#now that I’m thinking about it I feel like part of my problem with dialogue is that it’s very segmented so it’s hard to get a good

[ninjaaa-go]

what is this??? one of my characters is actually making me like writing dialogue??? madness

[mistiell]

Let me put my Lips to Something

Pairing: Spencer x Fem! Reader

Summary: After learning about his aversion to touch, you tone down the physical affection. Spencer finds himself missing your touch, and after weeks of yearning, he’s had enough. He decides it’s time to fix this.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Fluff, it gets pretty steamy towards the end but nothing graphic so I don't think this needs age restricting lmao

A/N: Part 2 to “I’m Starvin’, Darlin’”. The feedback on the last part motivated me to finish this in like, a single sitting lmao. Hope y’all enjoy! :)

P.S. My requests are open so if you wanna send something in for Spence, I'll do my best to get to it quickly!

Part 1 - Current - Part 3

Spencer hadn’t realised how much he wanted — how much he needed — your touch until you stopped. Where there was once that warm, tingly anticipation whenever he made you laugh, there‘s now a strange absence left in its wake. Where there used to have been a bump or a squeeze, there are awkward smiles and nervous glances. Like a line of dialogue without end quotations, left to hang in the balance while the author considers what should be said next.

It’s killing him.

He’s come to realise that this want extends beyond the bounds of anything that could ever be considered platonic. He wants more than your touch. He wants you.

He craves you, finds himself remembering the way your arms felt around him the last time you hugged him. Finds himself fantasising about how it would feel to be the one to take you in his arms. How it would feel to be the one to hold you; to cradle your face between his palms and lose himself in your kiss; to let go of his inhibitions and drown himself in the depths of your affections.

He wants your time and energy. He wants your attention and praise. He wants to be the one to make you smile and laugh so hard your stomach hurts. He wants to be yours, and he wants everyone to know it.

It’s only been three weeks since that night at the bar, but even so, he feels like if he doesn’t figure out how to tell you how he feels, he might very well lose his mind. You’re right across from him all day, five days a week. It’s torture. Perhaps he’s being dramatic, but at this point, he’s well beyond caring.

The problem is, how on earth is he supposed to go about confessing to you? He’s never been suave or charismatic. He’s awkward and dorky and breaks a sweat every time anyone even remotely attractive looks his way. He’s never felt this intensely about anyone before, never desired anyone this way before. Sometimes, late at night when he’s finally tucked himself into bed, he attempts to calculate the probability of you ever wanting him in the way he wants you.

In his pessimistic mind, that number is despairingly low.

“Spence?” He startles at the sound of your voice, snapping his head up to look at you.

You’ve worn a different lipstick today. It’s a little darker than your usual colour, a rather glossy, rosier shade of mauve. He thinks he’s seen it somewhere before, and the name pops up from somewhere in his memory.

“Rum raisin.” He mumbles, staring intently at your lips and wondering briefly if it would transfer if he kissed you.

“What?” You cock your head at him with an amused sort of confusion.

He blinks once before clearly his throat, “Oh, um, your lipstick.”

You raise your hand so your fingertips hover over your bottom lip as you smile at him, “How’d you know?”

“I saw it in a drugstore once.”

You chuckle and shake your head, “Your memory never ceases to amaze me, Spence.”

His heart swells as he smiles sheepishly, “Thanks.”

You hum before gesturing to two big boxes of files that are sitting on your desk, “Could you help me run these down to records?”

“Oh, yeah.” He’s quick to cross the short distance to your desk and purposely picks the heavier of the two boxes.

The trip down to records is a rather tedious one as of today. The elevator is out of order so you have to take the stairs from the sixth floor to the third.

“Do you like rain?” You ask, and it takes him a moment to realise you’re looking out water speckled windows at the stormy street below.

“Yeah.” He leaves out the part that the possibility of power outages and the darkness that accompanies them unnerves him greatly.

You turn your head to smile at him as you reach the records room, “Me too.”

He opens the door for you before you have the chance and lets you go in first, letting the door shut behind him. He follows you into the room, weaving between shelves and stepping over boxes that have yet to find their places. He watches you skim over the yellowed labels, your lips twitching as you read them off in your head.

You find the spot you’re looking for and make a sound of satisfaction before bending at the waist to slide the box into place, your skirt sliding a little further up to press against the plush flesh of the backs of your thighs. His gaze wanders up the length of your body and stops at your chest. From this angle, he’s able to see the curve of your breast and he swallows hard. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shakes his head, feeling ashamed for ogling you like that.

Behind the darkness of his eyelids, he sees the lights flicker and when he opens them, he finds he’s not able to see much more than when he had them closed.

Shit.

“Damnit, the power’s out.” You curse, taking the box from him and slotting it in next to the other.

He takes a deep breath. The dark isn’t as frightening with you there in front of him, but that familiar anxiety pricks his chest and settles heavy in his gut.

“Spence?”

He wonders when the emergency lights will come on. Maybe they’re already on in the hall. He feels along the wall and shuffles back over to the door. When he tries the knob, he finds it locked. Now he’s panicking a little.

Well, maybe a lot.

There’s a clap of thunder outside that’s so powerful that he feels it in his chest and he jumps, breath catching in his chest as he screws his eyes shut as if it’ll make a difference.

“Spence?” You call again softly, “Are you okay?

“Y-Yeah.” He stutters.

“You don’t like storms?”

He shakes his head before realising you can’t see him, “No, not really.”

“Me neither.” You whisper, and he hears the shuffling of your clothes as you shift your weight between your feet and huff a breathy puff of nervous laughter, “I don’t like the dark either.”

“Me neither.” He echoes, wetting his lips briefly as he considers how to comfort you despite how anxious he is himself.

Carefully, tentatively, he reaches for you in the dark and takes your hand, just barely brushing his thumb over your knuckles. Your skin is soft and warm, and he attempts to find your face in the dark as he murmurs ever so softly, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” You reply just as softly, squeezing his hand.

It’s a little unsettling not being able to see you. He can hear you breathing, and having your hand in his feels so nice, but he wants you closer.

“Can I…” He trails off, but tugs at your hand so you’ll step a little closer. He swallows his nerves, “Can I distract you?”

It’s a lame excuse, but it’s all he can come up with on the spot.

“Distract me how?” He can hear the smile in your voice and it encourages his steadily growing confidence.

He pulls you closer, and you step further into his space. He places a hand on your waist, and you don’t recoil. In fact, you come a little closer and set a hand on his chest. You slide it along the length of his shoulder and up the back of his neck to thread your fingers in the hairs at the base of his skull and he shudders, lips parting to sigh softly. Your thumb settles just behind his ear and strokes the skin there tenderly and he can’t stop himself from leaning down to gently bump your nose with his, giving you plenty of time to pull away, to tell him you don’t want this.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask so innocently, breath fanning over his lips in a steady rhythm as his eyelids flutter shut.

“Please.” He breathes, leaning in to meet you halfway.

Your lips meet his timidly and his heart stutters in his chest. There’s a second where you pull back to let him breathe, let him get used to the feeling. His eyes open a sliver, just enough to make out the edges of you in the dark as his brain catches up with his body. And then the shock passes.

And he devours you.

The hand that was on your waist comes up to cradle your cheek as he brushes his tongue against your bottom lip in a silent request. You grant it, opening up to him to let him roll his tongue against yours. You stand on your tiptoes and lean further into him, returning the kiss with a fervour he wasn’t expecting but welcomes happily. He can taste your lipstick and is pleasantly surprised to find it tastes a little like vanilla.

There’s a push and pull of tongues and teeth and soft little sighs as he dares to slip his hands down and pull you flush against him by your hips, revelling in the breathy moan that slips from your throat and meets his mouth. He pulls away only to kiss sloppily at the corner of your mouth and down your jaw. He nips at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, smiling against your skin when you gasp and tug at his hair. Mouthing at your skin, he searches until you whine and shudder after he drags his teeth over a particular spot and focuses his attention there.

He sucks a nice bruise into the spot, some primal part of him driving him to mark you up and claim you as his while he has you here. He bites a little too hard and you hiss, making him pull back and search for your face in the dark.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Mm-mm.” You hum before immediately capturing his lips again, slipping your tongue into his mouth and swallowing the moan that escapes him.

He guides you by your hips until he has you pressed against the door, sliding a hand down the length of your thigh before slipping it up past the hem of your skirt to grab greedily at your flesh. He hikes your leg up by his hip and you hook your knee around it to pull him impossibly close.

His touch is tender even as he practically swallows you whole, thumb stroking the side of your thigh where your skirt has ridden up. He rolls his hips up against your experimentally and you whine, urging him to do it again. This is what he’s wanted — craved — for so long. You’re warm and soft in ways that his imagination could have never replicated. He’s dizzy, drunk on your kiss, on your touch, on you.

He’s attached himself to your neck again — the other side this time — when the lights flicker on, startling you both into looking up at the ceiling.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of your combined laboured breathing, and when he looks back at you, he finds your face flushed and your lipstick smudged. You look back at him and he notices your pupils are blown wide as you suddenly smile and start giggling.

“What?” He chuckles, letting go of your thigh so that you can stand on your own two feet again.

“Rum raisin looks good on you, doctor.” You laugh, thumbing the remnants of your kisses off of his bottom lip.

He kisses you once again, smiling against your lips.

You tug him back and laugh again, “You’re making it worse!”

He does it again, and again, and then peppers kisses over the side of your neck until you’re giggling something awful and have to scrunch your shoulder to your ear to keep him from tickling you.

“Spencer!” You squeak as quietly as you can and he pulls away laughing.

Your giggles die down, and then you’re both left in a silence that isn’t awkward, but isn’t quite comfortable either. He has to say something, but what?

“Hey, would you, um,” You start, glancing down at his lips and biting at yours nervously, “Would you like to go out with me sometime? Just us?”

He blinks, wanting to pinch himself to make sure this is actually happening, “Like, a date?”

You nod. He blinks again before practically beaming at you.

“Yeah.” He nods, attempting to correct the smudged edge of your lipstick with his thumb, “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Saturday? Five o’ clock? We can do whatever you want.”

He nods again, “Sounds good.”

“Good.” You smile, leaning up to kiss him, your touch so saccharine and gentle that his legs feel like jello beneath him.

The doorknob jiggles suddenly and he instinctively reaches to help you button up your blouse a little more while you fiddle with the collar until it covers the rather obvious hickey on your neck.

“Hey, are you two still in there?” Derek calls from the other side as you attempt to help Spencer fix his hair to no avail.

“Uh, yeah!” He calls, clearing his throat after his voice cracks up an octave, “We accidentally locked ourselves in.”

“Here.” You bend to slide the key under the door, and this time, he stares unabashedly, “That’s the key.”

The knob jiggles a little more before the door opens, and when it does, Derek eyes the two of you suspiciously, “You guys okay?” He locks eyes with Spencer and smirks, “You seem a little winded.”

“Yeah, we’re okay.” You smile, hastily walking out, “The boxes were just heavy. Plus, we had to walk all the way down here.”

“Yeah, okay.” Derek says, though it’s clear he isn't convinced. When you get a little further ahead of them, he claps Spencer on the back with a bright grin, “About time, loverboy!”

“Shut up.” Spencer shoots back, though he can’t help the smile that creeps up on his face.

This is not how he expected his confession to go, but — as he watches you walk down the hall a little ways ahead of him with a renewed pep in your step and your hair a little dishevelled — he is so glad it went the way it did.

———————————————————————

Edit: I had a couple people request a part 3 (Possibly smutty, but we shall see), and I'm curious about whether or not y'all would want that? Just let me know in the replies/reblogs. :)

Update: Part 3 is posted and linked at the top of this post :)

Taglist:

@louderfortheback @theblaxkbird @marimorena06 @special-forces7 @lolilkkk

[evilwizard]

I do want to say, my views on AI “art” have changed somewhat. It was wrong of me to claim that it’s not wrong to use it in shitposts… there definitely is some degree of something problematic there.

Personally I feel like it’s one of those problems that’s best solved via lawmaking—specifically, AI generations shouldn’t be copywrite-able, and AI companies should be fined for art theft and “plagiarism”… even though it’s not directly plagiarism in the current legal sense. We definitely need ethical philosophers and lawmakers to spend some time defining exactly what is going on here.

But for civilians, using AI art is bad in the same nebulous sense that buying clothes from H&M or ordering stuff on Amazon is bad… it’s a very spread out, far away kind of badness, which makes it hard to quantify. And there’s no denying that in certain contexts, when applied in certain ways (with actual editing and artistic skill), AI can be a really interesting tool for artists and writers. Which again runs into the copywrite-ability thing. How much distance must be placed between the artist and the AI-generated inspiration in order to allow the artist to say “this work is fully mine?”

I can’t claim to know the answers to these issues. But I will say two things:

Ignoring AI shit isn’t going to make it go away. Our tumblr philosophy is wildly unpopular in the real world and most other places on the internet, and those who do start using AI are unfortunately gonna have a big leg up on those who don’t, especially as it gets better and better at avoiding human detection.

Treating AI as a fundamental, ontological evil is going to prevent us from having these deep conversations which are necessary for us—as a part of society—to figure out the ways to censure AI that are actually helpful to artists. We need strong unions making permanent deals now, we need laws in place that regulate AI use and the replacement of humans, and we need to get this technology out of the hands of huge megacorporations who want nothing more than to profit off our suffering.

I’ve seen the research. I knew AI was going to big years ago, and right now I know that it’s just going to get bigger. Nearly every job is in danger. We need to interact with this issue—sooner rather than later—or we risk losing all of our futures. And unfortunately, just as with many other things under capitalism, for the time being I think we have to allow some concessions. The issue is not 100% black or white. Certainly a dark, stormy grey of some sort.

But please don’t attack middle-aged cat-owners playing around with AI filters. Start a dialogue about the spectrum of morality present in every use of AI—from the good (recognizing cancer cells years in advance, finding awesome new metamaterials) to the bad (megacorporations replacing workers and stealing from artists) to the kinda ambiguous (shitposts, app filter that makes your dog look like a 16th century British royal for some reason).

