#ooooh I’m also excited about the second snippet

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

I know you're finishing up the last of these and you've probably technically already answered all of them but time got away from me and I meant to send an ask. So only if you feel like answering:

🌀❄️🌤️🌧️💧☔🌪️

No worries! If I have an ask game pinned, that means I’m still doing it (and it was pinned when you sent this) :D

Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

OOOOOOH! HMM.

This is gonna be a short summary because it’s a very new idea lol, but basically, it’s a modern AU! Tommy has just run away from an abusive situation, and he’s waiting for a train in an underground train station. He’s got a friend in the area that he’s trying to get to, hoping that friend will let him stay at his house for a bit :’0

While waiting… well, long story short, Tommy discovers that a ghost haunts the train station! But he’s actually a quite friendly—and very weird—ghost! He and Tommy become friends :)

The ghost is Ghostbur, by the way. Kinda obvious lol

Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing

Wilbur feels really stupid right now—which, he supposes, makes sense. Anyone would feel stupid standing in a…

Well… maybe not everyone would feel stupid? Some people, at least, wouldn’t. Some people do things like this, come to places like this, all the time. Or at least once a week. It’s once a week, right? Something like that. 

Wilbur huffs out a breath, hands in the pockets of his long brown coat and smudged glasses sat atop his nose. People usually dress nicer when they go to a church, don’t they? They wear suits, and ties, and shiny black shoes. 

Wilbur glances down at his own worn footwear, gently lifting one leg. Dirt falls onto the floor, carried by the soles of his shoe from outside. 

Wilbur sighs, setting it back down. He is not fit to be in a church right now. He is most definitely not fit to be in a church right now. 

Hence, the reason he’s feeling stupid. One of the reasons, at least. 

Wilbur slowly lifts his head, dragging his eyes up the purple carpet and onto the stained glass set behind a wooden podium. He can’t really tell what the glass depicts; too many colors and shapes for that. He thinks that someone is kneeling, though. Bent down, head lowered. 

Should I be doing that?

Wilbur clears his throat. The sound seems to echo throughout the (quite small) building, bouncing around the white walls and black pews and all the other stained glass windows that stretch to the ceiling. It makes Wilbur feel small—smaller than the church.

Which makes sense, he thinks with slightly furrowed brows. He is smaller than the church. Obviously. Obviously, he’s smaller than the church. 

But still.

Wilbur closes his eyes, taking a very deep and very long breath. He feels his chest expand, his body rising ever so slightly taller, before the air is let out and his chest gets small and his body goes back to its usual height. He opens his eyes.

Wilbur feels really stupid right now. 

And he’s about to feel a little more stupid. 

“Hello.” The sound of his voice swims around the building, just like his cleared throat from earlier—except this time, the sound is louder. Almost startling, if Wilbur hadn’t known that it was his very own voice and not a stranger’s. 

But Wilbur does know. He does know that it’s his own voice. So it’s not startling. 

Wilbur swallows. “I um… wanted…”

Wanted? That’s not very true, is it? No. No, he never wanted to come here. He was told to come here.

Wilbur swallows again. “I came here, because… I think… it’ll help?”

Help. Help with what? 

“Y’know, just… it’ll help me get better, or something.” Wilbur says this with an almost-smile, gently bending forward before straightening. “I was told it would, at least. Help me. By um… someone.”

He clears his throat again, and wonders how many times someone can clear their throat before it starts hurting, or causes damage. 

He flicks his eyes to the podium. “Do you ever come inside this place, and listen? Or do you just…” He makes a gesture with one hand, pulling it out of his coat pocket. “Stay up there, all the time? Or wherever you reside.”

Silence is his answer.

Wilbur looks away, nodding his head and clucking his tongue. “Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say. That’s what I thought.”

He blinks. You’re probably being too blunt. Too on the nose. 

“I’m- gosh, what am I even doing?” Wilbur takes a tiny step backwards, looking around. “I don’t- y’know, I haven’t been in a building like this in ages. Not since I was a kid, I don’t think.

“Oh.” Wilbur’s eyes brighten, slightly, and he turns back to the stained glass at the front. “I should talk about that, probably. I probably should. My history, with places like these, I mean.”

~~~

Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP

“Yes!” The man answered eagerly, nodding. “Yesterday! Yesterday was a very eventful day for me—for everyone, judging by the massive hole in L’manburg and how sad everyone looks.”

He said that with a happy lilt in his voice, like he was discussing a new pet. 

Phil began to notice how the man’s voice sounded; high-pitched and scratchy. Not smooth and deep-toned. 

The icy burn in Phil’s chest flickered again. “It, uh… eventful. Yes. It was… it was very eventful. That’s one word for it.”

The man brightened, opening his mouth and beginning to chatter about something Phil had no interest in listening to.

All Phil heard was high-pitched, scratchy. 

All he heard was the sound of something wrong. 

All he heard was someone who didn’t sound like his son.

And yet: 

“Wil?” Phil said it in a whisper, in a breath, the words leaving his chest and taking with it his supply of oxygen. His throat tightened. 

The man went quiet, the smile finally leaving his face in a soft drop, like a curtain closing. He tilted his head slightly. “Hello. Philza, I am very dead.”

The bluntness was enough to shock some air back into Phil’s lungs, and he gulped shakily. “W-what?”

“I’m dead!” The man repeated, tinged with something bright and sharp and almost searing. “You killed me yesterday, remember? That was why- that was why I said yesterday was eventful! That was why!” In a bubbly chuckle, he’d added, “It’s not everyday that someone dies—in this server, I mean. I’m not sure about other servers. Phil, you’ve been to other servers, haven’t you? Do lots of people die in those servers?”

“You- you’re-“ 

The man—dead man, not alive, not alive. Not alive?—watched with wide eyes as Phil stuttered, licked his lips, tried to speak. “You’re… you said you… died?”

“Oh yes! I died, and now I’m dead but still here, but I think I sound different and everyone looks at me like I did something horrible and some of them look like they hate me.” The man blinked, putting on a smile at once. “I’m a ghost!”

And that was when Phil realized; the voice, the skin, the sweater, the smile. The way the man—ghost—stood just a little taller than Phil, and Phil didn’t have to turn his head up to make eye contact. Phil could just turn his eyes up, and not his head. 

That wasn’t right. His son was much taller than this. 

Phil swallowed, and the icy burn in his chest went out in a horrible painless snuff. “What’s your name?”

The dead man stared at him, and he smiled again. “My name is Ghostbur!”

Phil should not have let himself hope.

