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spacetimewraithwrites-archive · 4 years ago

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OC Kiss Week Day 5: Memory

WIP: Thriving series Pairing: Warren x Thrive Timeline: Thriving: Meridian CW: Some, like, pain and stuff. Injury? Uh, if you don’t like reading about people in sustained physical pain, then don’t read this lol. Also, blood. Rating: T Words: 1,729

***

“How bad is it?”

Thrive tightened his fists over the surface of the table, jaw wrenched closed, and shook his head. After a few beats during which the veins in his arms became alarming in their prominence, he released the breath he’d held. “It’s not as bad...as it was the last time.”

Warren cast a worried search over the screen of the organic data extractor from his position in the corner of the room. “Yeah...I’m not sure that’s making me feel better about this.”

Thrive grimaced and a hand reached up as if to remove the electrodes attached to his skull, but instead he pressed his fingers to his temple. “It merely means that Ataneq and I will have to adjust the ratio of input and...and the output of...no.” His face went blank. “I can’t think.” He slammed his wrist on the table and threw his head back, letting fly a lengthy swear in Solnai at the top of his voice.

Warren, understanding how much agony one had to be in to use that particular swear, switched the machine off and jumped to his side, kneeling beside his chair. “Okay, sweetheart, okay. That’s good enough.” He whipped an absorbent cloth from his pocket and dabbed the moisture from Thrive’s forehead, turning his face toward him and registering the swelling relief through not just through their physical connection, but their mental one as well. “You’re doing great. Let’s take a break.”

“I’d rather not,” Thrive rasped. “We’re close. This is the most important thing I’ve ever done.”

“And I’d rather not watch you fry your beautiful brain to a crisp.” Warren dragged a second chair over and helped Thrive’s trembling hands hold the cloth to his neck and the rest of his face. “Also, this is very much not the most important thing you’ve ever done.”

Thrive grinned at him, as exhausted as he was in doing so. “Well...one could argue that you are the Most Important thing I’ve ever done.”

“If you don’t shut your fucking mouth,” Warren muttered playfully, beginning to take the electrodes off of Thrive’s chest.

Thrive grabbed his hand. “No. One more.”

“Hey, I meant it when I said I was gonna put a stop to this if you punched that damn self-destruction button of yours again.” Warren gripped Thrive’s hand. “This machine is in its infancy and could kill you if you don’t take a break.”

Instead of the belligerence Warren expected, Thrive turned to him with excitement in his eyes. “The solution is right here. We could be moments away from a breakthrough. The entire kingdom is as close to being able to harness th’crode technology as you and I are right this second, Warren. You will be able to store your own memories without my help.”

“Yeah, I kinda know all of that—”

“Do you understand how difficult it has been for me to watch you forget?”

Warren paused. The excitement had fallen away to reveal a deep sadness, remorse he hadn’t seen in quite some time. “...It’s gotten pretty bad.”

“Yes.” Thrive applied pressure onto the electrode Warren had started to remove. “Conversations with you about our shared past have become daily reminders of my misjudgment. My selfishness. You shouldn’t have to rely on someone else to make sure your cherished memories never die over time.”

Warren looked from him to the data extractor. “I still think you need to do this while natural....”

“The point is to test the extractor’s capability on a human subject.” Thrive straightened his spine. “Our physiology may be different in a lot of ways while I’m human, but I’m not about to test it on you in this stage of development. All it needs is recalibration. I’ve suggested putting the extraction points directly on the brain, but that idea was shot down rather quickly.”

“Thank you, Ataneq,” Warren grumbled.

"Let me do this one last time.” Thrive pointed to the machine. “One last time. If it doesn’t work, I will give up for the rest of the day.”

Warren sighed into his hands. “I can’t. I can’t inflict more of this pain onto you. It’s too much. No, I’m saying no. If you wanna torture yourself one more time, you need to get someone else in here to do it.”

Thrive’s eyebrow quirked.

Which is how, ten minutes later, Warren found himself standing next to Thoeala on the other side of the room while Ataneq calibrated the machine.

Warren turned a frown to Thoeala.

“Oh, you think I’m gonna say no?” Thoeala laughed. “You think just because he’s my dad I have an opinion about his well-being?”

“Why are you still here if you didn’t want to do this, Pop?” Ataneq asked, repositioning the electrodes on Thrive’s head.

Warren sniffed. “Because if this doesn’t kill him, I will.”

Ataneq took Warren’s previous spot behind the extractor. “Right. Counting down from five. Father, recall a memory. Let’s keep it simple.”

Thrive screwed his eyes shut and nodded, hands tightly clasped together. “Test designation eight-four-six-four,” he said for the audio/visual records. “Recalling a memory of my last audience with Delegate Sinkship.”

“Simple,” Warren corrected. “Not painful.”

Ataneq swiped a finger over the screen. “Long live the King. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

A high-pitched whine rose from the machine and Thrive placed his hands flat on the table. “Yes...immediate drop in physical discomfort from designation eight-four-six-three.” He inhaled slowly through his nose, then released through his mouth. “My sinus cavities are warm and there is a sharp sting behind the eyes.”

“Holding onto the memory?”

“Yes. Begin transference...now.”

Ataneq had only just done what he was told when Thrive let out an unusual sound. A guttural wail he tried to suppress, hanging his head, face contorting into a grimace. Thoeala bristled beside Warren and Ataneq narrowed his eyes.

“There’s now...” Thrive touched the center of his forehead, fingers shaking visibly, “...severe—severe pain. Frontal and...damn it....”

Warren’s guard raised. Any pain he deemed “severe” could have killed anyone else on the spot. “Thrive, shut it down.”

“How close are we,” Thrive asked through gritted teeth.

“I can’t actually tell. Everything’s going haywire,” Ataneq said. “Your receptors are being overloaded; you need to stop the transference or you’re going to go into self-preservation mode.”

As Thrive opened his eyes, a single rivulet of blood rolled down from his nose. “Hemorrhaging. Numbness in...in the hands.” He swiped the blood away with a thumb and winced again. “And I’m experiencing a burning sensation on the skin.”

“Fuck,” Warren spat. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this again!”

Ataneq held up a hand in Thoeala’s direction when she crossed over to Thrive. “Don’t touch him yet. I’ve stopped the extractor but he wasn’t able to cut off the transference. He’s got to come down gradually.”

Thrive’s eyelids drooped and he snapped upright in an attempt to stay present and focused. “I...I’m about to...fall into preservation state.”

“Genius.” Warren leaned over the table and gestured around his eyes to get Thrive to make eye contact. “I have been alive for four hundred years and you wanna know why I’m only now starting to get gray hair?”

Thrive carefully rested his head in his arms, tugging the electrodes’ wires to their limit. “I may have an idea....”

“Yeah, he’s out,” Ataneq said after a second of silence.

Thoeala sighed. “So he did that for no reason?”

“No, he succeeded.”

“Excuse me?” Warren glanced at him in alarm. “...You mean he actually managed to transfer a memory into the databank?”

Ataneq nodded. “It’s not very clear, but it’s there. I can just make out vague shapes moving across the screen. We can work with this.”

Warren walked around the table and kneeled beside Thrive, who didn’t appear to be breathing at all. He felt his neck for a pulse and was satisfied to catch the glacial thrum of his system working to mend his brain. “Babe....”

“Wow,” Thoeala exclaimed, peering at the screen of the extractor over Ataneq’s shoulder. “That is incredible! Yeah, I can see an outline of Sinkship!”

“Thrive,” Warren said, raking his fingers through Thrive’s hair. “You did it. We’ll celebrate when you’re awake.” He removed the electrodes and kissed Thrive’s temple, his ear, and the bit of cheek exposed to him. “You cause me enormous stress but you also never cease to make me proud.”

Thoeala and Ataneq each took turns patting Thrive on the back before leaving the room. “Give us a heads up on how he is.”

“Always,” Warren promised before settling down on the floor.

He was there for close to half a hour before Thrive sank back into consciousness, folding himself upright and wiping the rest of the blood from his nose.

“Welcome back,” Warren said.

Thrive turned, clearly not expecting to see him, grogginess still present in his face. “You waited.”

“Well, yeah...you pulled it off. I couldn’t just leave you here.”

Thrive patted himself down for the wireless electrodes that were used to monitor his physical response to the testing as Warren got up to perch himself on the table. “I'm surprised that it actually worked.”

Warren leaned over to capture him in a firm kiss. “I’m not.”

“I suppose I owe you an apology.” Thrive kissed him again. “I’ll take this as a sign to always do what you say from now on.”

“Oh,” Warren said with a sly smile. “Nice. I don’t even care that you’re making fun of me. I will take full advantage of this.”

“As I’ve no doubt.” Thrive offered him an only half-sarcastic smirk in return. “I believe you called, rightfully, for a celebration.”

“You heard that, huh?”

“I'm...in a word, spent. Would you like to stay the night at the Fertile Patch? We could set up a camp.”

“That sounds fantastic.”

Thrive kissed him one final time before they parted ways to prepare for the hour-long shuttle trip. Warren apprised the kids of Thrive’s state and while Thrive managed to stay awake on the ride over, as soon as his head hit the lush grass of the uninhabited area of wilderness he was down for the count again.

Warren watched the sunset by himself, using Thrive’s stomach as a pillow, lost in thought about the impact the day’s accomplishments would have on the neighboring galaxies.

He’d played a part in history yet again, it seemed.

#ockiss21

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dragonnan · 5 years ago

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Fic Rec Sunday

I think every day of the week should be a day to rec fics but I’m gonna start with Sunday!

Here are some stories I find myself reading over and over again!

MCU

Identity Theft by KitCat992 It's been months since the events of Civil War, and the Avengers are doing their best to remain a team, having promised to forgive and forget. Unfortunately for them, Tony Stark's latest invention has been stolen and recovering it causes tension to reappear. Meanwhile, in Queens, Peter Parker has two main priorities on his plate — complete his midterm finals, and track down a fishbowl wearing criminal that may or may not lead him right into the hands of the Avengers. Somehow between all of this, Spider-man's identity is revealed to the Avengers, Steve and Tony's friendship may permanently be damaged due to continued hidden secrets, and Happy struggles to buy a youth-sized casket for Peter's funeral. Things were a lot easier when they were fighting over Bucky Barnes. (Be sure to check out the in-progress sequel, Identity Crisis!)

Dawn of Red Skies by Aelaer The day started off as any other day for newly-minted Sorcerer Supreme Stephen Strange. Then the flip switched and the next 48 hours were filled only with grief, anger, and pain.

Omertà by HanukoYoukai After chasing down the criminal that took Uncle Ben's life, Peter is found by James Wesley, the right-hand man of Wilson Fisk--a wealthy businessman trying to clean up Hell's Kitchen. Having left a strong impression on the man, soon Peter finds himself working for Fisk, doing an internship for his business projects by day, and catching bad guys at night. If Mr. Fisk wants a few specific criminals delivered to him personally, who is Peter to object? All his boss wants to do is talk, after all, and ever since this internship began, things were finally looking up for the Parkers. Then Peter hears the whispers in the underworld about the elusive and terrifying Kingpin, and somehow there are rumors that Spider-Man is on the Crime Lord's payroll. When he decides to use his own judgement and go against Mr. Fisk's wishes, Peter suddenly finds himself neck deep in mob activity with no means to get himself out. To make matters worse, now Iron Man has Peter in his sights.....

