#mommatalks

[mommalosthermind]

Sterek Beast's Beauty?

Okay! Yes!

@annechen-melo

Beast’s Beauty is a WIP I started…. Seven years ago? Directly after Mend and Make Do was published. Initial file was over 200k when I realized I was trying to hold too many plot lines together and had to go back to the beginning and untangle them to even begin to *find* a resolution. Current wip is broken down into an astonishing number of ‘keep your facts straight’ folders, with four completed chapters and four interlude chapters. Word count for revision is 63,952.

The overall plot started as a simple, “I want Erica and Stiles to be childhood besties who fell apart after his mom dies. Erica goes missing due to a shitty prank and Stiles drags Scott into the Epic Quest To Find Her. Werewolves happen, maybe some beauty and the beast references.”

…I attempted a summary but I keep getting excited and going into waaay too much detail lmao so bare bones of the revision: Stiles finds Erica, they get trapped on the old Hale property, despite the way the house itself should have burned down with the entire family inside years ago. Erica’s bitten, Stiles is sleuthing, Derek is traumatized and entirely unhelpful, and for some reason the pictures of his family keep... moving. Slow burn for Sterek, since Derek thinks Stiles Knows Things because He Should, but Stiles has holes in his memory and doesn’t know shit, and has zero patience for the cryptic bullshit. Also the whole, ‘biting as an introductory activity’ thing. Bad manners, really. So. An awful lot of beauty and the beast, actually.

Side plots are exploring Chris/John (the sheriff is john. He just is.) with the fun backstory of “they were in a triad with Claudia but then Kate Happened and Gerard Intervened” while Chris tries to help locate the missing kids while keeping his father at bay. Lydia keeps sleepwalking to the edge of the woods, Jackson’s trying to keep her safe from both herself and her father, who seems cruel for the sake of it. Hale family isn’t as missing as Stiles thinks. Stiles would really like to blame all the weird shit he keeps experiencing on the adderall withdrawal but he hasn’t touched that since his mom died. He’s pretty sure being able to spy on his dad through a glass of water is maybe not a noted side effect, either. Scott’s attempting to be a good friend but makes bad choices because he is a teenager. Allison’s trying to be helpful, but also thinks her aunt is great. Her aunt, who seems to be entirely too aware of what’s going on the in preserve, and a little too keen on Scott.

There is. A lot. It is messy and I love it dearly and I have no fucking idea how I’m gonna wrap this all together so it’s been sitting in the ‘please love me’ section of the WiPs. Re-reading through bits and pieces to find a chunk to share was fun, though. I didn’t realize I missed this disaster project so much.

Speaking of finding a snippet, I went with something in chapter 4. And by snippet I meant its like a thousand words because I have a problem and don’t know how to do Small Things, so I’ll tuck that under a cut. (Also entirely unedited from the last time I played in this sandbox so. Probably errors.)

“Alright, dickweed,” Stiles announced, barreling into the kitchen. “Time to—

Shadowman leaned against the island, head flying up from where he’d let it hang between his sloped shoulders. One hand shot out to slam a small frame flat against the countertop, laying atop it as though it could right itself without permission, as he stood tall, eyes wild.

“—Pony up some… what the hell, dude? What’s that?”

“None of your business. You shouldn’t be down here, she asked you to stay.”

Stiles pursed his mouth to one side, resisting the urge to squint across the room. He changed trajectory, letting his feet wander him around the far side of the island. “See, that, that right there? That’s kind of the running theme. You know things,” he swept a hand out in a grand gesture, noting the way Shadowman shifted to one side to keep Stiles in view, “things us mere mortals don’t—”

“Mere mortals.”

“‘Swhat I said, yeah. Point! You know, we don’t, you don’t share with the class, and I’m not digging this whole routine at all, man, so let’s try something new, like, oh, I don’t know,” he slapped his hands down on the edge of the island. 

Shadowman’s fingers, splayed across the frame, twitched closer to his palm. 

“Werewolves, for starters.”

