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duckprintspress · 3 years

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How can I write quickly?

I (hi, I’m @unforth) have been asked frequently over the years how I write a lot quickly. I’m a pretty fast writer - for example, I wrote the 5600 words of my May Trope Mayhem fill from yesterday in under 2.5 hours.

First, a little of my personal history for context. I’ve always written, starting from when I was able to string letters into (very poorly spelled) words and (horrible un-grammatical) sentences. When I started trying my hand at serious, professional-level fiction writing, I joined a community called novel_in_90, which was founded by the author Elizabeth Bear. The purpose of novel_in_90 was “to be NaNoWriMo but more realistic.” Instead of 50,000 words in 31 days, it was 67,500 words in 90 days, or 750 words a day. I participated in multiple rounds of novel_in_90 starting in mid-2005, and in 2007 I completed my first (godawful) novel. When I started, even writing a couple hundred words of day took me forever, but it got easier with time.

During those same years, I also got a job that required I do professional writing on a deadline: I was a grant writer, and I only got paid when the grants won. That often meant working fast under high pressure, culminating in the weekend I wrote and edited an entire 40 pages grant that was due on Monday. I think, if I hadn’t had a solid foundation of “regular daily plodding writing,” I’d not have been able to marathon when the moment came...and it came because I had to, not because I wanted to. However, I learned a valuable lesson: I could. Subsequently, I found that, when I had the time and space and was rested enough to use my brain, I could bust out a huge amount. Like, I wrote an entire 150,000 word novel in 17 days.

My personal record is about 200,000 words in one month (it was the month I wrote that novel; I wasn’t tracking when I did that so I don’t know exactly), 25,000 words in a day, and I’ve topped out around 3,000 words an hour. I do know people who can do more...but not many.

Not everyone will be able to do this. Flat out, I MUST preface the rest of this post by saying that. Some people will find that writing fast fits their brain, and for others, it just won’t, and that’s okay. Fast doesn’t equal better, and it isn’t inherently “good” to write fast. Furthermore, even for those who can write fast, not everyone will find the same strategies helpful. I can share what works for me. Try out one item, some items, or all of these - if writing faster is something you want to be able to do, which it certainly never has to be. Use what works for you, and discard the rest.

Sit in your chair, put your fingers on your keyboard or touch screen, and write. You can’t write 1,000 words in half an hour until you write one word, however long that one word takes. I know saying this is obvious, but I’ve been asked “how can I write fast” by people who struggle to write at all...fast can’t be your priority until you’ve got a foundation of just writing. (Honestly...fast should never be your priority, but it might be helpful to you regardless, which can make it worth learning.)

Start small. Set an achievable goal, and make yourself meet that goal (daily, weekly, whatever) come hell or high water, no matter how long it takes you. Keep the goal small at first; you’re not trying to torture yourself, you’re trying to build a skill. If you set the goal high enough that you consistently fail, you’re not teaching yourself anything. And, if you find the goal IS too high...lower it. There’s no shame in working within your limits. Think of it like starting a new work out regimen: you wouldn’t try to run a 10k at a record time if you can’t run a mile slow. Treat your fingers and your brain the same way you’d treat your legs and joints. Give them time to grow, learn, and improve before you try to push yourself.

Trying to write daily is worthwhile if you want to work on your writing speed, because you’ll be forced to try to fit it in as you’re able - that might be ten minutes in your morning, or an hour in your evening, and it might vary from day to day, but making it daily means you have to fit it in somewhere.

Building skills takes time and isn’t easy. For some people, it will come easier than for others, and even when you’re fast, going from “I can write words fast” to “I can write damn good words fast” takes practice and dedication and accepting constructive criticism - speed alone will never be worth more than writing well.

Having a community can help. Ya’ll will check in on each other, cheer each other on, remind each other that missing a day or a goal isn’t the end of the world, and keep each other’s spirits up. If you don’t know other writerly folks online, I recommend Weekend Writing Marathon ( @weekendwritingmarathon ) as a good place to start (I used to be a mod there). Once you’re trying to work up to larger word counts in a day, remember that even writing fast will take minutes or hours. You can’t write 2,500 words in an hour if you don’t set an hour aside. Make sure you’re giving yourself the room and time you need to succeed.

You will probably never be able to do high, rapid word counts every day, every week, every month. The best runners in the world don’t run marathons every day. Set realistic long term goals.

Work on projects where you have a clear idea of where you’re going. I’m not saying “pantsers” can’t write fast, because of course they can, but if you want to write fast, and well, and coherently, to create a first draft that’s in pretty good shape, you’ll do better if you have a good sense of what you’re trying to accomplish with your story. That doesn’t mean you need to do all your world building up front, or have a complete outline (I never have either). All you really need is what happens next. I tend to plan projects - and write them - one full scene at a time, with only a vague idea what’s going to come after. (I’m personally a “plantser,” and the strategies in this post will likely be most effective to other plantsers.)

Visualize ahead of time what you’d like to write...but don’t get too attached to what you visualize. When I go to bed, I plan the next scene I’m going to compose, often to the least detail. I then forget all of it overnight, at least all the specifics, and I’m left with a general sense and shape of what’s to come. You’ll never be able to replicate the “perfect” dialog you pre-conceive, so give up on trying to. Instead, play through the scene and think about the emotional beats you want to hit and plot points you want to forward. If you keep that in mind, you’ll be able to get the words out faster than if you’re agonizing over every word or regretting the “oh-so-great” idea that you’ve since forgotten.

Practice different work styles. If writing every day doesn’t work for you, try instead saying, “this is my writing day each week,” and aim for a lot that specific day, and write little or nothing other days. Try writing at different times of day and on different days, fitting it into your schedule. If you’re beating yourself up for not writing when you “should,” it’ll be that much harder to succeed, so instead, as I said for point 2 - set a reasonable goal that fits your life and working style, fitting it around your other responsibilities, and push yourself within that framework, instead of trying to shoehorn into a style that you “think you should” use to succeed.

Track your word counts, and take notes on how much you did and what project you were working on. If you’re also experimenting with different times of day and different days, make sure you note that too. I personally use a simple Excel sheet (well, Google Sheets, now) - column one is the date, column 2 is “starting word count,” column 3 is “ending word count,” column 4 is “=column 3 - column 2”, column 5 is notes. Pay attention to when you succeed at writing faster, and when you don’t, and consider what factors might have played into your success...and then try to replicate those factors next time you’re doing a sprint. Control as many variables as you can while you’re “training.”

If you find social media distracting, trying getting a web browser extension that prevents you from connecting to websites for a set period of time.

If you find you tend to dither before starting, I find it helpful to run through everything that I might do to procrastinate (check my social media! grab a snack! make some tea! set up my playlist! check my social media again! finish making the tea! check my social media for what I swear will be the last time!), and when I’m done, it’s like, well, I’ve done all those things, I’ve got no choice left, time to write, no excuses left.

If you find you struggle with picking up a WIP, try leaving off in the middle of a sentence at the end of a session, one where you know exactly how it ends - or, leave off mid-paragraph, or when you are positive you know what happens next (and I mean literally next, as in the very next sentence.) It’s much easier to “pick back up” when your first words are super clear. (Do not do this if you think there’s any chance you’ll forget or end up in a situation where you won’t return to your WIP for months!)

If you find you struggle to maintain continuity across multiple writing sessions, try rereading what you wrote the previous day before you proceed. Resist the urge to edit it!

Avoid stopping when you get stuck, even to do research. Don’t know a fact? Add a comment to your manuscript flagging the relevant text, “LOOK THIS UP LATER.” Can’t think of a word? Put in something you can use the “find” function on easily (I personally use “XX” since there are no words that have a double x in them) and so you can come back later, search for your chosen placeholder, and fill in the blanks. Not sure how a scene ends but know the next scene? Jump ahead.

That said, if you really don’t know what happens next, you don’t do yourself any favors by pressing on. As I’ve said previously, speed alone should never be your writing object. It’s better to slow down, consider your plot, figure out where you’re going, and then write, than to just plow ahead - or at least, that’s better if you want a manuscript you’ll actually be able to use for something at a later point. If you’re truly just practicing, you can also say “screw it, who needs coherence?” and keep going. I’d personally never have finished my first novel if I’d spent a lot of time worrying about making the pieces fit together and yeah, it’s a mess, but it’s a mess I wrote instead of a mess I got stuck on and never completed.

Don’t move the finish line. If you’ve set the goal of 500 words a day, don’t beat yourself up if you get 550 because you think you think you could have done more. If you say you’ll write five days a week, don’t get mad because you DID have time the sixth day but chose to use it on something else. If you make yourself feel like shit when you succeed, what’ll happen when you fail? And when you’re comfortable and really think you’re ready, change the goal - reassess every month, say, and up your goals. While working for speed, trying upping your word count goal without changing the amount of time you allot for working.

Your need to adhere to the above suggestions will change over time. Once, I always had an outline; now I often don’t need one. Once, I wouldn’t let myself stop even to use a thesaurus; now, I find I can look up words without breaking my flow or significantly slowing myself down. This is not an “all or nothing” prospect, nor is it a “do things the same way forever once you’ve found one (1) thing that works” prospect - you’ll experiment, and find strategies that work for you, and then at some point, your needs will change, and you’ll experiment more, and find new strategies that work for you, on and on, as your skills grow.

To reiterate: writing fast should never be your objective in and of itself! Greater writing speed will come with practice and as a general side effect of improving your craft. Simply being able to write fast is useless; being able to write fast and well will enable you to get more of your ideas out there, so if that’s something you’d like to accomplish, focus on building your general skills and training yourself to be able to use those skills rapidly and in tandem with each other to produce decent writing, in a first draft, at a decent speed.

Once you try, you may find none of this works for you! That’s okay. That’s good! You tried, which means you learned something about yourself and your own writing style, and that too will help you to improve. Keep experimenting, keep learning, and find what does work for you - and accept that no two writers will ever be the same, and one of those differences will be writing speed. Some writers will never write fast, and that’s doesn’t make them any less awesome or valid. And some writers will always write fast, and that doesn’t make them inherently awesome or valid. Only with a suite of skills that suit your individual life, personality, work style, writing capabilities, goals, etc., will you succeed as a writer (for various, personalized definitions of the word “success”); speed is only one of those potential skills, and not one that’s particularly important in my opinion...yet I still get asked about it fairly often, so here we are, these are my suggestions

Go forth, and write some words! <3

#duck prints press #writing advice #original content

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pandawriterstuff · 3 years

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Pinehallow Summary & Character List

This is my main WIP, if I'm complaining about characters doing whatever they want, this is them.

Pinehallow Summary-Monty, an eleven year old boy who has spent most of his life traveling from place to place with his in-demand lawyer mother, Irene, is sent to live at his uncle's horse ranch because she thinks he needs roots. Used to nearly everyone but his mother not being around long enough to get to know, Monty is more than a bit uncertain about this. But in scrambling to find his place in a town different to anything he's ever known, he finds friends, both human and animal, makes discoveries, and even manages to foil a plot against Pinehallow Ranch itself.

Character List

Monty (Montgomery) Cade Waller- Main character, 11, white. Monty is curious, bright, and more than a little awkward. He has a tendency to state the obvious, which can be endearing or annoying depending on your perspective. Big vocabulary and grown-up way of speaking because he’s spent more time around grown-ups than other kids. He’s quietly stubborn, particularly when it comes to being told he’s wrong when he knows he’s right. Insecure about socializing and friendships because of constant moving and traveling. Can’t hold a grudge for the life of him, even when he likely should. He likes bugs, birds and turtles, would rather read nonfiction than a story. Fills lonely afternoons with sketching, nature sketching on the ranch.

Irene Waller- Monty’s mother, 36, white. Irene is a powerful corporate lawyer, either full of energy or exhausted, never in between. She loves using words to sway minds and deciphering documents to find exactly what the opposition doesn’t want her to find. Sometimes Irene wishes she was using her skills in more meaningful ways, but also really likes the money, the traveling, and the competition. Has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of show tunes from musicals. She has a hard time letting people get close. Would stab someone for her baby, but knows it’s better to teach him to stab for himself. Only partially joking. Dolly Parton is her hero, and as much as she loves her music, it’s Dolly the business woman and Dolly the philanthropist that she strives to emulate.

Keith Waller- Monty’s uncle, 34, white. Horse Rancher. Keith loves working hard and getting dirty, and if he’s not exhausted at the end of the day he’ll be looking for something else to push him there. Otherwise he gets antsy. Loves animals and absolutely will not tolerate anyone mistreating any of the animals on his ranch-ordinarily he’s very careful of his size and strength, in that situation, all bets are off. Times that by about ten for any of the ‘barn rats’ that help around the ranch for riding lessons/time. Loves romantic comedies and telanovas and doesn’t care who knows it. Keith doesn’t read a lot, it never came easy to him, but if he’s taking a long trip he’ll always check an audio book or two out of the library instead of just relying on the radio.

Juniper - Keith’s goddaughter, 15, white. She has a calm, confident personality with a smile for most everyone she meets. If she doesn’t have a smile for you and it isn’t because her head is in the clouds over a girl, you’ve probably earned her scorn and will be ignored as much as possible. Juniper raises rabbits and it’s taught her patience, and a lot about unfairness when a kit doesn’t make it. She helps out with riding lessons at the ranch in exchange for riding time of her own, and has become a fixture, spending more time there than she does at home, and when she can get away with it, school. Loves sunflowers and her sunflower comforter is probably her most prized possession.