A Twisted Upheaval by silentsaebyeok (WIP) “I’m afraid, Harrison, you’ve awakened a sleeping giant.” Wilson said. “Tony Stark will do anything and everything to protect those he loves. And with your carelessness, it is inevitable that my criminal empire will be brought to its knees. This is your last opportunity, your last chance to get this right. He is on our radar now.” -- The Kingpin runs the criminal underworld. He is the mastermind and the puppeteer. Tony Stark has been trying to find the elusive gangster for years, but with no luck. But then Peter Parker is kidnapped by an agent of the Kingpin’s, revealing the cracks in an otherwise unshakeable organization. Unlikely alliances form and friendships are made as the criminal underworld begins to unravel.

Comrades by Nefhiriel Five times Thor defended his friends from people who should've been on their side, and one time his friends defended him.

9/11 by spockside Pepper Potts had only been working for Tony Stark six months when she found herself running away from the destruction of the World Trade Center.

Sherlock

The Least of All Possible Mistakes by rageprufrock (AU where the character of Greg is a woman named Lestrade. Utterly freaking brilliant!) If ever a people deserved tasering, it’s Holmeses. (Be sure to check out the sequel!)

A City on the Head of a Pin by Mad_Maudlin (Magical AU) Post-TGG fic. John, for once, sees something Sherlock doesn't.

Vendetta by avidbeader Sherlock must find out why Molly Hooper is one of a select group of people being targeted before the assassin can finish the job.

Define Vulnerabilty by TheGracefulBlueCat Shortly after Sherlock's return John realises something is very wrong with his friend. He, Greg and Mycroft try to help Sherlock as he falls deeper and deeper into the abyss called PTSD. But Sherlock is not ready to allow anyone in, but then the events of the current case cause him to hit bottom hard.

A Sharp, Dressed Man 'verse by sgam76 A grand series of stories set in an AU version of Sherlock wherein the characters aren’t all, exactly... “human”.

The Precipice by takethesky87 “Sherlock,” he says, but his voice is smothered by the waves. “Sherlock!” He shouts it this time, straining his ears for a reply. Nothing. Twice more he calls, his stomach clenching as each goes unanswered.

Lost for Words by awanderingbard Sherlock is assaulted by an unknown assailant while John is away at a medical conference, leaving him with a severe brain injury. While his intellect and personality are intact, he's lost the use of his right-side limbs and his ability to speak freely. John suddenly finds himself as the main source of support, and possibly a caregiver, to a flatmate who is struggling to do the things he loves most. And Sherlock Holmes has never been the best of patients.

The Holiday by Scriblit (Warnings for rape) A month following an horrific, sadistic attack during a case, Sherlock is still physically incapacitated and emotionally damaged. A holiday is suggested, but even stuck out in the middle of nowhere, he and John happen upon a case that could make Sherlock begin to feel like his old self again - or could kill him.

#Mcu fic recs #Sherlock fic recs

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pappydaddy · 5 years ago

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Ophelia (s.h.)

A/N: This is the first part (yay!) out of the I Wanna Be Yours series. If you notice, there is a theme to this: songs!! Pretty much this entire series is inspired by songs and music so I put together a playlist on Spotify (if you have Apple music, feel free to make a playlist on that but please inform me first!) and I might make one on youtube but idk.

Each part is going to have the songs I listened to while writing it, inspired it, or fit with the contents of the part. Please, if you’re going to listen to the playlist, don’t put it on shuffle while you read it because I worked really hard to get the order right!! I hope you guys enjoy this!! (Also enjoy my weird, wide range of music😂).

PLEASE TAKE A SECOND TO LOOK AT MY PINNED POST AND SIGN THE PETITION!!

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!OC(named)

Warnings: Angst, violence in some parts, arguments, body image issues, feeling belittled/feeling weak, SPOILERS!!(for all seasons).

Fandom: Stranger Things

I Wanna Be Yours Playlist (Spotify)

This parts songs:

This parts songs: I Wanna Hold Your Hand - The Beatles | Ophelia - Lumineers | Poison - Rita Ora | Less I Know The Better - Tame Impala | Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST FOR THIS SERIES (TRYING THEM OUT) PLEASE DM ME OR JUST ASK!!

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation

- not my gif -

Sitting in the driver's seat of her car, she listened to her brother ramble on and on about only two subjects: this new girlfriend named Suzie and Steve Harrington. Every time he brought the ramblings back to his fluffy-haired older friend, she found her mind wandering. Steve Harrington had proven himself to be much more different than she had first perceived. When she had moved to Hawkins, she had thought him to be an egotistical asshole who only cared about a title and he had proven her right through his actions until one day when he suddenly just wasn’t. Suddenly, Steve was the boy who was dating Nancy Wheeler and hanging around with Jonathan Byers. He no longer was ‘King Steve’ (the king title being passed to Billy Hargrove), he no longer had Tommy H. and Carol as his two annoying shadows. Ophelia wasn’t quite sure what happened between the three, but it must have been pretty big.

Despite the change in his ranking within the high school, she still didn’t fully trust him. His past actions went against everything she believed in. She believed in kindness and loyalty, not getting into fist-fights, bullying and ignoring people just because you perceive yourself as better than them. Maybe that’s why they never seemed to become friends for the majority of the time he went to high school.

“Ophelia,” Her brother’s call of her name snapped her from her thoughts of her history with her brother’s friend. “Are you even listening to me?” He asked her when she glanced at him quickly. She pressed on the brake of her car, getting ready to turn into the bustling mall parking lot.

“Yes, of course I’m listening!” She lied, looking back in front of her.

“Really? Then why haven’t you been answering me when I’ve asked how Steve’s been doing?” Dustin perked an eyebrow at his older sister. Sure, her and Steve Harrington were not friends through most of Steve’s high school career, but that had changed when Dustin had brought them together to help capture Dart, leading to Ophelia’s second go around with the Upside down. He had changed once again. With Nancy Wheeler dumping in at Tina’s Halloween party and then running off with Jonathan, she had seen Steve once again change his spots. After fighting the Upside Down alongside him, their friendship blossomed.

“Because, we’re about to see him so you can actually ask him for yourself, Dipwad.” She commented, trying to get Dustin off her case. All she needed was for him to know just how she felt about the dopey, hair-obsessed boy. Sure, their sudden and shocking friendship was not the last of Steve’s changing. Through their growing friendship, she had watched as he changed into the dorky, clumsy, parent of six. Sure, he lost his charm, but somehow, his lack of charm captured Ophelia’s heart. Maybe it was finally seeing the true Steve Harrington that made her heart skip a beat every time she so much as heard his name. Or maybe it was the way he developed a new charm that the girls of Hawkins have yet to fall for, but no matter how it happened, she definitely fell head over heels for him.

“I don’t want him to know I’m worried about him.” Dustin exclaimed, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head as he gripped his hat covered curls in frustration. Ophelia gave him a look as she pulled into a parking spot, turning the car off swiftly.

“He’s fine, Dusty,” She reassured him, pulling the keys from the ignition. “Why are you so worried about him anyway?” She posed the question. Sure, he had been a little bummed out since he hadn’t gotten into any schools he applied for, and he was a little upset about having to get a crappy part-time job, but it wasn’t anything to make Ophelia too concerned. Of course, it hurt her a little hearing him talking about himself the way he does, but what hurts her the most was the little game him and Robin were playing. Seeing him shamelessly (and horribly) flirting with girl after girl who ventured into Scoops Ahoy was poison to her heart. Each wink he gave the girls was like a needle injecting the next dose right into her valves, wanting to kill the beating organ.

“Between you and me, I think he’s lost his mojo a little, Leah,” Dustin whispered to her over the hood of her car as they climbed out. She gave him a look that told him that he was crazy, but he just challenged it with a knowing look. “He hasn’t had a date since Nancy left him and he doesn’t go to parties. He’s lost his confidence and, in turn, lost his mojo.” Dustin explained.

“He didn’t lose his mojo, Dustin. He’s changed, he’s grown and he’s trying to figure himself out and he hasn’t tried to get a date since Nancy left him.” She pointed out, trying to cease her brother’s worries. Sure, he’s flirted, but he hasn’t actually put himself out there. Ophelia knows the difference between flirting and actually wanting a relationship all too well. Her trusting nature had made her fall privy to people just wanting attention or sex, but on the flipside, her trusting nature had let her experience some of the most beautiful relationships - most of them which had turned sour towards the end, but none-the-less, were still a beautiful heart-break.

“I’m still going to worry about him.” Dustin remarked as they walked into the mall. Ophelia hummed, dropping her hand on top of his hat covered head, ruffling it slightly before falling to rest on the bookbag he wore on his back. She made him stop for a second as she dropped her keys in her purse, pulling her wallet out.

“Alright, you head over to Scoops, here’s some money,” She told Dustin, handing him a couple of bills. “Steve is going to try and give you free ice cream, tell him no and give him the money or put it in the tip jar. Trust me, it has been my entire summer.” She instructed him. Admittedly, her heart would soar like an eagle in the sky when Steve would push her hand full of money, insisting that it was on the house every time she wanted an ice cream, thinking that he might just actually feel the same way she did, her desperate heart filling her mind with hopes that would quickly cloud over with dark thunder clouds when he would send flirty statements over the counter at the next girl.

“Wait, you’re not coming with me?” Dustin furrowed his brows, taking the money.

“I will be there in a few, I’m heading over to work to check the schedule, and Brett said he needed to talk to me about something anyway.” She told him, stuffing her wallet back in her purse. Dustin narrowed his eyes at her at the name.

“Whose Brett?” He cocked his head to the side. He had heard the name before, most likely from one of Ophelia’s friends gushing about random guys while they were locked up in her room.

“He works with me, he’s also the captain of the hockey team - Melissa never shut up about him in grade nine,” She answered him, patting his shoulder. Dustin hummed at this, nodding. He looked at the bills she handed him, counting them to see how much she gave him. “I won’t be long, Brett usually writes my hours down for me anyway.” Told him before walking away from him and towards the escalators, heading towards Tower Records. Dustin didn’t pay the information any attention as he made his way towards Scoops.

His sneakers squeaked against the tiled floor as he looked around the mall in awe. He hadn’t seen it yet, only heard about it in Ophelia’s letters to him while he was at camp, but nothing she said could do the actual thing justice. The bright neon signs, the high-end stores. The sleek glass in the ceiling letting the sun provide natural light. The fountain, the hustle and bussle. It was great. Walking into the sailor themed ice cream parlor, he took in the blue and white striped wallpaper and the cheery sailor tone playing.

Steve was nowhere to be seen when he walked in, so he fell into line behind the two people standing at the counter. He waited patiently, gripping the now crumpled bills in his hands. He could see the girl behind the counter with short blonde hair what had the softest wave to it. Her blue eyes looked bored and unenthusiastic. “Have a nice day.” She drawled, her eyes vacant of joy as she handed the two people their ice cream cones.

