#this should be written a lot better considering it's been in my drafts forever

[deathmaycome]

EMIL’S HOUSE / 24TH MAY / SELF PARA (ft. Uriel, again)

“I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.”

― Khaled Hosseini

For the first few hours after coming around following her surgery, everything had been a blur. She slipped smoothly between consciousness and unconsciousness; a painkiller induced sleep punctuated by the burning in her chest when the drugs wore off, the worried face of Emil, Gwen curling up on the bed beside her. The last thing she remembered was staring at the ceiling, vaguely registering gunfire and shouting around her as she bled out. She had still not entirely registered the fact that she was alive, that the bullet which by all logic should have killed her had not. Though her head became clearer, the memories slightly sharper, this was still the fact on which May was stuck, the impossibility of it all. Even when Emil explained how they had found her and taken her off the boat, it didn’t seem real. An urban myth rather than reality.

When she was lucid, she faced questions about the identity of her attacker, to which she instantly supplied Saint Warden’s name, but kept Omer’s close to her wounded chest. Then she was supplied with information about the gravity of Death’s new situation, filling in the many holes torn in the fabric of the evening, each new fact she obtained more unsettling than the last. When she was asleep she had disturbed dreams - of drowning, of choking, of fire, of her parents. Each time it was different, but always ended the same way, with her sat bolt upright, heart pounding in time with the throbbing of her chest. It happened again then, gasping for air, eyes wide but not seeing, before slumping back onto the pillows more exhausted than she had been before she attempted rest.

“Did you know,” a voice says, somewhere on her right, “That we have the same blood type?”

Still trying to catch her breath, May’s head lolls to look at her Horseman, sitting in a chair beside her. Unlike the last time they’d been alone together, when she had been raging and he had been impassive, they looked distinctly less composed. Their posture is hunched, sleeves rolled up and hair dishevelled, as though they have been running their hands through it repeatedly. Her eyes are drawn to the bruises on his forearm, and through a haze, she realises the meaning of their odd greeting.

“You gave me blood.” It’s a strange feeling, knowing that they are now a part of her physically, like real siblings. She isn’t sure she likes it. “No wonder I feel so cold.”

“Nice to see that the bullet you took didn’t damage your wit.” He stands and begins fussing around her as she watches his every move, curious rather than suspicious. Nimble hands check her IV, examine the bandages covering her wound, adjust the tube that reinflated her collapsed lung. They are clinical, almost detached, but when he sits again after a little more prodding and poking, there is an air about them, a change, probably indiscernible to anyone but her. Uriel the Horseman is not present, replaced by Uriel, her old friend. It had been so long since she’d last seen this person that she’d half forgotten he existed, but there he was, with a slump to their shoulders and a hint of concern colouring their expression. “It’s a miracle that you’re alive, you know.”

“Mm, I figured.” May had never thought of herself as a particularly lucky person, believing that the good things in her life had come to her as a result of hard work. But if anything could make her change her mind, it was knowing that she had survived a bullet fired at her heart when she stood restrained. Either she was extremely fortunate, or the Wardens were extremely unfortunate.

She tries to sit up to better engage in their conversation, struggling as she does so but waving away the help he moves to offer. It was impossible to hide her weakness, but that didn’t mean she had to rely on them so heavily. The knowledge that lay between them - that she had almost died, that he had saved her life - was inescapable. It was yet another facet to their relationship, adding complications where there were already multitudes. Equally inescapable was the fact that she had criticised them, and they had punished her for it. She could count on one hand the number of times that the mood between them had been as tense as this. The fact that two of these occasions had happened within the past month was unsettling to say the least. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, these were merely splinters in the woodwork of their friendship, an occupational hazard of working at such close quarters for so long. But they had been a united front for so many years that this splintering felt a lot like breaking.

“So, how was it? Holding my life in your hands?” The question escapes her before she can think to hold it back. He had always tutted at her impulsivity, tried to rein it in or mould it, but at that moment, he was smiling a little.

“It’s not the first time I’ve operated on you. Don’t you remember?” She stares, perplexed, before realising what they’re referring to.

“My Fisher Price doctor’s kit.” Her, on her back, propped up on her elbows. Them, crouched next to her, wielding a plastic scalpel and pretending to make incisions while she squirmed at the ticklish sensation. That’s where your liver is. Your intestines are here. This is your heart. She couldn’t have been more than seven at the time.

“I’ve gotten better since then, you’ll be pleased to hear.”

“Doesn’t answer my question, though.”

They blink slowly, and for a moment she thinks they won’t respond. But he does, eventually, and the words are measured in a way that she understands is not for her benefit, but his own. “It’s not an experience I wish to repeat.”

Silence falls, and they watch each other. And what a sorry pair they are, exhausted and miserable, carrying responsibility so heavy you could practically see the weight of it crushing them. “Do we know how many died yet?” she asks after a few minutes.

He leans forward as though he hasn’t heard the question, adjusting her pillows to help her sit more comfortably, wearing a pained look. It’s unnerving from the person who was always so unemotional, so measured. It isn’t until he sits back again that he speaks, their tone tinged with something dangerously close to remorse. “We’re still finding bodies. We probably won’t know an exact number for another day or so.”

“But so far?”

“So far, six. Five Angels and a Power.”

Guilt was a feeling that May knew well, but never had the feeling gripped her as tightly as this. The reality of war, once the shock of Death’s arrival had worn off, was always going to be unpleasant, and there was always going to be loss. She had never been under any illusion that they could make it through this without losing people along the way — she was an optimist, not delusional. And yet that optimistic part of her had ruined her, because foolishly, she had thought that if she cared enough, tried hard enough, they could avoid the worst of it. Where Uriel was the brains, brilliant but cold, viewing his willing recruits as disposable, it was her job to be the heart, to love, and most importantly, to protect. She should have been more careful. She shouldn’t have been caught by Warden. She should have disregarded her friendship with Omer and fought him off. Anything, anything to prevent this.

“Okay, well, when we do have the exact number, get me a list of their names. We’re going to contact their families and pay for the funerals.” The Horseman nods, knowing better than to fight their Seraphim on this issue.

Another silence, this one stretching out for longer than the last one. It swells between them, the air heavy and aching, punctuated only by her own light, wheezing breaths. Uriel stares at a point on the opposite wall, she stares at her hands. It seems as though neither will speak again, that he will leave her without another word for fear of addressing the elephant in the room threatening to engulf them, but then —

“I know you’re still angry with me.”

The admission surprises her. It would not have been out of character for him to ignore their problems completely, deeming it unnecessary emotional baggage in the face of what is undeniably a much larger issue. But they address it head-on, their dark gaze fixed on her, their family. May remains tight-lipped. The best way to get someone to talk was to say nothing at all. He had taught her that. “I know you’re still angry with me, but I need —” He sighs heavily through his nose. “Your support is vital.”

“Yes, I know.” She doesn’t bother to hide the bitterness in her voice, gaze shifting away from him. “Can’t have it look like your best Seraphim is losing faith.”

“No. I don’t just mean it in that way.” They uncross their legs, cross them again. “Your support is vital to me.” Another surprising statement. In all the years they had known each other, she couldn’t remember them ever being this sincere. By his standards, it was practically emotional. Uriel was not one for sentiment, evidenced by the fact that they had calmly disregarded the opinion of their oldest friend and advisor in favour of chasing the glory of owning Pestilence. To say this softness was foreign would be the understatement of the decade, and she wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or on edge.

“A compliment isn’t going to change my mind, Uriel,” she says, chin tilted like a defiant teenager. “I think you made the wrong decision and I stand by that.”

“I know.” A pause. “Obviously I did not think that this was how it would play out.” It was the closest they would ever come to admitting they had made a mistake.

“I know.” She is his echo, now and always.

“Listen to me,” they say suddenly, voice low and urgent. “I understand your doubts, especially after this. But if nothing else, the events of last night have made me see clearly where before I was blinded by arrogance. Those deaths, your suffering, I won’t let them be in vain. They have to pay for what they’ve done, to us and to this city.” They lean in, elbows resting on knees, gaze dark and imploring. “I have a plan, May. A new one, and I believe that it will work. But it will be so much easier with you by my side to help see this through. You are the better part of me, and this gang needs you just as I do. We’re scattered, and we need to be reunited for it to be as effective as I hope. It’s going to be difficult, I realise that, but no matter what May, I fucking swear to you —” They take her hand, and the action forces their eyes meet again; hers wide with shock, his ablaze with determination.

“— I’ll fix this.”

[hkblack]

Identifying & Asking for the Type of Beta-Reading Your Story Needs

Hi folks! Had a bit of a break last week, but we’re back. This week we’re continuing with our theme of the different types of Beta-Reading. Last time we discussed the specific types of editing Beta-Readers. This time we’re talking about knowing what type of Editing Beta-Reader your story needs and how to ask for it.

Two disclaimers. One, a lot of this post is compiling threads from previous posts and putting it all together. If it sounds repetitive for those of you who have been reading along—sorry ‘bout it.

Two, this was hard for me to write! I kept asking myself “How do you know what kind of beta-reading do you need?” and I kept saying “Well you just read through the descriptions of the types and go ‘yeah that one, I want that one.’ Or even ‘all those, I want all those.’” And then I got stuck in the “identifying” part of the exercise and lost track of the “asking” part of the exercise. All that said, there’s several false starts in the doc where I draft these posts.

So how do you identify what you need? I mean, go back to the last post and read through the descriptions. If you find yourself going “yeah that one! I’d like that.” that’s what you need. If you find yourself going “all these” that’s also valid! If you start going “eh, I don’t know… maybe?” that’s when you should pause and consider what you want out of the beta-reading experience.

I’ve talked before about how in fanfiction spaces especially there are some people who don’t care for beta-readers at all. As in, they don’t use them because they don’t want to. This usually stems from ideas like “This is free fiction I’m publishing online, who cares if there’s a typo?” and it’s a completely valid train of thought! I have written many a tiny-fic where I’ve gone “oh honestly, I just needed this out of my brain, it doesn’t need to be perfect, just post it,” and haven’t gotten a beta-reader.

Like most things I think a desire for a beta-reader falls along a non-linear spectrum. There’s those who don’t care, there’s those who think their story is fine, but they would rather be saved from weird typos/SpAG errors. There’s those who want a little more help with making sure their story can be followed. There are folks who need a brainstorming buddy or a cheer-reader to help them keep going when they get stuck. There are all sorts of writers. So at the end of the day it’s up to you to ask yourself what you want out of the experience, and what you actually think is necessary and nice to have.

Once you’ve figured it out, you then go back to our how to ask guidelines remembering this:

For All Requests Fandom (if not obvious) Major Relationships Quick Summary What I need a Beta-Reader for

For Completed Pieces / Single Section Requests Rating Word Count Archive Warnings/ Content Warnings / Relevant Tags Deadline

For In Progress Pieces / Long Term Requests Expected Rating Current Word & Chapter Count AND Expected Chapter Count All Possible Archive Warnings/ Content Warnings / Relevant Tags Timeline / Deadline Expectations

Let’s pull out What I need a Beta-Reader for. When you’re filling this section out, the more details you can give, the better. Here’s some examples of what you might say, and what you’re actually asking for:

I’m currently in the early process of writing, and want a cheer-reader who can ask me questions about the big beats and help me figure the plot out. (Cheer-Reader and Plot Block beta)

I feel like I’ve been in the same scene forever, and I don’t know how to get out (Flow & Pacing Beta)

What comes next?!? How do I continue?! (Plot Block)

There is a complicated thing happening in my story, and I need to make sure it makes sense (Flow & Pacing)

My characters have run off and now I don’t know what they want me to do (Characterization)

Story is good, I want to post by [deadline] and just want to make sure everything makes sense and there’s no major errors (Bit of SpAG, Final Polish, and some light Flow & Pacing here)

Content warnings?! (Final Polish)

Just need a SpAG! (…SpAG!)

I’ve been staring at this for so long the words are running together (Final Polish if you’re ready to post otherwise, Flow & Pacing and light SpAG if you’re not).

“So should I just put: I need a Flow & Pacing beta reader?” you ask. I mean, it doesn’t hurt. A lot of times when I hear stories about horrible beta-reading experiences, it comes down to a miscommunication on what the writer wanted and what the beta-reader thought they wanted. I think a sentence like:

I’m looking for a Final Polish (SpAG please!) read from someone who is also comfortable with picking up on odd Characterization quirks, and Flow & Pacing issues, just to make sure I’m consistent throughout the story.

is a great way to ask. As is:

I have no idea what is happening in this story anymore. Send help. (and someone to help me get out of this Plot Block and regain my Flow)

However you ask, if there’s certain things you don’t want your reader to comment on, be up front with that.

This story is done. I only want SpAG. Is anyone available?

Or in the DMs, be clear:

I only want thoughts on these two chapters, please do not read anything past this big red line.

Or

I’m really not going back to rewrite anything unless the sentence sounds like I just stopped in the middle.

What I would make sure you avoid is: “I need a characterization beta reader, thank you, goodbye” Give details as to why you think you need something (“I need help with flow and pacing, it’s a fight scene and I don’t know how to fight.”) to help folks figure out if they can actually help you. But also, remember not everyone reads this blog (share with your friends!) and I’m making up words as I go along sometimes. So while these are pretty universal ideas, they may not be universal terms. So give the thing you are struggling with/the why you are looking for, and the term for further clarity. 

Remember that second disclaimer? I actually asked the lovely @ambrasuee to read over this before I posted it because sometimes you need a beta reader for your beta blog, I guess. And we know the rules for giving credit to our beta readers. So major props to Ambra for being the person who goes “get out of your head and post it. It’s good” when I need that kick. But we’re going to end here for today and next time we’re going to talk about how to respond to a call as a beta reader.

[duckprintspress]

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

[fixyourwritinghabits]

On Publishing Trends and You: Are You Even Allowed to Write BIPOC Characters Anymore?

Okay I’ve seen this both willfully misinterpreted and unintentionally so, but ultimately it seems to be summarized as thus:

Waaaah, meanies on twitter say white people can’t write stories about people of color!!

Or something to that affect. Look, it’s really hard to have sympathy for this viewpoint because it requires taking things so out of context you’ve twisted yourself into a pretzel. Let’s look at publishing trends and how we got here, starting with:

Own Voices: The #OwnVoices hashtag started as a way for marginalized people to pitch books based on their own experiences. Thanks to the great work of DVPit, Disability in Kidlit, and We Need Diverse Books, and others (please feel free to give shout-outs in comments/reblogs). To say OwnVoices is the main drive is misleading - a lot of great work has been put into increasing diversity in publishing before and after the OwnVoices movement, it’s just one of the more visible marketing techniques for how books are promoted today.

So how did an effort to promote marginalized people writing stories from their own perspective become ‘white people aren’t allow to _____ anymore’? GOOD Question! First, let’s look at some statistics:

Boy, that sure looks bad, huh? Well, wait, I’m sure the statistics have improved immensely -

Huh. Well, that’s some improvement. A whole .1% for Indigenous folks and hey, non-human characters more than doubled what the hell.

So you’ll notice two things right off the bat - first, this conversation is mostly taking place around Children’s/Middle Grade/Young Adult books. While it’s true diversity is also lacking in Adult books, it’s very important to provide young readers with books that not only appeal and reflect their own experiences, but are not actively harmful, unintentional or otherwise.

The bulk of this movement - from what publishers are buying, what agents are looking for, and what the twitter conversations are about - are focused on kidlit, because kidlit tends to be stories focused on finding your identity and yourself. One way to focus these personal stories is to not only promote and encourage BIPOC authors writing BIPOC centered books, but to take a step back from these spaces to allow those opportunities to exist. That’s why #OwnVoices will continue to be a big factor in publishing.

Now, the next reaction tends to swing for the bleaches:

This means all my characters have to be white or twitter will hate me forever!!1!

No, it doesn’t. Publishers/Agents/Readers still want diverse stories. What it does mean is that you have to be mindful of how you’re including BIPOC in your stories. You might have seen some of this discussion (possibly out of context) about the authenticity of dotting your stories with people of color with no thought to why they exist in your story and how they experience events. Or, as a friend of mine put it, making “ambiguously brown” people in fantasy, and both these criticisms have real merit. If you’re not considering how all your characters dwell in the world you create, be it a normal high school or a dragon fighting competition, you’re doing both yourself and your readers a huge disservice. It is worth it to take the effort to make your characters believable people, and not just existing for brownie points.

(Also, twitter can be an absolute pit of vipers and while it’s important to follow publishing conversations there, you must keep in mind that not everyone is acting in good faith and it’s more important to look where there is genuine conversation rather than focus on a small group of people being particularly nasty. If it is negatively affecting your mental health, bail out.)

So, to sum up:

Is it true I can’t ever make my main character a BIPOC if I’m a white author? No one can ever ‘make’ you not do anything. All people are asking is for you to consider why you’re telling this story from this perspective, who you’re telling the story for, and if you might be unintentionally contributing to a wider problem of a lack of diversity in publishing.

Is it true I can’t write ANY BIPOC characters? No. What is true is that you should give all your characters a good level of thought and if you have worries, seek out critique partners or consider hiring a sensitivity reader* for your work (*this is entirely dependent on where you are in the publishing process. It is a waste of money and time to pay someone to do a sensitivity read on a first draft. You might not even consider this step until you have an agent or have gotten a lot of feedback suggesting it.)

What if my story has multiple POV? Again, you’re going to have to cycle back to why you’re making the choices you’re making, and who you��re writing for. There is always room for nuance and you’ll find plenty of multiple POV books written by white authors with BIPOC characters. The question boils down to the story you’re trying to tell, and why.

What if I’m writing Adult fiction? I’ve left Adult fiction out of the above conversation because it is mostly centered on kidlit, but there still is a nuance conversation to have about making space for BIPOC authors. I’ll link some perspectives below.

One last important note is that by focusing this conversation on what white people can’t do, you are once again stripping the focus of the conversation from the BIPOC perspectives on it and centering it on whiteness. You can’t change how many diverse books are published or how we give all readers the narratives they need. You can work on how you contribute to it and hopefully for the better.

READ MORE:

An Updated Look at Diversity in Children’s Books (where the above graphics were sourced from)

Why Do White Writers Keep Fictionalizing Black Experiences?

 The American Dirt Controversy: Lessons for Writers on Getting Cultures Right  (Adult fiction)

Racism vs. Representation: The Missteps of Naomi Novik’s A Deadly Education

Who Gave You the Right to Tell That Story? Ten authors on the most divisive question in fiction, and the times they wrote outside their own identities. (Adult Fiction)

Videos:

Here are some great videos from BookTuber Withcindy, someone I highly recommend following:

Should white authors write non-white characters? *A closer look at the Whiteness of Addie LaRue*

What happens when you try to be inclusive, but mess up anyway? *A closer look at A Deadly Education*

[procrastinatorproject]

Fic writer review, thank you to @thelaithlyworm  for the tag <3

how many works do you have on AO3?

Ten? Oh no, it’s actualy 12 now!

what’s your total AO3 word count?

86,468

how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Grand total of 1: Star Trek: Picard - although my latest offering might branch a bit into other Trek as well.

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

“Passengers”

“And a Barrel of Gagh”

“CMO’s Log”

“Preparations”

“Game Night”

Which is actually kinda interesting. I wrote Passengers, Preparations, and Game Night while the fandom was still a lot more active (especially in the Aramis in Space corner), so that makes sense. The CMO’s log has had chapters added every few months, giving it probably the most exposure of any of my fics. Barrel of Gagh, though? I think I’m gonna attribute that to Thimblerig turning it into a truly, TRULY brilliant piece of podfic. Also the fact that it’s whump involving a character played by Santiago Cabrera. ‘tis A Thing..... :D

do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I really try to! I love talking with people in the comments and just... thanking the people who found the time and energy to leave comments. But especially in the last few months I have gotten very bad at keeping up with the comments and now there’s about two dozen that I have neglected to reply to for a painfully long time 🙈

But I will get there! Because I love that kind of interaction!

