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bates--boy · 9 months ago

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ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ(ꜱ) ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ?

This muse started out as an ask blog, actually! I don't really know what drew me to adult!Peter from the beginning; maybe it's because I really liked underappreciated characters, or maybe I saw how little canon material there was of older Peter versus material for his canon age (which was still very little back in the day.) But I think it was the latter, because it meant that I could shape adult!Peter into any person that I want, which was how my portrayal went from bland, goody two shoes upstanding citizen to a nervous wreck constantly facing a plethora of childhood trauma and trying his best.

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ?

I do have rules about not writing rape or incest ships, but it is mostly carried over from my previous rp blogs. In fact, it may be hypocritical of me to even have this rule if you know about the Infamous Fic. I still have reservations about writing this topic, though, because far too many writers and RPers don't treat the subject matter as the horrifying thing that it is, and it's a fetish for some writers, which like... okay, write the rape porn, empty of nuance and trauma or whatever, just do it over there.

I guess another thing I don't like to write is writing against a villain or overpowered character. Over the years, I had sometimes found it to be tedious at best, and unpleasant at worst. Hell, my character canonically is super powerful, and even I don't overdo it. I would never ask a writer of a villain to tone it down, though. It's just one of those things that require curating your dashboard or whatever.

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ?

With that being said, it is wild how much I write Peter getting into arguments or fights. He's a firecracker baby, an asshole of the highest degree, and it's refreshing to find writers who can do a good back and forth, who can write a fight that actually drives the plot and thread forward, and lead to revelations about character motivations beyond "My character is evil, get used to it."

Another thing I like to write is scifi. But I never get my scifi threads. :c

ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ?

I mostly start with the canon material and a little bit of history and go from there. Like, "What could possibly go wrong with an immortal child mostly abandoned in a derelict fort in the middle of the sea? How does constantly being kicked out of places that you know you belong in, being ignored by your primary parental figure during your formative years, and being told implicitly that you're no used to anyone after the war, fuck up a child? What skills did Peter develop as he survived in both an abandoned fort and in the middle of a war zone? Where is the breaking point, and how does his reaction to reaching that point change overtime and with shifting motivations?"

Sometimes, it just comes to me.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏʀ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ?

It depends on my sensory load. I mostly like listening to music while I write, because it helps me to put in all the emotions I need for a scene to really make it hit. But if I had a sensory overload all day (talking to people, being in bright and overcrowded spaces, etc.) or if the scene in the thread is chill, I just write in silence.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴡɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ?

I try to plan as much as possible, and even jot down ideas for a thread, but I mostly wing them.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ꜱʜɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ?

Yeah, I do! Especially unconventional ships. (In fact, one of my old shipping partners and I had our muses having a baby together.) Sadly, my former shipping partners had left the fandom and the RPC, and most of the fandom characters I'm interested in shipping Peter with are not popular, so there aren't any writers to ship with, especially for a character as difficult to love as my canon-divergent Peter.

ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʟɪᴀꜱ/ɴᴀᴍᴇ?

In this sphere, I'm known as Droid! In another sphere, I'm known as Decada! I don't know why I chose those names!

ᴀɢᴇ?

Ageless. [knees crack, back aches]

ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ?

[redacted]

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ(ꜱ)?

Teal.

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ(ꜱ)?

Well, I've been singing "Do You Hear the People Sing" for a couple days, now, so it's probably that. Oh, and "Colors" by Coheed and Cambria.

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

Kon-Tiki (2013)

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ��ᴅ?

Abbott Elementary

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱᴏɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ?

Chocolate Covered Dreams by The Breed

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ?

I'm gonna have to agree with Vera on this one, but I really do love savory stuff.

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ?

I would say Summer because I like going out, being able to walk without needing an umbrella or having to layer, and that's when most events like concerts or parades happen. But, god, the sweat! The fucking sweat! I am a fat fuck and it is unpleasant to sweat in every crevice of my body. So, Autumn.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ?

I used to. The same mun who had written Peter's baby mama. She had also written this adorable and spunky child OC and she and Peter were two peas in a pod! We would gush about how adorable and sweet their dynamic was, and it was heartwarming to see what she had posted about her personal life. (Can you tell that I miss her?)

tagged by: @nezumivc103221 (ay yo, thanks!) tagging: @latvianpoet @the-expatriate @sicilitude @heta-micronomics @gebrochener-adler

#nothin' but static ( ooc )

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nerdnag · 2 years ago

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How much do you plot out your stories before you write them?

More than I used to!

Up until maybe 2019 I almost never plotted out stories beforehand. Therefore I have a LOT of started docs saved with little random ideas: some of which never became more than a page, some of which went haywire after a while and never recovered. And there are some entire "books" or fics that were completely improvised as I wrote them. That used to be how I wrote when I wrote for my own enjoyment only.

I tried my hand on an overarching structure for an original work back in 2017/18, but that was probably my real first planning for any story I'd ever written.

And then I think it was @alienducky who really got me into plotting and got me stuck on it for real. We worked on a fic together, and it would have been practically impossible to do that without some kind of joint plan. I remember she started a table at the top of the doc where she listed all the scenes, and I was like yeah, that's a good idea, and it was. After that I started plotting out my own fics in a similar manner too, and now I never want to go back to how I did it before. The stories just turn out so much better when I know where I'm going from the beginning. But I plot in a way that still lets me be creative with the plot along the way.

So this is how I do it nowadays:

Scribble any little initial idea I have - sometimes in a single sentence, sometimes in a paragraph, sometimes in random loose sentences here and there that only make sense to me.

Place the bits I know I want into some kind of organised scene structure - if I don't already know which order things will happen in, I'll get a first sketch on that now. I usually structure this into actual chapter titles (placeholder titles that just give me an idea of what the scene is about) so that step 5 becomes a bit easier later.

Loosely figure out what kind of ending I want - just so I have something to aim for. Usually I have two large threads going and then a number of subthreads; the main threads (like a fantasy conflict or a romantic struggle) have to be clearly solved at the end imo, but some of the subthreads can be more loosely handled. At this point in the process though it's all just a rough sketch.

Slowly fit more pieces I want into the puzzle - any scenes that are necessary to bring me to the end somehow, or even scenes that bring me joy to think about, as long as they don't stray too far from the main threads. I also make sure to always add in early on which pov I think I want for every scene.

When I have a beginning, an end, and a number of scenes that seem to coherently bring me from one to the other, I start fleshing out parts. This usually means that I start writing bits and pieces here and there. Often I wrote the first handful of chapter first before I go on to the rest of the story, so I have a basic idea for myself of what the characters want and how they should be acting. But after the first few chapters, I usually jump from scene to scene depending on what mood I am in and what feels more joyful at any point in time. So I might write half a scene in chapter 7 one day to then write an entire chapter 22 the next day, only to then jot down a few paragraphs into chapter 16 after that. (This is my adhd working, I let it because it's worked out pretty well for me so far.)

Along the way I may come up with new ideas and adjust things, I flesh out scenes that were very barebone in the beginning, I solve and change things that turned out not to work, and when I reach the latter chapters that I wrote early on (for example ch 22, if I wrote that straight after ch 7), I'll usually have changed enough things that I need to rewrite large parts of that chapter. That is fine by me, it's all part of the process.

I should also add that if I've started posting it on for example Ao3 along the way, I sometimes - very rarely, but it happens - adjust my plans depending on what people comment. This is usually only if someone comments something that is so genius or otherwise so perfectly natural for the story that I just cannot let it go by without doing something with it, and only if it fits into the plot somehow. One example of this is when I noticed that several people were suspecting a particular character of having hidden motives. Up until that point I hadn't planned on doing much at all with that character, but when I realized that what I'd already written was leading very naturally to their conclusion, I decided to give that character more space from there on out and even played into the whole hidden agenda idea (but with a twist). That kind of thing can be really fun to do, but I don't do it if I don't think it will work for the plot I already have.

There have also been occasions where conversations with @alienducky have led me to change things in similar ways. One example of this is when I sent her a first overarching plot of my entire then upcoming fic series back in... 2020 I think? And she's great with noticing details, so she asked me how the characters would be able to send letters to each other if they didn't know where the other person was. I told her there was a magically enhanced wolf in there that would be used to bring letters back and forth. She was so into the idea of this wolf, and asked what would happen to it later in the story, that I simply had to make it part of the main cast, and in the end it even played a very important part in a reveal down the line. XD Throwaway details that grow larger like that are also very fun.

Omg I actually found our old convo from back then, I can't not add it in here.

TLDR; I plot out an overarching story with beginning, end and bits and pieces in-between, then adjust as I go.

#Ask a nerd #This answer got away from me #But I love talking about this!#Writing

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griseldabanks · 9 months ago

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10, 13, and 23 for the fic writer ask, please?

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

My single solitary Dororo fic, Back from the Brink, has the second-highest number of kudos of all my works??? Second only to Make Me Whole, which is my most successful fic on AO3???? I didn't think Dororo was that popular of an anime, and it's just a little oneshot I dashed off for a friend for Christmas one year. There's no AU in it, no pairings, just a little moment that could have been in one of the episodes but doesn't particularly change anything about canon...and yet somehow it's got 119 kudos @_@ And it has the third-most bookmarks of all my works, too!

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

I am an incurable discovery writer who's practically allergic to outlines - how my beta got me to make not one but two outlines for my main WIP, even I don't know ^^' But I do usually need to have an idea of how to begin and how to end before I start writing. I'll jot down ideas of dialogue and major plot points as I go just so I don't forget anything vital, but most of the time I don't really write super complicated stories (current WIP is a huge exception), so I can get away with it. I will be writing the next scene I need to write in my head as I fall asleep for like two months ahead of time, though XD

23. How do you choose where to end a chapter (if you have multi-chapter works)?

Well, hey, this is super relevant, because I was just working on this for my WIP tonight! My friends probably all think I'm super weird for this, but my usual method for a chapterfic (unless it's a collection of oneshots, which admittedly is the majority of my multi-chapter fics) is that I just write the entire thing, putting in scene breaks but not chapter breaks. (I always write the whole thing before I start posting, btw.) Then, once I have the whole story in front of me, I go through and break it up into chapters, putting in the right number of scenes to get more or less the page number I want for each chapter.

Most of my methods for writing chapterfics are heavily informed by the first fic I ever wrote, which was a novelization of Final Fantasy X. Not knowing what I was doing, I posted it as I wrote, which meant I had to decide where to craft chapter boundaries as I went. That whole experience was rather stressful, since I also didn't make any plans or outlines ahead of time, writing everything by the seat of my pants, and in the end I looked back and realized I wanted to redo a lot of parts where I'd been blundering through, not sure what I was doing. To a lot of people, that method seems to work really well, but it's just really stressful to me, so I stopped doing that as soon as my first fic was done. Now I write everything ahead of time, make sure everything is edited at least far enough ahead of my posting schedule to leave me a comfortable buffer, and I don't worry about where chapters go until the editing stage. I usually have a pretty good idea of where chapter breaks will go as I write the first draft, but I like to be able to see each chapter in relation to the one that comes after as well as the one that comes before, to craft the best reading experience.

Fanfic Writer Asks

#ask and you shall receive #valiantarcher #ask games

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iwanthermidnightz · 3 years ago

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I’ll start off by saying that I read Conversations With Friends after Taylor recommended in her EW article at the beginning of Lover era. It’s clear she knew about the role then (flashback to the ew video where she talks about easter eggs and planning things years in advance). I found the book to be boring with no real plot or pace.

After finishing the CWF series I’m left with the same feeling. It was like a long and drawn out indie movie. I jotted down some thoughts while watching so here they are in no particular order.

— There’s no plot or climax, just a steady line of yawns all the way through. I’m shocked they had enough material to make this series.

— The casting was bad. I’m not just just saying that. The main characters weren’t clicking.

— I died when Frances decides to Google Nick and pictures of J*e come up from real events he went to years ago (why didn’t they use the met gala photo? I’m disappointed 😜)

— Right off the bat Bobbi thinks Nick is boring and conventional and she isn’t wrong. In fact they all talk about just how boring and plain he is on multiple occasions, including him.

— An actual conversation:

Frances: “You’re so handsome.”

Nick: “I thought you liked me for my personality.”

Frances: “Do you even have a personality?”

Nick: “Ok.”

Me: 😏

—Not him playing a dramatic gay role in the Cat on the Hot Tin Roof play and calling himself a “camp actor” to which Frances replies “You are not camp, you are aggressively heterosexual.” 😭

— They showed entirely too much of his bare ass, could’ve went without seeing that. I’m scarred.

— The affair and interactions he has with Frances lack real chemistry. As a focal point of the book/show this made it even more painful to watch.

—Basically what it comes down to is that the most interesting scenes are between Frances and Bobbi. It’s rocky and its back and forth. They have a history, they have chemistry and when they get together again you can visibly see the love they have for one another because it’s real and it’s believable. The scenes where they kiss/hookup really did show what a passionate connection they have.

—The ending was bad. Especially after making things right with Bobbi. I will just leave this here.

#why did they do bobbi like that like there was even competition??

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funtimebunnyblog · 3 years ago

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Pillarroomates (Chapter 2: Strange introductions...)

(Summary: It's time to meet your new Roommates and things are already off to a shaky start...)

"--and you mentioned you're a student aside from your work?"

Smiling, you nodded as the violet-haired man before you scribbled away on the neat lined paper laid out in front of him.

"Yeah. It's mostly online stuff but I do occasionally go for in person lectures when I get the time." You began, making Kars hum quietly to himself as you went into more detail.

This was honestly starting to feel like more of a job interview (or perhaps more of a Police interogation) rather than a simple interaction concerning becoming a roommate with hopes of living here.

Even though you had only spoken with him for a short time now, you could tell this "Kars" (or so he had introduced himself as) was all business.

The giant of a man was asking you all sorts of questions, jumping back and forth between ones boarderline ubsurd and ones you had expected.

He asked a little about your history and about your Family (most specifically your surname and any distant relations you might have). He questioned you on your work and what you did, your wages and your work ethic. He wanted to know every single one of your habits (annoying or not) and how you spent your free time; jotting things down as he went.

Every single time his eyes fell on you, you couldn't help but feel exposed under his gaze; like you were sitting completely naked before him on an operating table, cut open, and he was taking you apart piece by piece and examining every inch with a scrutinizing eye.

Speaking of eyes, you definitely didn't miss how inhuman his were. Maroon on crimson, like thick droplets of blood splattered onto the white of a fine ivory knife and cutting you just as deeply as one.

It was like nothing you had ever seen or felt before.

You told him the truth and nothing but during the entirety of the seemingly endless line of questioning but it still felt like it was all a spew of dirty little lies falling from your lips. It only made an icky swirl of anxiety churn consistently in your stomach, like the spinning of a washing machine, as you sat there talking away.

There was no telling how you would feel if you did tell a lie or if he happened to indeed smell one lingering on your breath; which you were also struggling to keep in check.

"Interesting..." he muttered quietly, more to himself than to you. The scratching of his pen on paper filled the long silence at the round little wooden table.

Your eyes fell to his handwriting a number of times in hopes of catching a glimpse of something that would indicate whether you were "passing" this little test or not but it was inevitable.

You were beginning to wonder where exactly this man was from as the entirety of his notes were in a language you couldn't identify at all.

Even if it was written in proper English, you doubted you'd be able to read it at all either. His handwriting was something akin to what you'd find on an ancient scroll being presented late at night on the History Channel; small and scratchy letters scrawled across white in quick flicks of the wrist.

As if things couldn't feel anymore stressful, you could also feel the eyes of two others burning into you.

The one whom you had an encounter at the door with, Kars informed you that his name was "Esidisi" after the man had retreated down the hall again, was now standing in the far corner of the little kitchen.

There he loitered, a piece of pizza cradled in each hand (was that.... macaroni on top???) and munching away as if he hadn't seen so much as a morsel of food in months.

Much to everyones relief, the man had put some clothes on by the time he ran to answer the door for the 2nd time that day; his long awaited pizza finally having arrived.

At the very least he had saved the poor delivery boy from becoming as startled as you had.

You didn't even want to think of how different things would've gone if his towel had somehow slipped...

The burning intensity of Kars' glare (despite the fact it wasn't even aimed remotely in your direction) made you squirm in your seat as Esidisi came onto the interview scene with the pizza box in hand, a sunny smile stretched across on his face and the words "HOT DAD ALERT" emblazoned in bold white letters on his t-shirt.

Esidisi wasn't even so much as fazed by the look like you were. The man only smiling all the brighter, cheeks stuffed uncannily like a chipmunk storing food, each time he met Kars' sharp gaze.

Then there was the other one, the blonde with the mullet-like haircut and the stained apron. While he was doing his best to busy himself by cleaning around the stove, you managed to overhear Esidisi addressing him as "Wamuu" when offering a slice of the boxed Italian monstrosity he was savoring; which the other kindly declined.

Even through your talking, you didn't miss the fact that Wamuu had wiped down the kitchen surfaces at least 3 times during your little chat with Kars; he hadn't even moved an inch from his spot. You had managed to catch his gaze once or twice as he was sneaking a few little glances over his shoulder.

Much like Esidisi was doing (but with a lot more inconspicuous action) Wamuu was eavesdroping on the interview.

However, you also couldn't help but feel that he was was also standing guard. The man was keeping a close eye on the scene, reminding you of a bulldog protecting its Home from intruders while its master was away.

"And, uh... that's about it, I guess." You finished, a tight smile flashing across your face as you shrugged helplessly.

Kars pursed his lips, eyes skimming over his papers. For a long moment, perhaps the longest moment you'd ever had to endure, he was silent.

"Acceptable." He hummed, not exactly much emotion carried in that word, papers rattling as they were shuffled in his hands. "Perhaps the most acceptable I've seen in some time. You definitely fit our criteria."

You could only blink, unsure if you should even thank him for saying something like that.

"Uhh, I take it you've had your fair share of annoying roommates?" You asked, laughing a little, only making the man across from you hum again.

"Oh, you bet we have," Esidisi cut Kars off just as he opened his mouth to speak, wiping his hands with a paper towel as he waved the other off. "You wouldn't believe it! The last one we had was a real idiot. Lazy too, couldn't hold a job to save his life, he left the kitchen a mess every time he walked though it."

Hearing that, you could at least nod understandingly.

You definitely sympathized with them on that one, you had met your fair share of people when jumping from place to place who outright refused to pull their weight.

One of the main reasons you had been looking for a place to start with was because of one of those same types of people, afterall.

You had been happy living in an apartment closer to the edge of town for some time. Your earlier roommates had been nice, kind of fun too, and you had hopes things would stay that way at least until you finished school.

Everything had been just fine until the first one chose to move cities, then things only went downhill from there. Along came your other roommates boyfriend (better known as; the laziest, most childish piece of shit you ever had the displeasure of knowing) and after almost a year of just barely tolerating that shitshow you had decided enough was enough.

It was overdue for you to find another place to live.

Esidisi laughed as he went on, leaning on Kars' chair. "He really had it coming to him when we--"

THUNK! The table rattled, making you jump in your own chair. Esidisi's lips came tight together, a long breath sucked hard enough through his nose that the little gold ring dangling precariously on the ridge of his nostril shivered.

Kars acted as if you didn't know that he had just kicked the other under the table, clearing his throat.