Nell - Caretaker/cook for the ranch house(would cooking lunch for the workers still be a thing on a modern ranch?). 38, white(?). Not about to put up with nonsense. Will make you cookies if she doesn’t have to put up with nonsense. Please. At one point she wanted to be a chef and has a year of culinary school under her belt, but quickly decided the super fast paced and competitive environment wasn’t for her. Anything that was making her hate one of her favorite things that fast could not be good for a person. She intends to live a long, long life and that kind of stress can just walk right out of the door. Loves to go on long walks, often into the hills (BLM land) behind the ranch. (maybe she was taught/took a class on foraging, and teaches Monty to find wild onions and stuff? But this would mean *I* have to learn about foraging in Idaho.) This leads to a contented, if often silent, companionship between her and Monty, who desperately wants to explore/record/sketch everything about the natural world of his new home, particularly the parts that are off limits to him without an adult along.

Ray- Family Friend/Co-Owner of R & M General (designed to feel vintage, but shiny. Bit of a tourist stop now, they decided to lean into it.), 50, Black. He uses his background in chemistry to make amazing looking candies and chocolates, using that to deal with a time he used it in less pleasant ways when he was in the military. He never expected anybody outside of his small town, or maybe the folks at the county fair to make so much fuss over them. This might embarrass him, if he weren’t so delighted. A cheerful man with a dreamer’s heart, a magazine once referred to him as a small town Willy Wonka. He dotes on his wife, often making and gifting her small surprises. An amputee in honor of my Grandpa (missing left leg at the knee, possibly missing one arm as well, but I’m not sure how that would affect candy making.). Has certain parts of his past he just doesn’t talk about.

Mavis- Co-Owner of ____ with Ray, 48, Black. Fierce and kind in equal measures, Mavis believes in protecting what’s hers, and as far as she’s concerned the entire town of (oh my god, it needs a name) is included in that. Mavis is very selective about the battles she fights, but when she chooses one she throws herself in whole-heartedly. On several committees around town, she’d be on more, but then she wouldn’t have enough time to really get into the work of the ones she loves. She knits in her limited free time, often while listening to the news, but sometimes opera. Has started knitting stuffies in the shapes of the more unusual candies Ray makes, it’s silly, but fun, and tourists and the local kids love it. Still head over heels for Ray, even though his often dreaming about things for ages instead of just doing them is also still baffling to her.

Leanna - Juniper’s sort-of girlfriend, 15, Vietnamese. Quiet, a little cynical, but very empathetic. She avoids the news because it’s that or be mad and want to cry all the time-until she hears about something she can’t not research, and goes on a 24 hour google search and learns far more than is probably good for her about a species going extinct due to logging in prohibited areas, or genocide being covered up by claims of violent uprisings. She loves manga and comics. Leanna sometimes tries for a cottagecore* type aesthetic, but mostly thinks it's too much work. She’s starting to worry about what she’s going to do with her future, and people telling her that she’s only 15 and doesn’t have to worry about it yet is NOT HELPING.

*even though cottagecore isn’t a thing in the early-mid 2000s this is maybe/vaguely set in. Shh, let me have this. Anne of Green Gablesesque maybe?

Winnie - Leanna’s mom, 45, Vietnamese. Widow? A little ditzy, but a lot loving. Everyone in town is convinced she’s the stoner type of hippy, but no one minds as she’s someone who truly wants to know how you’re doing when she asks and strangely almost always has very spot on advice. She’s rarely on time anywhere, but that’s because she’ll have stopped to talk, and often to help, whoever she’s run into. Leanna and her bicker over this when she’s late picking her up. Always wears bright colors. Loves Agatha Christie books. Calls everyone, even people 50 years older than her, hon.

Logan - Juniper’s stepdad, 40, white. Kind of a jerk, but most of the jerky things he says are actually jokes that fall flat or have simply gotten old. Tries really hard, like *really* hard, but has a tendency to get annoyed if people don’t appreciate his efforts right away-more in his personal life than professional, possibly because of his profession. A contractor, hard worker, loyal, has worked for the same company since he was twenty even though they don’t often treat him right. Sometimes tries to buy people’s affections. Wants to have better communication with Juniper, but it’s gotten really hard the last few years and he’s never quite sure why.

Candice - Juniper’s Mom, 39, white, works at a nursery that sells seedlings and baby fruit trees, has a cheerful, calm personality, but a lot softer and more lowkey than Juniper’s version. Very house proud, but has a ‘maximalist’ approach to decorating-everything is in its place, but there are places for lots of things. Loves spending time outdoors, but would rather spend it tending her garden than hiking or riding, preferably with a cup of tea by her side. On the weekends, a fruity beer or wine instead. Wants to go on one of those train rides where you get to drink wine, eat canapes and try to solve a mystery, thinks Winnie might be a good candidate for someone to go with her.

Ura - a ‘barn rat’, 12 and a half, white(maybe a Czech immigrant? 2nd generation?) . A cheerful, rough and tumble boy who is always climbing things, and often being told to stop when he gets too high for other people's comfort. Ura is fearless when it comes to physical feats, but has a fear of ‘slimy’ things like worms and frogs. He has a thick layer of pudge and a big appetite, but is athletic and strong enough that anyone bullying him over it would be doing it at their own peril. Not that he’s the type to start fights, or even finish them most of the time. Doesn’t feel he quite fits in with his family, who are all more serious, reserved people. Redwood is his favorite of the horses, and Keith has all but given up on telling him that sitting on the floor of Red’s stall to talk to the horse isn’t exactly safe.

Elliot - Ray and Mavis’s son, Black, 19 and a college student-maybe/probably at U of I. Lives on campus, but comes home at least a couple weekends a month. Has an older car that he and Ray fixed up together, that is his pride and joy. Quiet, with an irreverent sense of humor that he unleashes somewhat at random. Interested in robotics, engines and mechanics and generally has some project he’s working on, a piece of which may or may not be in his pocket. Often has oil, grease, or ink on his hands, either from working on or designing a new project. A bit of an overachiever, he can spread himself thin trying to live up to all his responsibilities at once. He’s best friends with Randy, a friendship his parents want to disapprove of, because the few times Elliot’s gotten into trouble not only was Randy there, but 99% of the time whatever it was is Randy’s idea, but never quite manage too.

Randy - Handyman at the ranch, mixed race Hispanic and white, 21. Technically head handyman, because the old head retired six months ago, and is a little young/inexperienced for the job, but he’s not the type to back away from a challenge and has risen to the occasion beautifully. Loves rock and metal music, and spends a lot of his free weekends at concerts, the ones crammed into little venues and bars where people are practically on top of each other and the beat is so loud and solid it throbs through you, connecting you to everyone even before you hit the mosh pit, are his preference. He’s been working at the ranch since he was 16, and feels like he has a claim on it, not afraid to speak up if he thinks a decision Keith is making isn’t right or that he isn’t taking something important into consideration. Can be a bit wild when he’s not being the responsible one, definitely doesn’t always think before he acts.

Alma - Local artist/worker at R & M’s, Hispanic, 25. Alma is a painter and poet, a confident young woman who’s figured out that half of surviving as an artist is being your own agent/a salesperson as well, and in addition to several shelves at the R & M that hold postcard prints of many of her pieces, both the coffee shop and cafe have some of her larger paintings displayed, and she always has a booth at the Saturday market, though the majority of her sales come from her website. Alma is cheerful, and likes to tease, and growing up the middle child of four brothers, is very able to hold her own in verbal sparring. She’s close with her family, still living with her parents, and while at first her father was dismayed at her choice of career, he now hands out her business card to basically everyone he talks to.

Miriam - Nell’s Mom, white, 71, a little deaf, speaks loudly, partially because of the deafness, partially because she spent too long letting other people push her around and when she hit about 50 decided she was going to be the one talking over people now. She’s earned it. Age has made her more delicate than she likes, bruising and scraping easily, but she’s determined to do most things for herself. Those that are beyond her she has no problem loudly ordering someone else to take care of. Volunteers a lot, often fosters kittens for the local animal shelter. Used to chain smoke, quit when Nell was a teenager because she kept leaving pictures of diseased lungs everywhere. Still uses the candy ones as a substitute.

Places

Unnamed Town- Somewhere in Latah County, Idaho, where there is not already a town in the way. Around 200 years old and has grown and shrunk and grown again, and currently has a population of about 12,000. Having grown out from a traditional mainstreet, _______ no longer has the western style boardwalk seen in old pictures, but it does have a large cluster of local businesses and ‘hot spots’ still along that old main street, a coffee shop, a diner, a combination bookshop and independent library, a hardware store, a bar, a few places I haven’t thought of yet, and of course R & M General. There is a historical barn half a mile or so away from mainstreet that has been converted into a theater/meeting hall/dance hall, and a community center was added onto it in the early 90’s. During the summer there is a farmer’s market on the property every Saturday. The elementary school and junior high are all on one property, several miles out of town, because the majority of families live on farms, ranches or small rural properties rather than in one of the neighborhood clusters in the town itself. The junior high is 7th, 8th and 9th graders, in a newer two story building, and the elementary school is divided into lower and upper elementary with the bracket shaped building basically being cut in half, K-3 on one side and 4-6 on the other. The high school is outside of town on the other side by several miles, and actually serves kids from another town(s) as well. There is also a trailer park with about forty units, not exactly sure where it is yet, but Miriam(Nell’s Mom) lives there. There is also an animal shelter, a vet’s office, a cemetery, and a couple churches, and I’m sure more things to come.

R & M General (working title?)- Ray and Mavis’s store, a general store with a candy focused twist. A vintage Pepsi sign, neon still bright, and a charming green glass juke-box filled with hits from the 1940’s onward grace the front porch of the R & M, along with a long bench that locals are encouraged to use for a spell or to listen to a couple songs, provided they can behave themselves (teenagers arguing over who their favorite member of the rat pack is might be amusing, considering they were already ‘mom and dad’, or at least older brother and sister, music by the time Mavis and Ray were teenagers, but when they get loud it also gets annoying.). The store itself still has the original wooden counter up front and built-in shelves along the walls, but all refinished and polished to a high shine. A mixture of display types going down the middle of the store, barrels and baskets filled with skeins of colorful yarn and cloth or Mavis’s knitted stuffies(and during winter sometimes socks and mittens), other sewing and craft supplies, display racks with local arts, postcards and carvings, sometimes wind up toys made by Elliot, and of course many, many displays of candies and chocolates. They also have a lot of dry goods, and some of the simpler candy types have little instruction booklets and the ingredients it takes to try out making them yourself stocked in the same display, drink coolers, and sometimes have local produce available. Basically, they have a bit of everything, except for building equipment/home repair supplies, and that’s because of the hardware store across the street.

Pinehallow Ranch-A sprawling 100 acre ranch in Latah County, Idaho where the Waller family has been doing something or other with horses for four generations now. Originally it was a horse breeding ranch, but Keith and Irene’s grandfather felt the money was in training horses, and offered boarding as well, and Keith has continued to build that up, offering lessons for a variety of styles, ages, and skill levels. Butting up against BLM land that allows additional grazing and trail riding, the ranch has four pastures, a large corral, a medium sized indoor arena and two horse barns, one for boarded horses and one for the ranch's own stock, and an equipment barn, an old bunkhouse that is mostly used to store feed-though Randy has slept there when in between places, mostly unbeknownst to Keith-and some smaller equipment sheds, placed where they’re needed. The main house is an L-shaped ranch house with a porch that goes around the entire long front of the house with a large herb/kitchen and rock garden arranged around that. There are treed pockets scattered here and there, left alone as the rest of the ranch was developed, but the creek Monty and Juniper sometimes hang out at is on BLM land, as is most of the forested area around the ranch.

Pinehallow Taglist @sleepysera @enchanted-lightning-aes @odysseywritings @thegreatobsesso @writing-is-a-martial-art and @hiitsolivia If anyone else wants to be added just interact with the post :) (My more advanced tumblr knowledge has led me to believe this is better than asking people to reblog/comment to be added, but if I'm wrong just let me know.)

#character list #oc list #someday I'll do a proper series introduction #and an introduction for me #but today is not that day #pinehallow ranch #original writing #I tend to build my world around the characters #backwards I know

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alexthedrummerboy · 4 years

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first line challenge

tagged by @moony221b and @ruzek-halstead to share the first line from my last 20 works!!

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!), see if there are any patterns, choose your favourite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

so my past 20 fics aren’t all jatp so i’m going to do first line from all my jatp fics, then a few from my jatp wips, and if i still have space (which i will), i’ll do the most recent couple fics on my ao3!!

idk who to tag so i’ll just say if you’re reading this and wanna do it, go ahead!

1. piss off your parents (date me to scare them)

"Shit."

2. i can get by the days just fine (but the nights)

There was only one problem with working the graveyard shift at Covington Coffee Roasters. It wasn't the lack of sleep (Alex was used to that by now) and it wasn't the customers either. He could deal with the occasional stroppy suburban mom - he'd had to live with one for the first 17 years of his life.

3. i need to forget you

The studio is cold when Alex walks in. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised, it’s barely five in the morning and everyone is asleep.

4. darkest before the dawn

It starts when he’s seven. He’d invited Bobby over to his house after school to play, not knowing that his dad had come home from work early. They’re sitting at the dining table, drawing with Alex’s new 36 pack of crayons when he hears it.

5. crash into me

Alex was good at many things.

6. pretty boy

The sound of Willie’s laugh is quickly becoming Alex’s favourite sound in the world. There’s something about the way it bounces and shines - there’s not a creature on earth that could resist that laugh, he thinks.

7. loml

“Julie?”

8. untitled rival soccer teams au (WIP) - honestly this might be my favourite but i think i’m biased ‘cause it’s my newest baby

It was a well-known fact, or rather an indisputable law, that the Los Felix High Phantoms and the Belmont High Tigers did not mix. In fact if Alex were to even suggest something involving the Tigers that didn’t have to do with ‘toilet paper’ and varying degrees of legality, Luke would no doubt throw a temper tantrum.