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

So far, none of them have had angsty endings. Angsty middles, yes, but not endings. I’m just a sucker for everyone being happy in the end. Or at least on the way to being better, and supported and cared for on that way.

do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven’t yet, but I’m definitely not opposed. One of the threads of my 200k unpublishable whump scenes takes place in a continuity that has existed in my daydreams for... I wanna say six years at the very least, probably longer. It’s mostly straight-up Star Trek, but with the twist that it involves the Wraith, the telepathic, hive-minded alien race from Stargate: Atlantis that suck the life force out of you with their hands? Or, well, at least a variation thereof.

I once typed up the world building for that particular setting and it took me three hours to try and make it all make sense. So it’s... involved. But not necessarily “crazy”. And I’m not sure I’m ever actually going to publish any of the stories I have set in it (not least because that would envolve finishing any of them and bringing them into a form that is interesting to read for anyone but me...)

have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope.

do you write smut? if so what kind?

Hm, not yet. I do enjoy reading smut, but only under very specific circumstances. I think I may eventually try my hand at smut, but the inner prude is still very strong. Writing about Rios and Xyr making out (which, honestly, was really tame, all things considered) made me melt in a puddle of blushing embarrassment, so full-on smut is probably beyond me at the moment. One day!

have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. Though litigating that in a fandom like ours would be... tricky. ST:Pic is way too small to steal stories outright. But similar or the same ideas pop up all the time. And it’s a complete coincidence. Reading the book that recently came out and that has a kinda similar setting to a lot of my stories (pre-season 1, early in Rios’s history as captain of Sirena, dealing with original characters, holo shenanigans, friendship with Raffi, etc.), I was struck by just how many elements, both scenes or story beats and little details, were similar to things that have cropped up in my writing. And it is entirely coincidental, because I am beyond certain that the author doesn’t read fanfic. Just... for legal reasons. Not to mention I wrote a bunch of the things I saw parallels to while the book was already in production, and some of them are only in my drafts.

So there is a ton of convergent evolution going on in this particular section of the fandom, and trying to litigate who came up with certain plot ideas or character beats when would be a sysiphean disaster. Some things are clear and whenever I use any of them I give credit where I can, but people will have very similar ideas. It just happens. So no, I haven’t had either a full-on story or “an idea” stolen, and I might change my tune if it ever does happen, but so far, I’m trying to practice equanimity, so I’ll be better at it should I ever need it.

have you ever had a fic translated?

Sadly no. My dad keeps complaining that all my fic is in English so he can’t read any of it, but honestly? I’m kinda glad for this very convenient excuse. Maybe if I ever feel like I want to practice my interpreting skills, I will give translating the stories into German a shot. We’ll see. Otherwise, if anyone feels inspired: Have at it! Just let me know, okay?

have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not quite. I have a draft of off-the-cuff worldbuilding that I wrote on Discord with @curator-on-ao3 and that I would love to turn into an actual short fic (letters from a conference on holo-ethics), but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.

what’s your all time favorite ship?

I don’t really do shipping.

what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I WILL NEVER ACCEPT DEFEAT!!!! One day, I will write the next installment of Star Trek: La Sirena! I have so many ideas for that continuity and those characters. I’m not going to abandon them!

what are your writing strengths?

Hmmmmm. Probably detailed worldbuilding? Ask me something about, say, a technological or cultural aspect of Star Trek and chances are, I have thought about it in the past or will come up with three different sets of intricate lore within half an hour. (Things like... the architecture of San Francisco, or Will there still be taxi drivers? or the treaty between IKEA Intergalactic and the Borg Collective, or the Universal Translator, or Emergency Services or Why There Are Very Few Ambulances On Earth Anymore etceterah etceterah...)

I’m also good at slapping together off-the-cuff plot ideas (if, say, you need an explanation for how Seven and Agnes ended up stranded on a desert island, I could probably give you three different scenarios pretty quickly. Just don’t ask me to make them poignant or actually write them.

I’m also very, very good at beginnings.

what are your writing weaknesses?

Everything that isn’t a beginning. Especially endings, or rather: finishing something, but also just... keeping momentum.

I think my dialogue is somewhat samey and not distinct enough between characters. (Also my witty banter is... let’s just say it doesn’t come to me naturally...)

And I also struggle with keeping things brief and to the point. I can write you 30k of whump covering a span of three hours, but fitting a whole story in the same space? Much more difficult!

I have also avoided writing full-on action so far, but where it has crept in it has always been a struggle and been workshopped a lot with the indefatigable beta.

Otherwise, I don’t know. My self-perception is always a little warped, so I’m not sure what other people would say my weaknesses are.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Oof. Well. I have used Spanish sentences in my fic and done the thing where they’re translated in the end note, but I’ve mostly done it sparingly. I’ve also done the ‘“What do you want?” he said in Spanish.’ It’s tricky. But I will likely keep doing it in some instances, even if it’s a bit annoying.

(It also really helps to have a native speaker of Spanish as a beta, even if it’s Spanish from a different region than you’re character.)

Speaking of regional: I’m also torn about the whole “phonetically writing out accents” issue. Some people love it, some people hate it, I’m really unsure because I’m not a native speaker of English, so I’m not even sure I’m consistent in my narrative voice’s regional quirks. So far, I’ve mostly gone with describing that an accent is happening, and only writing out when phrasing actually differs from standard English. Like Ian (Scottish) saying “dinnae” but not writing “I” as “ah” as you’d see on, say, Scottish twitter.

Though it can be a very useful tool if, for instance, you want to indicate a characters accent getting stronger as they get tired or upset. 🧐

Anyway, I don’t think there is one right or wrong answer here and everyones milage will vary.

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

Published? ST:PIC

Actually first? Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. Pretty much simultaneously, though I did write more for LotR. On graph paper, mind, with my fountain pen turned upside down so I could write smaller. I still have folders worth of those stories that I urgently need to digitize before they fade and I lose them forever...

what’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I’m going to quote @thelaithlyworm here: I Love All My Children Equally! I honestly couldn’t say. They are different and I love them for different reasons but I love them all.

Thank you for the tag! ❤ I’ve kinda lost track of who all has done this already or has already been tagged, so feel free to ignore me! But I tink I’m tagging @curator-on-ao3, @aini-nufire, @29-pieces, @flowers-creativity, @highfunctioningflailgirl, @cristobalrios and @the-goofball. And anyone else whom I forgot or who feels inspired to do this!

[jinxquickfoot]

Hi Jinx! So there’s this idea for a fic that I’ve been floating around in my head for a little while, but whenever I try to actually write it I chicken out. (Probably mostly because I have 0 confidence in my writing skills dyjoae) How do you get yourself to write what you want to write without any hesitation?

Hi, thank you so much for asking, this is a great question! My advice for this would be the following:

1) You won’t get better if you don’t write One of the most wonderful things about fanfiction is that it can be used as a training ground for improving your writing. It’s (usually) a very safe environment to try out new styles and work on your craft. It’s anonymous, and tbh people aren’t expecting great quality anyway. The worst thing that can happen is the fic doesn’t get many hits or comments - which is totally fine! Fanfiction should be first and foremost written for the writer to enjoy anyway. The only mean or negative comments I’ve ever gotten has been leveled at certain characters (thanks anti-Team Cap bullies); never at my actual writing. Even so, those kinds of reactions have been few and far between and mostly the reception has been wonderfully positive. 2) You could write the fic without the intention of publishing it  If that takes the edge off, you could write it just for you. There are no rules that say you have to post it! As I said before, you won’t get better if you don’t write at all, so better to write privately if you’re not ready to share work yet. You could always come back and fix up the fic later to post when you’re more confident.  3) You could try writing something smaller or different first So I totally get that anxiety that comes with those fics that you’ve wanted to write forever, and they’ve become this epic, amazing thing in your head that is never going to be replicated in a first draft. So perhaps what is holding you back is that you have this amazing idea, but it’s never what you want when you actually put pen to paper. So try something smaller, even just 200 words, as a warm up to the fic you really want to write.  4) Establish a Writing Habit  I’d really recommend a challenge such as Whumptober (I think there’s a July one?), which will get you writing and posting every single day for an extended period of time. I started off doing fanfic with a 30 Day Challenge and because of that, I didn’t have time to consider if what I was writing was good or if people were enjoying it, because the goal was just to complete the challenge. Some days were better than others, and I ended up posting a lot of stuff I wasn’t happy with. But I was ok with that, because my only goal was to post every day and as long as I did that, I had succeeded. If thirty days is too much, try doing a week! If that’s still too much, try signing up for a gift exchange that will give you deadlines. 5) When/if you do publish it - don’t put yourself down I think this is the number one mistake of new writers. Putting things in tags or summaries such as “Sorry if this sucks” or “I’m bad at summaries” will 1) Make you internalize that you’re a bad writer and 2) Drive away a lot of readers. I do think it’s ok to put something like “This is my first fanfiction, I’m open to feedback” but put it in the end notes, so readers won’t see it until they’ve finished the fic.  Hope that helps, and happy writing! 

[joyfulhopelox]

content tag game ʕ￫ᴥ￩　ʔ

Tagged by the lovely @kithtaehyung i also just realised that i am that awful at tumblr and making sure to sort my tags that i missed an important person who tagged me 😭 @bangtanhome 💕 i am so sorry, i had this in my drafts and i could swear i tagged you but it didn’t since i was not on mobile 😭 i have also been tagged by @secretum-scriptor 💕 (wow tumblr is doing a great job with notifications)

thank you for the tag it’s such a wonderful way to get to know someone and i thoroughly enjoyed reading yours ❤️

I am tagging: @hobipaint  @hobiandsprite @missgeniality @mochi-molala @rosietae @pjmsdior​ @rosereveries @yoonjinkooked @randombtsprincessa (you do not have to do this also! please ignore if so!) there is a message for everyone at the bottom if you wanna jump straight to that.

1. what fandoms have you written for (but do not currently)?

Once Upon A Time, Dr Who, Sherlock, tried my hand at Haikyuu, Naruto, MCR, The Maine, Suits, The GazettE, Gackt, Big Bang, Infinite...ok, i never realised how much stuff i had....this is shocking to me

2. what fandoms are you currently writing for?

Just BTS

3. how long have you been writing? 

Since 2008? On and off so i still consider myself a newbie

4. on which platforms do you post your stories? 

Used to post on Quizilla, ff.net, asianfanfics now just on Tumblr

5. what is your favourite genre to write? 

Fluff, angst with happy end. Anything that ends well, even if the ending is open, it just needs to have a glimmer of hope in there. 

6. are you a pantser or a planner? 

well, both? i aspire to be a planner, end up being a pantser most of the time. I just let my characters take me where they want to.

7. one shot or multi-chapter? 

One shot, multi chaptered (even though i have my Voir Dire series) makes me feel bad when i can’t meet the posting schedule.

8. what is the perfect chapter length in your opinion? 

10k-30k? Depends on a lot of things (that is for one shots though) as a chapter i would say 5k

9. what is your longest published story? is it complete? 

Voir Dire as it is a chaptered fic, stands at 27k at the moment and it is not finished (got a long way to go) but my one shots, the longest is my yoongi hogwarts au one which is 13k (for now-they seem to be getting longer)

10. which story did you enjoy working on the most? 

tough one, i enjoy all of them, each has left their mark on me and helped me grow and experience things, but if i had to pick i would say Voir Dire as it made me do a lot of research plus mafia au has always been something i have wanted to write or sleeposal! It was only a drabble but working on it has been such a fun experience for me! 

11. favourite request you’ve have written and why (if any?) 

there is one coming out soon, it was an arranged marriage au yoongi which was meant to be a drabble, and it ended up a 12k one shot.

12. are there reoccurring themes in your stories? 

i had to ask the person who has read the most of my stories about this because i try to not have any reocurring themes if i can help it, i like to diversify depending on the story. and seems like i have succeeded somehow, i think?

13. current number of wips? 

mostly collabs for now this monts is quite collab heavy, and some drabble requests but i think the other ones that i have planned equal all those in number so i would have to say in between a lot and a lot

14. three things you have noticed about your own writing? 

i have a lot of expressions i use repeatedly throughout my fics (i am trying to get better at that), i have improved on the heaviness of the plots and emotions quite a bit and my grammar (always gotta be careful with that), i also like metaphors...like...a lot

15. a quote you like from a published story. 

I was quite proud of this one, it’s a drabble called i wish you knew 

‘Life is never simple. Life doesn’t care about the wishes of two young lovers. Life doesn’t stop just because you want to hold his hand forever. Just like the heat of the summer, your fire dwindled to a steady heat. Like the remnants of a bonfire, your flame became hot coals. A summer was not enough to keep your love burning, and the scare of your first fight reduced it to smoke in an instant.’

16. a quote from an unpublished story. 

this is hard, because this has been in my drafts for so long, and i do not know if it will ever see the light of the day as it is so close to home that i may chicken out of actually publishing it but: it is meant to be part of my Love Blossom Series, Taehyung’s Story, it would have been entitled White Tulip;

‘You knew that it was soon to be over;  the warm smiles, the secret touches, the pads of your fingers brushing against each other. You could feel it in the hugs that would end up with you, a giggling mess swept off your feet, the loving stares, the kisses you would steal from each other during your short break. You knew, behind all that, there was heartbreak lurking, waiting to strike. Your foundation was not strong enough to hold everything up. ‘

17. space for you to say something to your readers. 

i never know what to say, which is funny because i write, i should be able to express my feelings easily, yet i can’t say enough thank yous, and i cannot express how much each and every one of you means to me. whether you have commented or not, reblogged or not, followed me or not, or just stumbled upon one of my fics randomly but still stayed and read, it all means the world to me. It makes me so happy to read comments and see what everyone things of my 2am musings, and i feel like even if i have or not interacted with you i’m surrounded by friends who get to see this side of me. thank you and i love you all! 

[savrenim]

hi hi hi. so I just got into the Hamilton fandom, I swear I am four years late where did everybody go, and, well. I am apparently a hamburr shipper. bcs that is my life now. anyway I saw your fic ifmlam and I swear it is my favourite of all the fics I've ever read (and trust me I've read literally thousands). I love it so so much, how do you write fics like that??? I cried about four times during the whole thing, I stayed up till 4am reading it even when I had to wake up at 7 because it is just. that. good. I could not stop thinking about it for days afterwards and ifmlam has just ruined me. I can't think of listen to Hamilton without thinking of ifmlam anymore.

on to my qursttion: is it abandoned? of course it's perfectly FINE if it is. don't let anyone tell u differently, your fic is YOURS and u are amazing.

but pls I really need closure from ur fic, it has been haunting me if its abandoned or ongoing and I've read ur other fics and they are just chefskiss and thank you so much for writing them all. thank you thank you thank you, I will never be able to thank you enough for writing this fic and for everything it's done for me. I am probably thousands of miles away but I am sending you virtual jugs through a co.puter screen right now.

(don't feel pressured to reply to this or update it flam, I know how overwhelming it can get with so many messages and after a while u get desensitized to it. u can literally reply "thx. itfmlam is abandoned" and I would still be amazingly star struck. anyway has gotten way too long and I need to sleep and I'm sorry u probably won't see this so I'm just talking to myself right now but bye!!)

and thank you so so much for writing itfmlam.

aaaah hello anon!

thank you so so much???? I am so??? honored??? that ifmlam rates so highly to you, and also that you've read my other fics??????

the answer to the "is ifmlam abandoned" question is probably the worst possible one, which is pretty much "I do want to finish it, both for the folks that still want closure as well as it bothers to me have abandoned projects that are in the public eye/ already partially published, but also, it is last on my current writing projects list"

my current actually active writing projects list, kind of in order of priority, is

I'm literally three chapters away from being Actually Fully Done with the not-quite-first-not-quite-second let's call it 1.5th draft of an actual?? full?? original?? novel?? Opus which of course then goes out to beta readers and then gets who-knows-how-much edited and then maybe beta readers again if a lot does change and then a copyeditor my mom, my copyeditor is my mom, and maybe my little brother he's one of the betas but is very good at catching typos and then I!!! get to publish it!!!! which is the single thing I am most excited for!!!!!!!!! this should be closed up in the next week or two, and then take a while for people to actually read the draft and get back to me.

I really desperately want to finish my open-but-like-90%-written fic, which means we raise it up, the final chapter of to the bottom of the river bc I realized that it was kind of incomplete, and the second chapter of a buried and a burning flame because any more work there will need to wait until the author publishes the next book in the series. this should be closed up in the next month or two.

Speedwrite the draft of the second book of the Opus series so that hopefully by the time book 1 edits are happening, I have an almost complete draft of the second book. this is mostly me side-eyeing myself about taking nearly four years to write the first book, but that is solidly in part because I had so many other open projects which point 2 is about clearing that docket. this should be done in the next year.

And then just have my major projects be, at least until books 1-5 are written and published, books 1-5 of that because that is arguably the first major 'plot arc' of the series, so if I'm looking for a pause point on writing, that's probably where to stop.

There are two or three other short side projects (a weird fun second person short story tentatively titled witch-queen, a collection of four short stories Memoirs about a not-so-evil necromancer and the shenanigans he gets up to trying to rule a kingdom, working title Perfectly Normal Recipe Blog which is a collaborative project about a perfectly normal recipe blog that definitely doesn't include anything out of the normal) that will happen when they happen

There are other projects that are on the backburner -- The Numanok Files, a series of probably 12-15 short novellas about a mercenary/ bounty hunter esque person in space whose specialty is dealing with hauntings, but, like, 80% of their jobs is actually "you are effectively a space home inspector pointing out faulty wiring reacting to solar flares/ there's a weird alien fungus/ it's carbon monoxide okay change your atmosphere filters" and 20% of it is punching ghosts; there's a post-post apocalypse novel that I want to write that I know characters and general pacing and half the setting but need to work out the other half and figure out how much aesthetic I want to commit to; there's Strangeside7 aka spacerace book that is my reaction to how much I love how Redline the anime movie commits itself to "no we are about a race, like 60% of the screentime is just fully going to be an utterly ridiculous sci fi space race"; there's even a ridiculous YA trilogy that I would have to completely transplant the setting but might end up writing because the interplay between angel-physics and physics-physics was one of my favorite things in the world. and I guess the weird ridiculous technically a sequel series to ifmlam that was going to be published as original books that was basically me having fun with 'okay I fucking love star wars prequels old rotting space bureaucracy galactic republic style' except with seers and that also still might happen because it does have some of the coolest sci fi concepts and honestly I thiiiink that's all?

but the tl;dr of that timeline is I'm trying to finish a punch of projects Right Now, so that I can write books 2-5 of Opus, and then when I'm done that (which honestly, my average fiction-writing output is close to 100k a year. if I'm concentrating purely on one project, and writing books that are about 100k, we are talking four years. although my job situation is super up in the air in that period and writing might get put solidly on the backburner as I try to make it in academia, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) I will re-evaluate which projects go next, and that's when ifmlam is likely to come up for review.