And if you disagree with me, please don’t be hateful about it. I fully recognize that my current views might be wrong. I’m not a paragon of moral philosophy or anything. I’m just doing my best to live my life in a way that improves the world instead of detracting from it. That’s all any of us can do, in my opinion.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

Not fluent in English. 

Please tell me I’m not the the only who noticed that team green characters in the show aren’t allowed to hate team black characters. 

Like Aemond can’t even hate Lucerys for cutting his eye and disabled him for life. 

And Alicent can’t hate Viserys for marrying and gr*ping her and forcing pregnancies on her, even though he have no intention to name any of their sons his heir, and treating her mostly like a caretaker and concubine rather than his lawful wife and the mother of his legitimate children. 

Aegon and Helaena aren’t even allowed to hate Daemon the man who ordered the death of their Son.

Like why??? Why aren’t they allowed to hate them???

Hi aleksandra! You make a good point! I think there are a few things going on here.

For one, I think the writing is incredibly inconsistent across the board this season, and there are a lot of dropped plot threads. Some of it is intentional (like, I do think B&C was deliberately downplayed and undermined so that Alicent could have that Dragonstone scene, more on that in a bit), some of it I think is just bad writing and a kind of ... well, look, I can't speculate as to what goes down in the writer's room and have no idea what their workflow looks like or what processes they follow, but a problem going back to S1 is that characters and dialogue vary a lot from episode to episode. I don't think it's all that normal for a fandom to be concerned ahead of time about which writers will be writing which scenes and which episodes, but with HotD there seem to be huge differences in how each writer interprets the characters. Having worked on OFCIR collaboratively with @aifsaath, we work really hard to make sure the chapters are relatively consistent. I gave our first few chapters to my critique partner for original fiction, a guy who knows my writing inside and out, someone I've worked with for about 6 years now, @theravenpiper, and he could not actually tell which scenes were written by me, and which were written by Aife, which I took as a big complement to our collaborative process, and to our ability to edit to a uniform standard. Now I'm not saying we do it better than the HotD writers, but I do think that there is something missing from their collaborative process that makes the entire thing seem disjointed.

I do not think it is entirely that the whole of team green is not allowed to be angry at team black, although that is part of it, some of it is part of an overall bigger problem where major events are not allowed to resonate across the story, and I chalk some of it up to simple bad writing. Rhaenyra is apparently over Luke's death enough by E3 that she can seek out Alicent for some kind of vague "let's stop this madness" ploy, but still conveniently needs "a son for a son" in E8. Although Rhaenyra is negotiating from a position of power in E8, there was no reason for her to feel so desperate as of E3, when Rook's Rest hasn't even happened yet, that she would set aside her grief and anger and go seek peace. Peace was offered in E10 of season 1 and Rhaenyra turned it down after Luke died, so what has changed besides Rhaenyra's own husband beheading a toddler? Other events happen too and have little or no consequence. Rhaenyra and Mysaria kiss in E6 and it's entirely forgotten by E8, with zero follow up. Criston Cole is brought to his knees by the sight of Aegon lying injured by his dragon, but never even visits his bedside. Gwayne never interacts with anyone aside from Alicent and Criston. Rhaenyra sends her younger children to the Vale and never mentions them again (she is shown looking wistfully at a box of toys), nor does Jace. Laena in a vision berates Daemon for not looking after their girls, but does he ask after them when Broome shows up directly from Dragonstone? I could go on. Events just happening and then never really mattering again is a consistent problem throughout the season, which makes it hard to tell when it is happening deliberately and when it is happening because the writers can't get on the same page.

There are two things I do think are deliberate, however, one of them being the scrubbing of Viserys' image. While audiences loved Paddy's performance, a lot of viewers did pick up on how Viserys played favorites and neglected his sons, and I think when the show decided to switch up Alicent's motivation from "she wants to protect her children and knows they will face the sword if Rhaenyra comes to power" to "she misheard Viserys' last words," they knew that the natural question is, "why should she care about Viserys' last words?" A lot of the immediate feedback about that episode involved how Alicent was stupid for not knowing Otto planned to have Aegon take the throne, and a lot of people didn't think that Alicent (or Aegon for that matter) really believed that Viserys changed his mind, but apparently that was the writers' intention, that Alicent truly believed it and managed to convince Aegon (there's a lot I could say about how they could have included this deathbed misunderstanding into the plot without having it replace all of Alicent's other motivations, but they did not do that). So in order to drive home the point that the whole entire war is being fought due to this misunderstanding, they have to make sure the audience is clear that all of these characters considered Viserys a good king. Even if he was Alicent's rapist. Even if he was a deadbeat dad. Even if he was a terrible husband. We are meant to believe he chose Rhaenyra not because he was playing mindgames or out of guilt over Aemma's death, no we must believe he chose Rhaenyra because he was good and wise and to convince us he was good and wise we have to have the green characters reminding us constantly that things were so much better when Viserys was around, that Aegon is inferior to Viserys, that Viserys' wishes are all that matter. Nevermind that it goes directly against the book, never mind that it's not even a particularly powerful or interesting change, it's what enables Rhaenyra and Alicent's relationship to continue. Because here's the thing-- if Alicent put Aegon on the throne because she felt it was the only way to keep her family safe, and because she feels that law and tradition ARE on her side, and because absolutism isn't good (!!!) then there's no chance for her and Rhaenyra to ever reconcile. These are irreconcilable differences, not misunderstandings. And so the show has to glaze Viserys otherwise the basic reasoning falls apart.

And the second is the events like Luke's death, Blood and Cheese and Rook's Rest come in, events in which the greens or the blacks harm and traumatize each other directly. It is not that the greens are not allowed to hate the blacks, it is that Alicent is not allowed to hate Rhaenyra, and by extension, the people who Alicent cares about are not allowed to hate her (I would argue that Aemond is allowed to hate Luke on screen, he literally murders him, and I don't think the scene with the brothel madame is an expression of true remorse, it's more "I'm kinda sorta sorry there were consequences for my actions."). Alicent cares about Helaena the innocent, and therefore Helaena cannot be allowed to hate Rhaenyra (note Phia Saban's many interviews about how apolotical and neutral Helaena is). Aegon, on the other hand, can be affected by B&C because he is allowed to hate Rhaenyra. In fact, his hate for Rhaenyra puts him at odds with his mother, which is what the show wants. Aegon is gravely injured at Rook's Rest, but good thing Rhaenyra's forces did not cause the injuries, Alicent herself drove him to battle with cruel words, and Aemond burned him, which puts him at odds with Alicent too (and Helaena is allowed to express ire at Aemond by extension). If you look at S2 as an exercise in driving a wedge between Alicent and her family and downplaying what happens to them in order to justify their decision to have Alicent seek out Rhaenyra and surrender Aegon's life, it makes a lot more sense.

The thing is, it still doesn't work. Their efforts are much too transparent and require characters to act in ways that are simply not within the realms of how normal human beings would react to these situations, much less the characters established in S1. There is a twitter user, and I'm so sorry that I can't remember their name at the moment, but I've seen them express the sentiment several times that Alicent's character this season made them aware, in a way that a viewer should never be aware, that these are scripted lines coming out of her mouth. That is, a lot of the characters in S2 do not feel like actual people. Aegon is such a fan favorite this season because he feels real. Alicent garnered legions of fans last season because her struggle felt real, even if we didn't agree with it. She felt like a character who inhabited a quasi-medieval world, bound by restraints we are not bound by, but nevertheless a human with human reactions who had to make difficult choices and persevere through them. And any human would be angry beyond comprehension at Blood and Cheese, would lose all faith in Rhaenyra, would know that there can be no peace if she is ruling with a man that ruthless at her side. If she thinks her sons are devils (and mind, so far as king Aegon's most egregious action is executing a handful of ratcatchers after one of their number murdered his son, whereas Rhaenyra burned about 65 peasants alive in a quasi religious ecstasy-- will Alicent ever find out about that, I wonder?), they are at least the devils she knows. Better they all die than end up in Daemon's hands, surely? And so OP, you're right, they are not allowed to hate each other when naturally you, and many others, feel like they should. That is because they are writer creations who would never do such things as what happen in the books in the first place, acting out plot points of entirely different characters (their book counterparts).

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Why Writing Is So Lonely | Rin T.

Hello writers, and anyone else who uses Tumblr on a daily basis like me. (Although I’ve been inactive off and on.) It’s me, Rin, and I wanted to talk about something that I think a lot of us struggle with. Or at least anyone, and everyone who considers themselves writers.

The loneliness that can come with the writing life and being a writer. We spend so much of our time alone. It doesn’t matter if you're using your laptop or scribbling in notebooks. Or pacing around in your living room and muttering dialogue to yourself (which I'm completely guilty of.)

Writing is really a solitary passion, and it hasn't just recently been like that. I'm sure Jane Austen and Edgar Allen Poe dealt with similar feelings. And sometimes that isolation can take a real toll that many of us choose to ignore, both on our creativity, our passion, which I assume is writing in this case, and our mental health.

I’ve been writing for about 4 years now, mostly working on my own little passion projects that I plan on publishing and side hustles, not only for my writing project but also my blog (TheWrite AdviceForWriters). I’m currently knee-deep in 4 different novel drafts that I’m absolutely in love with. However, let me tell you. It can get Very lonely a lot of times. There are days when I feel like I’m the only person in the world who cares about these made-up characters and their fictional problems. The characters I create in my mind are so vivid that they seem like the only individuals who actually care about my passion. (They technically are, considering they are basically my passion.)

It’s so easy to start wondering whether anyone will ever want to read the stories I'm pouring my heart into. The self-doubt I get has been a big part of my writing journey, and sometimes it breaks my heart knowing that I may not please everyone who reads my stories. That I possibly could get the worst reviews out there on my book. If it's not perfect for society. For example, I have been reading and receiving news on Alex Aster and the amount of bad reviews she received for her LightLark novel, and she has had a few times where she’s stated she poured her heart into it. And it's not just Aster who deals with these as a published author; there are many others, and it sometimes scares me.

But you know what? I've come to realize that this loneliness is just part of the writer’s journey. And that it truly is going to be the process of every writer’s journey and career. It’s going to be one of the prominent challenges we have to face if we want to do this crazy, wonderful, painful thing we call writing. And I think it's important we talk about it, especially since I'm a blogger who owns a blog specifically for writers. The biggest reason I chose to create this blog was for this reason and the many other challenges of being a writer. 

I definitely will consider this blog post to be a discussion, and if anyone wants to reblog or reply to this blog post and start a conversation, please do so, just so we can support each other and figure out healthy ways to cope.

So, why is writing such a lonely pursit? Well, there are quite a few reasons, especially reasons for each individual writer; however, here are a few key reasons:

The Act Itself is Solitary.

At the end of the day, writing is something we have to do on our own. Sure, we can brainstorm with other writers and friends who write or get feedback from beta readers. Or even develop  and edit your manuscript with a professional book editor. But the actual act of putting words on the page is a solo endeavor. We’re the ones doing the typing, the (physical) writing, and the constant racking of our brains to find the perfect word or phrase to put down on paper or the blank page on a screen.

Even when we’re writing collaboratively, there’s still a certain level of isolation involved. I mean, after all, our individual writing process and creative visions have to align for the collaboration to work.

And let’s be real—aligning those things isn't always easy.

I’ve reached out to book editors, more so of developmental editors, which is an editor who guides the writer/author on the actual plot and outline of the novel itself. And they have mentioned the difficulties of needing to align with the creativity of the topic or novel. It isn't easy at all.

I know that for me, my most productive writing sessions happen when I'm alone. And I know for a fact I'm not alone on that.

Having no distractions when it's just me, my thoughts, and the blinking cursor on the screen with a Spotify playlist playing in the background. And while that can be deeply fulfilling and very productive, I will admit it can be incredibly lonely.

It's an Emotionally Draining Process.

Writing isn't just about stringing words together. It's about pouring our hearts and souls onto the page. Were digging into our deepest emotions, our biggest fear, our wildest dreams, our thoughts, our philosophy, I can go on. And that kind of vulnerability can be utterly exhausting.

When I'm in the process of drafting a new novel or the many current projects I'm working on. I often find myself emotionally drained at the end of the day. I've been living and breathing these characters, feeling their joys and pains as my own. describing the actions, words, and emotions these characters do and feel. And then after that, I have to close my laptop, put my pen and notebook away, and try to reenter the “real world"—a world that doesn’t always understand the weight I've been carrying. 

It can be so isolating, feeling like the only person who understands the emotional journey of your writing. Knowing what it feels like to create characters and their stories and emotions and personalities just as if they were real humans. Our non-writer friends and family members try their best to be supportive, but unless they experience it firsthand, they cannot fully grasp the depth of what we go through. I can tell when I explain my projects to others who aren't writers, it can sometimes feel like they don't care about what I'm saying to them. Or it can also feel like, my stories are just a synopsis for an underrated movie no one’s ever watched.

It's a Profession of Rejection

I think we all know, writing is a tough gig. It's a tough career and job. Even the most successful authors have had to face their fair share of rejection. The rejections can be received from agents, publishers, readers, or critics. (like I mentioned earlier), and that constant stream of “no’s” can really chip away at our confidence and sense of self-worth. And especially if you're an aspiring author and have not yet published your work. Knowing that rejection is a big part of the career of writing is frightening. Really.

I remember when one of my best friends, who is a writer, who is currently in the process of publishing her book, would send query after query only to receive endless rejections. She told me it felt like the entire world was telling her, “Your writing isn't good enough,” and that can be a pretty lonely and demoralizing place to be. It has made me anxious about getting to the querying phase, as I still haven't begun to query yet.

Even when we start to find some success, the fear of rejection never really goes away. Will readers love our next book as much as the last one? Will readers even like my debut novel? Will the critics tear it apart? I know when I first started writing my first novel project. I rewrote the first chapter. 13 times!! And that’s because of all the questions and doubts I had in mind. It’s enough to make any writer want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

And the thing is, as writers, we often don't have the same support system that people in other professions might have. We don't have coworkers to commiserate with or a boss to reassure us; it’s just us. Our doubts and the eerie silence of an empty inbox. For example, Ana Neu, one of my all-time favorite Author-Tuber's, has dealt with similar struggles. She’s mentioned several times how lonely she feels and how her family doesn't fully understand her love and passion for writing. And I completely agree with her. If you want to listen to more of her, please listen to her podcast and watch her videos on YouTube here.