~~~

Share something angsty from your WIP

"You just shot a tree instead of the target, Tommy!" Wilbur's voice turns sharp like saltwater, and Tommy shuts his mouth. 

Wilbur takes a deep breath through his nose—it's loud, and that's how Tommy can tell it's from his nose and not from his mouth—and comes to a stop. He's right in front of Tommy, several feet away, and the wind is blowing at his coat and making his hair dance a little bit, across his forehead. "You're not good with a bow. That's the simple truth, Tommy. You're not."

Wilbur's voice isn't saltwater anymore; it's back to being river water, all smooth and cold and filled with weird things like wet leaves and mud. Tommy prefers this to the saltwater, but he thinks that Wilbur's voice used to be different, still. Maybe not like water at all. Maybe just like Wilbur, and nothing else. 

Tommy realizes he’s been standing still for several seconds, so he shifts his feet, sniffing. “Well. What do you want me to do about it?”

Wilbur blinks, eyes narrowed just a little bit. “Get better. That’s what I’m helping you with. Now,” Wilbur takes a few backwards steps, back to where he’d been standing before Tommy shot an arrow into a tree. “Try again.”

~~~

Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen

I'll do you one better and share both >:)

~~~

When he steps forward and presses his lips to hers, the sun shines directly into his eyes, and he closes them. He wants to stay like this forever. Even if he can't see. 

Like Eurydice and Orpheus, he thinks. 

When Sally pulls away, Wilbur feels a weight in his arms. When he looks down, he sees Fundy settled in them. The baby is nearly asleep, limp with eyes mostly-closed. He's wearing a light blue onesie. He's adorable. 

When Wilbur looks back up, Sally has taken several steps back. He opens his mouth to call her back, but closes it. 

Sally shakes her head, smiling through tears. "If I stay any longer, I'll never leave."

If you stay any longer, I won't let you.

Wilbur doesn't say that. He merely presses his lips together and tries to smile. Fundy is feather-light in his arms. 

~~~

Ghostbur begins to hum, quietly, as he works on bandaging Tommy’s arm. Tommy can’t tell what song Ghostbur is humming, but it sounds nice; soft and gentle and all that. Maybe Ghostbur made it up. 

“Tommy?”

Tommy takes a breath, straightening his back a little bit (it’s starting to get sore). “Yeah?”

“How did you hurt yourself?”

“I already told you, Ghostbur.”

Ghostbur is quiet for a few moments. 

Tommy turns his head, just a little bit, so he can see his friend. “You forgot?”

“Don’t- don’t look.” Ghostbur quickly pulls one hand away from the bandage, pushing it into Tommy’s face and forcing his head away. “I don’t want you to look.”

“Fine, fine.” Tommy breathes in, deep. “I fell.”

“Fell from what?” Ghostbur’s voice is friendly, conversational. Not a bit of malice or that wrinkled-lip-ness that sometimes makes it’s way through voices. 

Come to think of it, Tommy doesn’t think that Ghostbur has ever sounded like that. Mean, that is. 

“A little, y’know. A tower.”

“Oh.” Ghostbur’s fingers prod along Tommy’s arm, but it’s gentle, so Tommy doesn’t yelp or anything. “Why did you jump off a tower?”

At this, Tommy feels his face burn. “I was… I was trying to do something.”

“Trying to do what?”

“Quit asking so many questions, man! Jeez! You’re proper annoying me right now.”

“Were you trying to do a water bucket clutch?”

Tommy opens and closes his mouth. He doesn’t say anything—can’t say anything, really. How did he-

“Tommy, that was not a very smart thing to do.”

“Oh, shut up! You’re just saying that because-“

“Hold still.”

Tommy grumbles, holding himself steady even though he desperately wants to stand up and smack Ghostbur on the face.

~~~

Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Mmm… I’d really want to write a super long one-shot about Wilbur and Phil, and how they slowly and painstakingly heal after Wilbur is revived… but that’s a very Big Project, and I’m not sure if I’ll get around to it :’(

But I do have ideas for a few scenes!!

Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/Ao3 tags

I’ll go with my chicken au (I will not elaborate)

(I messed up on one of the tags lol)

[azapofinspiration]

Ooooh I love your WIP titles — I’d love to hear about the “On my knees” one, as long as you haven’t already done that one! :0

Oh, I haven’t yet!

So this WIP is practically done. I’ve just got some few checks left to do on it but I intend to post it on Chuuya’s birthday, as the fic is centered around him.

It’s a Bungo Stray Dogs fic that could also be considered a deep look into Chuuya as he relates to other people (especially Dazai, with hints of something more being there between SKK). It takes a look at love, life, death, stories, and bonds Chuuya’s made with other characters. It does this by flipping back and forth between the present storyline and various flashbacks, which is probably why it’s over 65K. This will be my longest fic that’s not essentially a compilation of oneshots so I’m super excited as I’ve been working on it since… last August I think.

I don’t want to reveal too much more as that’ll ruin the surprise, but here’s a snippet from it:

Faintly, Dazai felt like something was off. He wasn’t sure if it came from Chuuya’s words or his actions or his current tense stance. An alarm bell distantly rang, but his fatigue mixed with painkillers slowed down his thoughts so he couldn’t tell what exactly he should be paying attention to.

Chuuya huffed as if sensing his confused disarray of emotions and thoughts. “Go back to sleep, Mackerel; you’ve actually got an excuse to be a lazy bag of bones for once.”

He turned around to face him, hands in his pants’ pockets.

Dazai’s breath caught for a second, as it sometimes did with Chuuya. The last rays of the sun highlighted his red hair with gold, and that old familiar spark of life blazed in his eyes, making them practically glow.

“Don’t worry, shithead.” Chuuya’s confident smirk had an edge of fondness as he gazed at Dazai. “It’ll probably be over before you wake up.”

“Right…” Dazai managed to say, blinking at the sight as if his eyelids were the shutters of a camera, allowing him to capture this moment forever.

Chuuya rolled his eyes and turned away, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway.

Dazai watched him go, that disquiet stirring once again.

But Chuuya would handle things. Dazai could always count on his partner in the most dire of situations. He wouldn’t let him down now.

And so Dazai ignored the feeling and let himself sink back into sleep.

