#might edit this later it’s been surprisingly difficult to find exactly what I want to represent Marzu’s story and themes

[incorrectyuli]

Marzu, Part one: Convictions

[ safety sign generator / / Fatima Aamer Bilal, I am an observer, but not by choice / / Noor Unnahar, New Names for Lost Things; “A Questionnaire” / / Photo of the Windsor Castle fire / / James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room / / quote from Disco Elysium / / Anne Carson (Translator), Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides / / Mitski, Square / / Storybook illustration of Marzu and Panths, 2024 / / P.D. There is no absolution for the fallen, only the dying / / David Levithan, How They Met and Other Stories / / x / / Illustration of Marzu, 2022 / / Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless / / x / / Marzu’s Journal, entry no. 8 ]

Part two

[meat--grindr]

Ohh your writing is wonderful... I’ve actually never requested before so I hope get this right but: could I request Billy Lenz x Gender Neutral Reader (AFAB if it’s brought up) with Billy sucking on his partner’s fingers and discovering they are really, /really/ into it but also super embarrassed about it? Bastard-ness ensues. Hope this request is ok!

Okay? This is waaay more than okay! I’ve been so excited about this prompt since I received it! I’m so sorry for not getting to it earlier. I hope like six months later is better than never though! I’m also super excited to be your first request! I hope this lives up to your expectations, whatever they may have been!

Just a few general warnings beforehand: Billy is really rough with the reader he uses some extremely degrading language as per the canon (I’ve excluded the term ‘piggy,’ though, because I am NOT A FAN™ of that aspect of his dirty talk.) I want to specifically call to attention the liberal use of the terms ‘pussy’ and ‘cunt.’ The reader is never gendered with personal pronouns, but those words are used in reference to them and their anatomy several times. I am of the opinion that Mr. Lenz would use those terms regardless of what hole he’s using, but if they make you uncomfortable, maybe give this one a miss? Furthermore, I would like to mention that Billy is not a mentally well man (obviously) who has had a rather traumatic past with abuse, both of these are discussed within this fic, so please take care of yourselves and read this work responsibly if you want to read it at all. I don’t want anyone to be hurt by my writing because I didn’t warn them properly.

Also, this is my first time writing for Billy, so please forgive me if it takes a little while for me to get completely used to him. He’s a…unique fella, let’s say.

Editing Ripper’s Note: I was just about to post this when I realized I completely misread the prompt! I read it as the reader is really into sucking on Billy’s fingers, not the other way ‘round! I’ve been looking at this prompt, literally since December and still never caught on. I feel like a total idiot. I’m really sorry about that. I’ve decided to post this anyway because A) the kink is still there in the fic, just not exactly as requested, and B) I had already finished it by the time I noticed my mistake. So much time has passed and if the original requester is still keeping tabs on this blog, I don’t want to make them wait any longer. That being said, if you’d like me to write your request properly, please send me a message and I will do my best!

Mind Your Teeth – Billy Lenz (Gender Neutral* Reader) - NSFW

· Slick with sweat, your chest slides against the surface of your desk with each cruel snap of Billy’s hips. You can feel the laboured heaving of his chest against your back as he struggles for breath. It leaves his lips in ragged, staggering puffs, heavy and hot against your shoulder blade, accompanied every so often by the slick warmth of his saliva as it drips down onto your bare skin.

· Despite his gawky build, he manages to loom over you, folding you nearly in half against the desk. He’s made himself rather comfortable, sprawled over top of you. His chest presses against your back, boney ribs grinding against the knobs of your spine through the stiff, itchy fibers of his jumper. It’s sticking to your skin, soaked through in spots with sweat—yours and his—and you can feel it peeling up from your flesh with every movement he makes.

· He’s got you pinned, holding you down against the smooth wooden surface with little more than his weight. He’s surprisingly heavy, and though he doesn’t look it, Billy is a strong man—he’s more than capable both of lifting you off of the floor and pinning you down to it. He’s strong and his hands are by no means an exception to that rule. Though they may be long and thin, and they tremble whenever they hold you, his grip is nearly unbreakable. His clumsy fingers circle your wrists like iron fetters, dirty fingernails digging into the flesh of your forearms and cutting little crescents into the skin—just deep enough to sting. You can barely move beneath him—can barely breathe—and he knows this. He has you exactly where he wants you and you’re not going anywhere until he decides to let you.

· Another bruising thrust pitches you forward, and your knees bang against the desk drawers. You cry out, though whether it was for the dull ache in your legs or the sudden stab of pleasure between them, even you couldn’t say for certain. Though if there is any concern at all in Billy for your wellbeing, he’s certainly keeping it to himself. Your outburst only seems to egg him on, as his pace begins to take on a more frantic edge.

· His thrusts are shallow as he rocks into you—it’s as though he can’t bare to withdraw from the tight heat of your body for long. Dimly, through the fog of pleasure, you struggle to feel surprised. It’s all about instant gratification with Billy. Always has been—why should he tease himself or draw things out when he could just pry open your willing mouth and drag his cock against your tongue until he cums down your throat? Still, there is a force behind those thrusts—one which throws you up against the lip of the desk hard enough that you’re sure there will be a solid line of bruising along your midsection before the night is through. Every push of those hips shoves you forward a little more, until your head is nearly knocking against the wall and your toes barely touch the ground.

· Your cheek slides against a slick patch of wood and you realize you’ve been drooling across the desktop. The little puddle at the corner of your lips only grows in size as a particularly deep thrust from Billy wrings another string of wrecked whimpers from your throat. You wish you could pull away from the puddle—longing to drag the back of your hand across your cheek and wipe away the slickness, but there’s little you can do about it with Billy still holding your arms hostage. But at the same time, something about it thrills you—to be ruined like this—held still, unable to so anything but whimper, and drool, and take what you’re given. It’s…liberating.

· “C’mon, little bitch! Take my fat cock! You can t-t-take it better than that! Take it! Take-Take-Take it good for B-B-Billy!” He babbles into your shoulder, chapped lips scraping against your shoulder as he mouths at your flushed skin. His tongue flickers out, dragging a wet stripe against your skin, scorching hot, then suddenly too cool as it begins to dry in the open air.

· “Such a pretty pusssssy,” He slurs, “Pretty, pretty pusssssy. Gonna fill it up—gonna fill it with my fat ffffffucking cock!”

· You feel him jerk behind you, his muscles going taught as a violent spasm rolls through his body. When he speaks again, the voice that comes is not his own—it’s deeper, rumbling down in his chest, belonging to a man much larger than he, “Why I outta beat that boy! Beat him up good! Beat Billy bad! Beat him good! Beat him up, up, up!”

· His hips still and your heart leaps up into your throat, your pulse pounding hard in the tight space. This can’t be good. You squirm beneath him, trying and failing to turn your head. Your eyes roll wild in their sockets, desperate to get a good look at Billy, but he remains a shadow at the edge of your vision. You remember this voice. He had so many it was difficult to keep track of them sometimes—he’d mimic almost anything he heard; the children from down the road calling to one another while they played, the weatherman making predictions on the radio, even the neighbour’s cat. It was easy to forget which voices and phrases came from where once he’d picked them up and used them enough. But this is one that predates you, and you recognize it with a chilling clarity—the father’s voice: always angry, often violent.

· It frightens you when Billy uses it, though not because of the threat Billy poses to you. Of course, you know to tread carefully when he's in one of his moods—you’ve seen first hand the destruction wrought when his directionless frustration is given direction. But, you know this voice is a far more likely indicator that Billy is an imminent threat to himself. You’ve seen him pacing the floor like a caged animal, trembling hands beating about his head, tearing at his clothes and hair as he works through the frenzy, all the while babbling to himself in that deep, rumbling voice: “Rotten boy! Teach you a fucking lesson! Beat Billy! Bad Billy! Bad, Bad, Bad!” He's blackened his eyes, split his lips and knuckles, shattered countless plates and cut his hands on the shards. He loses himself in that voice, and that scares you.

· ‘Losing himself,’ that’s what you’ve come to call these episodes—those moments when his excitement and boundless energy curdle, souring into anxiety and agitation so quickly it makes you head spin. And in this moment, he’s displaying all the tell-tale sighs you’ve come to recognize—the full-body tremors, the angry voices, self-directed violence—mere threats or otherwise…

· No, this is not good. Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him do this, and you’re sure it would not be the last, but he’s never done it while you were…playing before. And that worries you. You’re both vulnerable, half-undressed and bent over a desk. Even worse, he was behind you. You’d learned very quickly never to let him out of your sight when he got like this. He was unpredictable—prone to lashing out whether he meant to or not. But he wasn’t beyond helping. If you could just turn your head and look at him—make him see you, help him to ground himself like you practiced, you might be able to talk him down, or at least ease him through the worst of it. Maybe. If you could only get a look at him.

· You flounder for your voice and struggle to keep it steady once you find it, “Hey, B-Billy? Billy, baby, you’re okay, right?” It’s an innocent question you usually begin with when he gets like this. Sometimes he’s too worked up to even begin to answer you, sometimes he tries so damn hard to answer, but can’t—not in a way you could really understand anyhow—and sometimes you can talk it through with him. Every time you try, the reaction is different. You can only cross your fingers and pray for a positive outcome.

· This time, he coughs. It’s a horrible, a horrible, racking sound that echoes in his chest—it’s almost closer to a scream than anything else. Another spasm jitters through him, the joint in his neck snapping loud in the darkness. You feel his forehead collide with your shoulder once, twice, then he stills. His flesh is clammy against yours, and the gentle brush of his hair makes your skin prickle, but he seems calmer. He barks a laugh—his own this time—and nuzzles against your back, smearing your skin with sweat and saliva. “Fuck!” He says, as though that explains everything.

· “Billy? Are you…alright?”

· He chirps like bird, three short bursts of whistling he’d picked up last spring when a robin mad made a nest on your windowsill, “Right as rain, rain, rain!”

· You’re left with a heady rush of confusion and relief as you realize he must have pulled himself out of the hole he’d almost fallen into. A little flicker of pride sparks to life in your chest. He’s come so far.

· Your concern melts away once again into pleasure as Billy jerks his hips. Keening high in the back of his throat, he fucks himself deeper into you. He drags his cock out slow, sounding for all the world as though he’d forgotten just how good it felt to fuck you—as though he hadn’t been doing just that not sixty seconds ago. He scrapes his teeth against your shoulder, the promise of a bite that will surely come and mark you for days. His fingers flex around your wrists, blunt nails biting deeper into your flesh as he falls back into that brutal rhythm.

· Your legs begin to shake as Billy’s cock bumps up against something a bit more sensitive inside of you. Your breath fogs against the surface of the desk as it heaves from your lungs, a thin mist that barely has the time to fade before the next heavy puff of air replaces it. You find yourself struggling to swallow the moans Billy’s working so hard to pull from you. You know how much he likes to hear you—how wild it makes him—and you know there’s no real need to be quiet, not with the dorm cleared out for the long weekend. Still, something—be it a force of habit from living in close quarters with thin walls, or simply your own embarrassment—keeps you quiet.

· “Fiiiilthy whore!” A growl, caught low in his throat, tears through the air between you, “Pretty pussy! Want it full! My cock, my cum…gonna fill it full!” Never at a loss for a string of vulgarities, Billy mumbles against your skin, his words slurring into one another until you can barely decipher one though from the other.

· “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!” Billy jerks his hips forward, and for the first time this evening, you feel the full length of his cock stretching you out. You jerk beneath him, mewling into the desktop, squirming about as you try desperately to relax around him. You’re so full—so full you can barely breathe, but it feels so good. Your muscles contract around him, unbidden, throbbing with the sudden stretch. It makes him shudder and sigh above you, a wavering rush of air than hisses out between his teeth.

· He holds you there for a moment, trembling almost as much as you are, “Tight fffucking cunt, so fucking tiiight for Billy!” His hips stutter forward in time with his ragged breathing. Desperately, he tries to fuck himself deeper into you, even though he can’t—he’s already buried to the hilt, his hips tucked snugly against your ass. But he gives it the old college try anyhow. He begins to babble nonsensically against your neck, “Ruin it, ruin it! Never take another cock! Full, full, full! I left it in the kitchen, Jan! Not after Billy’s! A low pressure system moving in and—fuck you full, fuck you full, full, full!”

· The tops of his thighs quiver as he grinds into you, and as he shifts, the head of his cock presses against something. For a moment, your vision goes white. Your legs seem to fall away beneath you, your knees drifting south as the pleasure carries away their ability to hold you upright any longer. If it weren’t for the desk, you probably would have slid down into a boneless heap on the floor.

· You gasp, mouth gaping wide, pulling in a great, deep lungful of air. To call his name? To beg him for more? To put wordless voice to your pleasure? You aren’t sure. There is little room in your brain for thought beyond the need for more. Mercifully, Billy saves you from the struggle before you can waste too much energy on it.

· Almost as soon as he realizes your mouth is open, Billy shoves his fingers into your mouth. Two boney digits slide against your tongue, pressing and prodding against the slick muscle. The taste of dust and salt floods your mouth with the intrusion. You wrinkle your nose, and try to pull your head back, but Billy leans down into you, pressing you down further beneath his weight, grinding your ribs into the desktop.

· “No, no, no,” He chides, voice soft and light—almost cheerful. He spreads his fingers apart, rubbing over the hard bumps of your bottom teeth with a tenderness you rarely see in him. “Gotta make room,” His voice rumbles through you as he presses his lips against your flesh, “Gotta stretch it out for Billy, or he won’t fit!”

· He nuzzles his cheek against your shoulder, still rocking his hips into you, pressing against that spot that makes your brain fill with television static, “Billy’s gonna fuck your throat once he’s filled that pretty pussy!”

· Your lips are pulled taught as his fingers press against the walls of your mouth, testing its limits. “Soft and warm! Wanna fuck it! Fuck it deep!”

· His hips buck hard, shoving you another inch toward the wall. You can feel yourself drooling around his fingers—your saliva dripping down your chin in great rivulets and collecting beneath your cheek.

· His knuckles bump against the roof of your mouth as the pads of his fingers find the back of your tongue. You gag around them, struggling to breathe, but Billy just laughs and presses down harder.

· “Again,” His voice comes out in a ragged puff of breath, half-whisper, half-growl, rough as rock salt, “Pussy gets tight when it chokes.”

· You try to suck in a shocked breath, but you can’t manage it around his fingers. Your throat convulses around him as you struggle to breathe.

· You feel his cock pulse inside of you and he groans his pleasure long and low into the darkness, “Yesssss!”

· He rocks into you again, “No one fucks like Billy, huh?” He pulls back, his cock nearly slipping from your body entirely, then he slams his hips home again, “No one fucks you full like Billy can! No one! No one! No one!” The phrase becomes a litany, each sentence punctuated with a bruising snap of his hips. “Know why?” He drags his teeth along the edge of your shoulder blade, “Know why?” You can hear the grin in his voice, wide and sharp, “‘Cuz Billy fills you up from both ends!”

· You sob around Billy’s fingers, your eyes rolling back as he pushes them deeper into your mouth. If he keeps on like this, it won’t be long before you fall apart around him—you want to cum so desperately, you can hardly keep another thought in your brain. Your muscles clench up around him and he laughs, giggling to himself as he hooks his chin over your shoulder. He can feel how close you are.

· His tongue slides against the side of your face, leaving a thick, wet stripe across your cheekbone. His lips scratch rough against your jaw, “Pretty pussy’s gonna cum? Gonna cum all over Billy’s fat fucking cock? Yeah?” His simpering tone makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but you nod. Another peal of sick laughter bubbles up in his throat, “You’re gonna cum and Billy’s not even trying! So dirty, dirty, dirty!”

· You whine around his fingers as he babbles on, “Billy could fuck you harder, but he doesn’t need to! Stupid, greedy pussy, silly fucking cunt can cum like this!” His teeth sink into your shoulder and the rest of his diatribe is lost to you. Even so, he continues to mumble filth against the skin caught between his teeth.

· The bite stings, bright and sharp, and you sob around him, clenching your jaw, your teeth digging into his fingers. Billy releases you with a hiss, dipping his head into the crook of your neck. You think for a moment you might have hurt him, but in mere seconds, he’s giggling to himself again. “Sharp, sharp teeth! No good. No, no good. Not for Billy’s cock. Gotta tear them out, make room for Billy!”

· Though you know the threat is mostly empty, the way Billy caresses your molars with the pad of his finger makes you a little nervous. You’re sure if he could get a good grip, he could easily ‘make room,’ and there was probably not much you could do to stop him. But he pulls his fingers back, retreating from the crushing press of your back teeth.

· He presses down against your tongue again, rubbing against the slick muscle fondly. “Need to practice! Greedy cunt needs to learn! Learn to suck Billy’s fat cock properly.” He snaps his hips, as though trying to remind you just how fat it really was—as though there was any change you could forget while it was rearranging your guts for you. “Gonna teach you to take it good!”

· Your eyes roll back at the thought. You can picture yourself kneeling under the desk, Billy draped over the chair, wild hair falling over his eyes as you try to take him all the way down to the base. He’d fuck your throat until your vision goes black, his fingers tangled deep in your hair, nails digging into your scalp. Your own fingers slide desperately between your thighs, chasing your release as he chases his own and god what you wouldn’t give to make the fantasy real—to feel the length of him in your mouth, the rough denim of his pants beneath your hands, the jerk and sting against your scalp as he tugs on your hair. Your cheeks hollow around Billy’s fingers, a pretty whine sitting high in the back of your throat.

· And Billy stops—stops moving, stops talking. He hovers above you, silent and still as a statue, barely breathing. A terrible moment of clarity washes over you and the embarrassment comes rolling in. There you were, still stretched out on Billy’s cock, barely moments away from an orgasm and you were already thinking about another? Were you really that desperate? Your cheeks burn hot against the cool wood of the desktop. Shame licks at the pit of your stomach—it wasn’t unlink Billy to think this way, he was always seeking the next shot of pleasure, but it wasn’t like you. As though it wasn’t bad enough to catch yourself thinking that way…for someone else to do it? It was mortifying…and maybe a little exciting too.

· Your stomach flips as Billy shifts behind you, the burgeoning stubble on his jaw scraping across your sensitive skin. Then you feel it, a smile spreading across his face—it’s a grin you’ve come to know well, all teeth and wide enough to make his jaw pop. Even without looking at him, you know you’re fucked.

· All at once, he lurches to life again, fucking his fingers hard into your mouth, in tandem with the harsh thrusts of his hips. A filthy string of gibberish falls from his lips as he pounds into you, “Greedy! Greedy cunt! Want it in your mouth too? Filthy, greedy fucking whore!”

· You whine, and choke, and sob around Billy’s fingers. Your face is wet with sweat, with spit, with tears, you can’t tell and at this point, you’re far beyond the point of caring. The world has narrowed to a single point between your legs as you teeter on the knife’s edge of your release. You rock your hips back against Billy, meeting his thrusts, desperate for more. You’re so, so close, and Billy can feel it too—the way you tighten around him spurring his pace from wild to frantic.

· His voice is broken, his words panted out between jagged breaths and garbled moans, “Gonna be good for Billy? Gonna cum?” His face is buried in the crook of your neck. He giggles against your flesh as he splits you open, slamming into you like it’s the last fuck he’ll ever have. “C’mon, take what Billy gives you! Take it, take it, t—ta—fuuuck!”

· Your hips stutter as your orgasm throbs through you. You scream around his fingers as you cum, your muscles clamping down around Billy so hard he almost has to stop moving, rolling his hips forward quick and shallow. His howl is lost in the sound of blood rushing in your ears, but you can feel it vibrating through his chest, and down into your back. Your fingers scrabble at the wood beneath you, desperate for something to latch onto—to keep you grounded here as the pleasure threatens to carry you away.

· You sob and slump limp against the desk, letting it bear the brunt of your weight. There’s just no strength left in your body anymore. Your hands and feet tingle with the lingering aftershocks of the adrenaline as you begin to come down from your high, and your breath comes hard, as though you’ve run a great distance. Billy’s hips continue to snap against yours, brutal and quick. You sob into his fingers, the as the relentless pleasure sparks through you, nearly painful to your sparking nerves.

· Slowly, as your ears stop ringing, you realize Billy is still talking, babbling away in several voices. “Like your pussy tight like this. Wanna fuck you full while you cum again and again and again and I told you, Jan, I left it in the kitchen! Make you soaked, keep you soaking wet, make you fucking cry! Where is that cat? Where’s that cat? Where’s the…WHERE’S THE BABY, BILLY?! AGNES? WHERE’S AGNES, BILLY?! Beat that kid! Teach him a lesson! BEAT HIM UP GOOD!”

· His left hand shoots up from your arm and wraps around your throat, fingers flexing around your windpipe, not quite squeezing, yet, but the pressure is far from comfortable.

· “T-T-Teach rotten old Billy a lesson.” A spike of fear shoots through you and you choke around his fingers. This seems to bring his mind back, at least in part, to the present, or at least confuse him enough to serve as a distraction—he makes a noise caught between two voices. The fear that courses through you lends new strength to your limbs as you reach up and claw at his fingers.

· As you attempt to pry him lose, his grip only tightens, fingers locking around your windpipe, “Teach that boy a FUCKING lesson!” The knobby joints of his fingers press hard against the pulse in your throat and you’re sure he can feel it hammering beneath your skin. He’s losing himself again, you’re sure.

· But again, this time was different. He hadn’t stopped fucking his cock into you like he had before, and he’d wavered for a moment, when you’d choked on him. There might be something else you could do to help him. Desperate to keep him here with you in the present moment, you flex your tongue against his fingers. His hips stutter and your heart skips a beat in turn. “Filthy fucking c-c-cunt…”

· You bob your head, hollowing your cheeks around his fingers again. C’mon, Billy!

