#this fic is the precise reason why I decided to challenge myself to write some fluff this december | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sleep-deprived-luka · 5 months ago

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Oh there's still allot about the Wolf au (Thank almost two years of deranged scribblings for that) and I'm really happy that you're interested :D It's always a delight to see my selfindulgent projects garner someone's interest!

(another cut for obvious reasons)

It's admittedly a bit hard to decide what I could talk about next. There is a remarkably fine line between explaining important world building and counting down street names and their history/etymology.

But I think talking about religious aspects is a safe bet.

Wolf is mostly set in a medieval german country, so the religion at hand is a weird imitation of Christianity. It's Hatsune Miku as the god and the other cryptonloids as lesser ones.

The religion is admittedly simple at its core. Miku created the world through song, constructing it in melodic order etc. etc.

Everything revolves around that really, especially the calendar which I loosely based of geocentrism

We have Empyreum as January, Terra as February, Luna as March, Mercurius as April, Venus as May, Sol as June, Mars as July, Iupiter as August, Saturnus as September, Astra as Oktober, Zodiak as November and Purgatorio as December

The order follows a loss of sanctity in a way. Starting from Empyreum(Purity) then going Earth (being born) experiencing the various pleasures and troubles of earthly live inbetween Luna and Mars, followed by Iupiter where the Thunderfestival symbolizes repentance and separating the good from the bad (the bad being saturn) then the final travels to return to sanctity through the stars and purgatory starting it all over.

Every Month has one big event, that has some sort of lightmotive I desperately want to convey in my writing. For example Sol has soft glass bells, Zodiac has nightly songs played by the organ, Iupiter has the thunder of countless pots and pans being bashed together and Astra the song of merry people meeting each other. They all then get featured in the grand orchestra of the Empyreum festival, where a new year gets celebrated.

But with that purity theming there's also what makes the main conflict of Wolf. The queer, the strange, the others.

With defined borders of what is and isn't holy. It's a us vs them world, the ones and the others. (the others are a generalized term for anything not made by Miku or not following Miku. It includes Fea/Fairy/Wolves/Owls/Pagans/Apostates and other things)

A good chunk of what makes Sekai is making those borders clear. Knighthood is a very prominent tool for that, since as Airi described (rough translation) "Knights only serve to move and defend these arbitrary mortal lines" so to hinder the others from mingling with what is pure and precise. (the arbitrary is more because Airi is speaking from the perspective of a semi-imortal)

But hey I'm a prsk fan on dungle.com, I am nothing but a fan of the queers (pretending like I'm not very queer myself)

(Trying my best not to get lost in a side tangent)

I also conveyed that black and white thinking in other parts of world building. The Tenmaepos is built from it really, but there are other tales. In the Shizuai wip the most prominent is the lynx and the hound, a story I used to explain the two accepted roles of the other. It's about a lynx trapped in a snare having a conversation with the hound. At first the beast tries to be on even ground, calling the hound his brother, but eventually it just becomes a "Why are you serving man?" discussion. Both points are presented neutrally, the wild beasts in the forest and the domesticated hound are both accepted roles, the issue is that the lynx has to die, because he can neither be free nor kept.

In the same fic Tsukasa has a play where he basically restates that moral (Tsukasa isn't the best ally pre bloodmoon. He likes his dazzling tales and hasn't had them challenged yet) It's about a poor fisherman who saved a sea fairy forcing her to help him. It went fine when they were on uneven grounds, but the second equality hits he dies. "Man can only be apart from the others or make them subservient, but it's best to kill the vile than have them on your side" that's the moral (some conservative ass message pff)

The Mizuena fic has some tales aswell. We have the purple beast, that's more of a "behave well or 'x' monster gets you" Mizuki mentioned as a joke. In the same chapter there's a mention of "the small Oliver" (Mizuki named a cat after Oliver) that's about a boy that went into the forest and got kidnapped.

There are multiple stories, because this tale was some random taletellers weekly project, but the short version is: Lala makes friends and finds 12 magic objects. Mia is there aswell, a trickster fae who initially worked for the Faeking. She betrayed him to help Lala. She dies in that story. Her death is depicted in complete neutrality. Well she is one of the others yk?

A bigger one would be the fanatstical story of the cursed Lala, obviously based on the Anime Mizuki liked lmao. The premise is Lalas parents promiseda Faeking, that if they'll make it through the winter they'll give him their unborn child. They in the end tricked him (with a trick I'll never gonna mention, cuz Ena didn't want to hear Mizuki gush about it >:( ) saving their child, but well making the king mad. To punish such a thing the faeking went "Fuck you! Now nobody can have the child!" Cursing Lala so that she can't be with her parents until she finds something to make up with the Faeking.

WHich segways into a currently disputed topic (the despute is between I,me and myself)

One major difference between humans and the others (the humanoid kind) is that the others have no soul. That's basic nordic myth, but needs to be considered with some kind of understanding of what having a soul means.

In some way having a soul means true immortality. The others mostly have a very long lifespan (Airi for example is older than the mountain on which the Hinomori forest grew. It was a fun lil imitation of some mythological animals going "Well I witnessed the life of the tree from which acorn this elder oak grew from") but if they die it's over. In comparison humans die faster, but since they have a soul they have true eternity waiting for them.

There is the additional thought that maybe immortality could be portrayed as someone being remembered. So that the appearance of the others vanish from ones memory. For example: I've been thinking of making Nagi the beast of rad weekend. And well after being slain the actual Nagi died, but two shadows remain. Nagi the knight and Nagi the beast. The true memory turns vague almost fading and a legend fills it's place. Like a vacuum exposed to air. It gets filled, but with other stuff.

The death of the others is such a interesting thing tbh. It's the most fucked up form of oppression. Cuz if the others stay away they may live forever, but one wrong move and it's over. So the second way out is sharing the soul with a human, meaning to do the big bad of mixing with the ones.

jeeesh that's another long one it's been... 5h??????

It could be even reasoned that changelings happen because of that. Oooh don't let me ramble about changelings for this au, this would swiftly turn into a thousands world long collection of me going "born in between!" sniffling and sobbing....

Talking about this au is like jumping into a wormhole, like wtf (I am actually really happy, since sundays usually only contain me being a sad blob of inactivity)

There's still soo sooo much more I could talk about, I have older rambles in the #wolf au on this blog, but they still don't all contain all my thoughts and ideas lmao

Inside of you there are two wolves:

#I really like exploring worlds with harsh black and white thinking since the conflicts are a bit like my experiences lmao #It's also ngl a bit funny to cite my own writing in these rambles. I wish I could just hand you the fic like that dr phil meme image but #even if I finish that beast of a project there won't be a english translation :'<#all I can do is bombard you with various analysis and incoherent rambles like a dog #zondesrambles #wolf au

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ibijau · 3 years ago

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A second part for that fic where lxc died in seclusion and nhs, through mourning him, realised how much he felt for his Er-ge / Also on AO3

Warning for themes of suicide, depression, and self-hatred (but this is angst with a happy, or at least hopeful ending)

Lan Xichen had been staring at the ribbon in his hands for only a short while when his uncle entered the room and gently took it from him.

That was when he realised that many hours had passed, and night had fallen. Time, once again, had moved around him without touching him. His uncle felt his distress and said nothing, instead pushing a glass of cool tea in his hand and presenting some light food to him.

Eating was difficult some days, but Lan Xichen always made an effort for his uncle who would look so sad otherwise. After everything else, it would have been unbearable to cause Lan Qiren yet more pain. Of course if Lan Xichen hadn’t lost his nerve that morning, if he’d done what he intended to do instead of hesitating… If he'd succeeded it would have hurt his uncle, his brother as well, but only in the same way that removing a splinter always hurt, and then they would have been free and relieved of their burden.

“It cannot go on like this,” Lan Qiren said when Lan Xichen found himself unable to swallow anything more.

Lan Xichen dejectedly stared at the rice he could not finish. Do not waste food. But then, wasn’t it wasted too if someone as useless as him ate it?

“Seclusion is meant to be a cultivation tool,” his uncle continued, “or a way to reflect on one’s conduct. You cannot continue using it as a way to hurt yourself.”

An argument that would have held more weight, had their family not had a long history of doing exactly that.

“Xichen, you cannot stay in this house.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes snapped up from his bowl of rice to gaze at his uncle in terror. He thought he would find judgement, or anger, or worst of all disappointment on his uncle’s face, but instead saw only a pity so great it made him feel ashamed.

“Shufu, I cannot leave,” he said.

Not ‘do not want”, not ‘will not’, but ‘cannot’.

He knew his affliction, though he had never found a suitable name for it. He usually merely called it melancholy, so it wouldn’t worry those who did not already know the truth… which was to say, anyone besides his uncle and brother. He’d never dared to fully explain this to Nie Mingjue, whose own illness was so much more serious than his little bouts of misery, but he had thought sometimes with Jin Guangyao he might… yet he hadn’t wanted to seem weak in front of a man who had fought so hard for everything he had, and changed his mind about that confidence. One secret, against all those his sworn brother had kept from him.

Lan Xichen knew what he suffered from, and how he suffered from it. It had been a constant companion all his life, even before his mother’s death, though that had certainly been the first time it had become noticeable to others. He’d become quite good at functioning through minor attacks, at disguising major ones.

This one was something different. This one, he knew, he would not recover from.

“This house is not good for you,” Lan Qiren said. “The Cloud Recesses are not good for you. Not anymore. Perhaps they never were, but we all trained you too well, and we did not see what it had done to you. You need to rejoin the world”

“I cannot,” Lan Xichen whispered, lowering his eyes.

The mere thought was intolerable. To stand again in front of others, pretending that things were fine, that he could be strong, that he could lead, that there was any wisdom to be found in him…

A warm hand came to rest on his own, while Lan Qiren tried his best to smile at him, even when they both knew it did not come to him easily.

“I am not asking you to resume your position as sect leader,” Lan Qiren said, and his weak smile dropped. “It would kill you even quicker than staying here alone could. This should never have been your responsibility to bear in the first place, but with the Wens preparing for war…”

Guilt and shame flooded over Lan Xichen. He knew this already. They had discussed it, right after Qingheng-Jun had died. Lan Qiren had been of the opinion that his nephew was too young to bear the responsibility of an entire sect, while himself had age and experience on his side. Had times not been so desperate, Lan Xichen would gladly have let his uncle rise to the honour of sect leader. But there had been a war on the horizon, and while Lan Qiren would have been more competent, neither of them could have denied that Lan Xichen was the more charismatic of the two, and they’d needed a leader who would garner good will among potential allies.

It ought to have been a temporary situation. Lan Xichen was meant the abdicate in favour of his uncle once the crisis had passed… but the Sunshot Campaign’s aftermath had created a tense political situation that allowed no apparent weakness, then there had been the need to avoiding bringing attention to Lan Wangji’s seclusion after the death of Wei Wuxian, and later that new political mess between the Nie and the Jin, and… and the time had just never been right, with always something to make them fear their sect would suffer from a change in leadership. So Lan Qiren had waited and done his best to help, while his nephew endured and tried to ignore his ever declining health, until one last crisis broke him for good.

“I don’t think it will be enough,” Lan Xichen whispered. “Even if I’m no longer a sect leader, people will still want to ask about…”

He drew in a shaky breath, drowning in guilt so thick it nearly made him sick. The things he had done he could almost live with. But what he had allowed others to do, the crimes he had left unchecked, the accusations a dying Jin Guangyao had thrown at him, the cold hatred Nie Huaisang had spewed at his brother’s second funeral… This haunted him, and he could not bear to imagine how much worse it would get for him if he faced the world.

Lan Qiren said nothing for a long while, silently holding his hands while watching his face as if searching for something in it. What he hoped to find, Lan Xichen could not imagine. He had only grown more and more empty these past two years alone in his house, until nothing but a shell remained that he hoped to make disappear as well.

“Lying is forbidden,” Lan Qiren said at last, speaking in the slow manner he used to teach younger children. “And yet in certain circumstances, it will be excused. I hope you will forgive me for the lie I am about to suggest.”

“Shufu?”

“You cannot live hidden in this house,” Lan Qiren stated, his grip on Lan Xichen’s hands tightening. “You cannot live as a sect leader, either. And I agree that it would harm you just as much to merely retire and remain among cultivators.”

“So I must die,” Lan Xichen said, terrified and hopeful at once. He only lived because others had not allowed him to take his own life. If his uncle and brother promised they would no longer attempt to rescue him…

“You cannot live on like this, and I cannot allow you to die,” Lan Qiren replied, his grasp now painful. “But I am willing to let the world believe that you have, and to never see you again, if that might help you.”

Lan Xichen blinked, surprised by the emotion on his uncle’s usually stern face, the unspilled tears that made his eyes shine. More pain that he had caused, more guilt to weigh down his soul.

“I’m not sure I understand, shufu.”

“We are going to lie,” Lan Qiren explained. “And doing so, we are going to save you.”

Back when he was young and had time for idle purposes, Lan Xichen had sometimes paused for portraits. Lan Wangji had needed a model patient enough, and Nie Huaisang had never taken no for an answer when he had a caprice in mind.

This, however, was quite different from pausing for a painting.

“No, no, don’t look!” Wei Wuxian scolded. “Keep your eyes closed! And don’t breathe so deeply. You’re dead, remember?”

“Nobody will look that closely,” Lan Xichen mildly complained, even though he’d been informed a little earlier that he wasn’t allowed to speak either. He’d almost laughed. If there was one person who didn’t get to demand that the dead be silent, it was Wei Wuxian.

“The entire Lan sect is going to see what they need to think is your corpse,” Wei Wuxian said. “We need to fool them.”

“They haven’t seen me in two years, it will be fine.”

“Probably. But Nie Huaisang has sent word that he’s coming to your funeral, and we’ll need to fool him too.”

“Oh,” Lan Xichen just said, and fell silent.

He hadn’t thought Nie Huaisang would come at all, but of course he was too clever not to pay his respects, if only to maintain whatever alliance remained between Qinghe Nie and Gusu lan.

He wondered if Nie Huaisang would be fooled by this fake corpse Wei Wuxian was crafting. Wei Wuxian was a man of rare talent, but Nie Huaisang had proven to be quite good at seeing through lies. If he realised the truth, would he denounce the subterfuge? Or would he be too satisfied to find that the last of his brother’s murderer had died to even bother looking at his corpse?

He wondered if Nie Huaisang would cry for him. They had almost been friends, once. And if Nie Mingjue hadn’t died when he had, maybe they would have…

But Nie Mingjue had died, and the manner of his death could not be forgotten.

Lan Xichen knew that Nie Huaisang would not shed a single tear for him.

He hadn’t earned the right to be mourned by him.

Lan Xichen did not linger to see his own funeral, but heard later that it had been a very sober affair, and that people said many good things about him.

It would have comforted him about his own value, if he hadn’t remembered that people did the same at Jin Guangshan’s funeral.

It had not been Lan Xichen’s own choice to have Wen Ning as a travelling companion. His family, or at least the part of it that knew he wasn’t dead, had just decided that his current health wasn’t good enough to let him wander on his own. As Wei Wuxian so pragmatically put it, they hadn’t faked his suicide just so he could go kill himself ten li away, so he needed someone to keep an eye on him.

It couldn’t be Lan Qiren, who was under so much attention as a new sect leader. It also couldn’t be Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, who were a little too noticeable everywhere they went. They’d thought about Lan Sizhui, but in the end the young man hadn’t even been told at all that his uncle still lived, because Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian felt it would be cruel to force him to keep that secret from his friends.

Meanwhile, Wen Ning had no official duties to conduct, and he was good at staying hidden. He had agreed to keeping an eye on Lan Xichen, even though they’d hardly exchanged two words in their lives. Not only that, but Lan Xichen had been there when Wen Qing’s ashes were scattered, he had been among those who swore to destroy the Wens who survived in the Burial Mounds of Yiling. Lan Xichen had thought then that the place had turned into a den of demonic cultivators, filled with an army of fierce corpses all as dangerous as Wen Ning, who had slaughtered so many already.

It was not the travel companion Lan Xichen would have preferred, not that he’d given the question much thought.

Yet when he thought of protesting, Wen Ning had looked at him and given him that odd grimace which passed as a smile for him.

“Two dead men, I think it’s fitting,” he’d said.

That had settled the issue. Lan Xichen just did not have the strength to object any further. In fact, he quickly decided that it might be for the best that Wen Ning, of all people, would be travelling with him. After the lies Lan Xichen had allowed himself to be fed about the Wens of the Burial Mounds, it was doubtful that Wen Ning would do too much to protect him from himself, next time that melancholy seized him.

The first few months of travel weren't unpleasant. Lan Xichen found himself thinking that his uncle had been right, that he had only needed a little change to allow for recovery. Most of the time he appeared to be alone, as Wen Ning was reluctant to show himself to common people. Well, nearly alone: he had been given a horse by his uncle, an even-tempered animal that matched his own personality, and proved to be quite enough company for him. During the day he travelled without clear goal except for the enjoyment of the journey itself, sometimes stopping to admire a beautiful landscape, once or twice even painting something quick that he might show to…

But there was no one left to admire his work, supposing there ever was. Perhaps Jin Guangyao had only ever been polite whenever he professed that he thought the world of Lan Xichen’s latest work. As for Nie Huaisang, whose taste had always been excellent, whose praise had been so hard to obtain… certainly he must have lied, whenever he said something pleasant about Lan Xichen’s paintings. Surely it must have cost him to praise the man who had failed to prevent his brother’s murder.

Surely he must have hated Lan Xichen as much as Lan Xichen hated himself.

His thoughts started spiralling on that subject one night. He’d done a quick sketch of some mountains that afternoon, only to be struck first by the thought that Nie Huaisang would have loved to see such a place, then by the remembrance that he actually did not know Nie Huaisang at all, that the only certainty he could have was the other man hated him, having said as much when they re-buried Nie Mingjue.

Normally, Lan Xichen never stayed alone for long at night. Whether he had to sleep in the wild or could find an inn, Wen Ning would join him and check on him. But for whatever reason Wen Ning was late that night. He never really had the chance to explain, either, because when Wen Ning finally made his way to the room Lan Xichen had paid for, it was to find him preparing a knot with his ribbon.

Wen Ning did not say anything. Lan Xichen just smoothed out that knot, and politely asked about the Ghost General’s day, as he always did. It was easy to fall into their normal routine and pretend nothing had happened. Lan Xichen had always been particularly good at that sort of deception. He had his dinner, did some meditation, and went to bed as if nothing were amiss.

All that time Wen Ning stared at him as only a dead man could stare, patient and unrelenting.

Even with his back turned to him, and in the darkness of that room, Lan Xichen could still feel the strength of that stare as sleep eluded him.

“You must despise me,” he said at last, his own eyes closed as if he still thought he would sleep that night.

There was silence for a while.

“Is that an order, or a conclusion you’ve reached?” Wen Ning asked.

More silence, as Lan Xichen considered that question.

“A conclusion. I have no rights to give you orders. I have allowed so much to happen… Your family in the Burial Mounds, and…”

“A-Yuan is a happy young man,” Wen Ning interrupted. “He is well adjusted, he has friends, he’s been taught well. He told me you often took care of him when he was very young.”

Lan Xichen hesitated.

“Do not think me kinder than I am. I just couldn’t let anyone… He’d been very sick and didn’t seem to remember his life before coming to us, but if his memories returned and he said something wrong…” Lan Xichen paused, and sighed deeply. “At the time, I thought he might have been the love child of your sister and Wei Wuxian. It seemed to make sense? Wei Wuxian had abandoned everything to protect your family.”

Wen Ning was silent.

And silent.

And silent so long that Lan Xichen feared he had offended him, especially when the fierce corpse started making an odd, wheezing sound.

Laughter, he then realised.

“Jiejie would be so insulted that anyone could think she had that relationship with Wei Wuxian,” Wen Ning said with surprising good humour, as if the idea delighted him. “I think uncle four suggested it once, and she scared him so bad he avoided her for a week. She said nobody should have such bad taste. No offence to your brother,” Wen Ning added after reflection.

"It's fine. I’ve also expressed doubts regarding his choices,” Lan Xichen said with a weak smile.

It had been such a long while since he’d smiled.

He was more grateful to Wen Ning for making him smile again than for saving his life.

When he’d left the Cloud Recesses, Lan Xichen hadn’t had any particular destination in mind. If he were honest, he hadn’t particularly expected his uncle’s plan to work, and had thought he’d just wander for a little while until his self-hatred became too strong and he took his own life. Since Wen Ning had now made it clear he would not allow this to happen, Lan Xichen was forced to start planning.

He tried, first of all, to ask Wen Ning if he had preferences. To this the fierce corpse replied that there was nowhere he wished to revisit that wouldn’t remind him of darker times, so while he had a list of places he’d rather avoid, he otherwise didn’t care where they went. Lan Xichen was thus left alone to decide where to go, when he still did not trust himself to make decisions of any sorts.

After a long, painful week of consideration, Lan Xichen settled for Baidi as a destination. It was a city that exiles had visited and immortalised in poetry, which he thought was fitting for his own situation, unlikely as he was to ever see his home again. On a more practical note, there was no longer a cultivation sect around Baidi, the old one having allied itself with Qishan Wen and been slaughtered during the course of the Sunshot Campaign. That meant it was less likely for anyone but rogue cultivators to be in that area, and only in case of crisis, so Lan Xichen would be in less danger to be recognised.

