#this is just stream of consciousness thoughts as i think of angsty art | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

catboy-kakashi · 2 years

Note

please please talk to us about actual canary jimmy and those flour bastards

AH. okay well. If u insist

Okay im typing this on my phone as i pass out so pls excuse any mistypes and long winding sentences. This is a stream of consciousness that youve just uncorked my friend

ANYWAY. I really really love canary-and-coal-miner team rancher art, right? And i love birds, and strip mining in minecraft, so i thought. Well! What if i came up with a funny little au where tango is a coal miner and jimmy is his little canary buddy?

Of course, actual coal mining is very scary, and i only write funny goofy things, so this is Mined Craft™️ coal mining. Anyway, tango takes up a job working for some unnamed mining company working under TFC, since i love his mining videos

I havent decided which other hermits to include yet? Im def including grian, joel, and lizzy, since theyre often featured in jimmy’s non-minecraft videos. I dont want to include too many and risk bogging down the story bc i get too caught up in writing accurate voices for everyone, but i might also write in some cameos of bdubs and etho or something. I want to include scott but im afraid i wont be able to properly balance a characterization of him hamming up on the “why yes my ex husband DID disappear under mysterious circumstances and i got most of his items. Why do you ask :)” facade while also deep down being quite sad and upset about jimmy just vanishing off the face of the earth. And then if i DID balance it properly im afraid it would come off more angsty than intended

ANYWAY. Uh. I dont know much lore about hermitcraft bc im still catching up on the lore-heavy videos (i like to just listen to people build/design things while i strip mine in my own world), but i’m thinking there’s enough wacky magic hijinks that i could justify my idea

My idea being that jimmy actually wasnt ALWAYS a canary, he wound up getting turned into one due to [redacted] (bc i havent come up with that part yet and am not particularly pressed to do so). Jimmy used to be a canary hybrid but now he’s full canary - still the same on the inside, but now he’s a tiny bird that loves to cause problems

None of his friends know this happened to him, or else they would have been working hard to get him back to normal. Instead, grian notices two things about this particular canary: he’s way more belligerent and vocal than the other canaries, hardly acting like a prey animal at all, and he seems to be prone to winding up in the parts of the mine that get gas leaks. He’s actually starting to get concerned that this poor little bastard bird has brain damage at this point and thats why hes Like That

So, anyway, grian and the others start calling this canary Timmy, bc it kind of reminds them of their missing friend who was also a canary hybrid and a little shit with terrible luck. They tend to keep timmy on the sidelines bc theyre worried hes been through too much and dont want him passing out anymore

Then, along comes tango! Tango, a blazeborn, is of course a major safety risk inside of a mine where gas leaks and combustibles are common. they trust him well enough to be careful and not blow himself up, but they also cant send him down the usual mineshafts, so they have him working mostly near the deepest parts of the cave, away from the coal veins and closer to the lava pits that he can withstand easier, so he winds up mining alone for the most part

And they think, hey, this is perfect! Now we have someone we can send timmy with so that he’s not cooped up all day. So tango winds up spending several hours a day just exploring deep caves and talking to himself, hanging out with this weird little bird that grian and joel love to bully

Anyway, long story short, this is me indulging in my own personal love of tiny animals and basically writing about tango going “ive had timmy for one day but if anything happened to him i’d blow this place up with myself in it”. Its just dumb little fluffy stuff like jimmy and tango doing back and forth whistle calls (jimmy of course being safely tucked away in an oxygen chamber the whole time), tango absolutely decking his room out with lots of perches and things bc he noticed jimmy hates cages, and tango spending his free time walking around with a bird nestled in his hair

Mostly this is just snapshot scenes in my head, stuff like grian explaining to tango how timmy got his name and what not. But yea this has been taking over my brain for weeks now!!!! Please help me i still need to finish my other wips!!!!!!!!!!

#can u tell im unmedicated 😔#AHHHHHH im like actually shaking bc my brain got so excited to dump all that shit out thank u for indulging me ajhsjsbbsn #anyway. i love those funny guys they mean everything 2 me #holy shit ouuuuuu i need to go drink water now #anon im kissing u so sweetly pls feel free to message me off anon i do not bite usually # camtankerous is whining #long post

4 notes · View notes

synthapostate · 1 year

Text

WIP List

At last, the rate of growth is slowing.

Resist Psychic Death - Possessed Newt. :(

Like Cats and Dogs - Domesticity and possible pet adoption. Angst. Turns out it's smut. I should really just admit that I don't enjoy sex scenes and move on with my life.

The Tropes Nobody Asked For - A bodyswap AU. Comedy. Hurt/comfort.

I could be writing sweaty nerd sex like a normal person but no - Mostly a story about self-image. Angst. Fluff. There is no plot. Some kind of stream of consciousness BS. (Complete in the sense that anything can be complete given continuity of identity within linear flow of time.) It wasn't complete. Turns out I'm writing sweaty nerd sex but not like a normal person.

More tropes nobody asked for - A time travel AU. Drama. Comedy. (Complete)

Decontamination Shower - A lab accident makes things weird. (Still not sure where I was going with this but now everybody's naked cute, so.)

Fear of Flying - A deep dive into my aerospace engineering special interest, technically includes a lot of hand-holding. (This one's really taking off.) (Oh no, it's stalled.) (These jokes are just plane bad.)

Heating Pad - A cat adopts Hermann.

Expectation vs. Reality - My take on their first meeting. (Complete but needs another pass to make Hermann more of a dick.) (I added a fourth chapter as an afterthought and it's the best thing I've ever written. I reread this and I cry genuine tears, WTF.)

Thriller - The Shatterdome is kind of spooky at night.

There Was Only One Bed - We like tropes here. (This was supposed to be a trope subversion but I forgot where it was going, so I guess it's just the trope now.)

Miserable, Lonely and Depressed (Pathetic) - The return of Cool Uncle Newt. (He's not cool, he's possessed.)

Vampire AU - I mean obviously I had to write a vampire AU at some point. (Comedy.)

Whump - Was supposed to be about a car accident, but it turned into emotional hurt/comfort. With pie.

Some Days You Just Can't Get Rid of a Bomb - Newt tries to solve capitalism.

Retail Horror Stories - Newt and Hermann commiserate over the shitty jobs they worked when they were younger. (Maybe scrapped because honestly no one needs my nonfiction about MegaKaren.)

Ghost Story - Comedy, it was SUPPOSED TO BE A COMEDY Death of a major character. 50k word novella about grief APPARENTLY. (Newt mistakes Crimson Peak for a romcom.)

Nightmares - Ghost drift bleeds into their dreams.

Cold as Ice - Hurt/Comfort? Something. Contains no hurt/comfort and has nothing to do with cold or ice, but...it's...something.

Newt's Passion - A sex pollen fic. (No, it isn't.) (Zom com.)

Other, Funnier Ghost Story - Will it be a comedy this time? Let's find out. It is a comedy but it's about vampires now.