· “F-Fuck!” It’s not quite his voice, but it’s close, perhaps a little higher, a little more strained than usual, but it’s close. “Where’s the baby, Billy? Where’s the…c-c-cat gone to now?” His fingers begin to relax around your throat, but you keep sucking on his fingers, wanting to make sure you’re well and truly out of the woods before you even think about stopping. If this is going to work, you’re going to make damn sure of it.

· “Fucking greedy little cunt!” You could have cried with relief at the sound of his voice—his real voice. You hum around his fingers, and he laughs, the sound low and rumbly, “Still so fucking eager.” His hips buck forward, pressing deep inside of you. It’s still too much, too soon, and you sob with the overstimulation. The sudden spike of pleasure punches the air from your lungs and shakes your legs from underneath you.

· Billy groans as you pulse around him. “You want Billy to cum? Wand Billy to fucking fill you?” You nod frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he grinds into that spot, filling your vision with white hot splotches of light.

· “Suck his cock, then,” he says, shoving his fingers deeper into your mouth again. He spreads them wide, nearly matching the girth of his cock where it fucks you open. Billy jitters behind you, chasing his release with quick, cruel thrusts. Impatient as always, he pushes digs his nail into the wall of your cheek, “Fucking suck Billy’s cock!”

· You jerk into motion as though startled from a deep sleep, pressing your head down against his fingers to take them as deep as you could. Your tongue laves against the digits, prodding gently against his scarred knuckles, playing in the space between them.

· Billy throws his head back, moaning to the ceiling long and loud, “Yessss! Good little pet! Pretty, pretty pet! His fingers stroke your throat as though he’s petting a cat, feeling it work up and down as you swallow around him. “Gooood pet! Suck Billy’s cock! Suck his cock! Su—NO!”

· Suddenly, he stops, his fingers stilling. For a moment, you think you’ve done something wrong. Had your teeth caught against him? Had you hurt him? Should you pull back and ask, or carry on? Before you can make a decision one way or another, Billy thrusts his fingers back into your throat, pressing them in as deep as he could. His knuckles bump against your back molars as you gag around him, trying desperately to breathe through your nose.

· “Lick Billy’s cunt,” For a moment, you’re still, confusion slicing through the pleasure. Billy tries to press his hand forward, his fingertips brushing against the back of your throat, “Lick it! Lick Billy’s cunt! Lick it! Lick it! Tongue his fffffucking clit!” You think about it for a moment, your exhausted, lust-fogged brain struggling to put two and two together, and then suddenly you think you understand. As gingerly as you can, while Billy continues to rock you forward over the desk, you press your tongue against the soft spot between his knuckles.

· This must have been what he’d wanted because the sound he makes is like nothing you’ve ever heard before—a wail caught somewhere between human and animal. You’ve never heard a human sound like that before. Like so many things about Billy, it’s frightening, and yet it fascinates you, attracts you, arouses you. You press your tongue harder against that spot, and the frantic rocking of his hips picks up again—but this time there’s no rhythm to it. He’s close.

· “Fucking lick Billy’s clit, make him cum! Make him cum in your pretty pussy!” You lap at his flesh with quick, deliberate swipes of your tongue. He howls against your flesh, his forehead thudding against your shoulder heavy and hard. “Fuck, f-f-f-fuck, make Billy fucking cum! Billy’s gonna, he’s-he’s-he’s gonna—!”

· In the moment before he cums everything is calm. He stills, and his voice is soft and steady in your ear; “I’m going to ruin you.”

· Then the world falls back into chaos.

· His whole body shudders above you, a bag of jangling bones he couldn’t keep control of if his life had depended on it. His teeth fix themselves deep into your shoulder, slotting into the indentations they’d left not long before. You cry out around his fingers, sure he’s drawn blood this time. You can see it when you close your eyes, visions of thick red blood splattered against his dark incisors floating against the dark inside of your eyelids.

· He shudders, momentarily stilling, then kicking back into motion, seemingly unable to deicide if he’d rather pound you through his orgasm or remain still, buried to the hilt in your tight heat. You feel the heat of him inside of you pulsing against your walls as he cums. His cheek is pressed tight against your shoulder gibbering a collection nonsensical sounds and snatches of obscenities into your flesh, “Pretty pink cunt! ah, ahhhh, fuuh—fuuuh—fuck! Dripping now! Where did you leave it? Left it fucking dripping!"

· You’re sore beyond belief from the pounding you’ve taken, but there’s still a throbbing want underneath. He’d dragged you most of the way to a second orgasm, now all you needed was a little push. Before you were completely at is mercy, able only to receive the pleasure he decided to give you. But now, your hands were free and with them you could do as you pleased. You wriggle beneath him, slipping your hands down between your thighs.

· Your fingers find their prize, and you sob, your whole body jerking forward. Even though you’d cum mere moments ago, you can’t believe how sensitive you are. You’re on the verge of orgasm almost immediately. You press harder the slide of your fingers aided both Billy’s cum and your own. You shudder, whimpering around his fingers. Your muscles clamp down on him once again, throbbing and pulsing as your orgasm builds.

· He hooks his finger inside of your cheek and pulls, “Wanna cum again. Wanna cum in your mouth,” He pulls harder exposing the sides of your teeth, “Billy wants to feel them! Feel them on his cock! Sharp and hard.” He laughs, “But Billy likes it hard.” The harsh snap of his hips that follows has you seeing spots. He opens his mouth as though to gloat, as you clench around him, he loses his words. Whimpering, soft and broken sounds against your neck, he grinds into you.

· Seconds later, you clamp down around him, a second orgasm shooting through you. The sound he makes as you cum on his oversensitive cock is nothing short of feral. He bucks wildly into you, seeking more of a pleasure that sounds almost painful as he sobs into your shoulder. His cock pulses inside of you again, throbbing as he fucks his cum deeper inside of you, as though intent on giving you more.

· And you’re sure he would. Or he would have, if you hadn’t reached back and pushed against his shoulder. He was insatiable—he’d keep going for hours unless you stop him now.

· He pulls his fingers out first, a pearly string of saliva connecting your lips to his fingertips. You cough, scratchy and wet, but when you speak, there’s no pain. “I…I just need a little break, Bills. Okay?” Your chest is heaving as you struggle for air. Billy hums above you, hesitating for a moment. He’s reluctant to give up the tight heat of your body. But at last, after nearly a full minute of grumbling and mumbling to himself, he pulls out.

· There's a sticky gush of fluids against your thigh as his cum beings to leak out of you. You rest there for a moment, the pair of you breathing hard in the darkness, the comfortable weight of his body pressing down above you, the solid plane of the desktop below. Then all of a sudden, you’re being lifted up. You squeal in shock as your flipped about and placed atop the desk. The surface is still cool against your heated flesh. The difference in temperature is a shock to your system and goosebumps break out across your arms and legs.

· Before you have a moment to process what’s happening, Billy’s head is between your thighs, his tongue lapping at mess he’d made. Your eyes go wide, and you head knocks against a wall as it falls back, “Fuuuuck, Billy!” Your hips cant up against his face, thighs squeezing tight around his ears.

· “Pretty pussy came twice already,” You can feel him smirking against your inner thigh. “Still wants more? Greedy, greedy, greedy.” You catch a glimpse of his eyes, wide and wild, shining in the darkness beneath is tangled hair, “It’s okay, Billy likes you greedy.”

[mitsukui]

cherry explosion | b.w.

Pairing: Bill Weasley x female reader.

Summary:  unexpectedly, Bill finds a way to give you the best New Year’s Eve you have ever had.

Word Count: 1,7k.

Warnings: smut! Oral sex (female receiving). Mentions of alcohol, drinking, and one-night stands ending badly.

Disclaimer: none of the pictures used in the edit below belong to me; I simply put them together.

A/N: sending all of my love to those who are spending their New Year’s Eve by themselves! Dear @maddi-sun18​, thank you so much for the request, and I hope this can bring you some comfort. Please, leave me some feedback if you feel like it! My askbox is open for your opinions, thoughts and requests. Thank you so much for your time and attention ❤

Masterlist!

Sometimes, it was so easy to read men. Their actions were so predictable, and they never failed to act exactly the same as the ones who had been there previously.

You wondered if there was some sort of training for young gentlemen on how to pick up girls at hotel bars. There seemed to be four steps for a man to follow in order to get lucky: one – exchange looks with the chosen pretty girl; two – lure the prey by offering her a fizzy and fruity drink; three – make small conversation, and say she is different from any other girl in the room; and, finally, four – get into her panties.

All of that was bullshit, and you would never fall for it.

And, perhaps, that was why you panicked a bit when a painfully attractive man approached you in a different way.

“Hey.” He shot you a small, yet, charming smile. “Do you mind if I sit here? If I listen to Patricia Rakepick talking about her adventures in Japan for one more bit, I might die.”

Both of you were taking part in an international conference on Curse-Breaking. The event had gathered wizards and witches from all around the globe, which caused Gringotts to rent a few areas on a muggle hotel in London for it. Although it was a knotty task for so many people to act as if they had no magical powers rushing through their veins, every participant seemed to be doing well on their own.

His presence there was perfectly reasonable, once he was a Curse-Breaker himself. Yours, however, was a bit questionable. You, as a columnist for the Daily Prophet, had been asked to cover the event, and could not be any less excited about it.

It was New Year’s Eve. All you wanted to do was go home to your family and friends.

While many people were not shy on showing their personal preference for Christmas, you were crazy about New Year’s Eve. The upcoming novel 365 days for you to live as if they were your last, the fancy dresses you always insisted on wearing, the taste of fizzy and fruity drinks lingering in your mouth until January 1st – all of that meant something to you, as brainless as it sounded.

Your peevish ways were soon destroyed by his sudden presence and polite attitudes. After you agreed with his company, it did not take long until you were laughing about the event and the people attending it.

As a matter of fact, Curse-Breakers were rather odd and monotonous people. The man with fiery, long hair seemed to be a clear exception to them, with his exotic fang earring, and his dragonhide boots. He also was to be the only good-looking one in that crowded bar, in that stupidly sophisticated hotel.

He was surprising you second by second. Breaking every single trait of loathing you had piled up for men, due to failed relationships and other women’s reports, he was showing himself as a funny and respectful man.

Between a few drinks, you had talked about his insanely big family, your repetitive daily life, his experiences in Egypt, and how you accidently had Apparated in Colombia once, being left without any knowledge of Spanish.

There was something sweet and intoxicating about him; about the way he asked to hold your hand while you were talking, and about the way he confessed and apologized for being unable to stop staring at your lips and wondering what they felt like.

“They probably taste like cherries now.” You leaned in and whispered, the dizzy sensation caused by your Cherry Bomb drink starting to tingle your insides. In a bold movement, you took your cocktail glass towards him. With your other hand, you touched his chin, and pushed it down a bit, forcing his mouth to part open. Your gaze transformed itself into a flirty one, and you told him to sip your drink so he could get a better grasp on what you tasted like.

It did not take long for you to crash your lips against his after that. You felt comfortable doing exactly what you were doing. You felt like you were in command of your own feelings. There was no stupid game of prey and hunter. There was no lie being told so one would get lucky.

At that moment, there were only two adults, being nice to each other and understanding their desires fully.

Unlike so many other men, he had respected you and, in the midst of slightly drunken kisses and touches, he kept on trying to be certain you were okay and you really wanted that.

Bill was briefly tipsy as well, his tongue tasting like the scotch he had earlier. The mixture between your cherry-like taste and his own made you feel like you were in heaven, although his kisses were growing to be hungry and more desperate.

Half an hour later, your hair spread across the pillow he was temporarily using for sleeping purposes. Your dress had been lifted up until your stomach, and your underwear was now nowhere to be found.

His soft hands roamed around your inner thighs as his tongue lapped your juices. Surprisingly, he was terrific at that, and you suspected you would crave more once he was done.

As he gave short licks to your clit and his tongue ran around your folds, two of his fingers were inserted in you. You arched your back, and reached out for his hair. You allowed your own fingers to tug delicately on his locks, his name leaving your lips religiously. He kept on pumping in and out of you, the pressure on your soft spot increasing each time.

The burning knot in your loins became tighter, and he adored how you clenched your walls around him so strongly. You were a mumbling, breathy mess, but he was entirely mesmerized by the sight, and the intimacy you were sharing.

Almost as if destiny was playing a prank on you, when you hit your first orgasm, fireworks started exploding outside the window of his hotel room. You squeezed your eyes shut, and cried out in the greatest pleasure you had ever felt in your entire life.

Slurping and sinful noises were produced as you came back from your high, still moaning. Your entire body trembled violently, but his big hands soothed your delicious torture.

He looked at you and chuckled quietly, your fluids still hanging on his lips, making them even more kissable than before. You were stunning in his eyes, and he feared not being able to let you go after the morning would come.

“Happy New Year, darling.”

January 1st came as softly and quietly as it possibly could. You dozed off in his arms after you spent a bit watching the fireworks show, and talking as well. The fact he was a grown man, but still could hold a decent conversation for so long, without any visible struggles was amusing.

You woke up to the next morning weak daylight peeking through the curtains and tickling your cheeks. Something inside your chest felt amazing. Flashes of the previous night appeared in your mind, and you could not hold a smile back. Funny enough, the taste of your Cherry Bomb drink still lingered faintly on your tongue.

However, all of your peace of mind vanished in the very instant you realized you had woken up by yourself. Waves of embarrassment and regret crashed in your heart, and you felt ridiculous for falling for all of the sweet nothings that had escaped his lips.

“Yes, that would be all. Yes. Room 716. Thank you very much.”

His enchanting voice shattered your own trance into a million pieces, and his bare footsteps announced he was returning to the same spot where you were at. You pulled the white sheets up and covered your naked torso, still unsure of how you would have to deal with the rising tension of the situation.

He soon captured the image of you being up and a glorious grin painted his lips. “Good morning.” His lower body was covered by a pair of dark jeans, which seemed to embrace his existence perfectly well, despite being different from the visual image he displayed last night. How was it possible for someone to look that good early in the morning? Or was it really early? What time was it? What did happen after the fireworks? With a timid voice, you wished him a good morning, too, but remained silent afterwards. It was difficult for you to ponder your next actions.

“So, the room service guys will be here shortly. I took the freedom to order us some breakfast.” His eyes gleamed with a pure kindness as the words slipped out of his lips. “I hope you fancy some orange juice in the morning.” He was offering you nothing but soft spoken words, and thoughtful actions

What was that?!

“B-Breakfast?” You repeated the key word of the whole conversation in surprise. No one had ever prepared, or even ordered, you breakfast after a night of sex and lust.

“Yeah.” Bill was quick to notice your tone of surprise and, somehow, it was funny to him. A girl like you, whom had shown him nothing but a great personality so far, should be used to being pampered like that. “Did you think for one second that I’d just eat you out like that, and leave you hanging the next morning?”

Honestly? Yes. You did think of that. You feared you would be tricked once more. One more disappointment to be added to your personal archive. One more reason to continue living your life despising men.

His arms were crossed against his chest and he shook his head, a dismissive, short laugh echoing through the room. “I would be mental if I ever did that. In a few hours, you managed to wow me.”

He made his way to the bed, and his body sank down on the mattress, being placed right next to yours. Truth being told, without the alcohol, you felt quite shy being that close to such a handsome man. “And, if you allow me to, I want to continue seeing you. I want to get to know more of you.”

A snuggly heat erupted in you, and it was a novel sensation for you. Perhaps, not all men had those devilish ways in them.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I really feel like kissing you right now. But, given your astonished behaviors, I’m not sure if you’d enjoy that. What do you tell me?”

Perhaps, this new year would not be so terrible.

[ultrahpfan5blog]

Watching Snyderverse Part 3 - Zack Snyder’s Justice League

After BvS, I was honestly not particularly looking forward to Justice League. For me, it was obvious that Snyder’s versions of these characters and his overall doom and gloom approach was not something I was particularly enjoying despite some promising elements in both MoS and BvS. Then we saw exactly how JL production went down. Despite the happy face they tried to paint, the fact that there was going to be a 2 hour mandate, the fact that Whedon basically reshot a bunch of Snyder’s film with the film being a mishmash of two directors who couldn’t be any more different in their sensibilities, and that that the actors, specifically Ben Affleck, looked like they couldn’t wait to be done with this movie and this role, made it obvious that the movie wasn’t going to turn out well. So my expectations were rock bottom for the theatrical cut. As it happens, that was a good thing. The theatrical cut of JL is a thoroughly unremarkable movie. I don’t abhor it but it is so obviously a patchwork job and a studio mandated film that there is no passion or vision in the movie at all. I mean, I didn’t like BvS much at all, but there was a vision there. Theatrical cut of JL seemed like a film that felt like WB just felt they had to put out there and then move on. And then years later, we get Zack Snyder’s full version of Justice League. I watched it in one sitting, which was maybe a mistake because it is heavy viewing for 4 hours. Without a doubt it is a better movie than the theatrical cut. Its a little tough to judge this film because this is no way a movie that would have been released theatrically. But its also impossible to judge on what it may have been if it was edited down to a 3 hour length. So best to just judge it on its own merits.

Firstly, the positives. This is definitely a more coherent and clear movie. The plot is not rushed and every sequence, be it a character moment or an action sequence, is fully realized without any weird edits. The film does have some more humor than the previous two Snyder films. Mainly courtesy of Ezra Miller and Jeremy Irons. And the humor is not awkward like in the theatrical cut. Ezra Miller in particular benefits from that because some of his cringey lines from the theatrical edition are cut. The special effects are largely impressive and definitely an improvement over the theatrical edition. On a character level, definitely Cyborg gets the most benefit out of all the characters. As we get a full and thorough backstory for him. We get insight into his relationship with both his parents. Steppenwolf also gets significantly more screen time and his motivations are definitely more clearly defined in the movie than in the theatrical. Miller and Momoa also get some more scenes to flesh out their individual characters. What does surprise me is that the film contains a lot of scenes which are essentially just alternate versions of scenes from the theatrical cut. The film isn’t radically different from the theatrical version, but the scenes included in this version feel a little more real. Like a scene with the entire League discussing Superman’s return in the theatrical cut made it obvious that the actors weren’t in the same room together, whereas the original scene in this movie has them clearly in the same physical space. The Superman scenes are also infinitely better without the CGI upper lip. Thankfully, Snyder doesn’t do what he did with the previous two movies and gives some breathing room between action sequences. Probably a bit too much time, but that’s better than no time at all. the tunnel action sequence and the climax set piece is definitely pretty cool. Flash actually having an active role in the climax was a big improvement. My favorite action sequence is still the Superman vs the League because it shows just how powerful Superman can be. Also, the color palette is a lot more consistent and better than the weird bright and red color palette that is used in the theatrical cut.

When it comes down to the performances from the cast, nobody really stands out. They are all fine, but unlike in BvS, where Affleck stood out. Everybody here is just motoring along. In the theatrical cut, Affleck looked completely checked out. I was hoping the original cut would beef up his performance. While it is slightly better, he’s still just a bit too restrained in the role and doesn’t leave the type of impression he left in BvS. Everyone is at their most dour self. Gal Gadot’s WW is more serious and therefore does not get to show her more radiant side in Patty Jenkins’ movies, Momoa is also similarly more dour and serious and not quite as fun as he was in Aquaman. Ray Fisher is decent but its a role that requires him to be very robotic for large chunks of the film. So its a little difficult to assess his performance. Cavill is in far too little of the movie to give much of a performance. He’s perfectly fine in the handful of scenes he has. Miller is probably the best of the lot, even though he’s still more Peter Parker than Barry Allen. Some of the supporting cast actually fare a little better. Irons is a delight whenever he’s on screen and Affleck is also at his best when they have scenes together. That dynamic works. Joe Morton is surprisingly affecting as Silas Stone, as is Billy Crudup in his brief scenes as Henry Allen. Its always nice to see more of Willem Dafoe, Diane Lane, Connie Nielsen, and JK Simmons. Simmons as Gordon was great casting and its a pity we won’t get to see more of him in that role. Amber Heard for some perplexing reason has a British accent in this film as Mera. Given Dafoe and Momoa both speak in their normal voices, that must have been a choice. It did feel a bit funny. Jared Leto and Jesse Eisenberg are back as Joker and Lex and neither of them particularly improve on their performances. I mean, they have a scene each so its no harm done, but the Joker scene particularly drags on for too long. Amy Adams has a small role and she does manage to make to get some emotion out of a handful of scenes.

