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dallonm-archive · 3 years

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[image description: three monstera leaves. The leaves and wall are tinted purple by string lights behind the plant. In the middle, in a white serif font and all caps, reads “LIFE CYCLE OF MASSIVE STARS”. At the bottom, in the same font but smaller, reads “update #1″ /end id]

LIFE CYCLE OF MASSIVE STARS | UPDATE #1

Before I start, this is an autistic OwnVoices novel and it’s Autism Acceptance Month! Remember that awareness is passive and acceptance is active. And whilst this book is autistic OwnVoices I want to stress that it doesn’t cover the full autistic experience; autism is so individualistic and this story only stems from my experience. Make sure you to listen to all autistics, not just those who can speak and live independently and present in a way that suits neurotypical society. Support autistic creatives and if you’re also a creative, include autistic characters in your work! Autism is not a disease. It does not need to be cured.

Hey y’all! This has sure been a week! I gave myself the goal of 15,000 words for Camp Nano and somehow hit that in 5 days? I have literally never written at that pace before so I’m a little shocked lol. I don’t intend to keep that pace but the momentum has made drafting very fun and? drafting this has been a literal dream. I was really worried because March was a month long slump I expected to carry into April. I want to disclaim that I’m currently out of school and work because of the pandemic so I have all the free time to write and that definitely contributed! But also as a neurodivergent and disabled writer, free time does not always equal writing, so to know that I am capable of writing like this, even if not always, it is Such a gamechanger. Also this story makes me miss University so much I actually can’t take it :(

LCOMS has been a dream so far because the protagonists are all characters I’ve had for 5-8 years, and | spent those years struggling to figure out their stories. Even when I settled on this story, originally Patchwork, there was like 4 versions of it before I landed on this - none ever drafted beyond a couple thousand words because they just Never Worked. But the wait was worth it because holy shit I feel like I struck gold. This story feels so me, it’s so much fun to write, and I don’t think a story has come to me this easy before. It’s given me such a zest for storytelling again that I didn’t realise was missing. I’m slowing things down now because creative boundaries and self care >>>>, but I just passed 19k words - though some of the chapters are very unfinished because my priority has been mapping out the story’s skeleton as far as I can, then filling in the gaps based off what I learnt. I wanna put a passage before the cut so it’s not just me rambling about bullshit and no content, but it’s hard to pick just one, so here’s a non-linear scene that I :) cannot elaborate on :)

(CW: alcohol)

[image description: the side of a ferris wheel against black sky. The wheel is lit white, but at the bottom it’s coloured a mix of pink, blue and green. At the top, in a white serif font, reads “The ferris wheel lights blur between turquoise, magenta, mint, lavender, casts the puddles into technicolour. “ /end id]

Picture this: December 17th. End of term. End of year. Cloudless night, stars winking. Fargate glows, market stalls lit by yellow fairy lights line the street like candle stubs, gently burning. It’s raining. It has all day. Dampened your new beanie and scarf but you’re not mad, even if you’ll cringe at the texture when you take them off later. The ferris wheel lights blur between turquoise, magenta, mint, lavender, casts the puddles into technicolour. Your eyes and feet ache, but you’re not mad. And the mulled wine that buzzed warm in your bloodstream now coils in your stomach, but you’re not mad. You’re queuing for the technicolour wheel, even though you know it’ll be underwhelming and a waste of £4, but you’re not mad. Chocolate is usually too sweet for you, but he bought a pack of snowflake shaped ones - each carved with their own design - and when he passes the paper bag over you don’t say no. They taste like raspberry. He grins at you.

I have once again written a long update because I am autistic and have no self control; more excerpts and chapter-by-chapter rambles are as usual under the cut!

(content warnings are specific to the respective excerpt, but as a general warning there’s a lot of alcohol mentions!)

Originally I wanted 3 parts for 3 semesters, but I might do 2? Especially because in the UK at least the spring and summer semester kinda blend into one. The chapters are grouped by 3 - one for every POV character - but that’s more to help with writing because I get more done if I break it down like that, but I also like how it’s shaped the story structurally.