9. untitled bobby daddy au (WIP)

None of them expect it - that much is clear. They all just stand there… staring at it, wondering if it’ll just magically go away.

10. untitled teachers!willex au (WIP)

Alex straightened his tie in the mirror, wrinkling his nose. It was perfectly tied and he knew that; he’d known how to tie a perfect Windsor knot ever since he was nine-years-old (his father had insisted on him learning how to tie his own ties for church every Sunday). His shirt had been washed and ironed two days ago too, out of nervous anticipation. There wasn’t a stain, wrinkle, or stray hair in sight.

the remaining 10 of my most recent fics are glee fdsjkfsdjl so i’ll put them under the cut if anyone wants to read them but if not, have a nice day!!

11. a pinch of salt

The year was 2015. ‘Babs! The Barbra Streisand Musical’ had just opened at the Lunt-Fontanne on Broadway, starring Rachel Berry in the title role as Barbra Streisand. The buzz around the show was unmistakable. Unfortunately for the entire cast, Babs closed after just 32 performances, leaving hundreds wondering… what happened to Rachel Berry? Well folks, we have finally gotten an answer.

12. hold you up

Kurt Hummel was a good cheerleader. No, scratch that, Kurt Hummel was an excellent cheerleader. He was smart and strong and flexible, damn it. He definitely wasn't the type of cheerleader who got so distracted to the point of personal injury.

13. android blaine

I think you're cute, my name is Blaine and I work at the computer store.

14. tangled in the sheets

Blaine is three years old when his big sister Rachel brings home a friend for the first time. Her friend's name is Kurt and he's in Rachel's second grade class with her and he is perfect. Well... as perfect as a three-year-old can comprehend.

15. bd_anderson responded to your question sticker

When the feature gets introduced, Kurt doesn't think much of it. It's a sticker that you can put on your Instagram story, prompting followers to type in a message in the little box that he can read and post. Kurt sees it and forgets about it almost immediately. He doesn't use his story for much other than live-posting about The Bachelor and promoting his new posts.

16. when are you gonna sing for me?

The name 'One Three Hill' has been on the forefront of the music scene since the band's first album in 2015. Their debut single 'Underestimate Me' skyrocketed to number 1 in the pop punk charts, solidifying their place as frontrunners in the competitive and cutthroat music industry. The band's most recent album, 'Clueless', was released in 2018 to wildly positive reviews but since then, fans have been left wanting more. Well, the public was not disappointed.

17. i scraped my knee falling for you

"Mr. Anderson, I-I'm so, so sorry!"

18. coffee flavoured kisses

Kurt Hummel had heard the words 'I'm breaking up with you' three times in his life. All three times, Blaine Anderson was there with a cup of coffee and a kind smile.

19. between the lines

Blaine had never expected his life to turn out this way, working at his parent's book shop instead of performing on a Broadway stage. He didn't particularly mind it, though. His parents paid him alright (nepotism, he thinks) and he got to play his playlist quietly over the speakers most days, so it definitely could've been worse.

20. tug at my heartstrings

He isn’t usually there. That was the first thing Kurt thought when he saw the man playing the violin while walking home after work.

#britney plays games

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

Note

i’ve been kinda in a rut deciding what johnlock fanfics to read, so i came up with a challenge for myself to read as many “A Study In ____” fanfics as possible. do you have any good suggestions?

Hi Lovely!

Ahh, what a fun request and a super easy list for me to curate!! Hee hee! Here’s what I have in my bookmarks AND in my MFL list! As usual, if any of my lovelies have any of their own “A Study in” fics to suggest, please add them below!!

A STUDY IN FANFICS

Peacock by ClassyGirlsWearPearls (T, 1,189 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Cranky Sherlock, Soft John, Hand Holding, Soft Sherlock) – A study in Sherlock and John.

Study in John by chappysmom (K+, 2,158 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiP, POV John, Introspection, Friendship, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, John’s Limp) – After the events of "A Study in Pink," John lies on the couch in Baker Street and thinks about the whirlwind events of the day. What is he getting himself into?

A Study in Lace by KarlyAnne (E, 2,320 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Crafty Sherlock, Tiny Lace Panties / Lingerie, Domestics, Experiments, Oral, Masturbation) – “Why do you suppose he was doing that?” “Why do I suppose who was doing what?” “The room. The lace. The secrecy. He was playing with fire in everything he did, and didn’t care one bit. But he had a secret chamber, carefully concealed, solely for the purpose of making lace lingerie. Obviously for personal use. Why?" Part 1 of The Unintentional Crafts of Sherlock Holmes

Study in Sherlock by chappysmom (K+, 3,790 w., 1 Ch. || ASiP, Friendship, Introspection, Anxious Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock) – Sherlock's thoughts and feelings during A Study in Pink. What DID he think of John, and why was he being so NICE?

Study in Mycroft by chappysmom (K+, 4,929 w., 1 Ch. || Character Study, Big Brother Mycroft, Mycroft POV, Nosy Mycroft, Holmes Brothers) – A look at Mycroft's thoughts and actions during a Study in Pink.

A Study in Intimacy by doodle (T, 5,183 w., 1 Ch. || WEBARCHIVE LINK || PODFIC AVAILABLE || First Kiss, Virginity, Romance, Touching) – People don't touch Sherlock Holmes, not like they touch other people. Then he meets John Watson.

A Study in Linguistics by rizandace (T, 12,425 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Canon Compliant/S2 Divergence, Friendship, Slices of Life, Communication, Cranky Sherlock, Hospitals, Sherlock Whump, Pet Cat, Jealous John, Sherlock’s Violin, Anxious Sherlock, John Whump) – Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had their own language. It was a language of few words and minute facial expressions, and John had learned that it was nearly the only way to have an honest conversation with his eccentric flat mate.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,689 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes by AllesandraQuartermaine (T, 50,234 w., 22 Ch. || Post-ASiP/Pre-TAB, Domestics, Friendship, POV John) – Learn about what happened between John and Sherlock January 31st and March 22. From John's pov on how to survive and learn to live with one eccentric mad genius known as Sherlock Holmes.

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

MARKED FOR LATER

A Study in Pink Pyjamas by alexxphoenix42 (M, 1,628 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Est. Rel., Pink Pyjamas, Fluff, Cross-Dressing) – Sherlock hasn't been a fan of either Christmas or fancy pyjamas for a number of years, but John has a way of changing his mind about things.

A Study in Night Terrors by Dovahlock221 (T, 2,811 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Night Terrors, (Emotional) Hurt/Comfort, PTSD Sherlock, Worried John, Hurt John, Angst with Happy Ending) – Five times Sherlock suffered from night terrors and the one time he had the best dream of his life.

A Study in Beard by Loveismyrevolution (T, 3,810 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Fluff and Humour, Experiments, Beards, Idiots in Love, Quarantine) – Sherlock has to face the consequences of using up all of their shaving foam. Which turns out to be more fun than expected. Boys being boys, nothing can go without a challenge. Although, being isolated presents a problem. How will they determine the winner? Part 2 of the Hairy Situations at 221B series

A Study in Sensuality (or, That Johnlock Gif Story) by MojoFlower (E, 4,693 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock || Porn Gifs, PWP, Pole Dancer Sherlock, Student Sherlock, Student John, Photography, Sensuality, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Rimming, Fingering, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Felching, Unsafe Sex) – When John signs up to partner with Sherlock Holmes in photography class, he never guesses it will end up with him balls-deep in his study partner's arse. Easy A?

A Study in Dichotomy by UrbanHymnal (E, 7,439 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Misunderstandings, Fluff and Humour) – John wants his brilliance and his stupidity; his knowledge of 243 types of ash and his inability to name all the planets in the solar system; his perfectly pressed suits and his wrinkled t-shirts carelessly tossed on inside out. John wants to kiss Sherlock when he is still waking to the world, to press against him when he is still warm from sleep. He wants to grab Sherlock by the scarf and haul him close so he can bury his nose in the sweat that has collected at the base of Sherlock's neck, under his arms, in between his legs.

A Study in Asexuality by ladyxdarcy (M, 8,082 w., 1 Ch. || Asexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Acephobia, Mentions of Rape/Corrective Rape Therapy, Past Suicidal Ideation, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Overdose, Past Mary/John, Emotional Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Vulnerable Sherlock, Est. Rel., Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff) – When Sherlock, asexual to his core, fears that John may grow bored of a sexless life, he decides to do whatever it takes to make John happy so he stays. Good thing John is already happy.

A Study in Anorexia by madeleinefs (NR, 11,415 +w., 16 Ch. || WIP || Eating Disorders, Anorexia, Bulimia, Starvation, Mental Health Issues, Hospitalization, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Doctor John, Self Harm, Depression, Angst, Hurt Sherlock) – A realistic approach as to what Sherlock would look like suffering from an eating disorder. This will not be a Johnlock, or some sort of sick-and-then-love-heals-all story, because that isn't realistic. I want this to be realistic, and true to the characters, as well as true to the nature of the disease.

A Study in Sex Series by Castiel_For_King (E, 19,939 w. across 4 works || Virgin Sherlock, Bottomlock, Sensitive Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Porn with Plot / Feelings, Praise Kink, Gentle John, Naïve Sherlock, Sexual Exploration, Anal, Frottage, Tender Sex) – Sherlock is new to sex and John is the first person he's ever wanted to touch and be touched by. But wanting it doesn't seem to magically wash away his apprehension like he'd hoped. Luckily, it's John and John is wonderful and kind and patient and maybe has a bit of a thing for teaching Sherlock all about physical intimacy.

The Art Of Seduction: A Study In Pulling by flawedamythyst (M, 25,279 w., 1 Ch. || AU) – Sherlock ran a website called The Science Of Seduction, on which he gave advice on the best ways to get laid, wrote blog entries detailing the results of his various sexual 'experiments' and generally contributed to the stereotype of 'every gay man is a sex-mad playboy'. John avoided the thing like the plague. AU in which Sherlock treats sex like he does crime in canon. Inspired by Queer As Folk UK, but it very quickly went its own way. Part 1 of The Art Of Seduction

A Study in Slavery by sweetinsane (M, 88,538+ w., 12/? Ch. || WIP || Dark / Slavery AU || ASiP, Angst, Domestic Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Slow Build, Dehumanization, Sexual Slavery, Child Abuse, Master/Slave Dynamics, Dark Content) – John has never owned a slave of his own, but after returning from Afghanistan is awarded one with his pension. A disobedient male slave with way too much troubling history, however, is not what he would have chosen himself.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #to read #a study in fanfics #themiddlenameslove

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aelia-likes-monsters · 5 years

Text

Virion & the #3 Sandwich (Part One)

Characters: Female Reader/Male Moth Monster, Male Bat, Genderless Forest Spirit Content: NSFW, Financial Stress, Pining, Masturbation, Illness, Sandwiches Wordcount: ~6600 Notes: Patrons got this about two weeks early, so take this as a reminder that “early stories” are one of my Patreon perks (they also got to see it while it was in WIP form). I haven’t finished the entire story, so tags are subject to change, but I’ve made a dent in Part Two. Many thanks to @monster-bait for encouraging me to keep going and being so enthusiastic about getting to read the moth story. Without her I probably wouldn't have a story to share.

This was inspired by a @monsterkinkmeme prompt. Specifically this one.

It’s pushing midnight, and you’re sitting in the gas station parking lot crying softly to yourself. You’re counting your tips and then counting them again, as though the number is going to change and you’re magically going to have even another dollar. You know that’s not how any of this works, but you keep doing it with a silent urgency as you struggle to decide what to do.

There’s a soft tap at your window. A hulking form fills the space outside, and you’d be scared, except you know who this is. It’s the attendant at the local-grocery-slash-gas-station you’re parked at. He’s a large, fluffy, humanoid moth, and you think he’s adorable.

You’re mortified that he’s seen you like this.

“I’m so sorry for loitering--” you begin as you roll down the window. You rub your hands quickly over your face, determined to look more composed than you are.

It’s been a rough month. Rent had put your account in the negative, and you’ve only got enough cash to either eat or put a gallon of gas in your car to get home, but not both. Your stomach is growling, and you’re not sure whether you’d rather go home to empty cupboards or get something from the convenience store here and sleep in your car.

“That’s not why I’m here,” He says, his voice gentle, warm, and soft as always.

“It’s not?” You ask, glancing around the empty parking lot. You’re pretty conspicuous; your car is the only one here, and you’ve been sitting here for an hour. He has every right to ask you to move along.

“I wanted to check on you.” He tells you. “Make sure you’re okay.”

With that, a fresh torrent of tears spills down your cheeks despite yourself. You sag forward against the steering wheel, and feel the leather press into your forehead. You were prepared for a scolding, but not kindness. It’s always that moment of kindness that does you in when you’re holding it together by a thread.

You hear a trill of distress from him.

“Look,” His voice penetrates your sobs. “You don’t need to tell me everything, but how about you come inside, sit down, have a snack and a cup of coffee, or cocoa or whatever you like from the hot drinks. It’ll help.”

“I… I can’t afford it.” You admit. You hate that you have to say those words, especially to him. You like him a lot, had wanted to make a good impression on him. Be friends, maybe more. Now he’s seen what a disaster you are, and that fragile hope is crumbling.

“It’s on me. I insist.”

“But…”

“You can come in and get it, or I’m bringing you cocoa and a cookie.” He says, and it’s the first time you’ve heard a stern edge to his voice. “It’s clear you need it, and it’s the least I can do for you.”

“Oh.” You wipe at your eyes again. You think about arguing, but you’re hungry, and you’re exhausted. You’ll find a way to repay him later. “Okay.”

He steps back to give you room to get out of the car, and though there’s nothing of value in there, you click the button to lock it anyway.

