#deleted scenes from a planned sequel

[green-eyedfirework]

The car drove smoothly and silently, a dark shadow on the dimly lit streets of Bludhaven.  The interior was muffled—Dick couldn’t hear any of the city noises, or the car, or the driver and the guard sitting up front, neither giving him a second glance.  It left him along with his mind, which made it really hard to pretend like he didn’t know what was going on.

He’d been accosted on his way back from the corner store.  They’d taken his grocery bags too, the driver slipping the two recyclable cloth bags from his hands like a poised valet while the guard opened the door for him, dropping the bags in the trunk like that wasn’t where Dick’s body was going to end up.  Politeness masking threat.

They hadn’t even flashed a weapon at him.  They hadn’t needed to.  Slade Wilson’s name was enough of a loaded gun.

Dick had thought things were getting better.  He’d made a new life for himself, a quieter one, less concerned with the shifting flows of power in the city.  He’d thought that if he left them alone, they’d leave him alone.  He was a fool.

The dread sitting in Dick’s gut grew larger as they passed through the wrought-iron gates of the Kane family home.

The drive up was a familiar home, the sight of the front door a looming omen.  His first step inside felt like something was strangling his lungs, wrapped tight and squeezing like it wouldn’t let go.

He shouldn’t be here.  He shouldn’t be here.  He’d quit the police force, he’d squared his debts with the Kanes, there was absolutely no reason for him to be dragged back here.

Except for one.

Dick wasn’t led to the parlor he’d visited last time but down, into the basement.  They were stopped outside a guarded door.  “Mr. Wilson wishes to see Richard Grayson,” his escort said.

The pat-down was impersonal but thorough.  Dick’s wallet, phone, and keys were all taken from him.  Even a couple of empty candy wrappers were yanked from his pockets.  Dick’s stomach twisted into knots as his belongings were taken away, leaving him standing in front of the door with no weapons and no help.  He felt uncomfortably bare.

There was a knock before Dick was motioned inside.  The room was another parlor—bigger, with groups of armchairs by an electric fire, light dim and intimate.  A bar spanned the back wall and shadowed mirrors gave the impression that the room was larger and more maze-like than it actually was.  A smoking room, though Dick could smell no smoke.  Where men of a certain affiliation could drink and play cards while they discussed business.

The room was nearly empty.  Guards at each corner, silent and still, like statues in the darkened room, and Wintergreen, sitting by the fire, watching Dick with a solemn expression.  And, of course, Wilson himself, leaning against another armchair and watching Dick approach, his face so rigid it could’ve been carved from stone.

“Grayson,” Wilson said, voice cold and sharp, like a blade of ice scraping down Dick’s spine.  His eye glimmered in the low light, his gaze searing.  There was no scowl, no raised voice, no narrowed eyebrows, and yet all Dick could sense was burning fury.

Wilson was not a man inclined to rage.

“Mr. Wilson,” Dick said, as evenly as he could manage, resisting the urge to cross his arms.  He didn’t ask any questions.  He wasn’t sure Wilson’s control would stretch that far.

“I had to visit the hospital yesterday,” Wilson said, steady and even.  “Do you know why?”

Dick swallowed.  The sound felt obscenely loud in the silent room.  Dick wasn’t sure if anyone else was breathing—he certainly wasn’t.

“Rose,” Dick said quietly.  “Rose broke her arm during class yesterday.”

Working at a gym was a breath of fresh air and Dick loved teaching.  Even the addition of Rose Wilson to his class, signed up by her fiercely glowering older brother, hadn’t rung the warning bells.  Rose was a kid, after all, and Dick didn’t judge children for their parents.  The Kanes made no motion to interfere at the gym and Rose was treated like any other student, albeit one dropped off and picked up by an armed driver in a bulletproof car with a bodyguard lurking in the lobby all session.

“Mm.  At a class we send her to for her enrichment and entertainment.  A class we’re certainly not expected to being contacted by to relate a major injury.”  Dick winced as Wilson straightened fluidly off of the armchair, his presence a black hole of fury.  “What.  Happened.”

“It was an accident,” Dick said weakly, trying not to flinch back as Wilson strode towards him.  The man’s hands were empty but that didn’t help the shrieking klaxons in Dick’s head.  “A couple of girls got tangled up when they were practicing on the mats.  It’s no one’s fault.”

“No one’s fault,” Wilson repeated in a tone of polite skepticism, like he was giving Dick the opportunity to correct himself.

“It was an accident,” Dick said again, for a lack of anything else to say.  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wilson, but there’s always an element of risk in practicing—”

“Give me your arm.”

“What?” Dick asked blankly.

Wilson didn’t repeat his question, merely held out his hand, waiting.  Dick swallowed, the knot in his stomach a living, growing thing, and offered his hand to the man.

The grip was firm but gentle, not bruising or twisting.  “Rose broke her right arm,” Wilson informed him, as though Dick didn’t know, as though he hadn’t been there, consoling the crying girl as he called for her bodyguard and an ambulance.  “Clean break.  At least a month in a cast.”

Wilson eased the cuff of Dick’s shirt up past his elbow and observed his arm, turning it from side to side.  Dick let him, heart pounding his ears, not daring to put up any resistance.

“Have you broken an arm before?” Wilson asked conversationally.

“Yes.”

“Remember what it felt like?”

“Yes.”  His throat was as dry as sandpaper.

Wilson traced lightly across the skin, finally gripping Dick’s elbow in one hand, his wrist in another.  “It takes somewhere around a hundred and fifty pounds of pressure to break a human bone,” Wilson informed him.  Dick didn’t move.  Dick didn’t breathe.  Dick didn’t dare.  “An injury here would hobble you for a month.  Are you right-handed?”  Dick mutely shook his head.  “I suppose it won’t cause too much hardship then.”

Wilson’s grip tightened—and let go.

Dick took in a shuddering breath.  He choked on it when Wilson stepped past him and behind him, fitting himself against Dick’s back.  He could see the man in the mirror opposite them, looming behind Dick, his expression shadowed and his stare dark.

“But here—” a finger jabbed at Dick, low on his spine—“here, a fracture would do considerably more harm.  Leave you lying on a bed for weeks.  If the bone doesn’t displace further and slice the spinal cord.  Then you’d never be able to walk again.”

Dick stared at himself in the mirror, ashen, wide-eyed, and utterly still.

“Up here,” the finger traced its way up his spine, stopping mid-back, “it’ll destroy a lot of voluntary organ signals.  Things like pissing and shitting.”

Wilson spoke with the kind of unconcern one would use to talk about the weather.

“And up here,” Wilson murmured, voice dropping to something low and gravelly as his finger traced up to the base of Dick’s neck, “you’d never be able to twitch a finger again.”  Dick’s fingers jerked.  “What a shame that would be, for such a star acrobat.”

The lump in his throat was too big to swallow.  Too big to speak.  Wilson wouldn’t, he couldn’t—but he could.  No one could stop him.  Dick was all alone in the lion’s den and no one was interested in saving him from being mauled.  He couldn’t even turn to look at Wintergreen, to beg him with a beseeching gaze, still transfixed by the sight of them in the mirror.

He looked small, standing in front of Slade.  Fragile.  Breakable.

Wilson met his gaze in the mirror.  “Who caused the incident?” he asked evenly.  His fingers curled around Dick’s neck, thumb pressing in at the top of his spine.

Dick distantly registered his mouth opening.  “It was an accident,” he said, hollow and faraway.

“Give me the name.”

Wilson was scowling now, visible anger to match the obvious fury.  Dick remembered the stories of what happened to the people that hurt Joey.  The darker rumors that they all pretended didn’t happen.  The lengths Wilson would, could, and had proven to go to when his family had been harmed.

When Dick blinked, a tear traced its way down his cheek.

“No.”

It came out strangled, but still it came out.  Dick wanted to close his eyes, to turn away from the impending violence, but he was frozen in place by nothing more than the threat of a single hand, watching the predator at his back.

He couldn’t twitch a single finger.

“Excuse me?”  A hint of fury.  An out.  Offering the opportunity for Dick to change his answer, to throw himself on whatever mercy the mobster possessed by selling out another.

“No.”  This time it came easier.

Wilson held his gaze, a long, unbroken moment that felt half like a dream.  Like Dick was already dead and this was what his mind had clung to to stave off the realization.  The world was reduced to Wilson’s single burning ice blue eye and the intent in them.

The fingers uncurled.  Dick didn’t fully register they were gone until Wilson stepped back, turning away from him and heading to an armchair.  “Make me an Old Fashioned,” he said curtly, joining Wintergreen near the fire.

Dick turned to look at him, still rooted to the spot.  “What?” he scraped out hoarsely.

“The drink,” Wilson clarified.

Dick stared at him a moment longer before he forced his legs to move.  The first one felt like walking through toffee, his limbs jerking like they were attached to puppet strings, but he managed to head towards the bar.  The thought of it was slightly ludicrous—Dick was going to be tortured, but goddamn if Wilson had to make his own drinks—and Dick clung to that as he stumbled to the bar with shaking legs.

It was an additional barrier between him and Wilson, as paltry as the protection was, and Dick gripped the wooden tabletop tight.  He tried to slip into a breathing exercise, taking the pause to reorient himself.  There had to be a way to change Wilson’s mind.  He couldn’t let Wilson do whatever he’d planned to that poor girl.  It had been an accident.

Dick found the sugar, the bitters, the glasses and the muddler, plotting furiously, and he was searching for the ice in the freezer when Wilson spoke again.

“Annalise Stryker.”

Dick hit his head on the underside of the bar trying to scramble back up.  “What?” he asked, chest squeezing tight again.

“Annalise Stryker is the girl that fell onto my daughter,” Wilson said, watching Dick.  “Or at least, that’s how Rose tells it.”

Of course Rose would tell her father what happened.  Of course he already knew.  The whole thing was—what?  An attempt to see how much Dick would volunteer?  Whether he would give him a different name?  Dick just—there was too much information swirling around his head, combining with panic, lending terror and adrenaline to his muscles.

“It was an accident,” Dick said.  He made no attempt to confirm or deny the name.  “It was an accident, Mr. Wilson, it was unfortunate, they mixed up a movement and tumbled into each other, that’s all it was.  There’s no one to blame.”

“There’s always someone to blame.”

“Mr. Wilson—”

“My drink,” Wilson said, already turning away from him.  Dick cursed under his breath and dropped a sugar cube into the glass, his hand trembling as he splashed bitters in after it.  The muddler wasn’t a proper weapon, but Dick felt slightly better with it in his hand.

“Please, Mr. Wilson, no one intended to hurt your daughter,” Dick tried again.  The sugar cube was breaking apart rather forcefully under his shaky grip.  “They’re just children—”

“I was sixteen when I murdered my father,” Wilson responded, not looking back at him.  The sugar cube was in as few fragments as Dick’s strained nerves could bear, and he hunted for ice.  “It was entirely premediated.”  There was a tray with ice blocks and it took him four tries to pry one free with shaking fingers.  “Children can be capable of cruelty, Grayson.”

“It was an accident,” Dick repeated, staring at Wilson, willing him to understand.

“Is my drink done?” Wilson asked, disinterested.

Dick’s fingers contracted around the glass.  He turned to stare at the wall of bottles, scanning over labels and distantly noting that most of them cost more than a single one of his paychecks.  He grabbed the first bottle of whiskey he found.

There’s always someone to blame.