"When that one was evicted," here Kars shot Esidisi another one of those looks, which the other actually paid attention to this time around. "It was unanimous that was the final straw, so we agreed to put some proper ground rules out there before allowing anyone else to even think about inquiring to live here."

Your head tilted, unable to hold back a chuckle as you pulled out the print out of their half-garbled "guidelines" you had kept for them to see.

"I'll be honest, at first I was sure this wasn't a real ad..."

Here, both Esidisi and Kars shared a pointed look, you had a feeling there was something more to the story there.

Kars' eyes fell on you again after a beat, thankfully his expression much more neutral.

"I'll ask you," he began. "Do you want to live here?"

"Well..." you honestly couldn't help but laugh a little. Even if things seemed a little worse here you probably wouldn't find yourself refusing, you NEEDED a place and you needed to jump on this before the opportunity was gone again. "Yeah."

"As you said, dear Kars, they fit all the criteria." Esidisi's voice dropped into a teasing little purr, you suddenly felt that heat you felt at the front door blooming in your face once again when the man tossed a wink and a smile your way. "They're cute too, just what I asked for at the very least."

Cute? You nearly sputtered out the word, lips tightening together as you had no choice but look away from the man and his cheeky little grin.

You sat there struggling to force down the memory of him in only his bathtowel again, face feeling hot enough to rival the sun.

Kars let in a deep breath, ignoring the way the other was shaking him in his chair, the sight of an actual smile working his way across his face brought you a little closer to reality again.

"In that case," here he stood, holding his hand out for you to shake. "Welcome to our Home."

A smile of your own spread across your face as you grasped his hand, cold and calloused and FAR bigger than your own, suddenly feeling as if a great weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

"I'm glad to be welcomed." You sighed, beaming up at Kars. Now he didn't seem so very intimidating (well, at least a little) when he was looking a tad more relaxed around you. "I don't have much stuff so getting it from the shelter to here won't be a stretch. I'll probably have it all moved by tomorrow."

Here, you were treated with the sight of not only Kars and Esidisi but Wamuu as well, still lingering by the stove, staring at you in surprise.

Here, Wamuu spoke up for the first time during this entire interview, "You... were living at a shelter?"

All you could do was shrug, feeling s little helpless. "Well, yes... I was." You sighed again as that heaviness on your back suddenly returned at their staring, a hand going up to rub the back of your neck. "Not the best place to stay, I know, but I've been looking around for a place for a quite a while."

It was better than sleeping on the street that was for sure. At least there you could shower and rest and get ready for work; really the only fears you had staying there was someone stealing something important of yours.

Not to mention, it was much more preferable than having to go back to--

The top of your head tickled as a warm and quick puff of air suddenly reached out and touched you, like a hand lovingly caressing your hair. Though the feeling was miniscule it made you suddenly stand on edge.

A beat passed before the very same thing happened again, just as fleeting as the first time. A strange itch crawled up your spine as the unmistakable heat radiating off another body sank slowly through your back, though its source not touching you directly.

Someone was behind you.

Slowly, though with much hesitantance, your head turned. You eyes were wide open as your neck rotated, the action best described as owlish, blinking at the words "seether" emblazoned across a barreled chest, only urging your eyes to seek more upwards.

Your eyes locked onto icy cold rings of blue, an unconcious shiver dancing through your body as the chill of them seeped deep within your body.

There, now right before you, was another man. It was best to assume this was your last supposed roomate as he was just as big and as muscular as the rest.

However, you couldn't shake the feeling that this one was strangely... different than the others.

A hot puff of air brushed the space between your eyes as the stranger breathed out quietly, the action only making you blink hard. He said nothing, he made no indication at all to say anything, he only... stared.

"Umm..." your mouth opened but the jumble of words sitting like a lump in your throat couldn't find your mouth.

"Y/N, this is... Santana." Kars piped up from behind, sounding more than tempted to sigh again today. "He is the 4th and last of us here."

Call it intuition but from what you could tell already, this Santana wasn't the chummiest one of the bunch. Tall and still, skin as fair as snow, almost every square inch of him was chiseled and, well, square.

That stoney expression of his didn't exactly give you an insight as to what was going on in the others head either.

Something told you you'd have to make the first move or else all this staring would get you nowhere.

A hesitant smile squirmed its way across your face, every effort you had inside to be polite straining to the point of almost breaking.

"Hi Santana," your voice nearly cracked. "It's-- nice to meet you...?"

Santana continued to stare at you as if he hadn't even heard you speak at all. A cold sweat prickled on the nape of your neck, you struggled to fight back a cough as the room fell into a dead silence again.

You were starting to wish you were back in the hallway where you had started...

"Santana," Esidisi spoke up next. "come on. Like we practiced..."

Santana exhaled again, the sound more like the huff of a disgruntled pasture bull.

A thick bubble of uncertainty ballooned in your throat as the red-heads arm extended, sticking out quite stiffly in your direction. A long moment passed, you blinking stupidly, before you realized what he was trying to do.

Your watery smile returned with much more force, reaching out to grasp his offered hand. Your fingers could just barely wrap around his ice cold palm.

Another beat. Nothing happened for another uncomfortable little eternity.

Across the room Kars cleared his throat, loudly. Another prompt.

That bubble of uncertainty in your throat dropped like a stone down into the pit of your stomach as his arm moved up and down, up and down, up and down. The movement was just as cold and robotic as his stare.

He didn't even wrap his fingers around your hand, keeping them as straight and pointed as dense meaty rulers.

You honestly half-expected to hear a feint squeaking come from his shoulder at the slight and stiff movement.

"Do not forget to smile..." It was Wamuu who whispered loudly to the other from across the room; as if that would keep you from hearing the plea.

Your own forced smile threatened to dissolve completely for good as you watched Santana's lips twitch, slowly peeling back to reveal two rows of white teeth.

Teeth of your own sank into the flesh your tongue as the glimmer of 4 very sharp K-9's hit your eye, making Santana's painfully cheered grimace all the more chilling.

Up and down, up and down, up and down.

"Nice... to... meet you..." Santana's voice was deep and gruff, the very tone of it shook your insides like an Earthquake.

Maybe it was just his voice, maybe he didn't mean to sound so very rough; the thought definitely crossed your mind. Though, you couldn't be quite sure about that by the way this interaction was going...

"Uhh, the--... the pleasures all mine..." Really, what else could you say?

The very second you let go, Santana's arm retreated back to his side, his face falling back into that stoney hard glare. And just like that, he pushed past you, marching quickly towards the fridge; a word was grumbled, too low for you to hear, but it was something about you.

It was more than clear to you and everyone else that he decided this horrible too-long-of-a-greeting was over.

The fridge door was yanked open, the movement harsh enough the bottles inside chattered. All of you watched as Santana made a grab for a container of lettuce, slamming the fridge shut and striding right out of the kitchen without so much as another grunt, let alone a glance, in your direction.

A breath you didn't even know you had been holding let go, a strange sense of relief washing over you like a warm tidal wave.

Talk about awkward. So awkward you almost wanted to shudder.

What the Hell was his problem?

You nearly jumped when a huge, warm hand clapped you on the shoulder, blinking up into the smiling face of Esidisi.

"He'll warm up to you," The man said, shrugging. "Santana doesn't care much for new people or, well, people in general I suppose. It's just the way he is..."

"We're trying to acquaint him with the concept of socializing and get him used to social norms of this time," Kars practically groaned, pinching the space between his eyes. "As you can see, it's still a work in progress..."

"It probably doesn't help that the last guy living here was the one to seriously piss him off in the end." Esidisi only shrugged again.

You, on the other hand, flinched hearing that. Like it or not, their last roomate had obviously left a lasting impression of newer people on him.

You wouldn't be surprised if Santana thought that you would be the very same thing judging by what you had been told about the last guy and the last thing you wanted was this near-to-stranger having some sort of hard feelings on you when you hadn't even so much as moved in yet.

"Would you like to see your room before you go?" You were most thankful that Kars spoke up again.

"Ah-- yeah." You said, blinking. "That'd be great."

"Wonderful, Wamuu will show you where it is." The kitchen chair creaked as Kars pushed himself in closer to the table, settling back into his comfortable working slouch as he pulled his laptop out again.

He still had work to get done afterall.

Your eyes drifted across the room, meeting the more stern gaze of the blonde, making you realize that Santana wasn't exactly the only one in the house you couldn't quite read just yet.

Nonetheless, the man made no move at all to argue with Kars for being volunteered like so.

Wamuu peeled off his stained apron with a huff, hanging it neatly on the wall.

"This way," a huge hand waved you along, Wamuu's back already to you as he was heading out of the kitchen.

You fumbled for a moment, head turning not-unlike a pet budgie, choosing to wave to Esidisi (Kars was already too focused on whatever he was working away at) before moving to catch up with Wamuu.

Something told you that he wouldn't exactly appreciate having to wait up for you.

This day was far from over yet but at least the hardest part of it was....

Wasn't it?

#funnybunny #pillarmen #kars #esidisi #wamuu #santana #my writing #pillarroomies

55 notes · View notes

evienyx · 4 years ago

Text

DSMP Citizens POV 3: The L'Manburg Librarian

Got an ask requesting a dsmpsona, specifically from someone who wanted to see a part of this series with @thesmpisonfire and their dsmpsona. Luckily, I follow them, and so I'm well-prepared for this one. I took a bit of liberty with their canon deaths, so I hope that's all right. Mostly that they weren't blown up for the first one.

- - -

DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

- - -

Everyone knew that the L'Manburg Revolution was a turning point for the server. It marked the first nation separate from the Admin's rule. The Revolution was a celebration when people reminisced in the streets of a freed L'Manburg.

Still, many people failed to remember that there had still been a war for that freedom.

Of course, those who fought in that war would never forget the blood that was shed, the lives that were lost for the sake of their freedom. Included in these numbers was the L'Manburg Librarian.

Also known as Des, the L'Manburg Librarian had been a part of the country since the beginning, joining the nation as soon as word of it reached their ears. Unlike some, the Librarian fought hard and true for the new country's independence, and when a sword was shoved through them as a splash potion of poison ate away at whatever was left of their life, they simply grinned and returned their enemy's blow with one of their own. Their dogs came to finish the job, and then sat with the Librarian as they sprawled back on the grass, watching the clouds pass by with the sun on their face and a smile on their lips until their body finally gave out and the server returned them to their bed, one life ticked off of their count.

The Librarian shuddered, steadied their trembling hands, grabbed their weapon, and sprinted back toward the battlefield.

When L'Manburg's independence was finally secured with VP Tommy's sacrifice of his discs, Des was sure that they cheered the loudest.

For a while, things were peaceful. Des was given confirmation to build a library up within the country, and people donated books or they would gather them themself, building up a collection that stretched to the ceiling.

When the Election arrived, the L'Manburg Librarian didn't care much for it until SWAG 2020's campaign was announced. Suddenly, then, there was weight to the election, and they weren't about to watch the country that they had died for go up in flames without them having a say in it. So, they listened to every debate there was, mulled over the campaigns and what each party promised. They were partial to Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit, of course. President Soot had led them in the revolution. He had build this country with his own two hands, surely he would know how to care for it.

Then, though, COCONUT 2020 announced their candidacy, with Fundy Soot and Niki Nihachu, who promised free cookies and ice cream for all should they be victorious, and Des abruptly knew exactly who they were voting for.

(And it wasn't President Soot.)

When the results came in, though, much to their chagrin, COCONUT 2020 hadn't won. In fact, they had been disqualified entirely for supposed hacking.

It was announced that POG 2020 had gotten the majority, and Des was satisfied, until the word 'coalition' left President Soot's mouth and everything seemed to come crashing down at once.

Des whirled around as ex-President Soot and ex-VP Tommy were forced to flee, the older giving one last shove to his right-hand man before falling to the ground. A moment later, Wilbur Soot disappeared, and a heavy feeling swept over the citizens of L'Manburg. The man who had built their country from the ground up, who had led them all to freedom, was now on his last life.

The L'Manburg Librarian swallowed, listened with clenched fists as the country that they had died for was renamed 'Manburg,' and then retreated to their library. At least they could find solace in their books.

Until, a week-and-a-half later, while Des was sorting their book collection on one of the lower shelves and stroking a cat at the same time, the door opened and in stepped President Schlatt.

"Mr. President," the L'Manburg Librarian said, inclining their head just a bit. After what had happened at the inauguration, they didn't really want to get on this guy's bad side.

"Librarian," Schlatt said, his voice hard. He took another step forward, and Des noticed then Secretary Underscore standing behind the president on one side. Vice President Quackity was nowhere to be seen.

"What can I help you with?"

"Cut the shit, already, I know what you are," Schlatt said, his voice dropping and eyes narrowing. The L'Manburg Librarian felt a pounding in their chest at his words, and leaned back despite the fact that he was not very close to them at all.

"What... What are you talking about?"

"You're a rebel," the president hissed.

"A what?"

"Oh, don't play dumb! You think I don't know what you're doing here in your little 'library,' spreading propaganda, telling lies to the people."

Des blinked. "These aren't lies, Mr. President. They're history books."

Eventually, it seemed as though as long as they stood their ground, they weren't getting banished anytime soon, which was nice.

(Their taxes were still increased, though, the same way that Niki Nihachu's were, and the L'Manburg Librarian didn't find that particularly fair in the slightest.)

Still, despite the whole thing with the taxes and constantly being accused of being a rebel (which Des totally would be, were they not so thoroughly entertained by the Manburg Cabinet), life in Manburg was all right. It was dreary, sure. Everyone seemed a bit downtrodden, everyone walked a bit quieter, their shoulders a bit more tense, but other than that, it was all right.

(The L'Manburg Librarian still cried when the flag went up in flames. They had been there when that flag was first hung. Now it was gone, like it had never even been there in the first place.)

(The number of visitors to their library increased after the burning for a few weeks, and the number of tears shed were enough that Des started just offering tissues at the door.)

(They understood, of course.)

(That was why they did what they did.)

After the execution of Secretary Underscore, one that the L'Manburg Librarian both hated to watch and couldn't look away from, jotting down every detail in a notebook before running as soon as Technoblade turned on the crowd, Des felt that there was more tension in the air than there had been before.

Then, one day, as they went for an evening walk through Manburg, they heard yelling coming from the White House. They ducked behind a pillar, and watched as Vice President Quackity jumped on the President and beat him to death.

"Holy fucking shit," Des breathed. Schlatt's body disappeared, Quackity fled from the scene, and the L'Manburg Librarian found themself a bit disappointed that most of the original Manburg Cabinet was gone. The drama would be drastically decreased, now, and that was one of the only reasons they stayed in this Prime-forsaken country to begin with.

During the war between Manburg and Pogtopia, Des joined up with the Pogtopia forces, if only because they had never been accused of being a rebel by having historically-accurate books when they were under the previous administration.

"Take that, Emperor Fuck-Face!" They exclaimed, laughing as they set fire to a Manburg flag.

"Language!" BadBoyHalo, the head of the Badlands, cried. The L'Manburg Librarian, fully done with everyone's shit and excited to have their country back, raised a middle finger to the sky and dashed back into battle.

They watched as TommyInnit passed the presidency to Wilbur Soot, who then passed it to Tubbo Underscore. Des grinned, wide and a bit manic, as the teenager gave a speech, promising to build the country back better, to heal from the wounds that the previous administration had caused.

Then, they all heard the hissing in the ground below them, and the crowd barely had a chance to run as the nation exploded around them.

The L'Manburg Librarian went at the Withers that Technoblade spawned with a ferocity that surprised both no one and everyone.

It didn't stop their library from being destroyed, though. Nor their house.

President Tubbo, though, gave them government-allocated funds to rebuild, and so they did. And maybe then some. Hey, if the government was paying for it, what was the harm?

Des grinned and wiped the sweat off their brow as they finally rebuilt their library in New L'Manburg. The first night, though, they dropped down the ladder from the second-floor to find someone sifting through their books.

"Uh, hello?"

The face turned to them, and it was that of President Soot. Who was dead. His body was grayed out, save for his bright-yellow sweater and the blue that was splattered across it, the same color leaking from his eyes, so dark that it was as if Des was looking into the void itself.

"Oh, hello!" President Soot said, with all the pep that he hadn't had in life. "What's your name?"

The Librarian was a bit taken aback. President Soot had always been rather supportive of the work that they did, collecting books and keeping tabs on the events that happened, so that future generations could read about the history of their nation. "Uh, I'm Des. Most people know me as the L'Manburg Librarian."

"Nice to meet you, Des the L'Manburg Librarian!" President Soot said. "I'm Ghostbur. You might have known me as Wilbur Soot, but I don't remember much about being Alivebur, so I couldn't really tell you anything."

"Oh. You're dead?"

"Yep!" And with that, the ghost went back to sorting through their books.

"Uh, sorry, the library is closed right now," Des said, moving forward to put a hand on the ghost's wrist. The skin was cold, and they were sure that if they put a bit more pressure, their hand would slide right through him.

"Oh, no, I'm just getting books to take back to my sewer!" Ghostbur said, as if his words weren't absolutely insane. "I'm making a library there. I want to collect all the books on the server, so that they're protected and the history can be read about for generations!"

The L'Manburg Librarian blinked. "There's no need for that. That's what I'm doing. I collect these books so that people can always learn about the country's history."

Ghostbur frowned, looking rather confused. "That's what I'm doing."

And so began one of the oddest competitions. Ghostbur would steal books from Des's library, Des would steal them right back. This went on for months until the day came that President Tubbo announced to the people of L'Manburg that their country had one day left to live.

"Technoblade, Dream, and Philza are all coming tomorrow to destroy our country," the teenage president said to the people gathered. "Get everything valuable, everything that you wouldn't want blown-up, all of your pets, all your friends and family, and evacuate. King Eret has graciously offered all of our people sanctuary. You may move everything to the land of the Greater SMP, where we have erected a temporary campsite for everyone to leave at." The president cleared his throat, and it hit the L'Manburg Librarian just how exhausted the teenager looked. "We are going to be trying to fight against them. Anyone who wishes to join us in the battle, may, but know that there are incredible risks. It is likely many of us will lose lives. We will do our best to keep our nation standing, strong and free." His words were broadcast through the communicators, and the whole of the country could hear them.

Des moved their pets to the Greater SMP that night, not wanting to take any risks. As they called their friends who lived in other nations to assist them in transporting the books from their library, Des did their best to reminisce on the good memories that they all had back before the L'Manburg elections.

"Des," their friends all said for what felt like the hundredth time, "We are not fighting for L'Manburg again. We have lost too much shit, and over half of us have lost a life, and we don't even live there anymore. That country is going to go down."

"Not if we fight for it!" The L'Manburg Librarian exclaimed. "Guys, c'mon! It stands for freedom! You remember how we fought for it in the Revolution! How we built it together!"

"Yeah," their friends said, deadpan. "And we died. Because of Dream. Who is coming with Technoblade, the Blood God, and Philza, the Angel of Death, to blow it down to bedrock."

"Whatever. I'm still going."

Their friends frowned. "Just... don't die, Des."

Des had never been the best at listening.

The next day, in the afternoon, with a grid of obsidian dropping TNT from the sky and more Withers than they could count soaring through the skies, the L'Manburg Librarian launched themself at Technoblade with a scream.