Silence hung over the room. Stiles counted his breaths, forcing his hands flat against the countertop. Cloth swished as Shadowman went boxy, arms crossing over his chest. That sardonic slant to his mouth came back, a tiny upward pull of his brows sprinkling humor on top. “Took you long enough, Stilinski.”

“Oh fuck you, dude,” Stiles shoved himself away from the counter, only to immediately press around the corner and get into the taller man’s face. “You could’ve told us at any point in time—”

“I did,” Shadowman drawled, not acknowledging Stiles’ flailing limbs at all. “Repeatedly. She ignored me. You ignored me. You,” he took a step closer, forcing Stiles back enough to be able to look up the last few inches into his face. “Repeatedly told me you were both human.” He snorted, inelegant.

“Okay, first off, I? Am one hundred percent human.” Stiles waved a hand down his side. “This is prime unbitten human, right here.” He decided to be the bigger man and ignore the blatant way Shadowman rolled his eyes. “Second, your explanation was severely lacking in that it had zero actual explaining. At all. Ever. At any point. Don’t you take that tone of eyebrow with me,” he added, watching as Shadowman’s eyebrows did a funny little waggle as he mouthed Stiles’ words.

“Werewolves,” Stiles snapped, determined to wring out every ounce of information he could. “That’s a thing. Erica is a wolf.” He paused, staring pointedly at Shadowman until he nodded. “Erica is a werewolf because you are a werewolf, and you bit her. That’s the gift you mean. Being changed.” Another nod. “All the weird shit she’s doing is werewolfy shit. The senses, the healing— she’s gonna heal fine, right?”

“Yes, and yes, Mi—” Exasperation cut off in a clack of teeth. “Do you honestly not know this?”

“Uh, why the fuck would I know literally any of this? Was there a class I missed? Like, is it between Chem and History? No, I don’t know any of this!”

Shadowman gave ground instead of answering, retreating back to the kitchen table, expression indecipherable.

Rookie mistake. In a flash, Stiles wrenched the abandoned frame upright. Whatever he might have expected, he honestly didn’t know, but time fractured around the edges as he took her in. Long, wavy brown hair around an oval face. Huge, startled eyes swirled with brown and green. A sloping nose over a horrified, opened mouth. Parts of a whole his mind slipped over, again and again, unable to click sections together.

The frame clattered back to the counter from his numb fingers. Stiles hunched over, hands shooting up to press into his skull. They couldn’t stop the abrupt flashes of red hot iron scraping along the inside of his brain; the pressure made it close to manageable. 

“Mischief—” A man’s voice, far off and distorted, hands on his shoulders. “Stel? What—” the words broke down into unintelligible hisses. Stiles whined. Every sound rubbed against the raw edges of his head.

The headache drained away in small bursts, leaving him panting against the island. Shadowman hovered a few feet away, the frame cradled in one hand. Both forearms carried new black tattoos, snaking around each other in broad ropes. 

“I have… so many more questions now,” Stiles muttered. He gave himself three deep breaths before forcing himself to stand, more than half convinced the movement would jar the pickax in his brain back to life. 

It didn’t, but the memory made his movement cautious. He held out one hand, as imperious as he could manage with wobbly legs. “Give it back.”

Dark brows snapped together.

Stiles’ jaw clenched and his nose flared. “It’s pretty obvious you know more than I’ve even thought to ask yet,” he started, voice a low rasp in his throat. “Don’t think we won’t get to that, wolfboy, because we will.” The flinch looked unconscious, and was deeply satisfying to witness. “But first, give her back.”

Those stupid brows slid up, Shadowman's mouth falling open, even as his eyes darted around the room. His hand, though, held the frame closer to his chest. “Her?”

Stiles snorted, closing his eyes for a beat, hands on his hips as he tried to roll some of the tension from his neck. “You wanna play that game, man? Okay. Cool. We can do this dance. I know her.” It rang in his chest as he said it, so he said it again. “I know her. I know she’s about this tall,” he held a hand out to the side, above his shoulders. “I know she’s got a mole on the left side of her face, and tattoo. Tattoos? I know she smells like paint and fire,” he couldn’t stop once he started, even as the pickax turned into a power drill at the top of his spine. Despite the water in his eyes and the rocks squeezing his voice he added, “I know she makes me think of chocolate and playgrounds and stars, and I know that I don’t fucking know how I know any of that, but I’m beginning to think you do, so give her back.”

