#reread something i wrote while trying to process The Horrors and | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kuwdora · 7 months

Note

Hi hello! For the fic writer asks:

✿ did anything major change when you started writing Coin Operated Boy to when you finished?

☉ what do you do when you get stuck writing?

✄ what’s your editing process?

Oh, hi you! These are excellent asks. Somehow I knew you would ask about this story. :)

Okay. So! With Coin Operated Boy I didn’t really have anything major change. I did end up cutting or not writing a lot more detail about Jaskier’s friendship with Cory and more Oxenfurt culture. Mostly because Jaskier was too busy being a puppet and didn’t have time for anything else. I had a lot more detail about Cory and Jaskier and their college friends, and passing around the same $20 for over two decades. Oxenfurt insider jokes, some more throwaway details about The Horrors happening outside the walled garden of Oxenfurt since the story takes place about 4-6 months after Cintra falls.

Also originally after puppetskier had been attacked by a kitty, he was gonna run into a random artist who would help and drop him off at Shani’s. Then I realized it would be way cuter if he actually encountered Karsten again because!! Small child and puppetskier! Relationship already established.

Not a major change either but I originally had a coda I was gonna do but then didn’t. I got so tired by the time I reached the end of the story that I just needed to be done. It was gonna be from Cory’s POV where she’s at a pottery stall or kiln and Karsten returns with some of the hidden treasure he had found and that he wanted to pass on to Jaskier because Jaskier was his new friend. I was also trying to find a way to have Shani stop by while Cory and Karsten were together for that moment. This idea was actually a brilliant suggestion by Castillon02. Alas, being tired and feeling all kinds of squishy about playing with my OCs a little more…the coda did not come to fruition.

I also have a second coda/probably a second story idea. Where Jaskier is hanging out with Yen and makes a passing reference to that time he was turned into a puppet for several days. And something something, Jaskier wants to be fucked as a puppet, something something horny comedy size difference and Yen indulging him.

☉ what do you do when you get stuck writing?

I usually end up in somebody's DMs, usually @sassaffrassa trying to talk through my current problem. And cry a lot. I've been trying to do some short bursts of flashfic writing when I'm stuck editing just to reset my brain. Right now I wish I had better focus to be working on my vidding projects or my painting projects to step away from the writing medium. Slowly trying to get myself back into those things again just because I think it will help o have something else to work on.

But if I leave things too long without touching or thinking about it, then it's so much harder to get back into it. Even though I really, really want to finish it.

✄ what’s your editing process?

AS FOR EDITING, my god. It’s a... process. Going under a cut cause I ramble like the wordy gremlin I am.

I write and do my first round of editing in Scrivener. I usually write a scene and when I think I’m done, I go back and reread and start writing notes about things or highlighting passages I think about or want to revisit again. I outline after drafting a lot of the time. To see what actually happens and compare it to what I actually wanted to happen. Or thought was gonna happen. Cause I forget shit all the time while writing and sometimes can't see what I actually wrote unless I make bullet points. It's annoying.

I like Scrivener because I move a lot of scenes or whole sections around and I end up writing so many notes about different things that I end up with folders of stuff that doesn’t even make it into the story. Probably why it takes me for fucking ever to finish anything because I keep getting distracted with more ideas and details. But editing usually involves going back to my judicious use of brackets and filling in shit or figuring out what I was thinking. I jump around a lot in the editing stages because if I’m not feeling a certain section at the moment then I’m just not gonna get enough done.

Once I feel reasonably okay and like it’s readable, I pop the fic into gdocs for eventual betaing or cheer readers. I hate gdocs so much for anything longer than 4k because I can’t really see the scenes anymore. But it is helpful to be looking at the text on a different screen and I do appreciate that. I’ll continue to edit and make more specific line and paragraph highlights of things that are bothering me so I know what I’m gonna focus on when I come back later. Eventually I’ll reach a point of exhaustion and fling it at someone who’s willing to read it and pray that it makes sense. Usually in the case of my Leshkel stuff it doesn’t but that’s what another round of editing is usually for. When I’m mostly on the ball with my story I happily chew on beta comments and wrestle my paragraphs some more until I’m exhausted and never want to write again.

I recently started using the header feature in Gdocs so I can jump to my scene/chapter breaks a little easier now instead of scrolling through +15 pages and I think that will help my editing brain for this stage.

Anyway that was very long but!! Sort of how I roll.

fic ask meme

#answerdora #crushcandles #fic ask meme #writing meme #meme #puppetskier #a bard's hiatus in oxenfurt

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samanthahirr · 1 year

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I'd love to hear about 8 and 24 for the meta ask meme! <3

Thanks for these asks, Mac! Fun Meta Asks for Writers

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

YES, I think what I like to write IS the same as what I like to read! I love adventure stories, I love get togethers, I love idiots mutually pining, I love humor, I love horror, I love hurt/comfort. Those types of stories are my favorites to read and reread. And those are the kinds of plots I find the most inspiring to write!

While I do enjoy reading the occasional relationship drama or curtainfic or kidfic or character study, and even deathfic on rare days when I want to cry...those aren’t the types of stories I want to immerse myself in for days of writing at a time. So those simply aren’t the stories I end up writing.

#24 - Would you say your writing has changed over time?

God, this is such a fascinating question I’ve never considered before. I had to open up one of my first fics from 10 years ago and compare it to something I just published, and I was shocked to realize that my answer is essentially NO.

My “writing style” has baaaaaarely changed in the last 10 years. Small differences are that I (try to) use fewer adverbs nowadays, and I’ve thankfully dropped the weird misogyny that cropped up in my earlier stuff (which like…where was that even coming from?! What the hell, younger-me?!). And nowadays my ratio between dialogue and narrative asides has tipped a little more to the narrative side, but I think that’s because I’m writing from the POV of more complex and intelligent protagonists. I mean, James Bond is a super-spy; when he walks into a room, he’s going to be a lot more observant than an average citizen, and I like to demonstrate his expertise and skills by including those observations in the narrative.

I can say my “writing process” has changed, and for the better! I’ve learned to trust in my flow more than I used to. I used to struggle with getting first drafts written, agonizing over word choice and varying sentence structure, and constantly editing as I wrote. First drafts took forever to get out! Nowadays, I’ll do sprints to write a first draft of a scene or a short fic quickly, then I won’t look at it for a few days, and when I come back to it, I find that almost all of it is written well. There’s still polishing to be done, plus adding in additional details/layers I thought up during the time away. But when I don’t let myself second-guess or edit as I write, I write much faster and with less painful self-doubt than I used to!

I've really loved getting prompted to think about all of these self-reflective questions!

#ask meme answers #my writing

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yourmidnightlover · 3 years

Text

rock

Summary - spencer wants to figure out what's wrong with you, only to be reminded what day it is and he remembers why you've been so distant.

TW: talk abt: rape, recovery, therapy, case stuff; mention of: drug addiction, rape, miscarriage, being shot, death lol

WC - 4,283

!DISCLAIMER! - i am in no way trying to romanticize recovery from a traumatic event or being upset/depressed/anxious. this is kinda my way of getting through my own issues, so please don't think that's what i'm trying to do in any way. i also don’t know how i feel abt this ending since i wrote it so long ago but oh well!

i just realized there are a few spoilers so i'll put *asterisks* around them. those parts are just explaining how the reader's always there for the team.

----------------------------------

you had always been the rock in spencer's life.

mentally, at least.

when he had nobody there for him when he was going through his addiction with dilaudid, there you were. you helped him through it when everybody else on the team acted as if they never noticed.

you were the one that encouraged him to get help, and pushed him to follow through. you made sure he ate and talked to someone when he had his urges again, even if it wasn't you.

you let him come over and cry about what had happened, and how unfair his life was. you consoled him and would tell him how nothing was his fault. how he didn't deserve anything bad in his life.

*and when emily 'died', he went to your house every day. you held him as he felt himself falling apart from losing her. you didn't even worry about yourself needing to be consoled, because spencer needed you to be there for him.

*when she came back you were the one to convince him to forgive her. you talked sense into him. you reminded him how much he pleaded to have her back, and then he did. so he managed to forgive her... because of you and your logic.

*and you weren't just there for spencer. while, yes, you made a special effort to be there for him, you were there for everyone on the team.

*when derek was arrested back in chicago and the team found out about his past, you were the one he leaned on for comfort. you and penelope. you let him cry on your shoulder and yell at you about how twisted a man would have to be to do something so cruel to a child.

*when jj was kidnapped and beaten to a miscarriage, you were the first she told. you didn't say anything. you knew there was nothing you could say that would relinquish the pain of losing a child. so you let her cry. you let her hug you for what felt like hours. you let her grief her unborn baby for as long as she needed.

*when penelope was shot, nobody cared to check up on her after the fact except you. you went to her apartment for weeks just to make sure she was okay. eventually, she was able to let loose all of her frustrations on you, and you took it like a champ. she ranted about how she just wanted to be loved by someone attractive and how unfair and cruel the world is, in spite of how much good she tries to bring into it.

*when hotch lost hailey, you took care of his files. you offered to watch henry and let hotch cry to you about losing her a few times once you broke past his tough exterior. you even cried with him and jack. you made them dinner whenever you could, and helped him look for good nannies to help care for jack.

*when rossi lost carolyn, you went to her grave with him on many occasions. you brought him his favorite scotch, which was very pricey, and his favorite cigars, also very pricey, and tried your best to recreate 'the rossi special' upon his directions. it helped him feel in control of something when he needed it.

*and when emily came back from the dead, you helped walk her through her own grief. she lost herself, and buried her emotions. you helped her dig up her old self, and grow into an even better woman. you even took care of her cat when penelope couldn't manage. you helped emily grieve her own death when she wanted to deny it ever happened, and she was forever grateful for you.*

you had become like the team's built-in therapist when something bad happened, and you loved it that way. you loved being the one the team went to when they needed it. it made you feel as though you had a purpose, which was something you desperately needed.

but when you went through your own trauma almost a year ago, you refused help from anyone. you knew you should've asked someone for help, or at least someone to cry or talk to when you needed to.

the team had been working on a case for longer than expected, 8 days now, and everyone was really frustrated. you had released the profile 7 days ago, and there was still no new information. it was as if the unsub had gone dormant, and you all couldn't bear that thought.

when the team released earlier than normal from the precinct and you all went to the hotel you had been staying at, you decided to get a drink from the bar quickly. you went alone, wanting to review a few of the case files during the process and not needing a distraction.

you ordered a jack and coke, and opened the case files to begin rereading them, seeing if you had missed anything.

victims were kept for 24 hours, filmed, raped, restrained, cut in pieces, and thrown in the trash like garbage. it was absolutely disgusting, and the worst you had seen in a while. the victims were low-risk and most of them had a place of authority.

the unsub had been profiled to be someone who was bossed around by a woman, narcissistic and egotistical, wanted to feel more power and authority.

the problem is, that profile was most people living in the area. even penelope couldn't dwindle down the suspects.

and alas, you had missed nothing. nothing new appeared or caught your eye. you gulped down the rest of your drink and paid for it before packing up your things to head upstairs. you tossed the file back into your bag and began the trek to the elevator.

you were interrupted by something hitting the top of your head, rendering you unconscious.

the team had woken up, and after waiting around for half an hour, spencer realized something was wrong. he had morgan bust into your room, only to find the bed unslept in. you were missing. and the worst part... you fit the unsubs type.

spencer felt his heart drop at the realization he had taken you. and it seemed as though there was no trail as to where you had gone. penelope checked the cameras, only to find that they were hacked right after you left the bar, and then they resumed after you were taken.

at least they had a time frame.

later that day, after everyone hasting to figure something, anything out, spencer had gotten an email. he opened it and expected it to be relentless spam, only to realize it was a live feed video. a video of you. he instantly called penelope in hopes that she could trace it.

she said she could, but it would take some time because the amount of routers it had been going through.

while they were waiting, you noticed you were alone. you knew who the unsub was too, thanks to his baffling stupidity and narcissism that lead him to believe he wouldn't get caught.

"officer johnson! it's officer johnson!" you looked around the camera for a second, noticing something moving. "he-he here," you cried out. "i love you," you said to the camera to nobody in particular, but someone in mind.

you were terrified. spencer could see it in your eyes. he could see the tears you tried not to shed. you didn't want to please him, but you couldn't help but feel the absolute horror and fear coursing through your body at a relentless pace.