“Thank you.” The girl smiled at the blonde before the pair of them left, happily licking their ice cream. Dustin smiled, knowing he was so close to seeing Steve again. The girl behind the counter pressed her hands into it, leaning on them as she turned her uninterested gaze on the beaming Dustin who showed off his toothless smile.

“Hi.” Dustin basically bounced in his spot from excitement.

“Hi.” She drawled, not nearly as excited as Dustin was. Silence passed between them as they looked at each other. Dustin’s smile never filtered and the blonde’s expression never changed. Dustin opened his mouth, gesturing towards himself awkwardly.

“I’m Dustin.” He introduced himself, thinking that Steve had told his co-worker all about him. He told almost anyone who would listen about how excited he was to get back home and see Steve so he expected nothing less from his older friend.

“I’m Robin.” The blonde replied, a forced smile on her lips. She really just wanted him to order his ice cream and move along so that maybe the day could go by faster.

“Pleasure to meet you, uh-” He told her politely. Much like she wanted him to hurry up, Dustin just wanted this to be done with so he could see his friend. “Is-is he here?” Dustin asked with a gesture of his hand, his bright eyes scanning over the space behind the counter.

“Is who here?” Robin asked, somewhat intrigued with this strange child. He was so happy and cheerful, his eyes bright. Just then, the swinging door leading to the backroom burst open making them snap their attention towards it. With a squeak of his sneaker, Steve was there, his eyes wide with excitement, just knowing that his friend was out in the parlor.

“Henderson,” He stepped away from the door, raising his arms in the air, a wide smile on his face at the sight of the curly haired teen. Dustin started to laugh, pointing towards the older boy as his smile grew, his eyes squinting from it. “Henderson! He’s back,” Steve jumped around as he rushed around the counter, trying to reach his best friend. “He’s back!” He basically yelled, pointing to Dustin. He glanced at Robin as if she was supposed to care. Robin clued into just who the strange child was at the last name. Ophelia’s little brother. Their cheery happiness was almost uncanny.

“I’m back! You got the job!” Dustin exclaimed.

“I got the job,” Steve matched Dustin’s enthusiasm, making a trumpet noise while pretending to play one. “Hey, oh!” He said as they performed an intricate handshake. Robin watched the two with raised eyebrows as they pretended to be fighting with lightsabers before Dustin pretended to stab Steve, prompting Steve to pretend his guts were falling out. They finished the handshake, looking at each other and laughing. Steve rested his arm on the cooler beside him, both of them sighing and coming down from their laughter.

“How many children are you friends with?” Robin asked, leaning forward on her hands more, eyeing Steve. He certainly wasn’t the same Steve she knew in high school. Steve looked at her, sighing before sniffling as his smile shrunk. Swiping his finger under his nose, he gestured towards Robin with his hand, giving Dustin a look.

“So, hey, uh,” Steve started, looking around the parlor, placing both his hands on his hips and kicking his foot out. The musical laughter of the girl he was almost positive he would see today was missing. “Where’s your sister? I thought she’d come in with you.” He asked, looking at Dustin. Dustin shrugged, looking around the parlor to take it all in.

“She said she’d be here soon, she had to stop by the store to check the schedule and apparently some guy wanted to talk to her about something there,” Dustin told him, once again not thinking much of it. “I think she said his name was like Brent or something, I don’t know - I wasn’t really listening.” Dustin admitted. Steve’s heart sunk slightly, floating slowly to the bottom of his feet like a paper falling to the floor.

“You mean Brett?” Robin spoke up, her eyebrow perked curiously. One thing about her not being in the popular crowd, she learned to observe and gather her information that way. She could clearly see how Steve felt about Ophelia. Whenever she came into the store on her break, his brown eyes would light up like a kid on Christmas. He would constantly bring her up. He could be scrubbing the staff toilet and find a way to bring Ophelia up. She was almost positive that Steve was head over heels for her.

“Yeah-yeah, that sounds right.” Dustin nodded, not paying much attention as he scanned over the ice cream tubs in the cooler.

“Oh man, that guy’s been hooked on her for like two years, I heard he took the job at Tower Records because he heard that she was going to be working there.” Robin informed them. Steve could have sworn he had died right then and there. He felt strangely possessive and protective over the eldest Henderson since she squared up against Billy and lasted pretty well until she ended up on the floor next to Steve, knocked out. The sight of her beat up face was the last thing Steve saw before he finally clocked out.

If he was being completely honest, he had developed a crush on her way before Nancy. He would always see her floating around the halls of the school with a bright smile, always saying hi to everyone. It was like she was friends with the entire school population. You’d be hard pressed to find someone who didn’t like Ophelia Henderson, but somehow, Steve hung out with the only two people who didn’t. They despised the girl. Thought she was too nice, too good even though everyone at school has seen her knocking shot after shot back at parties. When he had developed feelings for Nancy, he had thought his feelings for Ophelia were long gone, but seeing her taking no shit from Billy and fighting the Demodogs alongside him last year proved him semi-wrong, instead of a crush, he had a fierce need to protect her and keep her way from any guy who he deemed not right for her (which was pretty much all of them).

As if on cue, she floated into the parlor with a large smile on her face. “Hey everyone!” She cheered, walking up to her brother and Steve. Steve looked at her, his own smile stretching on his face. He could practically feel his face light up at the sight of her. She smiled brightly at him, rolling up onto the balls of her feet excitedly.

“Hey, Leah, Dustin said Brett wanted to talk to you, what’d he say?” Robin asked, curious to see what the development of the love triangle that was brewing. Only an idiot couldn’t see that Steve and Ophelia both liked each other and you would have to be living under a rock not to realize that Brett Morris also chased after the oblivious girl.

Ophelia smiled wider - if that was even possible - at the question, her eyes lightning up with excitement. Steve gazed at her expression, wishing he could have caused it. “He wants to hang out with me, as a date!” She exclaimed, walking between her brother and Steve to stand in front of the counter. Steve wanted to die at this news. Brett Morris was a loser - a scrawny, entitled loser who flew through girls like crazy. He had no place going on a date with someone as pure and sweet as Ophelia. He wouldn’t appreciate the beauty of her eyes, swirling with different colours and sparkling with light. Would he fully understand just how precious her laughter was?

“Really? That’s awesome.” Robin smiled at the excited girl.

“Yeah, I know! I have to go get a new outfit,” She gushed, whirling around to look at Dustin and Steve. “I’ll be back later to get him, do not hype him up on sugar, understand be Harrington?” She told him, not sticking around long enough to get an answer, instead rushing back out of the parlor. Steve pressed his lips into a fine line, his nose flared. Robin looked at him with an amused smile, ready for the chaos of a love triangle.

***

Ophelia sauntered back into Scoops, looking at the rush to see Robin manning the counter alone, Steve and her brother nowhere to be seen. “Hey, Robin, where did Steve take my brother?” She asked as Erica and her group of Erica clones walked out. Robin looked towards her, a stressed out look in her eyes.

“They’re in the back,” She told her, nudging her head towards the door as she walked towards it herself. Ophelia rushed around the counter, following Robin into the back room as she burst through the door. “All right, babysitting time is over, you need to get in there.” Robin told Steve walking into the room.

“Yeah, and it’s time for us to go Dustin.” Ophelia told her brother. The two girls stopped, looking at the two boys. Steve backed up to stand beside Dustin who was at the table, facing them. Their eyes were wide and scared, almost as if they were caught doing something they shouldn’t have been. Steve held a half-eaten banana in his hand, his cheeks pushed out with bits of banana in them, mid-chew. She looked at them oddly, knowing that nothing good could come of this.

“Hey! My board,” Robin exclaimed, whirling around to look at Steve and Dustin. Ophelia looked over at her to see her standing by a board on the wall that seemed to hold the Russian characters on it. “That was important data, Shitbirds!” Ophelia rolled her eyes at that. It wasn’t important data to her, in fact, maybe now that the board was erased, the game would stop and Ophelia could find the anecdote for the poison.

“I guarantee you, what we’re doing is way more important than your data.” Dustin told her, earning a glare from his sister. Steve nodded along, eating the rest of his banana and tossing the peel to the table in front of Dustin.

“Oh yeah, and how do you know these Russians are up to no good anyways?” She challenged, walking to stand in front of the table.

“What Russians?” Ophelia asked, suddenly very concerned. Steve and Dustin looked at each other with startled looks.

“Your brother intercepted a Russian transmission using some sort of radio and they plan to translate the transmission and become American Heroes.” Robin told her. Ophelia nodded slowly, taking the information in.

“How does she know about the Russians?” Dustin whispered to Steve.

“I don’t know.” Steve spoke through a mouth full of banana, shrugging his shoulders. His brown eyes were wide, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. Under other circumstances, Ophelia would think he looked cute, but not when they were trying to translate a Russian transmission.

“You told her about-”

“It wasn’t me!” Steve defended himself, cutting Dustin off.

“Hello! I can hear you, actually I can hear everything. You are both extremely loud,” Robin broke the news to them. “You think you have evil Russians plotting against our country, on tape, and you’re trying to translate it, but haven’t figured out a single word because you didn’t realize that Russian’s use a completely different alphabet than we do,” She rattled off. Dustin and Steve looked at each other in shock before looking back at Robin. “Is that about right?” She asked. Ophelia stepped up, standing beside her. If these two idiots were getting into something then so was she. They were pretty much a package deal at this point.

Robin lunged forward, trying to swipe the tape off the table, but Steve grabbed it before her. “Woah - Oh! What do you think you’re doing?” Steve asked her with a crazed look in his eyes. Ophelia raised her eyebrows at it.

“I wanna hear it!” Robin bounced slightly, showing more enthusiasm that she ever does when doing her job.

“I do too.” Ophelia told them, walking over and pulling out a chair from the table, sitting down in the spot in front of Steve. Steve shook his head at her.

“Why?” Both Dustin and Steve asked at the same time, mostly directed to Robin. They could see why Ophelia would want to, since she had been by Dustin’s side since Will’s disappearance.

“Cause maybe I can help,” Robin shrugged. “I am fluent in four languages, you know?” She disclosed to them proudly. Ophelia looked over at her, impressed.

“Russian?” Dustin asked, intrigued. Robin leaned closer to him.

“Ou-yay are-yay umb-day.” She told him. Steve and Dustin looked excited, making Ophelia shake her head, slapping her hand to her forehead.

“Oh-ho-ho!” Steve exclaimed.

“Holy shit!” Dustin smiled wide, thinking that she actually spoke Russian to them. Robin straightened up, her face blank while Ophelia was questioning her brother’s sanity.

“That was pig-latin, Digus,” She told him, making their smiles fall. Steve looked down at Dustin, slapping him with the banana peel that he had picked up for some reason, muttering ‘idiot’ under his breath, not wanting to admit that he also thought Robin was speaking Russian. Robin sat across the table from Ophelia. “But, I speak Spanish and French and Italian, and I’ve been in band for twelve years. My ears are little geniuses, trust me.” Robin argued her case.

“I also speak fluent French and a little latin and, don’t forget, I’ve saved you two before.” Ophelia reminded them, giving them a knowing look. Steve and Dustin looked at each other, unsure if they should let them help. Steve definitely didn’t want to let Ophelia help. It was too dangerous, it went against every fiber in his being telling him to protect her.