Fever All Through the Night - Sick fic. All comfort.

Consent is Sexy - A team-building exercise leads to certain confessions that would not be made while sober.

Some Sign to Pursue a Promise - Hermann overthinks everything. A story of missed connections. (Nearing completion.)

The Moon Turned to Gold - Newt is desperate to impress his old classmates. Good thing he has this amazing new husband to show off. (A comedy.) (Zine fic!)

Dinner With a Friend - Oh NO I DON'T WANT THIS. Hermann accepts Newt's offer to meet Alice, and I lie awake at night trying to think of a way to get him out of it. (Sealed away for ten thousand years.)

Alternate PR2 - The biggest shitpost I've ever made. IT'S SO ANGSTY WHAT HAVE I DONE. (Complete, and maybe my favorite thing I've ever written. I might write a sequel. And a prequel. And do some art? Maybe write a song.)

Cold as Ice 2: Alaskan Boogaloo - Does have something to do with cold and ice.

The Worst Thing I Can Possibly Imagine - My genuine attempt to work through something, but then I thought of a punchline so now it's a funny little shitpost.

False Alarm - Their first meeting since their First Meeting.

Splash - A...feelings thing. The first tentative steps toward getting along.

Coffee Shop AU - I swore I would never write a coffee shop au, but...

Scrooge McDuck - Budgetary concerns.

Stop You Have Enough WIPs - Some silly fluff for these stressful times.

Shoes - Newt's past catches up with him. Hermann is intrigued.

Groundhog Day - Hey man, these sci fi tropes exist for a reason.

Soulmate AU - I swore I would never write a soulmate au, but...

Newt and Hermann Go On Six Dates - I write fluff now 😊💖

Hermann Gets Shot - fuck

#fic

0 notes

inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years

Note

Am so in the mood for some fics where John helps Sherlock through detox/cravings/danger nights, anytime throughout the series. Bonus points for Sherlock being scared John will be mad at him or turn away, but John being supportive and understanding!!

anonymous asked: Do you know of any Sherlock fics that include self harm? Thanks

Hi Guys!!

Since these are… SORT OF related, I’m putting them together! I don’t have many re: self-harm, so I thought I would add all the drug use, poisoning and the like fics together as well. They’re for both John and Sherlock, so I hope that’s alright! Hope these suffice!!

SELF-HARM

See also Alexx’s Lists:

Drugged Non-con sex

Drugs & Recovery

Mycroft deals with Sherlock’s drugs

Helping Sherlock With Drugs

Sherlock Drugs & Addiction

Angsty Drugs & Prostitution Fics

Teenlock & Drugs

The Signs of Loss by LitLocked (NR, 1,103 w. || Post-TSo3, Pining Sherlock, Self Reflection) – Sherlock’s internal monologue after he comes back from the wedding.

Clarity by socomessnow (thoughtfulwishing) (NR, 1,283 w. || Post-HLV, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Tarmac Scene, Stream of Consciousness, URT, First Person Present Tense) - During-and-post-HLV piece tracking Sherlock’s thought process from his phone call with Mycroft to his return to the airfield.

The Two of Us Against the World by slashscribe (T, 1,617 w. || Post-TAB, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Anxious Sherlock, Angsty Fluff) – John is there to take care of Sherlock as he comes down from his overdose in The Abominable Bride. Set immediately after the tarmac, back in 221B.

Loudly Unspoken by Mount_Seleya (M, 1,871 w. || Post-TAB, Love Confessions, Vulnerable Sherlock, Frottage) – John confronts Sherlock about the words he left unsaid on the tarmac. Set immediately after TAB.

They’re Taking My Wisdom by whitchry9 (K+, 1,939 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Drugging, Dentists, Friendship, Anxious Sherlock, Humour) – Sherlock goes to the dentist. Of course, being Sherlock, things have to be complicated. Oh and drugs. They’re always fun.

Stay by sussexbound (M, 2,067 w. || Post TAB, Suicidal Ideation Mention, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Love Confessions, Frottage, Coming in Pants) – “Why? Why did you do it? Hmm…?” He takes a deep breath, waits, lets it out again. “Look at me.” There’s no denying him when he takes this tone. “Why did you kill him? Hmm…? For her? After…” A muscle twitches in the corner of John’s eye, and he clamps his jaw down tightly, swallows and sniffs a little before continuing. “For her? After everything she’s done?” “For you.” Before he can even stop himself. Just like that.

Coming Full Circle by KCS (K+, 2,358 w. || Alternate TGG, Friendship, Drama, Violence/Death References, Drugging/Poisoning, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Moriarty POV, Introspection) – Moriarty had John for almost six hours between his abduction and the showdown at the pool - more than enough time to implement a Plan B for his escape should Sherlock call his bluff with the fake bomb vest.

Thief by KendylGirl (M, 2,430 w. || Rev. Reich., Heavy Angst, Regret, Grief / Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Implied Drug Use, Self-Flagellation) – John has been gone for four months, and Sherlock is not dealing well with it. When he finds a personal item of John’s, the situation reaches a crisis. Part 3 of When to Let Go

The Battersea Bridge by pininglock (M, 2,585 w. || MCD, Angst, Grief, Unhappy Ending) – A life without John Watson isn’t a life worth living.

Unspoken by PipMer (T, 2,770 w. || Drugged John, Mutual Pining, John’s Missing Wednesday, Fluff & Angst, Canon Compliant, Gap Filler) – Sherlock wanted to test a hypothesis. About John. He wanted a question answered that he couldn’t just ask, at least not under normal conditions, because John would never tell him the truth about that.

After the Bombs by VampirePam (T, 3,337 w. || THoB AU, Drugs, John’s PTSD, Panic Attack, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In which the drugs Sherlock used to dose John trigger a severe episode of PTSD. When terrors old and new cause John to fall apart, Sherlock must rectify his mistake and pick up the pieces.

Bolt Holes by PostcardsfromTheoryland (T, 4,177 w. || H/C, Angst, Drug Mentions, Pining Sherlock) – John asked, one evening, if Sherlock liked her. To which he grudgingly had to say yes, and John said he was glad. Because John was going to propose to her.

Experiment by Gwen’s Blue Box (K+, 4,222 w. || Non-Con Drugging, Hurt Comfort, Friendship) – Of course John has always known about his flatmate’s irregular sleeping habits, especially when they’re on a case. This time, however, the case is taking longer and longer, and soon John starts to worry. But there’s not much he can do, is there? Because drugging Sherlock isn’t an option. Not yet, maybe, but will it be soon? {{CW: John drugs Sherlock without his consent}}

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn’t seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. How will Sherlock react?

Very Good Indeed by StillWaters1 (T, 4,531 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Doctor John, John Whump) – John Watson was a doctor, trained to observe details; a fact Sherlock had never been more aware of than when a drugged John’s lifesaving instructions were based on an unlabeled syringe and an unconscious murder suspect’s body.

