#what would give me motivation to write? ao3 validation probably. what would get me said validation? actually FINISHING and POSTING something

[camgoloud]

me, to me: how about we put some words on the paper, hmm. how about we just put some fucking WORDS on the goddamn PAPER even if they’re shitty ones it doesn’t matter please just DO something

[pocketfulofrecs]

ChilianXianzi was one of the first authors I (Dee) read in this fandom and These Mortal Treasures was one of the first fics I read. ChilianXianzi has a great writing style and you’re fully immersed into the story she’s weaving. We are really looking forward to anything she writes in the future.

She has written 39k+ words on 7 works, both mdzs and cql canon. You can find her @chilianxianzi on Tumblr.

Her fics:

To Not Vainly Break Branches - [mature | 3k | wip | emperor LWJ/empress WWX]

For Safekeeping Purposes - [mature | 2.9k | crime boss/sugar daddy LWJ]

The Shadows of My Old Places, Falling Across the Moats - [teen | 8.4k | QHJ goes to Burial Mounds]

To Start A Bridge From A Single Log - [teen | 4.7k | epistolary]

These Mortal Treasures (our post) - [teen | 9.3k | dragonji]

They say - [teen | 3.1k | LWJ is troubled by rumors]

Proximity to Knowledge (our post) - [teen | 7.2k | WWX protection squad]

Dee’s favourite: These Mortal Treasures, definitely. It is one of the first fics I read when I entered this fandom. It is also one that planted the idea of writing a dragon fic. I really love it. The story, the pacing, LWJ’s response to WWX, everything.

Ju’s favourite: Proximity to Knowledge! I love genius WWX, and I love WWX and his ducklings, and this fic gives me both so well! Jingyi pov is so much fun, and all the juniors doing whatever they can to be close to WWX and learn from him just makes me so happy. It’s a really good fic to read when you’re feeling down.

The Interview:

Q. When did you start writing fics? Did you have fandoms before this one?

A. I think around 2006-ish? I used to write character and quest mods for Baldur's Gate 2 before I went through the Knights of the Old Republic fandom and the whole ouvre of Bioware's games, although Dragon Age was the fandom I was most involved in and wrote the most for. There was of course a Harry Potter phase amidst all that, as one does, but also a good deal of Sailor Moon.

Q. What made you start writing for MDZS?

A. Definitely the worldbuilding and the issues and themes raised in canon. In a way, MDZS is the complete package of family issues, class issues, communal responsibilities, my childhood love for Wuxia/Xianxia, and the increasingly dangerous and volatile court of public opinion - which is also reflected very prominently in the MDZS fandom proper.

And let's not forget the Wangxian, because they're just a couple that works not just because they look good together (They do) and have a deep love for each other (Hell yeah they also do), but they also work perfectly together because they are constantly, stubbornly striving for the same values in a world where such values often come second after ideas of honor and performative righteousness.

Q. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

A. It's an ongoing one and it's called "To Start a Bridge From A Single Log" where I wanted to explore the possible uses of Cultivation outside of the super insular scope of the cultivation world and how that would impact both communities, because all of these hogging of spiritual resources, I cannot stand it. But it also has ridiculous amounts of Wangxian mutual pining so there's that, it's just all my favorite things piled up together.

Q. What’s your favourite type of fics to read?

A. Oh, it really depends on my mood at the moment like that's why rec blogs like this is just so *mwah chef's kiss* because there's just a ready selection of different stuff for different occasions! In the MDZS fandom, I do gravitate towards fics about Wei Wuxian finding a home and his place in the world outside of his Jiang upbringing, or fics where Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian just work together realizing their mutual vow, being a good role model for the juniors.

Q. What’s your favourite comment? Or type of comment?

A. Any comment is a favorite, honestly! Writing stories are just like talking to people right, so being answered is always nice :D I suppose whatever the comment is, it's just always really interesting and heartening to see that parts of what you're talking about resonates with other people, enough to get an answer in words :)

Q. What motivates you to write?

A. I think I'm inherently a very angry person. Like literally the way I set my career path had been to find what things made me the most angry and do my best to fix it, and I feel like that's also my approach to writing. I would tackle something I think is a problem or a question that makes me angry and try to find my way through it via the characters and worldbuilding - And even if in the end the problems don't get solved or the questions are not answered, there would still be dialogue incited and there would still be the process of seeing said problem from many perspectives as writing (and reading!) encourages you to do.

Q. Who’s your favorite author?

A. The authors that really stayed with me are the Shoujo mangakas of the late 80s and the 90s, because they gave me examples on so many different ways to express myself outside of the one-note "girls should be like this" sentiments that were still somewhat prevalent when I grew up. My favorite has to be Kyoko Hikawa, though. Other writers would probably be Margaret Atwood and Nnedi Okorafor because of the way they talk about many issues through stories so they're not directly talking about it but still kinda blatantly talking about it.

Q. What is your favorite trope to read and/or write?

A. Curtain fics! There's just something inherently telling about how a character approaches the everyday and its logistics, because in a way these everyday things around them are also the things that molded and shaped them to be who they are.

Q. Do you have any advice for new authors?

A. I guess start small? I used to teach piano and after all the godawful finger exercises and endless scales it's always SO nice and validating for the kids (and adults!) to be able to complete an actual song, even if it's just a tiny piece of twelve bars. And I feel like it's a bit like that with writing too, the joy of just like, finishing something with your own hands and then having people hear/read it is such a great motivator to do more. Like we could totally start with super simple goals and as we go on, the goals or the objectives could become bigger or more diverse.

Q. What do you think is the most important element in writing? Plot, characterization, relationship?

A. I really think it depends on what kind of experience you're looking for your readers to have? For me, some plots or concepts are so engaging that you'd be fine even if the characters are switched to another fandom, and some fics have such good characterization that it happening in limbo would be fine with me, that kind of thing. I guess it's also fun to experiment with each pressure point and see which feelings and reactions from readers (and yourself!) you gain from each you love the most and how to combine each element in a portion that works out for you.

~

Check out their stories on ao3 and remember…

Comments and kudos feed the author’s soul.

[awormonastring]

Office Hours- Professor Aizawa x Student

Summary: Life as a college student left you bored. Your history professor, Aizawa Shouta gives you just what you need, but you get a little too close.

Word count: 6077

CW: Professor x Student Relationship 

ao3

College life was basic. Wake up, go to school, come home, do homework, sleep. It was a basic cycle, but you made the most out of it by getting good grades. Except recently, something was up. It was your third year of college and you still didn’t have a major. With all your friends being in the process of getting ready to graduate, you were still left confused. This made you feel alone and unfulfilled. Ultimately, you just felt unmotivated with school. What’s the point of trying if you’re just going nowhere? So you started to miss more of your classes, assignments, which led to your grades plummeting. Your history class was a class you genuinely enjoyed but you just never felt like going. To avoid getting kicked out from school (which would upset your parents), you decided to just show up to your classes.

You forced yourself to wake up early, with your class starting at 10am, and decided to do your makeup and actually make an effort to get ready (just as a little motivation boost). You headed to your 10am science class and actually made it on time, which made you feel proud. After about 2 hours your class ended and you had about an hour long break until your last class of the day which was your history class. You decided to get some coffee to wake you up a bit since you felt extremely tired. A part of you still felt unmotivated, but you convinced yourself to push through.

It was 2pm and you were now in your last class of the day. You kept on giving yourself little motivators to make yourself pay attention and try:

“C’mon Y/N. It’s the last class of the day. After this you can go home and reward yourself with a nap. It’ll go by quickly. You like this subject plus this professor is good looking. At least let that motivate you” the little voice in your head said.

Sitting next to the door, you were the first one who knew when your professor was here. You could hear his footsteps and smell his cologne that left an invisible trail leading to the door. He walked into the room holding a coffee cup and black messenger bag. His long black hair was tied back into a low bun. He wore a light blue dress shirt, dark grey pants, and dark brown shoes. Damn, he actually was really good looking. It was something you never noticed since you were always just focused on your work and left class as soon as it ended. You didn’t even know his name. It started with an “A” but you weren’t really sure what it was. To your luck, one of your classmates raised his hand to ask a question. Professor Aizawa was his name. The name easily flowed off your tongue as you mouthed it. Getting your attention, pieces of paper being passed your way.

Oh shit.

It turns out that today your first paper of the semester was due, and you had no idea. As Professor Aizawa came by to collect the papers, he could sense your gloomy energy.

“Y/N,” he spoke which caused your head to look up at him, “Can you stay after class? I have to talk to you about something?”

“Yeah.” You responded. Great. Was he going to drop you from the class for missing too many days? Probably. The duration of the class consisted of you bouncing your leg, clicking your pen, wallowing in anxiousness. You know you were probably bothering the rest of your classmates, but you weren’t a person of confrontation. Class finally ended. You waited for the rest of your classmates to leave before approaching Professor Aizawa’s desk.

Waiting with sweaty palms, Professor Aizawa looked up at you while he was in the middle of writing. He placed the tip of his pen to his mouth, thinking about what to say.

“Y/N. I’ve recently noticed that you haven’t been showing up to class.” You could sense the disappointment in his face, which was weird. Why was he so disappointed about you not showing up to class? He’s never even spoken to you, let alone even acknowledged you until now. After taking a long inhale, you respond.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I just… I’m just going through one of those times. There’s just a lot going on with me.”

“I understand. But you always have to make the most out of your education, you aren’t paying all this tuition for nothing,” He gently laughed, “Anyways, I wanted to let you know about your recent missing assignments but my next class is about to start. How about I give you my card and you come to my office hours. This is gonna be my last class so if you’re free in about an hour you can come and we can figure out what to do about these assignments.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out his card.

The card reads: Shouta Aizawa. Department of Social Sciences. Head of the History Department.

His phone number and email are also being shown. You looked up at him.

“Okay. Sounds good! I can wait an hour. Thank you.”

You left the classroom feeling a bit of a relief. You honestly expected him to just drop you from the class. But the way he was so nice with you made you feel relaxed. It made you feel like someone could see the better in you. You headed to the library to take a nap before this meeting.

-

-

-

Walking around the social science building, you had no idea where you were going. The fact that the social science building consisted of 3 levels definitely made things more complicated for you. His office was located in 118O. You weren’t anywhere near that. “142” the nearest room showed. You decided to just give up and figure everything out tomorrow.

From a short distance, you could see Professor Aizawa walking the other direction. You thought about following him but felt like you would seem creepy if you did that. He turned around and noticed you staring at him.

“Hello Y/N. Are you lost?” he remarked. God how weird did you look just standing there? Your face flushed red.

“Hi Professor Aizawa. I’m sorry. I was just trying to find your office but uh, this building is a lot bigger than I expected” You tried laughing to ease awkwardness.

“No worries. Just follow me. My office is a bit hard to find since it’s sort of isolated.” He walked a bit in front of you while telling you about his previous class and how half of the class didn’t show up. After about 5 minutes, the two of you arrived at his office. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his keys and unlocking the door. You were surprised to find that his office was extremely clean. From his appearance, you assumed his office was going to be a little messy. His office consisted of random diplomas, a stack of papers on his desk along with a computer, black couch, basically everything that would be in your typical office. He glanced at you, “Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable.” He sat at his computer, typing away.

You looked around at his office to find something to help start conversation since the silence in the room made you feel awkward. Except, he didn’t have any photos. No family, friends, nothing. It made you feel kind of bad for him. Imagine how lonely he must be.

Finally saying something, the professor started, “Looking at your current grade- well, you’re at a D+ right now. C’mon Y/N, I expected better of you. You started off my class doing exceptional work on all my assignments. But now, you are so behind.”

“I know. I just haven’t been doing good these past couple of weeks. It’s just a lot going on not even with my life ju-”

“It’s alright. If you want to explain what has been going on, I’m here to listen. I just want you to do better. I don’t like seeing my students struggle, especially if I know what they are capable of. You can talk to me about what you are going through, only if you’re comfortable” His eyes glued to his computer then made eye contact with you for a brief moment. After a few seconds, he ran his fingers, pushing the strands on his face back, going back to viewing the screen.

You felt conflicted. You wanted to tell him about what you were going through. But, you didn’t feel like your struggles were valid. Should you be given another shot at your assignments when you didn’t show up to class for almost a month? Nothing was going on in your life, so what could you even say?

You decided to just say what was on your mind. Being honest was the only chance you had at passing this class, especially since you wanted to transfer soon. You stopped playing with your fingers and fixed your posture.

“Well, recently I’ve just been overthinking. I’ve kind of lost all my motivation for school. I don’t even know why. I’m assuming it’s because I still don’t have a major while all my friends are already transferring, graduating, and planning out their futures. While I’m just stuck. I feel like I’m not going anywhere.” The man sitting across from you, with his full attention. You didn’t even know when he stopped paying attention to his computer. He responds.

“That’s completely understandable”

“What?” That caught you off guard. You were so used to most teachers invalidating their students’ feelings.

“I mean. I can absolutely see how that would affect your mindset for school. How about we figure out a plan to get you right back on track.” His hands clasped together showed that he was genuinely interested in helping you. Staring at his hands, you noticed his hands were really big, his veins immediately grabbing your attention. This caused your face to go red. You could tell he enjoyed working out in his free time.

“Sounds good.” you smiled. You were still confused as to why he was helping you but he was able to get your grade up plus he was attractive so it served as eye candy while he worked.

After countless questions about your interests, the two of you were able to figure out a potential major for you which made you feel a lot more motivated. You felt like you were finally moving forward rather than continuing to be stagnant. Two hours had now passed and you had to go home. As you packed your notebook and pencil bag, the man invited you to another potential meeting.

“Y/N if you ever need help with figuring out how to go about your major just let me know and we could help figure out a plan.” He stated. His eagerness to help you really meant a lot, so why not visit him again?

“Yeah. That actually sounds really good. I’d love to plan out my schedule.” You responded.

“Great! You can just come by whenever. No need to make an appointment… that is if you can find my office on your own.” He teased which caused you to jokingly roll your eyes. “Anyways, I’ll see you Y/N.”

“Thank you for your help Professor Aizawa!” You left his office and made your way home. Not only feeling accomplished but also feeling a weird feeling, almost like butterflies.

-

-

-

The next day, you decided to go by his office to see if he was there. You weren’t planning on having another meeting with Professor Aizawa since you didn’t want to seem weird, but you still wanted to see him since you only had class with him 2 days a week.

You walked into the Social Sciences building and headed to his office, only wanting to casually walk by to get a glance of the professor before heading home. Walking up the stairs, you made your way and pretended to casually stroll by… like you didn’t purposely walk across your campus just to get a glimpse of him. A part of you didn’t even know why you were even doing this. Another part of you just wanted to see what he was wearing, hear his voice, you wanted him to acknowledge you. These thoughts in your head turned into a full on day dream and you dozed off as you walked, not noticing that you had walked by without even looking into his office.

“Fuck” You thought. You missed your chance at seeing him. Should you walk back and potentially get caught walking around his office or should you just give up and go home?

You turned around and headed back towards his office. If he noticed you walking by his office again you could just say you forgot something. But why would he even ask? Your mind started to race with possible scenarios that could occur. Suddenly, you noticed a figure walking towards you. Of course, it was Professor Aizawa heading home.

“Hi Y/N. What are you doing here? There aren’t any classes going on right now?”

Embarrassment flowed throughout your whole body. You weren’t even sure of what to tell him since you were on the third floor of the Social Science Building where all the offices were located. Most of the professors had gone home. You cleared your throat.

“Um- I was just…” God what could you even say? “I just wanted to see if you were in your office- to see if we could plan out my schedule for next semester. You know since you said you could help me” You awkwardly laughed.

“Oh.”

“But I see you’re done for the day so we can just plan ano-”

“No it’s fine. I don’t mind staying later. I’m not busy this evening” He interrupted.

The two of you walked to his office. You felt a little guilty since you’re the reason that he has to stay on campus even longer.

“I’m sorry for making you stay later” You apologized.

“No don’t be sorry. I don’t mind at all. Listen. My job is to help my students. I enjoy this.”

You had no idea why that made your heart rate increase. Were you starting to develop feelings for your professor? You were so confused but you pushed it aside to take in the time you were spending. Admiring every feature of his face. From his man bun, to his 5 o’clock shadow, everything about Professor Aizawa captivated you.

After about an hour, you finally had all your classes for the next 2 semesters planned out. You planned on taking 12 units per semester which included general ed classes along with classes for your major. Grinning at your professor as you put away your paperwork into your backpack, you felt so much appreciation for him. In just 2 days, you were able to not only pick a major, but also plan out your semesters. And it was all thanks to your history professor.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate you going all this way for me. I really don’t deserve all this honestly. But it means a lot that you are so willing to help me.”

“Don’t sweat it. Seeing you grow is enough of a reward to me. It’s why I do what I do.” He was packing his things as well.

“Well, I’ll see you in class! Thank you so much again for all your help,” waving goodbye as you walked out.

When you approached the door of the Social Science building you noticed that it was pouring rain outside. You had no idea it was even going to rain so you definitely were not prepared. Conveniently, you also planned to walk home since you couldn’t afford an uber home. You decided to try calling your mom, no answer. Friends? The two friends you had both worked. While you were waiting and trying to call your friends, Professor Aizawa approached the door to go to his car.

“Oh my bad.” He could sense that there was something wrong with you which caused him to make a second take to you. “You have a way home right?” Oh no. Were you better off lying to him or being honest?

“Um, yeah I wasn’t aware it was gonna rain today and I was planning on walking home. I don’t know why no one is answering to pick me up.”

“If you want I could give you a ride home. Just so you don’t have to walk home in the rain,” the keys wiggling between his fingers called your attention.

“Oh god haha. I feel bad.”

“I don’t mind. I’d rather drive you home then have you walking home by yourself in the rain.”

“If you can, I would appreciate it.”

“Alright. Let’s go.” He declared.

Walking to the parking lot while sharing an umbrella, you wondered what kind of car your professor would have. Your curiosity was put on hold when you heard a car ring. There it was. You weren’t someone who knew much about cars but the car had a small logo in front. The top of the license plate read: Mercedes Benz. The car shimmered with a clean grey tint. The car itself looked expensive. You both entered the car and headed to your home.

The car ride was about half an hour. It was also very silent. Professor Aizawa occasionally made small talk but due to the fact that it was pouring rain he became too focused on the road. The car was filled with the sound of the radio playing top hits. From time to time, you would glance at him. You noticed how mad he looked when he drove which made you flustered. His left thumb was placed on his lip as his right hand steered the wheel. Whenever someone cut him off, he would tug on his tie to let out his frustration. Furrowed eyebrows and random moments where he would clear his throat as if he was about to say something but never did. You noticed the details about the professor, such as when he would look back, he’d place his arm around your seat which always made you hold your breath with a clear blush on your face.

Professor Aizawa finally arrived at your house. You watched his hand as he moved the gear shift to ‘P.’ He rubbed his five o clock shadow before turning to you. You were lost in him.

“This is your house right?” He questioned which broke you from your trance.

“Oh! Yeah. This is my house. Thank you again for taking me home. I’ll try giving you gas money next time I see you”

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it. Your house is on the way to mine so I don’t lose anything from taking you home. Let me know if you ever need me to drop you off again okay?”

“Sure thing. Thank you again Professor Aizawa!”

“Call me Aizawa. I’m not on the job right now so feel free to just call me Aizawa. Have a good one.” He laughed. You exited his car and walked to your door, noticing that he was waiting until you entered your home which made your heart warm.

When you entered your room, you immediately threw yourself on your bed. An exhale left you and had you feeling a sense of satisfaction. Your whole body felt warm and you weren’t sure why. You felt so many feelings. You constantly wanted to be around Aizawa. A part of you felt disappointed that he would never send you a text message everyday, let alone even feel the same way about you. The other part of you felt a sense of bliss that you were even in his car. Another part of you felt weird and wrong for having these wants and feelings towards your professor. You pressed your thighs together to give yourself the pleasure your teacher would never be able to, imagining his touch granting you all of your deepest desires as a melody of his name left your lips.

-

-

-

The next couple of weeks consisted of you going to Aizawa’s office after your classes. The first couple of days, you would make up random excuses to visit him like homework help, directions, small things like that. As time passed on, you just started to go with no excuse. The two of you would talk for hours about random things. He would even go as far as buy you food. The two of you would eat while laughing about life stories each of you would tell. He would take you home everyday, even teaching you how to drive. The man would constantly tease you for not knowing how to drive.

“So let me get this. You’re 21 and can’t drive?” The man laughed as he took the last bite of his burrito bowl.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “you know I kinda have a fear of driving.”

“Want me to teach you?”

The more you hung out with him, the more you fell head over heels over him. You felt like your feelings were wrong. Was it bad to like someone 10 years older than you? Someone who already had his life figured out while you were still trying to figure out yours? These questions kept you up at night. The divide within your thoughts had you torn. No one could fulfill you like he could.

