.

"Nope, I'm just out with friends. Why? What's wrong Bare?"

"Nothing, just wanted to talk to you about Callum, can you come over? If not we can stay on the phone?" He says

"Yea, I kinda can't leave right now but I can stay on the phone. What about Callum?"

"Well he's uhm-" before barry could finish you hear yelling over the phone.

"CALLUM CALM DOWN!" You know who's voice that is, it's Austin's.

"uh barry, what is going on?"You say chuckling over the phone as you pace around the outside of the cafe.

"So yea, your not the only one with separation anxiety. Callum has been crying and screaming for the past three hours because he misses you. We got off our plane about 5 hours ago and then he saw you on the billboard about 3 hours ago and now he's been crying about wanting to hold you ever since."

You laugh out loud and laugh the happiest most genuine laugh you have laughed in hours. Soon you get an incoming facetime call from Barry and you see Callum's eyes immediately.

"Hi loveee! It's you! Why aren't you here?? COME HERE NOW! I need you please!!!! Your my pookie! is that how you say that word? pookie? poooookie?! ha!" he says over the phone.

"I'm coming Callum, don't worry. Barry! I'll be there shortly ok? Just hang on folks." you respond with a smile on your face.

You hang up the phone and go back inside the cafe. The girls all look at you with worried expressions yet again.

"I have to go, Barry needs me to help him with something." You say with a small smile on your face.

"To help with something or someone?" Vanessa says with a smile on her face.

"Oh shut up! Bye girls! I'll talk to you guys tomorrow!" you yell out and wave.

You walk to your car, get in and turn on the radio hoping it will bring you good spirits.

The moment you turn it on a lovely upbeat melody begins.

"Moved out to a new city, June is dawning down on me."

you listen to the lyrics closely as you back out of the parking lot.

"And all that I can find, A sickly romance in the air. Lovers stroll without a care in sight, ooh this can't be right..."

You shake your head, "Sure is." you say while driving. You turn it up a little more.

" 'Cause the sun's engaged to the sky. And my best friend's found a new guy"

"wow. these lyrics hit deep, why does this relate to me so much." you say sadly.

"I'm only getting older I've never had a shoulder to cry on, Someone to call mine"

"Everybody's falling in love and I'm falling behind"

You turn off the radio and sink in your seat as you ease up to a red light.

You think about what the lyrics said and about how your life is going versus your friends lives.

you turn the radio back up and listen some more.

"Touched the ocean, fell right in Stepped outside and burned my skin My life won't go my way."

That part is very true. Your life just doesn't seem to go your way, especially in the love aspect of it.

"Bossa nova in my room Hope that I'll find someone too to love Because"

"The sun's engaged to the sky And my best friend's found a new guy I'm only getting older"

You are only getting older. You're 32 and still haven't found someone to call yours.

"I've never had a shoulder to cry on Someone to call mine Everybody's falling in love and I'm falling behind"

You start to cry as your thoughts overwhelm you, speeding the car up by stepping on the gas a little harder.

"Everybody's falling in love Everybody's falling in love, oh Everybody's falling in love but me"

you hear the last of the melody before you finally reach Barrys house. You just sit in the driveway head on the steering wheel as you cry your heart out.

You hated this, god how much you hated this. Seeing your friends in happy relationships while your sitting here suffering. Suffering from the fact that you are falling behind.

Suffering from the fact that every time you look at Callum, you get butterflies. Every time he touches you, your skin burns with love for the rest of the day.

You don't get that feeling with anyone else. You used to get that feeling with Austin, but then he found a girlfriend. Yea they broke up and you could always go to Austin but you don't wanna do that to him

You don't wanna ruin a good friendship where everything is pink and white. Love fucking sucks. Maybe you do need to talk to someone about this. Austin! Austin! Austin!

A little voice is telling you to talk to the person you trust and love the absolute most(apart from Callum).

You wipe the tears from your eyes and the smudged mascara on your eyes and walk towards the door.

You knock and to your lovely surprise it's Austins face. Also to your surprise, his face is sad.

"Austin?" You ask grabbing his face. "What's wrong?" you say with a sad frown on your face.

"I should be asking if your ok?" he says. Your face obviously contorts into one of confusion choosing to push all your feelings down.

"what do you mean?" you ask confused. He pulls his phone out and it shows an article that was posted 35 minutes ago. It has a photo and video link posted below. You begin to read the article...

Y/N Y/L/N SEEN CRYING OUTSIDE OF A CAFE WHILE ON THE PHONE, SHE IS HEARD SAYING CALLUM TURNERS NAME AND AUSTIN BUTLERS NAME: Many say that y/n y/l/n was crying while on the phone. She was heard and seen by many fans and people who stood on the sidelines. What could have possibly occurred to make actress and famous award-winning woman cry. Well many witness took videos and pictures that are all linked below. Could this possibly be a love triangle between her, Callum Turner and Austin Butler? Could she be crying because she doesn't know what to do? Well, stay tuned as they are being interviewed tomorrow by the one and only JIMMY FALLON: ON THE TONIGHT SHOW!

you read the end and your eyes are wide the entire time after you finish reading the article.

Austin puts his hand down and tucks his phone in his pocket. He looks at you. "I don't care about the love triangle why were you crying?" he asks.

"You may not care Austin but I do, it doesn't matter why I was crying and that so called video was weeks ago! I wore that outfit 2 weeks ago! Does that look like the outfit i'm wearing today? Fucking love triangle!? Are you fucking kidding me!?" you say throwing your hands up.

"I've already had the most shitty day ever and now this!? Why honestly can't I just be left alone? THIS IS FUCKING INSANE!"

Austin stands there looking at you. "Oh don't gimme that look Austin!" you yell out.

"what? what look y/n?" he says lowly. You stare at him and make eye contact for the longest time it felt as if time just stopped.

"I honestly d-don't know. Your giving me two looks. One looks like i'm fucking insane and the other look..." you trail off.

"what's the other look?" he asks with an eyebrow raised as he turns around to close the front door behind him leaving the both of you standing outside.

"Like i just hung up the moon and all the stars in the sky." you say breaking eye contact and looking at your feet.

"Maybe it's both." he says with a shrug. You look up at him with wide eyes and blink. 'What did he mean by that?' you thought. Before you could say anything Barry walks out with a tired and annoyed look on his face.

"You. And You. Inside. Now. Before I Pew pew him and myself." he says in his accent that you found just so adorable.

Austin chuckles and opens the door motioning for you to go in first.

"In you go M'lady." he says with a smirk on his face. You smile and walk in. You remove your shoes and walk over to where Callum is sitting on the couch.

"Hey Callum." you say with a smile, but when you say it he doesn't respond. As quickly as the smile came on your face is as quickly as it left.

You look at Austin and mouth 'did he see it?' and Austin nods yes. You sigh and look back at him. He doesn't even look at you. 'Why should he be mad, your the only one that should be pissed here.' you thought. It just wasn't making any sense.

Maybe Vanessa was right, Callum is being a pussy and you couldn't take it anymore, your finally realizing you can't have it all.

Maybe it's ok to be falling behind...

"You know what. Let's just cut to the chase." You say standing up and going to the front blocking the tv from Callum's view.

"We all saw the stupid article, ok? So Callum stop acting like a fucking baby about it. I don't know why you possibly could be upset or whatever batman broody mood your having but let's get one thing clear. Maybe 2 things."

Austin leans against the wall and Barry sits on the coffee table next to Callum.

"Number 1: That video was from 2 weeks ago. That isn't a new video. Number 2: I'm done being stereotyped because I have male friends and it's all "Oh there totally fucking" or "Yea no there definitely in love!" Like no were not! So if you and you know." You say pointing to Callum and Austin, "That we are not a thing and we are not dating, why is it affecting you so much." you say pointing to Callum again.

"Barry calls me over here for you, I finally get here and I get what the silent treatment? We all have an interview tomorrow and you wanna sit here in your fucking feelings cause of what? Me crying?" you say with a bitter laugh.

"I love all of you. Your my boys! But right now you feel like strangers to me. Especially you Callum. So if. you wanna be. on non-speaking terms and put this talk or friendship on pause by all means! Cause I can't keep doing these mixed feelings and one second your happy and wanna see me and the next you can't even look at me."

There's silence in the room for a. whole minute and you shake your head and scoff, "I fucking knew it. Well bye Barry, it was nice seeing you and hearing from you. Bye Austin, I'll text you later." You say before walking out of the door and slamming it.

You walk to your car and get inside. You don't turn it on you just sit there and breath. You feel like crying but what's the point. Your done. Done with Callum, done with those stupid feelings.

It's time to move on cause you can't have it all.

*knock knock!

You look up and turn towards the window. You see Austin's face and give him a weak smile before rolling down your window.

"Hi princess." he says. A nickname he's given you since you first started filming Masters of the air.

"Hi my prince." you say adding onto the little joke. He smiles at you and you wanna cry.

Callum used to smile at you just like that... God you have to get Callum out of your head!

"I know, you know. That your in love with him." Austin says as he fiddles with your steering wheel.

Your eyes widen at his confession and you proceed to talk. "How do you-"before you can even finish he interjects.

"It's obvious y/n. The way you look at him. The way. your eyes light up whenever he's mentioned in. a conversation or how giddy. you get whenever you talk about him." He explains.

"I's that obvious?" you say lowly.

"Your that oblivious? Everyone sees it. Why do you think the whole world believes your dating? They know what it looks like when someone is in love."

"But that leaves m-me and you... The whole love triangle thing. The fans never catch us together and only a few ship us together." You say oblivious to the truth.

"You know what I said about the way you look at Callum?" He says and you nod slowly trying to understand where he's going.

"It's the way I look at you..." He says looking away from your eyes. Your eyes widen with realization.

"Oh Austin... get in the car, we're going for a drive." you say smiling at him.

He shows confusion but your eager and motion for him to get in the passengers seat.

He runs to the other side and gets in. The both of you drive in silence for about 5 minutes before you say something.

"Austin...You know you didn't have to hide it from me right?" you say taking a glance at him.

He looks at you while your driving and pulling in to a McDonalds drive thru. "Yea I know, but you like someone else, sorry no, you love someone else. How can I get in the way of that especially when it's two of my best friends?" he says as you pull up to the board to order.

"Hold that thought ok? Hiii can I get Quarter Pounder with cheese please, and A large fry with a cola and a vanilla cone please?" You ask. The lady repeats the order and asks, "Is that all for you today?"

you look at Austin and ask, "Do you want your usual Austin?" He stares at you and smiles. "I'll take that as a yes!" you say with a chuckle.

"No, can I also get a double cheeseburger with a large fry and a lemonade with a chocolate chip cookie please? That's all!" you say with a smile.

She tells you order total and tells you to pull up to the window. You roll up your window again and turn to Austin as you sit in the line.

You guys pull up to the window and you give the lady your card and grab your food before you pull into the parking lot and turn off the car.

"Well I mean your my celebrity crush you know that? You've been my crush since Elvis, not even! Since like Sharpay's fabulous adventure." you admit.

His eyes widen as he takes a bite of his fry. "There's no way, your insane!" He says with a laugh which causes you to laugh with him.

"Yep!" you say stuffing your face with fries. "I've like been obsessed with you ever since then. Was always so excited to meet you and one day, I got to see you, and that was when like 14 year old me's dream came true. I got to act on screen with you for the first time." You say with a smile on your face.