More whiskey sloshed into the glass than he expected, but it didn’t matter, the drink didn’t fucking matter.  He dropped a cherry inside and stuck an orange slice on the rim before carrying it to Wilson.  Not, altogether, one of the better products of his mixology skills.

Dick waited until Wilson took the glass from him before he spoke.  “If you need someone to blame,” he said quietly, “blame me.”  Wilson’s gaze tilted back up towards him.  “I’m the teacher.  It’s my responsibility to watch the class.  It’s my responsibility to keep them safe.  If someone gets hurt, it’s my fault, not anyone else’s.”

He didn’t know if Wilson had already gone after Annalise.  If any of his kids were safe.  If this would be enough.  But he had to try.

Wilson took a slow, measured sip of the cocktail.  “Not bad,” he said.

Dick closed his eyes for a moment, balling his hands into fists before loosening them.  “It’s hard to mess up an Old Fashioned,” Dick said tightly.

“I wasn’t talking about the drink.”  Wilson was smirking now, amusement lurking in his eye as he leaned back in the armchair.  “I know full well that accidents happen, Grayson, and especially during athletic training.  But a good teacher minimizes risk.  A good teacher protects their students.”  He considered Dick, gaze wandering all over.  “Even at the cost of themself.”

Dick didn’t understand.  The mood in the room had shifted and it didn’t make any sense.  Wilson no longer looked like a stalking wolf but a satiated one, indulgently watching the others take their fill.  The aura of threat that had hung over Dick like a weighted cloak was abruptly gone.

“I’m not going to harm a single hair on Stryker’s head.  Or yours, for that matter.  It does Rose some good to see firsthand the price of not being careful enough.”  Wilson shrugged lightly.  “Children will never learn if you wrap them in a bubble.”

There was no air in the room.  Or at least there was none in his lungs.  Dick’s legs wavered and Wilson’s eye narrowed when Dick knocked into a side table stumbling back.

“This—this was a test,” Dick said numbly, trying to square together actions and words, trying to fit the terror-inducing fury with the milder amusement.  “You were—this whole thing was a test.”

“You might want to sit down,” Wilson said, voice still amused but expression narrowing further.

Dick hadn’t been in danger.  The threats weren’t real.  Wilson wasn’t going to cripple him, wasn’t going to rend him into little pieces for the affront.  Or at least, not since he passed the test.

His hand found the side of an armchair and Dick let himself collapse into it, heart beating violently and fingers still trembling.  They were getting worse, in fact, and Dick buried his face in his hands and took several shuddering, choking breaths, each higher and sharper than the last.

He didn’t know when he started crying, but hitched tears masked any sign of footsteps and Dick startled out of his skin when his hand was tugged free and wrapped around a glass.  The drink he’d made.  “You look like you need it,” Wilson said.

Dick knocked the drink back in one long swallow, sugar crystals crunching in his mouth as the ice kissed his lips.  It didn’t make him feel any better, it just added a slow burn to the twisting in his chest.  Dick’s next shaky inhale dissolved into fresh tears.

“You’re safe.”  Wilson took the glass from his hands and gently set it down on the side table.  “No one’s going to hurt you here.”

Dick almost choked on the ridiculousness of it, of being reassured by the man that had him brought to his dungeon and intimated slow, personalized torture.  “Says the wolf to the sheep,” he muttered.

Not quite under his breath, apparently.

“You’re hardly a sheep, Officer Grayson,” Wilson gave him a languid smile, thumb settling on Dick’s jaw and nudging it up.  “You have claws.”

“I’m not a cop anymore,” Dick pointed out.  Strangely, the hand on his face was grounding, settling him in place.

“I’m aware.”

“Then why?” Dick asked, waving a hand at the room.  “Why do all this?  Why the inquisition?”

Why me?

Wilson’s thumb drifted higher, until it was brushing his lips.  The look on Wilson’s face was a threat again, dark and predatory and full of desire, the kind that sent a thrill down Dick’s spine.

“Because you interest me, Richard Grayson.”

Dick swallowed.  Watched Wilson follow the movement.  “I don’t think it’s a good thing.”

A slow, wicked smile.  “Probably not.”  He pulled on Dick’s chin and Dick followed the movement, rising up to his feet, transfixed by Wilson’s gaze.  “I’m not a good man.”

Wilson kissed gentler than Dick expected, firm but not demanding, languorous and attentive, like he was trying to taste every drop of whiskey still clinging to Dick’s lips.  Dick’s legs felt weak again, his grip on Wilson’s shoulders feeble, feeling not unlike a leaf being tossed by the raging current.

[paimonial-rage]

My favorite works in no particular order:

Tipsy Tales (Anemo Boys)

Symbiosis (Ayato)

What Destiny Has Brought (Fischl)

Hello How Are You (Gorou)

Follow the Wind II (Kazuha)

Of the Same Coin (Mika)

Songs of the Wind (Venti)

Nothing Lasts Forever (Yae Miko)

Sharing a Drink They Call Loneliness (Zhongli)

Of Hopes and Prayers (Zhongli)

[bbjobo]

Hello hi it’s me, your resident entertainment PR enthusiast. I simply need to talk about the sequel announcement. This is all speculation, but I work in entertainment-adjacent communications and once convinced a household name celebrity to stay at my event to do select press interviews when his wife was going to go into labor at literally any minute, so I like to think I've got a pretty good sense of all of this.

So buckle in, because I'm about how actually fantastic this rollout was, because I’d wager they’ve been planning this since the premiere. 

RWRB came out truly smack-dab in the middle of the actors' strike. We all know just how much press we must have missed out on, because the strike started before promo would have kicked off in earnest. And when it was finally over in November, the actors are potentially out of contract for promotion, and that’s not even taking into consideration that the holidays are coming up and the six weeks from American Thanksgiving to New Year’s is truly a black hole of press. So this little movie has to rely almost entirely on fan reaction and word of mouth to hit because they’re so limited in what they can do for promo. And it IS a hit! Records are broken! Comments for an extended version (which, ok Matthew we get it, does not exist) and a sequel start almost immediately.

The marketing team makes the most of what they’ve got: they’re keeping up the official character accounts, they’re dropping deleted scenes and BTS. We get cornettos! The fireside scene! Bloopers! Notably absent? Brownstone Thanksgiving. We’ve seen BTS photos of it, we know it exists. Thanksgiving 2023 would have been a great time to drop it, but they don’t. This is the approximate point at which my own personal sequel speculation began. After the strike ends, the posting pace slows considerably but it’s still consistent. It’s just enough to keep it in your mind but not enough to be like “why are you still posting this much about it?” And this continues into 2024.

On the contracting side, conversations were likely actively happening at this point. I wouldn’t be surprised if negotiations picked up literally as soon as the strike ended. The producers would have had that time to get Matthew and Casey back on board and be fully prepped and ready to move on to contracting actors the minute they could. It’d be a shot in the dark to try to guess when these were finalized, but at some point between November 9 and May 9, yeah, they’re in.

But whew, Nicholas is booked and BUSY. Mary & George drops internationally March 5, The Idea of You closes SXSW on March 17, two weeks later M&G starts airing in the US and Canada, and a month after that, TIOY is available for streaming (and limited theatrical release, which is another whole post), and in between all those premieres, he’s everywhere. He’s criss-crossing the country (and tbh the Atlantic Ocean) for all of these appearances, truly going non-stop. The pacing of the premieres makes it nearly impossible to squeeze in another project announcement, and if they had, it would have been a bigger part of every interview he did after, which is something his own team would be working to balance. Plus between TIOY and RWRB, Prime would have been pitching stories against themselves. Better to let him finish out his other promotional appearances and then switch over.

At the same time, we’ve got awards and red carpet season starting. At nearly every red carpet appearance not for their own projects, both Taylor and Nick are asked about a sequel. If an interviewer is given enough time, they ask about a sequel. Sure, fans comment about a sequel on every vaguely rwrb social post from an official account, but the press asking about a sequel felt like a lot to me. Everyone always gave the same vague answer, that they’d be up for it if the story is right, that they don’t know but would be happy to. (Except one time, Nick does slip up and give an answer that feels a little more definitive here where he says “conversations are being had” all the way back in late February/early March). Press are asking the question so consistently that it felt like if it wasn’t happening, PR teams would have put the sequel on the do not ask list.

Then Prime starts actually ramping up on a FYC campaign for the movie. I'm gonna be honest, I was so surprised. It's a rom com, the odds of a rom com getting any sort of awards recognition is so slim, but I thought, "ok, sure, use FYC as a way to get the promo boost they need for an announcement of whatever's coming next." And then I looked up and Variety has picked it as the winner in the best television movie category, which is blowing my mind. The other categories they're submitting in are stacked and I think a nomination beyond television movie will be a long shot, but again, it's big for it to even be considered. And if they're being talked about, that means Prime's gotta put out a great showing for their FYC campaign.

Which brings us to this week. We start off on Monday with Nick at the Met Gala referring to Uma as his mother-in-law. Incredible. Love it. Wednesday and Thursday are a one-two punch of a FYC event and fan event, and the gang’s all here. At the FYC, we get the industry side of things: new portraits and interviews with Deadline, process talk, etc. Because this little rom com is actually doing pretty well and beating the odds? Knowing what we know now, the PR teams spent this week pre-briefing the press on the sequel announcement. Notable (at least to my knowledge) the sequel question doesn't get asked at the FYC event. Because the press already knows it's coming.

Now, on to yesterday. They do a fan screening and Q&A, and they literally roll out the red carpet. Nine months after the premiere and exactly six months after the strike ended, they get the gang back together with fans of the movie, who they relied on so heavily during the strike to help make the movie a success. The tagline on the screen’s giant promo image has been updated to specifically thank fans for “making history with us.” The moderator for the Q&A is the same person who interviewed Taylor and Nick at the beginning of FYC campaign season, their first joint interview since GQ (right? pretty sure. it's all a blur tbh). And at the end of the Q&A, minutes before 12 AM ET, when the embargo on the press release would have lifted, they make the announcement not to press, but to the fans. The fans who loved the book, who watched it over and over, who spread the word about the movie to help make it one of Prime’s top three rom coms OF ALL TIME.

It’s just… an absolute masterclass in how to execute a major announcement that embraces the fans in a time where fandom and interaction between creators and fans can be an absolute minefield. Prime saw the opportunity to lean into the fannishness of it all and they took it and it was a slam dunk.

So where do we go from here? IDK but here’s some unconnected thoughts in list form like Alex would want.

The book’s 5th anniversary is next Wednesday, the 14th.

Casey’s been posting about working on [redacted] for months at this point, which is almost certainly the screenplay

Nick mentioned needing to be back in the UK for filming soon

They would probably like to release this in US election off-cycle years, so that means 2025 or 2027 (and 2027 is too far away). 2026 would be less bad since it’s a midterm election, but still.

Filming could reasonably start sooner rather than later, and even without an unfinished script

I guess we’re back on content watch for blond hair and BTS pictures

[physalian]

“How do I know if my story needs work or if I’m just being hard on myself?”

As I sit here accepting the fact that at 70k words into Eternal Night’s sequel while waiting for my editor for Eternal Night itself, that I have made an error in my plot.

Disclaimer: This is not universal and the writing experience is incredibly diverse. Figuring this out also takes some time and building up your self-confidence as an author so you can learn to separate “this is awful (when it’s not)” and “this is ok (but it can be better)” and “this isn’t working (but it is salvageable).”