-

-

-

You entered his office one Thursday evening. It was the end of the week and the end of finals. You were completely exhausted. When you entered Aizawa’s office, things were different. The couch and your usual seat were gone. You stared at the professor in confusion.

“Oh… are you busy today?” You questioned.

“No. Oh! The chairs- I just needed to get my furniture cleaned since the semester is about to end but I guess they still haven’t finished cleaning.” He kept his eyes on the computer.

“Should I leave?” You were so confused. He was acting so weird.

“Why?” He continued typing, completely unfazed.

“Well there’s nowhere for me to sit…”

“Why don’t you just sit on the floor, princess” Immediately, a look of regret spread on his face. He was so focused typing he didn’t realize what he said, “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to call you that.” Both of your faces were covered in a bright shade of red. You tried to ease the discomfort in the room. “Oh it’s okay I actually like it! It’s cute!” Too honest. That was probably the wrong thing to say. Aizawa moved his focus from his computer to you. His eyes could see the longing you felt for him. His eyes knew that you wanted him.

“Oh really?” He playfully said, “In that case, I don’t think a princess should be sitting on the ground like that.”

“Well there’s nowhere else to sit.” You could sense he was flirting with you. Did he want you as much as you wanted him, or was it all in your head?

“Well… why don’t you sit on my lap?” His voice mocked you. The energy in the room had completely shifted. It felt like pure ecstasy. Was this real? Or just another one of your dreams? One of those dreams of your professor that left you absolutely soaked every single time you woke up. There was no way this was reality.

Aizawa had rolled his chair back, waiting for you to join him. His hands hanging from the arm rests, the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows which made your breathing faster. You wanted those hands on you so bad. The urge for pleasure ran all over your body.

“What the fuck” was all you could say. It caught you off guard that he would say something like that. You were so used to seeing him be professional that seeing this side of him threw you off, but you loved this new side of him. And you wanted to have some fun with him…

“Maybe if you would’ve had a chair I would’ve had an actual place to sit..but whatever I guess” You talked back. You knew this would bother him since he was so used to being in charge as a teacher.

“Ahhh so that’s how it’s going to be” which was followed by a sinister giggle and dark stare. Your body was entangled by Aizawa’s eyes. He didn’t even have to lift a finger and you were already walking towards him. He had you on an imaginary leash that you loved. When you were close enough he yanked your arm and placed you on his lap, looking away from him. You could feel yourself getting wet for him.

”Since you want to act like a little brat with me, how about I show you how things are done here? You must’ve gotten a little too comfortable with me so let me put you in your place, princess” He whispered into the crook of your neck, which released a whine in you.

“Look at how wet you are for me, all I have to do is whisper in your ear and you’re dripping for me, I can feel it,” He was right. Aizawa didn’t have to touch you and you were a mess for him. Even in class, whenever you noticed Aizawa glance at you, you would always tighten your thighs just to get some sort of small release. His whisper in your ear made you so weak and he knew that, “So why doesn’t my princess destress herself. I can't even imagine how stressful school must be for her.” His hands were wrapped around you, gently brushing against your bare inner thigh. You always wore skirts everyday in hopes that he could put his hands up your legs and it was finally happening.

“Hnnng” All you could do was whine. Nothing was being done, so how could you already feel so much?

“C’mon. Why don’t you grind on my thigh? I can tell by the way you’ve been looking at me that you’ve wanted this for so, so long. Go on- Here why don’t I help you” The man proceeded to grab your hips and gyrate them. Moving your body in circles, you whimpered cries of pleasure. His toned thigh against your throbbing sex while his hands gripped you. His hands progressively got tighter around your waist and he began using his tongue on your neck to follow the gyrating motion from your hips. All you could do was grasp his hands and cry. You felt so good but you had to keep your voice down since the two of you were in his office and you were scared others would hear.

“God, I can feel how wet you are for me. C'mon let me hear you moan for me, don’t be shy” He nibbled on your ear as he moved his hand down your body and underneath your skirt. He chuckled under his breath as he felt how wet you were for him. Aizawa gave you some time to get used to his touch before inserting two fingers inside of you. An audible “mmm” could be heard and felt from him. He thought it was so hot how much you wanted him. He noticed all those times in class when you would move your eyes to his bulge whenever he was teaching, or when you would stare at his hands when he drove. He wanted to keep you wanting him.

He removed his fingers from your pussy and stuck them in your mouth so you could taste yourself. Moving his fingers, you gagged with watery eyes.

“Look at you. You’re a sloppy fucking mess for me. I can't wait to have my cock in you.” He moaned in your ear before moving you to the ground. The man moved you to the ground and demanded you to strip for

“Strip for me like the slut you are.” He walked back to his seat and watched you fully clothed as you slowly removed your clothes. He didn’t move at all, his eyes stayed glued on you. Meanwhile, you couldn’t even stare at him. You focused your attention to your clothes. After finally taking off everything, he made you crawl to him. A part of you was embarrassed at how much control this man had over you. But the other half of you had dreamt of this for so long. You wanted him to control you so bad.

You slowly unzipped his pants and could feel his erect cock spring out. A trail of precum leaked from it. You took the tip into your mouth as your tongue swirled along his sensitive part which stirred up a groan from the man. After a few minutes, you fully took him into your mouth. You felt pressure on the back of your head. Aizawa had placed his hand on the back of your head to keep you on his entire cock. This elicited a gag from you.

“Damn you would think with the way you dress you’d know how to do this by now. No worries, princess I’ll teach you how” He ridiculed before grabbing your hair and moving your face to his shaft, taking him whole. He started to move your face up and down his cock as he fucked your face. The back of your throat burned and your vision was blurred, however through all that, this was the most fulfilled you’ve been. After so many dreams of Aizawa, you finally had him. Your fantasy was being granted. He came in your mouth, telling you to open your cum filled mouth. He grabbed your face as he spit in your mouth. You swallowed before thanking him.

“Thank you, sir” You breathed. He grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you for the first time. Lips brushed against each other as the two of you mumbled sweet nothings. Aizawa stroked himself as he seductively spoke in between your lips.

“Well since there’s no chair I guess the only place your slutty ass can sit is on my cock, huh princess?” He sat on his chair, his hand around your waist. His hair was down and strands covered his face. A look of sin was conveyed on his face. He wasn’t just your professor anymore. At this moment, Aizawa embodied corruption. This was a completely different side of him that no one would ever get to see. Nobody except you. This realization scared you but it also excited you.

You joined him on the chair and slowly lowered yourself onto his cock. You let out a harsh cry as soon as his tip was inside of you before quickly covering your mouth.

“I want you to fuck yourself using my cock, you understand?” He purred into your ear which sent chills down your spine.

“Y-yes sir” You stuttered before slowly lifting yourself up. Up & down- the motion that would drive you mad. Even the slow speed you were going at wasn’t enough to have your legs trembling.

“Ah..fuck” You moaned.

“That’s a good girl. Like that.” Aizawa murmured. He had sat back and admired you, letting you go at your own pace. Occasionally, the man would pet your hair and caress your face.

After some time, impatience grew for Aizawa. He wanted to fuck you so hard. It took everything in him to let you go at your own slow pace. But his animalistic arousal was getting the best of him. He put his hand around your neck as he put you down on his desk.He buried his cock in you. The pace progressively got faster and faster. You weren’t used to this at all.

“Aizawa fuck. Too fast. Please keep going” You begged. Stars started to form in your vision but the feeling of euphoria you felt ran down to your sweet spot. Your natural instinct in you caused you to place your hands on his chest to move him away due to the overwhelming sensation you felt. In response, he stopped. He grabbed your hands that were on his chest and moved them on above your head. Aizawa undid his maroon tie and proceeded to bind your hands together.

“Your hands were getting in the way.” His raspy voice let out an almost menacing chuckle, as if he was now mocking you. You were in his complete control, which is something that brought out a raunchy side of him. It was something that made you absolutely weak. You wanted to submit to him.

He continued to thrust in and out of you again. Eventually, he was going at a fast pace again. His fuck had your mind blank. All you could let out were whimpers and pleads, while he grunted in your ear.

“C’mon I wanna hear you moan louder for daddy. You're daddy’s princess, let me hear you. Here let me help you” The man moved his hand to your sweet spot and proceeded to move his fingers in circles. By this point, you were practically screaming at all the pleasure he was giving you. You didn’t even care if others could hear your moans. You wanted him to keep going so bad, but could your body handle it? You opened your eyes for a brief second and caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes. His black eyes were full of impurity as he watched you go from his innocent student to his lewd fucktoy.

“I'm not gonna let you cum until you’re begging for me. Why don’t you ask me if you can cum?” his hand on your clit continued to move in circles, picking up speed.

“Ah~ Fuck. I want to cum” You moaned. The man grabbed your jaw in an aggressive manner and moved his face close to yours.

“That’s not what I fucking said. I told you to ask. Guess you’re not good at listening to directions huh.” He said as he sternly looked into your tear-filled eyes.

“P-please- Can I please cum?~” You cried out. You ached for release.

Aizawa began pulling your hips down to him, sinking his fingers into them. His cock could be felt pulsating in you as he quickly entered you. Sparks flew within his office. The room was filled with lust and you could feel yourself rising to release. Both of your breaths got faster and you felt yourself let go. Aizawa had released himself on your stomach. You stayed on his desk and he sat in his chair, the two of you catching your breaths and coming back to earth.

“Here.” Aizawa handed you a cold water bottle. “Are you okay?” The concern in his voice made you finally come back to your reality. He helped you clean you up.

“I’m fine.” You felt more than fine. Your mind had just returned from a state of euphoria that you never thought you were ever going to get. You secretly pinched your thigh just to see if you could have been dreaming. This was no dream. This was just a reality you never expected.

“I wasn’t too rough on you right? I guess I got too carried away.”

“No! Don’t worry about it! I was good the whole time.” You reassured him.

The look in his eyes was different now. They gleamed in the light and had a sweet look. The two of you got dressed again. You made your way to the door of the building, before Aizawa rushed to grab your arm. The man cleared his throat once you turned his direction.

“Do you uh- want to eat something before you go? If you want, I can drive you home.” His cheeks became a bright pink, which made you giggle. The fact that he was acting so shy now after everything that the two of you just did.

“Oh. Sure”

“Alright. I’ll order us some Chipotle. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good.” You smiled at him as the two of you walked back to his office. You guys would end up spending the rest of the evening chatting and embracing each other’s company, literally. The rest of the day would be spent in Aizawa’s arms and you would cherish the warmth of his arms around you, feeling safe. 

[andypantsx3]

hi!! i've been wanting to get into fic writing, and ur one of my top fav writers on this app so i just wanted to ask for ur opinion hshshhs specifically on finding the confidence to put ur writing out there; i've always been very sensitive of showing people my works, and this'll be my first time writing fics EVER so yeahhh

also what are your thoughts on getting interactions/growing your blog? or finding moots! i don't really spend /that/ much time on here but i really wanna start writing fics and this is the platform i'm most comfy with!!

hope ur having a great day andie!! 💖💖

Omg first of all hellll yeah!!!! I'm so excited for you to share your work, this community is generally a very lovely place filled with very lovely people, and there's no better place for you to share your work imho.

I don't have super solid advice as I have kind of fallen into a lot of this by mistake, rather than worked concretely towards anything (except growing my writing style--that I have worked hard on). But I will try to answer as best I can!! I hope these answers are helpful!!

1. Getting confidence to share your work

In terms of dredging up the confidence to share, my own personal drive was the isolation during the beginning of the pandemic, where I was dying for a connection other than my roommates lol. I wanted to connect with people who loved the stuff I loved, and I wanted to have fun messing around with a little escapist fantasy in hopes that other people needed it too.

While the pandemic has died down a little, I think the same motivation might work for you too. The reward of connecting with the people who love the same things you love, and who might like to read the same stories you love to write--that's powerful. Think of all the friendships, advice, and just pure and simple community connection you would be missing out on by not sharing!! You deserve all the love and the friendships that I know will come your way after publishing, you just have to open the door.

And I would also say, try making things as comfortable as possible for yourself before sharing, to make it easier. Since you say you're a little sensitive about sharing your work, I'd edit your blog and your ao3 fic notes to tell people you're not yet ready for constructive criticism. I can say from experience asking for concrit that most of it is actually not that constructive (or is at least misinformed about what concrit is) and it can definitely mess with your motivation to finish a story. So give yourself a buffer and let your first experiences publishing online be kind and gentle ones!!

2. Getting interactions/growing your blog

This is probably easy for me to say because I already have so much of the connection I originally desired, but the best advice I can give is try to find a motivational balance between wanting to share your writing, and wanting validation. I cannot emphasize enough how much it's going to suck if you premise your online writing career around other people's validation in terms of numbers of likes, reblogs, kudos, etc.

That is not to say there is anything wrong with wanting validation. I think it's completely natural to want those things, but I definitely recommend really asking yourself how that squares with the other aspects of writing; namely, how much you love writing and sharing that writing, regardless of other people's opinions. I've had to take 2 multiple-month-long hiatuses already when I started to crave numeric validation beyond anything--it seriously sucks all the fun out of fandom and absolutely destroys your mental health--and I don't want you to ever have to experience the same thing.

That disclaimer being said, there are a couple major things that I think fic writers do to maximize engagement/exposure.

Posting time is the biggest one--depending on where you are from and what audience you are targeting, you can research the ao3/tumblr posting times that will net you the most eyes on your post. I don't have any resources on hand but I can say from experience that posting during daytime weekend hours in the US, I usually get more initial reaction from people than if I post at night or during the middle of the week.

A lot of writers join zines, challenges, big bangs etc to meet other writers/artists, and to get their work in front of more people. I don't have good advice for joining zines or anything since I was just asked randomly one time, but I'm pretty sure there is a bnha zine bulletin tumblr that will let you know if there are zines opening admissions for new writers and stuff like that!! I would recommend digging around for something like that to see if there is anything that looks interesting to you.

3. Finding moots

This one is another one I don't have amazing advice for because I think almost every single moot I have found me. I never want to bother people so I usually don't initiate interactions unless I am EXTREMELY interested in what a person is posting, or unless it's clear that they actually do wanna talk to me.

But what my moots have done is literally just talked to me. Consistently and kindly, navigating the twisting rapids of my online awkwardness. Eventually, I have seen them enough on my posts or in my inbox to realize that they wanna be friends and they do want to interact regularly. So I would recommend doing just that. If there's someone you admire or want to be friends with, interact with them first! Ask them questions and try to get to know them, and make it clear that you're not just being nice--you do wanna be friends.

I think a bunch of people also run discord servers and stuff like that that you can join where you can chat more intimately with people and get to know them as friends rather than just blogs. I would dig around on peoples' pages to see if they're in any kind of server you would be interested in too.

And usually with friends comes their friends, too, which is how I have moots I am not super close with but like and respect and know peripherally. So keep your heart open to them too, and soon you will have yourself a lovely circle of moots!!

Anyway this was a lot. I hope at least some of these answers are helpful!! I'm wishing you tons of luck and sending you my best vibes, and I'd be super happy to read your fic if/when you're ready to share!

[usagi-mitsu]

A heartfelt plea from a small content creator:

Please like. Please reblogg. Please comment.

Whenever you find written or drawn or photographed art that even mildly intriues you.

That's it. You actually don't have to look beneath the cut, but I wrote it anyways.

This might be different for everybody, but from time to time I feel heartbroken about my own writing and art. And right now it's one of these times.

It's currently the second day of FFXIVwrite2021. What happened to dampen my excitement about it is "the usual": I am excited to participate, write my piece and post it. And then I sit there, checking out, liking and commenting on other peoples entries, while refreshing my notifications again and again. And once more for good measure. Waiting for someone to have a look at my piece. For someone to leave a like or a kudos. For something. Anything.

And those few notes excite me beyond meassure! But in the time that it took my piece to get five likes, others have been liked and/or reblogged tenfold.

That's when I get sad. Is my piece that bad? Is it my English - is it not good enough? Have I missed the point? Is it too niche for anyone to be interested? Or did I simply write something boring? Something heinous? Something so bad it's not worth other peoples time?

It's then when I try to keep on reminding myself about why I write: I write mostly for my own amusement and to read the stories which I would want to read. But if those are the only reasons, I didn't have to publish anything I wrote, right? Exactly. And another reasonn write is, that I want to give people something fun. Something interesting. Something that helps them keep their minds off of whatever bothers them for maybe just ten minutes. And of course I publish my writing because I want to know if other people like it - validation.

So while my intrinsical motivation is strong, not getting said validation in any shape or form; or even getting far less then my peers makes me rather sad. Because I am always hoping that I write something enjoyable. But if people don't tell me it's enjoyable, how would I know I did right?

And I am so tired of asking my friends to have a look at my writing. Seriously. Most of the guys are like "nice, can we start the trial now?" and the girls sometimes forget that they wanted to read it or ignore it entirely. That actually hurts even more. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine actually asked me to write something for them. Specifically for them. They haven't even touched it as far as I'm aware. And even though I know why that is, it freaking hurts. Because I made it for them. And I don't even know if they like it. They probably will. But hearing it from their mouth or reading it in their chat is the only way to know.

And before you ask, "so what are you contributing to other peoples stories" - I am the one leaving you site long comments on every chapter of your romance fanfiction. If I find something even mildly interesting, I'll reblogg and like. And if I love it, I'll write something in the tags. I have written two comments on AO3, where I had to shorten the content because I ran out of letters to use. FFS - I know how it feels to get these comments and how it feels to suddenly get that one notification that has tags and a like and stuff. I do it because I want people to know, their art is amazing. And because I know how it feels. And maybe even a bit because I hope one day someone will do the same with my art.

I doubt more than three people have read this far. So to you who has gone on this journey with me: Kudos! May the writing gods bless you with creativity and amazing, vocal readers who soak up your every written word.

Thank you for reading. I had to get this off of my chest. This topic sometimes just... well. It hurts. Especially in times likes this. And I just don't feel like I can talk to anybody about this. I know I can, but I am also VERY tired of people telling me it's ok to feel like this. Like. Stop telling me this. Go read my last piece and leave comment. That actually helps more in the long term. ;)

Anyways. There is a new prompt and I have stuff to write.

Good luck! <3

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

There was a prompt by @frances-the-red:

Oh no! Geralt lost his engagement ring! 😱 What happened and how is the godling Hansi involved? (Just a silly little prompt if you ever become bored. Love your writing! 🧡)

I changed the engagement ring to wedding ring because there has never actually been an engagement, let’s just say that’s not a Nilfgaard custom ;) Also, I changed Hansi to the more common Johnny. I think nobody will understand the joke anyway and English-speaking gamers just know him by this name. Hansi is his name in the german dubbing (which is the same as Johnny) and that happens to be the name of my favorite Heavy Metal singer, too. And I love that you prompted me with it :)

One last thing: I had to alter the outcome of a specific Witcher 3 quest for this. Usually, Sarah only meets Johnny if you throw her out of the house where Corinne meets her. So for this story, let’s just assume it went a bit different. 

Enough babbling! This one is called “A seeker enthralled by a flame” (Avantasia lyrics this time), read under the cut or on AO3. 5330 words, rated G.

   The second of waking up, Geralt realized something was fundamentally wrong.

This had nothing to do with the fact that dull rays of the sun shining through the curtains indicated morning was already advanced. Nothing to do with him waking up in a foreign bed. Or that half of his body was hanging out, as if it missed the habit of a much larger bed. All of this was not unusual. So what was it? When his eyes opened, Geralt immediately knew where he was (in Novigrad), what he had been doing the night before (getting drunk with Dandelion and Zoltan out of pure reunion), and why he was here (a contract, of course, and this was a stopover on the way back).

Nothing of all this was wrong. What he could see of the room without moving his head (possibly one too many beers) was normal. A guest room at the Chameleon, furnished with Dandelion's somewhat exuberant taste and clearly refined by Priscilla's hand; fresh flowers and fruit on a sideboard. The fingertips of Geralt's right hand brushed wood. It took him a moment to realize that his arm was hanging out of the bed, touching the floor. The floor felt normal, as did his body, which was slowly waking up and painfully reminding him that he needed to pee.

But he was not ready yet. His mind was still trying to trace this feeling, even if it might well have been only a vague thought from a dream. Lost in thought, he involuntarily began tapping a kind of rhythm on the floor, an odd imitation of what Emhyr did when he became impatient. And then he understood. An ice-cold feeling ran through his abdomen, and the natural need was gone.

The ring was missing.

Hastily Geralt raised his hand, straightening in the bed, bringing his fingers close to his face, staring. His ring finger had a small, light-colored indentation, an imprint that made it even more evident that something was missing. His wedding ring was gone. Against better judgment, Geralt jumped out of bed and carefully examined the floor; he even crawled under the bed, checked every crack, combed the whole room.