"hi there, missus fbi," he teased, finally walking into the frame with a ski mask over his face, clearly not aware that we knew his identity.

spencer told garcia who he was, and she began her digging. officer johnson's great grandparents had owned a farm that was since then refurbished. it was an hour away.

officer johnson had known that you two had chemistry. that's why he sent the email to spencer. he saw the longing glares, the 'innocent' touches, the smiles you would give each other, the longing looks you shared. he wanted to torment him.

so when he began undressing you and you turned your face away from the camera in hopes of sparing some of your own dignity, spencer felt his heart breaking for you. it broke even more when he heard the yelps, and screams, and please, and "no!'s" you elicited during the act.

they caught him before he cut you, but not before he finished the first part of his plan. your skirt was ripped, and your shirt was practically in two pieces. spencer had given you his jacket to cover yourself as much as you could.

you stayed silent the ride back. you didn't even let spencer hold you like you normally would after a tough case. you were ashamed. embarrassed. you felt worthless. you felt pathetic. you felt stupid. you felt helpless. you felt like you were drowning. you felt like you were without a life raft.

you knew you could talk to the team about it, but you felt so disgusted by the thought of what happened to you that you only talked about it in your therapy sessions.

hotch had given you two months off. he wanted you to grieve, and go to therapy, and try to cope with everything that had happened.

and you did try to do that. you tried your hardest to get over it and move past it, but nothing helped. not the journaling. not the talking. not the crying. nothing was working.

spencer gave you a little space at first, but he then decided to try to help you as you had helped him. he went over to your house almost every day, and sat outside your door after you wouldn't let him in.

you knew he was there... you sat on the other side.

"i-i know that you probably don't want to see anyone right now. and i'm uh, i'm sure you feel alone right now, or like you can't talk to anyone," spencer sniffled. "but pl-please just uhm, just know that i'm here when you want to talk about it. i'm here to listen to you when you need me to. i-i don't want you to be alone during this time, y/n. please, just let me in," he begged.

that was normally what he would say almost every night he went to your house. he would sit outside for hours after he would ask you to let him in without fail. until one day you let him in.

spencer felt so much relief when you opened the door, only for it to be smashed when he noticed your eyes looked red and puffy, your cheeks were stained with the tears you had been crying for so long. your cheeks were sunken in, and there were dark circles underneath your eyes that were once full of life and happiness. your eyes no longer had that gorgeous sparkle in them.

spencer vowed he would get them back.

as much as spencer wanted to wrap his arms around you in that moment, to comfort you and tell you that he was there, he wanted you to make the first move. he wanted to tell you how strong you were and how proud of you he was for getting through that. he wanted to tell you how much he loved you.

he wanted you to make the first touch, because he didn't want to further upset you. he didn't want to trigger a repressed memory, or bring back the feelings of what had happened.

but spencer's touch was nothing like the officer's. spencer's touch was soft and gentle. spencer's touch was feather-light and endearing. spencer's touch was love and home. the officer's was brittle, and rough, and repulsive.

"hug me?" you sniffled as your eyes welled with tears again as they had been for the past three weeks.

"of course," spencer slowly wrapped his arms around your shoulders as yours found his torso.

he walked inside with you still in his arms and slowly shut the door. without breaking from the hug, you both walked to the couch and sat down.

you didn't say anything. you just needed spencer to keep hugging you, so he did. he did whatever you wanted, needed, from him. eventually, you fell asleep in his embrace on the couch.

when spencer looked down at you, now sleeping against his chest, he couldn't bring his heart to remove himself from you. so like any whipped man would do, he carefully picked you up bridal styled and carried you to your room. he took his shoes off as well as his sweater vest before cuddling back up next to you.

as if it was a reflex, you cuddled up into his chest when he neared you again and got underneath the covers. spencer slept the best he did in months with you. and you slept without officer johnson in your dreams for the first time since that day.

ever since then, spencer had been making sure you were eating and drinking. he took you to your therapy sessions and stayed over most nights you had asked and he was able to.

they had a few cases during the two months, so every moment he could, spencer was with you. he coaxed you back to your normal-ish self. he watched as that glimmer in your eye began to slowly grow brighter everyday. he watched as your smile came back, and your tears didn't come so frequently.

the first time he had heard you laugh again, spencer had thought he was dreaming. he wished he had recorded that moment. he was more grateful than he's ever been in his life that he had an eidetic memory, because that sound would forever be engraved in his brain.

when you returned to work, you clung to spencer. he had become your tether to reality, and hope. he had become your rock during the recovery.

over the months, everyone slowly began to forget what had even happened. things went on as usual, and the team forgot the traumatic experience you had gone through. even spencer might've let the experience get lost in his brain.

so when it became 11 months and 3 weeks since the abduction, you began to distance yourself once again.

you politely declined going out with the team a couple days before the anniversary, something you never did. you insisted that you were just especially worn out from the case you had just been on.

spencer had to finish files given to him by derek anyway, so he didn't get to witness the encounter.

once the day of the anniversary came upon you, you found yourself feeling sick to your stomach. you couldn't help the tears that would fall from your face every so often. you knew why you felt this way, but you wanted to push past it.

you had gone into the office wearing a pantsuit and blazer, wanting to avoid the normal office skirt you happened to be wearing the day it happened. you stayed at your desk and quietly did your case files. you didn't even greet spencer as you would every day. you gave him a kind smile, but you would normally give him a hug, or at the very least an eager wave upon his arrival.

spencer just assumed it was one of those days where you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. it wasn't spencer's fault he thought this. he didn't even look at his calendar to check what day it was. he just knew they had paperwork.

but he did have this day marked in his calendar. he had it marked so he would remember to be extra kind to you, and do your files for you, and come to your place with your favorite wine and takeout. he wanted to help you through the one year anniversary, but he forgot to check his stupid calendar.

you thought he didn't care. you thought the man who you loved, and the man who helped you through everything that had happened had had enough of your complaining and grievances. so, you didn't tell him about it. you didn't bother him with the terrible thoughts clouding your mind because you thought it'd burden him.

so when you finished all of your case files early, you asked hotch if you could leave early, at 2:00, because you had things to tend to. he allowed you to do so, but this rose a flag for spencer.

he saw you exit without saying goodbye to him, something you hadn't done the entirety of knowing him. you had always told everyone to have a nice night and to be safe before leaving, but not today.

finally, he looked at his phone for the first time all day, only to feel like the worst person in the world to realize what day it was. spencer felt absolutely horrible at this revelation and ran into hotch's office as quick as he could after packing his things.

"hotch!" he exclaimed upon opening his office door.

"go. she was practically in tears," hotch informed him. "and reid," spencer stopped in his tracks to turn and look at the stern man, "please make sure she's okay." spencer gave him a soft grin and a nod before turning around and bolting out of the office.

you had gotten home and immediately burst into tears. you shut the door with your back, and slid down it. you had never understood why people had done that in movies until now. you just couldn't wait to break any longer, so you settled for your front door.

you held back no wail, or scream as you cried in front of your door, your knees pulled up to your chest as you held them tightly.

you wondered why you had to go through that. you wanted to know what kind of karma there was for someone who had always tried to do the right thing to be hurt... and for nobody to even care. nobody wanted to console you, or to make sure you were alright.

you had checked up on everyone on every anniversary of their struggles. whether it be a death, abduction, anything, you had been there for every single anniversary or reminder. and nobody was there for you.

nobody was there for you to hug, or to lean on, or to cry to, or to scream at, or to rant to. nobody was there. nobody loved you enough to care about that.

but then you had to remind yourself that they all had lives.

but the person who is your life didn't even care.

spencer didn't care.

and that's why you truly lost it.

he acted like it was just another day. he acted like it wasn't the anniversary of the day you thought you were going to die. the day you wanted to die. the day you felt your most low, and humiliated. the day you lost all hope. and he didn't remember.

if the man with an eidetic memory didn't remember, it must be extremely insignificant. so therefore, you must be extremely insignificant.

spencer raced to your house. he wanted to be there for you today, and he failed. he felt like a failure as a friend. he hated himself for not being there for you when he knew you would need him. he knew how you clung to him in your time of need. you thought he was worthy enough to hold onto when you needed someone, and spencer felt elated at that.

but now he wasn't there for you. and you needed him.

he had quickly stopped by the store and your favorite takeout place to get the things you'd want. he got your wine, chocolate, food, flowers, and a teddy bear that had a sweater vest on him - you've always loved his sweater vests.

when he got to the steps of your house, he felt his heart drop. as he walked closer he heard the wails of your crying right by the door. he could sense the heartache from the edge of your porch, and felt himself feel even worse, which he didn't think was possible.

he instantly ran to the door and knocked profusely. you sniffled one last time, feeling embarrassed that someone had heard you crying your heart out. you had figured one of your neighbors heard you and wanted to tell you to keep it down, so you wiped your tears and the stray mascara from underneath your eyes and opened the door, keeping your eyes lowered in embarrassment.

"y/n," spencer announced sadly, a tear falling down his face. you looked up in confusion from hearing his voice. you noticed his tear and reached up to wipe it away on instinct.

"why're you crying? are you okay?" you asked, forgetting all of your own problems at the sight of spencer crying. spencer let out a small chuckle at your concern.

"i'm alright, aside from the fact that i'm a terrible friend," he admitted as his smile quickly faded upon seeing your stained cheeks. "i brought your favorites," he offered, holding the bag of goodies in one hand and the takeout in another.

"y-you... why?" you asked, wanting to make sure you weren't misreading the situation for him trying to comfort you.

"why?" he asked in disbelief. "because it's the anniversary. i can't tell you how sorry i am, y/n. i swear i marked it on my calendar and planned for us to take off so i could take care of you. i-i just woke up late and never bothered to even check my phone. i kn-know it's no excuse... but i am so, so, so sorry," he rambled out, already tearing up.

you grabbed his arm gently and pulled him inside before you started crying in front of your neighbors. you took the bags from his hands and placed them on your coffee table.

"i thought you just didn't care," you shrugged as you took a seat on the couch, prompting him to sit beside you.

"y/n..." he sighed as he realized how terrible he screwed up. "i will always care about this. i will always care about you. don't ever think differently. i'm just incredibly... dumb sometimes. i can't believe i made you think that," he trailed on. "i will never not care about you, y/n. i swear it. i will always, always care about you. i will always love you," he froze as he realized what he just revealed. your eyes widened, and squinted, and roamed his face, trying to figure out if he meant the words he had just sped out. "i truly do, y/n. i i’m in love with you and i'm so sorry i made it seem otherwise."

it took you a second to absorb everything that he had said.

"you too," you solemnly admitted. "i’m in love with you too. and i could forgive you... for almost forgetting," you gave him a small smile.

"i'm glad you could forgive me. i don't know what i'd do if you didn't," he relished. "you actually love me?" you nodded with a small smile.

"i have for a while," you turned your head to the bags on the table.

"oh! right!" he said, reaching for the gifts. "i got your favorite takeout, your favorite wine, your favorite chocolates, flowers, and..." he trailed on as he revealed each item. "i saw this teddy, and i couldn't resist," he smiled.

you took the bear, taking in its appearance. it had a light blue, navy, and white diamond pattern sweater vest and brown shoes on. it looked like spencer, just teddy bear form. you smiled widely at the sentiment.

"it's you," you grinned as you took it in your arms, hugging it tightly as you saw spencer nodded with a smile mirroring that of your own. "i love it," you chuckled.

"i would understand, the fur is really soft," he relished in the thought.

"i don't think he'd be as good of a cuddler as the real thing, though," you grimaced. "but he'll do for when i don't have you here i guess," you shrugged with a smile.

"i plan on being here as long as you'll let me," he said softly.

"always," you grinned, setting down the teddy bear and trading him for the real spencer reid.

"always," he repeated, taking you in his arms and squeezing you tightly as if you'd float away at any moment. "now let's dig into this food while you talk about your feelings, if you want that is," he said after releasing you from the hug.

"i think i want to," you nodded. "and spence?" he turned from getting the food out of the bag to look at you for a second. "thank you for being my rock through all of this."

"i'll always be your rock, y/n."

@averyhotchner @greenprisca @muffin-cup

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years

Note

This isn’t super specific, but I’d love to read more fics for Scarlet Ribbons reader! 🎀 They’re my favorite from you!