Before they could even reach him, a bomb from above fell on their head, exploding and launching them backward. Their ears ringing, spots dancing in their eyes, Des flew through the air, down, down, down into the crater below. They heard a crack through the ringing, and then everything was gone.

They sat up in their bed at the campsite once the server reclaimed their soul and brought them back, tears streaming down their face and hands shaking. They gasped on their breaths, and their face felt as if it was on fire. Their fingers ran over their skin and felt bumps, scars from the explosion that had rocketed them back into the crater. Des took a deep breath, dug their nails into their palms, grabbed their weapons, and set off back toward the battle.

When all was said and done, L'Manburg was gone. The nation that they had fought for, that twice they had died for, was nothing more than a hole in the ground. There was no rebuilding from this, and the L'Manburg Librarian knew this. They built up a cottage, technically on King Eret's land, moving their books and pets into the new home.

One day, about a week after Doomsday, they returned to the cottage to find King Eret there, standing outside of their door with one of his knights at his side.

"Hello," King Eret smiled, adjusting her sunglasses. "How are you, today?"

Des shrugged.

King Eret hummed. "Well," they said. "I was wondering what you were doing on my land?"

"I lived in L'Manburg," the Librarian said, their voice level, emotionless. They were rather drained. "Fought for it in the Revolution. Died for it. Twice. I... I didn't realize that this was your land. Sorry."

King Eret furrowed his eyebrows, face turning sympathetic. "I did many things to wrong L'Manburg," she said, hands moving to adjust her sunglasses. "Now, it's gone. The least I can do is help the people who used to live here." King Eret offered a soft smile. "Feel free to stay here as long as you like."

Des nodded, their throat a bit dry. King Eret inclined their head before turning to head up to the castle, the knight following close behind.

The Librarian stood there for a moment before pushing open the door to their cottage and stepping inside.

They adopted two more dogs, within the following few weeks, after seeing the animals on the street for a few days. Des focused in on caring for their pets, both old and new, helping both the animals and themself through the trauma that seemed to be a given with living on the Dream SMP server.

A bit after the destruction of L'Manburg, though, the Librarian was sitting in their home, stroking one of their dogs, when there was a sound from the other room, where their books were contained.

Des had learned to not take chances. They grabbed a splash potion of poison, one of harming, another of weakness, and their sword. The dogs followed them as they moved quietly toward the small library where their books were. They pushed open the door, saw someone standing in the shadows, hands reaching toward the books, and immediately threw all three potions.

The Librarian rushed in and slashed at the figure, who just barely managed to raise a shield and stop their blade.

"Leave," Des said. The dogs entered the room, flanking either side of them, growling at the intruder.

"I was hired to destroy everything that remains of L'Manburg," the figure said, and the Librarian recognized the voice as the mercenary, Punz.

"I don't care," they replied. "You are in my house, threatening my property."

The mercenary repeated what he had said.

"I am under the protection of King Eret," Des said, trying their luck at something that they weren't quite sure of the validity of. "And you are trespassing on their land. If you even touch these books, I will be forced to contact the authorities." The Librarian's hand tightened around the hilt of their sword. "And you best pray that they get here before I can finish with you."

Punz was still for a moment before slipping out the open window and disappearing. Des sighed, shoulders untensing just a bit, and they ran their fingers over the spines of their books before leading the dogs out of the room and closing the door.

The Librarian began to borrow money, after that, to build a new library, one with good security. King Eret allowed them to construct it next to the Museum, where the history of the server could all be in one place. In the process of borrowing the money, though, Des ended up accidentally falling into debt with Quackity, the old Vice President of L'Manburg and the current leader of Las Nevadas, a new power on the server.

"It's easy," Quackity said when he confronted them. "You owe me. You work for me, and that will repay your debt. If not, I might be forced to consider... other means."

The Librarian, though, knew what this man could do, and they nodded and took the job.

(Maybe, though, it was also because they wanted a purpose. They wanted something that made them feel the way they had when they lived in L'Manburg.

They wanted a nation that they could care about. They liked living on King Eret's land, but they didn't care about the Greater SMP. The library was still under construction, and would be for a while, especially in order to be secure enough to protect so much history. Des had nothing, at the moment.

And so, they moved their pets over to Las Nevadas in order to work off their debt.

And maybe they also did it because they wanted to start anew.

When they saw Wilbur Soot again, though, alive and well, with a shock of white in his hair, and when they saw Fundy Soot, walking at night in the woods with troubles on his lips and fear in his eyes, and when they saw Foolish, a god who helped others because he didn't want to face his own problems, and when they saw Charlie, a guy who definitely knew how to be a person, they realized something. This nation was for people who had nowhere else to go.

And now, with L'Manburg gone, with a library unfinished and land that wasn't even their own, Des the L'Manburg Librarian counted as just another person on the server with nothing left at all.)

93 notes · View notes

itjazzbicch · 4 years ago

Text

In Reality

Pairing: “Platinum” Max Caster x Fem Reader

Summary: On television, Max Caster and the reader are enemies, but behind the scenes, they are actually the best of friends and whenever Max and the reader are in a mixed trios match, on the opposite teams, Max's tries to do his signature rap, but he can't do it to the reader, instead, professing his feelings...

Warnings: SMUT! (18+ ONLY)

Requested by: Anon (Whoever you are, I hope you enjoy!)

Word Count: 3364

Tag List: @demonqueen29 @jessiebean00 @new-zealand-chic @crowleysqueenofhell @justamess44 @thatpanpal @hungmanhorsecarriage @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @linziland13 @yungbludjazz360

I DO NOT OWN THIS GIF

"Dude, you're wrestling the Sydal brothers! You have to make some kind of yoga joke!" I giggled, helping my best friend, Max Caster write a part of his rap for his match tonight and this one had me very intrigued.

Max and I were enemies on television but behind the scenes, we were the closest duo back there! We were travel buddies, we worked out together, supported each other's hobbies outside of wrestling. We were the best of friends, without a doubt.

I wasn't sure if Max had begun to work on my part of the rap because tonight the match up was:

The Acclaimed and Britt Baker (weird combo in my opinion, but it made sense since she was my rival) versus Matt & Mike Sydal and myself.

"You're right! Definitely gotta get that in there," Max laughed with me, beginning to jot some things down.

"So, what are you going to say about me?" I asked curiously, a smile on my face because I wasn't trying to laugh.

"Now, that's a secret," Max smirked, smiling back at me.

"You seriously can't even tell me a line?" I groaned, seriously wanting to know, but he wasn't budging, shaking his head no.

"Our match is up next! You'll know soon," Max protested and I just gave up, rolling my eyes but laughing:

"Alright! Just take it easy on me!"

"Can't make any promises!" Max laughed, watching me when I began to walk away.

Our match was up next and I was actually honored to wrestling with Matt and Mike. They were veterans and legendary. Our wrestling styles were also very similar, so that made it even more exciting. They were already waiting for me whenever I got to the guerrilla and Matt welcomed me with a smile, saying:

"You ready for the night?"

"Always ready," I smiled, but growing silent whenever I heard Mike say:

"I heard you over there with your buddy, Max. I hope he doesn't try and roast you too bad, tonight."

We all actually laughed and Matt whispered:

"I already know what to expect from him so, I'm prepared."

"So am I," I sighed, "Honestly, we joke around a lot. If he didn't roast me, I'd actually be surprised."

While I was finishing my sentence, Matt's music hit and Mike when up the stairs, Matt following along when he said to me:

"See ya out there!"

I made my entrance like normal, the fans always ate it up and next was Britt, damn it was annoying. It didn't take long though for me to get excited, hearing the beat drop for Max's music.

"Yo, yo, yo!" Max yelled while walking through the tunnel.

I thought to myself, boy is this gonna be good and it was, hearing the lines I helped him with when Max began:

"Sydal Brother!

Every time you get in the ring, ya'll say namaste

But when we whoop your asses you'll be running away

No one cares about you two hippies

I should slap your asses back to the 1960's!"

It was so hard to sit in the ring and act disgusted meanwhile I wanted to laugh my ass off, but at the same time, I was also preparing myself, knowing I was next, Max pointing at me, saying:

"And Y/N, don't even get me started!

You, you-"

I was actually surprised this time. Max was stuck, stuttering, like he was nervous which I never saw from him. No one ever did, everyone trying to encourage him, I even heard Britt yell:

"Roast her, Max!"

But Max, he did something no one expected, going back to his rap:

"You know what, Y/N, I ain't even gonna lie

Every time I see you, I wanna make you mine.

You, you're better than all these girls

And all I ever wanted was to give you world

I know we're supposed to get in this ring and clash

But you and me? We are the perfect match!"

I began to naturally drift to the center of the ring and I really couldn't contain my emotions, holding my mouth for a moment, trying not cry and every began to cheer, clapping and smiling whenever Max finished with:

"This is a special moment, so everyone observe and watch me go get my girl!"

My arms were wide open while I watched Max hop into the ring, coming right at me with the best hug I ever received. There were few moments when I heard a big pop in this ring and this moment was one of them, everyone just go ballistic, whether if they liked us or not.

I couldn't hold back the tears whenever Max hugged me, but everything stopped, like slow motion, the noise dying down. The only thing I could feel was Max's hand holding the back of my head, looking into his gorgeous brown eyes before they closed, feeling the warmth of his soft lips whenever they met mine.

It was like fireworks were going haywire in my brain, passion being the thing that lit the fuse for them. Just the way Max had his arms around me, for the first time, feeling emotions from him that I never felt before and with the way he kissed me, I just knew that everything he said was true.

Whenever our lips parted, I finally snapped back into reality, seeing the ring and the crowd again while Max just pulled me into another hug, holding my head to his chest, looking down at me as he smiled:

"So, you gonna be my girl?"

"Why did you even ask? I am your girl," I giggled, smiling so hard when my head popped up, giving him another kiss.

Max kept his arm wrapped around my shoulder, yelling to Britt Baker:

"Ayo! Get over there with them hippies! Y/N is our partner!"

"What? You can't just change the match!" Britt yelled, trying to get in Max's face and that's when I stepped in.

Max was always a bit of an instigator, but this time, I didn't mind. Max and Anthony were on standby though whenever I got in Britt's face and said into a mic:

"You heard what my man said. Now get over there! Either way, I'm kicking your ass tonight!"

"Yeah! Get over there and catch this whoopin!" Max laughed, all of us watching whenever she just stopped trying and went to her corner while we went to ours.

Now, it was time to get in the zone and Anthony started out first with Mike. This was the first time I had ever team with Max and it was so hard to not smile and jump around to let out the excitement. It also took all my might to not get on Max and have a little match of our own. I was just on top of the world.

Our match was also a lot of fun. The only thing bothering me was that, Britt refused to be tagged in. She was abandoning her partners, which she would have done regardless of what side she was on. Max and Anthony had a tough time handle Matt and Mike.

At the climax of the match, Max just broke out of Matt's submission move, super-kicking him and they both collapsed. The only two people on the apron was Britt and myself.

"Come on, Max!" I yelled, stretching out my arm as far as possible.

Again, Britt abandon Matt, but Max made his tag to me. She had no choice but to get in here. Britt, of course, tried running away, but whenever she made it to the outside, right by the front of the ring, I ran against the ropes and hit her with a suicide dive, ramming her into the barricade, picked her up and threw her in the ring and that's when the real fun began.

Britt did have her moments where she was having the upper hand. At one point, I was almost put into her finisher, but she couldn't hook my other arm, which gave me an opportunity. Elbow after elbow, finally made her break her submission.

Matt and Mike tried getting back to the apron, to break up a pin if needed, but Max and Anthony were on it, taking them out while I was thinking on the top of my head, hitting her with a pump handle, flat-liner, planting her face in the mat and picking up the win.

As soon as that bell rang, Max came right at me, making me laugh as he about knocked me over. It was hands down, the best moment I ever had in that ring, Max and Anthony putting me up on each of their shoulders, raising me up high to celebrate.

Whenever we got backstage, that celebrating didn't stop. When we had open space, I just hugged Max again and we were both just so happy; Max spinning me around in his arms.

"I'm so happy you didn't show me the rap you had planned for me," I giggled, still raised up in his arms, looking down at him.

"If you want me to be honest," Max sighed, admitting, "That came off the top of my head. I could never talk about you in a bad way. It came straight from the heart."

"Max! I already cried enough tonight!" I whined, but smiling, making me laugh a little and I just wrapped my arms around his neck even tighter, laying my head on his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist.

"You guys wanna call it a night?" Anthony suggested, we didn't have anything else to do truthfully.

"Wanna get out of here?" Max whispered to me, "Have some time to ourselves?"

"I would never pass that up," I cooed, kissing his cheek, "Just know though, I'm not letting you go."

Max just shook his head, smiling while patting my back, just listening and walking off to the locker room with me in his arms.

Backstage, we heard a lot about what happened out there and I was happy to hear a lot of sweet comments. We basically stole the show and both Max and Anthony agreed that I was now, officially, the third member of The Acclaimed.

I have always been the kind of person who couldn't contain their excitement and tonight, it was even worse, but also in the good way. I was shaking, jumping, squealing, just having the best night ever. Whenever Max and I got to the hotel, in our own room, I was still so excited, smiling whenever he came in and shut the door:

"So I am seriously apart of The Acclaimed?"

"Yes!" Max said for about the millionth time, laughing, "How many times are you gonna ask?"

"I'm sorry," I chuckled, admitting, "So much just happened tonight and I'm like, freaking out! I can't believe all of this!"

For once, it rarely happened, but Max got seriously, standing in front of me when he asked, "Why can't you believe it?"

"It-" I began, truly caught off guard, but I got serious too, admitting my true feelings, "I just can't believe that you feel the same way and you got to say it first. Telling the whole world. It's like a fairy tale dream and I'm living it."

"Dreams," Max sighed, stroking my cheek, "They do come true, baby."

"They do," I smiled, stroking his cheek too, "I'm so happy I don't have to keep dreaming anymore."

Just like in the ring, our lips clashed and it was even better. My knees seriously grew weak, shaking from anticipation, excitement wanting to grow, but moving through my body ever so slowly. When I wished in the ring that Max and I could just be one on one, that wish was coming true right in that moment.

I took a handful of his shirt, kissing him a bit harder and he understood the feelings steaming off of me, delivering that right back, picking up the tempo whenever he threw off his shirt, his hands unbuckling his pants while my shirt was gone next.

For a moment, we just stared at each other. By the way his chest was heaving, I could tell his heart was beating quick and hard, just like mine. Reality hitting me never felt so good, another hard kiss from Max finding my lips again, his strong arms picking me up by the thighs, wrapping them around his waist while he climbed onto the bed, laying me down softly.

While our kiss just grew even more intense, I pulled my shoulders in, my bra straps loose enough to fall down on their own. At the same time, Max spread my legs open wide, allowing himself to throw off his jeans.

A quick rush made my body shake a little, my blood running hot, growing whenever I felt his hard on hitting right at my clit, even through my tights I could feel it. It made me pick up the pace, sitting up, pulling away from our kiss when I whispered in a sexy tone:

"How about we get even, huh?"

The look in Max's eyes, I had never seen it before, laser focused while watching me kick off my tights and throwing my bra off the bed.

Slowly, he just looked me up and down, knowing that he liked what he saw, his cock growing even harder, it showing through his briefs, his erection making it tighter.

He liked it, so I gave him even more, bringing my legs together, smiling:

"What? You shy?"

Again, he just watched, following my every move while I threw off my panties next and finally, that's when he finally snapped back into place, smiling devilishly when he got off the bed, saying:

"Trust me, I'm not shy," At the same time, his briefs dropped to the floor and I definitely liked what I saw, a very impressive size, smiling hard again as he added, "I just can't get over how beautiful you are."

Max always knew how to make my heart flutter, my heart rate unstable at that point, but it never felt so good, it growing when I watched him crawl his way back up to, my legs naturally opening wide for him, eyes adjusting to the lighting quickly when he reached over to the left, turning off the lights.

I thought my blood was running hot? Max was like a human space heater, hands steaming hot and that alone gave me so much relaxation from the moment of contact, his hands covering and kneading at my breasts, feeling his hard, hot cock laying against me, his kiss leading from my lips down to my neck.

Each kiss on my neck was slow, his right hand falling down my side, picking me up a little by my lower back, taking a handful of my ass, keeping me in that position, holding it better once he took a hold of my thigh and I was left gasping, grabbing his shoulders quickly.

His crown began to push through and into me, the moisture taking a moment to hit, but even when it did, it was a lot, having me whine already.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Max asked quickly, noticing my reaction.

"No," I gasped quickly. He wasn't at all, I was just trying to focus on the feeling of being so full, "I just never felt this way before."

"Is that a good thing?" Max chuckled, smiling when I let my head fall back into the pillows, praising him already by saying:

"It's so damn good, baby."

"Good," Max whispered, kissing me softly, moving his hips a little more, feeding me some soft thrusts, working his way up so that eventually, our hips would meet.

That didn't take long, Max spreading my legs a little wider, which helped, sliding all the way in slowly and it made a deep moan fall from my lips, that same moan turning high pitched whenever I felt his crown go past my sweet spot and it felt amazing.

From the sounds of my moans, he knew that he was making me feel good, sitting up straight, my legs hooked around his button of his arms, dragging every inch down slowly, and putting it all back a little quicker, going deep just like last time.

"That feels good, huh?" Max smirked, squeezing my thighs hard once he did it again.

I just nodded my head, looking up at him for a moment while I murmured, "You found a new way to make me feel good and I love it."

"You love it?" He asked, picking up the pace and the feeling was so overwhelming, I could barely nod my head, overtaken by all the moans and noises that desperately needed to escape me.

Each thrust hitting my sweet spot, it jolted everyone one of my nerves, from my head to my toes, making me tremble a little, all the heat in my body growing hotter from how fast my blood was running, on top of Max's body heat.

Before I knew it, I was moaning out his name, more praising from those and just senseless babbles, my back arching hard from my nerves just searing my body. One of his hands found the arch of my back, pressing into it softly, his other hand keep him up a little, but our bodies still coming together.

We both could feel my walls spasming, clenching him so tight, my arms quickly wrapping around his neck, holding tightly because my body was just so close to losing all control. By keeping my hips up, he was sliding in so deep and with the quickened pace, it made my walls spasming even harder, signaling my orgasm.

"M-Max," I stuttered horribly, with the way he was moving, it was just hard to comprehend anything, only wanting to focus on all of the sweet, powerful pleasure.

"I'm here, baby," Max whispered in my ear, "You o-"

I didn't mean to cut him off, but even though he moved a bit slower in that moment, my whole body was in sensory overload, every part of me sensitive, his previous thrusts hitting my sweet spot multiple times because he was only pulling back a little, the soft impact also hitting my clit, making my body shudder, the heat in my body just dropping down, triggering me.

He knew the moment my hands latched onto his shoulders and I cried, "Max, oh my god, I'm cuming."

I could barely breathe, even Max having trouble trying to keep it together, letting out some groans whenever my walls just gave him a death grip, drenching us both.

Max actually helped me out by taking my hands, interlocking them with his and putting them above my head, it actually expanded my lungs, getting more air, but like always, he knew how to make me breathless.