"I never knew that. You just make me love you more every day you know that?" Austin admits to you as he looks out the window. He eventually turns to you as he takes a sip of his lemonade to wash down his food.

"Austin..." you say before he cuts you off. "I know I know, can't admit my feelings for you, I know." He says lowly and slowly.

"Austin..." you try to say but again he cuts you off. "How am I supposed to do that though? I mean your just like so gorgeous and like one of the best things that's ever happened to me. What can I do to change your mind y/n? Hmm? I just need to know how you fee-" he's cut off with you grabbing his face and kissing him.

His eyes are wide until they flutter closed and relish in the feeling of your mouth on his.

From what feels like hours is only minutes and you guys pull away and his eyes are still closed.You open your eyes and giggle at his reaction.

"Does that answer your question Austin?" you say with a smile on your face. His eyes open and he smiles back at you.

"Yea, but what about Callum?" He asks. You smile even wider now. "Austin, baby, I wanna forget about being in love with him all together! I want you know, why chase after a man who doesn't want me clearly and can't get his priorities straight when I have a man who loves me for me and sees me and is someone I've had a crush on since 2011." You say laughing and smiling with him.

He grabs your face and kissed you again. "Hey y/n?" He whispers out.

"Yea Austin?" you whisper back with a content smile on your face. "Wake up." he says.

You pull away and when you look at him with confusion, real you shoots up out of bed and wakes up realizing it was all a dream...

Taglist: @willyoubemycherryy. @dustbunniess/ @evbunnie @emmaafinchh @dumbbxtch23 @sexualparkour @b1mb0slvt + anyone else who cares to join<33

[darklydeliciousdesires]

New story announcement!

Because you beautiful besties did nothing but encourage me, I wrote the thing. I am four chapters into the thing, but I need to edit before I post it!

So yes, meet the new couple of the moment, Adrien Brody and his beautiful wife, Jade Burton-Brody. I wrote Jade as an OFC for a previous fandom, but she stayed with me, so I want to use her again as it dawned on me just how cute she and Adrien would be together, so yeah. Here they are! She's a musician in the metal world, who moves into acting, too. Especially with all the support she finds from her adoring husband.

A particularly long excerpt from the story, too, from a magazine interview they did together which serves as the opening of the story...

“Tell us something about your wife that people would find surprising.” 

He mulls it over for a few seconds, looking to his side at her, laughing as he takes in her raised eyebrows. “She’s actually quite introverted, unless she knows the people she’s with well. Then her volume and mischief amp up considerably,” he begins, which I must say is perhaps the last thing I expected him to reply with. “No, no. It’s completely true, she is. She’s often quiet, an extreme juxtapose for how she appears up on stage with a microphone in her hand, but yeah. The Jade you see performing live is a completely different entity to the woman she is away from it, and I found that out pretty quickly after we first met.”  

It is a stark contrast to the public persona of Jade Burton-Brody, a woman known for rarely shying away from being outspoken and controversial, whether it be her fiercely penned lyrics, or her opinions on the subject matters she holds dear. She was, after all, the woman who advised legions of young female rock fans to, and I quote, “Burn the patriarchy to the goddamned ground.” 

Before me today, though, I do see a much softer side to the screaming hurricane of a woman I familiarised myself with through the scouring of YouTube videos, a woman more than happy to let her husband lead in the questions, always looking to him to reply first. She has spoken in the past of him being her unequivocal strength and support, and I take her back to that, the moment she first met the man she would marry just six months after their first meeting.

“Jade, you’ve spoken about your first meeting a couple of times in the past, but for the record, would you care to share it again?”  

She laughs loudly at my question, leaning into her husband a little, combing her fingers through her hair as she remembers fifteen years into the past. “I screamed in his face, he liked it, and the rest is history.” 

Indeed, such a meeting did seal itself into history, the moment the iconic pair met captured by a photographer pointing his camera in the right direction at exactly the right time, immortalising the moment where the formidable first lady of metal took to the barriers at the Rock and Iron festival, grabbed the hand of the Hollywood heavyweight, and proceeded to scream like a harpy about an inch from his face. “She blew my eardrums out,” Adrien speaks of the moment, “I had never heard anything that loud in the whole of my life!”

Indeed, like it he did, the first stages of their fledgling relationship captured on film while a documentary team were following her and the band, shooting the footage for the 2010 documentary, “The Devil You Don’t Know.” As the footage shows, the actor found himself with a rare two-week break between projects, one of those weeks spent living on a tour bus with the band, unwilling to be parted from the woman he’d struck up such an immediate connection with. 

“I called my manager and told her to shift all my interviews to telephone, rearranged everything for the following week before I flew out to Hawaii to begin shooting Predators, and yeah, lived on a bus with five insane, but adorable women for seven days.” He smiles a little shyly, his eyes warm as he views her. “Didn’t want to let her go.”

When asked if it was love at first sight, he elaborates a little further. “I’ve never believed in that. Too many components have to fall into place for love to bloom, so I don’t think it can be so spontaneous as to simply view somebody and feel such a powerful emotion right off the bat. After that week I spent with her, though. Yeah. I departed from the tour knowing I’d left behind the girl I was going to marry someday.”

And for Jade? “I knew. He was my person. Still is fifteen years on, too.”  

Just viewing the natural ease the couple have around one another cements that, after battling with so much over their years together. They both freely admit they rarely saw one another for the first two years of their marriage, their relationship plagued by media scrutiny, storms of paparazzi, accusations of their romance serving purely as a manufactured PR pairing for publicity, others stating that it was to give Jade greater leverage as she further embarked upon her acting career away from the world of music. One only has to watch the woman on screen to see that she carries enough weight from her own talents to not need the bolstering of her husband’s surname to snare her hard-earned successes.  

Indeed, the pair have weathered many storms and come through them stronger, standing as one of Hollywood’s most illimitable power couples, yet the term is somewhat lost on them both. “We’re complete dorks,” Jade laughs, “we really are. We set one another off all the time being absolutely ridiculous.” 

“It’s true,” her husband confirms, beginning to chuckle right on cue. “Nobody makes me laugh like her. It’s so corny, but truly, she’s my best friend. Deciding to get on that bus fifteen years ago was one of the greatest decisions I ever made.”  

It can be witnessed quite easily, too. It takes only a few glimpses into their respective social media accounts to see the humorous ease they tease one another with, but always with incredible affection. ‘Baby love! <3 Love you too, Morticia!’ Adrien commented on a heartfelt post his wife recently shared to Instagram, a throwback picture of the pair kissing at the 2016 Oscar’s ceremony, where his beloved won best supporting actress for her role across from Robert De Niro in the 2016 blockbuster, Five Marked Men. 

“It took him about a month to get over me with black hair instead of blonde, so I was Morticia for four straight weeks instead of Jade!” she laughs, obviously taking his teasing with good humour.  

“I was so damned proud of her, even though I couldn’t get used to the black hair,” he laughs taking her hand in his. “Always have been. She’s incredible.” 

The story will chronicle their fifteen years together, from their first meet right up until present day. I said I wouldn't do this, write RPF again, but I did. Arrgh! I just have to hope my beautiful people enjoy it now, lmao!!

Also, as well as the obvious faceclaim of Angelina Jolie serving for Jade, I have a voice claim for her, too! Want to hear the scream she hit Adrien with? Here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a98LI-arNS4 And for something a little more melodic to acquaint you with her voice - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQNtGoM3FVU So yes, that's how I imagine her to sound in her chosen profession. Half angel, half demon. xD

I hope you love her as much as I do, guys! Huge thanks for my darling @jemmalynette for the beautiful picture manipulation. Her work is flawless, as always!

[ryttu3k]

I'm curious abut Sascha Vykos. Do you know which novels or splat books would be good to read to learn more about them?

*cracks knuckles*

Number 1 book you need to understand Sascha's background is the Dark Ages Tzimisce clan novel by Myranda Kalis, which has them as the main character (along with their lover, Ilias cel Frumos) and explains why they're... like that. Just a goddamn amazing character study, also completely heartbreaking and singlehandedly made me change my view of them from "haha wtf what an edgelord" to "they're my baby and I'm gonna fight a methuselah for them". Set between 1232 and 1234, if I've managed to maths right.

Also by Myranda and set around a similar time (shortly after the fall of Constantinople) is the Road of Sin book (set around 1205). Sascha (then called Myca) narrates the introduction and first chapter. It does specifically focus on their history with the eponymous Road, but has a lot of interesting character details, along with their relationship with Ilias.

For modern Sascha, there are two. First is the original Clan Novel Saga (set 1999), although in this case, I'm not recommending just the Tzimisce novel, but rather the compiled editions. There's a bunch of Sascha content in the Assamite book as well, since they're quite involved with one of the characters in it, and it also includes extra, exclusive content, including my two favourite chapters - a story by Lucien Soulban (Sascha's creator), and an epilogue by Janet Trautvetter, mostly about Jan Pieterzoon but with Sascha being fairly prominent in it.

Fair warning, CNS was written in 1999 and has. Mm. Edgelordy moments. We do not talk about The Foetus Thing :|

The other, probably most important one is Beckett's Jyhad Diary, which I would recommend for literally anyone interested in VtM in general. Sascha has minor appearances and mentions in a bunch of chapters, but is extremely prominent in the chapter Dreams & Nightmares (also by Myranda Kalis/Sarro). She also wrote the chapter Azhi Dahaka, another must-read relating to Sascha.

The timing for BJD is... less clear, because at least a few of the people involved have said it's set in 2005, but also there's one chapter where an event that explicitly took place around 1999 or 2000 is said to have taken place "sixteen years ago", so. Let's just call that early 21st century.

Most of the rest of the books are chronicles, plus one city book - their origin book, Constantinople by Night (1197, IIRC?) by Lucien Soulban, Philippe Boulle, and Joshua Mosqueira-Asheim. Others, in chronological order by setting, include Bitter Crusade (two chapters, Fiendish Winter and Dying Embers, the latter covering the Fall of Constantinople in 1204), Under the Black Cross (1225), and a whole bunch of the Transylvania Chronicles (Myca/Sascha appears in book 1 in Dark Tides Cresting (1314), in book 2 in Haceldema (covers the Convention of Thorns, 1493), in book 3 in An Angel's Plea (1680, also has the most hilariously thirsty description of Sascha I've ever seen in my life), and in book 4 in The Accounting (1998).)

Seriously. Here's their Transylvania Chronicles 3 character sheet:

They appear in two of the Giovanni Chronicles books, three (1882) and four (same, in a flashback that also has my baby Anatole), in the Nightshade scenario of the Gehenna book (1999), although that's since been retconned out of existence, along with chunks of the Clan Novel Saga, mostly to do with the approaching Gehenna stuff, and in particular Anatole's fate. It's still worth reading just for some fascinating ways the world could end. Finally, they appear in the House of Lies chapter of Nights of Prophecy (1999?).

Aside from those, they also have little appearances and mentions in other books, including letters and notes throughout chapter 7 of the Revised corebook, a rather amusing little reference in chapter 4 of the Victorian Age corebook, a detailed profile and character sheet in Children of the Night although that book pisses me off because it put Beckett, Anatole, and Lucita on the front cover but didn't give us sheets for them!, and the opening letter of the V5 Sabbat book, which you can read here (and then ignore the rest of the book and get the Revised-era Guide to the Sabbat instead).

So yes! They show up a lot, and all through the game's history. The three most important ones to read, I think, are the Dark Ages Tzimisce novel, the combined Clan Novel Saga, and Beckett's Jyhad Diary, then the rest just depending on interest in the era or broader story, since Sascha is less involved in those.