It was simply easier to assume that the ring had slipped off his finger (it sat perfectly, he never took it off, not even when he put on gloves and went into battle) than to believe someone had dared to steal it from him. That was ridiculous. Stealing from a witcher? In one of the hottest establishments in town (a fucking wicked, disgusting town full of disgusting subjects, well). Even drunk as he had been last night, that was not possible. Who would dare to enter his room without him noticing (impossible) and pull a ring off his finger?

It was undoubtedly a valuable piece, but the silver... Geralt's eyes immediately darted to the wall next to the bed, although he had long known what he would see. The swords were still there, leaning neatly against the wall in their scabbards.

That didn't make any sense. Who would steal a ring when there were two swords whose common material value was significantly higher? Indeed, the blades were almost unsaleable – no merchant in his right mind would buy witchers' swords, especially those whose engraved runes were more than clearly traceable to the owner. Nevertheless, Geralt hurriedly began to check the rest of his equipment. The armor, the saddlebags... everything was there; nothing was missing.

Geralt sat down on the bed, resting his slightly aching skull on his hands. Had he perhaps lost the ring during the evening? Or – even worse – had he, in a frenzy, agreed to use the piece as a prize in a game of Gwent? He was notorious (well, in the eyes of a certain man at least) for occasionally doing idiotic things, but Geralt thought something like that was out of the question.

Besides, he didn't want to imagine that possibility because it would have meant that, in a few days, he would have had to confront his husband to tell him he had lost the ring. The symbol of their love come true, the flame that he always carried with him like the one in his heart....

"Silly. And you're hyperventilating."

There wasn't really a voice in his head, but he could imagine it very well (and that was very close to what Emhyr would actually say before he found out the ring was gone). Besides, the voice was right. Geralt took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. If the idea of being robbed seemed absurd, at least there was a way to find out if it was valid. All he had to do was focus on possible clues in the room. However, that was easier said than done; after all, he was in Novigrad, in a much-frequented house – supposedly the most popular in the whole city. Looking for traces in this room was like telling a dog to search through a massive pile of shit to find out if his best friend had been there.

The same was true for the smell. However, chance aided him – this room didn't seem to be used quite as often. Perhaps Dandelion indeed did keep it only for friends at all times, or maybe he exaggerated his establishment's popularity. In any case, most of the traces and smells that Geralt's senses picked up were older and not of concern. Quite clearly, his own smell still hung in the room, an almost visible cloud of alcohol, leather, horse.... well, he had arrived only a few hours before. But there was something else. More like a hunch that someone else had actually been here – a kind of whiff, an indefinable but strangely familiar smell, as if he had sensed it once before, and a tiny trail of footsteps, as delicate as if that had been just a ghost. But a ghost would have left no visible traces at all.

Even these were almost impossible to see, smell or feel. It was strange, but at least a better explanation than that he had simply lost the ring. Still, what creature would have managed to pull the thing off his finger and disappear with it completely without a sound and almost without a trace? There was only one way to find out, and, if possible, before anyone saw him without the ring. Now it didn't seem like such a good idea that he had presented it so openly (because he was damn proud of it).

Geralt left the Chameleon like a suitor who had fallen asleep over his secret lover – very quietly. No one was awake yet anyway. He disappeared without a message, which was not that unusual, and sneaked out through the back exit. It was challenging to follow the delicate breeze on the streets and impossible to make out the tracks anymore. Almost as if the thief had fled across the rooftops – a not so unlikely possibility. Besides, the city itself stank of all the shit that places like these stink of: too many people and their numerous vices.

His motivation was high (if not desperate), so his focus was tremendous. The sight of a witcher trudging through Novigrad with a grim expression on his face, looking neither left nor right, was not common even here. As so often, his reputation preceded him, and if he had bothered to look into the eyes of the people who hurriedly avoided him, he probably could have guessed which of the numerous things said about him they were most likely to believe. He didn't care anyway. Geralt followed the fleeting trail of a breeze mixed with so many smells that it became almost impossible to keep track of it.

Twice he lost it, once he almost lost his nerve, and yet he held on convulsively to that one delicate scent. It led him out of the city, which was good; it would be easier to track now. Only briefly did he give up following the scent because, outside the city gate, he was sure to find it again. The trail led directly away from the main road, which didn't surprise him. The brazen thief surely had not been interested in encountering any guards. So he unhitched his horse from the capable businessman who had recently started running a livery stable near the entrance.

/

*//////{<>==================-

\

   It went cross-country, over meadows and fields, which Geralt had to ride around as a precaution if he did not want to incur the farmers' wrath, and he lost valuable time, but never the trail. Whoever had taken the ring had been nimble, and they were several hours ahead of him. But he wondered where this would lead. The ring had hardly been stolen by a magpie that had flown into its nest with it. So why through the countryside and into the forest? Maybe the thief just wanted to hide and wait because there was no direct way to the next town from here, and Geralt still considered it doubtful that it would be possible to sell the ring, just like the swords. However, some crazy collectors paid a fortune for witcher's memorabilia. Maybe there was a black market for his wedding ring. This was such a monstrous thought that he already imagined what he would do to the thief if….

Geralt stopped as if rooted to the spot. The scent ceased here, in a small clearing of beech trees, in the middle of a meadow, sprinkled with daisies and wild herbs. He had been leading Roach on the reins for quite a while because the forest had become too dense. Now he let go, patted her briefly, and whispered to her to be good and stay put, which earned him a snort that sounded almost contemptuous.

The trail might end here, but that didn't mean he had lost it. He perceived a presence that was trying to hide, but... Geralt looked up.

"Johnny," he said. "You can come down now."

Up there, perched in a treetop, sat the reason why the smell had appeared familiar to him from the very beginning. He had just not been able to assign it to the little godling immediately. In fact, Geralt had not expected to see him again at all.

"I don't want to," resounded a pitched voice from above.

"I can imagine, but I'd rather you come down. My neck hurts from staring up."

"That's old age."

"I'm sure you know something about that," Geralt replied patiently. "Come down now. I want to ask you something."

Johnny grumbled, and he played coy for a few more seconds, but he seemed to realize that he would not escape the witcher just by hiding in the tree. So he climbed down the bark as nimbly as a squirrel, but when he reached the ground, he still kept some distance.

"Long time no see, witcher," he chirped, though also with a certain mistrust – which, in Geralt's opinion, he had good reason to feel.

"Johnny, you know it's dangerous for you to show yourself outside," Geralt began carefully.

The little one grimaced.

"I'm careful. Besides, sometimes it's pretty boring to just sit inside all the time."

"You promised to watch Corinne – and Sarah, didn't you?"

"And I do! Really!"

Now a genuine smile covered the godling's face, who outwardly and also in many traits almost resembled a child. The smile might have as much to do with his conspecific Sarah as with the sorceress who had taken them in. They could have lived a pleasant life in the wilderness, where they would not have had to hide all the time. But the godling's natural kindness had driven Sarah to return to Novigrad as if she felt a connection with the oneiromancer, and Johnny had gone along. It was certainly not a forever bond, but it seemed to work.

"I'm sure you do," Geralt replied, "But listen.... is it possible you paid me a visit last night?"

Johnny's big eyes had an innocent look.

"Maybe?"

"And did you maybe take something that doesn't belong to you?"

Johnny scratched his head.

"Well, that would depend on how you define property, I guess."

Geralt sighed.

"My ring, Johnny. Why did you steal my ring? And don't even try to deny it. I know you have it in your little pouch."

Involuntarily, the godling's gaze went to the slim bag he carried over his shoulder. There could hardly be a more apparent admission of guilt, and he noticed his mistake immediately.

"Oh, unfair," he complained. "You tricked me. That'll teach me to play with witchers again."

"This isn't a game, Johnny," Geralt said, now noticeably more severe. "Give the ring back."

"Oh, but I can't."

"Why not?"

"I need it."

"For what?" sighed Geralt.

"That's a secret," the godling quickly replied.

"Johnny..."

"No, no, I won't be fooled again!"

"I'm sure Corinne doesn't know anything about it. Right? Would she approve?"

"You're not going to rat me out, are you? That's not proper between friends."

Johnny was visibly indignant now.

"It's not proper between friends to steal from each other, either."

The godling sighed.

"Oh, fine. Suppose you don't rat me out! Promise!"

Geralt counted very slowly inwardly to ten before answering, albeit through clenched teeth.

"I promise. So?"

"Well, if you can give anything on a witcher's word of honor.... I'll try to summon Liuba."

Geralt stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Liuba, the goddess of love?"

Johnny nodded eagerly. Geralt narrowed his eyes.

"Listen, I have no idea how this works among you godlings, but if Sarah isn't interested in you in that way, summoning a tricky goddess certainly isn't the best approach..."

"Dumbass. It's not for me," Johnny interrupted him. "It's about Corinne. She's been pretty lonely since she started taking care of us. She doesn't go out much, and even though we've offered to leave, she says she doesn't want us to. As far as we know, there are hardly any mages left in town. It is reasonably safe, but most are suspicious. And Corinne believes that no one who doesn't understand her powers can love her."

"Did she say that?"

Johnny sighed theatrically.

"We're magical beings, witcher. She doesn't have to say anything."

"All right, but... Johnny, you and Sarah are already very rare. Gods are – well, in many cases, just myths. Things made up by humans who found winter too cold and dark. And even if Liuba does exist, she may not be the best choice. According to her legend, she more or less killed a woman who asked her for help. Which technically fulfilled the deal to reunite her with her beloved, who happened to die on the battlefield at the same time."

"Hogwash," the godling replied contemptuously. "I do believe that gods exist. And that they are nothing other than magical beings, just like us. You should understand that, even if your magic is a flyspeck compared to what I can do. That they are myths, yes, that is a merit of the humans, and that's good because otherwise, they would have probably wiped them all out. This way, they've just forgotten many of them."

Annoyed, Geralt blew a strand of hair out of his face.

"All right, let's not argue about the existence of gods. Why does my ring have to be the pledge to call her?"

"It must be a symbol of true love," Johnny said seriously.

"Surely there will be enough love to be found in Novigrad..."

"You don't understand! What do you think I have tried already? Garters, lockets with drawings in them, love letters.... None of it worked. This may be a big city, but true love is rarely found."

"You stole all that?"

The godling shrugged.

"And a lot of wedding rings," he admitted. "But yours is special. There's much stronger magic in that."

"There's no magic in it at all," Geralt objected.

Johnny chuckled.

"You have no idea. There is destiny in true love, and the two combined are a rarity. Your ring radiates that. No wonder you don't realize it. You can't do anything but light fires and make people look elsewhere when you don't like them."

"That's not quite what..."

"That's some magic you don't know a thing about," Johnny continued. "Why you, of all people, have a ring like that is beyond me. There are far more beautiful wedding rings; believe me, I've had enough in my hand. But I haven't seen one that had an engraving like that. Even the metal was chosen with care. Almost all the wedding rings I saw were gold; yours is not."

"But what makes you think you can conjure Liuba here in the wilderness, of all places?"

"Ha, my dear, research!"

Johnny tapped his nose, a strangely touching gesture, even if it was meant to express superiority.

"Corinne had picked up some books so we wouldn't be bored. I honestly believe, secretly, that she genuinely thinks we're like children because of our shape. Well, anyway, one of the books was about local legends in the area. It was not difficult to get to the right place. The book said that some lovers claimed to have seen Liuba there."

"Did the book also say that it was dangerous?" Geralt asked dryly.

"It said that only true love could summon her," the godling replied unaffected. "Otherwise, Liuba would punish the callers. That's why I need your ring, you see."

"Well, let's say I believe all that; what happens if you succeed in calling the goddess with this pledge?" asked Geralt.

"She will accept the gift and fulfill my wish: that Corinne meets the love of her life. You know, she wouldn't have to take care of us. We can do it quite well on our own. But Sarah thinks we make sure her powers don't turn against her. I guess all this dream magic isn't that much fun."

"I can't let that happen," Geralt said seriously.

"What, you don't begrudge Corinne finding someone she loves?" asked Johnny indignantly.

"This isn't about Corinne. You can't give my ring to some goddess. This is my wedding ring, Johnny. It's very important to me."

"Weren't you listening? That's also one reason why it'll be so valuable to Liuba."

"I get it," Geralt replied grimly. "But it's my ring, and you can't have it. You'll have to find something else."

"I told you, I've already tried."

"All right... I'll try. I'll get you a pledge of true love that's just as good."

Johnny grimaced.

"I don't think that's possible."

"You do believe that you can summon a goddess, and I don't think that will work, either with my ring or if we sacrifice a virgin."

"That's barbaric," Johnny said indignantly.

"That's why we're not doing it," Geralt returned irritably. "Listen, you know I could just take that ring off you. But I don't want to hurt you or your, well, religious feelings. So I'm going to help you and get you another love symbol. I'm convinced it doesn't even have to be magical."

"But..."

"You don't even know her legend," Geralt continued. "The woman who summoned Liuba paid with jewelry. Among them was possibly a love pledge, a gift, but that's only part of the ritual, isn't it?"

Johnny nodded slowly.

"Well, there are a few other things required as well, I've already obtained them all, wasn't exactly easy either."

"You mean you stole those too."

"How could I have bought them?" the godling replied innocently. "So, what's your plan?“

/

*//////{<>==================-

\

   Geralt didn't believe for a second that Johnny would succeed in summoning a goddess - let alone that she was anything more than a legend. What he did believe, however, was that maybe something was there. The fact that the information in Johnny's book pointed explicitly to a particular location was hardly a coincidence. Also that the ritual was described in detail – although the special ingredient, namely the love pledge, was mentioned rather vaguely in the book, as he had gotten out of Johnny after some more inquiring. Geralt thought it possible that perhaps something really could be summoned at this point, but certainly not a goddess. A specter, perhaps, or a cursed being, a corgowrath, a Shishiga… whatever it was, he believed it to be rare and old, probably dangerous.

He asked the godling not to try to start the ritual without him but to prepare it so that they could start right away when Geralt returned. Meanwhile, he rode back to Novigrad, spending an outrageous amount of money on a small silver box decorated with tacky rose petals made of tiny, inexpensive gems. Then he spent considerable time unobtrusively looking around for a mage or sorceress. He could by no means go to Corinne with his request without betraying Johnny – which he didn't want to do because it was clear to him that the godling meant well. But as a being exceedingly connected with nature, he lacked the sense for many human characteristics, and he did not grasp the danger that could hide in such magical incantation. Furthermore, Geralt was aware that he would only get his ring back safely if he played at least partially by Johnny's rules. And in the end, it was always about playing with these creatures.

He found a mage who, even if they officially no longer had to hide, made a somewhat nervous impression. Geralt had the box covered with a spell that he had thought about for a while and was reasonably sure that Johnny wouldn't recognize what was actually behind it. This took a while, and the mage relaxed a bit, even admitting at the end that he still slept poorly, albeit the city was safe for his kind again. However, prejudices did not disappear from people's minds so quickly. Emhyr held back on the presence of soldiers in the city; it was still a sensitive topic in negotiations. Of the northern kingdoms, no one felt responsible either, which is why crime still flourished in Novigrad. Before leaving, Geralt recommended that the mage visit Corinne – just for safety. Briefly, the thought crossed his mind that he was traveling in the matter of love, after all. That was ridiculous, and besides, it was none of his business.

When he returned, Johnny had prepared the ritual. He had set up a circle in the clearing, made of half-burned candles and at least one unused one. In the middle of it, he had placed a pile of gifts, mainly jewelry and love letters, all stolen like the candles – like Geralt's ring, but it was not among the other stuff. The godling noticed Geralt's look and defended himself by saying that all of this was only for security, to strengthen the spell.

"I really don't think that's going to work," Geralt said, "not even with this."

He held up the silver box.

"For someone who possesses such a mighty token of love, you're surprisingly doubtful of its power," Johnny remarked pointedly.

"Maybe, but I'm a reformed skeptic when it comes to love."

Johnny shook his head.

"So, what did you bring?"

"In this box," Geralt claimed dramatically, "I had one of my memories magically locked away."

"What?"

"A memory of a loving moment."

"Memories are powerful," Johnny mused. "I just hope it's nothing objectionable?"

Geralt shrugged.

"Love has many facets. Ultimately, it's up to your goddess to decide, isn't it?"

The godling still looked a little indecisive, but finally, he nodded.

"All right, I'll tell you how we do it," Geralt continued.

"But I've read the book, I know..."

"Well, you can do it as the book says. But as soon as the time comes when the box is needed, you give me back the ring. At that exact moment, you hear?"

Johnny tilted his head.

"That's not stupid," he said appreciatively. "You think if your little box isn't strong enough, after all, Liuba will be attracted to the power of the ring. In the end, the memory in your little box might still be enough for her. Clever."

"Exactly," Geralt lied without batting an eye.

"That way, you can keep the ring, and I can still talk to her.... it's just a little bit of cheating. I like it," Johnny said. "Let's get started."

So they began. Geralt lit the candles in the order Johnny solemnly told him to. He had even stolen a flint, which Geralt thought was almost more dangerous than anything else he had done. Then began a litany of mumbled words, a strange mixture of elder speech and some gibberish. Maybe some swear words, who could tell for sure.

At some point, the godling reached into his little bag, and at last, Geralt saw his ring again. The sight of it stung him a little. Perhaps it was indeed strange how attached he was to this object. Still, he did not regard the ring as a mere object.

"It's time," Johnny whispered, his face a single mask of concentration, his big eyes half-closed.

Geralt held out his hand with the box. The atmosphere was strange. Evening had fallen on the small clearing; the light had given way to a pale gray, at the edge of which still hung the last pink of the setting sun. The birds' singing from the forest had stopped; not even the woodpecker, which had been hammering on some trees almost all day, could still be heard. Actually, all sounds had fallen silent, even that of small animals in the undergrowth. Although a gentle breeze was blowing, not even a rustle could be heard.

That was strange, but even stranger was that the air, which had been pure and clear all day, seemed to condense. Johnny had insisted that Geralt put down the swords, but he had placed them on the floor not too far from him and was now glancing at them. If any specter was indeed going to show itself, he had to be quick. The silver sword was prepared in case, but since he didn't know what he was up against, he had to decide on a possible potion at the last second. And he had to get Johnny to safety somehow.

"Now," Geralt hissed as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Promptly, he held out the box to Johnny. The latter’s eyes seemed even bigger than usual, and a delighted smile now appeared on his face. He took the box and gave the ring to Geralt, who immediately put it on his finger. At the same moment, a strange glow seemed to fill the air. Geralt stood waiting at the edge of the candle circle, his knees slightly bent, ready to make a daring leap towards the swords. It seemed to grow darker around them, while a bright spot of light remained in the center of the circle. The air crackled. Suddenly Johnny chuckled and lowered his eyes in a shy gesture. Geralt stared over at him, frowning.

"What's going on?"

The godling did not answer. He seemed not to perceive Geralt at all. Then he nodded and began to speak incoherently.

"That's right," he said, and "What mage?"

He chuckled again. Then he pointed to Geralt.

"No, he has no idea," he said.

The witcher wondered if Johnny had gone mad. Nothing was there. It seemed as if an apparition was about to materialize, but at the same time, as if something prevented it from doing so. Johnny spoke to the air. Geralt thought carefully. What creature could manage to make itself entirely invisible for a witcher, not even causing the medallion to vibrate? It was also strange that the changed atmosphere had nothing dangerous about it at all. Nevertheless, he thought it impossible that Johnny was talking to a love goddess right now – or that she would show herself to the godling, of all people, who had nothing to offer but a handful of jewelry and a small box covered with a strong but rather silly spell. This only confirmed his suspicion that it was not about a love pledge at all. Geralt took a quick look at his ring. The engraved flame on it seemed to glow red. He ran the index finger of his left hand over it. It was all in his imagination; there was nothing at all.

Just at that moment, the strange sensation hovering over the surroundings disappeared, and suddenly, the birds began to sing again. The light was back as before. Everything was exactly as before, just as if nothing had ever happened – only the candles had all gone out.

"What was that just now?" Geralt addressed the godling.

Johnny looked at him innocently, the box still in his hand.

"Look, she didn't take it at all. Nor any of the other stuff. She said she'd do it for free for me. You got all worked up over your ring for nothing!"

"Better safe than sorry," Geralt grumbled, "What did she say, your goddess?"

He sounded so skeptical that Johnny burst out laughing.

"You don't believe it even now, do you? I suppose you didn't see anything? Well, these gods play by their own rules, my dear. She said Corinne's already been taken care of. I don't know what that means, but I think Sarah and I won't have to worry about her anytime soon."