THIS MADE MY HEART MEEEEELT ILY NONNIE 💖 the past month i’ve gotten whacked with inspiration to write scarlet ribbons again, so you can be expecting more stories every now and then! i love writing yandere/dark content, but i think working on something lighthearted keeps my brain from getting overloaded in a sense? i remember worrying that if i only wrote horror, i’d eventually run out of ways to make situations tense and lose my edge. scarlet ribbons helps prevent horror burnout. it’s just the fun :D vibes series. i love it very much.

anon 2 asked: Omg rereading your SR stories and Fugo always pointing out things while watching movies made me think of a scenario of showing him the Barbie movies I watched as a child. I will NOT be taking any disrespect on Princess and the Pauper

oh my god. it’d already be amazing enough that you finally convince fugo to watch a barbie movie with you, even if you just said it was for the nostalgia trip, but getting him to keep his thoughts to himself would be impossible. if you started shooting him bitter looks he might just bite his tongue. might. for five minutes. before pointing out some random clipping texture in the background that no one but fugo could somehow notice.

he might find the music okay?? he’d just be like wait. i’ve heard [First] humming this before. all this time he thought you were singing some long forgotten, english ballad, but it was from a barbie movie?? HUH?? that’s going to take some time to process. now he’s going to start questioning all the things he’s overheard you singing in english, he’s got trust issues over it now.

movie anon asked: SR Ask: Just read “Dreams and Hopes” and man, poor Mista’s life is an entire cartoon on it’s own, huh? I really liked it! Does he ever get into those moods after Reader doesn’t notice his advances and the whole team just silently goes “Ah, it happened again”? Have a good day, Lock! - Movie Anon

listen. you know that mista is the one actively trying to flirt with sr reader the most. before moving to italy to study, sr reader did some research, which basically said to expect italian people are very hospitable. so you just kind of look at mista and think that’s what he’s doing. it doesn’t help that he gets tongue tied when he actually tries to confess that no, he’s only like this for you, that he has feelings. on his route he does get over that hurdle however! during the main storyline for scarlet ribbons, he’s fresh out of luck. the pistols get fawned over more than he does.

f...

losing to his own stand... 😭

movie anon asked: SR Ask: After who knows how many weeks of hesitation, Narancia finally asks Reader if she’d like to do something very important with him: Watch a marathon of Fist Of The North Star. How does it go? Have a good day! - Movie Anon

ohh how interesting! i could see narancia being into very action heavy media so this would be his thing. sr reader knows what it’s like to be in the company of a critic when watching stuff (looking at you, fugo), so she’d want to be supportive. it’s likely sr reader would find narancia’s reactions to be the most fun part. every time something cool happens, he’s just gaping at the screen, going WOAH did you see that [First]?

narancia is very pumped up afterwards. he’s just itching to get all the energy out. it might be best to take him on a jog or something to get all that excitement out of his system.

movie anon asked: SR Ask: Trish appreciation time! Considering that she and Reader only were together for one (stressful) week, I guess it’d be hard to have a strong and meaningful bonding moment with how busy they all were. So, in her route, which moment becomes the peak in the relationship between these two? It could be something big, or maybe not! Have a nice weekend, Lock! -Movie Anon

i think the pivotal moment in trish’s route would be sr reader attending her first concert! there’d be that intimate talk backstage, sr reader soothing trish’s worries, trish thanking sr reader for always supporting her. when trish finishes her performance, she’d dedicate the final song to sr reader. it’d be a song that trish had never shared with her before.

a song called “red string of fate”, a reference to sr reader’s stand.

it’s a love song detailing trish’s feelings for sr reader, about how she thinks they were connected by the universe, and basically just a big thank you to sr reader. it’d be a very special moment for them. 🥺

movie anon said: Picnic Date was adorable, Lock! Happy (Late) Birthday to the Golden Boy! - Movie Anon

i’m glad that you enjoyed it!! and thank you for all the fun questions, i hope you’ve been well. every time i look at giorno i just want him to be happy. scarlet ribbons presents the chance to do just that. 🎀💖💖

#trish x reader #fugo x reader #mista x reader #scarlet ribbons #scarlet ribbons lore #answered #movie anon #Anonymous

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littlestarlost · 4 years

Text

what happened.

All this hunger is Always following us Out where we survive under poisonous skies They’re dreaming, but nobody’s sleeping Just coked hearts speeding See all the gold teeth gleaming See all the young, healthy free men Just move into nothing

(CW: discussion of mental health, trauma, PTSD)

A version of this post has been sitting in my drafts folder for ten months. I know this, because I originally began to write it around late January, just in time for the one-year mark to have passed since I’d last updated Setting Sun. When I posted that most recent update, I had just turned 30 years old, and I promised that it would not be another year before the next update. I wanted, so badly, for that to be true. In hindsight, it’s honestly better that I failed to keep that promise; I fear it might have exacerbated the damage that’s already been done, and made the healing process that much harder.

It’s been nearly two years. I want to talk about what happened.

I first began to write about Yuuri Katsuki and Victor Nikiforov because I recognized myself so keenly in them; Yuuri’s high-achieving anxiety and imposter syndrome, and Victor’s quietly functional depression. When I found YOI, I was in grad school; I was winning awards, the top of my class, and utterly terrified that it was all a sham. Being able to channel those emotions through these characters helped me realize my own greatness, to embody it and walk with confidence and bravado. It allowed me to go into my post-degree job search with my head held high, trusting that all the lessons I had learned would lead me to professional success. Yuuri and Victor walked through life with me, two shadows of my own psyche, two people who helped me understand myself.

The first few months of the job were fine. Then things became less than fine, and then continued to descend into the kind of mundane nightmare that only multinational corporate legal firms could manifest. Setting Sun, a story about love and self-acceptance and joy, began to twist around in on itself. I don’t want to go into detail, but suffice to say that I spent nearly two years being gaslit and abused, told I was worthless, constantly having panic attacks as I desperately tried to exert control over things that were way over my head. My body betrayed me; I was in so much pain I couldn’t walk, so stressed I couldn’t bring myself to eat unless I’d smoked weed to calm the nausea. I began to believe that I had peaked in grad school, that I was fooling myself, that I was going to be trapped in that cubicle for the rest of my life, doing grunt work without challenge or interest, in the kind of workplace where you get reported to HR for sighing too loudly. That is a thing that actually fucking happened to me; nobody asked why I might be sighing, and nobody stopped by to check in when I spent most days in tears. This was a place where less than half the people in the room put up their hands when asked if they had ever been creative as kids. This was a place where I almost never got to see the sun.

Because I was massively overqualified and even more massively underworked, I spent a lot of 2018 writing fanfic--my zine pieces, my zutara pieces, all sorts of creative things. I also began to write horror AUs; two stories, in particular, gained a fair amount of traction on this particular platform. When I look back now, I see them for the coping mechanisms that they were; in the case of the crossroads AU, where Yuuri is willing to sell his soul to the devil just to escape his commute, it wasn’t even particularly subtle. I poured all my energy into creative pursuits; it’s been my outlet my whole life, and for a while it helped. By the time I hit the SCP-9874 AU, I burned out so profoundly and utterly that it destroyed my relationship to YOI and cauterized the pieces. SCP-9874 was one of the most creative things I’ve ever done, but it also involved what is, in hindsight, a shocking level of violence and horror inflicted on these characters who were such a close part of me. I was doing this to them because I was hurting, all the time. I now recognize it as the cry for help that it was, and to this day I fantasize about taking down all the SCP-9874 posts and excising that portion of my legacy as much as possible.

I wrote Setting Sun’s 21st chapter in honour of my 30th birthday, in late January of 2019. Somehow, at the time, I didn’t realize how rough it was. How much it implied about me and how I was doing. How much it reflected the true extent of the damage I was suffering. I left Victor and Yuuri in an abandoned apartment with more questions than answers and more regrets than they or I had ever thought possible, and I thought, somehow, that this was a good turning point. Little did I know at the time that the worst was still to come.

I was able to finally escape that toxic office last October, when I found a new job that paid nearly double and was everything I wanted to do in life and more. But Yuri on Ice hurt too much to think about, even as time marched forward and I began to heal. I had PTSD flashbacks to the old office; I dealt with echo upon echo of terror that everything would fall away to reveal I was trapped in the same old nightmare again. In January 2020, I actually took a few days off for my birthday and reread Setting Sun from the beginning, and I’d somehow forgotten how funny it is, how sweet it is, how hopeful. I had completely forgotten; it had been burned away by twenty months of agony. That realization hurt more than all the other ones put together, I think. I had a good long cry over that.

Fast forward to now, and people have started to find Setting Sun again. They’ve found it on and off in the months since I updated, and for a very long time I would read the truly lovely comments people wrote--thanking me for writing it, hoping I’d come back someday, wishing me well wherever I was--and I would dissolve into tears because I just...couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to go back to this story that I could no longer recognize myself in. And nowadays, when new commenters come, I will warn them about that last chapter I wrote, because I can recognize it as the outlier it is.

But something has very recently changed.

I couldn’t necessarily tell you exactly what. Maybe it’s that I passed the one-year mark at my new job, and the last of the poison has finally been excised. Maybe it’s because I’m looking at all my writing with new eyes as I prepare to try doing this for a living. Maybe it’s because it’s 2020, and the rules aren’t really relevant anymore. I don’t know. But I can say that, two weekends ago, I opened Setting Sun, and realized that it didn’t seem impossible anymore. I realized that the boys had been through more than enough. We’ve been through more than enough. We deserve the happy ending I always planned to give them, going back four whole years when I first planned out this massive weird tale.

It’s been a very long time. It’s been exactly long enough.

I can’t promise exactly when the final chapter of Setting Sun will arrive. I’m walking back onto previously thin ice, and my footsteps are more than a little hesitant, so as not to cause any undue cracks. But I can remember the joy and humour and fun again; I can conceive of jokes and silliness and sweetness again. My playlist is filling up again, with songs of hope and love instead of anguish and sorrow. The Yuuri and Victor who sit inside my heart are skating; the music is carrying them, the wind is rushing past their ears, their feet feel light again and they want to jump and take flight and make beautiful things.

I have bookended this post with lyrics from a song that’s been on the maybe list for Setting Sun for nearly as long as Setting Sun has existed. It’s a song I love quite profoundly, a song that means a lot to me personally, but I could never manage to make it fit. It’s a song about running away to the big bright city, about being broken on the world’s wheel, and about realizing you just want to go home. It’s a song that’s ostensibly about the tragedy of this process, but right now I’m sitting at my desk, listening to the line I, I, I wanna go back, back, back, back, with grateful tears running down my face, and I’m realizing that it’s not part of Yuuri’s story, nor Victor’s; it’s part of mine. Home may never be the same as when you left, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t waiting for you with open arms.

So that’s what happened.

Put my body on a wagon And carry me off to the ocean Let me float on into the eastern sun Out where tomorrow has just begun Where I used to be wild, back in my time Now I just fight to sleep at night So render me up into the elements Lay me in a light that I can trust Lay me in a light that I can trust Lay me in a light that I come from...

(Gold Teeth, by Hey Rosetta!)

#personal #yuri on ice #writing #minimally edited

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koiotic · 3 years

Text

The Fire Nation becomes a democracy (maybe the real political restructuring was the friends we made along the way)

I have no impulse control so I wrote a thing based on my own post

Tagging @dreyri-infinity-aldranaris because they commented on my original post and it gave me two years of serotonin

———

“The war’s over.”

Katara blinked. “What?”

“War’s over,” Sokka repeated blankly.

“What?” Her voice cracked a little, but he just held up the piece of paper in his hand, looking a little dazed.

“People were yelling about it when I went to buy food. Apparently someone beat us to taking down Ozai.”

“Who?” Aang cut in before she could ask, disbelief clear on his face.

Sokka took a deep breath, then reread the paper in his hands like he needed to double check. “Zuko.”

Katara laughed, and she was aware it sounded a little unhinged. “No way.”

With a small shrug, he passed her the paper. ‘Firelord Ozai was removed from power by his son, the banished crown prince Zuko. The new Firelord ordered the removal of Fire Nation troops from all foreign territories and has started peace negotiations. There have been discussions of a large scale change to the Fire Nation’s governance.”

“This... This is... What?”

“This...” Aang hesitated, then glanced up almost hopefully. “This is good? I think?”

“So what do we do?” Katara asked.

“We could go talk to him?” Aang suggested, far too optimistically for her taste.

“Aang, he hunted us! This could be a trap!”

“But what if it isn’t?”

“Either way,” Sokka cut in, “I want to know what in La’s name is happening.”

•••

“We’re making it a democracy,” Zuko said for what felt like the millionth time. The advisors were still staring at him like he had two heads.

“But- but your majesty, we can’t ju- just do that!”

“Why?”

There was more spluttering, but no one seemed to have an answer. One of the advisors buried his head in his hands.

“Well, if no one has any more objections, that’s sorted then.”

•••

Sokka was honestly still expecting this to be a huge joke and/or trap, but no one started shooting fire when they landed in one of the gardens. The gardens of the Fire Nation royal palace. In the Fire Nation. Which was inhabited by firebenders.

But no fire yet, so that was at least a plus.

There was a very high-pitched “hi!” and then a blur of pink was cartwheeling towards them, followed much more slowly by a girl in black, who seemed far less enthused to see them.

“You must be the avatar, the waterbender and the asshole with a boomerang,” the girl in black said, a tiny trace of a smirk on her lips.

“The asshole with a boomerang?” Sokka asked, half offended half amused.