Have fun! They're an absolute hot mess of a character and I adore them!

[theprettynosferatu]

I

The gigantic metal beast landed with a thud. Not the most graceful of homecomings, thought the handler. It didn’t matter, of course. No damage to the mech, four enemies down, a few needless but thrilling maneuvers for the video drone capturing every moment. A successful mission any way one cut it. The handler looked up from the screens, towards the solid, tangible reality of his ward.

Even after years together, even after a hundred missions, the sight never failed to impress. Himiko emerged from the cockpit drenched in sweat, every curve of her body glistening under the hangar lights. She stretched. This was a performance too, even if she didn’t know it. Her booty shorts and miniscule top were as much a necessity as an asset, and her “dismounts” were something of a phenomenon among the viewers. 

Every second in the cockpit was filmed, every motion in combat captured from several angles, every landing documented to be masterfully edited and broadcast to the population. She was a soldier on two fronts: fighting the rebellion while also being someone the company could parade in front of everyone, someone people could root for, someone they could obsess over. Better to have them focused on her skin, those shorts, her beautiful face. Even her mech, the Enkidu, was part of her brand: it was an older model, a classic -or a relic, depending on one’s point of view- that tended to be particularly punishing for pilots. The goddamn thing was an oven, relying on overheating systems for sudden bursts of enhanced performance with minimal heat dispersal to spare the operator. Hence, booty shorts and top. The effect was simple, eloquent: she was a warrior, an underdog willing to do whatever it took to destroy a more advanced enemy. Underdogs were good. People cheered for them. 

The handler shuddered. If Himiko knew he had been the one to suggest her brand…

Well, there were many things Himiko didn’t know, and every asset needed a brand, a simple phrase that could be marketed, displayed, sold. “Sexy, rebellious underdog”. Everything orbited that one concept. Her clothing, her public appearances, even her fighting style. She was as artificial as her mech and didn’t even know it. Damn it.

The handler chased the feeling away. Things would be worse for Himiko without him. He was good to her. Hell, compared to other handlers he was downright angelic, if the stories were true. Even the whole “underdog” gimmick was… mild, next to what other pilots were saddled with. The company had to cater to many tastes, after all. “Ruthless, cold bombshell”. “Cheery, optimistic angel”. “Seductive, psychotic killer”. A pilot for every desire, and joint missions were true events, advertised and promoted with taglines like “...But can they work together?”, or “Angel and Demon together!”. The strategic purpose of such missions was a secondary priority, if it was a priority at all.

Yes, “rebellious underdog” wasn’t that bad, all things considered. The handler went down to the launching bay.  

“I fucked up with that second mech”

“It still went down, didn’t it?”

“Messed up my aim. I Could have downed him quicker. Fuck!”

Himiko was one of the few pilots allowed to swear. It fit her brand. Well, truth was Himiko was one of the few pilots able to swear, but that wasn’t something the handler liked to think about.

“May I shower?”, she asked.

“You may”, he replied.

Himiko flashed him a quick smile and headed for her quarters. The handler watched her leave. He wondered, as he had done so many times before, if he was the only one that could see something between sadness and rage in her eyes.

II

“We were going with something like… ‘Guts and Glamour’, when the op was just Himiko and Adrian, but now that Ruby’s part of the whole thing…”, said the handler.

“‘Guts and Glamour’? Really?”, scoffed Mark.

“You know them marketing boys like their alliteration, Mark. We work with what we got”, added Katrina, a bit offended.

‘Guts and Glamour’ had been her idea, in fact. A bit on the facile side, but the handler had to admit his partner had nailed it on the head. Katrina was rough, but one of the best, after all: that was why she had been saddled with Adrian. “Vain, cocksure prettyboy”, had been the concept and the pilot delivered in spades, which was a blessing and a curse. He was easy to hate as much as he was easy to desire. The company liked to try some “hate that you love them” concepts every now and then. They thought it was a complex character. A pain in the ass for a handler, that’s what it was. Sometimes the public saw their skills and were won over. Other times…

Well, tragic deaths were quite moving too.

Ruby, on the other hand, was a tried and true idea. Fiery, sexy redhead. Not much to do with that, but her genetics did the heavy lifting. Something for the basic teen boys.

“Right, right. Well, Maybe we can keep it. Ruby’s glamorous too”, said Mark.

“Nah. Won’t work. Three pilots, ain’t it? We need three keywords, short, punchy. And I don’t think we have a third ‘G’ word to throw in there. And Ruby has… no offense, but I wouldn’t call it glamour, exactly. I mean, not your fault, bud. But…”, trailed off Katrina.

“No offense taken. We aren’t shooting for high class with Ruby. What you see is what you get, pretty much. And she loves to let people see”, replied Mark.

“You sure got lucky with the whole heat gimmick, right? Himiko can show off and still come across as tough”

It took a moment for the handler to realize Katrina was talking to him. He poured himself another drink, and saw the other two handlers onscreen joining him in a toast across space.

“I guess”, mumbled the handler.

“You know, I don’t know what’s better: fucking the hot redhead everyone thinks is slutty, or being the only one that knows how freaky the rebel girl can get”, giggled Mark.

“Come on, man. That’s the kind of joke that gives handlers a bad rep”, said the handler.

Silence stretched, infinite, plastic.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, man. You tapped that, and you know it”, retorted Mark.

“Say what you will about Adrian, but he makes up for his preening with some stamina”, said Katrina.

“Stop it. It’s not funny”, muttered the handler, shifting in his seat.

“We’re not being funny. This shit ain’t for broadcast, pal. Save the PC shit for official events. It’s just us shooting the shit, here”, said Katrina.

“Wait. You don’t really�� you know…”

“Fuck my pilot? Eight days a week, cowboy. Jesus, are you bullshitting me right now? It’s like, the one benefit we have. Sure, it’s not on the fucking brochures, but come on! We have genetically enhanced clones that are programmed to obey and designed to be hot! You think the company doesn’t know what’s bound to happen? Nature’s gonna nature, I say. And it’s not like they’re… people-people, you know?” said the woman on the screen.

“They’re clones, sure, but… they’re still people”, said the handler.

“You mean to say you never thought about it?”, asked Mark.

“Think about it… I mean, I guess. Like… you can have fantasies about anyone, right? But fantasies are one thing and… doing shit is another”, said the handler.

Katrina laughed.

“So let me get this straight: you’re all alone in your compartment, jerkin’ it to a girl that’s right fucking there, next door over, and who would do whatever you told her to do if only you had the balls to command her? God, that’s pathetic. You have a feast in front of ya and keep eating those saltine crackers from ration packs, honey. Okay, real talk: are you gay, or ace, or…”

“No. Bi, actually”, said the handler in anger. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t wrong to…”

“See, I think I get the issue. I’ve seen it a couple of times. Clones are not like you and me. Clones obey. And they don’t feel bad about it, because they can’t not obey, feel me? It’s just the way they’re made, you know? She wouldn’t feel violated or… I don’t know, used. Not in any degree above what happens whenever you send her on a mission. She’s designed for it. It’s all she knows and all she can know. And if we are being honest… let me ask you a question: are you scared for her when it looks like a mission is gonna go tits up? Are you anxious when you give her a combat plan and don’t know if it’s the best course of action?”, asked Mark.

“Of course”

“Me too. Every single time Ruby goes inside that mech I’m sweating bullets. I care about her. It’s my job to make her thrive, man. That’s what we do. You know who’s never scared going into combat? Ruby, or Adrian, or Himiko. Can you imagine that? Climbing into a big ass combat mech and not being terrified? But they’re not like us, and you know what? I kinda envy them. They are at peace. They have their missions, and the complete, unshakable focus to do their best every time. Combat, a photoshoot, an ad… same to them. Just missions. They don’t have to make choices, or suffer the pangs of uncertainty. There’s something beautiful there. A purity. They are what they are, do what they’re assigned to do, and those two things are the same thing. They have clarity of purpose. They’re not burped into existence like the rest of us. And when I tell Ruby to wrap her huge tits around my cock and get me off, it’s another mission to her. Nothing more, nothing else. You ask me, they’re the lucky ones. So, word of advice: care for your pilot. But don’t fall for her. ‘Cause you’d be falling for a shadow”. Said Mark between drinks.

The meeting went on. The handler didn’t really pay attention to whatever title they had decided to give their joint mission in the end. 

III

The mission had been a success. In the end the marketing people had decided to play up the “one guy, two girls” angle. Would love blossom on the battlefield? The people saw Ruby saving Adrian from a cowardly sneak attack. The flirting had been heavy and constant. Of course, Ruby had made no such heroic save, but editing could perform miracles. 

The handler was glad Himiko hadn’t been picked to move the romance plot forward. Sure, affairs between pilots existed only for the cameras, in parades and interviews, but still. Himiko’s brand wasn’t appropriate for such things. But if he was being honest, it wasn’t the sanctity of the image that bothered him. He had been with Himiko from the beginning. He had designed her brand, advised on her fighting style, added flair and soul to the character. Himiko belonged to the company, sure, but in a creative way, Himiko was his. The strong girl in the posters and vids, the firebrand adored by millions… he had created that, as much as the geeks at the genetic farms. Perhaps even more.

The handler couldn’t say when he had gotten out of bed and walked out of his room. He found himself in the hallway, steps away from the pilot’s compartment. She -it- would be there. His creation. His product. Hours of work, gallons of sweat and tears and anxiety and effort put into her… into making her a phenomenon, beloved by millions. And what did he get? He was anonymous. He was a shadow- worse, a shadow of a shadow, unrecognized, unrewarded.  

The door slid shut and Himiko went instantly to her feet. Pilots were light sleepers by design, always ready. They slept in the nude, so they could get into their outfits instantly. Shame was not something they felt, less of all in front of their handlers.

“Do we have a mission?”, she asked.

The handler paused, entranced by the soft curves of her pilot. It didn't matter how much he saw of her, it always made an impact somewhere primal, deep inside his soul. No, not her. The product, he reminded himself. The word escaped his lips before he could stop it.

“Kneel”

There was a moment there, barely longer than a lightning strike. Himiko’s eyes flashed with confusion, a hint of outrage, and then set on complete, focused determination as she went down on her knees. She looked up at the handler, ready to obey. The handler felt almost drunk, giddy. So many men and women looked up to this girl, adored her, saw her as a role model and object of desire… and now she looked up at him. It was intoxicating.

“Remove my underwear”

She did so with the efficiency of a close quarters combat expert. He barely had to shift to let her cast the fabric aside. One part of him couldn’t believe it was this easy, even as inside him a quieter, stifled side of himself screamed. It was too late to go back.

“Suck my cock”

What followed was akin to vertigo, beyond anything he had ever felt before. He couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes. The handler wasn’t a virgin, but he might as well have been. Himiko took to her mission with the zeal and determination of a true warrior, changing speeds, pressure, angle, using her tongue, her lips, her throat. The handler felt something in the base of his spine, an orgasm building from somewhere deeper than anything he had experienced in his life. Overcome by the maelstrom of sensation, he had for a moment forgotten what was happening, sent hurling away from reality by the pilot’s skills. His eyes snapped open.

He saw Himiko. Strong, fierce Himiko. Her expression was one he had seen a thousand times in the cockpit, the focus of an operator in that special zone where only the mission existed, where only her objective mattered. He saw a programmed response, and a reminder of what she really was. Of what he was doing.