So, now that I went over the key reasons as to why writing is so lonely, I didn't want to end this post on negativity, that’s why I wanted to list the main strategies that have helped me:

Build a Writer’s Community

One of the best ways to combat the isolation of writing is to surround yourself with other writers. That’s why I found social media to be a gift, not just for the other obvious reasons, but because we get to find writers around the world who enjoy the same things we like. Having that sense of community can be a game changer.

When I first started my Tumblr blog, TheWriteAdviceForWriters, I was really hoping to create that kind of supportive space for writers. I wanted to create a space where anyone who enjoys writing—not just fiction writers, but anyone who finds writing to be a passion of theirs—can share their dreams and struggles with. It's been amazing to connect with so many incredible people who just “get” the unique challenges we face. Being able to share our achievements and share our compassions. It's been vital for my own mental health as a writer, and I hope that it can also be vital for all of you.

And of course, the community is not about venting or seeking validation from others; its about providing feedback, encouragement, and just being able to make friends. Having that makes the lonely parts of the writing process and journey feel a little less lonely.

Prioritize Self-care

It's so easy to get caught up in the work and neglect our well-being. There have been multiple times where I wouldn't take a break from my writing sessions and simply not eat and drink. I wouldn't give myself time to process everything I wrote, and I immediately after would criticize it.

However, I find that self-care is the most important part of combating the isolation that comes with being a writer. For me, that looks like making sure I get enough sleep. You can't process, learn, and remember anything when you don't have enough sleep. During my personal self-care, when I do 45-to 1-hour writing sessions, I usually take a short nap after. Eating nourishing meals and snacks is important, as is making time for the hobbies and activities that bring me joy. I usually like reading books, spending quality time with my family members, and very feisty (and sometimes scary) cat.

3. Cultivate Gratitude

When loneliness starts to creep in, it can be really helpful to shift our mindset and focus on what we are grateful for; this can be really productive and rewarding. Being a writer is a gift; we get to spend our days doing what we love, bringing our creative visions to life and sharing them with people who love literature. Readers are such a big part of being a writer, and they're huge motivations to me.

So, if you can, just take a moment to appreciate the joys of writing. For example, if you have any writing quirks, I personally have to wear bracelets on both of my wrists in order to produce some type of creativity when I write. I'm not sure why it's just something I noticed. I also really love writing my manuscripts physically. I tend to do this when I'm suffering from writer's block, and for some reason my writing style is a lot better.

And don't forget the many other joys of writing, like drafting, and the excitement of sharing your work with others. Having a new idea come to mind that fits perfectly in your plot. Or even a reader or beta reader sharing a comment on your work and giving you encouragement.

Also, please celebrate your wins; it makes writing all too fun, and it's a great way to integrate writing into the real world.

End Note

I wanted to write this post because I know a lot of us deal with feeling lonely; I’ve been feeling that way for quite some time, and I wanted to share it with Tumblr. I feel like each and every one of you all feel the same way. And that’s why I created my Tumblr community; that's the reason I created this blog, and that's the reason I strive to build this into an entire brand.

I want to bring more awareness to writers, we are the people behind the stories, movies, and media that we consume today, and we barely get any credit for our work. I want to make a brand where others who never thought writing to be their passion could actually for once consider “Is writing for me?”

I feel like it's such an underrated yet overrated passion. Yet it's not acknowledged as much. 

I hope this post can make you understand that writing is 90% lonely and you are not crazy for thinking so. But, we can use the resources we have today, like social media, to change that and make writing better for the present and the future. 

Thank you all for reading. And please, if you are considering joining a community if you haven't already, please join The Write Right Society. We recently met 100 members, and the community is continuing to grow.

[catsfor2]

hit me, pt 1

word ct.: 2.3k, largely unedited gen: boxer!ellie x med student!reader au!!!, reader is a barista, ellie is mean (she has her reasons), reader is a pretty princess femme because i said so, also ellie says dyke (because i said so)(but not in this chapter lol) warnings: swearing/language, age diff (reader is 19 ellie is 23), drug use (alcohol), eventual smut, angst

a/n: this chapter is a kinda slow start, i mostly just wanted write some establishing dialogue type stuff. i want this to be a medium length ish fic. definitely nsfw in the future. i’m also going to (attempt) to have a more organized pov switching order? idk maybe each part switches between ellie and reader or maybe 1 switch per part? idk. lmk what u think. if you like my writing pls interact on this post or even visit my blog to submit a hc, drabble, or fic idea! requests are open

a/n 2: also, thank you sm to everyone who voted on the poll!!! will totally be doing more of those in the future

part 1.5

You were so drunk. Like, so fucking drunk. Legs wobbling and cheeks flushed, an idiot could notice how intoxicated you were. Hanging off of your friends and approaching strangers. A mess, is what you looked like. You'd learned to restrict yourself over the years, as your friends have informed you of all of the humiliating behaviors you exhibit drunk.

You weren't too worried about anything, though. It's your first night drinking in a while—you're up at university now. Rarely do you get to join Dina and her friends by actually consuming the alcohol—you usually just pass. However, tonight, you wanted to get fucked up. You wanted to forget. Fortunately Dina's a good host, and an even better friend. If anyone was going to be holding your hair back at the end of the night, it would probably be her.

The very first thought you had was holy shit, this is not Dina holding my hair. You shouldn't say 'holding', really. Whoever's hand was in your hair was gripping, hard.

"Shut up, you're fine. Here—drink. No, not sip, drink." A voice directs, bringing a cold cup of water to your mouth.

The first sip is disgusting, the stale tastes of alcohol on your tongue washing down your throat.

Oh Christ, is this one of Dina's friends? How do I not remember her? And her...huge shoulders?

"Seriously—fuckin' drink or I'll make you." The same voice says, meaner and harsher. This person talked to you like you were an animal.

The hand that clutches your hair lets go, and surprisingly gently, rakes over your head a few times to smooth it out. You absentmindedly lean into the touch, too far past the threshold to stop yourself.

The hand moves to your nape as you start to drink, cradling. Her fingers just barely reach around the sides of your neck.

You hesitantly gulp about half the glass of water before the brunette puts it back on the counter.

"Ewwww, is that sink water?" You whine, your face scrunching.

"What, it's not good enough for you? You want Fiji? Fuck is the problem?"

Her tone sobers you up for a moment, locking your eyes to the tiles. You couldn't look at someone while they yelled at you.

Slouching on the floor while she hovers over you, you pull the edges of your dress over your folded legs, only just now feeling the bareness. Your hands stay clutched in the fabric.

"Are you done now?" She says. Rudely, you think. She could've meant 'done' with your vomiting or with your complaining, you weren't quite sure.

"Yeah...I think so. Thank you. Um, really, thank you." You try to say, still feeling stuffy and weighted from all the liquor in your system. She looks at you so intensely you turn your head to escape her gaze.

"Dina asked me to." She takes a damp towel and wipes around your face. "Plus you're so drunk it's a fuckin' liability."

"I'm—m'sorry. Who are you? I've never seen you at one of Dina's...things...before, I don't think."

Her hand stills, wet rag still in it. Her eyes hold yours for a moment, closely and intensely, before darting away again.

“Yeah, you haven’t.”

She rolls up her sleeves before wiping over your collarbones and you spot her tattoo. It takes your gaze up the length of her arms, and you simply let your eyes wander over her figure for as long as you want.

"You should probably throw that dress away. Y'got shit all over it now." She states.

Well.

You look down and see that the moisture on your dress has made it completely see through. Your arm moves to drape across your chest to cover your vibrantly patterned bra and your breasts awkwardly spilling out of it.

"Come on, that's jus mean," you complain. "...ignoring me like that. Please, please, pleeease tell me your name..." Your voice is drunken, high-pitched, and definitely annoying. The woman in front of you grimaces.

"No."

"Why not?" You giggle a bit. "I'll tell you mine."

It was kind of your specialty. Annoying people. Her eyebrows shift downwards. No response.

"Hm, ok. I'll ask Dina." You say, a tiny smile trying to break through your face.

"Do it. See if I give a fuck."

"Woooaahhhh, somebody's got a bee in her bonnet! Who peed in your wheaties?"

"You did. And you're at least sixty-fucking-years-old for even saying that," She tosses the rag behind her and puts her hands on her knees to stand all the way up. "y/n."

Your face lights up an in instant. You scramble to your feet.

"How--how do you know mine? But I can't know yours!?"

"Just how it is. I have to go now." She says, throwing her khaki jacket on her back.

"But--hey, hold on, I don't have a ride home anymore! Everyone's left by now!"

"Not my problem. Call your fucking boyfriend or something." She barks, hands now defensively in her pockets.

A laugh promptly bursts out of you, and you impulsively reach out to grasp her shoulder. Your fingers brush over the collar of her jacket.

"O-kay," you quip, "hold on--cause, I don't have a boyfriend, silly," Her eyes bore into yours as your face draws even nearer. "I'm a lesbian..." You whisper giddily, as if it's something only she gets to know.

Her eyes flit away from you as her mouth purses and flattens, like she's contemplating on how to deal with you. In a moment her pupils are locked with yours again.

"Wow, so fucking special, aren't you, princess?" Her last word is a little less bold, less certain than the rest, like it wasn't entirely intentional. You blush, full body and wholeheartedly.

Princess. Princess?

Your grin widens uncontrollably, and you feel yourself giving in to the hazy pleasure of the alcoholic buzz in your blood. Your hands palm your own thighs as you speak.

"Oh...princess? I like that. I've never��I've never been...called that, before. Before now." You breathe out, eyes fluttery and tired.

She didn't snap at you immediately this time. No, instead, she begins to smile. A lazy, smug, confident smile that burns your stomach.

"You're gonna be real fuckin' embarrassed when you remember this tomorrow. Fuckin'—prissy bitch like you acting all shameless."

“You don’t know who I am,” You mutter, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. "and this? This is not shameless. Do you wanna see shameless? What that actually looks like?" You ask, voice quiet on purpose.

"...No. Fuck no." She denies, that microscopic crack of a smile still evident on her face.

She's very pretty when she smiles. Sooooo pretty.

"You swear way too much, you know that?"

"No, I didn't fucking know that."

Her eyes don't leave yours, like she's waiting for something. Finally, something breaks.

The hand that was resting on the doorknob jiggles it open and she stands in the frame for a moment, just staring. Her compelling eyes force your words out.

"Ok but before you go. One question. Just—just one question.”

"What."

You freeze. What did you want to ask her? You remember it being something about her age.

“Well fucking spit it out. I’m trying to leave.” She urges.

Before you can even recall, another thought appears in your head.

"Okay, okay. Call me princess again? Pleeease? Just once before you go. I don't even want a ride anymore.” You take a glance at the bathroom. “I'll just...sleep… here." You whisper, a little upset thinking about how after this woman leaves, you'll be standing in this bathroom, alone.

"..."

She steps forward, mostly expressionless, pulling up the straps of your dress to cover some cleavage you didn't realize was showing. Your face heats shamefully.

She lets out a sigh.

"Dina has a pull-out in the basement. There's another bathroom down there too if y'need it. Go to bed," Her eyes scan you up and down so quickly you almost miss it. "and finish that glass of water."

With that, the door shuts behind her.

And she's gone.

_____________

You did end up talking to Dina about the person you met last night. Around noon, of course, as you both had slept through the entirety of morning.

"Wait...that's Ellie? Are you fucking serious?!" You clamor, barely comprehending what she’s saying.

The person who helped you out last night knew you, and it also happened to be Ellie. You wanted to hit yourself. Knock yourself out. Be unconscious.

"I thought you knew! She doesn't look that different."

"Dina. I haven't seen her in four years, cut me some slack. And she has like—a whole new energy now. It's....different."

She smirks at you. "...Different?"

"I—yes, different. I know I'm not wrong. I'm not."

The last time you saw Ellie, she was 19 and you were 16. You hadn't come out yet, and hung off of your asshole boyfriend's arm for as long as you could when he was around. Ellie hated the guy. You were insufferable, but Dina must've seen through it enough to befriend you. You’re eternally grateful.

Ellie is a family friend of Dina's, so naturally your paths crossed pretty frequently back then. Until two days before her 20th birthday, when she ran away only with plane tickets and a plan to 'elope' with her girlfriend of three months. They broke up a month later.

You haven't seen her since—excluding last night, of course.

"Oh—oh, fuuuuck. Dina, I know why she was so mean to me last night." Your hands reach up and you drop your face into them.

"She was mean? You didn't say that, the hell?"

"Yes—she was mean, Jesus Dina, keep up. Listen I didn't even recognize her. Like, at all. I kept asking for her fucking name, like, over and over and over again! Oh god, she probably thinks I'm such an asshole." You sulk, rerunning the things you said and did last night in your head.

"Yeah, she totally does."

"No! shut up! You're not helping. How was I supposed to--? She has these arms now, she didn't have those three years ago! And her shoulders? They're so much...wider!" You exclaim, bewildered by this entire situation.

"Hah, ok--"

You cut Dina off.

"And the tattoo, oh my god the tattoo! She's basically unrecognizable!"

"Calm the fuck down, perv. She got a new job three years ago and it just changed her a bit. She does a lot of...physical stuff, now. But she's basically the same, I swear."

"Yeah? Ok. That's...reassuring, I guess..." You say, half truthful. Dina looks at you with something you can't identify. "so...what job."

"Uhhhh—well, not my place to say. You'll...definitely have to ask her. Yourself." Dina winces, trying her best to not let out more info than she should.

"Hm. This is getting...less and less reassuring as you go on. But, thank you Dina."

"So you want her number?" She grins, holding up her phone.

"Are you kidding me." You reject. "I do not text first. You know that."

“You freak, not for that,” Dina shakes her head. “but so you guys can fucking make up and not hate each other, maybe?”

She laughs before getting right on her phone and looking for Ellie's contact.