I do not have any expectations that I will make it as an original author. I'm planning on posting all of my stuff online for free, but, like. it is incredibly difficult to convince people to try out even a piece of free and easily accessibly original work even if one has a huge following, I am a very small fanfiction author, and from what I can tell the majority of the people who are interested in my work are mostly interested in me finishing ifmlam. writing is a hobby for me, and while I'm writing mostly for me--and hence the for me bit at least for the next five years is pretty solidly going to be this series that I am deeply excited about and have sunk my heart and soul into every single aspect of--I'm human, and I don't really like shouting into the void, and I expect if I spend five years publishing to absolutely no response I will either stop writing for a while and do other things gods know my life is busy enough, return to fandom in general to write some other fanfic about whatever I get deeply into, or return to a work that I actually get response to. so ifmlam will probably start getting worked on a bit at that point one way or another. unless, of course, we are in the incredibly rare timeline in which I do make it as an original author, there are people who are deeply hyped for my original works and an actual demand for them, in which case as you may have noticed there are enough ideas there to keep me busy for a decade or two, and they will just get my full attention instead of fanfiction*. in this timeline, I will do what I was considering doing a few years ago, which is officially declare ifmlam otherwise abandoned and make one more giant chapter update which is a full and cleaned up outline of what I was going to write, interspersed with the scenes already written, and have ifmlam be given at least that closure.

*I want to make it clear that I very much love fanfiction and am proud to have been a fanfiction author and in my heart of hearts would keep writing it forever, I just also have a lot of ideas for characters and settings and magic systems and Aesthetics and I have been biting at the bit to write something that is //mine// and all mine and only mine for a while, I don't see original work as superior so much as there are a dozen fandoms that I am currently in and bursting to make content about except oops these fandoms currently only exist in my head, and I want to correct that

of course given how much as writing is my vent activity and I write what I'm in the mood for, there's a chance I'll feel ifmlam cravings before then, just... expect it to take a couple of years for an update, but also for there to be an update one way of another in a couple of years? but as for right now, I'm turning to original writing, because that is what brings me joy.

but I am really deeply honored that it brought you so much joy!!! and while I will never publish spoilers in a public place, if you message me off anon I am perfectly happy to give a run-down of my current plans for the ending, bc I know "wait a couple years and see" is not the most satisfactory of answers! and hey maybe you'll be like me and once you've given Opus a try you'll decide you like it better too, it does have Seers although they are deeply different Seers than in ifmlam but imo it's very gay and fun and at least politics on one side

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 43

Masterlist

TW: Panic attack in the first scene (in case you want to skip it, it starts after the conversation ends)

----

Queen Ravenia of the Black Land requested another meeting. Tomorrow, two hours past midday, in the Lake Palace. The letter was polite but cold, not a hint at what she might want this time. Drakon wanted nothing more than to throw the letter into the fire and ignore the summon. Whatever this meeting is about, it won’t be good for him, and going feels like he’s playing into Ravenia’s plans. But at the end of the day, it is better to know about whatever it is Ravenia is planning in advance than to be caught unawares.

So Drakon goes to the meeting. Alone again, even though he longed to ask someone else to accompany him. But Miryam is the only one to know about the sword (and even she knows only that it exists), but she is caught up in a council meeting. Besides, he could never have asked her to face Ravenia for him.

When Drakon arrives in the Lake Palace, Ravenia and Artax are already there. They are standing in the centre of the room, still as statues. The image is unsettling enough that Drakon involuntarily pauses in the doorway, unwilling to go any closer.

"Majesty," he says without inclining his head. He usually manages to mess up Continental etiquette even without meaning to, but this time, he is impolite on purpose and he hopes Ravenia notices.

"Your Highness." The queen doesn't incline her head either - Drakon isn't sure if she means to insult him, or if she's just reacting to his behaviour - but she gives him a small smile. Artax, standing half a step behind her, offers the barest nod.

Slowly, Drakon walks over to them, never taking his eyes off Ravenia. He can’t spend the entire meeting hiding by the door, but going any closer to them is deeply unsettling. "What is this meeting about?" He asks.

"I believe you know," Ravenia says, still smiling. "Do tell me, how is Erithia faring lately? I hope everything is well."

Drakon digs his nails into his palms and says nothing. He might have played into Ravenia’s plans by coming to this meeting, but he will not play along with her taunts.

Ravenia frowns at him. "I'll admit," she says, "I have a hard time understanding your intense loathing of me. Our political opinions might differ, but I have never treated you with anything other than politeness, nor given you reason to believe I would mistreat you upon our marriage."

Drakon could have pointed out that she had his family murdered, him tortured and his country invaded, all of which gives ample reason to hate her. But he has no doubt that Ravenia would simply claim all of this was a direct consequence of his actions. Besides, none of these replies would quite cover the truth. After all, his initial dislike of Ravenia was never about him.

"I'd be a terrible person indeed if all I cared about was my own wellbeing," he says. "You own thousands of slaves. You murder and torture children. Innocent people. Your entire country is built on the suffering of thousands. If there was any justice at all, you would have long since drowned in all the blood that was spilled in your name."

Ravenia doesn't look overly impressed. She turns to Artax, who gives her a wry smile.

"Very dramatic, Your Highness," Ravenia says. "If you were a little older, you would understand that political marriages rarely factor in the individual opinions of the participants."

She doesn't even pretend to take him seriously. "I factor in individual opinions, though," Drakon says, "And I'm not going to marry a mass murderer and slave-owner."

Ravenia shrugs with one shoulder. "If you are dissatisfied with this arrangement, you ought to blame your father, not me. He is the one who sold you to me in exchange for trading rights." She absentmindedly plays around with one of her bracelets. "If it is any consolation to you, I would have far preferred a partner who is a little older. I do not fancy marrying a child. Especially not one who has as little care for etiquette and traditions as you do. Had it been up to me, I would have chosen one of your sisters, but your father insisted I could have neither of them."

Drakon doesn't quite manage to hide how much her words hurt him. He always knew that his father didn't need to pick him for this marriage - knew and understood, since his sisters were far too useful in Erithia to marry them off to a foreign queen - but hearing it like this from Ravenia makes it hurt worse. Somehow, she has a talent to turn her words into arrows, and she rarely misses.

"No one is forcing you to marry me," he snaps. It's a weak argument, but at least it buys him time to compose himself.

"You know why," Ravenia says lightly. "And you'd spare us both a lot of discomfort and embarrassment if you just gave in. We both know that you don't have the strength to refuse me forever."

Drakon shakes his head. Is she truly this arrogant? "I don't need to refuse forever," he says, "Just until we win this war. And considering how it's going now, that will be sooner rather than later."

"Not within the next three days, though.”

Drakon stares at her. Dread settles in his stomach. He doesn't know what Ravenia is aiming for, but her tone makes him pause. Artax smirks at him like he is immensely enjoying himself.

"And what, precisely, happens in three days?" Drakon asks. He can’t quite shake the feeling that he stepped into a trap and it’s about to snap shut around him.

Ravenia smiles at him like she just got exactly what she wanted. "We're getting married, of course."

She nods to Artax, who produces a parchment scroll from a pocket in his cloak. He hands it to Ravenia, who passes it on to Drakon. Slowly, he takes the scroll from her.

"Our engagement contract," Ravenia says. "Specifying the terms of our marriage. One of the terms being that we are to be married at latest seven years, seven months and seven days after the contract was signed. That date will be reached three days from now."

Drakon's fingers shake, he nearly drops the paper. "I'm breaking the contract," he says, trying hard to keep his voice steady. "You don't really think I'd marry you because of a piece of paper, do you?"

"You might wish to take a look at the end of the page," Ravenia says lightly. "You'll find your signature, written in blood. Should you choose to confer with that half-breed piece of trash you call friend, I'm sure she'll confirm to you that this contract is magically binding."

Drakon forgets how to breathe. No, he didn't sign a binding contract. He would remember if he had. Binding contracts are no small thing, he wouldn't have mindlessly signed one. Never, not under any circumstances, would he ever have been this stupid.

But he wasn't around for the negotiations of the marriage contract. His father oversaw them and only gave Drakon the final draft to be signed. And his father was six hundred years old, he wouldn't have missed anything as vital as a contract being made to be binding. Nor would he have made Drakon sign one without his knowledge. He wouldn't have. And yet, Drakon’s signature is there, at the bottom of the page.

"You know the punishment for breaking a binding contract, of course," Ravenia says. "So I assume you will prove that you actually do have the ability to be rational and do as you promised."

Yes, he knows the punishments. He'll be lucky if he only loses his magic - if the contract is one of the harsher ones, the price will be his life. And with him being Prince, it wouldn't be uncommon for the fallout to affect Erithia as well.

"I'm not unkind," Ravenia says, "So I will give you time to prepare. As I mentioned, you have three days left until you will be punished for breach of contract. I'll have the marriage planned for that very date, and I'll expect you to meet me here and accompany me to the Black Land in two days."

Drakon doesn't manage a reply. He can't even nod. He keeps staring at his name on the paper, tying him to the contract. He can't breate, can't move.

"I'll see you in two days," Ravenia says. "Keep the contract if you want." With that, she pushes past Drakon, Artax trailing after her like a loyal shadow.

The High Witcher of the Guild pauses next to Drakon. “If I were you, Prince, I’d do as she says,” he says lightly. “It will save you a lot of pain. And besides, I will find that island you are trying so hard to protect with or without your help eventually. I can sense the wards around it fraying, and it will only be a matter of time before I know where it is.”

Drakon begins shaking. Artax is still watching him, head angled slightly to the side. When Drakon doesn’t reply, he shrugs and follows Ravenia out of the room.

As soon as they are gone, Drakon's legs give out from under him and he falls to the floor. Pain flares through his knees, but he barely feels it. He gasps for air, but his lungs won't draw breath. He stares down at the contract in his hand. Shackling him more surely than any iron could have done. He's back in Ravenia's dungeon, trapped in the dark. The world is tilting around him and he can't breathe.

He tries to focus on the world around him. He isn't in a cell, isn't being tied up and beaten. But he can't manage to concentrate on his surroundings. His focus keeps slipping, his chest feels far too tight and he still can't breathe properly. His vision is turning black around the edges. He’s trapped, this time for real. There’s no way out of this.

----

There are days when Miryam doesn't mind the council meetings. Today is not one of these days. Sitting in the council chamber, listening to complaints while she knows Drakon is meeting with Ravenia, is grating on her nerves.

"Would you kindly explain to us, my Lady, what General Jurian was thinking?" Emperor Shey asks in a tone that hides sharp edges under faked pleasantness.

"It may have escaped your notice," Miryam says, "but I am no longer co-commander of Jurian's camp and therefore not privy to the reasoning behind his decisions. Should you wish to see them explained, you should speak to him, not me."

She is tired of being the one the council goes to whenever Jurian makes a mistake. She will always care for him and wish to help him, but she isn't responsible for his actions. For all her efforts, at the end of the day, it is Jurian who chooses his actions, and Miryam isn't always able to explain his reasoning.

In this special case, she thinks she knows why he did it, but that doesn't mean she's able to find a reasoning the council will accept. And the council has been unruly enough as of late, some of the Fae pushing back against her every word. Her position is getting more and more difficult, and if she lets the blame for Jurian's actions fall back on her, that might well harm her standing beyond repair. (There have been new marriage proposals, too, and Zeku tells her that she cannot refuse forever. The thought terrifies her more than she's willing to admit.)

"Where is General Jurian, anyways?" Another councilmember asks. "Why isn't he here, answering to us himself?"

"I'm sure he's busy in his camp," Nakia replies brusquely. “None of us were informed this would be a trial. If you had sent out a notice in advance, I’m sure he would have come.”

Zeku leans back in his chair. “No one wishes to put the General on trial,” he says, “And all of us have the utmost respect for his past achievements. But his current behaviour is putting people in danger, and that is unacceptable. Whether you like it or not, this discussion needs to be had.”

A few of the humans shift around on their chairs. Nakia glares at Zeku. Most of the Fae mutter in agreement, though. Miryam suppresses a frown.  Damn Zeku. Why did he of all people have to steer the conversation in this direction? For the sake of their alliance, Miryam cannot openly oppose him, but she cannot agree either.

They haven’t coordinated their stances for this meeting in advance, but Zeku must have known that any action against Jurian goes against what most human councilmembers want. Jurian is still well-respected amongst the humans, especially the soldiers see him as their biggest hero. (The Fae like him far less, especially since his stance has become more radical lately.) This problem cannot go before the council. No matter what choice they make, it will not go over well.

Nakia glares at Zeku. “And what type of discussion are you aiming for, Grand Duke?”

Miryam cuts in before this can get any worse. “A discussion needs to be had, but not in this council. I’ll go talk to Jurian.”

One of the Fae snorts. “You, his former lover. I can imagine what type of conversation that might be.” He smiles suggestively. A few people laugh. (That they do is a bad sign in itself. A few month ago, no one would have gone along with such a comment against her.)

She waits for the laughter to die down, then says, “I will talk to him on behalf of the council. There won’t be a repetition of what happened yesterday.”

Even though she knows she can’t guarantee it. She promised never again once already, and it didn’t work. If it goes badly this time, it will fall back on her, and rightly so, but what else is she supposed to do? Even if there was less controversy around Jurian in the Alliance, Miryam could never support political action against him. She might not have been able to help him through his pain, he might hate her for it, but she would never betray him like this.

“And if there is?” The High Lord of the Night Court asks.

“Then we can discuss,” Miryam says as pleasantly as she can manage.

Many of the Fae seem dissatisfied. Half a year ago, they would have accepted her decision with far less complaint. Miryam needs to get this under control, and soon, or her entire position will be put in jeopardy.

The meeting, at least, ends soon enough. It's long midday now and Miryam desperately wants to have someone winnow her to Erithia so that she can check in on Drakon. He must be back from his meeting with Ravenia by now - if everything went well, that is - and Miryam needs to see him. She needs to know that everything is alright, that Ravenia didn't do anything to him.

But there's also Jurian. Jurian, who is slipping away from them further and further. Jurian, who is suffering so badly and is putting them all in danger with his actions. She needs to talk to him first, see if she can find a way to help him. Whether he wants to see her or not, she should never have left him on his own devices for this long. Maybe if she had insisted they keep contact…

“Lady Miryam.” Suddenly, Zeku is standing next to her. She didn’t even notice him approaching. “May I have a word?”

She inclines her head. “Of course.”

She follows Zeku to one of the private meeting chambers. He closes the door behind them and Miryam sits down one of the chairs.

“I hope you aren’t offended that I spoke against Jurian today,” Zeku says. “I do value him as a person, but in the current political climate and with how he has been acting, I deemed it the wiser course of action to suggest acting against him.”

“I see,” Miryam says. She cannot truly blame him for his reasoning, but she can’t quite accept it, either.

Zeku inclines his head. “That aside, Jurian is not what I wished to discuss with you today.”

Miryam nods. She guessed as much. It is beyond clear that she is in trouble, it is only natural for Zeku to want to speak to her about it. “The council,” she says. “They are displeased with me.”

Zeku finds glasses and a bottle of wine in one of the cupboards. He pours himself a glass and offers Miryam a glass of water. “Displeased is not quite the word I’d use,” he says. “They are nervous. You are an unknown piece on the board, no formal alliance to anyone and no set goals for once the war is over. And you are far too powerful to be ignored.”

Miryam pretends to be very interested in her water and doesn’t answer. What is she to say? She assured Zeku time and again that she has no political ambition for after the war. All she wants is to free her people. But saying that never really changed anything, and she is tired of repeating herself. She needs to speak to Jurian. She wants to go see Drakon.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Zeku says, “but you ought to reconsider your stance on a marriage. Marrying into a royal family would offer you the protection you currently lack.”

So they are back to that old game.

“What if I still chose not to?” Miryam asks. The idea of marrying some almost-stranger who just sees her as a way to increase his power terrifies her. It’s like there are shackles already closing around her wrists.

“I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice,” Zeku says. “Not if you wish to survive this war.”

Miryam chokes on her water and starts coughing. Zeku warned and warned her that the council considered her a threat, but he never so openly suggested that they might murder her. She long since accepted that she might not survive this war, but she never considered that she might get killed by her own allies. “Trust” has always been a relative word in Continental politics, and there are few council members Miryam actually trusts, almost all of them human. Still, there are certain rules that go with being allies – one of them being that you don’t murder each other – and Miryam did trust that all of her allies would keep to it.

She swallows around the lump in her throat. “I will consider it,” she says.

----

Jurian knows he messed up. He sees it in the way his soldiers look at him, like they are somehow disappointed with him, like they don't know if they can still trust him to lead them. Any elation of their victory has long vanished and left nothing but emptiness and cold, hard anger behind. Andromache hasn't returned to their camp, hasn't even sent word. Jurian assumes she is angry. How could she not be, when he got so many of her soldiers killed?

Like a coward, Jurian hides in his tent. He cannot face the disappointment of his soldiers, who trusted him to do the right thing. Cannot bring himself to go to the council meeting and explain what happened. A defiant part of him wanted to go, to meet their anger with scorn. Did they not win not won, but two victories due to his actions? Is he not the only one in this war who is brave enough to act while everyone else just sits around and argues? Yes, he went against orders, but it turned out alright in the end.

Still, the shame won't go away.

Alone in his tent, he stares down at the maps, notes and reports strewn out over every surface. Tiny victories. That's all he ever seems to win against Amarantha. As long as he doesn't defeat Amarantha, no victory will ever be true. They can never win this war if he doesn’t first get rid of Amarantha, he just knows it. And to do that, he needs to get her to stop this cat-and-mouse game and face him outright. But how?

Something rustles at the tent's entrance. Jurian whirls around, hand going straight for his sword.

"It's just me," Miryam says and closes the entrance behind her.

Jurian quickly lets go of his sword, freezing. He is suddenly acutely aware of the sorry state his tent is in, papers, empty wine bottles and a half-eaten tray of food lying around. He himself doesn’t look much better – his hair is a mess and he hasn’t bathed in… well, in a while. Jurian half-heartedly wonders when he stopped taking care of himself.

“What do you want?” Jurian snaps. His voice is sharper than he meant to, maybe because he is embarrassed.  

“To talk to you.” Miryam in her elegant, long-sleeved court dress seems startingly out of place in this tent. There was a time when she belonged into this camp, no matter what clothes she wore, but now, she is an outsider, almost a stranger.

“I don’t want to talk,” Jurian says. “Go away.”

Miryam doesn’t obey. “I’m worried about you,” she says. “I realize that things have been difficult lately, and I want to help – “

“Oh, don’t pretend you are here because you care about me,” Jurian bites out. If Miryam is wearing a dress, she came here straight from a council meeting without changing first. And if she comes from the council, that means that she is likely here to chide him for what happened yesterday. “You just want me to stop acting out, that’s all. You aren’t here to talk, the council sent you to reprimand me. Give me a slap on the wrist, get me back in line.”

Miryam, for once, doesn’t hide that his words hurt her, but Jurian couldn’t care less. He just wants her to leave. Can’t she see that having her around like this makes it worse? Doesn’t she understand that looking at her feels like being stabbed in the heart? She left him behind. The one person who was always there, always by his side, and she left. Even now, she isn’t truly here, isn’t really there to help him. She’s just doing her job.

“This isn’t true,” Miryam says softly and takes a step towards him. “Of course I care about you. I’ll always care.”

“And you still left,” Jurian snaps.

Miryam flinches. Looks down at the ground. “I’m sorry,” she says. No further explanation. No comment.

They stand around in awkward silence for a while. Jurian turns abruptly to his table. He finds a half-finished wine bottle in the mess and takes a swig. Miryam, for once, doesn’t comment. She doesn’t leave either, though.

“We’re winning this war, you know,” she finally says, breaking the silence. “It is nearly certain now.”

“And?” Jurian challenges.