[autisticlancemcclain]

i just need you to know that a majority of my fav klance fics are by you. and by majority i mean all. that is all. also i legit cannot express how much i love your lance is a disney princess au. bc that au lives in my mind rent free. thats all

that is SO KIND of u to say omg. and yes i love that series!! i have not abandoned it and i do have a wip with it actually, and bc ur so sweet i shall give u a snippet of that wip:

Lance is feeling remarkably better at dinner. Coran wasn’t sure about the plan, at first, but Lance was very convincing, so he relented. It helped that Coran also is not fond of needless animal murder, which is why he’s Lance’s favourite.

(Well, currently. Usually everyone is tied for his favourite, but no one else had his back today at the meeting, so they’re all currently tied for second-favourite. But they’ll have a chance to redeem themselves after this mission is over.)

He and Coran are the last to arrive to dinner, predictably, so Lance doesn’t waste a second.

“I am now on your side,” he announces as soon as he walks through the door. “You’re all correct, we should get this alliance at all cost, and murder the beast in cold blood. I am completely on board with your plan and happy with all the innocent blood about to be on my hands.”

The team, also predictably, stare at him in shocked silence. Lance sits primly in his chair, accidentally-on-purpose elbowing Mullet in the head, and immediately shoves food goo in his mouth so no one can ask any follow-up questions.

Also predictably, that does not work.

“…There were a lot of contradicting words in that announcement,” Mullet says. (Lance is currently very mad at him and as such he has been demoted from fond nicknames and even his regular name so he will be Mullet until Lance wants to bite him — angrily, angrily, not the way he usually wants to bite him — less.)

“Ooooh, SAT word,” Lance responds, just to be a jackass.

(It works. Keith reaches over to attempt to flick him, but unluckily for him Lance is very used to that reaction to his particular brand of annoying, and so Mullet falls off his chair due to Lance kicking it out from under him before his flick lands).

“So,” Lance says, as Mullet curses at him from the floor, “does anyone else have any comments or concerns?”

anyways teehee i’m excited for this fic it’s very dramatic

[blurredout10]

Fic writer ask time!

💞🤲💌

Tell us everything you want, please! 💙💙💙

AHHHH I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

From this ask.

💞 - what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

OOH. So i think I’ll have to go with the feel. Whether its something I have written myself or reading from someone else’s work, I know I’m an emotional person and so any fics with an emotional depth feels immersive for me. Experiencing it directly with a sheltered glass, feeling the angst and pain without the injury.

I think when a fic has feel, the other things dont really matter. Plot, characters etc are more skill to me. They can be very well done or not given any attention at all. It’s all in the fic’s ✨flavour✨

🤲 - what do YOU get out of writing?

Post-publish euphoria. The happy dances when someone comments. That relief when I’ve FINALLY finished something. And I also tend to project heavily onto characters so it’s always nice to find a way to reflect upon myself via written work. 👍Therapy👍

💌 - share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

OOOOH.

So I’ve given too many snippets for the Bookshop AU so I’m gonna do something a little different.

I’m working on an aroace fic with Connor x Reader. A lot of it involves exploring the kind of relationship that works for them. Beyond romantic and sexual.

It took a second, though it again felt dragged into minutes, before he paired the lock of his eyes with a hand, a gesture for the slouch in your chair. A hand to making change.

“Would you care to see other chandeliers to prove my point?” His voice was no louder than before, but sounded over the crowd with ease, collecting your full attention with a glitter of hope in his eyes. It was intoxicating, that chance, that escape, and he flexed the tips the of his fingers to prompt you.

You took it.

I’m very excited for this fic. BUT I am working on bookshop first.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR QUESTIONS!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I WANNA GIVE YOU THE BIGGEST HUG 🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

[ssahotstuff]

Hey, hope you're doing good today 😊. 🥸🛌💥 for your writers ask?

Ooooh yes gladly! Thank you for asking 🥰🥰🥰

🥸 Does anyone in IRL know you write fanfic or original fiction? If not, do you plan on telling anyone this year?

I haven’t outright told anyone but there are people on this app that know my identity outside of tumblr despite my account being faceless, if that makes sense! I try not to collide my writing/real life because I feel like most of the people I know would judge me heavily.

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

Eeeek, okay I started this draft like 4 months ago and it’s Hotch x Heavily tattooed reader and he takes her to get tattoos because he loves watching and reader is really hesitant because she knows she isn’t his usual type but there’s so much chemistry regardless 🫠🫠😍 let me see what I can find to tease it with!!

"It really doesn't hurt?" Luckily the shop you found took walk ins, and he had time for a small freehand tattoo when Aaron suggested you get one; he wanted to watch you get a tattoo for some odd reason, and you weren't going to say no. You always had time for a new tattoo, no matter what day or time.

"It's uncomfortable, but it's not as bad as you think. You should get one too," you looked up at him and he was frowning, shaking his head back at you.

"They look much better on you. Your butterfly is cute," that's what you'd gotten, a smaller one, in the blank space of your arm. There wasn't a lot of detail, but he only had an hour to spare for your slot. He covered it with second skin; it was a type of protective seal for your tattoo. Aaron wouldn't let you pay or tip, he insisted, as part of your date. You walked out with a new memory, something to keep on your skin forever that would always make you think of him.

"Were all of your tattoos planned or have you ever gotten one at the spur of the moment like that?" Once you'd climbed in the car, he was taking your hand to examine it more closely.

"Nope, this is a first. I made appointments for the rest."

He liked that a lot.

✨✨✨

🛏 Is there a new trope you'd like to write this year?

Ugh it’s not new because I’ve written it once before but I’m obsessed with Hotch having a lactation kink 🥴🥴 I want to write a whole fic where Hotch has a pregnancy kink/is just absolutely obsessed with pregnant reader and she’s afraid once she has the baby he isn’t going to find her attractive anymore but in reality he’s going crazy over all of the changes her body has made, especially all of her curves 😍

I alsooooo like the idea of writing something that takes place like a year after 5 x 9/100 where Hotch and Jack move to the country to start a new life after Foyet and Hotch falls for a single mom/reader that has a suuuuper simple life, like she has a giant garden/farm and sells her stuff at the farmers market and Hotch is just absolutely wild over her overalls 😂

I also wanna write Hotch having kind of like a threesome but he’s just watching reader and another girl—I had a dream about this scenario like three nights ago and it hasn’t left my brain since. Idk if I’ll write it though because it’s oddly specific—I’m attracted to EVERYONE, regardless of gender identity so it’s super normal for me to be with another woman—I’m not sure if my readers would feel the same though!!