"I'll just send your number to hers then, jeez."

"No, don't do that either. If Ellie's all upset I couldn't tell who she was, she can be a big girl and tell it to my face. And I don't even care if you tell her I said that. Honestly."

Dina looks up at you. Eyes unmoving and apathetic.

"Both of you are so fucking dramatic. Don't think I'm on your side or her's at this point. I’m completely out of this.”

She throws her phone on the couch before tossing her whole body on it as well. She grabs the remote to turn on the TV.

“Oh shit,” Dina laughs.

“What?”

“Ellie’s gonna fuckin’ flip when she finds out you’re gay now,” Dina says with an acute smile.

I already, accidentally, drunkenly told her. Problem fucking solved, you think.

“Ok? Why’s that?”

“Oh, no reason. Just, pure shock, probably.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” You respond lightly. “…I guess she still pictures the me from highschool, right?”

“Is that your way of asking me if she still hates your ex-boyfriend? Cause yeah, trust me, she does—”

An impeding stream of knocks cut her off. You both whip your heads towards the sound.

The door swiftly opens and in steps Ellie.

Nobody speaks for a few seconds.

“…I have coffee. Thanks for leaving the door unlocked, morons,” Her leg kicks backwards and loudly shuts it. “I hope you get fuckin’ robbed one of these times.”

She walks ahead and hands a hot cup to Dina, and then, to you.

Her thumb rubs along the inside of the carabiner clipped to the loop of her jeans. There’s a smidge of silence before she looks up, only really looking at you.

“I need to show you something.”

And that’s all she says. No context, no elaboration.

“Uh—now?” You question, still in the beat up makeup from last night and hair sticking in all different directions. You couldn’t go out in public like this.

“Uh, yes, now.” She unclips the carabiner and spins it around her pinky. “Let’s go.”

“But what if—what if I have plans?”

“Do you?”

“Well no, but I’d like to at least—”

“Jesus Christ both of you are like this? Here: your hair looks great, your makeup is perfect, your boobs are huge. Can we fucking leave now?” She tells you, completely causing you to forget anything you were saying.

In a moment of panic, you glance at Dina.

Her eyebrows and shoulders only give a limp shrug, as if to say, ‘I don’t know what this is about, but you’re on your own!’

Naturally.

“Yeah, we can leave,” you take a sip of your coffee. “…Ellie.”

The second you say her name, her head is turned to you. Her eyebrows creasing and eyes unwilling to break your gaze. So now you know what the stare was about.

You wonder if your cluelessness last night genuinely hurt her. Made her feel unwanted. Unknown. You felt like shit. You just hope she doesn’t feel similar as you do right now.

She says nothing.

And in that silence, with Ellie cutting in front to get the door for you, you leave.

[koji-haru]

Time Travel AU Part: 13

[I struggled writing this. Again! I feel like all this science stuff I'm doing again is draining my creativity 🥲]

It had only been one day since Eve’s banishment from Eden, and yet the angels were all already discussing the future of humanity, the garden and Adam himself. Adam was sat beside Michael in the circle of stressed angels, all too engaged in their debate. Adam wasn’t even initially supposed to present in this meeting, but apparently Michael, ever so thoughtful, suggested that the first man be involved in the discussion regarding his possible future. And Adam would appreciate the gesture if only he didn’t have to bear witness and suffer through Heaven’s bureaucracy. It was one of the few things he actually hated when he used to be an angel. The meeting began early in the morning and the afternoon was fast approaching, and yet they still haven’t broached the topic about Adam. 

Damn angels and their obsession with order. Adam could feel his eyes drooping, his head nodding off, the discussion a soothing background noise; boredom and exhaustion weighed heavily on him. Beside him, Michael noticed Adam’s quickly slipping attention. Humans after all, didn’t have the same stamina and durability that angels had.

“Pardon me, I’m sure these are all very important, but can we get to the topic about Adam? It’s why he’s here to begin with,” Michael gestured towards the sleepy human. “We can continue the discussion about the others after this.”

Seeing Adam’s drained figure, the angels all agreed to pause their current discussion for later and put away their current notes, switching them for ones related to the new topic. As usual, Sera was the one to start the dialogue. With a clap of her hands, the attention focused back on her as she began to talk.

“Alright. Following Eve’s banishment from the garden of Eden, we were faced with a problem regarding their propagation. Eve’s new companion, who will be created using a part of her, will be made in the following days.” Sera placed both of her hands on the table as she looked at Adam. “Adam, you are now without a companion. We planned on creating a new companion for you but…” She glanced at Michael. “Michael had suggested we consult you first. He mentioned something about your possibly…troubled state.”

A new partner for him in Eden? Someone untainted by the fruit of knowledge? While the idea of being with someone, who was also safe and away from both Lucifer and Lilith, didn’t seem so bad, it was also someone new. Someone Adam would know nothing about, meaning another unpredictable factor. Who knows, maybe this new person would be similar to Eve or they could also turn out to be like Lilith. Either way, they would be an unknown factor. And after finally securing Eden for himself, he didn’t want to add more potential risks, especially not when he was already in uncharted territory. That and, well, the idea of opening up to someone like that again hadn’t crossed his mind for over many millennia now, and he sure wasn’t going to start again.

Adam adjusted himself on his seat, carefully thinking about the words he would say and the emotions he should express in front of the angels. With downcast eyes he answered, “I…after Eve…I don’t think I could ever be ready to be with someone new again.” Adam let a few tears slide down his cheeks, a little sniffle here and there, maybe some subtle trembling. Really, anything to gain the angels’ sympathy and pity. 

The sight of Adam seemingly in anguish over Eve’s betrayal and absence crushed many of the angels’ hearts. How pitiful. For such a delicate creature to experience such a horrible tragedy. They couldn’t imagine the scars that such events had placed on his little heart. God’s most perfect creation, traumatised under the clutches of Lucifer and Lilith. Sera placed a hand over her own heart, clearly affected by Adam’s act. “Adam, are you certain you don’t wish for a new partner?”

Adam meekly shook his head. “I think I’ve had enough.”

—-

The late afternoon sun’s gradually cooling rays shone over the serenity of the garden, coating everything in its soft orange hue. Adam leaned back against a tree as he watched the other inhabitants of the garden prepare for the incoming darkness. It was a bit odd. To have all of the garden to himself in peaceful silence. He had gotten used to a high pitched voice that used to always eagerly drag him along the garden in search of new things to try out. It was about this time of the day when he would join Eve, along with Amora, to gather tonight’s dinner. Adam felt a heavy nudge on his shoulder, and was greeted with large yellow eyes when he turned. 

“Guess it’s just you and me now, huh?,” muttered Adam as he allowed the big cat to lay its head on his lap. “What? Are you trying to comfort me?,” he chuckled. His fingers lazily petted the jaguar’s soft fur, the warmth a welcome presence in Eden’s gradually cooling air. 

Now what? Adam had achieved what he wanted, and of course he was happy that could stay in Eden away from both Lilith and Lucifer, he was also happy not to have to suffer a harsh life outside the garden. But he also couldn’t help but be a little anxious about the future. This was where things would start to really change, and while he was confident in himself, he could still only hope that this future he had carved for himself would be better than the one he had previously.

A familiar flapping of three pairs of wings interrupted Adam’s musings. He knew the owner of those wings. Only he would visit the first man in the garden at such a time. Adam turned to face the angel; a knowing look and a silent nod for a greeting. It seemed suitable enough for the late afternoon’s current undertone. 

Michael found himself a spot beside the first man, close but not too close. The two sat in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the sinking sun as it tinted everything in orange, before the angel uttered a word. “About your decision earlier… Are you certain with what you’ve decided?”

Adam kept his gaze on the horizon, his figure drowning in the sinking rays as it painted him all over like melting gold in a hot furnace. “I’m certain,” he uttered. 

It was one of the few things he was certain of in his newly carved future. He had lived for 10,000 years, and not once did he ever need it. There were some similar things, like his relationship with his exorcists. Each and every one of his girls were dear to him, even that traitorous Vaggie used to have a spot in his heart. Then there was Lute, who he had doted on the most. And while all of those ties were real in their own right, none of them were ever introduced to the cavernous depths of his soul. After living for so long, he realised he didn’t need it, or maybe it simply just wasn’t meant for him. That was fine for him, it was less messy that way, and he intended to keep things neat in this life too.

“But won’t you feel lonely?,” Michael asked. “Being the only one… of your kind I mean.”

Though the words were directed at Adam, Michael’s wistful gaze divulged another story. Even ever since his body was formed from stardust and golden ichor first flowed throughout his body, Michael always hadn’t been the most sociable angel. He got along fine with the rest, but there was always a disconnect. Lucifer’s fall seemed to have resulted in only widening that gap, with others seemingly keeping their distance on purpose after knowing what he was capable of. He supposed that was to be expected, he was, after all, the only angel in Heaven who had the blood of his own kin in his hands. True, he had no choice in the matter, it couldn’t be helped, but the others also couldn’t help what they felt.

Adam mulled over Michael’s words. He wasn’t sure if he would call it loneliness, but being the only person in the garden did make him feel isolated at times. Though he supposed it wasn’t really that bad. He looked back down at Amora who was snuggling on his lap, a content look on her furry face. The slow rise and fall of her chest, the warmth from her large body that she happily shared with him. Adam may be very different from the rest of Eden’s inhabitants, but he felt very welcomed and at home all the same. 

“It’s not so bad,” Adam answered, a faint smile on his lips as he brushed Amora’s fur. “I’ve got the animals with me. They never let me feel lonely. And then there’s also you.”

“And that’s enough for you?”

“I’m just happy to have a home.” Adam would want for more. He had always yearned for more, to learn and experience more new things. It was why he invented so many things. From useless decorative items to important life saving techniques. In fact, one of the reasons he proposed the exterminations, besides wanting to fuck with Lucifer and Lilith, was to escape the monotony of Heaven. The exterminations allowed him to experience new things; sinners with their grotesque forms, hellish food that could kill you in a variety of ways, a chaotic society that easily shifted day by day. It was fun, plain and simple, but it was also a wandering kind of fun. If fun new things meant he would lose paradise, his home, then he would rather not take it. Dying and waking back up in Eden made him realise how he lived like a wanderer in his previous life. Moving from place to place in search of something different, but never truly having a permanent place for himself. He would have to learn to hold back some of his inclinations and unnecessary wants this time, now that he got a hold of his home back. Having a place to belong far outweighed ‘the fun stuff’. Besides, Eden was fun in its own right. It had all kinds of animals that would happily play with him despite being deadly if they were outside the garden, the garden itself was big enough to contain various landscapes from rainforests to open deserts, and most importantly, it didn’t have other people who would ruin his day, at least not anymore anyway.

There was this inexplicable look in Adam’s eyes when he answered Michael’s question. Like a wistful longing; something akin to nostalgia, like he was holding something dear that he had only found again. Just at this moment, with the sinking sun reflecting on his already golden eyes, Michael saw in Adam, just an inkling, what seemed to be an eternity of life and experience. It was surreal, it was as if there was a whole other world within the human unbeknownst to anyone but the man himself, though he knew it couldn’t be possible. So instead, he turned his gaze back to the slowly fading sun. 

What was home?

The archangel, of course, had Heaven, the place he first woke up in, the place he had spent the most time in, and the place he always returned to. Though with the recent events, that place had become a little less comforting, a little more alienating. It was still the same but also different. It was like Lucifer had never fallen, but the void of his absence permeated the atmosphere. Heaven had become uncomfortable. But Eden remained a simple comfort. Michael wrapped his wings around himself. The garden was still here and so were the animals. Then there was also Adam. Maybe that was also enough for him.

Part 12

Part 14

[the-bitter-ocean]

( ACT 3/ ACT 4 SPOILERS) This is part 6 of the many responses/ dialogue options I wrote for the conversation that Rewind and Mirabelle have on what Rewind’s identity truly is. To understand the full context you can find the original post here. Writing is under the cut:

{{ “So I suppose you must have a lot of questions for me don’t you? Theories as to who I might be?”}}

{ You do. You can’t help but feel overwhelmed by all of this.}

{{ “Let’s make this like a game so you can get to know me a little better. How’s that sound hm?”}}

{You nod slowly, still unsure.}

{{ “You get one guess for this so pick whatever feels right in your heart.”}}

{One guess?}

{Something about the way Riri speaks to you feels familiar. }

{ Someone dependable and willing to help you even in the most dire of circumstances. }

{ Someone who’s shown to care for you deeply over the course of this whole ordeal and in turn you have done the same for them as well. }

=> { You’re one of my allies. }

{“.. Are you.. Um. one of my allies ?”}

{Riri stares at you confused.}

{{“Which ally of yours do you think I am, Plum? I’m curious” }}

{ Rewind is….}

=> { Siffrin.}

=> { Isabeau. }

=> { Odile.}

=> { Bonnie. }

=> { Siffrin.}

{“… Um well.. maybe Siffrin?”}

{Riri confusion grows even more. She shakes her head}

{{“Mmm..Why’d you say that?”}}

{“.. We’ll you’re so mysterious .. and uhm you make fun of me sometimes, but it doesn’t feel like it’s meant to be in a mean way?”}

{“You seem so..nonchalant? Like you’ve seen it all before.. and well that’s the type of way Siffrin was when I asked him for help on the journey so..it just makes sense?”}

{“I don’t know. It just reminded me of them was all.”}

{Riri goes quiet. She’s lost in thought.}

{{ “..I remind you of your Rogue? For that reason..? That’s very..”}}

{She sighs clearly wanting to say something more, as if to correct you but brightens up in tone again}

{{ “Silly of you! I tease you because you just have the personality that makes it so easy for me to do!”}}

{{“You’re so adorable, don’t you know that?”}}

{Riri gently boops you on the nose. }

{You sulk.}

{{“..You guessed wrong. Sorry Plum!”}}

—————————————————————————————————

(ALTERNATE RESPONSES)