His head was against mine, our noses nuzzling and he was still feeding me a few soft thrusts, but I paid close attention, even more overwhelmed whenever he cooed:

"Y/N, I love you."

My eyes opened slowly and he picked up his head to see mine, smiling when I whispered, "I love you too."

I was about ready to cry again, just hugging him, his head laying on my shoulder while he pinned his hips against mine, rocking back and forth a little, both of us breathing heavily when we felt another wave a heat that took us out.

Max literally just rocked my world, from the beginning of the night during the show till now, pulling me on top of him whenever he withdrew, falling back to lay down on the bed. I gladly took the cuddling invitation, placing my leg over him, cuddling up to his chest while he wrapped his arm around me.

"Max," I whispered softly, just looking at him in awe whenever he looked down to me, "I really love you."

Max rarely showed emotions out in the ring and on television but when it came to me, he didn't mind putting those walls down, wiping away a small tear that fell down my cheek when he cooed:

"I love you even more."

#wrestling #wrestling imagine #wrestling fic #wrestling smut #wrestling oneshot #aew #aew imagine #aew fic #aew smut #aew oneshot #platinum max caster #max caster #max caster x reader #max caster imagine #max caster fic #max caster smut #max caster oneshot #request #read and enjoy

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bagadew · 3 years ago

Text

The Great Ace Attorney Playthrough: The Adventure of the Runaway Room (Part 1b)

Last time: We (and by we I mean Ryunosuke and Susato) arrived in England, and were almost immediately sent to play lawyer by Daemon Gant’s ancestor, who is definitely going to either die or kill someone later. Despite our client being only the richest of able bodied white men, we quickly found ourselves on the ropes thanks to the worlds least impartial jury. Fortunately we now get to put the buggers on the spot and demand they give us their reasons for convicting my client (and boy had they better be good).

Ryunosuke, the more we learn about that man the more of a cad he becomes. I say we should be very thankful we aren’t doing that.

Let me get this straight, instead of smashing their half baked ideas to smithereens and laughing as I go, I have to use the worlds weakest bricks to build my argument.

Susato, one of them knows one of the witnesses.

Oh, so that’s what we’re doing.

Ok, Ryunosuke, lets get shit stirring!

Well firstly, either the drunk juror’s wrong or Beppo’s overcharging people, so jot that down.

Ooh, we’re pacing!

(Also, I’d like to thank Juror No.4 for backing me up, ma’am you are the only member of this group bothering to make even the slightest bit of effort. For this I thank you.)

Of course! Thank you for putting two and two together like that for me!

(Wait a second, I’ve just realized that we’ve got the KBS slung on our hip! That’s amazing!)

And this lady’s and gentleman, is why we don’t let people who know those involved stand on the Jury.

GET HIS ASS JUROR NO.4!

(You are my favourite juror, you can tell the others if you’d like.)

Excellent work Ryunosuke!

Have you not even been listening?

(Susato is explaining the last ten minutes to him because she has more patience than I ever will.)

>:D

And Juror No.2’s crossed over to our side as well!

>:D

And she’s doing it for much better reasons than Juror No.5!

Juror No.2 you’re winning me back!

Just two more jurors to convince now, so let’s go on to the discrepancy about how the victim was stabbed, and maybe point out that the body was left in the seat it was stabbed it.

Old Lady vs Jack the Ripper, here we go!

(Ten guineas on the granny!)

Haha! His knife got stuck in the table!

(I put it again that this man should have that knife taken away from him.)

Yes judge, and if we’d been allowed to go through the whole trial before the jurors jumped the gun, you’d have known that already.

Yay! We’ve won Granny Thickle back!

WHAT DO YOU THINK THE JURY IS SUPPOSED TO DO YOU NINCOMPOOP?!?

And he’s being really racist now.

Fortunately he’s also rubbing the rest of the jury up the wrong way!

Well I consider this to have been a success Ryunosuke.

Well given that the body was found on the seat and there was no blood on the floor... I’m going to say no.

He wants evidence.

Ok then.

As a wise man with a cool sword once said: I will shove it down your throat and make you choke on it.

(Yeah, we should really have seen Kazuma’s moral dubiousness coming...)

Anyways, let’s show him the crime scene photo then.

WRONG???

Of course! The autopsy report shows he was only stabbed once!!!

Meaning that there was only one incident where the witness was stabbed!

VICTORY VICTORY VICTORY!!!

YEAH!!!

Yes, kill each other!

My Lord, Juror No.3 has started licking his knife and threatening the witnesses now...

I’m a little bummed we didn’t get to convince Juror No.4 seeing as she’s the one putting in the hours up there, but never mind. We’re back on track baby!

HE CRUSHED IT!

Oh my god Ryunosuke, we’ve got a prosecution shut up button!

HE THREW OF HIS DRACULA CLOAK!

Oh please, we all know perjury doesn’t exist in this here!

Oho, so apparently Beppo’s been overcharging his customers. Given the conditions he’s been working in I can’t exactly blame him though.

Unfortunately that does kind of rule out the possibility of an extra passenger though, so I’m not sure it helped us much.

Damn right I do!

‘Absolutely’ Ryunosuke and I share one mind.

Now let’s see if we can clear up that whole ‘I saw the victim stabbed on the floor’ bs.

You know, I’m rapidly warming to Mr Furst. Unlike the other witnesses and the god damn jury, he’s not telling lies, or overinflated by his own self importance. He’s actually taking it seriously and doing his best to be as clear and close to factual as he can.

I mean he could well be the killer for all I know, but right now I’m just enjoying him as a nice gentle guy who’s trying his best. It’s refreshing.

Barok’s trying to point out that we still have one witness who saw the stabbing, to which I say: Yeah, a witness with a reason to lie!

Still, Beppo’s the one I should probably be focusing on here, as he’s saying he saw the victim stabbed in places he couldn’t have been.

Well that was easy.

Mr Fairplay on the other hand is going absolutely ham on his cane.

What’s the matter Mr Fairplay?

Got something to say?

Again Mr Fairplay, being a banker in an Ace Attorney Game is not the commending statement you think it is.

Anyways new statement time!

And what’s this I see? Both his hands were covered in blood? That looks like a new contradiction to me!

You know he’s weirdly insistent about this, and I can’t work out why?

Like, regardless of whether or not he committed the murder, he’s clearly hoping that Mr McGilded’s going to be taken out of the picture as a result.

But if he wants that to happen then this is such a weird thing to lie about. It doesn’t add in any way to Mr McGilded’s ‘guilt’, in fact thanks to his gloves it kind of does the opposite.

But if he’s not lying then he has to be mistaken and I don’t understand what that would mean either.

Wow, Juror No.6 is ready to throw down!

(Juror No.3’s going off as well, but I don’t think that’s anything to write home about.)

NOT IN THE WAY HE REPEATEDLY SAID IT WAS!

I’m no longer so sure. After all, if he was it would be far more in his interest to keep quiet about it or say he was mistaken as soon as we bought the gloves out.

What I’m beginning to wonder though, is if there was a mysterious fifth passenger after all, and their hands were the ones Mr Fairplay saw covered in blood.

Come to think of it, he did say that he didn’t see the victim or killers faces, so that’s a good chance, and one that actually gives some hint as to what our suspect looks like: i.e. small.

Debt time.

IT’S A HUGE DEBT!!!

Good to get proper conformation on that theory then.

ORDAAR!

(If you don’t know about the House of Commons cry of Order you should look it up on YouTube. It’s basically the one good thing to have come out of that place.)

So he did lie about seeing the moment the victim was stabbed then. I guess that leave more room for the idea that the fifth passenger did it.

Actually, come to think of it did Mr McGilded ever tell us where he went to sit in the carriage? Could he have been on the open side, the one Mr Fairplay and Mr Furst couldn’t see from where they were?

Huh, he’s still doubling down.

Again I really don’t think he’s lying here, but I do think he’s mistaken about who’s hands he could see.

Also given how much this statement relies on him being a witness I should probably rule him out of my enquires.

I’m rapidly going back over my notes to see if I ever accused him, but let’s be honest here I did. The False Accusations counter is up to a nice healthy 5/5.

Of course Mr Furst, you’re an angle and we’re all thrilled you’re here.

Ok, well now any doubts I had that Mr Fairplay was telling the truth have been put to rest, thank you Mr Furst. You, me and Susato should form our own breakaway courtroom, Juror No.4 can come if she likes.

Anyway time for more testimony.

Certainly looks that way doesn’t it My Lord?

Now Barok want’s to examine the Omnibus again.

You know what, sure Barok, knock yourself out.

Barok, keep up. It literally a huge contradiction sitting right there.

YES IT MATTERS!!!

Well thanks to Mr Furst, the one good witness, we know that the real killer wasn’t wearing any gloves. Again Mr Furst I thank you.

Wait a second, there was a space under the seat opposite the victim wasn’t there. I know it was full of stuff but was there any room for someone to fit themselves?

Barok’s telling me that there was no trace of blood on Mr McGilded’s actual hands. I’m glad you’ve finally caught up Barok but stop talking now so I can examine the omnibus again.

Yes! A space!

And whoever it was who could fit inside there definitely fits the category of small!

And right on cue it’s time to bring their blind spot to light.

Now, I need to work out if they want to know about the space under the seats or if they just want the seats themselves, because from where Mr Furst and Mr Fairplay were sitting they couldn’t see either.

Fuck it, I’ll just put my cursor half way between the two and hopefully it’ll except whichever one it wants.

Haha, yes... exactly what I was going to say...

MY EVIDENCE IS THE FUCKING BLOODIED GLOVES!!!

Anyways, given that the killer was by all accounts sitting next to the victim with no gloves and bloodied hands, the only person who could have been in the concealed seat was Mr McGilded. Again, did anyone actually bother to check which seat he sat in?

Well done Judge. Still as sharp as ever I see.

Wow, that one hit the light!

Barok, that’s alcohol. If you start a fire in here I’m not going to put you out.

Oh he’s being racist again.

Racist stuff Ryunosuke.

Ok, well let me brake this down into words that a stuck up prick like you would understand. The witnesses never saw the attackers face, but they did see his hands and all agree that they were covered in blood. My clients hands were not covered in blood, and therefor he doesn’t fit the one thing we know about the killer. However we know he was on the omnibus, and the only place he could have been is in the seat that can’t be seen.

... you guys, I think this man might be the OG “protégé” prosecutor. Hugh O’Connor and Sebastian Debeste were simply trending in this mans footsteps.

I’m not really sure how much clearer you want me to be My Lord!

(Also ORDAAAAR!)

Van Zieks is still crawling blindly towards the light, and I suggest we just move on without him.

I know (or at least I hope) he’s just deliberately putting up barriers as the prosecution, but the way he’s doing it really looks like he’s packing his intelligence onto a bus and sending it out to destinations unknown.

(Credit to Ryunosuke for spelling it out for him though.)

Thank you Mr Furst, I knew you’d have my back.

THEN LET’S BRING HIM INTO COURT!!!

(ORDAAARR!!!)

Yeah on what grounds?

I mean this is literally the solution to all our problems.

Yeah, well he probably lied (though I can’t work out why).

Excellent point Ryunosuke!

Now Van Zieks is pointing out that if Mr McGilded lied in his statement there would have been a deliberate reason for doing so. To be honest, as the prosecution, this seems like all the more reason to bring him in.

Anyway we’re demanding his testimony.

WHY THE HELL ARE WE ASKING THEM?!?

Well luckily for us the jury seems to finally be getting its arse in gear and has agreed (fairly unanimously) to let the god damn defendant make a statement in his own murder trial.

Nothing to say here. This just feels like a meme.

HAHA!!! THERE WAS SOMEONE!!!

EAT MY SHIT BAROK!!!

Wait an urchin?

Ace Attorney, I’ve already had a ‘don’t feel good’ case regarding who I’m accusing, don’t make me do that again.

STOP MAKING ME ACCUSE POOR AND FRIGHTENED CHILDREN!

Yeah, they probably would have done, and unlike you I don’t think she’d have been able to pull the ‘I donated a park to this city you know’ trick to win hearts and minds.

I wonder if she was there as a passenger or as a stowaway? Because I’d say that gap under the seat could fit a child pretty easily.

Now Barok’s saying we have no reason to believe Mr McGilded. And he’s right except for, you know, all the evidence...

Wait what.

A smoke bomb just went off!

I really don’t like the face Mr McGilded pulled just then, and he definitely gave a signal for it to be dropped.

...Ah fuck, he’s guilty isn’t he.

And he’s using some kid to cover it up.

Well shit...

#tgaa spoilers #tgaa #the great ace attorney #the adventure of the runaway room #ryunosuke naruhodo #susato mikotoba #barok van zieks #magnus mcgilded #bruce fairplay #lay d furst

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bluefirewrites · 4 years ago

Note

i gotta Juke AU story

————

this is inspired by this one filipino movie i watched “para sa hopeless romantic” but julie and luke go to the same uni and julie writes a random line of lyrics on a schools desk and luke writes the next lines when he’s in his class. the next day julie sees someone finished her lyrics and they end up having a finished song throughout the week. they obviously end up falling in love with each other’s words but one day the desks in that classroom were thrown out so julie and luke try and find the desk and run into each other only for Luke to find out it’s Julie, his crush since the beginning of school, and Julie finds out it’s Luke, they boy who she’s been eyeing ever since she’s first seen him. honestly this is all over the place. this is just another random college au. tehe

I DID NOT KNOW THIS WAS FROM A FILIPINO MOVIE!

I have much more pride in my culture now you have no idea haha! But no really, Filipino movies can be the cheesiest, silliest, most cliche things I’ve ever seen. And I mean that endearingly.

So it makes total sense that this super cute trope that I see popping up in different fandoms came from a Filipino movie.

I think I’ve seen an iteration of this on AO3 and it was super cute! (But I think it was more like leaving a piece of paper on a desk).

But yes, yes , YES.

Juke is the perfect ship for this.

Hmm... I think it would be an interesting take, because my mind went to Luke first, if it was Julie who would start it- yes I agree with you.

It is canon that Luke helped Julie finish the song that she had been working on with her mom (’Stand Tall’), so might as well run with it.

Maybe during her quiet year, where she didn’t sing or play piano, she often found herself doodling a lot. She kinda threw herself into drawing. It was her creative outlet that brought her comfort during these rough times.

She’d have trouble paying attention in class sometimes, and so she would end up doodling.

Now, I used to have a history class that frowned upon doodling in notebooks. The notebooks would be graded, and if there is a non-history, non-relevant doodle in the margins or anything- you get points docked off.

So Julie, like me, tried remedying this by doodling on post it notes to avoid getting in trouble.

But one day, Julie forgets or runs out of post it notes, and she’s only got her history notebook and textbook with her. And since she has no qualms marking up her jeans and shoes, she thought she’d be discrete and doodle on the desks.

Not like anyone would have a problem with that anyway. These desks are old af and scratched up and had doodles on them already.

She would start drawing her usual stuff- funky creatures, bubble letter-ed profanities, etc.

But then she starts thinking about her mom, she starts doodling dahlias and even a rose in one corner. Memories start flooding back and she starts absentmindedly writing down a lyric of a song they never finished, just bits of pieces figured out:

‘Don’t blink...no, I don’t want to miss it’

She didn’t think to erase it. Just grabbed her stuff and went to her next class.

The following day however, she pulls out her post-notes (after getting more) and is about to doodle when she sees a new scribble on the corner of the desk where she wrote her lyrics.

Squinting, she realizes those are words (geez, the penmanship sucks). But she was able to make it out:

‘One thing, and it's back to the beginning’

It’s written right under her line. And she reads them together-

Wow. This sounds... pretty good.

She quickly jots this mysterious new addition to the song in her post-notes, but not before giving writing another shot and provide another line. Curious, if she would get another response.

She does.

And it’s perfect.

It’s been a year, a year since she felt the urge to write, to think about music- but, when all the lyrics fall into place, Julie is suddenly inspired to continue.

She spends the entire class thinking about how to reply, how to keep the momentum of this song going.

When she gets it, she writes it down underneath the new line. And waits.

And like clockwork, next day she sits down and there’s a new addition.

First verse done- Julie couldn’t believe it.

Smiling, she records it all and had to erase everything from before to make more room.

‘Thanks’ she writes ‘Keep going?’

The reply the next day has her grinning from ear to ear:

‘I’m game :)’

And that’s how it goes: Another day, Another killer line.

Julie would rush from her next class, confusing Flynn who did not think she would be so excited going to history, smile on her face, anticipating another message from this mystery writing partner.

Sometimes, she gets too caught up in her head, eagerly thinking up new lines that she often doesn’t watch where she’s going. One time, she pretty much embarrassed herself while bumping into the cute Luke Patterson in her rush to History.

(She practically fell on him and he tried to talk to her after, but she jumped out of his arms before whatever awkward conversation that was bound to happen if she stayed).

Julie and her pen pal would keep working on the song, even came up with a system to let each other know if they’ve finished a verse.

And sometimes it’s not just lyrics. Julie draws her normal doodles next to her lines, and she’s delighted to find even more ridiculous ones waiting for her when she gets back.

There was one time when she’s had to stifle a laugh because a crude caricature of their History teacher in their corner, yelling out the next lyric:

‘I'm goin’ out of my mind!’

(Glad to know someone else shares the same sentiments about their strict history teacher.)

They finish her mom’s song and Julie’s glad... grateful even. But she couldn’t help but feel disappointed... assuming it’s over.

But come Monday the following weekend, her pen pal decided to leave another line-

‘Running from the past... Tripping on the now’

and a new comment:

‘My turn now?’

A new song, and Julie grins, already coming up with ideas...

She loves writing again, especially music. Sparked by this exchange, she eases herself back into listening to music again, looking for inspiration to use for the song she and her mysterious partner are working on.

And writing with this person... is really something else.

But Julie’s favorite part of the whole experience really is the comments written on the upper corner. Stuff like:

‘This part is killer!’

‘Mindreader, much? :P’

‘Wrecking ball at it again. So talented :)’

and her favorite:

‘You make me a better writer...’

She ducks down so no one can see her blush as she writes back:

‘I think we make each other better...’

Flynn one day tells her straight up she’s got a crush on her pen pal, to which Julie denies because how could she have a crush on someone she doesn’t even know.

But as she thinks about it.. she feels like she does. Or at least know enough to establish this sort of connection that feels like they’re in each other’s heads, know how the other person thinks, inspiring the other.

It was... special.

Flynn suggests that she needs to figure out who is leaving these notes. But it’s hard seeing as though Julie has the class in an earlier period, a bunch of other classes are held in the same room after she leaves.

(Flynn tries a sting operation, but ends up getting caught ditching class before she could solve the mystery).

Julie’s worried though. As much as she wants to figure out who this great pen pal is, she wonders if they would be disappointed to find out they’ve been writing her. And not someone as cool and as pretty as Carrie Wilson or her friend Kayla. It’s hard to live up to those expectations.

In the end, she wants to know. At least so she could maybe thank them in person, for helping bring music back into her life and for making history class the highlight of her day.

She decides this right before they break for Thanksgiving. She writes down:

‘I wanna meet you. Can we talk?’