The film has more than its fair share of issues. Firstly, it is just way, way too long. The pacing is glacially slow at times. And I mean that in the most literal manner. There is so much slow mo in this movie, its crazy. I swear, if you removed the slow motion, you might lose 20 minutes of the run time. Snyder is clearly in desperate need of an editor here. The film has the exact opposite problem of the theatrical cut. Whereas in the theatrical cut, it always felt that every scene was just edited a little too short, in this movie there are scenes that are going on for far too long. There are some very strange edits. Like an entire scene where women in the village are singing hyms when Arthur leaves and smelling his clothes. There is a meet cute between Iris and Barry which is completely unnecessary and is frankly slightly creepy where Barry is caressing her face while she is in the process of being thrown out of her car. Some music choices in these scenes are also a little bizarre. Everything involving the Martian Manhunter is not necessary. I mean, his involvement in a crucial Martha and Lois scene actually takes away from the emotion of that moment. And then he has a very tacked on final scene which is kind of awkward. The Knightmare scene also drags for a bit too long, especially given they are supposed to be in danger while being out in the open. We still have no more clarity as to why Bruce is having these visions. The slow pace does make things boring at times as well. While I am glad that Cyborg’s backstory gets beefed up, there is a bit too much of Cyborg being angry at his father. After a while, it gets monotonous. The film takes too long to get the team together and the first JL action sequence doesn’t happen until over 2 hours into the movie. The film should have spent a bit more time with the team interacting with one another. That’s what made the Avengers movies work and some of the best parts of this movie are also the team together. There are some Snyder tone deaf moments as per usual. While WW’s entry action sequence is very cool, I do find it funny that they have her comforting a girl and the girl wanting to be just like her after she basically obliterates the terrorist into dust. Given her abilities shown in that sequence, there is no reason she wouldn’t have been able to disable him. But instead she just obliterates him. Its all very Snyder. I do also have to wonder about that sequence. I still don’t get exactly how terrorists feel that blowing up a few city blocks will bring down the modern age. I thought this was a weird Whedon thing but it turns out to be a weird Snyder thing. Also, for all the hype about the black suit Superman, its really nothing more than an aesthetic choice for no rhyme or reason. I honestly prefer the Blue and Red if the black suit doesn’t have a point, like the restorative factor from the comics. Also, for all the blame people put on Whedon about the skimpy outfits on Amazons and the weird backside shots of WW, turns out they were all Snyder. There are a few select things that the Whedon cut did slightly better. For example, there is no real major debate or conflict within the team other than minor objections from Arthur over the implications of using the mother box to bring back Superman. Also, a sequence in the theatrical cut where Bruce admits that Clark was more human that he was, is a better version of a similar scene in this movie. Also, while not perfectly executed, the theatrical cut did acknowledge that Bruce was a human fighting amongst superpowered individuals. Also, most importantly, while Steppenwolf is an improvement over the theatrical cut, this is still a movie where the plot involves a villain trying to find three boxes. Steppenwolf is still pretty boring and the main story is not interesting at all. The Darkseid angle of this story is also overhyped since he’s barely in the film. 

In the end, it feels that there is a pretty decent 3 hour movie hidden in an ok but dragged out 4 hour film. I’m glad the Snyder fans got to see it. I have had my issues with Snyder’s vision. While I feel he has grand ambitions and a sense of scale and scope, he hasn’t really got the sense of story and script to really make it work to a degree where the audience at large would appreciate it. I have seen his old storyboards and read his recent interviews about what he was going to do. It sounds very grand and very cool, but with a big potential of being a gigantic mess. Who knows what will happen in the future but at least it right now seems that they are moving on from Snyder’s vision. For this film, I am right now landing at about a 6/10, which is the highest mark out of all the Snyder DC movies. I’ve only watched it once and watching it again is a big endeavor so I won’t do it anytime soon, but maybe revisiting it will make me either like it more or less.

[blurry-fics]

Tell Me We’re Okay

Pairing: Tyler Joseph x Reader

Warnings: Angst, profanity

Word Count: 1958

Request: please please please do a Level Of Concern type chapter!

Author’s Note: I tried to balance scenes from the lyrics and scenes from the music video so that I could capture all of Level of Concern! Also, requests will be opening on Friday, so start thinking of ideas :) I hope you enjoy this one! (picture credit)

Your foot tapped nervously against the tile floors. You already had one hand tightly gripped around the straps of your backpack, ready to pull it up over your shoulder as soon as you got the ok to leave. Class was supposed to end nearly five minutes ago, but your professor was still droning on. At this rate, you were going to miss your normal bus home and end up waiting fifteen minutes in the rain for the next one.

“Sir? Class is over,” someone hesitantly said, their hand barely raised over their head.

Thank you, random classmate.

“Is it? Oh, look at the time! We’ll finish this next week. Thank you.”

You shot out of your seat, pulling your backpack over your shoulder as you weaved through the other students who were still packing up their things. If you were fast, you could probably still make it the two blocks down to the bus stop in time.

To your surprise, Tyler was standing just outside the classroom, his back pressed to the plain white wall. He looked up when he heard the door open, a smile instantly lighting up his face. In one fluid motion, he picked up his backpack from where it was sitting on the ground and fell into step with you.

“I was wondering where you were,” he said, a smile still plastered on his face. “I got here like twenty minutes ago.”

“Sorry, class ran late,” you said, as if it were your fault. “Did you need something?”

“Um, I did actually. That’s why I waited out here to talk to you.”

You didn’t have time for his lengthy explanations. “Can you make it quick, Ty? I really need to make sure I don’t miss the bus.”

“Yeah, ok. So, basically, my music professor wants us to film a video for a piece that we wrote earlier in the semester. I’ve been brainstorming all week and I haven’t come up with any video ideas that I like and I’m starting to get really stressed out because we only have a few days left. Plus, there’s this girl in my class - Julie - who already did hers and it’s really good. I don’t know if I can live up to that. I even called Mark to help but he’s out of town this week so he can’t.”

You pulled your hood up before pushing open the metal door that separated the stairwell from the outside world. The sound of rain splashing against the pavement instantly filled your ears, making it more difficult to hear Tyler. He was still rambling on about his project.

“What I’m trying to get at is that I was wondering if you had any ideas?”

“Ty, listen,” you stopped walking for just a moment, “I would love to help, but I don’t have time to sit here and help you brainstorm. I need to catch my bus so I don’t end up stuck in the pouring rain for twenty minutes. I’ll call you later, alright?”

Tyler’s face fell, but he nodded slowly. “Cool. See you later.”

You gave him a quick kiss and turned just in time to see the bus come over the hill up ahead. With rain splashing over your feet, you jogged the final blocks to the bus stop and boarded just before the doors closed.

*     *    *

“Again?” you muttered as the familiar beginning of Tyler’s voicemail played. You had called him numerous times over the past couple of hours, but each attempt was sent straight to voicemail. If you were being honest, it was starting to get a bit worrying.

You set your phone down, deciding to wait another fifteen minutes before you attempted to call him again. It wasn’t like him to not pick up your calls, but maybe he was wrapped up in his music project and didn’t hear his phone ringing. This wouldn’t be the first time it happened, you had lost count of how many times Tyler had missed your calls when he was doing homework or writing music.

Your phone buzzed a few minutes later. Eager to see if it was finally a response from Tyler, you ignored the paragraph you were reading to check your messages. As expected, there was a new message from Tyler, but it wasn’t as friendly as you had hoped.

Tyler: Please stop calling, I’m trying to get this project done.

Y/N: Did you need help?

You tapped your fingers against the edge of your phone, waiting for the little bubbles to pop up and let you know that Tyler was typing. It wasn’t until just after you had given up on waiting and gone back to reading that a text message from him finally came through.

Tyler: I thought you “didn’t have time to sit and help me brainstorm”

“Shit,” you muttered, reading over the text message a few more times as you tried to think of a good response.

Y/N: I was just worried about missing my bus, but I’m more than happy to help you now

An uncomfortable pit settled in your stomach as you waited for Tyler’s answer. It wasn’t like you two to get into fights, and you hated to think that Tyler might be mad at you for a little while. Could you really not have sacrificed fifteen minutes to help him out?

Tyler: You don’t have to

But you wanted to. Without a moment’s hesitation, you stuck a post-it note in your textbook and closed it with a thud. Your shoes were still sitting by your bed from when you had gotten home, so you quickly slipped them on and grabbed the rest of the things that you were going to need.

You weren’t going to let Tyler deal with this alone.

*     *     *

“You’re not my pizza,” was the first thing out of Tyler’s mouth when he opened the door.

“Sorry to disappoint,” you said.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to help,” you smiled. “And I brought snacks.”

On the way to Tyler’s house, you had made a quick stop to the grocery store to pick up some of his favorite things: Red Bull, you weren’t sure how long this video shoot was going to take, his favorite candy, and a couple bags of chips. Along with keeping you two fueled, you also hoped it would let your apology go over a little bit smoother.

“I’m really sorry for how I acted earlier today. It was wrong and I should have stayed and helped you out, even if it meant taking a later bus.”

Tyler crossed his arms, “I was explaining how much of a toll this project is taking on me and it’s like you weren’t even listening to me.”

“No, I know. I should have been a better listener and I’m sorry for that. That’s why I’m here now, to make up for it.”

Tyler pursed his lips and held a hand out, motioning for the plastic grocery store bag that you were carrying. You passed it to him, half expecting him to take it and shut the door in your face. He opened it up and looked through it, examining the contents.

“Apology accepted, you can stay,” he said, looking up at you with a smile.

“So we’re alright?”

“Yeah, we’re ok. Come here.”

Tyler held out an arm and you happily buried your face in his shoulder. The button down that he was wearing was a bit scratchy against your cheek, but you were just happy that he wasn’t mad at you.

“I love you,” you mumbled.

“I love you too.”

“So, how should we start brainstorming?”

“Well, I actually have an idea. Here, let me show you.”

Tyler grabbed your hand and led you towards the basement. Your jaw dropped as soon as you reached the bottom of the stairs. There was stuff all over the place: outfits thrown over the back of the couch, multicolored lights, flashlights of various sizes. The only clear space was right in front of Tyler’s desk, which just so happened to be where the camera was set up.

“What is your idea?” you asked, beginning to slowly tiptoe through the piles of stuff towards his room.

“Since it’s about quarantine and bunkers and all that, I thought it would be cool to make a music video that’s also sort of a home video. It’s actually really nice that you showed up because I needed a second person for the other camera.”

“What about your family?” you asked, suddenly realizing how silent the house was.

“They went out to dinner so I could have a quiet workspace, but that was before I realized I needed a cameraman.”

“That was nice of them.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot easier to film without someone constantly yelling.”

“Zack?” you laughed.

“Exactly.”

Tyler set the bag of stuff you had brought down on his desk and collapsed on his bed. You sat down next to him and slowly laid back next to him.

“So, where do we start?”

*      *     *

You quickly lost track of time as you and Tyler worked on the video. It was surprisingly fun helping him out, doing things like costume changes, helping him with his instruments, or finding the perfect angle for a shot. There were a few hiccups with Tyler not being totally happy with something, but you always managed to calm him down and get it fixed. As it turns out, the two of you made a pretty good team.

“Alright, I just need to add the credits and then it’s ready,” Tyler smiled.

“It only took us…” you picked up your phone and checked the time. It was almost one in the morning. “...seven hours.”

“Hopefully the outcome will be worth it.”

“It will,” you smiled, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I told a friend in my class the other day that I haven’t been this nervous about something since I asked you on a date,” he laughed.

“This project means a lot to you, it makes sense to be nervous.”

“I know.”

You smiled as Tyler typed your name into the credits under the title “Assistant Creative Director.”

“That’s a nice title,” you laughed.

“Maybe one day it will be on a music video for millions of people to see,” Tyler said, leaning his head against yours. “Alright, are we ready to watch?”

“Yes.”

Tyler passed you one half of his earbuds and stuck the end into his computer, which was whirring loudly from trying to run the editing software. You gave him a thumbs up and he hit play.

There was a smile on your face for the entire video. You loved everything about it, from the music that Tyler had worked so hard to produce to the dance moves that he had whipped out for the camera. You were glad that he had a tripod for those shots, you weren’t sure that you would have been able to keep the camera steady enough while you were laughing at how cute he was. There were even a few shots that you had made it into.

When the video finally ended, you turned to Tyler with an excited smile on your face.

“Ty, this is amazing. You nailed the assignment.”

“You think so?” he asked, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly.

You nodded, “I really do. I loved every second of that.”

“Thank you so much. For your support and your help, it really helped keep me calm,” he smiled.

“Of course, I’m always going to be here for you.”

Tyler grabbed your face and pulled you into a kiss. You smiled and leaned closer to him, finally letting the exhaustion from helping him set in. On his computer, the music slowly faded out.

[aethelar]

The shooting star that careers through the night sky and crashes, quite spectacularly, into the muddy lake is not, in fact, a shooting star. The man that pushes open the emergency hatch and hauls himself, gasping and wheezing, onto the ruptured ship is not, in fact, a man. And the emergency response comm he aims at the stars and swears at in a harsh and alien language is not, in fact, working.

Graves would like very much to know which utter dipshit in Transfers had managed to screw up his warp jump quite this badly and whether Graves was allowed to throw them out of an airlock when he got back.

Then the heavens open and Graves discovers that the delightful little planet in the middle of delightful fucking nowhere has a working water cycle, one that brings with it a great deal of cold, a side helping of misery, and a whopping dollop of wet.

Oh, and apparently when he crashed he broke several ribs, fried the electrical connections to his left knee, and rolled in a pile of broken glass. Grand.

He retreats into his broken spaceship and cannibalises a control panel to fix his knee. It… mostly works. That done, he digs through enough old textbooks to identify where he is (backwater, uncivilised, and uncontacted - glorious), what language he needs to program into the translator (there are a ridiculous number to choose from, more than any one planet should reasonably need; he goes for the first seven in the list and hopes that’s enough) and what basic field-notes he needs to add to his mental database (far too many, most of them gathered from a distance, at least half of them marked with question marks and sounding blatantly ridiculous). And, because he’s currently hurting and light-headed, he says screw it to health and safety and just uploads the whole lot at once. The resulting headache has him staggering into the wall, missing the wall and tumbling through the breach in the hull, flailing and half drowning his way through the lake, and fetching up somewhere on the bank. And he’s still getting rained on.

“Fuck this planet,” he coughs through a mouthful of lake-water, and faints.

He manages, somehow, to survive undrowned until morning and it’s Newt that finds him, sprawled unconscious in the mud. Well, Niffler that finds him, Newt that scrambles after Niffler and almost trips over him in the process, but that’s just semantics, really. Newt’s the one that asks, hesitantly, if he’s alive; when he doesn’t get a response, Newt’s the one that manhandles him into the case and cleans his wounds as best he can.

When Graves rejoins the land of the living, Newt’s the one who stutters to a halt, blushes lithium red, and throws a sheet his way while backtracking pronto out of the room.

“I’ll get clothes!” he squeaks from halfway up the suitcase ladder. “There’s food in the kitchen, see you soon, don’t let Niffler out thank you bye!”

Graves blinks. “Illgetclothes,” he repeats. “Thankyoubye.” Then, switching back to a more familiar language, “Identify and translate. Please.”

Whirr. Beep. Whirr whirr. Ding! English, the text across his vision reads. Activate real time translate Y/N

Feck it. The headache can’t get worse. “Activate,” he agrees. “Yes, that means yes. Yes. Activate - Y. I want the Y option.”

Activating real time translate. Target language: English. Please note minor vocal edits required for accurate pronunciation.

“Minor vocal what now - glerk.” Graves lifts a hand to his throat, frowning the disturbed and confused frown of someone who’s just had their voice box rearranged without sufficient warning. And, from the feel of it, the back of his throat as well. Maybe? He opens and closes his mouth a few times to get used to the new sensations. “That will never not be weird,” he mutters to himself. It comes out in English and translates itself back into real words by the time his ears pass it back to his brain and the double-overlap does exactly squat for his headache.

Graves predicts direly that he’s going to hate this planet and distracts himself by turning his attention to what’s around him.

The room is soft, muted colours with strongly yellow-orange tinted lighting. The basic set-up is surprisingly familiar - he doesn’t need the fieldnotes ticking over in the back of his mind to identify that he’s on a bed, or that the primary building material is some kind of local plant matter. The assorted objects strewn around the room are less familiar and Graves takes a minute to run through the new words that flash up for each one (chair is obvious, but what’s book or slippers and why does the door have handle is that the keypad? There’s no control panel on it, and this place really doesn’t look advanced enough for motion sensing so what?)

Bored with the room, he turns back to himself. He’s wearing a clean bandage, wrapped tight around his chest, and part of him wants to unravel it to see how his back is doing underneath. It hadn’t seemed so bad, but he had passed out so there was a potential that one of his internal systems was wonky; based on what he’d seen so far of the planet it was doubtful the Earth-inhabitant who found him had known how to fix them. On the other hand, he feels surprisingly fine for a ship-wreck survivor.

He rests a hand on the neatly tucked end of the dressing for a long moment before shaking his head. “Food,” he says instead. “Food, kitchen, no niffler.” They seem simple enough instructions to follow.

Error, the translator warns. No entry for “Niffler”. Update dictionary when possible.

Error, the fieldnotes warn. Nudity detected. Local customs require nudity to be dealt with before proceeding.

Graves groans.

It takes some trial and error to work out what, exactly, the nudity problem entails, but he finally narrows it down to his lower back and the tops of his legs. That sorted, he winds the sheet round his waist and shuffles his way out of the bedroom into what is either a kitchen or a health hazard, or quite possibly both. The field notes haven’t yet given him the intricate understanding of Earth culture he needs to tell the difference, but there’s something about the haphazard way pans and bottles and jars are stacked on the shelves that seems a bit unstable to him. He proceeds with caution.

After about five minutes of careful study he slumps down on a stool and confesses to himself that he has no idea what he’s looking for. The small four-legged creature that had followed him around the kitchen hauls herself onto the table and tips her head with a curious chirp, and Graves decides, somewhat desperately, that she looks like she might know.

“What,” he asks her, “What, precisely, is food?”

She chirps. It’s not English. Life wouldn’t be that simple.

“Identify,” Graves says tiredly. “Translate. Please.”

Language not supported. Download new language Y/N

“Screw it, why not.”

Four and a half minutes later, with a headache to rival a nova-shot hangover, Graves repeats his question.

Lots of things, the creature answers with a series of drawn out squeaks. Things that smell nice. Things that look nice. Things you want to eat.

Ah. Fuel. Graves reaches for the nearest bottle of thing that smells nice. He thinks. He doesn’t have much to compare it to, not of Earth smells, and it’s very different from anything he’s familiar with. It looks nice, that at least he’s more certain on, but wanting to eat is a stage he and the unfamiliar food-fuel haven’t yet reached in their relationship.

“Is this food?” he asks.

The creature wrinkles her nose. Not for me, she says, and Graves nearly puts it back - but Mummy eats strange things. It could be food.

Mummy, Graves assumes, is the blushing human. He squints at the bottle. It’s labelled, and it takes a second for the unfamiliar script to resolve itself into something Graves can read. Lavender, it says, which the fieldnotes classify as colour and plant. Graves squints further. How can a colour be bottled. Electromagnetic radiation doesn’t listen to cork stoppers. Are the fieldnotes sure about this.

Plant, the fieldnotes insist petulantly, and Graves allows that ‘colour’ may be a translation error - he’s stuffed a lot of data into his brain in the last eighteen hours, he can’t expect it all to go right. Plants, though. Plants are carbon. Carbon is a (primitive, but workable) energy source. Plants are probably food.

“Bottoms up,” he mumbles, and removes the stopper.

Lavender, he decides, is a bit dry, a bit difficult to swallow - and yes, he can now confirm that his throat has definitely been modified to speak English, he’s only glad it didn’t need further modification to speak the small creature’s squeaking language as well - but other than that, perfectly good enough. He toasts the creature with his bottle, and she makes a hopeful gesture at the door and asks if Graves is going out.

“Ah,” Graves guesses. “Niffler. Mummy said not to let you out.”

Mummy’s a killjoy, Niffler grumbles, and crawls her way into Graves lap to curl up and sulk. Graves shrugs; Mummy has also taken him in and, from the feel of his back, poured far too much time and effort into healing him. Even his hastily-repaired knee feels better. He’s happy enough to keep Niffler in the kitchen if that’s all Mummy asks in payment.

He’s two thirds of the way through the lavender by the time Newt returns.

“Hello?” Newt calls from somewhere down a corridor. “Are you in the - oh, hello, potions lab. That’s. That’s fine. Hello.”

Graves smiles. It feels awkward. Are smiles always awkward? Maybe he’ll ask Niffler later. “I found food,” he says, holding up the mostly empty bottle of dried lavender.

Newt manfully holds his tongue about potions ingredients and food and not really quite the same. “I found clothes,” he replies, holding out the bundle. Graves puts the lavender aside and stands up to take them, toppling Niffler to the floor as he does so.

Naturally, she digs in her claws and takes the sheet with her.

Newt eeps, bright red again as he all but throws the clothes at Graves. “Wasn’t sure about your size, hope you like them, do you want tea I’ll put the kettle on kitchen down the hall,” he babbles, and flees.

Graves stares at the empty doorway, completely bemused. “Mummy is odd,” he tells Niffler.

Well obviously, she grumps, wriggling backwards out of the sheet. He’s Mummy. It’s what he does.

Graves absorbs the new information while he struggles his way into the clothes. Unlike the sheet, they don’t seem willing to stay if he wraps them round, and there seem to be too many of them for the number of limbs he has. What, he wants to know, is wrong with skin-tight nano suits. Who thought clothes were a better idea and are they still alive for Graves to explain why exactly they’re not. “Fieldnotes,” he finally says. “Help?”

The fieldnotes give him a barrage of images. The translator helpfully annotates each one; petticoat, gauntlet, jumpsuit, scuba tank.

“Ok. Niffler. Clothes go how?”

She grumbles something about clothes being ridiculous (Graves privately agrees) but manages to talk him through the way Mummy wears clothes until they make some vague amount of sense.

Buttons, on the other hand, do not. Graves admits defeat and gives up. The trousers probably are the right size but without the buttons done up they hang low and almost falling off his hips; as for the shirt, Graves is lucky to have worked out the arm holes but he leaves the front open over his bandaged chest.

The belt, he abandons. No clue. Some sort of restraint, a collar of some kind? The fieldnotes suggest using it to tie his hands to a bedpost which seems highly counterproductive. He’ll ask later.

Niffler paws imperiously at his bare foot until he bends down and lets her climb to his shoulder. Get me a sugar cube, she demands. Mummy puts them in tea. I want one.

“More food?” Graves asks. Sugarcane the translator tells him is another plant, as is sugar beet but there doesn’t seem to be an entry for sugar cube.

You won’t like them, Niffler hurries to tell him. Kitchen is through that door.

Graves hums and follows. He suspects he may have to try a sugar cube for himself before he decides if he’ll like it or not.

“Hello Mummy,” he says politely as he comes into the kitchen.