—

When I wrote my first novel (unpublished, sadly), years ago, I would receive feedback all over the chapters and physically have to open other windows to block off parts of the screen on my laptop to slow-drip the feedback because I couldn’t handle constructive criticism all at once. I had my betas color-code their commentary so I could see before I read any of it that it wasn’t all negative. It took me thrice as long as it does today to get through a beta’s feedback because I got so nervous and anxious about what they would say.

The main thing I learned was this: They’re usually right, when it’s not just being mean (and even then, it’s rarely flat out mean), and that whatever criticisms they have of my characters and plot choices is not criticism of myself.

It did take time.

But now I can get feedback from betas and even when I hear “I’d DNF this shit right now unless you delete this,” I take a step back, examine if this one little detail is really that important, and fix it. No emotional turmoil and panic attack needed. I can also hear “I didn’t like it” without heartbreak. Can’t please everyone.

The only time I freak out is when I'm told "this won't need massive edits" followed up by, in the manuscript, "I'd DNF this shit right now". Which happened. And did not, in fact, require a massive rewrite to fix.

So.

What might be some issues with your story and why it “isn’t working”.

1. Your protagonist is not active enough in the story

You’ve picked your protagonist, but it’s every other character that has more to do, more to say, more choices to make, and they’re just along for the ride, yet you are now anchored to this character’s story because they’re the protagonist. You can either swap focus characters, or rework your story to give them more agency. Figure out why this character, above any other, is your hero.

2. Your pacing is too slow

Even if you have a “lazy river” style story where the vibes and marinating in the world is more important than a breakneck plot, slow pacing isn’t just “how fast the story moves” it’s “how clearly is the story told,” meaning if you divert the story to a side quest, or spend too long on something that sure is fluffy or romantic or funny, but it adds nothing to the characters because it’s redundant, doesn’t advance the plot, doesn’t give us more about the world that actually matters to the themes, then you may have lost focus of the story and should consider deleting it, or editing important elements into the scenes so they can pull double-duty and serve a more active purpose.

3. You’ve lost the main argument of your narrative

Sometimes even the best of outlines and the clearest plans derail. Characters don’t cooperate and while we see where it goes, we end up getting hung up on how this one really cool scene or argument or one-liner just has to be in the story, without realizing that doing so sacrifices what you set out to accomplish. Personally I think sticking to your outline with biblical determination doesn’t allow for new ideas during the writing process, but if you find yourself down the line of “how did we get here, this isn’t what I wanted” you can always save the scenes in another document to reuse later, in this WIP or another in the future.

4. You’re spending too long on one element

Even if the thing started out really cool, whether it’s a rich fantasy pit stop for your characters or a conversation two characters must have, sometimes scenes and ideas extend long past their prime. You might have characters stuck in one location for 2 or 3 chapters longer than necessary trying to make it perfect or stuff in all these details or make it overcomplicated, when the rest of the story sits impatiently on the sidelines for them to move on. Figure out the most important reasons for this element to exist, take a step back, and whittle away until the fat is cut.

5. You’ve given a side character too much screentime

New characters are fun and exciting! But they can take over the story when they’re not meant to, robbing agency from your core characters to leave them sitting with nothing to do while the new guy handles everything. You might end up having to drag your core characters along behind them, tossing them lines of dialogue and side tasks to do because you ran out of plot to delegate with one character hogging it all (which is the issue I ran into with the above mentioned WIP). Not talking about a new villain or a new love interest, I mean a supporting character who is supposed to support the main characters.

—

As for figuring out the difference between “this is awful and I’m a bad writer” and “this element isn’t working” try pretending the book was written by somebody else and you’re giving them constructive criticism.

If you can come up with a reason for why it’s not working that doesn’t insult the writer, it’s probably the latter. As in, “This element isn’t working… because it’s gone on too long and the conversation has become cyclical and tiring.” Not “this element isn’t working because it’s bad.”

Why is it bad?

“This conversation is awkward because…. There’s not enough movement between characters and the dialogue is really stiff.”

“This fight scene is bad because….I don’t have enough dynamic action, enough juicy verbs, or full use of the stage I’ve set.”

“This romantic scene is bad because…. It’s taking place at the wrong time in the story. I want to keep it, but this character isn’t ready for it yet, and the vibe is all wrong now because they’re out-of-character.”

“This argument is bad because…. It didn’t have proper build-up and the sudden shouting match is not reflective of their characters. They’re too angry, and it got out of hand quickly. Or I’m not conveying the root of their aggression.”

—

There aren’t very many bad ideas, just bad execution. “Only rational people can think they’re crazy. Crazy people think they’re sane,” applies to writing, too.

I just read a fanfic recently where, for every fight scene, I could tell action was not the writer’s strong suit. They leaned really heavily on a crutch of specific injuries for their characters, the same unusual spot getting hit over and over again, and fights that dragged on for too long being unintentionally stagnant. The rest of the fic was great, though, and while the fights weren’t the best, I understood that the author was trying, and I kept reading for the good stuff. One day they will be better.

In my experience beta reading, it’s the cocky authors who send me an unedited manuscript and tell me to be kind (because they can’t take criticism), that they know it’s perfect they just want an outside opinion (they don’t want the truth, they want what will make them feel good), that they know it’s going to make them a lot of money and everyone will love it (they haven’t dedicated proper time and effort into researching marketing, target audiences, or current trends)—these are the truly bad authors. Not just bad at writing, but bad at taking feedback, are bullies when you point out flaws in their story, and cheap, too.

The best story I have received to date was where the author didn’t preempt with a self-deprecating deluge of “it’s probably terrible you know but here it is anyway” or “this is perfect and I’m super confident you’re going to love it”.

It was something like, “This is my first book and I know it has flaws and I’m nervous but I had a lot of fun doing it”.

And yeah, it needed work, but the bones of something great were there. So give yourself some credit, yeah?

[inquisitor-apologist]

All right guys, since apparently no one gets it: Star Wars has THREE continuities. Each continuity has different rules, interpretations, and canon, and you cannot, CANNOT use evidence from different continuities to support your argument, because those are different timelines. Let me explain:

Continuity 1: High Canon/Lucas Canon

The most Canon of the three Canon continuities, High Canon includes everything that George Lucas, creator of Star Wars, actually worked on. High Canon is absolutely tiny compared to the other two continuities, and it is a part of both of them, since it is foundational and central to the Star Wars universe. All High Canon is Canon, but not all Canon is High Canon. High Canon includes the Original trilogy, the Prequel trilogy, and the Clone Wars. Novelizations (except Revenge of the Sith, as Lucas worked closely with Stover on that one) are not really considered High Canon. Deleted scenes and storylines from TCW and the trilogies are not considered High Canon, since they didn’t make it to screen, but can generally be used to support, inform, and expand pieces of High Canon that did make it to screen.

TLDR: High Canon is everything George Lucas made. It includes TCW, the PT, and the OT, and is Canon to both other continuities.

Continuity 2: Legends Canon/The (old) EU (extended universe)

The largest of the continuities, Legends includes everything outside of High Canon written for the Star Wars universe from the creation of Star Wars to the Disney buyout of Lucasfilm. Everything (not High Canon) created from the 70s to April 25, 2014 is considered Legends. Legends has its own timeline for Star Wars, and has distinctly different interpretations of the characters, worldbuilding, and magic system (The Force) than either High Canon or Disney Canon. While some ideas from Legends might show up in or influence Disney Canon, but all of Legends is decanonized and exists in a separate timeline from Disney Canon. Legends includes the Knights of the Old Republic video games, the original Thrawn Trilogy, the Jedi Apprentice series and many, many others. No new content is being released in the Legends continuity, and I don’t think there are any plans to make more. No, you cannot support your argument about George Lucas’s intentions with the Jedi (or whatever) with Legends material, because Legends is not Canon to Lucas’s Star Wars.

TLDR: Legends is every piece of non-High Canon Star Wars media up to April 25, 2014. It wasn’t made by George Lucas and isn’t canon to Lucas’s Star Wars. Its timeline is distinct from both the Disney Canon and High Canon timelines.

Continuity 3: Disney Canon/Current Canon

The newest of the three continuities, Disney canon is the only one actively being created and added to. It contains all Star Wars material created since April 25, 2014. Disney Canon was created to reboot the Star Wars Extended Universe and create a new timeline. Disney Canon generally tends to stay closer to George Lucas’s intentions and interpretations of Star Wars, but it is no more canon to Lucas than Legends is. Disney Canon’s timeline, worldbuilding, and interpretations of High Canon all exist separately from Lucas’s Star Wars. Disney Canon often takes inspiration and ideas from Legends, but that does not recanonize Legends or anything from it. You cannot support your argument about Rebels (or any other part of Disney Canon) with evidence from Legends, as they exist in separate timelines, with separate characters. (Yes, even if they are the same character. Legends Obi-Wan is different from Disney Obi-Wan and Lucas Obi-Wan. Different timeline, different context, different interpretation.) Disney Canon includes the Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, The High Republic, and many others.

TLDR: Disney Canon is every piece of Star Wars media made under Disney. It wasn’t made by George Lucas and isn’t canon to Lucas’s Star Wars. Its timeline is distinct from both the Legends and High Canon timelines.

This rant is brought to you by someone supporting their analysis on the Jedi Order in Rebels with Knights of the Old Republic 2. Please don’t do that.

[merakiui]

hi mera i reread your ceo azul fic and i still can’t get over how well-written it was…i even got an aha moment when i noticed some things that i missed in my first reading

ik there won’t be a sequel which is fine since you’re already writing a lot of other stuff at the moment , but i kinda remember you mentioned before that the fic originally had a smut scene but you omitted that cause it didn’t fit the vibe of the fic which i understand tbh

but i’m curious….kinda like a delete scene of a movie, would you share it if you have already written it? if not, would you share to what was your original idea of the smut scene? if you don’t want to, that’s okay!!!

Hiiii!! :D thank you so much for reading it!!!! I'm happy you enjoyed it!! <3 this ceo Azul is so obsessed... I loved writing his meltdown in that fic the most. Out of every Zuzu meltdown I've written, I think that one is the yummiest. So much emotion and manipulation (from darling) in that scene!!!!!

Aaaa yes!! The fic did indeed have a smut scene planned. 👀 I can happily share what it was going to be. While I didn't write it out, I still clearly remember what it was meant to be. Essentially, Azul was going to knock you up in the panic room-turned-nursery hehe. In the story, he locks you in the room by yourself and then goes off to give you space (which then leads into the meltdown once you wake hours later). But originally (before it was scrapped) he was going to drag you over to the bed and fuck you all while rambling (very delusional and obsessed) about how this will be good for you and him, how you just need time to warm up to this new life, how he's doing all of this for you, how you'll be a great mama to the baby.

But now that I'm dwelling on it, I like the idea of an Azul who can wait for you to gradually soften just enough to allow him to be intimate with you. A Stockholm Syndrome route! Soft, sweet lovemaking with your boss lover Azul. (๑-﹏-๑) hopefully in this unofficial sequel, Azul finally adds more life to the house because in my mind it is the most bleak modernist house to ever exist. orz he needs to put up some artwork or pictures or decorations so it feels less empty and more like a home for two (soon to be three because a baby will inevitably be on the way).

[verdanabdit]

Verdana's Fic Rec List

I spend more time saving fics and art to consume later than I actually spend consuming them. I only started sorting read fics into folders a couple years ago after I stopped reading as much, so I have definitely read more than what's in my read folder. But for now, this is all I have notes on.

Unless otherwise noted, these are true of each work: They're happily together in the end Relationship is pre-established L☆wd scenes make use of ecto gen☆tals and are arranged in a phallus-in-pelvic-orifice way L☆wd scenes are consensual or are lightly dubiously consensual and become consensual

All ships are strictly monogamous.