{Rewind is….}

=> { Siffrin.}

=> { Isabeau. }

=> { Odile. }

=> { Bonnie. }

=> {Isabeau.}

{“…Are you Isabeau?”}

{Riri confusion grows even more. She shakes her head}

{{“Wh- Huh?! You think I’m your Fighter? For what reason?”}}

{“.. Well you’re like really uplifting if that makes any sense? It seems like you just know how to cheer me up before I even could begin to tell you if I was upset. ”}

{“.. Isabeau is really good at that sort of thing. Plus you look.. really stylish? Ah in hindsight it’s probably a stupid answer, sorry.”}

{“I don’t know. It just reminded me of them was all.”}

{{“…No, I’m not your Fighter.”}}

{{“As cute as it is that you think I’m anything like him, it’s not true.”}}

{{“I think that even someone who excels at Changing like him… would have a hard time changing into something like me.”}}

{ What’s that supposed to mean-}

{{“Anyway you guessed wrong. Sorry Plum!”}}

—————————————————————————————————

{Rewind is….}

=> { Siffrin. }

=> { Isabeau. }

=> { Odile. }

=> { Bonnie. }

=> {Odile.}

{“…Are you Madame Odile?”}

{Riri confusion grows even more. She shakes her head}

{{“….? You think I’m your Mage? Why?”}}

{“.. You just.. seem to be really knowledgeable about a lot of things and you’re very..reflective?”}

{“You get really quiet sometimes- like you’re thinking of a bigger picture that I couldn’t even begin to understand, y’know?”}

{“..Madame is really good at planning strategies and figuring out the best ways to solve a problem, kind of like what you do when you talk with me.”}

{“I don’t know. It just reminded me of her was all.”}

{{“…Hm. That’s awfully sweet of you to say but no! I’m not your Mage.”}}

{{“If I was anywhere near as smart as her, I’d have solved both of our problems regarding this whole time loop business by now.”}}

{ “Huh? Wait but-“}

{{“Anyway! I hate to say it but you guessed wrong. Sorry Plum!”}}

—————————————————————————————————

{Rewind is….}

=> { Siffrin.}

=> { Odile. }

=> { Isabeau.}

=> { Bonnie. }

=> { Bonnie.}

{“…Are you Bonnie?”}

{Riri confusion grows even more. She shakes her head}

{{“..?! You think I’m B-..Your Apprentice?”}}

{Rewind looks at you dumbfounded.}

{ Rewind puts a hand over where their hypothetical mouth would be, if she had one and laughs at you.}

{{“Do you really think I’m that childish?”}}

{“Wh- NO!! Not like that at all!!”}

{“You’re just hard to read. N-Not in a bad way!”}

{“I don’t know why.. but I get the feeling you’re trying really hard to not get close to me?”}

{“.. But I don’t think you hate me either. It’s clear you care a lot about me and want to help me. So it’s just a little confusing on where I stand with you.”}

{“..Bonnie gets like that too sometimes. They want to help however they can in their own unique way even if they can be stubborn about it.”}

{“I don’t know. It just reminded me of them was all.”}

{Rewind looks away from you.}

{{“That’s a very strange conclusion for you to reach.”}}

{{“No, I’m not your Apprentice.”}}

{{Rewind puts on a sing songy tone as she speaks.}}

{{“I’ll have you know I’m an adult, thank you!”}}

{{“I consider it a good thing… im thankful that I’m not your apprentice.”}}

{{“I don’t want to even think about the possibility of someone that young being in my..”}}

{{“…”}}

{…?}

{“Being in your what-“}

{{“Moving on now! Point is, your guess was wrong. Sorry Plum!”}}

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

things I do to unstick my book

(I’m a pantser!)

Ask if this scene really needs to be a scene or if I can just summarize it

Ask if this summary really needs to be summary or if I need more scene

Write a very focused, very pretty sentence

Circle back a couple scenes & ask if one of them is causing “symptoms” later in the book

Get in and get out (push through a tough scene as fast as possible & then run forward and fast like wind to the next bit)

Add an exciting element (a new character, a change of location, other… things ;))

Pause and revise if I’m feeling destabilized

Be specific about what I DON’T like (example: I can’t get past this scene because the dialogue is so mechanical instead of “ahhh I hate it all”)

Read what I last wrote aloud (to hopefully sink into some momentum) OR get a robot to read it to me

Try a teeny tiny writing sprint (1-5 minutes of nonstop writing)

Write a flashback (bonus points if it’s connected emotionally or plot-wise to the fictive present)

Read from a literary godparent (this is when you pull out the books/stories/poems etc that make you excited about writing!)

Write or brainstorm every possible direction of a scene (sometimes grueling, sometimes worth it)

Sit and think (in a bathtub, on a walk—try to immerse yourself in your story like you’re a random character who got plopped in there; what do you see?)

Method write

Find a word that excites you and use that in your next scene

Double check if you’re hitting the right story beats (or if you skipped one, spent too long on one, spent too little on one, etc)

Write “bare bones” and come back to fine tune it later (similar to get in and get out)

Write with your eyes closed (be warned of incomprehensible text if you can’t type with closed eyes)

Break down your causal chain bit by bit (even the boring parts) and see if there’s a broken link. Then delete the boring parts (sometimes we just need to see how EXACTLY we got to a place and how EXACTLY that leads us to the important bit--I find I missed something critical when I do this).

Rely on crutch words, boring details & trust you can edit it later (sometimes the idea of perfection in draft 1 can be unproductive)

Ask a friend to read the work & tell you what they think (sometimes we need help; writing is hard)

Ask a friend for a compliment read (sometimes we just need to be hyped up)

Change the tense (temporarily & be warned that different tenses may require different approaches when drafting, I only do this when I’m not sure what else to try)

Talk myself through the problem as if I’m talking to a friend (I pull up my notes and literally start typing: “so I’m struggling with XYZ scene right now for XYZ reason and I don’t know what to do. What if XYZ happened, or what if I changed XYZ?”)

Take a break—sometimes I’m just tired/burnt out/not in the mood to write (that’s okay!)

I post more tips I’ve picked up along the way on youtube!

[its-time-to-write]

I AM RUSHING TO GET THIS IN!!!

Friends to lovers maybe with a disabled reader?? Maybe she's someone he knew from back home who he runs into at a diner she's working at now. Maybe she feels like he abandoned her and her life fell apart when he moved away?

ANyway love you lots!!!

warning: there’s a lot of parentheses (it’s a choice) and a lot of swearing (I do what I want)

reader’s dialogue/feelings are based off my own experiences so if u read this and are like ??? don’t worry about it. i’m just projecting. the chronic illness is unspecified.

LOVE U BABE

you’ll probably date her

It’s hard enough growing up in a council estate in a shit part of Manchester (although you’d staunchly defend there’s no such thing as a shit part of Manchester) but it’s harder with fucking chronic illness. It manifests is clumsiness (joint pain), fidgeting (widespread pain), and bruising (skin problems).

Not to mention the fucking tiredness.

School is complete shit all the time, and life is complete shit all the time too. 

Okay fine, not all the time, but a lot of the time.

There are bright spots in between flare ups, bright spots that consist of learning how to bake with Simon (Jamie’s stepdad) and petting Roy (Jamie’s cat) and watching horribly cheesy movies with Georgie (Jamie’s mum).

Oh, and Jamie. 

You’ve known Jamie since birth, probably, when your mum brought you home and Jamie sat down on the saggy couch, aged two, and asked, “When does it open its eyes?”

He took it upon himself to look after you, magnanimous in a way he would not have been if you were actually related to him (thank god). When he starts to get tired of you, he can go back home to his own room and his own mum and hug her tight without having to share her with anyone else.

When you’re three and he’s five, you get a diagnosis. Jamie says, “That’s shit,” when your mum tells him you can’t play, and you’re told that you echo him with your first swear. 

“That’s shit,” comes your tiny voice from the sofa, face down and covered in bags of frozen peas.

Your mum is too surprised by the first words you’ve said all day, that she a) doesn’t scold you and b) doesn’t catch Jamie as he slips by her into the house. He sits on the floor and starts to tell you about primary school and helps your mum when it’s time to put the peas back in the slightly-broken freezer.

It goes like that for years. 

When you’re feeling well, you kick a football around with Jamie. When you’re feeling poorly, he climbs the steps to your room and tells you things, anything at all to distract you from the pain ripping through your body.

It’s nice. It makes you feel, like, someone cares, almost? Or someone understands? Or maybe the world isn’t carrying on without you, that a piece of it does stop when you do, and maybe you aren’t entirely alone.

You first realize you like Jamie (like-like) when you’re twelve and it feels like ice-cold water has been poured on your head, but not exactly in an unwelcoming way.

A shock, sure, but a soothing one.

You don’t tell him, but you think he probably knows. He’s not an idiot, he’s had girls swooning all over him since he was eight. 

(And your mum knows, and she and Georgie talk, and Georgie tells Jamie to be extra nice to you and maybe a little bit careful not to be mean about it.)

He carefully slips on your small bed when you’re fifteen and he’s sixteen (almost seventeen, but it’s the one time of the year when you’re only a year apart) and balances on his side so he can look at you.

“You’ll be alright?” he asks, and you don’t have to ask what he’s talking about.

He’s going to play for Manchester (City, not United, and not the Premier League Team), and it’s all you’ve been able to think about.

You don’t say anything, so he gingerly pats your head. It messes up your hair, but it also feels like tiny electric sparks are shooting through your body (not the pain kind).

He lays there for a long time, whispering about secondary school and football and making enough money to buy houses for everyone he’s ever loved, you included.

(He promises he’ll call all the time.)

—

He does call, until he doesn’t.

Some days are good, some days are bad, and now the bad days feel like they’re your fault.

“You’re overdoing it,” your boss says, “You need to slow down or you’ll be out sick tomorrow.”

You bite back the words I’m doing my fucking best, and just nod. Fuck him, and fuck this. You can work just the same as everyone else, pain be damned. There are fucking bills to pay and yeah, this shit hurts, but what the fuck are you supposed to do. Benefits aren’t enough at the moment, and it’s been a solid two years since you’ve given up on waiting for a knight in shining armor (even if that knight is in the Premier League now, just like he always swore he’d be).

Your boss is fucking right the fucker, but you push through on Friday (it’s fucking shit) and crash on Saturday (it’s even more fucking shit).

Your mum places bags of frozen fruit on your joints, rearranging the pillows on the floor. You’ve long since outgrown the couch, instead needing more space. Your dad moved the coffee table, saying, “It’s on its last legs anyway,” and the space you called a living room now became a treatment room of sorts.

Georgie and Simon come over all the time for family dinner (potluck-style) and they are comfortable enough step over you or sit down on the floor to talk.

It sounds worse than it is, but when they’re in the flat it feels better, all warm and glowy, like things are right.

Nights are the worst, with the moving around trying to get comfortable, so you’re awake bright and early on Sunday morning. Early enough to sit on a bench in front of the estates, bundled up in your duvet and puffing cold air out into the sky.

You hear footsteps splashing down the tunnel, someone on their way home after a long night. Or maybe it’s one of the many kids who like to sneak out to play footie in hopes that they’ll be the next Jamie Tartt.

He’s not that great, you want to tell them, except you don’t even believe it yourself. He is that great, he’ll always be that great, and you should have fucking known that he was going to fuck off and fuck a gorgeous, carefree model and not you. 

(Not that you want to fuck him. Well, you do, but you also want to, like, hold his hand.)

It was always going to end up this way, you should have known not to actually have real feelings for him, you should have left it at a childhood crush and not let yourself believe something could actually happen.

The footsteps pass you by, and it’s a man in a baseball hat and an awful silk-print tracksuit carrying a Gucci travel bag.

He’s out of place here, and you wonder if he’s lost. But no, he strides up to Georgie and Simon’s door like he owns the place, pulls out a key, and walks right in. It’s only after the door swings shut behind him that you realize it’s Jamie.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, clouds accompanying the words.

(You won’t admit it, but the surprise has rebooted your system a little bit, aching limbs forgotten for a moment.)

—

“This is shit,” you say as you lean on your fucking cane of all things. “It’s one thing if it’s Simon and Georgie, it’s another fucking thing if it’s Jamie fucking Tartt.”

“That’s a lot of fucking fucks,” your father says sagely, ignoring the glare you send his way and saying ow as your mum swats the back of his head.

“It’s only two fucks and one shit,” you tell him. “And I’m not going.”

“Then I’ll tell them to come over here,” your mum says placidly. 

Absolutely not. Also-fucking-lutely not.

“I am going to my room,” you say with dignity, turning to go back up the stairs.

Your dad waves, the prick. “Have fun,” he says helpfully. You flip him off without looking, and you know for a fact he’s doing it back. You know he’ll be up in an hour with a plate of dinner and sneak you early desert.

There is no fucking way you’re seeing Jamie after two years like this.

The cane is a relatively new development and sure, it’s helpful with walking sometimes, but a cane? The fuck were the doctors thinking when they suggested this? You’re barely twenty, not a damn convalescent. 

By the time you make it to your room, the doorbell’s ringing and voices are filling the flat. You reach for your bottle of pills and carefully tap the right amount into your hand (even though you know there is no drug on earth to calm down your traitor heart).

You lay down flat on your back with no immediate plans to move. You find your playlist and slip an earbud in, letting the music take you somewhere else. Somewhere where you don’t hurt for no reason, where you can focus like you’re supposed to, where you aren’t so damn tired all the time.

There’s a tap on your door.

“Come in,” you call to your dad, except the door opens and it’s Jamie, no longer in his stupid outfit from earlier, but in a nice jumper that you think might be Simon’s.

He smiles like he didn’t abandon you and sits down on the floor. You hand him the other earbud (it’s better than talking) and let Stevie Nicks croon in your ear.

“How’ve you been?” he asks (the prick) and you have half a mind to ignore him. 

“It’s been two years,” you remind him. “Try again.”

Jamie looks stricken. “Right, yeah, I know, it’s just- I’ve been busy.”

“Yup,” you reply. “Me too.”

(The cane is leaning on the wall by the door, and you need Jamie to not notice it.)

Jamie points to the cane. “That’s new.”