“Nice to meet you!” The pink blur announced, stopping in front of Appa. She was a girl, looking around the same age as the other, but radiating excitement and enthusiasm like her life depended on it. “I’m Ty Lee, and this is Mai!”

She slung an arm around Mai’s shoulder ignoring the other’s glower.

“Hi,” Katara said, a little faintly. “Uh, Katara, Sokka and Aang. We came to talk to Zuko. Sorry, who are you?”

“The royal guards,” Mai deadpanned.

“Cool,” Aang said after a beat. “Um, is Zuko here?”

Ty Lee shook her head, braid swinging around wildly. “He’s in a meeting right now, but you could come have tea with us while you wait!”

“What she means,” Mai drawled, “is that she wants you to get off the bison so she can pet it.”

———

As it turned out, there didn’t appear to be a trap. Ty Lee seemed way too enamoured with Appa to attack them, and Mai didn’t seem inclined to do much at all. The two girls led them to a table in an alcove and even sipped their tea own tea first; Sokka was fairly sure that meant it wasn’t poisoned. If it was, that was some serious dedication to killing them.

“Would you like some coffee?” Ty Lee asked.

“What’s coffee?”

“No idea, but Zuko’s been drinking it and he hasn’t slept in two days. It’s pretty good!”

“No thanks,” Sokka said quickly, before Aang could respond. He was hyperactive enough on good old fashioned sugar in his tea.

“So...” Katara said after an awkward pause. “Zuko’s the Fire Lord now.”

“Yep!” Ty Lee said brightly.

“Okay. Right. Cool. But... how? And why?” Sokka possibly sounded a little frenzied, but that wasn’t the issue right now.

“I believe,” Mai said evenly, “his exact words were ‘fuck it, I’m ending the war’.”

Aang blinked. “So he... just did that?”

“I thought you of all people would know that Zuko never gives up.” Mai shrugged. “When we were kids, I asked him for a knife and he spent three weeks making one from scratch.”

Ty Lee giggled. “We still haven’t told him she just wanted him to pass her a knife at dinner.”

Sokka was having a hard time reconciling the image of Angry Jerk Zuko with the absolute dork being described to him.

“You grew up with him?” He asked, mostly to have something else to think about. And also for the possibility of blackmail worthy information.

“We were best friends!” Ty Lee chirped.

“-with his sister,” Mai finished dryly. “Actually, you’re probably lucky she’s out at the moment.”

“Is she worse than him?” Katara asked, then seemed to remember she probably shouldn’t be insulting the new Fire Lord in the Fire Palace of the Fire Nation. Did Sokka mention the fire?

Ty Lee laughed again. “Azula’s great, as long as you don’t do, say or be anything that annoys her. Like talking to her too much. Or breathing too loud. Or standing too close to her. Or not telling her that she’s the best, smartest, most amazing person ever enough.”

“She’s a bitch,” Mai said blankly. “I like her so much.”

Was everyone in the Fire Nation insane? Was Zuko actually the most normal Fire Nation person they knew?

“She sounds nice,” Aang said, a little awkwardly.

“She is!” Ty Lee agreed. “She only threatened to kill me once today! That’s a record!”

He caught Katara’s eye across the table, and tried to silently communicate ‘what the actual fuck is happening?’. She sent back a helpless shrug.

Sokka had never been happier to see Zuko.

The new Fire Lord appeared a moment later, and Sokka almost didn’t recognise him. Thank the spririts, the ponytail was gone. Well, not really, but there was more hair around it. Looking at it no longer made Sokka want to pin him down and fix that spirits forsaken hairstyle. He was wearing what was probably Fire Nation royal clothing, but it looked like it had been at least a two days since he last slept.

“It’s a democracy now,” he said, and then seemed to process the three new people in front of him. “Oh, fuck.”

Aang gave a little wave.

“Uh, I’m really sorry? For hunting you and all that?” Zuko looked like he was expecting someone to kill him, and wasn’t strongly opposed to the idea.

“What do you mean it’s a democracy?” Sokka cut in, as the last few seconds started being processed in his brain.

“Oh,” Zuko blinked. “The Fire Nation. I made it a democracy.”

“Wait, you can do that?” Katara asked.

Zuko gave a small shrug. “Well there’s nothing to say I can’t.”

Sokka considered himself to be very eloquent. He was a smart guy, a hobbyist in poetry, and generally great with words. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Do you have a problem with democracy?” For a second, Angry Jerk Zuko was back.

“No!” Sokka almost yelled. “Democracy is great, but what the fuck is happening?”

“I... made the Fire Nation a democracy?”

“No. We gathered that much. How in La’s name are you even the Fire Lord?”

“I’m not the Fire Lord,” Zuko said slowly. “I’m the head of a democratic government.”

Sokka briefly considered screaming, then shelved that thought for a later date.

“How did you become leader of a democratic government?”

“Oh, I fought my dad.”

His head was starting to hurt. He had a feeling that wouldn’t be going away any time soon.

“Why did you just switch sides? You were yelling at us about honour like, last week.”

“Well I kind of realised that hunting the avatar was kind of stupid, and that I may have been misinterpreting the message my dad was trying to send.”

“Which was?”

“Well, he said ‘you’re banished until you find the avatar’ but apparently that means ‘I’m hoping you die on this suicide mission and I never see you again so I can make your sister crown princess’.”

And that... that was a lot to process. There was a beat of silence, then Aang chimed in. “Are you currently in the market for a friend?”

“A what?”

If Sokka had known all it took was a hug from a tiny airbender to render Zuko completely nonfunctional, the past few months could have been a lot easier. Aang practically vaulted over the table and caught Zuko in a hug, and the firebender looked rapidly between him and the others with a look of abject confusion.

“Great,” Mai sighed, “you broke him.”

Ty Lee perked up almost immediately. “Are we allowed to hug Zuko now?”

“No!” Zuko managed to get out, a little strangled.

“I’m your dad now,” Aang declared, clinging on staunchly even when Zuko tried to shake him off.

“No one is my dad!”

“Then I’ll be your grandad!”

“My grandfather also tried to kill me!”

“I’ll be your great grandfather!”

“That was Sozin!”

“Your other great grandfather-“

“Please let go of me.”

“Respect your elders, young man!”

“You’re, like, ten!”

Sokka glanced over to Katara again, but to his horror, he recognised the look on her face. “Katara, no-“

“Katara, yes-“

“Please, don’t-“

“We’re-“

“No, we’re not!”

“We’re keeping him, Sokka.”

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captain-of-the-historicfuture · 3 years

Note

~hello~ !! For the meta asks!: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, and 25 :))

Hello!! Thank you for sending these; I was really excited to see that ask game and I was hoping somebody would send some in. It still took me a while to actually answer them though, and for that I apologise. But without further ado! Some meta answers (under the cut because they ended up being fairly long, whoops):

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

I thought of a few examples, but they could basically be grouped together under a common theme: whumpy/angsty scenes that were self-indulgent as all heck. The whole self-indulgent aspect often required the characters to be just the teeniest, tiniest bit OOC and/or necessitated rather unrealistic plot circumstances. So it was simply easier to keep such scenes as maladaptive daydreams, rather than trying to think of explanations for the character/plot issues…or exposing myself to judgement for them LOL.

Receiving permission to write/share one such scene anyway is an opportunity I can’t let slip by though. It might be because I’m writing this while running on zero (0) hours of sleep—let’s hear it for insomnia, y’all!—but I suddenly couldn’t remember any of my newer ideas under this category. However, I did recall a one-shot I had started writing a couple of months ago that sort of counts? “Sort of” because I could actually be arsed to write it since I was, ya know, writing it. Only got about six hundred words down though.

…should I share those six hundred words…?

………nahhh. I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet.

But here’s the gist of it: Coulson and May (because of course it’s Philinda) were married for quite some time before the Attack on New York. But then Coulson DiedTM and then got ResurrectedTM. But gasp of horror, he had to lose his memories of his romantic relationship with May because reasons. (I actually did have some ideas for those reasons but sshhhh this is about me yeeting context and setup.)

The first half of S1 still happens as normal (except MayWard doesn’t happen because??? Vows) and it’s now post-E20 “Nothing Personal”. The morning after (or a morning soon after, whatever) the T.A.H.I.T.I. reveal! May’s mom—who doesn’t know about GH.325 and whom May fed a cover story about Coulson divorcing her or something equally as oof, IDK—shows up at the hotel and starts ripping into Coulson for breaking her daughter’s heart, then dragging her back into the field with her ex-husband (him), then accusing her of terrible things and forcing her away again.

Poor guy’s confused as heck, and so is the team, and soon enough so is Lian. The only one who understands what’s going on is May, and she’s freaking dying off to the side like why is this happening to me and eventually everybody’s like! Explain??? (Was thinking about including something from Coulson like, “Are you still keeping things from me?” Just for that extra smidge of angst, yay!)

So yeah then May gives a, like, two-sentence debriefing that elicits more questions than answers. Coulson decides to take May aside and they have a heart-to-heart. Lots of feelings and angst and hurt/comfort and at some point plenty of kissing too. Just! May hiding her feelings for Coulson’s sake but really magnified, plus some actual apologies and consideration of the grief May’s been through on Coulson’s part.

And uhh yeah that’s basically it I dunno hdsjncjshd. I warned y’all it’s OOC, plot-bendy, and very self-indulgent!

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

I don’t think I could name a single character for this. I get different things out of taking on different voices, you know? I guess recently I’ve found myself gravitating towards more taciturn and introspective points of view, like JQ from my original novel Rosewood or M. Yisbon from my…other original novel Temple.

Generally, however, I like tackling stories from an outsider’s perspective. That’s why I so rarely write my more “substantial” (serious? demanding? for lack of better words?) projects from the PoV of my “preferred” character. This usually means writing from their love interest’s perspective, but not always. With shorter fanfic, using a more removed/unconventional/niche PoV can be really fun. Like, I once wrote a canon compliant ficlet purely(-ish) about Philinda from Tony Stark’s perspective. That isn’t always sustainable with stories that demand more character development or closer character studies, however, which is why it’s a good thing I like writing drabbles!

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

My word counts tend to run long, but I usually only write one-shots for fanfic. If I’m even inspired with a novella- or novel-length story idea for a fandom, you already know I’m in deep with them. And if I actually find the motivation to plan and execute that idea? Dangg. That’s only ever happened…twice, maybe thrice, and I’m in a lot of fandoms.

At times, I wish I could go for more of a middle ground ’cause, like, you know what I love to see? An AO3 dashboard with several completed novellas for my ship/character of choice. I mean yes, I hecking love >90k fics, but sometimes I’m in the mood for quick reads…and what am I supposed to do when I burn through all the drabbles and 2k one-shots? (Besides despair and/or reread my faves desperately.) Novellas are basically always safe for me LOL, and I’d hope to be able to give as much as I take.

Ultimately though, I think I’m okay with where I am with regards to that. I wish I could write more in general, but I’d be okay with “writing more” just meaning “writing more one-shots”, ya know? More than okay, really. I have mad respect for fic writers who have, like, a hundred or more one-shots under their belt for this one ship. The fandom ecosystem would be incomplete without them (as well as every other type of writer, but sshhh that’s the type of writer I’m closest to being right now).

I’m definitely a plotter, and I definitely prefer it that way. It’s cool having such a detailed record of my process. I like feeling like a frazzled genius on the brink of a major discovery with all of my different outlines and colour coding and many drafts and various websites.

12. Do you want your writing to be famous?

Not exactly. It might be cool if my original works were recognisable in the world, but I don’t think I’d want to be recognisable. As for fanfic, I’d low-key enjoy gaining a place in that fandom’s community as a fic writer. Like someone who gave and got fic gifts from fic writer friends, who participated in challenges and GCs, who received writing prompts on Tumblr, whose name was known for doing a certain trope/genre a bunch of times… Ya know what I mean?

Unlikely to happen when I’m so hecking hesitant to publicly (i.e., outside of AO3) claim credit for my writing, but fjnskfsjhfjs. A writer can dream, right?

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

Of those three, tags are the easiest for me, for I have a reliable system for figuring out those.

Next easiest would probably be titles. For fanfiction, I like to use titles that are a quote from the source material. You should have seen all of my old Hamilton fanfic… I was really proud of some of those titles. And I don’t mean, like, whole lines—usually only two to five words. It’s a unique type of wordplay that I just love dabbling in.

And lastly, summaries. Sometimes inspiration strikes me and a snappy and intriguing synopsis just jumps out—one that I’m quietly pleased with—but most of the time I’ll spend way too long trying to think of such a synopsis and eventually just go with whatever I’d come up with so far. And live with my quiet dissatisfaction for the rest of time.

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

Typically, no. If I have deleted scenes, I save and publish them separately, but that’s about it. I sometimes think of AUs for my own work and might talk about them in my author’s notes—might even talk about writing them—but I never really do anything with them.