Newt spins round with wide eyes, takes in Graves’ rather lax approach to getting dressed, and brandishes a teapot in distress.

Graves pauses and frowns, confused. He has clothes. He’s found the kitchen (it’s not much less of a hazard than the potions lab). He’s not yet let Niffler escape. He’s not sure what’s wrong, but Newt is bright red again, and all but hyperventilates as Graves steps nearer to cage him against the counter.

Error, the fieldnotes protest. Data suggests current breathing method is inefficient. Lack of oxygen fatal to earth residents.

“What are you doing,” Newt asks in a rushed, high pitched breath.

Graves presses their foreheads together. Newt’s skin feels hot against his, even moreso than their different biology can account for. Fever, the translator supplies worriedly. Sign of sickness and ill health. Then the fieldnotes chime in with increasing panic: Error: sickness leads to death. Reduce fever where possible.

“I’m helping,” Graves says out loud to all three of them, and modulates his skin temperature to be cool and soothing. It costs more energy than he’d hoped and it’s unnerving to see the proof of how weak he is, but when he leans back Newt’s sudden fever is gone.

He’s still flushed, and now his pupils are wide and his breathing has stopped altogether. The fieldnotes begin to bleep in distress but the translator shushes them. Earth phrase identified: take my breath away, it says soothingly, to which the fieldnotes start shrilling about giving it back. Graves deems him probably not in danger anymore and nods in satisfaction as he steps away.

“Better?” he asks.

“Newt,” Newt blurts (semi-aquatic, pond dwelling, small creature similar in size to a finger), which is an odd thing to answer with, but then he goes on to clarify, “My name is Newt.”

He lies, Niffler says. His name is Mummy. Don’t believe him.

Newt seems a lot larger than a finger, but he was near a lake when he found Graves so Graves elects to ignore Niffler in this. “My name is unpronounceable on your planet and may vibrate your vocal chords to shreds if you tried,” he says to Newt. “But I don’t mind if you call me Graves.”

Newt stares for a long moment. “Ok,” he finally says. “Graves. Ok. Vibrate my - ok, that’s. Ok.”

Graves smiles, and, potentially, it’s less awkward than before. Maybe. Graves is working on it.

Niffler pokes him in the ear and comes dangerously close to short circuiting his auditory processors. Sugar cubes, she reminds him.

Graves scans the table for something Mummy puts in tea and solemnly hands her a teaspoon.

It’s ok, she says, patting his hand. You’ll learn.

[mymanskabu]

Kabu One-Shot:

falling

Anonie Requested: ❝Why hello there~ I love your blog it is amazing and perfect and if it's okay, may I ask a super special awesome request? Oh pretty please (-^.^-) (I think most of us anons all love Kabu and think hes MEGA hawt.) Anyhoo~ How would Kabu feel about a shy female trainer that totally respects him, fangirls about him, practically knows his gym leader career story and has a massive crush on him? Thankies~ ♡❞

Another Anonie Requested: ❝Hiiii~ I absolutely love your blog♡ You capture Kabu perfectly. If it's okay to ask, how would Kabu react to hearing the female reader has a massive crush on him from Nessa and Milo and that she's coming by later to challenge him? She is a huge fangirl yet super shy and a little clumsy. Thank you~ ^.^❞

- I hope you don't mind anonies but these two requests were quite similar so I combined them here.

- I went on a different route with this than I think you guys wanted and I'm really sorry about that. Totally understand if you want me to write another one.

- The original draft of this is a lot fluffier but it got slightly angsty somewhere. It is a bit sensitive but I don't think it's quite enough to tag it as such. Do tell me if any of you feel differently. ♡

- I had loads of fun writing this though! That's why it's like 2.5k words dndns there is a surprise in this one-shot that I usually don't like doing but for some reason just felt like it I guess.

- I hope you guys enjoy!

- Gosh I was editing at 12AM and I meant to post it then but I fell asleep with the phone in my hand uuuugggghhhhsgshs AHH! I'm kinda mad at myself, but aight whatever lmao.

You were making breakfast while you listened to the commentator tell you what happened in the battles. This one piqued your interest when they announced Kabu as a challenger, someone you admired ever since you first saw him on the telly. Your admiration grew when you had gotten the opportunity to battle him, it was your first time in his presence. You had walked carefully to where you needed to wait, you thought he was taking longer since the last two Gym Leaders were already in the middle of the Stadium when you got there, you expected it to be the same process. You heard footsteps behind you as you waited and curiosity made you turn your head to see who was approaching.

"Mister Kabu!" You stammered. "Its nice to meet you, er, sir!" One could barely notice that your hand was trembling as you offered it to the older man. Kabu has had a lot of nervous challengers, many of them consumed by their worries and it impacts their battling. This is something he acknowledged straight away as he took your hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Don't be nervous, kiddo. Do your best for yourself and for your Pokemon. They'll be grateful whether you win or lose." You smiled warily, but you tried to give a firm nod to show that you were determined to do as he said. He was going to let you go once you started walking forward, however, his hold on you tightened while his other hand quickly found your shoulder to save you from falling.

"I'm sorry," You murmured, keeping your eyes on the crowd in front of you to avoid his. "Only I would trip on air at a time like this." Once you were standing upright, his grip was gentle as he continued holding your fingers.

"Let me escort you," He requested. "There seems to be a high probability that you'll find a way to trip again." He recalls the few times he has seen you near the Stadium almost falling or crashing into something.

"Thank you," Your reply was barely audible, and to your heart's distress, he gave your hand a comforting squeeze.

Your nerves were still causing you to second-guess yourself and even though you truly did try to clear your mind, the end result was your loss against Kabu. He escorted you back to the dressing room as well, telling you to not give up and come back after training yourself to where you want you and your Pokemon to be. You weren't completely discouraged, you could see where you went wrong in your battle.

You flipped Kabu's league card between your fingers wondering how you could grow as a trainer. One thing you didn't want him to see you as was "kiddo" and to do that you felt like you had to carry yourself with more confidence or at least try to. You placed the card back where you also had his rare League Card given to you by Nessa as a gift.

You'd become close to the first two Gym Leaders, especially Milo. He's such a nice and open person, you find yourself talking about anything almost entirely unfiltered. Milo still remembers when he asked if you were Kabu's fan considering how you talked about him, he still doesn't know if it was a mistake. You knew he was invited from Hoenn, you knew that Kabu is one of the few people that can say he nearly defeated the Champ, and you had a good grasp on his battle style. Needless to say, the last thing he expected was to see you come back defeated.

"What happened?" Milo questioned, guiding you to where his Wooloo were. He knew you liked to play with them or care for them when you felt down or needed to think. You inhaled through your nose and exhaled through your mouth one long breath, struggling to think of an answer for him. You knelt down by a Wooloo and started moving your hand over its thick, fluffy coat. It's so soft, it has always comforted you to do that, and Milo never forgot that about you since he first found out.

"I've gotta train harder I s'pose." You felt all of your worries rush into your head; doubts, fears, and guilt. Doubting your skills as a trainer, fearing you'll never grow as a person, feeling guilty that your Pokemon trusted you and you failed them as far as you're concerned. "Am I a good person?" You ask in what sounded like a whisper. "Do you think my Pokemon will still trust my decisions?"

"You are an amazin' person, (Name)." He pulled you up so that you could walk with him surrounded by happily prancing Wooloo. "And you're Pokemon are not goin' to stop relying on you after only one defeat. They probably know that you did you're best because I know you did. You always do." You sniffled, but he didn't see any tears streaming down your face or even a sign that you were going to cry. You appeared to be relieved and much happier than you were sad.

"I really like you, Milo. You're a good friend." Making you feel better always made him smile. "Thank you," You said. Yet, there was always something bittersweet in knowing that he was helping you, comforting you, and giving you advice, all of that for you to be with someone else.

Saying you worked hard was an understatement, one could say you put blood, sweat, and tears into your battling strategies and your Pokemon training. Your team was as motivated as you were to get stronger and that's exactly what you did. You adopted many parts of Kabu's fire type battling style and managed to apply it to your diverse team. This continued for hours until you'd get tired and rest up in Motostoke or at Milo's when he assisted in your training. You passed by Kabu's Stadium at times in the morning, never failing to trip on the same old misplaced stone on the ground there. Then getting distracted when Kabu happens to be there and waves at you, causing you to be at risk for bumping into anything within your vicinity.

Kabu found your mannerisms endearing, if he was near enough to you when you walked by then he would wave at you, fully knowing you'll forget the world around you and trip on your own two feet. He does this while also knowing that he'll be there to catch you. At first it was a polite thing, you were bound to fall and he didn't want that to happen, but it later became him wanting to hold you. He was in love with your habits, your expressions, your reactions, the blush on your face, your nervous laughter, and your presence. In spite of his emotions, he did not want to act upon them. He wanted to only be in love with you for a longer time and he wanted to make sure he truly felt strongly for you because he didn't want to be in a relationship that he saw wouldn't last long. He was also worried about the fact that you were a fan, meaning you liked him though not in the way he's feeling. Even if you did, what if you were confusing that emotion for admiration? There were too many things that could go wrong and he didn't want to hurt you nor himself.

You have had similar thoughts. Unknowingly, you and Kabu were both terrified of hurting the other. You considered that perhaps your crush was on his face, nothing but a phase, a fan thing that would come and go. You only knew the Kabu that was shown by interviewers and articles, you didn't know much about him as a person, and you weren't sure if you were liking him for the right reasons. One thing you knew you would regret is never exploring what you felt and what could have been. There's really no way around pain, no matter what you did, even in a relationship, it happens and what people are expected to do is take it as a lesson from life. You wanted to be in love with him longer, you wanted to get to know him, you wanted to be sure that you knew you wanted to be with him, know if you two were compatible.

Kabu was having a practice match with Milo, who appeared surprisingly irritated. He knows that Milo is very patient, it's almost beyond him to get truly mad about anything. It's a difficult thing to annoy or anger the Turrfield Gym Leader. Kabu didn't press for details, but he knew Milo was battling to take away some sort of stress. Another rare thing since he usually does some sort of outdoor activity. Again, Kabu didn't ask for what happened, he was alright knowing that he was going to be helping Milo in some way, that was enough.

It was somewhere mid-battle when Milo had more Pokemon than him not fainted that the freckled young man said, "You know, if you lose to the grass type Gym Leader then (Name) might stop crushin' on you!"

"Wait a moment. Pardon?" He thought he heard that entire sentence wrong. He blinked a few times before he realized he actually heard that right. "She has a... oh." He found himself unable to say the rest of what he was thinking. Milo stared at the older man, who looked both pleased and shocked by what he told him. Milo wanted to know just how far away from your heart he was compared to Kabu, who's name you held close despite everything Milo has done in an attempt to catch even the slightest bit of your attention.

"(Name)'s comin' round soon to battle you," His usual smile and positive demeanor wavered as he spoke. "I would be careful if I were you, she's been workin' real hard to win." Milo never finished the match, he ended up walking back to Turrfield, knowing he wanted to be happy for you since he knows exactly what he saw in Kabu's expression.

Kabu went as he usually did, battling trainers that challenged him around this time, training with the water types, and making sure his team was at their best. A new thought that kept crossing his mind was whether or not he wanted to act upon what he knew. He had all these fears, but all of them could be proven wrong if he only asks you to let him be in love with you, take you to places you both might like, and if it works out, hopefully place the foundation of a long-lasting relationship where he won't be waking up alone in the mornings.

It all felt the same when you stood once more in the hall, this time knowing Kabu would stand next to you.

"As time passed, the probability of you falling most likely increased," You heard his voice beside you. After he got a short bashful laugh out of you, Kabu offered his hand. "Will you let me escort you once again?"

"Thank you," You said. You still struggled to get it any higher than a whisper, but he heard it clearly today. It was still soft-spoken, however, it had a sense of self-assurance that meant you found some confidence. "I hope you know, this time I'll be getting that badge."

"We'll see, have you gotten any stronger?" He teased. His question made you eager to show him exactly how much you and your team have grown. You were definitely going to defeat him this time.

It was a hard fought battle by the both of you. It was one of the most tense and passionate battles that the Motostoke Stadium has had in a while. Every single person was on the edge of their seats wondering which Pokemon would faint. One barely dodging an attack, one getting hit directly yet surviving, this is where you and Kabu were the most similar. You both, along with your teams, were resilient, your Pokemon were ready to use all the energy they could to give their respective trainers the win. You and Kabu were on one Pokemon each, his Gigantamax was gone, your partner was clearly tired. In the end, the crowd burst into shouts and cheers as you ran towards your Pokemon with a big grin on your face, ecstatic that you had won.

"Good job, buddy. You rest up now," You said as you called your Pokemon back into its Pokeball. You held it close to your chest for a moment then jogged towards Kabu who was expecting the moment you fell over and he ended up holding your forearms, just before your elbows. You wanted to ask him then and there yet the words wouldn't go past being something you imagine.

"I'm glad I got to battle you today, great job. You bested my team. I shall give you the badge as proof that you've defeated me," He spoke formally. You felt the cold metal placed against your palm and you clutched in your hand.

"Thank you, truly, Kabu." You were pleasantly surprised by the smile on his face. You had a hard time making eye-contact with most people, nevertheless you still attempt to look at them.

"If you continue to trip near me..." He noticed that you weren't staring at his eyes, yours were either oddly on his chin or on his lips. This flustered him ever so slightly and he cleared his throat to continue talking, "I may start to assume you're falling for me."

"Well, I think your assumption would be correct." You shyly waved at the crowd with one hand while Kabu held the other one to take you back to the changing room. Your face flushed knowing that how you felt was now out in the open. "Would it be too much to ask for you to consider a date?" He stopped in the waiting room, at a loss for words that you had actually asked him. His silence caused you to tilt your head down, absolutely embarrassed that you tried.

"You don't have to," You stuttered, your voice went back to it's much less confident murmur. "I suppose you think I've lost my plot, I'm sorry I asked!"

"You haven't lost anything," He quickly defused your thoughts and worries. "Please do not apologize for merely stating how you feel." He slowly nodded when he noticed your eyes flickered to him then the exit. "Allow me to consider it. I'm not quite sure of my own emotions, though I think I feel the same."

"Alright," You replied quietly. "Consider it then, but I—" You bit your lip, feeling it quiver between your teeth. You calmed yourself after a sharp exhale. "Don't keep me waiting, this type of waiting hurts... a lot."

"You know those are never my intentions, (Name)." He places his hand on your head affectionately. "I care about you more than you will ever know."

"I trust you," You told him slowly. Your gaze met his this time, both trying to express honesty. With that, you left with uncertainty looming over your heart as you made your way to a place where your shaking hands would find comfort on soft Wooloo.

[cinnbar-bun]

RFA + V+ Saeran Acting As a Guardian to Teenage! MC

A/n: Have some headcanons to soothe the pain I just caused

Under the cut since it’s a long one! MC is about 16 in this one!

Also: might include some spoilers!!!

Yoosung

Finally, he wasn’t the youngest anymore! 

He was so excited to meet you and honestly he was all sunshine and rainbows as he talked about how you were like a little sibling to him

So gushing and doting, he’s more of an older sibling than a parental figure, but he still does it so well

Always brags to his guildmates he has the best sibling ever, and he will fight (and lose horribly) to anyone who tries to say otherwise

Very concerned over you since you’re so young and caught up in the RFA’s mishaps. 

So proud of anything you do, even getting out of bed makes him cheer for you

Always cooks for you, anything you want, he’ll make for you. 

He won’t admit it until he’s at his worst- when the depression and the grief from losing Rika really gets to him- but he looks up to you. He kinda gets jealous of how young and talented you are (even if you don’t think so), and wishes to become better so you have someone actually worthwhile to look up to (in his mind). 

He doesn’t seem to think that you like him, he still assumes he’s a bit of a nuisance and someone else could be better. You however, love him a lot and value his presence in your life. You don’t think you would’ve been as motivated without his help!

Sometimes he can get a bit irresponsible and you need to drag his butt to bed so he doesn’t game so much. 

Taking care of you has been a roller coaster for both of you, but he still feels a lot better since you’re here. He has cut down on his bad habits and has slowly grown from his past issues. 

If you talk about how you’re going on a date, he’ll cry. 

“Waaaaaahhhhhh!!! How are you going on dates before I am????” 

He’s supportive though, and makes sure your date actually cares for you. Probably the only one on this list you don’t have to worry about when saying you’re seeing someone

Zen

Okay so the first moment you met him on the messenger, you flipped out. 

“ZEN??? AS IN THE ZEN???? JDSFJNAJGNLSJN OH MY GOD CAN YOU STEP ON ME?????”

Jaehee also feels you but outwardly tells you to relax

He goes full on dad mode. He immediately checks himself and everyone else, anything above a ‘g’ rating and he’s flipping out. No more flirting, no more swearing, no more smoking, he’s gotta be a father figure somehow.

Once he cools down, he finds that his paternal instincts come naturally. He is very easy to talk to and is easily your biggest supporter. He wants you to feel confident in yourself and see that he’s got your back no matter what happens, something he didn’t have growing up. 

If you say you wanna act or join theater (especially if it’s because of him) he’ll just cry. He’ll sob about how his ‘child’ is the most precious thing in the world. 

He’s a straight up PTA dad afterwards, always going to your school when he can and checking up on you. 

All the mothers and teachers try to hit on him but he ignores them because his shining little star is there

He goes to all of your shows, all of your concerts, ANYTHING that involves potentially watching you do something, he is there in a second. 

After anything, whether you give a speech or a finished a performance, he’s there with a large bouquet of flowers. He’s so proud of you and he feels so enthusiastic about you. 

His narcissism drops about 200% because now he’s focused on you. His phone is full of pictures of you and your accomplishments, and after anything he makes sure to say it in the RFA messenger. 

He’s really easy to have a heart to heart with because you’re his precious little angel and he’s just as (if not more) emotional as you. 

HOWEVER!!! DO NOT!! I REPEAT!!! DO NOT MENTION DATING!!! THIS MAN WILL GO WALK UP TO WHOEVER YOU LIKE/DATING AND WILL GO INTO A FISTFIGHT WITH THEM. 

He screams when you mention guys- ‘MEN ARE WOLVES!! THEY ARE HORRIBLE!! THEY ARE DISGUSTING DO NOT EVER DATE!! YOU ARENT ALLOWED TO DATE UNTIL IM DEAD AND YOURE 80!!’

Jumin

So, let’s cut to the chase, you REEALLy liked the fact Jumin was rich. 

“Wow, so I DON’T have to starve everyday???” 

Jumin is...not the most emotional at first. He is just getting used to having to take care of you so it will be a while before he opens up. 

Jumin is great for when you want to rant or need to blow off steam. He doesn’t say anything and just listens to you. However, it’s horrible when you want emotional/physical comfort. 

He tries, he really does, but since he grew up so detached with his emotions he immediately thinks you’re dramatic. It isn’t until Jaehee (and perhaps Zen too) step in and say how he can’t keep brushing off your feelings 

So, he decides to try even harder and understand the enigma that is a teenage mind. 

It’s difficult as shit

After a while, he begins to learn all your cues and patterns, and understands what you want when you need it. He can read you like an open book now and knows when he should give you space or step in and comfort you. 

He’s actually really good at it 

He is always pampering you to the extreme. You watch tv and muse, “cool... there’s a new video game out.” and forget moments later, he immediately walks in with over a hundred games and pre-ordered, deluxe gold editions of them. 

He is the prime example of a father figure at this point, and all your friends get jealous.

He only gives you the best and will settle for nothing less. You are practically his own child at this point and like HELL is he gonna give you anything he discerns as not worthy. 

He likes taking you out for nice strolls after you beg ask for you two to hang out. You always get excited at seeing a simple cafe or mannequin with a cute outfit, and he wonders at how nice it must be to be so innocent

Plenty of outlets had contacted him about you, but he makes sure your privacy is secure. He doesn’t want anyone taking advantage of you or getting too personal

But they do manage to capture snippets of you two walking, and some misunderstandings have occurred due to it

“Jumin Han is dating a minor!” 

“Jumin Han has child after affair with mistress!” 

He gets fed up with the rumors and explains right away that you are NOT his lover, and you are NOT his actual child. He lies and says you were the child of a good friend of his, because explaining what actually happened would be weird

He is one of the worst when you say you’re dating someone. He will hound his security guards to watch EVERYTHING you to do, and he WILL have 707 do a background check on whoever you are going out with. 

“What are they doing?” “Uhhh...they’re eating.” “What about now?” “Still eating sir.” “Are his hands visible?” “Yes sir, he’s using them to eat a burger.” “B-burger? Where are they at?!” “McDonald’s sir...” “What kind of lousy date is this, why did (Y/n) accept this, does he think he’s good enough for my child with his peasant lifestyle???” “Sir...they’re 16????” 

All in all, he’s trying to be a good father figure and guardian that he never really had growing up. But he’s so prideful at seeing how much you mature, and even though he’s blunt sometimes, he hopes you understand he loves you a lot. 

He also tries dad jokes, but they’re so weird because obviously he rehearsed it and he says it so stoically that it makes it even funnies. 

Jaehee

Jaehee is a sweet woman, and she is like your best friend and mother rolled into one. 

She is so caring and considerate of your feelings, and is your number one supporter. 

She may seem kinda stand-offish, and kind of annoyed because she’s already incredibly busy now she has to take care of someone else and-

Whoops now she’s in the PTA and runs it like a damn boss. She is all over your studies and fights the faculty if she feels the school is not running in tip top shape. 

She gets exhausted a lot, as Jumin isn’t exactly the easiest boss to work for. 

It was kind of hard at first, sometimes she wouldn’t come home until way after midnight, and she’d see your body passed out on the couch with a note on the table about how you tried to make her dinner. 