"I see," Geralt replied. He couldn't think of any other answer. He made a mental note to ask Dandelion to check on Corinne occasionally. While he didn't actually believe Johnny had been talking to a goddess, as long as he didn't know what he was dealing with, he preferred to play it safe. If there was some spectral being around, someone would have to take care of it sooner or later.

/

*//////{<>==================-

\

   "You're late."

Emhyr, engrossed in papers in his study as usual at this hour, did not precisely toss aside his quill at the sight of Geralt, but he leaned back, regarding his spouse intently.

"Late?" asked Geralt, after closing the door and making sure they were indeed alone (occasionally, there were minions in the alcoves, scurrying out at a hint). Only then did he casually stroll around the table to pick up the kiss he thought he richly deserved. He got it, and it felt like he had actually been gone too long. The fact that he then sat down on the desk, however, earned him a disapproving look.

"You're crumpling important documents. All I’m saying is that, according to my information, you had already arrived in Novigrad about a week ago. Usually, you stay a day or two, then you head back."

"You sent your spies after me?"

"Certainly not."

"So you have spies in Novigrad?"

"Don't act surprised," Emhyr returned. "With your penchant for dubious adventures, you can't blame me for occasionally liking to know where you hang out."

"Dubious... pah."

Geralt grinned cockily.

"Then why didn't your spies tell you where I was if you think I should have been back by now?"

Emhyr didn't bat an eye, but at least he had to admit, "I'm afraid they... lost sight of you at some point."

"Well, maybe I just don't let myself be watched on my dubious adventures," Geralt countered. "I'll tell you about it sometime; however, right now, I want to get rid of the dust from the journey. Just this much: I was traveling in matters of love."

Emhyr folded his arms, raising his brows.

"Is this going to be some weird attempt to make me jealous?"

"Oh, would that work?"

"Sure, though it would be high treason."

"High treason?"

"Of course," Emhyr replied calmly, "betraying the Emperor is high treason."

"In that case," Geralt said, "it's a good thing your spies didn't get me."

He wiped away Emhyr's now slightly confused expression with another kiss. Before closing his eyes, he took one last look at his ring.

This story was probably better left a secret after all.

[404-not-found-xix]

3, 5, 17, 24

<3 <3 These are fun, thank you @themastermindsqueen for the ask!!

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)

- This one is a tough one for me because I’ve been thinking about it since last night. A while, I think it was you? Or someone else I know? Gave me a great fic idea and it ran out of my mind. Something about Elliot and another character getting closure. 

I do like the idea of writing a fic where Elliot shares that he was sexually abused by his father, Edward Alderson. I would bring in Darlene and Mr. Robot since they’re so crucial to this. Darlene needs to know, she needs to know the truth about her father. I think it could give Elliot the cathartic healing he needs by sharing his experience with Darlene. She would start to see the truth behind Elliot, growing up as a kid, and the signs Edward displayed as a predator. Elliot would cry and they would talk. Really, Elliot would lean into trusting and sharing with his sister which is something they desperately need. For the both of them.

Maybe this is the fic idea? My gut tells me so. Still, it flutters in mind. It’s not quite the itch! We’ll see in time~~

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

- I would say Brian Kelly from Gleaming The Cube. I’m such a Christian Slater fan and I’m a wholesome bean. Who doesn’t love teen angst, kindness, warmth, and a bit of rebellion? He’s really such a nice kid trying to avenge his brother’s death, Vinh. 

I wish I could hug him and throw him up into the air and shower him with love. Such a good guy, I wish I had someone like that in my life. In-person!

On the MR side, I would say Elliot. But he’s so difficult to write- he’s emotionally reserved and cut off. I usually sway to writing from Tyrell’s perspective because it’s easier for me! He’s irrational, delusional, and clearly has bipolar disorder. In the Mr verse, it’s easier for me to emotionally register into a character like that because I know what’s like to fall apart and have the world you thought you knew to be lost. And he’s grabbing onto a waypoint- Elliot- that he bases his worldview on him. It’s not healthy but luckily we all grow. I’m playing to my own tune and jamming hardcore. *Insert guitar solo*

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

Yes! I started off writing through poetry and roleplaying on Tumblr. Writing on AO3 is actually new to me. I’ve shifted from a short plotline to more fleshed out and developed characters. I try and make the world more immersive through sound and the character’s emotional development. I’m still working on the second part, sometimes I want to push things along and get to the more important stuff. But! It’s crucial. Hopefully, people can see that it’s something I’m developing. Maybe I need to publish more fics! I probably do lol. They’re coming along, I needed a break from writing. I want to come back to it. I want to finish the stories I’ve written.

Below: Trigger warning: Sex, rape mention, bloody smut, physical violence/abuse?, scat, hardcore pornography discussion.

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?

Yeah! I think my writing gives off a different perspective of myself than what it is. I’m actually a quiet person unless I know you and then I can get very chatty. I’m also very sex-positive (not to drum up drama, I’m not interested in that) but I think the discussion of healthy boundaries is important. Even as writers. That’s why (personally speaking, not a shot at anyone) I don’t write real people fiction smut. I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of uncomfortable sexual desire and so, for me, this is my personal boundary line. I can write, I can express desire in a way that is also removed from the actors themselves, and they aren’t experiencing uncomfortable feelings unless they go hunting for it.

Other people got their own boundaries and feelings on the matter and that’s okay. They’re valid! It’s just not for me and that’s okay. It works for other people! 

On the other hand, I fucking planned to make my Bachelor of Art thesis on pornography and the way women are treated in pornography. And it wasn’t for the faint of heart- I’m talking scat porn, mutilation, beating, and drug use. The question of consent and regulation was a big question posed in my thesis- because when you have a half-conscious, cut up, bleeding person (really regardless of gender here) you gotta wonder why a person would do this for money. What are their circumstances? Is this their independent choice? What does this say about us, the people who consume it? The ones filming it- are they responsible for this person in any way? Is this *waves hand at the content* ethical? What does it do to us- the ones consuming it? Because there is a growing audience for it, and the internet only makes it more accessible. It’s going to go away either, it’s always been there. But what do we do about it? If anything at all?

And it’s all free baby. You can find this stuff through an easy google search and there are hordes of videos. You can even find people fucking dead bodies. Shot, bleeding, and they’re being fucked. Raped? Who the fuck knows!

So, it’s all about the discussion. Everyone has their right to do what they want, but sometimes I step back and go, “Whoa, is this even right?” And listen to my gut feeling. But I also do a ton of research to understand both sides. I’d rather learn and fully understand before I take action and have a hard stance as opposed to shutting something down before knowing more.

Also, this why I’m not trying to stir the pot. I like to talk and understand things. The world is far more grey than we make it out to be. It’s complicated! And that’s okay.

And hey, I’m the one making that content too! It says something about me and that’s okay. I throw guns and hitting in my own smut/artwork. I’m not an angel myself and I’ve consumed some dark content in the name of desire. It says something about me and I’m alright with that. Like I said, I’m not trying to create drama. I have the right to express myself and talk.

Motivations- fuck, I want more shows like MR. Hard, gritty, and rebellious. You can be mentally ill or really, a whole fucking person even in the moments when we feel guilty for being ‘broken’ or ‘crazy’ and still be a person. Mentally ill people can still have desire and do wonderful, powerful things in their life. No one is better than the other. We’re equal. 

Also, the show has incredible writing. I don’t want it to end- but I bet you could guess that one, huh? 

[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-Three of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @disdainfullady​. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.24 from @artoftalent07​ - tag, you’re it!

_____________________________________________________________

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE by @disdainfullady​

Veronica turned the page, fascinated despite herself. When Ruby had come stomping into Mars Investigations that morning, Veronica had had to try three of the breathing techniques Logan swore kept him from washing out of OCS before she dared to even acknowledge the girl.  Either she wasn’t fighter pilot material, or Ruby was worse than the drill sergeants – MTIs corrected the little Logan voice in her brain – because she could never be sure if those techniques actually helped, or just gave her time to fine tune her sarcasm.

In the year since Carrie’s death, Ruby had found half a dozen excuses to hire Veronica, mostly background checks for potential dates – so far none of them had been kicked out by a pop star’s security for hiding in a closet, but they were keeping hope alive – and one case where she was convinced the couple across the street were running drugs out of their basement.  She’d actually been right about that, although Ruby had based her theory on the idea that the couple had far more lawn ornaments than anyone not pushing meth had a right to, and still insisted that that was the big give away.

Veronica never had the heart to turn her away. Sure, she didn’t, they didn’t, strictly need the money, but there was something so earnest about Ruby, despite her off-the-wall conspiracy theories and what seemed like a new obsession every week.  It was sometimes hard to remember that Ruby was only a year younger than her - Veronica doubted she'd had half Ruby's enthusiasm and energy even in her all too distant pep squad days. Of course, she probably should aim for a degree or two below manic.

After leaving Veronica three voicemails of escalating urgency about a case she absolutely needed Veronica’s help on, Ruby had shown up at Mars Investigations that morning in full pensive-artist mode complete with glasses that were either fake or a prescription so minor that they might as well be, pages clutched to her chest, announcing that the case in question was that which took place in the novel she had written.

Veronica knew she should have politely declined. Maybe gotten Wallace to have one of his colleagues in the English department give it a read, if her conscience was really bugging her.  But it had been a slow week, and she wouldn’t have gone back to being a PI if she’d been able to resist the pull of her curiosity.  Nor would Logan forgive her if she wasn’t able to give him a full summary of the entire thing.

And the work was fascinating.

She wasn't sure what impressed her more, the depth of Ruby's research, or her completely scattershot method of applying it. Sure, she'd pulled in most of the obvious players, but there were some deep cuts in here.  Lenny?  Cole? She was pretty sure Cole's own parents forgot he existed when he wasn't in the room, yet here he was parading all over this mysterious snow ridden island within easy access of Southern California.  Actually, she mused, Cole would make a great killer in the traditional way of things. Veronica was always suspicious of named minor characters with no apparent motive.  

Unfortunately, it didn't seem like Ruby was a fan of narrative efficiency, so he'd probably just been tossed into the manuscript along with the kitchen sink that she only hoped would be getting its big scene in the next chapter or two.

A chair scraped and she looked up, remembering just in time to wipe the incredulous glee off her face.  Ruby Jetson, formerly Della Pugh, literary alias Mistress X, had scooted her seat even closer to Veronica's desk, and was staring at her with an eager intensity.  Veronica cleared her throat and the - fortunately wigless - Ruby inched forward even closer, her knee actually bumping the desk.  

"Did you get to the part where they discover the island's tragic past?" asked Ruby.  The question burst out of her like she’d been holding it in for the past hour.

"Not yet - it has a tragic past?"

"Every mysterious island has a tragic past, Veronica." Ruby's scornful tone was undercut by the restless tapping of her leg.

"Oh of course," Veronica nodded with what she hoped was an appropriately serious expression.  "Well, that's something to look forward to, then." And she sort of was.  The way Ruby phrased it she rather hoped the island had had a passionate romance with a nearby peninsula only to lose it to  - how did you kill a peninsula, soil erosion maybe?

"But as I said earlier, it's going to take me a while to go through all this.  You really," really, really, really she thought, "don't need to sit here and watch me read it."

Ruby’s face scrunched in disapproval.  “You said that you’d prioritize my case, Veronica Mars.”

Veronica sighed.  She steepled her hands as she tried to gently let the girl down.  “That was when I thought you had a case.  I’m not a literary critic, Ruby.”

Ruby snorted.

“No, but you are a detective, and if I can stump you then I know my story’s good.”

Veronica carefully did not point out the flaws in that particular assertion.  “You don’t want it to be too baffling, Ruby.  Readers like the satisfaction of clues coming together.”

Ruby, beamed, apparently delighted by this rather commonplace observation.  “I knew you wouldn’t figure it out,” she crowed. “I bet you haven’t even grasped the significance of the chocolate.”

Veronica shook her head, even as one corner of her brain started following the trail begun by that breadcrumb.  The significance of the chocolate?  The number of chocolate martinis that had supposedly been consumed by the party were massive – but she’d been to plenty of 09er events that had better liquor stores than most bars.  Was there something to read into that?  Oh, that one was going to bother her.

She shook her head.  “Ruby, you already revealed your character as the bad guy. There’s nothing to figure out.”

Ruby’s mouth dropped open and she blinked at Veronica in surprise.

“Me?  I’m not the bad guy.”

“You’re not?”  She’s wasn’t?  Oh god, was Ruby supposed to be the heroine?  Was Veronica supposed to be rooting for her own comeuppance in this magnum opus of Ruby’s?

“You’re barely halfway through.  Do you honestly think that I would give away the real villain that soon?”

Ah.  Veronica looked down again at the depressingly large stack of papers in front of her.  It hadn’t seemed like this much when she’d started.  

Ruby smirked.  “Ruby Jetson is merely a red herring.”

“Ah, like communism,” Veronica murmured.

Though she had to point out, “Of course, you are killing people.”

“Madison Sinclair,” Ruby scoffed.

Veronica gave an equivocal head nod, not quite acknowledging the semi-validity of that point.

“And Leo.  Should I wonder why you even know Leo?”

Leo had been in San Diego for nearly a decade at this point, and occasional appearances at high school dances in Miami Vice regalia aside, she wouldn’t have thought he’d have had much occasion to cross paths with Ruby.

“I do my research, Veronica.” Ruby gave another one of her smug, knowing expressions.  Veronica, no stranger to being smug or knowing herself, sighed inwardly.

“And you didn’t actually see what happened to Leo did you?” Ruby continued.  “I mean, sure Lenny took credit, but then he would.”

With neither wealth, nor wit nor charisma, Lenny Sofer had been one of Neptune High’s more determined bullies, a nonentity so frustrated by his lack of status he spent all his time searching for those below him on the ladder, trying to push them down further.  Veronica had pretty much forgotten he’d existed the second she’d graduated, as she’d imagined, had most of their class, his chosen victims excluded.  Now if Ruby had written some sort of Murder on the Orient Express situation with Lenny as victim, she could probably get behind that.

“Is Lenny Sofer actually your cousin by the way?”

Ruby looked offended by the question.  Did she think Veronica had memorized her background the way she, Ruby, had apparently memorized Veronica’s?  Ruby did have a flare for investigation, if one could get past the whole bit where she was mildly bonkers.

“Lenny Sofer is a sociopath,” Ruby said, flatly.

That didn’t actually answer the question, Veronica noted.

“He bullied me for two years straight.  I had to spend my lunches hiding in that gross bathroom near the physics lab because someone kept putting out of order signs on the good one.”

Veronica’s eyebrows rose.  “So, you brought him in as your partner in crime?”

Ruby rolled her eyes.  “Again, not actually the bad guy.  And his character gets what’s coming to him a little further on.” She smiled, probably going for sinister but ending up on goofy.  “Let’s just say that was fun to write.”

Veronica supposed she could understand that.  She had always been more about enacting her revenge, but it wasn’t like that didn’t come with its own set of problems.  Maybe Ruby’s method was healthier, if a little odd.

She gave a little shrug and settled back to read some more.

[mousieta]

10, 21, 24, 35, 36, 42, 47

10. How do you stay motivated to finish what you’ve started?

Sheer stubbornheaded-ness and determination. No, seriously. My ‘I should do this so I’m gonna’ drive is hella strong because, honestly, its the only way I do anything. Sometimes - when life gets shit I let it slide a bit but 80% of the time I have scheduled myself writing time so I sit my but in the chair and write. And then to get through long-fics I never single focus on one work. I usually have 3-4 I’m ‘in development’ on so I can get the sweet sweet validation I need from shorter one-shots.

21. What’s your shortest fanfic?

AO3 tells me it is: Deamon  which isnt really a fic as much as a prompt.

And it was a wip until you know what.

24. How many WIPs (work-in-progress) do you’ve got? 

Its probably more accurate to label these currently under active development than WIPs just bc of how my brain works. Some of them may be dropped (but I hope not bc I love them all)

Longfic: WildKARD

And to keep that alive I’m also working on

Toshiro and the Bear - Bleach

When in Grad School - Bleach  (gods let me post this this week)

A still Unnamed Toshiro/Byakuya fic - Bleach (my newest unintended addition but when your head does a thing you write it)

The Seduction of the Gotei 13 - Bleach (tho not active so much as ongoing)

The Taste of Revenge on Your Lips - MDZS

The Two Jades of Wei Wuxian - MDZS

Brojobs and Butterflies redux - MDZS (yes i’m wanting to re-write that with some untamed flare)

Golden Core in Fall- MDZS

Some 2gether Smut (probs can knock this out in a weekend)

soooo...10? dear gods (also this is not atypical)

35. What is your favorite review?

All the ones that said “I never even considered this ship until I read this fic and now I ship it so hard.”

36. Did you ever delete a work of yours? 

Nope. I fully believe that every work I write - while still mine - was a gift to fandom and I shouldn’t take it back. In fact, I promise I’ll never delete a work. The most I may ever do is orphan.

42. Rudest review?

The fact that I could go right to this should tell you how I feel about it. Got it after a sincere apology at taking a year and a half to update, indicating I’d finished the fic and was betaing and would be posting a chapter a week.

I’m sure it meant well. but like... I was ready to just never post the finished chapters, walk away and be done. Its ... just so entitled... I’m about to rage...

47. What fanfic of yours is truly underrated?

The Only Night  criminally so.... please everyone give ToBae some love.

[jcmorrigan]

Tales from the Scrap Heap: Nothing to Lose but You

I decided to start “Tales from the Scrap Heap” as a little series on my blog for fanfiction ideas that I never got into print. Because my brain is really, really good at coming up with way more long-form plots than I can ever realistically hope to publish. I have to be picky about which plot bunnies I follow and which I don’t. The stories here are the ones that I considered and ultimately didn’t motivate me as much as what I have up on my AO3 account.

For the first one, I’m aware I’m putting myself in the Discourse Box here but it’s a Voltron: Legendary Defender fic. However, it’s for the absolute only ship I have never seen contested, largely because I don’t think anybody remembers these guys: Vakala/Remdax. Something about them really intrigued me (probably that they’re silly x straitlaced, have a size difference, and bicker constantly, which is almost a full row of JCMorrigan OTP Bingo). If you don’t remember, they’re the two aliens who found clone!Shiro on the ice planet shortly after he escaped (this is when we thought he was real!Shiro) and decided ultimately not to eat him and instead to give him a shuttle to escape back to Voltron. Anyhow, one day I just had too much Worldbuilding Juice and decided to come up with a little history for them, and because they’re rebels hiding in a remote location in a seemingly neverending war, it is one of the darkest story ideas I have. There’s a happy ending for our two leading men, but because this is indeed a wartime story, what I came up with to explain why they were on that ice planet and so willing to even cannibalize any Galra who showed up ended up having elements of colonialism, prison/labor camps, fugitive life, and a worldbuild flavoring that implies some noncon happened somewhere at some point. So if these things are not what you want to read in a hypothetical Voltron fanfiction outline, please keep movin’. Anyway, this is the one story I most regret never finishing because I had so much of it fleshed, but my Voltron muse is long gone and I have no enthusiasm, so here’s what I would’ve written, had I the energy.

·      Title is “Nothing to Lose but You” because the point of this story is these two go through the wringer and are literally all each other have. It’s that kind of story

·      I decided to call the planet Vakala and Remdax are from “Taxalai,” and the name for a resident is “Taxalan.” Taxalan society has a heavy emphasis on technology (which is why Remdax not knowing how to work a computer or being able to remember a password is such an oddity and so frustrating to pretty much any other Taxalan), and pretty much everything is computerized to some degree. Screens everywhere.

·      We open on Vakala, who is living in a mansion that used to belong to his family but has since been taken over by an invading Galra general. This was going to be an OC who I could just make nasty, but then I got re-introduced to Morvok, the Galra’s resident black sheep, and I will take any excuse to write Morvok so let’s just say it was he who took over Vakala’s family manor and just sits on the couch all day regaling people with stories of his greatness (none of which are true).

·      Vakala himself is a servant to Morvok, having to bring him whatever he wants and be at his beck and call.

·      One day, Vakala decides he’s done taking orders and declares he is no longer going to be in a position of servitude in his own house. Morvok simply dismissively says to “Take this one away wherever you take the ones that act up so I don’t have to look at him.”

·      And Vakala is arrested by a Galra squadron and brought to a prison camp many, many miles away.

·      It’s night when he’s delivered, so he’s brought right to the cramped barrack where a bunch of Taxalans who have been there longer are stacked in bunk beds. Vakala’s first night there, he screams and claws at the door that’s been sealed behind him, begging to be let out because he’ll follow orders this time.

·      The other prisoners there are veterans, so they all tell him to shut up because they’re never gonna listen. All but one.

·      Enter Remdax. He’s from another part of Taxalai – Vakala’s voice sounds more American to me while Remdax is definitely British, so I assume they have to come from different parts of the planet. They also have different physical structures that may suggest ethnic divides, though their color palette affirms they’re both of the same planetary origin. It’s also worth noting he has both eyes still at this point. This is very important.