That being said I started a Marty Byrde x Hotch x Reader fic where they were in witsec together and Hotch and Marty agreed to share the reader bc they were both in love with her 🥴 super self indulgent, they didn’t fuck reader at the same time but they were like, taking turns touching her together and it sent my brain haywire so I may finish that— haven’t decided. I haven’t touched it in months but this inspired me to go back and read it 😂😂

[inspired-by-the-music]

For You: 4 O’Clock

Chapter 1: Comeback

Taglist: @jineunwootrash

“Dude! Lei!” Lucas cheered into my ear as he (again) combed his fingers through my recently chopped black hair. Independent from those who cried that I ruined my visuals, he boasted, “I love this!”

Lucas was too excited. About my haircut, about my still-secret impending debut in SuperM’s comeback, about getting to work together after years of being best friends. Even as I struggled to escape his reach, trying to smooth my hair before a stylist could scold me for wasting their hours of hard work, trying to force my smile into the hard line that would fail to convince Lucas to behave, I laughed. I was too excited too.

My laughter died with the ever-present realization that somebody is always watching. That curse of being an idol meant that we couldn’t feel this way— carelessly happy— or, rather, that we shouldn’t.

Before I could remind Lucas (he always needed to be reminded), Mom’s voice broke through the on set bustle. “Break’s over, kids! Hands to yourself Lucas— this is why we have dating rumors! You don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted!” She spoke without glancing up from her clipboard, without faltering in her fast-paced course to who knows where to do who knows what, the fabric of her bright red pantsuit swishing in time each step.

Lucas finally stepped away, instinctively abandoning his assault on me to stare after Mom. As I dropped my phone into my backpack, satisfied that there was nothing worth a response in my inbox or on social media, he whistled. “Dude, Mom is hot.”

Were I not used to that— Lucas referring to my mother as if she were also his, calling her hot— I might have cringed. Indifferent, I forced my eyes to roll because that was the kind of reaction Lucas liked. “Do you ever think that’s why you can’t get a girlfriend? The fact that you lust after my mother— our manager?”

Lucas shook his head. “Nah. I can’t get a girlfriend because everyone things I’m dating you.” He poked my forehead accusingly as if his smothering affection weren’t the cause of those false rumors, and I swatted his hand away. “Plus, didn’t ya hear? We can’t even touch a person of the opposite sex or else we’ll end up like the idol who never debuted.” His breath huffed out of his forever-swollen lips.

The story about the idol who never debuted because of an unplanned pregnancy was some kind of fable, myth, or urban legend that pervaded every aspect of life as an S.M. idol. Maybe nobody ever really believed it. Maybe everyone thought it was some cleverly crafted tale to get us to focus on training. Maybe we thought we wouldn’t hear it after debut, but it was whispered in response to every dating scandal and mentioned by Mom still on the (frequent) occurrence that Lucas ignored my boundaries.

All I know is that Lucas and I hated that story, and we expressed our hatred differently. Lucas was determined to rebel against it not by getting a real girlfriend but by committing to being my best friend in every sense of the word, regardless of what the press said, regardless of how fans often misinterpreted, regardless of Mom’s plentiful scoldings. And I— well, Lucas said that I was the perfect idol because I was as obedient as I was talented, but the truth was that becoming the scandalized idol in the next cautionary tale was my biggest fear. That’s why I strictly observed a self-imposed total dating ban: fear of controversy. And maybe deeper down, a fear of intimacy, but more on that later.

I shied away from Lucas’s reference to the scandalized idol, rationalizing to his widening eyes, “I’m due on B set. I have to re-do my introduction because I kept getting distracted by Taemin’s laugh yesterday.” I wondered what could have been so funny to Taemin, but I never would have asked back then.

Lucas’s mouth fell open, I’m sure, to tease me about being incapable of functioning around Taemin, but his turn to speak was stolen by a boisterous trio of men I would recognize anywhere.

The faces of Donghae, Eunhyuk, and Shindong were among the most familiar of my childhood. I could remember vaguely when they debuted. I was six years old, sitting backstage where Mom could find me as soon as the first Super Junior Stage was completed. Being an unofficial trainee at the time, I was studying Mandarin.

Anyway, what matters is that I couldn’t escape once Super Junior fixed their gaze on me. If I did, they would tell Mom, and I would be in trouble not only for disrespecting my elders from work but also my elders in a familial sense.

“Where’s our manager?” Shindong barked at nobody in particular. Nobody responded because Super Junior’s demands for Mom had become too commonplace to garner any attention.

“Isn’t this a bit bold?” I smiled gratefully while accepting a strawberry milkshake offered by Donghae, who greeted me with a small closed-mouth grin. “You guys have stormed onto the SuperM set every day this week.” Which meant I had a strawberry milkshake every day that week. Oops. Another failed diet.

Donghae said, “We’ll cross improper lines for you mom every day of every week,” and Eunkhyuk added loudly, as if aspiring to arouse Baekhyun’s attention, “Yeah! She was our manager first! She loves Super Junior best!”

Baekhyun appeared out of nowhere. As always, his voice— a bright shout— preceded him. “Not a chance! She’s our manager now! I’ll never let you take her!”

And just as quickly as he had appeared by my side, Baekhyun dashed off in pursuit of Mom with Eunhyuk and Shindong following closely behind.

I shook my head. Goofball Baekhyun, running the wrong way.

“What is it?” Donghae tilted his head to meet my gaze. “She’s not that way?”

Donghae was so earnest, so intent on looking right into somebody’s soul, that these moments when I held his attention were blush-inducing. I squirmed, and Lucas snorted. “Oh, uh, I don’t know. I don’t know where Mom is. It’s been kinda hectic, and I haven’t seen her in a few hours—”

It was hard enough to lie to Donghae without Lucas butting in.

“What are you talking about?” Lucas had been quiet for too long, so he shouted through a mouthful of barbecue chips fished out of my backpack. Thief. “She just told us— ow!” He shrieked as I grabbed his hand and crushed it with all the force I could muster.

“Sorry, Donghae.” I bowed to my senior. “We really have to go! I hope you find my mother!” Guilty, my eyes flinched away from his frowning face.

Once we were out of Donghae’s earshot, and once I dropped Lucas’s hand, he stretched his digits and whined, “That hurt, Lei! Why did you do that? And why did you lie to Donghae about Mom?”

“Because,” I hissed, narrowly dodging an intern running with two tall cups of coffee, “they’re fighting.”