Once inside, he quietly ushers you to the coffee counter, and looks at you expectantly. You glance from him to the machine, and press the button for cocoa. It’s too late, and you’re too wrung out to want caffeine right now. The machine dispenses cocoa into a paper cup. The moth grabs a container, and tops it off with mini marshmallows. Despite yourself, you crack a smile.

You realize you don’t even know his name.

You’ve been coming here for a few months, since you first stumbled across this place. You’d been driving up the coast, looking for a new place to settle. You’d burned some bridges, ended a long-term relationship, and needed a fresh start, so you’d thrown everything you owned into the back of your old car and started driving. Out in the middle of the redwoods along the Pacific coast, you’d found this place.

Waitressing isn’t the sort of work you’d envisioned for yourself, but it pays the bills most of the time. Tourist season’s slowed down recently though, and the tips aren’t coming in like they had been at the height of summer. Melinda--the manager--reassured you that next month the whales migrate past and things will pick up again, but a month feels like an eternity right now.

“Do you want a sandwich?” He asks, gesturing at the deli counter behind you.

“I can’t.” You say. “I can’t pay for any of this.”

“That’s not what I asked,” He chides gently. Your eyes focus on the soft ruff of his chest, where fluffy brown fur spills over the top of his apron. His nametag says Virion. It suits him, you think. He changes tack. “What do you want on your sandwich?”

“Which one is your favorite?” You ask.

“The number three,” He says, gesturing to the board.

“I’ll take that then.” You say, not even bothering to read the ingredients.

He pauses at the sink behind the deli counter, and you hear him scrubbing his hands. You take a sip of the cocoa and watch him. He’s big, but he moves delicately. His wings are folded tightly against his body, and you can see hints of the pattern on his wings.

“Why are you being so nice?” You ask, as he starts working on your sandwich.

He shrugs, the gesture making his wings flutter, and his antennae bob a bit.

“It’s the right thing to do,” he says. “And… don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve seemed a little lost since you showed up. You’re on your own. Most other folks here have family, have friends, have someone to take care of them. But you’re alone.

“Not sure how someone as sweet as you got that way, but…” he hesitates, glances at you, then back at the food. He’s still preparing the sandwich, his hands moving steadily as he speaks. “I didn’t want you to feel alone anymore.”

There aren’t words.

You grip the warm paper cup in your hands, and study the worn linoleum beneath your feet. You can’t look at him, or you’ll start crying again. He’s sweet. There has to be a catch, right? This is a trick? This is just pity. Well, yeah, it is pity. He’s feeding you because he’s kind, and he pities you. But still. You’re too exhausted to be embarrassed, so instead you let yourself enjoy the fact that someone cares about you for the first time in a long time. You drag your finger along the cup, feeling your nail catch at the seam. You flick at it a few times.

The silence stretches, and you want to break it, but you don’t know how. So you drink your cocoa and look at things around the store. There are chips in front of the deli counter in flavors that you’re certain you couldn’t find anywhere else. Kelp flavored kettle chips aren’t a thing, but here they are in front of you. Sometimes you wonder if this grocery is in some kind of liminal space, and you’ve managed to find a path you shouldn’t have.

“Sorry,” he says, as he passes you a wrapped deli sandwich in a paper bag. “I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”

“No… it’s…” You still don’t know what to say. “I appreciate you explaining.”

His mandibles flicker in what you recognize as one of his smiles.

“You don’t owe me anything for this, okay?” He holds your gaze, and though his eyes aren’t human, there’s a depth of what you can only call humanity there. “We take care of our own here, and I wanted to make sure you were going to be alright.”

You nod.

“Now let’s put some gas in your tank and get you home safe,” He says. “If you want chips or another drink, go ahead and grab them, and meet me out front at the pump.”

You fight back tears for the hundredth time that night, grab a bag of your favorite chips--not the Kelp flavor, you’re not brave enough for that--and try to squash the guilt. As you go to stuff it in the bag you see not one, but two sandwiches. Your eyes burn. You don’t know how you’ll repay him, but you know you have to.

He fills your gas tank.

“I’m going to find a way to return the favor,” you inform him. “Somehow.”

“You don’t need to,” He says with a shrug. He tucks his hands into his pockets, and looks away from you, almost bashful.

“I know,” You offer him a shaky smile. “But I want to. Thank you for everything.”

“Alright,” He says. “You can start by getting home safe.” Virion passes you a slip of paper with his phone number on it. “Send me a message when you get home, if you don’t mind. It’s late for humans to be out, and it’d give me peace of mind.”

“Okay.” You tuck the paper into your pocket. Before you get caught up in a hundred goodbyes and a thousand thank-yous, you get into your car and drive away. In the rearview mirror you catch him watching you leave.

You are tired as you drive home, so you roll down the windows and turn up the radio. The cool night air and the sounds of classic rock fill your car as you cruise along the curvy coastal highway. You turn off the highway onto a smaller side road, and then again onto a gravel road, and finally a dirt driveway before you reach the small cabin you’re renting.

It’s a cozy little place, set back in the woods on three sides, but with a view down the side of the “ridge” and into the river valley below. You can’t see or hear your neighbors, but you’ve learned that you like it that way. It’s peaceful here. Quiet in a way your life never used to be.

You turn on your cellphone and give it a minute for it to connect to the wifi--there’s no cell signal most places out here--and once it’s online you send a text to Virion letting him know you’re home safe.

Virion replies quickly with a “Thanks for letting me know. Sleep well.”

You smile despite everything.

Your dining table is small, with just three seats. It’s wedged under one of the large windows, but it lets you look out over the cliffs and down to the river. You love the view from here, and even now, in the full dark, you can see the nighttime fog rolling in.

You eat your sandwich and some of the chips, saving the rest for breakfast tomorrow. It’s late, and you work the evening shift again the next day.

You fiddle with your phone for a few minutes as you debate sending another text. Is it too needy? Maybe.

You text anyway.

You>> The sandwich was good. Thank you. Virion>> Glad to hear it. You’re welcome.

You smile at the text; he’d responded almost immediately, and it makes you feel important. It feels like it’s been forever since anyone cared about you, and you’ve truly missed this feeling. That little bubble of happiness carries you through as you climb into bed.

The morning sunlight pouring through your windows wakes you from unusually vivid dreams about a certain moth. You groan and drag yourself through your morning rituals. You tend the back garden, checking the vegetables that are nearly ready for harvest, throw some feed and scraps from the restaurant to the chickens, and then settle into your favorite patio chair with the leftover sandwich and a cup of tea.

After a moment’s debate, you snap a picture of the sandwich with the view visible and send it to Virion.

You>> [Picture] Thank you for breakfast, too.

He doesn’t immediately respond, but you refuse to let yourself fixate on that. Instead, you enjoy your food and the sunshine. He did you a favor, and though you want to express your gratitude, you also don’t want to get super clingy or overwhelm him, so you force yourself to leave your phone alone and not check it while you putter around the house before work.

You clean a bit, do some laundry and hang it out to dry--avoiding the dryer cuts down on your power bill--and you bring in some wood for the potbellied stove in the corner of the living room. Then you let yourself paint, working with watercolors you try to capture the beauty of the area around you.

Before you know it, it’s time to get ready for work.

You let yourself check your phone finally.

Virion>> Looks like a great place to enjoy a meal. :) Virion>> How did the sandwich hold up overnight?

The fact that he’s asking you a question means he wants to keep talking, right? You smile to yourself, and type out a response. It was a good sandwich, definitely better last night. You tease a bit about the fact that you have no basis of comparison. (You worry a bit about sounding like you’re fishing for more freebies, but you go with it anyway.) He tells you you’ll have to come try the rest, and the back-and-forth carries you through the rest of the day.

You get through another rather lackluster shift at the restaurant, pulling in pretty good tips, all things considered.

Melinda waves you over at the end of the night, her face grim.

“I’m sorry to do this, but based on seniority…” She sighs. “I’m gonna have to cut back your shifts for a couple weeks.”

You pinch your thigh to keep back the rising panic, and instead force a smile onto your face.

“I understand,” You say instead. You can break down once you get to your car. “What shifts am I still working?”

Melinda goes through your modified schedule, and your panic only gets worse. You’ve lost all of your dinnertime work, which means you’ll lose out on all the good tips. You’ve kept a few lunches, and she threw you a brunch, but that’s… it.

You grab your things, and take the free meal to-go. You don’t even know what you’ve got, and you know you’re breaking rules when you dump the plate into a takeout container, but you just need to bail. Melinda, for her part, sees, but doesn’t call you out on it. You think she understands; she’s not a bad boss, and things are tough for the restaurant right now.

But this sucks.

There isn’t a lot of work to be had, with tourist season slowing down. The college students are still in town for the summer, so all those low-skill jobs you could pick up are filled right now.

You stop at the grocery without thinking about it, and head inside.

Virion, as always, is behind the counter. He takes one look at your face and steps forward.

“What happened?” He asks.

“My hours got cut at work, and I don’t know what to do.” You say.

“Oh.” He glances around, then leads you behind the counter to where he’s got a stool, and he has you take a seat. He kneels in front of you, so your heads are on a level with each other. “Okay, so you need another job?”

“Yeah, for a while at least.” You stare at your hands. “I’m sorry for showing up and just… dumping this on you. But like you said yesterday. I’m alone. I just… needed a friendly ear.”

One of his large hands comes out and covers yours where they fidget in your lap. You glance up at him, and your gaze is caught.

“I’m glad you came here,” He says. “I’m glad you came to me.”

You feel like a deer caught in headlights as he stares at you. He doesn’t move, and doesn’t say anything for a moment, and all you can think about is the way your heart is pounding in your chest, and how it would be so easy to close the space between you. But you don’t

“I need help here one night this week and next for deliveries,” Virion tells you, “And I know a few folks need odd jobs like that, too. Not humans, though. Are you okay working for other people… who are sort of like me?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I am.”

“I’ll make some phone calls tomorrow then.” He rises. “For tonight let me show you around so you know what to expect.”

You’re not there long, but you leave with more hope than you’d arrived with. Virion had made it clear that he was only offering a couple shifts, not permanent work--his normal help was out on a brief family leave--but it was still a paying job. You felt some of the weight lift off your shoulders. It would be okay.

The next week is a whirlwind. You pick up mail for a vampire who can’t get to the post office during the day--this promises to be a permanent position if you want it--and help a slime monster mother who has a half-dozen children underfoot with some light housekeeping that had gotten out of hand. There’s a Naga who needs help peeling his molting skin off, and a minotaur who is, ironically enough, trying to build a labyrinth and wanted someone to sweep up their jobsite in the evenings. The hardest though is the werewolf who had blown their winter coat and needed help not just with brushing out their fur, but also with sweeping it all up. All of them pay you in cash at the end of the day.

When Friday rolls around and you’re scheduled to work for Virion, you sit in the parking lot counting your cash, realization dawning on you slowly. You’ve got enough to be okay. It’s thanks to Virion, because of the favor he did you finding the jobs. But it’s also due to your own hard work, and you know you need to recognize that, too.

You tuck the money away in your bag and look thoughtfully at the store. You want to do something for him as a thanks, and now you can spare a bit of cash to do that. You doubt he’d let you repay him for the sandwiches that first night, but maybe you could bake him something? You’re a pretty good baker when you can afford the supplies. Perhaps a cake, or some cookies? You’ll sound him out tonight and see if he likes sweets.

You smile to yourself, grab your things, and head inside.

“You’re here!” Virion says, pleasure evident in his voice when you walk in. “And just in time! The truck should be here any minute. Have you eaten?”

“I am here! And yeah, I ate.” You smile at him. “Thanks for helping me with all the work, it made a huge difference.”

“Glad to hear it.” He passes you an apron, a box cutter, and some work gloves. “Head on back, I’ve got a few boxes left over from last week’s delivery you can stock while we wait. You’re on the clock starting… now.”

“Thanks, boss.” You say, giving him a mock salute.

He laughs, and you saunter away.

The night passes quickly. Virion pulls out a radio and lets you pick the station—there aren’t many to choose between up here, but the fact that he lets you make the choice between country and classic rock is nice—and the two of you chat a bit as you work. He grew up here, bought the store from his parents, and has been running it nearly alone for years now. He’s got some help for the daylight hours (not that you’re ever here then) and the occasional night off.

You tell him a bit about why you’re here in the middle of nowhere. About the ex that broke your heart, and the career you’d ruined in the aftermath. He lets you talk, and when it becomes too much, he seems to sense it, easily turning the conversation to something lighter.

You ask about the off-brand toaster pastry--with flavors like spring meadow and summer breeze— and Virion shrugs.

“They’re popular with our customers.” He says. “Not really a human thing.”

“I haven’t met any other non-humans in the shop,” you muse. “Do you get many?”

“Oh, yes. You’re actually the only human I’ve had come to the store in quite some time.”

“What?” you stop what you’re doing.

“I thought you’d noticed by now but… none of the humans around here really know about this place.” Virion rubs the back of his neck. “We’re not quite in another dimension, but we’re not quite in the human world, either. It’s a sort of liminal space here. You found your way in the first time, I think, because you needed to be here, and since then you’ve just… kept following the same path.”

You sit back on your heels, more surprised by how un-surprising that is. If you hadn’t been so stressed for the last few months, you think you’d have caught on already. But life has been a lot recently, and you’d been stuck in survival mode.

“No shit?” You manage.

He chuckles.

“You’re welcome here, obviously.” He says. “As long as you want to be here.”

You feel a blush burning your cheeks, and you don’t know what to say, so you get back to work. After a moment of hesitation, Virion does the same.

The rest of the night is quieter. You’ve got a lot to think about.