“Come on, it’s your turn to sling ice cream and my turn to translate - I don’t even want credit, I’m just bored!” Robin groaned to Steve, sliding the ice cream scoop across the table towards him. The bell from the counter dinged, the customer wanting service. Steve looked at her hand before looking at Dustin. The bell dinged again making him sigh and grab the scoop, placing the tape back on the table again. He glanced at Dustin again as the younger boy shrugged, not seeing how the two girls couldn’t help them since they have yet to figure out anything so far. Shifting his eyes to Robin, seeing her pleading with him, but what made him bend like a hot spoon was when he looked at Ophelia. Her big eyes looking at him hopefully but with just enough glare that dared him to try and say no to them.

“Fine, you two can help.” He grumbled, making his way out the door. Robin and Ophelia cheered, Robin scooping the tape recorder up. Steve huffed, defeated. He didn’t like the idea of her being involved with this. The past two years, he wasn’t able to stop her from getting involved with the Upside Down because she knew about it before him both times; this time, he knew about it before her so he had thought he could keep her out of it, but boy was he wrong.

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chayscribbles-archive · 5 years ago

Photo

ALLOY

Chapter 1: Crying Over Spilled Slushies

so here’s the thing. it’s the Lewis’ twins’ birthday today (March 24th) and i realized i haven’t posted ANY content for this wip since introducing it three months ago. i kept saying i was gonna write a second draft but i don’t think i want to do that anymore. i kinda like it how it is. so, you know what?

screw it, here’s the entire first chapter.

disclaimer: i first wrote this five years ago, and only edited it very late last night. i have never taken this wip seriously and neither should you.

i hope you enjoy the utter ridiculousness of it all.

[intro post]

words: 2878

People seem to have this magical, romanticized vision of twins. They have images of them being telepathically connected by their souls, possessing a deep empathy between them that no other relationship can have, like they’re one person in two separate bodies.

As a twin, however, I believe I am in the position to assure you that all that is one hundred and twelve percent certified bullshit. Detroit and I have enough trouble being two people in two separate bodies, never mind one.

One could barely tell that we even knew each other as we sat on opposite ends of the wooden bench in the hall right next to a door with the name “ADMINISTRATION HEAD OFFICE, D. Coleman” engraved on a plaque hung on it. At first glance, a person would see two people who just happened to look similar, with our wiry dark hair, round faces and flat noses, which we got from our Black mother, and our grey eyes, which we got from our White father, waiting glumly to be called inside the office.

Upon further inspection, they might ask themselves, “Are these two related?” because we look astoundingly alike for fraternal, different gender twins. This thought would then be followed by, “How on Earth did that boy get such a big bruise on his arm?” when they would notice Detroit rubbing the place he had fallen on top of my lip balm sphere. Finally, they would wonder, “Aren’t Heelys for kids?” at the sight of me idly rolling the wheels under my purple shoes as I nervously swung my legs back and forth, avoiding eye contact with my twin.

The door opened and D. Coleman peeked his head out, sternly barking, “You two, in here, now,” thus giving us the signal that our hour of doom had come.

Detroit glanced at me and mumbled, “I’m sorry about your slushy.”

“‘Sorry’ won’t bring it back,” I growled as we stood in unison and trudged into the office.

We silently took seats in the two chairs in front of D. Coleman’s desk. The man himself was giving us a glare of disappointment, like one a father who had just gotten a call from his kids’ high school principal would have. A look we weren’t too familiar with, but could recognize all the same.

The head of administration boomed, “Tabitha Lewis, and friend,” and proceeded to stare us down each in turn for the longest time. Enough time for me to go over the events that led up to this moment.

It began about ten minutes prior, when I was sitting at my own desk in the little office room at my summer job, doing various administrative tasks for Campbell University. It wasn’t a very fascinating job, to be honest. I would spend hours at a time behind a computer, sorting files, reviewing files, deleting files; basically, if there were files involved, I would have to do it.

Then why was I doing it? Because before going in for the interview, Detroit had said, “I’ll bet you wouldn’t last two minutes in a serious interview,” which I took as a personal challenge to knock my interviewer’s socks off, convincing her that I was “passionate” about administration and maintaining an “organized and accessible work environment”. It worked a little too well, because the woman offered me the job on the spot, and I was too carried away in my performance to do anything else but accept.

So, yeah. In short, I was at this job purely out of spite.

It didn’t take long for me to regret it, however. Not only was the job utterly dreary, but the guy I shared an office with wasn’t sociable at all and was no help making my day any more bearable.

Thank goodness, though, for my Heelys.

Ever since our other brother, Owen, who was five years older than us, had given me my first pair for my fourteenth birthday, I don’t remember a day in my life where I have walked normally from point A to point B. Sure, they’re banned for use pretty much everywhere that is within four walls, but I have bit of a memory problem when it comes to rules.

That day, my office mate, I think his name is Matt—or is it Mark? He sort of mumbled it on the first day we met and when I asked him to repeat it, he stared at his shoes as if the effort of making social contact was draining his life force—dragged himself over to my desk and wordlessly placed a memo on top of the papers I was consulting. I peered up at his glassy expression and asked, “And this is…?”

“Missing files,” he replied monotonously. “Paper copies only.”

I glanced at the list. It was mostly files from the Faculty of Science. “You want me to track these papers down, is that it?”

He nodded.

“Wow, a trip to the Faculty of Science. How exciting,” I exclaimed, hopping pff my chair. That wasn’t sarcastic at all, because Owen happened to be working in that Faculty.

Owen was a technician assisting a team building some sort of super scientific machine that I couldn’t quite fully understand, no matter how many times he tried to explain it to me. Ever since he had moved out a couple of months before and had taken this job full-time, seeing him was a luxury, and paying him a visit would give me a break from the monotony of Matt and the never-ending files.

I snatched up the memo in one hand and my half-finished blue slushy in the other and Heely’d on over into the hall. The Faculty of Science was at the complete other end of the campus, so walking would take a good ten minutes to get there. With my super shoes and a blatant disregard for common sense, however, I could cut that time in half.

That’s how I ended up speeding down a hallway, sipping on my sugar-filled drink through a fluorescent orange straw, when I turned a corner and crashed into my twin, who had his eyes glued to his Nintendo 3DS as he was walking.

My first thought as my plastic cup went flying out of my hands was, what is Detroit doing here? Unlike me, Detroit hadn’t had much luck in finding a summer job, meaning he spent his days locked up in his room, playing his video games. Detroit was studying computer programming in hopes of one day creating his very own video game. In my opinion, he spent more time playing them than actually learning how to create them, but then again, my opinion doesn’t really matter to him.

My second thought, which came out of my mouth, was, “Darn it, Dee, my slushy!” as his once white shirt was now spotted with blue.

“Aren’t you not allowed to use those indoors?” Detroit demanded, eyeing my Heelys.

“Once you’ve tasted the speed of a cheetah, anything less makes you feel like a sloth,” I wailed, surveying the blue puddle on the floor with dismay. “And once you’ve tasted a slushy and have it ripped right out of your hands—”

“You shouldn’t have been whizzing around the halls, Tabitha, so you were kind of asking for it,” Detroit shrugged.

“Asking for it!” I repeated angrily. “You shouldn’t have been playing on that thing while walking. You owe me a slushy. I will fight you for it.”

“Naw, buy yourself one.”

“Okay, then, you’re forcing me to do something I don’t wanna do. It’s time to take a hostage.” I snatched his device out of his hands, whirled around on my heels, and sped away. “Just kidding!” I called back. “I totally wanted to do that.”

“Hey,” Detroit protested, breaking into a run after me. “You’re gonna bump into someone else, and they won’t be as understanding.”

“‘Understanding’, says the one who doesn’t understand my inner anguish at having lost my slushy,” I yelled. I slid to a halt to give him the impression that I was giving in to his demands, only to take off again down another hallway right as he caught up.

“Tabitha, give it back. How old are you, twelve?”

“Twelve minutes older than you, slowpoke.”

I had to brake abruptly at the sound of high heels click-clacking towards me from around the corner. Detroit ran up to me and made a swipe at his 3DS with his left hand, but I swiftly flung my arm away from him. Unfortunately, since I was holding it with my right hand, which was on the same side as his left arm when we were facing each other, I had to use more force than I had originally intended to get my hand far enough from his reach, causing me to lean backwards and move my weight to my heels.

That is, where my wheels where.

My balance fled without as much as a warning “farewell”, and my hand. bracing for impact, released Detroit’s device. Unsurprisingly, he immediately pounced on the game, leaving me flailing. As I crashed to the floor, landing on my back—this is where my lip balm sphere came out of my pocket—he fell on top of me, his left arm smacking against the lip balm sphere, his right arm clutching his unscratched precious toy.

Before either of us could get up, though, a third person joined the party on the ground, bringing with her a bunch of loose papers that rained onto us, along with a warm liquid I recognized by its bold smell as black coffee.

The woman in the high heels.

After a moment of struggling and trying to avoid getting covered in paper cuts, I managed to crawl out of the mess and found myself staring at a pair of polished black shoes. Looking up, I saw with apprehension that High Heel Woman had been accompanied by D. Coleman, head of administration, my boss, who was scowling down at me.

“Tabitha Lewis,” he bellowed, “my office.”

As Detroit also emerged from the papers, D. Coleman narrowed his eyes at him and added, “You two.”

And that’s how we ended up in D. Coleman’s office like a pair of kids who had gotten into a playground spat.

I’m going to be honest, I don’t remember what the “D” in “D. Coleman” stands for either. After meeting him on my first day, I’ve interacted with him so few times and have never had to address him by his name that it just faded out of my memory.

“Tabitha Lewis, and friend,” he began.

Long pause.

“Who exactly are you?” he asked Detroit.

“That’s my twin,” I explained quickly.

The word “twin” is usually a magic word that triggers a positive reaction of mixed awe and curiosity among those who hear it, but D. Coleman must have an invisible resistance shield to magic because instead it seemed to strike up contempt in his heart. What he said was a disgruntled, “There’s a male version of you.”

“Not exactly,” Detroit began. “I’m not—”

Cutting him off, D. Coleman turned to me and dryly stated, “I’m not impressed by your lack of professionalism, Tabitha Lewis.”

The way he used my full name every time made me cringe. Especially since I still couldn’t seem to remember his.

“It was an accident,” I protested.

“Was it?” D. Coleman challenged. “It looked like you were playing a game of keep-away with your other you here. Not to mention using those wheelies or whatever they’re called after I made it very clear last time that I will not tolerate their use inside this building.” He turned his scowl towards Detroit. “And you should know better than to encourage her.”

I opened my mouth to argue in Detroit’s defense, but he went on.

“Listen,” D. Coleman said, “you do an excellent job with the files at your desk, but when you’re away from it…”

Before his could finish, the door burst open and a familiar voice inquired, “Who does an excellent job with files?”

Detroit and I whirled around, and I nearly yelled.

Our big brother Owen was peeking into the room, frowning. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

A grin spread across my face, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Detroit begin to greet him, but Owen gave us each a subtle eyebrow raise as an indication for us to keep quiet.

