#also writing them from an outsider’s perspective and in a way you’re not supposed to be in the shoes of this character
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unfortunately it turns out I have an obsession with rpg games so have this funny thing. stat thing idk
#four to three#jasper huang#fun fact 423 was supposed to be an rpg game but I didn’t know how to execute it#doodles.png#So I didn’t#also writing them from an outsider’s perspective and in a way you’re not supposed to be in the shoes of this character#is way more fun than me fixing things so it is consumed as a game#yes I abbreviate four to three as 423
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Writing Tips - Beating Perfectionism
1. Recognising writing perfectionism. It’s not usually as literal as “This isn’t 100% perfect and so it is the worst thing ever”, in my experience it usually sneaks up more subtly. Things like where you should probably be continuing on but if you don’t figure out how to word this paragraph better it’s just going to bug you the whole time, or where you’re growing demotivated because you don’t know how to describe the scene 100% exactly as you can imagine it in your head, or things along those lines where your desire to be exact can get in the way of progression. In isolated scenarios this is natural, but if it’s regularly and notably impacting your progress then there’s a more pressing issue
2. Write now, edit later. Easier said than done, which always infuriated me until I worked out how it translates into practice; you need to recognise what the purpose of this stage of the writing process is and when editing will hinder you more than help you. Anything up to and including your first draft is purely done for structural and creative purposes, and trying to impose perfection on a creative process will naturally stifle said creativity. Creativity demands the freedom of imperfection
3. Perfection is stagnant. We all know that we have to give our characters flaws and challenges to overcome since, otherwise, there’s no room for growth or conflict or plot, and it ends up being boring and predictable at best - and it’s just the same as your writing. Say you wrote the absolute perfect book; the perfect plot, the perfect characters, the perfect arcs, the perfect ending, etc etc. It’s an overnight bestseller and you’re discussed as a literary great for all time. Everyone, even those outside of your target demographic, call it the perfect book. Not only would that first require you to turn the perfect book into something objective, which is impossible, but it would also mean that you would either never write again, because you can never do better than your perfect book, or you’ll always write the exact same thing in the exact same way to ensure constant perfection. It’s repetitive, it’s boring, and all in all it’s just fearful behaviour meant to protect you from criticism that you aren’t used to, rather than allowing yourself to get acclimated to less than purely positive feedback
4. Faulty comparisons. Comparing your writing to that of a published author’s is great from an analytical perspective, but it can easily just become a case of “Their work is so much better, mine sucks, I’ll never be as good as them or as good as any ‘real’ writer”. You need to remember that you’re comparing a completely finished draft, which likely underwent at least three major edits and could have even had upwards of ten, to wherever it is you’re at. A surprising number of people compare their *first* draft to a finished product, which is insanity when you think of it that way; it seems so obvious from this perspective why your first attempt isn’t as good as their tenth. You also end up comparing your ability to describe the images in your head to their ability to craft a new image in your head; I guarantee you that the image the author came up with isn’t the one their readers have, and they’re kicking themselves for not being able to get it exactly as they themselves imagine it. Only the author knows what image they’re working off of; the readers don’t, and they can imagine their own variation which is just as amazing
5. Up close and too personal. Expanding on the last point, just in general it’s harder to describe something in coherent words than it is to process it when someone else prompts you to do so. You end up frustrated and going over it a gazillion times, even to the point where words don’t even look like words anymore. You’ve got this perfect vision of how the whole story is supposed to go, and when you very understandably can’t flawlessly translate every single minute detail to your satisfaction, it’s demotivating. You’re emotionally attached to this perfect version that can’t ever be fully articulated through any other medium. But on the other hand, when consuming other media that you didn’t have a hand in creating, you’re viewing it with perfectly fresh eyes; you have no ‘perfect ideal’ of how everything is supposed to look and feel and be, so the images the final product conjures up become that idealised version - its no wonder why it always feels like every writer except you can pull off their visions when your writing is the only one you have such rigorous preconceived notions of
6. That’s entertainment. Of course writing can be stressful and draining and frustrating and all other sorts of nasty things, but if overall you can’t say that you ultimately enjoy it, you’re not writing for the right reasons. You’ll never take true pride in your work if it only brings you misery. Take a step back, figure out what you can do to make things more fun for you - or at least less like a chore - and work from there
7. Write for yourself. One of the things that most gets to me when writing is “If this was found and read by someone I know, how would that feel?”, which has lead me on multiple occasions to backtrack and try to be less cringe or less weird or less preachy or whatever else. It’s harder to share your work with people you know whose opinions you care about and whose impressions of you have the potential of shifting based on this - sharing it to strangers whose opinions ultimately don’t matter and who you’ll never have to interact with again is somehow a lot less scary because their judgements won’t stick. But allowing the imaginary opinions of others to dictate not even your finished project, but your unmoderated creative process in general? Nobody is going to see this without your say so; this is not the time to be fussing over how others may perceive your writing. The only opinion that matters at this stage is your own
8. Redirection. Instead of focusing on quality, focusing on quantity has helped me to improve my perfectionism issues; it doesn’t matter if I write twenty paragraphs of complete BS so long as I’ve written twenty paragraphs or something that may or may not be useful later. I can still let myself feel accomplished regardless of quality, and if I later have to throw out whole chapters, so be it
9. That’s a problem for future me. A lot of people have no idea how to edit, or what to look for when they do so, so having a clear idea of what you want to edit by the time the editing session comes around is gonna be a game-changer once you’re supposed to be editing. Save the clear work for when you’re allocating time for it and you’ll have a much easier and more focused start to the editing process. It’ll be more motivating than staring blankly at the intimidating word count, at least
10. The application of applications. If all else fails and you’re still going back to edit what you’ve just wrote in some struggle for the perfect writing, there are apps and websites that you can use that physically prevent you from editing your work until you’re done with it. If nothing else, maybe it can help train you away from major edits as you go
#perfectionism#perfection#writing#writers#writeblr#bookblr#book#writers on tumblr#writerscommunity#writers of tumblr#writer#my writing#how to write#on writing#creative writing#write#writing tips#writblr#female writers#queer writers#writer things#writer stuff#writing is hard#writing advice#writing life#writer problems#writerscreed#writersnetwork#writerblr#writersociety
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BOLT FROM THE BLUE - ROY KENT.
PART ONE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.
(series masterlist!) (series playlist!) (AO3!)
pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)
summary: with the departure of afc richmond’s wonderkid, the club is desperately on the hunt for a new coach. luckily for them, you’ve just been wrongfully terminated from your position over at west ham. however, with your outlook on the football world tainted and massive hesitation due to your past with a particular member of their coaching staff, you’re less than convinced about the job. but, that same member may just be the one to convince you.
word count & rating: 8.7k, R (too many roy kent 'fucks' to be pg-13)
chapter warnings: whole lotta swearing (it’s a roy kent fic, do i even have to say it?), talk of workplace misconduct, allusions to (no descriptions of) sexual harassment, roy and the reader are long-lost bickering, angsty enemies with a past, reader is a former team usa player and present coach, author is american (sorry </3)
author’s note! hello hello. so happy to have you here. welcome to my first tumblr fic. certainly not my first fic ever, but first fic on here! hooray! for the sake of this fic, we’re going to pretend like the coaching career of the reader is actually possible in the current misogynistic world football climate. it’ll be fun to fantasize. also, this takes place in s3, and reader is earlyish/midish thirties. also also, i know next to nothing about football/soccer and haven’t played since i was 10, but i’m doing my research! hope you enjoy and love u all tons. -mags
PRESENT DAY. (AUGUST 2023)
Your ex-boss's ex-wife is currently standing outside of your apartment and somehow, that’s not the most surprising thing to happen this week.
While yes, of course, seeing Rebecca Walton on your front steps at nine-thirty on a Thursday morning is shocking, the numbness that’s been coursing through your body since Monday takes some of the edge off.
She’s right before you, clutching her purse tightly, dressed in a fitted trench coat and aggressively expensive heels. Everything about her contrasts the four-sizes-too-big sweatshirt you’re sporting with the age-old pajama shorts with embroidered soccer balls that you’ve been rotting away in for the last three days. When your eyes finally meet once more and you see she’s been sizing you up just as you’ve been doing to her, she plasters on a wide, practiced smile.
“Hello,” Rebecca says. Her smile doesn’t falter.
You blink at her. “Hi.”
She motions to your door and you feel your hand tighten on the knob. “May I come in?”
Your lips part in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a moron. “Like, into my house?” you ask, head whipping to look at the current warzone state of your living room.
Rebecca’s smile gets slightly more genuine. “If that’s alright?”
The shock of her standing before you seems to have worn off, because you find yourself shutting the door slightly. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
“It’s nothing—”
“Look, if you’re here to get me to talk to that Independent journalist who’s called me like, three times asking for a perspective on Rupert for his book or whatever, I’m really not interested.” Your frustration is clearly peaking through your typically reserved manner, and frankly, you’re not in any mood to mask it.
She doesn’t seem to mind. “Who? Trent?” You nod at Rebecca’s furrowed brows. “Oh God, no. We barely want him writing that thing anyway.”
Well, okay. “Then why—”
Rebecca motions to the door again. “May I?”
You suppose if she’s being so insistent about entering your home, it’s her funeral. You step back to allow her in, and the second she sees your living room, she seems to regret it. When she turns to face you, you can’t help the way your brows shoot up, everything about your demeanor saying I told you so. “The kitchen’s cleaner,” you tell her, nodding in its direction.
“Wonderful,” she says as she follows you through the hall. Her next question is hesitant. “So, is all this—”
“The result of getting fired on Monday?” you finish for her, turning to meet her gaze as you stand at your counter. Her eyes read pity and part of you already wants to kick her out. The other part of you wants to hug her. “Yeah. Things, uh…”
As you trail off, you realize something. That thing in her eyes isn’t pity. It’s empathy. Rebecca, more than anyone, knows Rupert. She knows how much of an asshole he is. She knows how special he can make you feel, only to have the rug ripped out from under you moments later. She knows what it feels like to be wronged by him. She knows.
Through your silence, you think she recognizes the sudden shift in tension as your expression morphs into something less hard, and you allow yourself a moment of vulnerability. “Things haven’t been great over here.”
Any sort of practice in Rebecca’s smile completely fades and is replaced with something more compassionate. “I can only imagine.”
You nod, crossing your arms over your chest. While the initial discomfort has passed, the awkwardness still lingers and you realize that you have literally no idea why she’s in your apartment. “Can I… offer you coffee? Or, uh, tea?” you ask.
“Oh, no,” she replies. “Thank you though.”
“You sure?” you try again. “I taught myself how to make an insane shaken espresso during my ACL recovery. Mastered it over the years.”
“Mastered it?”
You shrug. “It was either that or alcoholism. Chose the path less traveled by most washed-up athletes.”
Rebecca’s lips twitch upward. “Oh, what the hell. Why not?”
“Great,” you say, turning to your cabinet to grab your bag of coffee beans. Now for the moment of truth. “And while I get that together…” You stand on your tiptoes to reach the bag. “You’ve gotta tell me what you’re doing here.”
For a moment, you think she’s going to feed you some joke or some bullshit answer. You glance over your shoulder to watch her mouth even open to do so. But she suddenly decides against it.
And you drop the bag of coffee beans and have to stabilize yourself against the counter as she says, “I’m here to offer you a job.”
A job? She wants to give you a job at Richmond? She can’t be serious. Out of all the things that floated through your mind when you opened the door, this was the last thing you thought possible. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.
It has to be a pity offer. That’s where the pity of it all went. But no one knows about what actually happened, you remind yourself. She just knows you were suddenly let go. Well, then it’s just a revenge offer. Some petty thing to get back at Rupert. As much as you want to think that you’d be on board with that, you had no interest in being some sort of piece in the game.
You’re staring blankly at Rebecca as your mind goes to war, certain that you look like even more of an idiot than you did when you let her in. There’s a small pool of coffee beans sitting on your counter. But you can’t find it in you to care. A job. She’s here to offer you a job.
Rebecca suddenly clears her throat. “Is everything alri—”
“Why the fuck do you want to give me a job?” Is what comes out of your mouth, head too far gone to consider a filter. A smirk appears on her face at your words. “Sorry, I just… I don’t get it.”
She looks at you for a moment, taking a solemn pause to evaluate exactly what it is she wants to say. Her eyes flash to your embroidered soccer shorts peeking out from beneath your sweatshirt, then to the plethora of sport-themed mugs hanging beneath the cabinets in your kitchen, then to the framed photo you keep on the wall of your team’s 2015 World Cup win.