You don’t see Virion again for a week, though he’s on your mind frequently. You find yourself picking up your phone, about to text or call him far too often. You stop yourself most of the time because you don’t want to seem overly attached, but the urge is there. There’s so many things you want to ask him about, or tell him about, and you wonder if he thinks about you even half as much as you think of him. But you’re also busy; you’ve got a few shifts at the restaurant, and a lot of errands for the inhumans that Virion initially put you in touch with, as well as some more that have come as word spread about the helpful human.

Friday morning you head to the store for cookie ingredients (and the rest of your groceries) and as soon as you’re home you get busy baking. You make shortbread, a fairly safe bet for most folks, as well as gingersnaps, just in case. You pull up to the parking lot just before your shift, gather your things, and head in.

Only, Virion’s not there. Instead, there’s a rather large humanoid bat. You freeze.

Bats eat moths.

Did this bat eat Virion? Is Virion in trouble? He didn’t say anything about a bat. But he is a moth, and moths are food for bats… at least… regular sized ones. But this bat is giant, and so is Virion, at least relative to the ones you’re used to in the human world. Does that mean he’s safe? The two of them are basically the same size as each other, after all.

As you stand there panicking, the bat registers your presence.

“Hey,” they say, looking up from their cellphone. “You must be the girl doing the truck tonight. V said you’d be in.”

“Y- yeah, that’s me.” You say, forcing a smile onto your face. “Where is Virion?”

“Oh, he wasn’t feeling too good, so he asked me to cover his shift.” The bat holds out a hand, which is attached to a delicate, leathery wing. “I’m Zeke.”

“Nice to meet you, Zeke.” You shake his hand. His grip is strong and warm, and it’s weirdly the fact that he shakes your hand that makes you feel less freaked out. “Did he leave any extra instructions, or is it same as last week?”

“Nah, same as last week.” Zeke shrugs, settling back onto the stool behind the counter. He’s big, his fur a deep red-brown, his face almost fox-like, and you suspect his wingspan is huge. If you hadn’t met Virion first, you might even find Zeke attractive, a small part of your mind points out. You squash that thought quickly.

“Alright. I’m just gonna head to the back and get ready,” You say. “I’ll come grab you if I need a hand, okay?”

“Yep. Sounds good.” He smiles. His eyes crinkle when he smiles, and you like that a lot, but he’s not Virion.

Damn it.

You flee to the back of the store, mentally berating yourself for the fact that you’ve developed a huge crush on Virion. You need to get over it; he’s being kind to you because he's kind, not because he feels the same way, you tell yourself. And even if he does, right now the two of you are on such uneven footing, you’re sure he wouldn’t feel able to act on anything, he’s just that kind of person. You’ve got to get yourself into a better spot. One where you’re not relying on him.

When the truck arrives, you fish your phone and earbuds out of your bag and turn on something loud and fast-paced that will keep you going, and keep you from dwelling on your emotions. You don’t have time to process this all right now.

You speed through what you can solo, then flag down Zeke for the rest. He helps you move some of the heavier boxes, and lets you stock on your own. You’ve got a rhythm going and he seems to pick up on your mood and recognize that you want to be left alone.

When you’re finally done, you grab your bag and head back to the front of the store.

“This is for you,” Zeke says, passing you an envelope with your name on it. You glance inside. Cash.

“Thanks, Zeke.” You say. You pass over the tupperware full of cookies. “I made these to thank Virion for all the help he’s given me the past month. Could you please make sure he gets them? Feel free to grab a couple for yourself too. There’s a ton in there.”

“Sweet, thanks.” Zeke grins. “You kicked ass tonight. Never seen anyone stock that fast.”

“Hah. I was motivated is all.” You don’t mention that it was frustration with yourself driving you, or that you appreciated being able to turn off most of your brain and just focus on the objects in front of you. Before you can get caught up in conversation, you heft your bag onto your shoulder. “It was nice to meet you.”

You head home, stubbornly tamping down the disappointment you feel at not seeing the handsome moth tonight.

It takes all of an hour after you get home for you to give in to the urge to text the moth.

You>> Hey V. Zeke said you were sick. Hope you’re feeling better soon. Virion>> Sorry to worry you. Virion>> I’ll be okay You>> I made cookies for you. Zeke has them. You>> Make sure you collect them. Virion>> He’s gonna eat them all. You>> If he does, let me know and I’ll make you more. Virion>> I’ll hold you to that. You>> :) Get some rest. Let me know if I can help, please. Virion>> Will do.

After weeks of go-go-go you’re not sure what to do with yourself when there’s not work to be done or a crisis to handle. You’ve actually got enough money to be okay. You don’t have anything to do first thing in the morning, and you finished at Virion’s earlier than expected.

It wasn’t so long ago that you had a lot of idle evenings. You’d get home from your regular 9-to-5 job and you’d be able to just relax. There wasn’t any stress over how your bills were getting paid. You didn’t have to worry about what your next side-hustle was. You could just unwind for the evening. You’ve been so busy since you got here that you haven’t really had time to miss that.

But now you’re alone, and it’s dark and quiet and you have time. Time for yourself. You think about the bottle of fancy bubble bath you’d picked up earlier as a treat. It hadn’t occurred to you that you’d have an opportunity to use it so soon, but here you are.

You put on some mellow music, run a hot bath for yourself, and dance your way around the house, grabbing a few scented candles and a glass of wine. You sink into the tub with a sigh. The water feels good, and the wine is nice, and you let yourself drift.

Your hands, almost of their own accord, begin stroking along your body. Softly at first, as you tease yourself. You think about Virion, and how he might touch you. Would he be gentle? Or could he turn out to be a demanding lover, someone who knows what he wants and pushes you to your limits?

A soft sigh escapes you as your fingers tease your breasts. You imagine Virion’s long tongue instead, the way it might stroke you. While you keep the fingers of one hand at your nipples, the other trails down along your belly, brushing your skin gently. You wonder how his fluff would feel against you, and imagine being held tight against him.

By the time you touch your clit, you’re already nearly to the edge of a climax, just with thoughts of Virion. You plunge your fingers into yourself, and circle your clit with your thumb, and that’s all it takes to push you over the edge. It’s not a world-changing climax, but it’s good, and you ride it out for a few blissful moments.

By the time the wine is gone and the water is getting cold, you’re more relaxed than you’ve been in months. You towel off carefully, and pad across the house wrapped in your towel to grab your favorite pajamas from the drawer.

The phone rings.

You glance at the clock. Nobody ever calls for a good reason at 1am.

A glance at the caller ID shows that it’s Virion, and that makes you even more worried.

“Hey V,” you answer, trying to keep the panic out of your voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I need help,” he says. “I know it’s asking a lot, but can you come to me?”

“Just text me your address, I’ll get there as quick as I can.”

“Okay.” He sounds awful, it’s more of croak.

You skip the pajamas in favor of some leggings and a big sweater. Your phone pings with an address.

It’s the work of a moment to look up directions before you leave. With no cell signal between your place and his, it’s imperative that you know where you’re going. Thankfully he’s not far, and you’re familiar with the area.

Before you head out, you think for a moment and pack yourself an overnight bag, as well as a few things around the house that you think might help Virion. You’re not sure exactly what you’re walking into, but you’d like to be as prepared as you can.

And then you’re on your way. It isn’t a long drive, but it still feels like an eternity before you’re driving carefully up his driveway and parking in front of a small house. There’s a few lights on, and it’s that more than anything else that makes you sure you’re at the right place. (You’d passed a mailbox with his address a half-mile back up the driveway, and you hadn’t seen any other homes on this property, but it was hard to tell sometimes.)

You grab your things, gather your courage, and march up to the front porch. Before you can knock, the door swings open.

“You’re here,” Virion says in evident relief. He wraps his arms around you, and then you feel him go limp.

“Virion?” You ask. He doesn’t respond. “Virion?!” Your panic rises.

He seems to have lost consciousness. You try to breathe through your panic, and think about what you should do. You can’t take him to a regular hospital. Who can help? Zeke might know.

So you very carefully lower Virion to the ground, and check for his phone. It’s in the pocket of his loose flannel pajama pants, thankfully. You press his thumb against the scanner, and it unlocks. You scan through his contacts and find Zeke’s number.

“V? What’s up man?” Zeke answers.

“It’s me,” you say. “Virion called me and asked for help, and when I got here he passed out on me.”

“Shit,” Zeke says. “Shit. Okay. Stay calm. I’m gonna fly over. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Okay.” You try to keep breathing.

“He’s a stubborn fool,” Zeke says. “He’ll be okay.”

You nod, then remember you’re on the phone, and Zeke can’t see that.

“Is there anyone else I should call?” You ask.

“Once we’re off the phone, look and see if he has Juniper in his contacts. If he does, call them. They run the clinic.” Zeke instructs. “They’ll get things prepped for us.”

“Okay.” You say.

“I’ll be there soon.” Zeke assures you.

You hang up, and look through his phone. Juniper is there.

“Virion?” The voice that answers is ageless, and you wonder if they’re some sort of forest spirit.

“No, I’m... a friend of his,” you say. “He called me and asked me to come over, and then he collapsed.”

“Oh dear,” Juniper says, somehow radiating both concern and calm through the phone. “Where are you? Is anyone else there?”

“I’m at Virion’s. I called Zeke, he’s coming here, and then I guess we’re coming to the clinic?” You run your fingers over one of Virion’s soft cheeks, and look down on his face. The panic threatens to bubble up.

“Yes. Yes. That is good. Zeke will get you here. Is he breathing?” Juniper asks.

His chest is still moving slowly.

“Yes, very slowly.”

“Good.” Juniper says. They continue to walk you through things like finding his pulse point--which is in his wing, not his wrist--and checking to ensure he is stable until Zeke arrives. You’re more grateful than you can express to be kept busy.

“Hey,” Zeke says, landing with a thud nearby. “Are you still talking to Juniper?”

“Yes,” You answer. “Juniper, Zeke just arrived.”

“That is good. I do not believe that Virion is in imminent danger, but do make haste.” Juniper says.

You relay that information to Zeke. The bat nods.

It doesn’t take long to get Virion loaded into your car, and then Zeke gives you directions to get you to the Clinic. The drive isn’t far--no more than a few miles--but it feels like it takes an eternity. You know it’s just because you’re so worried about Virion, but you’re so anxious you could scream.

The clinic is in the town behind the gas station, and you know you shouldn’t be surprised, but you are. You’ve been into town before; your clients had mostly lived up the mountain, in the woods, but some of their errands had brought you down here. You’d been in the grocery store, which unlike Virion’s had limited hours. You’d seen the bar, and the bookshop. But now that you’re driving through it with Virion and Zeke, it’s like there are buildings you can see that you couldn’t before. You wonder if being with them lifted some magical barrier. Because you are certain that you’d never seen the clinic, or the florist, or either of the two restaurants in town before.

You park in front of the clinic, deciding to ask later if there’s some anti-human magic at play. Right now getting care for Virion is more important. As you climb out of the car and open the back door on your side, a tall tree-spirit crosses the parking lot. They look down at you in puzzlement for a moment, then seem to nod.

“You are Virion’s friend,” they say.

“Yes. Are you Juniper?” You ask.

“I am.” They confirm. With supernatural strength that shouldn’t surprise you but does, they scoop Virion out of the back of your car and carry him into the clinic. You look over to Zeke.

“Should I come in, or make myself scarce?” You ask.

“V called you.” He says with a shrug. “You don’t have to stick around if you’re not comfortable, but I think he wanted you here.”

“Okay.” I think he wanted you here is the best you’re going to get for now, so you try to carry yourself as though you belong, and follow the tree spirit and the bat man into the clinic.

What follows is hours of waiting. Juniper doesn’t update you about what they’re doing, but you know they’re taking care of Virion. Zeke hangs out nearby for a while before he tells you that he has to head home. He’s got responsibilities. You thank him for his help, and promise to update him if you have news.

At some point, Juniper tells you that you can sit with Virion in his patient room. You follow them down a short hallway to a rather homey room. There’s an armchair near the bed that you settle into. Virion’s got some monitors near his head, though you don’t see wires connected to him. It must be some kind of magic.

“He is doing better,” Juniper tells you. “He just needs to rest. You will need to supervise him for a few days after he goes home. I know Virion, he is stubborn and will try to go back to work far too soon.”

“I’m not sure we’re that close...” You say, feeling somewhat nervous as you look up at the tree spirit.

They shrug. “He called you.”

“Zeke said something similar. I don’t understand.” You drag your hands over your face.

“Virion has many friends, many people who care for him, many people to call. He chose you.” Juniper speaks slowly, as if speaking to someone who is failing to understand something incredibly simple.

And then it hits you.

He called you.

“Oh.” You say. The magnitude of what both Zeke and Juniper have been trying to tell you really hits you. You’ve been so wrapped up in your feelings for Virion that you haven’t allowed you to consider how he felt about you. But there’s evidence here that you’d have to be an idiot to ignore.

“Yes.” Juniper nods. They don’t quite smile, but their countenance brightens somewhat. “I will check back soon.”

You’re left alone with the sleeping moth man. The monitors near his head display data you don’t understand. He’s still and quiet, and it would scare you more if you weren’t too exhausted to be afraid, you think.

He called you.

There’s an enormity to that which you can’t really focus on right now, in the middle of the night. You’re worn out from being up for hours, and from the crash of adrenaline now that he’s okay, and you can relax. You watch his too-still form in the bed, and you’re grateful for the fact that he reached out.

In another world, one where you were more certain of what him calling you meant, you’d be bold enough to crawl into the hospital bed with him. Instead, you keep a vigil over his rest, though you’re exhausted.

You know there’s something between you now, and you’re not sure he would mind waking up with you in his bed. After all, he called you.