But there was also…

It was a very silly thing, all things considered. But Lan Xichen remembered talking about Baidi with Nie Huaisang once or twice, and how nice it would be to go there together. Back then, things had been easy. They’d been friends, and he’d thought he knew Nie Huaisang. He’d even thought sometimes that they shared a special bond, Nie Huaisang with his many fears, Lan Xichen with his deadly melancholy. Nie Huaisang had been the only person in whom he’d felt he could confide that particular weakness, the only person who seemed like he might have understood what it was like to be constantly betrayed by one’s own mind. He’d seemed very sympathetic to Lan Xichen’s plight at the time, and started writing to him out of the blue if they didn’t see for a while, just to get some news. Lan Xichen had taken to doing the same in return, and he’d thought, he’d truly thought…

But in the end, he hadn’t known Nie Huaisang as well as he’d thought, and there had probably never been any unspoken understanding of a shared plight, no secret affection that couldn’t be acted upon. Lan Xichen had been wrong about this, just as he was always wrong about everything.

He’d been wrong, and he was enough of a fool to still hold dear memories of a lie.

Wen Ning offered no objection to the prospect of going to Baidi. But when after a few days of travelling in that direction Lan Xichen wondered if he should warn his uncle of his decision, Wen Ning guiltily confessed that he’d already sent word about that, just as he’d made sure to keep Lan Qiren updated about most things they did.

“Even…” Lan Xichen started asking, before shame overcame him.

“I did not mention that you briefly relapsed,” Wen Ning replied, and Lan Xichen instantly relaxed. “It was only one time, and you haven’t tried again since. I saw no reason to worry him when you’re doing better.”

It felt odd to Lan Xichen that anyone might think his health improved. He wasn’t sure he felt any particular difference, save for the fact that he was now hiding among crowds instead of inside his house. Perhaps Wen Ning was just trying to be kind, then.

“I suppose it’s better if you’re the one writing to him,” Lan Xichen said. “After all, I’m supposed to be dead.”

“So am I,” Wen Ning reminded him. “It’d probably please him to have news directly from you.”

Lan Xichen doubted that anything he’d done since becoming sect leader had ever much pleased his uncle, even if he sometimes said otherwise.

But no, that was just the melancholy speaking. His uncle had always scolded him when he needed to be scolded, praised him when he deserved to be praised. It would be unfair to Lan Qiren to accuse him of insincerity, and so he had to mean those occasional compliments he’d given.

That night, when he stopped at an inn, Lan Xichen wrote a brief letter to his uncle, which Wen Ning promised would reach Lan Qiren in a discreet manner.

Some days later, Lan Qiren sent a letter. Even though his prose was as stern as ever, there was something joyful in that short missive, in his remarks that Baidi seemed like a wise hiding place. Perhaps he really was happy to have received news from his nephew. And perhaps Lan Xichen being able to acknowledge that he could give joy to those he loved was a sign that he really was improving.

A slow correspondence started between Lan Xichen and his uncle, which became a steadier one once he had reached Baidi. At first Lan Xichen had very little to talk about, save to say how much distance they’d travelled since the previous letter. But as time passed, he found more and more to say. He would describe the villages they’d passed through, the sights they’d seen. He shared some of the sketches he’d made, and a haunting he’d had to help with, once people of a certain manor near Baidi realised he was a cultivator, after which the master of the house had invited him to stay at another home he owned in Baidi as an honoured guest.

It had felt good to be useful, to be helpful, to deal with a situation where right and wrong were easy to distinguish.

It made it easier when Lan Qiren, in his own letters, started mentioning that Nie Huaisang had announced he would be stepping down as sect leader.

At first nothing more than that was known, and Lan Xichen could only wonder at how little he knew Nie Huaisang. He’d imagined that Nie Huaisang would now show his true colour, perhaps even that he would try to seize power and become Chief Cultivator. Why not? He was smart enough for it. Lan Xichen had long thought that Nie Huaisang’s problem arose from a lack of ambition and motivation rather than from being stupid as some would have said. Having proven he could be motivated after all, who knew if he hadn’t also hidden that he was power hungry? Even his stepping down could have been a mere part of a complicated plan.

When Lan Xichen expressed those thoughts in a letter, Lan Qiren replied that he did not think Nie Huaisang held such dark designs. On the contrary, it had been widely observed that he’d been growing depressed and indifferent in the past year, delegating more and more of his duties to his first disciple, now his future replacement, while he personally tried to amuse himself with other pursuits. If this was merely part of a scheme, then it had to be a very complex one indeed because one of the few topics on which Nie Huaisang could be bothered to take position was that a Chief Cultivator was not something anyone needed anymore.

That did sound more like the Nie Huaisang who Lan Xichen had thought he knew. It sounded like the man he’d been friends with for well over a decade, and gave him hope that not everything had been a lie, that he’d only been fooled at a few key moments rather than a majority of time. There was a comfort to be found in the thought that perhaps both Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao had truly liked him, that the affection and friendship had been genuine, regardless of the betrayal and the lies.

When more news filtered out, when Lan Qiren learned from Nie Huaisang himself that his intention was merely to withdraw from public life and wander to admire the beauty of the world, Lan Xichen only felt more peaceful. Being idle and aimless was exactly what Nie Huaisang had always dreamed of doing, before his brother’s untimely death had forced a different fate upon his shoulders.

In his next letter, Lan Xichen felt nostalgic enough to wonder if there was any chance that Nie Huaisang and him might meet again. He did not think that Nie Huaisang would ever forgive him his role in Nie Mingjue’s death, nor would he likely approve of Lan Xichen’s escape from his duties out of mere sadness, but for his part Lan Xichen couldn’t help but wish he could get a chance to find out what sort of a man Nie Huaisang truly was. He’d had so few friends in his life, and Nie Huaisang was the last one still alive.

It would have been pleasant if they could have had another chance to be friends, this time without any secrets left between them, his letter concluded.

After this Lan Qiren’s letters never mentioned Nie Huaisang again, except to mention that he’d stepped down as planned. Lan Xichen felt silly for having burdened his uncle with his regrets, and dropped the subject as well.

In truth, while Nie Huaisang, Jin Guangyao, and even Nie Mingjue were often in his thoughts, Lan Xichen also had much else to keep him busy.

Without quite meaning to, Lan Xichen had gathered around him some disciples, children of Baidi who were eager to learn cultivation and had shown some promise. First it had been only the daughter and the son of the man whose house he lived in, and that hadn’t been so bad. But of course the two children had told some of their friends, while their parents had boasted of their luck to a few relatives. Soon enough Lan Xichen had been forced to explain that he could only teach children who had the right disposition, and that he wouldn’t be able to go beyond a few basic principles since it was not his intention to establish himself there. Even like that, Lan Xichen found himself with a dozen students, mostly boys but a few girls as well, listening to his every words as if he were a well of wisdom.

It was terrifying at first. A few times, Lan Xichen thought of dying to escape this new responsibility he’d never asked for, but Wen Ning’s constant presence made that impossible. He still wanted to escape then, and one night even told Wen Ning about wishing to leave Baidi behind.

“It’s just teaching,” Wen Ning pointed out. “You like teaching, no?”

The question startled Lan Xichen out of his rising panic.

“I do. I did. But that was when I still thought I had a right to it. I’m not sure I’m fit to be a teacher anymore, considering…”

“Well, you probably shouldn’t be teaching children how to spot evil people in their lives,” Wen Ning agreed with a wry smile. “But what happened doesn’t change the fact you’re a good cultivator, and you know how to show others what they need to start cultivating, according to Sizhui. You like that part, right?”

“I do. I’m just not sure I’m the right person to do this.”

Wen Ning shrugged. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Sometimes, there’s no right person. There’s just the person who’s there when it’s needed.”

Lan Xichen fell silent for a moment. He wondered if that was what Nie Mingjue had thought when his father had died, Nie Huaisang when he’d lost his brother. If nobody else was left, someone had to do the job.

“Fine, I’m staying in Baidi,” Lan Xichen agreed. “But I think you should help me teach these children.”

Wen Ning grimaced, always a frightful sight on his stiff face. “That’s a terrible idea, for so many reasons I can’t list them all.”

"You were trained in the methods of Qishan Wen, and you are probably the last person to remember that training."

"That's one of the reasons why it'd be a terrible idea, yes."

Lan Xichen smiled weakly. "I meant that as a reason why you should do it," he corrected. "Qishan Wen was not always what it had become. Its knowledge should not be lost."

"I was a very poor cultivator when I was alive," Wen Ning countered. "I wouldn't be the right person to… ah. I can guess your next argument."

"Good. I don't want to do this alone. I think I don't like being on my own."

Two years with only himself for company had proven that. And the fact that he still missed Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao proved well enough that he craved friendship and closeness. Lan Xichen wasn't sure Wen Ning was his friend, but after nearly a year together, he wouldn't mind if the other man owned him as one.

In the end, Wen Ning agreed to help him teach.

The children were scared of him at first, not realising that he was equally terrified. But over time everyone relaxed, and Wen Ning appeared to find real joy in this new task. He seemed to really like children, perhaps because he'd not quite been an adult when he died, and he was clearly proud to share the knowledge he'd gotten from his sect with people who didn't instantly treat any Wen teachings with disgust.

How odd, to find pride in anything.

But as weeks passed, Lan Xichen realised that he too was proud of his work in Baidi, of his student's progress, of his own healing even. These days he rarely thought of dying more than once or twice a week, when it used to be a constant noise in the back of his mind. And unless he was having a truly awful day, it was getting easier to tell himself that death wouldn't really solve his problems.

Even bad days were a little easier to handle. Lan Xichen could not control his moods nor the speed at which small things made him take a turn for the worse, but he was starting to recognise it when those shifts happened, and so did Wen Ning. The fierce corpse would cancel lessons for the day, and let Lan Xichen rest, keeping him company in silence. Or if the dark mood lasted too long, he would convince Lan Xichen to leave the house and wander on the banks of the Yangtze River, to watch passing boats and diving birds, or just to meditate somewhere different. It usually worked in getting Lan Xichen out of his own head.

That particular day was a bad one almost from the start. Lan Xichen’s host had proudly announced over breakfast that another cultivator had just arrived in town, and instantly Lan Xichen’s mood had turned sour. Even when his host told him that the newcomer claimed no affiliation to any sect, and didn't appear to be anyone famous, dread settled deep inside Lan Xichen’s bones. Wen Ning noticed, as he always did, and immediately said that they had some business out of town that day which they could not delay. They might be gone a day or two, he said, before shoving a large bamboo hat on Lan Xichen's head and dragging him outside. They left the city behind, walking silently for a long while until they were perfectly alone on the road.

"It might not even be a real cultivator," Wen Ning quietly remarked. "There are plenty of people out there who lie to get gifts from those who don't know better. And if it's an impostor, he'll avoid us."

"But a real cultivator will seek our company," Lan Xichen replied. He looked around, admiring the river, and sighed. "I don't want to leave. I like this place. I like our students."

Wen Ning nodded. "I can scare away that person," he offered. "I am the terrifying Ghost General."

That remark got a weak smile out of Lan Xichen, and almost a chuckle as well. It surprised him sometimes that they’d all ever thought Wen Ning was a terrifying thing to be destroyed. It certainly was hard to remember that he’d done terrible things in the past to justify his reputation, when he was so gentle with the children they were teaching.

“Let’s not advertise your presence here more than necessary,” Lan Xichen said. “We’re lucky enough the people here could be convinced that you’re merely the victim of a curse. If cultivators hear that the Ghost General is here, it’ll draw them to Baidi rather than away from it.”

“Then what do we do? Just wait?”

“I’m not sure there’s anything else we can do,” Lan Xichen sighed, though the idea made him uncomfortable.

Waiting to see, waiting for proof, waiting in case things got better, that was how he’d gotten in this situation in the first place. He’d done so much waiting all his life. He’d done nothing but wait and hope that others would take action first, willing to react but never to act. Waiting hadn’t worked out so well for him this far, and yet he couldn’t push himself to do anything differently even after he should have learned better.

As every time he encountered a problem these days, death offered itself as a solution. It felt like a more tempting option than it had in a long while when faced with the threat of discovery. Everyone who'd been forced to pity him over his early death would be furious. His brother and his uncle would see their reputation tarnished for having been complicit in that lie. And Lan Xichen himself would have to face the consequences of his actions, or rather of his inaction. He would be made to explain why he never doubted Jin Guangyao's true intentions, why he never saw past Nie Huaisang's comedy, why he never suspected that the world could be so cruel, or that most of its cruelty came from the people he loved the most.

Death would be easier.

But Lan Xichen did not want to die.

That thought was so shocking that Lan Xichen felt guilty. After all the wrong he'd done, after causing so much trouble for his loved ones, what right did he have to live?

Still, he did not want to die, not even when life felt so terrifying.

After such an intense realisation, it was a relief when Wen Ning agreed that they should just wait and see what would come of that supposed cultivator's arrival. He also did not protest when Lan Xichen expressed the wish to go meditate in a quiet place he liked, by the river. It was what Lan Xichen often did when bad days struck, and he desperately needed that chance to calm his mind.

Lan Xichen's favourite place was a particularly picturesque one. There was a large tree by the river, which in that season was covered in pale flowers, while in its branches birds sang to their mates. Petals fell on Lan Xichen's hat like colourful snow. On the other side of the water, there was a clear view of high mountains, a peaceful and steady sight which never failed to make Lan Xichen feel a little more grounded. He sat there under the tree until the shadows grew long around him, until his heart could make peace with the fantastically novel idea that he might enjoy being alive, now that he was removed from the title of sect leader which had so weighed him down.

As darkness started to tint the horizon, Lan Xichen felt a presence near him and opened his eyes, expecting to see that Wen Ning had come back from wherever he went while Lan Xichen meditated. Instead, glancing from under his bamboo hat, he saw shoes and robes that belonged to a stranger.

“Please don’t be alarmed,” the stranger said in a voice less foreign than it should have been. “I hope you will forgive me for being so rude, but earlier as I was wandering alongside the river I saw you sitting here and was overcome with the need to paint you. It might seem odd, but something about you reminded me of a friend who passed away some months ago.”

For a brief moment, Lan Xichen felt breathless. Even if the hem of his hat hid the man’s face from him, and his own face from the man’s sight, that voice was so familiar that it made his heart ache. It had to be a coincidence, though, because while that sounded like Nie Huaisang, he would never have called Lan Xichen a friend, not after everything that had passed between them.

“As an apology for behaving this way, I actually made a second painting to give to you,” the stranger insisted, bending over to hand him a piece of paper. Lan Xichen lowered his head to keep his face hidden, but took the painting offered to him.

It was one thing to doubt a voice, but there was no doubting the skill in those brushstrokes. Every line was clear and precise, a few expert touches of colour bringing the scene to life. Lan Xichen had seen enough of Nie Huaisang’s art that he could have recognised his pieces anywhere.

“Thank you,” Lan Xichen said, which startled Nie Huaisang so badly that he took a step behind. “I am honoured that you would mistake me for a friend.”

In the silence that followed, Lan Xichen heard the doubt that had to cross Nie Huaisang’s mind, the disbelief that would be stronger than his own, having believed Lan Xichen to be dead.

“It was a very dear friend of mine,” Nie Huaisang said carefully, as if he feared to be mistaken. “Dearer than I realised when he was alive. I will always regret that I wasn’t able to tell him what he was to me before it was too late.”

“I’m sure he would have many things to tell you as well, if he could.”

Nie Huaisang took a step forward, then stepped back again.

“Please remove your hat,” he said in a tone that was both an order and a desperate plea.

Lan Xichen obeyed, lifting the hem of his hat and letting it fall behind him. Looking up, he saw emotions openly displayed on Nie Huaisang’s face. Shock first, then fear. Disbelief quickly followed, before he settled for a shining smile and happy tears and he fell to his knees, reaching out for Lan Xichen’s hands and holding them tight.

“Er-ge, I have so much to tell you,” Nie Huaisang sobbed, his smile growing wider.

Lan Xichen could only smile back, too choked up by emotion to say anything, clutching Nie Huaisang’s hands tightly.

Staying alive really wasn’t a bad thing, if he could get second chances like this.

#lan xichen #wen ning #nie huaisang #lan qiren #xisang #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #this fic is the precise reason why I decided to challenge myself to write some fluff this december #bc I realise I'd written a lot of intensely sad lxc and maybe it'd be good to balance it out with something lighter

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marlasomething · 3 years ago

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Jonmartin Week 2022 Day 2: I’ll Be Your Shelter

Hello there!

As said in previous one-shots of this week, I cannot see a "challenge" and let it go so...#Jonmartinweek2022 here we are! The idea is "forcing myself" to write piece of under 1K in different universes, hope @jonmartinweek enjoy my teeny tiny contributions!

This was written for the prompt of day 2: I'll Carry You/Chronic Pain and it is set in an AU universe in which Sasha is The Archivist (and, if anyone is interested, poor Rosie is the one taken by the Not-Them), at some point in between S3 and S4; so...after The whole Circus deal.

Also: I will try to end all one-shots with the line of the finale "One way or another. Together", let's see how that goes (this once it hadn't been that precise, sorry).

As usual, do please forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

AO3 edition!

Here more fics in this universe!

Whole week Masterlist!

They hadn’t burnt alive, not exactly. They had been torn into pieces, killed by the implosion, by the poisonous air filled with carbon monoxide, the fire itself and every single object that had stuck inside of them, making themselves a home in their body as if they had been a puzzle with malleable free spaces.

There was no way of sugar coding it, it had hurt like hell and it had been far more brutal that they could have ever envisioned.

However, it had been their only choice, or that was what they had decided to bet on. When the moment to end the Circus had come…they had known, whomever was at the centre of it was going to die, and Sasha needed a human anchor, if they didn’t want her to become like one of those things of the Alexandria statement; at least, that what they believed.

Tim was the closest to her; he was extremely mad at her at the moment, yes. And his reasons were more than legitimate (if only, taken a bit too far; Martin reckoned, as he touched his previously white freckled skin, now a rosy mess barely human covered by a grey thread he’d rather not think about too much -or at all, if possible-), but he was still the one she would rely better on. Therefore, he could not die and, when push came to shove, Jon and him…they…they could just not let the other go.

And, now, both suffered the consequences of having been far more appreciated than they were comfortable with by The Mother of Puppets; brought back, but not entirely themselves.

However, they were not letting go of what make them them so easily, their decision being turned into the punishment of still being completely human for certain things.

Among them, the need of sleep.

And pain memory.

That was why, in the middle of the night, either one or both of them woke up, sweating, as they felt skin and muscle being stretched until the point of fracture due to heat, kinetic energy pushed towards them and pure pressure; as they desperately wanted to want to reach for the other, but it just hurt too much to even properly worry, to care about anything but pain.

And wishing not to die; they had many things they weren’t proud of in order of surviving before; lied, cheated (even themselves); all in order to get where they wanted. Even when it hadn’t been a selfish wish, they had known, deep down, that it hadn’t been right, not properly. But this had been the biggest of their regrets, this inability to actually care the very least for the other one.

Still…at the very end, seconds ago from a last yet not at all reassuring breath, they had chosen to embrace each other tighter.

I’ll be your shelter.

Martin is not certain who had said so, but he didn’t truly mind, it had been enough to part in peace; or it would have been; if they hadn’t become part of a pact they hadn’t asked for.

Or, perhaps, they actually had, with their actions, without realising it. Had they already been puppeteering on their own particular mundane way or had they already lost all Free Will before the Web had even properly decided to make them hers?

Had they ever had it?

The man wasn’t going to think about it know, though; as he was being awakened by Jon’s moans, as he tried to scratch the side of his face that had lost all recognisable features.

Martin wouldn’t lie to himself: he had thought the finger Jude Perry had been able to get hold of before Sasha could completely move away her hand after refusing a final handshake with The Desolation Avatar looked nasty.

His partner’s face…it made said finger seem more pleasant to stare at than Velazquez’s La Fragua de Vulcano. Not that he was any better himself, though.

But, at least, he didn’t felt his heart breaking, filled with gilt, every time he laid eyes on a mirror.

Perhaps, if he hadn’t tried to approach a man that had always been quite hostile to him, if he hadn’t asked for help on that case, if they hadn’t got trapped together back then, when everything had been just creepy statements, a workmate pinning on the boss and a Superior Boss that was very good at pretending being the most mundane creature in History of Humankind…

…and yet, he would never regret having the other man next to him right now He could never.

As Jon became completely conscious, though still clearly hurting; Martin took away the man’s own hands from his face as a spider starting trying to replace the now almost expected cobwebs where he had torn them apart.

“Ey, I’m here… just slip me on. I’ll be your blanket” those weren’t his words, but they were just perfect to ease Jon as the ghost pain start growing duller, staying just as a background noise in his head.

“Uh…Martin…” he muttered, words were an effort, as his tongue slip though the remains of his lips. “I woke you up…sorry.”

Martin cracked a soft laughter, more honest that he would have ever believed possible.