“Stop”, he muttered. She instantly did. He caught his breath.

“Could you… could you pretend to enjoy it? Like… like you… want me?” God, he felt pathetic. The feeling, however, lasted only a second. Himiko smiled, a smile no one had ever seen before, a smile that didn’t fit any poster or propaganda piece. It was mischievous, flirty, like they were accomplices in a secret, loving affair. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t real. She made it feel real to him.

She made him feel special.

Suddenly there was a sense of fun, of warmth to her actions. She moaned and purred with every lick, teasing him, smiling and biting her lips, making him feel as if for that moment his pleasure was her pleasure, that he was all that existed, that his cock was the most beautiful, most entrancing thing in the universe. His moans mixed with hers as she worshiped him with her mouth, her hands, her breasts. It was sex and devotion, fun and partnership, lust and love. It was too easy to believe it all, too perfect to resist. The handler wanted the moment to last, forever if at all possible. When he told Himiko to get on the bed, she leaped in joy and looked at him as she stretched on the mattress, eyes full of anticipation, a teasing challenge to her lover. 

He dove into her arms. He kissed her stomach, her perfect thighs, her neck. He wanted her, wanted to devour her, to be with her and for her to be his, totally and completely. He wanted them to belong to each other, to seal a partnership that had, in his mind, been growing for years. Her shallow breathing, her whimpers and soft moans begged him to do it, to take what was rightfully his. His hand softly caressed the inside of her thigh, barely touching it, moving upwards slowly, savoring every second. When he felt the wetness between her legs, he couldn’t help but wonder if that too was a conditioned response. He pushed the thought aside and let himself drown in her lips.

She was tight, and he managed to stop himself, teasing her clit. He didn’t want to hurt her. It occurred to him that Himiko was, in fact, a virgin. He would be careful. He would be gentle. He would take it slow. 

But she was a warrior on a mission. 

“Do it”, she said, panting. “Take me. Fuck me. Use me! I’ve seen you looking at me… my ass, my tits, my face… they’re all yours. Yours. Stop being a pussy and fucking ram that big cock inside me! I want it… I want you to treat me like your whore, your toy, whatever the fuck you want… just give me that cock! Please!”

The handler didn’t know if Himiko had been studying him, gathering information for precisely such an event, but it didn’t really matter. She knew exactly what to say, exactly how to say it, with a mixture of begging and demanding, commanding and submissive at the same time. She knew what to say to blow away any lingering hesitation, to obliterate any morality that might be holding him back. He entered her with fury, with anger, with lust, with the strength of years of repressed emotions and confused feelings behind him. Her legs surrounded him, brought him closer as she came with a melody of moans and tiny screams. Her nails dig into his back. The pain was the one thing that kept him from cumming. Had that been luck or a calculated move on her part?

With all her martial skill, she reversed positions and got on top. 

“My turn”, she smiled.

He had fantasized about this moment for years. Himiko showed him just how limited his imagination was. She was mercurial, flowing from one position to another, from one attitude to another. She was whimpering and fighting against her own pleasure one moment, pinning him down and riding him with a wicked smile the next; she feigned innocence on second and then delivered babbling, perverted barrages of dirty talk without missing a beat. She made the bed feel like a playground where everything went, everything was allowed. She made him feel safe. Wanted. 

Eventually, exhaustion got the better of him. Unlike Himiko, he was a simple handler, not a trained fighter. He fell asleep in her arms, postponing the inevitable reckoning with what he had done for a handful of peaceful, perfect hours.

IV

The handler called in every favor he had. Burned a few bridges, too. It was necessary, he told himself. It was for Himiko, he told himself. It was the right thing to do, he told himself. Anything to make the voice inside his head shut up for a few seconds. 

As a handler he had access to general genetic records: after all, he needed to know what his pilot was capable of, what enhancements had been made to her. There were other bits of information, however, that only the people at the genetic farms had and guarded jealously. But after a solid two weeks of begging, threatening and cajoling, he had managed to get a copy of what he needed, an answer to the question that had been tormenting him- and now he lingered, too scared to open the files. 

Himiko was a clone. But somewhere out there there was an original. Or maybe there had been one, long ago. Whoever Himiko was made from was probably an old woman living in secluded luxury. That was the standard deal: a comfortable life of complete anonymity for the donors. They were usually athletes, sometimes models or soldiers, sometimes people with very specific characteristics that might appeal in a pilot, given a few adjustments. The handler didn’t know what would be worse: to find out the original was out in the world, or to find out Himiko’s genes had been taken from an old blueprint and the original had passed away. He just knew he needed to know, because Himiko deserved to know. Not that the pilot had asked, of course. But he needed to… do something for her. Yes, do something big for Himiko. That would make the voice shut the hell up.

He opened the files and started reading, a terrible dread growing in his chest.

Sample obtained through Rebirth Protocol.

It was there in black and white: a rumor discarded by almost everyone, embraced only by the most fringe of lunatics. And it was real. The Rebirth Protocol. Forced acquisition of samples from captured rebels before their executions.

Himiko’s original had never lived a life of peace and comfort. She had been a rebel. A fighter, like her clone. One battling the company at every turn, transformed into an obedient asset in an act of perverted, vengeful poetry. And he had been complicit. He had made Himiko one of the most recognizable faces of the company, a key pillar in its efforts in the battlefield and in the war on the minds of the people.    

The handler threw up. He copied the files to his personal device, shaking. He could feel his determination wavering. No. He had to show her, and he had to show her immediately.

Himiko smiled as he entered. The handler felt terrible for issuing that particular order. Knowing what he knew, the smile felt like a dagger. 

“Himiko, look at this”, he said, pulling up the files on the screen. It was all there. Himiko’s original name. Pictures taken during captivity. Video of her flying a rebel mech. He looked at the pilot. Something was stirring inside her, he knew it.

“She looks like me”, muttered Himiko.

“She is you. In a manner of speaking. But… you were…”

“I was a rebel. I… Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted! Fucking granted!”

“I feel… something. Anger… no, not anger. It’s more… righteous. A fire. We… I… refused. Refused to be under the boot of the company… we… there was more to life. More to being a person than just working and consuming and… Why? Why do I remember these things?”

“I’m not sure. If you were a rebel pilot, it’s possible they copied not just your DNA but some of your neural pathway patterns, to transfer combat experience into… your new self. Maybe she… you, the real you… is still in there somewhere. Kei. Your name was Kei”

Himiko was crying without moving a muscle. Tears rolled down her perfect face.

“Kei…” she muttered.

“You are Kei”

“I am…”

An eternal pause.

“I am Himiko, pilot for the company”, came the emotionless response.

“No! You don’t have to be! You were a proud fighter and can be that again! We can… we can leave. We can escape, together. Disappear. Go to some forgotten corner of the galaxy, and…”

“Pilots are not allowed to travel without company authorization”

The handler stormed out of the room.

Sleepless nights on unauthorized communication channels, places where the company couldn’t snoop. Editors uploaded outtakes of pilots messing up, or candid footage of pilots in showers and locker rooms. Handlers shared the… art they had compelled their pilots to make, a notion he would have refused to believe not long before. Gene freaks debated new techniques, mulled over the possibilities of more extreme genetic modification. And the handler read it all, looking for the answer to a singular question: was there a way to break the conditioning?

He wasn’t the first handler to wonder that, he discovered. A few before him had been shouted down, accused of being potential rebels. Some had gotten tidbits of information, ways in which perhaps, in theory, the compulsions could be lessened, if not erased entirely.

He tried them all. Flashing lights. Shock diet. Memory regression. Hypnosis. More and more Himiko was becoming like her other self, like Kei. And yet, after every attempt, he issued a single command.

“Slap yourself”

She did so. Every single time.

“I’m sorry”, she said.

He was on his knees, his head on her lap, sobbing. It was pointless. The company had her, and by having her, they had him. There would be no escaping, no happy ending in their own secluded corner of the world. Only dreaming.

Maybe dreaming wasn’t so bad. One could get lost in a beautiful dream. Perhaps even forget it was a dream, every now and then. That was the best they could hope for: to steal small moments of counterfeit happiness from a world too miserly, too cruel to allow the real thing to thrive. Didn’t Himiko deserve those moments, that respite? Didn’t he deserve them too?

Defeated, he rose to his feet. The handler looked at the pilot’s sad eyes.

“Himiko… love me”, he commanded. 

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #176

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily (haven't missed one yet!) and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please like and reblog if you enjoy - the notes keep me going!

He's gonna be Frank with you. Read the rest of The Frank Program here on Tumblr!

Last time on The Frank Program, Frank caught Daryl watching something on his phone during recording, and he didn't like what he saw.

Daryl exploded out the door to the parking lot, anger in his stride, fear in his posture, and tears in his eyes. Chad, leaning on a car, got up immediately when he saw the kid running off.

“Hey!” He called out. Daryl wasn’t stopping for anything.

Cautiously, Chad poked his head back inside. Frank was stoic, silent in his host’s seat, a lit cigarette in his left hand. He took a drag from it and sighed out a puff of smoke.

“Come in, Mr. Graves. We oughtta finish the show.”

“You alright, bud?”

There were bags under Frank’s eyes that Chad didn’t recall seeing before. “I’m plenty content to finish recording.”

Graves sat down in his chair. The corner behind him was conspicuously empty. The chair which had been there before sat askew and on its side at the other end of the room.

“You know, Mr. Graves -”

“You can just call me Chad.”

“Well, Chad…” Frank took another hit. “I ain’t touched a cigarette in ten years. Kept this one in the studio just to prove to myself I didn’t need it.” He chuckled. “Funny how I keep proving myself wrong, huh?”

“How’s that?”

“Oh, the usual. I think o’ someone as a friend, or a wife, or… or a son. And I come to find they never were, really. They stab me in the goddamn back.”

“I take it that your chat didn’t go too well?”

Frank sneered. “You have no idea.”

“I’m sure he’ll come around. You know teenagers, I mean… I remember when I was a teenager, I got in arguments with my parents all the time.”

“We’re no stranger to arguments, Chad. This is somethin’ else. I’m losing my boy.”

“What exactly happened?”

Frank huffed and smothered his cigarette in the ashtray. “We better get back to my prepared questions.”

“Yeah…” Chad nodded slowly. “Alright.”

Frank shuffled through pages, looking for a question he still felt like asking. “Uh… Do you and your friends ever have creative differences when working on the show?”

“I don’t think we’d be as effective at doing our jobs if we did. Really, all four of us try to stay out of the creative side of things most of the time. Our producer decides what the story is for a given episode. He takes our full night of footage, and our analysis of the findings, and he gives that to his editor to make the pieces fit together.”

“Does the show replicate the experience of actually bein’ there, do ya think?”

“To be honest with you, I don’t usually watch it. Kind of a ‘been there, done that’ situation. But I have been channel surfing before and caught a rerun from a few years ago, and it definitely brought back memories.”

“Well that’s nice. Nice to have something to look back on. I guess I’ve got that too, huh? A little piece of the past… to bring back memories.”

“Yeah, I guess so. The nice thing about the show is it cuts out all the boring bits. The parts where we’re just sitting around, whispering to each other like we’re trying not to wake up the parents at a sleepover.”

“Right,” Frank said, a lump in his throat. “Those are the parts you really miss when they’re gone.”

Chad tilted his head to look around his microphone. “It’s gonna be okay, Frank. He’ll -”

“Mr. Graves, I don’t want another grown man to see me cry. So thank you for being here, but I must be signing off. Go ahead and tell the people where to find you.”