“And I think it might be for the best if you stepped away from the fighting for a while.” Jurian whirls around to her, spilling wine on his tunic as he does. Miryam continues, “Our position is secure enough that we could afford it. And you have been fighting without pause for six years now – more, if you count the time before the war officially started.”

Jurian stares at her, not quite believing his ears. She isn’t suggesting that. There’s no way she’s telling him to step down. He spent his entire life fighting for this. Every day, every hour, he fought and fought so that they might one day be free. And now that victory is close, she tells him he isn’t needed anymore? Like he is a broken weapon – no longer useful, so he gets discarded.

Miryam seems to sense his anger, because she takes another step towards him, hand outstretched as if she wants to reach for him. “I’m not suggesting this because I want to push you aside or replace you. Believe me, this is the last thing I want.” She shakes her head. “But Jur, don’t you see…” She makes a vague gesture at the tent, at Jurian. “It can’t go on like that. Not for my sake, or for that of the Alliance, but for you.  This war is killing you, can’t you see?”

Jurian shakes his head. “So you think I can’t take it anymore?” He asks, voice biting. “That I’m not dealing with my problems correctly?” He lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

He takes a step towards her. Now, they are standing almost toe to toe. “If you want someone who can’t deal with their problems, who should not be fighting in this war, go find a mirror, Miryam.” His face twists into a bitter smile at the shock on her face. “You dare tell me I’m not dealing with my problems properly? You can’t even talk about yours. All the years we’ve known each other, and you never once managed to sit down and talk.” Anger rises in Jurian, bubbling and hot. “You have the nerve to tell me I am no longer fit to fight this war? When you are the one who can’t ever sleep more than two hours at a time, who wakes up screaming every night. When you are so terrified of your own powers that you are barely able to use them, and can’t even get into a dress without shaking.”

Distantly, Jurian is aware that he is crossing a line. That he should stop before he breaks something beyond repair. But he is too angry to care. How dare Miryam come here and tell him that he can’t do this? What gives her the right to look at him like she pities him and pretend she is any better?

“You are just like me,” he says, each word sharp as a knife. “Just as angry, just as ruthless, and just as broken. The only difference between us is that you are a liar. You, with your pretty clothes and faked smiles – just because you pretend to be fine doesn’t mean you are. At least I am honest.”

Miryam’s face has gone entirely still. Whatever she feels at his words, she doesn’t let it on. Not a flicker of anger or hurt. (He wonders if she realizes that by no reacting, she is proving him right.) Then, she slowly steps back.

“I don’t think this conversation leads to anything,” she says. Her voice is carefully neutral. It’s the same one she uses in council meetings. “I’ll leave you to think about what I said and come back in a day or two. Maybe then, we can talk.”

Without another word, she turns around and walks out of the tent. Jurian watches her go. Just like that, his anger evaporates, leaving him cold and empty.

He shouldn’t have said those things. Why did he ever say that? He doesn’t want her gone, not really. For all that he might tell her to leave, he doesn’t actually want her to. All he wants is for her to stay, and stay for real. But why would she, when he speaks to her the way he did just now?

Fingers shaking, Jurian turns to his notes. He needs to fix this. Somehow, he needs to fix this. He has to kill Amarantha. Amarantha and Clythia both. Once they are gone, everything will go back to normal. It will be fine. Then, he will be better and Miryam will see… She will see that…

He just needs to finish off Amarantha first. And for that, he needs her to stop playing games. If he could just… He pauses.

Revenge. This is what got him to chase after Amarantha in the first place. It’s why he hasn’t been able to let go since. But Amarantha doesn’t have a reason to want to face him. She doesn’t hate him, it isn’t personal for her.

Maybe it’s time for him to change that.

----

Miryam walks through the halls of Erithia’s royal palace. From the first time she visited, she liked the Erithian royal palace. The entire structure is built from the dark, shimmering wood of the trees that grow in the surrounding mountains. It is pleasantly light, all open archways and huge windows, the wood artfully carved. Nowhere near as obtrusive as stone structures tend to be. The guards incline their heads to her as she passes, servants and courtiers pause and stare, but she barely notices. Jurian’s words are still ringing in her head.

She knows Jurian only spoke out of anger and pain, knows he said those things to push her away, but that doesn’t make what he said sting less. Especially because she knows, deep down, that he is right. Just because she can pretend to be fine doesn’t mean she actually is. And maybe if she had ever managed to be open about her problems, things between her and Jurian would have gone less wrong.

She tries to tell herself that at least she has gotten better about talking, but it doesn’t feel like much. She can talk to Drakon with little problem by now, but that just shows that she could have learned to talk to Jurian, too. If only she had tried harder.

But regardless of her own mistakes, regardless of his sharp words she needs to find a way to help Jurian. Maybe she should ask Drakon, he might have an idea. Although if she can ask him depends entirely on how his meeting with Ravenia went. The guards at the front gate told her he is back in the palace, but that doesn’t necessarily mean everything went well.

The guards in front of Drakon’s suite on the highest floor of the palace let Miryam through without a word. She finds Drakon in the drawing room. He sits on the couch, knees drawn up to his chest and wings tucked in closely to his body. Nephelle and Sinna are also there, they both look grave. Miryam’s chest tightens.

“What happened?” She asks. She isn’t quite able to keep the panic out of her voice.

Drakon looks up, startled. His eyes are red, like he was crying. Miryam quickly walks over to him and wraps her arms around him. Drakon presses his face into her shoulder. Over his head, Miryam meets Nephelle’s eyes. She shakes her head softly.

“She has a contract,” Drakon whispers. His voice sound muffled because he still has his face buried in Miryam’s clothes.

“What?” Miryam asks.

“Ravenia,” Drakon says and straightens. “She has a marriage contract. Magically binding.”

A jolt goes through Miryam. Her first thought is, This is impossible. Drakon can’t have signed a binding contract. It’s just not possible, it… She frowns. It is actually not possible.

When several of the Continental royals started showing interest in her, she read up on marriage contracts. Binding contracts, although rare, were also touched upon in the book she chose. So she just happens to know that Continental law explicitly forbids anyone under the age of twenty-five from signing a binding contract. She also knows that Drakon was still twenty-four when he got engaged to Ravenia.

“You signed it?” She asks.

Drakon nods. Miryam flips to the end of the page, and indeed, there is his signature. His father’s is suspiciously missing. Only Drakon and Ravenia signed. No one else.

“Why didn’t your father sign in your stead?” She asks sharply. This is what should have happened, in any case.

“I don’t know,” Drakon says. “I…” He shakes his head, looking unhappy.

“Because he’s a fucking bastard, that’s why,” Sinna snaps. She is glaring daggers at the contract and looks like she would happily murder Drakon’s father herself if he was still alive.

Miryam is inclined to agree, but Drakon already looks upset enough at Sinna’s comment that she doesn’t say anything. Everything is bad enough already and the last thing Miryam should do is to make things worse for him by starting a pointless argument. If Drakon still wants to pretend that his father was a good person, she won’t stop him. Miryam straightens, forces a relaxed calm to replace her panic.

“Okay,” she says, glancing down at the contract. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“I have to marry her within three days,” Drakon says. He stares down at his fingers, but doesn’t seem to see them. His eyes are strangely empty, like he really isn’t processing anything at all. “If I don’t, I’m as good as dead, and there will probably also be consequences for Erithia.”

Miryam’s throat tightens. Magical contracts, like bargains, cannot be taken lightly. And they cannot be broken by any outside force – not even by a witch. With a bargain, Miryam might have stood a chance, but not with an actual contract.

“And…” Miryam begins, but has to pause. Her voice sounds too thick and she has to clear her throat before she can continue speaking. “And what are we going to do about it?”

Drakon doesn’t reply – Miryam isn’t even sure if he heard her – but after a moment, Nephelle answers. “There’s nothing to be done.” Her voice is soft and she doesn’t meet Miryam’s eyes as she speaks.

Miryam shakes her head. “No,” she says. Shakes her head again, as if refusing adamantly enough will make the world bend to her will. “No, there has to be something. There’s always some way. Have you looked through the contract?”

“Of course we have,” Sinna snaps. “Do you think we’re stupid?”

Miryam doesn’t reply. She looks down at the contract in her fingers, fighting the absurd urge to tear it to shreds. Her heart is racing, blood pounding in her ears. “We’ll look again, look more closely. There has to be a way.”

Drakon puts a hand on her arm. “There isn’t one,” he says softly. “There’s no getting out of this.”

Miryam brushes his hand off and jumps to her feet. “Don’t you dare give up,” she snaps. “This isn’t over yet.”

She hates how resigned Drakon sounds, hates how neither Nephelle nor Sinna disagree with him. Her power rumbles awake inside her, a great beast opening an eye. She tries to soothe it, but she is far too upset to even come close. Her power just spirals further and further. She keeps imagining how smug Ravenia must have looked when she told Drakon, how she must now be sitting in her palace, surrounded by her slaves, and drink with Artax to their success.

“Miryam,” Drakon says and reaches for her.

She steps back. She can’t take the look on his face, can’t take the fact that he is trying to calm her. Suddenly, there is far too little air in the room, the walls are pressing in on her and her power is roaring inside of her.

“I need to get some fresh air,” she gasps and all but runs out of the room. The guards look at her strangely as she rushes past them, but they make no move to stop her.

She gets lost almost immediately. All she knows of the palace is the way to Drakon’s quarters, and right now, she ended up in a wing of the castle that she never visited before. Her power is still rushing through her, she feels light-headed. For the first time in months, her grip on it is slipping. If she doesn’t find a way to control herself, she’ll bring the entire palace down around them. And hard as it is to anger Drakon, she thinks he might be a little annoyed if she accidentally destroyed his palace. She needs some air, and an open sky above her. Right now.

“Excuse me,” Miryam says to one of the guards who stand along the hallways. She’s out of breath even though she wasn’t running and her power keeps surging. “There’s a roof garden here, right? How do I get there?”

“My Lady.” The soldier bows deeply. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just – “

“Please,” Miryam says. The ground is shifting beneath her feet and she doubts she will be able to control herself much longer. “You can go to Drakon for confirmation, but it would really be easier…” Her magic surges and she doesn’t manage to finish the sentence.

The soldier surveys her, then seems to decide that chances of Drakon being angry if he lets her into the garden are indeed low.

“This way, my Lady.” He walks ahead, and Miryam quickly follows him.

The garden is beautiful, overflowing with colourful flowers, but Miryam barely has eyes for it. Her head is spinning.

“Thank you,” she manages. “If you would leave me alone, please.”

She barely notices the guard bowing again, then leaving quietly. Between the flowers, she drops to her knees, presses her palms against the ground. Breathe in. Breathe out. Ghost taught her to soothe the power like it’s a frightened animal. But today, she cannot. Ravenia’s face keeps appearing in her mind.

“Come on,” she whispers.

With a start, she realizes she still has the contract in her hand. The parchment is crumbled in her fingers and she quickly lets go. Her power surges again and this time, it hurts. Burns like fire. Miryam gasps for air.

“Shit,” she whispers. It has been a while since her power last hurt her like this. She almost expects the shadows to reappear.

Something moves and Miryam flinches, but it’s only a hummingbird that flies over and starts swirling right in front of her face. It’s about the size of her thumb and coloured in vivid blue and green colours. Miryam smiles at it and stretches out a hand.

“Come here,” she whispers.

Something in her chest seems to ease as the tiny bird sits down on her palm. It is beautiful, a perfect, tiny creature. Carefully, Miryam runs a finger over its feathers. She barely dares to touch it; it seems so breakable. The bird rubs its head against her finger. Slowly, Miryam’s power seems to settle.

She keeps watching the hummingbird, focusing only on it. A second one swirls over to her. This one is a bit greener than the last one, and it settles on Miryam’s knee. Miryam smiles and watches the birds. They are the only thing in the world, all he needs to care about. She breathes in slowly. Her power is almost calmed down now.

“All good,” she whispers, looking at the bird. “Thank you, you two.” She smiles after them as the two hummingbirds swirl away.

Her smile fades as her attention returns to the contract, though. Now that she can think straight again, she realizes that she shouldn’t have stormed off like that. She should have stayed and found words to comfort Drakon, not run off like she was the one who ought to be comforted in this situation. She should go back to Drakon, find words to make things easier for him.

Her eyes drift to the contract. Going back now might be the right thing. But it would also amount to admitting defeat. None of the others are willing to try. They think it is impossible to get out of the contract, and maybe they are right.

But if there’s one thing Miryam has learned these past years, it’s that impossible is an illusion. Impossible is a sixteen-year-old runaway slave from the Continent’s cruellest country starting a war all over the world and becoming leader of half the Continent. Impossible is a human girl being a witch. Impossible is breaking into Ravenia’s palace and stealing her most valuable prisoner from right under her nose. Impossible is a spell that effectively cleaves the world in two.

Miryam long since stopped believing in impossible. And she isn’t about to start now.

She spends the next hours sitting over the contract, trying desperately to find the loophole in the contract. She doesn’t understand all of the words, which makes it difficult, but there has to be a loophole. There’s always a loophole.

Over her, the sky turns dark and Miryam has one of the soldiers bring her a candle. By its flickering light, she keeps working. The moon has reached its highest point already when she finds it. A small paragraph, easy to dismiss, and yet it changes everything. If only she can manage one small trick.

----

Ever since Drakon managed to return to Erithia, he has been strangely calm. It’s like he’s separated from his surroundings by a thin wall. He can see and hear anything around him, but it only reaches him in a muted, less vibrant version. He can’t even feel panic or terror.

He is, of course, aware that this is just a strange reaction to shock. His body is shutting down, he is going numb. But it makes things so much easier.

Miryam hasn’t returned. He doesn’t know where she has gone. Maybe back to Telique. He desperately wishes she was back here with him, but at the same time, he understands if she needs space. This is probably just as much a shock for her as it is for him. (Sinna glowered a bit at her disappearance, but largely let it pass.)

They sit together for most of the night. Nephelle fishes a bottle of liquor out of one of the cupboards. They pass the bottle between them, none of them speaking a word, until they emptied a bottle.

It’s long past midnight when Nephelle falls asleep, head resting against Sinna’s chest. Sinna absentmindedly runs a hand through her hair.

“You could refuse,” she says, voice barely more than a whisper. “The magic might leave you alive. And we can face any other consequences.”

Drakon shakes his head. “You know that contracts ruling families sign tend to affect their land as well. I cannot risk that.”

Sinna nods and doesn’t say anything else. They sit in silence for another hour until Sinna finally falls asleep. Drakon isn’t tired at all. He remains sitting on his couch, knees drawn up to his chest. With a start, he realizes that this is his second-to-last night in Erithia. In two days, he will be in the Black Land. He needs to see to it that his affairs are settled. Name a successor. Talk to his council. Leave orders behind.

His stomach lurches and Drakon barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up.

He spends the rest of the night lying on his back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He wonders what will happen once he’s married to Ravenia. She’ll likely make him take her to Cretea, to the cave. She will take the sword, and she will take Erithia. What she will do then, Drakon cannot imagine, but he doubts it will be good for any of them. He doubts he will ever know. He doubts Ravenia will kill him, but she will certainly lock him up somewhere and throw away the key. (He tries to tell himself it doesn’t matter. That if what Artax said is true, they would have found Cretea and the sword eventually with or without this contract. But knowing this doesn’t help. It doesn’t help at all.)

He’s so scared. For himself, but mainly for the rest of the world. The humans, Erithia, the entire Cauldron-damned Alliance…

He cannot let this happen. It isn’t just about him and his country. If Ravenia gets her hands on the sword, they will all be doomed. And Drakon would rather die than allow that to happen. He just doesn’t know how to stop her.

He must have fallen asleep after all, because he startles awake when the door slams open. Sinna is already on her feet, hand reaching for a knife.

“I’ve got it!” Miryam says as she storms into the room.

Her hair is in disarray, standing wildly up from her head. Her eyes are bloodshot and her clothes ruffled, but she is smiling wildly. There is an almost frantic energy radiating off her, power sizzling through the air.

“What?” Drakon asks. The memories come back abruptly, like a slap in the face. He sits up.

“I’ve found a loophole,” Miryam says. She waves the contract in front of their faces. “Here, section four.”

Drakon’s hear misses a beat, then races on with twice its usual speed. “Really?” He asks, slightly out of breath. Nephelle is on her feet as well now, any tiredness vanished.

Miryam nods. “I knew there would be something,” she says. She lets herself fall on the couch next to Drakon and points to a passage in the contract. “Here, look.”

Drakon reads the passage and feels his heart drop. He already knew about this particular exception; it is common for any and all Continental marriage contracts. But he won’t be able to use it.

“That won’t work, Miryam,” he says as softly as he can. “I’m only except from having to follow the contract if I find a mate, and as far as I know, I don’t have one. Even if I do, I certainly won’t find them within the next few days.”

“I know you don’t have a mate,” Miryam says, waving the comment off. “But we could change that. I mean, I could. Being a witch has to be useful for something, doesn’t it?”

Drakon stares at her. “You mean…” He breaks off.

“You want to create a mating bond?” Nephelle asks, eyes wide.

Miryam nods. “It won’t be an actual mating bond, but it will look similar enough that it should fool the contract.” She reaches for his hand. “If I can convince the contract’s magic that we are mates, you won’t have to marry Ravenia. It will all be fine.”

Hope flutters in Drakon’s chest, but he forces it down. Much as he would want this, much as he loves Miryam for being ready to do this for him, they can’t go through with it. “Just having a mate wouldn’t be enough, though,” he says. “The contract requires I marry that person.”

Miryam’s smile fades and she nods, suddenly serious. “Yes. I suppose it does.”

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks

[ericsonclan]

The Sound of Silence

Summary: Clementine goes to check on Louis, knowing he's been struggling ever since losing his tongue to the Delta.

Word Count: 2440

Read on AO3:

Clementine wandered the halls of the admin building alone. She and Aasim had finished up a meeting a few minutes ago regarding future plans with the supplies they had stolen from the Delta. Things had finally settled down enough that they were able to look towards the future rather than simply focusing on survival and recuperation. The raid on the Delta had been as successful as could reasonably be hoped, but they had still suffered heavy losses. Clementine’s leg ached beneath her as she made her way down the stairs slowly and cautiously, one step at a time. There was still a lot of healing to be done.

Speaking of which… Clementine turned her head to her left, listening for any sounds from the piano room. It was silent. She wondered where Louis was. Ever since they’d brought him home, he hadn’t been quite the same. Losing his tongue had silenced him in more than just a physical sense. He helped around the school where he could, but he didn’t reach out to the others like he used to. They’d scrounged up a pencil and notepad for Louis, but he tended to only write short, practical messages.

The day Clementine had made it outside for the first time since her amputation Louis had brightened up for a little while. He’d even written Clementine a little note covered in hearts asking if she’d be his girlfriend. That moment had made Clementine’s heart swell with joy. But as the weeks passed, Louis’ enthusiasm had dimmed once more. There was a somberness that came with the passage of time. It solidified the reality that this was their lives now, that his tongue was gone forever. Clementine could get a prosthetic and relearn how to walk, but Louis would never speak again.

Clementine considered going out the front doors of the admin building and looking for her boyfriend in the front yard. But even though the music room was silent, she had a feeling she should start her search there. The music room had always been a refuge for Louis; perhaps he was finding some solace there now. Turning her crutches down the hallway, Clementine clumped over to the doors, glancing through the slight opening between them.

She had been right. Louis was in there, sitting at the piano. But he wasn’t playing. In fact, he didn’t seem to be doing much of anything. He was just sitting there, blankly staring at the keys. Was he alright? Clementine didn’t want to intrude. But she also felt as though leaving him alone wouldn’t be the right call. Hesitantly, she pushed open one of the doors, her crutches clunking against the wood softly.