Even though it wasn’t the best, knowing you tried so hard to stay up for her as well as cooking for her made the food taste even better than anything a five star restaurant could have made. 

So she tries to make it up to you in any way she can. She’ll pick you up your favorite movie or snack on her way home, or even little cute gifts that reminded her of you. 

She writes down any information she knows about you, and makes sure to write about your friends and teachers so she can keep up with you. 

She gushes about Zen a lot, and you were a fan too, so you both would binge watch his movies and clips of him. ANY piece of media involving Zen was devoured by you two. 

You two were constantly picking each other up and giving gifts, and when it was Jaehee’s birthday, you wrote her a letter about how much she meant to you and even got Zen to sign a poster for her! 

It was also the first time you called her ‘mom’, and even though the Zen poster is proudly hung up in her office, she can’t help but smile at how you called her that. 

She is a huge advocate of following your dreams. She does complain about how awful it is to work for Jumin sometimes, so she hopes to god you do something you love. 

You also convinced her to start her own cafe! You helped her as much as you could, and she was just...so ecstatic. 

Jaehee is easy to talk to, she is always prepared with good advice and comforting words. 

Probably the second easiest to talk to about dating. She is hesitant at first because one, you’re young and stupid, and two, she just doesn’t trust people. 

707/ Saeyoung

Okay, everyone in the RFA was hesitant to allow him to take care of you. They trusted him when it came to his work, but this was an actual human being. He could hardly take care of himself, how would he even take care of you???

Surprisingly, he’s an awesome guardian

A lot of them didn’t believe it at first and they were like ‘blink twice if he isn’t feeding you’ but you shrug and insist he’s great

He’s very nurturing and protective of you, and he sort of sees this as a second chance to make up for when he couldn’t help his brother. 

He’s really good in the fact that he’ll allow you your space to grow, but he will step in if you’re out of line or in trouble

Will NOT hesitate to ruin someone’s life if they dare hurt you. He’s got connections and the prowess and like hell is someone gonna make his child cry. 

Saeyoung is still as corny and crazy as he is in the chatroom, but in these instances with you, he means it a lot. He does anything he can to make you smile, even if it means he’d get hurt. 

He is a lot calmer though with you, and his parental instincts kick in a lot more. The RFA was shocked to see him actually change some of his poor quality of life skills as a means to be a better guardian to you. 

When he needs to go on a mission, he entrusts Jumin or Vanderwood to take care of you. 

He never tells you about those dangerous missions, he only says he’s going to be at a conference out of the country. 

He always makes sure to get you a souvenir or gift when he comes back from those trips. 

Joy rides in his cars!! He loves to take you to the beach or sightseeing whenever he can. 

He stills eats poorly, but it really makes him melt when you offer him some dinner you cooked for him. He started screaming and Yoosung (who was on the other end of the phone call) felt his ears bleed. 

He gets so excited for your cooking, like he stops his work just to take a bite of your grub. 

He hacks to get movies that weren’t even released to the public yet so you both could watch it on your downtime. He’s a hardcore softie though and you still have yet to see him shut up or not sob all over you as you two watch. 

“You’re getting snot on me!!!” “I’M sorry it’s just....oh my god how could this even happen??????” 

You accidentally called him ‘dad’ one time and he lost it. He was jumping for joy and hugging you in a death grip, screaming, “IM A FATHER!!!!!” 

Oh and he will definitely not pass up the opportunity to make some Star Wars references. 

You can’t hide anything from him. He tries to not be snoopy but holy shit you did not know just how far he’d go when it came to keeping tabs on you. 

By the time he was done he knew the name of your first grade crush, an incident where you kicked your own self, and how old you were when you got your first cavity. 

Likewise, he will already know if you’re crushing/dating someone. He’ll pretend he doesn’t know, but secretly do a background check. 

OKay so this definitely happened on your first date out with your crush, you two went out for milkshakes when your phone started sounding like Saeyoung’s voice. 

“HEY YOUNG MAN BOTH HANDS ON THE TABLE NOW!!!” 

You both started SCREAMING and had to be told to shut up by the staff because what the hell, your phone was talking! 

You screamed at him later on to mind his damn business

And god help whoever you were dating if they hurt you. 

This man will go ballistic and start hacking their things like a crazy psycho

“DONT WORRY, GOD SEVEN WILL FIX THIS!!!!” 

But seriously, this man adores you to the bottom of his heart. He’s made many mistakes in the past, but you will sure as hell not be another one of them. Anything you ask of him, he’ll gladly do!

V

V is a great guardian for those who don’t like pressure or stress. He’s so soothing and relaxing.

Hardly will ever raise his voice at you, and he practically never gets angry at you

He can’t see that well, but he seems to have a sixth sense that just makes him know where you are and when you are in danger. 

He likes taking you out to more scenic ventures, maybe even get you into photography as well!!

He has so many pictures of you, you are like his favorite subject

He even made an exhibit just based on you, and after that, he got a lot of calls about who you were. He made sure they know that you are basically his child

He feels incredibly guilty you had to go through this whole mess. He really wishes nothing bad would happen and you just didn’t have to get involved, but you always encourage him and say you don’t mind, you met him because of it!

He melts and cries a bit later on

If you call him ‘dad’ he gets so happy, like he finally feels like he actually did something right for once

But occasionally he doubts himself and can get kinda stand-offish in fear of how he might hurt you later on

He doesn’t make the same mistakes this time, and he makes sure you can get the help you need. He’s not gonna allow you to hurt yourself or others, and he won’t enable negative behaviors. 

He doesn’t talk about Rika to you. That was one of the worst moments in his life, and he thinks you’ll hate him because of it. 

You don’t- and he wonders what he did to deserve you

V is not an idiot. He may be partially blind but oh honey, he WILL know if you are dating someone. Don’t ask how, he does. 

He’s chill about it, but makes sure you understand what you are getting into. He’ll sit you down and start questioning you or your date’s intentions

It’s a side effect from his past with Rika, he doesn’t want you hurt, nor does he want you to hurt someone else. 

He makes you have clear and concise boundaries

He’ll let you do as you please, just please, for everything holy in this world, let him know where you are and be back before 10. 

If you get into a bad breakup he’s there to comfort you but also calls 707 to use his special skillset

I feel like V would use a lot of dad jokes. Like he doesn’t even know where it comes from and he’ll just say one, and 707 flips out.

Overall, just a calm dude who really loves you a lot. You’re allowed to grow and be your own person, but within some boundaries. He’ll stop at nothing to keep your smile. 

Unknown/ Saeran

Okay so... he feels weird. You’re a child. A damn child. 

He gets very conflicted because he gets flashbacks of how he was taken at a young age

He starts off as incredibly scary, staring you down to make you fear for your life, but you notice right away he’s become...softer

If anything, now he feels guilty. You were nice to him, even though he did all these things to you...

Saeran becomes a guard dog to you, watching over you like a hawk. 

As thanks, sometimes you would make him sweets

He loves them a lot, they’re now his favorite things

Pretty soon, a friendship begins to form, and then a feeling of guardianship over you. 

He’s noticeably a lot nicer and softer to you, he’ll be cussing out his brother in one moment but then if you ask him for something, he’ll stop and bend down to your level and answer you. 

Saeyoung finds this incredibly hilarious and nice

Saeran feels a lot better having you around. He feels a lot safer and happier, and knowing that you are safe and happy makes him even more excited. 

He likes gardens, so he takes you to them a lot, and he even decided to start one with you

On special days, or days when you are feeling down, he’ll get you a special bouquet of flowers with different meanings to cheer you up!

Baking is also a special hobby between you two. Sweets in general are where you two bond, so occasionally you two go out and try different sweet shops, cafes, or parlors. 

You two always rank your fave desserts and places

Do not, I repeat, do NOT tell him about/mention/ or even THINK of dating. He’ll probably beat the crap out of whoever you’re dating because, ‘they are not worth it’

Very strict and will throw hands with anyone checking you out- he’s like an angry dog 

Oh dear, if your date makes you sad or upset they will be dead. Saeran will take no shit if they made you frown, and they better start praying for their safety. 

You and Saeyoung have to hold him back before he murders your date

He still has his anxious moments where his past may catch up and he’ll freak out, but you are one of the few that can easily coax him out of it. He’d never hurt you at all

If you refer to him as ‘dad’ I think he might feel his heart flutter but also feel nervous...what if he becomes like his dad? What if he hurts you or can’t protect you? 

He’ll definitely teach you self-defense but Saeyoung will step in when he tries to teach you how to use a pistol because ‘SAERAN THEY’RE 16, DO NOT DO THAT!!!!’ 

He has his days when he’s more lax about you, but also has days when he’s breathing down your neck

It’ll take him a long time to be considered a ‘good’ guardian, please be patient, and gently let him know how he should improve. 

He’s not good at dealing with your emotions. All he knows how to do is punch whatever made you feel sad, but he quickly learns he can’t do that, and takes advice from all the RFA to help you. 

You can fight me but he probably has bought some guidebooks or pamphlets to try and learn to take care of you, and he’s LOST. 

“So to comfort them, I hug them...then ask how they’re feeling? Okay, but then it says they might want space? So how do I know? IT DOESN’T EVEN SAY WHEN! WHAT THE HELL? WHAT A WASTE OF MY DAMN MONEY!” He chucks it across the room before promptly picking it up and trying to read it again

He sees a lot of shows and tries to do stereotypical ‘family’ things, but quickly realizes that neither of you are enjoying it and he breathes a sigh of relief because holy hell that made him so uncomfortable. 

You both are pretty blunt with what you feel so you’re both on the same page, and try to work it accordingly. 

Okay on occasion he’s got you outfits that are similar to his so you both can match and he loves it so much

The most awkward dad jokes. EVER. You’ll be like, ‘hey I’m hungry’, and he’ll remember that he read on a parenting website that dad jokes make your connection stronger or something, so he’ll murmur, ‘hi hungry, I’m dad’. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry because he was in physical pain after saying that. 

You both got a lot to work on, but he tries. Really. And he’s so happy he met you, and he’ll make sure you grow up with a better childhood than he did. Nothing is too big or too small for him to do. 

[sennalily]

Reflections from a NaNoWriMo veteran

So I’ve done NaNoWriMo since 2008, and I've won every year. Hilariously, my cumulative word-count from 10 years is 503,605, meaning I've won by an average of 360 words each year - if that isn't precision, I don't know what is.

I thought newer NaNoers might find it interesting to hear my reflections on how to get to 50,000 year after year. It is up to you to decide whether or not 50,000 is your goal, whether it's a sensible goal, and whether it's how you want to write. Ultimately, a NaNo where there are more words on the page at the end of the month than the beginning is a successful NaNo.

Be determined

NaNoWriMo is a huge thing to undertake, and there are times when it just isn't going to feel worth it (somewhere around Day 25). At those times, you just need to feel, through gritted teeth, that you want to see that 'Winner' page and get that purple badge on your profile more than you want...

... sleep.

...to be an interesting conversationalist. (Your brain will be so fried you won't be.)

... to be a good friend. (You will have to decline social events to drag yourself home and write. You will become extremely self-absorbed.)

... to write something good, or even usable. (Seriously, the first year I did NaNo I realised 30,000 words in that my story wasn't really viable, so most of the rest of what I wrote was the MC learning how to do random crap like play the harp, do square dancing, and run a farm. It wasn't good, it wasn't useful, but dangit it got me to 50,360 words.)

Seriously, getting to 50,000 words is an exercise in sheer bloody-mindedness for most of us. Embrace it! Mind over matter/common sense/sleep!

Life will happen

Ultimately, there are some things that trump getting your novel written. One year, my grandfather went into hospital on the 25th of November; the only reason I hit 50,000 that year was because I'd been writing 2,000 words a day so I was already basically there. I certainly wasn't sneaking off from his bedside to get my words done.

There are other things that will make it more difficult, and that you will just have to choose what you want more (see above about determination): 50,000 words or sleep/friends/a life/overtime at work. I've done NaNo when I was unemployed and bored and had nothing else to do. I've done NaNo around university study. I've done NaNo around three different jobs that were different levels of demanding and took up different amounts of my time. Interestingly, the easiest years for NaNo were the ones when I was early in my career, working an office job that wasn't too mentally challenging. NaNo while studying was a bugger, and NaNo while unemployed and broke was surprisingly tough - a certain amount of time constraint forces you to prioritise.

Understand your rhythm

Depending on what's going on in your life, and the kind of writer you are, different things will work for you.

Most years, I've gone with the approach of sitting down every day and writing 1,667 words and not getting up until they're done.  One thing I've noticed is that 1,667 is actually a bit of an awkward number of words to write; the first 1,000 words each day are the hardest, while you get back into the mindset. Then you have 700ish fairly fluid words, and then it's done. 

Actually, writing on to 2,000 words is often not that much more difficult, and will give you a nice buffer for dramas later in the month. When I was early in my career, I used to write 2,000 words a day, with the goal of getting to 60k over the month (as my lifetime total demonstrates, actually what happened was I hit 50k on the 25th and then clocked off...!) As I've needed more of my mental bandwidth at work, I've moved to an approach of writing 1,000 words a day during the week and catching up on weekends. One year I got two days behind early on and that year was such a grind that I literally had to make that up 100 words at a time over the whole rest of the month. Not a good year.

Speaking of catching up, know how much you can realistically catch up. My wordiest day ever was 6,200 words so I'm not the kind of person who could sprint out 10,000 words in a day to catch up if I got a long way behind. In fact, in general 5,000 is pretty much my max in a day. So if you're like me, you need to be disciplined and not get too far behind; whereas if you can bang out 10,000 words in a day then you can be a bit more relaxed about that.

Planning out your story does make life easier and results in more usable stuff.

Planning during NaNo is hard because you're tired and you always feel like you should be writing. If you can force yourself to, plan out (or at least have a sketch in your head) the plot you need for all 50,000 words before you go in.

... That said, I usually don't do that. Because I am not a planner.

Don't expect to (always) write something good

Look, at some point you're going to get home late from work, bang out 1666 words that are crap and you know they are. It's going to happen. Make peace with it. (I've often gone back much later and found passages I wrote in the depths of NaNo that were surprisingly non-terrible - so maybe it's more accurate to say you should suspend judgement about whether it's good.) 

If you do Word Sprints, then you're going to find yourself writing 600 word blocks that are detailed descriptions of buildings, or long musings from your character, that stop the action completely and will bore readers. 

Sometimes you're going to write off the end of your plot and not have enough energy to figure out exactly what should happen next, but it's 10pm and you've only written 500 words and you need to go to bed, so just make some crap up and accept that it might get deleted in the next edit.

If you decide to write historical fiction or something else that requires a lot of research... come to terms with the fact that things are going to be wrong. That is what editing is for. If you're the kind of person who needs to get things right, let yourself research (it'll just drive you crazy if you don't), but know when to call time, leave yourself a **CHECK** flag, and move on.

Edit if you must... but don't delete ANYTHING

It's good advice to 'fire your inner editor' for NaNo, but if your inner editor is like mine, that little bugger has tenure, and she's not going to be quiet. So if you have to edit, let yourself edit! I hate the feeling of leaving bits behind me I know are wrong because the direction of the plot has changed, or I need to introduce something sooner, etc. So I let myself edit.

BUT. First, accept that time spent editing is time you're not churning out words. Everything has a price! So edit enough to scratch that itch, then get back to writing.

AND. Create a separate folder in your project, or word doc, or chapter at the end, and copy/paste everything you delete into there. Those are still words that you wrote in November - you earned those words! Sometimes I've got to the point around the 28th of November where I am literally copy/pasting single words I've deleted from the main text into my 'deleted stuff' document.

Be a rebel

The traditional NaNoWriMo is to attempt to write a fresh, 50,000 original novel from beginning to end in a month. I've literally never done that. I've done a few years where I wrote the first 50,000 words of a longer novel, one year where I wrote the second 50,000 words of a novel, one year where I wrote a 30,000 word novella and then 20,000 words on a different project, one year when I took a second run at a NaNovel from a previous year (this is not as easy as it sounds), several years where I interleaved working on existing projects with writing my main NaNo story, etc.

If the traditional approach works for you, great! But if you're 25,000 words in and your story is just sort of over, wrap it up and start something new. Or if you're getting sick of the thought of your MCs, take a few days on something else.

Be social

The years when I've had the most fun doing NaNo (and the writing has felt easiest) have been the years when I've got into the community, going to Write-Ins, socials, etc. You can get a surprising amount of writing done sitting in a cafe, and wanting to be able to tell people at the TGIO that you got your 50k is a powerful motivator to keep going. The years where I haven't got so into the social aspect because I've been busy or just haven't clicked with the crowd, have been less enjoyable on many levels.

Have fun

Seriously. Write something you'd enjoy reading. Don't go in thinking you're going to write the Great [Nationality] Novel. You might end up doing that! But what's going to get you through the month is writing something you enjoy because it's silly, funny, dramatic, dark, romantic, etc, or write the thing you've been wanting to write for years. My two best NaNos were the year I wrote the story that had been in my head since I was ten years old... and the year I wrote a silly romance novel structured around my favourite Gilbert and Sullivan songs. 

For me, doing NaNo has given my 50365 words I wouldn’t have had otherwise, wonderful friendships, a sense of myself as a writer, and stories I’ve been able to share and that have found an audience: Philomena, The Crown’s Price, The Forest’s Heart, The Time-Traveller’s Choice and In spite of all temptation were all at least part-written during NaNoWriMo, along with many other stories that have yet to (and may never) see the light of day.

Ultimately, the 50,000 is a target. If you get there, great! If you don't, oh well, at least you have more words! If getting that purple badge is your goal, I hope the above is helpful. Other veteran NaNoers, what are your tips for getting onto the Winner's page by 30 November?

[agent-nova]

Look for the Light (TLOU au)

Outbreak Day. September 26th, 2013. Boston.

        “Did they say where they were attacked?” Ellie looked up at the doctor who was clearly annoyed with her presence. She understood, but this was hugely important. She was sent here to uncover the origins of this new infection, and every case had to be documented. The mayhem around her illustrated the need for information.

        The doctor ignored her, drawing up a syringe with a resigned look on his face. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he muttered.

       “Where were they picked up from? Can you tell me that at least?” That’s a terrible idea, Ellie. Gonna go out there and get yourself killed?

        “I don’t have time for your questions. I’ve got more waiting—”

        “More?” It was spreading rapidly, a wave of violence not unnoticed by various government agencies, though it was difficult to get everyone coordinated. No one wanted to declare a state of emergency. No one wanted to do anything, really, so the CDC continued on, documenting every case, looking for an explanation, a reason for this. So far, nothing. But things were reaching a fever pitch, and she knew her bosses were leaning hard on the capitol to do something, send out some advisory or warning. They stayed idle. For now.

      Ellie looked around at the flurry of activity, noticing a lack of preservation of any sort of quarantine. If this were more easily passed along, the whole hospital should’ve been isolated. “You need to up your quarantine protocols, this is spreading far too quickly. If you don’t do something to contain this now, all those innocent people out there could be affected! Why are they in the waiting room, with everyone else?!”

      “I need you out of my ward. Now.” Knowing there was no way around it, Ellie turned to leave, ignoring the panicked refusal from the patient as the doctor passed into the quarantine room, forced to defy his oath for the sake of the many.

      Ellie stepped into the waiting room, noticing two teenagers seated near the doors. Their parents were talking quietly to each other at the reception desk. One of the teens had a long scratch across their forearm, while the other was clutching his shin, just below the knee, hand rust-colored with dried blood. They both looked terrified.

      She tucked her badge inside her shirt and pocketed her notepad before approaching quietly and kneeling in front of them. “Hello there,” she greeted cautiously. The teens looked down at her, confusion appearing briefly before being overshadowed with worry. “That’s a big cut there, what happened? Got caught on a fence? Fall off your skateboard?”

      “I-It was a—”

      “It was an animal,” the older of the two insisted, cutting off the one holding his shin. “Some type of animal,” he repeated.

      “No, I saw it way better than you, it was a person, a real person—”

      “Shut up, don’t you know what you sound like?”

      Ellie watched them argue quietly, the older of the two clearly trying to keep the situation under control. But this wouldn’t help them. There wasn’t anything that could help them now.

      “Where were you guys when you saw this animal?” Ellie asked, pulling out her phone.

      “A park,” the older one answered quickly.

      “Steven,” the younger one scolded.

      Steven let out a sigh. “We were exploring that old abandoned school, on the edge of town. No one’s supposed to go in there, but…” another deep breath. “We saw something. It was chasing after Derek,” he gestured to the boy sitting beside him. “It got his leg, knocked him down, and it got me as I was trying to pull him up. We ran as fast as we could out of there.”

      Ellie searched for the location, finding it quickly through a web search. “Dever State School?”

      “Lady, you can’t go out there, that thing, whatever it was, it’s probably still there—” The boy reached out for Ellie with his bloody hand and she did her best not to visibly recoil. She managed to avoid his touch. At this point the only confirmed transmission of the infection was through bodily fluids and open wounds. Ellie wasn’t taking any chances.

      “I won’t” she lied. “Thank you for the information.” Ellie stood and headed out of the hospital, ignoring the pit in her stomach as she left the two boys there, knowing what lay ahead for them. It was a frightening prospect.

      The sliding doors parted with a mechanical whirr. Ellie took in the fresh air, trying to forget the antiseptic rot of the hospital. She watched another ambulance head in and finally walked over to her car, a rental, courtesy of the CDC. She pulled the notebook out of her pocket and reviewed her notes on the most recent cases she encountered, adding a few more notes about the abandoned school the two boys spoke of and a note stating that the quarantine procedures here at Morton Hospital were woefully lax.

      She pulled out her laptop and began editing the document she’d been working on for the past few days, something to send back to her boss.