“They’re fighting?” Lucas gasped.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Or, at least, I thought they were fighting. I didn’t know why Mom was avoiding Donghae, but I had overheard vague snippets of her conversations with Heechul when they were supposed to be watching some drama in the living room after dinner. I heard her sigh of relief when she learned that she would be responsible for organizing SuperM’s comeback and tour rather than assisting with the next Super Show. I didn’t need to know the specifics that Mom would never tell me. No matter how much I liked Donghae, if there was a fight, I was on Mom’s side.

“Here.” I passed my milkshake to Lucas after taking one long sip. “You can have this. I can’t take it onto set.”

“Ooooh!” Lucas’s eyes rounded in gratitude. He skipped off before turning back to shout, “Wait, Lei, what’s my schedule again?”

He needed to listen during briefings instead of playing around with my hair.

Having settled into the chair, sitting perfectly still so the audio technician could clip a microphone to the collar of my sheer black sweater, I responded (not loudly enough to disturb the tech), “You’re supposed to take pictures with Mark.”

“Okay! Thanks!” He grinned.

That time, my smile wasn’t forced for the camera; it was a reaction to Lucas.

Taemin and Kai were unapproachable, each for completely different reasons.

Lucas joked that I was the born and bred idol, and most people seemed to agree, but I always thought that if the perfect idol existed, his name was Lee Taemin. Like me, he debuted at 14. Unlike me, he proved himself worthy of fame and admiration with pure talent.

Hate comments didn’t need to remind me of the role Mom played in my success. I was grateful and, under my carefully crafted proud exterior, I was insecure. I was not talentless, and I worked hard almost in a vain attempt to distance myself from the poorly disguised mutters that I was only an idol because of Mom; Taemin was beyond talented, and he worked hard because he knew no other way to stride toward his goals.

“You need to stop being so weird,” Lucas told me after one of my first practices with the group. “You can’t just stare at Taemin when you pout about how everyone stares at you.”

Lucas was right. I hated being lumped in with the millions who failed to acknowledge Taemin’s humanity. But the truth— that I was some kind of hypocrite— was easy for Lucas to see; it was easy for him to say.

Lucas was the only person who didn’t seem to realize that Taemin was the center of every room. He was the only one who didn’t cling to Taemin’s every word. He was the only one who didn’t see Taemin’s other-worldly glow.

I think that’s why Lucas was my best friend: he didn’t see me or Taemin or anybody as idols. He saw us as people, liked us as people, and that was rare. From that first day at practice, I was torn between the desire to be like Lucas and the desire to be like Taemin.

Anyway, Kai didn’t like me. He didn’t hate me (at first) or anything, and he didn’t particularly dislike me, but he was the only member (aside from Taemin, who I admired too much to approach for fear of saying something stupid) who didn’t know me pre-SuperM.

Even once I was approved to debut with them, Kai hadn’t held eye contact with me for more than three seconds at a time. I wasn’t sensitive about it, and I wasn’t in the market for a new best friend— Lucas was more than enough— but Kai’s aversion to me was inconvenient, annoying, and frustrating considering that we were cast into a subunit together.

We recorded our songs (which were the most sensual of my career because they were meant to evolve my image from bubble gum pop Idol to something more “adult”) separately. Despite the quickly approaching tour dates, we hadn’t once practiced our choreography together. Kai was my senior, so I couldn’t approach him with my concerns about our lack of preparation. That’s why he was unapproachable; I had to wait patiently for him to address our tension.

I hoped that he would have taken the first step toward me before we had to shoot promotions, but Kai still couldn’t meet my eyes— despite the photographer’s repeated demands that were carefully phrased as requests— as our bodies were pressed flush together before a swarm of cameras.

Although I would rather forget, I think I can pinpoint the moment Kai decided to hate me. He flinched away from my touch again as I draped my arms over his shoulders and laced my fingers together behind his neck, per the photographer’s instructions.

“Come on, Kai!” I rolled my eyes, whining in unison with the rest of the members, who had gathered around the set nearly an hour ago after finishing their schedules. My face was hot not because of the close proximity to somebody as handsome as Kai, not because of the glare that hooded his dark eyes, but because my patience had run out. “Everybody is waiting for us! Can’t you just act professionally so we can get this done some time this year?”

His eyes widened as if I had slapped him across the face. Note: if you ever want to insult Kai— and I can’t imagine why you would— challenge his idea of professionalism.

Kai’s jaw tightened as he forced his eyes away from me to glance tiredly at Mom. “Manager, do we have to do this? I would really like to avoid a dating scandal.”

My next few words were kind of hypocritical since nobody feared dating scandals more than I did. “A dating scandal? These are pictures for our subunit— for our job. Stop making it weird.”

“It is weird!” Kai argued without looking away from Mom as she pinched at the bridge of her nose. He took two big steps backward, and my hands fell from around his neck to my sides. “And I don’t understand—”

“Just do it like this, Kai!” Baekhyun bounced onto the set, leading Lucas by the hand. After winking at the camera, encouraged by Lucas’s laughter (and Mark’s panicked, “Yo, man, what are they doing?”), Baekhyun threw his arms around Lucas’s shoulders and tossed his head back.

When everyone except me, Mom, and Kai laughed, Baekhyun leaped into Lucas. They toppled onto the hard ground, the only indication that they hadn’t broken their neck or any other bones being their ear-splitting laughter.

“Fine!” Mom was calm despite her sharp increase in volume that made me flinch.  “If you don’t want to be in a subunit with Lei, Kai, then you won’t be.”

While Kai sighed in relief, I wheezed, dejected. My heart sank down to my ankles. It was bad enough to lose the opportunity to be in a subunit with one of the best dancers at S.M., it was worse to lose it at work where I couldn’t express disappointment, and it was worst to lose it in front of Taemin, who stood stiff and red at slack-jawed Taeyong’s side.

Embarrassed and eager to escape the stares, I bowed to Kai and set to scoop Lucas off the floor, where he still laid giggling with Baekhyun, because he would make me laugh hard enough to drive away this sinking sensation.

“Where are you going?” Mom’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “Stay where you are, Lei. Kai—”

She didn’t have to finish the order. I understood mainly from Kai’s wince that he was ejected from our subunit— not me.

“Wait,” Ten said slowly, in time with my realization, “Lei’s subunit is still a thing?” His eyes sparkled. He smiled because the choreography he created for me and Kai would still find an audience.

Lei’s subunit. My subunit. The title was exciting and terrifying all at the same time.

Who would replace Kai? I wondered, watching him sulk to Taemin’s side. As Taemin’s eyes flashed to meet mine for the briefest second before he muttered something to Kai— probably words of comfort, probably words to condemn my role in Kai’s semi-public disgrace— I could only think Please not Taemin. Don’t let it be Taemin. Anyone but Taemin.