Louis turned to look for the source of the sound, his eyes widening when he saw Clementine. He hurriedly rose to his feet, walking over to help support her.

“Thanks, Lou,” Clementine nodded toward the piano. “Let’s sit on the bench together,”

Louis nodded, guiding Clementine toward the bench and keeping a hand on her arm until she was safely seated on the side closest to the doors. Then he circled the bench to sit on the other side.

Sitting there with him reminded Clementine of the night they’d sat together and she’d confessed her feelings for Louis, feelings he had reciprocated. It was the same night the Delta had attacked, the same night she’d failed to protect him. So much had happened in that night. The events felt far apart in Clementine’s mind even though they’d happened within minutes of each other. That confession had been some of the last words she’d ever heard Louis speak, the last she ever would hear clearly.

Shit, she’d come in here in hopes of making Louis happier and instead she was just contributing to the melancholy mood. She looked to the piano, trying to force some cheer into her voice. “Have you been working on your music?”

Louis shook his head.

“Why not?”

He simply shrugged, looking away from her.

Clementine frowned. Reaching out, she gently intertwined her fingers with his. “Louis, you can tell me anything. Where’s your notepad?”

Louis didn’t even bother to respond.

Clementine’s eyes scanned the room in search of it. It didn’t take long to locate. The notepad lay abandoned on the floor, several pieces of crumpled paper surrounding it. They seemed to have been torn from the notepad and tossed aside. Perhaps they were drafts of something Louis couldn’t quite figure out how to say. Her curiosity overtaking her, Clementine leaned over to scoop one off the floor. She began to uncrumple it.

Louis looked at her with large eyes, causing Clementine to pause.

“Should I not read it?”

Louis looked lost for a moment as if considering his answer. It wasn’t as though he could give a complex answer though, simply a yes or no. After a moment he reluctantly nodded. Still feeling torn, Clementine decided to give it a look. The very first words struck pain into her heart.

Dear Clementine, I think we should break up. I should probably find a better way to lead up to that conclusion, but I figured it was best to just cut to the chase. The boy you said you had feelings for isn’t me anymore. Whatever made you like me, whether it was my jokes or something else that escapes me, isn’t a part of me anymore. I’m useless now. Simply a burden. And with things as hard as they are on you now with your missing leg, I know you don’t need any more of those. That night before everything fell apart, I told you thanks for listening. Now I don’t have anything worth listening to. So I figured it was best

The letter cut off there, unfinished. Clementine’s eyes shot up, searching Louis’ for answers. He wasn’t willing to look up though, his gaze remaining firmly planted upon the ground. “Louis...” Clementine heard her voice crack with emotion, “Why?”

Louis shook his head, his hand reaching out to tap the letter she’d just read.

“No, I don’t accept that. This letter is bullshit, just a bunch of lies you’ve told yourself since you’ve spent so much time alone with these thoughts. Louis…” Clementine’s hand tightened round her boyfriend’s, her voice desperate. “What I told you that night, everything I said, is still true. My feelings haven’t changed, not one bit,”

Tears were trickling down Louis’ face. A low gurgling sound came from his throat, the only sound he could make anymore. Clementine reached to brush the tears away only for Louis to jerk backwards away from her touch.

Clementine scooted forward, refusing to give up. “Louis, I-” Her words were cut short as she gasped in pain, her stump burning from being pressed against the bench. Clementine’s back involuntarily convulsed, sending her teetering off balance. She feared she’d fall over when all of a sudden, an arm came round her waist, pulling her upright. The piano clanged as Louis’ elbow brushed the keys in his rush to catch her. Clementine looked up to see him studying her face with concern. “Lou…”

Louis drew back, withdrawing his arm quickly. His face was hidden behind his dreadlocks as his chest rose and fell, clearly struggling with his own inner turmoil.

Clementine felt her own eyes burning. “I did this to you. It’s my fault for not saving you that night,” Louis’ head shot up and he quickly shook his head, but the message didn’t touch Clementine. This was something that had been festering within her too long to keep contained. “The night you were taken I had the chance to save you. I saw you fighting Dorian while Violet was being dragged away. I-I thought I’d have the chance to save both of you. Violet was nearer to the cage, so I took that shot first, but by the time I notched the next arrow…” Clementine’s lip quivered, her throat burning as she tried to hold back tears. “It was already too late. Lilly threw a molotov in front of the gates and suddenly there were flaming walkers everywhere. By the time we cleared them out, you were gone,”

She looked up at Louis, her eyes wet with tears. “If I’d known what Lilly would do to you, if I had any idea, I wouldn’t have stopped there. I’d have run through that fire and out into the woods. I’d have followed on foot and not given up until I’d found the trail. I…” Clementine’s voice wavered, her shoulders shaking as she succumbed to her tears. It was useless. She’d fought as hard as she could. Everything she was describing wouldn’t have done any good. She couldn’t have found Louis that way. Through a moment’s decision his fate had been sealed. And if she’d chosen otherwise, if she’d saved him first, would the same thing that had been done to him happen to Violet? If they found Violet in the cells like that, she’d never forgive herself. Both outcomes were unbearable and unforgivable.

Clementine could feel Louis’ hand gently rubbing her shoulder. The gurgling sound was coming from his throat again as well. Now they were both crying, both lost in their pain and self-condemnation. Her eyes blurred by tears, Clementine reached out for Louis, pulling him close. Her breath came in short gasps as she buried her face in his shoulder, her body wracked by grief. She couldn’t lose him. After all that they’d been through, all the hurdles they’d overcome to find each other, she couldn’t let this be their swan song. But how could Louis even forgive her now that she’d told him what she’d done.

Louis’ hands were on her back. His own face was hidden against her neck, made damp with his tears. He was shaking, his body trembling within Clementine’s arms. He didn’t pull back and Clementine didn’t loosen her grip on him. They stayed there in that moment, both afraid to pull back, scared that if they let go then things would truly be over.

It couldn’t last forever though. Slowly Clementine pulled back, her hands slipping up to cup Louis’ face as she gazed into his eyes. “Louis… whatever you choose, I’ll respect that. I don’t want you thinking that we can’t be together because you’re a burden because I don’t see that at all. We both lost parts of ourselves to the Delta, but that doesn’t mean we can’t heal. We’ll learn to grow past all that. But if you can’t forgive me for what I let happen…” Clementine’s voice wavered but she pushed through, “Then I can live with that. It’s your choice,”

Louis’ hands had come up to cover Clementine’s. Looking deeply into her amber eyes, he shook his head fiercely before pressing a kiss to one of her wrists then the other.

Clementine let out a shaky breath. “What does that mean? That you forgive me?”

Louis took one of her hands and guided it to his throat. He pointed at her and shook his head. What was he saying? That she wasn’t to blame?

Clementine opened her mouth to protest. “Louis, I-” But before she could get any further Louis had pulled her to himself once more, his arms wrapping round her protectively. Clementine’s eyes stung with fresh tears. Hesitantly she reached out, her own arms coming round to circle his waist. Their last embrace had been one of desperation. This one felt softer, more intentional. Clementine felt Louis’ head come to rest atop her own. They sat there in silence, everything perfectly still. Finally Clementine softly cleared her throat. “I take it we’re not breaking up then?”

Louis nodded, his chin lightly brushing the hair on top of her head. He placed a gentle kiss upon it before settling down once more.

Clementine closed her eyes, letting the tension in her body truly start to dissipate. “I’m glad. I can take a lot of things, but losing you… I never want that. I know this isn’t easy for either of us, being this broken. But having each other makes it better, not worse. I need you, Louis. Each and every day,”

Louis pulled back for a moment, just far enough to look at Clementine. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the corners of his lips up into a smile.

“That’s my Louis,” Clementine reached up to brush away a stray tear that glistened upon his cheek. “But if you’re ever sad, that’s ok too. I want to hear about it all, in whatever way you want to share it,”

A distant look came into Louis’ eyes. Rising to his feet, he stepped away from the bench. At first Clementine was afraid he might leave the room, but instead he walked over to his notepad. Kneeling down, Louis picked up the crumpled pieces of paper that surrounded it one by one. Once all were gathered he walked back to the bench, taking the one that Clementine had read which lay crumpled and wet beside her. He then made his way over to the fireplace, setting the entire pile deep within it, tucked amongst the logs. There was no fire burning now, but the symbolism wasn’t lost on Clementine. Returning to the bench, Louis sat once more beside her.

Clementine smiled, the pain in her heart replaced by a warmer, purer ache. She truly loved this boy. “Thank you,” She glanced over at the piano. “Would you like to focus on something happier now? Maybe play me that song you wrote?”

A myriad of emotions danced within Louis’ eyes. Clementine hoped it hadn’t been wrong to ask this of him. But the piano was his voice, in a deep, intrinsic sense. She wanted to hear it, to let him speak through its melody. Louis’ hands rose after a few seconds, coming to rest delicately upon the keys. And then he began to play, the same song he had played for Clementine that night the room had seemed full of magic and light.

Slowly, Clementine laid her head down, bringing it to rest against Louis’ shoulder. Her eyes closed as she let the music overtake her senses, hearing Louis’ voice in every note he played. The world outside the walls of the music room was still harsh and cruel. It hadn’t become any easier in the time they’d spoken and that wouldn’t change. But here with Louis she felt safe. Not because there was no pain, but because he was with her in it, just like she was with him. And together, Clementine believed they’d be able to make it through whatever the world might throw at them.

[vmheadquarters]

We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected!

Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. --Chapter Twenty-Six of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @jeanie205​. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.27 from @nevertothethird​ - tag, you’re it!

_____________________________________________________________

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX by @jeanie205​

Business hadn’t exactly been booming at Mars Investigations lately, and even though she knew her dad was right, that the PI business, like almost everything else, was cyclical, Veronica still chafed under the inactivity.

She’d filled in her time the past few days with a flurry of office organization and some paperwork she’d been putting off for weeks, interspersed with a couple of bread-and-butter infidelity stakeouts. But either the unfaithful spouses had gotten stupider over the years, or Veronica had just gotten a lot better at sussing them out.  Because while the pay had been good - great, in fact - it hadn’t taken her long to come up with the Money Shots.

So now she was at loose ends again.  Even Mac had taken the day off after completing her update of the MI website, which she’d told Veronica was “a disaster.”

“They aren’t going to hire you if your site looks like it was designed in a high school IT class,” Mac had said, shaking her head. 

For as much good as it’s done so far, Veronica thought, sitting alone in her office with nothing to do.

Her glance fell unconsciously to her bottom right-hand desk drawer.  The deep one.

Well, maybe she didn't exactly have nothing to do.  

There was a case of sorts, if she wanted to count guessing the ending of a whodunit written by the least likely mystery writer she could ever have imagined.  An activity that Veronica had so far found not particularly entertaining.  Mostly because the plot was already so convoluted that she doubted the eventual reveal could ever make much sense.

On the other hand, she’d become rather fond of Ruby Jetson, and knew they probably owed her for helping to exonerate Logan of murder.  Besides which, she had promised.

With a guilty sigh, Veronica pulled open the drawer and hefted out a thick envelope.

Ruby had brought her the manuscript nearly a week earlier, eager to know if the story was good enough to “fool” the seasoned detective.  Although she’d shown up without an appointment, Veronica had taken the time to read several chapters, Ruby smiling delightedly whenever she’d frowned in puzzlement.

“I knew it was a good mystery,” Ruby had boasted gleefully.  “That even you wouldn’t be able to figure it out.”

By then, it had become apparent that Ruby expected her to read the whole damn book right then and there!  Thank god Mac had soon caught on and poked her head in the office door, reminding Veronica about “her appointment.”

Ruby had looked disappointed when Veronica carefully re-stacked the loose manuscript pages and slipped them into the large envelope, stowing everything away in her bottom drawer.

“I’ll finish it soon,” she’d promised faithfully.

But she never had, although Ruby had called every day, looking for an update.

“Hurry up, Veronica,” she’d complained only the day before, the exasperation clear in her voice.  “I need to send it to my publisher.”

Veronica had been surprised.  Ruby already had a publisher?

As she slipped the manuscript out of the envelope, quickly flipping to the red post-it she’d left to hold her place, she fleetingly wondered who in hell might actually want to publish Ruby’s novel.

Picking up where she’d left off, Veronica noted the same peculiarity that had struck her the week before.  Ruby’s chapters often varied so wildly in both style and format that it was almost like they’d been written by different people.  She paused in her reading, considered for a moment if Ruby might have some kind of dual personality disorder.  After all, the woman did have two names.

Or... maybe the answer was much simpler.  Maybe Ruby had a collaborator, the same person, Veronica thought with growing certainty, who’d passed along all the personal information that Ruby could never have dug up, no matter how much “research” she’d done.    

And that was another thing.  Veronica’s annoyance rose as she came across yet another intimate-sounding encounter between book-Veronica and book-Logan. Ruby had promised her faithfully that the names in her roman a clef-slash-murder mystery would definitely be changed in the next draft.  Veronica sure as hell hoped she followed through.  Otherwise, the fledgling author was going to be bombarded with lawsuits. And Veronica Mars would be at the head of the line.

She sighed, turning back to the story just in time to find that... Ruby had killed herself off!  

Or at least, she’d killed off Della Pugh.

Veronica’s eyes narrowed in surprise at this fictional turn of events.  Was this some sort of symbolic “killing” of her original self so that her Ruby persona could thrive?  She shook her head, finally deciding she was no better as a psychologist than she was a literary critic.  She flipped quickly to the next chapter and soon wished she hadn’t.  A delusional, Veronica-obsessed Duncan Kane was not exactly pleasant company.

Veronica was considering with wry amusement how the man himself might view his portrayal (should he ever see it) when she was startled by the ringing of a phone.  Not the office land line but the cell phone that she had to dig out from the depths of her well-loved but totally inconvenient studded black leather bag.  

She might not have even bothered had the sounds of the Perishers’ “Sway” not told her it was Logan calling.  She’d assigned him that ringtone in a burst of nostalgia the same day she’d updated his photo from pukka beads to dress blues.

The fact that he was calling was in itself unnerving.  If Logan wanted to communicate with her during the day, he almost always texted.  So of course her mind went immediately to the worst-case scenario.

“Logan!  Is everything okay?  Is my dad...”

“Veronica!” Logan cut in on her abruptly.  “Are you watching the news?  Turn on the news!”

“Wh-what? You mean, like... CNN?”

“No.  The local news.  It’s a breaking story on a continuous loop.”

“Okay.”   Mystified, she grabbed the remote from a drawer and powered up the wall TV that she hardly ever used.

And there was that creepy newscaster, the one who invariably reminded her of Vinnie Van Lowe.

“... a tragedy right here in Neptune last night when promising new writer Ruby Jetson was murdered in her own home.”

Veronica gasped.  It couldn’t be!

“Veronica!  You still there?”

“Yeah, Logan, I’m here.  I can’t... I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it.  And there’s more.  Keep watching.”

Onscreen, the newscaster was just beginning the introduction of an “important witness” to the tragedy.

“We’re fortunate to have with us here in the studio the man who discovered the body of Ms. Jetson.  Neptune’s very own school principal turned book publisher, Mr. Van Clemmons.”

Veronica nearly fell off her chair.  Holy shit! Clemmons was Ruby’s publisher?

She quickly turned up the volume, desperate to hear every word.

“I understand you were about to publish Ms. Jetson’s first novel, Mr. Clemmons?” the Vinnie-clone asked in that fake tone of sympathetic interest that all newscasters somehow managed to perfect.

Clemmons nodded.

“That’s right.  Of course, I’d known her as Della Pugh back when she was at Neptune High, but she’d made some changes in her life, and if she preferred to be Ruby Jetson, who was I to say she shouldn’t?”

Veronica rolled her eyes.  Right, Van.  You were always so forward-thinking.

“And the book?” the newscaster encouraged, refusing to be shifted off-topic by anything about the actual victim herself.

“Well, ah, Ruby came to me with the idea.  Some kind of murder mystery.  Very popular genre, of course.  But the story was to be based on people she’d known in high school. I thought it sounded... promising. And she was just about to deliver the first draft.  Said she’d finished it but was waiting for some feedback from a trusted friend.”

Veronica blinked.  A trusted friend?

She wrenched her mind away from dwelling on the sheer... unexpectedness of Ruby regarding her as a friend, because Clemmons was still talking and she didn’t want to miss a word.

“Ruby kept delaying turning in the first draft, so I stopped by last night to see if I could... hurry her along.”

Clemmons paused briefly, and for the first time looked visibly shaken.

“And that’s when I... found her.”

The newscaster nodded slowly.  “Not a pleasant experience.”

“No, indeed,” Clemmons agreed.

“And the book?”  Vinnie’s doppelgänger was not to be thwarted.

Clemmons shook his head sadly.  “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen after all. Only Ruby had copies of the manuscript, but there weren’t any in her apartment. And her laptop was missing, too.”

“The police...?”

“Didn’t find anything, either.”

“So the book won’t be published.”

Clemmons shrugged.  “I can’t publish what I don’t have.”

The newscaster paused to make sure that viewers caught the significance of his next question.

“Do you think it’s possible that poor Ruby was killed because of something in that book?”

Clemmons hesitated.  “I suppose it could be,” he said finally.  “But I guess we’ll never know.  If there ever was a manuscript, it’s gone forever.”

Veronica stared at the screen for long seconds before she muttered the words under her breath.

“No, Van.  Not quite fucking gone.”

She switched off the television and picked up her phone.  “You still there, Logan?”

“No, I’m here,” he said, appearing suddenly in the office doorway.  “Thought maybe I should come by.”

She nodded, and as one their eyes fell on the loose pages still sitting in the middle of Veronica’s desk.

In seconds, she’d scooped them up and shoved them back into the envelope. But this time, the manuscript wasn’t crammed unceremoniously back into that deep bottom drawer.  This time, Veronica opened their rarely-used safe and locked the thick envelope securely inside.

Veronica thought Logan must have sensed how shaken she suddenly felt because he was across the room like a shot, and in seconds she was wrapped in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Veronica,” Logan said softly, breathing the words into her hair.

“Yeah, me, too,” she murmured into his shoulder.

Then she took a deep breath and stepped back from Logan’s arms, determination stiffening her spine as she gazed up at him.

“Somebody killed Ruby over that damn book, Logan. And we’re gonna figure out who the hell did it.” 

[theastrophilearchitect]

Reworking the plot & getting my hands dirty.

Writing journey #2.

Sat 06/03/2021 - Word Count: 28,150 19.38 So, a month ago, today, actually, I started writing a book. For context, I've sorted out scenes and planned my plot; I'm now simultaneously writing my first draft and outlining scenes in more detail - I'm just into act two of my draft and just into act three of the outline.

I included today in my first writing post, which you can find here, but, while outlining, I realised something that will result in a major plot change (even though I probably should wait until revisions, it sorts out the climax I'm currently incredibly vague on, and will help me actually be able to complete the draft), and felt it was time to start a different post, because the other one was long, and already had its own focus.

Previously, I've been setting mildly insane word count goals, and even though I'm sticking to vague targets, I'm going to drop that, because I need to do a major plot change, and that'll mean the word count isn't going up that much for a while.

So, I have my first and second acts good, but while outlining act three, I've realised the event at the start of act three would work better as a climax than the vague battle idea I have. It just seems more original, more effective, but it means I need to shift events around and re-figure the first block of act three. I'll begin tonight, but it's already 8pm, so I'll probably do most of it tomorrow.