“Because,” she finally lands on, “when I see that the new, passionate, wildly qualified West Ham coach is suddenly fired less than two months after she begins, seemingly out of nowhere…” It’s her turn to trail off, and she shrugs. “Something tells me it wasn’t just leadership differences.”
You look away from her as she drops the famous press-release line. Discomfort floods your body as you remember Rupert’s smarmy smile when he asked for your badge. “No,” you say softly. “It wasn’t.”
Rebecca nods, as if her suspicions were confirmed. “Now, I don’t know what happened,” she tells you, “and I don’t expect to know. But as I said, you’re wildly qualified. You were a remarkable talent on the field and more so as a coach. Four Uni championships in a six-year career isn’t just impressive, it’s unheard of.”
You pause your coffee bean cleanup at that. Your brows shoot up and a wry smile crosses your lips. “You know my college coaching stats?”
Rebecca stares at you for a moment. Then, “Not until this week,” she admits quickly, forcing you to bite back a laugh. “But my coaching staff knew. Sang your praises.”
A pit forms in your stomach as you realize exactly who’s a part of that staff. Bull-fucking-shit he sang your praises. You think you’d despise him more if he had.
Attempting to brush off your sudden uneasiness, you try your hand at a joke while measuring out the beans. “Well, two-thirds of them are American, so I guess that makes sense.”
Rebecca chuckled. “Well, Roy Kent doesn’t say much of anything, but you did get a—’” She cuts herself off to make an affirmative-sounding grunt. You’re so thrown off by this that you almost forget to smile at her impression of him. “Which, you know, is about as close to singing as he gets.”
That it is. Because you do know. And that’s Roy code for ‘trying to be normal about this, but dear God, never speak about her to me again.’ You hope the mere mention of your name made him run out of the room. That the idea of you potentially joining the team keeps him up at night.
(The last three days haven’t been good for your dramatics either.)
A sigh escapes your lips and you avert your eyes. There’s an air of embarrassment as you shift uncomfortably. “This is going to be loud, sorry,” you apologize, turning the grinder on. You make a general estimation that this is what your brain would currently sound like if someone decided to listen in. After a moment, the machine turns off, but you don’t turn back to Rebecca. “Would this be a coaching offer?”
“I wouldn’t want you to be anything else,” Rebecca responds. Her tone shifts slightly as she looks at you. “Unless there’s—”
“No,” you say, shaking your head. “There’s nothing else I’d want.” You shift again. “I just…”
Rebecca watches as you trail off. You still haven’t looked at her, focused solely on your espresso task at hand. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she arrived at your home, but it certainly wasn’t this. Every time she’d seen you, whether it was on the field, blowing past defenders with impossible efficiency, or coaching your college girls in a way that commanded respect despite the seemingly ever-present smile on your face, there’d always been this confidence about you.
An admirable sense of ego. A love and passion for the game that made every young girl want to wear the number 14. A spirit that made everyone look upon you fondly. A pleasure to be around, and an honor to work with.
Rebecca was now staring at what she presumed to be the shell of the woman she’d heard about. A woman distracting herself from the discomfort of this conversation with coffee-making, afraid of her own shadow. And as you spoke, she knew her assumptions were correct.
“Listen,” you manage to get out. You’ve already tamped the grounds and had returned to the big, fancy espresso machine bought for you long ago by a former friend. “I appreciate you coming over here, but…”
“But?” Rebecca questions.
The words feel dry in your mouth and you have to push them out. “I think I’m done with it.”
It’s Rebecca’s turn to blink at you dumbly. “Done with what?” she asks. “With coaching?”
Shame floods your body. “With soccer,” you reply weakly. That look remained on Rebecca’s face. “Football. Whatever. Whatever you want to call it, I’m done with it.” You turn to stable yourself on the countertop once more as the coffee begins to brew. “It’s just— I’ve spent the majority of my life doing this one thing. I’ve done the Olympic gold thing, I’ve won a World Cup, I’ve won college championships, I’ve been…” Your eyes shut, shoulders sagging. “I’ve just been. And I thought I could go a step further. Break a ceiling or whatever. I thought I was ready for it. And then everything I’ve worked for is fucking destroyed by some douchebag, diva athlete who doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his—”
You raise your hand to your mouth as if that’ll keep it all in, and you realize you’re shaking. You don’t have to turn around to know how Rebecca’s looking at you. “So, yeah,” you finish lamely. “I’m done. It was ruined for me. And I don’t want to go back.”
Rebecca says nothing for a long while. Taking everything you said in, drawing her conclusions, whatever. You grip the granite countertop and it feels cool beneath your fingers. Your eyes open when you finally hear her respond.
“You’re letting him win,” she tells you, voice soft. Slightly broken. Like she knows the feeling.
When you do turn back to her, Rebecca’s sitting at your breakfast bar with her hands folded together, anger poorly concealed. But it’s not anger at you, it’s just anger.
But then you start to feel angry. “I’m not letting him win,” you insist.
“You are,” she replies. Before you can let your temper get the best of you, she continues. “They’re calling you emotional, you know? They’re saying that the ’leadership problems’ were you just being abrasive. Joking that they should have never let a woman into the league because of the drama. Apparently, women can’t handle AFC-level coaching.”
You swallow. “I know,” you say. “I’ve seen it.”
“Who do you think’s pushing that narrative?” she asks.
It’s a rhetorical question, but you still feel like giving an answer. “Basement-dwelling losers who barely made their intramural leagues?”
It’s then that Rebecca smiles for real. It’s like she’s seen a flash of the woman she’s heard about and she couldn’t be more pleased. She makes a noise of agreement, then continues. “This is what he wants. He wants you to feel like this. He wants you to quit.” Her gaze bores into yours with an intensity that doesn’t allow you to look away. “If you give it all up, he wins. He beats you and he’s got another name under his belt. He doesn’t deserve your name.” Rebecca’s index finger jabs in your direction. “Don’t allow him to fucking win.”
The passion in her words is what gets you. Your throat clenches as you feel your eyes start to burn, knowing that everything she said had some amount of truth in it. There’s a frustration that rises in your chest that you don’t know how to handle.
You were letting him win. He took away your career and then threatened your reputation. He made you take the blame for everything. He allowed this to be ruined for you and played an active part in ensuring it. And here you were, cowering in fear at the notion of this small man.
She’s right, and the espresso has finished brewing.
You know she’s right. Rebecca knows she’s right. So, as you stand in your kitchen, fighting an inward battle that’s got you on the verge of tears, your scared, stupid, frustrated little brain can only think of one more thing to say as you pour the coffee over ice.
“Even if you were right—” you begin, not ready to admit that just yet, “—even if you were, and even if I did want to join Richmond, I refuse to work with Roy Kent.”
This takes Rebecca completely by surprise. She shifts back in her chair, eyes wide despite the drawing of her brows. “R-Roy?” she sputters. “Our Roy Kent?”
The word our tells you that he’s been embraced by the club and isn’t going anywhere. Not that you had expected him to. He’d clearly nested well into the team and had taken his coaching position in stride. Just like you said he would years ago.
“Yeah,” you say shortly. “That one.”
Rebecca’s expression remains the same. ”But he’s… I—” She cuts herself off with a question. “—but why?”
A mirthless grin crosses your lips, head shaking like you don’t have the energy to get into it all. “That’s an answer you should probably hear from him.”
Rebecca looks as though she’s trying to make sense of all of this. You want to wish her luck. Because you’ve been doing the same thing for eight years. “I understand he can be a bit… coarse. And intimidating. And hot-headed. But he really is—”
“I don’t care what he is,” you tell her with the most polite, tight-lipped smile you can muster up. “I know who he was. And I’m not interested in working with him.” The words leave your mouth with a bit more venom than anticipated and guilt floods your body. “But thank you for the offer.”
The Richmond owner continues to stare at you while you shake the coffee, still puzzled, but slowly coming to the realization that she’s not going to change your mind. At least not now. Maybe not ever.
She figures that trying to convince you to do anything would be pointless. Your stubbornness had made you a star on the field and had clearly transferred off of it. She supposed it made sense that you and Roy had apparently butted heads.
So, reading the room, Rebecca nods at you and stands from the stool behind your breakfast bar. “Alright,” she says, a somber, apologetic smile on her face. “Message received. Loud and clear.” You watched as she turned and began to fumble inside her purse, placing a white card on the bar when she’d found it. “But… please. Consider it. The offer’s good for the next couple of days. And I… I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think that you’d be an asset to our team. I truly mean that.”
There’s a genuine lilt in her voice that makes you believe her. Whether or not this was a pity offer, or if she just want to scoop you up to get back at Rupert, she really did want you with the team. You’re rational enough to know that there’s some merit in that.
“Thank you,” you say again, offering a truer smile this time around. You hold up the espresso. “Now, do you have a milk preference? Because I’ve got them all.”
Rebecca Walton left your apartment with the best fucking shaken espresso she’s ever had in her life and a phone held up to her ear.
“Hi, babes,” greeted the voice on the other line, cheery as ever. “I can’t remember the last time you called me this early. Not that I’m complain—”
Rebecca abruptly cut off her friend’s rambling by saying your name. “How the fuck does she know Roy and why the fuck is he the reason she won’t work for Richmond?”
Uncharacteristically, Keeley Jones went silent. Rebecca heard the static from the other end. And then, very quiet, and wildly serious, Keeley said, “Oh, fuck.”
The words made Rebecca stop in her tracks in the middle of the street. “What?”
“You want her to be the new Richmond coach?” Keeley asked, sounding a whole lot like she just scrambled to sit up in bed.
“I just left her apartment. She rejected the offer and sent me on my way with the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life,” she replied. “I want to be bitter about it, but it’s too fucking good.”
“Yeah, got it, she’s a fucking barista on top of being an Ace.” Rebecca wanted to ask about how frantic her best friend is right now, but didn’t get the chance. “Did Roy know you were doing this? Asking her, I mean?”
“He did. I asked him about her,” Rebecca answered. “And he grunted at me. Generally, that’s Roy Kent for ‘go on with it.’”
“Oh, that stupid, fucking self-sabotaging prick,” Keeley muttered. “Of-fucking-course he did. Put yourself in this kind of situation instead of dealing with your emotions like a normal fucking human, good on you, Roy—”
“Keeley.” The rambling stopped once more. “What happened?”
The other line was momentarily silent. Then Keeley sighed, long and heavy. “Well, I don’t know it all,” she began. Her voice was soft. “But I know they knew each other a while back. Like ten years ago, when they were both still playing.” Keeley sighed once more. “But he said he, uh… apparently fucked her over somehow. Didn’t get into it or say what he did, but I think it was pretty bad. And then she got back at him for it and fucked him over. And it… really messed him up. Like, totally broke his heart.”
Rebecca stepped out of the way of someone passing by. “Broke his heart?” she asked, eyes closing at the implication of that. “Were they—”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He wasn’t exactly open about it. Which I thought was weird because he became pretty open about everything else,” Keeley said. “All I know is that whatever it was, it ended ugly. And that they haven’t spoken to each other since.”
Whatever Rebecca had been expecting, it surely wasn’t that. “Oh,” she said lightly.
Keeley hummed in uncomfortable agreement. “Maybe I’m reading too far into it,” she continued. “Maybe it wasn’t like that. But, he… never talked about anyone like that. Or, y’know, refused to talk about anyone like that. And you know Roy.” Rebecca said nothing, leaving Keeley to ask the million-dollar question. “Are you sure you want to follow through with this?”
“I want her. She’s the only feasible prospect I’ve liked who hasn’t been a fucking twat so far.” Rebecca’s voice was sure. Final. “And I won’t allow for another woman to be quietly taken down because of Rupert. Especially not if what I think happened actually did happen.”
“Well, then babe,” Keeley said, “I think you might need to have a chat with your coaches.”
Then, as Rebecca stood on the edge of the sidewalk, picturing the look on her coaches’ faces as she prepared to integrate Roy Kent, the gravity of the situation hit her like a freight train. “Oh, fuck.”
“ROY FUCKING KENT!”
The entire locker room froze at the voice of Rebecca Walton echoing down the hall, each click of her heels sounding as dangerous as the next. Immediately, all eyes are were on Roy. From Kitman Will to Coach Ted Lasso himself. Not a word was said and Rebecca’s stomping started to sound like a death march.
But when she rounded the corner into the Coaches’ Office with a fire in her eyes that screamed run; that’s when Roy started to sweat.