“It isn’t exactly as if we hadn’t change positions more than once, hadn’t we”? he leaned towards him, held his hands in a softer, more caring yet less worried manner and kissed him, tenderly. “Want to stay awake? I know you love to criticize Sky History documentaries.”

“And what about resting?”

“Our boss is on a coma. Our other boss is a Machiavellian villain and a regular ass too. Also, tea heals everything.”

“Of course you would say that” a smile started to attempt to make its appearance in Jon’s face.

“Any trouble with that?”

“Never. I’d never have any trouble with any of your… quirks. I love you” and, as much as they had lied (and were going to continue doing so); in that moment Martin knew no one had ever being that honest with him.

Just as he was, bare seconds after.

“I love you too. One way or another, I will always love you.”

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buckyownsmylife · 4 years ago

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Catch me - Tom Hardy smut

The one where you’re Tom’s neighbor and he comes to your place after he’s locked out of his house on a rainy night. Requested by anon. + Dry Humping also requested by different anon ask

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, cursing

A/N: okay, so here it is! My Tom Hardy requested smut! I’d also like to announce that I’ll be attempting to partake in this years’ Kinktober, and this is my first fic, fulfilling the prompts dry humping + face sitting. I’ll post the list of prompts I created for myself, along with the characters they are paired up with, a bit later. I also say “attempting” because I actually had a pretty bad accident last night and I’m still unable to do regular things like sitting or walking, so it’s been a struggle to get this done. If in anyday I am unable to write, I won’t force myself to do it. But that’s all, please enjoy this fic and let me know what you think of it! My requests are now empty, so feel free to send me any ideas you might have - I can either integrate them in one of my fics for the kinktober challenge or work on them in November.

Tom’s P.O.V.

I had watched with only partly concealed interest as the new neighbor slowly grew more comfortable at her place right next door to me. At first, it truly was just a slight curiosity founded in my observation of just how beautiful she was. But then, one day, right after she moved in, she caught me staring, and opened up the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. Just like that, I was stuck with a teenage-boy crush that left me blushing and stuttering every single time she so much as looked my way.

If there was one thing people knew about me, was that I was not the blushing, stuttering type.

But things only got worse as time went on. She turned out to be just the perfect neighbor, usually coming around to offer me cookies or other baked goods precisely when I needed it the most.

“How do you always know when I’m feeling down or hungry, sweetheart?” I even ended up asking as I accepted yet another tray of brownies from her tiny hands. Her sweet little giggle went straight to my pants, instantly hardening my severely ignored member.

“It’s not that hard to figure out, Tom. Anytime you get back home this late, I can pretty much assume you barely had anything to eat all day, and it’s very clear you won’t have the energy to whip up anything right now.” My eyebrows raised up at her comment, but before I could satiate my curiosity, she quickly added, “And before you ask, no, I don’t spend my life looking out of the eyehole, you just have pretty loud steps when you’re tired, I can easily hear from my living room when you walk the hallway during the evening.”

Chuckling, I nodded, granting her that. I knew that she meant no harm, but I couldn’t help but to feel embarrassed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll try to be more mindful next time.” Her eyes widened at my apology, and she immediately waved my words away, clearly mortified by the fact that I had interpreted it as a complaint.

“Gosh, Tom, no, that’s not what I… Please, don’t worry about it. I’m just a terrible insomniac, and I have good ears. It’s not like you’re waking me up every time you come home or anything. That would be a bummer, but also highly improbable, since I’m a very heavy sleeper…” I had come to understand that she was very capable of maintaining a conversation completely by herself, but everytime she took notice of it, she scrambled to get out of my sight. I figured someone in her life must have told her she talked too much, but personally, I’d do anything to witness her little monologues at least a bit more. She just seemed so interesting, and selfless despite the constant stream of consciousness that poured out of her lips whenever she was nervous.

I liked knowing I made her nervous. It made me feel less terrible about wanting to know more about her. Did that make me a creep? Hell, probably. But I couldn’t pretend like I gave a damn. I felt this inexplicable attraction to her, her personality and body, and that was it. I wanted to uncover what it was about her that had me so engrossed.

And one night, the opportunity presented itself to me. I had gone out of my car in a hurry because of the rain that had decided to pour all over the city and didn’t look like it was stopping any time soon, so I only noticed that I had locked my keys on the trunk of the car when I was already in front of my own apartment’s door, dripping all over the hallway.

Fuck, that was just so typical of me. Why did I even bother to get my backpack out of the car, when I was already arriving home close to midnight and would be back at work early in the morning? It wasn’t like I would have the time to use my computer or anything.

Sighing, I ran a wet hand over my face in an effort to figure out my next move. Obviously I would need to get someone to open my car for me, but in the middle of the night, it’d be hard to know who would come. It would definitely be easier to find someone in the morning, and I could very well get an Uber to some cheap motel and spend the night there.

I was about to do just that when suddenly the door behind me opened, and a delicious smell of lasagna filled my nostrils, making me aware of just how hungry I was. “Tom?” Her sweet, sweet voice instantly calmed my tense muscles, making me open a smile at the sight of her despite the series of events I had just lived through. “Is something wrong?”

A low chuckle escaped my lips at the awareness of just how pathetic my situation was, but there was no real humour in my tone. I looked down at my wet shoes before gathering the courage to look her in the eye again, giving her a small smile. “I locked myself out,” was all I said, and before I could even further explain my situation, her eyes had widened and she was reaching out to me, holding me by my wrist and pulling me inside of her place.

“You poor thing. And right on the worst night for it to happen? Here, sit down while I go look for something you can change into. Wouldn’t want you catching a cold, would we?” I briefly considered offering some kind of protest, explaining how I intended to go spend the night in a motel, but the truth was, I didn’t want to. It was late, I was tired and I was really fucking cold and just by being in the close proximity of this beautiful creature, I already felt a little bit better, so I’d just shut up and wait to see how this would play out for me.

She came back with some sweatpants and a large cotton shirt, a bashful look on her face. “I bought these sweatpants from the male’s department because they’re usually comfier than the ones I find in the female department, they should fit you well.” I accepted the small bundle of fabric she offered, one eyebrow raised as I stared down at her in curiosity.

“What about the shirt?” I asked, and she blushed five different shades of pinks and reds, making her just that much cuter. It made me want to eat her whole, and the fact that she stood a few good feet under me didn’t help that at all. I knew I could break her so easily.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I felt like I could slap myself over how silly I was behaving over something so ordinary. Why would Tom care about me having an ex? It was only natural, it’s not like I was a blushing virgin nun who never did anything slightly out of the ordinary. Sex was ordinary. I’ve done it before. I’m sure Tom wouldn’t assume I hadn’t.

Oh, what am I saying? There’s no way he has even considered this subject when it comes to me. Why on Earth would he be thinking about my sexual past? What is going on with me? I feel like I’m going insane.

I could feel just how warm my face had gotten, but I still had some amount of pride in me to salvage the situation, so I managed to roll my eyes as I pushed Tom further inside my house, in the direction of my bathroom.

“You’re a smart man, you can figure out where the shirt came from.” His chuckle shouldn’t be so sexy, but what about this man wasn’t?

“That’s not the answer I hoped for.” And with that mysterious sentence, he locked himself in my bathroom and left me alone with my thoughts. Granted, most of them revolved around him, so I couldn’t really say I was that alone, but the lack of someone to talk to only meant that my mind was swirling and a lot of different things I shouldn’t be thinking about managed to dominate my head.

Just what did he mean by what he said? Could it be that he… No, of course not. There was no reason for him to be jealous of me. It’s not like he could possibly want me. Right?

I spent the entire time he was taking a shower stuck in the same pattern of thoughts, so much so that I didn’t even notice he had come back to the kitchen and was watching me from the doorway until he cleared his throat, making me jump out of my skin while carrying a plate full of very hot lasagna.

“Oh,” was all I said as I felt some of the sauce spill on my hand and my chest, some even managing to get on my face. But Tom’s rough ‘Shit’ brought a giggle to my lips, despite the discomfort of the slight burning sensation on my skin.

“‘M sorry, sweetheart. I thought you’d noticed me standing here.” While he assured me of his lack of intention to hurt me - as if I didn’t already know- he had grabbed the plate I was still holding onto and placed it on the counter, quickly procuring an already dirty rag and eagerly starting to clean me up, first my hand, and then…

Before he pressed the fabric to my chest, he looked up at me, his beautiful eyes catching mine and making me suck in a breath. “T-that’s alright,” I managed to get out, trying to look away from his hypnotizing gaze. “It doesn’t really hurt that bad. I think with a bit of cold water it might calm down.”

He nodded, agreeing with my words, but his gaze still searched mine for something I didn’t understand. “I sure hope so,” was all he said initially, his eyes finally dropping from mine to focus on the task at hand. “But I must say, I’m very disappointed.”

The comment puzzled me, rendering me useless for the time being. I could only tilt my head as I looked down at him, still crouching in front of me to clean my chest before he finally stood up on his full height and grabbed my face, gently engulfing it in one of those huge palms of his.

“I was really hoping that you were single, but I guess that would be expecting too much from the universe, considering how beautiful you are.” My eyes grew twice their normal size as I immediately tried to push him away and hide my face from his view, suddenly incredibly shy. But of course, he didn’t let me, instead pressing me against the counter and his very hard body, while he very carefully wiped away the few drops of sauce on my cheek.

For a few seconds, I let him work in silence, still trying to gather my nerves so I could say something. I should say something, shouldn’t I? I mean, here lies an opportunity that I never thought I’d experience, and here I was, being all silly about it. Finally, when he had at last finished slowly rubbing the rag against my skin, and seemed to be about to separate himself from me, I sprung into action, pulling him to me again by his forearms.

“I-I am,” that’s all I managed to say, immediately cringing at my own lack of social skills. “Single, I mean.” Very smooth. Well done, Y/N. But despite my stupidity, it seemed that I was able to achieve my intention, since my sentence made Tom finally get rid of the rag and hold my face between both of his hands now, his thumbs softly running over my cheekbones.

“Oh, is that so?” He breathed out against my skin, our lips inches away from one another, and I shivered against my best wishes. That reaction caused a predatory smirk to appear on his face, and I knew then and there that I was in way over my head. “Good to know,” he whispered, and then his lips were on mine, forcing me to accept his tongue, eating me whole.

He tasted like peppermint and coffee and I was already addicted to his taste, hoping to God I tasted as great to him as he did to me. At least, he didn’t complain. In fact, by the way he sucked on my tongue, forcing his deep inside my mouth, I’d go as far as to say that he did like what he tasted.

Before long, he had pulled me up on the counter, his hands holding me by my waist as his lips ventured from my mouth to my jaw, until they found a spot on my neck that made me gasp and hold his shirt tightly, and then he was sucking, rolling his tongue on the spot where I could already feel a bruise forming, before his teeth carved their own impressions on my skin, imprinting himself on me.

My head swirled with the force of the emotions bursting through me. My legs wrapped themselves around his strong body, and I was happy that my hands knew what to do when my mind hadn’t still managed to catch up to this turn of events. When his tongue came out to lick right over my collarbones, the response gasp he elicited from me came out sounding much more like a sob than anything else.

“You’re so sensitive, princess,” He teased me, still otherwise occupied with marking my skin as his. “I’ve barely even started and here you are…” His hands ran through the expanse of my body, like he was showing his proof to an audience. “... a mess already.”

He wasn’t wrong. I was somehow dripping already. I could feel it, dripping from inside of me, slowly ruining the panties I was wearing. They were so not appropriate for the activities I was currently partaking in, but how the hell would I have known this was going to happen?

All I knew was that Tom had lit the fire inside of me, and now the flames were threatening to swallow us both.

Tom’s P.O.V.

She was just too cute, so out of breath and trembling with desire with the little I’d done to tease her. It just made me want to ruin her even more. My little neighbor, so perfect and sweet, so needy for me.

She didn’t even realize she had started to grind herself against me, in search of some sort of release. Well, I wasn’t about to cut her off. Unstead, I took advantage of my grip on her, pulling her body until I was the one keeping her up, trapped between my body and the counter.

“Rub your tiny wet cut against my jeans, love,” I ordered in a demanding whisper right on her ear, making her shiver. She obeyed without any sort of hesitation, looking up at me underneath her eyelashes with her eyes glazed over with lust. “That’s it…” Fuck if the pressure wasn’t exactly what I needed to help ease up some of the tension from the need I was feeling in my veins. “Rub yourself against my hard cock, don’t be shy.”

My words seemed to be gasoline for her, giving her the push she needed to grind herself even harder against my bulge. I decided to help her, pushing her more firmly against the counter and following the movements, rejoicing in the pleasure gasp that escaped her lips as the added pressure provided more friction to her clit.

“Fuck…” She whispered, and I think that in the entirety of the four months of conversations I’d entertained with her, that was the first time I’d heard her cuss. The four letter word I was so familiarized with had a new, unexpected effect on me, making the situation inside my pants so difficult I had to stop my movements and slow hers down by her hips, so I wouldn’t just jizz on my pants like a fucking teenager.

But Y/N didn’t stop, despite accepting my silent request to decrease the fervor of our activities. When I finally managed to get control over myself again, I realized why. She had gripped the counter behind her and was using it to better control her movements, and it was clear by the way her head hung back and her mouth fell open that she was about to cum just like that.

“Shit,” I cussed just as the realization hit, and it felt like all of the control I’d managed to build in the last few seconds I closed my eyes had suddenly escaped through the window. My cock was painfully hard again, and all I could think of was that I needed to get out of these fucking jeans.

Who could blame me, though? When she looked like that, creaming her panties with her clothes still on? Shit, I couldn’t wait to get her naked and underneath me. I needed to feel her from the inside, explore her wetness with my hard cock.

But first, I was desperate to get a taste of her. So as soon as her breathing came back to a somewhat regular pattern, I was careful to put her on the ground again, making sure she was able to stand on her own legs, before dropping to my knees in front of her.

“What are you… Oh.” I couldn’t help but to chuckle at the innocence of her mind that stopped her from immediately understanding what I intended to do, but then I was pushing her skirt up and away from my view and her panties were in front of me and they were drenched, absolutely ruined by the sticky liquid that made my mouth water.

“Fuck, princess…” I moaned as I carefully peeled the cotton fabric down her legs, keeping it pooled around her ankles as I pushed her legs open as far as they could go. She was dripping, a single line of her wetness connecting both of her thighs, making me groan at the sight. “You might just kill me…” I commented before reaching up to pull her to me, effectively burying my face on her.

“T-Tom!” The sound of my name escaping her lips with that reverent tone left me even hungrier for her, as did her exquisite taste. It painted my tongue with its sweetness, embedding itself in my cells, making sure I’d never be able to forget it. I already knew I’d be hungry for her again the second I pulled away from her cunt.

Nonetheless, I forced myself to stop for a moment to gather my senses, as her taste made it harder and harder to control my need to relieve my aching member. I needed to be inside of her, and quickly.

Abruptly rising up to my full height, I picked her up by the back of her thighs so she’d wrap her legs around me and took us to where I’d assumed her bedroom would be, considering I was familiarized with the general layout of the apartments. The second I laid her on the bed, my hands were struggling with my own belt, as I watched her pull her dress over her head, now completely bare before me.

“You’re so fucking hot.” When my pants dropped to the floor and my cock slapped my lower stomach, I pounced on her immediately, crawling on the space between her legs and pulled her by the back of her neck to connect our lips once more. “Do you want to be railed tonight, pretty neighbor?”

She fucking whimpered in response, repetitions of “yes” and “please” escaping her lips as she tried to pull me closer to her by the legs she embraced me with. Not having it in me to stop this moment any longer, I gripped my member with one of my hands while I held her hips down with the other, briefly rubbing the blunt head of my cock over her sensitive clit before pushing myself completely inside of her.

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned, blindsided by the tightness, wetness and warmness that now surrounded me. “I knew your cunt would be fucking delicious.” I watched her as I pulled out until just my tip was inside of her, only to push it back in as forcefully as I could.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her hands flew up to hold my shoulders, almost as if she wanted to push me away or tell me to take it easy, but as her legs continued to pull me even deeper inside, I knew what she really needed was to be properly fucked.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Tom was not exaggerating; he really did pound me against my mattress, immediately setting up the most brutal of paces. It hurt, especially with how much he was stretching me, but it felt too fucking good to complain about it.

The only thing I could do was to relax and accept this invasion, this possession of my body by my next-door neighbor. I knew I must have been quite a vision, my arms thrown up in search of something to hold on to, spit escaping the corner of my lips by the intensity of the thrusts, my breasts shaking as he pulled me back to meet his thrusts by my hips. I hoped I’d have some bruises on the shape of his fingertips to remember this night.

Not like I would ever be able to forget, anyway. Only a lunatic would expel the visions of Tom looking like this while fucking them, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, the sweat gathering over his eyebrows. I wanted to kiss it away. I wanted to taste its saltiness.

Just as my head began to twirl in time with the growth of arousal in my lower belly, Tom’s eyes travelled upwards from the point where his cock was buried inside of me to find my breasts, one of his hands immediately following suit. When his pull on my nipple was accompanied by the feeling of his warm mouth engulfing the other one, I screamed as I came all around him, my head thrown back and eyes closed as I relished in the feeling of being so perfectly filled, so perfectly touched.

“Fuckin’ tight.” Tom fucked me through my orgasm, but at the sight of my eyes blinking back open, he pulled out, easily manhandling me into turning around and rising on all fours. “This fucking ass… Do you have any idea how long I dreamt about fucking you like this?”

I didn’t know how, but his words and the way his huge hands sprawled over the cheeks of my butt reignited the flames that had just been fed, and I found myself pushing back against him, offering myself up to him. Anything to get his cock inside of me again.

“Please…” I all but begged, and I heard his breath hitching behind me. “Just… please keep fucking me.” Perhaps that was all that he needed, because in a second his cock was tearing me open again, so fucking deep that I could feel it in my stomach.

“Fuck… If I had known how it would look to have my little perfect neighbor begging for my cock, I would have fucked you ages ago.” Every single thing that came out of that man’s mouth was like sin. He wrapped my hair around his fist, suddenly using it to pull me back to him as he raised one of his legs to the mattress, the new angle making each of his thrusts hit that spot inside of me that made everything just a little more satisfying.

I could feel tears running down my cheeks, falling on my spread out hands as I struggled to keep breathing through his assault on my senses. “Are you gonna cum again, love?” I could hear him asking, and I wanted to answer, I really did, but every time I opened my mouth, only sobs came out. “Are you? Here, let me help you out.”

The feeling of his rough fingers softly caressing my clit was such a stark contrast to the way he was still brutally pounding into me that instead of trying to push him away from my much too sensitive lower region, I opened my eyes in surprise as another orgasm took over me, somehow even stronger than the previous ones.

“Yeah, that’s it… Fuck. Come for me, sweetheart. Wanna feel your cunt milking my fucking cock.” His words did nothing to help ease my arousal, and just when my arms started to give out, I felt him spilling inside of me. “FUCK!” He shouted, following my body’s motions until he was covering me with his own torso, still very much inside of me.

His thrusts finally coming to a stop after he had slowly fucked his cum inside of me, I felt his thumbs caressing my hips as I remained face planted on my mattress. “Well, this isn’t how I expected this night to go, but I can’t say I’m not satisfied.”

A snort was all I could give him as he finally pulled out and allowed his body to fall by my side, giving me a quick kiss on the shoulder that was closer to him. “You ok?” He asked, and I snorted again.

“More than okay. You still haven’t eaten though.” It was the truth. After all of this… incredible distraction from my cooking plans, he still hadn’t gotten around to eat dinner. I heard him take a deep breath next to me as he pondered his answer.

“Really? ‘Cause I remember eating some very delicious pussy a few minutes ago.” It took me a few minutes to process what he had said, but when I did, I turned around to playfully hit his chest while feeling my face warm up from the reality of what we had just done.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re hot.” And when he put it in such simple terms, as he pulled me in his arms so that I could cuddle his chest, how could I feel embarrassed?

#tom hardy #smut #tom hardy smut #my fics #tom hardy reader #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fics #tom hardy one shot #tom hardy oneshots #tom hardy fic #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy y/n #tom hardy writing #tom hardy imagine

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joiedecombat · 4 years ago

Note

💕 🎁

💕 favorite ship to write?

Squall Leonhart and Rinoa Heartilly from Final Fantasy VIII, my original fandom OTP. I’ve probably written more about them than any other fic, and though it’s been a hot minute since I’ve written anything new for FFVIII, Squall and Rinoa and their relationship dynamic have left a permanent mark on my writing - especially Squall, who is eveything I love in a romantic hero.

By which mostly I mean “aloof, stoic professionalism on the outside, utter emotional garbage fire in need of rescue on the inside.”

🎁 have a quote from a WIP?

I batted back and forth with myself for a while on how deep to dig into my files of unfinished fiction and whether to stick to fanfic or not, considering that how much any of my WIPs can really be said to be in progress is always pretty dubious.

Anyway, here’s two different and unrelated excerpts for you.

“Why make the suggestion in the first place if you’re so against it?”

Because I’m not strong enough.

The answer rested on the tip of his tongue, too bitter to swallow. As much as this whole situation galled him, fact remained fact: he lacked the influence, not to mention the manpower, that it would take to challenge Juliano directly.