Sun 07/03/2021 - Word Count: 28,365 08.24 I'm reworking act three, and I think I may just drop drafting for the moment and focus on incorporating the edits I have in mind, then start drafting over. I know all the advice says not to go back and edit, but this is a big change I can't wait to do, so it seems opportune to just make the others, too.

08.31 I've now finished reworking act three, and I'm much more satisfied with it than I was before. I do now need to go through the scenes again, however.

13.57 Still re-scening. This is frustrating, but I've decided when I'm back to drafting, I'm going to drop my daily minimum to just 500 words - even though I'll make very little progress at that pace, it's more realistic considering I'm about to be plunged back into the world of homework and commuting, and it's something I'll always be able to meet to help me keep in the habit of daily writing. Word count isn't applicable when I'm doing re-scening like today, though.

Something else I've noticed, when I'm writing literally anything, I'm just scribing the words I'm literally hearing in my head, which is a little bit of a problem because where I wrote 'meet' just now, I meant 'meet' but heard 'eat' in my head and wrote 'eat'.

17.07 I feel like I'm finally making some progress - I've been writing on-and-off all day. My word count has actually decreased a couple hundred words since yesterday, but Scrivener is convinced I've written 42,000 words today, which I obviously haven't. I've typed a lot of words, but not that many, not all of which added to that since deleting words takes words off that number. It thinks I've written so many, however, because I duplicated my act one folder twice (then deleted it, obviously, because I don't need three copies of the same act) but Scrivener doesn't take off the words when you delete the file, only when you literally hit backspace.

17.50 Sorting out my climax, I'm realising how bad it was before. Which I guess is good, because it shows internal criticism and growth...? Or something...?

21.04 I've totally planned out the majority of act three, but I haven't finished it because where I'm up to ends with my characters essentially making a game plan, and since I'm not yet sure what that game plan is, I can't outline the bit where they carry out the plan, but I'll do that later. I've incorporated some of the edits I wanted to make, though I've left a couple out because they're less drastic and I'm not sure whether or not to include them, so I'm going to sort that either during or after my first draft.

Since I've made quite a few changes that will affect the parts I've already drafted, I'm going to start my draft over, and reset my word count, but I'll do that tomorrow. For now, Scrivener thinks I've written 42,385 words today, which I absolutely have not, and my word count is currently 28,365, but I'm going to remove every outline and drafted piece I've done so I can start from zero for what I'm going to call draft #1.4, because I already wrote a version of about 40% of it.

God, my word count has gone back to 0 of my minimum 50,000. That hurts. It really hurts. My actual goal is more 70-90K, but 50K is my minimum, so that's what I'm going with for now.

Anyway, goodnight, and good luck me.

Mon 08/03/2021 - Word Count: 820 So, I wrote 820 words before school, then got home, attempted to do some homework and lost all motivation and will to do... anything. Which means I'm very glad I did over my 500 words this morning.

Tue 09/03/2021 - Word Count: 1,367 15.07 I called this a #1.4 draft, but it's more like a #1.3. Anyway, writing is so much less stressful when I'm working from something I've already written - with the first section, so far, at least, I'm basically just editing the writing itself rather than the events because I'm pretty happy, at least at the moment, with my first couple chapters. Very little thinking required.

Also, it's been over 30 hours since I've written because I did my writing before school yesterday, but haven't written yet today because I've got so much work to get done for school. It feels like it's been forever.

16.17 I've finished rewriting chapter one, and still have a lot of fuel in my tank (that's a hideous metaphor) but I think I'm going to cut off today at 547 words, just because I have quite a lot on my plate this week, and I'd like to invest some time in actually reading the book I started eight days ago, and am only 200 pages of the way through.

Wed 10/03/2021 - Word Count: 2,082 I could write significantly more than 500 words most days, but it really is easier to set a minimum that doesn't feel like a strain, so that's what I'm sticking with for now.

Thu 11/03/2021 - Word Count: 2,801

Fri 12/03/2021 - Word Count: 3,405

Sat 13/03/2021 - Word Count: 32,211 07.40 I've just had nothing extra to say the last couple days, which is ironic considering how much I wrote each day of the last post, which went up yesterday! Anyway, it's finally Saturday, and even though I have exactly zero motivation to do anything this morning, I've been awake for two hours already (I recently discovered I like mornings??) and I think it's time to get going. Still sticking to my 500 word minimum, but since it's Saturday, I'm going to invest most of the day in writing, so I should surpass that.

08.20 I don't think I've mentioned yet that I dubbed this WIP Bay Tree in this post. Sorry if I have, but I skimmed this post and can't find it. So, this is about to get messy. I'm basically just cleaning up my prose, but there's so little point doing that when I'm not certain each scene will stay. There's no point editing a chapter unless I know it's sticking around.

So we're reverting, and this is about to get messy. I didn't quite finish my initial draft of chapter seven, because I wasn't sure how exactly the event at the end of it would happen, but I think I'm just going to delve into it. I'm going to add everything, including outlines, back to my word count, finish writing chapter seven, then pick up where I left off in chapter nine. Okay. That's why my word count is jumping around.

And, just like that, I've gone from 4,074 to 28,864. Well, 500 words accomplished. Surpassed, in fact, by just 24,290.

I'm going to aim to just hit 30K by the end of this weekend. I can easily do 1,136 words in two days.

As I've mentioned before, I haven't outlined all the way to the end and through the climax--I have a fairly clear idea of how I want it to do go down, but I'm not sure what I want the characters' plan to actually be, so I currently have 21 chapters, but I'm projecting 23-26, which, at about 3,000 words each, is pretty damn good, especially when it'll just get longer as I redraft (she says optimistically).

Already feeling more motivated now my word count's higher.

09.54 Oh! Also, I logged onto Tumblr today to find someone reblogged my last writing post with a really positive, encouraging comment. It's nice to think I'm bringing someone else a little joy with this.

11.13 And we hit 30K! I'm not quite done for the day, but I do need to go pack. Also, I've been operating under the impression the minimum word count for a novel is 50K, but it's actually 40K, which, though I'm only about 40% of the way to my projected total word count, I'm officially 75% of the way to being able to say I've written a novel.

I'm so glad I've gotten as far as I have, and I just hope I can keep myself going to the end.

12.27 This post is going to look really strange to read - if you're only looking at the word counts, it looks like I've written nearly 27K words today. That makes sense.

Oh, and I finished chapter seven. Like an hour ago.

13.52 At this point, I have literally no idea what continuity things I've already established, so I'm just going by a let-my-future-self-suffer philosophy.

14.36 That's chapter nine done. That leaves chapters 10 to nobody-knows. I'm going to stop writing now, but I wrote nearly 4,000 words today (plus recounting about 20K) so I don't exactly think this cut-off will be detrimental.

Sun 14/03/2021 - Word Count: 35,548 07.58 I’ve written over a thousand words already, and it isn’t even 8am yet. Being a morning person is genuinely the best thing ever as an introvert--I’m asleep when people want to socialise, and awake when no-one else is. That makes me sound like a hermit. I love it anyway, and feel like I’m stacking up for a good writing day. 35K is probably a little overambitious, but what’s life without aspiration?

09.04 As I’m going, I’m realising my plot is actually coherent, and being surprised that I can actually make a story without plot holes (as of yet.)

09.21 And that makes the first eleven chapters drafted! 

...And, Houston, we have a problem. Dammit. Eleven chapters, and I haven’t established one of the most important world-building points. Which is especially irritating because it needs to be established by chapter twelve. Unless I can establish it at the start of chapter twelve? We’ll go with that, so I don’t have to go back, then I’ll sort it out in edits or draft two or something.

I’ve just started writing chapter twelve, but I think, having written 2,600 words today already, I need a break. I have less than 500 words until I hit 35K, but I’m going to leave it for now, and come back this evening. I should be able to hit 40K this week.

18.19 And that makes 35K. Chapter twelve is only two scenes, and I’ve written one, but having written 3,000 words so far today, I’m going to leave it until tomorrow.

Mon 15/03/2021 - Word Count: 36,337 17.19 So there’s a crucial plot point just after my midpoint, and I’m not completely sure what to do. I mean, I know what I’m doing--I just wasn’t sure exactly how I wanted it to go, but now I know. The issue is other stuff needs to be pre-established, and I’ve worked out where it needs to go, but I don’t know whether or not I want to go back and write those bits now, or just make note of it and add it in draft two.

I think I’m just going to make note, plough ahead, and deal with it in draft two. I’m trying to figure out exactly how I’m going to operate after this draft: things generally say put it down for a few weeks, come back for edits, then go into your next draft, but I feel like I’m already going to have so many edits gathered by the time I reach the end of this draft, I should just go back into it, but time will probably be beneficial. Not that it actually matters now. I’m only just halfway through an under-draft (by that I mean it’s going to get a lot longer). I’m going to add new scenes in my next draft and generally fiddle with plot aspects, but as quite a linear writer, I think I’m more naturally inclined to just incorporate aspects in a draft rather than as edits. I’m not sure. Does that even make any sense? 

Depending on when I finish this draft, I think I’ll plan to pick it back up May 1st, and just see how I’m feeling. But, again, this all depends on when I finish the draft, and how I’m feeling when that time comes.

Tue 16/03/2021 - Word Count: 37,025 I bought my Scrivener license today! Yay!

Wed 17/03/2021 - Word Count: 38,408 08.04 This is mostly irrelevant to my project, but I just wanted to mention the odd fact that I’m definitely a plotter when it comes to longer pieces, but when I do shorter pieces, creative or essays, for school, I hate planning, and just start immediately, then go back and edit. Huh.

Thu 18/03/2021 - Word Count: 38,950 I’m going to edit this, but writing the date just now I noticed I’ve put 2019 for the last three days. It’s absolutely not, and I know why I did that, but still.

14.31 Also, Oxford commas? Found out what they were. Granted, that was actually a few days ago.

Fri 19/03/2021 - Word Count: 40,139 06.55 Even though I wrote 500 words yesterday, I didn’t quite reach my goal of 39K, just because I had to stop writing 50 words off, and by the time I had the opportunity to go back, I just wanted to go to bed. So, today, my goal is to hit 40K words, and officially be able to say I’ve hit the minimum word count for a novel.

Honestly, I’m starting to lose my love for this project. I’m still enjoying working on it, don’t get me wrong, but I’m anticipating finishing it because I know exactly what I want to write next. I feel like I’m mostly still working on it as a lesson, and I know it’s not what I ultimately want to write--mostly because it’s not super high-concept, and high-concept stuff is what I want to be writing. I am still enjoying working on it, I’m just not sure I’ll get to the ‘final line-edits’ stage. But who knows?

10.19 And that marks 40K. We’re in novel terriority, people. And, yes, I could correct that spelling, but I’d like to draw attention to how bad I am at spelling when typing. I’m excellent at spelling in writing, and wrong spellings bother me, but when I’m typing, my fingers are just trying to keep up with my mind, which means I try to type a letter and the one after it at the same time, and often end up with letters in the wrong order and punctuation in the wrong place. Or I just hit halfway between two keys instead of the key I’m going for, and type a wrong letter. Anyway, that was meant to say territory. See? I can spel..

Or I just double the punctuation instead of the last letter.

So I’m definitely not meeting my old goal of 80K words or a finished draft by the end of the month--that’d be another 40K words in just 12 days--but I’m definitely on track to finish by the end of April.

Sat 20/03/2021 - Word Count: 40,692 15.30 God, second acts are hard. I hate being in the middle. At the start, you have novelty, and at the end (not that I would know from experience) you have the knowledge you’re near the end, that you’ve already written most of it.

I’m currently operating the reminder, ‘You’ve written an act before, why not again?’, in hopes that’ll eventually extend to, ‘You’ve finished a draft before, why not again?’ and ‘You’ve written an entire book before, why not again?’

I’ve literally written 243 words so far today, and I just don’t want to. Normally, I sit down, I slog through the first hundred or so words, then pick up momentum. Maybe it’s just because chapter 13 is a boring part to write. Ha. 13. Just my luck.

I’m being nice to myself because a lot has happened in my life over the last few days, but I still want to write a minimum of 500 words, even though most Saturdays I can write more like 3,000.

21.41 I’d like to be asleep. That sounds like fun. Today slipped through my grasp, and I haven’t even written 300 words, but I am going to try to at least hit 500. And then maybe write thousands and thousands tomorrow, but I’m also going to bake a cake, and I’m notorious for being able to make cooking and baking take at least three times as long as is necessary.

21.57 So I got just past 500. Relatively speaking, that’s not that impressive for me, but it’s more words than most people in the world added to their manuscripts today, so I have to give myself some credit. (I’m working on crediting myself for productivity rather than degrading myself for not being productive--I could go on for hours about how much it pisses me off that capitalism teaches us productivity=worth in everything, not just business, but I’m going off on a tangent.)

Sun 21/03/2021 - Word Count: 41,466 08.08 Cakes baked! And I’ve come to a conclusion about how irritating I am to myself--I didn’t fully outline the latter half of act two (by which I mean I have each scene and a purpose of each scene, but virtually no detail) which I can absolutely cope with, but it does slow me down. Anyway, I’m waiting for my cakes to cool, then I can ice them.

14.28 I wanted to write up to 42K this weekend, which I don’t think is going to happen. I’ve written 774 words, so passed my 500-word minimum, but haven’t yet reached 42K, and don’t think I’m going to this weekend. I just don’t have much motivation, which may just be because of the part I’m on, but I’d rather work through this part really slowly then pick up the pace when I get to the part I want to be writing, than force myself to write this section quickly and poorly, then not want to continue into act three. So, sticking to 500 words a day; I may do more later, but I’m leaving it for now.

Mon 22/03/2021 - Word Count: 42,006 17.56 God, I don’t want to write today. I’m going to anyway, because I haven’t yet failed 500 words. They can be a shitty 500 words, but they have to be 500 words. Also, the scene I wrote yesterday? Absolutely getting deleted. But I’m leaving it for now because I refuse to lose those 800 words.

I really enjoy putting edits at the bottom of scenes in brackets and making them unnecessarily wordy so Scrivener thinks I’ve written significantly more words than I actually have.

18.31 Yay, did it. I’m really hoping I can just work through this low spot and don’t have to take a break. I’m on the penultimate chapter of act two, and the first few chapters of act three are really exciting, so I’ll know if I need to take a break based on whether I get motivated when I get to that part.

Tue 23/03/2021 - Word Count: 42,124 16.37 GOD, I need a break. I don’t have motivation, even for 500 words. You know what? I’m just going to make a note of the scene idea I had earlier, and I’m going to take a week’s break. Unless I get antsy, in which case I may end it earlier, but, I’m not going to write again until Tuesday the 30th. Unless I get antsy. FUCK.

I’m just reminding myself breaks are good and important, but I still hate that I’m taking one without finishing my first draft. Tue 30/03/2021, I will be back! Though my word count may increase between now and then as I note down any ideas I have, which I will update with. Okay. Just leave it.

Sun 28/03/2021 - Word Count: 42,150 10.47 Since Tuesday, I’ve made some notes on my phone of little things I want to change, but haven’t added them to my project file, so the word count hasn’t gone up.

Last night, I was just thinking about how badly I wanted to get back to this project, but this morning, I just... don’t. I’ve been thinking it through, and I’m not ready to drop this project yet, but I’m just not happy with what I have at the moment. So, I’m going to add my notes to the file, and then leave it for a few weeks, so I can return with edits in mind, apply them, and then start what I guess will be like a 1.7 draft, because I didn’t finish this draft.

In the meantime, however, I do want to keep writing, so I’m going to start another project in the meantime, which I can work on a lot in the next few weeks because, in a few days, I get a couple weeks off, which won’t be completely free of work, but will give me a lot more time to dedicate to this.

I think I’m going to say I’ll return to Bay Tree (or at least review, if, say, I just want to dedicate a little more time to whatever phase of the new project before I move on) on May 10th, because that’s basically when I get to relax after my exams finish.

So I’ll add the notes I have so far, keep making notes on my phone, and return on May 10th.

Which wraps up this writing update--a new one will come with my new project!

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Eardrum Torture

PART THIRTEEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of a broken arm, lots of unintentional angst but here we are it just happened, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.4K

Summary: Application season takes its toll on Ella.

Four days. She had four days left until the applications were due, and she was about ready to rip out her hair. A Wednesday evening brought with it October wind and thick clouds. Though she had the night off, she sat wringing her hands over a scattered pile of papers at a corner table in the diner. It had been danish day, Luke rushing around to accommodate the breakfast and afternoon crowds, and the restaurant was equally packed at dinner. Ella raked her hands through her messy hair, tying it up in a ponytail and blowing loose strands from her eyes. Her nails were bitten down and she had dark circles under her eyes. The only solace was her knowing the torture would soon end. Envelopes were addressed, the stamps were bought, the essays were written, but she couldn’t manage to feel as though the applications were finished.

In all honesty, she knew there was no real reason for all the nerves. It wasn’t as though any of the colleges she was applying to were her dream schools. Financial aid could do some help, but it was simply fruitless to spend application fees on Berkley when she knew she would never be able to go anyway. Instead, the state schools and community colleges which made up her list were modest and affordable. And her father and Fiona were glad to have her able to live at home. No one would have to pick up her chores, and they could save for the wedding.

And she couldn’t bring herself to be angry with them. Disappointment was there, but she knew it was simply realistic. They couldn’t pay for the schools, and they didn’t want her to be buried in debt for the rest of her life. She could appreciate that, especially when she was likely to end up with a degree in something she wasn’t particularly passionate about. What could one do with an art degree anyway? She would settle for something stable, in business or economics, instead of starving for her hopeless dreams. Blowing out a breath, she tried to wake herself up by widening her eyes as she picked up an essay about a significant person in her life to read over for the third time. She’d actually had to write it twice, considering how illegible her cursive was in the first draft.

Rapping his knuckles on the table, Jess sat down across from her with a smirk and a plate in his hand. “Sweepin’ those chimneys nonstop, huh?”

Ella rolled her eyes. “Bite me.”

“You’re gonna give yourself a headache,” he said, holding the plate with the turkey sandwich out before her. It was nearly closing, and she still hadn’t ordered any dinner. He took the liberty of making something for her. Lately, she’d been forgetting to eat altogether.

“Well, we all have to make sacrifices sometimes,” she muttered flatly.

“Look,” Jess sighed, “just take a break for a second, alright? I’ll read it for you if you want.”

She cleared her throat in annoyance, then finally tossed a glance his way. Before she could help it, her stomach growled at the sight of the sandwich. Classic turkey was her favorite. Jess smirked, but said nothing. Ella narrowed her eyes at him and stared him down for a moment, then finally relented. They did a quick exchange, Jess with her paper and Ella with the ceramic plate.

“Thank you,” she said tiredly.

A smug smile painted his face as he began reading the essay. “You’re welcome, Stevens.”

As she ate, he read, brows furrowed in concentration. His face was indecipherable, and her stomach rolled with anxiety at him looking over her work. The sandwich was gone almost instantly, and she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Luke was making preparations for closing as the last few customers finished up their dinners. The last pot of coffee was empty, and the twinkling lights in the square illuminated the dim evening in a cozy whitish-yellow glow. She licked mayo from her thumb and wiped her mouth with a napkin, finished eating, just as Jess turned the paper over and set it back down on the table.

“So?” she asked, arms crossed over her t-shirt and an expectant look on her face.

Jess nodded. “It’s really good, Eleanor. I like it. Very descriptive. I can tell you’ve got a James Joyce obsession.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Shut up, jackass.”

“But, really, I love it,” Jess said.