This time, when he reached out, Shadowman met him stare for stare. This time, the silence stretched until Stiles’ extended hand began to tremble. This time, mouth thin, Shadowman dropped his eyes to the side and pressed the body-warmed frame into Stiles’ grip.

[saaphyri]

If you are a MOMMA you have said ALL OF THIS! I know have A LOT! #FUNNY #MOMMATALK

[senpanzehir-blog-blog]

faire part de quelque chose à quelqu'un: communiquer une information à quelqu'un  

[mommalosthermind]

Here’s hoping my dryer fucking killing itself is not a sign of what 2023 holds in store

[mommalosthermind]

“....I love your writing, ...I would definitely buy your books,” - beautiful angelic person on AO3

Me, for the next fucking decade:

[mommalosthermind]

I'm disappearing into a tent for a week, y'all, this should be interesting with all the cousins lmao

[mommalosthermind]

My four year old is stomping around singing, "you're all dead, dead, DEAD," at the top of his voice, over and over and honestly I am a little concerned he might be plotting something, send help

[mommalosthermind]

That is now seven, s e v e n, (7) houses that have magically been gobbled up in the time it takes to ask for a showing. In two days. One house had been on the market for ONE DAY. Like. What. This is on purpose now. This is deliberate, I am cursed, I am suffering, I fucking,.,,.. I have until the beginning of May to have Signed Off on a New House before Selling this one FALLS THROUGH. I don't know which trickster I pissed off, or how, but holy mother of fuck tell me how to apologize before I lose what tiny shreds of my sanity remain.

[mommalosthermind]

This was the response to “If I was going to continue my trend of Write Everything Except The Fucking 1.5 year old Winterhawk WIP what should it be?” 

Okay, so it was actually more like, “I’m home alone and its too quiet and I might be losing my mind, i am reading like five fics at once but i kinda wanna write but i dunno what send help or maybe some valium”

I’ve been kicking around a super vague steampunk original novel for... ever. He gets sad every time I don’t write it.

But this is fucking great, okay. Ignore my attempt to communicate via emoji. 

[mommalosthermind]

That moment when you get sidetracked by a tumblr hobrien porn Drabble and bail on the winterhawk WIP yet again to start a sterek porn Drabble and accidentally non con AND THEN SPEND AN HOUR WONDERING WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU and also how to continue it now that you ruined your entire premise because there is shit WRONG WITH YOU- so you slink back over to Clint Barton and side eye yourself hard. How the fuck did I accidentally write stiles having to rescue teen Derek from teen Kate THAT IS NOT WHAT I SET OUT TO DO. Guess I'll just write more about Clint being seriously fucked up in the head instead. .....because magic non con. Because I hate myself, and it's late, and I have zero filter.

[mommalosthermind]

My sons are hyper. The wind is brutal. They won't go outside. My house is fucking tiny. Solution? Nail polish party, yo.

[mommalosthermind]

Today on Things I Don’t Know Why I Do (or post) 

Made the mistake of looking through various Adolescent Lycanthropes websites to see if they ever actually explain magic or druids or whatever in canon. Because curiosity. 

Okay, more because I’m a giant nerd and ended up mired in a ridiculously in depth discussion with my equally special life partner over the possible mechanics of the show. Mainly about how the show never bothers to do exactly that.

As someone who’s been actively pagan for… seventeen years, their definition of a Druid is hilarious. But hey now I don’t need to worry as much about my interpretation of magic?

And I don’t see how a character like stiles didn’t immediately end up in a Google black hole all about magic users. Or magic in general. Also, did they seriously just drop the spark thing? Like, guys. Endless possibilities. 

I honestly don’t know what I was expecting, considering canon says a nemeton is a …magic tree thingie, when it’s supposed to be a sacred grove, or temple, possibly edged with trees sacred to the Ogham. 