Immediately, a million things ran through his mind. He wondered if this was about his break-up with Keeley, then realized that she was the one who wanted a break from him, so Rebecca’s got no reason to be mad about that. Had he said something stupid to a reporter? Been photographed poorly? Did something come up in a tabloid from his past? Roy wished he could identify one singular thing he’d done back then in poor taste, but he had a fucking laundry list.
Beard quickly jumped up from his chair to shut the door to the locker room so that the team couldn’t hear whatever was about to unfold in this godforsaken office, and pulled the blinds too. He heard the beginnings of an objection from the boys as they began to race to the window, and sent them all a look before the shade fell.
Rebecca walked further into the office, eyes never leaving Roy’s. If she weren’t so fucking mad, she figured she’d bask in the fact that she was able to make the great, big, scary Roy Kent nervous, but she was currently seeing red. She decided she’d reflect on that later.
“I had a fascinating conversation this morning with a prospective coach,” she finally said, voice eerily calm. “Your name came up. A lot.”
Roy didn’t dare say a word. He wasn’t even sure if he could. Thankfully, Ted chimed in. “Well, Boss, we’ve got a lot of those. Would you mind narrowing down which one you talked to?”
But Roy doesn’t need it to be narrowed down. There’s only one name that’s been floated around that could possibly have garnered this reaction and level of anger. But his stomach sank further as a wild smile crossed Rebecca’s lips.
“Oh, just our Ace Olympic gold-medalist, World Cup-winning, four-time college coaching champion, West-Ham-hating top prospect,” she said, gaze pinning Roy to the wall. “Who apparently has not only been fucked over by Rupert but has also been fucked over by our own Roy Kent.”
All eyes flashed to Roy in surprise. Rebecca hadn’t been lying. Roy hadn’t objected to her name being considered as seriously as it was, and had given absolutely no indication to anyone in the room that there could potentially be conflict with this hire.
“Oh,” Ted said. “Well, that’s a bit of an issue.”
Roy looked at Rebecca evenly. “What did she say?”
“Nothing,” she replied, knowing that that was the very issue. “She just said she refused to work with you. Told me to ask you for the details.”
Roy nearly scoffed. God, that was really fucking like you, wasn’t it? Somehow making his life harder without scorching him alive, leaving him to be the one to burn himself down. Because you could if you wanted to. You could burn him to the ground if you chose.
(And you had. But he wasn’t sure what was stopping you from doing it again.)
He eyed Rebecca, knowing his boss and the way she thinks. There was a piece of him that was curious as to whether or not she’d drop the bomb in front of Beard and Lasso. “And what did Keeley tell you?”
That seemed to take his boss by surprise for a moment. But, as she caught on, it was made clear that she had the intention of saving his ass. For now. “Nothing that you didn’t tell her yourself,” Rebecca said. “Which was pretty much nothing.”
That was true too. There wasn’t much he hadn’t told Keeley, but he drew the line at you. Not only would Keeley look at him differently if she knew the truth, but you were just… too hard to talk about. Way too hard for him.
Which is why when Rebecca threw her hands up in question, desperation in her eyes as she asks, “So, what the fuck did you do to our prospective coach?”, Roy had to calm himself for a moment.
Between his rapidly increasing heartbeat and freshly clammy hands, Roy knew he had to figure out a way to not appear one hundred percent, completely freaked out about this. Besides his vague talks with Keeley, he can’t remember the last time he spoke about you. In fact, he’s not sure he’d ever spoken about you. And he certainly wasn’t in any headspace to do it now.
So, Roy being who he was, looked at the expectant expressions of his coaching staff (and Trent fucking Crimm, who he still couldn’t believe had managed to weasel his way into the club) and sighed. He knew he couldn’t be as intentionally vague with his explanation, especially now that the careers of those he knew and respected were in the mix, but he sure as hell was going to try.
“We—” Roy’s voice came out gruff and he cleared his throat with the roll of his eyes. “We knew each other a while back. I met her at the London Olympics. We were… fucking friends. For a while. And then we weren’t.” Roy shrugged, as if that would get rid of the discomfort he felt. He still hadn’t made eye contact with anyone. “I did some shit I’m not proud of. I hurt her and then she fucking hurt me. We haven’t talked since.”
Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. “Exactly how long haven’t you spoken for?”
Exactly? Roy knows exactly how long. He could tell her the exact fucking day. But that was neither here nor there.
“I don’t know,” he chose to answer. He’d never faked indifference well. “Couple of years? Eight, nine?”
Beard pursed his lips in confusion. “And you didn’t think to… mention this conflict of interest?”
He’d taken the words right out of Rebecca’s mouth. “Or tell me there was an issue so I didn’t look like an idiot?”
“There’s no fucking conflict of interest!” Roy shouted. Rebecca’s brows rose dangerously at the tone and volume of his voice, forcing him to take a moment to collect himself. His voice was more even as he said, “I didn’t fucking say anything because I didn’t think it was important because we’re fucking adults and I didn’t want to be the fucking reason she didn’t—”
Roy’s words died in his throat, chest heaving as he forced himself to stop short. He finally looked up, glancing between his colleagues. He tilted his head back as he realized that each of them were trying to figure out whether or not to believe him.
He was telling the truth. He hadn’t said one lie. They just didn’t get it. And he wouldn’t allow them to get it. Not yet, at least.
“Well,” Rebecca said after a beat, “inadvertently or not, you are the reason she’s not joining the team.”
(Those words alone sting Roy in a way he wasn’t prepared for.)
Rebecca wasn’t done. “But I want her, Roy. More than anyone we’ve seen. She’s the best we’ve had a chance with so far. And if I have to go with another coach or one of those pricks we interviewed because of that?” She shook her head as if the idea repulsed her, then pointed squarely at Roy. “Fix this.”
His jaw went slack. “Fix— How the fuck am I supposed to fix it?”
Roy was shocked to find that Ted had his back. “I’m with Roy on this one, boss,” he said hesitantly. Rebecca blinked at him in surprise. “I want her too. I’m all for having this Ace up our sleeve. But this all seems like a lot to be fixed overnight.”
“Send her flowers, send her a singing telegram, get on your fucking hands and knees and beg— I don’t care how you do it! Just try!” Rebecca’s gaze had turned back to Roy, this time a bit more pleading. “Please. Fix it.”
And with that, Rebecca left the office, leaving two coaches and a journalist staring at Roy Kent.
This was the worst day of his life. It had to be. He’d never prepared himself to see you again because he was convinced that there was no probability it would happen. Selfishly, he’d figured that you coaching here wasn’t a true possibility, not because of any sort of lack of skill, but because some other team would scoop you up. But it was happening. This was a reality and Roy was sure he’d died and finally gone to hell.
And now he was expected to fix this? To interact with you? To potentially see and speak to you again? He was going to fucking throw up.
With this settling in, Roy released a deep, shuddering breath, heartbeat ringing in his ears. “Fuuuuuck,” he muttered, grabbing his keys from his desk and storming out of the room.
And then there were three. Ted broke the silence with a question directed at Trent. “Y'all have singing telegrams over here?”
Trent nodded. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure they’re just as awful as American ones.”
As Ted hummed in agreement, Beard narrowed his eyes at how his best friend’s attention was back on the open laptop in front of him. “You looking up where to get one?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Ted replied, eyes glued to the screen.
Beard got up from his chair. “Move over.”
Roy Kent is standing on your doorstep, and somehow that’s not the most surprising thing to happen to you all week.
However, you are surprised. So much so that the second you see him, a mix of red-hot anger and panic run through your veins, making you instantly slam the door in his face. Tragically, he’s quick enough to slip his foot between the door and the frame, not allowing you to keep him out. You see him grimace through the slit.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “That’s a fucking heavy door.”
“Yeah?” you ask, continuing to push on the door like a five-year-old. “Surprised your reflexes were fast enough to pull that one off, Grandpa.” You glance down and do the math. “With your bad leg, too. Impressive.”
You see him wince at the pressure. “If you keep pushing on that door, we’re going to have an actual fucking problem.”
“Ooh, I’m so scared,” you reply. “Do I get a headstart when you have to pop the knee back in?”
Roy grunts. “I think it’s fair game with that ACL.”
You push harder on the door.
Roy’s had enough. His weird, Superman strength peaks through as he holds out an arm to push back, making you stumble slightly. “Can you fucking… stop?” His voice strains on that last word, finally opening the door enough to free his foot and keep it open. You know him well enough to know that trying to push back is useless. However, as you hide yourself behind it, your hand remains on the door, just in case.
“How the fuck do you know where I live?”
“I frequent the West Ham directory,” he answers dryly. You move to push on the door once more, but he speaks before you can. “I fucking texted Rebecca. She somehow knew.”
While you were also weirded out about how Rebecca knew your address, her presence was much less off putting than the man’s before you. If he’d texted Rebecca about you, that meant you’d been talked about. Which meant that Rebecca had confronted Roy about your conflict. Which meant that he was here to…
The implication of it unnerves you. But still, you ask, “Why are you here?”
“I just want to talk,” he replies.
You scoff. “Well, we talked. I’m good for another ten years.”
It’s then that he says your name. Your actual name. Not your last name, or your number, or the stupid nickname he used to call you. And it’s said so softly. So much more gentle than you ever remember his voice being. It straight-up ambushes you, and the remainder of the grip you have on the door fades.
“Please,” he says in that same way. “Give me five minutes.” You rest your forehead on the door, wanting nothing more than to shut it in his face again and walk away. “Five minutes, and then you can tell me to fuck off.”
You’re not sure what makes you do it. You’re not sure why your resolve suddenly crumbles and you start to consider his words. Maybe it’s because you’re still surprised to see him. Maybe it’s because you’re exhausted from this last week. Or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last four hours mulling over Rebecca’s offer and have realized you may actually want this.
Whatever it is, you groan dramatically, say something that sounds a whole lot like fine, fucking fine to Roy, and open your door all the way to really look at him for the first time in eight years.
The sight of you seems to catch him as off guard as he does for you. He looks older, years more mature than the last time you saw him. But it’s not just in the face. His entire presence seems matured. Healed. It’s jarring.
He’s well-groomed, a vast contrast to the guy you met back in 2012, but similar to the man you left in 2015. It’s just more so. Everything about him is… more. More well-polished. More striking. The TV spots you’ve seen don’t do him justice.
(You mentally kick yourself for even thinking that and immediately feel like you need to wash your hands.)
The dark Richmond Coaching shirt he wears nearly blends in with his eyes, but you swear they’ve gotten lighter. However, the intensity of his stare hasn’t changed. And that’s the first thing you notice as you realize he’s been doing the same sort of evaluation to you.
However, that stare stays on the stupid embroidered soccer ball shorts you now really wish you’d changed out of after Rebecca had left. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he says, “I can’t believe you still have those fucking shorts.”
A sudden, overwhelming feeling of… something washes over you and you can feel tears prick at your eyes. Because you don’t know what to say to that, and because you’re not sure you can respond to that in any sort of way, you cross your arms over your chest. It takes everything in you to keep your gaze on him. “Five minutes,” you tell him.
Roy seems to snap out of whatever headspace he was in, any trace of humor disappearing. Instead, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat. He’s standing as if he’s about to make a grand speech, and it leads you to believe he’s rehearsed this. You may have laughed at him if you weren’t anticipating whatever the hell was about to come.
So, as Roy opens his mouth, you brace yourself for impact and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
But nothing seems to come out. He’s stuck there, like he’s frozen in time, as if he’s some sort of animatronic that’s glitching out. You glance around to double-check that the trees on your street are still blowing in the wind.
Your head tilts, and you awkwardly press your lips together. “I think you’ve got four minutes now.”
Roy glares at you. “Can you just fucking—” He cuts himself off, pointing to his G-Wagon that’s parked outside of your apartment. “I spent two fucking hours in that car figuring out how I was going to fucking do this and then another hour outside of your fucking flat trying to work up the nerve to knock on your fucking door, so can you just shut the fuck up?”
Your hands go up in surrender. “Okay, okay,” you say lightly. Then, you mutter, “You just like, gave yourself a time limit and—”
When he grits out your name, you raise your hands higher and shut your mouth.
A good thirty seconds go by before he finally says, “You played for how many years?”
You blink at him. That’s his big opening line? He knows how long you played— “Seven?”
“Yeah, I fucking know you played professionally for seven. How long overall?”
You have to think about it for a moment. “Since I was three,” you answer. “So, twenty-five years.”