·      Remdax is here because he was part of an anti-Galra rebel squad that was largely made up of his friends and family. The Galra found and closed in on their base, and Remdax ran out and got himself arrested for the purpose of slowing down the Galra officers enough that his friends and family could escape – which they did.

·      Anyway, that exposition would come some time later. For now, what’s happening is Vakala is having a panic attack in the middle of the night and everyone’s telling him to shut up because it’s futile. Except for Remdax. Remdax stands up and essentially says, “We’ve all done the same thing when we first arrived. Let him feel what he feels.”

·      And he approaches Vakala to try and calm him down verbally – just by saying his feelings are validated, and yes, it’s really awful, but he’ll survive, and Remdax will do his best to make sure Vakala survives. But he can’t really tell him it’s “okay” because it is quite clearly not.

·      Vakala eventually gives up and goes to sleep, quite depressed and for good reason.

·      The following morning, Vakala is put to work on an assembly line making Galra weaponry. This is what all the Taxalans in this particular camp must do. It’s very mechanically inclined, not many screens, not the way Taxalans usually work.

·      I don’t know if pacing-wise, it would be better to have this happen the first time or later, but Vakala ends up trying to pick up a cooling metal part way too soon and burning his palm horribly. He has to finish the rest of his shift one-handed.

·      Again, the other imprisoned Taxalans avoid this situation, largely because anxiety is high as-is, but Remdax steps forward once more, trying to care for the burn as best as he can. And he has zero supplies, so the best he can do is run a whole lot of cold water over Vakala’s hand and wrap it up in fabric he tore off his clothing.

·      Vakala ends up underperforming because of this injury and receives some punishment later. I didn’t think too much on exactly what – had I fleshed this out fully, I’d at least imply strongly what happened

·      Remdax has a bit of a crisis over this because he invested in protecting this guy, he failed, and there was literally nothing he could do. He’s in here for self-sacrifice in the first place, so he keeps thinking there’s always something he could do to help someone else if he gives something up for himself. But sometimes, he doesn’t even have an opportunity to do so, and it’s driving him into panic.

·      It’s shortly after this that he starts getting into his head that maybe the only way to help Vakala and himself is if he finds a way to escape.

·      There’s a day in which Remdax and Vakala are assigned to work outside on the grounds, and down comes an inspector from another sector on a shuttle. Remdax sees the opportunity and waves Vakala over.

·      They only have one shot, and it will unfortunately mean leaving the rest of their people behind, which is a horrible sacrifice, but it’s either they go on their own or nobody goes at all.

·      Remdax rushes the Galra inspector and attacks him. They get in a physical brawl while Vakala hurries in and hijacks the ship, which isn’t difficult for his technologically-inclined mind.

·      During this fight, Remdax either knocks out or kills the Galra inspector, but in the process, the inspector stabs one of his eyes completely out.

·      Remdax hops onto the ship and they have to go right away or else lose their freedom and maybe their lives forever. Vakala is freaking out because Remdax’s eye is bleeding, but Remdax is trying to act casual and make jokes about it because Vakala needs to be calm enough to drive.

·      They get off Taxalai on that stolen shuttle and land on the nearest planet, which I never named.

·      They’re aware they’re fugitives at this point.

·      They end up in a metropolitan area, where they check into a hotel so they have somewhere to sleep. I hadn’t worked out how they pay for the first night – maybe with favors, because Vakala eventually ends up a receptionist at this hotel and earns good wages, so maybe he gets his foot in the door by saying “I’ll do anything” and the receptionist is already pulling double duty and just goes “Do the second half of my fourteen-hour shift”

·      They have to finish wrapping up Remdax’s eye in that hotel room as best they can. Thankfully, it doesn’t get infected.

·      Immediately their first thought is to go out and find a way of bringing in income. As I said, Vakala makes a good receptionist and is excellent at filing client data on computers, so he ends up with a good-paying job that way.

·      Remdax takes a job down at a garage working with vehicle mechanics and engines, since that’s what he’s better at. Not in the manufacture of those parts (never again), but in fixing up broken vehicles. (I would’ve made it something more interesting than simply cars for this planet because Voltron planets are all about interesting possibilities for new civilizations.)

·      There’s some down-time where they live rather domestically this way, just earning enough to buy simple food and extend the stay in their small and shabby hotel room, but also bonding and becoming better friends.

·      A lot of people assume they already are a couple. Remdax in particular gets asked about his “husband” at the garage and he has to keep denying it.

·      There’s one night where they’re just having a relatively good time, taking a night to relax and appreciate that they can do nothing and be okay, and Remdax very gingerly brings up he wants to ask something of Vakala that might be too much. Vakala agrees to hear him out, and all Remdax wants is to be hugged for a bit while he thinks about how far they’ve come. So they hold each other, just lying on the bed and muttering to each other about the way things used to be, the way things are now, how lucky they are to have each other.

·      It’s actually some time later that they start seeing each other in a romantic light. Before this, they were a lifeline to each other, and in the heat of the worst moments, they couldn’t even really think about romance – they had to be preoccupied with survival. But now that their life is settling down and they’re starting to pack away funds for a small house, they start thinking…we’re basically life partners. Are we attracted to each other?

·      Answer: yes.

·      They kiss one night over a pretty meager dinner spread out picnic-style on their bed.

·      Shortly after this is when the Galra troops come into the city, looking for the two fugitives who attacked an inspector and fled custody.

·      Vakala and Remdax end up having to escape out the window, flee down the fire escape, and hijack a ship from Remdax’s garage.

·      They’re floating between worlds yet again.

·      They are eventually found by another ship, and they fear the Galra have finally captured them – but it’s a ship of rebels who’ve had similar stories. Vakala and Remdax are two of the Galra’s most wanted, and these rebels realized they would make great additions to the team in exchange for some stability.

·      So they work out a plan where Vakala and Remdax man an outpost on the ice planet, one of the most remote they have, that monitors Galra communications.

·      The rebels drop in supplies regularly and also have left a shuttle in case of emergency.

·      Vakala and Remdax both haaaaate the cold and so use the first week or so as an excuse to snuggle a lot.

·      And things go pretty okay. Remdax is still technologically illiterate and Vakala is just like “Are you even a Taxalan”

·      This is where they start bickering, which they like because finally, finally the stakes are low enough where they can afford to just rag on each other and still like each other at the end of the day.

·      They get more physical at this stage, too, but of course I can’t write a lemon to save my soul so it’s just a lot of implications

·      Things start going wrong when a Galra officer finds the base on a planet. This is far too dangerous and they both know it. If this guy gets two steps further, their location is blown and they are both dead. So Remdax kills him.

·      It’s been a while since their last supply delivery. And they figure it’s best not to waste anything…so they decide the Galra they killed has to go into food reserves.

·      Vakala nearly has a full-on panic attack while cannibalizing another person, even if that person was dangerous.

·      Some time later, another Galra shows up, but this one’s different. She claims to come in peace, and introduces herself as Acxa.

·      Remdax is ready to murder again, but Vakala holds him off because he can recognize Acxa isn’t a full-blooded Galra and in fact, he’s pretty sure there’s Taxalan in her genetic makeup based on how her face looks.

·      Acxa confirms. Her grandmother was a Taxalan and forced to be a servant of a Galra commander who impregnated her (here is the strongly implied noncon).

·      Acxa offers to help, swearing to secrecy. Vakala and Remdax deny her help but let her get away with her life, wondering if they’d made the right decision.

·      A month with no contact and they’re fairly secure Acxa didn’t snitch.

·      Then in comes Shiro, and canon events happen. These would be briefly recapped.

·      The important thing to note is that they let Shiro have their only shuttle, and that was a boo-boo, but it’s okay because the rebels are gonna drop off supplies anyway, so they shouldn’t need it.

·      And then the other rebels never show up.

·      I’m not sure if I’d have them literally be dead or leave it up in the air, but their supplies are cut off. They ration out their remaining food for the next few years. There’s at least one more Galra who shows up that they have to eat. And it does last a few years, until the end of VLD canon.

·      They’re starving to death. Skin and bone. And we get them eating their last ration over the fire and since they’re both used to cannibalizing Galra by now, their minds are on the obvious. Each is ready to kill himself so the other can live longer.

·      For dramatic effect I might have let them get close to pulling the trigger before the sound of someone showing up alerts them

·      They go outside, hoping they’re saved and not screwed…

·      And wouldn’t you know. It’s the paladins of Voltron. Also Acxa.

·      Allura has already been exchanged for the restoration of all realities (which Vakala and Remdax have no idea happened because when you’re in a reality that disappears and reappears, that has no bearing on your memory because you literally did not exist and suddenly existed again with no idea of the gap)

·      Altea and Daibazaal have been restored and now the paladins are working on bringing peace all over the universe

·      And Shiro remembered the two who helped his clone out because of…memory merging?...and Acxa brought up “We really need to check on those two”

·      They get Vakala and Remdax on a warm ship, find them food, get them cleaned up

·      And then bring them back to Taxalai, which has just been liberated from Galra control. We see the more unforgivable Galra getting their due punishment. The camp administrators are now incarcerated. Morvok is doing community service scooping poop at the zoo or something horrible because it’s Morvok

·      Shiro is considering his retirement, but first, he addresses Vakala and Remdax, asking if they want to govern the reclaimed Taxalai and help make it a beautiful place where their people can flourish

·      Vakala is trying so hard not to break down and cry, but it’s Remdax who hits his knees and starts bawling first

·      The final line would be about how they were finally “home” for the first time in their entire lives

[kyluxtrashpit]

For the writing game, I couldn't decide which, all the colors please? They're so interesting!

Omg I was so excited when I saw this! You’re so sweet to enable my rambling

Red: What type of writer’s block do you experience the most?

I guess the most common one is I get stuck in transitions. Like I know how this scene goes and I know how the next scene goes, but I don’t know exactly how to get from A to B and it’s one of those cases where I can’t just put a line and jump to it. Scene transitions are one of the hardest things for me for some reason. The second most common for me is probably when my brain is being a shit and won’t let me be productive due to some sort of emotional crisis lmao

White: Are you a supporter/lover of fanfiction?

I mean, kind of obvious lmao, but absolutely. I think it’s great that there are people who are creating things solely out of love for something, and that’s really what fanfiction is, at it’s deepest core. It’s a community of people being so enthusiastic about and loving something so hard that they work their asses of and dedicate time to just… making more of it. For no real external benefit other than some social validation, if they’re lucky. Love and passion are the true motivators and idk that’s just really beautiful to me

Black: Would you want to live in one of the fictional worlds you’vecreated?

I don’t really do a lot of worldbuilding because I find it incredibly boring and I’m terrible at it lmao, but since I always write either canon-verse or modern au, I’m going to treat this as ‘do I want to live in the Star Wars universe?’. And the answer to that would honestly be no. As much as there’s cool stuff, like advanced technology and aliens and maybe I’d be lucky enough to be able to move shit with my mind, there’s also a lot of bad things. A lot of fascism, a lot of wars, and every once in a while some asshole builds a planet-destroying superweapon and blows up a planet (or 5) and like… I could live on one of those, you know

That said, if I didn’t die because the planet I was living on exploded, I would probably survive alright. I mean, my background is in science, so tbh I might have better opportunities there than I do here. While that could mean making chemical weapons or something if the Empire was in power, that’s at least more interesting than customer service at a chemical company lmao. I still wouldn’t choose to live there, but I think I’d manage okay if I had to

[More beneath the cut - my sincerest apologies to those on mobile]

Blue: What’s more important to you: characters or plot?

I mean, they both definitely matter, but if I have to choose? Interesting characters can save a dry plot, but the best plot ever written will still be mediocre at best if the characters aren’t compelling. Personally, I love character-driven stories more than anything. Event-driven plots can still be fun, but I prefer the focus to be on how the characters are dealing with said events, as opposed to them just being passively driven along by them. The best is when it’s the characters themselves driving the events of the plot, but that’s more difficult to execute than it sounds. Regardless, it’s the characters that usually draw me into a story in the first place and that keep me interested. And from the perspective of my own writing, I go character-driven, all the way. Sure, some event might happen that drives the plot sometimes, but I’m far more interested in how the characters react to that event than anything else

Yellow: What’s a common writing tip that you mostly ignore?

In terms of writing advice, nothing makes my blood boil more than those posts that say ‘get rid of this entire class of words’ or ‘if it’s not absolutely strictly necessary to the plot, cut it’. Fuck that shit. If you want your writing to look like Hemingway, sure, go for it, but a) Hemingway is overrated, and b) that’s not the only way to write well. Especially as someone who tends to focus on characters, passages that aren’t necessary to the plot may be necessary to establish characterization. Or they may add some emotion to the story that gets the reader invested. Same with wording choices; more or less words can drastically change the tone or mood of the scene. Are there times when you need to cut words and keep things concise? Absolutely, but any writing tip that says ‘remove every instance of [word] in your document’ is fucking bullshit and you should never listen to it

Grey: What’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

Tbh I think every writing tip you see should always be taken with a grain of salt, especially if it’s a ‘never do x’ because there is almost always a situation where doing x is the right thing to do, it’s just a matter of knowing how to do it correctly (looking at you, ‘never use the passive voice’). So really, there are very few I always follow, but I’ll give one that was foundationally helpful for me

Edit in a different format than you write. That can be changing the text size, or the font, or printing it out physically, or whatever. For me, I usually pop it into AO3′s preview function and take notes of things that need changing as I go. It forces your brain to notice things it’s been overlooking for the entire writing period. I only do my final edit this way, generally speaking, but I’ve found it to be incredibly helpful for catching typos and general weirdness in the writing

Orange: How many projects do you usually have going at once?

Because my fics are usually short, I tend to only have 1, but I think I’ve had up to 3-4 before. That’s basically me just popping between documents everytime I get stuck on one until one is finished lmao. But more than 2 gets to be a lot to handle

Currently, I’m really only working on my Big Bang fic, though I do have at least one one-shot I’m planning to write when I need a short break from it

Pink: Which of your characters would become your best friend?

This is so hard because like, I don’t get along with a lot of people generally speaking. I’m also going to treat this as the entire SW cast even though I only write Kylo and Hux, for the most part. And I’m not sure I’d be good friends with either of them. While Kylo would make an excellent self-destruction buddy, I think we’re too similar for the most part to get along. And while I also have an element of Hux in me that’s my anal retentiveness when it comes to organization (not to be confused with cleanliness; I’m talking more about my colour-coded work email and my nested folder system on my computer), I’m also very emotional, messy, and I’m not really equipped to verbally spar with him. I think I would actually do okay with Hux as a boss, not a friend, but with Kylo, I think we’d get along really well until we really didn’t. And then I would be dead lmao

Aaaand none of that was an actual answer. But like, I honestly don’t know? Most of the other characters I really like (e.g. Rey, Rae Sloane, Ventress), it’s because I would have a big huge crush on them which would manifest as my hovering in their vicinity a lot but never actually starting a conversation and then waxing poetic while crying about my unrequited love when I continue to go unnoticed lmao. Which is, well, still not friendship

Maybe Finn… I might get along really well with Finn. He’s one of my favourites as well and I think he’d be really interesting to talk to. Has a lot of interesting views on things, likely a good listener. Hm. I’m still not 100% solid on it, but after far too many words, that’s my answer lmao

Purple: Which of your characters would become your sworn enemy?

Okay, hear me out on this one because the reason isn’t what you think lmao. I’m also treating this less as ‘sworn enemy’ and more ‘person I’d least get along with’ and that’s actually Poe. And the reason is that highly extroverted, extremely friendly people who others call charismatic tend to rub me the wrong way. Like there’s nothing wrong with them, they’re perfectly nice, but they’re just too friendly and my socially-inept, introverted brain always responds to that with DANGER DANGER. And I think he would definitely fall into that category for me haha

Green: Pencil, typewriter, or computer?

Computer. I have written fic by hand before (I also sometimes do planning by hand, just because it can be a bit more visual; Fractured was planned largely by hand when I used to work evenings at a gym and had access to unlimited spare paper), but that’s usually only when I have nothing else to work with. I wrote most of a fic in the Halifax airport on a layover, once. I’ve also done it on my phone, but that’s too fucking annoying lmao. Typerwriters are super fun to use but also very impractical for me; my typing accuracy isn’t good enough

Brown: Do you have a set writing space? Or do you write everywhere?

Mostly I’m at home on my couch, but that’s really cause I have nowhere else to write. I do write at work sometimes (not smut though lmao), but only when it’s slow enough that I can get away with it. And there’s nowhere else I really go where I’m sitting with a computer for long periods of time

Silver: Are you comfortable writing in public places?

I am, yeah. I don’t know why I wouldn’t be tbh. Work is a public place and the only reason I don’t write smut there is because I don’t want to get fired lmao (slacking off is one thing, porn is another). I don’t really ever write in public, but that’s more because I don’t spend a lot of time sitting in public places by myself

Gold: Do your stories usually contain lessons or morals?

Not really… I can’t think of any at least. They always have some sort of closure, though, because I fucking hate open-ended stuff where everything isn’t worked out in the end lmao (or is at least on it’s way there). I’m too fragile for that shit haha

Clear: Do your characters control where the story goes or do youmaintain control?

I tend to write more like an rper than an actual author, based on conversations I’ve had with others, so my characters have a lot of control. That said, if you’ve got your plot and all the major points of it planned out and then you get halfway through and find it doesn’t work because of the characters, then that’s a failure in planning, not the characters taking control. Sometimes things do change and are reworked as you go, that’s the nature of writing, but that still means your plan needed some adjusting, you just didn’t know it at the time. I intentionally leave a lot of room in my plans for the characters (e.g. ‘and then they talk about [blank]. Hux says something mean and Kylo gets angry’ might be my only note for an entire scene), but if you’ve planned enough to actually start writing, your characters and plot should already work together. Characters control the minor details of the story, not the major plot

Tan: Are you open to co-writing a story?

I might be. I’ve never done it before and the Big Bang I’m doing now is the most collaborative thing I’ve ever done writing-wise. If someone approached me and was really interested in it, I might be willing to give it a shot. I’m not really sure how it works, though. I tend to envision it as basically an rp except it’s planned out beforehand and then edited afterwards, but in all honesty, I have no idea how it actually goes

[burningfairytales]

Okay, so this fic is one I wanted to write ever since playing FFXV. It’s hard, right now, finding the time and motivation to continue - with my job, and school, I’m usually too drained to do anything other than exist when I get home, and I go to bed soon after.

I really want to though, and I will - it’s just a question of when. And until I do, I don’t wanna put it on AO3.  (There’s nothing worse than an unfinished work sitting there, making you feel guilty.)

But since I’m also a person who needs validation almost as much as air, I decided to just try uploading what I have so far to tumblr, see if anyone is even interested.

PROLOGUE

The truth, lodged between Prompto’s ribs, weighing down his heart and making it harder to breathe, is simple:

Noctis is gone.

Making light of something so heavy, he thinks, between Gladio and Ignis and Noct, has always been more Prompto’s thing, but after ten years of fighting just to make it a few more hours and then almost not making it on numerous occasions, he seems to have lost that ability; traded it for something more practical.

Like moving on when every bone in your body is aching, and picking yourself off of the ground when all you want to do is stay down and give up.

***

(When the first rays of light appeared between the derelict buildings that once made up Insomnia’s beautiful skyline, Prompto had dragged himself into the citadel and down the corridor; dragged himself up the last few steps to the throne on a probably one twisted ankle and a few broken bones, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him.

Once, he might have worried about stepping this close to the seat of the king, feeling like he was tainting hallowed ground with his presence alone. But that day, all he’d felt was the way his heart was beating an unsteady rhythm to the thought of Noctis’ name, which grew more frantic the closer he’d gotten.

Noctis, Noctis ,Noctis, NoctisNoctisNocisNoctisNoctis –

He’d found him sitting there, the king on his throne, head leaning to the side and eyes closed: he’d looked so tranquil, so much like he was merely resting, that Prompto had wanted to cry. Had wanted to reach out and wake him like he’d done so many times in the past.

And when he had reached out, his hand had hovered over the tear on Noctis’ sleeve, afraid.

Because if he’d touched him, it would have made things real, and Prompto had wanted so desperately for it not to be real.

Slowly then, he’d brushed trembling fingers against Noctis’ exposed arm; a fleeting contact of skin against skin – still warm, but lifeless in any other aspect.

He made a choked sound – heard it more than felt it, because Ignis and Gladio hadn’t been there yet, so it must have come from him – and his knees had given out. There had been no tears. There had been not much of anything at all; he’d only been able to hold onto the torn sleeve helplessly and stare at nothing.