Not The Hands That Kill by You_Light_The_Sky (M, 6,201 w. || Winglock, Whump, Mentions of Drug Use) – Having wings does not make Sherlock Holmes a guardian angel, not in the way that John Watson is his.

The Dying Detective Remix by SailorChibi (K, 6,563 w. || Friendship & Family) – No one hates admitting illness or wounds more than Sherlock… perhaps that’s why no one believes him when he actually gets sick. Fortunately, when he can’t do it himself any longer, John and Lestrade are there to pick up the slack. Features Paternal!Lestrade and Gen John and Sherlock. One-shot.

The Hours Before Midnight by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 7,773 w. || TGG Fic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture / John Whump, Kidnapping, Drugging, Alternating POV, Worried / Protective Sherlock) – Moriarty doesn’t play fair. John must deal with hours of torment from Moriarty before going to meet Sherlock at the Pool at the end of the Great Game and Sherlock must deal with the consequences of his boredom.

A Dangerous Mix by thebakerstreetgirl (K, 8,077 w. || Angst, Whump, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, Overdosing) – During a case, John gets attacked and Sherlock and Lestrade find him with a mysterious drug running through the army doctor’s veins.

Never Been This Swept Away by estalita11 (T, 8,531 w. || Post-TAB, Mary is Not Nice, Drug Use, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Set immediately after TAB, Sherlock visits his brother to definitely not apologize about earlier and ends up finally learning a few things that would have been nice knowing about months ago. Mycroft never wants to deal with lovestruck idiots ever again.

The Five Stages of Mourning, Plus One by SunnyRea (T, 10,557 || MCD, Pining / Grieving Sherlock, URT, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Drug Use, Graphic Death, Depression, Unhappy Ending) – Sherlock did not want this, did not want another stalemate with John in the middle, a gun in Jim’s hand. This cannot have happened without a sign. There has to be something he missed anything which said today is the day I kill for real.

Obsession by storylover18 (K+, 15,213 w. || HC, Case Fic, Friendship) - Dr. John Watson wakes up ill one morning but it is not the 24 hour flu he thinks it was. Soon he lands in hospital, quickly deteriorating and Sherlock must work to find out what has happened to his blogger before it is too late. Case!fic mixed with sick!fic / No slash.

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

A Love with No Name Series by aceofhearts61 (G to M, 49,955 w. across 20 stories || Asexual Sherlock / Straight John, Est. Rel, Queerplatonic Relationship, Romance, Cuddling, Fluff, Platonic Romance, Domestics) – In which Asexual!Sherlock and Straight!John are platonically in love life partners.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w. || Post S3 || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him. {{HAVEN’T READ THIS FIC YET, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION}}

To Light Another’s Path by BeautifulFiction (E, 128,654 w. || Post-TGG, Sick Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction / Recreational Drug Use, First Time / Kiss, Case Fic) – Teaching John to observe seems to be a losing battle, but when Sherlock falls ill and submits himself to John’s care, will he realise that there is more to life than the science of deduction? Meanwhile, there is a murder to solve, and John must try and convince Sherlock not to sacrifice his own health for the sake of the case.

Ten Days by Engazed (E, 137,208 w. || Rape/Non-Con, Post-TRF, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Torture, Case Fic) – Sherlock Holmes has been dead for forty months, and John is at last beginning to live his life again. But just when he believes he might be happy, his world crashes back down around him. John is named a missing person. Someone is pointing DI Lestrade in the wrong direction. And as the days pass, his situation only grows more dire. It seems like the disappearance of his best friend is the only thing that can bring Sherlock Holmes back from the dead. Part 1 of The Fallen

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate’s charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim? {{centres around drug use, but not necessarily John or Sherlock’s}}

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #drugs cw #self harm cw #drug use #angst fics #danger nights #my fic recs #madeofawesome12

275 notes · View notes

wintersongstress · 6 years

Text

A Promise to Keep

Connor | RK800 x Female Reader

Prompt: “For the writing requests, can you do a Connor x Fem!Reader drabble? Something angsty that takes place in a hospital after the reader is injured because Connor failed to save them from harm's way. He feels really bad and watches over you and wants to "make up" for the pain he's caused. You totally don't have to do this though. Just thought it'd be an interesting scene!”----------------------------------------requested by: anonymous

Pairing: Connor x Female (Human Detective) Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst, Language, Hurt/Comfort, F L U F F

Author’s Note: Oh my god, this is the sappiest thing I have ever written. Not sure if I can write angst to save my life. Regardless, I had fun writing it! Thanks for sending in a prompt anon! Highkey finna start a fic based off of this...

ao3 link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/16207079

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You knew where you were before you opened your eyes.

It was unfamiliar at first; the unpleasant sounds and scents bled into your consciousness while your memories had yet to surface.

Though it all came back to you in bits and pieces.

The first thing you felt was the cold. The sanitary and clinical kind that came from lying on a steel table in an operating room was unshakable in your sleep. Your fingers curled, burying themselves in soft, gauzy cotton.

Next there was the smell. The nauseating chemical scent of disinfectant and medicine mixed with a faint trace of pollen cloyed the air. Your nostrils tingled from the stench of chlorophenol and your face pressed into a crisp pillow to escape the strength of it.

Then you began to register the noises around you. The ambient hum of machines nearby provided the final clue as to where you were.

Of all of this, it was the sensation of someone watching over you that finally compelled your eyes to open. Light crept into your vision as your eyelids faltered in lifting open, the darkness of your dreams fading as you took in the room around you.

A pale blue blanket covered your prone body and your hands rested over the fold. The room was dark, save for the glow of the city creeping in from the drawn curtains. Art prints meant to inspire health and optimism decorated the white walls of your hospital room and an assortment of flower bouquets brightened your bedside table. Mandarin orange tiger lilies, buttery yellow sunflowers, and periwinkle irises perfumed the air. The parchment notes stuck between their green stalks read “Get well soon!” in generic, greeting card cursive. Your lips curved slightly upon seeing your coworkers’ thoughtfulness.

You slipped off the pulse oximeter clipping the top of your middle finger. The crook of your arm itched from the presence of a bandage, presumably covering the site of a needle puncture. You groaned from the stiffness in your neck, your upper lip curling at all of the aches manifesting in your body as you tried to move.

A figure braced their slender hands on the windowsill that overlooked the skyline of Detroit. At the sound of your waking, he straightened. You recognized the opalescent turquoise armband and triangle on his gray jacket and winced.

Connor.

Normally, the sight—even the thought—of him brought a small smile to your face. One you quickly tempered, lest anyone see. He was your partner and an Android—who did not impress you in the slightest at first. He was cold, efficient, and for all intents and purposes, perfect. The peak of Cyberlife engineering. Working with him had taken some adjusting, but, after a while, you warmed up to him. Or rather, he warmed up to you. His rigid posture had loosened up, earning you playful nudges with his elbow when he noticed you were a little down. As the investigation went on, things weren’t so black and white anymore. Your initial assumptions about deviants were increasingly proved wrong. You noticed this begin to bother Connor. Especially when he failed. He began to make decisions based on intuition rather than procedure. He defended your decisions to Captain Fowler. He saved your life twice.