And I looked at Mom pleadingly, as if she would be able to read those thoughts through my eyes. She blinked back at me.

“Oh my God!” Mark shot both hands up in the air and waved them excitedly. “I’ll be in Lei’s subunit! Let me do it, Momager! Please!”

Oh God. Please not Mark. Don’t let it be Mark. Anyone but Mark.

“Why should you get to do it?” Ten glared up at the standing Mark from his metallic folding chair. “I choreographed their dances, so I should be cast.”

“But I’m, like, the king of subunits!” Mark rose to his tiptoes and waved his arms again in an effort to secure my attention. “If you pick me, Lei, I’ll get you into NCT Dream!”

That was a bit of a running joke— my longtime aspiration to perform with Dream. Hearing it in that moment of high stress made me laugh out loud. One of those side-splitting laughs. Real. Mark smiled at having untangled the knot in my stomach with little effort. In moments like those, I thought it wasn’t so bad that he had a crush on me.

“First of all,” Taeyong interjected, ever the mediator in NCT conflicts, “Mark, you can’t get anyone into Dream—”

“Who do you think talked the agency into making Dream a fixed unit?” Mark’s face turned scarlet as he yelled, and Taeyong didn’t bat a single eyelash.

“— Second of all, Lei doesn’t get to pick who takes Kai’s place.” We all shifted at Taeyong’s casual acknowledgment of Kai’s ejection. “Ms. Kim does. So both of you—” Taeyong eyed Ten and Mark sternly, and I wondered how they didn’t fall apart under his gaze— “be quiet and let her make her decision.”

Mom nodded at Taeyong gratefully. “It’s not much of a decision to make; I’ll just employ the second choice—”

“It’s me, right?” Baekhyun finally jumped off of Lucas, stood upright, and brushed off his all-black suit while flicking his bleached bangs out of his eyes.

Baekhyun’s goofy smile faltered when Mom shook her head. “Lucas, get up. Your dream is coming true: I’m giving you permission to touch Lei.”

“Oh yeah!” Lucas flew to my side.

Before I could wrap my mind around the fact that I would be in a subunit with him— my best friend, my rumored boyfriend— Lucas grabbed me around my waist, which was exposed under a fitted white crop top— and pulled me flush against him into the pose Kai had struggled with for hours. “Leicas forever, suckers!”

As Mom ushered Baekhyun to stand with the others off set, and everybody groaned at Lucas’s ever-enthusiastic embrace of our rumors, I laughed.

The camera flashed at last. Finally relieved enough to breathe, I returned Lucas’s embrace and joked, “Is that going to be our subunit’s name? That silly ship name?”

Lucas laughed as he lowered to press his forehead to mine. That was how things should have been all along: me and Lucas free to smile at each other and express our friendship— as silly and affectionate and beautiful as it was— to the whole world without fearing backlash.

“Look at this.” 

I slid my phone to Lucas across the glossy light wood floor as we sat, stretching in preparation for dance practice. I watched his eyebrows knit together as he scooped the phone into his hands; I watched his jaw fall open as he scrolled past the headline and through the fans’ comments. 

“Hey.” Taeyong kicked at Lucas’s foot before joining us on the floor. Always the leader (even without the title in SuperM), he reminded, “Phones aren’t allowed in practice.”

Lowering effortlessly into a stretch that resembled the splits, Ten defended, “Momager isn’t here yet, so—”

“Look at this!” Lucas shoved my phone into Taeyong’s face. Then, as if Taeyong couldn’t read for himself, Lucas said, “Pop News is writing about the idol who never debuted!”

As Taeyong gripped the phone with his slender hands (and a curious Ten and slack-jawed, messy-haired Mark gathered around him to gawk at the screen), Taemin plopped onto the floor next to me. His knee brushed against mine, and I stiffened while he smiled despite the room’s tension, skin shimmering without the aid of makeup. 

“We don’t have to worry if it’s Pop News,” Taemin said. “They aren’t exactly a credible source— remember how they covered that ‘Any Other Name’ scandal?”

Nobody could forget the chaos surrounding the Korean adaptation of a best-selling novel written by a young American woman. The love triangle between the author, a scandalized actor (Jungkook) and the author’s best friend/famous fashion designer (Jimin) was the biggest scandal in recent history. Everybody knew that gossip as if it were the plot of a classic blockbuster film or an almost distant, almost tangible high school memory, so I shouldn’t have been surprised by Taemin’s reference. 

“You keep up with celebrity gossip?” I asked Taemin quietly, my eyes narrowing to see how this information fit with my conception of him.

Taemin’s face flushed pink. He mistook my interest for criticism as he often did in those days, and I didn’t know how to correct him. 

While trying (and failing) to connect his phone to the Bluetooth speaker, Kai started, “Maybe Pop News isn’t credible—”

“They’re definitely not credible.” Ten crawled to the side of the room to tuck my phone into my bubble-gum pink backpack. Turning back to the group, he grinned, “Pop News is, like, if Mark was a news outlet: cringey, baseless—”

“Hey! I’m not baseless!”

“Anyway.” Kai puffed his cheeks full of air. “Pop News may be a scam, but they have a lot of followers. Sometimes if a lie is heard by enough people, it becomes like the truth.”

It would have been nice to be able to disagree, to believe that truth is truth, and lies are lies, and rumors are just rumors. I wanted to disagree. But I couldn’t. 

Kai continued, “And obviously Pop News isn’t wrong about everything. Jungkook and that author were dating! They’re even engaged now!”

So Kai kept up with celebrity gossip too. Was that the kind of thing he and Taemin talked about over meals? 

While my pulse quickened at the talk about dating scandals and I tried to ease my anxiety by resuming stretches, Baekhyun stirred from his nap in the corner of the room. 

“Well!” Baekhyun yawned. “If you ask me, Momager is the idol who never debuted.” 

“What?” The rest of us shrieked in unison, and Baekhyun laughed like a maniac at our identical wide-eyed open-mouthed expressions. 

“Just think about it! When Taemin, the king of dance—” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Taemin stiffen at Baekhyun’s playful compliment despite the bashful smile pulling his lips taut— “kept screwing up that choreo, Momager demonstrated. And she was no amateur.”

Considering Baekhyun’s evidence, I gnawed on my cheek. Mom was a gifted dancer; her precision, like Baekhyun said, rivaled Taemin’s. No, her precision enabled her to find fault in Taemin— perfect Taemin. 