You can find all my writing on my Masterlist. Love what I do? Tip me with a Ko-Fi, and/or back me on Patreon. I also truly appreciate reblogs, likes, and comments. They keep me going. ♥

#exophilia #monster lover #moth boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster/reader #monster/human #reader insert #my writing #lemon story

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jupitermelichios · 4 years

Text

fic titles meme

I wasn’t tagged by @morethanonepage but I’m doing it anyway.

Look at the most recent 20 (or however many!) fanwork titles on your AO3 account and answer the questions below.

Highschool Never Ends

A Brief History of Gotham City

Together

The Anatomy of a Robin

Serial Fiction

Leprechaun

Mechanic

Halogen

Popsicle

What did the fox say?

Known Me Better

Of Stray Cats & Sharp Suits

Human, Or Something Like It

The Narrow Edge

Pretty Boy

The Light That’s Coming In The Morning

Insert Hell Pun Here

Two Things In Life

The Gaslight Saga

Three Droids Walk Into A Bar

1. How many are you happy with?

I’d say most of them, honestly. Human or something like it I’m genuinely proud of, and the Gaslight Saga still makes me snicker (it’s a batfam twilight au notfic, so the awful pun is definitely the right tone).

2. How many are…not great?

6-9 were written for an event, and I made a concious choice that they would have one-word titles that I wouldn’t think about too hard, because picking titles is really hard and I wanted to get them up as quickly as possible, so they’re not good but I don’t feel too bad about it. What Did The Fox Say is an objectively terrible title, but at the same time I feel like it fits the tone of the fic pretty well.

3. How many did you scramble for at the last minute?

Most of them, honestly. Pretty Boy got named literally as I was uploading it, because titles are hard. Highchool Never Ends I didn’t decide on until pretty much the upload stage, but honestly, it was never going to be called anything else. Insert Hell Pun Here was supposed to have an actual name, but I wrote it as part of the@wipbigbang and they put the placeholder title on the artist sign-up sheet and it just kind of stuck. I even ended up working a reference to it into the fic itself.

4. How many did you know before you started writing/creating, or near the beginning?

Human or Something Like It was named fairly early in the writing process, as was A Brief History of Gotham (although that doesn’t really count because it is in fact just a brief history of gotham, so it’s not so much a name as it is a description). Generally I don’t have titles until very near the end of the process, although I’m working on two unposted WIPs which have actual titles at the moment which exciting.

5. How many are quotes from songs or poems?

Just the three; The Light That’s Coming In The Morning comes from the folk song Sing John Ball, and I still to this day don’t know why it feels appropriate for that fic, but it does. Highschool Never Ends and What Did The Fox Say are both pretty obvious!

6. How many are other quotes?

The Narrow Edge comes from a Cicero quote (”so near is truth to falsehood that a wise man would do well not to trust himself on the narrow edge”) because in as much as there’s a theme at all to it, the theme is false presentation of the self.

Know Me Better is from the Voyage of the Dawntreader, it’s Aslan talking about Jesus, because the fic is about the Pevensie children finding their faith(s) in the real world.

Two Things In Life is from the famous quote “there are two things in life that are inevitable, death and taxes”, but it’s kind of a riff on it because it’s a crackfic about the Malfoy family getting tv liscence fee demands, which as any british person will tell you are far more inescapable and ubiquitous than mere death.

And finally the anatomy of a robin is a misquote but I haven’t been able to work out which of the many books called ‘the anatomy of a ...’ was the original. Possibly it was the anatomy of a murder?

7. Which best reflects the plot of the story/content of the fanwork?

I mean ‘a brief history of gotham city’ is about as on the nose as you can get. Aside from that it’s probably ‘human or something like it’, because it’s a story about a cyborg and a deeply damaged teenager talking about what it means to be a person.

8. Which best reflects the theme of the story?

Despite the fact that I was deliberately going for the easy pickings, title wise, I have a real soft spot for ‘Hallogen’, because I think the simplicity of the title reflects the starkness of the fic. Anatomy of a Robin is pretty good thematically, since the fic is all about what Robin means to Dick, and all the ways that’s different from what Batman and Nightwing mean. The Narrow Edge and Human or Something Like It I’ve talked about already.

Pretty Boy doesn’t relfect the themes of the story but I kind of like that about it, because it’s a title that seems like it tells you exactly what you’re getting, and then you open the fic and find it’s actually a lot of talking and character work mixed in with all the fucking and that’s not really what you ordered, which is pretty much how Midnighter’s feeling about his role in the story and I like that parrallel.

9. Which best reflects the character voice of the story/pov of the fanwork?

Human or something like it is a title Tim Drake would definitely approve of, and Insert Hell Pun Here is actually said by one of the characters (I think it’s Xander but I actually can’t remember) so I guess that reflects the voice pretty well!

10. Which is your favourite title?

Oh gods that’s a hard one. Um, honestly? Probably the Gaslight Saga. It’s such a stupid pun and I’m genuinely proud of it. After that it’s probably Anatomy of a Robin. Probably my favourite fic title I’ve ever written predates this list, and it’s ‘things lost to the fire’ which is a weird nothing of a fic about Cap & Widow wrestling with the legacy of WWII which I’m genuinely proud of. I think what I’ve learned today is that I like my fic titles stark and kind of depressing.

I’m tagging @irolltwenties @starcityrebels @gealach-in-a-misty-world @kittyaugust @kiseiakhun

I’m really bad at remembering which of my tumblr mutuals are also people I follow on AO3 unless the username is the exact same, so if any writers see this and think it would be fun consider yourselves tagged!

#question meme

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seaquestions · 5 years

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daisy bell

wip of a very fluffy megatron/soundwave fic, in a pre-war au. i want to finish it but idk if i will (cause its shaping up to be Much longer than i thought it’d be), so i’ll post the first part of it that reads as finished! heads up though, it’s unedited, in lowercase, and soundwave’s not even in it (yet!)

"what'cha got there, chief?"

frenzy's curious voice jolted megatron out of his thoughts. though he was used to the minibot's tendency to barge into their quarters without even knocking, he had been deeply concentrating on his work.

"ooh, shiny!" frenzy said, scampering into the room.

megatron fumbled with the object, optics checking to make sure the door was closed. it was, thankfully. "please lower your voice," he said.

"oh!" the light in frenzy's optical band also flickered towards the door. "sorry, chief," he whispered, apologetically.

the minibot sat down on the hard metal berth he shared with his twin on the left side of the cramped, underground room, across from megatron. his legs swung back and forth from the edge, and he asked, "so what is it? somethin' important? somethin'... illegal?"

megatron fixed his charge with an unimpressed stare. "frenzy."

"what? you were lookin' all secretive 'n slag, i'm bound ta get curious!"

megatron sighed. "yes, it \is/ important, and no, i \don't/ want people to know about it. \and/ it's fragile."

frenzy leaned in. "yeesh, talk about a triple threat. but hey, you can trust me, can't ya? i only wanna look! and i won't even tell rumble!"

megatron found that extremely doubtful. even though he knew rumble was currently on shift with impactor (and primus, he really should try to get that changed at some point. the mech was a \terrible/ influence on the little ones. not that he ever could. impactor would never admit it, but megatron knew that he was quite fond of the two.), he also knew that the twins were \always/ gossiping over their link no matter how far apart they might be.

"i will show you. but!" he exclaimed, before frenzy got too excited, "when rumble finds out," when and not if, "he has to promise not to talk about it either."

frenzy's visor flared, and he nodded firmly. "we promise!"

internally, megatron smiled. he never really wanted to keep things from the twins, especially not something like this. he was far too fond of them both, ever since they were placed under his care all those stellar cycles ago. not only that, but the item was something for their \other/ caretaker.

"it's a gift," he said, holding his hand out, "for soundwave."

in his hand was a tiny blue metal box, painstakingly polished by hand. the cover had faded silver detailing, too delicate and ornate for megatron to even attempt to patch up. on the front was a latch, also in silver.

megatron smiled at frenzy. "go on then. you can open it. gently."

the minibot looked up at him, as if asking if he was \really/ allowed, then carefully pulled the latch open.

as the cover flipped up and revealed the interior, frenzy gasped. inside the box were two minuscule figurines entwined in a dance. their delicate armour must have been made by hand, from this close, he could see all the tiny imperfections, not that they made the sculptures any less beautiful. the inside of the cover itself was lined with a light blue crystal material, giving it a sort of glow. in the corner of the surface that the two figurines were placed, there was a button. frenzy hovered a servo over it, looking up at megatron, who nodded at him.

when he pressed it, the dancing figurines started to spin. then, music started to play, soft and twinkling. it was faint, but frenzy eventually recognised it as some sort of... lullaby? Some old song that he remembers soundwave singing when he and rumble first arrived at the mine under Nova Point, tiny and scared. it comforted them enough to lull them to recharge, something that they both had trouble with. in fact, wasn't that how soundwave unofficially became their second caretaker?

when the twins were sent to the mine shortly after their creation, they met with d-16, later nicknamed megatron, to learn the ropes. megatron himself was still young, and grieving from the loss of his own mentor, terminus. the old mech had fallen victim to a cave-in not too long ago. but it was because of that loss that megatron decided that he would be a mentor to the two minibots. the other miners were too brash, too uncaring. megatron was lucky to have met terminus, and so he was determined to be just as good to the twins. one aspect that he could never succeed at was getting them to recharge soundly. even when he managed to get the two to shut off their optics and go to recharge, he could tell that they were having nightmares. he didn't know what to do.

it continued that way until he met soundwave.

the mech was transferred to Nova Point Mine to work in one of the administrative roles. judging by his frame, it was most likely not his original function, but truly, so long as it was all classed under "servitude", the functionist council wasn't all \that/ fussed about where low-caste mecha were employed. soundwave was just happy that he no longer had to interact with as many mecha as he did in his old job. he was content to file paperwork in his dingy little office, with only the company of his three beastformer cassettes.

as a cassette player, however, it was only natural that he still preferred to have some noise in the background. and so soundwave brought something to the mines that he probably wasn't allowed to have: music.

frenzy remembered the day he heard music, \pre-recorded/ music, for the first time in his life. so far, all he'd ever had were Tarnish mining songs and other north-hemisphere folk songs that the miners whistled from time to time. he and rumble were walking towards the dining area when they heard it, and when the two of them paused to listen to it better, a bunch of other mecha walking behind the two nearly tripped on them! but the miners didn't get mad, they noticed the music too, and then they all followed it. it came from soundwave's office.

the following day, there was music playing on the intercom system. it was risky, because they weren't technically allowed to get any entertainment, but soundwave made sure to cut it whenever any of the higher-ups dropped in. frenzy and rumble lived in silent admiration of the mysterious, reclusive mech for cycles. well. as silent as the two could be. which wasn't a lot. ravage noticed them following him pretty quickly.

through those series of events, megatron met soundwave, and began enlisting his help to sing the twins to sleep. and it worked! though soundwave was somewhat embarrassed at first, he had a really beautiful voice, even with the synthesizer. soundwave then started spending more time outside his office, making friends with some of the other miners, but more than that, he became closer and closer to megatron. the two established a sort of rapport, a comfortable intimacy. soundwave's quarters were a ways away from theirs. there had been a couple of times where frenzy would wake up and see megatron sprawled on the floor while soundwave was sleeping stiffly on the mech's berth. and there had been a couple of times after that where he woke up and saw them tangled up together. it made him wish that they had one really big berth, where he and rumble could squish themselves in the middle and they would be one big cuddly... family? was that the word? yeah... family.

blinking the fluid coming from under his optical band away, frenzy looked at the music box in megatron's hand and said, "thas' a really nice gift to give to the boss, chief. where'd ya find it?"

"actually, \impactor/ found it. you remember when they tried to transfer him to another mine a few cycles back?" megatron paused at frenzy's nod. "when he came back, he gave this to me. well, threw it at me is more accurate, i suppose. he told me that he spotted it in a pile of junk, and that it seemed like something my, and i quote, nerdy aft would enjoy working on."

frenzy tilted his head. "that was a while ago... how long did it take ya to fix it?"

"hmm.." megatron thought for a klik. "it took a long time. i can't say for sure. i had to fix the internal mechanisms too, you see. if you think the sound is faint now, well, it was a lot worse when i got it. and the only mech i could think of who'd most likely have the knowledge to help was the mech i was planning on giving it to!" megatron chuckled. "it took a lot of doing."

frenzy hummed. "so what's the occasion? is it..." he gasped. "is it the boss' creation day or something?! 'Cause if it is, me & rumble need to get somethin' too!"

megatron's engine rumbled in a laugh. "no, it isn't that. actually, i don't think even soundwave knows when his creation day is. this gift is... well..." He bit his lip.

"frenzy, what do you know of the conjunx ritus?"

the minibot's optical band flashed the brightest it has ever been. "you're gonna get hitched?!"

"i-well--" megatron fumbled over his words. "hopefully? if all goes well, that is--"

but there was no stopping frenzy from letting out a high-pitched squeal and running around the room, his plating rattling in excitement.

"Oh-my-primus-it's-happening-i'm-so-excited-i-can't-believe-this!"

Laughing, megatron reached out and grabbed frenzy by the scruff bar and set the bot down back on the berth. "Sweet Solus, child. I did not expect you to be as enthusiastic about this as you are."

"why wouldn't i be?" frenzy asked.

megatron hesitated. "it wouldn't be... weird?"

"well, the two a' you have been preeetty much conjunxed for a long time anyway."

"i--have we?" megatron seemed genuinely caught off guard.

frenzy looked at him as if he was an idiot. "yeah, duh. everyone can see it. pit, thas' probably why impactor gave you the box in the first place."

"...ah."