“And how long did you coach?”
He knows this too, but you assume he’s doing it to prove a point. “Six,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Six,” he repeats. “That’s over thirty years you’ve devoted your life to football. Three fucking decades. That’s your entire fucking life.”
That same frustration you felt when Rebecca was talking to you this morning rears its ugly head. “What’s your point?”
Roy doesn’t think he could roll his eyes any harder. “My point is,” he says, “you’ve been in this game for three decades. Why?”
“W-why?” you stammer, staring at him like he’s insane. Nobody’s ever asked you that before. “What do you mean why?”
Roy returns the look. “There’s gotta be a reason you’ve been doing this shit for thirty years. Why?”
“I don’t know,” you answer, shaking your head. “Because I’m good at it? Because it’s literally all that I’m good at? Because it’s all that I’ve ever known? I don’t—”
“No,” he says firmly, and for a moment, as he steps forward, you think he’s going to grab you by the shoulders in the way he used to. To get you out of your head and focus on him. Thankfully, he doesn’t. “Fucking nobody does anything for that long just because they’re good at it. That can’t be the only reason.”
As he stares at you expectantly, you start to understand his train of thought. What he’s trying to get you to admit. What all of this has been about since you first kicked a ball at three years old. What allowed you to sport the number 14 for twenty-five years. Because it’s only ever been about one thing, and he, more than anyone, gets it.
So, as your shoulders slouch and your head bows slightly in an annoyed sort of surrender, he knows he’s got you. Roy fucking Kent, anger-management case study and hothead of the millennium, has got you. And he’s showcasing the type of speech and traits and breakthrough abilities that told you eight years ago that he’d be a fantastic coach. Not that he believed you. Or took it very well, for that matter.
Then, you hear his voice again. And this time, it’s a bit softer. As if there’s a fraction of a smile on his face. “So, why the fuck have you been playing this game for thirty years, you stupid fucking Yank?”
The nostalgia of the name hits you like a bus, and you’re thankful you’re leaning on the doorframe because you truly may have stumbled over. However, there’s no time to dwell on that. You’ve got an answer ready and it takes everything in you not to smile.
A heavy, labored, dramatic sigh escapes you, and you open your eyes to look at him. “Because I love it.”
“Because you fucking love it,” he echoes, and that fraction of a smile you heard in his voice happens to be hidden amongst his perpetual scowl. He takes a step closer to you, pointing at you and tapping on your shoulder. “Don’t you dare let that prick take that away from you.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and look away from him. He’s right. Just like Rebecca, he’s right. You hate that he’s right, but he’s right. It’s been years since you’ve seen him be right, but it hasn’t gotten any less annoying.
You think back to what Rebecca said this morning. Don’t let him win. You didn’t want to. There was actually nothing less that you wanted than to allow him to have that sort of power over you.
But still, the fear lingers. It sits in your stomach and churns it. He said he’d ruin you. Turn the world against you. It’d be your word against the club’s and more importantly, your word against football darling and West Ham star, Tom MacDonald’s.
(“Sure, you can go public with it,” Rupert had told you, basking in the anger written in your expression. “But to be completely honest, love, I’m not sure anyone’s going to believe you.” He shrugged. “Only female coach in the league suddenly crying sexual harassment after she’s been fired? Seems a bit convenient to me, don’t you think?”)
You don’t mean for your voice to be as small as it is when you say, “But what if I’m actually done?”
Vulnerability’s never been something you’ve embraced, especially with your career path, and you hate the way you sound. Weak. Timid. Afraid. As you meet his gaze once again, you realize that you hate the way that Roy’s looking at you even more.
“You’re the furthest thing from done. Done hasn’t ever been a word in your fucking vocabulary,” he tells you. There’s no room for argument. “You wanna know why?” You shrug at him in response, cueing him to continue. “Because unfortunately, I fucking know you. And I know the only time you’d ever be done with this sport is when you’re fucking dead.”
This time, you do allow yourself to smile. It’s small and humorous— a tight-lipped agreement, but it’s enough for Roy to know he’s gotten through. You want to laugh, partly because you know he’s right, partly because you can’t fucking believe that you’re smiling at him, but you’re strong enough to keep that in.
“So, yeah. Don’t let that prick kill you. Don’t let any prick keep you out of this game. Especially coaching.” Roy shakes his head, pausing for a beat, as if he’s making an effort to say, “You’re too… fucking good.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Took a lot to get that one out, huh?”
Roy’s quick with a response. “You’re lucky you got it at all.”
You scowl, but there’s not much in it. You’re used to that type of compliment from him. If you can even call it that. Still, the familiarity of it makes you the most uncomfortable you’ve been all day.
However, you’re distracted by one thing. Don’t let any prick keep you out of the game. He’s said it so casually, like he’d actually meant it. As if he had no sense of irony about it. It boils your blood and stirs something ugly in you.
That feeling prompts you to meet his gaze. “What if one of those pricks is right in front of me?”
For the first time all night, his stoic expression falters, as if that was the last thing he’d ever expected you to say. It was only a fraction of a second. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment.
But you hadn’t missed it. You’d seen the Tin Man facade crumble, even for just a second. You’d seen the hurt in his eyes, the regret. You’d celebrate it if it didn’t make you feel so unexpectedly awful.
He abruptly clears his throat with a solemn nod. “Well,” he says gruffly. ”Then don’t let me take that away either."
You look away from him, because you know that’s all you can do right now. Your mind’s racing a million miles an hour, thinking about him, about Rupert and West Ham and Tom MacDonald, and about the Richmond job. There’s a piece of you that wants to believe that everything that had happened this week was leading to this. To seeing him again, to being offered to work with him, to gain an opportunity for redemption in more ways than one.
But the more logical piece of you knows that’s all bullshit. And it’s that thought that puts you back in a more comfortable headspace.
“You know I can’t forgive you for what you did,” you tell him, meeting his eyes once more. The weight of your words is heavy on your shoulders and you lean against your doorframe again. “I won’t forgive you.”
Roy nods stiffly. “I know,” he says. “And I can’t forgive you.”
You return his nod in understanding. “I know.”
His gaze leaves yours for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say next. How to work up the courage to do so.
“But if—” Roy’s voice comes out strained and he clears his throat. “If this is something you want, this coaching thing at Richmond, then I…” He looks at you and all you can see is sincerity. You hate it. “It’ll be professional. Civil. I won’t let there be any issues or… fucking whatever.”
He appears to be just as bad at this as he was when you last saw him. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold in your laughter. By the way his face becomes instantaneously annoyed, you can tell he’s noticed.
You’re already talking before he can retract his statement. “How’s the team?”
If he’s offended by you not thanking him for doing the bare fucking minimum, he doesn’t show it, and takes your change in topic in stride. “Good,” he replies. “Pretty fucking good. We’re still trying to figure some shit out when it comes to—”
“No,” you interrupt him. “I’ve seen you guys play. I know you’re good. I mean—” Your throat suddenly gets tight, a pit of anxiety forming in your stomach completely out of nowhere. A shaky breath leaves your lips. “The team. The guys. Are they…?”
Roy catches on. “They’re good lads,” he says, his voice telling you that it’s not a statement, but a fact. “Some of the best I’ve ever played with. Easy to coach too.”
Your brow quirks up. “Easy?”
“If two fucking clowns from Oklahoma and fucking… me are saying they’re easy,” he says, looking at you with intent as he trails off.
That same pit of anxiety bubbles up once more. “And, uh… Jamie Tartt? Is he—?” Roy’s brow furrows. “I’ve just heard some less-than-great things. Him being the star and all. Football darling or whatever. Are they true?”
Your over-explanation of the Richmond striker makes Roy narrow his eyes in suspicion. He opens his mouth to question it, but then realizes it’s you. There had to be some personal reason for you to bring it up. Whatever issue it was, he knew he was no longer personal enough with you to ask.
“He was a prick,” Roy finally settles on. “Now he’s less of a prick.”
The fond look in Roy’s eyes tells you that he’s warmed up to Jamie more than he’s letting on, and it puts you at ease. You nod in acknowledgment. Silence fills the air between you two, neither of you knowing what else to say.
You think about the team you’ve watched quietly on TV, studying up for your rivalry games with them when you were preparing to coach at West Ham. You think about your prospective coaching staff and the vitriol you heard in Nathan Shelley’s voice when you asked him about Ted Lasso. You think about the job and what evidently comes with it.
But most importantly, you think about the potential of this new position and the potential of this new beginning.
And while you’ve got questions, you realize they’re all for yourself. Not for Roy.
You’re out of questions and he’s out of time. Way out of time.
You remember this as you rock back on your heels. “I think you’ve gone over your five minutes.”
Roy looks at you expectantly. “Are you going to tell me to fuck off?”
“You? Absolutely,” you tell him, earning yet another eye roll. “But Richmond?” You pause, trying to ignore just how quietly hopeful he now looks. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “Tell Rebecca I’ll consider it.”
Roy releases a relieved, thankful breath, nodding at you. “Good,” he says.
You nod back at him. “Wouldn’t want you to spend another three hours in your car trying to figure out how you’re gonna break the bad news to her.”
That eye roll returns, but there’s a bit of levity in it. He looks at you for a moment longer, biting the inside of his cheek like he's contemplating saying something else. Your brows furrow in interest, and as soon as they do, he seems to decide against it.
Roy turns to go down your steps with a shake of his head. “Get out of those fucking shorts and stop your wallowing, Fourteen,” he throws behind him as he walks away. “And clean your fucking flat!”
Glancing behind you, your jaw drops in outrage as you realize there’s no way in hell he saw your warzone living room from where he was standing. “You can’t even see into my apartment!”
He doesn’t turn around when he says, “I don’t need to see! I just fucking know you.”
You manage to suppress the urge to actually yell at him to fuck off at that, and instead choose to live with the wildly strange and undefinable feeling that overtakes your body, one that doesn’t dissolve until you watch him speed off down your street.
This fucking week, man.
You shut your door and turn to face your living room, a newfound disgust for the vile state that it’s in. Your lips curls up and you sigh, walking into your kitchen to grab a trash bag, making a plan of action for the night as you shake it out.
You replay your first conversation with Roy in eight years as you tidy up your apartment. You make a mental pros and cons list of the Richmond job as you take the longest, most necessary shower of your life. You chuckle to yourself at the idea of Rupert and Tom’s faces if they were to see that you’d been picked up by Richmond.
You sleep well for the first night in three days, on clean sheets, in clean pajamas, embroidered soccer ball shorts joining your dirty laundry.
You’re bounding into your kitchen at nine the next morning to grab Rebecca’s card that you left on your counter, brewing an espresso as you call her.
#roy kent#ted lasso#roy kent x reader#roy kent fanfiction#roy kent fic#roy kent x you#ted lasso fanfiction#aatwe#the one who can't walk up stairs#aces
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Thinking about when you said Anders is bringing A LOT emotionally to the table with Keir...
Thinking about Red Hawke and Red Hawke Malcolm...
You saying in an AU where Leandra passed instead of Malcolm that he would have a much more strained relationship with his kids...
The parallels of Leandra leaving a wealthy life for apostasy and Keir leaving for Anders.
There's something happening here. Is history repeating itself?
there’s a lot to say in terms of cycles! hawke having their father’s personality is so fascinating for that and handers is so fascinating for the obvious parallel to malcolm and leandra
i would say i don’t play keir and malcolm as carbon copies of each other. keir is trying to be his father, because he thinks that’s his job. being “red” does come naturally to keir in terms of bluntness, but a lot of the way keir has learned to behave is about overdoing the aggression especially when putting on a front with strangers, to fill out his father’s shoes so to speak and cover up his relative lack of sheer charisma. malcolm was a prodigy and, like, a romantic hero, i have to characterise him as a powerful speaker and a quick thinker in a way keir simply isn’t. on the other hand, keir IS better at doing affection than malcolm was. he’s earnest with the people he loves in the sense that he’s “bluer” with them, he’s very physically affectionate, all in a way that malcolm was never really capable of. but he and malcolm both find it very hard to express that verbally
(this actually characterises a lot of my keir and bethany dynamic, because i think a younger bethany looked up to keir a lot and a few years of separation give her the perspective to be like, oh you’re just pretending to be dad. that’s kind of embarrassing isn’t it. does this really work on people. JGSHSJSKSK.)
when i say anders is bringing a lot emotionally to the table i mean that in game he expresses his feelings verbally a lot, he’s a romantic, he’s a talker. i’ve made jokes abt just how many more words he gets of dialogue when i write them lmao. he makes declarations of love, he has ideas about relationships even if he’s not familiar with actually being in them outside of what you can get away with in the circle, he has fantasies and ideals and concerns and the ability to say all of this aloud is a luxury to him, one he couldn’t bring himself to waste. keir by contrast doesn’t like to talk abt his own feelings, it’s not something he was taught to do. he likes it from anders, but his own feelings are supposed to be his own problem and not put onto anyone else. similarly to how he’s an intensely fear-driven person bc he internalises like all of it rather than expressing anything bc it’s his job to make everyone else feel safe. and yeah i would say that’s similar to the malcolm and leandra dynamic in my canon
honestly the interesting reversal of all this is actually the “fugitives together” ending, in that keir abandoning everything for anders actually switches him to his mother’s role. which is i think true to keir having more in common with leandra than he thinks. anders being the only other character who gets compared to malcolm (by bethany) is also super interesting
#ty for letting me get my teeth into this i love talking abt it#also for remembering all those details omg#keir hawke
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(warning for Long Post because I have no self control and really need to go to bed)
So @will80sbyers has been posting interesting tidbits from the s3 scripts (i shamelessly stole these ss from u i’m so sorry no i’m not) and I’ve never actually read through them before and???
WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS
YOU’RE TELLING ME THE SCENE WHERE MIKE DOESN’T RECIPROCATE HIS GIRLFRIEND’S KISS OR CONFESSION. THE SCENE WHERE MIKE IS PHYSICALLY FRAMED IN THE SHOT AS INSIDE OF A FUCKING CLOSET. IS WRITTEN FROM HIS POV??? AND THAT THEY FIND IT NECESSARY TO TRANSCRIBE HIS THOUGHTS, VERBATIM, AS “WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME”????!?!?
my brother in christ that boy is a homosexual
Also, since this scene is clearly from his perspective, that means the “getting awkward” and “so awkward” descriptors are representative of his feelings. This is the last conversation he has with his girlfriend he supposedly loves before she moves an incredibly long way away and how does he feel about it??? Sad??? Heartbroken, even??? Does he desperately cling to her to make the moment last longer??? No, he just feels fucking awkward.
And when she goes in to kiss him, he “seems confused”. Firstly, according to his S4 confession he was fully aware of how he felt about her, and was scared about how much harder losing her would be if he acknowledged it. He’s about to lose her here, at least in the sense of physical distance. Surely this is when he should be scared, then, not confused??? What is he even confused about??? Not his supposed love for her. The fact that she loves him back??? The fact that she’s willing to take him back after he’s been such a dick to her all season??? If either of those are the case, surely his immediate reaction would be relief, and to kiss her back after a second, not confusion so overwhelming that he stands there in a blank stupor after she leaves the room.
Secondly, he “seems” confused. That’s probably the only line out of the whole confession that doesn’t seem to be coming directly from Mike’s head, but rather from an outsider perspective. Does that mean it’s an incorrect interpretation??? The only possible pro-M!leven angle I could see that from would be if they were trying to obscure his fear of losing her for some reason, to make it a more dramatic “reveal” in S4, but that’s so incredibly cheap and stupid and from what I’ve seen they don’t make their twists intentionally impossible to spot for quick shock value. Stranger Things has actually been very good about setting up foreshadowing of somewhat-hidden character arcs (see: William Byers lmao).
The “say it”, as well. Presumably, it’s referring to an “I love you.” It’s fun to think about the possibility of “it” being something else, like a breakup *coughs*, but I don’t think that’s what’s intended. That means that we can pinpoint this scene right here as the beginning of Mike’s “actively avoiding saying he loves El” streak. He thinks about it, tells himself to say it, but it’s not clear what it is that’s blocking him. He’s angry at himself for not saying it, and disbelieving, and the script makes sure to write those words down on the page, but there’s nothing about that alleged fear.
Also very interesting that it just says “they kiss”. No indication of the fact that it’s actually just her kissing him, or the fact that he doesn’t even close his eyes. I’m assuming that body language is a extension of his confusion??? The script makes the kiss seem mutual, but in the show itself he barely even registers that she’s kissing him. That’s an incredibly extreme expression of confusion IMO. Perhaps his seeming confusion isn’t a lie, but it’s not the whole truth of what he’s feeling.
Maybe he is scared, but not about losing her.
“What the hell just happened here,” Mike??? You realized you’re fucking gay.
#i'm losing my shit if you can't tell#byler#anti m!leven#gay mike wheeler#mike wheeler is gay#that 'what the hell just happened here' isn't actually mike's POV btw#it's the thought's running through the head of the viewer once they realise the full subtext of what they just witnessed#byler proof#byler analysis#if u can call it that lmao#byler deranged shrieking in ur walls#stranger things meta#i've reached the level of delusion where i can wring more than uuhhhh#650 words out of 1 page of script#pray for me 🙏🙏🙏
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I just want to pick up a fic where harry isn't needlessly cruel to draco in an attempt to make him worthy of any love because of past canonical events. Especially when draco is painstakingly written to have worked so, so hard to change?I am so tired. And ridiculously triggered because you CAN'T filter these out 😔🙏... How do i refine my reading experience? There are no tags for this. The scenes just lie buried in fics. And i have spent so much TIME getting through long fics only for draco to be treated so poorly. It's such a common occurence! Or harry doing something really fucked up without consequence and draco being so accepting because he feels guilt. Like a casual use of veritaserum and then asking really invasive questions outside of what they agreed to be asking each other in what was supposed to be a safe space for the both of them. Or harry just sometimes casually being violent or angry in a way not necessarily part of the narrative... it's just something he does?
I'm not averse to harry with anger and trauma, this is why Balance, Imperfect, Heal Thyself, and A Sword Laid Aside are such treasured reads to me. It's just that they make sense...
So much of the fandom's fics will have something like this... like a really crude violation of draco's boundaries in popularly "wholesome" fics as a stepping stone for the romance. As them getting to know each other? But it really isn't that though... is it.I'm sorry, it's just NOT my thing. I don't know how to filter such things out. How do i keep a respectful distance away from such fics?
I respect the catharsis people find and seek with such scenes and pieces!! They're perfectly valid. I used to be just fine with such a relationship dynamic because they are undeniably good reads. And again, cathartic to see draco on the other end of the stick. But life just happens and somethings i can't enjoy anymore. I just don't know how I'm supposed to navigate my way around them.
Do you have authors that write these two with a more balanced perspective? Or maybe fics that deal with their hurt and pain and trauma with consideration but doesn't end up feeling like either harry or draco have to hurt the other more?
Also, l think you're one hell of an archivist and librarian when it comes to fics. Do you have any tips on how i can find the stories for me and peacefully navigate the ocean of fiction within the drarry tag?
Hi anon! I think I’ve received a shorter version of this ask a while ago but can’t for the life of me find my response so I’m not sure if I’ve already done a specific rec list for you. I love those long fics you mentioned, they all have excellent character arcs.
I totally understand where you’re coming from because I share the sentiment - and I’m pretty sure I know which fic you’re referring to re: the invasive Veritaserum scene. I’m sorry you’re having a rough time trying to filter those scenes out. As you said, they’re buried deep within the fics and to be honest I don’t think there’s an easy way to tag them, because characterization is very subjective and creators might see this topic differently. I might not come off as someone picky because I read and rec lots of stuff but I’m particularly sensitive when it comes to emotional imbalance in fic - I don’t enjoy characters being mean for the sake of it or taking advantage of another character written as meek/pitiful, it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth so I try to avoid those if I can. Now I think about it, this might be one of the reasons why I’ve shifted away from long “redemption arc” fics and have been reading more “friends to lovers” and shorts recently, as I find them more emotionally satisfying. Hmm 🤔
Unfortunately I can’t offer any tips in terms of tag filtering - I think that would be extremely difficult and frustrating, especially if you find it triggering. If I were in your shoes I’d solely rely on rec lists made by people in whom I trust and crated within those parameters. Or just avoid the redemption arc altogether and focus on fics where they’re already in friendly terms? I wish I could help more because even a rec list would eventually end and chances are you’ve already read all the ones I have in mind. Let’s see if my followers have any interesting tips that might be helpful in this situation!
PS: some author suggestions I can think off the top of my head are firethesound, tackytiger, blamebrampton, Writcraft, thestarryknight, bixgirl, astolat, Omi_Ohmy, aibidil, shiftylinguini
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Too much of a pussy to interact the post directly but um. Re: genderbends and feminism
I think you’re entirely right to bring up how easy that passive hostility can become transphobia but I also think the idea that most genderbends are trans hcs is a bit of a spiders George moment. We (you and I) have cultivated a space we feel safe in that is predominantly populated by trans people who will talk about trans things- in the wider fandomspace there are still a lot of cis people who completely misunderstand what a genderbend has the potential to be. Obviously the years have brought good things and a lot has changed for the better, but there are still a lot of people who do in fact genderbend a dude character they like into a cis girl and you can tell by the way they write her they have no idea what they’re doing and generally little understanding of girls or girlhood. But attacking all genderbends and making the assumption that they’re all that is certainly not the way to go about it; like you said, a lot of people actually have trans hcs and sort of reclaim the r63 trend. But it is important to recognize there’s a larger problem of media not having girl characters with depth, or having those characters but they’re massively set aside for a dude. There’s no shame in enjoying the guy character more, speaking from experience, like you said let ppl on the internet do what they want. But also indulge taking a deeper look at the women, and recognize the bigger issue. I will defend every badly written woman with everything I have but I will also defend every fandom-decided transwoman with everything I have as well. They’re sisters. Super Sorry if this is a weird ask I felt like adding my perspective, bc ur right but I see. More
No need to belittle yourself, I know how anxiety inducing it can be to reply to something off anon, what matters is that you were polite and thoughtful. So lemme address your point. Post being talked about for context.
I think I did misword my post, you're absolutely right, but what I was trying to get across is that I suppose I hypothesise a lot of "genderbends" may only be perceived like that from the outside without the neccessary context. This is based on how I reflected on my own headcanons and how they can be outwardly percieved, and also my experience in fandom. For example, my interpretation of an AU character (William Wight) could easily be viewed as a genderbend without the context of personal thoughts and the fact I headcanon William Wisp (the og character) as PRE-transition, especially since another character from that AU I have genderbent. So it wasn't strictly about genderbending actually being trans headcanons, it's about how if you're without context, genderbending can be a misinterpretation of a trans headcanon.
But you're right, I too closely conflated them, giving overall the wrong message about genderbending and invalidating the feelings of people who just enjoy the trope without the trans aspect. There's a lot of people out there who genderbend not knowing anything about transness, that could easily be a misinterpretation, it was based on my experiences and not any hard data. I also projected onto the people reblogging that post that they wouldn't have the eye to make a disceration between the two.. Which, I have no clue either way, who knows. But thankfully, I don't think any of this takes away from the point being made or hurts anyone too severely. I hope that anyone who feels misrepresented can still understand the post regardless of how I may have offended them, because the underlying transphobia is the bigger issue. And also, to reinforce it again, I AGREE with OP in the right context, I think it's a real phenomena, but I try to be critical of posts if they start to widely circulate without anyone pointing out what can be a potentially harmful idea.
Also to consider as a note though: genderbending can be a precursor to being trans as a form of experimentation. So yes, it is still worth taking into the consideration what you're saying about people who genderbend characters, you have no idea what they're going through even if they claim not to be trans, things can change. But even further beyond that, I focused on trans people for obvious reasons, it's shitty to be targeting a minorty.. But if you're nodding along with my post like, "oh yeah, it's okay if TRANS people genderbend characters, but ANYONE ELSE isn't allowed to" umg. Well. That can still be transphobia, or just generally a dick thing to do. Again, I just think we shouldn't assume that misogyny is involved when there are other incredibly viable reasons for genderbending.
I didn't even bring it up because I didn't want to tbh, but, also a lot of people who genderbend are just.. Into that. That's also a notable reason but again, that wasn't the point.
Btw, this is all coming from the fandom where people rampantly post abt an mlm ship and overlook the other lead that is girl. So. I first hand have experienced the EXACT issue being discussed, but I still wouldn't wanna go and make the wide assertions OP was making. In the end, we are all people on the internet in our niches making assumptions about wider groups even if we don't actually know jack shit about each other. Hence I preach love and tolerate, and to generally not judge people.
I hope this was a decent response and maybe even added something to my previous post. Or maybe this was a jumbled schlock of nothing that went off the rails, I'm sorry if that's the case.