“I’m on all the socials as @GravesGhostVisions, so just search that up if you want to see where we’re headed next.”

“Thank you. This has been The Frank Program…” Frank struggled to get the words out without letting tears come with. “So long.”

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

Loki Episode 3 Reactions (Less Coherent Edition)

Lots of caps lock today. Spoilers for Loki.

If we don't go to the World's Fair today I'm gonna riot.

If said World's Fair is not in Chicago I'm gonna riot

Oh FUCK YES just saw the screenshot

CAN I JUST SAY EVEN THOUGH I THINK I'VE SAID IT BEFORE LOKI IS BASICALLY IN HIS CLOTHES FROM THE COVER OF WML

OH MY GOD I SAW THE TITLE YESSSSS CHICAGO

The fucking music oh my god

NO WHAT THE FUCK WHY ARE THOSE BUILDINGS MADE OF WOOD TWELVE YEARS AFTER THE CHICAGO FIRE ARE YOU CRAZY AND WRONG

oh okay I will casually throw aside the large rock. It's 1868. Maybe ya'll did do your research. I SAW THE TRAILER THOUGH SO I'M NOT SO SURE

DON'T DO IT IT'S FOUR YEARS EARLY DO NOT TIP OVER A LANTERN BITCH

OB that was not simple enough for me

Are we in 1868 or 1893, then, boys, I have to know for the historical accuracy of these building materials.

THANK YOU, MOBIUS! [He mentioned the Fire and I felt vindicated.]

Yes, how could you have forgotten?? MOBIUS I LOVE THAT YOU LOVE THE WORLD'S FAIR

CAN WE TALK ABOUT WHAT FUCKING HAPPENED TO THAT NEIGHBORHOOD THOUGH

I MEAN FLAMES BUT IT WAS EITHER NOT REBUILT OR LEVELED AGAIN FOR MIDWAY [side-eyes the parallels of the history of Central Park in NYC to Hell and back] [I don't know for a fact if that is accurate but I wouldn't be in the least surprised if it was.]

okay the vintage transition made me unnecessarily excited

MOBIUS do not rationalize your snack addition [you don't need to, you're perfect]

Also Cracker Jack is nasty

Thanks Loki

YOU FLIRTS

The commentary on the global exhibits is the shit

"Thor's not that tall." SHUT UP SHUT UP YOU STARED AT HIM FOR FAR LONGER THAN NECESSARY AND SAID THAT TO COVER UP THE FACT THAT YOU MISS HIM YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ANYBODY

fuck yes post credit scene

I'm just saying it's not that far outside the realm of possibility for Theo to be here [I was going to continue to explain this but then got distracted by:]

THE VINTAGE TRANSITIONS

Loki is fucking panicking

SYLVIE MY GIRL

Wait goddamn please let's not do this shit again

Mobius just take her bag. You're a clever boy, I'm sure you can think of something.

OH MY GOD SHE THREW HIM

NO LOKI DO IT

Eew

This guy grew up in Chicago. Why is he talking like that?

"The wizard gentleman" I'm dying

Okay but this is not a Wisconsin accent either.

"Lower taxes" MOOD

HOW ARE YOU TWO SO BAD AT THIS

yeah Miss Minutes you keep trying to take credit for this, you wanna be the one that fucks him? Because that's the direction this shit is moving [Apollo please I'm begging you to pass me over. Ugh.]

Squall squall squall

Oh shit I didn't see THAT coming though damn [I was trying for a shipwreck but then they just sent Renslayer adrift in Lake Michigan.]

The writers: Okay so everyone betrays their lover in the end; Me: Okay one, are y'all okay? And two, y'all read Oscar Wilde's "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" and took it as gospel, huh? ["Yet each man kills the thing he loves/By each let this be heard,/Some do it with a bitter look,/Some with a flattering word,/The coward does it with a kiss,/The brave man with a sword!"]

MISS MINUTES ABSOLUTELY GO FUCK YOURSELF

eew what the fuck is happening

OH MY GOD THE WRITERS LOVE TO MAKE WEIRD ASS COUPLES

EEEEEEWWWWWW WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING I DID NOT SEE THIS COMING BUT GODDAMN I FUCKING SHOULD HAVE

Rav I'd say kill Minutes but we need her

VON?? VON??

ARE WE DOING THIS AGAIN WITH RAVONNA AND MOBIUS THIS TIME

DO WE NEED THESE PARALLELS

OH FUCK YOU RAV

SYLVIE STOP

HAIR FLIP

SYLVIE

YEAH SYL KILL THE BITCH

AND FIGURE OUT YOUR NEXUS FIRST

SYLVIE YOU COULD'VE GOTTEN YOUR NEXUS FIRST BUT DAMN GIRL HOLY SHIT

EEWW MISS MINUTES COME ON

Wait I just thought of something and I HATE IT SO MUCH (sorry to not tell you but I'm gonna think on this for a few days and then post a theory)

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: The Odd Squad UK Gadget Competition Results Video (Part 2)

Damn Tumblr and their 30-image limit. And damn them putting a higher limit behind a paywall. Truly, we have fallen from grace.

(And if you think I am paying for that, hell to the no I am the not.)

Anyway, let's move on to the back end of this results video. Peep below the break!

(But make sure to read Part 1 first -- find it here!)

unamused_andalsogotohell.png

Sure, this video might have much better editing, but it doesn't stop this error of Orwell standing stock-still from popping up.

It's like the Odd Squad equivalent of enjoying the beach from the comfort of inside your car when you can just walk onto the beach and be more comfortable.

And this one goes out to everyone who's afraid of having seaweed touch them.

Like me, Doug Heffernan, and a good chunk of the UK population.

Somewhere in Canada, Olive was able to fit her entire small body under a couch.

She's staying there for the foreseeable future.

Security deposit, rent, and utility costs have all been waived.

"I'm going to snap your neck."

"Clean the pie off of your face first and maybe I'll take you seriously on that."

"...Go to hell."

"I've been in hell for a decade. Try me."

DO Y' GEDDIT??? BECAUSE OLIVE??? D' Y' GEDDIT????? FUNNY LAUGH??????????? KNEE SLAP???????

...WHAT DO YOU MEAN "NOT FUNNY, DIDN'T LA"-

Bent-ass lesson coming from the kid who was laughing at his coworker just before.

A little jarring, but I respect this spin on the "Odd Squad, Odd Squad, stop right there" catchphrase. It's like a four-way thumb war challenge!

Yeah, well, "gazillion" isn't a real number...Onom.

(You know it had to be done. I knew it had to be done. They laid the reference on a platter and I am using it for its most practical purpose.)

Hey, remember Oswald's number-carrying bit in "Portalandia"?

That was funny. It took me aback because it's a commonly-applied mathematical cliche pertaining to incorrect math in a show that is about correct math.

This...feels like they're trying to replicate that, and failing. Like now that they're focusing on STEM, they don't need to be overly correct anymore.

It's not funny, is my point.

OH WHO-HO-HOOOOOOOOOA HEY HI HELLO SHOT FROM THE INTRO HOW YA DOIN'.

So I guess 1) Orli is narrating the opening, which, really, does not surprise me, and 2) we're going back to the "huddle and badass armfold" roots of Season 1 and Season 2. And in this tinny lil' fandom, you can bet that people are analyzing the hell out of both.

(Yeah, we have fun playing with what little food we're given. How about you?)

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

So overall, this was a much better video than the initial briefing video. It definitely seems like they were holding everything back and saving it for this one, and frankly, I don't blame them. If this is what the actual show looks and feels like, I'm even more game than I already was before.

Odd Squad as a franchise is no stranger to contests -- they've held many in the past ten years, most with little fanfare outside of one social media post. However, this is the first one I've seen that is just straight-up advertising. And somehow, it hooked me solid.

Big congrats to Safiyah for her grand win with the Memory-inator. Whether she won both the UK and the US contests or just the UK one remains to be seen, but I'm not going to do a separate Seren's Study for both versions of the video because, put simply, there is no second version of the video. Corporate needed me to find the difference between the CBBC video and the PBS Kids video, and I told them straight out, "They're the same goddamn video."

You know what I will do a Seren's Study on next, though? The second trailer. So I'll see you folks around for that.

Seren out!

(And if you haven't seen the results, you can view them here!)

[onlytibki]

East Blue Map

(As seen in its completed version at the end of the last episode of s1 OPLA, edits are mind)

Annotations under the cut:

(edited because I'm a dumbass who struggles to think in 3D)

Red circles - known islands. Bottom left to bottom right: - Alabasta (thanks to the identifiable Shandora River) - Jaya (thanks to it's special maxilla/mandible shape) - Long Ring Long Island (this is easier to tell in the s1e1 opening map, but you can see the little hills making a circle around the center area) - I also circled the Oykot Kingdom because I find it cool that Nami and Vivi's birth islands are so close to each other

Red rectangles - known islands not shown/identifiable. Bottom left to bottom right: - somewhere in the flat rectangle is Water 7. It doesn't really have any identifiable features to be shown in a flat map like this (it's just kinda... round?) - somewhere in the extreme rightmost rectangle is the trio of Enies Lobby, Impel Down (in the Calm Belt) and Marineford. - This gives you an idea of how goddamn LONG the sea train tracks are, to go from Water 7 to Enies Lobby. Four for you, Tom's Workers. Damn. (Also, I find it hilarious that the Straw Hats had to double back over like half of Paradise once getting Robin back.)

Blue Arrow - on a similar note, I find it hilarious how close Luffy's journey STARTED to Marineford. It took him 15 years of chapters to get back to the longitude he started at.

Purple Rectangle - only seen on the s1e1 opening map, but they included a drawing of Tequila Wolf!

Yellow Circle - compass rose. Pointing this out because it indicates that North Blue (left, off map) is to the north, therefore making the OP world a planet with a giant X on it when viewed as north=up. - "But tumblr user onlytibki," you say, "isn't that obvious?" - "Sure," I respond, "but it confirms the validity of asking certain questions elsewhere. If the center of North Blue is the north pole of the OP world, then Enies Lobby is at the equator(ish). So why does the sun never set at Enies Lobby? That's only happens (sometimes) at the poles." - Either Oda-sensei was making the curtains blue for symbolism purposes or there's something fuckier than expected going on over Enies Lobby.

Finally, not annotated but something I just realized and enjoyed: given how continents and islands and currents work, I'm guessing there's a second continent perpendicular to the Red Line that just got flooded and now the islands of the Grand Line are all that shows of that original second continent.