The world had been saved, and Noctis had died. Outside, the rising sun had felt like it was mocking him.)

***

Over the past ten years, Prompto thought he’d learned better than to hope for a happy end. He’d never doubted that Noctis would return, but between the daemons and the darkness; the fighting and endless nights and all the blood, Prompto thought he’d know better than to hope for an end where everyone could be happy.

He’d expected casualties, and he’d been prepared to fight to the death – he’d just never thought that it was Noctis who would leave them. Not even after Noctis had told them about the prophecy.

Not even after that last night, sitting around the campfire.

He’d stupidly held onto the belief that there was another way. That, at the last minute, they’d figure out a way to save everyone.

So he’s a fool, so he had hope.

That shit gets people killed.

***

Here’s the morbid part of the story:

There used to be a royal tomb with the name Noctis Lucis Caelum on it, just north-west of Hammerhead, close to the cliffs overlooking Insomnia.

Prompto destroyed it when he’d found it, five years after the Crystal swallowed Noctis.

(“I’m gonna blow up a royal tomb,” He’d told Ignis over the radio that Cid had built from a bunch of salvaged Niff technology, back at Hammerhead. His voice had been resolute, even as his hands were shaking in anger.

“And whose tomb might that be?”

“Noctis’.”

“…I see,” Ignis had said, eventually. There had been silence, and Prompto had prepared himself to end any argument coming his way; had prepared to tell him, ‘I am here, and you are miles away, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.’

Ignis hadn’t tried to stop him. What he’d said instead, was, “I would strongly advise using some sort of fuse. I am certain Cid will be able to help come up with something relatively safe. But Prompto,” he’d paused, “please do exercise caution.”

And the anger that had been pressing down on his gut with a hot iron had given way to something bigger but no less painful: a fierce gratefulness and an equal intense guilt, because, for just a moment, he’d doubted Ignis.

They all cared for Noctis in their own way, and Ignis had known him the longest – had been a friend and an advisor and a brother to him. Ignis loved Noct, too.

For just a moment, he’d forgotten.

He’d swallowed past the lump in his throat and he’d nodded – a movement that had done as little good as it would have if Ignis had been present.

“You know me, Iggy. I’m always careful.”

They’d both pretended his voice wasn’t breaking.)

Noctis hated those tombs. He never said it out loud – he was raised with the knowledge that they existed, and tracked them down in a so-this-is-just-how-things-are kind of way, but Prompto knows he hated them. It was in the way his mouth had been drawn in a thin line; the way he’d eyed the narrow space whenever they entered one, and the hesitance with which he’d reached for whatever weapon they’d found.

He hated those tombs, and like hell was Prompto going to let him be buried in one. Not him. Not Noctis, who belonged to the air and the sky, to open spaces and to freedom.

***

(They all cared for Noctis in their own way. To Prompto, loving Noctis had come as easily as breathing.

Being in love with him – that had felt like coming home.)

***

They bury Noctis down at Alstor Slough, near his favourite fishing spot.

With him, they lay down one of Ultima Blade – it’s not a nod to tradition, but rather a testament to the fact that he had died fighting for everyone’s future; and the blade is something that Noctis, through countless battles, and with an upgrade here and there by Cid, had made entirely his – and the photo of them, in front of the Regalia, tugged into his breast pocket.

They bury him in soil and dirt; something real and true, and very much unlike the tombs that had always seemed removed from the rest of the world somehow.

It’s as much freedom as they can give him.

Prompto figures that there is no one who has the right to protest their actions. Noctis died and the line of Lucis with him. The ring is gone and so are the crystal and the royal arms, and there is no reason to lock him away now. Not when his entire presence had always been too beautiful - too ineffable -  for a cold room of stone to hold him.

They’d tried their best to bring flowers, but a decade without sun had left the flora regrettably, well – dead. But Prompto had insisted, and so they’d brought the prettiest weeds they could find; sturdy little plants that had refused to bow down to the darkness.

Kneeling, Prompto places the bundle down and regards it. He opens his mouth, wants to say something – anything.

“I-“ he tries. “You-” But no words come.

He reaches out, brushes against one of the blossoms, and there’s a hand on his shoulder that Prompto dimly recognises as Gladio’s.

“You were the best of all of us, Noct. We’re gonna miss you.”

“Truly,” Ignis agrees. He draws a deep breath. “The world owes you everything. May you find peace now, wherever you are.”

They wait for him, a moment, to say something, but they must realise that Prompto isn’t going to. He isn’t ready. All the words in the world seem insufficient, somehow.

Gladio squeezes his shoulder; a gesture that might have been meant as a comfort. “We’ll be at the haven,” he says. “Join us when you’re- y’know.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I just need – You know. Yeah. Give me a moment.”

“Of course. Take all the time you need.” Ignis, too, reaches for him; feels for his arm and squeezes. The gesture is short-lived – Prompto appreciates that – and then both Ignis and Gladio turn to leave. He doesn’t watch them go, but he hears their retreating footsteps –the rustling of their clothes, the twigs that break beneath their feet, the grass moving.

He sits there for a long while, until clouds block the sunlight and it begins to rain; and even then he doesn’t move. The weather, after all, has always been a fickle thing, out here in the Slough.

“Even the skies are crying for you, Noct.” He laughs, softly. “Isn’t that fitting? It’s like in the movies.”

The raindrops leave dark spots on his shirt and pants, only barely visible against the dark fabric, and soon, they disappear altogether - indistinguishable as the rest of his clothing becomes soaked.

“I wanted,” he begins.

He wanted Noctis alive and well. He wanted greasy diner food and nerve-wrecking hunts and racing Noctis to the nearest fork in the road on their chocobos. He wanted long nights in crappy motel rooms, and to keep fighting him for the blankets at 2 in the morning, half-asleep, when they camped somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

He wanted a chance to tell him, but there wasn’t time. That’s what it boils down to. That’s always what it boils down to.

“I wanted more,” he tells the bouquet of weeds, clumsily tied together with string, “We were gonna change the world, Noct. Remember? You and - me, ever at your side. We said that. I remember when we said that.”

The Slough stays quiet.

“I wanted more time,” he whispers. “This life wasn’t enough.”

Only barely does he register the pain in his wrist, and when he looks down, he sees his own fingernails digging in the skin beneath his leather wristband. They leave crescent shaped indents when he lets go, and he stares at them, numbly.

Once, he’d held a burning piece of wood to his own skin. It had hurt, horribly so. But back then, the pain had been, in a way, soothing. It hadn’t quite been the recovery of his own agency that he’d been aiming for, but it had been something - a proof that he was real, that he could still hurt.

Now, he feels nothing.

In the end, Prompto has no idea how long he sits there, before Ignis comes for him. He wonders if he offered to go – there’s no way Gladio would have made him walk down here again by himself, no matter how good he’s become at making up for his lack of sight.

“Prompto,” he begins, cautiously. He sounds like he’s soothing a wounded animal. Prompto knows. He’s used the same voice many times in the past; he just doesn’t understand why Ignis is using it on him now.

Blinking against his blurry vision, Prompto turns to look at him – the damn rain is making it hard to see.“Yeah. Over here – I’m sorry. You guys waiting for me?” His voice sounds weird even to his own ears, and he clears his throat.

“Not at all. We’ve got the time. But I thought you might be getting cold, out here. Will you  accompany me back to the haven?”

“Yeah, sure. Let me just – “ Prompto turns back towards the flowers. Hesitates. Shakes his head. “No. No, I’m done. Let’s go.”

They walk back to the haven in silence. Prompto stares straight ahead as they walk - he stops, once, because he thinks he sees something in the line of trees - a wolf, or maybe a dog, but when he looks again, there’s nothing there. Maybe he’s hallucinating. Something’s gotta give eventually, right?

Gladio waits for them, there on top of those familiar runes. He takes a look at him, and something flickers across his face – something pained and hesitating. It’s right there, but gone in the next moment.

“Shit, Prompto,” he says. It looks like he wants to go on, but doesn’t. He closes his mouth, jaw clenched and lips pressed in a thin line. It’s the kind of look someone has when they realise that there is nothing left to say.

Prompto doesn’t understand why it’s directed at him. Doesn’t know why Ignis looks and Gladio sounds like he’s something fragile; threatening to break with the next gust of wind.

***

They’d lasted two years, that time the crystal swallowed Noctis. Gladio left them first, worry for his sister bigger than the ties that bound the three of them together. Prompto never blamed him – he’d have done the same if there had been anyone other than the three of them he’d felt obligated to protect. Hell, he’s sure he’d have lasted less than the time it took Gladio.

Ignis stayed for longer. A few months, perhaps, maybe almost another year. Then he’d gone to Lestallum; feeling that his strengths were better used there.

So, two years. Three, if you count the two of them. That’s how long they’d stayed together the last time Noctis was away, but that was when all of them had been promised that their king and friend would return.

This time, they have no such thing holding them together. Prompto looks at Ignis; sees the wound on his temple and the grim set of his jaw, and feels, for the first time in a long time, that he’s failed him. He looks at Gladio, eyes straying to the distance, and feels like they don’t belong anymore, any of them.

What’s worse, however, in the quiet of the night, when he’s feeling tired and low enough to be honest at least with himself, he feels like he’s been failed, too.

Spending time with them reminds him of all the times they’d had in the past, when all of them had been part of a quartet, instead of what they are now: not a trio, but three pieces of a whole that broke and lost what connected them in the first place.

They’re hurting each other, just by being there.

So, two months into wandering aimlessly around the countryside, Prompto draws a line that he never thought he would.

It’s almost dawn when he gathers his things and sneaks out of the tent. He makes it as far as a few hundred feet down the path, away from the camp - he’s quiet, and the stars are his only witnesses, but the others find him, anyway.

It’s funny, how they feel like strangers to each other and still know each other so well. It’s funny how that works.

Gladio voice sounds across the distance. He speaks at normal volume, but the voice carries; cuts right through Prompto’s chest with the ease of a knife.

He may as well have been shouting.

“So. You’re leaving without even saying goodbye?”

“I’m going back to Hammerhead,” he tells them. The ‘alone’ isn’t explicitly stated, but by the silence that follows, he knows it’s been heard. “I have to.”

To go. Not to Hammerhead, in particular. Just – away.

Neither Ignis or Gladio disagree. It shouldn’t feel like a relief.

“I’d thought you might say that. I thought so since the beginning.” Ignis inclines his head. “Yet you’ve stayed.” There is a question in that, somewhere.

I stayed, because I thought I could, he wants to tell them. Because I wanted to be able to.

Because they were friends once. Because the guilt is gnawing at his insides every day, for even thinking that they no longer are. Because there will always be a part of Prompto that’s waiting for something in his life to stay.

But he looks at them and all he sees is what they lost; what they have no way of getting back, and he knows that they see the same in him, too.

This isn’t fair to any of them.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead, and means it more than anything he has in a long time.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Gladio says. And that, at least, feels genuine. Maybe they’re not completely beyond saving, but for now, they need time to heal. It’s for the best then, leaving. Before they begin to resent each other.

And besides – Prompto is tired of being the one that’s left. Is tired of losing, and hurting, and not feeling anything at all.

He’s just tired.

***

If there’s a word for feeling like you’re returning to something, Prompto doesn’t think it applies. He dumps his bag on the bed in his tiny room in Hammerhead, unceremoniously, as Cindy stands in the doorway behind him. She, too, had looked at him like he was seconds away from breaking. Had said “oh, honey,” in that voice of hers, not quite pitying but something too close to it for comfort. But in the end, she’d given him his key without any questions.

It’s too quiet. There’s a dog barking outside, but Prompto doesn’t register it as more than a distant sound; a faint echo of something he should remember but doesn’t. It hadn’t felt this quiet even in the years Noctis was gone the first time. For most of that time, Hammerhead had been his home – his life had revolved around killing nearby daemons and hunting and running errands for Cindy, or, on good days, helping her with the few cars that still came to the garage. She’d taught him the basics, and he could at least keep the old truck running smoothly.

Hammerhead had been the closest thing he’d had to a home, since the Regalia.

But now he’s standing in the middle of his small room, looking at the bed, and feels like it’s too small a space. He can’t even make himself take a step – forwards or backwards, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t know if it matters. He feels both restless and unable to move.

No one ever told Prompto that sometimes, coming back to something is the hardest part.

***

He has nightmares. That’s nothing new.

They used to be of daemons and monsters, of turning against his friends and them turning against him. Sometimes, they were of Ardyn. Of steel rooms and bound wrists and feeling trapped.

He still has those, sometimes, but mostly, he dreams of Noctis. Dying, about to die, or already dead.

***

He wakes up one night, sweat drenched and shivering. The room feels too suffocatingly small, the walls seem to be closing in on him, and all Prompto knows is that he desperately needs to get out.

Grabbing his shirt from where he’d tossed it on the floor the night before, Prompto heads for the door; the weight of his gun is still achingly unfamiliar even after all this time he’s had to get used to the it pressed against his side.

He walks and walks and walks, with no set destination in mind. Hammerhead grows smaller and smaller in the distance, until he looks back and can’t even see it anymore.

There’s light on the horizon where the sky becomes brighter; he’s been heading east, and the sun is already rising. He hasn’t noticed - not the time or the first rays of sunlight; not even just how close he’s gotten to the remains of Insomnia’s road blockade. Taking a shuddering breath, then two, he walks a few steps more. His legs are protesting the movement.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to have learned how to keep going when he aches all over.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees a shadow, and draws his weapon on instinct. Quiet, he thinks. Don’t give away your location.

He ducks behind a pile of rocks and rubble to the side of the road, readies his gun, but just as he’s raising it to shoot, he hears a whine.

And that’s – not right.

Leaning forward a little, he looks past the rocks, and the sight makes him stop.

Then he’s chuckling, and then laughing, and he’s dimly aware that that’s not a normal reaction, that maybe he’s going into hysterics, but he thinks he’s owed this, at least. Because right there, up ahead, is Umbra, sitting and looking at him as if he was waiting.

The gods must be having a field day with this.

Maybe he’s missed the memo. Maybe it’s Torture Prompto Day. What other explanation is there? For Umbra to appear in the middle of nowhere, when he’d been trying so hard to put distance between himself and everything that’s happened?

Hadn’t everyone assumed the dog had disappeared after everything was over?

The laughter subsides eventually, leaving him tired and numb and hollow. He sinks to his knees and presses his hand to his face.

Umbra, however, walks closer. Prompto hears him pad across the concrete, and then there’s a cold nose pressing against his hands. Or, it might be cold. He isn’t sure he’s a good judge. Prompto hasn’t felt warm in months now.

Because here’s the truth:

Noctis is gone.

It’s a simple truth; one that has been curling around Prompto’s heart like a python ready to kill, and he’s been doing his best to look, not to care. To deny its existence entirely.

But something had to give eventually.

Something had to give.

And Noctis is gone.

He’s dead and gone and buried, and he’s not coming back.

He’s dead and he took all the warmth with him, and the sun may be back, but Prompto’s world has never felt so cold.

“He’s gone, Umbra,” Prompto chokes out, letting his hands fall away. “He’s dead. I will never see him again. He was - Noctis, and now he’s not, and I don’t know what to do.”

Umbra whines, and pushes his head against his arm. And when Prompto reaches up to rub his eyes, his hand comes away wet.

It feels like something’s breaking - has been breaking for a while now, and it’s finally shattering to pieces in his heart. He’s in pain, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop, and even more so, he’s angry.

“Why?” he asks, head turned towards the sky. “Tell me this, why? You fucked up. You and your stupid crystal. You fucked up, and you made him pay the price. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve any of it. He would have been a great king, and you took that from him. You took him from me.”

Hand curled into a fist, he hits the ground. “Give him back to me,” he demands, voice cracking. And because once wasn’t enough, he repeats it. “Give him back!”

He says it again and again, until he’s out of breath and his voice is gone.

And if the gods hear, they do not answer.

(NEXT CHAPTER)

[clumsyclifford]

hello!! i am back and on desktop this time. the blog is just as pretty. alex + yellow = v v attractive jfc. this is a long one so buckle in.

to begin: i hope you have the most fun on your day road trip and sing your heart out to atl and taylor swift. i love driving long distances and idk just driving in general is fun. have the absolute best time MWAH

my birthday is in november!! november 23 to be specific. i share it with miley cyrus which is something i always found to be very cool when i was growing up and watching hannah montana. it also means i am a sagittarius and funny little fact i realized is that my best friend is a gemini. alex and jack are also a sagittarius and a gemini. from being 13 i know that tyler and josh from twenty one pilots are also a sagittarius and a gemini. something about sagittarius and gemini besties idk.

also yeah!! ao3 year in review!! it's a bit complicated to figure out at first and if you read a lot the finding pages thing can be pretty tedious, but it's def worth it once you figure it out. it gives you a lot of different stats about everything you read and it's pretty cool. now i am going to go look at your fics to remember my favs. you deserve the praise so i am willing to offer it. jeez you write a lot i respect the motivation sm. you write quite a bit of angst and i won't lie i try to stay away from angst so i haven't read your fics that seem super angst-y based on the tags. BUT there are still so many i recall reading and loving nonetheless. on a quick scroll-through: i usually don't read high school AUs but "paint me in trust (i'll be your best friend)" was super adorable and lovely. "thank god i'm yours" is one of my favs iirc. also i love love love "it's not always easy (but i'm here forever)" like yes please romanticize alex gaskarth i love it sm. "i won't be silent (and i won't let go)" and "i fell asleep in a city that doesn't" are both super fluffy and romantic and are favs of mine. in case you haven't picked up on it i adore very fluffy and romantic fics lmao. alright i am continuing to scroll and there are so many more i could list that i love but this section is getting quite long. just know if it's about a kitchen or hotel rooms being for lovers i probably read it and adored it and that pov is so valid.

waterparks!! will not lie i only really started listening to them about 6 months ago having been distantly aware of their existence for several years by being a fan of bands in the same genre. listen as long as you let yourself be vaguely annoyed by awsten is prevents you from being in love with him. follow him on any social media platform for like a day and you'll be sick of him typing in nothing but all caps within hours. simply do not romanticize him and you can keep yourself from falling!! so this is coming from a slightly fake parx fan, but some of my favs by them have been peach (lobotomy), crave, numb, fuzzy, violet!, you'd be paranoid too, and lowkey as hell. that is a very songs-from-their-most-recent-album-heavy rec, but whatever. i did give the disclaimer about being a fake parx fan.

yeah hayley does have 2 solo albums now!! petals for armor and flowers for vases / descansos. pfa is the one i didn't really like upon first listen but has grown on me. i haven't even listened to the second one in its entirety oops but we won't mention it. dead horse is good but simmer (pretty sure that was the other single??) just ain't it for me. the album has some lovely songs but it's just a hit or miss album all the way through. some favs of mine on it include pure love, taken, crystal clear, watch me while i bloom, and why we ever. it's sorta a storyline album about healing if that adds anything to it?? but anyways. i started listening to paramore around the time after laughter dropped and it grew to be one of my fav albums in existence. idle worship is probably one of my fav songs like ever. i def understand being slightly put off by bands with songs that make religious references (me with twenty one pilots' earlier music that makes a lot more religious references considering i'm not religious whatsoever) but i think i am blinded by being in love with hayley williams and just ignore it. idk that she's like super religious?? she's addressed believing in god and stuff a few times but she's def not the "rub it in your face" type and if she's making refs in music more recently then they're subtle enough i'm not noticing them. ik albums like brand new eyes had a lot more because it was shortly after that the band split and the songwriting process was essentially her and ex-bandmate co-songwriter arguing about their religious beliefs (turns out he ended up being super homophobic and transphobic all based on his religion so do with that what u will and thank the clown for leaving). i feel u on the "i meant to start listening to them" because that's essentially how i started listening to them. i told myself i was going to and then finally forced myself to do it. fuck falling for awsten knight what's more risky is falling in love with hayley </3

also yeah!! you've articulated my feelings towards tde. every song is so vastly different that it's hard to like it all. #1 fan is pretty decent though, and that's not just my bias about finding both ross and his gf hot and a cute couple and getting to see them together and ross half naked in a mirror in the video nope not at all. he's my fav himbo!! he has no personality!! no thoughts head empty!! i still love him and his strawberry-growing saga on twitter tho <3 the hazard of being in love with ross lynch since i was 12. girlfriend better be a fucking banger and there's quite a few already released singles in the tracklist so i have hope. i believe my show is in chicago on november 19 which is a thursday. kinda sucks since i intentionally bought the chicago tix nearly two years ago (the show was originally supposed to be april 25 2020. lol.) because the show was on a saturday and i have to drive 3 hours to get there. obviously i can't speak for them as tde but r5 shows always fucking slapped and i can vouch for them (realized i haven't seem them live since 2016?? 5 YEARS?? wtf) so if u genuinely like them. would recommend going to see them.