Although…

It’s not uncommon for me to decide a plotline isn’t working for a certain story or to think of an interesting but undoable arc for a certain character, but what I’ll do is make a whole new story for those ideas. Once I’m done developing the original idea and the branched-off one, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell they grew from the same roots. Does that count?

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

That depends on the story. I’ve actually written stories in other mediums—movie screenplay, musical stageplay, poetry, TV show scripts, play scripts, roleplay—but the novel does tend to be my comfort zone. Sometimes, if I have an idea that I think could work, or would even work better, as another medium, I’ll label it as such in my folder of ideas and decide not to write it as a novel.

Most of the time, my non-book projects are collaborations. I’m working with five different people on six different story ideas: two webcomics, one stage musical, one anime, and two animated TV shows. Little concrete progress has been made in any of those, mind you, but they’re still fun to discuss!

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

Absolutely. But I’ve been writing stories since I was five years old, so we would hope so, huh?

I wouldn’t say my writing’s changed completely, though maybe that’s just my insider’s perspective.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Oh gosh, I can’t believe you’d make me choose. Writing is just such a wonderful experience for me; I love just about everything to do with it. Admittedly, not all the time, but. Since that barely qualifies as an answer, however, I’ll give you this—

The endings. Not only that intense feeling of rightness when you wrap up that last sentence, but also the moments before. The adrenaline of knowing you’re almost there but you gotta push just a bit more to actually get there. And also the part right after—the real wrap-up, honestly: the revision and the editing. Heavens, I love revising and editing my work.

Which is not to say I don’t like writing it out for the first time, too—there’s nothing quite like seeing your cursor scroll to the next page, like going from a blank expanse to a Oh man, how many more lines are even going to fit on this page?, like watching that page counter tick up another number. However, there’s something cathartic about finally ironing out those problems I had to force myself to stop worrying about earlier because “just finish the first draft dangit”.

I guess that’s not really the end of the writing process, but whatever. Close enough (as fic writers are wont to say).

Another thank-you for these asks, and feel free to come back with more at any time! ;P

Send in fun meta asks for your friendly neighbourhood writer!

#thou canst not then be false to any man #ask game #invictusmaneo #to write and read comes by nature

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pbscore · 4 years

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I get what you mean by your tags on that Horror movie post, but like... Should'nt Horror media that use disability and/or queernes as shorthand for scary/unsettling imagery be criticised? Like, for example, the transmisogynistic Serial Killer Who Dresses In Women Clothes And Kills Young Women trope - like, Horror in General has a long history of being racist, sexist, homo/transphobic and ableist, and saying that it should'nt be criticised of those Tropes bc it's "supposed to be scary" is shitty.

That’s....literally a distinction I made in my tags, anon. Did you read all of what I wrote or did you only read the post and assumed I, a queer poc who loves and studies horror as a genre, hadn’t already thought of what you’re saying before I reblogged that post?

You might wanna reread what I wrote because I already factored in all of what you said into my tags.

Also, the point of the post was to point out ‘criticisms’ against the horror genre that completely miss the point of horror, such as saying things like ‘uwu this movie is TOO scary’ or ‘why is there so much blood’ or things that completely gloss over the use of horror.

In horror, no one is safe and that’s the point. In horror, everyone is afraid of something and that’s also the point.

Criticisms that point out bigoted tropes will happen in any movie genre, including horror. Pointing out homophobia because all of the gay characters die and all of the straight characters live is a valid criticism, for example.

But criticizing a horror movie, where all of the cast is LGBTQ+ while the killer may/may not be cishet, and a few of them die, is not a valid take because...it’s still a horror movie and realistically...people die in horror movies.

If you’ve ever seen the show Slasher, an extremely graphic horror show where pretty much everyone dies in gruesome ways for a number of reasons (including the killers), the third season is a good example of using common horror tropes while still talking about modern social issues and giving minorities leading roles. In my opinion, they still need to tighten up their writing skills but it’s a solid example of horror that isn’t afraid to be horror while getting rid of old horror tropes that no longer work.

Edit: I also forgot to mention that the original intention of the post was probably more in line with asking folks who know they are easily triggered by certain horror themes to consider putting more effort into avoiding horror for their own good. It’s important to remember that while media should have a sense of caution when approaching triggering topics, you as a viewer are also (mostly) in control of what kind of media you want to consume.

There are many folks who write, film, and/or illustrate horror-related material because of what they’ve been through, personally. Ari Aster, the man who wrote Hereditary and Midsommar, explores the topic of grief in benign and extreme ways throughout his films. That topic could definitely be triggering to someone who may fear death in some way (for their own reasons) but for other folks, seeing those movies may feel like a ‘release’ for themselves if they’ve been trying to deal with grief for a while.

With other movie genres, I don’t think there is as much of a dynamic between safety and danger as there is with the horror genre. It’s going to explore disturbing topics. It’s going to explore fear. It’s not going to always be comfortable or exciting. And sometimes, that’s ok. Horror writers are not all well-off, cishet white men who constantly use outdated and bigoted tropes. Some horror writers/enthusiasts, like myself, use horror to process many experiences in which something goes terribly wrong and the main characters either rise to meet their fears or...they don’t.

#asks #anon #horror #spooky on main #also...I’m not saying this in a pretentious or rude way anon #I just wanna point out that we both agree on the same things regarding valid criticisms for horror #but the genre of horror is meant to be scary and sometimes hard to watch #it’s definitely possible to be respectful of minorities while also telling a good horror story

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lutrain2020 · 4 years

Text

Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Chelsea or Autumn!

Commission: At this time, no. It's a possibility in the future, but for now it's just me having fun.

Social Media: Tumblr: @autumnalchemist (Multifandom reblogs) @autumnsscribbles (Writing blog) A03: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnAlchemist/pseuds/AutumnAlchemist

Tell us a little bit about you!

Hi! My name's Chelsea, but you can also call me Autumn! 27 year old, fandom old lady, who has a bad habit of going every which way with my attention span for hyperfixations. Uh... Favorite colors are purple and blue. Video games are definitely a hobby of mine, and forever will be something I enjoy. Some people are surprised to learn that I love a lot of psychological horror and scifi horror genre's, and then there's solving puzzles and open world rpg's.

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing?

I have too many people that inspire me, I've got a lot of fanwork authors I follow that are an inspiration to me. There are too many to list because I love everyone's works! We are all a work in progress with writing, and I encourage everyone to continue doing their best! I definitely have to say though my Fiance is definitely someone who helps and inspires me to continue to do more.

What got you into writing?

Hmm.... That's a bit difficult to pinpoint. I'd have to say that there was a bit of niche content I didn't find anywhere and it occurred to me that I could write it. So, I decided to start writing!

What's your favorite part of the writing process?

My favorite part of writing would just be... finally putting to words the scenes in my head. I get to see it come out and turn into the painting that fills pages and pages. I don't use outlines or bullet point plans to get with my writing. I have a general idea of what I want to write, and I go with it. It may change and deviate along the way, but when I finish with what I write, I usually am proud of what I've created. Though honestly, the best part is seeing everyone's reactions to what I've written. It makes me proud that I could get people to comment and think out loud about what they find in my works.

What's your least favorite part of the writing process?

I'm gonna be blunt on this. Editing. I loathe editing. Mostly because I try to reread through the slog of words I've written and I have to try and get my eyes to see what I've written and find how I can either fix what I wrote, or find a way to write it better and not be so bland sounding.

Whats your favorite type of scene to write?

Introspective thoughts. How a person thinks and acts, what makes them do the things they do and how could an event in the past affect a person in the future.

What's the hardest for you to write?

I have a difficult time writing fluff. Like pure happy fluff. For some reason it just doesn't seem right for me to write something that's purely happy when life is always full of twists and turns. It definitely doesn't help when I have characters that are just stubborn and try to change plans on me mid-sentence.

What's your favorite genre to write?

Hurt/comfort and also psychological horror. I'm not sure why but I like writing these very much.

What fandoms do you enjoy writing for?

Currently, I'm obsessed with Linked Universe. The characters are vast, the way we as the fandom have all different interpretations of the personalities of the characters. But I've written for a few other fandoms. Those were more for myself and not published on any platform.

What's the work you are most proud of?

oooh... I'm not sure. I look back to what I've written before to what I'm writing as of now, and I realize that while I'm proud of them, I know that I need to do better. You can certainly find those bits of writing on my tumblr, or my AO3

Is there a specific scene you are particularly proud of?

A scene for a (currently) unpublished chapter for one of my fics: "He knelt down, panting as he fought for air, and could only watch as the large blade was pointed down at him, ready to pierce through armor and his body. Just as it was about to descend down, he caught a glimpse behind the tall God, seeing a pair of glowing red eyes."

Is there something you had to work through that forced you to grow as a writer?

I can't name a specific story or idea right off the top of my head, but I do know I've had that problem often with writing. It's a constant battle for me.

Do you have any fics inspired by real life stories?

Off the top of my head, I can't think of that. But perhaps future stories may have scenes like that.

Where do you post your finished works?

I post my longer fics on AO3, where you can find me at AutumnAlchemist, and if they're shorter stories on my Tumblr as listed before.

#Meet The Creator #lutrain2020 #linkeduniverse #lu

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wiseabsol · 4 years

Note

3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing? 6. Favorite character you’ve written? 14. What does it take for you to be ready to write a book? (i.e. do you research? outline? make a playlist or pinterest board? wing it?) 15. How do you deal with self-doubt when writing? 19. How do you cope with writer’s block? 24. Do you remember the moment you decided to become a writer/author? 33. What’s your revision/rewriting process like? 34. Unpopular writing thoughts/opinions?

3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing?

My favorite part is when you make discoveries about your world and your characters as you write the story down, and when you write something and go, “Oh, there we go, there’s the solution to this problem that was going to come up later.” For example, I recently had an evil mentor toying with a magical item while giving a lecture to his pupils. The magical item was mundane--essentially, just putty that you could mold into whatever shape you wanted, then solidify, then switch back to putty to reshape. And as I was writing that down, I went, “Oh, THAT’S what my protagonist is going to knock him out with down the line. That’s way better than her using a lamp. Excellent.”

My least favorite part about writing is getting started. Once I’ve cleared the hurtle of the blank page, writing becomes much easier and more exciting. But getting myself to start has become much harder since I developed my editor/critic’s brain.

6. Favorite character you’ve written?

In one of the text-based rps I’m writing with my best friend, I’m playing a shapeshifter named Sparrow, who is charming, funny, flirty, politically-savvy, and super vain about his appearance (think a courtesan-type character). He also has one of the most gut-wrenching backstories of any character I’ve ever written, and is struggling with triggers from that backstory. His romance with my best friend’s character is also my favorite romance that I’ve written with her, and it came as a surprise to both of us, since we were just testing out the characters at the time.

14. What does it take for you to be ready to write a book? (i.e. do you research? outline? make a playlist or pinterest board? wing it?)

I do a lot of brainstorming and outlining, though my outlines aren’t plot-related ones so much as very detailed character summaries. I’ve honestly been struggling with plot lately, but I’ve been doing better character work, so I’m winging it more now. While I usually have a general idea of how the story goes, the actual writing of it clarifies the details and makes changes to my plans. On the bright side, the results are less stilted than my old work, since they’re not chained to plot outlines, but stem from the characters more organically.

15. How do you deal with self-doubt when writing?

I’ve started telling myself, “Fuck it, let it be messy, I’ll fix it later.” Letting go of perfectionism is hard for me, but doing so has been helping.

19. How do you cope with writer’s block?

Honestly, the best way to cope with writer’s block is to just try something and see if it sticks, or leave yourself a note and skip ahead in the story to something you want to write. However, as I mentioned in an earlier ask, I haven’t been able to do much writing lately. And that’s hard, because I feel guilty for not writing, and I know if I just do it, I’ll feel better. Which is a bad mindframe to be in, especially because this year has been awful. I’ve been telling other writers to be gentle on themselves, because it’s hard to be creative when you’re stressed, but I struggle to take my own advice. So right now, I’m trying to give myself permission not to write, and to instead focus on other things. Editing. Reading. Playing videogames. Baking. Doing house/yardwork. Something to still ticks things off of my to do list, but also things that I can look at and see, “Yes, you did get something done.” It’s not a perfect system, and it does fall into the productivity trap, but it’s what I’m trying. When the stress passes, maybe then I can dive back into writing.

24. Do you remember the moment you decided to become a writer/author?

I think it was when I was applying for undergraduate college. I wrote in my application essay that I wanted to write stories that would show my readers that things can get better for them. I was writing as a hobby before then, but I think that’s when I decided that yeah, I wanted making stories to be a part of my future, and I wanted to write stories that I could publish someday.