Sometimes the three chapters will be each of the character’s POV on a single event, sometimes they’re more individual but still follow a general idea (for example, one of them is how each character’s first three weeks of the semester goes). As usual for me the plot here is ~non-existent, especially at this stage, but everything is still connected and threaded together and thats all we really need. The chapters are also pretty short at the moment, none of them are over 3k and only tackle 1-3 scenes. This is something I feel is working really nicely now but I’m not gonna commit to it for the entire novel. I like chapter length variety! But right now we are just going with the flow :)

The most unexpected part is this being in second person, which I decided impulsively the night before Nano because I have :) zero self control :). I was unsure if it’d work in Multi POV, but it’s created such a unique tone that I can’t imagine the story without anymore, even if it’ll need tweaking over drafts. I think it suits the story so well! I’m just torn about it being in past or present, so if you see tense jumps in the excerpts no you did not <3 I’m not naming chapters right now beyond the character’s name, but part one is titled Growing Pains.

[image description: photo of a city at night. To the left are skyscrapers with lots of lit up windows behind a chain-link fence. To the right is an unlit building. Near the middle is a bright streetlight. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads “growing pains”. /end id]

1: Tomas

We start in the most overrated part of Uni, fresher’s week <3 The drinking and clubbing culture of UK university is a big part of this novel but in a way that’s like “hey this can be fun sometimes but sometimes it’s really not and it’s also really not for everyone.” Our three POVs go to a club night and really don’t care for it. Tomas does not want to be here, is in a weird as shit mood, and instead of looking for his friends he goes to the smoking area with a man he just met called Damiano. I really wanna rewrite this because I wrote it with Zero Idea of where the story was going, so here’s the one part of it that I consider salvageable <3

Damiano shoves his phone in your hands, brightness puncturing darkness. You hadn’t noticed the dimmed lights until then, but the room blued, music and time slowed. Though his notes are on dark mode, his phone brightness is on two fucking high. Your eyes sting. Cracks travel up the screen like veins.

Each character also has a specific image they keep seeing in things that are never actually there and they all make me like 🤠 hey besties what do these mean are you okay?? I Do Not know what they mean yet, but Tomas’ is veins. (Also shout out to me for finally settling on a spelling for his name after 5 years and by that I mean thank you to my friends for peer pressuring me into choosing Tomas lol)

My absolute favourite part of this story is the character voices. They are all SO fun to write, and I feel like I settled into a good combo of My Literary Prose Bullshit and they’re very specific, often very sarcastic voices. They also say fuck like, so many fucking times. RIP to me if I decide to query this <3

2: Kristen

Okay first off Kristen is THE funniest character I’ve written. He is SO fun. I wish I was his bestie but he’s also been my bestie since 2013. We meet him in the gender neutral bathrooms being annoyed by a very rich and very tone deaf girl. Classism and the UK class divide is one of the biggest themes of this novel, and Kristen is a very proud working class Northerner (the North is massively underfunded and unsupported by the Gov compared to the South) and cannot stand the Tories (Conservative Party). Extremely fucking valid of him

(CW: blood)

“I’m Floss. Florence.” Of course she was. Fucking Florence. “Where are you from?”

You don’t look at her. Eyes on your reflection, the glittered cheekbones. You busy yourself with your eyeliner, gliding the pen over gaps and smudges that don’t exist. “Barnsley, babe.” It’s only a half lie this time - if you tell her you were born in Liverpool she’d probably look at you like you’re a dead rat on the side of a dodgy alleyway. But maybe that’d be better because then she’d leave you the fuck alone.

“Oh! That’s like well close isn’t it. I’m from Reigate.” Her voice breathes trust fund and Waitrose, tries to speak like it doesn’t. You try not to laugh.

“Reigate! I bet your parents are right little Tories, aren’t they?”

She playfully slapped your shoulder. She thinks you’re friends. "Not every rich person is a Tory!” Don’t roll your eyes don’t roll your eyes don’t roll your eyes. “Is that blood on your hands?”

“Huh?” You look: faded red dye dried to your palm, blotted on your fingertips. It is dye, because your hair is as of four hours ago a fierce “Real Red”. But it could be blood. “No, it’s hair dye.”

If you think he’s being harsh, she literally calls him a slur like 3 lines after this <3 Fuck rich people half of this book is me clowning on them.

Kristen’s recurring Imagery is blood, except sometimes it’s less clear if it’s actually blood or not. Once again, besties are you okay ????