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I love your fics! Do you have any writing tips for a budding writer?
Thank you! 😊 I’m really not qualified to be giving out advice, but I’ll do my best!! As with any piece of writing advice, take these tips or leave them as you like. There’s never just one way to become a better writer
Read a lot, and read with purpose. I know almost everyone says it, but it’s a popular bit of advice for a reason. When I read, I take notes on what I like and dislike about the author’s style, as well as what works and what doesn’t work from a craft/storytelling perspective. This helps me create goals and find inspiration for my own writing, and it gives me a solid idea of things to avoid (not necessarily because they’re bad or wrong, but because I know if I don’t enjoy reading it, I won’t enjoy writing it). Also, don’t forget to sprinkle in some plays and poetry into your reading/listening habits—at the very least, if you hate them, you’ll have more to add to your “do not write like this” list
If you hate traditional outlines, try out the snowflake method (unless you already have a method that works)
Every person has a writing/editing method that works for them, and it will likely change over time, so try multiple and use the parts that work for you. My method starts with a draft titled “Worst Version.” In this doc, I do my best not to edit as I go. Instead, I just dump everything in my brain onto the doc, skipping anything I’m struggling with and leaving a placeholder to come back to in future drafts, such as: [Harry and Tom argue about X, Tom drops hints about Y that Harry will remember later]. The goal here is speed and breadth. For each draft that follows, I keep the previous one side by side with the newest one, refining and adding to it as I rewrite it into the new doc
If you’re stuck, try to change something about how you’re writing. One thing that usually works for me is to switch to writing by hand until I can get back into the flow of whatever I was struggling with. I’ve also had success with changing where I’m writing (going to a library or a friend’s place) or starting a sprint or other timed writing challenge. Going outside for a walk or just to sit for a minute and listen to new sounds can also be helpful, as can opening a window
Cut things from your writing! It feels good and can make a better story! If you’re struggling with a scene, or if a scene is boring you as you write it, or if you just aren’t having fun, cut it (but don’t delete it—paste it in a separate doc or note file). You can always change your mind and add it back in later, or replace it with a few transition sentences if you absolutely need to share some information from the scene you cut. When I’m writing for fun, forcing myself to write a scene I don’t like in some way is the fastest way to make me drop the fic for a while
Somewhat related, “show don’t tell” is just a guideline, and there are plenty of places where telling can be better. For example, “telling” works well for time skips and switching scenes/settings, skipping over conversations you don’t want to write or the reader wouldn’t benefit from seeing, and sprinkling backstory throughout a story instead of having a single conversation or flashback full of exposition dumping
Read your dialogue aloud. Ask yourself if a person would say this. Then ask yourself if the specific person you’re supposed to be writing would say it. If the answer to either of these questions is no, fix it by finding examples of speech patterns that do fit the character (from canon, from fics with characterization you like, or from conversations you’ve heard elsewhere that seem to fit) and adjusting the dialogue you’ve written as needed so it fits the pattern. The changes I make the most are to add or remove contractions, swap simple vs. purple prose word choices, and take out lines that reveal too much from a more closed off character
Another tip for dialogue is to aim for efficiency. Before you write a line of dialogue, ask yourself 1) what your character wants to communicate—are they giving something or trying to get it, or both, 2) what they want to hide, and 3) how to accomplish those things in the most efficient (and in character) way possible. If a line of dialogue serves neither the character’s goals (for example: seeking information, making friends, deception, or just filling an uncomfortable silence), nor your goals (having fun is a perfectly valid goal btw), cut it or change it so it does
If you have the time and patience, it can be beneficial to read your entire draft aloud, though this isn’t something I’d recommend for every work. It can be great for catching grammar and spelling errors since it forces you to slow down while editing (a text to speech converter also works for this purpose). It can also help you pick out any specific inconsistencies in tone/style/flow if you’ve noticed a problem but don’t know how to fix it
Finally, practice every day. I like to write poems, drabbles, and one shots under 1.5k words as a way to test out ideas and writing styles that I might explore in larger projects later. I most often find inspiration for these practice sessions in my notes app, in poetry and music, and from word or prompt generators. Sometimes I post the results, but most often I don’t because they’re just for fun and/or practice. When lacking inspiration for fics in the future, these are a good resource to turn to
So, it turns out I had more to say than I expected. I hope some of this was helpful! I tried to cover multiple steps of the writing process, but if anyone has more specific questions, let me know and I’ll see what I can come up with
Happy writing!
#finding someone you can talk to about writing is also good#both of my roommates read a lot and one is a writer#and we can spend hours just venting and chatting about#what makes a good story and what makes a bad one#and i always leave those conversations with something new to think about re my own writing#ask#anon
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i don’t want to make that post any longer so 😅 i think you’re really oversimplifying what i’m saying. i’m not saying mike’s arc is just the surface level “mike gets a gf and it doesn’t make him happy,” it’s also that his relationship with el is symbolic of him conforming to what he believes he’s supposed to do, and him realizing that by doing this, he’s doing himself and everyone around him a massive disservice. my most recent tiktok video goes into more detail. i do think that his arc also includes his queer journey. but if you don’t agree that he’s not interesting without being queer, you’re well within your right to do so without telling me that my opinion that he is is illogical.
Hey, yeah, I totally get your point but I personally don’t believe that this arc makes sense if Mike is not queer. Having a character force himself to conform to society and get a girlfriend because he’s supposed to etc. does not make sense if there’s nothing about him that inevitably makes him not conform to begin with. It doesn’t make sense if the thing he thinks he’s supposed to do doesn’t stand in conflict with what he wants to do! If Mike actually liked El romantically then dating her would not be forcing conformity. Their relationship would not be a symbol of Mike trying to conform because by dating El he’d do something he actually wants! He wouldn’t be forcing himself to do something just to please society. Mike being queer is crucial to his character. You can’t take that away but keep the forcing himself to conform arc! Those two things go hand in hand and you can’t have one without the other.
And I’m really not trying to be mean here but your take on this is illogical. It’s immensely illogical from a writing perspective because you simply don’t write a story about a character that forces themselves to conform to a society that they conform to anyway!!! In your scenario Mike dated El in s3 because he thought it would make him happy which then again means that Mike had no motivations to act the way he did other than that he wanted to, and that. Does not. Make sense! This whole concept of the character that you created by taking away his queerness literally does not work in itself! The arc is completely illogical if you take away what makes Mike different. What makes him not conform! Mike would act out of no actual, reasonable, deep running motivations and that’s one of the most basic indications that a character is badly written!
Having nerdy interests be the only thing that makes Mike not conform to Hawkins’ society would be very anticlimactic and once again immensely bad writing since all the party members are outsiders of Hawkins’ society! But while Will is poor and gay, Dustin is disabled and Lucas is black, Mike would be……a nerd. A white, straight, wealthy, male nerd….
You see what I’m getting at here, right? He’d basically be Steve Harrington + dnd. And the only thing Mike would be insecure about is something he shares with all party members! Something super trivial at that! Realistically, yeah, people get bullied for their interests and they can feel insecure about them but apart from the fact that Mike was canonically never generally insecure about being a nerd and the fact that the bullying was never about Mike’s interests, from a writing perspective you do not put a person with the only difference being having nerdy interests in a group full of people that are marginalized by society!!! Will, Dustin and Lucas face real hardships while Mike would just be a nerd. A white, straight, wealthy, male nerd. He’d be one of the most privileged people on the whole show. Along with Steve he’d be the insider in a whole show of outsiders and the fact that there’s a huge focus on Mike in s1 and s2 would make this so much worse! Creating a show full of outsiders for outsiders but choosing to focus on the character that isn’t that…
If liking dnd is the only thing that makes Mike not conform to Hawkins’ society and his whole arc is about trying to get rid of that and happily going into a relationship with the girl he actually liked, only to realize that she is a superhero and makes him feel even lesser than he felt before, then Mike would be a very flat character with an arc that doesn’t make sense, and quite frankly, he’d be an insult to what the message of Stranger Things is supposed to be!
Furthermore it gives off the impression that it’s El’s fault that Mike doesn’t want this relationship with her (because El simply being herself makes Mike feel bad about himself) and that’s clearly not what they’re going for (“But it doesn’t change anything. I care for you. So much!”). It literally isn’t compatible with canon!! And it also does not cover all of his behavior! It’s not an explanation to everything Mike did in the last two seasons and if a character‘s behavior can’t be explained then that’s once again bad writing!
Your take on an alternative arc for Mike is illogical because it loses its validity and credibility the more you analyze the show and that’s simply not what happens with good hypotheses! If you have a good hypothesis it will gain validity and credibility the deeper you look into the topic and that’s just not the case with your take! Your take is incompatible with the mere concept of Stranger Things, it’s completely illogical from a writing perspective, it doesn’t make sense in itself, it contradicts and ignores canon and it overall has the result of Mike as a character and his plot being badly written because there wouldn’t be any nuance to it! It would be an anticlimactic, flat character and story line!
Once again, I am not trying to offend you as a person. I’m not saying your way of thinking or your opinions are generally illogical. I am pointing out to you that this specific take of yours on this topic is illogical and that’s objectively the case! This is not me telling you that I personally don’t like your take. This is me pointing out to you the obvious flaws and inconsistencies in your take that are objectively there! Of course you have every right to still like Mike and find him interesting if he ends up not reciprocating Will’s feelings but that’s your own subjective opinion which doesn’t change the fact that he’d objectively be a badly written character.
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first person feels like I'm not actually being included. and I read x reader cause the stories supposed to be about me bro. I hope you take this in a funny joking way thank you
I really like how the general consensus is: “first person isn’t about me, and I’m not about that 💅🏽” LMAO. I mean that affectionately!!! It like, makes sense that these are the replies, because we’re all involved in the x Reader niche and we’re coming from that perspective, an inherently self-indulgent one. 2nd Person POV, as we use it here in this corner, is unadulterated with it’s wish-fulfilment so i’m not surprised at these answers tbh.
There was like, idk, a bit of a trend on tiktok—trend is a strong word, it was maybe just something I noticed over the course of a few months on like, booktok i guess, but people would make videos or comments about the character in the book they were reading having like, idk, “red hair and green eyes” for example, and then being like, “no babe, she’s got dark hair and dark eyes like me and is exactly my height and is also me 💅🏽” and I just found that so—fascinating??? LMAO. Because to me, I see 1st Person POV narratives (outside of fic, anyways) as like…. deliberately narrow??? Like yeah, you’re focused on this one person for a reason, they’re telling you a story. I think as a writing tool, it’s a good one to use for like, idk, unreliable narrators, maybe, or even stories where you deliberately want a narrow scope when it comes to the story’s field of vision.
In fic, especially, we always seem to equate 1st Person to like, Original Characters—I’m thinking the classic, My Immortal’s Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Way—but I find that apart of the charm??? Like I said, some of my favourite books are done in 1st Person POV (Flowers in the Attic, which I’ve shilled before, opens with: “It is so appropriate to colour hope yellow, like that sun we seldom saw. And as I begin to copy from the old memorandum journals that I kept for so long, a title comes as if inspired: Open the Window and Stand in the Sunshine. Yet, I hesitate to name our story that. For I think of us more as flowers in the attic. Paper flowers. Born so brightly coloured, and fading duller through all those long, grim, dreary, nightmareish days when we were held prisoners of hope, and kept captives by greed.” and i truly, utterly and deeply believe that 1st Person was the right choice for that story, because then it gave Catherine—our main character—the witnesses to the horror that she and her siblings went through that she absolutely needed.) but writing wise, I’ve only ever used 1st Person for original ideas (romances!! I was a teenager and wrote them in notebooks and then lent said notebooks to my friends. I wrote things like… quiet mousey girls who got picked on by the hot school bully—lmfaoooooo—but then found herself growing closer to his equally hot, gentle best friend. 😌 The school Loud Mouth who gets paired with her Arch Nemesis on a project and they fight the entire time 😌😌 A spin-off with her best friend who’s falling in love with her neighbour—oh my god i gave myself everything I WANTED back then… there was no hiding. The 1st Person POV probably made it worse LMFAO. Everyone in my stories were based off of people I went to school with—my friends, people we hated, the boys we had crushes on. It was a free-for-all and it was so good, so much fun, and I will fight to death for spaces like Wattpad—spaces for kids and any other newcomer, where they can run rampant with their creativity, no matter how unpolished!!! anyways that was a tangent—).