33. What’s your revision/rewriting process like?

Mostly I end up rewriting the chapter or story in question. Draft one is for realizing and getting down the idea of the thing. Draft two is refining it to that thing and losing all of the flab that the story doesn’t need. Often I have another file on the side where I paste in what I’ve cut out, in case I change my mind and want to add it back in later, or in case I can use it in another project. I also save the original messy draft and do the cutting in a copied file. That way, I can reassure myself that the original still exists for me, and I can reread it when I’m feeling self-indulgent, but I’m also only giving the best version to my readers.

34. Unpopular writing thoughts/opinions?

-- Writing every day is a good idea, and does work well for the writing process, but it’s an unrealistic standard to hold yourself to, especially if you have a day job, kids, and other adult responsibilities. Don’t feel guilty if you can’t write every day. The guilt is just going to make you freeze up instead of returning to the work. Be gentle with your expectations for yourself.

-- If you’re including triggering or sensitive subjects in your work, and are planning to share that work with others (and ESPECIALLY if you’re planning to profit from that work), you should be doing your research about those subjects, portraying them as accurately as possible, and asking yourself if your story really needs that content to work. It is also a good idea to employ sensitivity screeners for that content, especially if you’re writing from a place of privilege and/or don’t have personal experience with the issues that you’re depicting.

-- Once the work is out there, no one has the right to ban it. They can be critical of it, yes. But not ban it.

-- Writers of privilege must include diversity within their work, even if they’re scared of getting their depictions of people from other genders, races, classes, religions, and so on wrong. And they will get it wrong. When that happens, just apologize and try to do better in the future. But staying in your lane is a bad idea, for three reasons: 1.) You should be striving to have empathy for others, and you can’t do that if you’re only writing about people who are similar to you. 2.) Writers of privilege have an easier time getting their work published, and so should be trying to push the market/publishing industry into a more diverse direction. And 3.) You should be showing readers of privilege that the world is a diverse one, rather than catering to their narrow worldview.

-- Getting defensive when someone is critical of your work is perfectly natural, but it’s also dumb. It’s so, so dumb. You have made a product, and no product made by human hands is perfect, and every writer has blind spots. So when someone is critical of your work, try to keep this in mind: this is not an attack on you. Let yourself feel the hurt in private, and eat lots of ice cream, and when you’re feeling better, look at the criticism and ask yourself: What led the reader to this conclusion? How can I fix it? What can I learn from this? This is assuming that the critic is working with you in good faith, by the way; sometimes they’re completely off of the mark, or are upset because you didn’t give them the story that they wanted. But if someone is going, “Hey, this is a little racist/sexist/homophobic/ableist/etc.,” sit up and listen. And for the love of god, don’t fight them over it. You’ll make yourself look like an ass.

-- Don’t workshop your story too early. Try to get a full draft down before you submit something for consideration. For one thing, you’re still figuring out what your story actually is. For another, writing workshops, while useful, have a tendency to pull your work to the middle / make it more acceptable to a general audience. Sometimes this will soften and even kill your bravest writing. Instead, use writing workshops as an opportunity to find writers who understand the themes you’re aiming for and the subjects that you’re discussing. Their input will be what you need.

-- With the current laws about copyright infringement, getting paid for your fanfic is a bad idea. If you want that to change, then fight to make the laws more lenient. As if it, you’re risking screwing over other fanfic writers by doing that. Does that suck? Yeah. But that’s also the reality we live in right now, and you’re not going to have a good time if a corporation like Disney slams you with lawsuits.

-- Genres like fantasy, science fiction, horror, romance/erotica, and murder mysteries are real literature. Saying they’re not has its roots in classism.

-- There is no such thing as apolitical writing.

-- Poets are underrated. Support them. Most of the time, they’re doing braver and more socially-important work than you are, and they’re doing it concisely, too.

-- Your first draft is going to suck. This is a good thing. You learn a lot more from bad prose than from good prose, more often than not.

-- Having your work rejected by publishers really is nothing personal. Sometimes it just wasn’t a good fit for them at that moment in time. If they’re interested in seeing more from you in the future, though, keep them on your list and send them something else during their next screening period. They don’t say that unless they mean it.

#technopanzer #Writing #I'm not sure all of these are unpopular opinions but some of them definitely are

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dredreadsdrawing · 4 years

Text

2/28/2020 - 2/29/2020

Combined two days because I only wrote ideas the 28th, and sketched the new boi the 29th.

Ideas on Bart’s Friend, newly named Hosea!:

- He’s taller than Bart, but skinny like a pencil. He has big round glasses that make his eyes look bigger than they are. He has long, choppy hair he grew out and likes to take care of.

- ..... through drawing him, especially the last expression, i mentally give him a dorky deep voice that has a slight drawl. He talks slowly, and usually stumbles over his words, giving people the impression that he’s not as smart as he is. HE never raises his voice; it’s permanently stuck in a low, calm, and gentle tone. Imma try to find something close to this as an example, cries.

- i really like my boy, double cries.

- He moved with his mother and father into town after his father lost his job. At this time, Bart is 11, and so is the new kid.

- The town kids were curious about him at first, and crowded him to know more about the city. Quickly, though, his answers bored them, and his affinity for reading rather than playing turned them away from wanting to stick around, and he got lonely quick.

- He found Bart the first day of school, the only kid reading during every break, and he nervously got the guts to approach him. Bart was very cautious at first, suspicious. thinking that the town kids sent him for a prank, but Hosea was incredibly earnest in his interest, and got excited when Bart mentioned a series he liked. Needless to say, Bart was quickly won over.

- That day, they started their friendship by talking about the few non-horror books Bart had read. The next, Bart was ready to show him his whole collection, sure to impress him(!), when he noticed Hosea’s mom. And their prayer before school. And her insistence of him to be a good boy and to not let himself be corrupted by the other kids. Bart overheard all of this from a bush, and was struck, remembering the words of caution Minnie told him before. ‘Some people will run for fear of their religious rules. They don’t perceive their gods as merciful.’

- He didn’t want to lose his first friend. He hid his interest in horror and the arcane, in the process, visiting Minnie’s manor less, and picking up more books Hosea would recommend instead.

- A month in, their friendship is going great, but through misfortune, Bart runs into Hosea as he came back from buying the latest monster novel of his favorite series. He hides it and tries to flee, only to hit his head on the door and drop the book. Hosea picks it up. Instead of running in terror like Bart imagined in his dreams, Hosea beams. He’d always wanted to read this series! But his mom would never let him even look at their covers. He’s stumbling with his words as he describes the few books he’d seen and what he imagined they were about, his face flushing from excitement, and Bart takes it all in. His worries melting, he smiles back and responds to all of his questions, explaining a few of the monsters, and reassuring him the scares were fun and worth finishing every book for. By the time they finish jabbering, Bart offers letting him read the books after school in his house, and Hosea agrees. Their bond got a little deeper that day.

- Two more months roll by and they manage to get Hosea through most of the books; their time holed up in Bart’s room, reading, becoming their favorite hours of the day. Sometimes Hosea has to leave a little earlier, other times he’s a little more quiet, but he never skips their hang out hours. Bart thinks he just needs to be alone sometimes and he doesn’t mind.

- Bart visits Minnie again, though less frequently than before. Their studies are going slower, their sessions mostly consisting of Bart ranting about his new friend instead. She doesn’t mind. She has her hands full with something else.

- Their calm time gets so gradually comfortable, that Bart doesn’t notice how close they’ve gotten until it hits him that he’s reading his Detective Drew book while laying his head on top of the napping boy. He’s eleven, and he’s never had a friend before. He doesn’t know if this is normal. He begins questioning every unconscious action they share, trying to analyze them using what little information he knows from books.

- He eventually told himself that they had simply reached that close level of friendship that the protagonists from his adventure/fantasy series had, and didn’t worry about it anymore, until-

- Hosea had been getting teased at school more for being the teacher’s favorite. One of the town boys had a crush on her, and took out his frustration by picking on Hosea when she wasn’t looking. Bart would always defend him, though, so they never got farther than a shove and some name calling. The town boy switched tactics one afternoon and went for Bart instead. He targeted him as he waited for Hosea to finish helping the teacher. The town boy mocked him on as many insecurities as he could, most of them deflecting until he brought up Hosea. He claimed Hosea only stuck with him because he was the only kid his mom let him hang out with, that he was so tiny and pathetic, poor Hosea was bored all the time. (idk shitty taunts about how Bart never actually scared the boy off, he just thought Bart was so funny looking he couldn’t keep a straight face, and Hosea was more embarrassed by him than anything. That they’re not real friends and Bart has been an annoyance all along.) Bart doesn’t really believe it, but little doubts nudge in and he wants to run. He barely turns around to bolt home when he hears a smack. He turns around and sees Hosea standing over the boy, having rammed him.

- Hosea yells at him to stop talking to Bart like that. He defends Bart, jumbling his words as he tries to talk faster than his normal speed, but his sentiment is clear. Bart is his best frien!. Bart is the coolest, the funnest, and he could certainly kick the boy’s butt onto next Sunday if he wanted to! The boy gets up and tries for intimidation, but Bart moves in to kick his leg. As the boy yowls, he takes Hosea’s hand and they run before any adults come. They stop to catch their breath in an dirty alley. Hosea is concerned if they’ll get in trouble for starting violence, but Bart reassures him. After a pause of contemplation, Bart asks him if what he said was true. Hosea is back to tripping on his words, but he spills all of his feelings. He admires Bart, and honestly thinks of him as the coolest kid he’s ever met. He wants to be more like him; strong, reliable, and honest. Both kids are embarrassed by the praise, Bart’s quickened heart making his mind race with it. This moment wasn’t reminding him of any scenes with the protagonists of his fantasy books. This was more like the scene of Detective Drew where his assistant confesses to him her love.

- He tries to shrug it off by awkwardly accepting the compliments and extra awkwardly praising Hosea too “I.... like that you’re smart?” They walk to his house in silence, but Bart’s mind is a battle. He tells himself this was nothing like that scene; no way did Hosea feel like that towards him! (But what if-) Nonono, no need to be silly. They get to his room and they start their reading, but Bart can’t focus on any words. He keeps rationalizing his friend’s behaviors to himself in a cycle, trying to force himself to accept that he was misinterpreting everything..... but for whatever reason not being able to let it go. He’s at his wits end by the time their hang out time is over, and he walks Hosea out. Hosea asks him if he was ok; he noticed how quiet Bart had been. Bart presses his lips and looks away. He confesses he’s still processing being called cool. Hosea fidgets for a while at the door. When Bart raises his eyes to see why, he notices Hosea’s face is back to blushing. “... B-But you a-are. You’re my hero.” Both boys’ eyes widen, and Hosea can’t even let out a farewell before booking it out. Bart is floored, overcome with new emotions of self-consciousness and awe.

- He’s in a daze during dinner and he can’t sleep that night. It’s only while rereading the last book of his fantasy series that he realizes there WAS a passage where both protagonists greatly praised one another... before going into battle. The protagonists end it with a hug, and Bart becomes aware of the new-found implications their past actions could be given. He realizes he might have been projecting the same expectations to Hosea. And he becomes scared as he starts to recognize what it was he was feeling when Hosea complimented him.

... Bart liked Hosea.

- Lololol went into story mode. shit. Hopefully I can keep going cuz.. Im sticking pretty hard to this story so far. As the song goes, let’s see how far we(I) go ;w;

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hazelnmae · 4 years

Text

Things Unsaid

This was my contribution to the fic exchange hosted by @peakyblindersexchange It’s a little Tofie one shot that grapples with the time between Tommy receiving Alfie’s letter and his visit to Margate (and all the feels that happened in between).

Warnings: Angst, leading to fluff but not quite arriving there.

Tommy/Alfie Paring.

“I placed the post on your desk, Mr. Shelby,” Frances said as Tommy shed his coat and hat by the door. She knew he’d head directly to his study and would want to see the mail straight away. He’d been on edge, as usual, but had recently received letters and phone calls at strange hours of the day from people she'd never heard of, and that had even Frances worried.

Tommy lit a cigarette as he lazily entered his office and took up the mail stacked neatly on his desk. Without paying attention to the return address, he ripped open the first letter.

He recognized the handwriting immediately and sunk into his chair, his eyes struggling to focus and running too quickly over the words.

In the end, he’d had to reread the letter more than once to catch all of the content. But he’d decided to reread it many more times because of what it meant.

Alfie was alive.

The letter included exactly what Tommy would have expected, had he known Alfie were alive: Some light ribbing about the fact that Tommy couldn't finish the job and question after question about his fucking dog.

It also excluded exactly what Tommy would have expected, had he known Alfie were alive: Any mention, whatsoever, about how he’d survived being shot in the face and left for dead on the beach, and any indication as to whether or not he’d forgiven Tommy for doing what he had to do.