“Yep,” you say because it’s not the same as yup. It has a different vowel. It’s a different word, you’re having a civil conversation, your brain is making sentences just fine.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He sounds like he means it, which is worse. “I went through some shit, you know? It don’t excuse it, but… got a new gaffer, Keeley dumped me, then I got sent back to City right when I were getting better. It’s been shit. I’ve been shit,” he corrects.

Your arm’s falling asleep so you shift, trying to stifle a groan.

Jamie’s up in a moment, all concern. “You alright?”

“Clearly,” you gasp out as savagely as possible. “Fuck off, alright? I don’t need your pity, not now, so go find some other charity case.”

Fucking flare-ups. Fucking Jamie. Fucking chronic illness and its fucking lack of a cure.

Jamie looks like he’s been slapped. To be fair, you would if you could get in the right position.

“You’re not charity,” he says, and unfortunately (and again) he sounds like he fucking means it.

“Okay,” you say. “That’s fucking mint. Thanks for staying such a good friend all these years, it’s been real fucking fun. I’ve got to lie here in discomfort, so I imagine you’ll be leaving now. Goodbye.”

Jamie stares at you a moment, then leaves.

—

It’s a good day. It’s a good day and it’s raining and you don’t even care because it’s a good day. Nothing can ruin it (this isn’t a premonition) not even stupid Jamie showing up out of nowhere.

(It’s a little bit of a premonition.)

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing he says when he turns up in his mum’s kitchen, an hour before he’s supposed to be home. You’re supposed to be long gone by now, but you and Simon have cheese pinwheels in the oven that aren’t done for another twenty minutes, so now you’re stuck here until then.

“Fucking mint,” you say, just like the night before. Simon freezes but Georgie just rolls her eyes. 

“We’ll be in the other room, loves,” she says. “Jamie, don’t be a fucking idiot.”

You tell him, “I’m having a good day, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fucking ruin it.”

“You’re not a charity case,” he says, and you think maybe he is broken, but like a record is broken, not like a teacup.

Jamie says, “I weren’t lying about going through shit,” and you snap (like a rubber band, not a bone).

“Big fucking deal, Jamie, you’ve been going through shit since you were six years old. I’ve been going through shit too, in case you didn’t fucking notice. It’s not an excuse to be a shitty person or a shitty friend,” you burst out.

“I didn’t say it as an excuse, it’s just a fucking reason,” Jamie shouts back. “Jesus Christ, you’re not the only person with fucking problems! You’re allowed to be mad shitty sometimes, I didn’t ever complain, so why’s it fucking different for me?”

You open your mouth to tell him why it’s fucking different, except you don’t actually have a reason. How many times did you sit with him as he iced his knee, or his face, or his arm while you iced your back, or your chest, or your legs?

Pain is pain, your fucking government-issued therapist had said. And shit if she isn’t right.

“You abandoned me,” you reply, voice small. “You left me for Keeley and I wouldn’t have minded, I really wouldn’t have. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Jamie rubs his face with a sigh. “Didn’t know how to talk to you, after. I knew you liked me since we were kids and I liked you too, so it felt fucking… weird. Dunno. But, I was with her because it was what I was supposed to do and she was mad fit and fucking funny. I’ve had a crush on her for fucking… ages.”

“Right,” you say, feeling one millimeter tall, “I get that.”

Jamie shakes his head and says, “Nah, you don’t.” (The fuck does he mean? He can’t read your mind).

“You don’t get it,” he continues. “Had a crush on her, didn’t I? Not the same as you. You were proper in love with me, and I…” he trails off.

“He was proper in love with you too,” comes Georgie’s voice.

Jamie turns bright red and you do too, and it’s like you’re kids again and he’s in your bed and you’re trying not to think about how close his lips are to yours.

“That’s… well, that’s…” You try and fail to come up with the right words.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, still blushing. “Yeah, suppose I was. Couldn’t do anything about it, then. Could do something about it now. If you’ve forgiven me.” He says it casually, like he won’t mind if you tell him to go away out of his own mum’s house and never return, when in reality he’ll burn up and die if you do.

“I will. I do,” you say. “I’m sorry too, I am. I can be a prick sometimes.”

Jamie shrugs, but he’s smiling a little. “I’m a prick all the time, love. Fucking… fucked childhood or some shit.”

“Some shit,” you echo. “So, proper in love with me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says. “Proper. Wrote my first name with your last on every bit of paper I could get me hands on, didn’t I?”

“Fuck off,” you say with a grin.

“It’s true,” Simon shouts from the sofa. “Found some bits when I was cleaning one day.”

Wait. Simon didn’t move in until Jamie was a teenager. That means… 

“Oh my god, were you fifteen when you were writing that? You weren’t even a kid anymore! What the fuck Jamie, you had it bad!” you tease.

“Fuck off, it was just a stupid joke,” he says defensively.

“Uh huh, sounds like,” you say as you go to wrap your arms around him. “You liked me.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, leaning down to kiss your head. He’s never going to fucking live this down.

[justapoet]

Random dialogue prompt list

"Have you ever been in love?" "No. Why?" "I think I'm in love with you."

Distancing themself from the other because they start to think that there is definitely something wrong with them

Stuttering

"I missed you so much, I don't know why. But, I did."

"You look perfect in this outfit." "Oh."

“Tell me you did not go to a fight without me.” “I don’t need you to protect me.” “It’s not about protection-”

"Did you forget that it was your turn to grab the groceries today?" "Yeah, sorry. I thought I'd wait for you so we can go together?"

“The problem lies within the fact that I want more. That’s what scares me the most, because I don’t want to want more. But I can’t help it.” 

“You said you loved me last night.”

“So that confession…” “Didn’t mean shit ‘cause I was drunk. And I don’t want you accepting that. Let me confess to you, properly, at the least.”

“I swear I didn’t murder anyone.” 

"Who are you when you're not performing?" "Fuck. Marry me."

“You have the most beautiful smile, you know that?”

“I just want(ed) to make you smile.”

“I was just getting my coffee, but then I fell in love with you”

"I…I missed you." "Oh."

“I desperately want to kiss you.”

“Maybe it’s a good mood. Maybe it’s a manic episode.”

"Don't open your eyes"

"Goddammit, don't say that!"

“Fuck it. I’m in.” 

“Too late. I’m already yours.”

“Nothing - no matter how weird or dark - could ever change the way I feel about you.”

“For once, I’m completely serious.”

“I don´t believe that you know what the hell you are doing half of the time.” 

“There isn’t a single unit of thought behind your eyes.” “Of course, not. I’m looking at you. My brain doesn’t work when I’m looking at you.”

"Are we going to talk about it?"

“I’d tear down mountains and rewrite the stars just to see you smile.”

“You weren’t part of my life plan.”

“So, tell me, what do you feel for me?”

“I’m this close to resorting to physical violence if shit continues to not work out.”

“I don’t know what to do.” 

“Say another word and I´ll shove these fries down your throat.” 

“Could you even try to be nice to me today?”

“There are about thirty-five ways this could go wrong. I’d say that’s pretty good odds.”

"Are you seriously considering to go through with this complete absurd?"

"It's a miracle you're still alive." "Mom does say you're a miracle worker, yes."

"You're sick. Did the fever make you forget how to dial my number?"

"Just do it, you moron."

"My self-control is hanging by a thread right now. Please, don't do this to me."

“Hey, neighbour, I’ve never met you before but your dog just destroyed my garden."

“Well, I’m afraid that opinion’s going to change once you get to know me.”

"Ever thought of stepping outside, or have you become part of the furniture?"

"Can you just look at me? Please?"

"I needed to hear your voice."

“Just to clarify: We are in a relationship, right?”

"You're the only thing I should be afraid of, and that fear died off years ago."

“it’s a bit frustrating to how oblivious you are.”

“what do i have to do or say for you to notice that i’m in love with you?”

“Yeah, that wasn’t supposed to happen and I was not supposed to say that, I’m so sorry.” 

so, hi! this is just a silly prompt list, but I'd very much like to ask you to send me asks and resquest a fic from any of them!

I'll be writing for the following couples:

Buddie (9-1-1)

Percabeth (Percy Jackson)

Nick and Chalie (Heartstopper)

Aziracrow (Good Omens)

Polin (Bridgerton)

Kathony (Bridgerton)

If you have any other couples from these universes that you might want, you can send them to me, as well. Other than Buddie (that it's not canon just yet), I like best to only write canon couples.

[meanqueens]

Hi! Sorry for the rant but as an hater of the Rhaenys speech in episode nine to another I felt like you could understand .

In my personal experience ,it’s not only the Targaryen Exceptionalism that bothers me ,it’s also the not so subtle victim blaiming .

The whole window things to me was Rhaenys telling Alicent that she’s a loser for not having ambitions other than to see her family safe ,and the fact that Alicent didn’t girlboss her way out of her problems ( read :abuse)

It’s not only Rhaenys hypocrisy here that makes me go nuts,but the way the show constantly acts like Alicent is stupid for not fighting back against her abusers is sickening .This is a feudal society and their concept of abuse was different then ours ,so what was done to Alicent by Otto and Viserys (and Larys but in this case his behavior would never be normalized) will never get called out ,and Alicent as a woman is considered a property ,first of her father then her husband .She has power and wealth as long as these men give it to her .So she’s already in a bad situation societally and one hard ti escape.

On an emotional level ,Alicent is also really scared of both Otto and Viserys .And abuse victims feel trapped ,like they can’t escape . (and Alicent is trapped ).

The fact that Rhaenys shaming Alicent for being a victim is seen as a wise girlboss moment is something so fucked up .

Sorry for the rant ,and have a good day/night !

thank u for your ask and your thoughts, and i hope u enjoy me ranting some more about (probably) my least favorite exchange of dialogue in hotd!

i’m gonna go kinda line by line with my thoughts so this might get long.

Rhaenys: And you are usurping the throne.

subjective, i think, like a lot of the dance is. who’s the usurper depends on who believes who has the rightful claim. and let’s be real: if the greens didn’t have a leg to stand on, there wouldn’t be a dance. also, let’s recall that part of rhaenys’ stance in the great council was not only that she had a claim, but that her male child laenor had a claim. he, not rhaenys, was the main contender alongside viserys i. i think hotd really messed up important details in trying to simplify everything. anyway.

Alicent: It was my husband's dying wish. Believe it or no, it is of no consequence. Aegon will be king. I came here to ask your support.

Rhaenys: Well, I must credit you for your boldness.

hey, now that’s a take i can agree on, rhaenys! while not the most powerful member of the greens, without alicent’s boldness they would not have survived long.

Alicent: House Velaryon has long allied itself with the Princess Rhaenyra and what has it gained you? Your daughter dead, alone in Pentos. Your son cuckolded. Rhaenyra's heirs are none of yours. It is your husband who grasps so heedlessly for the throne. And even he has abandoned you. Gone these six long years to fight a desperate battle, returning grievously, if not mortally, wounded, leaving the Lady of Driftmark to chart her course alone.

(going by show canon) is alicent wrong though? is she wrong????? it might not be nice but it’s the truth as she sees it.

Rhaenys: The word of my house is not fickle.

Alicent: No. But, dear cousin, you more than any soul alive understand what I say now. Princess Rhaenys, I loved my husband, but I will speak the truth we both know. You should've been queen.

Rhaenys: I little thought to hear those words from you.

but why, rhaenys, did you not expect alicent to say those words to you? what on-screen interaction have you had with her in the past that led to this conclusion? or is that the internalized misogyny talking???

see, this little quip reeks of narrative fuckery. everybody just inherently hates alicent bc *checks notes* she’s a “bad feminist”… in a medieval patriarchal society. if rhaenys doesn’t think alicent would say that, show me why she doesn’t think alicent would say that based on something other than “vibes”.

doesn’t make sense that it’s bc alicent married viserys instead of laena; doesn’t make sense that it’s bc alicent and rhaenyra fought after aemond lost his eye; doesn’t make sense that it’s bc alicent rules in viserys’ stead (if anything, that’d make it more likely she’d say it bc she and rhaenys are/were in similar positions, able to rule when their husbands couldn’t); doesn’t make sense that it’s bc alicent worked with vaemond so he could inherit driftmark (and not lucerys, another male).

so where?

Alicent: The Iron Throne was yours by blood and by temperament. Viserys would've lived his days a country lord, content to hunt and study his histories, but here we are. We do not rule, but we may guide the men that do. Gently. Away from violence and sure destruction and instead toward peace.

the “we do not rule, but…” lines are actually so important to me, because it’s alicent speaking as a woman who understands her position in society to another woman (maybe one who she hopes can feel the same). it’s alicent have a very firm grasp on what her limitations are and thus what is reasonably possible for her to do. here, i think, she underestimates rhaenys’ pride and concept of her own privilege, bc rhaenys does not view herself as a “mere woman”, she’s a targ, and she couldn’t nor wouldn’t visualize anything else.

Rhaenys: Is it in the name of peace that you've imprisoned me? And what of my dragon?

Alicent: If we are overmatched, Rhaenyra will be tempted to strike us, and war will ensue. Without your dragon, she may be persuaded to negotiate. If it's Driftmark you want, you shall have it for you and your granddaughters to pass on as you see fit.

excellent point from alicent. it’s a smart political move to keep rhaenys confined while her loyalties are uncertain. again, it’s not a “nice” thing to do to someone, but it’s not the time to be nice; it’s time to survive. giving rhaenys free reign would give her free reign to use a WMD on whoever she chooses. so, yeah, it is kind of in the name of peace to keep the user away from the weapon, because meleys is a weapon of MASS DESTRUCTION that could destroy the city and kill many.

and guess what happens later at the coronation? alicent is proven right. you let rhaenys out, you let the carnage out.

Rhaenys: You are wiser than I believed you to be, Alicent Hightower.

Alicent: A true queen counts the cost to her people.