But man, Deaton makes so much more sense now. In that they never tried to make anything make sense.

For the record, artistic license is a thing, I understand that. And some of the avenues the show started down are fascinating, from my adventures in fandom and their terrible, condescending wiki page.  

[mommalosthermind]

But bread doesn't have the good nutrients like the burger did, it wont give me as good energy and I ate the burger so, I ate all my dinner

Says my ridiculous seven year old daughter when I asked why she peeled off the crust and shoved it aside but still asked for a brownie

[mommalosthermind]

Story Time

Once upon a time my mother called and said, “"so..... your sister’s boyfriend/baby daddy is being held for a $16k ransom.”

And I, like the responsible, mature adult I am said, “Fucking what now?!”

“Your sister’s boyfriend’s been kidnapped. No, I’m fucking serious.”

Cue my mother and my step-mother coming to have a minor What The Actual Fucking Fuck session at my place, since we are on the east coast, and my sister migrated to Cleveland, Land of the Terrifying. To make matters more Extra Fun, she’s got two little boys under six, and they all currently live with his parents, who are... less than supportive. She’s also manic depressive, and whatever they renamed Bi-polar to now. So. you know. Not Good Things, and I’m Too Fucking Far Away.

My brother’s response? “So... drug related?” Helpful, dude. Helpful.

Anyway. Story time. Kidnapping. Right. 

My sister called my mother in hysterics, with little to no actual information, just that she turned her phone back on to a slew of messages and someone’s baby mama was coming to get her and the boys. I had to talk my mother out of immediately driving out - wait for intel, man.

Now, Boyfriend and Family have had drug connections. Boyfriend is supposed to be clean, but used to be a coke dealer. Cue more What The Fuckery Shenanigans.

Turns out Boyfriend’s Brother was the one who actually got kidnapped. Surprise! Because Brother owed and/or tried to skim 16K to his Friendly Local Drug Trade. 

Boyfriend evidently volunteered to meet up with Friendly Local Drug Trade and pay up - how, I have no idea, since Boyfriend is flat broke and scrounging for a house, thus living with parents, so I’m assuming it was with Brother’s stuff. (Which is enough to drive me to drink. Dude, you have two little kids of your own to figure out and come home to, don’t fucking risk yourself. But those are my nephews, so I might be biased against attempted heroics.)

BUT IT CONTINUES. Baby mama that contacted my sister is Brother’s Ex. Brother’s Current baby mama, the person Brother called via gun-to-the-head, deliberately garbled the message to make it seem like Boyfriend was at risk. Brother and Current baby mama have three kids, if anyone cares. Current mama hates Ex mama, because Ex mama is supposed to be His Tru Love. 

AAAAANWAY. Current Baby Mama is now being detained by the F.B.I. And everyone’s okay. And I really, really fucking need my kid sister to get her ass back to the eastern seaboard, stat. Fuck cheap houses, man, That Is Terrifying.

And I might be having a post-adrenaline crash wherein I am a shaking mess that finds this all hilarious, plus I’m alone with *my* three little kids, and my Not-Husband won’t be home for hours, so, here you go, Tumblr. Another installation of My Life Sounds Worse Than It Fucking Is: The Tragic Mocumentary

How the shit do I tag this, other than “haha send help”

I apologize for my complete lack of filtering ability. Whoops.

[mommalosthermind]

While my children pretend to clean their room, I'm poking through the notes I scribbled onto this stupid fic. Because Editing.

Dear Past Me, maybe be a little more descriptive than just highlighting shit and going "THE FUCK IS THIS' or "JUST. FUCKIN' NO." Although my favorite so far is "why, why the fuck am I like this, you could pretend to fucking make sense."

[mommalosthermind]

Deep thought of the day: Why are there little hearts and roses on the toilet paper? Who was like, you know what this strip of fluff I use to wipe my ass with needs? Pseudo-embroidery! Make it pretty! Is someone getting paid to come up with random designs to stamp into toilet paper? Because that is a job I can do.