KNOWN METHODS OF CONTRACTION: CONTACT WITH BODILY FLUIDS OF A PERSON ALREADY INFECTED WITH xxx (USUALLY BY BEING BITTEN/SCRATCHED) ***STILL UNSURE OF CASE 043, NO SIGNS OF OPEN WOUNDS, YET STILL SHOWED SIMILAR RESULTS.***

INCUBATION: AFTER INITIAL INFECTION, THERE IS AN INCUBATORY PERIOD OF ONE TO TWO DAYS. INCUBATION CONCLUDES WHEN PATIENT SHOWS SIGNS OF INCOHERENT ANGER AND VIOLENT TENDENCIES.

SYMPTOMS: STAGE ONE PATIENTS SHOW SIGNS OF ERRATIC AND VIOLENT BEHAVIOR, LASHING OUT AT ANYONE AROUND THEM. NO SIGNS OF FURTHER STAGES IN FIELD AT THIS TIME.

TREATMENT: THERE IS NO KNOWN TREATMENT FOR xxx, NOR ANY KNOWN TREATMENT TO LENGTHEN THE INCUBATION PERIOD.

DIAGNOSIS: IN PROGRESS.

      Ellie closed her laptop and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose to stave off the incoming migraine.  The sky was overcast, threatening rain. It seemed as perfect a time as any to try to take a nap after the many sleepless nights spent in and out of various emergency rooms in the state. This was just one snapshot of one area. This was happening everywhere.

      She knew many of her fellow CDC agents were dispatched elsewhere all over the country, some even heading overseas to track the infection’s progress. It’s still not known exactly where the infection originated. Everyone was on the hunt for the illusive Patient Zero, especially because at this time they would either be dead or in a blind rage, hopefully far away from any urban areas.

      Boston, Massachusetts and Austin, Texas had the highest rates of infection. There wasn’t a clear reason why, besides possibly being the origin. So here Ellie was, tracking the various ongoing cases as well as trying to get information on the early ones, before the CDC had started paying attention.

      Ellie started the car and began the drive to the abandoned building. Her nap would have to wait.

----------

       The wipers passed over the windshield as Ellie drove. The phone was resting in the seat beside her, speakerphone activated, as she kept her eyes forward. “They’ve got atrocious protocols, it’s a wonder they don’t have more cases there. And despite the population density in the city, there are fewer cases than in the more rural areas. There’s got to be something we’re missing. I’m going to see if there’s anything in this building that might help.”

      “Just be careful, alright?” The person on the other end of the line sighed. “We’ve got to deal with this, no one else will. Listen, distribute the pamphlets as is, we can issue updates later. The more people know, the less likely this will turn into more of a shitstorm than it already is.”

      “We don’t have a name, or a cause. Don’t you think this will just incite mass panic? It might throw off whatever pattern we’re trying to look at here,” Ellie argued. “Every cold becomes the next Ebola. Until we know what’s causing this, I don’t think we have the authority to act.”

      “Just do this, please? People have to know that something’s happening.” Ellie nodded to herself. “I’ll call in an order to a Kinko’s near you once we get the logos in there. Good work, Eleanor. Stay safe out there.” The call ended.

      Ellie saw the building in the dim light, a wide structure that seemed to contain nothing but darkness. The last bit of sunlight couldn’t reach it directly. Perhaps Ellie should’ve waited until tomorrow.

      No. This can’t wait. Suck it up.

      Ellie got as close as she could from the road and parked in front of the broken metal gate. Both sides were pushed open wide enough for a few people to slip through, but not her car. She’d have to walk the rest of the way.

      Great.

      She pulled on the hood of her jacket and got out of the car, tucking her phone into an inner pocket. She got a large flashlight and a small mobile kit out of the trunk. Leaving her car locked, she passed through the rusted metal and walked across the untended field to the closest structure. The rain coming down was freezing, and she’d be happy to be out of it.

      The bottom level was open, windows and doors long since broken off or removed completely. The rain pouring down outside created a loud echo in the room. She shook off what water she could, continuing to drip on the floor as she walked around. The floor was covered in old ceiling tiles and dry leaves. An upper balcony overlooked this large room on all sides, possibly an old mess hall or something. No signs of habitation. The second floor’s walls were covered in wood paneling, surprisingly intact given the exposure to the elements.

      The beam of Ellie’s flashlight illuminated large graffiti murals ahead, various words tagged all over the room. She continued further into the building, through open doorways.

      She noticed further ahead, down a long hallway, that there was a large room full of old equipment. There was more debris here than in the other room, glass and cement chunks scattered all over the floor, though the cream-colored subway tiles on the walls were almost pristine except for the dust on every surface. Next to some circuit boxes on the wall was “fucking run!” in black spray-paint beside a few open doorways that had no other windows or doors to let light in. Ellie felt a chill at the warning, even though she knew it was only put there to scare others.

      She turned to the left to head in the opposite direction and ended up kicking an overturned appliance. The sound of it scraping over the floor echoed in the large room. She froze, listening for any signs of movement. She let out a sigh of relief after a few seconds passed and there was nothing.

      Continuing forward, relying upon the flashlight now that the sun had set, Ellie looked for anything out of the ordinary.

      There has to be something here. Something attacked those kids. Or, someone.

      Ellie passed through into the next room, more closed off than the previous area. The darkness was suffocating, and she strained to see what was right in front of her. The flashlight gave her a view of an old office, perhaps, the administrative side of things. The desks were mostly bare, papers scattered all over the floor, various organizational tools tucked into nooks or along the walls.

       A click sounded from a few rooms away.

       It must be something settling in the old building.

       Another. Followed quickly by another, then a series of them, a squeal almost like metal on metal after that.

       Ellie broke out in a sweat. It was like nothing she’d ever heard before. She began imagining all sorts of things wandering around in the dark.

       What were these kids doing in here?

       Ellie reached a doorway and illuminated a long hallway. No sign of anyone there. The clicking resumed, though it was less frequent. She knew this wasn’t something she should be actively searching for, but she listened intently anyway, perpetuating the bad horror movie trope single-handedly. She too was screaming at herself to go the other way. But she had to. If the answer was here, she needed to see it.

       She noticed movement near the end of the hall and froze. The creature seemed to have odd, jerking movements. She covered the flashlight with her jacket and switched it off, darting into the nearest room and tucking herself under the desk. As she did, she hit her head on the edge, causing something to rattle. Her head ached and she reached up to rub at the point of contact, to ease the pain.

       The strange clicks resumed, followed by the disturbing squealing in short bursts. It got louder as the creature got closer. She could barely make out the shape of the creature passing through the doorway. Ellie jumped as the creature let out another series of clicks, now alarmingly close. She felt a chill pass down her spine. She had to know what she was dealing with, but she was terrified. Curiosity won out, however, and she turned the flashlight back on.

       Oh Ellie, you idiot.

       The creature got low at the sound of the flashlight, zeroing in on her location under the desk. She forced herself to stop breathing. Her body was pushing her to react, to scream, to run, but she did none of those things. She knew it could see her, but she hadn’t been torn to pieces yet. She slowly tilted the flashlight up until it shined on the creature’s face.

       Or what was left of it.

       Ellie realized with a shock that this creature couldn’t see her at all. From the bottom jaw down, the figure very much resembled a human, though with no concern or care for their condition. Up above, where their face would normally have been, however, were ridges of what seemed like a fungus, like a cluster of Bark Mushrooms rising from either side of their skull, coated in a soft, spongy layer. There couldn’t be anything left underneath them. This wasn’t a person anymore, the brain replaced with this connected system of fungi.

       That explained the clicking noises. Echolocation. It wasn’t looking for anyone, it was listening.

       I’ve seen something like this before…

       The infection was fungal. And it was deadly. If Ellie was right, this added a new dimension to how they would have to deal with this. Fungi meant spores, which meant airborne transmission, if you were near fruiting bodies of the fungus. And Ellie thought she knew exactly which type it was, though how it made the jump to Humans was still a mystery.

       Cordyceps. Attacks the brain. Normally only found in ants, it would control them and drive them to areas where the fungus could thrive, leaving the corpse there to spread spores. How did this happen?

       This is what attacked the kids. The spores would explain patient 043’s mysterious contraction of the infection. It all made sense.

       As the pieces tumbled together in Ellie’s mind, she felt as if she were going to pass out, lungs screaming at her to inhale. But with the creature so close, she’d be its next victim if she did anything at all. She’d backed herself into a corner.

       She angled the flashlight around her under the desk slowly, finally spotting a broken bottle near her. She slowly reached down for it and carefully drew back her arm, tossing it back into the hallway.

       A loud screech hurt her ears as the creature sought out the new sound. Ellie inhaled sharply and got to her feet, moving as swiftly as possible back the way she came, now highly aware of the sound of her footsteps, of her heart pounding in her ears, her every breath. It was a nightmare.

       The sound of insects greeted her and she collapsed onto the ground outside the building. She didn’t stay down for long, however. She pulled out her phone and called James back, running across the field back towards the gate.

       “Hello? Do you know what time it is? I’ve got to tuck my kids in, Ellie, can this wait?”

       “Ophiocordyceps Unilateralis!” Ellie yelled, sprinting, nearly halfway there.

       “What?”

       “Ophiocordyceps Unilateralis,” she repeated, sliding through the gate and pulling out her keys. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

       “That’s not possible.”

       “How soon can you fly up here?”

       “I’ll text you my arrival time.”

----------

       Ellie awoke to a loud banging on the door of her room. She got up, wondering if James had caught a flight without telling her. Or perhaps he forgot. She pulled on a thin robe and approached the door.

       She peeked out and frowned at the sight of two heavily armed men. They looked official, but Ellie worried about opening the door for them.

       “Is something wrong?” Ellie asked, speaking up so they could hear her through the door.

       “We’re evacuating the building, ma’am, we need you to come downstairs with us please.”

       “One moment, let me get dressed.” She didn’t wait for their permission.

       Ellie wondered if James was able to fly in at all, if what looked like a heavily militarized police force was going around and evacuating whole buildings. Ellie quickly got dressed, getting her gear together in her backpack and throwing it on, making sure she had her CDC badge in hand.

       She opened the door, showing her badge. “Does this have anything to do with the infection?”

----------

       “What is it?” The body bag was opened and Ellie recognized the creature from earlier. She adjusted her low-grade hazmat suit and watched the M.E. across from her as he inspected the structure and ridges in the facial region.

       “Cordyceps, possibly. I’ll want to test it to be sure. It was using echolocation, responding to sound. I’ve not seen anyone like this, so this could be what happens after prolonged infection. We haven’t had any study on lasting effects as those infected typically react so violently they’re…disposed of.”

       The M.E. looked up at her, a grave expression on his face. “I’ve got a few on ice, from early stages if you need.”

       Ellie nodded. “I’ve got my kit, I just need a desk. And I need to make a phone call.”

       “Of course.”

----------

       Five years later. FEDRA Quarantine Zone. Boston.

       “Get him in here, set him down!” Ellie reached for the navy uniform and ripped it open, the same M.E. on the other side, worn from the years of struggle, preparing implements. Ellie monitored the soldier’s vitals as the M.E. got to work on the soldier’s shoulder, where a large bullet wound was located.

       “Fuckin’ Fireflies, man, came outta nowhere,” the man grunted, eyes focused straight up at the top of the medical tent, putting on a brave face. “We’re gonna lose this zone,” he added, sounding very concerned.

       “No, we’re not. You’ll be fine, I promise,” Ellie soothed. His eyes flicked down towards her for a fraction of a second before he looked back up.

       “As you boys know, we used the last of our morphine ages ago, on account of you all becoming bullet magnets, so just try to stay still,” the M.E. sighed. Ellie felt the man’s grip on her arm as he reached out for something, keeping his shoulder as still as possible.

       “You’re doing great, okay? Just a little bit longer,” Ellie praised, watching the M.E.’s careful hands as he retrieved the bullet and dropped it onto the tray beside him.

       He inspected the bullet and looked up at Ellie with a satisfied smile. “Just stitches now, friend. Got the bullet out in one piece! You should consider yourself lucky,” the M.E. explained.

       The soldier on the table grunted and rolled his eyes. “Right,” he said sarcastically.

       “I’ve got this one, Ellie, why don’t you get some rest.” Ellie felt the soldier release her arm and she nodded, stepping back and heading for the sink by the door. What felt like layers of blood slowly came off as she scrubbed, continuing long after she was truly clean.

       “Goodnight,” Ellie called out before disappearing out of the tent.

----------

       Five years. Five years since she got stuck in the FEDRA quarantine zone. Despite the CDC still operating, she’d been cut off from all contact, the administrator at this particular zone finding her authority...frustrating. She was monitored and restricted, allowed to function as a medic, only. Her research was taken away, and she never did hear from Jason. She hoped he was alive.

       The Fireflies had risen up in response to the authoritarian control imposed by FEDRA, and were functioning both within and on the outside of the quarantine zone. Tensions were high, and the Fireflies were currently well-supplied and well-funded. You couldn’t go anywhere in the zone without encountering wanted posters with the enigmatic Marlene, leader of the Fireflies, front and center.

       Ellie appreciated their cause, but she was useless outside the wall. She’d be of no value to a militia group. She just had to keep her head down, endure the situation until it changed. That was inevitable. And with how the violence was ramping up around the zone, She felt it would be changing sooner rather than later.

       “Are you Eleanor Graves?”

       Ellie dropped the journal in her hands and nearly screamed. She recognized the intruder immediately. She was flanked by two men who had their hands on the holsters at their sides, though Ellie posed no threat. She locked eyes with one of the men, his piercing blue eyes bright and cautious.

       “Eleanor?” Marlene repeated. “It’s alright, relax, we’re not here to hurt you.”

       “W-why is the leader of the fireflies here, in the zone? How do you know who I am?” Ellie wished she didn’t appear so scared. How had she not heard them? And three of them?

       Marlene reached out and rested a hand on the shoulder of the man closest to her, the one with the blue eyes. “It’s alright,” she nodded. He stood up straight, relaxing a bit in his shoulders. His hands stayed loose at his sides, and she knew he’d still be able to beat her to any weapon. The way he was watching her kept her uneasy. The other man followed suit.

       “What do you want from me?” The last thing Ellie needed was to be found with Fireflies in her room. She’d hang.

       “We’ve been looking for you. A friend of yours thought you might be able to help,” Marlene explained.

       “Help with what? And what friend?” Ellie couldn’t have been more confused.

       “James, a, uh, colleague of yours, before all...this, said you might be able to offer a different perspective. We haven’t made much progress and we can take all the help we can get.”

       James. So he was alive, working with the Fireflies. It would explain why he never reached out. He wouldn’t have been able to.

       “A different perspective? I don’t understand.” Ellie watched Marlene. She was choosing her words carefully on purpose. If Jason was involved, it had to have something to do with a vaccine. So someone somewhere was still trying? Ellie felt hope for the first time in a long time. Years, maybe.

       The tall man stepped in, clearly concerned about the length of the conversation. “We’re taking you to our research facility.” Ellie didn’t care much for his tone.

       “You’re not taking me anywhere.” Ellie crossed her arms.

       “Charlie, please, let me talk to her,” Marlene urged. Charlie crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Ellie, and took a step back.

       “Hurry up. We can’t get caught here.”

       Marlene stepped closer, pulling Ellie aside. “We need your help. I’m asking you to come with us. We’ve got a lab set up, we’re working on a cure. It’s in the early stages, but you could really help us. I wouldn’t have made this trip myself if I didn’t need you with us. I know they’ve cut you off, got you trapped here. I’m offering you an escape.”

       Ellie could see why Marlene was so revered by her group. She was a calming presence, and a powerful leader. She earned respect, and didn’t demand it. Ellie knew there wasn’t much of a choice here. She knew where she needed to be.

       “How do we get past the wall?”

       “Not we,” Marlene started.

       “We need to move. It’s not safe,” Charlie interrupted. Marlene looked at him, a flash of concern passing over her face.

       “Come with us, we’ve got somewhere safe nearby. We can prepare there.” Marlene handed Ellie her journal and offered a smile. “You’re safe with us.”

       Ellie took the journal and glanced around her home for the last five years. She only had a few possessions, not things she truly coveted. She didn’t think she would miss life in the quarantine zone. “I’ll get my things.”

       “Make it quick,” Charlie warned. Ellie tensed. She didn’t appreciate him ordering her around.

       “It’s okay, Ellie, get what you need,” Marlene mediated. She shot Charlie a look.

       Ellie got her backpack together and threw it over her shoulders. She met the trio in the center of the room. “Okay, where to?”

       “Follow me,��� Charlie ordered. “And stay close,” he added, his tone almost annoyed. Still, she didn’t have a choice but to put up with him for now.

       “Okay.”

[i-know-you-can]

Domesticity - Chapter 3 - Thanksgiving Pt. 1

Summary: A series of overly sappy and fluffy domestic one shots set a couple of years after season 1. Canon compliant until the end of season 1, if the alternative ending with Jughead moving in with the Coopers actually happened.

AKA Betty and Jughead stood the test of time and now they’re starting a new chapter of their life

Rated: T

Chapters: 3/?

A/N: While we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving my country I made an attempt at Bughead celebrating this holiday. This is the first part and the second one will hopefully be posted soon. It messes up the chronology of this series a bit so the chapters following the Thanksgiving ones will probably take place before Thanksgiving but I hope nobody minds.

If you missed it, I also posted a little insta edit that goes along with these chapters

Happy Thanksgiving!

read on AO3

read on fanfiction.net

“If someone told me ten years ago that I would ever get to see something like this, I would think they're crazy,” Polly says as she and Betty watch Reggie and Jughead playing with the twins. Currently both Jason Jr. and Rosie demand to be carried on the guys' backs, while pretending they're riding horses and fighting with their imaginary swords.

“Because it is crazy,” Betty replies with a laugh, gazing at her husband lovingly. She knows just how exhausting her sister's kids are to deal with, yet he never turns down the opportunity to play with them, a genuine smile splayed on his lips the entire time. Uncle Jughead, as they call him, is by far their favorite family member. Especially now that they don't get to see him as often as they used to when they were merely toddlers. “The best kind of crazy. Polly Cooper and Reggie Mantle. Who would've thought?” Betty says with an amused grin. While it’s only been a short while since Reggie got down on one knee and asked Polly to marry him, the four of them have been seen as a family for much longer than that.

“Certainly not me.” Polly laughs. She and Reggie have been officially dating for almost four years now and sometimes it baffles her just as much as everyone else. “The kids love him and so do I. I guess love can take you by surprise. But I suppose you would know all about that.”

“Jug and I have been friends since pre-school. He has always been one of my closest friends. I don't know why it surprised you so much.” Betty still clearly remembers the first time she mentioned her sort-of-relationship with Jughead to Polly, shortly after reuniting with her after the weeks they spent apart because of their parents. After a series of questions starting with all the possible interrogative pronouns she concluded with “I always knew that boy had a thing for you.”, letting Betty wonder whether she was the only one that was oblivious to his feelings.

“Exactly, he was your friend. A friend giving you heart eyes from the distance while you hopelessly pined for the boy next door. Of course I was surprised by how things changed during the time I was away. I still am a little bit,” Polly says with a shrug. “But I get it now.”

Betty blushes at the mention of her crush on Archie. No matter how many years pass, she still feels embarrassed about that part of her life. “I think I was too blinded by my childhood crush on Archie. Or rather, what he represented. And when that dream fell apart, I was finally able to see what was right in front of me the entire time.” Her eyes lock with Jughead's and he gives her his brightest smile, as if knowing exactly what's she thinking about. When they first started dating, a lot of people were surprised by their relationship, but to Betty nothing ever made more sense. “I guess I have you to thank for that. And Jason,” she says after a moment. “Nothing brings people closer than looking for a lost sister and a cold blooded murderer.”

“While I'd like to take some credit for you two lovebirds finally realizing your feelings for each other and acting on them, you're meant to be. It would have happened one way or another.” Polly smiles, takes a sip of her tea and watches her children quietly for a moment before continuing. “But at least you have a fun story to tell your grandchildren.”

“I bet Jug already has a full document of those.” Betty giggles, remembering all the times something significant or ridiculous happened just for Jughead to announce: “This is a story we'll tell our grandchildren.” “I think he's documenting our whole relationship precisely for that reason.”

“Speaking of which,” Polly takes the opportunity to transition to a questions she’s been dying to ask her sister. “How is married life treating you?”

“It's wonderful,” Betty replies, a warm smile spreading across her face. They have only been married for a little over four months but despite all the hardships of a fresh college graduate trying to find their place in the adult world, it's been the best period of her life. Knowing that no matter how shitty her day is at the end of it she can fall asleep safely in her husband's arms fills her with inexplicable happiness.

“No newly discovered annoying habits?” Polly asks with a raised eyebrow. It only took two months of her and Reggie living together before she discovered that he just loves to keep the door open whenever he’s visiting the bathroom, no matter if he’s alone or if the house is full of people.

“We've been living together since we were sixteen. I don't think there is much that can surprise me now.” Betty laughs, hoping Jughead hasn't been hiding any annoying habit he could surprise her with after all those years.

“It's the first time the two of you are living alone,” Polly reminds her and Betty has to admit she’s right. Living under the same roof with her parents and later moving in with their two best friends during college was a bit different than living alone as a couple. “It’s not all just about adult wrestling anytime and anywhere.”

“The privacy certainly doesn't suck.” Betty bites her lip and a blush creeps up her cheeks when she thinks about how Jughead and she have been enjoying their newly found privacy.

“Well enjoy that while you can,” Polly says with a knowing smirk. “Once you have kids, there is no such thing as privacy.” As if on cue the twins come surging towards their mother, each grabbing one of her arms as they pull her along, asking her to play with them. “Mommy duties,” Polly throws over her shoulder and gives her sister a happy, yet exhausted smile before being rushed to the other side of the living room.