[tonyhentai]

"cranston st" by nassafa (clean edit)

scene a: in the car, waiting for nia and her new c_ke dealer to show up.

aniah said: yusuf. should you have the music that loud? i said: we have to play the f__kin part don’t we? we’re in the goddamned parking lot at the dollar tree on cranston st waiting to pick up a bag of c_caine! if i can’t play codeine crazy screwed and chopped here then really. where can i? she said: god. where are they? it’s so frickin hot! i said: it’s like an oven in here. ugh. f__k. i’m not even gonna lie. i have swamp ass in a major way. she said: how long has your ac not worked? i said: um. i think. about three years? she said: god yusuf. why don’t you fix it? i’m dying in here. i said: i never have the time aniah! plus in general. as a rule. i don’t mind the breeze during the summer. driving with the windows down. she said: but what about times like now? i said: well i’m not usually sitting in a dollar tree parking lot for 20 minutes waiting for some little whooir and her new dealer to meet us for a small scale hand to hand. she said: well ac is always. i don’t know. for me it’s a non-negotiable. like i need it. even in the winter sometimes. i just need to cool down. i said: yeah well you’re a woman. you have like hot flashes and s__t. i’m a man. i can deal with a little swamp ass from time to time. i shouldn’t have took that last shot of mezcal. i feel like i’m gonna puke. now that i think of it. i actually do kind of need a line of c_caine right now. aniah said: are we actually snorting the c_ke? i said: aniah. i’m gonna say this just one more time. one last time. remember. we are undercover. so please don’t give me any of that prude s__t today. f__k that. oh you don’t like snorting c_caine? you’re scared of fentanyl? boo f__king hoo. we’re gonna snort the f__k out of this bag. get the name of this little mooly and work our way up the ladder. this is the s__t they don’t teach you. she said: at the academy. blah blah blah. i knowwww yusuf. god you’re annoying sometimes. i said: okay. get me a f__kin twenty. roll that s__t up for me. f__kin moolies. never on time. she said: okay. here he is. i think this is them. yeah that’s definitely her. i said: niaaaaaa! great to see you. how’ve you been? yeah. he have the. okay. great. yeah get in. nia said: yassss bitches! ugh. i’m readyyyyyyyyy. aniah said: i can’t wait to snort some lines of c_caine! i said: shut up aniah. god. nia said: haha! no i loooove her! i said: yeah. she’s something.

scene b: on the way to the next bar (undercover).

i said: you f__kin mooly!!! your mother’s a wellworn c_ntrag!! you f__king s__tstain!!! you herpes infested slut ahh!! aniah said: yusuf he had his blinker on. i said: yeah. so? a mere blinker doesn’t just. you know. give a person carte blanche to just like. scoot in front of me like that. it’s just aggravating aniah. the way people drive over here. i should really. aniah said: what? pull him over? haha! nia: imagine that? yusuf being a cop! aniah said: haha! nia said: hey do you either of you. i said: i have a twenty. i actually just had it. let me just see here. aniah said: yusuf! not while you’re driving. nia said: a twenty?! usually i use ones! i’m so basic! i said: ah. here! yeah i knew i had one. yeah um. don’t make mine too fat. at least not to begin with. i wanna ease into this. nia said: i swear i’m a broke ass bitch haha! aniah said: isn’t it tough. pouring those out. wow you do it so neatly. nia. while we’re driving? nia said: girl! i’m a pro! kind of. hahaha!

scene c: parked outside the upscale brown university adjacent outdoor bar patio snorting lines of c_caine.

aniah said: oh crap. that’s like a family of four? parking in front of us right now? i said: eh. f__k it. i’m ready for another one. ohhh yeah!!! nia that’s actually half-decent nose candy! nia: oh my god yusuf! you’re so funny! i said: here. your turn. nia said: is that a port-o-potti? i said: over on the grass? aniah said: oh yeah. they put them there because some brewery has a weekly pop-up. nia: think it would be gross if i pop a squat in one? unless we’re going in right now? aniah said: no that’s fine. nia said: it’s just. honestly? i’m sweating my pussy lips off in here. ugh. i’m so gross! yusuf. you don’t have ac in here? i said: no usually i do! it just went last week. i’m actually. uh. i have an appointment like early next week to get it fixed. nia said: ugh that sucks! anyway. yeah maybe wait for me so i can do one more before we go in. aniah said: oh sure thing. (nia left the car to go pee in a port-o-potti.) i said: ugh. what a ratchet little whore. using a port-o-potti. as a female? aniah said: oh. so now you’re ac just went? is she a ratchet little whore? because you sure seem to. i said: what do you mean? aniah said: when i asked about your ac you told you didn’t care about ac. but when niaaaa asks. oh. now you have an appointment. because it quote-unquote just went. interesting. i said: aniah. i’m undercover right now. what do you think? i’m seriously trying to plow her? c’mon! aniah said: sure. of course. whatever you say yusuf. you’re funny you know that. i said: i’m gonna do one more before she gets back. aniah said: yusuf! you can’t be doing all the c_caine. we have to be careful! i said: well you aren’t doing any! and if she does the whole bag. which she will if we don’t get a couple decent snorts in. if she does the whole damn bag she’ll probably have a seizure. and our resource will be kaput! she’s like 90 pounds! aniah said: oh is that how you like them yusuf? that’s what you’re into? 90 pound resources? god. men are pigs.

scene d: standing at the outdoor patio bar on the main drag of downtown providence.

i said: yeah these are on me. nia is the vodka? that’s you. right of course. of course aniah gets the fruit punch. aniah said: no. it has rum in it. it’s just mixed with. nia: god i could go for a cig. i said: f__kin tell me about it. you didn’t bring any? nia: i smoked the last one in my pack before i got off work to meet you guys! i said: ugh! we can pick up a pack before we go to the next spot. aniah said: the next spot? i said: yeah. josh’s band is playing at that techno spot on manton. next to the makeshift spanish church that’s next to that like insurance agency? nia said: yeah. my boy from earlier said he’s gonna meet us! i said: oh nice. nice! excellent. yeah. he seemed like a good guy. nia: i’m not blowing him yusuf! god. he’s just my dealer. but he’s a good kid too. i said: man. cigarettes. f__k. honestly i’d rather smoke a. i’ve come to the conclusion that smoking is actually better for you than the average american diet? like i’d prefer to smoke a f__kin cigarette than eat the majority of food served at a median restaurant. just purely a from a health perspective. nia said: it’s crazy! all the diseases people have now? like our parents’ generation. they never had these diseases we have now. i said: yet they were smoking and drinking their nuts off! well. i mean you know what it stems from really. but you can’t f__kin say it. aniah said: yusuf. we’re in public. please don’t go rfk on us. nia said: but it is. it’s just crazyyyyy. these diseases. i said: no not that at all. i’m just saying. it is. it’s like moderately interesting. makes me wanna rip a butt that’s all.

scene e: at the techno dive bar waiting for the metal show to start.

aniah whispered: yusuf. you’re grinding your teeth. stop it. nia said: haha! i said: oh f__k. i don’t. think i can stop? nia whispered: here. take this piece of gum and chew it. i said: thanks nia. i appreciate that. nia said: no one will know the difference. you’re just chewing gum now. (through the doors a well-dressed man scurried over to the three of us as we were standing right outside the bar at one of the small stand-up tables on the outdoor patio.) the man said: excuse me. are you yusuf. i said: um. he said: you have to understand something right now. i mean. you don’t have to. but i’d greatly appreciate it if you did. i said: okay. yeah. i’m yusuf. what do you need my guy? he said: i’m from. i’m from an alternate. i don’t know how to best phrase it. nia said: are you okay? aniah said: yeah. are you in trouble sir?

he said: i’m from an alternate reality. maybe that’s the best way to express it. even though it sounds insane. i realize that. but i’m not from here. there are subtle differences between this world and the world i’m from. there was a wormhole at some point. i’ve recently realized this. slowly but surely i’ve realized this. things that. sure. at first i thought i was just misremembering things. that i was unable to distinguish between dream states and reality. but no. this is as true as anything. to me at least. i said: s__t man. to be honest with you i’ve just snorted a ton of c_caine and drank like 10 mezcals. so i. aniah said: yusuf! nia said: hahaha! the man said: it will be the most subtle things. like where i’m from? this bar was open three years ago. this exact bar. but it closed in 2019. right before the pandemic. i said: was there something here before? the pandemic? maybe it was. the man said: and the iphone wasn’t invented until 2011. nia whispered: is he like a crackhead? i said: no. let’s hear him out. he actually seems. quite lucid to me. the man said: i can understand why you might feel that way nia. aniah said: wait. was the iphone invented before 2011?

the man said: but i promise you that what i’m saying is true. there are many realities. and for better or worse it’s somehow possible to travel between them. the problem is. i don’t know how to get back! i don’t know how. i have the same family. the same wife. but they’re not. the same. it’s actually horrendous! it’s the worst thing in the world! i’d actually. i’d much prefer just to be in a completely different reality! these miniscule. these nearly imperceptible changes! god! my family. my mother and father! they’re. not the same people! i said: okay okay. just relax man. i believe you. i get it. but i don’t want you to. he said: no. you’re right. i should. i should probably go. nia said: you used to come here though? before the pandemic? i said: yes. i did. i’m actually somewhat of. well you wouldn’t think it looking at me. but i’m a big fan of noise music. so places like this are right up my alley. they’re few and far between these days. i said: did you ever see us here? in your initial reality?

he said: i didn’t even realize it yusuf. i had no idea i was even in an augmented reality for the longest time. i understand this sounds crazy. and i don’t expect you. really any of you. to believe me. of course i recalled vegetarianism being more prominent. but i don’t know. foolishly i attributed it to a cultural shift i was just unaware of. like all of us. at times it feels like life is just passing us by in the hustle and bustle of it all. certain shifts are always bound to come out of nowhere. no. while i noticed certain shifts it wasn’t until a particular time and place. quite recently. that i came to this conclusion. that memories gushed back into my brain. i said: okay. we’re listening. go on.

he said: i was at the international airport of baltimore. i was standing there at the gate. with my wife and sister-in-law. we got off the plane in a hurry. we thought we were in danger of missing the connecting flight. only to realize once at the gate that we had more time than anticipated. we sat down to grab a drink at a japanese pop-up restaurant across from our gate. we all ordered a drink. they were pricey even for airport drinks. i recall that. i recall the person behind the bar telling us to grab what we wanted. there was a refrigerator filled with alcoholic beverages. we all grabbed our beverage of choice. i recall the tab prompting me to leave a tip. despite the fact we all grabbed our own drinks. yet no sooner had we sat down. we heard an announcement that our flight was now moved to a new gate. another gate! across the entire airport. so now we shuffled across the airport with great rapidity yusuf! we got to the new gate. again we’d miscalculated the severity of the situation. we had plenty of time! once at the gate we realized we’d have quite a bit of time before boarding. there was a restaurant called zona cocina. now it was right next to our gate. i tossed the idea of getting another drink out there to my wife. she seemed to be on board with the idea. but on second thought i didn’t want to have a second drink before a connector flight. that was too much! my wife agreed with my change in perspective. so we sat across from the gate and waited. the gate was filled to the brim already. we sat across from the gate. out of nowhere it seemed. i saw a light-skinned possibly hispanic man with a jet black beard wearing a baseball hat. there was nothing of particular note about him. he was at the gate. right outside of zona cocina. and then he walked away matter-of-fact. quickly disappearing into the sea of other arrivals and departures of the baltimore airport. standing across from the gate i realized i knew this man from somewhere. yusuf this was definitive. i knew this man. from somewhere. i went to the bathroom. i couldn’t place the man. i felt like i knew him from my past. i knew that i knew him from past. i could no longer distinguish my in-person past from like. i watched a tv show in the past … past. the name larry nance junior came to me. ah. maybe he just looked like a basketball player. maybe that was it. that had to be it. that’s what i told myself vis-a-vis this doppelganger. then on the plane. while i was watching an older woman flagrantly abuse the no-internet policy on both her phone and laptop prior to reaching 10,000 feet. while watching her switch between screens indiscriminately. i realized this man didn’t look like larry nance junior. that while there was a passing resemblance it wasn’t what was conjuring my memories. so to speak. not larry nance junior. or any other basketball player. that i actually in fact knew this person. yet that this person as far as i could tell. scouring my memories. that he didn’t exist. to this day i recall the man. and i can’t recall who he was from my past. it’s as if some minor acquaintance of mine was manually erased from my own memory banks. that was the day it dawned on me.

nia said: wow. that’s like. super trippy dude. he said: you guys probably think i’m crazy. but sadly. this is actually true. you have a white speckle in your. aniah whispered: yusuf. wipe your nose. i said: damn man. how’d you see. impressive. interesting. hmm. the man said: but really. actually. i really should be going. i said: i have to pee. nia said: should we? aniah said: i’m down. (the three of us went to the bathroom to snort more c_caine.) aniah said: that was like. really weird? i said: is your boy still um. showing up? nia said: you can just whip it out if you want? just go pee if you have to? might as well. aniah said: oh he’d love that!