Yes, I'm going to have a strong bias toward Papyrus being the top in non-swap types. My bias for top Sans in swap types usually goes unfed because people don't write it often.

The first batch of recs will be sorted by word count, but any future ones will be added to the top of each section.

URLs are given in addition to hotlinking them because tumblr keeps messing it up despite triple checking with the html editor.

If a work has been deleted, made anonymous, or orphaned, let me know and I'll update the list accordingly. I'm not going to personally monitor them.

~~~

Classic Fontcest

Adjustments by Eiznel24 https://archiveofourown.org/works/6194863 Word count: 76,161 Rating: E (Top: Both get a turn, leaning toward Sans) Reader's summary: Landmark work! Life on the surface and feelings realization! With actual Plot and lots of the rest of the Undertale cast! And since there's so much plot, I'm not going to describe and spoil it! L☆wd scenes include soul stuff. Has a prequel of sorts without any romantic hints.

For an Everlasting Smile by Anonymonimus https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11938928/1/For-An-Everlasting-Smile Word count: 65,535 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Landmark work! Sans confesses to Papyrus, who doesn't quite share his feelings, but lies and goes along with it to keep him happy. Told from Papyrus's perspective, it can be painful to read the thoughts they gave him at times as he initially resents this responsibility he's given himself and the toll the secret takes on him. Has a lot of interaction with Undyne and Alphys, and a bit with Grillby. Sans is on the shier side in this one. nagisaheichou illustrated one of the later chapters, and there was a planned sequel that would have been based off of other work by nagisaheichou.

Heat Wave by allidoissin https://archiveofourown.org/works/10611981 Word count: 7,285 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Heat, overstimulation into unconsciousness. 2 chapters of heat. Sans is hit with it in chapter 1, and Papyrus in chapter 2. While not days-long, they cram plenty in. Papyrus has godly stamina, Sans screams, Papyrus admires how wrecked he's made Sans multiple times. 7k words of pure smut and it's good.

Don't Talk With Your Mouth Full by Eiznel24 https://archiveofourown.org/works/7960756 Word count: 7,089 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Landmark work! Papyrus struggling with his feelings and Sans being intentionally annoying. Heat, mast☆rbating at work, first time for both of them. Mention of past Papyton.

A Pleasant Afternoon by allidoissin https://archiveofourown.org/works/9473882 Word count: 4,051 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Life on the surface, some fluff, fingering, lovemaking. I don't know why, but "domestic" certainly describes this for me.

Double Bind by orphan_account https://archiveofourown.org/works/5363873 Word count: 3,239 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Tickling devolves into a lot of fr☆tting. Overstimulation into unconsciousness, confessions after the first round.

Restraint, What Restraint? by Eiznel24 https://archiveofourown.org/works/6226264 Word count: 3,259 Rating: E (Top: Sans, with brief mentions of Papyrus topping) Reader's summary: First heat makes a budding relationship awkward, praise, first times, glossing over the remaining days of heat. I really appreciate it when depictions of heat last for days, whether it's glossed over or trails off on the mention of it not being over.

Expecting by SXH1417 http://archiveofourown.org/works/15821295 Word count: 2,987 Rating: M Reader's summary: They've helped each-other with heats with no strings attached ever since Papyrus came of age, with both avoiding addressing their pining. The morning after their most recent heat, Papyrus feels off... With a side of Undyne interaction! No direct l☆wd scenes.

A Pleasant Evening by allidoissin https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302777 Word count: 2,896 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Oral, overstimulation into unconsciousness, shower s☆x.

Bath Time Courting Time by Anonymonimus https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12194666/1/Bath-Time-Courting-Time Word count: 2,467 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: King Papyrus ending, marriage proposal, bath s☆x, lovemaking.

disenchanted lullaby by nilchance https://archiveofourown.org/works/10384161 Word count: 1,694 Rating: G Reader's summary: Not romantic. Sans and Papyrus talk while stargazing.

spoiled by grundlemuncher https://archiveofourown.org/works/7284772 Word count: 1,134 Rating: E (Top: Sans) Reader's summary: Brotherly banter! Lovely afterglow! Enthusiastic oral and fingering.

Thrust Game by orphan_account https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375716 Word count: 1,116 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Intense, and humor!

~~~

Fellcest

Birthday by Suliana https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376274 Word count: 4,054 Rating: G Reader's summary: Papyrus recalls the previous year when Sans was in the process of Falling Down. In present day, he prepares for Sans's birthday. Flashback is angsty, present day is fluffy.

A Brother's Love by FelliSkelli https://archiveofourown.org/works/11416566 Word count: 3,718 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Heat, attempted r☆pe, self-deprecation on Sans's end. Relationship isn't pre-established.

as long as we're going down by nilchance https://archiveofourown.org/works/10475592 Word count: 3,471 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Rough no-L-word type of relationship. nilchance in general is godlike with dialogue and descriptions and has my favorite take on the bros' personalities, but hardly any of their work is monogamous, so I can't read most of it.

Lovelashed by Askellie https://archiveofourown.org/works/11250801 Word count: 3,014 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: The first time they get a little rough, light aftercare.

Bath Time S☆xy Time by Anonymonimus https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12185908/1/Bath-Time-Sexy-Time Word count: 2,515 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Heat, bath s☆x, degrading d☆rty talk, begging, Papyrus is an insufferable tease.

Making a mess of things by SympatriCuckoo https://archiveofourown.org/works/5781751 Word count: 2,122 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: No romantic relationship (though there's hints of one possibly forming in the future), first time doing s☆x stuff together, rough, possessive, controlling, degrading d☆rty talk (Sans is pretty into all of it), begging, oral, eyesocket f☆cking.

like a vandal by nilchance https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623603 Word count: 2,065 Rating: E (Powerbottom: Papyrus) Reader's summary: All of the previous nilchance work summary counts for this one too.

Unwind by SerifSinclair https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431125 Word count: 1,854 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Little bit of fluff, feeling safe together, D/s, oral, dirty talk.

UF Escape by Shadow_Of_Quill http://archiveofourown.org/works/8979679 Word count: 1,516 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Lab setting. Past s☆xual assault by Gaster, nonconsensual mind control (by Gaster), consensual mind control (by Papyrus), eyesocket f☆cking (on Sans), eye injury (on Papyrus).

~~~

Swapcest

Salty Honey by PantyAnarchist https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963478/chapters/27052599 Word count: 11,433 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus, with Sans leading in oral) Reader's summary: Oral used as a sleeping aid without asking first. Dubcon before confessions, Papyrus is black-out drunk for a good chunk of it. Brief mention of past partner. Attempted su!cide following the assumption Papyrus had nonconned Sans while drunk. Kind of rushed but happy ending.

Faint Inspiration (Chapter 4 only) by faintof https://archiveofourown.org/works/10211309/chapters/24032616 Word count: 297 Rating: E (Top: Sans) Reader's summary: Magic toys used in public~

~~~

Gcest

Holes by SesuRescue https://archiveofourown.org/works/13660866 Word count: 3,662 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Sans is a brat. S☆x in a tent, handholejob, org☆sm denial, begging, some soul stuff, tentacle d☆ck, sacrum fingering, f☆cked unconscious. ;w; A rare Gbros gem.

~~~

S!xbones

what a mess by orphan_account https://archiveofourown.org/works/11073084 Word count: 978 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus?) Reader's summary: A lot of intentional pronoun/POV muckery as the narration in within their goopy heads. Unintentional confession, some soul stuff.

~~~

The Graveyard of Deleted Works

Broken Bonedaries Word count: 22,716 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Undertale. Landmark work! Back in the day, this was almost required reading. This author has a fairly good grasp of the brothers' personalities, and uses second-person perspective in a really nice way to better convey the characters' feelings. Relationship is not pre-established, and they go over the struggles of keeping this new facet of their relationship a secret as they're currently rooming with Undyne and Alphys. L☆wd scenes are bone only.

Instruct Word count: 2,110 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Underfell. D/s, P☆tplay elements, begging, org☆sm denial.