Baekhyun wouldn’t mention this, but Mom was also a natural singer. She proved that on the first day in the studio when she coached Baekhyun through a challenging run. After he crossed his arms and whined, “What you want is impossible!” she stunned him silent by belting the notes in one attempt. 

But Mom couldn’t be the idol who never debuted, I frowned, because that meant I was the reason—

“Look, Mom is totally hot enough to be an idol,” Lucas smirked before his eyebrows lowered skeptically. “But don’t you think Lei would know if her mom was a former trainee?”

At that remark, everybody turned to face me. 

No, I wouldn’t know if Mom was a former trainee. 

I knew very little about Mom’s past because I hadn’t asked many questions. I knew that I was born in Atlanta, Georgia, her hometown. I knew that I could not remember the last time we spoke to my father. I knew that life didn’t really begin until Mom started her career by managing Super Junior. 

I didn’t remember anything before Donghae started bringing me milkshakes, and Heechul started making me laugh with funny faces, and Ryeowook (or Wookie, as I had always called him) started fitting our tea parties into his busy schedule, and Eunhyuk started unofficially training me to be an idol through dance lessons. I didn’t remember anything before Super Junior became my family. 

As I crumbled under my members’ stares, as I drowned in the guilt of having neglected Mom’s pain if she was the idol who never debuted (in the guilt of knowing I had never asked about her because the spotlight had always been on me), Baekhyun repeated, “Momager is the idol who never debuted!” “What?” 

We all turned to see Mom’s ghostly pale face in the doorway so quickly that we whimpered and rubbed at the backs of our necks. Whiplash. Great. 

“Don’t say stupid things, Baekhyun,” Heechul scolded as he nudged Mom’s motionless body into the dance studio. “Of course Kimberly isn’t a failed trainee! That story about the idol who never debuted is just something we tell you kids—” he jabbed an accusatory finger at me and Lucas— “to keep you from dating!”

Lucas boasted, “I knew it!” And everyone laughed as he triumphantly pumped his fists into the air. 

My laughter was forced, though.  

A glance down at my watch confirmed that Mom was half an hour late; Mom was never late. Heechul never escorted her to her schedules. Heechul never called her by her full name; to him, she had always been Kimi. Heechul never pressed a comforting kiss to the top of her head. 

Something was wrong, and I couldn’t ask what because we were at practice. And I wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask in the privacy of our home. And I wouldn’t have been strong enough to stomach the answer. 

[hailqiqi]

2, 5, 9, 12, and 16 (muahaha) for Skirting Katabasis!!

Thank you for the ask!!!! :D

I’ve put this to the side to work on Snippets for now but man this ask made me go through it again and remember how much this fic is my baby.

And uh... it got long.

2. Where did the title come from?

Ooooh this is like the only fic where I can ramble about the title!

So, Kerberos is the dog that guarded the underworld in Greek Mythology.  I had to come up with a name for the ship that Shiro flew, so I did some research - most of the underworld-related words were taken, but Obol was still available for the ship (and pretty meaningful since it was the money they would put on the eyes of the dead to pay the ferryman for the crossing).

I wanted to continue the theme for the title, so I started googling about for related terms in literature and came across Katabasis:

Katabasis or catabasis (Ancient Greek: κατάβασις, from κατὰ "down" and βαίνω "go") is a descent of some type, such as moving downhill, the sinking of the winds or sun, a military retreat, a trip to the underworld, or a trip from the interior of a country down to the coast. The term has multiple related meanings in poetry, rhetoric, and modern psychology.

(Thanks wikipedia)

It is also used to mean ‘disaster’ as in ‘oh no! That’s a disaster!’ in some Slavic languages, and I tend to think that the overall feel of the word fits in nicely with the themes and character development in the fic (since Pidge is basically skirting disaster for the whole fic), and also loops back to the Kerberos mission.  Hence.. Skirting Katabasis.

Also, the story was meant to be focus on Keith & Pidge Space Shenanigans and for some reason I like the idea of them whizzing through space and skirting around black holes.

5. What do you like best about this fic?

The platonic relationships in it, more specifically: the bits I didn’t plan.

Listen, this fic was meticulously planned.  It started out with about 2,600 words of outline.   All the Keith/Pidge interactions were very nicely planned out, and the plance ones.

But like…then I started writing it.  And there was a paladin bond (not planned). And Keith and Pidge found the personal effects (not planned). And then Naxzela made its way in and all of those group hugs (not planned). And then Lance was chatting to Keith on Pidge’s tablet (not planned). And Matt and Sam were talking to Pidge in the hangar (not planned). And Shiro was trying to sort out the Lance & Pidge problems (not planned).

And these are by far my favourite parts of this fic.   These scenes have become the heart and soul of it.  All of the stuff I had planned out that I’ve looked forward to writing for months and months?  Yeah yeah heaps of fun but this stuff is the fic.

9. Favourite line(s) of dialogue?

So this fic is driven more by Pidge’s internal monologue, and I had to have a good look to find something.

Honourable Mention:

“Sure, but there apparently wasn’t any things to end up in any way anyway,”

Said by a hurt and angry Lance to Shiro.  Listen, I’m a language nerd. I like this line because it’s clumsy and the kind of shit that people come out with when we speak a second language and our mind is racing wayyyy ahead of our heads, even when we’re fluent as fuck in the language already.

For my actual favourite line, I couldn’t pick just one.  It’s Sam’s whole speech at the end of Chapter 4.

Sam sat up straight, his arms spread wide, indicating the front of the ship. “I remember sitting here and staring out of the windscreen at the stars, thinking ‘Look at us. We were never meant to be out here, but look how far we’ve come.’”

His words fell heavily in the quiet.

“It was pretty incredible,” Matt added, his voice soft, his gaze fixed on the hangar wall where the windscreen should have been. “We lived in this thing for months, but every time I looked out the windows and saw that starfield I had to pinch myself. Every time.”

Sam ran his palms over the consoles around him fondly. “I know the distance between Earth and Kerberos is probably just a drop in the ocean to you, Katie, and the technology on The Obol is nothing compared to the Lions, or Voltron, or even anything we’ve seen from the other planets we’ve visited, but…”

He looked up at Pidge, a soft smile on his face. “The Obol took humanity the furthest we’re ever going to get on our own steam. She deserved better than to rot in in pieces, like scrapyard junk.

“When you finish her, make sure Shiro flies her home.”