Rhaenys: And yet you toil still in service to men. Your father, your husband, your son. You desire not to be free, but to make a window in the wall of your prison. Have you never imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?

i will stand by the post i made back when this episode aired, that some people can only hope to make windows.

if you can see a door, that’s great, but some people can’t and can only visualize fresh air. maybe you could help her find the door, rhaenys, but you’re more interested in shaming her.

rhaenys’ hypocrisy comes out here in full force in how she views alicent’s actions vs. her own, when she has done similar if not exactly what alicent has. but rhaenys is a targ/aryen, she’s got the dynasty and the dragonfire to back her up; alicent has to work with what your typical noble lady has. so, no, alicent can’t just do whatever she wants, bc, like you said redroses, her power is what others allow her. looks like rhaenys doesn’t have a window in the wall of her prison of privilege, and instead bricked herself up with her hypocrisy.

now. while i have ranted for quite a bit now, i do think it’s okay that rhaenys does not agree with alicent and does not see her as she is. that’s character conflict! that makes a great story! i can disagree with rhaenys’ perspective (and i do), but that she has it isn’t entirely the issue. what hammers in the frustration i have is that the narrative is siding with her, not allowing for these two women to have different points of view in shades of grey. the narrative doesn’t push for any interpretation other than rhaenys is correct, and that alicent is a bigoted, self-righteous fool, bc how dare she defend her son’s claim? “that’s not very girlboss of you, alicent, so we don’t care about your reasons for doing so and how they just might be valid from your POV.”

the scene ends without a retort more from alicent, again signaling how the narrative intends this as a “gotcha!” mic drop moment. but since i’ve gone this far, i might as well argue that the following could be considered one, bc she does at least get the final word:

Alicent: I'll leave you with your thoughts.

go ahead and have your thoughts, rhaenys. see how far you go, and if you won’t end up just like the mere mortals after all.

[brekkie-e]

I have mixed feelings on the discussion about how "nice" Astarion gets if you go the Spawn route with him. Now, I am not reading fic so I've not personally seen the extent of how far people are running with the “redeemed” narrative. I might be completely unaware of some truly unhinged “Astarion helps old ladies cross the road with a smile on his face and kindness in his heart” takes. And I will be the first to point out his approval in Act 3 doesn’t always point towards a huge change of heart.

The flip side of that conversation that I’m not seeing discussed that much is the way Astarion talks about himself as well as the way the companions talk about him after choosing the spawn ending. In the scenes directly afterwards, and even in the epilogue a bit- you can see a very changed man. Not necessarily a humane society volunteer, but at the very least someone who’s taking responsibility for their life and viewing the world in a way they hadn’t before. Spawn Astarion’s growth cut scenes were almost jarring for me to watch after years of being comfortable with the bitch boy from Early Access.

Astarion is not the only one talking that way though! Karlach, Wyll, Minthara, Jaheira! They all respond to him as though he is a changed man. I scoured to find the actual lines since I’m away from my computer, but no luck. That being said, I do know that pretty much each companion reacts to his decision not to follow through with Ascension and his time afterwards by essentially saying, “You can’t fool me, we know you’re a good person.” In various degrees of intensity.

I know in his dialogue with Minthara he dead ass says, “Yep, love fixed me. I’m better now.” And he says it with zero shame, he’s happy about it.

At points the way the companions and he talk about it makes me frustrated with certain reactions and approvals that remain in Act 3. The further you get from finishing his plot line, the less of a changed man he really seems. His approvals in general still line up with Ascended Astarion’s. Some of his reactions to things seem out of touch with the man seen in the grave yard. For example, his reaction to being cheated on with Mizzora. Not only does his acceptance of that just seem like a different character than the one we see in his scenes after the palace, a man who clearly views your relationship as a serious commitment that he is proud of. But it also seems bizarre that he would be okay with you betraying Wyll at this point in the story. The man we see telling the spawn to go to the underdark, who thanks Tav for standing by him, and gushes about being excited to live again and embrace the good with the bad seems entirely juxtaposed to the asshole he continues to be.

Which is not to say that I want him to be all sunshine and rainbows. It just seems inconsistent. I think a part of that comes from the need to keep his reactions neutral enough that they might work for both endings. The problem with that being that Ascended and Spawn Astarion are such vastly different people in their main story scenes that it’s kind of impossible to line them back up again afterward. For me, it was hard to find it believable. Either his post Cazzador scenes were out of character, or his continued reaction scenes were out of character- it just depends on which you prefer.

Circling back to my original point, I guess what I’m trying to say is that his graveyard scenes and the companion commentary do make me think that he is still heading in a redemption arc direction. That it isn’t inherently out of character for him to be written as a character with a complicated relationship with morality, but more often than not ending up on the good side of the spectrum these days. The way I interpret it, it’s not so much because suddenly he’s altruistic and nice. It’s that he’s actively choosing change, which feels like a continuation of his recovery. He’s surrounded by people who hold him accountable. He’s trying to be better than he was. He’s trying to do right by the people who have helped him. He’s still going to bitch about it, and act like it’s stupid. But he’s going to independently prompt that the group save the kid from the hag because “that’s just what we do, I’m done fighting that reality.” In his post-Cazzador life, his only real loyalty is to his team. If that team is full of annoying do-gooders? Their his annoying do-gooders. He’ll complain about it, but he’d not trade his found family for anything. It kind of gives Loki in Thor: Ragnorak showing up with the ship. Or Megamind saving the city. I’m here. I’m going to be the hero because I guess I have to. I’m going to be positively insufferable about it though.

I certainly don’t think he’d be nice all the time. I think he’d still be a loose canon that lashes out. He’s in the middle of healing, not at the end of it. But I think if his redemption journey ends where it did in the game, the emphasis on how changed he was in his scenes and the companion commentary was a bit over done.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Hey, I just read your Derry Girls 'your mum rang me' oliver wood one shot and was wondering if you could do like a weasley reader (maybe percys twin) and do the scene in last series in Derry Girls where erin and james kiss and Michelle is like 'this is incest!'

No problem if can't and sorry if I've spoiled!!! X

We're Not Related

Oliver Wood x Weasley!Reader 0.9k words Warnings: some kissing, potential Derry Girls spoilers Sorry this took so long! I've been in an absolute writing funk that I'm finally coming out of. Thank you for this request, I love getting to steal Derry Girls dialogue! I cackled writing this!

~

Oliver gazed down with a smile. His girlfriend- Merlin, he really got to call her his girlfriend!- was laying on his bed reading a book. The quiet, private time together made faking sick and skipping a trip to Hogsmeade worth it.

A tiny, quiet part of Oliver felt kind of guilty. As much as he tried to deny it, deep down inside he really did consider Percy Weasley a friend. Probably his best friend, oddly enough. The three of them had hung out regularly since their second year, sometimes adding Penelope Clearwater to the mix. So going behind his back and dating his twin sister was…. not something Oliver felt great about. But he wasn’t ready for whatever fallout would follow Percy finding out about them.

Instead, he watched her, her Weasley-red hair splayed out beneath her, his heart full of the affection he’d been carrying for the past three months. As if she could feel the heat of his gaze, she looked up, scrunching her freckled nose.

“You’re staring at me,” she observed with a little hum.

“And?” Oliver replied, his soft smile morphing into a smirk.

She shrugged, putting down her book. “D’you need something?”

Oliver helped her sit up and pulled her close to himself. “Nah, got everything I need right here.”

It was a cheesy line. Incredibly lame. It should have made her roll her eyes. But because it was Oliver Wood who said it, gazing at her with those honey eyes, his arms doing that flexing thing that drove her mad, it actually worked. Before she knew it, she and Oliver were locked in an embrace, lips moving in sync, hands gripping tight to wherever they landed. Just as Oliver was gently pushing her back onto the bed, the door opened-

“Oh, you sick, sick bastards.”

Percy Weasley stood in the doorway, Honeydukes package in his hand, his face even paler than usual as his wide eyes surveyed the scene before him.

His twin sister sat up, fixing her hair. “Listen, Percy-”

“This is incest!” Percy sputtered, absently tossing the chocolates onto his own bed. Chocolates he had bought in hopes that it would cheer up his supposedly sick roommate.

His definitely-not-sick roommate made a face. “No, it’s not.”

Percy nodded. “Yes, it is, Oliver.”

“We’re not related,” Oliver pointed out, gesturing between himself and the girl who should absolutely not be in the boys’ dorm, let alone on Oliver’s bed.

“Oh, and that makes it okay, I suppose?” Percy had never felt this level of disgust and abhorrence, and maybe even a little betrayal.

His sister snorted. “Well, it makes it not incest,” she mumbled.

Percy was pacing the small room at this point, his face now beginning to redden and match his smattering of freckles. “Right. Okay. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, and say that Oliver had a very nasty head injury from last night’s practice, and you-” He pointed to his sister. “-drank a botched batch of Amortentia, which has caused you to think that Wood here is an appropriate snogging partner.”

She huffed, now officially tired of her brother’s nonsense. “This is none of your business, Perce.”

The prefect’s face now matched his tie. “Oh, but it is, troll face.” His resorting to childhood insults was a sure sign of his anger. “It is very much my business. This can’t happen, okay? You two can’t get together because, putting aside the face that it makes me want to hurl, if you get together, you’ll break up, and then where does that leave me, Wood?” His gaze turned to Oliver, begging his roommate to understand. “You might be my best friend, but she’s my sister, and like it or not, I’ll have to stick with her. Don’t put me in that position.”

Oliver jumped off the bed and rushed to Percy’s side, placing a hand gently on the Weasley boy’s shoulder. “I’m your best friend, Weasley?” His honey eyes were wide, full of wonder.

“Of course,” Percy scoffed. “Aren’t I yours?”

For the first time, Oliver said the words every other Gryffindor already knew: “Yeah, you’re my best friend, Percy.”

The two boys stood, smiling at each other, relieved to finally admit their fondness for one another after years of grumbling whenever someone called them anything more than roommates.

The sound of someone clearing their throats brought them out of their tender moment.

“That’s great and all,” Percy’s sister- no, Oliver’s girlfriend- murmured. “But that doesn’t solve Percy’s… issue.”

Oliver’s cheeks reddened. “Right. Right.” He turned back to his best friend. “Listen, Weasley.” He straightened himself up. “I really like your sister. And we’ve been together three months now, and I’d like to keep seeing her. But I also don’t want to keep it secret from you anymore.” He shrugged. “I dunno. If you can’t trust your best friend to treat your sister right, who can ya trust?”

Percy narrowed his eyes a moment, turning over Oliver’s words in his mind. He had a point.

“You know if you hurt her, I know plenty of spells, right? And I’m not exactly going to punish myself for breaking any rules?”

Oliver nodded earnestly. “Yeah, yeah I know.” He gave Percy a small smack on the back. “We’re good then?”

With a sigh, Percy nodded. “We’re good.” He smiled at Oliver, the two of them officially lost in their own world.

Back on the bed, there came a small sigh. “Merlin, I wish we’d just kept this a secret.”

[daitranscripts]

Solas Cutscene: Low Approval

How Does It Feel?

Solas Masterpost

The PC finds Solas in the rotunda.

Solas: Inquisitor. Tell me. How does it feel?

PC: How does what feel?

Solas: Being you. Are you blissfully unaware or, deep inside, is some part of you banging on the walls, screaming?

Dialogue options:

General: What did I do? [1]

General: Fine, thanks. [2]

General: Spit it out. [3] -Solas slightly disapproves

1 - General: What did I do? PC: Have I offended you in some way, Solas? Solas: Oh, in some way, yes. [4]

2 - General: Fine, thanks. PC: Being me feels great. Like pulling on a warm pair of stockings. Solas: Continue with your merry japes. It would be sad were you forced to examine yourself with a critical eye. [4]

3 - General: Spit it out. PC: If you have a problem, say it. I don’t have time for your feelings. Solas: Of course. Any criticism must be the crazy knife-ear whining. [4]

4 - Choice dependent dialogue:

PC claimed chosen [5]

Mages conscripted [6]

Templars allied [7]

Wardens allied [8]

None of the above [9]

5 - PC claimed chosen Solas: Although I should watch my tone. I speak to a demigod, after all. The Chosen of Andraste. Do you enjoy the worship? Does it make you feel infallible, or do you see them as fools, gullible for their belief?

Dialogue options:

General: I’m giving them hope. [10] +Solas slightly approves

General: I believe. [11] -Solas slightly disapproves

General: The lie is useful. [12] -Solas disapproves

General: This conversation is over. [24] -Solas greatly disapproves

10 - General: I’m giving them hope. PC: I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people could use something to believe in. Solas: You give them a lie. Pride, defense, love of family, even the concept of the Inquisition… those are real things! You do them no favors by keeping them ignorant. But then, ignorance must be so appealing to you. [9]

11 - General: I believe. PC: You’re welcome to think whatever you like. I believe I was chosen. Solas: So your great Maker will stop anything terrible from happening. How’s that working so far? [9]

12 - General: The lie is useful. PC: I don’t get to be picky about the tools I use. If the story gets me more allies for this fight, I’ll use it. Solas: You’re not gaining allies. You’re gaining minions. Sheep driven by one false god to fearfully follow another. [9]

6 - Mages conscripted Solas: Are you relieved to have mages back under control? Perhaps when you’re done, you can leash them like Qunari do.

Dialogue options:

General: It had to be done. [13]

General: Mages earned their reputation. [14] -Solas slightly disapproves

General: The Qunari have a point. [15] -Varric greatly disapproves

General: This conversation is over. [24] -Solas greatly disapproves

13 - General: It had to be done. PC: Perhaps someday we won’t need the Circle. Right now, mages are too dangerous. Solas: Of course they are. They’ve been locked in a tower and told they’re monsters all their lives. [16]

14 - General: Mages earned their reputation. PC: I wouldn’t have had to do that if mages hadn’t blown up quite so many chantries. Solas: Yes, I’m certain they did that with no provocation. [16]

15 - General: The Qunari have a point. PC: I don’t hear of mages blowing things up where the Qunari rule. Solas: Of course. Everyone is happy under the Qun. What’s the sacrifice of a few lives to keep people from discomfort? [16]

16 - Scene continues.

Solas (Wardens allied): Why am I surprised? You supported the Grey Wardens. Their blind zealotry must be a solace. [9]

7 - Templars allied Solas: Are you glad to have the templars back at your side? A strong, proud organization founded on the fear of magic. What a wonderful job it has done.