For two weeks, Tommy carried Alfie’s letter in his breast pocket--the fact that it was pressed against his heart wasn’t something Tommy would acknowledge for years to come.

Instead, for those two weeks, Tommy pulled out the letter when he needed a reminder that there was, in fact, hope.

Hope was fleeting. He’d been without it for so long. Had been focused on all that he’d lost, all that he could lose, and all that he’d never have. Tommy had no use for hope. At least that’s what he’d told himself since returning from the war. Everything was extra.

But then hope arrived. In a letter.

And that changed everything.

Now, when Cyril greeted him each evening on his return home, Tommy saw the dog's former owner. He’d worked so hard to forget Alfie since that day on the beach--had tried, and failed, to put him out of his mind as a figment of his imagination, larger than life, and having never existed at all.

But Cyril was a constant reminder that he had been there. That it had been real.

And that it was real still.

Three weeks after receiving Alfie’s letter, Tommy finally sat down to write a response.

What he thought would be difficult, proved to be damn near impossible. While the pen worked almost of its own accord, nothing that came out felt quite right.

Tommy had never been a man of many words. Not for a lack of trying, but because he usually found that words never worked to adequately explain what he was feeling. And because of that, he’d kept it all inside, placing it into neat boxes in an attempt to keep the irreconcilable parts from bumping into one another.

He sat back in his chair and read his own words again. Not completely happy with the result, he folded it neatly and placed it on the corner of his desk.

Tommy would repeat this process three more times over the coming months, each time entering his office with an assurance it would come out correctly, but each time also folding the resulting letter and neatly placing it on top of the others.

The words just never materialized. The sentiment just never worked.

What he wanted to say and what he needed to say were two different things.

He wanted to tell Alfie he was glad he was alive. He wanted to tell him he valued his opinion and missed being able to ask for it. He wanted to tell him he was angry Alfie had forced his hand, but that he’d forgiven him for throwing him over.

But he needed to tell him so much more.

He needed to confess that losing Alfie was like losing Grace all over again. He needed to tell Alfie that he awoke from his dreams wishing he’d just once see his ghost the way he saw hers. He needed to tell Alfie he needed him. That he needed things to change. That he needed to know they could change.

But no matter how hard he tried, those things never seemed to make their way to the paper. Instead the ink wrote of droll stories, happenings since Alfie had been gone, business strategies, and confessions of what worried him.

When the day finally came, writing the letter would no longer suffice. He was out of options. He was out of patience. And he was nearly out of time.

He placed the four letters in a single envelope, carefully sealing the flap with wax, and made his way to the only place that had any chance of granting him peace again.

Tommy went to Margate.

The house was exactly what Tommy had expected. Grand but unimposing. Gothic but not sad. Almost palatial, but somehow exactly suited for the backdrop of the sea behind it.

He nodded to the housekeeper who let him in immediately. But he took his time going to the sitting room. He walked the halls instead, admiring the immense collection of decor. Oil paintings, busts, ornate dishes, floral arrangements--things lined almost every inch of wall and every surface along the way. For most, this would seem comical--a collection of stuff that couldn’t possibly mean a thing. But he knew that wasn’t the case in this house. Every single item had been, no doubt, meticulously examined, mulled over, and selected for a very specific reason.

He entered the sitting room, a song playing casually on the gramophone. It wasn’t a song he’d heard before, but that didn’t surprise him given the person who’d selected it.

The doors opened right up to the beach. The curtains whipped languidly in the breeze.

Tommy stepped out onto the balcony to take in the view. The sun was setting, streaking the sky in orange and purple. He remembered the last time he’d visited that beach. The turmoil he’d faced. The sinking feeling he’d experienced in the pit of his stomach. The moment he’d pulled the trigger.

He remembered almost walking away for good. The tug he’d felt to go back for the fucking dog.

Tommy took up a pair of binoculars that sat by the door. Looking through them, he spotted a ship on the horizon and chuckled to himself thinking of Alfie watching ships as a hobby.

“You out there, Tommy?” A familiar voice rang out from behind him.

And for the first time since the last time he was at Margate, Tommy felt the weight lifted.

Alfie followed Tommy through the house and back to grand entrance to see him off. He was far enough behind him, that he hadn’t noticed when Tommy laid the envelope on the small table near the door. It wasn’t until Tommy had sped off, on his way back toward the chaos of his life and business, that Alfie saw it.

He took up the envelope and read all four letters, right there in the foyer, without even sitting down.

What Tommy had worked so hard to convey and ultimately decided he hadn’t, Alfie noticed straight away.

In one letter, Tommy told him about Charlie--about how much he’d grown, about his admiration for horses, about his mean streak. He told the story of the day Charlie was thrown from a horse in the stables and how Tommy had panicked and rushed him to hospital to learn he’d only had minor injuries. How the nurses didn’t care who he was and chided him for whisking the poor boy into a frenzy over a few bumps and bruises. And about how Tommy had been so relieved that he didn’t care he’d overreacted.

In another letter, Tommy wrote about the war. He shared, for the first time to anyone, his experiences in the tunnels, the horror of the collapse, and the way he still found himself struggling to breath in small, enclosed spaces. He told Alfie something he’d never shared with another person (not even the doctor Ada insisted he see)--the fact that he never took a lift in a tall building, choosing always to find the stairs instead from fear he might find himself trapped and in a panic. He didn’t care if it meant he’d climb ten floors and be late for a meeting. He’d rather be out of breath than risk falling apart in front of a stranger.

One letter was all about business, but the tone of it wasn’t wholly professional. Tommy lamented the loss of Alfie as a partner, spoke of his distillery, and even asked advice on perfecting that fucking gin recipe he was still battling. Without sharing details, as it wasn’t Tommy’s style to divulge his plans, he spoke of his position in Parliament and his work for the labour party. And while he didn’t come right out and admit it, it was clear he was struggling to reconcile his beliefs with his work.

The last letter, the shortest of the four, dealt very simply with the most complex subject--his dreams. Tommy’s dreams had shifted from nightmares of the war to something much darker. He asked Alfie what he thought they might represent but failed to share his own analysis--something Alfie was sure he’d overthought and had his own, very strong and probably incorrect, opinions about.

The last letter ended rather abruptly. After detailing dreams in which Grace visited, trying to convince Tommy it was time for him to pull the trigger and drift away from it all, he simply closed with: “But if you had visited me, Mr. Solomons, I know the message would have been different. You didn’t visit. And now I know why.”

Alfie paused over those last lines, fighting back the tears that threatened to form.

In truth, he was relieved when he woke up on that beach. He’d not admit it to Tommy until some time later.

Now he had another chance.

They both had another chance.

Alfie grabbed the keys from the side table and rushed out of the door as quickly as his aching bones would allow, ignoring the housekeeper yelling after him to get his coat lest he catch his death in the cold.

He simply looked back at her over the car as he opened the door and shouted,

“I’m off to Birmingham, love. You're best off not waiting up.”

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jaydeiswriting · 5 years

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11/11/11 Tag

Rules: Answer the 11 questions of the person who tagged you, make up 11 questions, then tag 11 people to answer them.

Sorry this took so long. I'm really bad at tag games, but I do love to participate. Thanks for tagging me! I was tagged twice, so I'm going to do both.

Tagged by @liesversusjournals

1. Are you a plotter or pantser?

Definitely more of a pantser. I find if I outline things completely, I don't enjoy writing the draft or feel compelled to finish it. I have a lot of fun unpuzzling plot when pantsing and have a strong enough grasp of story structure to still produce a coherent draft.

2. Do you write using a computer or pen and paper?

Honestly, I do a lot of writing on my phone. I always have it on me and I'm a horrible typer. I do use a laptop for formatting and later drafts and I like to brainstorm on paper, but I do quite a lot of work on google docs on my phone.

3. How much writing do you get done on an average day?

Oof. I usually write at least a paragraph or poem every day so that's about 100-200 words. It usually leads to around 500 words if I'm writing prose, but not always. If I really don't feel like writing, I just don't. Which has been a lot of days in the past few months.

4. Which present work(s) are you most proud of?

I'm proud of my short story "Baby's Breath" (now called "Breathe for Me") in which a woman gives birth to a child with flowers growing in their throat, obstructing their airway. It has a ways to go, but it's fairly solid in this stage. I'm also proud the poem "Dancing to Our Deaths" which is a conversation on voicelessness in times of struggle and utilizing body language and ASL to reclaim voice without verbal speech.

5. Which past work(s) are you most proud of?

Hm, I don't know. I am proud of myself for writing and finishing things but as I look back, I see so many flaws in works. I take it to mean I'm better now, so I'm most proud of my current work.

6. Which present work(s) are you the least proud of?

Some short stories in They Leave Your Bones Behind have yet to reach their full potential. "Luminous Spaces" is basically my favourite concept, but it's not in the right place as of yet. It can be super dynamic and complex, but it falls a little flat in this early draft. It will get better, I hope, in revisions!

7. Which past work(s) are you least proud of?

I've written some really crappy stories in my childhood. Now that I think about it, when I was maybe 12, I used a site called Miss Literati and wrote a really weird romance I think is very cringe. Glad to have finished that novel, but it's like just not good.

8. Which books/authors have influenced you most?

The authors that helped me realize I wanted to write as a kid: Beverly Cleary, Kate DiCamillo and Cecilia Galante. And the books/authors that have illuminated, even in the smallest way, the niche I'd like to fill and/or the stories I'd like to tell: Kirsty Logan, Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng, Jen Campbell, Spellbook of the Lost and Found by Moira Fowley Doyle, Delicate Edible Birds by Lauren Groff, The Astonishing Color of After by Emily X. R. Pan, and Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado.

9. Describe your writing process from when you get the idea to when it's polished.

It differs from project to project, but generally I don't really outline. I write a zero draft to grasp what the story's going to be. Then, I reread and take notes about what changes I'd like to make in draft one. I completely rewrite for that draft, then from there make mostly smaller changes. It can be a lot of drafts until it feels 'polished'.

10. How many drafts do you write until you feel satisfied with a project?

It can be a lot. Anywhere from 3 to like 10 drafts. Probably 10 if I'm honest. I could go on forever, but you have to eventually concede if it's the best you can do.

11. If you could re-visit and write in any shelved project, which one would it be and why?

I have this one novel idea I've been working on for so long that I just haven't understood how to write yet, so I shelved it. If I could figure out how to get the story out, I would 100% return to it. I really like the concept and it's a slightly dark litfic novel, so it's not out of my wheelhouse.

Tagged by @softwishesx

1. What's your favourite stage of the writing process?

I absolutely adore both developmental and line edits. The story really comes together for me and I feel closest to it at this stage.

2. What's your least favourite stage of the writing process?

This is going to sound weird, but drafting. It's not that I don't like it, I just prefer having a baseline to work off of, which is why I usually write quick 'zero drafts' to start with.

3. What would you say is your greatest strength as a writer?

I think I generally do pretty well at creating interesting conflicts and maintaining tension in a piece.

4. What would you say is your greatest weakness as a writer?

I worry that I use too much repetition and over-explain concepts, undercutting the intrigue of a story.

5. What have you learned about your writing in the last year?

A year and a half ago, a post-colonial lit class cracked open the magical realism genre for me. Since then, I've found my niche in writing. I really enjoy writing literary fiction with elements of magical realism, leaning often into gothic horror and fabulism. I also prefer to write short works rather than novels.

6. Is writing full time something you would like to do or is it more of just a side hobby?

Honestly, I don't know what career path to follow. I'd like to work in literature in some way, but writing fiction full-time may not be realistic or the best choice for me.

7. Would you ever write a semi-autobiographical book? If so, would you ever reveal that it is semi-autobiographical?

Essentially, this is the role poetry takes for me. It's not always based on a specific experience, but it's often true to my emotions, fears, desires, etc. I write in a confessional style, so it reveals itself. I have, however, feared people putting experiences on me that are not my own based on their readings of my poetry, so I think I would try to be quite clear where I could.

8. What's your 'I have to write in this otherwise everything is trash' font?

I have to write every major project in a different font. They all have their distinct voices and moods and personalities, so they have to be separate. A Mouthful of Cotton is written in Garamond and They Leave Your Bones Behind is written in Spectral. I also often use Georgia and Times New Roman.

9. Do you read books similar to your WIP for inspiration while drafting?

Yes, absolutely! I've been reading a lot of poetry while writing poetry and reading a lot of literary fiction and magical realism when I can lately.

10. How many people in your real life know that you're a writer?

Pretty much everyone. No one would be surprised if I locked myself away for a while to write. I don't talk about it a lot in my life though.

11. What's one of the best lines you've ever written?

Ooh, tough question. I don't think many stories I've written recently are quotable because they're pretty early drafts and older ones have drifted too far from my voice. Here are some:

"What point was there to a magic that only worked if you believed? In a God that did the same?