I don’t know if 1st Person would even be a thing you could pull off with a x Reader, just given the nature of x Readers in general…… 🧐 our inner narrative is literally just about ourselves…. like, hmm. 🧐 Maybe you could??? Like, idk about the rest of you, but i don’t walk around thinking “oh my gosh, there i go, all 5’7’’ of me with my wild dark hair and my dark eyes that I blink at people charmingly when I want things” LMAOO. Like, my inner narrative is more about what I’m feeling, what’s making me feel that way, random thoughts like—I’m sitting in my chair right now, writing this, and every time i glance up I keep accidentally making eye contact with my Bakugou nendoriod and it’s a bit weird—idk. Hm. I reckon someone adventurous could pull it off… but you’d have to be prepared to do that and have an audience of like, one LOL because!!! Again, idk about the rest of you, but when I’m going into fanfic to read something I’m hunting for something specific and I am ruthless, because so often as a reader I don’t get the luxury of being that cut-throat with general literature. So I think just by virtue of being able to narrow down your searches that people are going to be more dismissive of fics that don’t have exactly what they want.
oh my God i’ve just convinced myself to write a 1st Person POV fic FUUUUUU—
#ofmermaidstories-asks#once again merms indulges in clown-to-clown tomfoolery#i hate it here#oh my god i hate it here so much why do i do this to myself#surely im not going to—nope#i am i absolutely am i can feel it in my bones#oh my god NO#CLOWN TO FUCKING CLOWN COMMUNICATION IN A MIRROR
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WIP Wednesday Thursday
my notifications must be well and truly busted, because tumblr didn’t bother to tell me that @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @erzbethluna and @confused-bi-queer all tagged me for WIP Wednesday yesterday until now, which is evidently no longer Wednesday. thanks anyway, guys!
but i’ve been staying up until 5 the past few nights engaged in a new WIP, so the petty constraints of linear time won’t stop me!
it’s not Carry On related, but i was tagged on this account so i’ll post it here anyway.
it’s sort of a retelling of the trojan war, except it’s set 18 years later and is all about the aftermath and the survivors. i try to stay mostly true to the sources, but also patch up any holes. like Briseis. she’s a major part of the Iliad, but then we just never find out what happens to her after Achilles dies! what??
it’s told from the perspective of Astyanax, who you may know was the infant son of Hector, the crown prince of Troy, and was thrown from the walls of the city when the war ended. except a lot of sources outside of Homer posit that he didn’t 👀
my Astyanax, who is non binary, was raised by his aunts Oenone, the first wife of Paris, and Cassandra, who also narrowly escaped death. but when Cassandra prophecies that they must make amends with the house of Achilles and Hector’s ghost urges them to find their mother Andromache, they set out an adventure and piece together the aftermath of the war as they go.
so yeah. i’ve spent the past few nights writing a rather long and detailed outline, making character picrews, and creating a big messy family tree. so here’s an excerpt, and i’ll put the family tree below too just for fun.
cw for mentions of rape
“Did Oenone ever tell you I was married?” Cassandra pulls up a handful of grass and twists her fingers in it, looking out to the sea.
“No.” Oenone told me so much about my family. I can recite all 99 of my aunts and uncles, as well as their spouses. But not Cassandra’s. I never knew. I wonder what else she never told me, and why.
“His name was Coroebus. I put off marriage for years. Becoming a priestess helped, and my supposed madness drove plenty of potential suitors away, but there are always men willing to look past an unpleasant wife if the alliance brings them power.” She throws the grass down and mumbles “no, that’s not fair to him. He was a good man.” She takes a deep breath. I wait in silence, not wanting to spook her.
“My parents forced me to marry him eventually. He was a king who came to Troy’s aid, I was their thanks, and they thought he might calm me down. He was gentle, and considerate, so I tried to be good. He listened to me, even if he didn’t believe me. And I never had any visions of what was to become of him, which was a mercy. Not that it mattered. That damned horse showed up just three days after we married. He died protecting me in the temple, and then that brute Ajax…” Her breath catches, she squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. “His body was only a few feet away.”
I don’t even know what to say. Everyone suffered that night, death and loss and rape all across the city. I know it, but I can’t wrap my head around the enormity of it. I understand suddenly why it’s so hard for her to look upon the city’s ruins.
At a loss for words, I lean over and wrap my arms around her, letting her rest her head on my shoulder. She laughs brokenly. “I think this is supposed to be the other way around. You’re the baby of the family.” I don’t fight her about it this time. After a few minutes, she pulls away and wipes at her eyes.
“How do you live with it?”
“How do any of us?” She asks incredulously. “Oenone lives in the past, and when she runs out of ways to run from reality she turns into a rock.” She clasps my hands and meets my eyes, darkest brown with a pinprick of red fire dancing deep within. “I’ll tell you my secret. Every morning, when I wake up, I lie there and I list them. Everyone who died, for Troy, for me. My parents, my siblings, Coroebus, the Amazons. And then I get up, and I live that day for them.” I squeeze her hands, and she squeezes them back. “Do you understand? We live for them.”
and here’s the mess of a family tree, with Priam and Hecuba’s other 96 kids not pictured.
#wip wednesday#and yes before anyone kills me for it my achilles is black#listen. thetis would have been black. she’s a sea nymph. the sea refracts light. that’s why you’re more likely to get sunburned swimming.#it just makes sense.#achilles’s skin tone is never mentioned. just his hair colour. but nobody can agree if it’s blonde or red or something else.#just that it’s shiny and it reflects his divinity. black hair is shiny. and if his divine mother is black…#i accept no criticism#also i was trying to reconcile madeline miller briseis being black and mythological briseis being super pale and blonde so she’s albino.#bam. sorted.
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I don’t have a good take here, but god, I spend so much time thinking about what the purpose of my writing is. There are basically two Booktok Discourse Wolves inside me at all times.
Wolf 1: It’s good that you have fun writing fanfiction about characters and situations that you like! The distinction between high and low media is artificial, and there’s nothing stopping your work from being artistically meaningful just because it’s not commercially published and it follows a style many people see as frivolous! You spent more time researching a Jayvik AU than you have ever even considered for a novel! Countless genres have been rehabilitated as “legitimate” fiction after years of being dismissed as trash!
Wolf 2: Oh cool it’s one of those people who thinks Marvel movies are the new Shakespeare. Forget the theoretical debates, you personally know that your work is repetitive melodrama meant to strike a few familiar emotional notes over and over with characters people only read about because somebody else made some pretty drawings of them. You could have seriously practiced your craft and produced real half-decent fiction that you could at least ever admit to creating with a straight face. Instead you went for the easy option of writing hurt/comfort about other people’s toys and justifying it with some English 101 bullshit about intertextuality.
And I mean, I want to say Wolf 2 is right because the hard thing to hear is supposed to be the right one. But I’m also pragmatic. The world does not need one more Clarkesworld story, whether or not I’m good enough to write it, and I’m not sure I am. I was never going to be the next Harlan Ellison or Jonathan Lethem or Jeff Vandermeer, let alone whatever non-genre writers people consider full-fledged literature. There’s not some essential truth I’d be getting at if I worked harder on the original stuff, god knows it’s a total mess when it happens. My writing has never been fueled by having something important to tell people, I just like writing and that requires telling something.
I’m also just… not being glib when I say that I’m dubious of Literature as a moral or aesthetic duty. Way more than art or music, a lot of people talk about fiction as nourishment — you’ve got “junk food” books that make you feel good and “vegetable” books that are serious and beautiful and improve you as a human being. But nutrients are scientifically measurable materials with predictable effects. Fiction’s “nourishingness” is a bunch of supposed virtues that seem about as reliable as roulette (understanding The Human Condition sure didn’t make a lot of male writers less awful to their wives) and apply better to nonfiction anyhow. If you want to Become More Empathetic by Learning New Perspectives, you should cut out the middleman and read about people’s real lives. You’ll probably improve your vocabulary along the way too.
So what’s the point of fiction, specifically? A comparison that fits me personally a little better is music. It’s fun and it hits something hard to define inside me, sometimes because it’s technically impressive and sometimes because it’s new and sometimes because it’s got this one chord progression that I love in anything. It benefits musicians to listen to stuff outside their normal comfort zone and develop instrumental skill, but as an outsider I don’t think of them as existing along a sliding scale of Musicianness the way that I’ve got an internal hierarchy of writing styles.
And unfortunately that puts me back with Wolf 1. I think if you like writing it’s bad to lock yourself into reading one genre, because it dramatically narrows the input you’re working with. But maybe writing about men I’m ambiguously attracted to getting hurt and cared for is just… like being really into garage revival. It’s not a moral and artistic failing. I just like the vibrations of three chords getting played real hard, and I want to make the absolute best version of that riff I can.
It keeps getting to me that there’s no path forward for that. There’s not a publishing deal or a magazine acceptance or any metric except raw AO3 popularity, really — no gold star that’s going to say I’m finally a real writer. But over the past year I’ve also had more people than I expected talk about how much they connected with a detail I added to a piece, or a line I wrote, or something. And it feels really good. It feels like the way people respond to “real” fiction, and it’s probably the reason I’ve done as much of this as I have. So like, there’s not an inspirational ending point here. But… thanks, everyone, I guess?
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Hi, I just would love to say I LOVE your work! It's really well-written and one of my most favorite things to read! I'm a bit curious about how you stayed committed in one project for so long... I've had various multi-chaptered works I posted (and some lying around in the drafts for a long while), but every time i encounter a problem i immediately feel uninspired to post and i immediately tank it. And since I'm doing another multi-chapter fic, I'm scared that I'd abandon it easily. I was wondering how you'd manage to keep on comiting to your own project?
Thank you for the kind words!!
I have to confess, I’m also extremely guilty of abandoning a project partway through. It’s already happened three times in the recent past for other fandoms (and two of those three times were quite literally smack in the very MIDDLE of the projects as well). One day I’ll go back to them. One day.
But with this work? It just means too much to me to just up and quit on it (insert ninja never quit quote here). And I’ve gotten stuck plenty of times as well (Chapter 17, Chapter 23, Chapter 28, and Chapter 35 already jump out in particular ghhhhh) but when that happens, I’ve done a variety of things to try and keep the momentum flowing:
Comb back through Notes: Double check to make sure things are still on track in the way you want them to. There’s been countless times I’ve gotten on a writing roll and accidentally write myself into a hole, only to realize it’s because I skipped over something I should have included earlier, or I took too much time on a scene and I have to reign it in to make room for something else. Other times what I had in my original notes doesn’t fit with my vision anymore, and I have to do some reworking there. Or there’s not enough information/context supplied and I have to add in something. Either way, writing out even the barest thing of a plot thread (even if you hate outlines) can help you determine what you should be doing with your story next.
Read/write other fics/stories. Sometimes my issue is that I’ve stepped away from writing for too long (as I get stupid busy) and it’s not so much that I “forget” how to write, but it can be a little difficult getting back into my “writing voice” and then everything starts to come up bland. By rereading other fics, you can find new inspiration, start to get a mental “language” of how to want to phrase things or describe scenes, a reminder of how to progress with dialogue. etc...basically, for me, it helps me picture my story after days of not really thinking about it, or helps me get a handle of how I want my story to flow.
Of course, you can always reread your own work, which can remind you of where you wanted to take your plot/characters in the first place and give you a jump start like that... but for me that just makes me annoyed that I can’t read the rest of the fic as *I* have to write it asdfghjk. Alternatively, if you find yourself stuck on one story, start writing/working on another! I know, sounds counterintuitive with the “too many wips” thing, but it doesn’t have to be a full-fledged novel! A oneshot, drabble, a writing request, a practice scene...something small that you’re not necessarily obligated to finish just to get the juices flowing again without the added pressure. That one I can say from experience definitely helps from experience!
Do literally anything else. Sometimes you’re just a bit burnt out and need a break from writing! Give that part of your brain some time to rest, and then when you come back to write, it’ll be with some fresh perspective! Being all-consuming in a project may seem like it’ll help it get done faster, but you can’t drive a car with no gas, y’know? Don’t let yourself get too hung up on writing; it’s supposed to be fun! And when it starts getting not fun, step away before you can too frustrated with it (or yourself). Get a snack, grab some water, draw, do a puzzle, go outside, see some friends, whatever! It’s just as important not to neglect other things you love as well. .... *stares longingly at my gaming backlog*
From my own experience, I do tend to get a reignited itch to write when I’m off doing something else. In my case, let’s say I’m playing a video game, but now that my mind has had time to relax from writing, new ideas and a drive to write actually have the energy to come back full force, so to speak.