He’d grit his teeth and send this woman into the trenches, knowing full well what he was sending her to, because like it or not he needed the opportunity she could give him.

But some things a man in his position couldn’t admit to out loud. Especially not to a woman with eyes like Elizabeth Colvin’s.

This one’s from “Reason or Rhyme,” the Gotham Memoirs Vittorio fic I swear I will get back to when I have the chance.

The other is from an older original piece that is still more conceptual than really planned, but which I still really want to do something with one of these days:

Keeping herself propped up suddenly seemed like far too much effort. As the car’s drivers side door swung open, Raine sank back down onto the corrugated surface of the truck bed and closed her eyes. From there she heard rather than saw him approach, steps light and measured, the long shadow he cast in the headlights flickering against her eyelids: the central figure of all the problems she’d tried to forget.

“Warden.”

“Special Agent.”

She’d hoped to sound as calm and dispassionate as he had, but to her own ears her voice just sounded petulant. Saying anything else seemed like a bad idea. Instead she kept her eyes shut, as though if she didn’t acknowledge him any further, he might go away and leave her alone.

No such luck.

“What the hell have you been drinking,” he said with a flatness in that rich voice that made it not so much a question as a demand for explanation.

“Two for one margaritas, mostly.”

She opened one eye to find Alsandír standing at the side of the truck, looking down at her. In the stark backlight of the headlights, he was all sharp contrasts, silver and shadows like some kind of moody artistic photograph in a style there was probably a fancy name for. Chiaro… chiaroscuro. Something Italian like that.

He drew in a slow breath, the line of his jaw shifted fractionally as the corners of his mouth tightened. “With incredibly cheap tequila, by the smell of it. You are in no shape to drive.”

“A very astute observation,” Raine enunciated the words with great care to keep her mouth from stumbling over them like it wanted to. “That’d be why I’m not driving.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“So your solution is to spend the night out here?” he asked, a note of incredulity creeping into his tone. “Because that’s safe.”

“Oh, go away,” she muttered sourly, closing her eyes again and lifting a hand to flap it in his direction. “Nobody asked you.”

Her arm caught up short against his palm, and he closed his hand around her wrist -- not a tight grip, but trying to tug free of him proved fruitless. By the time Raine opened her eyes to frown at him, he was already moving around to the tailgate, pulling her up and along with him until her feet touched the ground and she was sitting nominally upright.

“Hey,” she protested, but he gave no indication that he’d heard.

“Can you stand?”

Insulted, she hissed a breath out through her teeth. “I’m not that drunk.”

He said nothing to that. He just stood there, watching her with that too-steady gaze, inhumanly still except for the barest ruffle of the breeze over his hair. Expectant.

With a half-voiced grumble of capitulation, Raine braced her hand against the tailgate and pushed herself the rest of the way up so that she could sit on her own. It wasn’t standing, but it seemed to satisfy him, because he let go of her wrist and took a single, precise step back.

“Where are your keys?” he asked her.

She patted her hand against the hip pocket of her jeans, not so much by way of an answer as to reassure herself that she hadn’t done something stupid like leave them in the ignition. The hard edges of the keyring pressed back against her palm, unyielding and familiar. She had just enough time to think that if he meant to take her keys from her, it was going to be a fight, before he said “Good,” and turned away.

Raine sat on the tailgate and watched as he went back to his car, moving around to the passengers’ side to open the door. Her mind felt thick and sluggish, like the summer humidity had crept into her head; when he turned back towards her and said, “Get in,” at first she only blinked.

“...No thanks,” she decided after a moment, and heard him breathe out a quiet sigh.

“I’m not leaving you out here like this.”

Something about the absoluteness in his voice, like he was saying something that had already been decided, had her bunching up her shoulders with rebellious tension.

“Go to hell,” Raine shot back. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Dios mío, it’s not an order--” He broke off with a hiss, for once sounding as aggravated as she felt.

Curling her arms around herself, she hunkered down to rest her forearms against her knees and looked down at the ground. Presently she heard his steps on the gravel again. The distorted length of his shadow split the flood of light from the headlights like a knife as he walked back toward her; even when he stood right in front of her, close enough that if she kicked out it would catch him right about in the kneecap, she kept her head bowed and glowered at the toes of his no-doubt-designer shoes.

“Raine. I am asking you. Please.” The word sounded awkward in his mouth, as though it were something he wasn’t accustomed to pronouncing. Surprise had her lifting her head to find those pale eyes fixed upon her, implacable. “Get in the fucking car.”

For a long, taut moment, neither of them moved. Raine was the one to finally break eye contact, uncurling herself with a little huff.

“Fine,” she said, “if you’re going to make this much of a thing out of it.”

She gripped the end of the tailgate with both hands, but as she pushed herself off and onto her feet, the ground tilted dizzily underneath her. Off balance, she pitched forward with a very undignified sound, and would’ve planted her face right into his chest if he hadn’t caught her by the shoulders.

Catching the upward quirk of his eyebrow, Raine glared up at him. “Shut up.”

“Mm,” he said, and hitched a steadying arm around her by which to steer her towards his car.

#time princess #gotham memoirs #vittorio puzo #southern gothic urban fantasy procedural romance #fanfic #ask meme #aliboo

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nekoannie-chan · 5 years ago

Text

The night we met

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Reader.

Word count: 1674 words.

Summary: Something went wrong in the last mission, something that completely changed his life, Brock doesn’t know how to overcome what happened and continue with his life.

Warnings: Some smut references, death of a character, nothing explicit.

A/N: Flashbacks are in italics.

This is my entry to @imma-new-soul ‘s Jay’s 550 followers writing challenge and to @angelinathebook ‘s Lena’s 300 followers writing challenge with the song prompt #1 y #5:

“The night we met” by Lord Huron.

Also is my entry to @ugh-supersoldiers‘s Gracey’s 5K Challenge with prompt #6:

“If you could feel what I feel when you walk into the room, everything about ‘us’ would change”.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

I am not the only traveler

Who has not repaid his debt

Brock was sitting on the floor, he saw the bottle in front of him, and there were also the photos, some of which were taken at your wedding, many of your dates, others of special moments in your relationship.

He knew that at the time he should not get drunk, he had another obligation that needed him, but it was very difficult to continue with that pain.

It hurts so badly, he didn't know how he was going to get over it, he didn't feel able to continue, he was very angry because everything changed, the plans that you had now made no sense.

It supposed you will be old together, you were going to have several children and they would see they grow up, but Werner von Strucker came to ruin all the plans, even though they had captured him, it wasn't enough, he wanted revenge, he needed to make he pays for destroying his family, but his teammates wouldn't let him, they claimed he would pay, however, they didn't understand what you meant to him. , nothing would be enough to make up for what had taken away from him.

I've been searching for a trail to follow again Take me back to the night we met

He could remember in great detail how you knew each other, both had entered as recruits for S.H.I.E.L.D.

You used to be away from the rest of the recruits, almost always alone, you seemed very shy, he used to always be chatting with one of his teammates.

That's precisely what caught Brock's eye on you, he didn't understand why someone as beautiful as you wouldn't want to draw attention.

He felt lucky when he touched them on the same team in the first practice.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you introduced yourself by extending your hand.

"Brock Rumlow," he replied by holding your hand.

You were a great team, you always gave the best results.

The first time he asked you for a date, he'd never felt so nervous before, for a moment he thought you were going to turn him down, he walked into the office you were working on to invite you in.

"Do you want to go to the fair?” He invited you.

"With you?” You asked distractedly.

“Yes... Well... forget it, never mind,” he retracted.

You blinked a little, you finally understood what Brock had asked you.

"I'd love to, as long as it's just you and me," you answered.

He smiled a little, the nerves were gone.

"Only you and me, Saturday at seven o'clock, I pick you, okay?”

"Perfect.”

And then I can tell myself What the hell I'm supposed to do

He looked up a little more, in a chair, was the first stuffed animal he had given you, the face you had put in made it worthwhile, it had been a successful first date.

"Do you want some of those stuffed animals?" he asked when you walked past one of the stands.

"Do you know how to play it? I'm too bad for those games," you said.

You stopped in front of the post and paid.

"Which stuffed animal do you want?" he questioned.

"That dog," you pointed out.

Never before had he felt so pressured to win a prize, he played and won it, he immediately gave it to you, you looked like a little girl.

"Thank you, you're very skillful," you thanked him.

You kissed him, you barely grazed his lips, but that was enough for him.

And then I can tell myself Not to ride along with you

Your kisses, he was going to miss them, your body, your caresses, everything from you.

He needed to know if you two were in a relationship to know how to behave, if it was just an adventure, would set aside your feelings.

"So what are we?” He asked.

"Aren't we in a relationship? I thought that...”

"We've never talked about it before..."Then I have to assume we're nothing or we can be in a relationship if that's what you want,” you figured.

He kissed you.

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

He felt it was all his fault what happened, he must have insisted that you stay at the Compound with Wanda that day, if he could return the time, he would prevent you from going on a mission.

You were lying in bed after making love, you had your face hidden in his chest, while he hugged you with one arm and with the other hand caressed your hair.

"Marry me," he said suddenly.

"Hmm?”

You raised your face, you weren't sure what you heard.

"I know it's not the most romantic way, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he continued.

You smiled, you passed a finger over his chest.

"Are you sure? I can be very unbearable," you answered.

“If you could feel what I feel when you walk into the room, everything about ‘us’ would change.”

You bit your lip, you knew he couldn't stand the intrigue.

"I don't think you're very convinced.”

"I am more than ever, do you want to be my wife?" he asked again.

"Yes, but only if you give me my engagement ring," you answered, laughing.

"I'll buy you the one you like the most," he promised.

He kissed you and you made love again.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met

He stroked his wedding ring with one finger, what was he gonna do now?

He saw your wedding photo, it was one of the happiest days of his life when he started thinking that he should do things right.

He took the picture, for him, you had been the most beautiful bride in the world in that dress.

Sometimes you used to dance to the song that had been your waltz at your wedding.

You were married for four months when he decided to tell you the truth.

"I have something to confess to you," he said out of nowhere.

You looked at him with doubt, even though you kept muddying the jam on the bread you were having for breakfast.

"Are you cheat on me?" you questioned trying to stay calm.

"What? No! I couldn't do that to you.”

"Ah... then it can't be worse,” you answered calmer.

"I'm HYDRA," he finally said.

You dropped the bread out of your hand.

"What? Oh... Brock...”

What were you supposed to do? You never suspected he was the enemy.

"If you ask me I'm going to confess everything to Fury, I don't want to lose you, first listen to me, there's a good reason for this...

You had heard and supported it, in the end as promised he confessed everything to Fury and even helped dismantle the organization enemies, yet many enemies had been gained.

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears

When you announced that you were pregnant, he immediately prevented her from going on more missions, he didn't plan on taking any chances, finally, he was having the family, he had always wanted.

One night you got up when you heard noises, they came from what would be the baby's room, when you walked in you saw Brock opening boxes with the furniture that would be in the room.

"Brock, isn't it very fast yet, I mean, I'm only three months old," you asked.

He turned to see you, he didn't think he was making so much noise.

"Everything must be ready by the time the baby gets here," he replied.

And when the little girl was born, he didn't care if they saw him crying, it was promised that he would protect his daughter from any danger.

Tears fell again when he remembers when the doctors told him that you were dead.

When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

“Brock…”

It hurts a lot, he crouched down to check your wounds.

“Y/N... wait... help is on the way," he said.

"I don't think...”

”Shh... everything will be fine, they're on their way," he repeated.

He was trying to stop the blood loss, but you'd already lost too much.

"I love you, tell our daughter that I love her too, please take care of her, take care of her, please, I’m sorry….”

He tried to keep you from talking to keep you from running out of energy.

The wait in the hospital had become eternal, as soon as he saw the doctor immediately rose.

"I'm sorry, they didn't make it," they informed him.

"Did they make it?" he asked.

The information was like a bucket of cold water.

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

You were three weeks pregnant, he couldn't help wondering why you hadn't told him yet, what he didn't know was that you were going to tell him the night that you came back from the mission.

He wiped away tears when he heard the door open.

"Daddy?" the little girl came into the room.

"Hey princess," he replied by opening his arms to get him closer.

The girl ran to hug him.

"Sorry, she got away," Wanda apologized coming in.

Brock beckoned her that he was fine.

"Mommy doesn't love me anymore?” The little girl suddenly asked.

"What? Why do you say that?” Brock questioned.

He had asked not to tell him anything that had happened, he wanted to explain it to him himself.

"She didn't come back," she replied.

"Your mommy loves you, do you remember Lucky?”

"Mom's dog? Yes, he liked me to give him my candies.”

"Mom and Lucky are together," Brock explained.

"In heaven?”

"Yes, from there they're going to take care of us," he continued.

"Why didn't she say goodbye? We're not going to the park on Saturday anymore?" the girls asked distraughtly.

Brock sighed, it was harder than he had thought, and he had been promised that all three would go on the weekend.

"In a little while we'll say goodbye to your mommy, don't worry, you and I are going to the park," he told her.

He got up and carried her, it was time to go to your funeral, it was going to be very difficult, he kept feeling that his world was collapsed, he would give everything to go back to the day he met you and avoid making all the mistakes, he would be able to do anything as long as you were alive.

However, he couldn't let himself be beaten, his daughter needed him.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Take me back to the night we met

#Jays550 #lenas300challenge #graceys 5k challenge #brock rumlow #brock rumlow x reader #brock fanfic #brock rumlow fanfic #brockrumlow #brockrumlow x reader #brockrumlow x y/n #brock rumlow x you #brock rumlow x t/n #mcu brock rumlow #rumlow x reader #rumlow x you #crossbones

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threewaysdivided · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! I'm currently fighting with writing, myself. My protags have a habit of getting away from me. Have any tales of your YJDW where the characters just... decide to take a narrative swing to the left when your outline clearly heads right?

Hi there!

So this particular problem isn't one I've had much of when it comes to the actual writing side, which I think is mostly down to my particular writing preferences.

On the scale of planning to pantsing I tend to fall very heavily on the planner side (I've joked about it before but I do actually have most of YJ:DW planned in a fair amount of detail right up to the ending). Partly because my brain just goes a lot faster than my hands can write/type out complete sentences, partly because I like to have a fairly complete idea of the final product before I start work, and partly because the way I naturally engage with things leans more towards analysis than storytelling (I mean, I have a whole dedicated tag for essays on my blog). There's also that, at least when it comes to fanfic I'd actually publish, yes I know that's just one right now I tend to want to have an idea/concept/emotion to explore and also an idea of how to bring it to a satisfying conclusion.

The long and the short of it is that, because I tend to do most of my story-crafting before I actually get to the prose, and because I often end up reverse-engineering/ puzzle-solving chunks of the story around an idea/scene/character moment I want to include, those kinds of characters-derail-the-story or story-takes-a-hard-left-turn moments tend to happen at the planning phase. I'll be looking back over a planned scene/plot and decide that something doesn't feel right or that I'm not sold that my version of the character would believably act like that in those circumstances, or some other part of my brain will pop up from below the desk and slap down a thought like "hey, have you considered that you could get to your goal in a completely different way by adding this idea?"

(Not to claim that any approach to writing is better than another - I have a lot of respect for the confidence, vision and sheer productivity it takes to set out on a long-fic with only a loose idea of where it's heading and the belief that the journey itself is worth it - but one thing I will say for planning is that is does lower the associated "costs" of making big story changes since it's a lot simpler/faster to change or shuffle dot points than to cut, add and rewrite huge swarths of prose not that I don't also do that in the writing phase for some chapters. It's a difference in preference; planner-style leans towards space for analysis during "preproduction" while pantser-style puts it in more at the edit.)

Usually by the time I get to actually writing things in story form I'm pretty comfortable that I've created a plotline/scenario where the characters will follow at least central thread of what's happening. More often what I get in terms of "going off script" is less derailing the scene and more like an actor deciding to ad-lib, improvise or play with a conversation during a take - they'll add a quip or get distracted by a related topic or decide to do something on the side or they might suddenly say something more insightful than originally planned.

Generally I'm okay with keeping this kind of stuff in so long as what they're saying/doing doesn't contradict, change or accidentally accelerate the story/their arc to a later stage that it's supposed to be at - it helps things feel a bit more naturalistic and if they're really going off-track I can always have other characters pull them back on topic, the same way it might happen in a real conversation.

So yeah, I won't say it doesn't happen but just the way I prefer to write means that it tends to happen less often and in smaller ways than for other people.

But that probably isn't super useful for helping with your writing-fighting so, without knowing the specifics, here are some things that could be useful.

Maybe consider stopping to do a little bit of analysis of your story:

Is there a idea(s)/concept(s) that your story is really about/ interested in exploring? Don't worry if what you come up with isn't super neat or precise, I still don't think I could give a fully comprehensive description of what YJ:DW is about in terms of "theme" or "message".

Who are you characters: what do they want, what do they need, what do they think they need, what is their take on the situation they're in, how do they see the world, how accurate/ biased is that worldview, what sort of things interest them and why, what insecurities/ phobias/ dislikes do they have and why, why do they act the way that they do?

What is the main purpose of this scene/plot point and what essential thing(s), piece(s) of information, interaction(s) need to be covered to serve that purpose?

If you stepped back from the needs of the story and just looked at these characters in the situation you've created, how do you feel they would act? Does it line up?

It also might be worth looking at what your protagonists/ characters end up doing in the moments when they try to derail your story, and seeing if you can figure out any potential reasons for why it might be feeling more natural/ the momentum might be stronger in that direction. They might be going "off script" but are they also going off point or are they heading towards the same/ a similar point in a different way than what you originally planned?

It could be that there's a conflict between what you want to have happen and what you've set up to have happen, and that reworking the scene or preceding scene(s) to better direct the characters based on how they've been established to react to things might get them to behave.

It also might be that some unconscious part of your brain has worked out a different route to the same goal and is trying to send you down that path. Or your brain could potentially have identified (or even misidentified) a pattern in the story/character(s) and is trying to communicate that to you through them. It could be that there's some contradiction between what you've established/have planned for the character(s)/story overall, and what's happening in the details of the specific scene that's causing them to break ranks. Sidenote: I just want to point out that this doesn't necessarily mean that what you had originally planned is somehow inherently "worse" or "wrong". Sometimes your brain might be defaulting toward what feels familiar from common tropes in the media you consume because "this is just what happens in these stories", or it might be trying to move a scene that is in some way challenging more towards your existing comfort zones as a writer. On a deeper level, asking "why does this feel correct to me" can also be useful.

Generally though, I think that your plan and your characters/story being out of step with each other is a bit like an indicator light on a car. As much as we like to enjoy the fantasy that these characters and worlds are real and separate from us and not fully under our control, and as much as stepping away from that can sometimes "kill the magic", it's worth stopping to pop the hood or stick our heads behind the curtain sometimes to make sure everything is working in sync and going in the direction it's meant to. Plus, you might learn some new things about your story/world/characters in the the process that end up being useful later.

Hope this helps!

#young justice: deathly weapons #characters #character misbehaviour #writing #story-crafting #writing advice #anonymous #3WD Answers #I have a pet theory that a lot of this kind of thing comes down to us as a species being geared towards pattern recognition #the phrase 'you might not have noticed it but your brain did' exists for a reason #I do wonder if sometimes this is our brains coming up with creative ways to flag a pattern or a devation from a patter #Or suddenly making an extrapolation/interpolation to fill in a gap based on the existing 'facts' of the world/story #In my case though usually it involves the characters getting a lot more quippy/snarky/silly than is needed by the plan #which is nice - it makes them feel more like actual people #I'm working on Chapter 18 and Wally & Sphere decided to have a quippy bit of back and forward in the middle of a tense scene #and it's funny so I'm probably going to keep it #I wish my writing stories were more fun to share but a lot of it is just me being a ~ neeeeerrrrrrd ~

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flyswhumpcenter · 5 years ago

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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. Green deltas are for requested prompts.)

Choo choo, the Sickfic Express has just arrived in Galar, straight from Oreburgh City!

First fic of 2020 is a sickfic oneshot. How rivetting. I've very recently beaten Pokémon Sword and loved it! I found myself really loving the characters, what they are and what they've already become in my mind, so I couldn't help myself but type what I know best... A sickfic. Also, this fandom needs more of this stuff, so here. I'm providing. Is this story OOC? Chances they are. Was it absolutely a blast to write? You bet. I'm probably gonna look back on it later down the lane and be uncomfortable with how I depicted the characters; but you do need to discover the characters first, and what better opportunity for that than a little sickfic with some angst and pre-rel dramatic tension? Anyway, I hope you'll like this lil' thing I busted out in literally a couple hours. I forgot how fun it was to write without worrying yourself over continuity or already established elements like in Earth Never Stops... Btw, this fic was originally requested to me as a FE3H fill for Hubert, so I decided I'd most likely use another square on my card for him. Sorry Nonnie for this, my inspiration got the best of me yet again!

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Candles in the Rain

Summary: Is feverishly staggering through the damp streets of Hammerlocke under the rain with very little hope to feel warmth again and even less sense of direction a fitting end for a former Champion now that he's been defeated once? Scratch that: he doesn't have the time or brain power remaining to process such a question. Or: Leon witnesses a miracle in the form of a little dog and a childhood friend.