And she’s on pins and needles the entire break, just wondering what her pen pal would say back. ‘Yes’, ‘no?’.

But what she finds when she comes back from break is so much worse than the fear of rejection.

They got new desks.

Their school finally got their shit together and replaced their old, worn down desks.

‘No, no, no, no, no’.

That means she’ll never know what her penpal end up replying...

She runs out of class and finds Flynn, panicked, she tells her what happened. And Flynn does some digging, and she’s able to find out where the janitors dumped the old desks.

Julie totally underestimates just how desperate she is in finding out the identity of her pen pal because she finds herself sneaking back to school at night with Flynn, seeking out the lot behind school where the dumpsters were piled high with the old desks.

Flynn, the ride or die she is, armed with a flashlight, starts taking out the desks along with Julie, and there are... a lot of desks.

They go at it for an hour, and the situation starts to look hopeless, especially when Flynn discovers a whole new set of dumpsters with desks that they haven’t even checked yet.

They’re about to throw in the towel-

But then they hear voices.

Quickly, they hide behind a dumpster right when three guys, with flashlights, come onto the scene.

“Dude, I can’t believe we’re here at this hour-”

“Oh my god. There’s like a boatload of stuff here-”

“Guys. Can you not? And please help me? It’s gotta be here somewhere”.

They sound... familiar. They were definitely not the custodians.

Risking it, Julie leaves her hiding spot-

“Luke?”

Luke Patterson jumps and whips around to face her, “Julie?”

Behind him are his bandmates, Alex and Reggie. Everyone looks at each other confused.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I...uh, I’m-” Julie stammers, “Well-”

Flynn cuts in, “She’s looking for something,”

Luke nods, “Really? So are we.”

Alex scoffs, “Nope. Just you, dude. But we’re helping.”

“Maybe we can help you too?” Reggie offers, “What are you looking for?”

Julie sighs, “... a desk?”

“Well... you came to the right place...” Luke laughs, shining his flashlight on the dumpsters, “Funny enough that’s what we’re looking for too.”

“One in particular?”

Then the guy gets all clammed up, “Uh... yeah. I think... I might have... left something... in it. Something important.”

“How about we all look together?” suggests Flynn, “Help each other out?”

And so they exchange the descriptions on the desk, with Julie leaving out the glaring obvious detail of the note.

They’re surprised to find out that they’re looking for the same kind of desk. The ones they used in a particular building at school, the same one her history class is in.

So they break off and search. And she ends up in the same dumpster as Luke.

“So what’s in your desk?” he ends up asking.

“Huh?”

“You know... that’s so important that you’re here on a Friday night, digging through a dumpster,”

“Right... uh,” Julie scrambles for an answer, “There’s something on- I mean, in the desk... that really helped me. I was going through a hard time. Lost my mom last year-”

Luke stops his search, “Oh, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s okay. I just...” she sighs, finding another desk that looks like hers but not quite, “I just want to find it...”

“I get it. Hopefully we can find your desk.”

“Hopefully we’ll find yours too,”

After another 20 minutes searching, Julie finds it. At the very bottom of the dumpster. Luke’s face lights up once she brings it out.

“Oh my god, you found it!” He exclaims, hands gripping the edge to take it off her hands.

She tugs it back, “Yeah... I found it... my desk,”

“Your desk? But this is my-” he breaks off, eyes widening, “Wait. Are you...?”

“Am I what?”

Luke drops the desk, clears his throat, and starts reciting:

‘I believe... I believe that we're just one dream...’

Julie gasps, then continues:

“Away from who we're meant to be...”

Then together: “That we're standing on the edge of...”

“...great.” Luke finishes, in awe, “You! You’re ‘Lyric Girl’!”

“You’re my pen pal?” Julie says in disbelief.

Luke Patterson has been her pen pal this entire time? The cutie with the cutoffs? It makes total sense. He’s in a rock band and the songs she’s heard from them have amazing lyrics.

Wait... she has been lowkey crushing on Luke Patterson through his words...

“Wow, it’s you! Luke... wow...” she honestly has no words. They used to come easy to her when she talks to him via the desk, but now, after finding out that the local heartthrob is her writing partner, she’s super nervous.

“Look... if you’re disappointed that it’s me... I get it. I’ll give you an out, and you won’t ever have to talk to me again-”

“Julie-”

“-like this is weird- this is weird right? But I mean what we had was nice and all-”

“Julie, can you-?”

“-we don’t ever have to talk about this if you don’t-”

“Julie!” He reaches for her hands and intertwines their fingers, shutting her up.

“Yeah...?”

He takes a deep breath before saying: “Why would I ever be disappointed that it’s you? I’ve... got like a mad crush on you since freshman year...”

Julie choked, “Wait, what?”

“Voice of an angel and wicked beauty to boot? How could I not?” he smiles, “And... finding out that you’re my mystery muse is just... you don’t know how happy that makes me.”

His smile drops and he’s all the sudden bashful, “Wait... are you disappointed that it’s me?”

She shakes her head, “No, no! That’s not why! It’s just... you’re this rockstar in the making! I didn’t think- I didn’t think you’d ever pay attention to me.”

“I do... I do pay attention,” he looks down at their desk, “Well... maybe not enough attention, otherwise we would have met sooner.”

She laughs, “Totally,”

They stand there for a while, grinning at each other like idiots.

“So...” Julie decides to jump the gun, “Do you... maybe wanna grab something to eat?”

Luke raises an eyebrow, “Are you asking me out, Julie?”

She blushes, “Maybe,”

“Interesting,”

“So what’s your answer?”

He leans in, “Might wanna look down,” he whispers.

She does, right on their desk and finally reads the reply she’s spent weeks thinking about.

‘Tell me where and when...

I’ll be there...’

Needless to say, but that from that day on- they don’t need to use their desk to talk anymore...

#this... has been sitting in my inbox #and finally I have answered!#I LOVE THIS CONCEPT #giving me the same vibes as my imaginary friends penpal juke idea #i guess this means i just... love Dash & Lily #julie and the phantoms #jatp #julie and the himbos #juke #palina #juke-box #julie x luke #luke x julie #julie molina #luke patterson #how many times am i gonna sneak in 'wicked beauty' in whatever I write?

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weaverofthreads · 4 years ago

Text

On the process of writing a novel...

Ok, so this began as a DM to a very dear friend who had said they were super excited to work on a novel of theirs that they'd abandoned for years, but they felt a bit lost when looking at the project again. They had "too many characters, too many intrigues" and they didn't "know how to create order" for all their ideas. They didn't know "what to keep, what to remove, what to change" and wanted to know if I had any tips.

I began to reply in messages and then realised I needed to make a whole post out of it, so here it is! All 3k words of it. This is for you, darling! I hope it helps.

Things I found extremely helpful when planning my novel for NaNoWriMo this year, after also taking some time off from it.

Most of this comes from Alicia Lidwina’s Four-Part article on her NaNoWriMo prep process, and setting up a writer’s notebook, for 2018. You can find the link to the first part here and I highly recommend you check out the whole series of articles for a more in-depth read.

Content of this ‘essay’:

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials

Project 'Stats' & Overview

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

Things to Consider, and Important Bullet Points

Get to Know Your Characters

Chronological Order

Tangential and Preceding Events

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, Sub Plot Ideas

List of Locations

Scenes

Chapter Outline

NaNo Plan

Additional Notes and Tips for Writing

Ok. Let's begin.

First of all, I'm not saying that this is the only way to write or organise a novel. It can be tackled in as many ways as there are writers in the universe. This is just the method I used to get my ideas crystallised and organised.

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials.

Take your preparation seriously. I bought a cheap but still nice A4 sketchbook with blank paper for maybe £2 at the local hobby store, and used it solely for the purposes of being my Novel Notebook. It doesn’t have to be a pretty, perfect, Aesthetic(TM) journal at all. Its function is to act as a route-guide through the process.

I bought a cute sticker from Etsy and used it as the front cover design so that I liked the book and that it felt a little bit special, without being too intimidating to put a mark in. Then I left the very first page blank, and opened it to the first double page. On the left, I wrote ‘Contents’ and then moved on to the right and wrote ‘Project Stats and Overview’.

I used a pen that was comfortable to write with, which for me was important. I’m a very tactile person, and having nice paper and pens (not necessarily fancy), made the process feel good.

Project Stats and Overview

This is the bare bones of the book, and includes details such as:

Project Working Title: (in my case it’s Weaver of Threads)

Targeted Wordcount: (to give yourself an idea of the scope, but it’s not necessary. For me it’s 50-100k)

Genre: (for me, fantasy)

Series: (will it be one book or more? For me, probably more than one, and at least two).

Inspiration: (here you can jot down all sorts of things which inspire your world and your writing, and it can be anything. In my case, I began with “density and lore, and feeling of being grounded in a real world from LOTR and Tolkien.” And I went on to include other writers and novels in the fantasy genre, as well as elements from our own world, such as Mongolian herding communities and way of life, the history of the Persian Empire, and Renaissance Florence!).

Project Timeline: Give yourself a structure, and be realistic. If you know you’re a slow writer who’s prone to distractions, be generous, but if you’re someone who responds well to short deadlines, tighten the time frame up a bit. I said “November 2020 - November 2021 for the whole manuscript” because I know I’m a procrastinator who gets dejected if they shoot past intense deadlines….

Editing Deadline: December 2021-January 2022. I know I can edit fairly quickly, so I made this one much shorter.

Main Requirements Prior to Starting: What do you need to get sorted before you can get going? It could be purchasing a laptop or figuring out a magic system. In my case, it was the latter.

What Happens in your novel?: This is not ‘what do your characters do?’, but what, in one sentence, actually happens in the book. For Fellowship of the Ring, you could say ‘a diverse group of people assemble and set off together with the goal of destroying the Ring’. LOADS more stuff actually takes place, obviously, but that’s probably the key thing that happens in that book. So, write the same thing for yours. I’m not going to tell you what happens in mine, because that would spoil it :).

That took up the first A4 page of my writer’s notebook, and after that, I moved on to Mood and Key Imagery.

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

On the left hand side of the page, I wrote down the words and concepts that sprang to mind when I thought of the novel itself. These were in no particular order or placement — just a random cloud of ideas in a rough column on the left hand side of the page — and they included: history, mystery, love, friendship, betrayal, nostalgic, homesick, sense of belonging, sense of place, searching, closeness, secrets… etc. etc.

Then on the right hand side, I wrote down five key words that I wanted to associate with the novel. These would form the ‘visual aesthetic’ in the background of my mind, and could be very easily expressed with a moodboard.

This same process (writing down words and creating a moodboard) could be achieved on a website like Pinterest. Take your time with it, find the right visual clues that really match the essence of your story, and create a final mood board with a limited number of panels that will be your novel’s ‘true north’ when it comes to feelings. If you're artistically inclined too, you could draw sketches of things relevant to your world too.

While this stage is really important for solidifying the feeling and mood of the novel, don’t get stuck here and spend forever procrastinating on Pinterest or whatever. Once you’ve crystallised that ambiance, it’s time to move on. It’s also perfectly fine to come back to this at a later stage if you find yourself running out of inspiration or drifting a bit. Daydreaming, drawing, mood-board-ing are all great ways to work on your novel on days when you don’t feel like writing.

Things to Consider:

Alicia Lidwina asked herself some questions which helped me get past the ‘block’ that I’d created when thinking about the novel, and those were:

What scares me about this story? (in my case it was the scope of it - it was easy for me to get lost in over-thinking tiny details and get too overwhelmed to handle the big picture)

What will readers take away from it? (in my case, I hoped that it was a sense of friendship, people from desperate cultures finding common ground, and a sense of being grounded in a real, tangible world.

What is its selling point? (essentially, why would an agent/publisher choose yours over the next one in the pile?). Don’t be bashful about this. This is your notebook, so if you’re proud of a feature or aspect of the story, write it down. In my case, there is no ‘Big Bad come to destroy the world’, no Chosen One who is the only one who can stop it. There is an antagonist, but it’s on a personal scale, and that’s the selling point. It’s about two people going on a personal journey to uncover a lost piece of knowledge that’s arguably not all that world-changing on its own, but which means the world to them.

What will be the three biggest issues in writing the first draft? Identify the three biggest roadblocks, and then take a bulldozer to them. For me, it was time management, getting mentally stuck, and the sheer darned effort of it becoming overwhelming!

Important Bullet Points

These are five key facts about your novel, distilled from the sections above. They include: What’s at the heart of the story? How long is the story? What’s the narrative focus of the story? What are the maximum number of main characters? And the maximum number of supporting characters (this obviously doesn’t mean you can’t have other, less important characters too!)?

Relationship between the two main characters is forefront

50-100k words

The novel’s focus is on the characters’ main goal (had to be more vague here so I didn't give it away)

2 main characters

3 supporting characters

If you find you’ve got too many main characters (not necessarily a bad thing to have a lot of characters - look at A Song of Ice and Fire after all!), then figure out whose story you want to tell here. You can always write another story with other characters in a connected novel, or a sequel. You don’t have to tell everything all at the same time.

Speaking of characters…

…Get to Know Your Main Characters:

Here you can write character sheets for each of your main characters and cast. There are hundreds of these templates available on the internet, asking questions like ‘how would your character react to [insert event]?’ etc. to get to know your character. If this isn’t your thing (it isn’t mine) then at least write down some useful information about them. Rough height and weight, hair, eye and skin colour, general temperament, and any other defining physical or mental traits.

Next came the Chronological Order

This does not have to represent the final order of the novel’s structure, nor the order in which you write the manuscript, but you need to know what happened within the timeline, and when, in order to be really clear when you’re telling the story. You can write the manuscript out of order, and you can tell the story with flashbacks or in a different order, but you need to have the underlying chronology securely in place so that your writing makes sense and so that you don’t confuse yourself or the readers in the process.

Preceding and Tangential Events

These don’t need to be in the novel itself, but it may be important to define the sequence of events that also led up to the moment where we pick up your story, and what is happening elsewhere so that you can be sure of these too. In my case, I defined the events that concerned one of the supporting characters’ lives so that I knew how and why they were at the point they are in the story. It relates directly to - and heavily influences - the events of the novel, so I needed to have this person’s history nailed down as well, even though I don't tell it all explicitly in the book (because that would be unnecessary and a bit dull).

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, and Sub-Plot Ideas (plus writing a synopsis)

Alicia Lidwina defined the story premise helpfully with the following formula:

Story Premise = Main Character + Desire + Obstacle

Pick a different colour for each of these components, and write a short paragraph to explain them in the context of the novel. Alicia Lidwina used the following:

[Main Character] “Harry, an orphan who didn’t know that he’s a wizard, [Desire] got invited into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and wanted to live his school life to its fullest, [Obstacle] but a certain Dark Lord who killed his parents is trying to rise into powers again and kill him in revenge.

Do this for your novel, and keep it really short.

Plot Definition: This is even shorter than that! It’s a single sentence!! It’s most closely tied to the desire of the character, and lies at the heart of the story. It’s most likely a distilled version of the ‘what happens in the story’ from the Project Stats page, so check that to see what you wrote there.

Sub Plot Ideas

Five bullet points (no more) for things that are happening concurrently and which are related in some way to the main story. For me, Kae and Tomas are doing their research, so that’s the main theme, but beneath that there are a few other related incidents.

Writing a Synopsis - developed out of the points in this section, and includes:

Who the main character is

What the stakes are (the story premise is your guideline)

What the main plot line is

How the MC resolves the problem in the main plot line

How the book ends.

List of Locations

Start with the main ones and add to it as you go on. Write a little bit of information about them so that you have something to refer back to. I also drew a big old map which I found very helpful and also really fun to do.

List of Scenes

It’s very important to map out every single scene that happens in the novel. Use your timeline to help with this, but remember a scene is not necessarily a chapter. You can have more than one scene within a chapter, but try not to have too many.

I used small post-it notes (sticky notes) and wrote down things like “M joins K’s clan at the fire and K learns about magic” and “K studies at Citadel, intro to Citadel, magic, and characters” as separate scenes. Once you’ve written down everything that is going to happen (this will take some time! Get a drink and some snacks ready, and go slow), you can stick them into your notebook in the order you’d like to tell the story. Some chapters may have just one scene, while others may have two or three. I didn’t have more than two in any of my chapters, and actually ended up splitting some scenes that I’d made too vague in this section into more chapters. It doesn’t have to be set in stone, but it will form a road map.

Additions and Notes:

I left a section of the Scene Outline bit of the notebook blank for things to add in as I went along. I haven’t used it yet, but I might.

Chapter Outline

I arranged the scenes into the chapters already by sticking them in order, but you could do a chapter outline separately after this. It’s up to you.

NaNoWriMo plan:

I did this back in October, and wrote down the main goal for nanoprep, which was to finish the background info. Breaking that down further, I listed - magic (how does it work exactly), geography, and politics.

After that, it was just a case of writing the 1667 words a day. *spoilers, I got distracted and didn’t do NaNo this year* . What I should have done, was break it up into chunks and write down my goals so that I had something tangible to use as a road map, and I will be doing that now for the novel as I take it up again outside of NaNo. Having check boxes and manageable goals really works for me. Find what will work for you, and if it turns out not to, adapt!

Some final pointers and tips:

Set regular goals for yourself. Whether you work by saying ‘I’ll write 1000 words a day’ or ‘I’ll write something every day’, make a structure for yourself. If you slip and miss a day, week, or month (I didn’t meet NaNo this year because I chose to work on another project instead *slaps forehead*), don’t beat yourself up. Writing is a craft and it takes a long time and a lot of discipline to master a craft.

Your first draft does not have to be good. At all. Your first draft is just words on paper. A first draft is the block of marble taken from the quarry, and subsequent edits and reworking is the process of carving the sculpture itself. The editing that is done by the publisher or the professional you employ to edit it for you later, is the final polishing. Don’t be demoralised if the block of marble seems very rough when it first lands in your studio. That’s ok!

Take regular breaks. Writing is hard work, and most people can’t concentrate on something successfully for longer than 55 min's, and if you’re doing that, you’re already doing really well. Personally, I’m at 15-20 on a good day. Write in little sprints of ten minutes or so, and then get up and stretch, look out the window, maybe leave the room, come back in with a fresh approach.

Stretch your hands, and wear wrist braces when you work. Seriously. I gave myself tendinitis on my first major project, and couldn’t use either hand properly for weeks. The ones I have are these, and they allow me to work safely for much longer.

Keep hydrated. Have a bottle of water on the desk in front of you between your arms as you type and sip it, otherwise you’ll forget. 2 litres a day is usually recommended, but know your body and drink accordingly.

Treat yourself. Whether that’s something as simple as a decadent hot chocolate after your first chapter/chunk/sprint is done, or a new notebook or a pen or that sticker set you wanted on Etsy or literally anything nice, reward yourself for the hard work you’ve put in, with tangible things you can look at or experience and say ‘I have that because I did the work’. It’ll help with your sense of achievement, especially if the project is a long one.