"anyway, i can't wait for the ceremony! oh, it's gonna be so good, there's gonna be so much oil cake--"

megatron squinted his optics and huffed a laugh. "did someone sneak in romantic comedies from Iacon or something?"

frenzy's faceplates flushed. "ehh, maybe? who's to say?"

"anyway," megatron said, shaking his head, "i doubt that we'll have as grand a reception as you're imagining. i mean..."

he looked back down at the music box. "my Act of Profference is just a piece of junk that i cleaned up somewhat. and i don't think either of us can afford more than one oil cake."

"ah. yes. things cost money." frenzy said, flopping down on the berth in defeat. "well, that doesn't mean that you can't do something! maybe if everyone pitches in--"

"perhaps. but frenzy, remember, soundwave is a very private mech. while it might be nice to celebrate and have a big party, we should consider how he feels about it first."

frenzy blinked. "oh. right, he's not good with crowds, is he? well..." the minibot trailed off, drawing patterns on the berth with a finger.

"maybe it can just be the seven of us, then. you, the boss, me n' rumble, rav and the condors. i think that'd be nice."

megatron smiled, and pulled frenzy up and onto his lap. "i think that would be nice too."

#transformers #maccadam #megasound #megatron #frenzy #fanfiction #long post #i started thinking about cybertronian marriages and the whole conjunx ritus thing and how the lower classes went about that...#i have another scene planned where soundwave plans his own thing & interacts w/ his cassettes n the other miners #and of course the marriage itself.......... aaahhhh!!

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bookenders · 5 years

Note

For Thanksgiving Celebration, I'd love a short! You can use "roselinproductions" or "avalon roselin" depending on what works better for you. Poem or prose is fine! No mentions of pregnancy/birth, please. Thank you!!!!

Happy Giving Thanks Day!

I’d love to write you a short, friend! It got totally out of hand and ended up way longer than I intended it to be! Yay! I really try to keep these short, but sometimes the story grabs me and demands to be written.

I haven’t written this legend before, so I had to do a little bit of research for it, which was fun.

Now, a worthy story for a worthy friend:

Title: “The Northern Garden”

Word Count: 1,537

[CW: brief mention of blood, mention of mortal wound]

There was a bit of a flurry by the shore, but it was probably nothing. The island received guests rarely, usually the odd lost traveler who had food shoved into his hands and was quickly turned back whence he came. All for the better, really. Her people were kind and powerful, and all to vulnerable to being used (the last thing they sent out into the world never returned, which was a right shame — it was a beautiful weapon). Hence the mystery they crafted to hide themselves from the rest of the world. Descending into legend wasn’t very difficult. All it took was one wayward sailor and all of a sudden, they were a myth told round the fire.

Turning her back to the black ship docking at the small pier, Gwenese continued along the worn dirt path to her favorite garden. There were several around the island, each with a different purpose. The western garden held herbs and spices for cooking, fruits and vegetables from all regions of the world grew and ripened in the eastern gardens, ritual plants took root in the southern gardens, and the northern gardens were home to all manner of floral blooms. Including Gwenese’s favorite flowers — the roses. One of the seers once predicted a war would take place about them, or over them, or including them in some manner, and Gwenese could understand that. She would wage war for them, too.

In all honesty, Gwenese could walk the path to the rose bushes with her eyes closed. And so she did, holding her hands a little ways from her hips to brush aside new reaching growths and vines that swallowed more than their fair share of sun. She even reached the garden faster than usual.

She set about her task with a calm mind and careful hands, grasping the stems around the thorns and snipping the blooms one by one. They dared not prick her anymore. Especially the white roses. It wouldn’t do to have their petals stained by an avoidable accident. Maybe she’d pick more damask roses this time. That might add a new twist to her enchantments.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Gwenese turned, reluctant as she could physically show, and raised an eyebrow at the intruder.

“Yes, m’lord?”

He bowed his head and dipped down in deference. “Pardon the interruption, but might you be available to aid the healers in a most important task?”

Gwenese sighed. “Sir, I am no healer. It is well known on this island that I am no healer. I am rather surprised, actually, that you do not know that I am not a healer. Please leave me to my daily task and carry on with whatever fool’s errand those ninnies have sent you on.” And she plucked another rose from its stem.

The man blustered for a moment before leaving in a poorly disguised rush.

Will they ever learn?

Four days later, Gwenese suffered another interruption, this time from a small group of people wandering the gardens. Usually, these kinds of groups never bothered her, for as one of the enchantresses of the island, it was known that one should not impede the progress of her magicks. However, the excitement of recent events seemed to have blinded these folks to reason.

One of them tapped her on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, m’lady, as you are an enchantress, would you perhaps know about the man whom the healers have been aiding these past few days?”

Gwenese stood and surveyed the small gaggle of individuals. A mix of men and women, all dressed comfortably in blues and greens and tans, cloaks draped over their shoulders to protect them from the chill, with wide expectant smiles on their faces.

“Do I maintain the appearance of a healer?” she asked, gesturing to her grass-stained dress, satchel of flowers, and purple silk cape.

The young lady stepped back. “Um, no, m’lady, you do not.”

Gwenese rolled her eyes. “And you do have the knowledge that enchantresses and healers are no more one I the same than apples and stalks of wheat?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“Then why do you ask an enchantress questions pertaining to the healers’ business?”

The young lady’s eyes went wide in guilt and shame and she fell into a rushed curtsy.

“I do apologize, m’lady, I allowed my curiosity to get the best of me. We were only wondering if the man who has recently arrived here is who they say he is.”

“What reason would you have to believe otherwise?”

“I know not, m’lady.”

“Then carry on with your business, and I shall carry on with mine. Good day,” Gwenese said with a curt nod, and knelt to examine the petals of a yellow rose.

The small group of young people rushed out of the garden, tittering and gossiping all the way.

Gwenese pinched the bridge of her nose. What was the point of living in paradise if you never got any peace?

The final straw fell on the sixth day. Gwenese had her nose pressed to a flourishing red rose, petals soft against the tips of her fingers, when she heard footsteps crunching louder and louder in her direction. Leaning back, she brushed the dirt from her hands and stood, ready to confront this interloper, when the man walked right past her.

Gwenese’s eyebrows rose of their own accord. “Hm,” she tutted, and peered at the man from over her shoulder.

He was tall in the way that leaders seemed to be, with flaxen hair and a thick beard. Bandages bulged underneath his shirt, right over his heart and lungs, and a cut was freshly scabbed over across his brow. He leaned down to fit a rose into his palm and winced, his other hand coming up to grasp at the wound.

“Are you all right, m’lord?” Gwenese asked. She may not be a healer, but she wasn’t unnecessarily cruel.

The man started and turned to look at her, as though he just noticed she was there.

“Ah,” he said, “my apologies, I did not know this place was occupied.” And he smiled, its happiness lightly dulled by pain.

“Not fully. There is room enough for far more than two in these gardens.”

The man breathed out a laugh. “I have received nothing but kind welcomes on this island, and aid beyond reasonable measure, even when it is not my home. Your people’s hospitality is boundless.”

Gwenese smiled, catching herself actually starting to like the man.

“It is the way of Avalon, m’lord. If there is a need, it will be met.”

“And is it true that the trees grow without a farmer’s aid and guidance?”

“It is,” Gwenese said, and snipped another rose.

The man stood straight, posture loose yet commanding, and swept his eyes across the garden. “Marvelous.” He then turned his eyes on Gwenese. “It seems I’ve forgotten to ask your name.”

“Gwenese,” she said, and curtsied.

His eyes locked onto hers and went distant, falling away from time, dulling ever so slightly. No longer was he standing before her, but instead in the fields of days gone by.

“Your name,” he said, taking a steadying breath, calling his mind back from whatever precipice it escaped to, “is very familiar to me. It reminds me of someone.”

“Someone great, I hope,” Gwenese said.

“Great, indeed.” A grim look passed over his face, and his hand twitched toward the sword at his hip.

Gwenese glanced between him and her flowers, hesitant. “You must be the one they’ve all been speaking of.”

“Must I?”

“I can think of no reason why you would not be.”

He set a hand on the pommel of his sword. “Have I given myself away?” he asked, nodding down toward the blade.

“Not in the slightest.” How would a weapon give away one’s identity? “Your injuries, on the other hand,” she said, and waved a hand at his chest.

The man smiled. “Word travels fast.”

“Annoyingly so,” Gwenese replied, scowling.

“Are all enchantresses on this island like you? I have only met the healers.”

Even an outsider was capable of noting the difference. There truly was no hope for her people, after all.

“No, m’lord. I’m afraid I’m rather singular in my attitudes.”

“I feel the same about myself, as of late,” he replied, and turned back to the roses. Gripping one stem, he twisted a red, red bloom free and held it in his open palm. A tiny bead of blood traced his heart line.

“At any rate,” he continued, “I thank you for sparing the time to keep me company.”

Gwenese stood and traced her fingertip over the rose in his hand. “It was no trouble at all, m’lord. But I must ask, what is your name? For I have given you mine, but know not yours.”

“With the speed at which news travels on this island, you will know soon enough.” The man smiled and dipped his head in a short bow. “Farewell.”

And he walked out of the garden.

A single bead of blood remained on the dirt before the rose bush.

Gwenese glanced down at the droplet, grinned, then snipped another rose from its stem.

Maybe some interruptions were worthwhile.

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incandescent-creativity · 5 years

Text

Camp NaNo: EVERY EXCERPT

That’s right, folks, every excerpt I posted during the month of April can be found here in this post! There would be thirty of them had I not met my goal early and missed a few days of posting, but there’s at least twenty.

Enjoy!

(Oh, and if you’re new here, this is an angel/demon romance. Summary and WIP Page can be found there!)

Day One: Maluka’s POV

I can tell they’re about to dismiss me, so I take one last chance. “Legion, I have a formal request to submit on top of my report.”

“Is it about your fake angel?” the female guesses, a playful, mocking smile on her lips.

“I didn’t make Olufemi up,” I snap. “What reason would I have to lie about this?”

“To get out of a Focus,” the male supplies, slouching back on the couch.

“We’ve heard a lot of bullshit excuses in our time,” the female adds on.

“Never an angel, though,” the non-binary Legion says, that smirk on their face again.

“Honestly, Mal, you couldn’t think of something a bit more realistic?” the female mocks me.

There’s finally a pause in their weird, back-and-forth way of talking, but I have no idea what I could add to this conversation. The three of them wait for me to say something, pleased half-smiles on all of their faces.

When I can’t come up with anything, the male stands up and dusts his hands off. “Maluka of Wrath, your formal request has been denied.”

Day Two: Olufemi’s POV

Rae and I may comment on how everything is planned, but I’m not sure the Lord’s design ever accommodated demons. I mean, I’m sure it must on some level, but He doesn’t have any omniscience over them or us like He does the humans.

Then again, Mal said something about “focusing” on Nora. So if she was somehow tied or connected to my Guarded, maybe she would be in the grand design.

The real question I have is why.

Why me? Why couldn’t this test be given to an older, more experienced Guardian? Or even one of the original archangels? They would be more qualified to handle a demon than I am. I couldn’t even strike out at it.

But I might get another chance tonight, so I have to be prepared.

Day Three: Maluka

I’m mostly just fucking around, but Olufemi takes the question seriously. “What if we… traded?”

The idea would be hilarious if it wasn’t so stupid. “Oh, that’s a bright idea. You can plant the intrusive thoughts, and I’ll use all the Heavenly connection I don’t have to protect her.”

“I didn’t mean trade places!” Olufemi snaps, and my eyes flash to their hands. They’re not glowing, so I’m not in as much danger as I could be. “I meant… trade information. You tell me what a Focus is, and I’ll tell you… something else.”

For a second, I almost can’t believe it. The angel… is suggesting they hand me all the information I need for my reports? I didn’t have to bring that up by myself?

Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit. This is too good to be true.

Day Four: Olufemi

“Don’t take the name of the Lord in vain,” I snap. “For He will not leave you unpunished if you do.”

“Jesus Christ,” she says, laughing at me and ignoring everything I just said. “Leave me unpunished?” she quotes.

I open my mouth to tell her yes, that’s literally what we have been taught, but I’m interrupted by the way Maluka abandons any pretense of laughter. Without warning, her expression drops into something much darker. Glaring at me, she stands up from leaning against a wall and walks toward me.

“Let me tell you something about punishment, angel.” The word is an insult from her mouth. “The very first memory I have is falling through the realms, my wings burning with the aftereffects of the magic that cast me out.

“I don’t even remember what I did to get exiled from Heaven,” she says, fangs poking out over her bottom lip, “but I would do it again, just to see the look on the bastard’s face. So don’t talk to me about punishment, because you don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Day Five: Maluka

“Have you ever, like… said something… to someone… that you probably shouldn’t have?”

The smile he gives me is pitying, and I very nearly flip him off. “Oh, sure. I’ve pissed off many a person in my time. And so’ve you, if I recall.”

“I didn’t piss them off,” I criticize, gesturing with the bottle. “I just… it probably wasn’t smart to show my hand so early. You know?”

He waves off another patron, and I know I’ve got his attention. “Show your hand?” he repeats, not letting me look away. “What kind of enemy are you dealing with, Mal?”

Six-foot-five, rich black skin, hair cut close to their skull, lithe fingers that sometimes glow with Heavenly light that’s powering up to burn me to a crisp. “Nothing I can’t handle,” I tell him.

“Uh-huh. You can totally handle it, that’s why you’re sitting here with a half-empty bottle of my vodka in one hand.”

“Fuck you.”

Day Six: Olufemi

“Anyway,” I point out, “I was suggesting you lie, not me.”

“Me?” she asks, her eyebrows raised high and her hand pressed to her chest in mock misunderstanding. “But Olufemi, I have been nothing but truthful to you this whole time! How could you possibly expect me to lie?”