Fandom: Pokémon Sword and Shield (post-canon/game: beware for spoilers) Relationships: Pre-relationship Leon/Sonia

Wordcount: 3.1K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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The streets of Hammerlocke are covered by a thick layer of rainwater, typical early winter in Galar. Nobody dares going against the terrible weather, which isn’t unlike the flooding that almost ate Kabu’s region of origin, or rather how he once described it based on bedtime stories, a couple thousand years ago. Honestly, after what Galar just went through, he can believe the tale to have been real all along, no issue there…

As always, he’s lost in the grand city of his main rival, and that frustrates him. He’s cold from the water having filled his shoes and wet his hair for hours and hours on end, not even the fire of the camp being able to make him feel warmer. If it wasn’t for his partners’ demands, urging him to stop camping in the wilderness and find a Centre already, he’d have surely stayed in the Wild Area and biked to a better spot. Ah, he misses Postwick, now. At least, he can’t get lost in Postwick, there’d be Hop and his now-Champion best friend, if not Sonia paying them all a visit, and there’d be the warmth of his childhood home… Gods, perhaps he does miss the peaceful life of a ten-year-old whose only contact to the Gym Challenge is dreams of grandeur.

Ah, if it didn’t rain so badly, Charizard could be warming the both of them as he tried to make his way to the nearest Centre.

Despite his best efforts to remain proud and confident, he ends up having to lean against a wall to stop a coughing fit from suddenly urging itself out of there. He must look pathetic and he does wish, deep down, that someone would get out of their house for a reason or another, recognize him like literally everybody in Galar; but his pride and brand would be on the line, and nobody is fighting against the terrible, terrible weather today. He’s all alone in the streets of the city, pushing himself from the wall with wobbly arms, trying his hardest to remember where to go with slow, hazy thoughts…

Even if he was cold merely moments before, his head now burns. He feels too hot under clothes that are wildly unfitting of such a muddy season, despite the hair rising on what is exposed of his arms. A Cramorant stole his jacket when he was training, a Linoone tried to steal his stuff, and he ended up having a Pokemon knocked out and losing most of his healing items in the kerfuffle. It really hasn’t been his day, lately…

His chest hurts. Not from the outside, as if he had injured himself in one of the falls he endured trying to feel from the Wild Area with no Pokemon to battle with and the slippery grass constantly trying to get the best of him, but from the inside. He doesn’t doubt the possible existence of bruises under the shirt that sticks to his limbs like a second, drenched skin; but this isn’t it. It intensifies when he coughs and it rattles strangely. When he tries to ignore the excruciating weather wishing for his demise, he hears the strange sounds his breathing now makes. He doesn’t know them so, in a moment of out-of-character lack of reason, he gets scared of them and vaguely wonders about worst-case scenarios.

It isn’t just his chest either. It’s his throat, it’s his mouth, it’s his feet, it’s his legs. Everything in his body is tired and screaming for rest, but he cannot provide it for any of his own self at the moment, stuck trying to navigate with what little he can distinguish with almost-closed eyes from how much he has to squint. His eyes can’t focus anymore, this much he realizes with a bitter sense of resignation, so everything he sees is blurry, including the weird gooey stuff he keeps coughing out whenever he can’t breathe anymore and has to stop for who knows how long.

He trips over his own unmade shoe tie, losing in one fell swoop what was left of his balance, and falls right into the rainwater that has accumulated on the ground. It sounds and looks and feels like it’s the end, that this is where his journey ends: in some damp street of a city that he has never been able to find his way in, alone, cold and hot at the same time, rain burying him with the rest of the pavement. Not that he even thinks he has the energy to go on… Not like that. Not when his strength, the only thing he thought he had left, has all but given up on him too. Truly alone in a time where, sitting against a giant wall, he realizes what has been going on and poisoning his breath. Hah, ironic.

Still, this isn’t how he should admit defeat. He’s been won over now, and recently at that, and it’d be more than a shame for him to all but give up now. He needs to bring his team to the Centre, he can’t not try taking his revenge on the new Champion, he can’t not at least prove his superior battle skills to Raihan yet again, he just can’t leave Hop, and Sonia, and everyone else like that…

So he rises up once again, on weak arms and unsteady legs, almost tripping over himself, shoulder stuck against the wall. He won’t let this be the end of him.

Even with a new resolve, it still doesn’t make it much better for him. Unless there’s a miracle happening right before him, he’s stuck with his heavily weakened state trying to find a place whose location he has no idea. His phone doesn’t seem to be able to show a map, its signal disturbed after whatever happened to it while he was looking or doing the polar opposite, so he’s stuck with his truly inefficient sense of orientation.

But it’ll be okay. It’ll have to be okay, because he needs to see Hop become a Professor, to buy Sonia’s new book, to rematch the Champion and his Leader friends, to give his team at least one more chance to shine. It’ll be okay, surely it’ll be okay, of course it’ll be okay… It’ll be okay, because this is all a terrible nightmare he’s going to wake up from, where he isn’t stuck in the torrential rain with a fainted party and very little hope of finding way out.

It’ll be okay, oh so okay…

He tumbles and falls over again, this time hitting the ground with no grace whatsoever, most likely scratching elbows and knees in the process. Even rising his head up as not to cough in water when a fit claws at his throat again takes most of the energy he has left, only for his blurry sight and cottoned-down hearing to spot the first good thing in who knows many hours: a familiar yelp and vague brown-and-yellow figure rushing towards him.

With a trembling and feeble hand, he tries reaching out to the Yamper who has guided him so many times out of dangerous situations, only for an oh so familiar voice to yell in his direction. Still, it’s hard to know if it’s real or just his imagination. Ah, well; he’ll have to see when he’ll have woken up. If he even wakes up from the darkness starting to invade his vision…

“Yamper, where in the world are you running like that?!” This creature never stops running, doesn’t it? “Yamper, wait for me!”

If she’s used to her trusty furry assistant running around everywhere it goes and pursuing it, Sonia has to notice there’s something odd in the air. Yamper never goes this fast, especially not in a city where it could smash muzzle first into people. There’s an urgent feeling to its yelps as it runs in one precise direction.

As suddenly as Yamper started running when she had just gone out of the vault to investigate a little bit more into the Galar mythos she had become a specialist of, it stops right in its tracks in a little street she’s frankly never seen nor noticed before. With how much it’s raining and how unlikely it is to stop pouring soon, she doesn’t want the both of them out for much longer than needed.

She stops to regain her breath, hands on her knees as she folds in two, wet red hair hanging from her head. Yamper stays in place, running around her in circles, then disappearing from her view into the old, little street covered in rain and shadows. It doesn’t seem to have any intent on leaving soon.

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“Why did you… bring me here…? Seriously, it’s raining Growlithes and Purrloins…!”

Still, Sonia gets herself together and goes on to follow her “assistant”. There’s dread building in her chest and stomach that she can hardly ignore… She’s seen enough movies as a teenager to know where this is going. She’s going to end up tangled into some messed-up situation, isn’t she…?

Her heart skips a beat when she notices a very familiar person lying face down on the pavement, drenched to the bone. A person who hasn’t given her any response or sign of life for a few days.

Someone who’s gotten lost in Hammerlocke again.

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When he wakes up, everything feels different than the last time he’s been awake. It’s all white, dry and soft. He stills feels too hot and too cold, breathing remains a chore and he wishes he wasn’t there anyway; but he supposes he’s now safe and, honestly, he can’t think of anything much worse than treading through the torrential rain with little strength left.

Now, if he knew what the thing on his face was, he’d be doing a bit better, but his arms feel like they’re made out of lead and he lacks the energy to rise them to his mouth and at least touch it…

“Leon?”

The voice, even if it’s muffled, is undoubtedly Sonia’s. He can’t quite put a finger on why exactly, yet he feels like this confirms something. If his chest didn’t feel so heavy and full, he’d have sighed in relief. That doesn’t prevent him from coughing again when trying to respond to his own name.

“Let me do the talking, okay? I’m sure you have a metric ton of questions to ask, but for the love of Galar, spare your voice unless necessary.”

Now that his vision is focusing again, he notices both the pipe inserted in his wrist and the frown on her face. She seems less than content with something. What, he doesn’t quite know, and thinking hurts his head even further than it already bothers him, heavy on his neck despite resting on a pillow. Speaking of which, where is his stuff? His clothes?

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sonia rises from her chair and puts her hands on his chest, putting him back into his mattress. “You stay here and don’t cause anyone any worry more than you’ve already done!”

He’s confused as to why she’s so adamant on him not doing anything. No speaking, no moving… If he didn’t feel this drained and lethargic, he’d absolutely get back at her with playfulness. Well, that does kind of answer his own question, doesn’t it? Or, at least, it seems to make sense to his brain which has troubles keeping up with the situation…

Yet, he sees a small smirk contrast with her frowned eyebrows. She seems… pained. Pained by what, or who, he doesn’t know; he’s most likely at least partially responsible for it, because she wouldn’t be there otherwise.

“I don’t know how you’ve ended up in that situation exactly, Leon, but you’ve managed to surpass yourself in terms of putting yourself in harm’s way. You’ve scared us before, but not to that extent!”

“I…” His voice sounds hoarse and it absolutely feels that way. “It’s complicated…”

“Your entire party was fainted, safe for Charizard who was about to follow; you somehow bricked your phone in the process and ended up catching more than a death of cold. Where were you during all that time?!”

Sonia sounds a bit too scared for someone who’s facing her childhood friend stuck in a bed.

“The Wild Area…”

“That’d explain why you were soaked to the bone when I found you lying in a puddle… You’ll have to excuse me for using that crude language, you scared everyone on that one!”

It’s his turn to ask a little question, even if the state of his body makes him want to remain quiet. Still, no matter how intelligent she is, Sonia doesn’t read minds, so he’s somewhat forced to go through with it if he wants his answers.

“Where are we?”

“A clinic in Hammerlocke. I forgot to add you also scared the ER staff with how bad your breathing was.” Has to be that irritating wheezing sound he’s hearing since he’s woken up. “By the way, since I know you’re going to ask me about that, your team is safe and doing much better now. They’re all gently resting in their balls while you recover.”

He misses Charizard and everyone else already. He owes them a big apology, that’s for sure, but he’s also certain his brain can’t process much right now. Sometimes, you just need to admit yourself to have been defeated… even if it bothers you to no end.

Sonia paces around for a little bit before sitting down on the chair next to the bed, arms still crossed. She sounds more than frustrated, and, well… He can’t really hold it against her, can he? He already can barely hold anything against her to begin with, considering how much they’ve lived through together; it’s not today, in these circumstances, that he’ll try finding a reason for her not to be frustrated. Who knows how long he’s been gone without giving news: he frankly, forgot how quickly or slowly time was passing while he was wandering through the Wild Area.

“At least, you’re still here and breathing with us. Just, if you could not do that ever again, it’d be better, you know? I can’t always be there worrying after you when I’m now a Prof! Arceus, I don’t even imagine what sequence of events has thrown you into such a state. You looked absolutely pitiful when Yamper found you.”

He tries to puff at himself to ease the tension he feels rising, but all he ends up doing is coughing. And coughing. And coughing.

“What did I say about sparing your voice? Tch, you’ll never change, will you? You’ve always stubborn, after all, so there’s no reason that’ll change now. That’s part of your charm, I suppose.” She shrugs before suddenly darting her eyes away from him. “But you’re right, I shouldn’t have to worry! You were the Champion of Galar for more than ten years, why would I be afraid of you? That makes very little sense, haha!”

“S-Sonia…”

He only now spots the dark rings under her eyes and the hair pulling out of her ponytail, one strand at a time. How long was he out for, and for how much of that time was she there, exactly? (Hey, he does work fairly well, for someone who can’t stop sweating and whose entire frame is shaken up by chills at irregular intervals!). Too many questions, too little available brain space, he guesses…

“Go for it, make fun of your good old friend who still hasn’t gotten the memo. I should have been like Hop and blindly believed you’d come back to us, as you’ve always done…”

Oh, right, Hop! How is he doing, has he advanced in his research, does he still worry for him? Well, sadly, it’s not the time to think about his brother: his childhood friend seems to have a meltdown right in front of him.

“Why?”

Sonia stares at him, completely silent, eyes wide. Seems like she doesn’t have an answer to her own interrogation, until pain comes back on her face like the wave crashing on the shore.

“You don’t… think it’s ridiculous?”

“What?” His throat doesn’t take kindly to his attempts at having a conversation.

“Everything! We swore we’d trust each other, but look at me, worrying over you as if we were still kids running in the fields with the Wooloos… And I’m telling you all that while you’re cooking on the inside! Really, isn’t that ridiculous?”

Gathering his breath and his strength, he rises up with shaky arms against the bedhead, pillow still preventing his head from entirely lulling over his shoulder from how heavy it is. Whatever he’s caught, it’s one hell of an affliction he’s found himself with. Still, if it’s for Sonia, if she’s this distraught over the situation (he did almost pass away), he can put up with the migraine, the difficult breathing, the mask over his mouth, the lethargy, the chills…

“I’m sorry, Sonia.”

He does cough immediately after apologizing, as expected. For once, she doesn’t reply immediately, doesn’t make a witty remark; instead, she looks confused and maybe embarrassed, considering the red he can see with the eyes that still refuse to entirely focus for more than a few seconds.

“Sorry for what? And, again, spare your voice, you…”

“For all of this.”

Her expression softens, eyebrows drooping and eyes shining brighter. Even if it’s slight and his eyes almost miss it, she finally smiles.

“How long…?” He’s interrupted by a fit.

“How long you’ve been out?” He nods, still trying to calm his chest down. “Around half a day. You did wake up at some point but immediately passed out again. No wonder why you don’t remember that.”

He now points at her with an unsteady finger. “Why are you… Oh, how long I’ve been here?” He nods again. “Most of that time, I’d say. I’d also say I fell asleep at some point too…”

She crosses her arms again, just as his vision starts weakening again. It’s back to sleep, right?

“I think we both need our rest. I’m also certain Hop is waiting at the door, so you’ll even have a guardian angel watching over you, isn’t that super cool? And if you attempt rising from that bed, you’re sure to be put back into it in mere seconds!”

He’d try laughing if it didn’t trigger such a massive reaction from his lungs, so he decides to just nod instead.

“See you later, Leon. Goodnight.”

He waves at her, the lethargy still reflecting in his slow and sloppy gestures, but that’s fine enough for now. Her smile is worth it, isn’t it?

Absolutely worth trekking through the rain with full lungs and little energy left…

#pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon leon #pokemon sonia #lionheartshipping #sickfic #hurt comfort #pre-relationship #pneumonia #bad things happen bingo #bthb 2 #leon (pokemon)#sonia (pokemon)#otp: watchful eyes of gold

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moonwaif · 5 years ago

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Zack has 3 sisters who taught him makeup, and I need a fic of him teaching Cloud how to paint his nails.

Yooo here I am like one year later with a college/blitzball AU because of who I am as a person. Anyway thank you for the request, I had fun writing it~

When Cloud had agreed to the last-minute study session, he hadn’t expected to end up holding hands with Zack Fair.

Well, not exactly “holding.” It was more just “touching” as Zack cradled his fingers. Cloud drew in a shuddery breath as Zack brought the cold, wet brush across his nails.

“Hold still,” Zack murmured. “Or I'm gonna mess it up.“

"S-sorry."

The sound of his own voice made him cringe. Hoarse, breathy. Totally and completely uncool.

"Your cuticles are a mess, dude. Shoulda bought some cream."

"There’s a cream for that?” Cloud asked. Not that he really cared about the answer. He was too busy watching. After all, he wasn’t gonna lose out on such a great opportunity to admire Zack’s face, especially not when they were seated this close. The long, dark lashes were on full display as Zack’s gaze turned downward; the lips, quirked upward to form a dimple in the pit of one cheek; and then his hands, strong and veiny but moving with a calm, gentle precision that Cloud had never seen Zack use before.

“’Course there’s a cream for that,” he replied. “They’ve got a cream for everything."

"O-oh."

Cloud swallowed, tried to ignore the rough skin of Zack’s palm pressed against his own. Or how good it felt to have Zack’s attention entirely to himself.

That wasn’t an easy feat. Zack was infamously distractible—which is probably why their study session had been doomed from the start. Just a little over fifteen minutes in, and Zack had already launched into his squat routine. When he’d gotten tired of that, he plopped his butt down right on top of Cloud’s desk.

"Hey, Cloud?"

Cloud’s eyes had remained fixed on his laptop. "Yeah?"

"What’s one thing you always wanted to do, but just never had the guts to?"

"I don’t know. Where’s this coming from?"

"Just … bored.” Zack scratched the back of his neck. “So? What about it?"

"I don’t know. What about you?"

"Eh, you know me. Not a whole lot that stops me from going after what I want."

Yes, Cloud agreed internally. That passion, that drive. A very attractive quality.

"But looking back,” Zack went on, “sometimes I wish I woulda challenged Sephiroth to a one-on-one match when I had the chance, y'know?"

"You’ll have other chances.” Cloud tried not to sound too jealous. "Your mentor is his teammate, remember?"

It was difficult sometimes, being best friends with the whiz kid Zack Fair–especially when you were a fluke like Cloud Strife. Sure, they’d both made the blitzball team and received full-ride scholarships, but Zack was in a league of his own. Watching him play was like fireworks: bright, brilliant and full of noise. No wonder he’d captured the attention of even professional players and coaches, who were already queuing up for the day he graduated. Cloud, on the other hand? He just made a good publicity story for the team. After all, how many kids in Nibelheim not only played blitzball but actually managed to be decent at it?

Zack folded his arms. "Yeah, but I don't wanna wait. Anyway, it’s your turn. What’ve you always wanted to do?"

Cloud’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. Words, unbidden, rose to his mind.

Kiss Tifa.

Kiss you.

"Paint my nails,” he blurted, instantly regretting it.

That was how they ended up at a beauty salon a few blocks from campus. They definitely drew stares. For Zack, they were the good kind of stares, of course. He caught people’s eye no matter where he went, so the extra attention wasn’t exactly a surprise. What was unexpected was how much Zack seemed to know about nail supplies.

“Why do we need two clear coats?” Cloud asked, frowning.

“‘Cuz one goes on top and one goes on bottom."

”… Why?“

"To make it last longer,” Zack said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Now. Let’s pick out a color. Whaddya want?"

Cloud stared at the rows upon rows of bottles, like so many rainbows spanning the shop wall. He read the display placards: gel, powder, shimmer, pearl …

"Er. I don’t even know where to start.”

Laughing, Zack moved behind Cloud and clasped his shoulders. He guided him toward a section of the wall. “Start here! Now come on, Spike. What speaks to you? And don’t worry about price, today’s on me."

"This is stupid,” Cloud muttered, but he approached the shelf. No pastels, he decided. He wasn’t feeling that comfortable. And the neutral browns and shell pinks seemed pointless. Instead he went for a deep, almost-black navy blue.

“You sure that’s what you want?” Zack asked as they approached the register. “Why not sky blue? It’d bring out your eyes."

Cloud shook his head. "No. This is what I want."

And it had been. Cloud just hadn’t expected that Zack would be the one doing the nail painting for him.

"I can do it myself, you know,” he grumbled.

Zack snorted. "Yeah right. Not after the mess you made of your thumb. You’re not supposed to get so much paint on the brush. Less is more. Once it dries you can go back and do another coat."

"How do you know so much about this stuff?” Cloud asked.

Zack dipped the brush back into the bottle. “Lulu taught me,” he explained. “Her and Lebreau used to have me do their nails. Rinoa too. They thought it was cute."

Cloud’s stomach clenched. Of course.

"Guess you’re popular with girls for a reason,” he muttered. This drew a chuckle from Zack. Cloud stiffened, his brow furrowing.

“What?” he demanded, defensive.

“Nothing. It’s just, they’d probably get a kick out of hearing anyone call me popular.” Grinning, he turned his attention back to Cloud’s nails. “I mean, they weren’t my girlfriends, if that’s what you’re thinking."

Cloud’s face burned. He thought about denying it.

"Who are they, then?” he asked instead.

Zack finished coating a nail, then looked up. No one’s eyes should be that beautiful, Cloud thought. No one’s jaw so chiseled. No one’s lips sculpted with such a sinful cupid’s bow.

Zack flicked him on the forehead. “They’re my sisters, you dork."

#clack #zakkura #zack fair #cloud strife #zack x cloud #cloud x zack #zack fair x cloud strife #ffvii #ff7 #ffvii crisis core #crisis core #fanfiction #ask #ride-the-bifrost

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ladykateofledfordpark · 6 years ago

Text

Learning Self-Defense (Colt x MC)

This is my first Colt fic! =)

Dedicated to @desiree-0816 , who was the first person to ask me to write a Colt fic! Also, @brightpinkpeppercorn who always helps me with anything RoD-related!

Tagging also @itsbrindleybinch ! I love talking with you, and thank you for your amazing feedback on anything I write! And @mariaoz , you are the best and I’m looking forward to talking with you about this fic! And I can’t forget the amazing @jlpplays1 . Jenn, I can’t wait to hear from you! =)

I’ll have a serious Logan fic coming out for the Choices July Challenge, so keep a look out for that!