3: Junie

Junie my beloved <3 love her so much. She finds Kristen in the bathroom, and they agree to look for Tomas, until Tomas texts to say he already left. But the biggest part of this chapter is the absolute crisis she has over kissing for a girl for the first time to ABBA :)

(CW: alcohol)

[image description: a disco ball against a red-purple background. The disco ball casts dots of light against the across the ceiling. At the bottom, in a white serif font, reads: “Dancing Queen bounces against the walls. The disco ball casts specks over the ceiling, floor, walls, your skin, hair, eyes like broken glass.” /end id]

You don’t listen to 80s music, or 70s, but this room is smaller than the main floor, not claustrophobic, less freshers. Yet, even without the mask of a crowd, nobody notices the girl in the corner kissing the other girl. A girl you don’t know. You’d only gone up to her because she has purple hair and you had to tell her how much you love it - what dye is it? Professional or homemade? Did you have to bleach your hair? Professional or homemade? Will your hair fall out if you bleach it at home? If you dye your hair purple, do you become part of the Milky Way or part of Andromeda? She turns and sticks her tongue out to display her fresh tongue piercing, like a silver bullet lodged in flesh. “Dance with me, you look lost.” She has an allure to her, the Andromeda hair, the bullet in the tongue - do you want to pull it out with your teeth, or lodge it in your own skin? But she asks you to dance, and you fall into her orbit, if only for a few songs. Dancing Queen bounces against the walls. The disco ball casts specks over the ceiling, floor, walls, your skin, hair, eyes like broken glass. Her tongue in your mouth, yours in hers, bullet grazing against your lips. She tastes of vodka and cherries and metal.

I really, really feel for Junie. She’s recently out, and she’s only just navigating what it means to exist as a lesbian. She kisses a girl and immediately regrets it, because she’s a hopeless romantic and was hoping her first kiss with a girl wouldn’t be in the back of a club, but she also doesn’t regret it because it was a good kiss and they’ll never see each other again lol. Junie’s recurring imagery is glass and once again, besties are you okay

4: Junie

I don’t know how I feel about back to back POV chapters but that’s just how this set worked. The next 3 are immediately after the events of the first 3, after they’ve all left the club. Kristen and Junie walk home together, and most of this and his subsequent chapter is establishing relationship dynamics and <3 this story made me love writing dialogue y’all. This story has a lot of dark elements, so it’s really refreshing to be able to have the light-hearted moments as well. Like these characters are all going through it but they’re also Gen Z 20 year olds who grew up using humour to cope like what else are they meant to do

“We should’ve got that flat on Brunswick. It’s literally down the street from the SU - we’d just have to walk down a hill and then we’d be home.” He complains.

“Kristen, that flat had a rat problem. I saw one scurrying behind the oven.”

“Yeah, and we live with Tomas Meijer now, so what’s the difference?” He faces you, walks backwards, grin plastered on his face.

“That was mean.” You feign annoyance. You sound like a schoolteacher.

“It’s just how we are, you know. The love hate relationship. Like night and day or some shit. I’d kill for that boy but like, he’s still a rat. He’s the same to me - did he tell you he called me a malnourished ferret once in first year? In English and Dutch. Don’t even remember what it is in Dutch but he really came at me with two knives like that.”

Kristen and Junie don’t really know each other well - Junie is Tomas’ friend from class and Kristen and Tomas met in dorms, and a series of shitty housemates in second year brought them all together. It’s funny because I really worried Junie would end up with no clear place in the group and more like a third wheel to Kristen and Tomas but as I started writing I realised that her and Kristen are gonna become besties like. Instantaneously. Love this for them <3

5: Kristen

Essentially mirrors the last chapter. Him and Junie arrive home and have a heart to heart in the living room about gender <3 I love this for them <3

6: Tomas

Tomas goes home with Damiano and they hook up, which is very out of character for Tomas so it’s like his I Am So Random. I Can’t Believe I Just Did That moment. Damiano is a really sweet dude though it’s all good, but he’s here to stay and I can just tell it’s gonna get messy :/ I actually really love how this chapter came out but whilst I have no problem with reading or writing non-explicit sex scenes I’m also like a would rather die than put that on tumblr dot com oops

7: Kristen

we’ve skipped a week ahead to the day before semester starts, and the next three chapters are basically like a character study of where each of them are mentally. It’s not the best :/ This is also the point where Day 1 Of Camp me had literally no idea what I was doing. LCOMS is different from the way I pants Revelations, Revelations because with the latter I find it much easier to brainstorm scenes in my head but with this one, it really is a surprise until I open the doc. It’s created some really interesting moments though.

Kristen visits an amateur photographer friend named Kasia to model for her. I struggled to find anything that included info I’m fine with sharing, but I learnt a LOT about Kristen and his mental state, which was surprising since he’s lived in my head rent free for 8 years now. It’s messy <3 The summary: he sees himself as a mannequin, and he decides that he likes it that way, but he also doesn’t know who’s moving his joints into poses. Bestie???