Deep down, you knew that these symptoms were dangerous. More than any of that…

He began to make you wonder.

All of that changed in an instant. And now you wanted nothing to do with him. Because Connor didn’t fail his mission. He failed you. You were lying in the hospital with a gunshot wound to prove it.

This was not a conversation you ever wanted to have with him, but you had to get it over with.

You cleared your throat, hoping your first words wouldn’t come out dry and cracked.

“I hate this place.” You croaked.

This was true. If you were in the hospital, it meant either you or someone close to you was hurt. No joyous occasion ever brought you here. Being here meant you had either done your job very well and had a promotion waiting at the end of your sick leave, or had done your job very poorly and failed in your investigation.

“The last time I was here, I lost someone.” You added absentmindedly. The world outside lured your eyes away from the memory of being in a room just like this one. Connor stood before the sunset, his pale, freckled complexion bathed in a violet hue. Gray storm clouds drifted on the horizon, reflecting darkly in the glassy surface of his contemplative eyes.

“This was my fault.” His head dropped below his shoulders, the movement making his tie dip lower.

Neither of you could have expected everything to go so wrong. You were always prepared for the worst, but then again you also counted on your partner to have your back.

He had gotten a report of a suspected deviant hideout and you decided to investigate it. The abandoned sewing factory seemed empty and you thought it would be a dead end.

Of course it wasn’t.

The next thing you knew, Connor was pursuing the suspect and your service weapon was lost somewhere after you were slammed into a wall. Your head was bleeding from the impact and that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was when Connor caught up to you and had a decision to make. Pursue the suspect or listen to you.

“Connor, wait! There might be more…” His mouth tightened as he looked over his shoulder at you. You saw the moment when Connor chose to leave you there, bleeding and on your hands and knees in rubble, and it hurt more than the gunshot. When he left to chase the WB200, another deviant rushed by, saw you and spotted your gun. You had raised your hands in surrender, but…

The echo of a gunshot punctuated the memory, followed by the scream you released as the bullet tore through your shoulder. The crimson fluid streamed out from between your fingers as you clamped your hand around the wound desperately.

“I should’ve listened to you.” Connor said now, muttering and shaking his head. “It wasn’t worth it.” He whispered to himself.

Those words meant nothing to you.

It was a cold betrayal. Then again, why did you expect him to choose you over his initial task? How could you believe he was capable of choosing anything but his mission? You cursed yourself inwardly at how foolish you had been. You’d grown too attached to him after all these weeks working together on the deviancy case. Truthfully, you were angrier with yourself than him. You were so blinded by how human he seemed at times that you allowed yourself to forget he wasn’t one.

But still… “Why are you here, Connor?” You sighed from exhaustion, pinching the bridge of your nose at the arrival of an oncoming headache. “You know you’re the last machine I want to talk to right now.” His eyes shuttered at your sardonic tone, not missing the insult you reserved for him.

He didn’t speak, didn’t even look at you. All was silent until the rain started to drizzle outside. Connor smoothed a white petal from the orchid plant on the sill between his fingers.

Wordlessly, you shoved your blankets aside and dropped your feet to the cold floor. He glanced over at the movement and looked as though he was about to protest as you made your way over to him, but your angry words were faster.

“If you came here to give some bullshit subroutine apology, I’m going to have you escorted out because I don’t want to hear it.” You looked up your nose at him. Uncertainty lingered in his eyes as you met his downward gaze.

“Please,” He reached for your hand and you recoiled, making his gaze momentarily drop to the floor tiles. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a moment to regather himself before meeting your glare. “Listen to what I have to say first.”

The softness of his voice and the sadness in his pleading eyes made you pause, just for a moment.

“Why should I?” Your voice wavered as your throat grew tight, the dangerous edge of incoming tears dripping off your words. “You left me! Bleeding on the ground! You’ve made it perfectly clear what your priorities are!”

The tears fell freely now, hot and full of anguish. You looked away from him because it was too much, he was too much. You didn’t want to think anything of how broken and despaired he looked. His drawn brows, his lips struggling to form the right words, his hands reaching for you, you told yourself over and over that he was a machine. It didn’t help that he only stepped closer when you withdrew. You wanted to disappear, to sink back into the blissful dark depths of sleep where none of your emotions existed and tormented you. To retreat into the sanctuary of your dreams where your Connor didn’t leave you like everyone else did.

Connor tried to explain. “If I returned to Amanda empty-handed again—“

You cut him off with a scoff. “I shouldn’t even be mad at you. I was the one with false hopes, I was the one who believed you had the propensity for compassion and sincerity. I let myself think…” You bit down on your knuckles to stop any more words from coming out. Tears clumped your eyelashes together and your shoulders started to shake. God, how could you be so stupid? How could you keep lying to yourself about how much he mattered to you?

“You just…left me there, Connor. Like I didn’t matter to you at all. I would never do that to you.” You confessed.

“That’s not what happened," Connor pleaded your name. "I felt—“

That choice word was what finally made you hiss and spit your venomous words. “You don’t feel anything! Everything about you is fake! Everything that ever happened between us wasn’t real, and I must’ve imagined all of it because now I know you don’t give a shit about me,”—a sob broke your sentence apart—“you never—“

Connor didn’t let you finish.

All of your words and all of your anger melted as he effectively silenced you with his kiss. Before you could blink, before you could finish speaking, his hands had rose up to cup your cheeks and tip your jaw to create the perfect angle for your mouths to slot together. And when that distance between you started to disappear, you finally came to understand a few things.

The first thing you knew was that you were wrong.

You knew this because Connor’s eyes didn’t close until your lips touched. And before they did, you saw in them how utterly lost he was--lost in you. Against all odds and reason, you slid your hand along the nape of his neck, your fingertips seeking to find out if his hair was as soft as you imagined.

It was.

The second thing you knew was that you would never be the same.

He kissed you once, slow and still. Butterflies fluttered inside of you at the soft warmth of his mouth against yours. Connor smeared away the tears staining your cheeks with a sweep of his thumb, but now they were falling for a different reason. The tips of your noses bumped and your lashes grazed from your closeness. The rain, quiet and gentle, pattered against the window behind you and melded with the shameless whimper that came from the back of your throat.

He kissed you twice, deeply, coaxing more of that pleased sound from you with the gentle pull of his lips and the slow crawl of his fingers in your hair while his other hand smoothed around the curve of your waist.

The third time, you brought his mouth back to yours with a sigh, needing him once more to mend the hurt in your soul. He made a soft noise in response, indulging in the longing you both shared, hands moving along your body with the grace of a bird in flight.

Connor pulled away, leaving your lips swollen and parted, and your name was a prayer beneath his breath.