D. Coleman cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but I—”

“I just happened to hear you praising someone for being good with files,” Owen went on, “and we in the Faculty of Science have been having a heck of a lot of trouble keeping up with ours lately. Having an administration person nearby would help us a lot.” He eyed us as if he didn’t know us. “You bent on holding on to these two?”

Disoriented by this sudden turn of events, D. Coleman sputtered, “Well, no, not really, I wasn’t praising—”

“I’d be down to transfer to the Faculty of Science,” I piped up.

“I, uh, I know how computers work, too,” Detroit put in.

“Wanna come with me?” Owen suggested. “I’ll take your names and put in a good word for you.”

Without wasting a second, I jumped out of my seat. “Sure thing. Later, boss.”

Detroit also got up. To D. Coleman, he said, “Pleasure meeting you, Tabby’s boss,” before following us out of the room and leaving the bewildered man behind.

The moment the door was closed behind us, I turned to Owen and gushed, “Thanks, dude.”

“You totally saved our lives,” Detroit weighed in. “I don’t even work here and I was sure he was going to fire me.”

Instead of saying “you’re welcome” or expanding on the prospect of being transferred closer to his faculty, Owen sighed and mumbled, “You two are boneheads,” before heading back down the hall where he had come from.

“What?” Detroit and I exclaimed at the same time, scurrying after him.

“You’re both just really lucky I had to come down to Administration to fetch some files and happened to be passing by that office right on time to hear that you little devils were in trouble for—how did he say it? ‘A game of keep-away with your other you’.” Owen paused to frown at Detroit’s stained shirt and asked, “What happened to you, anyway?”

“He owes me a slushy,” I explained.

“She owes me a time machine,” Detroit specified, “so I can go back to the day you gave her those stupid Heelys and punch you both in the face.”

Without waiting for the full story, Owen said, “I can’t save your butts every time you two get in trouble, alright?” He looked from me to Detroit, and back to me again. “You know what the solution to that is?”

“Uh… we save our own butts?” I suggested.

“You keep your butts the heck out of trouble in the first place. You’re nineteen, for crying out loud.” He shook his head at us and continued walking. “Tabitha, you know you can’t lose this job if you want to be able to go back to school in September. Detroit is lucky he got a scholarship, but you…”

Ugh, not this. School was not something I wanted to talk about, not today—not ever, really—so I rolled up in front of him on my heels and blocked his way.

“Would you actually be able to get me to transfer to your department?” I asked. “We could see each other all the time and I can’t stand it here, with grumpy D. Coleman and Matt, my officemate who might actually be a zombie.” Before he could protest, I quickly added, “Come on, do you want me to walk out of that office one day having been transformed into a zombie?”

Detroit, also known as the Biggest Copycat and Hugest Nerd on Earth, chimed in with, “And I’ve always wanted to see your lab.”

“Please,” I implored, making Tabby Eyes™ at him.

Owen, as down-to-earth as he is, couldn’t resist the Tabby Eyes™. No one can resist the Tabby Eyes™. Except maybe Detroit, who has developed immunity over the years, and our mother, who can see right through my crap any time. Owen rolled his eyes with a smile and said, “Okay, fine. But you both have to promise me that you’ll behave in there. There’s a lot of equipment and important people you don’t want to mess with. And, Bit—” that’s his little nickname for me that no one else uses— “that means no Heelys. Got it?”

“Pinky promise,” Detroit and I said at the same time.

“Jinx,” I hissed.

As Owen led us towards the Faculty of Science, Detroit pulled me back and taunted in a whisper, “Are you sure you can keep such a big promise? Sounds like a heck of a lot of responsibility for you.”

“Pfft, I can handle it,” I assured him. “I pinky promised, didn’t I?”

And at the time that I said it, I completely meant it. Being transferred to Owen’s faculty would require the maximum amount of maturity on my part. And I’m proud to say that I was able to keep up my end of the bargain.

At least, for the next twenty-two minutes.

thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoyed!

(if there’s enough interest... i might just post the entire thing on wattpad ;)

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writeblr community #thequeerlibrary #wip alloy #alloy excerpt #whew!#every time i pull this wip out i give myself whiplash from the drastic change of tone #between this and my more recent wips #this is the most writing i've ever dropped at once i'm Nervous #it's super old too #@ everyone who is here for TIB stuff: i am So Sorry

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snizabelle · 5 years ago

Text

Okay. So.

I’ve been working on this fic about how Garrus’ parents first met and I’ve been poking away at it F O R E V E R and I’m REALLY trying to finally pull the trigger and finish it to the point where i can actually post it so I’m like....actively forcing myself to post a WIP. it’s still in super early stages so just...tell me what you think or don’t like oh my god just take it i don’t care anymore holy shit.

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

"Freeze!"

He pointed his gun at the figure crouched by the ledge in the ruins, overlooking the sandy valley below. It was a usual sight, the ancient ruins were large, old, and crawling with bounty hunters, vagrants, and thieves.

The suspect remained still, as they hadn't been moving in the first place.

I told an unmoving person to 'freeze', he thought. Spirits, I am a fool.

He tried again. "Stay where you are!"

That's even worse. I wish I was dead.

It wasn't even his first day on the job. He had already spent 6 months on this crappy planet and dealt with his fair share of riffraff. Nolvion may have been a dwarf planet in the back end of the terminus systems but you wouldn't think it with the amount of scum it collected. The small security outpost he was a part of was the only thing driving it back, though the real objective was considered classified.

He tried to keep his hands from shaking as his thoughts continued to scream through his head. "Look just get up-no stay where you, uh, raise your- (aaaAAAAUUUGH!!)

After what seemed like an eternity the suspect stirred. They were wearing thick, but shoddy, ill-fitting armor, head obscured by a large standard-issue helmet. Without turning, they raised a single finger, indicating whatever Castis was spouting could wait.

Wait....what?

"I - excuse me!! I am an OFFICER of Fort Audax! I DEMAND you turn around slowly with your hands in the air!!" he sputtered.

There was a brief pause. The suspect then stood a little straighter and sighed as if this whole thing was leaving them incredibly put out. Then they turned and-

There was a deafening sound and the floor flew up to meet Castis' head. He felt his jaw crack on the ground and tasted blood in his mouth. He could feel a bruise forming where the kick had landed on his mandible.

He scrambled to his feet, head pounding. The culprit stood there, seemingly baffled.

"Did you just ...!" Castis felt only anger now. "...assault me?!”

He heard a noise that sounded like an 'uh oh' noise muffled in the helmet.

Castis barred his teeth. You're goddamn right 'uh oh'. He may have been a terrible negotiator but he was pretty damn good at hand-to hand-combat.

Before the offender had a chance to do anything else, Castis had lunged forward and grabbed their wrist, twisting it, forcing their knees to buckle. Before they could react, he headbutted them on the bridge of their helmet, causing the cheap material to crack. As the assailant fell backward, Cas swept their right leg, hearing a distinct crack as they fell backwards, helmeted head thudding on the ground.

Panting, Castis steadied himself and surveyed the assailant. There was no movement. He walked carefully around the body and pushed their discarded rifle away with his foot.

"Vakarian! Come in Vakarian!"

A voice crackled onto the communicator on his omni-tool.

Cas answered the comm, still trying to catch his breath. "This is Vakarian."

"Status report."

"Sir,” he panted "Suspect attacked me, but I have rendered them unconscious. Sustained minor injuries. Suspect is unarmed and incapacitated."

There was a pause. The voice cracked again "Just shoot them."

Cas clenched his jaw. "I repeat: the suspect is unarmed and incapaci-"

"I heard what you said." There was a shuffling sound as though the person speaking was shifting, agitated. "Do it."

Cas swallowed hard, fingers clenching and unclenching. He chose his next words carefully. "Sir....It would be more...prudent... to bring in the suspect for questioning and proces-”

"DAMN YOU VAKARIAN!!" Cas jerked his head back so violently it smacked the stone wall lightly behind him, "DO WE HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS EVERY TIME?! DO WE HAVE TO SPEND HOURS WRITING PAPERWORK FOR EVERY TINY INFRACTION JUST SHOOT THE STUPID -"

He hung up without thinking. Damn. Gonna pay for that later.

He glanced over at the motionless figure.

Just shoot them.

***

Well, that didn't go well.

Marcella was in incredible pain. Hopefully, her leg wasn't broken but it certainly felt like it was.

Damn it all. Usually, one kick to the face made rent-a-cops drop like drunk elcor. Should've sized this one up better. You're getting real sloppy.

The crackle of the cop’s comm echoed over to her.

"Just shoot them."

Spirits..... If I had known it was my last day alive I would've....would've...

She struggled to think of something meaningful one could do in their last hours while the comm screeched. There was abrupt silence and she heard the scraping of boots as the officer turned around.

Shit. Shit! Not like this!

More silence. From inside the helmet, she peeked open her eyes for a second to see what he was doing. He was leaning in close. Inspecting her? There was a hunting knife on her hip. Maybe if he leaned in close enough she could get him in the neck. It was her only shot. She felt her helmet jostle and snapped her eyes shut again. Hot air rushed her face as her helmet was removed.

Just play dead. Don't move...!

She heard a thunk as her helmet was tossed aside. Her hand was laying under her back by her left side. She could feel the shape of the knife pressing against the back of her thigh. He had straightened up again. Her fingers inched toward the knife, touching the hilt.

I could just go for it... maybe he'll be so surprised he won't react? Or I'll just get shot in the face. Well, I'm dead either way.

There was another loud crackle as his comm buzzed. and almost made her jerk.

"Female. No markings." She heard the cop say. "Taking into custody. Will report in 0500."

What...?

She relaxed her fingers, retreating from the hilt.

Interesting.

***

Faldos can flay me for all I care.

Castis holstered his gun and submitted his report verbally in his comm. "Female. No Markings-"

Do things right or not at all.

He walked over to his bag, still laying where he set it by an old pillar. He shuffled through it for a bit, though as usual, it was perfectly organized. He retrieved his handcuffs and turned.

The suspect already had one leg up on the ledge and was in the process of climbing over.

"Hey-! You- F-FREEZE!!" He drooped the cuffs, awkwardly grabbed for his holstered gun and pointed it at her back.

She froze accordingly. "Uggggh come ON!"

Slowly, she turned, hands begrudgingly in the air. Her eyes were a piercing blue. She had no clan markings but had a slight scarring on her left mandible. She blinked at him, seizing him up. He felt a strange pulling in his chest.

“Well?” she said expectantly. She sounded slightly amused.

"S...state your name!" He could feel his face grow hot in embarrassment.

She smirked and said nothing.

Castis blinked nervously but didn't relent. 'You are trespassing. You are not authorized to be here. Show me identification now or I will take you into custody."

She shrugged her shoulders, the universal sign of indifference.

'Are you aware you attacked an officer of Fort Audax?

"Well yeah,' She shrugged again. 'I figured the uniform wasn't for show.”

Castis felt himself burn, "Excuse me?!"

She smirked again, seemingly excited she was able to get under his skin.

He exploded, "GET ON THE GROUND NOW!!"