Mild Distractions Word count: 1,922 Rating: E (Top: Papyrus) Reader's summary: Underfell. D/s, begging, org☆sm denial, public s☆x.

~~~

Verdana's bias for friends list

I don't trust myself to not be biased for the works of people I interact with, so I'm just sticking all the AO3 handles of my friends/acquaintences who have posted at least one brother/brother fontcest work down here. I do not regret spending my time reading them.

If you're not on this list and you think you should be, I probably forgot or didn't even know you wrote stuff (´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`) Please yell at me

Acoustic_Meatus jewel_xiat L_egantAsshole purplebluepen45 saltwaterflower SweetSoulLov3r

[disturbingstar]

Scream 4 trivia

• Scream 4 was the last film directed by Wes Craven before he died due to brain cancer on August 30, 2015, at the age of seventy-six.

• This is the first Scream film in which Cotton Weary and Randy Meeks do not appear.

• The scene where Kirby says that her favorite scary movie is Bambi to Robbie mirrors the scene in Scream 2 (1997), where Randy tells the killer that his favorite scary movie is Showgirls.

• In one of the deleted scenes, Dewey explains to Gale that Sidney's father, Neil Prescott, has passed away since appearing in Scream 3 (2000) and this is the first time Sidney has returned to Woodsboro since his death.

• This movie is the sequel with the most homage count to its original.

• The scenes when Jill cuts her face, throws herself in front of a glass picture and then on top of a glass table were done by her stunt double, Allison Caetano.

• This is the first Scream film where two characters of the same gender were killed in the opening scene (The first 3 Scream films opened up with a male/female death).

• In an early draft of the script, Gale and Dewey had a baby, but was changed after it was decided bringing a baby into the film would make shooting impossible.

• This is the third movie that Sidney falls from a height. In Scream, she falls off the roof onto a boat. In Scream 3, she jumps out of the window of her mother's murder room scene and in this movie, she slips off the roof.

• This is the first movie where Dewey doesn't get stabbed in some way. Instead, he's hit over the head with a bedpan in this installment.

• Selena Gomez was considered for the role of Jill Roberts

• With four installments, this landmarks the Scream franchise as being one of the only horror franchises to have both its main characters as well as its director return for all of its sequels.

• The killer is featured on the movie poster for Scream 4. That hadn't been done since the 1st Scream movie.

• During the scene in the Cinema Club, posters from various other movies directed by Wes Craven were seen. These include The People Under the Stairs and The Hills Have Eyes.

• At 1hr 28min in, Jill & Charlie explain their plan and Charlie shows Sidney footage of one of them killing Marnie; the video is actually footage of the alternate opening to this film, where we see Jenny die first, then Marnie get stabbed in the gut by Ghostface.

• As of this movie, Sidney is shown to no longer be in possession of the Greek necklace that Derek Feldman gave her in Scream 2 (1997) and she subsequently wore in Scream 3 (2000).

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass it on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love!

Hi, @bangpop91! Thanks for this! I'm pretty sure I did one of these a couple of months ago, but I can't find it so I'll do a new one!

Just Trying to Keep Up - BuckTommy | T | 4.8K In which Tommy slowly realizes that 'letting Evan set the pace' means committing to a life of full speed ahead. (And he's more than happy to chase after him.) My latest 9-1-1 fic - inspired by the deleted scene with Tommy and Henren. I think it's pretty darn cute. 😊 Colin Firth Thinks You're Hot | BuckTommy | G | 2.7K

Buck is late for a special date night with Tommy, but he still stops to help a stranger stuck on the side of the road. Luckily, that stranger is about to help HIM.

Still one of the most ridiculous things I've ever written. Also still makes me laugh.

you carried me with you | BuckTommy | T | 7.2K

There's always been one person Tommy can talk to.

My very first 9-1-1 fic. It came about because I really wanted some backstory for Tommy and I gave him a twin sister because I really wanted him to have someone in his corner. There's a sequel to this one now that's a work-in-progress and I have plans for a third part. Which is hilarious when you see the notes on this fic and I'm like, 'this is going to be my only 9-1-1 fic! I'm not going down this rabbit hole!' SUCH A LIAR!!! 😂

Live and Let Spy | BuckTommy | T | WIP

Over twenty years on the job and he was at the top of his game.

Agent Kinard was the one they called in when there was no one else to trust. When the stakes were high and you needed a job done.

Agent Kinard didn’t make mistakes, but Tommy…

Tommy fell in love.

Putting this one on here even though it's a WIP. It was inspired by the whole Spy!Tommy thing that was floating around a couple of months ago and it's another ridiculous little adventure that makes me laugh.

A Herrmann/Halstead Production

I know this is cheating, but I'm putting my OneChicago series on here because I'm really proud of it. If you've read my 9-1-1 fics and you enjoy procedurals in general, consider checking this one out! There's over 300K worth of fic for you to fall into. It's an AU so there's a few divergences from canon and an OC character that ties the three shows together. It has a lot of humour and angst and romance (Rhodestead!) and lots of friendship and family feels. I'm working away on the latest installment and have many more planned!

Thanks again for the ask!

[joeyjoeylee]

Hey! Just read that there is a sort of ch11 + Deleted Scenes for your fic Both Sides of the Law? Please post them! I love your fic so much and I keep coming back to it and each time there’s a new aspect of Brio Characterisation for me to explore. I would love to read more of your work!!

Anon, this is so nice. I can't tell you how happy it makes me that people are still reading my fic so much time later!

Yes, I (shamefully) remember posting on here that I had leftover "scraps" + vague plans for a sequel and/or outsider POV that I would pull together to post and then I just...never did. My problem is I'm so directionless with all of it, like, I go back and forward with what to concentrate on polishing, like, the when (set in the school years? time jump after it all ends?), the who (which POV?), and even the what (consider it all "scraps" for a reason and focus on totally new fic unrelated)?

Then I'm just like, "whelp, this dilemma is unsolvable, I guess my only play here is to nap instead."

However, in gratitude for your extremely nice message, here is a VERY rough snip from the Gretchen POV I constantly pick up and put down (her entire POV would cover both the timeline of the main story, then continue a year or so out, this part is from the year or so out):

XXX

Gretchen scanned over the bar crowd quickly, looking for him.  Or Mick. 

No luck.  But she saw that blinky kid Eddie with the too-blue eyes standing guard in front of the hallway leading to the back room, so she headed his way. 

When she was close, Eddie shuffled sideways from his post to allow her entry.  To fuck with him, Gretchen gave him a little nod and smile in return.  He blushed immediately and looked away.

Gretchen smiled to herself as she passed him.  Every time.    

The back room was empty, except for her cousin and Mick.

Rio was bent slightly over the pool table, cue stick in hand, his profile to Gretchen.  She stood in the doorway for several long seconds and watched as he tilted his head from side-to-side, contemplating the balls scattered out on the table in front of him. 

Calculating all his angles, she knew.

It looked like Rio was playing alone.  Mick sat on a stool on the wall behind him, but no stick in hand, just his phone.  He looked up from the phone and turned his head towards the doorway when he heard her heels click into the room though.  He met Gretchen’s eyes, then tipped his chin to her slightly in greeting. 

Which made him more damn polite than her cousin.  

Rio acted like he hadn’t heard her walk in, like he didn’t know she was standing in the doorway.  He kept his focus on the table, even as Gretchen started walking again farther into the room, putting weight in her steps deliberately to make her heels click louder.  Even as she headed to a stool directly across the table from his position. 

Gretchen eased up on the stool and crossed her legs, facing him in full. 

But Rio still didn’t say anything, so she didn’t either.

Rio walked a little around the table instead, still considering his shot.  She studied him as he did.  It was a familiar sight. 

Rio was good at pool.  Gretchen was too.  They had played together all the time when they were in high school, after their uncle Victor had bought that first bar down on St. Antoine.  Their uncle had conducted business in the back while the two of them had spent countless hours practicing out front, challenging each other for difficult shots and teaming up to try to hustle their uncle’s men. They had kept at it through college and beyond. Still played together even now when they had the chance.

But Rio didn’t ask her to join him now, like he had so many times before.  He didn’t rerack the balls or tilt his head towards one of the sticks to invite her to play together. 

He just kept circling the table slowly, still silent. 

So Gretchen waited some more.

Finally, he decided on his shot.  The 7 ball, she saw, aiming for the pocket closest to her.  An easy shot for a player like him, Gretchen knew. 

She watched as Rio leaned over the table and lined up.  His form was perfect. Just like their uncle had taught them both. 

Slowly he pulled back the stick with one hand, pistoning it gently between the fingers of the other as he took aim.  Then, lightning quick, the stick was snapping forward and striking the 7 ball, sending it hurtling towards the pocket.

He missed.

Gretchen flicked her eyes up in time to catch his eyebrows pull together. 

For a long moment, Rio didn’t move, just stayed bent over the table.  But at least he deigned to acknowledge her presence at last, his eyes raising slow to meet hers squarely across the table between them.

Gretchen blinked at what she saw then.  He was angry.  She could see it clearly on him now.  He was angry at her.   

Rio straightened up and planted one end of the stick on the ground.  Now his eyes didn't leave Gretchen's face. 

“Got nothing to say?” he said at last.   

Everything about him was mocking.  His voice, his posture, his expression.  Like he was calling her on her bullshit. Like she had been the one to demand this meeting, then ignore him to parade around the table in silence. 

It put Gretchen’s back up, instantly, which she knew was his intention.  Drama, theatre – he used it so well.    

So she forced herself not to snap back.  She flicked her eyes instead to Mick, but there were no answers there.

She looked back at Rio.  He was still staring at her, rotating the stick in his hands, waiting for her answer.

He wasn’t asking for her opinion on his missed shot, Gretchen knew, but she played dumb anyway to buy herself some time to feel him out. 

And because despite whatever else, he was still her baby cousin.  And an asshole who’d made her miss the first date she’d even halfway looked forward to in years to boot.

“Your stick wasn’t level,” Gretchen told him.  She made her voice calm and evaluating, scrunching up her face in thoughtful criticism.  “That made the ball curve just enough to miss the pocket.”

Behind her cousin, she saw Mick dip his head to hide a smile. 

Rio smiled at her too.  But without any teeth, and it didn’t come close to reaching his eyes.

He didn’t respond though.  He just walked another quarter turn around the table, his eyes back down on the balls again. 

As soon as he looked down, Gretchen risked shooting a longer glance at Mick, tilting her chin up to him. 

What’s all this about? 

Mick shrugged a shoulder to her in response. 

Don’t know.

She looked quickly back to Rio.  

He was lined up again.  3 ball to the side pocket.  An even easier shot than his last one. 

Rio hovered over the table even longer this time.  His eyes flicked from the tip of the stick to the ball and back again.  Gretchen watched as he adjusted his grip on the stick minutely, precise and perfect.

He took the shot. 

And missed again. 

Once more, his eyes flicked straight up to hers.  Then he was straightening up and drawing closer, moving as fluid as water, until the table was no longer between them and he was standing right in front of her. 

He was taller than her even on a good day in her 4-inch heels. Now, standing, with her still on the stool, he towered over her.

He lifted his eyebrows.

“Well?” Rio asked, quieter this time.

Gretchen looked him straight in the eye.

“You muscled the stick forward – didn’t control your shot,” she told him, steady.

This time, Rio didn’t smile.  Just planted the base of the stick to the floor in front of Gretchen and folded his hands over the tip to regard her.

His eyes, the set of his jaw, the coiled stillness of him – he reminded her suddenly so strongly of their uncle. 

Growing up, without fail, Gretchen and her father had spent every Sunday dinner at her Tia Teresa’s.  One Sunday, not long after her mother had died, she had gone to find her father after dinner, out to the backyard where he and her Uncle Victor always smoked their cigars while the women cleaned up inside. 

They hadn’t seen her approach in the twilight, hadn’t even noticed her when she had stopped only a few feet away. 

So Gretchen had heard every word that her uncle had been saying. 

But standing there, what had had her frozen in place and trying to seem small hadn’t been so much what Victor was saying.  It had been how Victor was saying it. 