“Thank you,” she said humbly, averting her gaze with a shy blush still present.

“Did she really know June Carter Cash?” he asked.

A wide smile crossed Ella’s face. The essay, though monumentally stressful to finish, had been a joy to write. Instead of offering a more melancholy tale about her mother, she’d chosen her grandmother. Whose necklace she wore, who she had a framed photo of on her desk, and who taught her how to persevere. Though she had died before Ella was ten, the woman was still so present in her memory. Her mother had been a tender rose, but her grandmother had been a giant sunflower, standing tall. A force of nature.

“Yeah. They sang at the same club a couple times. My grandma’s stories could give Miss Patty’s a run for their money.”

“High standards to meet.”

“That they are,” she said fondly, taking the essay and straightening a stack of papers in front of her. Then, she looked back up at him with a teasing eye. In spite of herself, she picked up the essay and began skimming it again. “Aren’t you on the clock? Slacking off, are we, Mariano?”

He scoffed. “Luke let me off early, Caesar’s helping close. Time off for good behavior.”

“Not likely,” she teased, snorting a laugh, then brought her fist to cover her mouth as a yawn overtook her.

Jess felt a pang of sympathy, watching her regain her composure and blink back a watery shine from her reddish eyes. She looked positively exhausted, and he hadn’t seen her without a pencil or an essay in her hand in what felt like forever. Even when she was behind the counter at the diner; Luke was being especially lenient for application season.  

“You wanna hang out upstairs? I think there’s some Alfred Hitchcock on tonight.”

She only raised an eyebrow, gesturing down to her applications and other schoolwork.

“How many days do you have left?”

“Four.”

“And you have them all finished?”

“More or less.”

“And you can’t take a break from rereading to hang out with your boyfriend for one night?”

Ella paused for a moment, and a teasing smirk crossed her face. “Boyfriend?”

He cleared his throat and a blush crept up his neck, but he maintained the confident facade, smirking back. “Oh, am I not your boyfriend?”

She shrugged. “I guess. Just didn’t know you’d fully committed to the label.”

“Oh, I’m committed.”

“Oh. Okay,” she smiled lightly, the dimple showing in her freckled cheek. “And I’m your girlfriend?”

“I figured. Was I wrong?”

“No. No, you weren’t.”

“Good,” he said shortly, and felt a little squirmy under her teasing gaze. “Now, are we gonna go watch some ‘50s murders or not?”

Ella snorted a laugh at his embarrassment. She looked down at the stack of work doubtfully, then sighed. It was too tempting to resist. Then, she stood up and began clearing up her things.

.   .   .

Mid-way through Psycho, Jess noticed Ella’s continuous yawning and the way she struggled to keep her hazel gaze on the grayish screen. He could hear Luke closing up down in the diner, and Caesar’s music droning from the radio. But it was cozy, the October night closing in and bringing silence to the chilly town streets. There was an old quilt spread out over their laps, their hands laced together. She cleared her throat and straightened up slightly, trying to look more awake as the onscreen hunt for Marion Crane intensified. Jess sighed and took his hand from hers. Putting an arm around her, he brought her head to his shoulder and she leaned into him tiredly.

“Oh, I see, you’re doing that thing where you put your arm around me, and then you sneeze and try to grab-”

“Am not,” Jess interjected, laughing. “I should’ve never let you in on my moves.”

Ella giggled. “Right, your move.”

“Maybe I invented it. You could never be sure.”

She scoffed, smiling, and shifted to get more comfortable. He pressed a kiss to her hair and leaned back into the old couch. Even still, he looked down at her bitten nails and frowned.

“You’re gonna get into those schools, y’know,” he said softly.

Ella sighed. “Yeah, I guess there’s a good chance. I don’t want to count on anything.”

“Stevens, you have a four-point-oh. They’re lucky you’re even considering them.”

“And I’m lucky they’re cheap.”

Jess ran a hand over his mouth, nodding. “I bet you could still get a scholarship to Berkeley somehow. Or some school in some other city. I mean, you don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do.”

Sleepily, she nodded. “I know, Jess. But I’ll get to live in a city someday. I’ve lived in that house for seventeen years. I can manage a couple more.”

“You could still apply, though. If you wanted,” he said.

Again, she sighed. “Really, Jess, I’m okay not applying to Berkley. I knew I’d never be able to go, it was just some stupid dream I had when Lane and Rory and I were kids and thinking about which colleges we would end up at.”

“And what rebellious kids you were,” he smirked.

Ella nudged him with an elbow. “Whatever. Southern Connecticut State is good enough for now. I’ll get some bullshit degree and a decent job, so I can have money and time to really work on my art. Someday.”

Jess hummed in acknowledgement.

“Besides, I don’t wanna leave Adam alone. My dad may be getting better, but it’s not gonna be perfect there overnight,” she explained, ending with a yawn again, behind her hand.

At that, Jess dropped the subject. He knew she needed sleep, and bringing her little brother into it would lead to a whole other conversation. Besides, it wasn’t his place to say what she should do with her life, no matter how hard it was to watch her settle, like she’d already had to do so many times.

“Okay,” he said quietly, running a hand up and down her arm.

Then, after a pause, her husky voice piped up again: “And next year you’re just gonna keep working here? And Walmart?”

“I suppose.”

“You know you’re gonna have to tell Luke about that at some point, right?”

“Well, I’m holding out as long as I can.”

She snorted a laugh. “Good luck with that.”

“Hey, you’re still sworn to secrecy,” he warned playfully.

“Yes. Cross my heart, remember?” she asked, and he nodded. Looking up to see his face in the low light, she pursed her lips. “What would you do, Jess? If you weren’t Walmart’s best employee. If you could do anything you wanted?”

There was a long silence as he thought, and she almost figured he hadn’t heard her. But then, he cast his eyes down, the movie momentarily forgotten.

“I don’t know. Maybe...write something.”

“Something?”

“Yeah. A novel. Short stories. Something. Or find some job where I could just read all day. Either one would work.”

A smile crossed her lips, turning the idea over and over in her mind. “Hm. I could see it. ‘A novel by Jess Mariano.’”

He only shrugged.

“No, really, Jess, that’d be awesome. You should do it,” she said, brightening, sitting up a little and gaining passion as she spoke, gesturing with her nail-bitten hands.

He scoffed, brows furrowing. “On what? That brand new computer I own?”

She rolled her eyes, then lowered her head back down to his shoulder. “I don’t know. You’re too smart for your own good, Mariano. I’m sure you could find a way. I just think it’d be great. If I’m owning my narrative, you have to own yours.”

Shaking his head at both her stubbornness and the memory of her spontaneous trip to New York, he kissed the crown of her head again. “Maybe.”

“Okay, chatty Kathy,” she said, scoffing at his nonchalance.

Within minutes, she had fallen asleep on his shoulder, leaving Jess to watch the reveal of Norman Bates’s mother and think on his incredibly ambiguous future.

.   .   .

Sunday afternoon customers flooded the diner. For once, Jess had broken a sweat serving them, a towel flung over his shoulder and an apron around his hips. Luke barked out directives as Caesar kept the grill sizzling, pancakes and bacon and patty melts, even as the afternoon crept in. Trudging around, Jess’s boots were heavy on his feet. Ella had the day off, and she hadn’t made an appearance. Usually, he would take breaks to flirt with her, trade her a book or two, as she poured over her homework. Instead, a random, loud family occupied her corner.

Eventually, he saw her blonde figure rushing down past the front window. Her cheeks were flushed scarlet as she came inside, her bag heavy on her shoulder. Luke only nodded and grunted at her, and she responded with an almost identical greeting. It became clearer to Jess every day why Luke and Ella had such a benevolent boss-employee dynamic. He held the steaming coffee pot in his hand as he came over to her. She hung the heavy shoulder bag and tattered peacoat by the door.

“Hey, your usual table isn’t open but if you wanna wait at the counter-”

“Can I borrow some angry music?” she interjected, a crease between her brows.

“What?”

She huffed and spoke with her hands. “I wanted to listen to some angry music but I only have sad shit, and I wanted to borrow some from Lane, but she wasn’t at her house, so I came over here because you have all that punk upstairs.”

“Um...yeah,” he said, throwing a glance back at the staircase. “It’s kinda swamped here but if you wanna go use the boombox upstairs?”

“Yeah, okay, thanks,” she nodded, breathless from her rant. Ella gave him a quick peck and, in a moment, was bounding up the stairs.

He stepped back slightly in surprise, eyes lingering on the checkered curtain she had disappeared behind. On a normal day, she would never kiss him on the lips in the middle of the busy diner. But on a normal day, her eyes weren’t so stormy.

.   .   .

Finally, mercifully, Luke let Jess take a thirty-minute break. The Distillers were turned up to head-splitting level as he entered the apartment, though they could only barely hear it downstairs under the customers’ chatter. Ella sat with one leg crossed over the other at the kitchen table, her sketchbook in front of her. She shaded a drawing furiously, not looking up as he came in. Sighing slightly, brows furrowed, he went over and turned the volume down halfway. Still, Ella gave no response. Crossing his arms over his chest, he came over beside her to regard the drawing.

Jess scoffed as he glanced down at the page. The dark lines and shading clouded the drawing of a screaming woman. Wilting flowers surrounding the face, and there was fire drawn in the figure’s pupils.

“Jesus. You draw some scary shit when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said shortly, not meeting his gaze.

“Y’know there’s a reason you’re an artist not an actress, right?” he drawled.

Ella rolled her eyes, stuffing her sketchbook into her bag and gathering herself up. Blowing out a long breath, she made to brush past him. “I’ll call you later.”

“Hey, where’s the fire?” he asked, his voice earnest as he placed a hand on her arm to stop her. “What’s the matter, Stevens?”

“Nothing.”

“Really? Then what’s with the eardrum torture?”

Swallowing dryly, she scowled at him but said nothing.

“C’mon, what’s the problem?”

Sighing again through her nose, she shrugged off his hand. “Just back off, Jess, for fuck’s sake.”

Without another word, she stormed down the stairs and left him confused. He stood with his eyes dark, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, the bass vibrations of the music thudding in his chest.

.   .   .

A dusky, golden October evening fell on Stars Hollow. Jess debated just staying in after his shift ended, brooding over the Bronte book Ella had loaned him, eventually falling asleep with furious thoughts cycling through his mind. Instead, he donned his leather jacket and turned down the Gilmores’ street. The gravel crunched under his shoes and he felt his heartbeat speed up as he neared the familiar house. Tall trees lined the sides of the road, and the crisp wind rustled the orangey leaves, falling around him and in his hair. He sighed heavily, taking a crunchy leaf from the top of his head and crushed it in his hand. In all the time he’d known Ella, he’d only seen her quite so angry a couple of times. Usually, it was just a bite in her voice and the sharpness of her tongue. Storming out was a move Jess expected far more from himself than from her.

He knocked on the front door, nerves building in his stomach. And his expression dropped just a touch when it was Lorelai who came to the door, slightly out of breath and less than thrilled to see him.

“Hi,” he began lamely, glancing behind her and trying to listen for other voices. “Is Eleanor here?”

Breathing out a short sigh, Lorelai put her hands on her hips. “No.”

“...do you know where she is?” Jess asked.

“She’s at the charity book sale at the high school with Rory and Lane,” she said, after a moment of debate over just slamming the door shut in his face. And, before he could run off, she added: “And I wouldn’t go find her.”

“Why not?”

Lorelai looked down at her shoes, crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe. “Look, Bender, I know you fancy yourself her knight in shining leather-”

“Hey-”

She raised a hand to stop him, and continued with a tense tone in her voice. “But she went through a lot before you ever got here. She’s still going through a lot now. And she doesn’t need you butting in and complicating all her complications.”

“I just wanted to know what’s wrong,” he explained defensively, mirroring her guarded stance.

“And it’s not my place to let you know. She’ll tell you when she’s ready,” Lorelai said. “She broke her arm during a dance at Miss Patty’s when she was ten. And do you know how long it took for her to tell anyone how much it hurt?”

He shook his head.

“Five days. Her arm was practically a purple tree trunk by the time they got her to the hospital! And that may’ve been an extreme case, but the point stands,” she said, straightening up and softening her face just a touch. “I think I’ve only seen her cry twice in ten years. She likes to work things out on her own. And she’s just got some communication issues, like someone else I know.”

She gave Jess a pointed look and he averted his gaze self-consciously.

“I bet Ella’s told you she doesn’t believe in love.”

Sighing heavily, Jess nodded.

“But we both know that’s not true. She’s cleaned my rain gutters every week for the past few years, just because I don’t like heights. When Rory had the chickenpox, Ella came here everyday after school with a new card or drawing, and stayed over until it got dark out. She always sneaks Lane her new contraband music through this weird window dumbwaiter system they made years ago. When Miss Patty needs a piano player, Ella fills in without pay, no complaints.”

Running a hand over his mouth anxiously, he nodded again. It was times like these when his heart ached for Ella, knowing how both similar and different they were from each other. He dealt with things through anger and trouble, and she dealt with things through guilt and silence. Neither method was healthy, but Ella’s was far less outwardly destructive.

“Jess, when Ella loves someone, she loves them completely. She trusts them completely,” Lorelai continued, eyebrows raised at the young hellion. “She’ll live and die for them. But it takes her years to get there. You have to be patient.”

“Alright.”

“And if you hurt her, so help me God-”

“I know. You’ll string me up in town square to set an example?” he interjected, waving a dismissive hand.

“Something along those lines.”

“Noted. Well, I gotta go,” he said, making to leave. Lorelai only hummed in acknowledgement. Before he stepped off the porch, Jess turned back over his shoulder and muttered out a “Thanks.”

In response, Lorelai gave a tiny smile, and disappeared back into the house.

.   .   .

His collar was up against the wind, and Jess had to try three times to light his cigarette. The diner was closed up, lights off. Bluish smoke formed hazy clouds in front of him, obscuring his view of the nearly-deserted town square. The twinkle lights were shining, and a few stray cars rolled past him every now and them, their red brake lights glowing in the darkness. Everyone seemed to be in bed already, at half past nine, in preparation for the week ahead. It made him sad, thinking of how vibrant New York was at this time of night. He wondered what his mother was doing, which boyfriend she was with. And then he scoffed at himself and let her leave his mind, crushing his cigarette out beneath the toe of his boot on the sidewalk. Looking up, he saw Orion’s belt in the autumn sky. He was homesick for the first time in recent memory.

“Hey, tough guy. Thought you kicked the habit?” he heard, and looked over to find Ella, coming from the direction of Lane’s house, arms crossed to keep herself warm.

He laughed humorlessly. “The addictive personality comes and goes.”

She sighed, leaned against the front window of Luke’s next to him. Keeping a careful distance, she tried and failed to catch his eye. He looked ahead, watching as an RV, presumably a family of tourists, rolled by on the other side of the square.

“I’m sorry,” she said, running a hand through her blonde waves. Goosebumps formed on her legs beneath her tights. Darkness had brought a harsh breeze. “I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”

“Mm,” Jess hummed, still not meeting her gaze.

Ella sighed through her nose, looking down at her disintegrating converse. “I just got in a fight with Fiona. She keeps wanting me to call her mom, so we scream at each other, and she cries so I’m the one who ends up apologizing. And then she said she and my dad are trying for another kid.”

His eyebrows shot up, and he finally turned his head to her.

Clearing her throat, she shot a bitter smirk his way. “I know. When they’re doing so well with the ones they already have, right? Anyway...I left the house and I didn’t know what to do. So, when you saw me earlier, I was just completely in my own head and...I was angry at you for nothing. And you don’t deserve that. I’ve been so stressed and caught up lately. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, voice husky. And he took her cold hand in his. She closed her eyes and felt her breath catch in her throat for a moment. Swallowing down her feelings, she took a step closer to him. She hadn’t expected such easy forgiveness.

“No, it’s not okay. And you don’t have to say it is. I’m just new at this whole thing. I’m not used to...talking about anything, really, let alone everything. Most of the time, even Rory and Lane don’t know too much about what’s going on with me.”

“I know. That’s okay, honey,” he repeated, and she finally let a weak smile across her lips. Jess smiled a small smile back, and hoped she could know what he meant in so few words. As he saw her shoulders relax and surprise shine in her hazel eyes, Lorelai’s words remained in the back of his mind. Patience. He could do that. He could wait. Especially when he’d waited for her so long already.

“Thanks. For…”

“Don’t mention it,” he cut in, bringing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in to plant a kiss on the top of her head.

“Really, Jess. I don’t think you realize how nice you are,” she doubled down, looking him straight in the eye.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at the compliment, brushing it off.

Ella rolled her eyes back at his secret bashfulness and kissed him on the lips. The air was cold, but a warmth began in her stomach and spread throughout her upon feeling his touch. She stood on her tiptoes and he brought a hand to one of her hips. A moment passed between them, but  thought popped suddenly into Ella’s head and she pulled away from him.

“Hold on,” she said, turning around to rummage in her bag. Eventually, she pulled out a book with yellowed pages and a black and white cover. As she held it out to him, Jess recognized the face on the front. On Writing by Stephen King.

Raising a hesitant eyebrow, he took it and immediately turned it over to read the back.

“I know it’s Stephen King, but I saw it at the charity thing today and if you’re gonna write the great American novel— which you are—I figured you could use a little advice from one of the professionals.”

“Huh,” he chirped, his voice with a surprised lilt.

She smirked. “Trust me. Rory told me lots of her favorite authors swear by it. And since you guys both have similarly questionable tastes...”

Jess shot her a teasing glare.

“I was going to give it to you for your birthday in a few days, but you let me borrow your angry music and be a jackass to you today. I decided to make it an early present. On your actual birthday, I’ll give you something by an author you don’t despise.”

He chuckled a little and turned to her, smiling more genuinely than she expected. Bringing his arms back around her waist, he pulled her in for a tight hug and she could hear a muffled “Thank you” through the kisses he pressed to her cheek.

[mewtwowarrior]

Under the Keep Reading is a janky fanfic that got way away from me and contains spoilers for Tron: Legacy and Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance.

I’ve been on a Tron kick lately and yesterday I was reading about the Tron: Legacy world in Dream Drop Distance and came across something that struck me as so fascinating, I had to write about it.

Apparently, at one point in the game, Clu offers to trade Sora Rinzler in exchange for the Keyblade. Sora, of course, says no, but it got me to thinking...

Things to keep in mind:

-I haven’t played Kingdom Hearts in forever and I haven’t started Dream Drop Distance yet, things will definitely be wrong. I read a little bit more, and I know things don’t play out even partially like I’ve written them, but I loved my original idea so much I had to keep it.

-I haven’t seen anything Tron in forever, except for playing some of Tron: Evolution lately, so character voices are probably super wrong

-Ark’s just a placeholder name for now, I don’t have a dedicated Kingdom Hearts OC, except for generic self insert nonsense, so I just put in my Tron OC’s name because it fits.

-Probably need to tweak some of Ark’s dialogue, I don’t really have a solid personality for her yet, but it started coming out as I was writing more of the story.

-I’m not completely happy with parts of this, but overall, I think it’s okay. It needs a better beginning (possibly going back in the past more and fleshing things out) and a better/actual ending (I’m not sure how to resolve the conflict just yet).

-I don’t know what happened here, the story got away from me, I had a rough outline last night, and when I started writing it, details kept coming up more.

-I’ve been wanting to write something about Rinzler for a few days now and this is what I finally hit on as working.

-I probably need to go back and most of the italics I was intending to be there, I wrote it in Notepad, so I didn’t have that option and forgot about it when posting, whoops.

-I feel like I should somehow apologize for this, so I’m sorry.