Her smile faded. 'Well,... I'll try." She visibly struggled to kneel on her left leg, glaring at him all the while.

Castis felt a brief bout of shame wash over him.

"Hey, uh...I'm sorry if I was too rough. it's okay I have medi-gel if you need it.”

She continued to glare "I’m fine."

She tried to lean on one leg and winced.

"No, you're not. You're hurt."

Castis stepped forward.

'Really? You kick my ass then offer to clean me up?" The suspect's eyes flashed. "Go ahead and give me two pops in the back of my head when i kneel down, make it quick okay?"

Castis slowly lowered his gun to the ground. He took a few more steps forward and raised his hands. "I promise I'm not gonna hurt you."

The perp raised her eyebrow plates but said nothing.

"Do you...would you mind if I...?" Cas took a few more cautious steps forward.

She paused for a second then extended her leg almost dramatically.

'By all means, admire your handiwork."

He shuffled close to her and knelt by her outstretched leg. Dispensing some medi-gel, he began to apply a numbing agent to her upper thigh. He was uncomfortably close.

Look forward, look forward look forward, don't be weird don't be weird -

"Enjoying yourself?"

His head snapped up to meet her gaze.

"NO!"

She was smirking again.

His face burned as he hastily rubbed the rest of the medi-gel on her thigh as quickly as possible. He staggered to his feet rubbing the excess off his hands.

"Alright, how does it feel now?"

The suspect leaned on her leg gently, then gave a few light stomps.

"Hrm, not bad." She took a few light steps toward him.

"Do you make a habit of sensually patching up every girl you brutalize?"

Castis felt his face burn even hotter. "Y-you..attacked me first!"

She shrugged, "Eh details...'

Details?!

"Either way, since you refuse to provide any form of identification - and you ATTACKED me,” Castis glared, “ - I'm going to have to take you in."

There was a long pause.

She sighed then extended her wrists.

Castis blinked. "Really?"

"It's only fair, you patched me up." She looked off in the distance as though not wishing to engage in the situation.

"Well....good!” Cas huffed a small sigh of relief, finally things are gonna stop being needlessly difficult. He approached her warily.

"Now please extend your-"

She's already doing that you WORTHLESS-

"YEP just like that, uh, lemmie just-"

He lifted his notably empty hands.

Cuffs. YOU NEED CUFFS AAAAA-

"Just.....one...second." Cas mumbled awkwardly

The suspect blinked lazily at him, seemingly bored.

Castic did an awkward run by the pillar where the cuffs lay absentmindedly. He grabbed them and whirled around.

"Okay! Now let me just-"

She was gone.

"HEY!!"

#mass effect #castis vakarian #fic #garrus vakarian #ill finish this stupid idea if it kills me i stg

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hallowed-be-thy-username · 5 years ago

Text

If You’re Good At Something, Never Do It For Free Chapter One: In Need Of Some Assistance

I figured I’d post the first chapter of my WIP on here! TDK Joker x Original Female Character. It is currently at 17 out of ? (Where it stops, nobody knows!) chapters on AO3!

**Warnings for full fic include: Graphic violence, explicit language, blood and gore, smut smut smut, graphic depiction of corpses, murder, aaaand recreational drug use!**

Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! I might eventually put all of the chapters up on here or check it out on AO3!

Meet Nora Hawthorne. She spent her time like most Gotham residents. Go to work, go home, keep up with the news. That changed one night. Her life becomes even more interesting after Gotham's own Clown Prince of Crime comes crashing in with a life-threatening injury, leaving her questioning her morals as well as her romantic desires

Jesus, it’s been a long day. A woman with brunette hair above her shoulders, wearing a pair of loose teal green scrubs stands from her desk chair to twist her torso until a satisfying *crack* is heard, followed by a deep sigh. The noise of her tired spine popping into alignment is heard only by her as she stands alone in the treatment area of the now empty veterinary hospital. The brick structure sits between an apartment building and a law firm in West Harlow, the Gotham City neighborhood west of downtown, adjacent to The Narrows. This location makes Dr. Nora Hawthorne one busy veterinarian. On a daily basis she tends to anything from impatient businessmen toting in their wives’ teacup Yorkies with a little cough to large Rottweilers with deep neck wounds. To say she’s gained a variety of experience is an understatement.

She doesn’t own the place, though. Two years out of school and 30 years old means she has some hefty bills to pay. Dr. Moore owns the clinic. Taking this job meant long hours and a busy schedule with not much sympathy from David Moore. “Your generation expects everything handed to them, don’t you? I had to work harder than this to get where I am,” as he just loved to remind her of every time she requested time off for a little… what is it called again? Oh right, work-life balance. Sure, Moore. Enjoy your mini mansion in Uptown since it seems you have no problem balancing the weight of your business on a pair of younger shoulders. Even if it means those shoulders are constantly wound up in to deep knots that no amount of morning yoga can seem to unravel. But she can’t quit. Those bills to pay threaten to pile higher and she’s afraid of heights. Plus, job security in Gotham is hard to come by. Especially since the Joker escaped from Arkham two months ago.

That was in May. Everyone in the city has been on edge since then and the Summer heat is not helping. The days go by but not a peep has been heard in regard to the Clown Prince of Crime’s whereabouts. Same for the Batman. The eerie silence has only been making it worse. The traffic congesting the city streets increases in intensity every evening as Gotham’s citizens rush home in an effort to avoid getting caught up in whatever devastating scheme the Joker has been cooking up during his involuntary vacation. But the threat never comes, leaving the city’s inhabitants to nervously watch and wait. Maybe it won’t come. Maybe he left Gotham for good. Left to terrorize a new city. Wishful thinking is what gets us all through the day. But the tension still weighs on everyone’s nerves, making Nora’s day that much harder when she gets an earful from her clients on a regular basis for things that are out of her control. “Sir, you don’t need to speak to me like that. I did not give your cat a urinary tract infection,” is not something she thought she’d ever find herself saying.

It is what it is. All she can do is keep her head on her shoulders and do her job, care for Gotham’s only truly innocent citizens. Animals don’t dwell in the past, they only live in the present. In that regard, they’re smarter than the majority of Gotham’s inhabitants. She made it her job to advocate for their health and well-being, since they can’t do it themselves. Nora was staying late to finish medical records for the sea of patients the clinic took in that day and she wanted it all recorded while it was fresh in her brain. If you don’t write it down, it didn’t happen. She told her assistant, “You go on home, I’ll just be here finishing notes. Get some rest.” The heavy set women expressed her concern for Dr. Hawthorne being here by herself but the job has gotten her used to being out well after dark. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the door locked,” was the response her assistant, Jen, would always get in return. She didn’t want to argue so she would leave Nora to her work within the off-white walls of the dimly lit hospital in silence.

Nora stretched once more and shifted a glance to the clock on the wall. 9:58pm. Had it been fourteen hours already? Her stomach responded with a growl as if to answer in the affirmative. The hard-working staff finished cleaning the treatment room a couple of hours ago leaving the two metal tables in the center of the room shiny and ready for whatever tomorrow brings. The room wasn’t very large but the open design left ample room for patient care. The treatment tables against the walls opposite from each other extended toward the center of the room, leaving a four foot space between them, and had ceiling-mounted exam lights above them. Along the walls there were shelves of neatly organized equipment and tools. Essentials. White medical tape, boxes of gloves, bandage scissors, IV catheters in a variety of sizes, thermometers, bottles of isopropyl alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, jars with gauze soaked in chlorhexidine scrub, sterile lubricant, needles and syringes, and bandage material being among the most heavily utilized items. Along the back wall is a bank of cages and kennels for patients spending the day in the clinic (any patients in need of continued care were transferred to a nearby twenty four-hour hospital) flanked by drawers full of IV fluids and sterilized tools. The back right corner of the room opened into a short hallway leading to the area that housed a small surgical suite, devoid of any light this time of night, where a cart with monitors and a gas anesthesia circuit sat in wait for its next use. Just beyond this suite is a small door marked “Radiology” indicating the digital X-ray equipment kept inside, keeping radiation exposure to the rest of the place at a minimum. Nora’s desk is in the back left corner of the treatment room, a shelf full of medical reference books sitting above her head. Also that “World’s Greatest Dog-tor” certificate Jen gave her last Spring. Nora didn’t have the heart to tell her she found it kind of insulting.

With the last medical record completed, details of the day’s procedures noted in succinct but thorough language, it was time for the doctor to make her way back to her nearby apartment for some much needed rest. She left her seldom-worn long white lab coat on the back of her chair where it always was and removed the black stethoscope from around her neck to place it on her desk. Walking toward the red-lit exit sign above the side door leading to the alley, she flicked the switch to turn the remaining lights off. She usually had a small can of pepper spray readied in her hand when she left alone at a late hour. But Nora had been practically beaten into the ground with exhaustion at this point and her thoughts were instead centered around a hot shower and her soft bed.

She opened the door to receive a gust of warm night air to her face, intensifying her sleepy feelings. Letting out a rather large yawn, she turned to put her keys in the door to lock it. As she removed the key from the lock, she felt a strange sensation on the back her neck. Like a crawling of her skin, a feeling of dread. Before she could turn around in search of the source of her body’s sudden danger signal, a purple glove slammed onto the door next to her head. Her eyes snapped to the glove and she froze, unable to breathe, while her heart jumped into her throat.

“Evening, doc,” a nasally, raspy voice said. She slowly turned her head to find herself face to face with the Joker himself, leaning with his gloved hand against the door. His makeup was smudged wildly and he was wearing his signature purple overcoat and suit. All color drained from Nora’s face as her breathing quickened to a practically panting rate, the idea of sleep drowned in a surge of adrenaline. Before she could make a sound his other gloved hand clapped over her mouth, a knife tucked between his thumb and index finger, the blade laying flat across the top of his hand.

“Ahh tah tah, no screamin’, doc. Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors, would we?” he said, his dark eyes staring straight into hers. Nora struggled to regain her composure, it did her no good to panic. She knew begging and crying would get her nowhere with the Joker. Better to have as clear a head as possible. She took a sharp inhale through her nose. The wave of gasoline and extinguished matches that met her nostrils was overwhelming. It almost made her dizzy. But she slowly let the breath back out through her nose. Their gaze into each other’s eyes, hers wide with fear, his black and hooded, had not been broken since his zeroed in on hers. It was like magnets were keeping her eyes on his, no matter how hard she tried to look away, she couldn’t do it.

“Now. I’m going to move my hand and youuu are not gonna scream. Got it?” his voice getting slightly higher as he spoke. Without thinking Nora nodded slowly, still not breaking their stare, as he slid his hand from over her mouth.

She allowed herself to blink. Then, trying not to let her voice crack, she quietly said, “H-How did you know I’m a doctor?” Stupid stupid stupid. You are an idiot Nora Hawthorne.

Joker let out a breathy giggle and Nora’s gaze then fixated on his mouth. His scars. They were even more striking up close. Nora was no stranger to stitching up wounds and these must have been awful. She didn’t want him to see her eyeing them so she shifted her eyes back up to his.

“Who else would be here this la-te, hm?” Nora couldn’t do anything but open her mouth and shake her head, her eyebrows knitted together with anxiety.