Join a local writer’s group for feedback. With the current Covid-19 chaos, this is probably not possible right now, but getting constructive feedback on your work from someone who hasn’t been cocooned in the project in the way you are, but who respects you as a writer and wants to help you grow, will be invaluable. It’s too easy to exist in a little isolated bubble and think you’re doing ok, when in reality you could be creating bad habits which will be difficult to break later. By these, I mean things like ‘filler words’ you don’t realise you use, or other pit-falls it’s easy to tumble into when you can’t see the wood for the trees…It’s intimidating, and it might take some courage to work up and do, but I promise it’ll help you grow. You don’t have to do what the people suggest, but it’s great to get outside opinions all the same.

Submit work to writing competitions. This will help with showing agents and publishers later down the line that you’re not only committed, but hopefully talented, and will help you to push yourself. Use the world of your novel for the setting, and get to know it by writing short stories on the competition’s theme set there.

Read. Read the writers you admire, and read them ‘actively’ - figure out exactly what it is about ‘that’ sentence that made you shiver, and use the same techniques in your own work (don’t plagiarise, obviously, but if it was alliteration that made the sentence work so well, use it yourself! Perhaps it was the metre of the line? Great, now you know a rhythm that will drive a sentence forward or slow it down etc.)

Enjoy it. If you’re not enjoying what you’re doing, it’ll show in the work. Take a step back if you start floundering, and ‘interview’ yourself about why it’s not fun any more. Refer back to the sections in the notebook that helped to clarify the plot/process, and see if you’ve wandered away from them. Make yourself answer questions like: ‘What is the main reason I don’t want to do this?’ ‘What is the character’s motivation?’ ‘Should I scrap this section?’ (don’t delete it, but cut and paste it into another ‘scraps’ document, and then start afresh from the last place you were happy with. Nothing is wasted - it all goes into building the world and getting to know the characters, even if it doesn’t get explicitly told in the finished product, so don’t be afraid to do that last bit).

Good luck!

I hope you found this helpful, and if you have any questions or things you’d like to add to this, please feel free to send me an ask here on Tumblr.

If you’re a new writer hoping to get an agent or publisher, you might also find this post on ‘talking to a published author’ helpful or interesting.

If you would like to keep up to date with my own novel’s progress, you can follow me here on Tumblr, as well as on my writing Instagram @rnpeacock

#writing #writeblr #writing process #how to write a novel #novel writing #nanowrimo #national novel writing month #writing a book #writing advice #author #authors on tumblr #how to structure a book #long post

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pixiebuggiewrites · 4 years ago

Text

Sorry Wrong Number!

Masterpost - Previous - Next - Ao3 link

Chapter 2: Hawkmoth has really bad designs and perhaps even worse timing

Since it was her off night from patrol, Ladybug was the last one onto the scene. She landed down on a building next to Viperion, who was observing the akuma’s skillset as Kuro Neko played distraction down below them.

The villain of tonight's look was... interesting to put it nicely. They were a boy around the same age as the heroes that seemed to be wearing a slightly oversized purple and blue three piece suit with a not-so-subtle lightning pattern running up the arms. His hair was shock white and seemed to be defying gravity while his eyes were protected by bright blue goggles-possibly where the akuma was residing. More importantly, he seemed to be covered in electricity, which was gonna make it difficult to get any hits in. He also had a laptop with him- another contender for the akuma’s hiding place but most likely just a weapon.

Not Hawkmoth’s worst design, but it definitely wasn't his finest work either. Though to be fair she had run around in spotted spandex for two years before she found out she could change her costume, so those in glass houses she supposed.

Viperion, noticing the team leader's arrival began to fill her in on what they knew so far.

“They're calling themselves ‘Elect-Trick’, keeps sending out shockwaves to try and knock us back which is frustrating but our suits seem to take the brunt of it which helps but Neko’s staff is a no go at the moment since there's no way to know if it’ll conduct the electricity.”

It likely would, something they had found out the hard way during the last weather akuma they had to face. While magical it was still metallic in nature sadly, which meant she needed to also be careful with her yoyo. She still isn't really sure what it’s made of besides magic, but this was not the way she wanted to find out.

“Alright, in that case we’ll continue to keep him away from the Eiffel Tower, it’s likely the akuma’s going to try and use it as a large conductor. I’m gonna head down, stay up here and be ready to use your second chance at the signal.” She instructed

Viperion nodded and went back to watching the fight just as Ladybug swooped down to join in. She was just in time as the akuma had begun to corner Neko, who had no choice but to rely on playing defense while her staff was out of the mix. The two heroes nodded their heads in greeting as Ladybug yoyo-d her cat themed friend over putting the duo back on even ground with the villain, who seemed to be ranting about school elections of all things.

Which would be a probable explanation for the first half of his name.

The two continued to fight back against the akuma, neither side quite able to grab the upper hand. Ladybugs yoyo-as it turned out, did not conduct electricity afterall. And, seeing as it's practically indestructible she was able to land hits on the akuma without getting shocked. But the akuma had realized the issue with Neko’s staff and was using that to their advantage, aiming a decent chunk of their attacks at the cat hero which forced them to go back on the defense.

As the fight had been going for over an hour at this point, the spotted heroine decided to bring out the big guns. After doing a silent signal letting Viperion know to start his timer, she got in position to call on her lucky charm.

But she didn't get a chance to. Just as she went to throw her yoyo in the air, Viperion called out a warning that sent a feeling of dread through her.

“LB watch out, There's an amok headed straight for the computer!”

Sure enough, there was an all too familiar purple feather floating through the air on track for the laptop that she quickly caught and purified it before it could land. Thank the Kwami for the power of second chance, nobody wanted to deal with a sentimonster on top of everything else tonight.

Keeping Kuro Neko on the lookout for anymore feathers, She finally activated her lucky charm. Throwing her yoyo up she manifests… a slingshot! She could work with that, just needed to find ammo. Looking around her eyes land firmly on the window of a small toyshop.

Bingo!

Having Viperion keeping an eye out in case he was needed temporarily as backup, she sneaks over and breaks the window with her yoyo. Typically, the heroine would feel bad about causing this much property damage but tonight she’s tired and wants to get this over with so she can make a plan of action for the whole ‘Mayura seems to be back’ thing with her team and maybe get at least a couple hours of sleep. Anyways her miraculous cure would fix the window and return the bouncy balls she was actively stealing so no harm done? After finishing committing what was technically a misdemeanor, she made her way over to the roof Viperion was on and handed off the slingshot supplies before making her way back down.

Luckily Neko had managed to keep Elect-Trick distracted enough for the team to catch him off guard. On Ladybugs call Viperion began to pelt the Akuma with rubber balls, drawing his sight away for long enough to tie him up and take his glasses. One cataclysm later, the teen had been successfully deakumatized and she was able to cast her cure, fixing the decent chunk of property damage caused that night. After making sure the teen was okay to get home safe and getting his address for the interview she would have to conduct later, she turned to her team.

“Good work today guys, let's meet back at base in 30.” Her eyes communicated the urgency of the meeting despite the neutral tone of voice she tried to maintain.

From there the teens all departed in separate directions to recharge their powers and head to the team's secret base.

----------

Okay so secret base was a bit of an overstatement. It is a secret place that the team uses as a base of operations but it was less of a Batcave and more of a repurposed hotel room in Le Grand Paris.

Chloe had brought up the idea after one too many close calls with Marinette's parents while the girls were investigating Hawkmoth. They needed a place to discuss hero work safely without having to talk in code but the question was where. Obtaining an apartment would be difficult as all of them but Luka were still underage, not to mention the issue of trying to pay rent without any parental suspicion. Luckily for Chloe, it's surprisingly easy to just claim a hotel room without being questioned when your Father owns the hotel.

And while it was no Batcave, it wasn't anything to scoff at either. The four teens had been able to pool together enough money in the beginning for the basics, which meant that now any small snuck away chunks of commission money, music gig payments, competition winnings, and allowances were all able to go to improving things bit by bit.

The room was already quite nice, having a separate bedroom that they used as a gym and a kitchenette that was kept well stocked with kwami snacks. Then there was the main area, which had been split down the middle. The first side was dedicated to the investigation and housing Marinette's Guardian materials, While the second half was a hangout zone where they could chat or decompress after any particularly rough fights.

The base was also secure, Marinette had put so many spells and protections on the room with the help of the kwami that it might as well be a pocket dimension of sorts. The magical security system of sorts was extremely complicated, being tied to the teams auras in a way so that the only way to even find it without being one of them was to be taken there by Ladybug herself. It had taken weeks to pull off but was well worth it to give her team a place that was safe from the outside world.

Ladybug was the first to arrive this time, having flopped down into a chair at their meeting table as her two friends entered the room and joined her. They all sat there for a moment, processing the fact of Mayura’s return. Of course this would happen when they were down a member, it wasn't a complete surprise that the peacock miraculous would come back into play at some point but it was really bad timing.

“So what exactly is the plan?” Viperion asked, finally breaking the silence.

Ladybug sighed, knowing that their workload was going to increase once again. At least it was close to summer vacation.

“First we need to increase patrols- especially around the typical hot spots, Neko do you think we’ll be able to finish those jars by this time next week?”

The cat hero nodded “They're almost done, we’ll need to test them somehow though.”

The two of them had recently been working on a variation of an object enchantment technique mentioned in the grimoire. The original object was dubious in nature, having been used as a cage of sorts that kwami wouldn't be able to phase through. Marinette was disgusted by the thought, further feeding into some suspicions she had about the old order. As she was ranting about it to Kagami about it, her fencer friend got an idea for a way to repurpose the spell to trap akuma when Ladybug couldn't easily get to a fight. It would also allow them a new way to prevent possessions when Ladybug wasn't actively on patrol.

“That's good. Lastly I need Bee’s new number, I was going to ask you for it tomorrow but I need to give her a heads up to start on a new case file. We also might want to move up our plans to contact the heroes there.”

Kuro Neko quickly jotted down the number on a nearby notecard and handed it to Ladybug. After hammering out a few last details about their new patrol schedules the heroes were all free to head home for the night.

The trip home was uneventful, and she arrived home to see that it was just past midnight. She also noticed that her bath bomb had been fixed! It was sometimes a gamble on if something like that would count as akuma damage so it was a nice victory after the day she’s had.

Marinette quickly put in Chloe's number, eager to get to bed. She sent her blonde friend a summary on what happened and let her know to be on the lookout for an email tomorrow with the information to assemble a case file. And with that, Marinette drifted off to sleep.

She had made a small mistake though. In her tired state the young designer’s finger slipped, putting a 5 where there was meant to be a 4.

Meaning Chloe Bourgeois was not the recipient of her intended message.

Good thing she wrote the message in code?

----------

Across the ocean, Damian Wayne received a strange text message.

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

Taglist (open!!):

@queencommonsense

#maribat #daminette #maridami #ml x dc #sorry wrong number #buggiewrites

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whoslaurapalmer · 3 years ago

Text

so i never do this but i put a lot of thought into really specific details about the structure and scene layout of (the three-part folding mirror) and i really really really want to talk about it so here are some of my notes and some general commentary

-the crux of the fic, at least the way i had envisioned it, is what vfd does to family, how it becomes biological family vs the family created by vfd

-what vfd did to specific families: -physically separated the calibans -morally separated the denouements and the snickets -somehow brought the anwhistles closer together

-in terms of ramona and olaf, ramona was there to stress the distinction of biological family vs. vfd family but also how they’re so inextricably intertwined with each other, and olaf, this is harder to tell bc he doesn’t have a point of view here, but olaf is scoping out potential candidates for his personal group of firestarters – his own sort of “family” (ramona bc she’s a duchess, ernest because he has a similar line of thought, josephine because her husband is working with the mushrooms, the white-faced women because, well they wind up in his troupe and I have very vague headcanons about how that happens)

-related; the reason frank asks olivia about miranda at the end is because, at that point in the fic, frank feels so terrible about what he said to ernest that he’s trying to reassure himself that his family is still okay because (dewey’s right) at least they’re together, compared to the calibans, who haven’t seen each other in years. it was one of the first ideas I had when I was jotting ideas down in april and it stuck with me the whole way through. I really wanted it in there. I went back and forth before I got to this plot, though, on whether or not frank or ernest would be the one asking it. but I think it fits frank. -(ahahahahahaha the kicker being that miranda really was at the party the whole time and olivia didn’t recognize her) -anyway

-the parallels in the fic were: -the denouements start the fic together, and end the fic alone (by being honest about how they feel about each other) -the snickets start the fic relatively separated, and end the fic together (by being dishonest about what happened during the party) -the denouements start the fic by playing their game, and the snickets end the fic with theirs -frank is mistaken for ernest, ernest is mistaken for frank -frank pretends to be ernest on accident, ernest pretends to be frank on purpose -dewey has never slammed a door in his life; towards the end of the fic he slams the tray -i….think that’s all of them. I think

-character-wise, jacques and frank both see themselves as the people holding their families together; when in fact for the denouements, it’s dewey, which I think is clear in this, and for the snickets it’s lemony, which is less clear here? but definitely something I agree with -dewey and kit see themselves as the most ‘normal’, and they both have relatively solitary positions of acquiring information -ernest and lemony clearly both vibe on a ‘question vfd’ wavelength -i was also interested in kit and ernest, as siblings who feel stifled by an older/perceived older sibling, and dewey and lemony, who are sometimes unnecessarily protected by their siblings because they are the youngest/perceived youngest -this doesn’t show up in the fic bc olaf’s parents are still alive, but I thought ramona and olaf were also interesting foils re: reacting to their parent’s deaths

-some narration notes: -frank never refers to ernest and dewey as his brothers, except in the scene where he argues with ernest. because frank doesn’t necessarily see the split of biological family vs vfd family but has definitely swayed more to vfd family -ernest and dewey always refer to each other as brothers. -similarly, frank refers to the members of vfd as associates, most everyone else refers to them as friends. -ernest refers to vfd as strictly VFD because he’s distanced himself from it, while everyone else calls it ‘the organization’ -frank doesn’t swear even in his narration when he’s thinking them and not saying them because it’s, still his narration. he still wouldn’t quite completely say the words. (oh, he’s like gansey, like that. the raven cycle is still on my brain. i had so many scene sketches where ernest and frank were way too callous to each other bc they kept coming out like ronan and declan.) -kit’s line at the beginning is “someone in this very room has betrayed us” which is jacques’s line from the building committee meeting in unauto. the clock saying wrong afterwards is because the someone who really betrayed them (lemony) isn’t in the room.

-the costumes, which i did decide very arbitrarily: monty: clearly a snake. olaf: sigh. wolf ramona and olivia: oh, there was actually a slight distinction that just no one notices because none of them have looked at an insect (and also because describing clothes properly but succinctly is the hardest thing. i've written fic for a long time!!!!! i did my time in block paragraph clothing description hell!!! it haunts me!!!!!!!!!!), but ramona was the butterfly and olivia was actually a dragonfly. their masks are roses because, well 1) I thought that would be cool 2) butterflies and dragonflies land on flowers…. jacques: the boxwood, but a lion otherwise. josephine: ocean widdershins: the octopus with the pirate hat jacquelyn: the gold star suit (because gustav said she should do it for a play on. star. like. actress star.) miranda: uranus’s moon named miranda. it was very vague and I put that in the fic before I decided to have her in the little scene with esme. and then i thought i would put her in that scene too. gustav: phantom of the opera. haruki: tree frog hector: tree (not because of haruki’s costume but because i literally could not think of a damn thing for hector to be) lemony: uhhhhhh I had vague ideas he was. a cloud or something. like a stormcloud???? couldn’t pan out though. I like him in grey anyway. kit: I really just wanted her in red. with a big cape. and i spent so much time mentally deciding if i wanted her to have glasses or not in the archives that i forgot to mention her mask. everyone has one i swear to god white faced women: did anyone recognize that was them? :) it’s not mentioned in any way at all but in my head they were all dressed identically as flappers

esme actually doesn’t have one, because I, forgot, to give her one. I’m taking suggestions.

-references to lyeekha’s fics: -“that which is essential is invisible to the eye” is what frank says to jacques at the end of edge, and also the title of their snicket/denouement series -it initially wasn’t in there, because I was worried it wasn’t, like, in the right tone, re: what happens in edge vs how I was interpreting jacques and frank? but i liked it a lot. so i put it back in. -“frank quit smoking, but you didn’t” is a reference to frank smoking at the end of rigged -guess the guest and the clock alcove are from the end of fragments, with dewey and ernest watching hotel guests. this is my favorite thing in the whole world and something i actually keep forgetting is not canon because it is SUCH the perfect beethoven parallel -kit’s tattoo, which I was specifically imagining as the giant bombinating beast tattoo from ink on her back, which is definitely not around her neck but that was the only spot of skin she was showing so it was available and my thought was, it was kind of a low-cut in the back dress, and she was wearing the cape to cover up the giant tattoo on her back because beatrice was not there to cover it up with makeup (also bea picked out the dress.) (bea: if I can’t be there you have to make a statement) (kit: I have to what) -lemony being a “powerful, mythical figure” to the sugar bowl gen was actually something I wrote a long time ago, back in 2013, and I put it in the fic because I thought it fit, and then happened to reread double edged VERY late into the rewriting, literally THE DAY after I wrote that line in, and i saw a similar line of thought, and I was like “*cooper voice* sometimes you just get lucky ~ ” -jacques being in a lion costume, from the masquerade outfit sketches

additionally – -yes I am still cackling about ‘angel of my apple’ -angel of my apple -ANGEL OF MY APPLE -writing olaf is constantly like, he can say the funniest fucking things. and then turn around and say the absolute cruelest shit and the balance can be difficult. -but, angel of my a p p l e

-i can’t believe that out of all the people here, frank and jacques are the ones having the most semi-successful romantic relationship. well, ramona and olivia, too, but frank and jacques actually kiss so good for them -i know it was very vague and it’s because writing romance is physically embarrassing, but yes that last line was supposed to be them kissing, i’m so sorry

-undercover underwater was a last-minute addition because I didn’t want to take the time to try and google something real and good because I didn’t have the time. my guilty pleasure is super shitty hallmark murder mystery movies (I like good murder mysteries as well, thank you.) and my mom’s been reading terrible murder mysteries during lunch (where I was sitting across from her, also eating lunch, but also hiding behind my laptop and writing the fic) so I just came up with undercover underwater on the spot, but my mom came up with the tagline. it was originally ‘sleeps with the fishes’ (especially because i love the godfather movies which also, clearly has a very big stress on family vs The Family) but I thought ‘diving for the truth’ was funnier. -my mom and my brother (who has no interest in shitty murder mysteries, but loves to verbally smack them down with me re: their predictable tropes) and I decided that the plotline was something like, single woman scuba dives and keeps running into stuff (you know, hidden treasure, dead bodies, the like); her love interest drives the boat; her overbearing family member is an aunt; this is definitely like, book four in the series. there’s probably twelve books or something. (she goes on vacation on like book six and still finds a dead body, come on it practically writes itself.) (she probably owns a little fish tank......it’s a small sunny beach town.........etc etc.........) (it’s so easy to do this.) -oh, fixer upper is the worst hallmark murder mystery series, murder she baked is the best. in my opinion.