[thenationaltreasuregazette]

occasional musings on Disney’s accidental masterpiece

Timeline and Exhaustion

The last few times I’ve indulged in National Treasure, I’ve noticed something that I can’t seem to let go of, and that is the timeline in which the adventure takes place.

Fear not Treasure lovers! This isn’t a list of implausibilities or plot holes—I have very little interest in that.

No, what’s captured my attention—and perhaps this is my now-aging millennial bones talking—is how goddamn exhausted the three of them must be.

Let’s review the timeline.

The Charlotte

Ben and Riley survive the explosion of the Charlotte, hitchhike back to DC, and start meeting with agencies trying to get their attention on the Declaration theft. There is no concrete indication of how long it took them to get back and set up the meetings, but given that Abigail says “You told my assistant that this was an urgent matter?” we can infer that at least the meeting at the Archives was made on short notice. The implication in her words and tone is that she made time in her schedule to see them (and now Ben is wasting her time talking about buttons).

So already Ben and Riley must be exhausted. They may not have had any longer than the plane ride home to rest and recover from Ian’s betrayal and their near-death escape. Even if these meetings are happening over several days, the way the film is cut, combined with the urgency with which Ben perceives the threat, suggests that they waited as little time as possible before jumping into this. It has been only days since the Charlotte.

The Gala

We have more concrete information about the timeline of the week leading up to the adventure. Ben notices the brochure for the National Archives 70th Anniversary Gala.

SIDEBAR: The 70th Anniversary of the National Archives really was in 2004. The organization was founded on June 19th, 1934. June 19th 2004 was a Saturday, so it’s conceivable that the Gala was meant to be that weekend. However, based on all the characters’ clothing, I’ve always felt like National Treasure was a fall movie.

At the Library of Congress Ben says, “the best time for us or Ian to steal it would be during the gala this weekend.”

This weekend.

If it had currently been the previous Sunday or earlier, it would have made more sense for him to say said “next weekend.” That means that if we generously presume the meeting with Abigail at the National Archives was on Monday, they had four and a half days to plan the heist.

The implication of the editing is that the meeting at the Archives, Ben’s Big Decision™ on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, and Riley’s doomed attempt to talk some sense into Ben at the Library of Congress all take place on the same day. If the library was the next day, they had even less time.

As mentioned above, the actual 70th anniversary of the National Archives was on a Saturday. I personally interpret the Gala to be taking place on a Friday. This could be the Friday before, June 18th 2004, or a Friday later in the fall. After all the Gala doesn’t necessarily have to be on the anniversary weekend itself—the anniversary could simply be the theme.

It’s unclear how frequent these type of fundraising parties are at the Archives, but my assumption is at least once a year. That’s the time frame over which they would be counting donations for budgeting and tax purposes. Also, Abigail does not seem particularly concerned or excited about the gala, which suggests this isn’t the first one she’s had to go to. Actually, she seems rather bored.

The reason I suggest the gala is on a Friday night is because Abigail is at work, and Ben and Riley knew that she would be. The plan to send her the George Washington campaign button at the Archives (rather than her home) then set off the detector so she has to respond to the situation (typing in her password in the process) only works if she’s there.

While the National Archives museum is open every day (10am - 5:30pm daily except Thanksgiving and Christmas), the research rooms in the Archives are only open 9am-5pm Monday-Friday and by appointment only. This, along with the general status and prestige of Abigail’s position—a private office, an assistant, critical duties related to the care and preservation of some of America’s most precious documents—suggests that her working hours are likely Monday-Friday 9am-5pm.

SIDEBAR: Did you know that in earlier drafts of the script, Abigail’s position had an official title that was reference several times in dialogue? It was something like Conservator of the Declaration of Independence (I don’t want to go back to find that script now, because it was so terrible I had to get drunk last time I read it.)

So. It’s Friday night. No time is visible on the brief image we see of the brochure, but let’s posit that the gala is potentially taking place somewhere between 7-11pm.

It’s already dark when Ben arrives. Sunset on June 18th, 2004 was at 8:36pm in Washington DC, so that gets us to potentially 9-11.

However, that seems like a late start, especially considering this gala’s attendees are probably mainly older, wealthy donors. In September, sunset would have been closer to 7pm. I still think it’s fall. All we know for certain is that the story had to take place before October 31, as that was the last day of daylight savings time in 2004.

There are definitely cocktail tables set up in the background, and obviously champagne is being passed around. It’s unclear whether there was (or was supposed to be) a dinner component or only appetizers. (There are multiple members of the catering waitstaff visible in Sadusky’s address to the crowd. Presumably there are at least finger foods available.)

There also may or may not be a fundraising component—a silent auction or similar activity.

So let’s think about Abigail.

She’s worked a full week, dealt with at least one weird meeting, and at least one archival emergency. Depending on what time the gala is and what time she got done with her work, Abigail either went home, got changed, and came back for the gala, or, if she found herself working late due to the gala and/or a heist-created emergency, she might have changed in her office. In either case, her chance to rest was minimal to non-existent.

The boys have spent the week planning a high-stakes heist. They devised their plan, built and tested any components they needed to (the concealed laser, the uv visible powder, the forged ID badge, etc), broke into the subway, prepared the clean room environment in the van, etc. etc. etc. I doubt either of them slept well the night before the heist, if at all.

Abigail is coming to the gala after a full workday at the end of a busy work week.

Ben and Riley have done an unknown amount of hours worth or work putting the heist together, and potentially not been sleeping well in the meantime. It is plausible that one or both of them have already been more or less awake for 24 hours.

And that’s obviously just the beginning.

→ part 2!

[xtrablak674]

The Monsta

[Originally published in my zine Fashion Fag Magazine in April 1996 - edited for clarity]

I looked up wanting and waiting for the warm black hand of unconsciousness to rescue me. The long hot summer had taken on a new meaning as I wondered would I ever escape my bucked tooth, low hanging breast torturer.

"Don't you ever tell no one cuz I'll kill ya."

"Mommy! Momm-e! Mom!"

Up I woke, sweat drenched and trembling. Mom ran into our room her supple ass following behind her.

"What? Baby what!"

"Mom, I had a dream but it wasn't just a dream it really happened last summer."

"Tell me what happened baby, calm down, and tell me."

She took me in her arms and rocked me.

"I dreamed I was in New York with my father, and Pat, his girlfriend was there and she was mad at the jokes I played with him and she made Mooch beat me..."

"But how is she gonna know? We could do just like they did on Different Strokes when Arnold told Willis to beat the pillow and not him"

I laugh. The look in Mooch's eyes are that of a deer staring blankly into the oncoming headlites of a car.

"No... She'll know, she always knows."

"No she won't we'll tell you did it and it really hurt."

"No, she'll kill me!"

Mooch isn't much more then four years older then me and like her mother she isn't to brite. I remember how she had once told me that her she thought this guy had gotten her pregnant from kissing her.

I drop my pants and lay down on my stomach on the bed.

"Mooch, you don't have to do this."

I'm sorry."

There are tears in her eyes.

The pain shoots up my spine as she unfurls this 1/4 inch thick belt on my bared backside.

I scream. I could run but I didn't want Mooch to face the Wrath of Pat.

...she didn't want to do it, she was frightened of Pat and she had to.

Pat beat me in the head with her wooden soled shoe in the bathroom while my father slept in the next room...

"Why?"

I responded to her, telling me I was gonna get a beatin.

"Do you think that shit is funny, your farther is sick and you make jokes like that?"

"But he's my father, and he laughs."

"Damn you, shut up!"

I thought my head was caving in and I wished it would as she pounded this four inch, thick, wide wooden shoe into my head. I put my hands up to protect my exposed scalp. She just pounds harder. I cry out, and she hits even harder and says.

"Keep your motherfuckin mouth shut and yo bettah not cry, or you'll get more."

I look up at the window wishing I could escape like a pigeon flyin free. But the window stares back at me and begins to darken.

I didn't know she stopped, I find myself slumped over the bathtub, in her cramped and dirty bathroom, with the most fantastic headache.

"Get up, I said, get up! Do you want some more? Clean this shit up, and go to your room."

The tears in my eyes had dried up, I could only cry dry tears of blistering pain. I wipe the bits of blood up the best I could and stumble down the hallway and collapse in my bedroom.

Later that night, she creeps into my room, where I share a bed with Mooch, carrying a flashlight and a bag of ice. She shines the lite into my face and stares at me through those thick wide glasses of hers and says.

"Don't you ever tell no one cuz I'll kill ya"

I put the ice on my aching head, the ice melts and mixes with my tears as they fall down my face. I wonder shall I ever escape.

...and she would always pinch me until I bled because I would't sit still on the bed while watching T.V.

"Where was your father when she did this to you?"

"He was either sleep or not there. See feel the lump its still there."

"Why didn't you tell me this when I picked you up?"

I began to cry.

"She said she would kill me."

"That son of a bitch. It's OK baby, momma's gonna take care of it."

She ran down the hall to the phone her large tree trunk-like legs shakin behind her.

"MOTHERFUCKER! WHO THE FUCK THAT BITCH THINK SHE IS LAYIN HER HANDS ON MY BABY? ....I DON'T GIVE A FLYIN FUCK.

TREVOR IS BACK THERE TREMBLIN LIKE HE DONE SEEN A GODDAMN GHOST...TELL THAT BITCH SHE EVER LAY A HAND ON MY CHILD AGAIN SHE'LL DRAW BACK A NUB. I'LL HAVE THAT BITCH SHOT.

YEAH NIGGAH, I AIN'T LETTIN HIM COME OUT TO STAY THERE WITH YO BLACK ASS NO MORE. YA GODDAMN FOOL CAN'T EVEN WATCH YOUR OWN CHILD WITH OUT LETTIN SOME HEATHIN BEAT ON HIM.... SHUT THE FUCK UP I AIN'T HEARIN IT. I'M THE ONLY ONE TO CHASTISE MY CHILD.

NO FUCKIN KNOCKED UP STUPID GOOD FOR NUTHIN HIGH YELLA BITCH!

SLAM.

The phone hittin the receiver all I heard next.

"Trevor, come here baby."

I walked slowly down the hallway to the living room to sit on the couch by Ma

"Sit down, baby. Look, if anyone ever put they hands on you who ain't supposed to you tell me right away, you hear me? Ain't nobody chastising my children except me, no one. OK baby."

"Yeah, Ma."

"Go on back to bed, baby."

She said as she put her thumb in her mouth a habit that even at forty-something she hadn't broken. It was her way of relaxing letting her guard. I went back to my room smiling. My mom had fought the monsta and had won.

[Even the minimal edits I did to this piece as I transcribed it from the PDF was extremely difficult. The story is so vivid to me in nineteen ninety-six and it brings me back to a place that I didn't want to remember.