“Either I'm getting old or the twins are already too big for me to carry them on my back,” Jughead says as he slowly comes hobbling after them, sliding on the couch next to Betty with a painful groan.

“How about both?”  Betty suggests with a giggle as she gently rubs Jughead's back, feeling his muscles relax under her touch. “You know, you can always just say no. We shouldn't spoil them too much.”

“To them?” Jughead raises his eyebrow as if unable to believe what she has just said. He thinks Betty really must be the most fearless person he knows. “With the fiery Blossom hair and intimidating Cooper stare, I don't think anyone will ever dare to say no to them.”

“Is that why you can never say no to me either? Because I intimidate you?” Betty cocks her eyebrow to match his and grins at him.

“No, that’s just because I love you,” he answers honestly as the softest little smile spreads across his face. He knows he sounds like the biggest cheesiest dork but he can’t help himself.

“You’re such a sap.” Betty giggles and his arms wrap around her waist, molding into her curves perfectly.

“Just. For. You,” Jughead whispers, meeting her lips in a languid kiss. His back pain quickly forgotten as he pushes her into the perfectly arranged throw pillows and for a moment they both forget all the hustle and bustle of holidays and family gatherings, only focusing on each other.

“The dinner is ready!” Alice’s sharp voice brings them back to reality and for once Jughead wishes the food could wait.

 “Tonight things were surprisingly...” Betty starts as they're walking to the house next door, one of her arms holding a plate of pumpkin pie tightly to her chest while the other one is linked with Jughead's.

“Calm?” Jughead finishes for her with a chuckle. “I guess my dad not being there to antagonize your mom helped that a lot.”

“I don't want him to feel like he can't spend holidays with us,” she says, feeling a small pang of guilt. She hates keeping the two sides of her family apart, but due to some ridiculous conflict between her mother and FP that happened recently, they decided it might be better if they weren't in the same house for several hours at a time. “But my mom makes it... difficult.”

“Trust me, he doesn't mind.” Jughead squeezes her arm gently, trying to reassure her it's in everyone's best interest if their parents stay apart. “I'm pretty sure he prefers watching the game with Fred while stuffing himself with turkey over trying to remain polite through a four course meal and failing.”

“Would you prefer it?” Betty asks, wondering whether Jughead only suffers through the formal Cooper dinners because of her. Despite her mother's attempts at perfection it's not the kind of relaxing family time one would hope for, but ever since moving to New York permanently, Betty feels like she needs to get the most out of the time in Riverdale and mainly time with Polly and her kids.

“Have you ever seen me watch football?” he answers with a question of his own and they both laugh at the idea.

“Well you came to most of the games in high school.”

“I certainly wasn't there to look at a bunch of jocks sweating their asses off in an attempt to assert their dominance. A particular blonde cheerleader in a short skirt on the other hand...” he trails off with a wink and Betty feels her cheeks getting red for a reason other than the cold November air. “Anyway, your mom's cooking is amazing and for some reason she actually seems to like me. So that paired with you by my side the whole time makes the two hours of wearing smart clothes and trying not to make too many sarcastic comments that would get me kicked out of the house more than worth it.”

“I don't know how I used to go through these dinners without you, but I'm glad I don't have to anymore.” She smiles at him sweetly and he leans down to kiss her, their lips barely brushing against each other when the front door of the Andrews' house opens, startling them both.

“C'mon kids, enough of the making out on my porch. We're all waiting for that famous pie,” Fred says with a laugh and ushers them inside.

[han100894]

Some Thoughts of the Different Zeetha Series

So now that I have finished myf irst ever series of Fanfics, I figured I’d write out some thoughts about it:

I first came up with the AU/What –if idea of: what if Zeetha hadn’t managed to avoid getting enslaved by the pirates, several years ago, not to long after I started in the Girl Genius fandom. At the time I think only Leaving Skifander was on my account and I had only just gotten an Ao3 account just to put it somewhere.

I posted the idea up on Tumblr and got some interest. It was one of the earliest AU ideas that I have ever posted up there, though now I post them with some frequency, but for some reason that one in particular stuck with me. Years later I honestly don’t know what about it that got me so attached.

At the time when I first started writing In Which Zeetha Was Sicker Than She Thought, it was December, I had just missed nanowrimo again through forgetting about it up until it was already a few days in, and then failing to really keep up with it. So I was stuck wanting to be a writer but failing to find the motivation and ability to write both to completion and just to the point where a story could be called a novel.

At the time I had started a thousand and one projects and only ever finished one (fanfic at least) that was more than say a thousand word oneshot, a short story called Alone for the Mysterious Benedict Society (And yes it’s posted on the internet somewhere, if you really want to go find some High School trash—just know I really loved Kate and thought her underappreciated).

So with this AU bugging my brain (or at least I can only imagine it had been, I don’t really remember how it was like way back when) I decided that I was going to impose a challenge on myself—I was going to write this AU, and both prove to myself I could finish a multi-chapter story but also to use it as training wheels both to learn just how to write prose, and also how to write with any real length.

So I wrote and surprisingly enough over the course of winter break I started and finished In Which Zeetha Was Sicker Than She Thought. Was the prose great: not even close and the shortest chapter was 880 words but from there I got better and better, by the end I had 25,891 words total and my avg per chapter was about 2,500 words. It still had tons of grammar issues  and I’m not really sure it’s plot can really be called a plot, but It was mine, I started it and I finished it.

I posted it, got comments, got excited, and very quickly started on part 2. By this point I knew for sure that there would be at least three parts (with a possible forth for Skifander, something that one day may still happen) so I added something new to my challenge, each part would be significantly better than the last.

The second story, In Which Zeetha Takes a Stand was written almost just as fast. It was pretty much double the word count and my average words per chapter doubled as well, only the first chapter coming out under a 1000 words. I also felt my characters and prose had grew significantly, as had my handling of actual plot. I admittedly leaned heavily on the Girl Genius Novel now that I could, but I don’t mind that. The whole point of this series was to learn and grow, some training wheels only helped in that regard.

Then came the third story. By this point it was mid-spring and finals were coming up and I figured it might be a good idea to take a short break on the Different Zeetha universe as a whole for a little while. So I only really started writing it at the start on June once school was done.

The first 9 chapters came just as easy, but then I hit a snag. I went looking for help but unfortunately said help, if unintentionally, lead to a shattering of my confidence of my ability, and an honest sick feeling whenever I looked at those chapters. It took me a good 4-6 months, in which I wrote several others little one shots and stories before I came back to In Which 3.

By that point it had been about a year since I started writing In Which 1, and I was starting to feel guilty and ashamed for taking so long to finish for my readers. I started picking away at later chapters, and after a little more time decided after so long, and because the amount of chapter I already had was already had the same amount of words as in In Which 2 I would post it, if only to force myself to keep going.

So I did. It led to several hiatus and lost of stress and guilt, but it did get me to push back my nerves over the trouble chapters and keep going, and while it took another year before now, where I can finally say I have finished everything, I’m proud of what I have accomplished.

Especially as where In Which 1 was long enough to qualify as a <>, and In Which 2 was long enough to qualify as a <>, In Which 3 comes out to <> words and is long enough to qualify as a novel. Which mean my first and main goal was accomplished, and with it I learned a lot in grammar to plot to characters to style.

The Big Drag:

To focus some on just In Which Zeetha Fight for Mechanicsburg for a bit, as it’s my most current work, and also the one I had significant trouble with, to say the least it was a journey.

I went into it with just as much enthusiasm as the first two, so it makes sense that I stalled out at about the same length as the second was. But the hiatus that followed was a struggle. I never fully stopped writing on it; it was just a little here, a re-read there. But it was still enough that I honestly believe that the story suffered some. I lost track of plots and character development and style, I forgot things that I hadn’t realized I needed to write down in my notes. It wasn’t an extreme loss in any sense, but the story lost a little bit of it’s compactness with it. And I found myself realizing I wasn’t sure how a thread would work, or where it was going, or what to do with it.

For instance I had really wanted to do more with Tarvek and Zeetha’s relationship throughout—that didn’t come to pass, and while I have it set up to explore later if I want I’m still a little sad I couldn’t figure out how I meant for it to work.

Other open bits here and there I’m sure still exist, especially with my staggered updating and editing. Though some are on purpose, to be explored in possible sequels or are just questions I have, that I was sure the character in question would voice, of the Canon story that just simply hasn’t been answered yet in canon.

So while it did help in some ways, I don’t think I’ll ever start posting a story unfinished again, at least not one like this, it just lead to much stress.

Though to be fair, there was another problem I had with this part that I feel I overcame but likely played tribute to my issues in writing the story. It was simply I wasn’t really sure where I was going, what was the ending, and all that. With the other two I knew exactly what the ending would be, and while I mostly did for this one, it was also a lot more complicated and had a lot more “shrug” filling in blanks that made things more difficult that it needed to be. I likely would have benefited from planning more before starting chapter 1.

As a third thing, like the second story I stuck to canon pretty closely for lot of bits, the GMC was visited as was Lu’s lab, the stabbing still happened, ect, despite the fact I had plenty of chances to diverge and go extremely off course. And I know some would have preferred I did. And yeah I could have, but like before, this was my first big story/series, and I was mostly focused on the ides of managing on finishing one, so I wasn’t super ready to drop my training wheels so quickly. I’m sure to do it less in the future, but I’m pleased how it came out regardless of all the borrowing.

And that’s really it really. I’m not sure what comes next. I have an oneshot that’s almost done, several shorter chapter stories to maybe finish. Zeetha Wulfenbach, a second just as loved major AU idea, still burns in the background even if I still am not sure I’m a good enough writer to tackle that one the way I want to, though I do have a few snipplest almost ready to share. I could do another in the Time Skip series or another chapter of Through A Princess’ Eyes. I’m just not sure. But I hope people enjoy them regardless.

And once again, thanks to everyone who has commented and read!

[sorosoroso]

Christianity in Japan: Part I

I got another chance to write an article for Connect! This time, I decided to write about Christianity in Japan, and its influence. This was a particularly long article, so I’ve split it into two parts. The first part revolves mostly around my perception of Japanese Christians, and my interview with a Japanese Christian. The second half focuses on the history of the religion of Japan. I found this so fascinating to research, and even though I still have very complicated feelings regarding Christianity, I do have a profound respect for people who still practice it, especially in those who endured through difficult times. 

In Jesus’ Name, (R)Amen: A Peek Into Christianity and the Christian Identity in Japan

Growing up in a Christian home, my favorite thing to learn about wasn’t bible verses,  Jesus’ parables, or the Psalms. Nah. Despite a fairly sheltered childhood, at the very appropriate age of twelve, I was fascinated by the gory, violent deaths of Christian martyrs throughout history. Somehow, I was able to get my hands on a book all about this child-friendly subject, and I remember spending hours flipping through the pages with rapt, undivided attention.

 The book did not skimp on the gruesome demises of these Christians, early and contemporary, detailing (and maybe dramatizing) their torture. What began as morbid curiosity gave way to genuine interest, especially when it came to martyrs in Japan, of which there were surprisingly many. The most famous incident was the 26 Martyrs of Japan, where a group of Christians were killed at Nagasaki in 1597. Aside from the brutality of the execution method (being crucified and pierced with spears; a cruel parody of Jesus’ own death), their deaths piqued my tweeny curiosity because, up to that point, I hadn’t realized that Christianity was a minority religion in other countries. 

As a Korean-American, Christianity played an important role in both cultures I was part of: in the United States, vacations were centered around Christian holidays like Christmas and Easter, and I used to attend one of the many Korean-American churches sprinkled across California. Although I don’t practice it anymore, Christianity still influences what I consider “normal” (it still feels strange we don’t get Christmas off in Japan!). 

After a deep dive into Japan’s relationship with Christianity, I soon discovered that the 26 Martyrs wasn’t some random act of violence; it was both the culmination of years of complex economic, political, and cultural factors and represented the beginning of Japan’s dark history regarding religious freedom. As an island nation, Japan had very little contact with Western countries. In fact, the first ever documented Europeans to step foot in Japan arrived by complete accident when, in 1543,  two Portuguese traders were blown off-course during a trade expedition to China. Within six years of this encounter, the first Christian missionaries from Portugal set out to Japan, beginning with Kagoshima. These initial efforts had… mixed success on the Japanese, and it took time to really take off.

Nowadays, though, Christianity permeates many aspects of modern Japanese culture. Some of the countries’ top ranking universities, like Sophia University and International Christian University (ICU), were established by Christians and openly advocate the religion. Western style weddings are popular in Japan, with many couples forgoing formal kimonos in favor of dresses and suits, and ditching Shinto shrines for Western chapels, complete with a white foreigner playing as a minister, whether or not they’re ordained. Even mainstream anime incorporates Christian iconography or themes; one of Japan’s most successful franchises, the Evangelion series, appropriates Christian mythos and angelology (the study of angels) despite staff members admitting it was purely for aesthetic reasons. 

And we haven’t even touched on the wide array of Christian literature in Japan, including Shusaku Endo’s Silence, which was adapted into an Academy award nominated film directed by Martin Scorsese in 2016!

With such a conspicuous presence, it’s hard to believe that Christianity is still very much a minority religion in Japan, and, despite its prevalence and general acceptance, is still considered very foreign to Japanese people. Many seem fascinated by the aesthetics of the religion, but less by the actual practice of it. In fact, the entire time I lived in Japan, I’d only ever met one person who openly told me she was Christian. Still, I wanted to better understand what Christianity was like currently. I knew that there were other Japanese Christians, and it was clear research would only do so much: I would need to talk to someone who actually practiced Christianity.

Luckily for me, I knew exactly one person who did. 

I was delighted to find out that she was willing to speak about her personal experience in her faith. During our conversation together, I finally found answers to my questions about being Christian in Japan, as well as further insight into why Christianity is still a minority religion despite over 100 years of religious freedom in Japan. I hope you will enjoy our discussion as well. 

The following interview was conducted almost entirely in English. At the interviewee’s request, she will not be referred to by her real name nor will certain details about her personal life be revealed. In addition, parts of the interview have been edited for clarification or grammatical reasons. 

Can you please introduce yourself and your background?

I am a Japanese woman, and I began to believe in Jesus Christ as a high schooler. On Christmas, I went to a bookstore and found a book by a Christian author.

My family, however, was Buddhist.

Do you remember the author’s name?

Her name was Ayako Miura. She has since passed away. She wrote many novels, essays, and songs. 

The book I found was titled “Michi Ariki”, and was about how she became Christian. I was so impressed with it. I read the book, and I felt that Jesus Christ is the real God. The Christian God is full of love, and knowing that Jesus Christ loves me, that he saved me from my sins and gave me a new life, made me so happy.

Did it comfort you to know that Jesus and God was with you?

Yeah, that’s right. I was so happy. 

Really? But with Buddhism, you didn’t feel that same love?

Yeah, because when I was a child, I thought if I did bad things, I had to be punished. In Japanese, we say “bacchiga-ataru”. If I do bad things, bad things will happen to me. It’s like Heaven is going to punish you.

Oh, I think I understand. Is it like karma?

Yes, Kind of like that. I was afraid of what I might do. But, Jesus Christ is the opposite. Even though I was so sinful, Jesus Christ died for me, because he wanted to save me from sin. I was so happy to hear that he would do that so that I could live in heaven.

Were you the only Christian in your family?

Yes, exactly!

How did your family react to you being Christian?

My family was so shocked, and they had difficulty accepting that I was a Christian. I had to wait until I was 20 years old to be baptized. I told my family that 20 years old is considered a legal adult age. 

How do other people react when you tell them “I’m Christian”?

Hmm. Well, when I was a university student, I told people I was Christian, but most weren’t surprised. I think it’s because there are some schools in Japan founded by Christian missionaries. Even though most students don’t believe in Jesus Christ, they know about Christianity, and their image of it isn’t so bad.

What do you think non-Christian Japanese people’s image of Christianity are in general?

In general? I think Japanese people, basically, have no religion. Things like keeping graves clean and songs, those are more like customs, now.  I think their image of Christians is so… katai (hard), or serious?

Really?

Well, some people think Christians are majime (strict), or too rigid. Have you heard this phrase before: “Japan is the grave of missionaries”?

No I haven’t. Does this phrase mean many missionaries died in Japan? Or is it because people give up being missionaries in Japan?

The second one. It is so difficult for people to become Christians in Japan. The Christian population is less than 1 percent here.

Is your family Christian?

Yes, they are Christian. 

Was your husband Christian when you met him? Or did he decide to convert later?

After marriage, he became a Christian. He wanted to know me better and to understand me, but he had to understand Christianity first. So, he went to church, attended Sunday service, and read the bible. 

Wow! He was a very good student.

(laughs) Well, I think it wasn’t his attitude, but God’s love that helped him..

Did you have a Japanese style or Western style wedding?

I thought the wedding would be a very good chance for my husband and others to learn about Christianity, so I asked for a Western style wedding. The pastor of my church came and gave a sermon. Many people came to my wedding and were able to listen to a bible message.

How do you think Christianity’s image has changed since you were in high school?

I think it’s difficult to change the image of Christians, but I want to live my life honestly. I don’t have a lot of power, but I want to try to help other people in need. I want to be kind to other people through Jesus Christ.

So, I guess not many changes?

This is my personal opinion, but I think Japanese people are actually afraid of being different from other people. For example, many years ago, there was a bad accident that happened in the name of religion. A cult was responsible for the accident.

I think Japanese people still keep looking for God, because people are weak. In Japanese society, we work so hard, and our country is unstable. We have so many things to stress about, and I think they want a God to look after them.

But it’s difficult for them to be Christian because we are the minority in Japan, and Japanese people want to be the same as each other.

What do you think Christianity is like in other countries?

Some Korean missionaries came to my church, and I had a chance to speak with them. They were so kind. My image of Christians in foreign countries is of these missionaries. Even though I have never been to a Korean church, I think it would be similar to this experience.

How about America?

My image of American church is pretty good. If they believe in Jesus Christ, they are my brothers and sisters.

What do you think American churches are like?

I had a chance to talk with some American Christians. Some of them were missionaries, but everyone was so nice.I think church in the United States would be really fun and welcoming. But, maybe this is because I saw movies like The Blues Brothers… 

(laughs) Oh I see!

The church atmosphere seems so cheerful in movies.

Are there many young Christian people in your church?

Good question! In my church, there are many different generations, from babies to the elderly. 

Do young people come with their families or by themselves?

Young people, especially little kids, come with their parents. My pastor believes that children are extremely important. He thinks if children are familiar with Jesus while young, they will lead better lives because He will always be with them. 

The average age of Christians in Japan is very high, so we are afraid that churches will disappear in the future. If too many people leave, our churches cannot exist here.

What do you think the future of Christianity is in Japan?

Sh: If the number of young people in Japan decreases, I think many churches will close because it will become difficult to find Christians in Japan. I hope God sends many young people to our churches one day.

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For the next part of the article, please click here.

[ljones41]

"THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN 2" (2014) Review

"THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN 2" (2014) Review Following the success of the 2012 movie, "THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN", Marvel and Sony Pictures continued the SPIDER-MAN saga with the second chapter. Unlike the first movie, "THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN 2" proved to be quite controversial.

"THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN 2" begins in the past, when Richard and Mary Parker left their son Peter behind with the former's brother Ben and sister-in-law May. The couple leave New York City on a private jet, but the latter gets hijacked by an assassin. Unfortunately, a deadly fight ensues between the Parkers and the assassin, the pilot is killed and the plane crashes, killing everyone else on board. The story then jumps to the present, which finds Peter as Spider-Man pursuing a criminal named Aleksei Sytsevich on the day he graduates from high school. During the chase, Spider-Man saves OsCorp Industries engineer and ardent fan Max Dillon. Following Peter and girlfriend Gwen Stacy's graduation, Peter has a vision of her father, NYPD Captain George Stacy, reminding him of a promise he had made to keep Gwen out of his life as Spider-Man. When Peter reminds her, they break up. The young couple eventually reconcile, but Peter also learns that Gwen plans to attend Oxford University on a scholarship. Peter eventually discovers that he has more to worry about than Gwen's departure for Europe. While attending to maintenance in an OsCorp laboratory, Max Dillon falls into a tank of genetically modified electric eels and transforms into a being known as Electro. When he wanders into Times Square and causes a blackout, Spider-Man tries to calm him down. But the police attack, causing Max to lose his temper at them and the web-slinger, who eventually captures him. Meanwhile, Peter's old childhood friend, Harry Osborn returns to New York to see his dying father, OsCorp Industries CEO Norman Osborn. Harry eventually learns that he has inherited a disease that is killing his father. Upon Norman's death, Harry feverishly searches for a cure to his disease and discovers that Spider-Man's blood might be able to save him. At the same time, Harry is forced to deal with the corporation's Board of Directors, who wants to oust him out as CEO. Peter's personal life and his dealings with both Electro and Harry eventually clash when the two form an alliance on a fatal night. Before I saw "THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN 2", I had stumbled across criticisms of the movie that was not so kind. Usually, I try to ignore criticism of any kind, but for once I found it difficult to do so. I did not exactly approach the movie with any high expectations. But to my surprise, I actually found myself enjoying it . . . well, most of it, with the exception of the last 10 to 15 minutes. Mind you, "THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN 2" does not exactly reek with any real originality, despite not being based upon any particular past comic book story arc. But Alex Kurtzman, Roberto Orci, Jeff Pinkner and James Vanderbilt created a solid story. This movie featured the origin of at least three Spider-Man villains - the Rhino, Electro and especially the Green Goblin. I thought I would be upset when the story line regarding the disappearance of Peter's parents would eventually form a connection to the creation of the Green Goblin. But no . . . I did not mind at all. The screenplay accomplished a good deal for me. It continued Peter and Gwen's romance in a believable way, allowing it to be threatened by Peter's promise to Captain Stacy and Gwen's ambitions to study at Oxford. Not many people were fond of the Electro character in this movie, but I was impressed not only by Jamie Foxx's performance, but also by how the screenwriters handled the character's story arc from worshipping geek to enraged super villain. I was very impressed by the movie's opening scene that revealed the details of Richard and Mary Parker's death. It reeked with good performances, along with plenty of action and suspense. I thought Webb's direction in this particular scene was first-rate. The scene also benefitted greatly from Pietro Scalia and Elliot Graham. Harry Osborn's story arc proved to a bit more problematic for me. Mind you, I had no problem with him becoming the Green Goblin, instead of his father Norman. And I was impressed by Harry's problems with the OsCorp board members. But the friendship between Peter and Harry was not as firmly established as it was in the three Sam Rami films. I also thought the screenwriters had stretched it a bit by allowing Dr. Parker's formula to be responsible for the emergence of the Goblin. The idea of a a genetic spider formula being responsible for someone transforming into some kind of malignant green elf does seem somewhat ludicrous. And I wish that the Green Goblin had made his appearance a little earlier in the film, instead of in the last half hour. Of course, this probably means an appearance of the Green Goblin in a future "Amazing Spider-Man"film. Probably. I am not really sure. But if there is one thing I had no problem with in regard to the Goblin's appearance in the movie was how it led to Gwen Stacy's death. Many are in an uproar over the character's death, due to their fondness of actress Emma Stone's interpretation of the character and her screen chemistry with lead actor Andrew Garfield. Personally, I saw it coming a mile away. When the Captain Stacy character promised Peter to keep Gwen out of his life before dying in the 2012 film, I knew that sooner or later, Gwen was a goner. The fact that director Marc Webb and the producers had plans to include the Mary Jane Watson character into this particular series of Spider-Man films only confirmed my suspicions. I really enjoyed Stone's portrayal of Gwen and I found the character's death rather heartbreaking, but I had no problems with Webb and the screenwriters including her death into the plot. Especially since I thought it was well handled by them. I had other problems with "THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN 2". One of the biggest problems I had was the character of Aleksei Sytsevich. It is a good thing that the character had a small appearance in this film, because I really disliked him. One of the problems I had was Paul Giamatti's performance. I am a big fan of the actor, but his portrayal of the comic book villain has to be one of the worst in his career . . . possibly his worst. I have never encountered such hammy acting in quite a while. And I certainly did not welcome his reappearance in the movie's finale as the Rhino. One, I had to endure the hammy acting again. And two, his reappearance reminded me of the ending of the 2004 Disney/Pixar animated film, "THE INCREDIBLES". And the latter handled this same scenario a lot better. In fact, I really do not like the ending. I wish Webb and the screenwriters had simply ended the movie with Sytsevich's sudden reappearance. But no, they had to subject the movie audiences with this ludicrous scene that featured Spider-Man, the Rhino and some mentally disturbed kid who thought he could serve as Spidey's replacement. Even worse was the movie's mid-credit scene that was basically a trailer for the upcoming movie, "X-MEN: DAYS OF FUTURE PAST". Really? They could have used the hint of OsCorp's involvement with the creation of the Secret Six for the mid-credit scene, but . . . no. Webb and the screenwriters thought otherwise. Pity. It is a good thing that I enjoyed most of this film. But I cannot say the same about two other performances. Felicity Jones was wasted as Harry Osborn's new assistant, Felicia Hardy. Comic book lovers remember the character as Spider-Man's most ambiguous lover, the Black Cat. Instead of giving audiences glimpses of the extroverted character, Webb and the screenwriters forced Jones to portray a not-so interesting character with little screen time. But she was not alone. Also wasted in this film was B.J. Novak, who was given one (or possibly two) two scenes as Max Dillon's supervisor at OsCorp. All he did was sneer at Fox's Dillon and disappeared from the movie. What a waste! Marton Csokas portrayed Dr. Ashley Kafka, the head of Ravencroft Institute for the Criminally Insane, where the captured Electro . And he did it with a hamminess that almost . . . almost rivaled Giamatti's performance. Thankfully, most of the performances were excellent. Aside from his occasional penchant for early Brando-like behavior, Andrew Garfield gave an excellent performance as Peter Parker aka Spider-Man. I was especially impressed by his scenes with Sally Field and Emma Stone. Sally Field gave a wonderfully emotional performance as Peter's Aunt May, especially in one scene in which she admitted to her nephew the difficulties in dealing with life as a widow. Dane DeHaan gave a very interesting and complex performance as the young Harry Osborn. He did a great job in taking Harry's character from the young man wary over a reunion with his cold, dying father to the inexperienced CEO dealing with backstabbing corporate executives to the super villain with blood on his hands and vengeance in his heart. Colm Feore appeared in his second Marvel film as OsCorp's back-stabbing Vice-President Donald Menken and gave a subtle, yet scary performance. Chris Cooper's portrayal of OsCorp's CEO Norman Osborn was equally subtle and scary . . . and he was portraying a dying man. As I had earlier stated, I was very impressed by Webb's direction and the editing featured in the movie's opening sequence regarding Richard and Mary Parker's fate. But that scene would have never worked without the skillful performances of Campbell Scott and Embeth Davidtz as Peter's parents. The two performances that really impressed me came from Jamie Foxx, who gave a surprisingly effective performance as Max Dillon aka Electro and Emma Stone as Gwen Stacy. There had been some negative criticism regarding Foxx's performance. But honestly, I was impressed. He did an excellent job in developing the Max Dillon character from an insecure geek with a pathetic crush on Spider-Man, to a very angry super villain with an enormous chip on his shoulder. And I could see why so many were upset over Gwen Stacy's death in this movie. One has to thank Stone for giving an exceptional performance as the strong-willed, intelligent young woman whom Peter fell in love with. Her performance also struck me as very charismatic. Yes, "THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN 2" is not perfect. It featured at least two characters that were criminally underused, two characters that struck me as unbearably hammy, some lack of originality in its plot and a godawful ending that featured a confrontation between Spider-Man and the Rhino. But despite these flaws, I still believe it was a first-class movie thanks to a decent, yet flawed screenplay, excellent direction from Marc Webb and first-class performances from a cast led by Andrew Garfield as the web slinger. I think it is a lot better than many give it credit for.

[wanderingsofal]

An Act of Rebellion - Chapter 3 - Converge

Chapter summary: Keith goes to meet the Champion. Fic can also be found on AO3. Edit- fixed the readmore, since it didn’t work the first time. Sorry about that!

———–

The area where they kept the prisoners was dark and cheerless. The air smelled of dried blood and urine, afflicting Keith’s sensitive nose and causing him to gag until he remembered to breathe through his mouth. At least it wasn’t hard to find the human’s cell. A quick check on the computer pulled up a map of the prison, and another few keystrokes brought him to the controls for the cameras and sentries. A technique learned from Ulaz let him tap into the cameras and replace the live feed with a loop of old footage. There. Now he had at least half a varga before anyone noticed something was up with the camera system. Longer, if the lieutenant on duty managed to live up to expectations and not even look at the vid screens for the rest of his shift. All that was left was to slip around the sentry patrols until he found the human’s cell.

Keith was in luck. The prisoner was already back in his cell, and because of his status as Champion (or perhaps because they were afraid he would attack other prisoners if left alone with them) he was given his own unit. From where he was lurking in the shadows, Keith could see the human slumped against the wall, head on his knees. He looked so vulnerable there; far cry from the angry, dangerous man that had so easily destroyed hundreds of opponents in the arena.

Then the Champion raised his head and looked directly in Keith’s direction. The Galra froze. Hidden in the shadows as he was it would be difficult for anyone to spot him, but even a small sound might have alerted a being with sensitive hearing to his presence in the otherwise deserted passageway. He watched the human scan the area and noticed the bandage across his nose. The healers must have worked their magic on him, because he didn’t seem to be in any pain. The wound would probably scar though, giving him an older, more dangerous look.

“I know you’re there, whoever you are.” The prisoner’s voice was tired and resigned, not at all what Keith had expected from the fighter he’d seen in the arena. He kept still, unsure of what to do now that he’d been spotted. Ticks passed, and the man sighed. “You can come out, you know. I can’t hurt you from in here.”

Keith slowly stepped into the light, hands raised and empty. The human followed Keith’s approach with his gaze but didn’t move from his position against the wall. He just watched as if waiting for whatever would happen next. So Keith moved carefully, trying to project a nonthreatening demeanor until he stood next to the force shield. Then he waited, unsure of what to say.

The Champion looked up at him with those beautiful grey eyes, and once again Keith was lost. This close his sharp sight could pick up on the threads of darker and lighter grey that ran through them, and he wondered if this was what the sky on Earth looked like before a storm.

“What is it now? Or are you just here to stare at ‘The Champion’,” the human asked, voice flat with a hard edge of sarcasm creeping in at the end.

Keith shook his head, breaking the hold of that wonderful gaze and mentally berating himself for behaving like a stunned tree-rat from that planet with the three suns.

“I, um. Here.” He dropped a bag he’d had slung over his shoulder and pressed a few buttons on the force shield controls, opening the small door in the bottom that was used to feed the prisoners. Then he pushed the bag through with his foot and closed it again. “Its medicine, should help with your wounds. Ah, and ease the pain. And there’s some food. I know they don’t give you much. You’ll probably want to hide it from the guards, but what you don’t eat should keep for a while. It’s just standard ration bars, which, I know they taste awful but… I’ll shut up now.” Keith trailed off as he noticed the human staring at him as if he’d suddenly grown an extra head.

“Why?” he asked, frowning at the bag and then back up at Keith.

“Why what?” Keith cocked his head to the side, watching a series of expressions cross the human’s face as he thought.

“Why give me this?” He pulled the bag closer and carefully reached in, pulling out a meal pack and a box of painkillers that Keith had appropriated from an unwatched supply room.

“I…” Keith blinked, and then shrugged. “Honestly, it was my friend’s idea. Said I’d need to earn your trust. I figure food’s as good a way as any.”

Surprisingly, the human laughed. “And telling me that is supposed to help?”

“Well… no.” The spy shook his head and slid down the wall extending from the opposite side of the cell, pulling up his knees as he sat in a mirror of the Champion’s posture.  “But lying didn’t seem like the best idea to start off with.”

The man narrowed his eyes, watching Keith’s face with suspicion. “You people seem to prefer torture to get what you want. Why the change?”

“They’re not ‘my people’,” Keith said, ears going back in irritation. “And everyone knows torture is a terrible way to get information.”

“Not your people?” He raised an eyebrow.

Keith glowered. “That’s not important. What do you know about Voltron?”

The champion sighed. “Look, like I’ve told everyone else that’s ‘asked’, I have no idea what a Voltron even is.”

“Huh.” It was rare that they came across any race in the galaxy that didn’t know what Voltron was, at least as a legend told to children. Either the human was lying, or his species hadn’t encountered any other sentient beings before he was taken prisoner. If he truly didn’t know what it was, that might be why all interrogations so far had failed to yield results. At least that would be an easy thing to test, all Keith had to do was tell him what Voltron was.

 “It’s the most powerful weapon in the universe. It was created by the Altean king Alfor, and lost ten thousand years ago. Sendak believes you know where part of it is.” Hatred leaked into Keith’s voice at the mention of Sendak’s name, his ears going flat against his head until he forced himself to relax. He’d hated the man for years, but being so closely linked to him, having to spend every day in his presence, had brought about a kind of loathing that permeated his thoughts on the commander. It was a relief to let it out, even a little, in front of someone who wouldn’t reprimand him for it.

“How would I know that?” The human was leaning forward now, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched Keith. “Even if it’s on Earth, it’s a big planet. It could be anywhere.”

“It’s big then?” At the mention of Earth, Keith’s eyes lit up and he shifted, leaning towards the other man. All mention of Voltron was forgotten at the mention of his father’s planet.

The Champion stared at him. “It- Earth? Yeah. I mean, it’s not the biggest planet in our solar system, but it’s not the smallest either.”

“Does it have many people? How many sentient races? How advanced are they? Do you have oceans? Deserts?” Questions he had always wanted to know poured out of him like water from an upturned bucket.

“Uh, it’s… why do you need to know?” confusion morphed into suspicion on the Champion’s face, his eyes going hard and cold.

Quiznak. He’d let his excitement run away with him, forgetting that he human would likely see his questions as another interrogation. Keith forced himself to settle back against the wall, palms open and facing upwards on his knees, doing his best to appear non-threatening. “I’m curious. I’ve never seen a human before, and I’ll probably never see Earth.” It wasn’t quite a lie at least. Not that he had ever considered telling the man the true reason for his curiosity.

Suspicion turned to anger and the human glared at him. “You’re trying to get information out of me so you can invade my planet,” he accused. “Looking for this Voltron thing, or whatever it is that you people want.”

Keith shook his head, annoyed at himself. He’d screwed up by asking those questions, and he knew it. “That’s not why I asked. If I was trying to get information out of you for Zarkon, I’d already have it, and you’d be dead.”

The Champion leaned back against the wall, studying Keith’s face. “And this is supposed to get me to trust you?”

“Yes!” Keith snapped. Then, “No. I’m not good at this, okay?” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, letting his ears droop in frustration and embarrassment.

“Look,” the human said, corners of his lips turning up in what might be the beginning of a smile. “Let’s start simple. I’m Shiro.”

“…” Keith looked down. It was too risky to tell this man either of his names. Anyone who found out that Lieutenant Kogane was visiting the prisoner would be sure to mention it to Sendak, which would put both Keith and the Champion - Shiro - in serious danger. And Ulaz had a point about his real name. If anyone ever connected it to him, it would cost the Blade of Marmora years of effort, not to mention the death sentence it would get Keith.

“Hard question?” Shiro asked.

Keith shook his head. “Not exactly. I just can’t risk Sendak finding out I’m down here.” He carefully bit his lower lip, cursing himself for not coming up with a plan for this. He wasn’t the type of agent that could just come up with a new cover right on the spot, and he should have known the Champion would ask for his name.

“You’re not here on his orders?” the human sounded surprised. Keith glanced up to see him frowning again.

“If he finds me down here he’ll kill me,” he told the man honestly. “And that would waste all the hard work we did to get me here.”

“We?”

Keith swallowed a growl, annoyed at himself for the slip. This conversation was getting more dangerous by the second, and he didn’t have any good answers for the Champion. “This was a mistake,” he muttered, pushing himself up off the ground. He’d have to come back later, once he’d had a chance to think of better responses to any dangerous questions.

“Wait,” Shiro called, extending a hand as if to reach for him. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’re right,” Keith told him. “I don’t. Use the medicine if you want. There’s another match tomorrow. Try not to die. Sendak bet three hundred GAC you’d finally be beaten this weekend, and I’d hate to see him win.” Before the human could say anything more, Keith had disappeared back into the shadows.

[keptin-indy]

Exalted: Saigoth Gates 9

The game’s first Limit Break!  Which actually went about as smoothly as a Limit Break can possibly go.

As I’m not sure it’s explicitly come up and I just had to look up a lot of summons for the informational links in this chapter, I want to clarify something about the Twilights here:  West summons Elementals, which are basically magical animals of varying intelligence made of the element they’re aspected to (like the greenmaw earlier, who was a Wood Elemental made of plants)(they’re kind of Pokemon in this edition).  Krait summons demons, which are exactly what they sound like except in Exalted they may or may not be straight-up evil, but they’re always weird.  Technically only demons are summoned and Elementals are created from scratch, but both types of summons are magically bound to obey their summoner’s commands, though they may have their own agendas about how they do that and what else they do when not being commanded.

Naran and Ardor stayed in the manse to keep an eye on the creature for a little longer while Mazatl escorted Shashaka and West home for some much-needed recovery.  As soon as they reached the apartment, Krait bombarded them with questions, which no one was willing to answer.  West asked if Krait had any method of removing magical taint and Krait suggested removing his eyeballs, prompting West to huff into his room, removing the one person who even could answer Krait’s questions.  Mazatl said that he shouldn’t even attempt to explain beyond the traps, which of course Krait was very interested in.  Shashaka relocated her bed and most of the group’s alcohol into West’s room.  Back in the manse, Naran noticed that the decomposition of the Primordial was happening before his eyes, much faster than they had assumed.  He estimated that it had at most two weeks before the rot consumed all of it and rushed home to tell West, leaving Ardor alone to sing soothing songs to the thing.  Without a common language, she attempted to mimic its method of conveying emotions as best she could.  Once Naran reached the apartment, Krait also ambushed him with questions and was again foisted off with no detail as Naran told Shashaka that the thing they’d found was dying and could she please get West.  She did, but the drunk, exhausted, burned, mutated, and overall done West was less than thrilled about the prospect of going back to the manse before morning, only agreeing when Krait insisted he was tired of being kept in the dark and was a doctor, dammit, so he was heading over right now to heal whatever the thing was.  

Krait took in the manse with greater aplomb than the circle had expected and sized up both the manse’s function and the Primordial’s plight quickly, though he refused to believe the others when they claimed the manse had huge destructive potential.  He proposed that the Primordial was dying because it sustained itself off the energy of the dragonlines and they had evidently gone through major upheaval quite recently, probably coinciding with Ragar Aluru’s magical defeat of the Realm navy.  Unfortunately, imprecise resetting of the lines would both take a long time and potentially disrupt the geomancy of the entire South.  Krait attempted to get details out of the Primordial, but found the empathic communication difficult to process efficiently, so the weary West offered to attune himself more to the creature’s language if Krait could then translate from Old Realm to the rest of the circle.  However, rather than the usual understanding of the ancient tongue his technique granted, the Primordial spoke directly through West in an inhuman voice, panicking Shashaka until Krait insisted that West was still fully in charge (which was not exactly true).  The Primordial said that it may already be too late to save it from permanent incapacitation (the closest analogue to death it could understand) and that the decay of its body was merely a reflection of what was happening to its soul.  Krait suggested some bad ideas to save it (“Solar poison”, amputating the head, etc) which were shot down by West struggling back to the front of his own brain.  Obviously further action in the span of the night was impossible, so West requested sedatives and for the circle to just leave him in peace to sleep on the antechamber’s floor rather than brave the shadowlands outside in his current state, but Naran and Mazatl were wary of Krait’s plans.  They asked him to swear not to bring any demons into the manse, which Krait adamantly refused.  They tried to temper it to “without the circle’s permission” which Krait also refused, citing emergency medical procedures in which he wouldn’t have time to ask.  He then accused Naran of plotting to oath against Krait’s will any agreeable thing he might accidentally say and Naran very nearly challenged him to a duel to the death then and there for impugning his honour.  Mazatl attempted to calm things down and got Krait to agree to a non-binding agreement to try and ask the circle before doing anything and he and Krait flew back to the apartment on agataback while Mazatl tried to explain to Krait what they were actually trying to achieve and assure him that no one was out to get him.  

The next day, Krait passive-aggressively asked Naran to make his people move Krait’s alchemy lab closer to the manse since he wasn’t allowed to summon a demon that could do that itself and Naran pulled him aside to clarify where they both stood, which surprisingly went fairly well, though Krait was uncharacteristically self-righteous and preachy, having reached his limit of things he would shyly put up with.  Unnoticed by the busier members of the circle, Ardor wandered off into the city, singing songs of freedom from oppressors and throwing off occupations, raising the tension in the city and priming it for revolution sooner rather than later.  Naran also directed his businesses to strangle the Imperial army’s supply lines and redirect some of it to rebel enclaves.  Back in the manse, West set about summoning the most stable elementals he could design, made from the appropriate materials gathered in and around the manse (vaktri made of twisted glass, flame duck from the ever-burning room, etc) while keeping an eye on the control room’s instruments, which eventually registered another shift in the local dragonlines.  West asked what was going on and the Primordial indicated an attempted attack from the direction of the Lap.  Ragara Aluru had previously noticed his geomantic alterations couldn’t touch Chiaroscuro and had launched a previous magical attack via the dragonlines, which the Primordial had warded off, and he seemed to be testing the defenses again.  Should the Primordial become incapacitated, its new elemental servitors could maintain the manse and dragonlines under normal circumstances, but would be unable to defend against such attacks.  Krait, coming by to take samples of the rotting flesh, finally asked the Primordial’s name and was shocked and alarmed to hear it was Saigoth, Bastion Against the Never-Was.  Suddenly aware that the gilmyne’s rantings about the Saigoth Gates were more valid than anyone thought, he asked about the Never-Was and was told that they had been bound away, but without Saigoth’s vigil, they could return and destroy all that Was.  The import of this manse finally sinking in for Krait, West told him that he’d been saying the manse could lead to the destruction of the world this entire time but Krait hadn’t believed him, at which point the chastened Krait retreated from his self-righteous tantrum back to his normal timidity.  West asked Saigoth what it would take to keep the Never-Was imprisoned and was told a direct mind-dragonline interface, which humans were incapable of achieving.  Both West and Krait came to the same conclusion and began frantically trying to think of where to find an elemental dragon, but Krait only knew of one in far away Champoor.  Gathering the rest of the circle, they decided to consult the local elemental court, but were interrupted by an Imperial patrol finally reaching the front door of the hidden manse.  Krait put them to sleep, but now the circle was left with the question of how to keep the patrol’s disappearance unnoticed for long enough to summon a noresore to eat their memories of the discovery.

(In the midst of all this, the rest of the circle learned Old Realm in self-defense.  Krait also conducted an experiment on a rat he forcibly mutated with a cauldron of pure Wyld he had distilled from rendering demons and purifying the infernal essence to prove that he could fix West’s eyes without removing them.  After this was accomplished, Krait and West discussed magical theory and their separate plans for expanding upon the utility of Yasal crystals, agreeing to keep each other informed of their progress.)