We were all already grieving. If healing worked like magic, it wasn't working at all."

- "Muñeca", They Leave Your Bones Behind

"The strung up bodies of so many women made a collective wailing; they moaned stretched cello notes in a minor key."

- "Flesh", They Leave Your Bones Behind

I tag: @hobywrites @futureauthor-mabye @wolvesofarcadia @writer-jessicac @atelierwriting @delphwrites @headspace-hotel @lend-your-lungs-to-me @mademoiselleink @teacupwriter (no pressure, of course!)

What is your ideal writing environment?

Do you have any writing rituals?

What's your favourite aspect of drafting?

How do you go about brainstorming and developing ideas?

What was the most recent thing you've been inspired by?

Rainy day writing inside or sunny day writing outside?

Which themes/topics are you most drawn to?

Do you read a lot in the genre(s) you write?

How would you describe your writing voice?

Which project gave you the most challenges? How did you overcome them?

Which project gave you the most enjoyment to write?

#tag game #writing tag #writeblr #am writing

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catrector · 6 years

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The Immersion Tactic: Because we can’t stop telling people how to write

The writing process. You know, that thing that people want to tell you how to do properly. I’ve got some opinions.

First and foremost, I'm no gatekeeper. I'm not here to tell you what is or isn't allowed, or what disqualifies you from the title of "serious author". I don't believe in cookie-cutter methods or elitism. I do believe in offering up information to others to do as they please with it, in order to help other writers find their way out of the dark woods that can be the writing process.

So. Let’s begin. As indicated by the title, my process has been immersion. Now wait, I'm not talking moving to France to bury yourself in croissants and macaroons. I'm talking diving in so deep that you're living your work during the majority of your free time. I'm talking about absorbing ideas and information while you're not actively working on your project, whether by watching a movie to study dialogue or by listening to a deeply moving love song to get in touch with your MC’s feelings. Writing is exhausting. Sometimes you need a break. But you can also choose to use your downtime in ways that benefit the work.

If this seems an interesting theory, read on. It's worked for me, but it won't work for everyone. Maybe you'll steal a single item and leave the rest where it lies. I'm not here to judge; I'm here to build you up. Let me know if anything works for you. Here we go:

Sit in windows, on balconies, in gardens, at cafes, and on buses, and just stare into the abyss: You know when you lie down to sleep and then an amazing idea comes to you, and it's such inconvenient timing? It's not coincidence. You've finally stopped moving and thinking long enough to let ideas flow. Actively make time for this type of creativity by being idle. Leverage the still moments in your day to daydream about your story, even if you've completely zoned out at lunch and your whole table thinks you’re dead.

Make a playlist: I have two playlists. I have one without English lyrics, so that I can tune out the world and focus on my task, and one with English lyrics. The second is a tool I use to immerse myself in my scenes and characters. I listen to it in the shower, on the bus, and while I'm doing the dishes. It forces me to remember the scene or character it references, and usually drives my motivation to write. Use this to keep your characters sitting on your shoulders at all times.

Play video games: Yeah you heard me. While working on this project, I played God of War 4, Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice, Northgard, Jotun, and a handful of other Norse/Viking themed games. They’ll never provide you with pure fact, but I learned to ask questions about the information they provided, to look up things they presented me with, and to study the contents for details I could use, like mood or setting. I didn't even know about Valravn until I play Hellblade, so I have no regrets. But don't be stupid. Horror games are perfect for brainstorming horror stories, dystopian games for distopian worlds, etc. But I'm not dumb eh. You have no excuses to play Call of Duty if you're writing an Italian romance.

Watch TV: This depends on your subject matter. For me, I only watched Vikings. The takeaway is the same as playing games. Watch the thing, ask questions, look for facts. Study the content while you’re unwinding with ice cream and a bag of chips. Learn to identify tropes, try to guess where plots will twist and how, and then use those lessons to avoid being predictable. TV and movies are also the kings of dialogue, so pay attention. I learned a lot from watching Buffy on repeat, and recommend it to anyone.

Research with books: If you're not reading as research, you’ve missed a critical part of the reading books things. However, research isn't limited to looking up which era the T-Rex lived in. Read to study style, nuance, and flow. I started rereading the Kingkiller Chronicles because I wanted to learn from Rothfuss' writing style. No don’t argue with me. That man is a God.

Make a Pinterest Board (or 20): How do you research ancient clothing, jewelry, and building types when your budget won't let you fly to Iceland for a month? Fucking Pinterest. Members of pagan communities who craft and wear period clothing have saved my life. Photo references of people, places, and things are key to any piece of research. Pin the shit out of things and then reference them for the rest of your days. Go to a museum: Writing a book that takes place in ancient Egypt? Go get face to face with some mummies. Learn what you can while getting some air for once, and use the opportunity to talk out some of your ideas with your museum buddy. This applies to anything. Scout out cafes for scenes you're writing, go to fantasy festivals to drink mead and make offerings to Gods, check out a botanical garden and take notes, whatever floats your literary boat. Your body will thank you for leaving the house, and you won’t forget the experience.

Go to writing meetings and don't actually write: Commiserating about the process might have been the only thing that kept me from crawling under a rock. Can't fix that plot hole? That's okay, these people know how you feel. Stuck on a section? They have some suggestions for you. Looking for research books? Somehow they have the perfect title for you. Sometimes you need a stiff drink and a chat to get back to work. (But for christ sake, don't be that guy who talks through work time. If everyone is feeling like chatting, fine. That's a group decision. Don’t be the asshat that distracts everyone else.)

Scribble down side stories: Sometimes something doesn’t fit the plot, but fits the world. It doesn't mean you shouldn't write it. It may help flesh out your current story. Keep a side folder for these and have fun writing them when you can't stand your story anymore. Cook and eat the food from your world: Good in the kitchen? Try making that exquisite meal you wrote into chapter 12. Remind yourself what sushi tastes like before you have to describe what it tastes like. Really want to go the extra mile? Learn to fish, make a fire and cook it yourself. IMMERSION. Sketch: If you have a talent for art, draw your characters. Draw their outfits, their jewelry, their pets. I did this a bit, but it turns out I'm out of practice and was more apt to throw the pencil through the window. Either way, it will help you visualize outfits, hairstyles, and will let you watch a fucking movie while you do it. Actually write the damn book: Naturally this is the most important part. You can’t get around it. You have to put in the time. I've done all of the above, but I've also stuck in hundreds and hundreds of hours of writing for this one story. And it can be hard to do the writing, I know that. But that’s what you’re here for, so when you’re done with the creative outlet, channel it into the writing.

Now I hear the skeptics. These are all just distractions, you could just be writing! Listen, no one is saying don’t write. And you may be the type who can just sit and write, but not everyone is, and certainly not 24/7. All brains work differently. The conversation also conveniently ignores minds that function in other ways. Perhaps someone on the autism spectrum has another process than someone with synesthesia, or someone who’s neurotypical.

Follow the path that takes you to the story. That path has more twists for some people than others. Put in the work, and do it how you need to do it. If you're worried about procrastinating because of all these side quests, give yourself guidelines and boundaries. Set yourself achievable goals that will bring you back to the work.

I’ve tried to have fun with my creative process, because that suits who I am, but it doesn’t make me less serious about the work I’m doing. Ask the people who haven’t seen me in a year if I’m committed to the work. The story will be written. It will be published come Hel or high water. I’m just doing it my way.

TLDR; Don't let other people tell you how to be fucking creative.

#Writerblr #Writing #write #writer problems #writer advice

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tmitidstuf · 5 years

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Wymack’s Childhood

My friend @trvl04 and I wrote a little something about Wymack’s past after rereading the foxhole court and discovering that Wymack had less than perfect childhood. part 1/3.

Trigger warning: domestic abuse, swearing, substance abuse, canon-typical violence.

1460 days. Only 1460 days until he can get the hell out this town. Although the number seemed big, David Wymack found comfort in counting down the days until his graduation from high school. Until he could apply to colleges. Until he could leave his deadbeat father, Vincent, this haunted house behind, and attempt to drown the memories. The days that had past started to blend into a blur of bruises and games won. Cheers from the crowd, fists from his father, and a bundle of tortured memories of his mother’s death.

David was pulled out of his train of thought by the slamming door, signifying the return of his father. He stood up and ran to the door, ready to take his father’s coat and briefcase, giving into his father’s expectations of him in a futile attempt to keep his father happy.

Trying to get his father’s positive attention, David smiled up at him and said with scared eyes, “Hi Dad! How was work today?” David said with a faked cheer.

His father looked down at him and screamed, “Go get me a beer and make yourself useful, you dumbass child!”

David scuttered away to complete his father’s request. Keeping his head down, no longer attempting to be cheerful, trying to make himself small enough so that maybe his father would forget about him. David grabbed the bud light and poured it into a glass full of ice and brought it to his father. He looked at it disgustedly.

“I never drink bud light after work, you should know this, idiot.”

With that one small mistake, David was knocked to the ground by a punch to the face and forced to go to bed without dinner. Walking into his small bedroom, David threw himself onto the bed and buried his head in the pillow, trying to stifle the sound of his cries. If his father was to hear him crying, he would get a lot worse than one punch to the face.

Tomorrow when the teachers asked, David would lie, looking down at the ground saying that he took a baseball to the face, after missing a catch in practice. Contrary to popular opinion, David always looked forward to the refuge that school provided. The one place where he would always be safe from his father. He wasn’t popular by any means, but his baseball team was his family and his coach-his idle.

Whenever life got him down, coach Robinson always helped him back up. Once, after a particularly bad afternoon where his father forced him to keep his hand still while pouring boiling water over it, David showed up to practice in tears. His coach, seeing him in tears, said,

“Listen Wymack, I don’t know what shit is going on to have you sobbing on my field, but my door is always open to all of your fucked up problems. Now pick yourself up and play or if you are hurt get your ass off my field and into that nurse's office.”

David, of course, picked his mit up from the ground, slipped it around his red hand, and walked onto the field with his head high.

Coach Robinson became David’s real father figure. David spent more and more nights on Coach Robinson’s couch. Like Coach had said, his door was always open. Coach had gotten him a crappy cell phone, so David could always call if he needed help. He was always giving David an extra meal or a change of clothes.

It was David’s senior year, he had lasted three more years when everything finally fell apart. His father had come home from work early, earlier than usual. And he was already crazy drunk.

“Dad? What are you doing here?” David questioned warily.

“You ungrateful child, I fucking live here. Generally, you come home when you lose your fucking job, so grab me a bear, bitch. Actually, no, I want a scotch on the rocks. And don’t you dare diluting it like you did last week or I will fucking kill you.” His father whipped the words at him so fast that David almost missed the meaning. He lost his job, my college tuition, my ride out of here. Was the only thing that flashed through his mind.

“B-but college. I need to go to college.” The second the words came out of David’s mouth, he knew he had messed up. He watched in detached horror as the wave of emotions passed over his father’s face, the many versions of angry which finally settled on fury. The emotion contorted his face into an ugly snarl, which made David back up until his back hit the wall behind him.

“You’re a real selfish spoiled brat, you know that right? I have worked so hard to give you what you need in life, and this the thanks I get. I gave you food, I gave you shelter, and I gave you the clothes on your back, AND YOU’RE NOT EVEN MINE! YOUR BITCH OF A MOTHER LIED! YES, THAT’S RIGHT” he said as he watched David process what he was being told “YOU ARE A FUCKING BASTARD! NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE GODDAMMIT, YOU ARE GIVING ME A HEADACHE!” he took a ragged breath and when David didn’t move fast enough, he said in a deadly calm voice, “I’ll teach you how to be grateful.” And he drew his fist back and swung. And swung. And swung.

Over and over each punch worse than the last, but none worse than the truth that David had just learned. None hurt more than the truth that he wasn’t his father’s child.

Finally, David’s dad dragged him out the door and down the steps and left him on the sidewalk.

“I don’t want to see your face again.” And with that, he turned his back on David and walked back into the house. With the little strength that he had left, David took out his crappy flip phone, that now had a crack running down the small pixel screen, and pressed the one for speed dial. Within the first ring, Coach Robinson picked up.

“You better have a good reason to be bothering me on a Friday night.” Coach’s voice drifted down through the phone.

“Help me” David pleaded as he laid himself down on the wet sidewalk and curled up into a ball, letting the ring poor down over him. He could hear the Coach’s voice, but it felt distant and David couldn’t understand the words. He felt the phone slip from his hand and let the darkness consume him.

The next thing that David remembered was Coach Robinson’s face floating into his vision and he felt his body lift off the ground.

#tfc #aftg #trvl04 #wymack #david wymack #oc #mine #fic #pre canon #let us know if there is any grammer errors

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