Part 1/Prequel 1st Draft

Part 2/Original 1st Draft (You are here)

Part 3/Finish 1st Draft

All Combined Revision 1

All Combined Revision 2

All Combined Revision 3

All Combined Revision 4

Circuitous Pathways (Final)

---

Even though this world was different, he was different, Ark had recognized her dear friend.

The problem was, he didn't recognize her at all.

She had called out to him and had hurried closer, but he had walked on by like she wasn't even there.

It had taken some time, but she had finally started getting to the bottom of this mystery.

Someone named Clu had taken over The Grid and seemed to have something to do with the transformation of her friend.

For some reason, he had approached Ark, her friend at his side.

He called him Rinzler.

She knew his name as Tron.

Clu had a solution, because he also had a problem, one that only Ark could solve.

"I've been watching you as you traveled The Grid. Your Keyblade is capable of some amazing things, isn't it?" He gestured to the weapon she had in hand, a movement that made her grip tighter to it.

"There's a...door, that I need open, your Keyblade can do that." He tilts his head ever so slightly, "You have something I want, and I have something you want, right?" He casually gestured towards Rinzler.

"I'll give you Rinzler in exchange for your Keyblade. That way, everybody gets what they want. It's a simple deal."

Clu changes his stance, putting both hands behind his back as he patiently waits for her response.

Ark gasps at the offer, it's one of great magnitude. She was chosen to weild the Keyblade, to fight the darkness and put things right. It wasn't something you gave away lightly.

But, Tron was her friend, and something was wrong with him. He needed her help, and that was something that needed put right.

Before she can consider the offer, Ark has one question, "How do I know you'll keep up your end of the deal."

Clu smirked in response, "I control The Grid and everyone who lives in it. If I wanted to, I could take your Keyblade by force. But, that would cause a lot of trouble and likely the loss of a lot of Programs. I'd much rather skip all of that and make a deal that would save us both the time and trouble. The fact that I haven't already made a move for it should be trust enough."

That wasn't exactly a comforting answer, but it was all that Ark got.

What did he need the Keyblade for? She had a feeling that he wouldn't be forthcoming with the answer, he had already been vague about it. But, it likely wasn't good.

But, could he even use the Keyblade? You had to be chosen for it, right? Plus, he wouldn't know how to use it, at least, not at first. And, he hadn't bargained for Keyblade lessons, just the Keyblade itself. She knew a few of the Keyblade's tricks, in face, there was one that might come in handy for this exact situation...

Ark looked down at her Keyblade, while in the grand scheme of things, she was a rather new Keyblade wielder, but she and it had been through a lot together. How many Heartless had she slain? How many worlds had she helped? What did her future as a Keyblade wielder look like?

She glanced to both Clu and Rinzler, Clu waiting for her answer, and Rinzler standing there cold and motionless, nothing at all like the Tron she remembered.

That was enough to make her waver.

Ark's decision was made before she had realized it herself. She had to save her friend, there wasn't any other choice she could make.

However, she had a plan, and, if it worked, then maybe everything would be okay after all.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, tightening her grip on her Keyblade for the last time.

Ark exhaled and swung her Keyblade up so that she could hold it in both hands, feeling its weight and presence and taking a moment to remember everything that they had been through together.

The moments she takes are quiet and reverent, she's solemn as she takes it all in.

Finally, she looks to Clu with tears starting to well up in her eyes. She knows what she has to say, but the words won't come out.

Clu meets her gaze, "Have you made your decision?"

Ark can only close her eyes and give the slightest of nods.

"Very well." Clu reaches over and takes off Rinzler's Identity Disc. He taps a few things and makes a few changes before attaching it back to his back.

Rinzler himself walks over and turns around to stand next to Ark.

Clu gestures to them both, "Rinzler is yours now, he will only answer to you."

He then holds his hand out to Ark, "Now, for your end of the deal."

Ark gasps softly, she didn't think it would go this quickly, she hadn't even been sure who would make the first move. At this very moment, she had both Tron and her Keyblade, she could make a run for it.

But, a deal was a deal.

And, if Clu was right and he controlled the whole Grid, she wouldn't get far without her Keyblade, even with Tron fighting for her.

Trembling, she adjusted her grasp on her Keyblade so that she was holding the blade in both of her hands and offering the hilt out. She clings to it for one final moment before lowering it to rest right above Clu's outstretched hand.

There's no such hesitation on Clu's part.

He grabs the Keyblade and carefully takes it out of Ark's hands, she gasps and flinches as he does so.

Clu holds the Keyblade up, admiring it, "Magnificent. It's even more impressive than I had realized." With a swift motion, he holds it down at his side, seemingly already comfortable with the weapon.

"Now that our transaction is done, I have things I need to attend to. You're both free to go." He quickly turns and strides off, no longer concerned with either of them.

Ark stands there in shock, never keeping her eyes off the Keyblade, until both it and its wielder are long out of sight.

Finally, she manages to look over at Rinzler, her dear friend she had just sacrificed so much for.

Was it worth it?

Before she had given up the Keyblade, her answer had easily been yes. But, now that the Keyblade was gone, she felt its loss as an ache. There was a part of her missing that was now in the hands of someone else. Someone who would likely do a lot of bad with it.

Tron was safe, yes. Or, Rinzler was. The Tron that she knew didn't seem to be anywhere under that cold black mask. Would she be able to restore his memories?

But, after her shameful action of giving up the Keyblade, did she even want Tron to remember? She knew he'd be disappointed in her, as she was disappointed in herself.

There was still her plan, the one scrap of hope. But, she was no longer confident in it. The act of giving up the Keyblade had been much more serious than she had imagined.

Ark closed her eyes and held out her hand. She'd always been able to summon the Keyblade before, and counting on that fact had been one of the reasons she had made her terrible decision.

She tried to feel for the Keyblade, in that space wherever it went when she wasn't holding it. Reaching out deeper and deeper, through her heart and the light and the darkness.

Ark came up empty. The Keyblade was no longer hers, it did not answer to her any longer. She had given it up, betrayed everything she and it stood for, and it reflected that fact.

She sunk to her knees, sobbing her heart out as the full magnitude of what she had done washed over her.

Ark had given the darkness everything it had wanted. She had handed it this world on a silver platter, and who knew what else. Clu had wanted to open some kind of door, was it the door between worlds? He so easily commanded this world, would he conquer the next and the next and the next?

She sobbed for a long time, while Rinzler, ever silent, stood next to her.

Finally, she wiped her eyes, trying to clear her vision so that she could think.

She had a few things in her pockets, some Potions and supplies she had picked up before travelling. Like everyone else in this world, she had an Identity Disc, which could be used to fight. And, she had Rinzler. He wasn't Tron, not yet, but he was a fierce fighter.

Ark didn't have a lot, but it was better than nothing.

She looked up at Rinzler, "Me and you against The Grid, huh? What do you think of our chances?"

Like always, Rinzler didn't respond, he just stared straight ahead.

Ark laughed coldly, more of a bark than a genuine laugh, "That's what I thought." She picked herself up and dusted off her knees, a reflexive gesture more than anything.

"It doesn't matter what the odds are, I know what we have to do. I'm glad I'm not going to have to do this alone, but I have to wonder, if you were still Tron, would you be proud of me?"

No answer came.

"I didn't think so." She shook her head, "It doesn't matter what Tron thinks now, or you, I guess. I'll deal with that if we get out of this alive."

Ark looked Rinzler up and down, "The Grid's changed a lot since I've last been here. It'll be a lot easier if you still know your way around. I don't know what he did to you to transfer you over to me, but if you still remember..."

She took a deep breath and looked straight at Rinzler, "Take me to Clu. I've got to set this right."

There was a moment where nothing happened, Ark was afraid that Rinzler's memory was wiped again or that he wouldn't actually listen to her. She held her breath until he looked around for a moment, then headed off in a specific direction.

She exhaled and followed Rinzler further into The Grid.

Ark knew that even if they were able to stop whatever plan Clu had, the Keyblade likely wouldn't come back to her. But, that didn't matter. All that mattered was keeping Clu from using it. Once she did that, she could deal with no longer having a Keyblade.

She looked again to Rinzler, who was walking with a single-minded determination. After they stopped Clu, she stil had to find a way to bring back Tron. Like the Keyblade, he probably wouldn't want to have anything to do with her, either, but, she still owed it to him to try and fix him. He had been her friend, one important enough to sacrifice the Keyblade for.

Ark had no idea if they would be successful, but she had to try. That's all she could do.

Her and Rinzler traveled through The Grid and to their, and everyone else's, destinies.

---

Behind the scenes:

My rough notes I hastily wrote in my phone before bed last night:

-Some kinda past friendship -Oh noes Rinzler -Make a trade -Trade with intent to take backsisies -Rinzler ownership transferred -Get away fast -Tries to take backsisies -Nope -lol accidental Bequeathing -oh crap what have i done -maybe it's best Rinzler has no memories because he would be disappointed -Gotta Fix This -No Keyblade, Disc Only, Final Destination

The story doesn’t have a name yet, but I saved it under the name “Meow Meow I Make Bad Keyblade Choices”. (My sister has a saying about a cat that visits, “Meow meow, I make bad choices” and it just seemed to fit.)

Continuation here!

[yume-x-hanabi]

Writer Meta Meme

I decided to do all the questions on this meme :)

1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

My current project is Concubinage, my gaiwin arranged marriage AU. It started as a random, entirely self-indulgent idea, but it has since grown into an actual project. Progress is good, I’ve managed to do bi-monthly updates and I have 30k in my drafts so far.

What I love the most about it is that, since it’s an AU, I’m pretty free to do whatever I want. I don’t have to be too careful of timelines and so on. Plus, in this AU, Gaius and Wingul are able to get closer than they otherwise would, due to the different circumstances. They have their own trials, but it’s different than in the canon timeline.

Another current project is Tales of Xillia Week, but I didn’t get much inspiration for it so I think I’m gonna do meta/headcanon posts more than fics ^^;

2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

I’m looking forward to getting to the part where it’s just domestic fluff haha. It’ll take a while to reach that point though.

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Not just one scene ig, but I’ve been wanting to write one-shots showing how the Chimeriad survived, and... haven’t gotten around to planning it. So it’s pretty low on my project list tbh.

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

I have... a few, but they’re all spoilers for future chapters XD;;

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

I don’t... really identify with characters. I mean, they’re pretty different than me in personality, life and circumstances...

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

I love writing Gaius and Wingul of course, but Agria’s probably the most fun. She’s completely unrestrained, which makes her pretty easy and fun to let loose XD

7. What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

Exposition and worldbuilding XD

I can’t help it, I always need to develop the setting...

8. Is what you like to write the same as what you like to read?

Yes. I would love it if more people wrote gaiwin XD

9. Are you more of a drabble or a longfic kind of writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?

I used to be more of a ficlet writer, but I’m currently doing well with a longfic XD

As for the rest, it varies. I like to plot and outline a bit, but it’s often rather loose and I let inspiration guide me.

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Wait for inspiration time, energy and motivation to align.

11. What do you envy in other writers?

Those who update super long fics every week. How do you do it????

12. Do you want your writing to be famous?

Naah, I’m fine in my corner of fandom. Though I wouldn’t say no to a few more readers, if only to know that the ship still sails xD

13. Do you share your writing online? (Drop a link!) Do you have projects you’ve kept just for yourself?

Yep, I post on AO3. And all projects are meant to be posted one day, but some aren’t simply because they aren’t finished.

14. At what point in writing do you come up with a title?

The beginning, usually, but I might change it

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Tags are easy. Titles and summaries are hard, and I always end up with something boring but heh, as long as they get the meaning across...

16. Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?)

It was last year, but I tried first person pov with my Agria fic, because that fits her well. I’d like to try poetry, maybe.

17. Do you think readers perceive your work - or you - differently to you? What do you think would surprise your readers about your writing or your motivations?

I have no idea tbh. When I write, I like to imagine what my readers will think (especially like when I write funny scenes, I hope they’ll make people laugh), but idk if it’s exactly like I think.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

In Concubinage, I considered adding a plotline where Arst met an ex and had to deal with complicated feelings about it -- being reminded how it was to be in a loving relationship vs political marriage, craving intimacy like he used to have with said ex, etc. I ended up scrapping the idea though.

I also have... two or three possible ways things can play out in a much later plotpoint, and I think I’m pretty sure of which way I’ll go already, but the other possibilities exist. Maybe I’ll make a post about all abandoned plotlines one day...

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)

“And, but, and, but...” XD;

Also characters often find themselves doing something before they knew it...

My style is probably pretty repetitive. I’m not a native speaker, and I feel limited sometimes...

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Concubinage is the result of watching too many sageuk and  taiga drama. No I’m not sorry.

When writing AU, I always like to include “cameo” of the original storyline (for example, as the plot of a book, or treating the canon games as a fractured dimension in Chimeriad Live AU’s, etc)

In Fractured Lives, I try to alternate Wingul and Gaius’ pov. It’s probably gonna bite me in the ass when some plot points work better in one pov but the chapter requires the other. I’ll probably have to come up with some fillers or something...

I have extensive headcanon about Auj Oule’s geography, history etc, which pops up in a lot of (planned) fics. Even if it’s different fics/AU’s (ex. Concubinage vs my pre-game gaiwin project vs the Wingul fic I was writing for the big bang), I reuse the same settings and OC’s. Most of those aren’t written/posted yet so it’s pretty self-contained for now, but if I ever get to completing those projects I hope it won’t be too confusing to readers who don’t follow all the stories...

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)

If I had the art skills, I’d love to turn some of them into comics ;A;

22. Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

Sometimes. Usually because I need to refresh my memory before writing a new chapter XD

23. What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

That project to write the whole pre-game Gaius & Wingul history, that’s something I’ve been wanting since forever. Well, I originally wanted to read it, but since no one’s gonna do it, I started thinking I should write it. It’s gonna be a huge project though...

24. Would you say your writing has changed over time?

I honestly have no idea. I do sense a difference in that it’s much easier for me to just write now; I guess habit helps. But I have no idea if style changed or anything lol.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Filling the tag with my OTP XD

[casual-eumetazoa]

Hello! I love your rant about writing, and I agree with you but wonder if you have any advice for someone who’s getting back into writing after a long break? I write a few chapters of a doctor who fixit when I was 13, then one good omens fic when I was 15, and now I’m almost 17 and I feel awful whenever I write because I feel like my characterisation and dialogue are off. I have such high standards for myself and I fell like I’ve wasted so much time and it’s too late now I’m 17. Any advice?

hey there! thank you for thinking that i am qualified enough to answer this lol. seriously though, i’ll try my best but take this with like a whole tablespoon of salt cause i am just one person with an opinion and experience but no officially published works who probably made around 100$ total from my writing in my entire life,,,,

and also i have never read a “how to write” book ever

so first of all, there is no such thing as too late to be a writer! this isn’t a kind of thing like sports or music where age supposedly matters. in fact many famous writers didn’t even start writing till they were in their 20s, 30s, 40s, etc, you get the picture. also things like language ability and vocab richness only reach their peak around 25-30 years of age so your writing will continue to improve naturally as you get older

really the only thing that matters with writing is practice and feedback. the more time you spend writing, the better you will get at it. it’s a bit trickier with feedback cause it is not always helpful, but honestly self-evaluation plays a big role in my experience as well. basically the more experience you get at writing, the better you will be able to judge your own stuff and know how to fix it. at some point you will look back at the stories you wrote several years prior and will know exactly what’s wrong with it and how to fix it. but getting good feedback can greatly accelerate this.

so basically the best writing advice anyone can give is to keep writing! and then the only question is what you can do to write more.

for me, the two important things have always been journaling and writing for myself. journaling is pretty self-explanatory and it has some other benefits, like benefits for mental health and general well-being, so it’s a win-win. i’ve been journaling consistently since i was 14 and i often go back to old entries for a kick of nostalgia, and also to see how my writing ability and style have developed over the years.

i think the problem a lot of people have with journaling is that they find it boring or pointless, like i regularly have weeks when nothing interesting at all happens to me and there are no powerful emotions to process, and writing about what i had for breakfast just doesn’t cut it. that’s why i use my journals more for just writing down random thoughts that occur to me, as well as for writing down random bits of stories. most of those bits just stay in the journals forever but sometimes i find bits of plot or lines of dialogue in my journals that i later use for other stories.

the second thing is just writing stuff for yourself, and allowing yourself to write something bad. like, i’ve written over a million words (and no this is not a number i’ve pulled out of my ass, i’ve actually added it up once for laughs) of horrible self-insert fanfic, most of which has barely (if any) plot, and i know it’s bad so i don’t show it to anyone, but i still really enjoy writing it because i am writing for myself.

it is actually an important writing skill, to disengage your inner critic, because that is the mindset you should always have when writing the first draft. first drafts are always horrible! they only become good when you edit them, typically many times if it’s a lengthy story, and that is when the inner critic becomes useful. 

there’s a piece of writing advice that goes something like “write drunk, edit sober”, and there are many ways to achieve that “drunk” state of mind without alcohol (though i do write better after a pint of beer, ngl.........). mostly it’s down to achieving so-called “flow”, which a lot of writers just call inspiration, and it’s a state in which you are doing something without thinking. if you’re neurodivergent or know the lingo, the extreme version of this is hyperfocus - a state in which you even lose the sense of time and can keep writing (for example) for hours on end

writing bad stories for your own enjoyment is a great way to master this. you just sit down and type up whatever comes into your head and that’s it. you don’t even have to read it back, and you definitely don’t have to edit it. since it’s for your eyes only, you can just focus on having fun with it and learning how to freewrite and reach that flow state if you can and benefit from it

another absolutely crucial skill for writing is reading. a lot of reading. and it doesn’t have to be serious literature, just read as much as possible of whatever you enjoy and consider good writing. cause thing is, “good” and “bad” are arbitrary, and you can’t please everyone, so just find the stuff you personally love and try to understand what it is about it that makes you enjoy it so much

there is also no harm in imitating for practice, though this is probably more helpful for developing style. in terms of characterization and dialogue, i think it’s more important to just read other stuff and make mental notes on what works and what doesn’t.

also for dialogue, i find that it really helps to read it out loud. actually that helps with writing anything but for dialogue in particular; like, often i read my stuff out loud to myself after the first edit and sometimes i will read it wrong cause my brain autocorrects stuff and that’s how i know what to fix

for characterization, i’d guess that the easiest way to fix it is to have a beta reader or a friend who is willing to help. feedback is great for any writing aspect as well, as long as it’s good feedback. i find that personally i learn the best from being pointed out what did work, because i am usually aware of what didn’t but just don’t know how to fix it at that point. 

also imho at least characterization is one of the things you can take certain liberties with in fanfic, cause everyone has their own interpretation of characters and as long as you don’t stray too far from canon, readers usually don’t mind minor deviations.

so that’s about all i could think of and oof this is a lot of text! 

tl;dr:

1) there is no such thing as “too old to start writing” or “too old to get back into writing”; all that matters is practice

2) practice is just writing, as much as you can

3) possible ways to achieve this is journaling (both about your life and as a scrapbook storage for thoughts, ideas, and story bits) and writing stuff just for yourself, and allowing it to be bad

4) “write drunk, edit sober” - first drafts always suck, so don’t overthink it, just write down whatever comes to your mind

5) reading as much as possible, and reading books in the genres you enjoy and want to write in is very important

6) reading out loud can work for improving dialogue

7) getting good feedback, especially imho getting feedback of what worked and what is really good in your story, can really help as well

i also have a note pinned to my blackboard titled “rules of writing”, which i have as a reminder of sorts, and if anyone wants i can share that as well