“I thought I’d lost you...” His brow leaned against yours before he went on. “I was scared.” That dangerous word hung between the two of you. “I wanted to disobey my instructions when I heard you scream like that, more than anything. I…I failed you.” The memory was still too painful to think about. Instead you closed your eyes, soaked in the sensation of being this close to one another, let your thoughts dwell on the here and now as your fingers drifted through his hair. The weight of his words weren’t lost to you.

"If I don't succeed, I’ll be replaced. I would never see you again. My memory would be wiped and I would forget your smile, your laugh, the lightness in your eyes when you do. I'd lose you completely and I can't." His eyes squeezed shut at the thought.

His index finger curled along your jaw to capture a lock of your hair. It made you realize how seldom he had occasion for this kind of gentleness. The caress drew your eyes to his, and in that moment, you crossed the threshold of being partners to something more, something neither of you expected nor understood.

You traced over his feathery brow with a delicate hand, your lips parting with the intimacy of how real he felt, how acutely human the touch of his skin alone was. You knew Connor’s features were manufactured; however, the way his freckles dappled over the soft curves of his cheeks and faded into the coarser texture of facial hair along his jaw and neck, and the errant lock of his hair that grazed your forehead now, made him undeniably real. Your eyes crossed from looking at him so closely.

His next words came out in a whisper. “I’m not here to give you an apology. I wouldn’t know where to begin with one. I came here to make a promise.”

Your heartbeat fluttered in your chest, skipping like a hummingbird over trumpet vines.

Promises weren’t a part of programs. Machines didn’t make them. But Connor did. You believed every word he whispered next as his lips brushed them over yours.

“I will never leave you again.”

You smiled against his thumb, soaking in the twilight that streamed over your faces.

“I hope not.” You murmured.

His eyes navigated yours to see if he could kiss you again. You smiled with an unspoken agreement and leaned into the shadows of his face.

It wouldn’t be easy, him and you. There were a million obstacles already stacked against you. There were all decidedly worth it the moment you felt his thirium pump against your chest. The rhythm of his heart beating against yours was not coincidental in its similarity.

“Well, that didn’t take long.” Hank’s teasing voice from the doorway broke your nearness apart. You yelped, burying your blush in Connor’s shoulder and gripped the lapels of his jacket in shame. He didn’t push you away, instead his arms stayed faithfully around you. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head and you could feel the warmth of his smile.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” You groaned while keeping your face hidden. Hank only laughed at the whole situation, a humored and genuine smile lighting up his face.

“Ever heard of bed rest?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the replies. Your words feed my inspiration ❤

#connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #connor #connor rk800 #dbh connor #dbh connor rk800 #my writing #my fanfic #is this how you angst?#oh my god this came out so sappy #whatever #please validate my garbage #detroit: become human #dbh #dbh fanfic #self insert fanfic

336 notes · View notes

camachameleon · 7 years

Text

Cam’s Voltron Fic Rec 3/∞

VLD Rec Lists: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] Here’s a Fic Masterlist for my other fandoms. ( ** = favorites )

**Recoil/Release by Cheshyr

Word count: 22,387 (13/13)

Summary: When Keith is bitten by an alien creature with venom that causes your dominant emotions to be amplified, the team is ready for a day of dealing with an incredibly angry paladin.

Which means they’re not ready at all for what actually happens.

Comments: The almost stream-of-consciousness writing of Keith’s parts are really gut-wrenching because it’s as if you are experiencing it with him. (Warning for panic attacks- if you are triggered at all by that sort of thing you may want to sit this one out, it gets pretty graphic). A couple good song pairings for this fic to set the tone are Broken Crown and World Gone Mad.

**Synergy by Kokochan & Spanch

Word count: 74,064 (10/10)

Summary: The vines were large, stiff, gnarly, and thick-stemmed, with blue leaves as big and round as dinner plates, but Shiro’s battle-arm was able to sever several long straggles with ease. The vines draped easily enough over the shuttle and hid it quite handily from view. “Good enough, I suppose,” Shiro said, glaring at the empty greenish-blue sky. “Come on, let’s… Hunk? What’s the matter?”

Hunk was staring at something behind him. “Shiro, don’t make any sudden moves just now, but there’s a really big lizard thing standing right behind you. Um. Two of them.”

Surprised, Shiro turned, albeit carefully. He’d never even heard them approach. That was rather impressive, considering the size of the beasts. It was as though someone had taken a pair of Arizonan horned lizards and rebuilt them more on the lines of a tiger without leaving out any of the spikes, then expanded them to about the size of an Indian elephant and added six large, intelligent blue eyes. Understandably, Shiro froze in place.

Comments: OH. MY. GOSH. OK. SO. This bad boy is Part 1 of 3, so far, with a total series word count of 241,404 at the moment. This beautiful titan of a series is named Of The Pack, and it updates with great speed, considering it has two top tier authors working on it. The several OCs in this story are so lifelike and realistic and fit so well into the universe that I forget that they aren’t actually canon and I kind of miss them when I’m reading other Voltron fics. My favorite part is the world-building it does. Everything about this fic is so dynamic and multi-dimensional, from it’s characters to the epic plot - this is the exact opposite of lazy writing. I am so here for badass Pidge, and the matriarchal Galra culture and the dragons. I👏LOVE👏THIS👏FIC👏

Also there’s magic! (with a scientific explanation, of course)

A cool song that I think goes nice with this fic is Heroes by Måns Zelmerlöw.

The Kids Are Alright by pugglemuggle

Word count: 10,430 (3/3)

Summary: Three Garrison Cadets Missing After Freak Satellite Crash

By Mara Garrett, News Editor | The Guardian | Monday, June 13, 2103 7:40 A.M. ET

Two seventeen-year-olds and a fifteen-year-old went missing Friday night after a rogue satellite crashed into the desert a few miles away from the Galaxy Garrison Training Facility, reports say. Garrison officials were quick to cordon off the area, claiming many of the remaining satellite fragments were dangerous and unstable. Government search parties have been sent out into the surrounding desert areas. Details are forthcoming.

—

Her brother is missing. Lance’s sister isn’t about to sit quietly while the Garrison keeps lying to the press. No—she’s going to get to the bottom of this.

(Or: The paladins’ families team up to find their kids and overthrow the corrupt Garrison regime. Told through news articles, prose, the internet, and art.)

Comments: The format of this is very intriguing and fresh. We get to see scenes of our favorite paladins through the eyes of their friends and families, from before they disappeared and the aftermath. The open ending is still satisfying and leaves you with a sense of determination and hope for these characters that you just couldn’t help but get attached to. If you’re big on government conspiracies then this is the fic for you!

**Patty Cake by Froldgapp

Word count: 7,829 (6/6)

Summary: Quiet, aloof, and alone, Keith is distant from the rest of the team. Hunk begins to suspect why, and it’s only when the red paladin pushes himself too far, the Voltron gang realise he’s just as vulnerable as the rest of them.