Still bracing himself against the building on his left hand planted on top of the door he said, “Enough with the formalities doc. I am in need for some, uh, assistance, you see.” It was then that the doctor noticed the Joker’s breathing. It was shallow and rather fast. Like he couldn’t catch his breath but was trying to. Oh shit, what does he mean by that. She wasn’t sure how she didn’t notice his labored breathing until now. She supposed being paralyzed with fear would do that to a person. Nora watched as the Joker then lifted the flap of his coat from his right side, revealing a two inch wide piece of glass sticking out from between his ribs. There was blood trailing from it, down his green vest. She gasped. He dropped the fabric and grabbed her by the chin, jerking her head so her eyes met his yet again.

“So, my little doctor, youuu are going to provide said assistance-ah,” he growled. Nora’s eyes grew even wider.

“Wait wait, what? No no I’m a veterinarian, I’m not a human doctor,” she said in a panicked voice. Yeah, nice one, Hawthorne.

“I can read, doc,” the Joker said, gesturing to the painted door that read Gotham City Veterinary Urgent Care. “I know you’ve got what I need in that pretty little head of yours.” He tried to stifle a gasping sound from his throat as he attempted to inhale before speaking again. “I am an animal after all aren’t I, hm?” he said, leaning his head forward and bouncing his eyebrows suggestively. Nora was stunned.

“Why me? Why did you come here for help?”

“Can’t quite go to the emergency room, can I doc? Besides, you take care of little doggies and kitties all day. Just think of meee as a lost little, uh, puppy,” he said, shifting his weight to put his knife-wielding right hand against the door on the other side of her head so Nora was trapped beneath him, their noses inches apart.

Fear bubbled its way up into her head again. She couldn’t think straight. How did Gotham’s most notorious criminal end up here, in front of her, with a life-threatening injury? It didn’t matter how, it only mattered that now it was happening. But, how could she justify helping the Joker? He caused so much death and destruction to this city, her city. She could do her best to fight, she might stand a chance against him in this weakened state. But he was the Joker. He’d probably still be able to slit her throat faster than she could get out from under him. He was the Joker but he also was a person. A person in what she was sure was a significant amount of pain. Another gasping sound made its way out of Joker’s mouth.

“Haven’t got all night, doc.”

Nora’s expression softened. What the fuck am I getting myself into?

“Ok,” she said, lifting her keys and turning to unlock the door.

#joker fanfiction #tdk joker #heath ledger joker #joker x oc #fanfiction

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carpisuns · 3 years ago

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I didn’t have advice at the time I posted this but im actually feeling a lot better now so here are some tips that might help!

Tips for burnout in general:

Take a nap. Seriously. Treat yourself like a kindergartener. Have a little snack and tuck yourself in and take a nap.

Better yet, go to bed a few hours earlier than usual. Do you usually stay up till 3 am on Friday nights? Go to bed at 10 and get an actual good night’s sleep. It honestly does wonders. Sleep deprivation makes everything so much harder to handle and rest is what your burned-out brain craves more than anything else right now! If you do not rest your body will eventually force you to anyway and you’ll crash. Lights out binch!!

If you are able, take a day off. Call in sick to work. Skip classes for one day. Give yourself one long weekend dedicated solely to rest and relaxation. Do not do any homework. Do not check your work email. Do not do anything that stresses you out! If you’re at the point where you are so physically and mentally exhausted that you can’t even enjoy the little free time you have, rest is an absolutely necessity. You can’t do quality work while you are that burned out, and there is almost nothing that can’t wait for one day. You need this time to recover so that you can come back to your tasks more refreshed and when you do, chances are they will feel a little less overwhelming.

If burnout is an ongoing problem for you, take a high-level look at what is on your plate and what you can offload. Is the number of credits you’re taking this semester actually too much? Do you need to discuss your workload with your boss? Or maybe seek a new position at a place where you can have a better work/life balance? Are there people in your life who can help you carry the load?

Look for small ways to make your life easier. For example: Grocery shopping is exhausting to me, especially after a long week of work. But I found out that my local grocery store has free grocery pickup, and it saves me so much time and stress and energy! I also hate taking out the trash bc I live on the third floor of my building and the dumpster is a little bit of a walk. So now when I leave for work I take the trash down with me, toss it in the trunk of my car, and stop to dump it on my way out. Maybe these things seem really lazy but they help me complete necessary tasks in a less burdensome way so I don’t care!

Tips for creative burnout specifically:

Try some low-pressure creative exercises. If you’re an artist, give yourself time to do some silly pen doodles or freestyle sketching to loosen up. If you’re a writer, try doing some short, 100-word drabbles. Don’t worry if it’s less than your best work. Let it be ugly! The point is to just release some pent-up creative energy and hopefully have some fun with it.

If your time is limited or you don’t have the energy to give much, working in short sprints could help. Set a timer for however long you want and try to stay focused on one creative task until it goes off.

If it helps, rotate between multiple projects so when you get bored or frustrated with one you can move on to something else and come back to it later

Conversely, it might be better to choose one project you would really like to finish and focus on that until you’re done. i often get like decision fatigue from having so many wips to choose from and if I haven’t actually finished something in a while I feel even more frustrated/discouraged so sometimes (depending on my current situation) it’s really nice to just power through something and be done and feel that sense of release and accomplishment

Break bigger project into small, manageable pieces. Like, today I will do some rough thumbnails of this comic idea and the next day I’ll draw the first two panels. Or, today I’m gonna do an idea dump for this fic and the next day I’ll organize it into a timeline before I start actually writing.

Skip the stuff that feels like a burden and either come back to it or don’t do it at all. If you hate lining your art, then don’t. Just color your sketches. Leave the anatomy a little wonky if you have to. If you’re stuck on a scene you’re writing just put what’s supposed to happen and come back to it—“they have a long epic battle and then kiss with the passion of a thousand fiery suns” or whatever. If prose sounds like too much work and u just wanna write dialogue, try writing a chat fic or a play script with simple stage directions! If a wip no longer appeals to you, save it for later or just scrap it. The purpose of hobby creation is enjoyment. So do the things you like and don’t feel like you have to force yourself to do things you don’t enjoy.

Shake it up! Try switching creative gears. If you’re both a writer and an artist but have been focusing on one over the other, shift to the other one for a little while. Even if you’re only one and not the other, trying the other one out could end up being really fun and refreshing. Or try something totally new! Origami, embroidery, blackout poetry, calligraphy, songwriting, collages made from magazine cutouts, fancy finger food, little fairy houses for your yard. Whatever! I think a creative mind always itches to create somehow and maybe that itch can be satisfied in a lot of ways you hadn’t considered before

If the burnout is super bad, sometimes the most helpful thing is not just not create at all, even if you want to. Sometimes your brain need a hard reset before it can get back in creative mode, so give yourself a break and instead of stressing about not being creatively productive, just lean into that. Catch up on some reading, watch some TV, whatever. And when you’re ready you can come back to whatever you were working on

Obviously none of these things are like a surefire cure for the problem and it’s not a one size fits all kind of thing—these are just some things I have personally found helpful. I hope this helps you too and that you feel better soon! 💜

when u are a creator and you Love creating and you get the Itch To Make Stuff and you just Need to create to stay sane and feel creatively fulfilled BUT you are so burned out by other concerns/responsibilities that you don’t have the time or energy (or both) to create and you still have a million ideas but it’s hard to find the motivation to work on anything or even be excited about it bc you’re just so Tired and your brain is Dead and you feel like the creative equivalent of a shredded tire on the side of the highway

#mine

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paintedrecs · 8 years ago

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You're such a good author!! What are you thinking when you're writing? And what's your editing process? If you don't mind me asking!!

Ah, thank you!! I’m very often thinking “wow I am not a good author” while I’m writing, so it’s always nice to hear positive responses once the finished work is out there. :)

This ended up (unsurprisingly) long, so be aware there’s gonna be a Read More.

My editing process is very, very nitpicky. To begin with, I edit a LOT as I write, so those two questions share some answers.

I considered posting a photo of a page I handwrote this week, but I don’t want to subject you to that. Suffice it to say that if I’m writing in pen, there’s a lot of scribbling and paragraphs that branch off into the margins and spiral around the edges of the page as I rework sentences and expand sections. Before I switched to writing almost exclusively on my computer, I used to use a mechanical pencil to make all that a little less messy. Still, though. Eraser shavings. Everywhere.

It seems like most of fandom swears by writing sprints, and I can’t do it. I either write in long, tireless stretches where I forget to move for hours, or I spend an hour writing a sentence, frowning thoughtfully at it, tweaking a few words, tilting my head to the side, changing it back, muttering, “No I don’t like that,” and shifting the structure until it fits with the rest of the story.

I spend a lot of time reading my own writing out loud, which is part of why I’m not usually that productive when I try to write in public. (Although once I’m in the zone, I’ll write on my phone as I walk to the grocery store, take the bus to work, etc. I probably still mutter to myself.) At this point, my poor neighbor has probably heard the entirety of all my fics in scattered bursts. I’ll read a single paragraph to myself six times in a row to make sure the pacing sounds right and the dialogue feels natural.

I’m a start-to-finish writer: if I write scenes out of order, they won’t work in the final version. With tide pulls, I wrote all this emotional, ultra angsty dialogue that I was expecting to stick into one of their final scenes, but by the time I got there, it didn’t fit. I initially tried to squeeze stuff around it to keep those lines intact, but it’s never a good idea to force your characters into something that they don’t naturally want to do over the course of the story. It rings false, and I think readers can generally tell.

That’s not to say that I don’t plan ahead or map out certain arcs or important scenes. I just don’t write them in their full form until I’ve reached that point. PDIW was much, much too long to plunge through without an outline; if I hadn’t marked down and organized all the emotional points I wanted to hit, I would’ve lost control over the scope of it. (Which is ridiculous to say when it’s over 200k, but it had the most detailed outline I’ve ever made for one of my stories.)

Still, though, pieces moved around a lot. I’d push a scene into a later chapter when it turned out that Derek and Stiles needed to talk to each other more before getting to that exchange. Or a conversation that was meant to be between Derek and Laura ended up being between him and Cora instead, catching both of us by surprise. Laura was always Derek’s best friend and confidante, but he turned out to have a lot more in common with his younger sister than he’d ever realized. Of course I had to let that play out.

There are a few sentences I desperately wanted to get into the final version, but they’re clumped at the bottom of my notes doc, along with all the other unused or deleted material. Sometimes you think a phrase sounds really, really pretty, but if your character doesn’t want to say it, that’s all there is to it.

I don’t have a beta for my shorter fics, because by the time I’m done writing, I’ve probably spent more time editing than actually putting new words down on the page. (Unless they’re tumblr fics or notfics, in which case please forgive the fact that they’re wobbly; they’re just me having fun!) That doesn’t make the final product perfect by any means, but I don’t have a regular beta set up to read over my fics for me, and I don’t like bugging people unless it’s necessary.

For my longest fics, I tried to rope in at least 2-3 betas. It seems like most people in fandom just share their fic’s Google Drive link, sometimes while it’s still a WIP, and have their betas all work in the same doc. It may be annoying that I don’t do that…but I want to get separate, unbiased responses. If multiple people tell me to fix the same thing, it definitely needs more work. With that said, I’ve found that there actually doesn’t tend to be all that much overlap, because betas have different styles in much the same way that writers do.