I really hope I did Colt justice. And I hope you guys will like it! For me it was fun, and it really helped my affection for Colt (though I still don’t see him as anything other than a friend).

So, anyway...

Summary: Colt decides that it’s time to teach Ellie self-defense, street-style.

Pairing: Colt x MC-ish

Warnings: Violence (PG- no more), angst-ish

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After Ellie moved in with the MPC crew, her life completely changed. The hours she once spent on school were now vacant, and she was free to do whatever she wanted with them. Every day, she would find herself drifting from one place to the other, enjoying her new life in a place she never dreamed of finding.

But that couldn't last forever.

The MPC still went on special assignments, things Ellie couldn't know about. Sometimes she would come with them, but usually, she would stay behind. She hated being cooped up, limited to only specific interactions, but she had no choice. Those were the rules, and if Kaneko said- that's what would happen.

Colt watched her all this time. He knew, better than anyone, exactly how much Ellie was capable of. Logan only saw the girl she once was, the future valedictorian. He always felt the need to protect her from the world he brought her into, but there was one thing Logan didn't understand.

Not just anyone would leave the comfort of the perfect suburban life for a home with criminals.

So Colt knew he had to do something. He knew Ellie already learned self-defense. She told him once, and that wasn’t something he could easily forget. The problem was that self-defense wasn’t enough. Because on the street, a simple kick or punch could be returned with a knife to the chest. In order for Ellie to prove her real strength, she had to learn how to protect herself in the dirty and dangerous way. Only then would she be deemed truly capable.

So Colt brought the offer up with Kaneko. The idea wasn’t exactly conventional, but there was no reason for him to disagree. “It’ll give us the option to bring her on more missions without her being a burden. Plus, she’ll know better how to deal with our enemies, so they won’t easily overcome her and torture information out of her.”

Teppei scanned Colt, his eyes cold and calculating. “And who will instruct her?”

Colt met his eyes, his posture straight and determination as hard as steel. “I will.”

There was no one better suited for the job. Logan would never be able to hurt Ellie, and Mona wouldn’t have the physical strength required for the job. The others weren’t even an option, which left only Colt.

Kaneko searched his face, as if determining if his own son was worthy of this job. Colt didn’t back down, his eyes as cold as the ones searching his soul. Finally, his father nodded, motioning toward the door. “Let Ellie know.”

Colt left the office, and was surprised to see Ellie sitting beside a new “Toby toy”. She smiled at the explanation Toby gave her, pointing at different parts of the car, and said something in reply. Toby beamed, and rushed into a new flurry of words Colt couldn’t make out.

“Ellie,” Colt said once he was right above her.

Toby stopped his enthusiastic words, focusing his attention back on the car. Ellie turned toward Colt, the laughter now disappearing from her lips. “Yes?”

The challenge was clear in her eyes. She always treated him like that, like a person that was only a bit above a business associate. He hated the sting he felt every time he talked to her, but for the life of him, he didn’t know why.

“It’s time you learned some self-defense.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes. “I told you, already, I learned when I was-”

Colt cut her off. “I know, but that’s not good enough. Come on.”

“But-” Ellie’s gaze drifted back to Toby, who shot her a small smile.

“It’s for your own good.”

Ellie sighed, though her body radiated frustration. “Fine.”

Colt led her to an abandoned alley, one which held enough room for the combat they were about to do. Ellie stood there, her arms crossed, glaring at Colt with impatience. “Why am I forced to do this?”

Colt neared her, but she didn’t back away. “You may know martial arts, but that isn’t enough. Because on the street, people fight dirty. After all, what could a roundhouse kick do against a knife?”

“I can fend for myself.”

“You’ll do even better once I teach you.”

She lowered her gaze, not daring to meet Colt’s eyes. “Why are you teaching me? Couldn’t it be Logan?”

Colt’s heart stopped. Once again he felt that familiar pain, but somehow, with Ellie it was worse.

He took a deep breath, trying to disperse of all his violent fantasies of Logan. What did he ever do to deserve a girl like Ellie?

Somehow, Colt managed to keep his voice almost even. “You and I both know Logan isn’t capable of harming one hair on your body.”

Ellie sighed. She raised her head once more, her eyes burning with something dangerous, almost… alluring. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ellie struck, her movements fast and precise. Her feet were light as air, her steps as graceful as a ballerina’s. She never took her eyes off Colt, and neither did he. Colt wasn’t sure he could even if he tried.

“I thought you learned it years ago?” He asked. They watched each other like two vipers searching for the chance to strike.

Ellie glanced at him, her gaze calculating. “Ever since I came here, I practiced.”

“Not bad.”

In the next moment, Colt had her pinned to the wall. He held a knife to her throat, the tip almost touching her skin, as he let out a sigh. “But not good enough.”

Colt lowered the knife, as Ellie turned toward him. Her body shone with sweat, her legs shaking from the need to hold herself back. She met his gaze, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Seeing her like this, without the facade she always wore, caught him off guard.

So for that one second, he did what he never should have done. His eyes fell to her lips, and his heartbeat quickened. They were only a few inches apart, so should he…?

Before he could decide, Ellie kicked him in the knee. He fell to the floor, the hard stone his very kind safety net. Ellie smirked and strode closer, so her body was now standing right above him. She picked up the knife Colt dropped, before kicking him once again. This time, in his side. “Never threaten me with a knife. Understood?”

She threw away the knife, far enough so neither of them could reach it. Then she helped a groaning Colt off the floor, and this time she didn’t back away.

“Now teach me more.”

And then, before he could react, she attacked.

#playchoices #choices #ride or die #colt x mc #colt kaneko #ride or die: a bad boy romance #rod #choices rod #choices fanfiction #playchoices fanfiction #ride or die fanfiction #choices stories you play #colt kaneko x mc #mc x colt #mc x colt kaneko

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darkpoisonouslove · 5 years ago

Note

I’m torn because GIMME GIMME GIMME every single thing possible for Warmth of Rage, Cold of Love - but I’d also like to hear about other fics that maybe haven’t gotten as much attention. So... Okay, I’ll try to be reasonable and only give you three fics, lol. Heartless, Let Me Down Slowly, and No Battlefield Between Us, pretty please :D

Okay, so I don’t have many headcanons about my own fics that don’t make it into the actual fic, but I’ll try to give you something more juicy than just plain facts.

“Heartless”:

1. It is the first fic from a four-part series (that is currently put on hiatus because “Kiss, Then Bite” and now Kinktober (you know how it is)). This one was sort of an accident but then I connected it with fic ideas I already had and suddenly there was a series XD. It was written surprisingly quickly, especially looking at the quality of it (I still consider this one of my best works; every word is where it is supposed to be if I do say so myself), on a late night when I definitely should’ve been in bed… Oops! But then again, when is that not the case, really? XD

2. Next part is the library thing (you know the one), then we have Griffin and Faragonda feat. a nightmare (which is written but I haven’t edited it because I haven’t written part 2 yet (I only realized this would be part 3 after I wrote it)), and then we also get some Winx in the last part (some events from season 1 will come up as well because they bother me and I want to address them).

3. This entire series deals with Griffin getting over the guilt that her love for Valtor is causing her and that is bringing out the ugliest side of her, and how Faragonda and Winx react to that side (as well as some other characters that make cameos). It shows Griffin dealing with her complicated emotions and the collision between her past and her present and I love the storyline I have here.

4. The second biggest focus in this series (I’m gonna talk about all of it tbh (but no spoilers)) is Faragonda and Griffin’s friendship which is so important to me (I love it just as much as I love Griffin and Valtor’s relationship) and I am really excited about what we get to explore here. A key thing about their friendship is how understanding Faragonda is and here we see just what happens when she can’t understand Griffin and all that guilt she still has and, surprisingly, Griffin manages to understand her even despite all that guilt (this may sound vague and confusing rn, but will hopefully be cleared up when you read the fics). (I got thoughts on this now and I think I finally found the missing pieces!) And of course, Griffin and Faragonda don’t stop supporting each other, no matter what.

5. I do find the thematic connection between Griffin and Winx worth exploring (at the time when this fic is set which would be after 3x14 and through 3x15 and 3x16). Tecna is currently lost in Omega (and Bloom has gone to Pyros and may never return) and Griffin’s students are currently in Valtor’s hands. They are all experiencing strong feelings of loss courtesy of Valtor, but they are also at opposite sides in the conflict. Winx represent to Griffin her own students which she couldn’t protect from Valtor (and let’s not forget the added guilt because she still loves him). But in that quality of theirs, they can also help her see that she’s not responsible for Valtor’s actions. And Griffin can also help them since she understands their anger on a level Faragonda… can’t really let herself to (because she needs to keep her cool and think about her students and their safety; meanwhile, Griffin is past that point). I think that part will have an abundance of emotions and I am so excited about it.

This was less about “Heartless” and more about the storyline throughout the entire series, but I do hope that you’ll find it interesting (also, I can come to this and get reexcited about writing it if I lose my motivation :D).

Also, we need a cut:

“Let Me Down Slowly”:

1. That was inspired by the thought of “What if Valtor actually caught Griffin leaving but his reaction was the total opposite of what she expected? And that just made it that much more fun for them?” (because I am cruel af XD)

2. The title is taken from “Let Me Down Slowly” by Alec Benjamin which I listened to while I wrote it. The lyrics do not fit the piece precisely but I think the vibe matches so well with the one of the fic. (Also, I was in a desperate need for a title and it was late, and I just wanted to post it! 😅)

3. The creative process for this one was very fun as it was full of questions such as: Am I being too repetitive here? Am I sure this isn’t annoying? Does the ending tie in with the rest? So it was a lot of fun.

4. This was my fifth fic and I’d only written about them in the past once before that and I wasn’t really sure what I was doing with it. I was also going for flipping expectations for both the readers and Griffin as to what Valtor’s reaction to catching her leaving would be and that was also a thing I needed to consider. On the one hand, I needed to have Valtor be in love with her enough to let her go and save her life, but on the other, I still needed to keep him in character and respect canon when it came to what comes after those events. And I also had to keep Griffin just on the cusp of deciding to throw it all away and stay with him. It was challenging to write but also fun.

5. I wanted something softer after “Warmth of Rage, Cold of Love” and “Flame of Love” but I still hadn’t jumped on the Griffin x Valtor fluff train completely (Will I ever, though? I just love their potential for angst too much!) so that was sort of a compromise that had a bit of both with angst being more prevalent.

This was more of a mood/mindset and writing process study and I’m sorry if that’s not what you were after. (This is an older one and I don’t really know what to tell you about it).

“No Battlefield Between Us”:

1. This one was inspired by a prompt. It was supposed to be a part of “Kiss, Then Bite” but then it got out of control and it became its own story. That tends to happen to me a lot! XD

2. Griffin is at a very dark place in that fic. She’s staying at Alfea of all places, and the only reason for that is that she doesn’t know where to go. At that point, she still hasn’t reconnected with Ediltrude and Zarathustra, she’s just left Valtor and broken both their hearts, she’s in danger of being killed by the Coven, and the only friend she currently has is Faragonda (who has good intentions but dragging her to that fairy party sure wasn’t her best idea. Can you imagine Griffin at a fairy party? The best thing she can do is get into trouble which she isn’t really in the mood for rn, considering all the trouble she’s in already). And then Valtor suddenly appears but not to kill her. He wants her back and the temptation almost wins over, but she resists it. It’s a big show of character on Griffin’s part (or a rather unfortunate choice, depends on the perspective) and it was so interesting to write.

3. And something that did not make it into the fic but Griffin realized later when she was replaying the interaction in her head for the millionth time (because I’m evil and like to torture us all) is that “he came here to kill me” was a legitimate sentence that ran through her head. Just the fact that she had that thought, and that he didn’t deny it completely (”I’ll have plenty of chances to do that on the battlefield if you choose to fight against me.” (quoted that just from memory and it is correct, how even?!)) is enough to make her ask “Does he really love me if he is totally fine with the thought of killing me?”. And that’s what she uses to make herself believe that she chose the right thing.

4. Valtor’s mindset is really interesting here. Because he loves her, he does, it’s why he went there to offer her to come back to him. He wants her by his side. But he also knows that he has to kill her if she decides to betray him. He can’t let anyone betray him. Not even her. What is interesting about this fic is that he’s not possessive to the point where he won’t let her out of their relationship (which is rather selfless on his part and proves his love for her) but he also won’t let her betray him. And the fact that he goes as far as to spare her life after she left him, but not far enough to say he’ll never harm her is a very interesting line to walk with him. It plays again into how Griffin and power are connected in his mind and which one he values more. So again we reach the conclusion that he loves her, she is the only one he’s ever loved, but he still loves power more than her. Only, this is from a slightly different angle.

5. I wanted to really mess around with the love to anger ratio in this one and I think I succeeded. While it is clear that they love each other and there are moments of genuine emotion and tenderness between them, it is impossible to forget about all the tripwires that Griffin has to avoid. There’s this underlying sense of danger and tragedy throughout the piece that I really love and it was exactly what I was going for. So, one last thing here - Did I successfully break your heart?

Sorry if I’m gushing too much about my own fics. I just love them too much and this is the perfect opportunity to talk about them!

“Warmth of Rage, Cold of Love”:

1. Griffin will have a conversation with Faragonda that is really critical for her. It’s so much angst that even I wanted to hit her by the end of it. She’s just being so… difficult. Thank goodness, Faragonda is having none of it and knows how to deal with her (and would never give up on her). There’s also a moment with Saladin (that I had figured out and then forgot (Oooooops! I should really write these things down.)). I do have something that I need them to discuss and I am really excited to explore this relationship because it was so painfully ignored on the show! And they are supposed to be friends, you know. So time to make them friends! XD We already saw a little Saladin and Faragonda friendship (and there will be some more of that as well) and we also need to see some Griffin and Saladin, too.

2. Griffin will have a moment with Ediltrude and Zarathustra as well. There are some formal affairs that they need to take care of, but the biggest part of what they need to work out is emotional (and also the one I got stuck on). Ediltrude and Zarathustra learned some things about her that she did purposefully hide and now it’s time to figure out where that leaves them because all actions have consequences. (I promise this all works out, don’t worry.)

3. Griffin will need to talk with Bloom as well for plot reasons, but not only. There is something that happened on the show that just annoys me all the more every time I think about it and I need to address. (I’m like that. I see unexplored things and I need to write a fic.) Also, moral dilemmas because why not? (Any guesses as to what that convo will be about? I feel like I gave too many hints here, but that might be because I know what I’m talking about.)

4. Valtor will make another appearance in the last chapter and there Griffin and he will both need to really face their feelings as well as the other’s feelings for them. Hate? Love? How do they interact between the two of them as well as within each of them? How will that affect them? I have a general sense of direction, but two outcomes that I have to decide between (or rather one outcome that needs to get cleared up).

5. I don’t know if you noticed but chapter two was hella mad. I was in a… weird emotional place at the time so I might have poured a lot of anger in it which works from Valtor’s perspective, really. Anyway, I’m saying this because thanks to my emotional state, I was going to take the story into a completely different direction from the one it’s going in currently. It was going to be dark and full of hatred. Now it is quite the opposite, actually, and I am so much happier with how it’s turning out. (Also, this is the first thing I wrote for Winx and the first thing I wrote this year. I started it with Winx and I intend to finish it that way. Oops, did I give things away again? Me and my big mouth! :D)

Okay, that’s enough spoilers for you and self-promoting from me! I hope these are at least somewhat what you wanted to learn, and if you want to know something else, just ask! :) It might get me a while to get to answering some questions, but I’d love to.

#ask #her-majesty-wears-jeans #heartless #let me down slowly #no battlefield between us #warmth of rage cold of love #griffin x valtor #winx club #griffin and faragonda

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wehelddarkness · 6 years ago

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Annual Writing Self-Evaluation 2018

The lovely @1diamondinthesun tagged me to do the annual writing self-evaluation! 2018 wasn’t my strongest year in writing, but let’s do this!

All answers should be about works published in 2018. (Skip any questions you don’t want to answer, but please leave them on the list so that others can answer them if they want.)

1. Number of stories (including drabbles) posted to AO3:

Eleven (two long fics and nine drabbles)

2. Word count posted for the year: 154.876

3. List of works published this year:

Tell The World We Finally Got It All Right

Belting out sunlight, shimmering love - The Spring Drabbles series

Joy and fresh days of love accompany your hearts - The Summer Drabbles series

The leaves are ready to begin falling again, as I am for you - The Autumn Drabbles series

Make Your Heart Remember Me

4. Fandoms I wrote for: One Direction

5. Pairings: Harry/Louis

(putting the rest of the questions under the cut because it became a long post lol)

6. Story with the most…

Kudos / Bookmarks: Make Your Heart Remember Me

Comments: Make Your Heart Remember Me & Tell The World We Finally Got It All Right (both have 27 comment threads)

7. Work I’m most proud of (and why): Although MYHRM is my longest fic this year and even though I’ve envisioned it for two years before finally getting a start on it and spending months working on it, I have to say I’m proudest of TTWWFGIAR. This fic is part of a series that I love with all my heart as if it was a child. @regulusarcblack and I have created such a wonderful world for Muggle!Louis and Wizard!Harry that just getting to write more of their story, no matter if it’s something small and silly, and no matter if people don’t even pay attention to it anymore, it will always have a special place in my heart. I’m very proud of how MYHRM turned out and for the amount of attention it got as well, but TTWWFGIAR owns my heart.

8. Work I’m least proud of (and why): It’s not that I’m least proud of them, but I don’t precisely have much emotional connection with the drabbles series. I’m proud of myself for managing to condense three stories the way I did, but as for the stories, they don’t hold a lot of meaning for me.

9. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

I have two.

One from TTWWFGIAR:

Louis fixed his still wet fringe over his forehead and closed his eyes for a second before he answered her back. “That’s a funny story, actually,” he laughed again, “I… we came back here.”

“We? Who’s we, Louis? I’m sure it’s not Lottie because she came back yesterday morning and she was just as lost on where you’d be as I was.”

“It’s Harry.” He decided to cut to the chase and just spill it out. As soon as he spoke he opened his eyes again to see Harry walking inside the room, a white towel around his middle just like the one Louis had on himself, and a smirk on his lips.

It took a moment for his mother to speak again. “Harry? Is… he there now? With you?”

“Yeah, he is.” Louis watched as Harry got the sweatpants and jumper he had conjured for himself the day before and started getting dressed.

“And are you going to explain to me how and why he’s there with you?” Jay wasn’t demanding anything and Louis could sense she was feeling more relaxed to know that new piece of information. “I mean, I’m not mad that you’re there with him. I’m just confused, love, that’s what. What happened?”

Harry looked back at Louis when he finished dressing himself and was putting his hair up in a bun. “Is that your mother?” There was a small frown on his brows as he walked closer to where Louis was sat on the bed.

Louis nodded, mouthing a “yeah” and quirking his lips into a smile.

“Do you want the short or long story?” He talked back to his mother as Harry approached him, his eyes not leaving Louis’ as he softly ran his fingers through Louis’ hair.

“I’m gonna go make breakfast while you talk to her, okay?” He moved his hand down to Louis’ face, caressing his cheek with his thumb.

“Okay,” Louis murmured before turning his face a bit to leave a gentle kiss on the inside of Harry’s palm.

He saw Harry’s eyes soften with the gesture and scrunching up his nose as he leaned down to kiss Louis on the cheek before he turned around to leave.

And from MYHRM:

“Dad?”

Harry hears Lily’s voice very low before he can focus his vision on his daughter in front of him. It’s still dark but he can see her sleepy face yawning as she looks at him.

He startles himself a bit, forgetting for a moment where he is. Then, it hits him as he feels an arm around his middle and the press of Louis’ body behind him as they’re lying on the couch. He doesn’t remember when they decided to move from their sitting positions and sleep right there.

Louis’ breath is serene on Harry’s neck and he smiles at himself before he speaks to Lily.

“Yes, petal?”

“I woke up to go to the bathroom and you weren’t in the bedroom with me.” He sees her rubbing her eyes with one hand. “Can I sleep with you and Louis here?”

Harry wants to laugh because Lily could’ve asked him to go back to the bedroom with her, but the fact that she wants to sleep there, on a sofa that barely fits Harry and Louis together, only warms his heart.

He’s too sleepy to say no or to reason that he should really get up and move to the room and also wake up Louis, or even to think about what Lily has made of him and Louis sleeping together like that. So he simply squirms a little closer to Louis to give Lily some space, opening one of his arms so she can lie there and snuggle up to him.

“Goodnight, dad,” she says against his neck and Harry kisses the top of her head as he tries to get comfortable again to sleep.

“Night, petal.” He closes his eyes and just before he can allow himself to rest again, he feels Louis kissing the back of his neck and moving his arm from Harry’s waist to hold not only him, but also Lily in one embrace, intertwining his fingers with Harry’s over Lily’s middle.

This is the happiest he’s been in a long time, and it doesn’t matter that they are all cramped on Louis’ couch or that he and Louis haven’t actually talked about them and their future. But if the future involves more nights like this, with the two people he loves so much, then he truly can’t wish for anything better.

10. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

I didn’t get many reviews on my works this year, but I have to say @derekhaleace’s thorough comments on MYHRM really lifted my mood! @doctorrainbows’ comments on TTWWFGIAR too (Rosie I miss you <3)

And I want to add one that was not my favorite, but it gave me a lot of perspective on MYHRM:

“Good story idea but written with too much decriptions and info ended up skipping a lot of the story.”

This comment really made me laugh out loud, not in a bad way though, but because this was exactly how I was feeling and why I struggled so much with that fic. I wasn’t content on how I was writing it because it felt like I was dragging the story. I was writing and writing and the number of words only kept growing and I felt like I wasn’t advancing on the plot. I took this as a constructive criticism and I know some people have validated me saying that for them the story didn’t feel like that, or others saying that the amount of description was just enough... So, yeah, I know it’s matter of like, but it helped me to be more critic about my own writing.

11. A time when writing was really, really hard: This whole past year tbh? first it started with the fact that I got a serious pain on my right hand, I didn’t know if it was tendinitis or what, so I went to the doctor, did physiotherapy for about 2 months? and in the end the end the only thing that helped the pain was arthritis medicine lol so for MONTHS I couldn’t write properly because if I forced my hand, it would be worse, that’s why I kept doing the drabbles challenge, because 100 words each was easier than trying a full fic. Then in august I finally started writing MYHRM, but it took me longer than I planned because of writer’s block and lack of motivation and a lot of self-doubt about my writing, so it wasn’t easy either :/

12. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you: That’s a hard question, but probably Lily from MYHRM. I had already written a kid fic before, but it hadn’t been like this, because this whole fic focused on the interaction of Harry and Louis with Lily and I wasn’t sure how I would write her, and I needed to remind myself not to forget about her haha In the end, I think I did a pretty good job, her personality is so precious and I love her.

13. How did you grow as a writer this year: I think I stopped caring too much about people paying attention to my fics? It was something that always bugged me, expecting more people to read them, finding them in fics recs and so on. Obviously, I still want people to read them, but if only a few people read notice the and enjoy them, that’s what matters, and mostly, that I’m happy with how my fics turned out.

14. How do you hope to grow next year: I hope to keep writing more for myself, keep thinking of stories that I have fun writing and reading and care less about making it to the famous author’s niche in the fandom. Maybe also try to have some of other ideas I’ve had for other fandoms come to life, who knows.

15. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer: As always, @regulusarcblack who has to listen to my ramblings, even if she’s already sick of them lmao but she’s the one I seek when I’m writing and she always helps me put my idea in place. But I also have t give a HUGE shout out to @britpickerhl for sticking with me for another year, for dealing with my dumb mistakes, for having so much patience with gdocs and me, but mainly for helping me improve my writing and being my cheerleader!

16. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: I never know, because I’m not a person with much experiences, so there isn’t much to include in my fics lol I think I reflect some of my personality when I write Harry, but that’s it. And I’m a hopeless romantic and sap and fluff hoe, so that’s what my fics end up looking like hahaha

17. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: Keep writing for yourself and for the people you know who enjoy your work and try not to feel down if you are overlooked by the fandom. If you are happy with your story, that’s what matters. Also, try venturing to other pairings and fandoms, don’t stick to only what you are familiar with (not only regarding writing but also reading), it will give you a broader perspective of how readers and fandoms work.

18. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting or finishing in the new year: I’m writing a wip, which I can’t talk much about yet, but I’m quite excited about it because it’s been incredibly easy for me to write and I’m having so much fun with it, so I hope to kick off 2019 with this one in a good place about my writing!

19. Tag writers whose answers you’d like to read: I don’t know who has already done it lol so I’ll tag @mediawhorefics @emperorstyles @louisalbumnow @hrrytomlinson @hogwartzlou @tofiveohfive if you haven’t and want to do it!

#i read last years evaluation and i have to laugh lmao #anyway #here's to a better 2019 in writing #my writing #writing evaluation

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drizzitwrites · 6 years ago

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Football RPF Challenge - Day 6: A Night Out With Friends

NGL friends, I almost didn’t do this one.

For starters, I spent all day in a place where I couldn’t really focus on anything for a variety of reasons, so the idea of sitting down and writing anything seemed almost impossible. Second, I didn’t really have a solid idea for a scene to work on for this prompt in my head, which meant that I didn’t have a plan, and I absolutely cannot write without some kind of plan. I realise the point of what I’m trying to do here with these exercises is to just write and not care about it, and I used to be able to do that, but I think I’ve evolved as a writer to a place where that’s just not who I am anymore (for better or worse, I suppose). So then it got to a point of me thinking about how to start and realising that if I didn’t know where the scene was supposed to end or who was involved or why they were all out, I’d just spend a lot of time writing a really boring conversation that wouldn’t get anyone anywhere.

The thing of today’s prompt, also, is that it encapsulates some of the things I’m the WORST at: ensemble conversation, ambiance, scene and sensory cues, probably food. So you get this combination of distracted, no plan, and things I’m bad at and I honestly took the bit of writing time I did have and said you know what, no. I don’t feel like doing today’s challenge and I don’t have an idea for it anyway so I just won’t do it, because this is a hobby and it’s supposed to be fun and no one is making me do this but me.

BUT! I also recognised that BECAUSE this is hard and BECAUSE I don’t want to and BECAUSE I don’t know how to do it, that is precisely why I *needed* to do it. Because I’m not a quitter. Or, maybe, because once I let myself quit one time, it becomes infinitely harder to NOT let myself quit the next time, or the time after that, or the time after that.

For my whole life, I’ve gotten to where I am by saying “if something seems hard, that’s precisely the time you need to do it the most”

This may seem harsh and it’s certainly not advice I’d recommend for everyone, but it’s the way I’ve always done things. Because at least, even if it didn’t go well or it WAS hard or whatever...I TRIED, and I’d always have that. It’s hard to explain, I guess.

Anyway, what got me over the hump of having decided I was just going to not do it was saying to Jonas “I feel like all of a sudden I’m a person who gives myself permission to say ‘that’s too hard’, and I don’t know if that’s the person I want to be, because I’ve never been that person before so do I want to start now?”

And I realised, I didn’t. Because my stubborn willingness to WORK HARDER WHEN THE WORK GETS HARDER is the one thing I’ve always been proud of.

Like...this is a CHALLENGE. It’s supposed to be CHALLENGING. And if on day 6 I say “eh, I don’t feel like it” then what’s going to force me to rise to the occasion on day 7 or 10 or 18 or 29? NOTHING.

(and really, the scene I ended up writing is from a fic inspired by a song that expresses the exact sentiment I needed...”If we don’t do this today/ there goes a day/ another moment that could have been ours/ figure it out/ that’s what I do...”)

So I made myself do it. And, friends, it turned out pretty well.

The continuation of the restaurant scene from days 2 and 3 (presuming I have fixed the ending from day 3 and Christian is actually AT the restaurant when Vincent arrives). It’s not the full scene, but I took an hour and a quarter and put together 1100 words. And most importantly...I DID NOT GIVE UP.

"Christian," Vincent said, sliding into the empty chair to Christian's right--the only empty seat at the table, of course, because what other kind of luck would Vincent had.

He wanted to say that if he'd known Christian would be here he would have begged off in favour of spending a night in his hotel catching up from the whirlwind of the day and trying to figure out where he was supposed to be tomorrow and when and exactly how everything was supposed to work, but he honestly couldn't convince himself that was true.

Sure, it was what he <em>should</em> have done, but if he'd spent his life doing what he should do he never would have let himself develop this big of a celebrity crush on an Ajax player in the first place.

Blue green eyes flicked upward to meet his for the briefest of moments before Christian turned back towards his friends. The three of them had all crowded around the far side of their small table. It was clearly meant for four, but the others had all wedged themselves in, Jan in the centre directly across from Christian, with Mousa to his right and Toby to his left.

Jan returned Christian's look with a wide grin.

"Oh, Chris, Did I forget to mention that we invited Vincent to join us? We thought since he'd just arrived in town this morning we'd take him out and save him from an evening of sitting around a hotel room." With that, he turned to Vincent. "Welcome, Vincent. I'm glad you could make it."

He spoke in Dutch, Pochettino's rules about everyone speaking English evidently not extending off the training ground. Either that, or he was doing it for Vincent's benefit, which Vincent honestly appreciated. He knew English, of course, but he had a feeling that getting through an entire dinner while pressed up between a pillar to his right and Christian Eriksen to his left was going to be difficult enough without trying to figure out how to express himself in a second language.

"Yes," Vincent said, settling down into his seat a bit. "As I said, it was a bit confusing, and there was quite a lot of traffic, but, I made it."

Beside him, Christian made a sort of low snorting noise. "It's a Tuesday in mid-July. If you think that was quite a bit of traffic just wait until Friday night when everyone's back from their holidays."

Toby shook his head and gave Christian an eyeroll. "We all know, Christiaan. If you had your way you'd never leave your house again. I swear, if he could, this one would still cycle to training like we did back in Amsterdam."

"He'd have to move if he wanted to do that," Mousa said, and the others laughed.

"Flikker op," Christian said, flashing them a rude gesture. "The lot of you."

Vincent looked around the table at his new teammates, all of them leaned back and relaxed and so casual around one another, save Christian who was perched at the edge of his seat, leaning to his left and slightly away from Vincent. He seemed a bit on edge, but considering Vincent had spoken to him for five minutes who was he to say. That might just be Christian's mannerism.

Or, he thought. Five minutes of awkward conversation where you held his hand and gazed into his eyes was enough to put him off the entire idea of getting any closer to you than he should. Not that Vincent could blame Christian for that. It hadn't exactly been an auspicious first meeting.

Nothing for it, though, he supposed. What was done was done, and all he could do now was get his mind and body under control and show up for work like the professional he was. This wasn't some starry-eyed kid from Jong Feyenoord out to dinner with the rockstars of the Eredivisie, this was Tottenham Hotspur's newest summer signing out on the town with his teammates.

"Where...do you all live?" Vincent asked. "It's not that I mean to pry it's just...well, I'll have to find a flat or something sooner or later, right. I can't live in a hotel forever. So..."

"Ahh," Jan said. "Recommendations. Yes. It depends on what you're looking for, of course. And the team will help. We have people on staff for that--ask them for anything. They'll get you a car and look for houses for you or furniture or whatever you need, really."

"Yes, of course," Vincent said. AZ had a player services manager who'd handled most of these things, so he'd assumed Spurs would have the same. "But I wonder...are there better areas to live than others."

"Of course," Toby said with a shrug. "London is enormous, so, of course some parts are better. As Jan said, it's all about what you want."

"Hmm," Vincent said.

In truth, he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted. He didn't much relish the idea of spending every day in as much traffic as he'd faced on his way here, so wherever this neighbourhood was, he thought he'd probably rule it out. At AZ he'd lived nearly 30km from Alkmaar, but the trip had been easy. Here, it didn't much seem that way.

"If you want to avoid traffic," came a soft voice from beside him. Christian, his eyes turned downward towards the table as he picked at the hem of his plain white t-shirt. "You'll want to live in the Northeast. Enfield or Barnet. I wouldn't go much below the north circular."

"Oh." Vincent had no idea what any of that meant, but he imagined it would make sense to whomever he was speaking to at the club about finding a place to live. "Is that..."

He stopped himself short, unsure of his intentions for asking the question that came to mind. It was innocent enough, really--a teammate wanting to learn more about the rest of his teammates and his new city. No one could fault him for it.

Christian stared over at him, blue-green of his eyes now bright under the sharp lighting of the restaurant, and Vincent's whole body shuddered and trembled.

He took a breath, held it, and forced himself to continue. Christian was his teammate. Starting tomorrow they'd have to share a training pitch, so Vincent had better at least figure out how to navigate a simple question over dinner.

"Is that where you live?" he asked. "Northeast? Where did you say? Barrett?"

"Barnet," Christian said, voice matter-of-fact as he turned away from Vincent and moved to staring intently at the small slip of paper that displayed the menu. "No."

#football rpf #football rpf challenge #writing challenge #30-day writing challenge #november writing #christian eriksen x vincent janssen #writing #drizzit writes #thoughts on writing and life

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a-mad-scientist-approaches · 7 years ago

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The Cipher Conspiracy (8)

Here! Have a chapter entirely about Ford!

I estimate at the moment there will be fourteen chapters in total of this, but that may chang, as in the past my estimates have been very off XD.

Adeline Marks is @hntrgurl13‘s, and the Addiford ship is @scipunk63‘s.

She doesn’t have a direct appearance in this chapter, but @missinspi‘s OC Madeline McGucket is still part of the fic, so I’m going to mention her anyway.

AO3 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Gravity Falls, Oregon (USA) ∆

Ford groaned as he straightened up. How long had he been hunched over this desk for?

Too long, he reflected, scanning through the work he had completed.

He made his way towards the elevator, intent on getting himself some food before proceeding to the next step. The doors opened before he could reach them, revealing Bill.

“Okay, smart guy, let’s see these plans,” he said, strolling out. Ford turned around and led the way back to the schematics he had been redrawing.

“We – uh – I altered the gun’s design in Russia, so there should be less chance of it malfunctioning during use now. I just finished making the final copy, so all that’s left is to start constructing it,”

Bill straightened up from pouring over the plans and clapped him on the back. “I knew you could do it, Sixer! A few problematic hangers-on aren’t enough to slow you down!”

“Right.” Ford said, deciding to move past that comment as quickly as possible. “I think I should start putting together microcomputer first.”

Bill nodded, moving around the desk so he could scrutinise the plans more. “Use the precision instrument from China. Calibrate it to, oh, a working range of eight hundred nanometres to two centimetres. Lock it in position five for the circuit board, but position six should do for the rest.”

Ford was taken aback at the sudden rattling off of instructions. “You’ve used one before, then?”

Bill laughed. “Of course not Fordsy, I just know my stuff. Good thing I’m around, huh? Not to say that you don’t know what you’re doing, but, well . . .” he shrugged amiably.

“It’s good to pool knowledge,” Ford finished, choosing to think optimistically rather than be offended.

“Whenever you need me, pal! I’ve got things to do upstairs; you don’t mind if I take over the place for a bit while you’re not using it, right? Catch ya later,”

Ford did not like to criticise Bill: he had, after all, given him the opportunity to prove the full extent of his abilities to the world, if not in quite the way Ford had anticipated while growing up. For this reason, Bill was more like a friend than a boss, a sentiment that Bill had stated when Ford first met him, and which he had kept reinforcing through the years. However, it did irk him slightly that his residency was also morphing into Bill’s base of operations. On the other hand, it was also rather gratifying to see how much Bill trusted him. As far as he knew, no other agents were overseen as much as himself.

Monitored as much as myself.

. . . it was difficult to deny how freeing the weeks away had been. Perhaps he would like a little more breathing room.

That would no doubt occur once he finished the memory gun. Bill just wanted it complete, and then work would resume more like how scientists usually worked: in a less-than-imposing manner. Such as how he and Fiddleford had collaborated.

Speaking of Fiddleford, Ford was sure he would have loved this part.

He set up the machine on the desk, turned it on, and watched it knit together a circuit board with liquid fluidity.

∆

Bill swiped a squeezy toy from a couch as he passed. Making his way to the kitchen, he leaned back in a chair and put his feet on the tabletop. Then he took out his phone, tossing the toy up in the air.

“Ivan! I want an update. One that doesn’t ruin the good day I’m having,”

“McCorkle just had a meeting. I recall that Pines encountered two of Jheselbraum’s agents in Oklahoma . . .” The voice became more reluctant, as if the owner wished it wasn’t him that was bearing this news. “She was meeting one of them. You were right sir, Oracle Division is definitely involved.”

“Hmm. Well, good thing I was expecting that, or this would be really unpleasant for you.” Bill stood up and began walking around, tossing the toy from hand to hand, the phone jammed between his shoulder and ear.

“It’s time to shut Oracle Division down. Don’t blow your cover, Jhezzy’s pup’ll be outta your non-existent hair soon enough. Bigger problems to worry about, et cetera,”

“As you say, sir. I should also mention that Stanley Pines has reappeared,”

“Leave him. He’s out of the game now, or close enough. Besides, he just wouldn’t die. Four rounds of one-sided Russian poker and he’s still around – he’s like a roach! Whose underpants are stitched from luck! Maybe I’ll make him a job offer one day,” Bill mused, bouncing the toy off the wall.

“Yes sir. And what about the other Pines?”

“On track, finally. How long does it take to get some materials for cryin’ out loud? No need to come out here. But be on standby, just in case. Our resident genius is wising up.” The ball thudded into the wall again, but Bill didn’t catch it. He walked away, leaving it to ricochet behind him, where it cracked a glass frame and popped.

∆

Ford’s eyes were burning. He hadn’t blinked in a while. That was it.

Ow. Blinking hurt too.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, keeping his eyes closed. His fingers were trembling.

This was ridiculous. He had not even been working for that long! Granted, affixing the circuit boards to the hard drive of the microcomputer was slightly harder than he had anticipated, but he was getting there. And arranging the trigger mechanism had been frustrating. And positioning the internal reflective mirrors was an ordeal, to say the least. But all in all, he had about a third of the gun constructed (if he counted the tiny wires which he had laid out over the blueprints in preparation for their insertion), and it was only –

What time was it?

Ford opened his watery eyes and tried to make sense of the clock on the wall.

One o’clock? That can’t be right, I got home at one-thirty.

. . . I should really change that display to show twenty-four-hour time.

As he moved back towards the elevator room to find a chair, he realised that standing very still while bent over a table for six hours was not a great decision on his part. Every inch of him ached, even the parts that were not involved in keeping him upright. Sitting burned.

Midway through Ford’s groan, Bill came through the elevator, muttering.

“Those Oracle superiors better be awake . . .” He noticed Ford awkwardly slumped in a swivel chair. “Taking a break already, are we? It’s only been, what-”

“Eleven and a half hours,” Ford croaked.

“Come on, you’ve done longer than that at university!” Bill grinned, striding over to stand in front of him.

“Probably.” He yawned. “Just give me a minute.” A thought struck him. “Did you say Oracle? Like that Oracle Division you mentioned a couple weeks ago?”

Bill stiffened slightly, then shrugged.

“Yeah, they’re causing some trouble that I’ve gotta put a stop to. Banging on about the ‘Cipher Conspiracy’ again. Don’t ya just hate it when people won’t listen? Anyway, they won’t be a problem for much longer. That whole shebang is coming down pronto.” A momentary dark flicker crossed his expression. “I got a special gal who’ll be taking the fall, and when she does, so will the rest of those cage-rattling do-gooders.” He clapped his hands suddenly. “So! You gonna get back to work then, or do I have to find another genius?”

Ford chuckled and Bill laughed, but made no move to leave, and kept staring at Ford expectantly. The amusement fizzled out of the air. Ford suddenly wondered if it had ever been there.

“Well, I was thinking I could get back to it tomo- later this morning,”

“Come on, Sixer, we’re so close! Don’t tell me you traversed the globe for this, only to give up now?”

“I don’t think it would be giving up-”

“No? Sure looks like it,”

Ford stared at Bill, floored. Bill’s expression was the same as always: friendly, encouraging, betraying none of his thoughts.

Slowly, he stood up. He walked back to the desk where the almost one-third of a gun was.

“I knew I could rely on you, buddy!” Bill praised (or perhaps crowed) from behind him. “You’ve got some insane dedication, I think it’s safe to say, which means that device should be raring to go in no time! Got it? This is your ticket to the stars, and my ticket to the throne. It’s going to be great. You’re doing me a huge favour, you know that? You’re one of a kind, Fordsy, one of a kind. Don’t prove me wrong! That head of yours has to be good for something, haha, you know I’m joking. Catch ya later! I reckon you’ll be about half done by then, whaddaya think?”

∆

One third complete. Fully complete, not almost complete. Ford did not consider it a victory. He did not spend too long thinking about why. There was nothing to be gained from that, anyway. Nothing that could be considered important right now, per se. Nothing that, while worthwhile to consider, could probably just be attributed to the stresses of directing an agency. Nothing that could not be overlooked in favour of the . . . probably overall good that would come of the invention. Nothing that –

Ford sighed. He had been staring uselessly at the wall for five minutes now.

It would be better to throw himself into the work, he considered.

∆

God I’m tired.

I need to try harder.

Bill is right, we have waited far too long for this device’s construction, and I need to complete it, although he could be more helpful. He has already shown how adept he is with the machines. There’ll be plenty of time for rest afterwards. What is a few hours’ sleep deprivation in the face of an invention that could change the world? This is a personal challenge that I am entirely willing to accept.

have reluctantly allowed myself a five-minute break to write an entry in this journal. It is this, or fall face-down, unconscious, onto my desk. I am determined that, after two weeks of often having to share a room with Stanley S who cares? that the next time I sleep, it will be snorelessly. Is that a word? silently.

His snoring was strangely reassuring, however. It certainly made things seem less alone, cold, and dark. Or perhaps that’s just what the basement is like all the time.

I may need to head upstairs for a meal soon. I have not eaten since breakfast with Stan yesterday. Stan was a good cook. He made pancakes. Stan made pancakes. Stancakes. I think it may have been inadvisable to become so reliant on him for food.