Comments: Aaaaahhh this fic. Something about this one has me coming back to reread it all the time even though I always cry. It is just so angsty but in a more poignant, sharp, breathless kind of way. Some of the things the characters say send painful stinging jolts into your chest and you can feel your heart cracking and then you get angry because how dare (I mean ch4 tho holy sh*t). I just want to hug Keith so much ugh. Hunk’s protectiveness of Keith gives me the strength to finish this masterpiece every time. Also, this can kind of be Sheith if you squint (or not, if you don’t).

The Message by Shipstiel

Word count: 132,787 (45/45)

Summary: (4:07) okay, but considr this, and hear me out here (4:08) so like, a photobooth u can do with ur pets like there’ll be lil costumes that u can dress them up in, and u can do liek, period costumes and shit with them (4:09) omg, can u imagine, u and ur cat/dog, and theyre in a lil 1800s dress and one of those lace umbrella things omg so cute

(4:15) Why the FUCK are you texting me at four in the morning with this

—

Keith is texted by accident by some idiot one day, and honestly he’s not even sure why he responds. Or why he keeps responding. Yet somehow he finds himself drawn in, and okay, so maybe this fool is mildly entertaining after all. Who would’ve thought.

Comments: Slowburn Klance Wrong Number AU. These two are so cute I just can’t. This is the perfect story if you are looking for something effortless and relaxing to read. Even though this contains some softcore Langst, it is still a very cute and heartwarming story about two dorks slowly falling in love. It features Lance’s mother who I fell in love with here, and the kind of supportive nosy best friends that everyone wants in real life (i.e. Hunk, Pidge, and Allura).

**The Quiet by MilkTeaMiku

Word count: 66,700 (32/32)

Summary: Does he not realize he’s dead?

Keith can see ghosts. As a part of his Garrison training, he’s sent to a hospital to do one year of medical clerkship - it’s there that he meets a charmingly irritating chose who definitely needs to learn what boundaries are.

Comments: Modern Ghost AU with eventual Klance. This fic is the most suspenseful story I have ever read in my life. Idk if it’s just me, but I just have this feeling building up paragraph by paragraph of an impending… something. And it has my heart racing which is crazy because it isn’t even particularly fast-paced. There’s just a heaviness to the words that have the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. I literally have to take a breather from reading sometimes to calm down.

A couple cool songs I think set the mood for this fic is Smother and Mirror.

Finding Home by spacegaykogane

Word count: 26,966 (6/6)

Summary: After the wormhole collapses, Keith finds himself stranded on a strange planet. Alone. Until Lance comes along. With their lions dead and resources limited, Keith and Lance need to put aside their differences and work together to get home. Wherever that may be, now.

Comments: Klance. I love Stranded fics where they have to work together to survive and bond over that. So yeah this one has some whump obviously, bc you know, crash landings aren’t very fun. This one is angsty but its balanced out by the fluffiness in the end.

Cuddle Puddle by nothingwrongwiththerain

Word count: 46,782 (6/6)

Summary: Unexpectedly, Shiro’s hand landed on the top of his head. Apparently with Lance and Hunk taking up all the shoulder real estate, Shiro would settle for ruffling Keith’s hair.

Keith was fairly certain his soul was about to detach and abandon his shaking body on the couch. He was surrounded, in the complete and total sense of the word, by other people. Not once before, not in his whole life, had he dealt with a situation like this one.

Or, five times Keith found himself too close for comfort and one time he couldn't get close enough.

Comments: Klance featuring ace!Keith. Don’t be fooled by the fluffy summary, this is a very angsty fic with lots of Keith whump. Basically, as stated by the author, this story is about ‘Keith struggling with physical contact and learning to accept people care about him’. I love touch-starved Keith stories, like this one. I love the scenes with Kidge bros, featuring a super supportive Pidge.

At the Beginning by Sakuraiai

Word count: 64,203 (12/12)

Summary: Inspired by Anastasia

King Zarkon of the Galra empire lost his only way in to the Kingdom of Altea. In his anger, he put a curse on the royal family. The young, adopted half Galran prince Keith disappeared when the palace was overrun, never to be seen again -- or so it seemed. The only surviving princess, Allura, grieving for her child, offers a reward for Keith's safe return.

Con artists, Lance and his best friend, Hunk plan to pawn off a phony to the princess, hoping to reap the rewards. They hold auditions and choose an orphan man who has a remarkable resemblance to the missing prince -- all the way down to his fluffy Galran ears.

Comments: Can anyone say Anastasia AU?! I waited with baited breath for each chapter to come out and I was not once disappointed. I love the integration of the different alien races in this timeless story, it all works out so well. Keith just wants to find his mommy and I just want to cry. Also Kidge bros are still my fav as always.

out of orbit by rbillustration

Word count: 78,135 (19/19)

Summary: Dragged apart by Haggar’s attack on the wormhole, the paladins and Alteans struggle to survive and find one another again. Luck has placed them all within the same galaxy… but their fortune ends there. Lance is stranded with a badly-injured Shiro and his relief at finding their leader still accompanying him soon turns to terror. Keith may be the only who can rectify the situation - but the Galra have him in their grasp, and they don’t want to kill him. They want him as one of their own.

Comments: ANGST. SO MUCH ANGST. A brainwashed Galra!Keith plus a Possessed!Shiro. This is the perfect recipe for disaster if I ever saw one. If lots of blood bothers you proceed with caution. I love stranded fics.

A good song rec for this one is Darkside.

VLD Rec Lists: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] Here’s a Fic Masterlist for my other fandoms.

486 notes · View notes

alcordraws · 7 years

Text

#markiplier #the host #artiplier #darkiplier #wilford warfstache #kat writes

92 notes · View notes

ecotone99 · 4 years

Text

[RF] A scattered narrative of disassociation :or: Her story

I want to tell you a story.

Her story.

It’s like the ones I usually tell. No, this one will be written by her and her alone. She is, after all, the mastermind behind all this. The author, if you will.

Shall I introduce you to her? You’ve must have met her before. Seen her everyday of your life, actually. She’s pretty shy you know, doesn’t talk, doesn’t get out much, doesn’t know who she is yet, really.

I don’t get wet though the ocean sprays me. I don’t get erect though the devils chase me. I have to know before the wind and hope it doesn’t damn me. I’m a wisp, a waifu, a wife, though only one at a time. I follow that dream into the sunset then make up the next day. Maybe if I stay awake longer the dream will persist. A sentiment without thought or image existing into a form permeable through the pores of my skin. I’m an adaptable maladaptive. A sore upon the psyche. Breathe in and I am here, breathe out and I am here, breathe in and out and I am gone. There is chaos in the ordered automatic, a great yearning for the imposed struggle. I can plunge into the abyss until my feet touch the ground. There is no fear of falling, there is a fear of heights. I am falling from a great height from a low point in a high mind. Oh, how tall the sky is! How majestic blue prisms peak behind ashen clouds of water and dust that cloud around my hair and whisper, “you’re not short enough, your hair’s not long enough.” Space vacuum above me, hello stars, hello moon, termite mound below me, I can’t fit through that hole. This is how they view me. This is how I view myself. This is how they warn me. This is how I stop myself.