anyways. i have not listened to luke's solo album yet. i plan on it. this has gotten so long but i tried to respond in all areas and even organized it in different paragraphs this time (thanks being on desktop!!). hope you are well. hope you have a lovely day. hmm what's a little "going on in my life" fact. i got new glasses a few days ago and my eyes essentially said fuck off because adjusting to the new prescription has left me with eyes that hurt and occasionally slightly nauseous. here is to hoping my eyes get their shit together. mwah LOVE YOU TOO - the other bella/cubs anon/idk

okay hi hello. i have put this off because holy hell it's long but let's do it. i am putting a cut because this whole thing is long even without my answer

first: the road trip was super fun thank you!!! i am intrigued by this information regarding sags and geminis, we should do some scientific inquiry. enquiry. i don't know if there's a difference between those words.

aha! well i tried the ao3 year in review thing and i would say it had about 55% accuracy but still i agree it's fun to look back at that kind of stuff. and i feel you on the angst thing i go through phases of writing angst-heavy stuff and then writing very fluffy stuff and it is entirely based on my mental state buuuut i have lots of fluff and i'm glad you found it all and that you liked it yay <333 KITCHENS ARE FOR LOVERS i will die on that fuckin hill. hotel rooms as well but primarily kitchens.

dfgjhgdlfkhgdfmj honestly i dont use twitter enough that i would see his tweets enough that that would bother me also the fact that he tweets in all caps means that i just picture him yelling everything he tweets which i find absolutely hysterical so i don't think that would help. i have added these parx songs to my listen asap playlist and will get to them when i get a chance thank you i am excited also i already know lowkey as hell and it slaps super hard so im very much lookin forward to the rest of these. merci merci

YEAH simmer was the one i didnt vibe with. and honestly i feel zero compulsion to get into hayley williams as a solo artist. i just don't vibe enough to want to do that so i doubt i'll be listening to her anytime soon but maybe if i hear the songs in passing or get super bored one night, idk who can really say. but yeah christianity typically puts me off of music (speaking as a very jewish bitch) although there are notable exceptions in the cases of thomas rhett and the driver era. i'm just not attached to hayley enough to be like ehhh this doesnt matter. does that make sense

FAVORITE HIMBO PLEASE HGSDFGDFGKLFGJ i dont follow him on twitter but i have seen some interviews of ross and rocky and tbh they're great i love the way ross speaks like i like his speech mannerisms and i like his FACE and HAIR and. yeah. i think hes pretty. and i think he and 5sos SHOULD collab i think that would be sexy as hell. can you imagine that. oh my god can you imagine a ross lynch/luke hemmings collab. i'm not even really talking to you anymore bella because i know you haven't listened to luke yet and don't have a stake in it but if anyone else is reading this long ass answer. ross & luke collab. okay im going to move on and not think about that now. but i probably won't see tde unless i get a job this semester because i'm trying to stop spending so much money on big indulgent things like concerts likeee i was in a really good habit of not spending that much and then suddenly i got paid for one summer and i was just goin Crazy and i need to dial it back. plus i wanna see ajr and noah kahan equally bad so like. i have to make some calls about priorities here. it's Much to think about

good luck to your eyes i'm sure your new glasses are hella cute tho!!! LOVE YOUUUUUUU

[dsudis]

writing meme

I was tagged by @silentwalrus1 approximately one internet lifetime ago.

+Where do you publish your work?

AO3 and also my own website (dira.ficlaundering.com) though I am beginning to think that... you know. Personal fic author archive-websites are a thing of the past and it’s not like I don’t keep local copies of everything in case the AO3 should up and disappear somehow, and also it looks... reasonably likely that the AO3 will not up and disappear anytime soon, so... maybe I will let the website go? idk. 

+What medium/application/etc. you use? 

Good old Microsoft Word, since I was dragged kicking and screaming to it from WordPerfect ten years ago. I trust The Cloud even less than I trust the AO3 to go on existing and also I do not actually want to share my actual working files in real time with absolutely anyone ever.

+Do you collaborate with others?

Nnnno. I am not good at relinquishing control over the story to anyone else--I mean, I will take someone else’s story and write fanfiction of it all day long, obviously, but sharing the actual story-making with someone else, no.

OTOH I love betas, and I more or less have to workshop an idea in chat--telling out the whole arc and sometimes individual scenes--before I can write it. Like, if you want to know what I’m going to write next the trick is to be in a chat room with me and ask a leading question and then make encouraging noises occasionally because BOY HOWDY DO I WANT TO TELL YOU AND HEAR WHETHER YOU THINK THAT WORKS.

+How much editing do you do before you publish?

It varies, depending on the story, how long it is, how many fucks I give about it by the time I’m done with it, etc. But I definitely like to have it betaed and go over the final story for proofreading type stuff. There have been stories I wrote that in the beta process wound up getting fairly massive rewrites--the middle story in the “Just Stay Alive” trilogy, “Seek Out the Hidden Places” is the one that springs to mind right now; I wrote that story, sent it to beta, and then realized that I had basically left out a huge amount of what the story should really be about, and rewrote a lot to make that work.

+Do you listen to music while you write?

I listen to music almost constantly--silence is slightly unnerving and makes every little other sound much more distracting, plus I have a bit of tinnitus so once I start noticing that I have to drown it out. (Thanks, ADHD, on probably both counts.) So, yes, I listen to music while I write, but it’s very very rare that I have any special playlist or anything relevant to the story itself--sometimes I’ll have some kind of RAR GET THE WORK DONE playlist for generally motivating myself to stay awake and on task, but that’s about it.

+How do you decide what to write about?

See above, re: workshopping ideas. I am a pretty much perpetual-motion idea generator, but I also have been doing this long enough to have some sense of how much of a hassle a story is going to be to write (in terms of how long it will be, how much thinking and planning and research it might require, how much shame I will feel about posting it, etc.) and how much I will love creating and posting it (how much of a target audience it has, how personally enchanting I find the idea) and kind of keep those things in proportion. One of the ways I gauge that is by, as I said above, basically workshopping the idea with friends and in chat--there are lots of ideas that I’ve talked out to the point where I can recognize that if I write it I’m committing to 200k, and back-burnered it until I forgot about it completely. 

(I rarely actually utterly fail to sell an idea to anyone, but there are definitely times when other people’s reactions make me reconsider how a story would need to work to survive outside my head. So that is also a factor.)

...Also once it gets past the idea stage and into the stable of WIPs, random number generators help a lot.

+When do you write?

Well, not damn much for the last week or so, and before that writing was my dayjob so I scheduled periods of fic-writing in between periods of original-romance-writing to break things up and avoid feeling too all-work-and-no-play about writing. Before that, I tended to sneak in writing at work and also write in the evenings, especially while chatting with my alpha/beta readers. So... could be pretty much anytime I’m in front of a computer, which is... most of my waking hours, most of the time.

+How often do you write?

Once again: not damn much lately because things have been a bit. wild. But prior to The Upheaval, pretty much five or six days a week (I would do five-ish days a week Going To Work to write, plus a semi-regular evening meetup one night on the weekend to sit in a coffeeshop and write with other writers). 

I always always wanted to be a professional writer, so I was reading writing-advice books of the variety written by working SF/Fantasy writers when I was 10 or 11 and internalized all their advice, which certainly included the “if you want to write, write every day” chestnut, and so I knew that and could have repeated it with great assurance of its validity anytime since I was in middle school, but it was only maybe five or six years ago that I actually seriously connected that to my own writing practice, particularly in the sense of--whether you feel inspired or not, whether you want to or not, get some words out as regularly as you can.

+Do you take requests?

Only after we reach friendship level 7. Or if I have specifically opened myself up for requests for some very specific reason like a charity auction or something, and even then I will reserve the right to be really wary of your requests.

+Is there a genre or type of story you want to write but are hesitant to?

I avoid writing historically-set stuff because I know Just Enough to know how much research I would want to do to Get Things Right and that is a rabbit hole I don’t need to send myself down when I have so many modern-set ideas where I can just roll with it and put down any goofs to “well it’s like that in the Marvel universe” or “well it’s like that in the universe where werewolves became widely known about fifteen years ago in a lengthy revelation that was traumatic in various ways for basically all werewolves alive at the time, especially the children and teens who had to deal with this happening but had no control over how it affected them.”

For instance.

+Any inspirational quotes, videos, tricks, articles, etc that help you stay motivated?

...Prescription amphetamines mostly? I have the ADHD, so “staying motivated” to do literally anything is a deeply questionable proposition. What works a lot better is to have a pretty reliable schedule where there is a time, or multiple times, in the day when it is Time To Work On The Thing. And if I’m particularly stuck, such that I arrive at Time To Work On The Thing and just go blank, that is usually time to show the most recent bit of the story to someone and talk with them about what I’m doing next, because actually talking about it with another person tends to jump-start my brain into focusing on the thing and working out what’s next and sometimes does in fact stir up enough enthusiasm to get me going without it having to be Time To Make The Donuts.

+Go to page 7 of your WIP, skip to the 7th line, and share 7 sentences:

I have lots of things in progress but only one that is more than 7 pages long where the seventh page isn’t in a chapter already posted, which I have also worked on this month, SO. From the Ace!Bitty epic, slightly more than seven very long and winding sentences:

“I thought he was asking because it was how he felt, and I was trying to be a... good teammate, a friend--I was older, I was trying to look out for him. So I kept saying, oh, that doesn't seem so weird, and I think everyone feels like that sometimes..." 

Bitty laughed, and Jack grinned and pressed on, watching Bitty's face to see if he was properly lightening the mood.  

"He wound up taking me to the ace spectrum group on campus--oh, hey, Bits, there's a group for this, when you get back to campus, I know I still see their flyers around all the time, because it reminds me of that time. They're really friendly, they didn't even get mad at me and Shitty for showing up and being idiots at each other and everyone else."  

Jack paused, considering what would be an added selling point for anyone else, and added cautiously, "I think the cake at the meetings is from the grocery store, though." 

"From the--!" Bitty looked horrified. "But--what if there are little frogs just figuring this out, and they--"  

Jack did not point out that, in this department, Bitty himself was the frog just figuring this out.

Annnnd lazytagging whoever wants to do the meme! Say I tagged you, it’s cool, you’re allowed! :D

[itslucyluna]

Fic Writers Week 2017 - Day 1

I know this started yesterday, but I only heard about it this morning as I was taking a browse around on Tumblr…

So without further ado, Day 1: Words Of Validation.

Fic Writers, share some of the comments that stuck with you the most.

I’ve given some thought how to do this. While there are certainly some reviews/comments that have stuck with me (and I’ll be sharing them in a moment), there are some particular reviewers/commenters I’d rather thank first.

Sunsethill on FF.net for her faithfulness as a reviewer of TDKWWS, it’s companion pieces, and sequels from nearly it’s beginning.

Kiger-neko on FF.net, who has not only given some very lovely reviews, but has also created some amazing fanart for TDKWWS.

AntiSocialBookWorm on AO3 who’s very thoughtful and fleshed-out comments on TDKWWS are always a pleasure to receive.

221b_ee, Nyx_Ro, Sue_Clover on AO3 who’s kind comments I look forward to reading when I update TDKWWS. 

And now, some of my favorite reviews/comments :)

Cross-Pollination on FF.net:

i read this earlier and i went through a horrible phase of being SO MAD at james like lmao i was totally on board with james/tuney when i thought snily was gonna be a thing (even tho i don't ship them go figure) but as soon as i realized it WASN'T i felt this unearthly rage overcome me like... i don't even know why. i was just so offended. i related a lot to harry's thoughts on the matter here.

but now i'm totally down for whatever happens in the future... i just can't think about james too long looool...

such a tuney move though, to prefer henry over harry. she would! she really would. you've got such a firm grasp on all of the characters, and i admire your ability to portray young characters realistically in tdkwws - so many people fail to grasp accurate childlike behavior and mannerisms and struggle to convey their age through their dialogue and small actions but you handle it all flawlessly without making anyone lose their core values and what makes them them.

i'm gonna be on the lookout for any guys with brown/blond hair and moms named francine now haha! i gotta figure out who lily's gonna marry! i have a sneaking suspicion that sev's gonna get with clara and that lewis is her and benjy's son, since he dies in canon and lewis has that cleft chin and stocky build your benjy's got... clara's also caught sev's eye in the most recent chap and she's been appearing a lot more recently! she's growing on me, so maybe i'm just looking for clues where there aren't any just cuz i really like her, but... :) here's to hoping!

i'm glad that "all was well" for everyone in both universes, anyway. of course sev would figure out a way to check on the other universe - lily probably desperately needed reassurance harry was okay after all that time. makes me wonder why she didn't come along. it was good for sev, too, i think, to hear that harry thought he did the right thing in the end.

AND HARRY DIED WITH A SMILE ON HIS FACE GOD THAT GOT ME SO GOOD

AAggh i love this i love your writing i love this series i can't wait for more updates to tdkwws!

TDKWWS on FF.net:

And I've finally caught up to the latest chapter! I really enjoy how you're writing this. Even though Lily and Severus start from first year, there are mysteries/plots for each "year." I also appreciate your OCs, they each have their own motivations and personality. What I like most is that even if this is "just another time travel," you are very creative with plot and I'm usually guessing what happens next. I'm curious as to who the Hufflepuff could be.

Also, Gwendolyn Jones reminded me of the canon Gwenog Jones!

Famous Last Words on FF.net:

Ok, first of allMAJOR PLOT TWIST

your interpretation of Albus. S. Potter is ridiculously creative, although, I suppose it’s quite plausible (and also reminding me of some DarkLord! Harry fics)

this thing is quite short but so succinct at revealing years and years of Albus’ storyl honestly can’t fathom how you do it

but your take on this nextgen character (who I often see is the sarcastic Slytherin at Hogwarts, which is also who you made him out to be) and twisting the common interpretation of him is just amazing.

hopefully you write more about ‘controversial’ characters (IMO, like Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Percy Weasley, Severus Snape, and just a sudden idea, maybe you can expand on Aunt Muriel’s character?) Cheers

TDKWWS on AO3:

Oh boy oh boy oh boy. I did not see Dimitri Prince coming back as the DADA professor. I especially enjoyed the goodbye scene with the Jones children at the Platform 9 3/4. It felt almost like a GIF in a way. I could see the scene very well in my mind from the details given, and it was a languid exploration of a fairly mundane (and HP traditional) scene. Adding the warning by Eileen Snape bothered my curiosity and made me pause, and set the tone for something-not-quite-right during the Sorting Ceremony. Thumbs up! I'm finding that your original characters fit very well into the world of Harry Potter. I think it is because you've explored some of the background characters like Narcissa Malfoy well enough for me to accept them easily. When I see a familiar name be humanized and fleshed out, the work you put into your original characters is more appreciated. I utterly accept Sage as belonging in the time period. Of course, dealing with a non-Harry-Potter time period necessitates some original characters but I felt it necessary to mention how well they fit in to the story. :)

TDKWWS on AO3:

Just spent the last three days or so reading through this story and the two related one shots, and what you did is just amazing.

You know, before this, I was opposed to time-travel HP fix-it fics on principle. I just didn't read them, didn't like the concept and couldn't see how one could work. You managed to prove me wrong with how well-drafted this is, though, and boy am I glad you did it.

I think what I like best about everything is the way you expanded and built upon what little we know about the Marauder era, especially in regard to Slytherin House, giving a taste of the wider world beyond. Your original characters are well-rounded and believable, and the changes you made to the canon ones are very interesting as well (I miss warm and caring Narcissa!). I believe a common pitfall, especially in the HP fandom, is to write off characters who are bigots as a bundle of negative tropes and go from there. It's easy to forget that they can be people like any other, with their own loves, hopes and fears, and not just "the villains". So, I really appreciate what you did, especially with Vesta and Boyd Montague and Demitri Prince. A pureblood who disowned his daughter for marrying a Muggle, on one side, but is horrified by and opposed to Voldemort, on the other... It's this kind of depth that I sometimes think is unfortunately lacking in the original work. So kudos!

I'll be waiting anxiously to see where it'll be taking you next :)

I Wish You Well (No More Bad Blood) on AO3:

He looked at her. His blacks eyes held an inscrutable emotion as he said, "Things are, and never were, black and white."

Lily didn't understand. It frustrated her. She'd gotten used to straightforward people like James, Sirius, and her mates in the Order over this crypticness Severus always liked. Taking back her arm, she flashed a quick smile at the sales associate behind the counter. "I'd like to buy these, please."

This is well stated, and I thought the rest of the story enhanced it artfully.

The Snape/Evans dynamic is one of the most intriguing in the HP universe, and I enjoyed reading your insights on it. Thank you so much for writing and sharing this.

[ponyregrets]

requesting Alt-POV for Bellamy 'The First Time I Felt My Heart' :D

Original fic here, and alt-POV on AO3!

Given how much time Bellamy spends rethinking his proposal to Clarke Griffin, he wishes he'd put a little more thought into it to begin with. Not that he thinks it would have helped, exactly. Clarke didn't want to marry him, and still doesn't. And he still doesn't think she's the kind of woman who wants sweeping off her feet.

But he hadn't even quite realized, the first time he proposed, that he was going to do it. He'd liked her, right from the start, and he'd been aware that she was lovely and spirited and he liked talking to her. He'd even been aware he might bring up marriage, someday, if they both seemed amenable.

And then he'd seen her out riding, scowling and muttering as if she was rehearsing a fight she'd like to have later, and he'd been overcome with a sudden certainty. He wanted to marry her. He wanted it so much he could taste it.

And he'd decided the best way to deal with that was to make it seem as if he didn't want it at all.

He's not even convinced he was wrong, not exactly. If she'd wanted to marry him in the first place, he thinks she probably would have said yes to the proposal, so it doesn't matter in that sense. He doesn't think there's a way he could have asked that she would have agreed to, which is the most important thing.

But he thinks if she realized how he felt about her, she'd be a little more cautious with his heart.

Not, of course, that he expects her to never marry for his sake, or to place his feelings before hers. But he knows Clarke well enough to be sure that if she realized he loved her, she would be--considerate. But she doesn't seem to have any idea, and he has no interest in making things more awkward by telling her. And it would be an overall increase in awkwardness, if she knew. Of that, he is sure.

Still, there's plenty of awkwardness to go around already, which is probably why Monty comes to him and says, "I need your help with something."

He looks nervous, which is uncommon for him, and Bellamy cocks his head. "If you want my blessing before you propose to Miller, you know you have it."

He smiles, relaxes a little. "I do know that, so I'm not asking for it." But then the tension returns, almost at once. "It's actually Raven."

Since Finn came home and decided he was done with her, they've all been worried about Raven. She's stayed quiet about it, only telling Monty and Bellamy about what happened, and only the two of them because they happened to be around at the time. The word has been spreading slowly, carefully, her friends' desire to respect her wishes and keep it from erupting into a scandal at war with their desire to make sure everyone knows how awful Finn had been to her.

So he straightens himself, losing the teasing tone. "What happened?"

"Nothing, not like you're thinking. But--I heard a rumor that Finn has been sniffing around Clarke. I wasn't going to believe it, but I saw them the other day, and it does seem like he's trying to court her. I don't think she knows about him and Raven."

"No, I don't think so either." He rubs his face. "Did you talk to Raven?"

"Not yet. Honestly, I wanted to make you do it."

Bellamy snorts. "Thanks."

"You know Clarke better than I do," he says. "So--you should handle this."

"Again, thanks." He had known that Clarke was talking to Finn, but, as always, he hopes everyone he likes has better taste that to be interested in Finn Collins. Bellamy's never been terribly impressed with him, and he doesn't see why anyone else is either.

And he can admit that if Clarke wants to marry Finn Collins and not him, he'll be pretty upset about it. But he doubts she will, once she hears about Raven. Even if she likes him, Clarke doesn't seem like the type to ignore something like that.

"So--you'll talk to her?" Monty prompts.

"I'll talk to her," he says. "Thanks for letting me know." He offers a wry grin. "Why do intelligent women insist on thinking they should marry Finn Collins?"

"Better them than me," he says, and Bellamy laughs.

"If you ever leave Miller for Finn, we're going to have words."

"If I ever leave Miller for Finn, I'm going to deserve them. Thanks for handling this for me," he adds, and Bellamy shakes his head.

"You owe me one."

"Worth it," says Monty, and Bellamy has to agree. He's not looking forward to this one.

*

He finds Raven first. He knows she doesn't want to talk about it, but he doesn't know how to approach Clarke himself, not without feeling self-serving. Although he's sure Clarke will want to know about Raven and Finn's history, if he's the one who tells her, he feels as if the information is tainted.

If it comes from Raven, it's probably better.

She's at the smithy, working as usual when he arrives, and sometimes he can't help wishing the two of them wanted to marry. It would be nice, if things were so neat and tidy. But they'd tried a relationship, once, and found friendship was better for them.