8: Junie

Junie unpacks her room a week after moving in. Autistic queen <3 This is one of the unfinished chapters, and I have zero motivation to finish it because there’s a scene missing and I cannot for the life of me figure out what it is. The gist of it though is she FaceTimes a friend from secondary school that definitely was her gay awakening that she only realised was her gay awakening in the last year. Messy <3

9: Tomas

One of my favourite chapters. It’s split into two halves, a light-hearted moment of all three housemates at a superstore because <3 grocery store scenes my beloved <3 and then Tomas’ Everything Is Bad exploration at the end. There’s a moment in the first half where Tomas and Kristen have a heart to heart in the candle aisle, and Tomas asks Kristen where he thinks they’ll be in their thirties. I winged this in a sprint and I’m obsessed with it, it’s all about the ~dynamic~

“Well, he has student debt for one. But that’s not on him. That’s on the Tories. But I like to think they’ll be out of power by then. Boris might even be dead, if we’re lucky. But again, not on me.” He’s quiet again. You watch him think. “He’d be a music teacher probably, or an English teacher. But like, a cool one. He doesn’t teach secondary school because he doesn’t hate himself. Maybe a Sixth Form, or even better a Uni. His students would love him because he’d be able to take a joke and also like, not hound on them for having mental illnesses or life struggles?” Neither of you look at the aisles anymore, just circle the home section of Big Tesco. “He’d also do a lot of charity work. He has a foundation-charity-thing for queer and autistic kids to get accessible music lessons, because creative therapy is like, the best thing - besides Prozac but I digress - and it’d be better than the old white men from CAMHs who act like you don’t exist by your eighteenth birthday. And he’d have a cool little flat in Sheffield where the landlord lets him paint the walls so every room is a different colour. Turquoise kitchen. Magenta Living room. Lavender bedroom. Mint bathroom.” He looks at you like he forgot you were there. “You really let me ramble like that in the middle of Big Tesco, huh? That felt like a fucking therapy moment.” He laughs a little, like he’s nervous.

“Nah, it was a good answer. Maybe if Tomas-in-his-thirties doesn’t move back to the Netherlands, he’ll rent the apartment next to Kristen-in-his-thirties.”

Kristen pouts. “Aw, you don’t wanna be my roomie anymore?”

“No, you called me an animal for eating pineapple on pizza.”

“Deserved. And you called me a malnourished ferret.”

You smile. “You’re not gonna let that down, are you?”

He smiles. “Of course not.”

Kristen tells Tomas he knows Something Happened to him over summer, and gets him to promise to tell him when he’s ready. The second half of the chapter takes place back at the house. Tomas is grieving, and it’s starting to creep into all elements of his thought. In this one specifically, he’s reminded of his top surgery and his memories in the hospital for that starts to blend with his memory of being in the hospital to grieve. Tomas is interesting as trans rep because like, he is trans rep curated for me specifically <3 Tomas was a huge comfort character for me when I was younger and when I realised I was trans, I looked at him and was like oh. He had a very smooth coming out and transitioning process (bc mine is the opposite and I need to project :) ), but right now he views his transness as like, a chapter of his life that was important but is now closed, so he doesn’t think about it a lot anymore, but the combo of grief and its mental impacts causes him to think about it more and he realises he has a very unhealthy internal relationship with his transness. Whilst the big idea at the start of Tomas’ arc is to show trans peace, I really wanted to take a moment to acknowledge the grieving process that comes with being trans. Literally the moment that made me realise “oh god, this is real and I can’t ignore it” was googling “im scared i might be trans” and realising how normal those tangled feelings are. Tomas’ experience of it is only fleeting, but I wanted to show that it’s normal. That being said, there’s no transphobia in this story. It is ultimately a Trans Peace story but also a trans story that, for me at least, is realistic. And the thoughts don’t last long, because his mind circles back to the grieving process.

(CW: graphic surgery and hospital imagery, vomit mention, death)

[image description: a darkened picture of an empty hospital room. The only light comes in through the window through thin white curtains. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads “ Scalpel gliding across the chest; were the cuts they made as thin as the line between surgery and autopsy? “ /end id]

Picture this: The hospital room. Clinical lights like exit wounds in the ceiling. Everything hurts. Haven’t slept properly in weeks. Can barely eat without it coiling and tangling in your stomach only for nothing to come up when you heave over the toilet. Messy hair, sunken eye bags. Dull eyes. The hospital room. The hospital halls. The hospital waiting room. The hospital car park. The drive to the hospital. The sleepless night before the hospital visit. The locked in the armchair next to the phone waiting for the hospital to call. The silence shrills harsher than the phone’s ring. But ask yourself this: who’s in the bed? You or him? The memories are different but the same. Oil and water. Shouldn’t be mixed. But it’s hard not to. Picture the two of you on the operating table and on the metal slab. Too far from reality to feel skin slice. Scalpel gliding across the chest; were the cuts they made as thin as the line between surgery and autopsy?