12. Imagery that is important to the fic, either while composing or in the fic itself?

Honestly, whenever I think about this fic I imagine Keith piloting himself and Pidge around the edge of a black hole kinda how Lotor does that sun thingie in Season 4?  So I think that.  The ship, the danger, the thrill of excitement, and the stars.

16. If you used a beta, what did you agree or disagree on?

Ahahahahahaha.

You like commas way more than I do, but I think in general we see eye to eye? You definitely call me on it when I can do better with a paragraph or a scene and I love and adore you for it cause sometimes I need that push to get me working to my best (and honestly, I seriously think you can’t improve unless someone tells you when you’re doing something wrong. Constructive criticism is worth its weight in goddam gold).

The only thing that I remember:

Echoes of terror, panic, confusion and relief all raced through her head, flashes of coloured boots on metal floors — yellow blue black pink, purple lights and shivering muscles, pain and wonder and pure determination. Apology — from Green, Green was always the clearest — and sorrow at not being able to do more.

And you commented ‘I’m not quite sure what the comma situation is here’ and my immediate reaction was well duh that’s the whole damn point of this bit. But that’s neither a disagreement nor an agreement.

Fanfic Ask meme!

[littleblondesoprano]

3, 4, 5

3: Do you have any upcoming WIPs? How far along are you with them?

I do, actually! I haven’t worked on it in a hot minute, and it’s barely fleshed out, but I’m on the second chapter of it! It’s a historical fiction/faction in the colonial era and I’m kinda excited. I also have another one, a third book in a series of my time-traveling protag, where the main character gets sent back to vikings–I’m on chapter five, I think? I’ve just introduced Ragnar Lothbrok and I’M PUMPED. I think this might be the last book–or maybe I’ll find it in me to write a fourth, who knows!

4: Tell me about one of your abandoned WIPs. Why did you abandon it?

Oh gosh. So–it’s a phantom of the opera fic that I sort-of kind-of mixed with pirates. It seems really strange but I like the way I did it! I adored the story, I made Erik super sassy and kind of a mix between Leroux!Erik and Kay!Erik and I adore him–but I just…I lost motivation. I came to a plateau in the story-line and I can’t, for the life of me, get the plot out of that. I could be normal and throw in a war, but I don’t wanna go that route, so I just kinda…stopped.

5: Share a snippet that you’re proud of from an upcoming fic/chapter.

Ooooh yikes. Does it have to be upcoming? There’s one I wrote a while ago that I like!

____

“Reality blinked in and out of my mind’s eye, like a satellite station during a thunderstorm, just barely moving into focus before a punch of thunder bashes what success had been made thus far into uncommunicative fragments. Pausing this battle between my mind’s eye and a hazy mental anarchy, my tongue pressed against my lips, tasting stinging, cracked skin and dried blood; wetting my lips caused pangs of electrified needle pricks to scorch through the raw membrane, adding to an already long list of justifiable complaints.

 Slowly, I moved my right leg away from my body, stretching it out beside me until my calloused toes pressed hard against a cold cylinder bar, probably made of steel. Beneath that was a warmer solid, but still one that had a tough structural integrity; it wasn’t smooth, and I daresay had my feet been without callouses, I would’ve gained a splinter! It was wood, old, rotting wood. Moving my left leg out before me, I tottered a little, nearly falling backwards–nearly. My left leg was bent only a little at the knee before feeling the same old wood and chilled bar; it was a cage. I was inside of a cage. 

A cold sweat broke out upon my forehead as the full gravity of the situation slammed into me, like a freight train blazing through an unseen checkpoint. My heart’s palpitations became ever faster and my breathing, though laborious as it was, hitched in my esophagus; the atmosphere of the room increasingly becoming ever more suffocating.” 

__

That’s all you’re getting! Lol

Thank you for asking, mon ami!!

[triscribe]

#ooooh oh oh oh!!! #Stories of Sarant #triscribe #is this.... is this part THREE????!!?! #im so excited for you! #also the part about the tears... yeah... thats good #i feel that so much tbh #have you gotten closerto finding out how to publish them actually?? #also i dont know why this is all in the tags #my bad #but too late to change now anyways hahah #tag chaos #wolfen’s rage #i know thats not the one! but still

Your tags are always the best, dude x)

This *is* from part three, the final installment of the trilogy! No, I am sadly not any closer to getting published :(

Technically, I haven’t done the second draft of this one yet, just bits and pieces I’ve jotted down. The snippet above is brand new, describing a scene I didn’t have in my first version of the book but would like to include in the next one.

I’m glad you like it!

"They were out.

None of them were safe yet, not by a long shot, but in that moment Crant didn't care - she'd gotten them all out.

The woman paused, just for a moment, to simply stand and turn her face up towards the storm. Perhaps warm daylight might have been more appropriately reflective of her emotions, but it wouldn't have disguised her relieved tears nearly so well."

[prettylittleliarshint]

PLL Rant

Pretty Little Liars... hmmm.... I used to have a love/hate relationship for the show but now it’s hate. I honestly can’t stand the show anymore and everyone that I’ve met that watches the show say the same thing, “the investigating after the show is what makes it and I’m just watching it because I’ve been watching it for around 7 years so I might as well finish it.” 

Pretty Little Liars’ plot is just really dragging onnnnnnnnnn. It is so underwhelming. Everything is the same boring mumbo jumbo. I’m not even shocked anymore. In the first few seasons I was patient, plus all the investigations on tumblr and youtube was sooo fun. Trying to figure out who A was used to be so exciting but now I’m actually so over it and I’m sure everyone else is. It got really annoying after the second season and its been going down hill. 

Everyone watching PLL: First episode of a season: Ooooh (sometimes cmon its all suspense The season before the finale: I could literally skip this all

Finale: Ooooooooh (SOMETIMES)

WHAT IS GOING ON! Pretty little liars in a nutshell: Makes up so many bloody questions, new characters and the only thing the show answers (but is a lie most of the time) is who the hell A is. 

COME ON!!! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LAST 6 SEASONS OF QUESTIONS! I’ll give you alllll the answers: it was allll nothing. Just filler episodes. Ratings- all that mumbo jumbo. I’m also getting bored of the romance, don’t give me a snippet of Jason and Aria then get a guy from her past that I didn’t care about.  

One thing I’m hoping for is the next plot twist to be ANOTHER lesbian scandal linked to Allison has anyone else realised that? Nearly EVERY plot twist or female character involved is a lesbian like woop de doo we’ve seen THAT before!

Ughhh lets just hope it actually ends well because I’ll be so angry.