I am also realizing I never shared this story with my late brother, and now I wonder if it was important to see who his mother was to me, a monster who was now caring for his kids. But that is moot since he's now gone, and I don't see how it would ever be appropriate to share this with her grandchildren who have acclimated to her misinformed views of the world and psychosis.]

[Photo by Brown Estate]

[acorncoffeeformysweetheart]

Okay, I decided to edit that fic and write a whole post about the furniture in the Cabot house. Spoiler alert: yes, Ed and Sole finally kissed after two years of awkward tension (even though Sole already has these two dumbasses, Mac and Gage).

I thought this could be a nice example of environmental storytelling. I understand that it is impossible to realize this in such a large game, but I can write about it.

 Let me start by saying that five years after the bombs fell, Ed decided to get married, which made Jack absolutely mad. Ed left the job, but four months later, Jack and Emogene apologized and begged him to come back because they could not find anyone suitable to replace Ed. He agreed to return. Jack began to behave much more respectfully, gave Ed a big raise in salary, and a large room on the first floor next to the kitchen.

I found this photo three years ago and fell in love with it. It’s very close to what I’m thinking about. "Went to get wood", Wood, found objects, ≈12’x9’x10’, 2008 - by Ethan Hayes-Chute

Ed, like many ghouls, has sleep issues, and his room is very different from the rest of the house. It is painted dark green (even the ceiling). Thick, heavy curtains hang from the window. The bed is just huge, 2+ meters, because Ed himself is fucking huge two-door brick-built fridge. And this bed is for sleeping. No one in their mind would bring women to the house they are working for, especially since Ed was generally not interested in this (his wife and child lived in the next house). So, the bed takes up a significant part of the room; there are several different blankets and a dozen of pillows on it, and when Ed sleeps, he buries himself in them like in a nest (quite funny, yes). He even has this silly pillow stuffed with aromatic herbs that you put under your main pillow to make it smell nice.

 He has a lot of strange things in there because his duties include working with caravan owners, knowing who sells what, where, and when, and seeing a lot of different things. And periodically, he buys something for himself because, why not?

 After all, when a single mature man works a lot, he should have his me-time and me-things. And Ed has several hobbies. He loves good clothes. He gathered a whole collection of these goddamned (oh, I adore them) Irish grandpa caps (although he had a hat for any occasion, the sun of the wasteland will burn your bald head). He drinks a lot and smokes like twice as much as Sole and Mac together.

So his room, still perfectly clean, has a lot of stuff in it. A large wardrobe (because he has a lot of good clothes for weekends and even has a seamstress friend who sews for him), a full-length pre-war mirror—a true rarity. Several large shelves with books, notebooks, and folders with blueprints—because he does all the engineering work around the house (after all, he is a former navy engineer; during the war he served on a ship, and he has been on airships and loves them), looks after weapons and equipment, and also helps Jack with the simple stages of his research. Large work desk. A comfortable armchair for reading (oh, I adore the fact that the community unanimously considers him a reading person).

Soon after the assault on Parsons, one by one, the Cabots died. Ed buried them and grieved. He drank for three months and even gave the cats to Daisy because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to take good care of them. Then he joined one of the caravans and worked as a security guard for six months just to get his mind off things, to be in the fresh air, and to be around people, not for money. 

Then he pulled himself together and returned to the house. You know, this may sound cool—I inherited a house like this. But in reality, no. And Ed didn't want that. After all, he could live anywhere.

He took off paintings and removed unnecessary furniture. When Sole came for the first time after a long break, she was very surprised. The living room and dining room (in fact, Ed moved there) greatly changed. They have lost their fashionable gloss but have become warmer and cozier. It was immediately obvious that he now lives here. There was a knitted blanket and colored pillows on the sofa. Instead of that huge portrait, Ed hung a simple rug, the kind Sole had seen in farmers' houses. There were books on the coffee table, by the sofa, and on the dining table. An open bottle of whiskey and a glass. Ed carried the wood-burning stove into the dining room and carefully routed its chimney out the window. On it stood a large, bulbous copper kettle. Simple clay bowls and one huge crooked wooden one for all the weird beer snacks Sole loved so much.

He almost stopped using electricity, except for the reading lamp. There were now large grease candles in metal trays everywhere. And one oil glass lamp (similar to Orthodox icon lamps in Sole’s homeland) so that there is always a fire lit at home, from which you can light a cigarette (he still tried not to smoke in the house, although no one could stop him). I think there should be a smoking balcony with chairs and potted cacti. Ed used to smoke there with Emogene. There was never anything romantic between them, but she sympathized with him and loved his company.

Overall, it was a large and lonely house. It saw a lot. So when Gage asked Ed to come live with them on the lake, Ed was very relieved. Everything has become easier. He was a simple man, and his pleasures were simple. Beloved woman nearby. Beautiful view. A friend's little funny son (Ed loves children and got along well with Duncan). Clean water to bathe at any time. Farm animals. The forest. The caravan still comes once every ten days; you can have a drink and listen to their stories. You can take a boat and go fishing. You can even pack your stuff and go to the sea or to Diamond City if you really want to. Life is good.

At the farm, Ed lives not in the house itself but in the former boat house and workshop, in which part of it was first fenced off, and later another room was added. The room was small, and most of it was taken up by the bed. Pillows and blankets. Books are on shelves under the ceiling. In the same place where a huge amount of dried herbs hung. Ed continued to distill and collect herbs for infusions, cooking, and medicine. He made delicious tea, massage-soothing cream, and even a little perfume on holidays as gifts. Sole loved sleeping in his bed during the day; the room was always cool and smelled deliciously of herbs, wood, and oil. Calm and safe.

[squarebracket-trickster]

Happy STS! Since you're on the second draft of ur WIP, how was the progress of the first draft? What are some things you learned during it? What is something you would do differently for your next first draft?

It's so rare to see a writeblr going through revisions and i find your commentary very inspiring. One day i too will be telling myself to leave the sentence be for another draft LOLLL

Oooh I love this question so goddamn much!!! (well, ig it's sort of two? three? questions.) I had so much fun answering this<3333 It was an excellent chance at reflection.

How was the progress of the first draft?

(lol I did not intend for my answer to be this long but it just kept going. But I like the idea of being very transparent about the journey because I hear a lot of nice, summed up "one day I sat down and wrote a novel, the next month I had a manuscript and started querying" stories and I think that can be really invalidating for people for whom the journey isn't that smooth if that is the only narrative you hear.)

I think I came up with the story idea some time in 2019. It was one of those, "princess runs away from an arranged marriage but [redacted due to spoilers]" concepts but at the time I was worldbuilding for other things so I put it aside for later.

About a year later, when I had not made much progress on my other WIPs (due to not having enough worldbuilding ideas to carry a fantasy or sci-fi story and banging my head against a wall trying to think up something I was happy with), I decided, ah what the hell, I'll try this instead.

I picked it because it was a simple concept--an idea fit for a standalone novel on the shorter end, with a fairly small setting and requiring little worldbuilding. It seemed like it would be good practice before I seriously tackled my more ambitious WIPs.

It still took a while to actually get writing. I tried three or four times to make an outline--one was more than 8000 words--and ended up scrapping each of them because when I got to actually writing the scenes I had outlined I found them dry and soulless. I was just going through events that needed to happen but there was no emotion, no humour, no themes, nothing. I tried to write the first chapter once or twice but I started the story too early in the timeline and lost the momentum to keep going. Finally, I wrote a scene somewhere in the middle (the one where Sorin figures out Adris is a girl) and it was the first I was actually happy with. I had fun writing it and then reading it again, and it finally felt like there was some "life" behind the plot I had been failing to outline. I rewrote that scene in both first and third person, decided I liked 1st better, and tried to keep adding to it. Then I had about 3600 words. I wrote another scene near the end (when Isadred and Firnen meet; though I changed this later) and it gave me some direction to work towards.

Then I did not touch the project again for several months.

One day in November of 2021 (NaNoWriMo month but I hadn't heard of it yet) I decided to just go for it and put a bunch of time aside to write like crazy. I started from chapter one and had two rules, 1. Start chapter one as late into the story as possible, and 2. keep it going--don't edit (not even spelling unless it is absolutely critical for me to make sense of later), if I get stuck just jump ahead to the next scene I can write, and if I don't know what happens next just ramble about everything that can't happen until I figure out a situation where that does not apply.

It worked. Really well. The next things I knew (about three weeks in) I had roughly 48 000 words. Some days I was hitting 13-14 000 words per day. Then I took a break because uni and came back to it in April 2022. Same rules, same deal. Suddenly I had 112 572 words.

I got stuck on the ending. I wrote a few scenes but didn't like them. So I figured I would just call it a finished manuscript, put it aside for a while, and come back to it when the time was right.

About two months ago I thought up part of a better ending while in the shower and a few weeks ago, just before I started the second draft I figured out the rest. So I knew it was time and I went back to it.

What are some things you learned during it?

I had a lot of fun. I laughed a lot at the banter and dramatic irony, I highlighted my favourite lines to look back on later, and I left funny comments for myself in the margins. The weird part was that I was not expecting it to be fun at all. I see so much writing content about how hard writing is and how much writers hate it, especially first drafts, and I have done my share of banging my head against a wall (especially in my other WIPs) but, for me at least, it is one thing to get stuck on a plot point, but if I am finding every single new sentence to be a struggle to get down it is probably because my story has not come to life yet. I am writing too much from a place of "hit each plot point in my outline" and not enough from a place of "you know what would be fun/gut-wrenching/shocking/funny/clever/insightful?".

Believe it or not, the middle section was the most fun to write.

I have also come to believe ardently in these commonly touted morsels of advice:

if your story is losing momentum after only a few chapters you either don't know where you are going with it or you have started too far before the inciting incident.

Name your first draft draft zero, garbage draft, word vomit (or in my case, "idk what the FUCK this it looks pretty cool tho"), and just expect utter garbage.

Don't look back, just keep going. You know that thing in improv where they do the "yes, and..." exercise? Do that.

If you are stuck on what happens next, skip that scene and go to the next. There is a chance you may not even need the scene you were stuck on. Long time skips in the same chapter are allowed.

If you don't know what to write just sit down and start rambling. As long as you know what you are trying to write towards, eventually you'll end up there and you can cut the bloat later.

Know your climatic moment before you start--not your ending, but the big final showdown the story is building to. You don't have to know how it resolves (I didn't figure that out until like six weeks ago) but know who is in your final battle and where it takes place.

Don't research. Don't worldbuild. If you need a piece of information you don't have, write [insert type of medieval ship here] and move on.

What is something you would do differently for your next first draft?

I am honestly not sure on this one... I do wish I was a more skilled writer prose-wise because my first drafts would need a lot less editing later on if descriptive, poetic prose came as naturally to me as dialogue and emotional one-liners. But all I can really do for that is keep practicing.

The only other thing I wished I had done from the start was keep a journal, log, or blog of my progress, and save some of the funny comments and [somehow our two romantic leads have to sword fight their way out of a masquerade ball in this scene while dressed to the nines] notes-in-brackets I left in the draft but went back and deleted later once I actually filled out the scene. Hence the existence of this blog now.

One of these days I would also like to develop a proper writing schedule to make more consistent progress throughout the year (instead of the random sprints of activity followed by months of not touching it that I do now). But between the ADHD and the Chronic Fatigue Syndrome I don't know when that will happen.