∆

But what did he mean? Ford unwillingly wondered for the umpteenth time. It was happening every few minutes now, as he impatiently waited for the precision machine to complete another task.

Bill said odd things every now and then. It was just something Ford had learned to live with. Why was he noticing it now?

The answer was obvious.

But then again, no, it was not. Ford might occasionally become irritated with some of his boss’s mannerisms (arrogance), or his way of working (uncommonly close-at-hand), however he had never before felt as uneasy as he did now. He had always had the idea in his mind that while Bill might be his employer, he afforded Ford the same amount of respect he received. That idea was diminishing.

Simple answer.

But was it?

Yes.

I’m noticing it now because I’ve seen what it’s like to be without it.

∆

My mind keeps returning to our goodbye. Stan said to make sure that I did not get too caught up in my work. More occasions than the present one apply to this statement: for instance, once in primary school I became completely engrossed in a science project. It was a volcano with real lava, all contained on a miniature island. When I was unable to test it properly on the day it was due, I found myself having a panic attack. Now, the entire affair seems inconsequential, especially with the threats problems I face in the present. It mattered a significant amount at the time, though, and fortunately Stan knew me far better than I knew my project. He was able to calm me down, and the next thing I knew, the presentation went off without a hitch.

I miss him. And his Stancakes.

I meant what I said when I saw him off at the airport: I was going to come see him when I finished the project.

All the more reason to finish it soon, then.

∆

Ford took the clock off the wall. It was distracting, not to mention discouraging.

∆

The machine was obviously not accustomed to being handled manually: it had made the circuit boards on its own far easier than it let Ford use it to arrange the delicate piece of filament at the end of the gun.

He could feel Bill watching over his shoulder every step of the way. It was like at any moment he was going to snatch control for himself. The tremor had moved to Ford’s stomach now, leaving his hands feeling slow and heavy. Tiny pinpricks of sweat were forming on his forehead, nose, eyes. His glasses were about to give way and fall straight onto the gun, effectively smashing to pieces all his hard work. The microscope lens Ford’s face was glued to in order to see what he was doing would not stand a chance at stopping it. The glasses would fall, and everything was doomed. He might as well accept it now. No. That would be giving up. He did not give up. Bill was unmoving. The damn machine was not tilting properly. The filament would undoubtedly be lost forever in the ensuing chaos brought on by Ford’s crappy eyesight. He had not breathed in for a while. His stomach was lurching now.

In a fit of desperation and frustration, he jerked the controls roughly forward.

Miraculously, the filament slid exactly into place.

“HAH!” Ford shouted – or tried to. There was no air in his lungs for that to happen.

He heaved in a huge breath, straightening up as he did so. His glasses fell forwards and made a gentle tap on the lens of the microscope. Ford laughed hysterically. Bill made no comment. He just stood to the side, silent and watchful.

“Four fifths of the way done!” Ford said cheerfully, turning to him. To empty space.

Bill had left hours ago.

The elevator rumbled down, grating on Ford’s nerves, depriving him of a momentary relief.

Bill caught sight of him and laughed briefly. “Well I can tell you’ve been working! Never seen anyone so tired they put their glasses on the wrong seeing-hole.” He gestured to the machine, which Ford’s glasses were comically hanging off.

“Ah! Yes,” Ford said brightly, jamming them back on his face.

“Almost done I see.” Bill said, looking hungrily at the almost-complete gun. “Let’s get that last stretch over with, pal! I gotta tell you, I am longing for a chance to try it out. You know, you should be proud. It was you who brought all this into being.” Bill swirled an upright finger around to encompass the general vicinity.

“I appreciate it,” Ford said, banging a hand down onto the table to emphasise his statement. The gun jumped half a foot into the air, making a loud clunk as it fell. Ford laughed again when it did not break. The thing was invincible!

“Good to see you’re finally gaining a sense of humour,” grinned Bill.

“Who are you going to test this on? Not me, I hope,” said Ford grinning equally wide. Everything seemed very hearty at the moment. He remembered this feeling – first from university, and now every so often from the five years he had been working with Bill.

“Oh no, Fordsy, you’re my number one! There have been a few pains in the neck hanging around though. I’m sure I can think of someone,”

Ford nodded in agreement. Bill was good at thinking.

“Anyway, time to make that bulb! You’ve got some shimmern to melt down and some specific heat calculations to redo. You see that there? You forgot the indices.” He pointed casually at a sheet of working paper.

Ford managed an acknowledgement through tightly grit teeth and a strained smile. It was becoming painful, actually. How did Bill keep it up all the time?

∆

There had been stabbing pains in his stomach a few hours ago. He only remembered them when he reached precisely twenty-four hours without food.

Coffee counted as food, Ford decided, heating up the kettle.

The kitchen was really bright and his eyes did not want to adjust. He squinted into the –

He glanced at the clock.

- eight AM light rebelliously.

Coffee in mouth.

HOT.

His legs felt really tired. He was fine, but his legs ached. So did his back. And arm muscles. And fingers. Taking a moment to sit down might be advisable.

Ooooohhh it was.

It was rather peaceful up here. Very quiet. Cool. The makeshift forge was making the basement incredibly hot, so until it was at the temperature it needed to be to melt shimmern, he would wait up here.

He should stretch out his neck more. A few cricks, but nothing too painful. It felt especially pleasant when he rolled his head forwards. Quite heavy, too. Maybe he would just lie on the table like this for a moment. Wait for the coffee to cool down. Wait for the forge to heat up . . .

Where are they?

There was blood everywhere, but no one in the chairs. No one in the room. A light was growing – a bright blue-white light. Not emanating from anywhere in particular. Just growing.

Someone shouted his name.

Fiddleford.

Was not with him. He must have found them. Ford turned to go.

There they were. All three of them. Standing just beyond the threshold of the door. They stared at him expressionlessly. Addi and Stan had bloodstains on their clothes. The ever-increasing light threw the colours into sharp relief. Everything trembled around the edges as though it was about to explode. Stan’s left hand was being held by someone he could not see. Fiddleford was looking at a photograph.

Where did you go?

"You were the one who left," said Addi.

A hum he had not noticed rose to a peak. He started forwards, needing to let her know he hadn’t, he was right here, he was going to see Stan so soon, he was going to ask Fiddleford to help on his next project, he was going to kiss her for real one day, he just needed some time, just a little –

A bulb exploded. Sparks. Silence. Dark.

Dark.

Laughing next to his ear.

He jerked upright, lashing out beside him, eyes wide despite the glaring light, but he was alone.

Ford gasped for breath. How long had he been asleep for? Sleeping was – was not good. He scrubbed his face with his hands and downed the cold coffee with a shudder. Better than nothing.

Looking at the clock, he saw it had only been ten minutes. Plenty of time. He had plenty of time. He was not even on a time limit. That was how much time he had.

∆

When shimmern melted, it glowed a bright yellow-white and radiated incredible heat. Ford had to wear goggles and gloves just so he could stand to be near it, and even then he was sweltering.

The lovely tear-shaped pendant gave him one last sparkle before it liquified completely. A flash of a playful grin danced in front of him, the memory of an immense wind determined to drive him back briefly hijacking his senses.

“So much for returning it,” Ford muttered.

“Oops, might’ve forgotten to mention that we needed to use all of it,” shrugged Bill from the other side of the glowing material. “Ah, memories, memories.” Before he sauntered away, he gave Ford a look that was all too piercing.

Then again, a voice in his head weakly protested, everything looks hazy over here. You might be seeing things.

Ford snorted. “I really need to talk to someone that I actually want around,” he informed the blazing liquid.

He grabbed the last machine from China and started to shape molten shimmern, steadfastly ignoring an image in his mind’s eye of Adeline smiling as he had tried to dismantle the very same device he was using.

∆

“Y’know Ivan, he’s really come through,” said Bill, raiding the fridge. “I thought for a while he was going to pull some crazy stunt-” he waved his hands around wildly – “but it looks like he held out. Our genius is back on track!”

“So the device is complete, then?” asked Ivan on the other end of the line.

“It will be. VERY soon. Ol’ Six-Fingers can be amazing if he’s pushed. So anyway, just calling to let ya know I don’t need you to, ah, how to put this delicately,” he swiped a hand across his neck, miming a beheading, “murder him painfully. I mean, I haven’t exactly been keeping everything under wraps lately, but like I said, no crazy stunts, ‘You betrayed me!’, yadda yadda yadda.”

“Very convenient, sir. Is there any word on your solution for the situation over here?”

“Oh, yeah, our very own Agent Marks should be touching down right . . . about . . .” Bill checked his watch theatrically, “now. Once she’s blown off a head or two, you rush to her place having heroically tracked her down with your fantastic FBI training and arrest her. Events, cover-ups revealed, bing, bang, boom, Oracle Division topples like dominoes. And then I’m free to put that memory gun to some use.”

∆

“Sixer!” No answer. Bill frowned and walked back downstairs. “Weren't you . . . hey, Sixer!” Again, no answer.

Bill moved decisively towards the basement entrance.

“Well, well, well, well, well. My memory gun finished yet?” Silence. The entire basement was still. All the lights were off, like they were no longer needed.

“Pines . . .” Bill growled. Not taking his eyes off the dark space ahead, he took out his phone and pressed and selected a contact to call. No answering phone rang, apart from on the other end of the line.

∆

Ford fumbled one-handed with the phone, managing to answer while keeping a set of bloodshot eyes on the road.

“Bill! Yes, I’m here,”

“No, y’see Sixer, that’s the problem. You really AREN’T,”

“The memory gun’s finished. It’s on the worktable. Do you need something? I’m a little preoccupied right now.” Should he be talking to his employer so disrespectfully? Welp, too late now.

He careened around a bend in a move he felt his brother would have been proud of.

“You’re testing my patience, Fordsy. I’m sure I don’t have to phrase my question, since it should be OBVIOUS,”

“I didn’t tell you? I swore I did.” Ford said, genuinely surprised. After a second’s reflection, he reconsidered his position. “Oh. No, I only thought about telling you. That was probably when I got into the car,”

He revved the El Diablo’s engine enthusiastically.

“I’m going to visit Stan,” he informed Bill lightly, speeding past the “Welcome to Gravity Falls” sign so fast it was a blur.

“Why,” stated Bill coldly, in a way which was very emphatically not a question.

“Because I said I would!” Shrugged Ford happily. “I like being around him. I don’t like being cut-off and alone. I think the Cipher Wheel could benefit from a new point of view! Also, I need to return his car.”

He might regret saying most of those things later. He did not at the present moment, however, which was the important thing. It really was amazing what thirty-two hours without sleep could do for an individual’s self-confidence. In fact, this had been nothing; he felt like he could continue without sleep for days more.

“This is a little off-the-rails for you, you gotta admit. Pretty unexpected. A bit of a crazy stunt, you might say,”

“I suppose so. I think I’m overdue, to be honest. I will see you in a few days, sir!”

“Oh, you never know. Anything could happen. For instance, I bet you’re going to receive one heck of a welcome in Sacramento!”

“I’d settle for anything at this point!”

They both laughed. And kept laughing. And laughed some more. Ford ran out of breath first.

“I suppose you gotta make a stand at some point, Stanford! Might wanna scout out the turf beforehand, though. Seeya, kid!”

∆

“Ivan! You remember what I said about painfully murdering Pines? Yeah, let’s do that. He’s headed your way, and I wouldn’t miss him if I were you. In fact, same goes for anyone who gets in your way. We’ve got the means to deal with the fallout now,”

The memory gun glinted as Bill turned it over in his hand.

#gravity falls #fanfiction #spy au #double o sixer au #stanford pines #bill cipher #blind ivan #adeline marks #stanley pines #fiddleford mcgucket #the cipher conspiracy #my writing #ford's survival instincts desert him when he's sleep deprived #so much insane laughter

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deborahdeshoftim5779 · 8 years ago

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Trelsi: The Pleasure of Un-Orthodoxy

I have to advise honest High School Musical fanfiction writers that they must shelve their fear of being un-orthodox. The HSM fandom is one of the least balanced I have ever seen, and I’ve been part of a few other major fandoms within the last couple of years. With almost no criticism applied to the major couple, Troy and Gabriella, then there should be no fear of going against the grain, even if that means a substantially smaller reading audience. I’ve just spent a couple of hours rewriting and adding to notes for my major Trelsi story, as I’ve been dilly-dallying on it for a while, working on a couple of smaller Trelsi projects. I love this story madly, because I’ve got loads of unorthodox additions, structures and changes that I want to make, all of which have been thought through over the last six months.

The deal is this: non-Orthodox HSM fandoms are often better considered than the canonical pairings-- particularly Troyella. I’ve discussed the patent problems with Troyella in a current series I’m writing called “The Marvel of Trelsi”. Check it out if you like chunky paragraphs, unbridled sarcasm and endless footnotes. This is because the non-orthodox ships must often sift through a large body of script and photographic evidence in order to build a case for their ship. Of course, this is not always the case, and this does not guarantee that anyone will agree with that interpretation. I personally much prefer a case for a ship that is built on script evidence, rather than photographic evidence, as the script is less prone to manipulation than photographs-- a screenshot could mean anything to anyone at any time. But even so, the non-Orthodox shipper often has to look beyond what they are given, whereas the Troyella narrative is so imposing that it does not lend to critical thinking.

Of course, there are many non-Orthodox ships that I consider implausible or ridiculous. Not everyone bothers to do their homework. And building a case for a ship does not mean that one has considered the legitimate future for that ship, which I argue is somewhat important. (Depending upon how seriously you take these things). But they have often yielded potential scenarios of greater interest than what was given to us via Troyella. I consider Trelsi to be very much in this vein. Because so few fans are willing to consider Trelsi outside of Kelsi being a useful accessory to promote the Troyella relationship, then very few people are willing to actually think the potential through (soon to be discussed in my above-mentioned series) and see how that compares to the canonical narrative. I have to appreciate the very small audience willing to consider these things, but I continue, because these links and possibilities should be explored.

I don’t know about the writing process of other authors, although judging by the quality of some fics that I’ve read in the fandom so far, I assume that many don’t have one. I like to write detailed character notes before even writing the first letter of the first chapter. I have to get to the very bottom of the character, and this is honestly where some of my best ideas with regards to the Trelsi ship have come from. In fact, I drew heavily from my character notes in order to write my current series on Trelsi, and vice versa. Up until today, I had been procrastinating on finishing my character notes for Kelsi (ironic, given that I managed it for this series!) and finally completed them today. Previously, I had been considering whether her inability to criticize Troyella would be a significant flaw, until I dug a little deeper and thought about why she supported this “relationship”, and discovered the real reason (which I will discuss in “The Marvel of Trelsi”! XD), which gave me a whole new perspective. I was like “YES-- this makes sense!” It’s amazing when you discover more about the character whilst writing them and then being able to develop the plot. And I contend that this comes from un-orthodoxy; I have to think outside the box and work with the limited materials available to me on Trelsi in order to justify deviating so wildly from canon.

I wrote an amateur list of “Thou Shalts and Thou Shalt Nots” for the Trelsi fandom, which I now think wasn’t detailed enough with problems that I had when reading Trelsi fics. One of them includes an inability to write Troy Bolton as well as Kelsi Nielsen. I have seen a wide range of characterizations for Troy which range from an unrealistic, macho jock (not sure what script evidence supports that) to being a complete wimp and pushover, which, despite Troy’s plummeting self-esteem, is not true either. In fact, I discussed this in a footnote for my Trelsi series, that Troy can pluck up the courage to walk away from Gabriella during HSM II, when she had been deceiving and manipulating him whilst pretending to flirt with Ryan. There are clear moments when Troy is willing to try and persuade Gabriella, to disagree with her, to try and make her see reason. Just because he is not successful in these attempts does not turn him into a glob of jelly. Another characterization that I wish to challenge is that of Kelsi as being the perennial shrinking violet throughout the movies. I alluded to this during my “Thou Shalts/Thou Shalt Nots”, but I believe that time has given me enough perspective to expand upon that. It appears popular to portray Kelsi as always been the hapless, innocent, shy and sweet girl. I hope that I have brought more nuance and complexity to her as a character here and here. If you can’t see a decided evolution in Kelsi’s character throughout the canonical movies, then I must conclude that you were watching different movies. The key is to understand how much of Kelsi’s shyness remains, and how to balance that with an increased confidence. Because Kelsi takes love VERY SERIOUSLY (check out my analysis of her lyrics), there is little room for playing around with her characterization. This also undervalues the stories that rely too heavily upon the “Kelsi has a crush on Troy theory”, which I will deconstruct in my next instalment for “The Marvel of Trelsi”. (It’s coming. It’s coming... :D)

Another joy of unorthodoxy helps me to challenge the Trelsi fics where the result is a seamless happily-ever-after. I hate HEA endings with a passion-- so much so that I have committed myself to never writing one, whether for fanfiction or for an original. I’m currently working on an original story where I want my protagonist to fail in his quest, because the quest is so deep-rooted and draining that I’m not sure it can be won. It’s not that I advise being pessimistic in unorthodox pairings; I understand the desire to give two underappreciated characters a happy ending. But unorthodoxy is precisely just that. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Think about that. You need to deal with Gabriella, you need to deal with her friends, you need to deal with the dreaded status quo that the Wildcats claim has disappeared, but really exists throughout the movie canon. Personally, I embrace this challenge, and I’m very excited about adding in all my unorthodox changes to the Trelsi storyline. For me, I see no profit without a struggle, and I want Troy and Kelsi to struggle. I see no other way for them as a couple unless they have struggled first. Don’t follow the grain of Troyella where there is no struggle from the start, and everything only gets sweeter and sweeter. If you have a significant problem with Troyella, then you get to deconstruct this myth-- but don’t go overboard and decide to demonize Gabriella, or make Troyella into something worse than it is. (Although it’s difficult to see anything worse as far as relationships go). Play around a little within canonical constraints and plain old common sense.

I despise fluff in most forms. I read Trelsi fic to learn from the characterization and to add to my headcanons. I actually do not read Trelsi fiction to enjoy the fluff, because I don’t generally enjoy fluff. I understand the appeal, but it never draws me in. Am I too much of a realist? But we are dealing with teenagers, if one sticks to the canonical narrative, and whilst that may be an argument for fluff, it certainly isn’t an argument for unrealistic platitudes of love. Despite the fact that Kelsi is a heavy romantic idealist (as is Troy), that does not immeidately translate into a sugary relationship with anyone. This is why I cautioned against sugary Trelsi stories. But don’t get me wrong, you can still get some classic romantic moments between Troy and Kelsi. I know, because I’ve been planning stories for the last six months. It’s just a matter of understanding what constitutes Troy and Kelsi’s relationship, that it is made up of small, notable and largely quiet moments, often demonstrated during when one of them (usually Troy, but it can also be Kelsi) is at their lowest. So from a writing technique, aesthetic and sadistic viewpoint, I prefer to challenge Troy and Kelsi before they deserve any romantic moments together. I take this same approach to all the romance fiction that I’ve written for other fandoms. If they haven’t suffered, then they don’t deserve it.

(Fun fact: I used to hate the romance genre, and swore never to write it).

I have attempted to demonstrate a romantic moment here:

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“Today, he looked casual, almost invisible, with his black jeans, sneakers and black shirt. Casual and handsome, she added, quite forgetting that she should have outgrown such thoughts by now.

“Why don’t you play the rest of it?” Without waiting for response, he had jumped off stage (she couldn’t help admiring his agility) and the next minute, was sitting next to her on the piano stool. Distracted by this, and possibly by his deodorant or aftershave or whatever, she stared at him before remembering that this wasn’t Junior Year, and she hadn’t only just met him, and she should just play the damn thing.

“It’s kinda rough right now--”

He smiled. “Didn’t sound like it.”

Relenting, she played it. And somehow, maybe because it was her first time, or perhaps because only Troy was there to hear it, she felt drawn in far deeper than she’d intended, so much so that when she’d finished, it took a moment to return to reality. Just the bare bones? No, she had accessed something deeper in the three or four minutes she’d played, and wasn’t sure how to retrieve it, capture the moment in a bottle and repeat. She stared at the keys, her fingernails and then the crumpled manuscript in front of her as though they’d suddenly appeared. Jesus Christ. And finally, she glanced at Troy, embarrassed about zoning out on him.

“Er… so yeah. That’s the song. So far.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on hers. “Wow… That’s… That’s nice.”

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As you can see, I’ve reused the scene from HSM I, after Troy hears “What I’ve Been Looking For” in order to demonstrate the emotional connection that Troy feels-- canonically, I might add-- towards Kelsi’s music. Obviously, this is rough, so it will be edited properly, but right now (at 22:11pm), I’m thinking it’s not too shabby. Yet. :D I am going to have some fun coming up with more scenes, some already which are in my head.

I’m onto writing my character notes for Gabriella Montez, which I will finish sometime later this week. That will certainly be fun as I seek to understand her motivations, and why she gets away with such atrocious behaviour towards Troy Bolton.

Stay unorthodox! :D

#Trelsi #Playmakers #OTP #TroyBolton #KelsiNielsen #Deb'sWritings #NeedToGoToBed #Tired #HighSchoolMusical #TrelsiRomance #LiterallyTroyandKelsiForever

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