And most of all, it had been how his face, usually so indulgent and warm towards her and her cousins, had looked over the burn of his cigar as he had said it. 

When they had finally noticed her, Victor’s face had transformed immediately. Back to the face of the uncle she loved, back to how it always was. But Gretchen had known what she had seen. 

Later that night, when her father had come to tuck her in, he had known something was wrong.  He had called her Liebchen, like her mother always had, and stroked her hair, until finally Gretchen had felt brave enough to try to say it.

“Tio Victor looked scary tonight,” she had settled on at last. 

Her father hadn’t tried to brush it away, to tell Gretchen she was wrong, that she hadn’t seen what she had thought she had.

“He is scary,” her father had just said simply instead.  “But never to family.  Never to us.”

Now, looking up at her cousin, Gretchen thought of that night again. Rio had always looked just like their uncle, and his face now was her uncle's face as it had been that night.  

For a paralyzed second, Gretchen felt like she had back then when she was a kid.  Frozen, and small.

Then she gave herself a mental shake and told herself to get a fucking grip. 

Victor was long dead, and her father was in an advanced dementia facility that she forced herself to visit every Sunday, to sit with him all afternoon as he asked her plaintively again and again who she was. 

She wasn’t a fucking kid anymore. 

She heard her father’s voice again from that night. It reminded her.

Scary, yes.  But never to family.  Never to her.

Gretchen lifted her chin and slid off the stool, not breaking the eye contact for a second.  Then she took a step closer to him and pulled herself to her full height.

“So, are we done playing games now?” she asked. She used her courtroom voice, the one she knew he hated when she used it with him. “You wanna tell me what the hell is going on?”

Rio wanted to stay silent.  To make her wait some more.  Gretchen could read that on him clear as day.  She had known him her whole life, after all. 

But she knew that he was impatient too, so she made herself stay silent too, just tilting her head back-and-forth in challenge, until finally, he relented. 

“You wanna tell me what you been telling Elizabeth, Gretch?  Filling up her head with?”   

Beth.  

Gretchen felt some of the tightness in her shoulders relax. Of course.  She should have guessed, should have known. What could be making him like this.

Of course all this would have something to do with Beth Boland. 

[meraki-yao]

Transcription and Translation of Taylor's Little Red Book Livestream (9th December 2023, to the best of my ability)

Q: Question A: Answer

Side Banters:

H: Host T: Taylor Anything in brackets: me or additional elaboration

Q: Asking him to share his experience of city walking in Shanghai earlier today

A: They went to Yu Garden which Taylor said was incredible, and he tried 糖葫蘆 Tanghulu, a traditional Chinese sweet which is candied Chinese Hawthorn

Q: How was the past few days for him and where did he go

A: He's been in China for four nights now (He came by himself btw) First night he stayed at the J Hotel which is the third tallest building in the world and the tallest hotel in the world. After that, he went to 濮院 (the venue for the GQ event) for two nights and it was incredible

Q: How's his jetlag?

A: It's hitting right now 😂 He's been drinking a lot of tea and getting better

Q: What led him to choose to become an actor instead of a competitive swimmer

A: That was an easy choice, he swan for 10 years and then decided he didn't want to swim in college, and then decided he didn't want to be a doctor (his brother's a doctor) and maybe disappointed his parents (H: No way!) It was a hard decision but he decided to move to LA and pursue acting (H: and you made it!)

Q: How is he enjoying being an actor?

A: It's tough, ups and downs. It's kind of like swimming, it's an individual activity, but you also get to collaborate with the community, which is fun.

Q: What are his favourite three movies and why?

A: The Matrix, Fight Club and Interstellar, he likes movie with a twist

Q: What type of music does he like

A: Deep House, Tropical House, Reggaeton

And then the host taught him a couple of Chinese phrases

Q: What sparked his interest in fashion

A: His dad bought him a subscription to GQ when he was younger which started his interest in fashion, and then he started watching fashion-related movies (like Brad Pitt in Allied) which further cultivated that interest. Maybe in the future, he'll try out characters like that

Q: Did he meet any friends in the GQ event?

A: He met Li Xian who he met in Italy earlier, otherwise met a lot of new people.

Q: Why is he passionate about being eco-friendly when it comes to fashion?

A: It was inspired initially by his mom. They lived in the countryside with horses, cows, and fields away from the city, and he has seven siblings (he's the sixth oldest/ third youngest) so there are a lot of hand-me-downs and not a lot of new things, so the family kept on using the same things. He gained a deeper awareness of the issue in recent years.

Q: Talk a bit about fashion sustainability

A: A lot of fast fashion material and clothes are thrown out really soon and disposed of really quickly (despite still being in good shape) but a lot of clothing material, especially synthetic fabric can't be recycled, so it's just like throwing out plastic. Actually, a lot of clothes can keep being reused and styled. He's had the inner shirt he's currently wearing for four years.

Q: Any future plans?

A: He has a film project early next year and there are other things he's excited about but can't talk about yet

Q: Is he going to Shanghai Disneyland?

A: He wants to but he doesn't have time

H: You don't even need to go to Disney you look like a Disney character already! (Damn right!!!)

Q: What food have you had in China so far?

A: Don't get him started on the subject of food 😂 He's had a Shanghainese Lunch today and a Cantonese (YAY) lunch yesterday, and he's looking for some spicy food for tomorrow. Also, he had a really crazy allergic reaction and his lips got giant (???). He needs to be careful with food.

T: I see talk about RWRB, what do you want to know? I'll give some secret intel

(me: YESSSSSSSSSS FINALLY)

RWRB questions speedrun:

Q: sequel?

A: ... He doesn't know. He says he thinks Casey has to write another book for that.

Q: Deleted scenes?

A: They're deleted for a reason (DUDE)

Q: BTS?

A: He says he has some on his phone and he would show us but he doesn't have his phone right now, he might post it later (PLEASE DO)

H: He's leaving after three days

T: (reading off comments) Come visit Hong Kong next time? Yeah! (me, who lives in Hong Kong: AHHHHHHHHHH)

Q: Do you know any Chinese nicknames of yours?

A: 忒樂. (tei le, or "Tay"-le) meaning too happy (I made a list of the boys' Chinese nicknames here)

Annddd... That's it! The live was pretty short, like 20 minutes? He ended it by picking up the phone and showing the audience the Shanghai city view himself (I was too busy typing to get a screenshot)

All transcription or interpretation mistakes are mine

[green-eyedfirework]

Dick has had to concentrate on his breathing the entire day.  In, hold, out.  In, hold, out.  The count is the only thing letting him hold it together.  In, hold, out.  In, hold, out.

Jason isn’t here, to get himself into trouble by saying or doing the wrong thing.  Marian has been bundled off to Leslie—despite Prince Grant’s assurance that he isn’t going to send her away, Dick doesn’t want her in this suite.

In, hold, out.  In, hold, out.  Breathe.

“My god, that took so long,” the prince groans, shutting the door with a bang.  Dick can hear the bolt slide shut.  “Personally, I think Daniel’s pissed we gave him so little notice, that ceremony dragged forever.”

Dick registers the note of irritation in his mate’s scent and has to fight to stay where he is.  In, hold, out.  In, hold, out.  He can hear his mate moving around the room, can hear the rustle of cloth and the squeak of the wooden cabinets.

“Dick?”  He nearly stutters on his next breath as he lifts his gaze to meet his mate’s eyes.  Grant is squinting at him, shirt off, standing in front of the closet.  “You okay?  You’ve been standing there for a minute.”

Dick forces himself to move.  One foot after the other.  Thankfully, his closet is on the other side of the room.  One foot after the other.  He can do this.  “I apologize,” he rasps quietly, “I got caught up in my thoughts.”

“No need for an apology,” Grant replies easily, “I was just worried that you’d turned into a mannequin.”  His tone makes it a joke, but that’s exactly how Dick feels.  Like a wind-up toy, robotically moving through the motions, carefully and neatly undoing the knots that hold up his mating silks.  A wind-up toy that’s not sure when it’ll run out of juice.

Halfway through the knots, his fingers stutter.  An omega’s mating silks are not designed to be removed by one person.  Last time, this did not matter.  Last time—last time it was ripped off of him before he could utter a single protest.

In, hold, out.

“Dick?  Are you having trouble with the dress?  Do you want some help?”

In, hold, out.

“If it pleases Your Majesty.”  Dick’s surprised his voice doesn’t waver.

“You don’t need to be so formal,” Grant laughs as he moves closer.  Dick can hear him stop right behind him.  “Just Grant is fine.”  A broad hand brushes against his side as fingers tug efficiently but none-too-delicately at the knots.  The cloth gives way, peeling off rather faster than his pounding heart appreciates.  “They really make this difficult, huh.”

In, hold, out.

Grant’s fingers slide against his bare back as the half the silks slide off, and something in Dick snaps.

He’s untethered.  Unmoored.  Drifting.  Something in his mind attempts to hide from the oncoming pain, and it shatters his control.

“The gods must be smiling on me, sweetheart, because we got you all to ourselves—”

“Fucking breed another pup into you—”

“Omega bitch, this is where you belong—”

“Do that again—bite him again, look at him, so good and quiet—”

“Yes, take it, take it you fucking whore—”

“What the hell do you have to cry about—”

“Be grateful—”

“You’ve got four of us to take care of you, sweetheart—”

“Dick?  Dick?”  The memory-scent of alpha lust is abruptly replaced by shock and fear.  “Dick, what—Dick, please say something, Dick!”

There’s a stinging pain on one cheek and Dick realizes his eyes are open.  He’s kneeling on something cold and rough, an arm around his shoulders keeping him upright, and he’s staring up at an alarmed face.

“Are you okay?” Grant looks very concerned.  When he bends lower, all Dick can smell is his scent, blanketing everything around them.  “Should I get the doctor?”

“No.”  Dick’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.  “I’m fine.”

“You went gray and collapsed, Dick, that isn’t fine,” Grant says firmly, blue eyes scanning over him, the same icy color as his father’s, “Was it something you ate?  Are you ill?”  Grant tightens his grip and hauls Dick up easily.  “Here, you’ll be more comfortable on the bed.”

Dick can feel something inside him shrivel.  Grant puts him down delicately, and then comes back with a blanket that he wraps Dick up in, before scurrying away and coming back with a glass of water.

The world feels distinctly off-kilter.

Dick doesn’t know when Grant got possessed by Jason’s spirit, but his stomach is twisting uneasily and he just wants this over with.  It isn’t permanent, he has to remember that, Grant is the Crown Prince of Defiance, he won’t stay mated to Dick, it isn’t permanent.

“I’m fine,” Dick says raggedly, unwrapping the blanket.  He sets the water aside, his stomach is already tied into knots.  “Just—get this over with.”  It’s ruder than he wanted, but Dick is too tired to care.  There’s no point in walking on eggshells around alphas, Grant will hurt him either way.

The remainder of the knots are easy to undo and the silks fall off, pooling at his waist.  Dick takes a shuddering breath—in, hold, out—and looks up to gauge what he should do next.

Grant is staring at him blankly.  “Get what over with?” he asks in a curiously flat tone.

Dick goes very still.  His rudeness was more egregious than he thought.  Terror carves through his veins as he stumbles off the bed to crumple to his knees, bowing his head as he fights not to tremble.  “I—I apologize, Your Majesty,” Dick forces past numb lips, something shrieking in his ears, “I did not mean to imply anything less than gratefulness for the honor of being your mate.  I am not suffering from anything that would bar you from consummating the bond—”

“Dick,” Grant cuts him off.  Dick looks up to see his mate several steps away, staring at him in a cross between shock and horror.  “I’m not going to fuck you.”

Dick stares at him.  He doesn’t—his head is empty.  Something is roaring in his ears.  In, hold, out.  He doesn’t understand.

Grant’s expression crumples into something distressed.  “Dick, this is political, remember?” his voice urges, desperate, “It’s just to keep Luthor’s hounds off the scent.  You have my bite, that’s all we need, we don’t need to consummate anything.”  He takes a shaky breath and crouches to be at eye level, still several feet away.  “I’m not going to touch you,” Grant says, slow and even and firm.

He doesn’t start laughing after he says it.  His eyes don’t flash with cruelty or mockery.  His scent is filtering around the room, and Dick can smell nothing but sincerity.

“I’m not going to touch you,” Grant repeats, his gaze intent on Dick.

Dick starts crying.  The prickling won’t stop, it feels like something’s unspooled in his soul, and Dick furiously rubs at his face but the tears keep coming.  “Dick?” comes hesitantly and softly and Dick clamps his mouth shut on a hiccup and tries to stop crying and ends up burying his face in his hands in a futile attempt to halt the tears.