Straight up start the chapter/scene/part you’re stuck on from scratch (but don’t throw out what you already have either). Again, sounds counterintuitive, BUT by tackling the problem from another angle (i.e. a different point of view, a different turn in a conversation, simply rearranging the order of events, etc) can do INSANE wonders for finding a way through a block. All those chapters I listed above? All had to be re-written to include everything I wanted that would also flow in a logical way. I look at my older drafts for chapters and wince at my original ideas—but hey, I wouldn’t have the current ideas I have now without them, so can’t let myself feel too bad!
And by not throwing out what you already have, you’ve got stuff to work with and reference, which is better than trying to go in blind all over again! You can straight up rewrite scenes you weren’t vibing with, rearrange the order of scenes to experiment with the flow, ask yourself why you even needed a scene in the first place...being able to reflect like that is super indispensable, and in the worst case scenario, you’ve still got at least part of a chapter written, so it’s not like you have zero progress at all!
Take the first/easiest way out, or just eliminate what caused the problem in the first place. It may seem a little dumb, and it’s obviously going to depend on just how big the “problem” actually is or the nature of it, but for the moment, if it’ll help you move forward in the slightest, go for it! Because you can always go back and fix it up later if you want! And if not, you’ve still got a good enough way to get readers (and yourself), from point a to point b. No need to always be perfect; we’re all doing this for fun in the end! And often times a casual reader isn’t going to catch the fact that you may have metaphorically simply put a bandaid over an issue; they’re just here for the fun ride!
But the biggest secret to keep on carrying on? Love what you do! Sounds cheesy, but if you’re not fully passionate to begin with, it’s going to be really, really hard to maintain the drive no matter what you do. Always remind yourself of why you started the project in the first place, remember the story you want to achieve in the end, and be a little forgiving to yourself when things aren’t turning out the way you want them to. You just have such high expectations for your work because it means so much to you that you start putting standards on yourself, and that’s not always good for you or your story.
Learn to see problems not as problems but opportunities; a wake-up call for yourself, a check to make sure the story is going in the way you originally wanted it to, or to see if maybe it’s time for a complete direction! It doesn’t mean the project’s not worth finishing; it just means it’s worth so much to you that you’re afraid to see it fail. But what’s more important: achieving a perfect story that made you want to pull your hair out the whole time, or telling an imperfect story you can always go back and fix if you want, but people were able to enjoy regardless because it got done?
And hey, sometimes you do just have to write a bad chapter/scene/story just to push onward (Chapter 11 of Book 1 is this for me ghhhhh it’s so far from my vision and I never could fine tune it in just the right way I wanted BUT OH WELL). Not saying you should just ~abandon all quality~ when things aren’t going your way, but.......it’s not the end of the world if you do, either. That just means you’ve presented an opportunity for yourself to look back on how you’ve grown! And that’s not a bad thing, right?
Anyway, that’s just some advice from my own experience/circumstances; hopefully it helped in some small way, at least! ^^
#but trust me i'm very scared that the day will arrive where i can't do this anymore#however#i really am having too much fun to stop now x3#so whatever I do manage to accomplish i'll be satisfied with#asks from nice people
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i just finished watching wednesday on netflix and i wanna talk about it
spoilers ahead
first and foremost i would like to say i am not a fan of the addams family, i do not know pretty much anything about the lore or anything other than the basic stuff, goth family, morticia and gomez are in love, wednesday is spooky. i wanted to watch this show for two reasons, i wanted to see more of the addams family and i think jenna ortega is pretty.
now that thats out of the way, i saw some people critiquing the family dynamics of the netflix show, saying the big thing about the addams family is that whilst being goth and morbid they love each other and the fact that was changed in the show really softened a blow for them. considering i haven’t seen past versions i don’t want ti comment too much on this. i will say tho, i think maybe giving wednesday mommy issues was cheap writing because i think a loving family dynamic would have made for more interesting characters. the switch up i can only imagine came into play because they needed a way to draw out the plot/leave wednesdays visions a mystery for longer.
speaking of cheap writing, i did find the show a bit corney from an outside perspective. i think the actors did a great job, especially jenna ortega, but the writing was meh and the plot was predictable, to me at least. that’s not to say it wasn’t enjoyable. i truly enjoyed my watch through and had a fun time watching and trying to put together the puzzle with wednesday. i will say i predicted that plot twist half way through the show purely because it seemed right there and i thought it would be funny. a lot of little moments i totally saw coming.
the plot itself wasn’t bad, persay, but i would’ve liked it to be different. the heavy focus on romance/the love triangle was not something i expected but i really should have to be honest. i didn’t have any expectations walking into the show so i can’t say definitively what i would’ve liked to see instead. again, an enjoyable watch if you’re just watching something for the hell of it but it didn’t feel like anything special to me, just another retold story of a beloved character.
the thing that distracted me maybe the most the whole time was the cgi of the hyde. literally what the fuck was that. why did it look so fucking goofy. i literally couldn’t even be stressed when it was on screen bc of how goofy it looked. ESPECIALLY when it showed tyler turning into the hype, damn near peed my pants. there’s no way they’re budget was that damn small that they couldn’t get some better special effects. like i can’t tell if it was supposed to be goofy as a style choice or if they just ran out of money for that part. i watched the entirety of First Kill (also on netflix) which had many reviews on the poor sfx and i truly think the hyde was worse than anything in that show.
on a little bit of a separate tangent but relating back to first kill, it’s a little frustrating that this show honestly was just as corney as first kill was but this one will probably get a second season but first kill won’t. whether it be the queer love story or it just simply isn’t as marketable as the addams family, it makes me sad.
i’m regards to the romance, i truly think from the bottom of my heart wednesday and enid should have gotten together. assuming there will be a season 2 i would still like to see them end up together. their hug at the end of episode 8 brought more emotion than any scene they had with their love interests. and i don’t want to say that platonic love can’t be portrayed like that, because i love platonic love and would be happy to see more of it. but id also be happy to see sapphic content, especially in something as recognizable and popular as the addams family. not to mention how queer themes already present themselves relevantly in the plot. this whole “outcasts vs normies” thing is a painfully obvious reflection on minority groups. wednesday being the odd one out even in her own strange family would be so well tied together in her also being queer. not to mention the blatant metaphor in the parents day episode about enid wolfing out and being afraid her family won’t accept her if she doesn’t fit their expectations. a sapphic love story between enid and wednesday would have enhanced the plot substantially and made it feel more fleshed out than a half assed love triangle with two white boys i can barley tell apart. i would take a focused story of these two girls falling for each other over the other one any day.
not to mention, wednesday did not really like tyler nor xavier. she only cared about herself and used them to get what she wanted/needed. and i love it for her! but why did they try to say she liked them! especially tyler! she had absolutely zero interest in him romantically. i honestly wanted to like it so bad but there was nothing between them to me. he clearly had feelings for her but she did not reciprocate them. on the other hand, i believe wednesday loves enid, if not proven by their hug. there was a solid chemistry between the two of them and while consistently shown in their em sections of the screen it was deliberate to me in a way i don’t think i can dissect right now having only watched once. but neither of their love interests had the chemistry they had with each other and i really wish they would’ve just gone with that story or head that direction next season.
i think i will probably watch the show again, i enjoyed it. i’ll enjoy reading analysis of it because i just love film analysis. i think the visuals were pretty (besides the hyde don’t even). and most of all jenna ortega’s take on wednesday addams was, in my lowly opinion, wonderfully executed, despite the writing and plot, i loved her and feel like she fit the part very well. watching her do her little dancey dance is mesmerizing and i’m in love with her.
i believe that’s all i have to say, i just had many many thoughts as i was watching and i really wanted to express them. thanks for reading if anyone did, this was a little nonsenish. i’d love to hear other opinions as well :)
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🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉
Common things that can be found in my fics, and writing in general, include dualities as part of a larger balance (not as a struggle), though the forces that oppose the protagonist often have the perspective that dualities must be in contentious opposition. It’s not always that high-concept, though. Another big thing in my fics is “falling in love with someone you are not supposed to fall in love with” this might just be the most common theme, and, yes, it is specifically related to my queer experience. It’s also, to me, the only really interesting way to write romance. This isn’t something that requires significant angst (though it sometimes does), the point is that when I write people falling in love, I want both of them to be acting outside of whatever templates for love they started off with. They have to figure out what love (and sex) mean to them without anything being automatic or standard. Smaller things—significant water, love me some significant water. Expansion of consciousness beyond everyday experience. Significant/eroticized consumption of food (this extends to cannibalism/vampirism).
The wildest ride question is funny to me because I think my answer will probably be different than that of someone else looking at my fics, mostly because I’m going to totally ignore the ones with the weirdest kinks because I think those are pretty straightforward, they’re just not to everyone’s taste. So, I have three personal candidates for wildest ride: “You’re Awful, I Love You,” chosen because it’s technically a crossover with Sinbad because of Eris as a character, and I was pantsing it way more than I usually do. “Without Contraries There Is No Progression,” chosen because that was the first fic I completed and I put like, everything I could think of into it, and though kink is not a criteria for a wild ride, specifically, the sex scenes in this one count because they were the *first* I published and they were not vanilla at all, and not even non-vanilla in a common way. The third candidate is the Apotheosis AU because that has the most experimental writing style to try and showcase nonhuman consciousness, human consciousness transforming into nonhuman consciousness, and includes the end of Earth via the expansion of the sun and the creation of a whole new planet, which is a copy of Earth from one inhuman character’s memory of it. The eight-person polyamorous relationship at the heart of it is almost incidental.
I think one of my strengths as a writer is approaching emotionally complex/difficult situations using language and strategies that make sense for the characters within their particular settings. Which is to say, very few (none) of the characters I write have gone to therapy in the 2020s in America, and they therefore do not speak as though they have. Sometimes too much is said. Sometimes it takes ages and ages to get to the point. Sometimes secrets linger. Sometimes there’s reckless forgiveness. I’d also like to think I’m good at avoiding putting forms of speech that only occur in particular internet subcultures into the dialogue of characters that definitely are not part of those subcultures.
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The Witch of Wax
Dear —,
In our most recent session, you advised I write down everything I experience. I suppose you’re right. Given how I plan to move forward with my memories.
I thought you might enjoy this one, given your expertise in how people function, as it were. As you know, you and I are blessed with powerful abilities. Many have what they’d consider “mundane” power…
I’ll cut to the chase, power corrupts. It doesn’t feel impressive to say that, but… then I recall the case of Marilynn Wychitt.
The Witch of Hallow Cove.
Wychitt was an average woman. Had a husband, children, grandchildren. Her power was the ability to resist the effects of melting candle wax. Mundane ability, mundane life…
Then years pass. And pass. And pass. And Whychitt’s family begun to disappear… one, two, three, six, twelve… over twenty people, gone just like that.
There’s stories, stories of a woman, no, a creature, dwelling in the caves outside the town. A being with a monstrous form resembling a melted candle of all things!
I went into those caves… Maybe it should have been no surprise what I found. A skeleton. Then another. And another. One, two, three, six, twelve… over twenty.
But in the state they were in, I could hardly consider them separate beings. All of them, some adults, some even still children. Melted into a twisted, artistic wax sculpture of agony and death.
And I thank the gods for my escape, as I can only imagine that I would have become… an addition to this twisted museum of depravity.
I have no idea how she went mad. Nobody does. Perhaps nobody will. But I have ideas… Do you suppose she sought eternal life? Art is interpretive, and as horrid as what I found was… it was still art. And… what I took from it was a desire to hold on. To never let go of what might have been a perfect life…
—- do you think we could also…
Become mad in such a way, with powers like ours?
Pardon for my ramblings,
Chronos
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Art, writing and characters made by me
Explanation under cut
So, what is this?
I realize not a ton of people really care about my own creations and characters, so if that’s the case, might as well choose the chaotic route and post whatever, am I right?
Anyways, as an excuse to practice lore building and whatnot, I’ve come up with a series of short stories from the perspective of time manipulating telekinetic, Chronos Cendrillon.
As will probably be explained in later stories, Chronos writes down everything that happens to him, as he expects to forget it later.
Why? And… who is he writing to?
Maybe that might get explained in later stories.
Which I will post. Bc hey if nobody really cares apart from 2 people, you know what that means? I can post whatever I want! CANT STOP ME NOW BITCHES!
…. Although seriously, any feedback, likes or reblogs would be nice so I can tell if I’m doing even a half ways decent job?
I apologize for wasting your time
- Spooky
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