Dialogue options:

General: They protect us. [17] -Solas slightly disapproves

General: We need their skills. [18] +Solas slightly approves

General: We need warm bodies. [19] -Solas slightly disapproves

General: This conversation is over. [24] -Solas greatly disapproves

17 - General: They protect us. PC: The templars protect people! Solas: Yes! From thinking! [20]

18 - General: We need their skills. PC: The templars have their faults, but I suspect we’re going to be fighting more mages before this ends. Solas: Templars could have helped as part of the Inquisition, not as a separate entity dedicated to spreading fear. [20]

19 - General: We need warm bodies. PC: The templars are a tool. I needed them intact. Solas: Regardless of the long-term consequences of their divisive goals. [20]

20 - Scene continues.

Solas (Wardens allied): Why am I surprised? You supported the Grey Wardens. Their blind zealotry must be a solace. [9]

8 - Wardens allied Solas: Are you pleased to have the Grey Wardens on your side? Do you wish you could join their proud little cult? How long, do you think, before their next attempt to control something beyond their comprehension?

Dialogue options:

General: You are too hard on them. [21] -Solas disapproves

General: You think you know a lot? [22] -Solas disapproves

General: We need them. [23] +Solas slightly approves

General: This conversation is over. [24] -Solas greatly disapproves

21 - General: You are too hard on them. PC: The Wardens deserved a chance to redeem themselves. Solas: Their only purpose is to protect the world from something they do not understand, something that corrupts them! [9]

22 - General: You think you know a lot? PC: So you’re an expert on the Blight now, not just the Fade? Or are you just an authority on everything strange? Solas: If current wisdom suggests you corrupt yourself with darkspawn blood, any suggestion I offer would have to be better. [9]

23 - General: We need them. Grey Wardens know more about the Blight than anyone else. They’re our best hope of fighting it. Solas: If that is true, then… (Sighs.) Let us hope otherwise. For all our sakes. [9]

24 - General: This conversation is over. PC: I don’t answer to you, Solas, and I don’t have time for this. Solas: Of course, Inquisitor. I won’t interrupt you further. Solas walks away. Scene ends.

9 - Scene continues.

Solas: I should thank you, Inquisitor. I had spent time with few of your people before this. From the stories, I thought you all thuggish, simple, and crude. Now?

Solas (killed the demon during All New, Faded For Her): After seeing you heroically defend the helpless mages from a demon they themselves unleashed? Solas (killed the sentinels at the Temple of Mythal): After observing you strike down some of the few true elves left for the crime of defending their temple?

Solas: Now I know I was right. You have no idea what a comfort that is.

Dialogue options:

General: So you’re leaving? [25] -Solas disapproves

General: Good for you. [26] -Solas disapproves

General: [Hit Solas.] [27] -Solas greatly disapproves [this one is confusing - the game files say greatly disapproves, but some people's games says greatly approves.]

25 - General: So you’re leaving? PC; I’m sorry you feel that way, Solas. Will you be taking your leave? Solas: No. PC: No? Solas: We have a world to save. Until I see a better option, I will stay and lend my services to this Inquisition. Perhaps one day you will even listen. Solas walks away. Scene ends.

26 - General: Good for you. PC: Happy to help, Solas. We should do this more often. Solas: We truly should. Solas walks away. Scene ends.

27 - General: [Hit Solas.] PC: (Breathes.) The PC punches Solas in the face. Solas: (Grunts.) Solas stumbles, and then stands back up clutching his face. Solas: How entirely expected. By your leave, Inquisitor. Solas walks away. Scene ends.

[starseneyes]

MINI Meta - Daniel x Betty - Detty - Ugly Betty - Series Finale

Right now, my brain can’t take in much new in terms of entertainment or consumption. When I am writing, I don’t process new things as well as I do when I’m on a break, for whatever reason.

I feel like I miss too much because my brain starts working on some problem or hitch in a chapter, and too late I realize I’ve missed vital dialogue on the screen.

So, I tend to put things on in the background that I already know. Ugly Betty was such a fun show, and I truly thought I wrote about it at one point way back when. It’s possible it was so long ago that it was on my LiveJournal.

I was always a huge fan of the Detty, but I had no idea this show was part of a series of spin offs of a telenovela when I started watching it. I found out much later that in all the spin offs the handsome boss and Betty eventually became an item.

There was always a lot of debate back in the day about that final episode. For those that don’t know—Ugly Betty found out they wouldn’t be coming back for a Season 5 while they still had some episodes to film, so they were able to wrap as much as they could.

That means, there were some stories that were wrapped up nicely, others that were open-ended, and some that were the subject of much debate—namely, the future of Betty and Daniel.

Nobody can know for certain except those in the know, of course, but I’ve been rewatching that final season and especially that final episode. We all pretty much know what Claire knows by then—Daniel is head over heels for Betty.

I mean, c’mon, he talked about what a great team they made not only because they are a great team, but because some part of him has been getting louder.

I don’t tend to think of it as an awakening—he knew Betty was special to him pretty quickly. But I think he took it as a given that she was always going to be there. And as her determination and talent are taking her elsewhere, he has to reckon with why it bothers him so much.

Claire is quick to point it out, and he tries to shake it off. But, Daniel, honey, nothing in your behavior in that second half of Season 4 came off as remotely platonic. And your neon "I LOVE BETTY" sign was already flashing way back in the day, or Gio wouldn’t have mentioned you when he ran into Betty in London.

So, by the time of the party, Daniel has put together the pieces, realized his mother was right, but he is still stuck, in some ways.

And he thought the promotion/raise would be enough to keep her there, but it’s not. Because that isn’t what Betty wants. She wants to move on, and Daniel has trouble separating, "Move on from Mode" from "Move on from me" because the two have been so intertwined.

When Claire insinuates to Betty that Daniel has a thing for her, she shakes it off. It reminds me of, "I was so stupid to think that he would like me... I should’ve known that when he said I was beautiful, he meant on the inside."

That time, she believed it and got hurt. So, of course she has armor now against believing someone who would like Amanda (Connor and Daniel) would like her. But Daniel does. And Claire knows it.

But, remember what Daniel said to Betty way back then. "Men are stupid. They go for the obvious. Trust me. I know. I’m still doing it and I should know better."

He knows better, now. But Betty shakes it off. It’s just not something she’s ever considered. Daniel wouldn’t be interested in her.

They haven’t spoken since he signed her release. Since she walked in the room and he knew with one glance that he’d lost her. And they both knew it ached in a way they couldn’t soothe. But Daniel also knew that he had feelings for her, and there’s a block in his mind that keeps him from saying anything.

She’s leaving. She’s going. And even as her friends are toasting her goodbye, he isn’t there.

As Claire walks away, Betty thinks it over, trying to connect the dots. That can’t be right, can it? She picks up a glass of champagne and takes a sip, as though alcohol will somehow clear her vision.

It’s not long before Betty steps away from her own party to call Daniel.

"Daniel, this is Betty. It’s my going away party, and you’re not here."

Her voice cracks at the end. No matter what they are to each other, they’re something. And now her mind is whirring.

"I really hope I get to see you before I leave. Okay, bye."

She rushes off the line, because what is she going to say? Your mom insinuated you’re in love with me and now I gotta know if she’s right? No, she rushes off the phone because she has no idea what she is going to say.

Part of her is terrified that she was right that Daniel hates her, that he will never want to see her, again. But the other part is terrified that Claire is right, and she broke his heart and he will never want to see her, again.

When Daniel finally arrives at the party, he’s on the outside, looking in, a glass separating him from Betty. He can see her, and if she looked over, she would see him. But she doesn’t.

Instead, he watches Betty alive and celebrating. She’s a phenom, and he always knew it. He just didn’t imagine a world where she would be so far away. But he doesn’t want to say anything—because she’s moving on and he’s still stuck in place.

"I think I need to let her go."

Because he doesn’t want to hold her back. Because he thinks he isn’t worthy of her. Because he wants her to have everything she’s dreamt of.

Damn, Daniel loves Betty.

And what seems like the very next day, he makes a move. Not for Betty, but for his life. And, to be honest, he needed to do this first. Because he is to the point where he feels like everything has been handed to him, and he wants to go out and earn something.

"And what are you going to do?" "I’m gonna start over."

Because he needs to try a few things. He needs to see what the world holds for him. He needs to get his head on straight and get himself in order. I think Betty leaving really pushes him to do that.

Because Betty so often pushed him to be a better version of himself. And in her absence, he needs to learn how to do that for himself.

Now, that doesn’t mean she (and others) can’t positively influence him in the future, but Daniel needs to learn how to hold himself accountable. Stepping away from Mode was the first step.

We don’t know how much time passes between that and Betty and Daniel’s London meetup. My gut says a few months. But, that is strictly conjecture.

We see from the montage that Betty has created a life for herself, here. She has friends. She meets up with folks. She works hard. She loves her new life.

Presumably, she and Daniel haven’t spoken, still, since he walked out of his own office to avoid her after his heart was broken. That is a huge break in communication for these two.

But, I think by now Betty has assumed Claire was right about Daniel’s feelings. And the last thing Betty would ever want to do is hurt Daniel, so she respects the silence.

Daniel has been working on himself, and after some soul-searching, he is ready to see her. He is ready to take the chance. He crosses the whole bloody ocean just to be near her.

My brain goes a thousand different direction on how he found her, but I love that she’s there, living her life, and accidentally walks right into his arms.

Sitting on the steps together, her legs are crossed toward him. He sits open, and I strangely feel like it reflects his openness toward whatever life brings his way. He’s trying a different approach to things. But he’s still angled towards her.

"I know there’s a lot you can do, Daniel."

It’s their usual rhythm of her encouraging him or him encouraging her. This is part of their thing. As much as casual flirting is her and Gio, Daniel and Betty’s is an endless chain of being each other’s greatest cheerleader.

"Goodbye. And good luck, and have a safe flight." "Thank you, I’ll call you when I get there."

He is thoroughly charmed. He didn’t know how she would react, but here she is, still open to him showing up in the middle of her life without warning. Still smiling at him. Still bringing out parts of him he didn’t know existed.

"So, that’s it? You’re headed back to New York?"

She’s fishing. Rachel of 2010 didn’t catch it, but 2024 Rachel totally sees that she is fishing, here. She wants to know if there’s another reason he is there, but she doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

Because while she has been content these past few months, she is elated he is here, and she isn’t ready for him to leave.

He considers her question for a second.

"No, I think I’m gonna stay around here for a while. See what I can find."

Look. At. Her. Face! Look how she brightens at those words, how a smile plays across her lips.

"Maybe take you to dinner. Tonight, if you’re free." "I would love that."

Ah, my babies! She is nearly blushing as she smiles. Because she knows what it took for him to ask. She knows, now, that Claire was absolutely right. Daniel is down bad.

And look how satisfied he is with himself. That little smile is clearly, "Hell, yeah, she said yes!" Because, at this point, they both know what they are saying. They no longer work in the same building. They are friends, but this is different.

Daniel told Wilhemina that he was starting over. And he is.

It’s too short a shot after his little, "f*ck, yes" smile, but Betty’s face before the bell tolls and she realizes how long she’s been sitting on the steps is something to behold.

She’s smiling. She’s holding his gaze. She’s seeing him in a new light. Because she is allowing herself to see him in this light, and to imagine how he sees her. Years earlier, he told her she was beautiful.

She knows he thinks she is truly beautiful. She knows he thinks she is smart, capable, talented, hard-working, and so many other things. Now she knows he crossed an ocean to take her to dinner.

Not only that, he let her know that he’s not going anywhere anytime soon. This isn’t some knee-jerk reaction to her leaving. He’s had time to think it through, and process. When he told her he couldn’t live without her, that was within the former paradigm of their relationship.

Here, as they sit on these steps, all the hierarchical elements are gone (well, at least until a few lines later, but we’ll get to that). This is Betty and Daniel—two people who know each other better than they know themselves.

And Daniel knows he adores Betty. And as she looks back at him, she sees possibilities she’d never considered before. And she is almost surprised to realize she wants to explore them. With him. With Daniel.

With the clock chime, she stands, awkwardly holding her bag in her left hand. As she stands, she remarks on needing to get back to work, and that could be the end of it. But Betty gives us a little more.

"I’m really glad you’re here."

And then she reaches up for a hug. She reaches for him first. She didn’t have to do that. But she wants to hug him. She wants him to know she means it. She is so glad he is there.

Because Betty’s life no longer revolves around Mode and her family. It’s a different—but still beautiful life—and she wants Daniel in it.

He wraps his arms around her, and as he does, Betty closes her eyes. She’s savoring this. They’ve hugged before, but this time is different. The next time they see one another, they’re going to be on their very first date.

When she pulls away, they’re both just a touch awkward. Because this is real, now. He mutters about calling her later while she pulls her arm away a little too quickly. They can both feel the shift in their relationship. Subtle, but there.

But she only gets a few steps before she has to turn back around, to see him, again. To smile at him, again. To talk to him, again.

And the framing here on him is great because he is still in the same shot from the hug—same camera positioning. Like Daniel is still hanging there in that moment, and I just love that.

"Hey, if you want something to do, I am looking for a new assistant." "Well, maybe I’ll submit my resume."

They’re both smiling. They’re enjoying this. The awkwardness left as quickly as it appeared. Betty chuckles, leaning toward him as she does.

She turns to leave, and even as she takes the stairs carefully, pushing her windblown hair from her face, she is still smiling.

Daniel watches her go. We see Daniel of old in his face—smiling in appreciation of the woman Betty is. But he also ever-so-subtly looks her up and down as she walks away. Oh, yeah, boy is down bad.

And Betty, though she really needs to get back to work and knows she’ll see Daniel in a matter of hours... she has to sneak one more look back at him. And the smile on her face could rival the sun in its brightness.

So, while there is a lot of debate around how things ended for these two, I think the clues are there for us to surmise they are both excited about that first date.

And while I wish there was more Ugly Betty to tell us for sure, I like my little head cannon that they were happy together in the new life they built.

Thanks for reading this random mini Meta I didn’t intend to write. It just got stuck in my head and I long ago learned I need to write it out it I’m going to get through. See ya on the next!