-dewey and lemony were supposed to have an actual conversation at the hors d’oeuvres table but every time I tried to put lemony in earlier he just wouldn’t work. it didn’t feel right. so he got saved for the reveal. -but i’m still delighted by the idea of lemony literally doing the shot of gazpacho. -dewey uses a spoon because he doesn’t have the composure or the guts to do a shot of cold soup -lemony was also supposed to have a scene with kit and one with jacques, i’m pretty sure, to lead up to the gazpacho conversation and the commiserating re: siblings. but again, didn’t work out. so then dewey had to fare alone in the scene. -oh!! the line about how lemony hides, in the least likely places, was actually something that was in my initial write of lemony’s scrapped pov of my ellington fic. jacques being responsible for sending olivia to the hinterlands was from a scrapped jacques fic. -steal from your unused fic.

-because I had to take scenes with lemony out, I had some, gaps in the night that I had to fill in (especially because this is a party more people are there than the snickets and the denouements), so that was how esme, the herpetology squad, and olaf and josephine came to be. (also olaf needed to show up again somewhere else otherwise he kind of, disappeared awkwardly, I thought?) -also because initially there was going to be a scene of bea and bertrand, elsewhere, but I wanted to keep the fic contained to the hotel, because one of the ideas I wasn’t able to put into the fic all that much was the sense of the hotel being its own world -oh, bea and bertrand don’t know that lemony used them as cover. the assignment they were working on instead of being at the party? planning the opera. the scene would’ve come right after ramona and olaf’s conversation. -the herpetology squad not only serves to highlight that people can’t tell the denouements apart (part of the foreshadowing that ernest would pretend to be frank), but was also me roasting myself because writing like a million different characters I had never written like this before had me very concerned about if their characterization was consistent, specifically for kit. (specifically, her with dewey.) also defining a character down to one base trait can be helpful when writing and creating characters, but for people no it’s not ideal. -haruki’s estimation of the denouement’s traits were not how i was mentally keeping track of them, because i definitely do do the ‘one base trait’ sometimes, but i had a lot more going on when i was thinking of them -but yes dewey is kind. in the way that bertrand is kind, but bertrand’s like, way more smooth about it.

-lemony does not have his own pov because, for me personally, I can’t fathom writing him in any other way besides first person, and it just would not do to have one scene out of the whole fic not in third person. unless he was secretly narrating each scene, which, he clearly was not. i would’ve had to do it in a whole different style.

-i love that dewey and kit are like ‘ahaha we’re the normal ones though’ and their normal conversation is them literally going ‘hey these creepy fish are AWESOME THOUGH’ -i looked at so many fish. for hours. -ALL BECAUSE I came up with the phrase ‘oceanic intrigue’ as a fun phrase and decided I had to commit my soul to it and never look back. -oh, the fairy shrimp are really very cute though. and i think the cookiecutter shark is, fucked up but a neat little guy.

-i’m eternally going to be laughing about this too kit: where the fuck is frank frank: /three floors down, making out with jacques

-oh!! 40-49 is unassigned in the dewey decimal system (which I googled. many, many times.), and was previously biographies. there’s another section for biographies now, but because biography was the closest I could come to like, some sort of, identity category, I thought it was more fitting if it was the section that used to be biography but was now as blank as frank felt.

-dewey is the one responsible for the clock sounding like it does. he just thinks ‘wrong’ is a fun word. that, and frank recognizing jacques by sound, were from my earlier scene sketches for this when i thought this fic was going to be much, much shorter.

#lulu talks about the sad lemon man

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jamespotterthefirst · 5 years ago

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Little Miracle

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1,900 Warning: A few curse words.

Author’s Note: This is part of the canon scene where Ethan and MC watch over Dolores’s baby, from Ethan’s POV. I was inspired by the line from the book that says they “talked long into the night.”

Catch up here.

The sterile room of the NICU feels stifling that night, the fluorescent lights shining on them both almost blinding. Ethan had been in that room many times before, but never like this. Never with a strain on his mind and heart so painful, he thinks he might burst from it. Now, sitting in the love seat, counting each of the baby's breaths, he feels as though he is in a foreign place—a vastly terrible one where his dearest friend does not exist anymore.

The knot in his throat returns.

Dammit.

It threatens to constrict his breathing in the most debilitating way and he hates it. Urgently, he suppresses the flood of emotion at once, turning instead to glance at Lilac next to him.

The young doctor is not looking at him. In the silence that stretches between them, she stares at the linoleum floor, her tear-streaked face is pale, her eyes bleary and red. The weight of their previous conversation hangs over them and he is surprised to discover it is not an unpleasant one. Instead, her quiet presence at his side feels oddly… comforting. More so than the many glasses of scotch he was planning on drowning in had he not stayed.

Sensing his eyes on her, she glances up and offers him a tired smile which Ethan returns without hesitation. The moment lingers and before either of them can say anything, a soft cooing distracts them as the baby stretches.

An inexplicable warmth pierces through Ethan as he very gently offers Dolores' baby his hand. Small fingers close around his, weakly, yet powerful enough to steal his breath away.

“She named him after you,” she informs him tenderly, as though the words she is offering him are made of the most delicate crystal.

A small wave of shock courses through him as he looks at the name.

Ethan Hudson.

His throat tightens painfully yet again and all he can do is swallow.

“I...see she did.”

A small silence.

Her soothing, kind voice saves him from his thoughts when she comments, “You must have known Dolores a long time.”

Ethan busies himself with carefully removing his hand from the baby's grasp. Despite the painful ache in his throat, he finds the words. “Over ten years. When I first emailed her I only meant to check in. But she was recently divorced, feeling alone, so she insisted on coffee.” In spite of himself, he smiles at the memory of the lively yet persistent young woman who had been so determined to befriend him. “And then it turned into more emails and meeting once every couple months for Sunday roast.”

“She sounds like a good friend.”

She was, he thinks before his mind catches up with him. When it does, the past tense stabs him like a knife to the side.

“I didn’t make friends easily when I started here,” he begins, pausing only briefly to keep his voice from breaking. “So I was always grateful to her for that.”

The words finish ringing out in the quiet room and he swallows, suddenly exhausted from fighting back the excruciating pain of Dolores's death. As he falls silent, prickling eyes moving to the baby she fought so fiercely to protect, Ethan allows himself to mourn. The torrent of sorrow hits him is like the opening of a floodgate.

He is certain he will drown in his grief until a soft, warm hand slides over his, looking small and delicate against his own.

Ethan remains very still.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” she murmurs, the sincerity her voice offers something akin to a caress.

Ethan's eyes remain locked on their joined hands. Something about the sight and the feel of her soft skin against his tears away at his pride until all he wants to do is hold on to her desperately. Instead, he looks up to meet her eyes, unprepared for the quiet compassion in their depths. It hits him so abruptly that he is unable to look away, feeling something foreign stir in the depths of his chest, as consequential as the first blooms of Spring.

“Me too.”

As the seconds tick by and he becomes very aware that her hand remains on his, his pulse picks up, clamoring at his ears. With much effort, he forces himself to pull away.

“I think we need coffee.”

“I can get some,” she says, already rising to her feet, unaware of the scorching trail her touch left behind on his skin.

Ethan shakes his head. “No, I’ll go.”

He leaves the room in quick strides, grateful for the brief moment of solitude. Being alone, however, proves to be a small torment since he is unable to suppress thoughts of earnest, kindhearted eyes breaking down every barrier he had stubbornly built that evening. Steaming mugs of coffee in hand, he returns to the NICU with an eager haste he refuses to acknowledge, missing the tendrils of her soft companionship.

When he enters the room, Ethan finds her lovingly murmuring to the baby. “That’s it little tadpole. In and out.”

Lilac notices his arrival, offering him a sheepish smile at being caught. Cheeks blazing, she accepts the coffee gratefully. “This doesn’t taste like the cafeteria coffee,” she observes approvingly.

“This is from my private coffee machine. As soon as I got an office, I vowed never to drink that caffeinated dishwater again.” He watches her take this information in with knowing amusement. “Nobody knows I have it so…”

Quite seriously, she vows, “I won’t tell a soul.”

Ethan chuckles, shaking his head, the first true flash of amusement that evening.

They fall into a comfortable silence after that until the attending overseeing the case during the night shift strolls in to check on the baby. Satisfied with her findings, she quickly jots down the information on his chart.

“Our little miracle,” she comments quietly, both to the baby and to them, before leaving the room.

Ethan snuffs the urge to scoff at the word miracle. Lilac, of course, catches this and arches a brow at him.

“You don't believe in those,” she says, not as a question but as an undeniable observation.

Ethan hesitates to answer until he glances at her. There is no trace of judgment or derision on her lovely face, just fatigue from already spending several hours keeping watch.

“There is no scientific basis to account for them,” he allows. “Frankly, I'm a little surprised you believe in them despite choosing to spend your career with facts and empirical evidence.” He is careful to keep all sarcasm out of his tone though he doubts he is successful. Years of being a sardonic little shit are hard to break.

Lilac doesn't seem to mind, however, because she gives him an indulging sort of smile. “It is because I have studied science and facts that I am hesitant to dismiss their existence,” she explains. “Even with everything we know, there are some things science or reason cannot explain.”

“There are too many variables at play in a single minute, Rookie,” he counters. “When something occurs that we cannot explain away, it means a plethora of those variables aligned to create a perfect outcome.”

Lilac takes a careful sip of coffee, watching him over the rim of her mug. Not for the first time, he can see her mind working, formulating an argument. And like many times before, he longs to know the mystery of her thoughts.

“And getting that outcome despite all the innumerable possibilities,” she begins thoughtfully. “Isn't that a little miraculous?”

“No.”

Lilac laughs at the resolute way in which he shoots her down, though the sound is far from mocking.

“Are you then crediting what science cannot explain to coincidence and luck, Dr. Ramsey?”

He briefly pauses at that, thoughts stumbling. The haughty way in which she lifts the mug to her lips, concealing a smug smile, tells him she had intended to stump him. Instead of feeling annoyed, as he should, he feels a thrill of approval and something else entirely.

“Not at all,” he returns when he recovers. “I am merely pointing out that there is still much we don't know as a species. When something inexplicable takes place, the real cause is most likely attributed to something we haven't learned yet.”

Despite looking utterly exhausted, her eyes glint, as though she had expected that very answer.

“'If he is confronted with a miracle as an irrefutable fact he would rather disbelieve his own senses than admit the fact.'”

Ethan blinks.

“Are you seriously quoting Dostoevsky at me, Rookie?”

This time, she dissolves into self deprecating laughter. “Sorry,” she says, scrunching her nose in the most endearing of ways. “I studied him as an elective when I was in my undergrad program so it's hard to break out of the habit of being a pretentious ass.”

“A pre-med student with a penchant for world literature,” he observes, allowing himself to relax into the air of amusement her laughter catalyzes.

“I was downright insufferable.”

“So not much has changed.”

Lilac throws him what is meant to be an unamused glare, but she ruins it by losing the battle against a smile. Ethan grins, unable to help it.

“What else do you walk around quoting at people who disagree with you?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“Nothing as severe as Russian literature,” she quips. “I save that for the most stubborn of the people I argue with.”

Ethan rolls his eyes though he too fails to stifle a smile. He begrudgingly accepts that he enjoys bantering with her, though he would never admit it out loud.

“Be lucky I didn't quote Harry Potter at you,” Lilac continues sagely. “I am notorious for that, too.”

“There's nothing in the Potter books about miracles,” he points out.

Lilac shoots him a surprised look. “You've read them?”

“Yes, I read the few that were out when I was in high school. They had midnight release events at bookstores when a new one was published.”

She stares at him in stunned silence.

“You went to that? That is so…”

“Don't say–”

“Cute.”

The word sends a jolt through him, made worse by the sound of her tired but giddy laughter. Ethan allows her to enjoy the mirth, even if it's at his expense. If he was being honest, he thoroughly enjoyed it too, feeling his anguish ease with each passing moment.

“Did you dress up?” she asks, eyes alight with excitement.

“We are not speaking of this anymore.”

“You did, didn't you?” she manages to say through a wave of fresh laughter. “Who did you dress up as? Harry? Dumbledore? Snape?”

Ethan makes a disgusted sound. “Don't insult me.”

Her laughter is uncontrollable by now and he can't help but join. “Good answer,” she commends.

Bodies close on the love seat, they both relax further into their seats, contentment lingering in their fading smiles. Ethan allows himself one good look at her as she becomes momentarily distracted by her phone. The harsh lightning of the NICU washes her out, especially in her sleep-deprived, exhausted state, but somehow she still looks unfairly beautiful. Yet, there is something entirely different about her, though he is far too tired to decipher what.

Lilac glances up to catch him staring.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Her previous words echo in his mind.

“There are some things science or reason cannot explain.”

Ethan thinks of Dolores and the unwavering friendship she offered him despite being surly and unapproachable. He thinks of the unconditional love she held for a being she had not even met yet, so profound she gave her life for him. He thinks of Lilac, offering him compassion and companionship despite his every effort to push her away.

Lilac glances glances his way, beaming at him radiantly. As he returns the smile, his heart feeling ten times lighter than it did an hour ago, he admits to himself that she was right.

______

Author’s Note: I don’t know what that was but if you made it here, thank you!

I think I will skip the baseball game scene and go on to the fMRI scene. I might have that be slightly AU and have Ethan ask MC the questions. Let me know what you think <3

______

@dulceghernandez | @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #my writing

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lupinsx · 5 years ago

Text

First Impressions

masterlist

Request: Hiii, would you write a Draco x reader where she's an american transferred student, and she has visible tattoos (like neck or legs) and is kinda nerdy but sexy and confident, and Draco just loses it bc it's so new and he doesn't know what the hell to do and how to act?? thank youuuu :)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: When the new girl Y/N arrives at Hogwarts, Draco finds it hard to nail the first or second impression. Perhaps another do-over is all he needs.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Brief kissing scene, that's all.

a/n — Hello lovely readers! My inbox is open for requests, and you can msg me if you want to be part of a tag list I'll be making. I hope you enjoy this one-shot!

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"Gryffindor!"

You raised your eyebrow for a moment, unable to grasp the importance of such a decision. You were sitting in front of the entire school, legs crossed and arms resting gracefully on the chair handles. Your position showed off the various minimalistic tattoos scattered across your legs and arms, gaining multiple curious glances from the students.

Gryffindor? you thought, Why that?

Nevertheless, you were met with a roaring cheer from the red and gold table clad with an extroverted aura. You stepped off your chair and strode towards them, taking your seat near the middle.

Upon your arrival, a particular red-headed boy sitting on your right spoke first, in a manner far too blunt than you are used to.

"You know, something tells me you're too pretty to be a first-year," the boy spoke, chin on his palm as he faced you. You rolled your eyes playfully at the cheesy tone of his words.

"You're right, I'm a fifth year. I just transferred from Ilvermorny."

"Ilvermorny! So you're an American, huh?" he said with a wide grin before sticking out his hand to shake. "My name is George. George Weasley. Your tattoos look wicked."

Shaking it back, you replied with a jokingly sarcastic tone. "Thank you. And I'm Bond. James Bond."

There was a brief moment of silence on his part where he just stared in confusion before he suddenly burst into juvenile chuckles. The sound tugged on the corners of your lips.

"I'm kidding, it's Y/N L/N," you finally admitted with a small smile. After your introductions, a boy appearing nearly identical popped up from beside him, extending his arm over George's chest.

"I'm Fred Weasley. Welcome to Hogwarts!" he exclaimed, patting your back harshly then going back to his food. You chuckled at their playful nature before you went back to your own plate.

After eating for quite some time and enjoying conversations with your new peers, you decided to take a quick break from the crowd. Assuring the prefects you'll find your way to the common room, you left the Great Hall to explore the vast castle.

Walking down the empty corridor, you finally had time to be in your own head. You thought about how different the houses are in Hogwarts compared to your old school.

"What is Gryffindor even for?" you spoke to yourself with a slight chuckle. However, you were quick to realize you weren't alone in the hall when a voice behind you replies.

"I believe it's for the dimwitted—correct me if I'm wrong."

Hastily turning on your heel, you were met with the sight of a tall, platinum-haired boy in a dark green detailed robe. He wore a condescending smirk on his face as he approached you with long strides, not before taking a quick glance at your lower leg which he thought to be unnoticed.

You smirked in response, crossing your arms over your chest. You could tell he was in Slytherin. Though you didn't know much about what the houses stand for, you made sure to at least learn their names and colours.

"Really? I've been told it was the Slytherins who were rather dull themselves," you said, mimicking a confused expression. You then pointed to the crest on his robes with a look of interest. "Oh, what an interesting symbol! What house is that?"

The blond boy seemed visibly displeased by your jibe. He knew you were well aware of his Slytherin status by the taunting grin widening on your lips.

As he opened his mouth to retort, you immediately cut him off with a mocking pat on his shoulder. Leaning closer, just enough to gain a flustered expression from the boy, you said, "Listen, I'd love to stay and chat, but I need to head to the common room before somebody thinks I'm missing. See you later?"

"Psh, how about not later," he faltered, earning a bemused glance from you.

Was that supposed to be an insult?

With a small laugh, you turned on your feet and walked down the hallway, heading wherever your eyes take you in hopes of finding the common room.

Though he went from being snobbish to odd within mere minutes, you found the blond boy to be very interesting, and more so peculiar. Perhaps we'll meet again.

"Really Draco? How about not later?" Draco groaned to himself, tugging on his roots in frustration.

He was now sitting on his bed, the morning after the "incident." The thought of the interaction left him with such a terrible sense of embarrassment, he wanted to obliviate himself immediately.

Laying down on his back, he sighed, staring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed beneath his head. Draco hated to admit it, but he found you very attractive. The sheer confidence radiating with every movement you take, word you utter, and look you give—it was damn near intoxicating.

How could he possibly mess up the first impression that badly?

Draco turned to lay on his stomach. With his head buried deep into his pillow, he let out a frustrated yell.

"Don't worry Draco, I'll probably never speak to her again," he tried to reassure himself. "And if I do, it'll be long forgotten."

Yeah, it'll be long forgotten.

With those words in mind, Draco got up from his bed in preparation for the day ahead. Besides, it was the first day of classes, and he was excited to see his schedule for the year.

After a seemingly endless breakfast, he finally was able to satisfy that curiosity. Gripping the sheet of parchment impatiently, Draco was unamused with the first class on the list. History of Magic—infamous for being a total drag.

With a scowl painted on his expression, he made his way towards the classroom, promptly stopping in his tracks at the sight of a particular student sitting inside.

It's that Gryffindor girl!

Draco's eyes widened as he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. You haven't noticed his slight stare, so he immediately made a beeline to his seat, making sure not to glance up from it.

It was then when you realized his presence in the room and turned back to face him. A smirk spread across your lips before you directed your attention back to the teacher.

A mere smirk and Draco already found himself blushing like a schoolgirl.

Just as anyone would expect, the lesson had been terribly soporific. If it wasn't for the sight of you absorbing the information excitedly, jotting down comprehensive notes as you listen with a glimmer in your eyes, Draco would have definitely been asleep.

It was unnatural. Why were you this interested? He found himself somewhat nervous to ask, so he instead fell back on his usual defence mechanism—uncalled-for remarks.

"Nerd," he muttered to you in between coughs, a condescending grin widening on his lips. You rolled your eyes in response, continuing to put your supplies back into your bag.

It was the end of the lesson when Draco approached you, class nearly empty with Professor Binns absentmindedly marking essays at his desk. You were internally raving about the lesson on goblin rebellions he just delivered when the blond boy just interrupted your thoughts.