And now he's in love with someone else, so it doesn't matter. It wouldn't be fair to her, even if she was interested.

"What," she says, flat.

"Have you told Clarke about Finn?" he asks, without preamble. From the hard set of her shoulders, he assumes she knows exactly why he's here already.

"Why would I?"

"If someone led me on for a year and then told me he wasn't interested anymore and moved on to someone else, I'd want to tell the other person about it," he says.

"You think so? Because I'm the one it happened to, and I don't want to tell anyone."

"Raven--"

"I don't want to talk about it," she snaps. "If you think Clarke needs to know, you can tell her your own damn self. It's none of my business what either of them does. He's not mine."

"I'm sorry," he finally says. "You're right. I have no idea how you're feeling or how bad it is for you. I just--I don't want him to get away with it. He doesn't get to do this to you and turn around and get Clarke. Not after that."

"You know she might not care, right?"

He has trouble believing it, but--maybe she'll want to hear Finn's side. Maybe a romantic enough declaration from him will win her over. "I know," he says.

"You ever ask her yourself?" she asks, her gaze calculating as she watches him.

For a second, he's tempted to pretend he doesn't know what she means. But he does, of course. "I did. She said no."

"Huh. Sorry," she adds. "I didn't know that."

He shrugs it off, hoping his unconcern seems genuine. "It was a while ago."

To his surprise, she smiles. "It was?"

"Six months or so, now."

"You ever try asking again?"

"She already said no once, Raven. If I keep asking, all I do is make things awkward." He swallows hard. "If she ever changes her mind, she can let me know."

"Does she know you didn't change your mind?" Raven shoots back, and it's a valid question, one he doesn't want to answer.

"Why would I have changed my mind?" he asks instead, and reaches over to give her shoulder a quick squeeze. "I'm sorry Finn is a bastard," he adds.

"Me too," she says. "Sorry about Clarke."

"Like I said, long time ago." He makes himself smile. "I don't mind."

And it's mostly true, except for that his next step is still talking to Clarke, and that he's not looking forward to at all. He does believe, for the most part, that she won't be happy to learn this about Finn, but he also doesn't know what her reaction will be, if she'll be heartbroken or upset or betrayed. He doesn't want to know how much she cares.

He wishes it was Raven telling her, but he understands why she won't, and it still needs to happen. So it's his responsibility.

When he gets back to the Griffin farm, Clarke is at the table, working on the accounts, and he sits down across from her. It's a common enough occurrence that she doesn't even look up, just says, "Bellamy."

"Finn Collins," he says.

"Finn Collins," she agrees, putting the pen down and looking expectantly at him. "I assume you know him. He knew you."

It feels like a trap. "Of course I know him."

"And?"

He decided the best plan was to be direct and honest; if the facts don't change her mind, he doubts anything else will. "When he left, he was engaged to Raven," he says. "And as far as any of us knew, he was planning to still be engaged to Raven when he got back."

He watches her carefully, and while it's hard to read her emotions, it's obvious she's not pleased by the information.

Still, her voice is cool when she asks, "What happened?"

"He thought it would be impolite to break it off in a letter. So he kept writing to her for the year he was gone. The last letter she got, he said he couldn't wait to see her and he loved her, and then he came back and told her he thought they were different people who needed different things. And apparently what he thinks he needs is you. It's your decision, obviously," he adds, feeling just a little too bitter for his own comfort and wanting to rein it in. "The engagement is over and he's unattached. There's nothing improper about--"

She's shaking her head. "Bellamy, stop. I had no idea."

He exhales. "I know.I tried to get Raven to tell you, but--she said it wasn't her business what he does now." For once, her reaction is obvious, discomfort written all over her face, and he nearly reaches out. "You didn't know. I would have told you sooner, but--I didn't know you were spending time with him until recently."

There's a smile playing around her lips, fond, and at least she's not upset with him. "I was waiting for your commentary. What would you have told me if he hadn't been engaged to Raven?"

"The same thing I told Raven when she agreed to marry him. If he makes you happy, I'm happy for you, but--I think you could do better, Clarke."

It's not really true, of course. If not for Raven, he probably would have kept his mouth shut unless she asked, worried about sabotaging her for his own selfish reasons. He wouldn't have wanted her to think that he had any other motives.

But she smiles, so it was the right answer. "He doesn't sound like an improvement on being alone. Thank you," she adds. "For telling me."

"That's it?" he can't help asking. After all the stress this has caused him, it seems as if there should be more too it.

Clarke just looks amused. "What do you mean?"

"You're just going to break it off?"

"There isn't really much to break off," she says, with a shrug. "I'd been seeing him sometimes. I'll probably still see him sometimes. But--he hurt Raven, and I like Raven. And he treated her poorly, and I wouldn't want to be with a man who treated me poorly. So, yes. I'm not going to encourage him. I did tell you I'm not desperate for a marriage, Bellamy," she teases. "I'm still not desperate."

"Oh." It's the kind of thing he'd like to press her on, but he doesn't know how. She's so casual talking about it, it feel as if she should just be able to ask. To find out exactly what she wants, and if he could ever be that. But he doesn't really want to hear that she'd have to be desperate to marry him. And he doesn't really want her to stop feeling so easy around him. "Well, I should--" He rubs the back of his neck, not sure what to say. "I should go check on the sheep," he settles on.

At least Clarke smiles, instead of pressing him. "You should. And if you find out I'm associating with anyone else you dislike, you should tell me that too."

"I think you can always trust me to give you my honest opinions," he says, dry, and she laughs.

"I certainly can." She turns back to the accounts, deliberate. "Say hello to the sheep for me."

Outside, he leans against the wall, letting out a long breath. It doesn't even make sense, that his heart his racing, that he's still so nervous about it. It went well, and Clarke isn't getting married.

Not yet, anyway.

"Don't be an idiot," he tells himself, firm.

And then he goes to check on the sheep.

*

Roan Winters has been a source of mild stress for him since Clarke came to Arcadia, since before he even proposed himself. In fact, it was an unfamiliar jealousy of Roan that made him realize his first interest in her, a bristling at the two of them walking together that he never felt when Roan spoke with Raven or Harper or any of the other women of the town. And it's never quite improved, not in all these months, because Clarke and Roan have persisted in being friends, and he can't convince himself it doesn't mean anything.

When he's trying to feel optimistic, he tells himself Roan could have proposed and been turned down, the same as he was. Which then makes him feel like an awful person, because he should want Clarke to be happy. He should want her to marry Roan and start a family. He shouldn't be praying she's turned down every prospect she has.

"I should probably just move to California," he tells Miller.

Miller thinks it over. "You don't think maybe she changed her mind? About marrying you."

"If she changed her mind, she'd tell me, wouldn't she?"

"I don't know. This is you we're talking about."

He scowls. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Miller considers. "It means you don't like showing you're hurt. I get it, don't get me wrong, but I never got the impression Clarke thought you cared much that she wasn't marrying you."

"I don't," he says, petulant, and Miller rolls his eyes.

"This is what I'm talking about. She broke your heart."

"Not that much. Really," he adds. "It's not her turning me down that's the problem. But I'm going to have trouble watching Roan Winters court and marry her. Which--that's not her fault. So I should just leave."

"You shouldn't leave before you talk to her," says Miller, and it's probably true. There's no reason to be so sure she'll marry Roan, anyway. He can ask, but she might not say yes. "I know you love being stupidly dramatic, but--"

"You'd miss me," Bellamy says. "It's fine. I get it. I'd miss me too."

"I'm just saying, you talk to her, maybe she'll say she feels the same way, and you could actually be happy. Instead of just a pain in my ass."

"Love you too," he says. But Miller does look worried, so he tries out a smile. "I'll talk to her."

*

"Roan?" he asks her, the next day. It was sufficient for Finn, so he assumes it will do for Roan as well.

His heart plummets at the face she makes. "What's wrong with Roan? And keep in mind, he's one person I grew up with, not you," she adds, like a warning. "So I'm the expert."

"And you like him," he says.

"I do. He's a good man. A bit stubborn and arrogant and pigheaded sometimes, but I could say the same of you. Or myself. Most people I like. And I do like him," she says, her voice edged with steel. He doesn't really have anything bad to say about Roan, not like he did Finn, but apparently she's not interested in hearing it anyway.

She's the expert, and her mind is made up.

"All right," he says.

She frowns. "Really?"

"Sorry, did you want me to argue?"

"A little bit," she says, smiling. "I'm used to arguing with you."

He shrugs. "I like him fine. I was just--asking."

"Your concern is appreciated," she says. "But as I said, he's one person I actually do know better than you do. We've been friends for a long time."

He nods. "So, I won't argue."

And he won't. But he doesn't think he can stay, either.

*

Echo's the one who tells him about the impending engagement, in a casual, easy way that suggests she doesn't think he'll care. They're both at the general store, picking up supplies, and she says, "Roan finally bought a ring."

His whole body goes cold. "An engagement ring?"

She rolls her eyes. "What other kind of ring would he be buying? When's the big day?" she adds, and Bellamy turns to see Roan behind them, smirking a little. Bellamy's not sure he's ever seen Roan not smirking a little.

"The day after tomorrow," he says. "I'd been meaning to invite you, Bellamy."

"That's awfully soon for a wedding," he says, keeping his voice even. "And I assume Clarke would have mentioned it."

Echo frowns, but Roan's smile only widens. "Not to the wedding. Not yet. I'm having a ball, I'm planning to propose there. You're of course welcome to join us."

Punching him would be inappropriate; it's not his fault. If Clarke prefers him, that's just how it is.

Still, he doesn't have to go to the party where the proposal will happen. There are limits to the amount of pain he's interested in experiencing in his life, and that is probably a hard limit.

"I appreciate the invitation," he says. "I'm not much for parties."

"I understand," Roan agrees. "But I'll still hope to see you there."

His plan for that evening is, in all honesty, packing up his things to move to California. Which does, as Miller said, feel a little dramatic, but--he's wanted to move for a long time. And he doesn't have to stay forever. He just has to stay long enough to forget his feelings for Clarke. He'll make sure his sister is doing well, see California, and then come back and not care at all how many children Clarke and Roan have had.

That's what he's telling himself when Clarke says, "You're coming tonight, aren't you?"

He looks up from the lamb he's inspecting, frowning at her. The wind is tangling the loose strands of her hair, and her smile is clear and uncomplicated.

He can't stay for this. He wishes he could, but he can't.

"To Roan's?" he asks. "No."

"Really? Why not?"

It's tempting to tell her the truth now, before the proposal. To lay out exactly how he feels, exactly how much he wants her. He loved her then, and he loves her now, and he thought it would stop, but every day he just loves her more. He can't help it.

"You didn't really think I liked parties, did you?" he asks instead. "I thought that was obvious."

"You don't have to like parties to come to a party."

"Oh, well. When you put it like that, it makes perfect sense," he says, and she shakes her head.

"You know what I mean."

"Honestly, I don't."

"You don't have anything else to do tonight, do you? You're just going to be at home alone if you don't come."

"You make that sound like a bad thing. That sounds like a huge improvement to me."

"You work too hard. You need a break."

"Being at home alone is a break." But she's watching him with something like concern in her eyes, as if she really thinks that going to a ball will improve his life. As if she's spends a great deal of time fretting about the quality of his life. "You really want me there?" he finally asks.

"Of course I do," she says, without hesitation.

It probably won't be that much worse to witness it. He's going to find out anyway. Roan won't do it in front of all of them. If he doesn't go tonight, he'll just have to deal with Clarke showing off her ring in the morning. At least at the party, he'll be part of the crowd.

And she looks so hopeful.

He crosses his arms. "Fine. But I'm not going to stay long."

Her smile is like the sun, and he has to look away. "I wasn't expecting you to, no," she says, and at least there's that.

*

Clarke's cheerful as they walk over, but if she has any idea that Roan is planning to propose, she shows no sign of it. She talks about helping Raven find a dress and how she's going to make Monty dance with her.

"And you, of course."

"I'll be happy to dance with Monty," he says, and she grins.

"That's exactly what I meant, obviously."

"Obviously. I don't dance, Clarke. But you'll have better partners to chose from, don't worry."

"I'd like to dance with you," she says, and this is really the problem, he thinks. Even if she doesn't marry Roan, she's always going to be like this. She's always going to like Bellamy just enough to rip his heart out, and that's just bad luck, for him. So even if she's not getting married, he can't stay here. Even if she turns Roan down, he's going to leave.

It is a nice party, aside from the lump that feels like lead in the pit of his stomach. Clarke is a better dancer than he expected, and she seems to enjoy it too. She doesn't limit herself to Roan either; she makes Monty dance with her, as promised, and Jasper, and when she offers her hand to him, he lets himself take it.

"This is the only time I'm doing this," he tells her, settling one hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist.

"Thank you for doing it once, then." She smiles as he starts to lead. "You're not bad at it or anything."

"I can be good at things I don't like."

"You're good at everything."

He shakes his head. "That's definitely not true."

"Everything I've ever seen you do," she says, and he bites back on pointing out how awful he was at proposing to her.

It's a nice dance, after all; he doesn't want to ruin it.

Roan takes her after he lets her go, and she says she'll grab him for another one, later.

"Definitely not," he tells her, and goes to sulk by the refreshments with Miller.

When he realizes he has to go, Roan and Clarke are dancing again. It's nothing special, nothing earth-shattering, nothing worse than Roan leaning in to speak with Clarke, low, and the problem is really the same thing it's been this whole time, which is that this is about as well as things could realistically go for him, and it's still too much for him to deal with.

"I've got to go," he tells Miller, low, and Miller looks him up and down.

"Home or to California?"

"Both," he admits, and Miller nods.

"Let me know if you need help."

He smiles. "Will do."

It's a nice enough night, warm and clear, the moon nearly full and the sky full of stars. He picks out constellations as he walks, and tries to decide if he's really doing the right thing.

Maybe if she doesn't accept Roan's proposal, he can ask her what would make her marry. If there's any way she might ever want to marry someone like him. And then, if there isn't--that's when he leaves.

It's about the best he can do. And if he's being too dramatic about it, he thinks he's earned it. He's spent months trying to pretend he's fine, and now it's all going to explode in a horrible mess.

He's just not expecting it to happen until tomorrow.

The sound of the door startles him out of his suitcase. He's expecting Miller, maybe Raven, possibly Echo. Not Clarke. Clarke's busy getting engaged, so there's no reason at all for her to be in his doorway, frowning at him in utter confusion.

Still, there she is.

"Are you packing?" she demands.

It's too late and he's too raw to really do anything but have the fight. He doesn't know why she's here, but it was coming one way or another, so--tonight it is.

He doesn't look up when he says, "You and Roan can handle the farm. So I can go to California and--"

Her voice is oddly gentle, and that's what gets his attention. "Bellamy. Roan is proposing to Raven."

For a second, he has no idea what to think. His mind rearranges itself, remembers seeing Clarke with Roan, remembers that Raven was with them. He'd thought it was a little, odd, but he'd thought maybe the Finn thing had brought her and Clarke closer together. That they were better friends now. It made sense to him.

"Raven," he breathes.

"I thought you knew," she says, and she sounds genuinely guilty, for all she didn't do anything. She never said a word about being interested in Roan. "I didn't know you--"

"It doesn't matter," he tells her, because it doesn't. He still can't do this. He still has to leave, because Clarke doesn't love him. She's going to marry someone else, someday. And he's going to be happy for her. He'll just be happy from a distance. "You can hire Miller for a foreman," he goes on, not looking at her. "He'll do just as well as I do, and probably be less trouble."

Clarke huffs. "I don't want Miller."

And that's the whole fucking problem, right there. "I'm getting tired of living my life based on what you want, Clarke," he snaps.

If she feels bad, she doesn't show it. Her eyes flash, and she sounds just as frustrated as he feels when she shouts, "You never told me what you wanted!"

"You're right," he snarls. It's not like he hasn't been kicking himself about it for months, not like he doesn't know that he could have been clearer. That he let her misunderstand him, and he's been too stubborn and too scared to just ask her. "I fucking wish I had, okay?" he tells her, advancing with no clear plan except that he needs to tell her, that he wants her to understand. "I wish I'd gotten down on one knee and--"

And suddenly, she's kissing him.

It makes sense to him in fragments: first, the feel of her hands in the front of his jacket, pulling the material taut, then the smell of her, familiar, but overwhelming this close, the feel of her pressed up against him, and then, at last, the feel of her lips, the firm press of her mouth, neither hesitant nor inexperienced and so sure.

It's another second after that before he can make himself move, before the shock wears off, but as soon as he does he can feel her smile, for just a second, before she opens for him, before she slides her arms around him and pulls him close and throws herself into the kiss, just as hungry and desperate as he is.

It's not all he's been thinking about for months; he's been thinking about so much more than this, about the rest of his life, but--its a good start. He thinks he could kiss her forever.

She's the one who's impatient, apparently, undoing the tie on her dress herself, and it's honestly so ridiculous he has to laugh. He was ready to pick up his entire life and move to California to get over her, and she's kissing him like all she wants to do is drag him to his bed and never leave it.

"Clarke," he says helplessly. He can't stop staring at her, flushed and gorgeous, mouth red, in his arms. She fits so perfectly against him.

"I thought you wanted a wife." She sounds as if she knows how absurd the sentiment is, but he does understand. He's at the age where it's expected that he'll find a wife, and he acted as if she'd do as well as anyone.

He didn't want her to think it was personal, and it's about time for him to clear it up.

"I did," he tells her, leaning in close. "I do, more every day. I want you."

Her smile is wry. "You could have just said that."

Part of him wants to point out that he proposed, but she knows that. And he does understand what she means. "I told you I wouldn't ask you to marry me again," he points out instead, and from the way her face softens, he knows she understands too.

"Bellamy," she says, like she's reminding herself he's there.

"Clarke," he agrees, kissing her jaw, her neck. He wants to find every spot she likes to be touched. He can't wait to know every inch of her. Because she's his, surely. She feels the same way he does.

"Will you marry me?"

He jerks up to find her smiling, and his own smile is half a laugh. It's just--it's so much better than he thought it could be. He'd been so sure she'd break his heart the rest of the way. He'd been so ready for it.

He brushes a few stray hairs off her forehead. "You're not going to get down on one knee?"

"Is this not romantic enough for you?"

She's grinning, and he can't resist kissing her again. He can't quite get over how easy it is, how she melts into him, how sure he is that she's going to follow him into his bedroom and spend the night with him. It's not just that she's going to marry him--that she proposed--but that she's, well--

She's not desperate for a husband. She's desperate to have him.

"It's perfect," he tells her, when he pulls back. "Besides," he can't help teasing, "I don't think you need any more proposals."

She laughs. "No. This can be the last one." Her fingers find the lapels of his jacket again, tugging gently. "You aren't going to send me home, are you?"

"Hm?"

"Tonight. Please don't tell me you have romantic beliefs about the wedding night."

He laughs. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not very good at sending you away. If you want to stay--"

"I'm never going to want to leave," she tells him. She wets her lips, sobering suddenly. "I am sorry," she admits, soft. "I didn't know--I really thought you didn't care."

He gives her half a smile, feeling embarrassed. "That's what I wanted you to think," he admits. "I thought you'd--it was bad enough when you told me you wouldn't marry me, I didn't need you to know I was in love with you on top of that."

"I would have been nicer if I knew!" she protests.

That makes him laugh. "I didn't need you feeling sorry for me. You said you weren't going to marry me no matter what, so--"

"I was wrong," she says. "I can't wait to marry you." Before he can respond, she steps out of his arms, taking his hand instead. "I don't actually know where your bedroom is. Show me?"

He kisses her temple, squeezes her hand, feels positively stupid with happiness. "Of course," he says. "Right this way."

*

"I think this is one time you're going to have to dance with me. It's expected."

Bellamy laughs, leans over to press his lips against his wife's hair. She got it done in an elaborate crown of braids, and he's looking forward to taking it down when they're home almost as much as he's enjoying looking at her now.

He's not sure his wedding is actually better than the day Clarke asked him to marry her, but he doesn't see any reason to pit his happy memories against each other.

All the memories are happy right now, anyway. They put off the wedding long enough that Octavia could come back, and all his favorite people are here to celebrate his marriage to the woman he loves. They had a small, quiet ceremony, a nice meal, and now the dance floor is ready and the musicians are warming up.

"I don't actually mind dancing with you," he tells her, smiling.

"No?"

"Not if you want to." He leans in to press his mouth to hers. "Not if I get to keep you."

"You do. I'm all yours."

"I know." When he offers his hand, she takes it, and he can feel the ring on her finger. "So I can dance."

"As long as you're not always doing what I want," she teases, and he kisses her again.

"Trust me," he says, warm against her mouth. "This is exactly what I want."