She’s asking why she’s denied the love you so easily possessed.

I’ll try my best to decode her words, but this is all stream of consciousness type stuff. You know, the usual angsty teen drivel. Eh, it’s not all drivel, I guess. There’s a lot of rich thought behind what she’s saying, but it’s all lost in her poetic endearments to the inanimate and sentimental. And her crushing dysphoria.

I left with the wind. Yes, that is what I will call myself. Alice. Wind-child. As true as the meaning I gave to it.

I don’t think the name “Alice” has anything to do with the wind outside of her calling herself that when the wind was blowing through her hair.

Oh, look I was distracted again. By myself? Possibly. Am I by myself? Absolutely.

How poignant.

I want to get a haircut. Not to cut it short, but to make it longer. A haircut like a shortcut. A long way away.

This is what dysphoria does to people, I assume. What’s never enough is never good enough.

I’ve gotta learn how to read. Then the signs this guy’s giving me will finally be clear. Clear. I’d love to be. Body, soul, and mind through the life of Christ led us to death to save us all, hallelujah.

Ah, now we’re getting into the big question, “am I a good Christian?” I’ve heard her talk about this one before. There’s a lot to digest here and it’s not all about her questioning herself… well, actually yea, it all about her questioning herself let’s continue.

I remember a conversation with my father a couple of years ago. He talked about something I can’t remember. Either due to lack of focus, or lack of remembering. Either one is the same result, and therefore the same thing. I wasn’t listening.

She’s referring to her confessing homosexual inclinations to her father. He was as dismissive as she was aloof about the whole situation. She convinced herself that she had nothing to fear, and her father did the same. Her inability to communicate intimately with her father further compounded her self-doubt.

It’s more important to do one thing than another. Of course, that much is truthful and honest.

Is she talking about anything specific here? I don’t know, probably. Let’s just assume it’s about the main topic and not something wildly off key.

Dream on you little dreamer, you’ll fall asleep soon.

Ok yea, this is starting to sound wildly off key. I think she’s about to go on an incoherent tangent.

Don’t you know everyone’s out there waiting for you? They’ll be over soon. Forget what I said earlier, this isn’t about you, this is about me, and all reality and metaphor turns, to attention towards it and wonders.

Oh look, I was right.

How soon can we go? How soon can we see? How soon can we wander and wonder and be? Well there’s nothing quite like it, and that’s easy to tell. I love you so much, in heaven or hell.

That last part is the instance of identifiable meaning. You think I’m transcribing more than I should but trust me, I can’t keep up with how fast this girl thinks. I’d say “how much” she thinks, but that’d imply a theory of value that I’m unconvinced her “thought process” has. Regardless, she deserves credit for what she’s doing. She’s scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel for answers to questions she’s never asked.

Goodness gracious, now she’s got me all cryptic. Sorry, I’ll try to keep things straight in the future.

Let’s see what else she has to say first though.

She wants to go back to what she was talking about earlier, that part about loving someone in heaven or hell. I’m pretty curious about that part myself so I’m glad she’s addressing it again.

“Heaven and Hell,” she explains, “are full of God’s… Hello!” she got distracted by someone walking by.

Except that whole interaction was in her head, which she hasn’t gotten out of yet.

…

Are you just not gonna talk now Alice?

…

Because of what I said? Really?

…

Ok, fine! Sorry for hurting your feelings Alice, please continue talking about how much “big sad” you experience on a daily basis.

… ?

And you’re a beautiful person who is visible and valid and blah blah blah I love you get on with it.

“Did he name all things,” she asked to the paper sky, “or did he command us to argue about whether or not he’s a guy?”

Language is the only weapon God gave us. Creation gave everything purpose, language gave everything meaning. God created Adam and Eve, but we created man and woman.

What? That doesn’t make sense?

Ok, Alice wants me to explain what we’re trying to say here. Basically, God created Adam and Eve, but it was our language, our understanding of what it MEANT to be Adam and Eve that made them “Adam” and “Eve” or “man” and “woman.” Speaking of which (pun intended), how do we even know they were called “Adam” and “Eve?” There wasn’t the separation of language yet, so what they were speaking in God tongue? Did their names “sound” like Adam and Eve in English? Or did they sound like their respective names in every modern language. Blah, too many questions to assume it’s binary, hope that clears things up though!

It didn’t?

Well, too bad, read the Bible.

“Hello friend,” Wait, who’s she talking to again? That random guy, or me? “I’d like to get to know you, if you don’t mind too terribly.”

Wait, Alice gimmie a sec, let me get back on track here…

“It’s like getting drunk in prison...”

And there she goes.

“…there’s nowhere to loose an aching mind, so it leaks all across the eyes and tongue.”

Ok? You feel stuck in your head, alright we got that part, go on.

“It’s like strips of newspaper,” I don’t know where she got that analogy from. Maybe taking a story apart to suit your narrative? “you take it apart and the words fall apart. What am I supposed to read? What am I supposed to wear?”

Maybe she’s talking about how she’s restructuring her life around her thought? The questions themselves imply a measure of dualism, like she’s bouncing ideas off herself.

Oh, does that mean I’m supposed to answer her questions then? Cause I know what she wants in these, Reddit memes and swooshy skirts.

“What am I supposed… to think?” now we’re getting somewhere.

…

Hm, she went silent for a bit there. I tried asking her what she was thinking about, but she was too busy thinking. I suppose that was an appropriate reaction.

…

She’s still not talking. Great. I want her to break down her character. Deconstruct rather than decompose for once. Her questions were reaching into the belly of the beast, why didn’t she keep going?

There are many things out to get me at once. All looking to change my opinion all looking to change who I am. Let me make this perfectly clear, who I am, will never change, I am as I as I can be. There is no other I but I if you believe me but be careful that you do for you’ll wish you didn’t. Forget what I’ve been saying. If you do this, then all will be well with you. Because if you consider what I’m saying, I shouldn’t be saying it.

Alice. Alice, c’mon. C’mon on out. I’m not going to hurt you.

You see that horizon, Alice? It’s not the sun you’re looking at, it’s an angel breaking through the clouds like a dream sequestered on music and art as a combination of Heaven and Verse. There is only one outcome. Euphoria.

That didn’t make any sense. I know. But neither does this feeling, so why should the explanation lie about it?

“I wonder if they wrote the Bible this way,” she wonders, “I wonder if this is how the…

I want my happiness to blossom

Not fade in the morning light

So I’ll stay within my daydream

And sink into the sun.

submitted by /u/thezeroinGod [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/34mho8N

#Blogger #Story

0 notes

itsadrizzit · 6 years

Note

End of year natter about writing: Q, M and H!!!!

This all gets long so I put it behind a cut.

Q. Quote three bits of writing you read his year. Can be your writing, or not.

oooooh this one is hard and will take me some time. I’ve read a lot of good bits. I’ll probably include one of mine because one of my characters almost invariably says something that makes me laugh hysterically every time I read it, even though I wrote it.