The fandom dream (or any writer’s dream) is to have a set, longterm writer-beta relationship, because it really does involve a lot of trust and communication. One of my PDIW betas was the wonderful @bleep0bleep , who prodded tirelessly at all my pronouns and long paragraphs but also took the time to learn my style and where I most need/want help. (She also laughed at me when I had conversations with myself in the comments while figuring out how to fix passages that she’d told me weren’t working.) She and other betas found gaps that you simply can’t see for yourself after spending that long immersed in your own story. I ended up writing a few extra scenes and expanding some other areas, and the final version is absolutely better as a result.

If this was going to be a published work, I would’ve ideally set it aside for several months so I could come back to it with fresh eyes. My posting schedule for PDIW was already months behind what I’d originally planned, and I was super eager to share it, so I rushed right into the next stage. I also very much wanted to start posting on April 1, since that was Stiles’s birthday in the fic.

So I finished writing the final chapter, gave myself about a day to celebrate, then went right back to the first chapter and started editing. My betas got those pretty-much-completed chapters, and I took their edits and suggestions and transferred them back into my central doc. Then I started drafting the fic on AO3, editing each chapter one final time as I was posting.

It was…tiring. I wrote the fic in about 7 months and edited the entire thing twice…almost three times?…in a little over a month. I’m going to give myself more leeway if I ever do that again. Thank goodness for my speed-reading betas, though.

I don’t know if any of that was the kind of information you were interested in hearing. Welcome to my writing world, I guess? It’s a little messy, but it has pretty intricate organization if you know what to look for.

As for what I’m thinking as I’m writing…that’s a complicated answer. Is it weird to say that I’m kind of not thinking anything? Writing is a craft, but it’s also a strangely instinctive part of myself that I tap into when it’s going well. I absolutely cannot write if I’m busy thinking about where a scene should go or whether anyone’s going to like reading it or if I even remember how to string words together. That’s the kind of thing that makes me slam right up against writer’s block. Or, if I do manage to get words down, they’re clunky and I’m never really satisfied with them.

When I sit down to write, I do my best to clear my mind out. I tap into my characters. If I’m writing from Derek’s POV, I’m seeing him - all his gestures, mannerisms, the actions he’s taking in a scene - but it’s more important to me that I’m feeling what he’s feeling. The same goes for Stiles, or anyone else whose eyes I’m trying to see through. I guess I’m an emotional writer? I want to feel things as I’m writing, and if I did it right, my readers should feel things, too. It doesn’t always work, but when it does, it’s incredibly rewarding.

Reading has always been an escape for me. When I’m wrapped up in a book, I lose touch with the world around me and slide into the pages, living alongside the characters. Writing’s the same way. It’s an indescribable, addictive feeling.

When I finished PDIW, it almost felt like I’d lost a part of myself, because I was letting go of something I’d been living with and dreaming about and spending so much time getting to know.

I’m glad I got to share it, though. It’s a wrenching, terrifying process, but you all made it worthwhile. The final step of a story is its readers. Thank you for being amazing ones, and for letting me share my words with you.

#pdiw #about my fics #long post #fic talk #Anonymous

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sanguinarysanguinity · 8 years ago

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New ask game for writers: 1, 4, 5, 13, 20, 29, 31, 32, 50, 52

1. Favorite place to write.

If it’s warm enough, in the backyard. If it’s not warm enough, a seat near a window is nice; someplace with some natural daylight and green outside.

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals?

Not really. I do most of my writing early in the day, because I get stupider as the day goes on, but other than fiercely defending those morning hours as MY WRITING TIME GROWL HISS SPIT, there’s nothing much. I just open the file, review what I’ve already written, and write.

13. How do you deal with writers block?

Knock wood, but I’m not sure I’ve ever had that.

I have periods when I can’t manage new words on a story, sure, but that’s usually because I haven’t yet worked out what the story needs next. I can feel that something about the outline is wrong, or it becomes obvious that a character is doing stuff only because the plot needs them to, or wev: whatever the exact problem, new words won’t happen until I’ve thought the issue through. As frustrating as I might find the process (and oh, I do!!), it seldom takes more than a week or two.

However, if it does last longer than a couple of weeks, I often put the story on a back burner and switch to working on something else. I usually have three to six stories I’m semi-actively working on at any time, so if one is stuck beyond my ability to be patient with it -- or beyond my faith that I am capable of solving the problem -- then I switch to another.

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

THE BEST BEE FIC ON MARS, chapter 8:

The bees took it upon themselves to organize the details of their mission: after all, swarm intelligence is far greater than that of any single, paltry mind. Do not doubt the watsonia’s faith in their Empress: the superiority of swarm intelligence is simply a truth, independent of however clever, esteemed, loyal, valiant, and loving a single mind might be. A swarm of Joan Watsons, should the world be so blessed, would be a force of nature unlike the planet had ever seen, capable of saving or leveling the biosphere in an eyeblink: this the watsonia knew to the very depths of their loyal, venomous, aculeatean souls. Unfortunately, despite her many blessings, their beloved Empress was not a swarm but a single individual, with all the limitations that implied. Joan Watson’s individuality was her only fault, but happily her loyal watsonia were honoured by the privilege of supplementing its lack.

29. Who do you write for?

Myself and a reader who I imagine might enjoy the story.

Myself, because let’s face facts, I’m gonna spend far more time with a given story than most of my readers will, and my masochism only cuts so deep. Also, if I like the story, then I am guaranteed at least one person who does. Hooray!

And a specific imaginary reader, because writing is an act of communication, and there are sooooo many decisions that need to be made along those lines. But it really needs to be a specific imaginary reader (or suite of readers): everyone understands different things, wants different things, enjoys different things, are hurt by different things... Writing is an act of meeting the reader in the middle, but where ‘the middle’ might be depends enormously on who the reader is.

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

You’d think it’d be the one where Sherlock is turned into a bee by a Martian human-bee-hybrid queen who is set upon dominating the Earth, but credit for that idea should probably go to @damnmydooah, not me. I’m just the one who said Sure, why the fuck not?

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most.31. Hardest character to write.32. Easiest character to write.52. How did writing change you?

These were all previously answered here and here.

#quipxotic #my writing

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charkyzombicorn · 3 years ago

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I HAVE A WIP OF THIS THAT I WROTE LIKE THREE MONTHS AGO I'M GONNA SHARE ITS GONNA BE LONG LET'S GO

Mine was a Zolu because it was mixed with butt ugly Zoro au, for context

Everything's pretty much the same when Luffy's young (0-6), because people stop noticing how cute a kid is when he starts yelling and picking his nose and in general being a crude little fatherless child. He's always covered in dirt and mud and his hair's never even and he's always covered in bandages and bruises from Garp, so people noticing his looks at all is a testimate to their extemity. Garp isn't affected by how adorable his grandson is the same way Luffy is with Hancock, general obliviousness

Shanks thinks Luffy's a spitfire that acts kinda like Buggy with all the yelling and bravado, and kinda like Roger in how he itches for pirate stories, and maybe Shanks shares a few more stories than he should because Luffy puppy eyes are fatal

Then when he gets thrown to Dadan, Ace hates him even more because there's a perfect beautiful little grampa's boy that's genetically related to Garp and Ace is very insecure about the genetics, his freckles and his big forehead, so recipe for disaster. Dadan's more protective of Luffy because Bambi Effect,

Also, the Porchemy incident goes much differently and, depending on perspective, much worse, because Luffy's a very pretty boy that was with them for several hours, and if the pirates don't have morals against killing children, what else do you think they don't have morals against?

Luffy's got a bit of a thing about touch after that, and Sabo and Ace become his older brothers faster and more violently because they blame themselves for that little pile of trauma

There's another few scares like that, especially after Sabo 'dies' because it's impossible to keep track of Luffy by yourself at all times in any universe, even though Ace tries really hard.

By the time he's 15, he can't even go to edge town anymore because he gets harassed in the street with marriage preposals and other less savory proposals including many hand gestures, and once Ace sets sail, Luffy finally snaps and stops giving a shit and just punching everyone who gets in his way. This isn't great, because 'step on me' is one of the unsavory proposals, but Luffy's gonna be pirate king and that means ignoring people like that.

When he sets sail and meets Coby, he immediately likes him because Coby's stammering but respectful and after a few punches in the head, believes Luffy can be pirate king. Luffy hadn't actually heard that from anyone but his brothers, it was nice. It was also hilarious watching him nearly cry when Luffy climbed the marine base wall.

Zoro thinks Luffy's some spirit there to take his soul, and starts throwing a hissy fit because he's not gonna die out of spite to his failing organs. Luffy laughs at him because it's the first time a stranger has genuinely yelled at him, instead of losing all their steam the second they make eye contact with Luffy's big doe eyes. Luffy says they're gonna be crew, and Zoro nearly passes out when he sees the most ridiculously attractive person in an old straw hat in a dinghy and finally realizes all he's agreed to.

When Nami comes along? Forget about it. Nami looks at this reason for the invention of the phrase 'good thing you're pretty, cus' you're dumb as a post' that drags her to meet his "Friend" who's a lanky dude with short cut hair, a slightly crooked jaw, a creepy look in his eye and half a bottle of boose hanging loosely in his hand next to the three swords at his hip and immediately prays forgiveness from Nojiko because she's a big sister now and it is WORK. She makes Zoro sleep in the dinghy while she hides Luffy with her in the cabin of the boat she stole, because Luffy won't let her simply cut the rope attaching the two boats and let creepy guy float away, and she's protective, but Luffy could still bench press a house and he's the captain.

Usopp? Dumb little crush, embarrassing almost, and it's completely gone by water 7, because his vision was too blurry from his blood loss to see all the pain he put in those gorgeous features

Sanji needs a long time. The Baratie goes completely different because Zeff takes one look at Luffy and misgenders him for the sake of his mental health. He has the whole staff convinced (read:threatened) that Luffy was a Woman and should be treated as a Goddess despite being dressed like some farmer's son. Luffy's just eating as much meat as he can and Sanji noodles his way over and gets his whole world view shattered because Luffy's more attractive than every woman he's ever met put together and he didn't need a bi-crisis in the middle of all his other ongoing crisises. He tries to refuse Luffy, but Luffy refuses his refusal and he can't gather the strength to say no to Luffy twice. Also, Sanji needs an adjustment period because he nearly cries when he sees how Luffy fights that one guy (I forgot his name, the one that tries to steal the baratie) because he fights like he's expendable even though Sanji has already subscribed to Luffyism

Chopper's the same pretty much, I HC Chopper can tell apart humans like humans do cats; yeah some have different markings and colours and sizes but they all look generally the same. Luffy really likes this though, it's like the same and opposite of the 'everyone thinks I'm a monster' thing Chopper's got going

That's as far as I got! Sorry this is long, I got excited

Weird AU where everything is normal but Luffy surpasses Hancock in terms of beauty.

@charkyzombicorn @yuukioku77

Give me your take on this lmao

#one piece

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