“Truthful?” I repeat. “What have you been truthful about?”

The mockery slides off her face like water off feathers. “Let’s count, shall we?” she says, back to disdainful. “I told you what a Focus was, and how it worked.” She holds up two fingers.

“That should count as one,” I object.

She ignores me. “I told you about my memories, and how I don’t give a flying fuck about blasphemy.” Okay, that one is true. “And I’ve told you about what will happen if I don’t do my job.”

Waving her now open hand at me, she continues, “So with all of that in mind, I am going to go plant some thoughts so my life doesn’t end up ruined by some liar angel.”

Kissing her middle finger and blowing it towards me, Maluka turns around in the hallway and walks towards Nora’s bedroom.

Day Seven: Maluka

“Uh, hi. Are you done with… whatever you were doing?” I ask, wary of those hands. If they glow again, I’m outta here.

A faint smile lifts one corner of their mouth. “It’s called praying, Maluka,” they tell me, smug and superior. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

Oh, duh. Thinking quickly, I reply, “Actually, no. Care to enlighten me?”

I expect them to back off, but Olufemi calls my bluff instead. “Of course. Come and sit down.”

The hundreds of ways this could backfire on me running through my head, I venture into the living room and sit across from an angel.

Day Eight: Olufemi

Glancing over, I notice the Book open to Proverbs. Half of 13:3 is highlighted in pink: but those who speak rashly will come to ruin.

Everything makes sense all at once. Maluka is not an intriguing person with unexpected biblical knowledge, she’s only a deceptive demon who will use anything she learns to her advantage against me.

I almost want to cry. How could I be so stupid? Everything Michael had taught me, I had forgotten everything he ever said.

Day Nine: Maluka

I’ve never seen their expression stay as cold for as long as it has now. “You have had plenty of opportunities to apologize for arguing and accusing me of being a liar, yet you haven’t. And worse, you’re a hypocrite because you’ve lied to me.”

There is no way I’ll be able to deal with this sort of judgement for a month. Throwing my hands up, I say, “Fine. You win, angel. I apologize.”

Olufemi mirrors my frustrated gesture. “It doesn’t count if it isn’t genuine,” they say.

“It’s completely unrealistic to expect a perfectly genuine apology whenever you decide you want one,” I argue. “You sprang this on me a few minutes ago, and you want me to just roll over and obey you?”

Day Eleven: Olufemi

My point is only proven when I touch down in Nora’s living room and hear a voice coming from down the hall.

Feathers puffing up with anticipation, I call the power of God’s grace into my hands. They start to glow, illuminating the hallway enough for me to see Nora’s door. It’s still shut, which means it isn’t a robber; it’s Maluka.

I’m tempted to burst through the door and scare her, but I resist. It will be more valuable to me to know what she is saying to my Guarded, in order for me to do my job better.

“—it’s just so stupid, you know? Like, how was I supposed to know they wanted an apology. They never said that until they were jumping down my throat for not reading their mind and knowing it automatically. It just feels unfair.

“Like, I don’t think they know how terrifying that glowing hand shit is, but I still don’t explode on them because they don’t know! And it’s not their fault they don’t know, it’s mine, because I haven’t said anything. You know?”

As expected, Nora says nothing. Which makes sense, as we are in a different realm. And she’s asleep.

I hear Mal sigh. “Ah, I guess it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be surprised they don’t like me. Everyone around them must be so pure and holy and whatever, that’s all they know.” She laughs for a single second. “I guess I must have come as quite a shock.”

I let the glow die from my hands and walk through the door. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Mal nearly falls off the bed. “What the fuck,” she exclaims, out of breath in her surprise. “You can’t just do that to someone, angel, Jesus. I thought you left.”

Day Thirteen: Olufemi

“Wait, why are you taking notes?” I ask.

“For my reports,” she says, her tone making it obvious I should have realized this.

I push myself up to my feet, wings spreading to counterbalance. “Wait, what? No, I can’t—you can’t put this kind of stuff in reports.”

Incredibly, she actually asks, “Why not?”

I hold up a finger as I list each item. “You file a report. The report gets read. Demons assemble and execute an assault on Heaven, succeeding because they have had insider information. Angelkind falls. Humanity falls.” Putting my hand down, I meet her eyes and finish, “I will not be responsible for all of that.”

Maluka laughs at me, apparently amused by catastrophe. “Damn, angel, paranoid much?” When I don’t respond in favor of maintaining a serious attitude, she sighs. “Nobody reads Focus reports, especially not from someone like me.”

Day Fourteen: Maluka

“So, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you had a good idea.” This catches their attention, eyes darting up to mine. “We trade information, none of it personal, in order to satisfy our mutual curiosity, until the month is up, and we don’t tell our superiors. Deal?”

I stand up, extending my hand like I’ve done so many times before. Olufemi stands from the floor in one fluid motion, and grasps my pale hand in their dark one.

“It’s a deal,” they announce.

My palm starts to itch, and I pull it back in a hurry. You’ve got to be kidding me. Olufemi takes a step back as I take my hand away, but I’m too busy staring at my right palm to bother comforting a nervous ball of feathers.

Ink blooms in a dark spot in the very center of my palm, and travels across my skin to rest on on the inside of my wrist. It solidifies and sharpens into an elongated T shape—one all too familiar.

When I finally look up at Olufemi, a simple cross tattoo is resting on the inside of my wrist.

They are glancing between my face and my wrist, as if unable to comprehend. “What…” they ask slowly, “just happened?”

I let out a sigh as I process that question for myself. “Well, the long and short of it is that you accidentally made a binding magical deal with a demon.”

Day Fifteen: Maluka

“Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Hanael, Camael, and Kepharel.”

The list is too quick for me, so all I end up doing is staring at them. “I’ll be honest,” I say, “I have no idea how to spell most of those.” As if that’s what my problem is, and not the speed at which they fired them at me.

Sighing, Olufemi leans forward with an open hand. “Let me. I’ll even match them to whatever section they lead for you.”

Score. Names and angelic jobs make for a great foundation for the wealth of information I can provide my superiors at the end of the month. Offering a smile, I watch them carefully scribe the names into my page.

Olufemi seems careful to avoid brushing hands with me when they hand the notebook back to me. It’s a tiny detail that might not even be there, but it pisses me off. Do they think they’ll explode on contact if they touch me? I know I’m not any creature of light or whatever they are, but still. It’s insulting.

Day Sixteen: Maluka

“You’re going to have to cross the street,” I tell her, lacing my voice with magic to ensure that she hears it.

In a brilliant moment of a perfectly executed thought, Nora takes it seamlessly and steps off the curb.

In the blink of an eye, Olufemi is in front of her. “You’ll do no such thing.”

But they’re not talking to me. Their eyes are locked on Nora, and their voice is rich with power. Nora stops in her tracks, blinking as if confronted with a bright light. The instant after they stop, a car races through an intersection. It almost looks like it caught some air on that hill.

Nora stumbles back onto the sidewalk, and I let her walk through me so I can face Olufemi.

There’s a lot of things I could say, but the first thing that comes out of my mouth is, “Where are your wings?”

(later - Olufemi’s POV)

Jutting her chin out at me, Mal says, “I’m not letting you off the hook so easily. You,” she continues, pointing a finger at me, “are stuck with me.”

I bite my tongue until she lowers her hand, smirking and thinking she has won. Only when she leans back on the heels of her boots do I reply.

“Correction, Maluka: I have been stuck with you.” Her expression lowers into one of confusion at the past tense. “From this day on, you will be stuck with me.”

I didn’t expect the threat to land, but when Maluka asks, “How so?” her voice is purely cautious. There is no hint of superiority anywhere—a welcome change.

Opening myself to God’s grace for the second time in an hour, I channel the power into my hands and my eyes. I step forward, and watch Maluka step away from me. Her breathing is shallow and her eyes are wide, glancing between my wings held high and my glowing eyes.

“I have tolerated your presence as best I could,” I say, “and allowed you to survive upon the basis that you will not harm my Guarded. Having shown yourself incapable of even that, you will find her now under my full and active protection, specifically against you and your work.”

Straightening my shoulders, I allow my wings to snap open to their full length. They pass through shelves of potted plants, but the effect still causes Maluka to stagger away from me. “Leave now, Maluka of Hell. Return to whence you came, and know that your continued attachment to Nora would be unwise.”

Day Seventeen - Twenty: Maluka

Oh, who am I kidding. Dealing with an insulted archdemon is intimidating in the way that a human dealing with their manager is intimidating; I could lose a lot if it goes badly, and my entire life would be flipped upside down, but I’d probably survive.

A radiantly nuclear Olufemi is an entirely different thing to deal with, if the shaking in my knees is any indication. I don’t even make it home before my legs decide to go on vacation. Without their support, I’m left to stagger to the building corner and drop onto the sidewalk.

~ ~ ~ later… ~ ~ ~

After all, I can’t be the only demon in Hell who’s met an angel before, right? I hope not.

I might be the only one who has survived, though. But I may not be able to hold that title for long if I don’t get more information. I was hoping to get information from the angel themself, but I suspect that getting answers from them will be significantly harder in the coming days.

But, if I’m lucky, it won’t be impossible. If I learn something from the demons around me, I might be able to surprise some conversation out of them.

And I’ll only need one conversation to explain how mandatory the inspector is and how I can’t get around it. If this angel can’t appreciate the inescapable responsibility of a Focus, maybe the urgency of an intruder to our fake peace will light a fire under their feathers.

Day Twenty-One: Olufemi

She pouts, but we’ve lived together long enough for me to remain unaffected. “It was just a rumor,” she explains. “He might not even be coming.”

“Raenel,” I say, her voice a short huff of air from my mouth.

“Aw, come on,” she pleads. “You don’t even want to guess? I could give hints.”

I get up and shuffle my wings to loosen them. I have no time for Rae’s festival plans, I have to get to the Pyramid and review the threads of fate. If I’m lucky, I may even be able to peer farther ahead and discover what the festival day has in store. That’s never guaranteed, of course, but—

“Okay, fine,” Rae calls as I reach her doorway. “It’s Michael.”

I freeze. Refusing to turn around, I ask, “Michael? As in, Head of the Council, Archangel of Justice, the First Ascended, leader of the Original Seven? That Michael?”

“Don’t forget your mentor,” she adds. I can’t see her, of course, but her voice is hesitant. There is no pleasure in the delivery of this news. “That seems like an important title, too.”

Having scared her enough, I let a grin grow as I turn on my heel back into her room. “Rae, why didn’t you lead with that? Of course I’ll come to the festival.”

Her wings sag with relief. “Stars, I don’t know! I didn’t want you to get excited and then have him not show up. I mean, what kind of friend would I be if I lied to you?”

Hearing her speak the same question I’ve been asking myself causes a guilty stabbing in my chest, but I endeavor to keep my smile in place. “A terrible one, but that wouldn’t count as a lie. Jerusalem is a long flight, even for one like him.”

Day Twenty-Three: Maluka

Walking the streets of Pride isn’t something I do often, and I hope it doesn’t show.

The atmosphere is completely different from my hometown of Wrath. Gone are the comfortingly dark and dirty streets, replaced by glistening, tidy pavement and extravagant homes. Gone are the sweet smells of sweat and gasoline; the sprawling city of Pride smells clean. Like rubbing alcohol.

The only similarity is the crowded streets. You can��t walk two blocks at home without encountering a fight of some kind, and I can’t take more than a few steps here without bumping into some human gazing over something fancy.

I don’t find someone like me until I’ve been wandering the city for at least an hour. The demon I do find has gathered a crowd of humans, but I can’t tell for what reason. The only thing they’re doing is standing there, behind an empty table.

Day Twenty-Five: Maluka

In the center of the city is home to a skyscraper that isn’t curved or graceful. Instead, it is formed with straight lines and uniform windows. It’s completely symmetrical until three quarters of the way up, where it starts to narrow until it reaches the spike at the top. The whole thing is manufactured from some sort of dark steel, giving the whole thing a cold, grey look.

Lucy’s tower. Luckily, not my destination today. Turning my head and tilting my body, I manage to veer right and start looking for the columnar structure of the Archive.

When I spot the blinding white stone of the domed building, it looks deserted. Obviously no humans can get to it, but even the demons who can cross the magical wards aren’t on the grounds. Weird.

I very nearly fall onto my knees when I land, but I manage to run forward and catch myself. There’s one benefit to nobody being around. Carrying on as if nothing has happened, I walk up to the building with my shirt gone and my wings out.

Trying to maintain confidence despite my look, I knock on the door.

A window slides open, and a demon with the thickest glasses I’ve ever seen pokes her head out.

“Can I help you?”

Ignoring the way she looks me over, I run a hand through my hair and say, “Yes, I’m looking for any information you have on angels.”

“Angels?” she repeats, unimpressed.

“Specifically how anybody has survived encounters, and anything you have on their weaknesses,” I clarify.

This doesn’t impress her any more than I already have. “And who is asking for this information?”

“Just a curious citizen of Wrath,” I answer. No way I’m going to give her my name. If they want to trace me, they’ll have to go to the Legion first. Who will probably be able to connect the dots between a request about angels and the Focused demon who was just talking about angels, but at least it will be an extra step.

Evidently, my answer doesn’t pass. “We have no such information here,” the archivist says shortly. “Please do not come again.”

The window slides shut, and I’m left standing alone out in front of the Archive with no answers and no plan.

Dang, did you really read all of those? You’re awesome!

If you’d like to see more, I’ll provide these again: Summary / WIP Page / Comic Sans Presentation

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#original writing #amwriting #nanowrimo #camp nanowrimo #camp nano #my writing #my excerpt #masterpost #lies in a holy tongue #character: maluka #character: olufemi #liaht trio #inspo: liaht #how many tags does one author need #the answer is so many

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