“Dick?” Grant sounds so uncertain, “Dick, do you—shall I get someone?”  Dick shakes his head, he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, he doesn’t want his mate to see him like this, he just wants to hide.

The last time he cried this badly, Marian had just asked him why she didn’t have a Papa like all the other kids.  Jason had seen the expression on Dick’s face and whisked Marian away, explaining that she was so special she got the very best Mama, and Dick locked himself in his room and sobbed until he had no tears left.

Dick can hear Grant moving, can hear a glass being set down near him as he curls up and hides his face against his knees.  A soft weight drops on top of him and Dick flinches before he realizes it’s just a blanket.  The footsteps fade away.

He doesn’t know how to explain it.  It’s like something inside him unraveled, a tightness he kept locked up, and the sobs feel like they’re draining poison from him.  He cried at his last mating too, but he cried in pain, touched by hands he didn’t want on him, consigned to a life of eternal torment, unable to fight back.

Now he’s crying at the brush of a future he didn’t think possible.

It takes a long time before the tears peter out.  The blanket is soft and Dick scrubs at his face before going for the water to soothe his sore throat and quiet the hiccups.  The room is quiet, but more than that, the room is empty, but Dick doesn’t have time to feel alarmed before Grant pokes his head through the door.

“I heard…” the alpha trails off when he meets Dick’s gaze, visibly wincing, “I, ah.  How are you—how are you feeling?”

Like shit.  But arguably less like shit than he thought he was going to feel, so he supposes that’s a positive.  “I’m sorry,” Dick croaks out.  He doubts that having his mate fall to pieces is what Grant was expecting from this night—the crying undoubtedly messed up his makeup, he’s huddled under the blanket like a sad lump, and—

“No!” Grant says immediately, eyes wide, “No, shit—no, Dick, I’m the one who should be sorry.  I didn’t think—I didn’t realize that you thought—I didn’t explain,” he finishes, sounding miserable, “How this was going to go.  It’s just—it’s just for the public perception.  Until Luthor backs off.  You don’t have to—you don’t owe me—I’m not asking—” he blows out a sharp breath and rubs a hand over his face.  “This isn’t real,” he says finally, “It’s not a real mating, and I don’t expect you to act like my mate, and I’m never going to touch you without your permission, okay?”

Dick nods.

Grant smiles, though it doesn’t look as bright as his previous ones.  “Do you—can I help you with anything?” he asks nervously, hovering in the doorway, “I’ll sleep in the sitting room, the door’s locked so no one will be able to tell the difference.  Do you want me to get the doctor?”

Dick shakes his head.  “I’m fine,” he says throatily.  Grant doesn’t look like he believes him, but he just nods and closes the door behind him.

Dick slowly pushes himself up till he’s sitting on the bed.  He’s exhausted, wrung out like a worn dishcloth, but he can’t help the part of him that calls it a trick.  That keeps watching the door.  Slade Wilson is a man good enough at manipulation to keep an entire empire under his control, and Grant is his alpha heir.

There has to be a trick.

Dick curls up on the bed, dressed in softer clothes, and waits for the creak of the door.  Waits and waits and waits, until the darkness and exhaustion conspire to pull him under, and he falls asleep.

~#~

Grant is gone when Dick wakes up the next morning—he isn’t in the sitting room, there’s no trace that he slept there last night, and the guard outside said he left early.  Dick had deliberately not scheduled anything important for today, assuming he’d need at least the day to negotiate with his alpha to return to work, so he finds himself aimlessly wandering the path to Leslie’s rooms.

“Your Highness,” Leslie looks visibly surprised when he pokes his head in, “Good morning.  Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I came to pick up Marian,” Dick says, and goes along as Leslie ushers him into a chair.

The doctor looks at him with her uncannily piercing gaze.  “Do you need an examination?” she asks, her tone matter-of-fact and her eyes concerned.

“No,” Dick jolts up from the chair, “No, nothing like that.  Just Marian, please.”

“A contraceptive?” Leslie asks, quieter.

“No,” Dick has to fight the flush, “No, Leslie, nothing—nothing happened.”  There’s no one else in Leslie’s office, but he still drops his voice to a whisper, “There’s no—he said he won’t—it’s not a real mating.”

Leslie, to her credit, doesn’t display the incredulity she’s sure to be feeling.  “Okay,” she says simply, before motioning to Dick’s face, “You might want to wash up, Your Highness, anyone would think you spent the whole night crying.”

Dick flushes again, but takes her point.  By the time Leslie returns with Marian, he looks more put together—he can do nothing about the dark circles, but his eyes are no longer puffy.  Marian still scowls when she sees him, all of three years old and a little alpha princess determined to control everything she sees.

“You don’t look good,” she accuses as he scoops her up, poking at his cheek, “You missed bedtime.  Aunt Leslie doesn’t do the voices.”

Dick doesn’t bother to point out that Jason’s the one who does the voices, not him, instead dropping a kiss on her forehead.  “Sorry, Mari, I won’t miss bedtime today.  Do you want to come picking flowers with me?”

“Flowers!” Marian shrieks in his ear, and all’s forgiven on her end.  Leslie, however, still looks grave.

“Are you sure?” she asks lowly, “She can stay here longer—”

“I’m sure,” Dick says, even but firm.  Grant didn’t touch him.  Grant didn’t hurt him.  Grant didn’t even come into his room.  He was never concerned about Grant hurting Marian, just about being unable to hide his injuries from his child, and if he’s not getting injured, the point is moot.  “Thank you for watching her.”

“It was my honor, Your Highness.”  Leslie’s gaze follows him out, a tangible presence against his back.

Leslie’s concern is not the only one he’s faced with.  Several people ask him how he’s doing, ask him if he’s okay, ask him if he needs some extra food or water or balm or medicine.  Even more people watch silently, narrowed eyes intent on his gait, on his face, on the bite on his neck visible with his low-collared shirt.

Needless to say, he’s more than happy to get out of the castle for a few hours to make flower crowns in a meadow with his daughter.

He runs into Grant when he returns for lunch, laughing at Marian trying to hold all her flowers in too-small hands and nearly walking straight into the Crown Prince in the atrium.  Grant steadies him before he can fall and then blinks when he takes a full look at Dick.

“I see someone had a fun morning,” Grant says, raising a hand and darting a look at Dick, as though asking for permission.  Dick dips his head in the slightest of nods, confused, and holds still as Grant reaches up and—adjusts the flower crown on his head.  “Now it’s perfect,” Grant smiles, and sweeps into a mock bow, “Your Highness.”

“Your Majesty,” Dick gives a practiced smile and does an equally teasing curtsy back, aware of the many, many people watching.  Luthor cannot know that this whole thing is just pretend.  “Would you like one as well?”  Dick is holding Marian’s attempt, a crown half falling apart in his hands, but Grant gamely ducks his head for Dick to crown him.

He smiles at Dick when he straightens, the Crown Prince of Defiance with a three-year-old’s best attempt at flower braiding in his hair, and Dick can see hearts melting all across the room.  “I’ll see you in the evening,” Grant says, a hand under Dick’s elbow as he kisses the air above Dick’s forehead.

Dick scans the room as Grant strides away, and sees most looks of suspicion fading.  All except Marian, who is holding two fistfuls of squished petals and staring after Grant with a narrowed scowl.

Dick hasn’t exactly explained the situation to her, too mired in panic himself, and that’s clearly a mistake he has to rectify.

~#~

It’s late by the time Grant finally makes it to his rooms, and there’s a headache pounding behind his temples.  The smooth workings at the beginning of his visit deteriorated soon after they announced the mating, and today, without Dick there, it felt like people were deliberately stalling him.

In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if that’s actually the case.

There’s giggling coming from inside the suite and the scent of a happy pup, and he follows it to find Dick and Marian ensconced on the couch.  Dick is reading her a story, and Marian is interrupting him every other word, and despite that, Dick looks at her fondly.

They both look up when Grant enters, and for a moment, Grant is frozen.  Should he leave?  This is his suite, he really doesn’t have anywhere else to go, but they both looked so unguarded in that moment before they realized he was there.

“Your Majesty,” Dick says, straightening, before a smile spreads across his face, “You’re still wearing the crown.”

What crown, Grant thinks dumbly, before he remembers the flowers.  His hand immediately flies up, knocking a few flowers askew—the whole thing is tangled in his hair.  Dick’s smile widens a fraction before it returns to his usual polite expression.

“I’d entirely forgotten about it,” Grant says, trying very hard not to stare at Dick.  The thing is, Dick is a very attractive omega—the first moment he saw the steel in Dick’s eyes as he calmly dismissed a subpar plan, Grant couldn’t help but want.

But Dick doesn’t want.  And that is the problem.

Admittedly, Grant wasn’t only thinking of the strategic benefits when he suggested the mating—more time spent with Dick, more time to get to know him, and a casual testing of the waters of how the rest of the empire would react to him mating with a prince of a conquered territory—but he had never expected this.

Dick’s terror—because Grant was all but choking on the scent as Dick shivered on the stone, looking up at him like he expected Grant to attack him for the audacity of feeling faint—and his tears, and the desperate, disbelieving look in his eyes when Grant swore that he wouldn’t touch him…

Well.  Grant didn’t get much sleep last night, and even spending the morning hacking away at training posts pretending that they were the alpha who dared to put that terror in Dick’s mind didn’t help.  Everyone staring at him like he’s a monster—Dick’s fear had to come from somewhere, somewhere real, and if Dick expected Grant to—to rape him when Grant never said anything of the sort, had in fact said they would annul the mating once their troops were in position—he’s probably not the only one.

Grant doesn’t know what shadows he treads on, only that they’re there.  He could ask—he’s the Crown Prince of Defiance, he could have every gory detail by the morning—but the memory of Dick’s terror-stricken expression arrests him.  He could leave it be, step carefully where he knows the ground isn’t stable, and make sure his intentions are always clear.

The priority is Luthor and Gotham’s safety.  Dick’s safety.  Grant can handle a few black looks.

“Silly, you’re just making it worse,” Marian clambers off the couch and glares at him.  Dick scrambles after her, immediately pulling her up into the safety of his arms.  Grant tries not to feel slighted.  “What did I say about calling people names, Mari?” Dick hums quietly.  The princess pouts.  “Apologize to His Majesty, please.”

“I’m sorry,” the little princess dutifully recites, looking incredibly put-upon.  Grant has to press his lips together to hide the smile.  “Are you my Papa?” she asks.

Grant chokes.

“Mari,” Dick’s cheeks are red, “I already explained this.  We’re going to be staying with Prince Grant.  He is not your Papa.”

“Only pack stays together,” Marian narrows her eyes, “Uncle Jay said.”

“Sometimes, friends stay together too,” Dick exhales slowly, “Don’t believe everything your Uncle Jay says.”

Marian is still eyeing him with a calculating expression.  Pup or not, it’s clear she’s an alpha.

“...Can you do voices?  Mama’s bad at reading stories.”

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Dick looks exhausted, “I’ll get her to bed.  I didn’t mean to bother you—”

“It’s no bother,” Grant gives him a hesitant smile before turning to the little princess, “And yes, I do happen to be good at voices.”  Rose has always called Grant dramatic.  “May I tell you a story, Princess Marian?”

The suspicious look in her eyes disappears to glee.  Dick is looking at him with a soft kind of incredulity, like he’s not willing to believe what he’s seeing, but he’s okay going along with it.

~#~

Grant’s continued stay on the sitting room couch is halted by Marian finding him there one morning, bulldozing over all his objections, and dragging him into the bedroom.  Grant gives Dick a look that is very close to panic, and Dick can’t help but laugh.

There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind who the next ruler of Gotham is going to be, and Mari is a force unto herself.

Grant won’t hurt Mari, Dick knows that, Dick believes that, and he okays Grant joining them on the bed.  All it takes is one servant to enter their suite unexpectedly and find out Grant is living on the couch, after all, for Luthor to decide that Gotham is easy prey.

The prince still keeps his hands to himself, even then.  He silently asks Dick’s permission before touching him in public, even though the whole point of this mating is to put on the act of a happy couple, and Dick is starting to believe that Grant will actually keep his word.

It’s a startling thing, to sleep in the same bed as a strange alpha, and trust that he will not hurt you.