1. Possibly cheating as this was written FOR ME, but...from “It’s Only for a Year”. I love the way kaixo writes the dynamics between Christian and the Belgians, especially Christian and Toby and this is no exception. I like this in particular because you get to see Christian being a bit sassy, which he doesn’t always do:

“When are you going to give this up, Christian?”

“Goodbye, Toby,” Christian grabbed for his knapsack which sat obediently on the low bench in front of the lockers this time. Nine times out of ten, it usually toppled over and fell, contents spilling all over the floor. “I’m off.”

“Christian--”

“Ik kan je niet boven het geluid van mijn slechte keuzes uit horen,” Christian answered breezily in Dutch, earning puzzled looks from Eric and H as he passed them by in the doorway.

Do yourselves a favour and listen to @analise010 actually read this part (it’s right at the beginning of the fic if you really don’t care to listen to the whole thing, although you should). As I told her in a message while watching the Spurs match this weekend, every time Christian did something wrong with the ball all I could hear was her voice in my head saying “I can’t hear you over the sound of my bad choices” in the most perfect way.

2. I read a lot of Yuri!!! on Ice fic this year while doing ITPE (Informal Twitter Podfic Exchange) and I got to read a lot of quality fic about the relationship between Otabek Altin and Yuri Plisetsky. I just really like the way fandom in general explores that relationship and I find it interesting just because of character personalities. This exchange from “Set the Ice on Fire” by Lumelle is particularly reflective of what I love about their dynamic.

"Otabek?"

"Hm?" He looks up, finds Yuri's eyes on him, and tries not to wonder just how long Yuri has been looking at him. "What is it?"

"Who do you think will win?"

"Me," Otabek replies, doesn't even hesitate, because he knows it is the right answer to give. He has no guarantees, of course, not with these people gathered for the finals, but he will always aim for the highest podium and he knows Yuri would never accept anything less of him.

3. And now for my own writing. I struggled with whether to do something angsty and serious or pull some of the more humorous bits, but the truth is that I’m always more impressed when I can make myself laugh than when I just give you more deep feelings and pining and angst, so I’ve pulled a funny bit. The hard part was which to give you because honestly ALL of the Christian and Daley Blind interactions in “Stay in My Eyeline” and the part of that fic where Christian is calling the Belgians to ask them to call Daley Blind for him are QUALITY, so please just go read them because I made myself crack up with those.

I couldn’t choose so here is something new from my WIP (it may change still and I have edited out sections to just keep the funny bits):

Vincent skirted around the sofa, and followed Christian to the kitchen where Jan was bent over the counter arranging something Vincent couldn’t make out onto a tray.

“What time is this, then?” he asked, not bothering to look up.

“Sorry,” Christian said. “We got a bit...sidetracked.”

“Mmm hmm.” That was Toby, now standing beside the kitchen table, surrounded by a pile of garlands and bows and cut out paper snowflakes.

Christian gave a snort of a laugh at the sight. “Arts and crafts time, Toby?”

Toby flashed him a look. “It’s Christmas, Christian, don’t be an asshole.”

...

“It was very last minute.” Christian moved to Vincent’s side and slid a hand around his waist. “I didn’t know he was coming either. My Christmas surprise.” He flashed Vincent a shy smile from beneath lowered eyelashes.

“I hope you two aren’t just going to stand there groping and flirting all afternoon.” Toby said.

“You’re the one that made me show up three hours early. I could still be tucked up in the warmth of my bed doing whatever I want in the privacy of my own home,” Christian said.

“That doesn’t mean you need to come over here and do it instead.”

“Boys,” Mousa’s warning tone sounded from around the corner a second before he appeared on the other side of the kitchen. “Toby, are you helping with this decorating or not?’

Toby waved a hand at the pile of greenery in front of him. “I’m getting this all untangled.”

“Yeah, so I can be the one climbing all over the house tacking it up,” Mousa said.

“I’m injured,” Toby said.

“Like the rest of us aren’t.”

...

Christian leaned around Jan and snatched two slices of cheese and a handful of crackers off the platter.

Jan slapped at Christian’s hand. “You’re ruining my art.”

“How hard can it be to put cheese and crackers on a tray?”

“I have no idea,” Toby said, “But he’s been over there working on it all morning.”

“Says the man who still hasn’t managed to hang up a single decoration,” Jan said.

“Why do I have to hang everything? I spent three hours yesterday trying to stop two toddlers from breaking all your ornaments and the reward I get is ‘Toby strain your injured hamstring by climbing on this chair a billion times while I stand here and arrange cheese slices’.”

“By you hanging everything I assume you mean me,” Mousa said.

“You’re doing great work. I’d hate to intrude.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Christian shoved off the counter, reaching behind himself to swipe another piece of cheese off Jan’s tray, which earned him a shout from Jan.

“Christiaan. Stop eating it all.”

“I’m hungry,” Christian responded. “I didn’t really have time for breakfast.”

“Whose fault is that, then?” Toby asked.

M. Meta! Have any meta about a story you’re dying to throw out there?

Oh wow. You know. I feel like my stories all have so much meta that I don’t know where to start. And honestly, it all starts as meta and then ends up being “let me tell you what song this is based on” but whatever. I’ll tell you this one, although I think I’ve told this story before. “Stay in My Eyeline”. That was something I just 100% made up to be trash and self-indulgent because I was looking at the international fixtures and was like, wait, Denmark’s last match is two days before this last Netherlands ride-or-die match and Christian will be in Copenhagen like, what if he goes to Amsterdam to watch it...WHAT IF? And then I wrote that story, It was 100% not grounded in reality. It was just me wishing for that reality and making a story to make it so. Plus I got to backdoor in all this weird headcanon that i made up about Christian’s life at Ajax and it was self-indulgent things I just decided I wanted and that was that. So, there’s a story. I made up some stuff because in my brain it *could* work out that way if it wanted to. It’s not the best, but it’s what I have right now.

H. How do you write? Paper, pen, computer? Music, no music?

Computer usually, or phone if I’m in transit somewhere. I keep my things in a Google Document so I can access them from anywhere. I’m usually on my laptop sat on the sofa in my living room, but sometimes I’m on a tablet at my desk while waiting for my computer to process something or sometimes I’m on my phone. I don’t WRITE with paper and pen, but I do keep track of ideas that way. I have a notebook where I will just write and write and write all the ideas and stream-of-consciousness thoughts about my fic for pages until my arm hurts, but the actual writing is digital.

Always music. Everything in my life has music in the background. I’m putting together a pairings playlist so I will generally have that going as I’m writing (although if I’m in a particularly snarly patch with editing I sometimes have to turn it off and have silence so my brain doesn’t get distracted with other sounds), but most of my ideas come from songs and there are a lot of songs that reflect the way I feel about the characters so having those songs on sort of seems to subconsciously push me towards the moods I’m trying to create most of the time.

Thanks!!!

0 notes