"I'm sorry, but since when was fascination seen as a bad thing?"

"It is when it's Binn's lecture causing it," he retorted with a mocking tone. "You truly are something different."

With a fake smile plastered on your face, you whipped your hair to the side and replied, "Thanks, I know. But if you want my attention, you're going to have to try a little harder."

Your remark brought another flustered expression onto Draco's face, reminding you of your first encounter with him. His eyes dilated, cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, and his lips parted and closed with an inability to respond. He then averted his gaze from your eyes, and instead opted to stare at the ground until he regains composure.

"I don't want your attention," Draco mumbled under his breath, barely coherent if it wasn't for the proximity of you two.

"Really? Then why did you wait behind as the rest of the class leaves just to start a conversation?"

"I- uh- I gotta go," he suddenly spluttered, striding towards the door before you could even respond. The sound of a light slam broke you out of your brief trance while watching his retreating figure. With a small shrug, you finished packing and left the classroom, ready to head to your next class.

Yep, very peculiar indeed.

~~~

The next week, you found yourself nearly settled into the unfamiliar setting. Without further assistance, you were able to navigate to your classrooms and get used to remembering odd passwords for the dormitory. Hogwarts was finally beginning to feel like a home, or at least, as close as Ilvermorny was to being one.

After a particularly tiresome day of classes, you refused to allow your evening to end on that note. Making sure the rest of your classmates were asleep, you quietly made your way out of the Gryffindor common room, ignoring how far beyond curfew it currently was.

You enjoyed the thrill. You loved having to tiptoe around the corridors, knowing at any second a teacher could pop up. The risk factor was exhilarating, and you craved that release amongst a day of being studious. You needed that release.

With light steps bouncing on each tap, you made your way towards the Great Hall, intending to exit the castle.

However, you were quick to realize that life had other plans.

Just before your fingers grazed the handle of the door, a tap on your shoulder sent electrical shocks through your veins, awaking every nerve in your body with a severe jolt. Whipping your head to the side, you were mildly relieved to see the familiar face of a peer rather than adult ready to admonish.

"Oh," you muttered with a light sigh, "it's just you."

"Just? I'm insulted," said Draco with a joking pout, dramatically clutching his heart. You rolled your eyes in response, preparing to walk away before you were stopped almost immediately.

Your eyes narrowed at his hand tightly enclosed around your wrist, but he didn't let go upon catching your gaze. Instead, with a light tug, he dragged you along the opposite hall, leaving you confused by the action.

"Uh, where are you taking me?"

You were met with silence in response as he strode in front of you, squeezing your wrist to make sure you couldn't yank your arm back. A loud groan emitted from your lips, very clearly expressing defiance as you continued to struggle in your efforts to break free. All plans to roam around the lake were ruined, much to your distaste.

However, curiosity overcame your annoyance when the two of you began climbing up a long staircase. You have yet to explore this area of the castle, leaving you filled with wonder at the seemingly endless amount of floors this takes you to. I'll have to come back here later on my own, you thought to yourself with excitement.

With one final step, Draco abruptly stopped in his tracks, causing you to bump into his back and break your trance. As a mild blush painted your cheeks upon the contact, you followed him into the dark hallway, quickly reaching a wide doorway.

"I wanted to show you something," Draco said in an airy tone, nearly whispering amidst the quiet corridor. Then, without missing a beat, he swung the door open, revealing a spacious room.

It was mesmerizing, to put it lightly. Telescopes lined the corners of the room, which seemingly had no roof—although you were sure it was just enchanted to appear so. Looking up, you were met with the sight of the night sky, filled with scattered stars shining in their full glory. You couldn't hold back the smile widening on your face.

While you found yourself distracted, taking in the beauty of the room, Draco was held in an equal trance. He kept his gaze on your awestruck countenance, a grin threatening to tug on his lips as your eyes lit up in fascination.

"The view is beautiful," you mumbled under your breath, eyes fixed on the celestial bodies visible through the ceiling. Without redirecting his stare, he responded.

"Yeah, I agree."

It was then when you looked back at Draco, offering a gentle smile as you sit on the floor. He then followed, placing himself next to you before laying down on his back.

"So, why'd you bring me here?"

With a light shrug, Draco spoke, gaze fixed on the sky. "We never had a proper introduction. Or a good first impression either."

"Okay then, let's just restart," you started, a small giggle escaping your lips. "I'm Y/N L/N, it's nice to meet you."

Sticking out your hand for him to shake, he sat up, hesitantly shaking it back before keeping his palm lingering in your grasp. He waited a moment before completely pulling away.

"Draco Malfoy. It's nice to meet you too, I guess."

Following the long overdue introductions, there was a comfortable silence sweeping over the air. A sort of quietness without tension or awkwardness; just them taking in the moment. Enjoying how beautiful the stars look, how bright the moon is, and how red their cheeks are. It's almost laughable how the two teenagers of such levels of boldness act like schoolgirls under each other’s presence.

Eventually, Draco broke the silence with a small murmur. "I really like your tattoos."

"Oh, uh, thank you," you replied, instinctively trailing your finger across your wrist. It was often something you covered back in Ilvermorny, knowing people would've had something to say about it. Being met with positive responses here in Hogwarts felt very unfamiliar to you.

"What does that one mean?" Upon asking the question, Draco reached for the words decorating your wrist, his hand briefly touching your fingers which laid near it. As you quickly retract it and attempt to fight back another blush, you smiled softly at the remembrance.

"Ad maiora," you spoke under your breath. "It means towards greater things. It's my motto for life."

Leaving his finger brushed over the spelling, he stared at you with a slight twinkle in his eyes. "That's admirable."

"Thank you."

"How about this tattoo?"

He moved his fingers to the smaller design laid on your collarbone. It was a delicate touch; only briefly felt as he skimmed the inked skin, yet enough to invoke a swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

"It looked nice, that's all," you said, recalling the moment you chose the flower design. "Not all of my tattoos have profound meanings."

Despite the lack of depth in this particular design, you still cherished it greatly. It was decided upon a spontaneous act when you wanted to do something brazen for once in your life. Though, the tattoo fails to convey the feelings prior to its creation; rather, its simplistic nature gives it a sweet and dainty feel.

"I like it. It looks nice on your skin," he complimented, keeping his hand on the crook of your neck as his thumb brushes over the flower.

The position can easily be interpreted differently out of context. You were both sitting upright, facing each other in close proximity. Draco had his hand on your neck, and both of you were staring into the other's eyes. All that was left to complete the atmosphere was a kiss. The mere connection of lips. And you both were thinking the same thing too.

"Y/N?" Draco murmured, lowering his gaze to your lips. "Would it be alright if I-"

Without missing a beat, you cut him off, leaning the extra distance to join your lips together.

It was surprising to him. He never expected you to agree, let alone understand beforehand and kiss him yourself. Meanwhile, you simply went in accordance with your awfully forward personality. Thinking before doing was not a very familiar process for you.

After getting over the initial shock, Draco settled into the kiss, his eyes closing as he moved closer to you. Everything about the moment seemed ethereal. The stars gleaming above your heads, creating a beautiful glow surrounding you two. The way his platinum hair felt as you ran your fingers through it, and how perfectly his hands fit on the curve of your waist and side of your neck. How your lips seemed to connect like puzzle pieces, almost as if it belonged there as you two shared this passionate feeling. You were reluctant to let go, and he didn't intend to either.

Until the sound of harsh rapping on the door forced you two apart.

"Hello? I heard kids in here," the raspy voice of Mr. Filch spoke. Draco immediately turned to you, putting a finger to his lips with a playful expression. You nodded and squeezed your mouth shut in an attempt to repress a chuckle.

After waiting a moment for the notorious caretaker to walk away, you and Draco finally released the laughter that was building inside. Your bodies shook with mirth at the recollection of the tense atmosphere present seconds ago, when detention seemed far too probable.

As the laughter died down, you looked at Draco with a wide grin. He has a smile on his face to match as he leaned in for one final peck, before pulling away with red-stained cheeks.

You sat there speechless, unable to respond with the thoughts running through your head. All you knew was that you loved this feeling, and wouldn't be entirely opposed if he asked again. Noticing your flustered expression, Draco brushed a strand of hair behind your ear as his trademark cocky smirk stretched across his face.

"How's that for a first impression?"

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a/n — This took a while to make! I hope you all enjoyed it, it made me squeal so much while writing. Please like, comment, and reblog to show support! Thanks for reading 💞

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illeee-girl · 3 years ago

Text

La La(chimolala) Land Chapter Thirteen: The Confession from Your Lips

jimin x reader genre: fluff (but it gets pretty dang meaningful here, sorry not sorry) word count: 2.25k warnings: none

[Inspired by La La Land]

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Read on Ao3

You’d hung up your apron at the coffee shop that Monday morning for the last time.

Production on Red Writer began almost immediately. The independent film studio who'd bought it was new, but had plenty of resources, and wanted to get the film out within the next year. Casting went by smoothly—you found the perfect Marianne, and the perfect Sam—and filming began just two months after your pitch. You’d perfected the screenplay with a table of the studio’s on-hand writers, and nothing had been so exhilarating. Those days of revising and reworking scene after scene . . . they’d been the stuff of dreams. The first installment for the screenplay came in sooner than you’d hoped, and you moved up to Burbank to be closer to the set. Sad as you were to leave Jess, Rachel, and Diana for a tiny studio apartment of your own, they constantly came to visit, so it felt like you’d never stopped being roommates.

You and Jimin hadn’t stopped talking, per say, since your late-night, poolside, deep conversation. (For the record, you would never let go of anyone who would have a late-night, poolside, deep conversation with you.) But you’d been busy—busier than you’d ever been—and he’d left for Seoul to a round of promotional interviews and TV spots for the band’s latest album. After that, he’d be in Tokyo for a few weeks to do the same. Those sweet six months he’d promised to you that day on the pier had gone by in the blink of an eye. More and more, it began to seem like your schedule wasn’t the only wrench in Jimin’s dream of domestic bliss. BTS was only getting bigger—and there was no way he could leave.

October came. You were caught in the pressure-filled realm of wrapping up filming, and Jimin was still in Asia. FaceTimes turned into phone calls, phone calls into texts. “Good morning” and “Good night” turned into “How has the past week been?” It’s just the time difference, you told yourself. That, and he’s so impossibly busy. You’d message the boys whenever you thought of them, and they’d message back. “How’s Jimi?” You’d ask. “He’s doing fine,” they'd respond. “Just exhausted. In love with you as much as ever, I promise.”

But doubts crept in, deadlines piled up, and before you knew it, you were about ready to give up.

_________________________

“Hey, it’s me,” you leave a message on his phone one evening. “I’m walking through Little Tokyo. We just finished one of the last scenes on our list. It’s all going really well. But I’m exhausted. At least I have a car now, so I don’t have to take the metro. But now I have to sit in LA traffic all the time. I don’t know which is worse. I’ve heard the traffic in Seoul is pretty bad too . . . I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I miss you. Call me when you get this. If you even bother to listen to it. At this point, I’m not sure I care anymore.”

You climb in your Prius, sit in traffic on the 101, and spend the entire drive wishing that you could have the past summer back. Those days with warm breezes and frozen treats . . . holding his hand, listening to his voice . . .

But now, you assure yourself, I’m more successful. I have some money. I have a much better job—the one I’d been dreaming about for ages. My movie is finally being made. Something I wrote is going to make it on screen. People are going to see it. Some are going to like it. A few are going to love it. When I go home for Thanksgiving this year, I won’t have more disappointing news for Mom and Dad. Not anymore.

So why do I yearn for the past?

After a quick shower and some leftover Thai takeout for dinner, you sit down to watch your next episode of Crash Landing on You.

“There’s an old Indian proverb,” says Son Ye-jin, in the form of character Yoon Se-ri, “that says, ‘Sometimes, the wrong train takes you to the right station.’”

I’ve got to jot that down. That’s good stuff. You grab your notebook from your side table. It’s already littered with quotes and notes and ideas. You find a clean page and write down the k-drama heroine’s words—but not before you flip through your notes from that day in the hills. The day you’d gone up to watch BTS film that music video for “research.” The first day you’d heard Jimin sing.

I can’t imagine a sound clearer, a voice more beautiful, you’d written. It’s a voice with the power to caress you gently, to bring you to tears, to take you to places unexplored. The pure emotion he puts into it is unparalleled.

Your fingers dig into the fibers of your couch. You have to pause the TV—tears are starting to gather in the bottoms of your eyes, and you can’t read the subtitles.

You miss hearing him sing. He was always singing, always dancing, no matter where you went. You lean back into the couch, and a memory appears behind your eyelids. Jimin taking you to Urban Light, humming “I Could Have Danced All Night” from My Fair Lady while weaving between the lampposts. “Come ‘ere, my Eliza,” he’d begged, goofy as ever. “Dance with me.” “We both know very well that I’m the Henry Higgins in this relationship,” you’d said, but you’d spun into his arms anyway. “I could have danced all night,” he’d begun singing, “I could have danced all night, and still have begged for more.” “Shh, Jimin, we’re out in public. Someone might recognize your voice.” “I could have spread my wings, and done a thousand things, I’ve never done before.” He’d continued, unabashed, light of every variety gathering in his dark eyes.

You’d fussed at him then. You’d tried to get him to shut up. Getting caught dancing with a girl—well, the fans would’ve been talking about it for months on end. But now, sitting alone in your little apartment . . .

“I’ll never know what made it so exciting,” you begin, your voice raspy, vocal chords raw from the tears you’d shed, “Why all at once my heart took flight.” The words come out slowly, painfully. “I only know when he began to dance with me . . .”

“I could have danced, danced, danced, all night.”

It takes you a few moments to realize that you did not sing that last line alone.

You stand up.

You wipe your eyes.

You look around.

You cross over to your front door.

Behind it stands a tear-stained face (complete with puffy lips and eyelids), a messy head full of hair, and, as ever, an impeccably dressed body.

“Jagi, I’m so sorry—” he begins to weep.

But his apology isn’t able to come to fruition. You stop it with a kiss: deeper and firmer and stronger than ever before. You grab the fibers of his sweater and breathe him in. It’s like coming up for air after spending months underwater.

“Shh, shhh,” you soothe him, smoothing his unkempt hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re here now.”

“But I just can’t—”

You kiss him again, right there in the hallway, refusing to listen to him berate himself.

“So I take it you missed me.”

“I take it you haven’t lost your cheekiness.”

“Never.”

You pull him inside, and when the door closes behind you, he slaps his hand against it in full kabedon style, trapping you against it. You expect a kiss, but he just says:

“This is so stupid.”

You begin to worry. “What is?”

“This. Us. Our lives keeping us apart,” he laments, hanging his head. “I mean, I’m grateful that the band grew to be so successful. I will always be grateful for that. I wouldn’t trade my hyungs, or our fans, for the world.” Now, he brings his forehead to rest on yours. “But I want to be with you,” he murmurs, big tears beginning to roll down his round cheeks.

You wipe them away as they fall. “I want to be with you, too,” you say. “Things are just . . . complicated right now. For both of us.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty for pursuing your dream, Jagiya,” he holds your hand in his. “You’re not the one who left LA. You’re not the one who grew to be so bad at communicating. That’s all on me.” More tears fall. “It’s all on me.”

“It absolutely isn’t. I knew you’d have to leave sometime.”

“And I knew that, too.” He rubs his eyes. “It just frustrates me to no end.”

“I know, baby.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “You’ve never called me that before.”

You shrug. “I thought I’d add it to the already extensive list of your nicknames.”

He hugs you tight. “I’ve missed you so much.” He lets you go after a few minutes and starts pacing the room, a look of intensity painted on his face. “Jagi.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“You’ve seen La La Land, right?”

“We’ve watched it together eight times, Jiminie. It’s kind of our thing.”

“Right. Well, you know when Mia walks in to the apartment and Sebastian’s there and he’s cooking her dinner and she’s so glad to see him but then they sit down and realize everything’s falling apart because their dreams are pulling them apart and long distance is just too hard and so even though they both get what they wanted they don’t get what they wanted?”

He’s rambling—which means he’s nervous. But I am, too. “You mean, they prioritize their dreams over each other, so they end up apart?” You respond as calmly as you can.

“Yes. Gosh, you’re so much better with words than I am.”

“And you’re so much better at singing than I am, as evinced by our impromptu duet a minute ago—which I loved, by the way.”

He smiles. “Don’t distract me with compliments. Don’t get all cute on me now. I’m on the cusp of something good.” His mind is clearly hard at work.

Yours is too. “Something that’ll fix our problem?”

“Yes. I think so. Anyway, so you know how they both get what they want in the end but they don’t get each other even though they really wanted each other?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I’ve always thought that was so stupid. I mean, good writing, to be sure. It’s realistic—I’m sure it happens to people all the time. It’s a common thing: having to choose between the person you love and the thing you love to do. But I refuse to choose between you and the band.”

A million thoughts race through your head. “Do you . . .” it’s as if the kitchen lights begin to dim around him—as if he is the only thing illuminated in your vision. “Do you love me, Jimin?” You ask, wringing your hands nervously.

Finally, he stops pacing. “Isn’t it obvious?”

The vignette around him intensifies as you respond, “Well, it’s just, you’ve never said it in so many words.”

“Neither have you, and you’re actually good at words.”

You laugh. “Fair. But I’m usually not too good at them when it comes to this.”

Silence ensues for a few moments.

Then he speaks: “Wait, do you . . . do you not love me? Because if you don’t, then the plan I’ve been forming in my head all falls apart.”

You giggle, burying your face in your oversized t-shirt.

“What is it?" A look of worry attaches to his face. “What’s so funny?”

“I just . . .” more laughter comes out. Why are you like this? Stop giggling so much! “I love that you’re creating a plan in your head right now. And I love that you flew all the way here to see me. I love that, instead of simply knocking on my door, you heard me singing and decided to join in for the last line. I love that you’ve treated me like a queen, even though we both know I’m—as Henry Higgins would say—a ‘guttersnipe,’ compared to you. I love that you get concerned over every little thing, and that nothing—not even all this time we’ve spent apart—has killed your feelings for me. I love you, Jiminie. I love, love, love you. As Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing would say, ‘I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.’”

He crosses the room with the eagerness and speed of a famished fire eager to expand. His lips are on yours before you can take a breath to prepare yourself, and the kiss only leaves you more bewitched than you were before. His hands hold your head as if it were the most valuable diamond in all the world; his enchanting softness and brazen attention make you feel priceless. The ground beneath your feet seems to melt, but he catches you.

This kiss says, genuinely and shamelessly: I love you, Y/N. There can be no doubt of that. You are worth the world to me, success or no success. Your productivity, your popularity—your being loved by others—does nothing to impact your value in my eyes. And there is nothing in this world that can ever change my love for you. It’s everlasting.

You break away suddenly.

“What?” He asks. “Is something wrong?”

“That’s good stuff,” you say, crossing over to the couch and fumbling around for your notebook. “I’m sorry, Jiminie. I’ve just got to write that down.”

“Write what down? I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, yes you did. You most certainly did.” You finish scribbling down your thoughts. “Now get over here and talk to me some more.”

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