Grant may be the Crown Prince of Defiance, but he’s soft in ways that Slade isn’t—Dick can not, for example, imagine Slade sitting on a bed with a bouncy, wriggly three-year-old, ignoring the pup crawling over him while trying to have a serious conversation.

“Luthor’s envoys will be here tomorrow,” Grant says as Mari attempts to crawl up his back, “They will be scrutinizing us carefully.”

“Yes,” Dick says, not betraying the jolt of fear at where this conversation is heading.

“We have to be convincing.”  The dread the words would’ve inspired is undercut by Mari spilling off of Grant’s back with a startled shriek and a muffled omph as she lands on the pillow.

“Yes.”

“I’ll—is it okay if I hold your waist when you stand next to me?”

“Grant,” Dick exhales, almost exasperated.  He isn’t made of goddamn porcelain.  “It’s okay to put an arm around my waist or hold my hand or brush hair out of my face.  You don’t have to keep asking permission.  I will tell you to stop if I don’t want it.”

Grant briefly squints, but drops the topic.  “Okay,” he says slowly, “What about kissing?”  His scent is beginning to leak anxiety, “I just—they’ll expect us to be close, and it doesn’t have to be on the lips, it just—”

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay,” Dick repeats slowly.  Kissing.  Honestly.  Dick agreed to this thinking of several worse things than kissing.  “You can kiss me.  On the lips.”

Grant looks poleaxed, like he was never expecting Dick to agree.  “Okay,” he repeats, wide-eyed, “Okay.  I’ll squeeze your hand before I do it, okay?  You can pull your hand away if you change your mind and want me to stop.”

Dick stares at him, caught in a moment of how is this real, how is he real, before Marian pops up between the both of them.  “I want kissies!” she demands.

“Oh, do you?” Dick laughs and tickles her and bends down to loudly kiss all over her belly as she shrieks in glee.  When he looks up, Grant is watching them with warm fondness—Dick can smell the faintest scent of want, but for the first time in years, the scent doesn’t make something cold crawl down his spine.

~#~

Grant does indeed squeeze Dick’s hand before bending in for a kiss in front of Luthor’s envoys.  Dick holds his mate’s hand for the rest of the day, and squeezes a couple of times to catch some kisses of his own.  Grant is warm, and he smells nice, and Dick feels dizzy and giddy in equal measure, like he’s a teenager again, sneaking kisses behind the stables.

Their mood is infectious.  By the time Luthor’s envoys leave—Dick has informed them, in no uncertain terms, that their trade agreement is unacceptable, with Grant’s hard-eyed glare backing him up, and shot down every one of their half-hearted revisions—they look resigned.

Gotham is not easy prey.  Lex Luthor will find no chinks here.

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

I've deleted the snippet I posted for the fic wip game last night. I thought a scene with baby Viktor would be safe, but I should have guessed that now is an inopportune time to even bring up this wip. For that matter, I'm also very unsure whether I should ever post it at all. I will definitely not bring it up again for a while, no matter how much I'm itching to.

Like all of my works, this one is very dear to me. I don't want people to misappropriate it to scream about evil animation studios and production committees. There's a place for that but my works and my metas are not this place.

I'm getting really scared when I think of my sequels. It's still more than half a year until I will start posting the first sequel to CYHMH and I hope that by then, the fandom has calmed down, but the thought of readers using my stories to scream murder and hatred makes my stomach turn. My sequels and prequels to YOI are born from my own imagination. They didn't get inspired by popular headcanons and they're certainly very different from what Mitsurou Kubo and Sayo Yamamoto had in mind. Please do not conflate them with a movie that was never released or a season 2 that was never planned or greenlit.

Please, by the love of god, don't bring your fandom drama and hate campaigns to my works and metas. There are more worthwhile things to pour your activism into. Support queer rights. Free Palestine. Slava Ukraini. Save the climate. And don't vote fucking fascists.

Anyway, thank you cecebeanie for helping me decide which snippet to post even if I ended up deleting it 💙💜

[kittylittersmoothie]

Y'know, "Brews and Bandage" feels... drastically different from its two sequels in "The Sanguine Softshell" trilogy. This fact is... a bit bothersome to me.

The first fic contains bits of humor, unnecessary alliteration on chapter titles (I'm talking "The Quiet, Queasiness-Causing Quasi-Quiescence"), much fewer deleted scenes, much less focus on maintaining tone, much less assiduous planning than its two counterparts, no Tsubasa (she did not exist yet), and my sentences feel less... artful?

But I'm beginning to realize... maybe the first fic— though out of place in its sequels— feels more like Donnie— the sprinkled humor, the sarcasm, the alliteration... while the sequels address Donnie's impostor syndrome.

As for my progressively more formal voice in the sequels— "Brews and Bandage" is the beginning. The very beginning of feeling badly. And as Donnie's mental health significantly worsens throughout "The Hang-Up" and "Purple Patterns," the writing grows more precise and solemn, and there is rarely sarcasm within the narration because I wished for the text to be utterly dripping with nauseous dread, unease, and misery. I wished to convey the a g o n y.

Maybe... it makes sense that "Brews and Bandage" feels so out of place— because I wrote it to feel almost like an episode of the show, particularly because none of the others are constantly worried about Donnie as they are in the following fics. There's a casual air to "Brews and Bandage" because Donnie's inner torment has only just begun.

Anyway, uh, just me thinking.

If you read this extremely long post about nothing, uhh... here's an image of Donnie as a prize?? idk man

[vroombeams]

finally, processing and/or dvd bonus for my beloved sweet talk would be very interesting. thank you <3

✑ PROCESSING: pick a fic and I’ll tell you what it was like to write it!

oh sweet talk my sweet talk. so stupid. so ill-advised. i feel like sweet talk really was just the most prime example of being committed to the bit? like well kee vroombeams will do most anything for the meme of it all. and i will! and in this case i did

it was a bit of a manic one tbh?? i think i wrote the whole thing in a series of sprints where i was averaging like, 600-700 words per 15 minute round. which is great for getting Many Words out. but not great for the guy who has to edit those words. (i'm that guy) overall it was like. fun?? i think?? i don't know i think i was in a fugue state gandalf voice i have no memory of this place. but it was also one of those fics that the more i looked at it the more i hated it so i just had to buckle up and post at some point lol

re: the actual process, conceptually love a threesome. logistically it's like now there are six arms and six legs and three dicks and six balls and three hearts and one and a half brains and and and. and. AND . there's just a lot going on. there's been a sequel in the works for months that came up similarly (many frantic sprints) and it's already longer than sweet talk and it's like maybe two-thirds done so. i don't know. i didn't learn my lesson the first time i fucking guess!!!!!

✄ DVD BONUS: pick a fic and I’ll describe or write a deleted scene!

To Oscar's credit, he barely bats an eye when Logan presents him with possibly the dumbest plan he's ever had. "So he just wants to watch," Oscar says. He's slumped in the exact chair in the corner of the hotel room that is being discussed, actually, and Logan's receiving untold psychic damage about it. "Yeah," Logan says, messing around with his suitcase so he doesn't have to look Oscar in the very much unbatted eye. "It's—I mean, maybe he was just memeing, man, I don't know." "I feel like if you've gotten to the point of scheduling it it's not a meme anymore." "Advanced memeing," Logan amends. "Like, it's Alex. Who fucking knows what goes on in his head?" Oscar says, "Hmmm." Logan peeks up from his already extremely tidy luggage, continues pretending to tidy it. Oscar's still looking at him, of course, because Oscar looks all the time like he knows things and Logan knows that he knows things but he doesn't have to make it such a thing, does he? "What?" Oscar shrugs. "I'm not bothered either way," he says, and it's literally just this second that Logan realizes he hasn't even fucking asked if Oscar's down for this. "Just, you know. Make sure it doesn't bother you." He's caught for a second between apologizing or throwing himself to the floor at Oscar's feet and thanking him for being the most unfazeable human person on this earth or maybe offering up sexual favours in exchange for his like extremely severe blunder of not asking if it's actually okay to invite Alex Albon to watch them fuck. "It doesn't bother me," he settles on. It comes out all muttered and sheepish, but it's pretty much the truth. Like, ninety percent of it.

fic ask game 💃

[mer-acle]

Alright, since I'm super active on AO3 again recently I thought I might as well do a breakdown of my work :)

My current fandoms are Marvel (MCU) and EPIC the Musical

The characters you are almost certain to meet are Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow), Clint Barton (Hawkeye) and Athena (Goddess of Wisdom)

Okay let's have a breakdown (epic people you'll have to scroll)

The Spy and the Assassin

This is a series about the backstory of Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton, starting from childhood and catching up directly to Iron Man 2.

This is the most "inspired by visual media" of my works. Parts of it is written in Script form and the chapters are meant to be 25 minute episodes of a TV show that would run for three seasons.

It's MCU phase one compliant and takes some inspiration from the Avengers Assemble TV show canon (mainly for Clint's backstory)

Good for: People who like Phase 1 best, and who wished for a more comprehensive Black Widow origin (this is 500k words type comprehensive)

Coming back for you

What about another Black Widow origin, but Phase 2 compliant this time?

When writing The Spy and the Assassin, I did my best to adhere to the superhero genre, so you could feasibly believe this was a true prequel

For this one, I took more liberties, and focused more on hurt/comfort.

Laura and Cooper are in this, and so is a Budapest scene bc how couldn't I?

Again, technically Phase 2 compliant if you tweak the timeline just a little, but still no Black Widow (2021) to be found.

Good for: People who enjoy hurt and comfort with a focus on recovery and healing. People who like Laura Barton XD

One I will break, the others I will tear apart

Technically a sequel to The Spy and the Assassin, but stands on its own.

In about 2014, Steve, Tony, Clint and Natasha are kidnapped and imprisoned by a smug and sadistic asshole named Victor.

His plan: Torture one of them, watch the others break apart from guilt and anguish. And he chooses the one who has already endured more pain than anyone ever should to be his sacrificial lamb.

This is unapologetic Nat Whump. Like, there is intense physical and psychological torture in this. Nobody except Victor is having a good time.

(This is my favorite fic I've ever written)

Good for: People who like their whump and like it brutal. People who agree with me that Nat is the best avenger

The time they broke me

A retelling from Natasha to the team of what happened in The Spy and the Assassin. That's it. People enjoyed it for some reason lol.

Good for: People who want a Natasha backstory but want to know how the Avengers would react.

The Avengers Scenes

A series of deleted/extended scenes for the MCU. (Yes Natasha is in all of them)

Okay Epic friends, now for you

All of my epic fanfic is gathered in the Warriors of the Mind series, but I'll introduce you to the episodes.

In general, I know what you are like, those of you who liked the Wisdom saga will probably read anything with Athena in it atm

The Reunion Trilogy

(Work 1-3)

After the Events of God Games, Athena's first meetings with Odysseus, Telemachus and Penelope respectively.

Light h/c and lots of cute moments

Hermes presents: God Games

(Work 4)

Hermes explains our favorite wet man Odysseus what went down during God Games, things are appropriately chaotic.

Later, Athena receives a prayer

You can go home now

(Work 5)

Athena goes to free Odysseus instead of Hermes. H/C ensues cos guess what she's injured actually

Has two separate endings, one with Hermes and one with Apollo.

The one who makes her kingdom fall

(Work 6)

What happened on Olympus after God Games. How did the players treat their injured sister afterward.

Apollo, who always wanted a relationship with her

Hephaestus, who has known her the longest

Aphrodite, who has seen a different side to her

Ares, who deep down knows he never hated her

And Hera, who starts to believe she's done wrong by her

And all concludes with a crazy divine council meeting.

Goddess and Man

(Work 7)

A reflection by Athena on the times Odysseus called her "Thea"... And how she starts to think he didn't mean "goddess", but something more endearing.

Athena deals with feels. In the end she gets to confront them in person.

Ichor is not meant to fall like rain

(Work 8)

Athena meets her father for the first time after God Games. It's... Complicated.

Note: Winged Athena

Still watching over you

(Work 9)

A thunderstorm hits Ithaca. Both Athena and Odysseus may have some PTSD about that type of thing.

Also honorable mention of the absolute legend that is Eurycleia.

Fighting to be loved

(Work 10, in progress)

Athena is pretty badly hurt. The royal family of Ithaca tries their best to help her.

(FW this is whumpy as all hell)