There’s a lot of paragraphs in the story that start with Picture This:. I have no idea what it means, it just reads cool lmao

10: Junie

we skip around 3 weeks now to see how the kids are dealing with the start of semester and well. They’re managing! Junie actually has a good chapter here, because she experiences Baby’s First Queer Class Crush

[image description: a purple sunset with a large pink cloud. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads you notice her background is of a purple sunset. You wonder if purple is her favourite colour like you and if she took it and if she likes photography and if she’d take photos of you “ /end id]

You listen, touch type your notes without properly processing the words yet, but instead of studying the PowerPoint, you study her: how she tucks a strand of black hair - free from her messy bun - behind her ear. The three studs in her earlobe, three little gold stars. The way her eyebrows furrow when she’s confused, and the way her face relaxes when she figures it out. How she touch types like you, how her two brass bracelets jangle and how you’re the only one that hears it. She minimises Word briefly, and you notice her background is of a purple sunset. You wonder if purple is her favourite colour like you and if she took it and if she likes photography and if she’d take photos of you. Lavender polo shirt, lavender perfume. She doesn’t wear make-up, but a tiny black heart sits under left eye.

Junie’s dreams of a photographer girlfriend are quickly shattered when she admits the photo’s from Pinterest, but otherwise this is so <3 the sapphic crisis of it all.

You walk out together, and she tells you she only got into Sheffield that weekend, and it was a nightmare to explain to the tutors why. “It’s like, they forget we have lives sometimes. Lives we can’t control.” She shakes her head. “It’s okay now though, I’m here now.”

You almost trip on the stairs up to the main floor, and her hand is warm against your wrist. Your cheeks redden, but she just asks if you’re okay, smiles when you are. Tells you she’s late for a seminar, but it was lovely to meet you. Thanks again for the lecture notes. Calls you a lifesaver. Fades into the between-classes rush. You’re glad she’s here now.

again she is so <3 i get it babes i get it <3

In other news, at the end of the chapter Kristen drops the most relatable line of the entire fucking book:

“You know how like, when it rains, all the worms come out and do a funky little dance? Yeah so basically: the rain is LIT3001 right. And the worms are all of my mental illnesses.”

11: Tomas

Tomas turns 21 on October 13th so naturally like anyone in his early 20s he has multiple crisis’ about it. I still haven’t figured this chapter ~out yet but it sure exists! It just sucks the same way it sucks to be a young adult in the late 2010s. But here’s Kristen being the most relatable character in the book again and getting bullied for it :/

(CW: alcohol)

"I still can't believe you both do a science. Like, it actually baffles me - I could not be more further from that." Kristen refills his glass, measures the vodka level with his index. "Just a babe and his silly little BA against the world."

"You know if you wanna be a BA babe you have to actually, like, graduate."

12: Kristen

Kristen is personally like I will pretend my degree does not exist and honestly? I get it King. He visits his Dad, since he only lives 30 minutes away, but most of the chapter is him thinking about Tomas and their messy friendship and the fact that Tomas is kinda ghosting him despite literally living together :/ Anyway here’s Kristen’s cat :)

Mar snoozes on your pillow, half curled like a croissant. Orange fluff against grey sheets, and you’re not mad at the fur debris she’ll inevitably leave. Her head pops up when you sit next to her, “you forget about me yet?”. You scratch her head and it’s like you’re 12 again and you don’t have to worry about rent or degrees or masters applications or careers or groceries or housemates and you haze through Sundays snoozing in bed with your new kitten. Technically she was a birthday present, but dad couldn’t wait an extra month to adopt her. Said he saw it in her eyes at the shelter, that she belonged here. You named her Marmalade because you were a dumbass eleven year old and also thought marmalade was the shit back then. She stretches her legs and yawns. Plops her head back down, back to sleep. “Yeah, me too.”

13: Tomas

The next three chapters centre around each character’s Halloween, because <3 Halloween my beloved <3. Tomas’ starts off with him and Kristen being ~homoerotic and him being a ~disaster about it.

w[image description: a photo of a blue planet - Neptune - against a black background. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads “You don’t know which palette he’s using, but you remember his favourite is space themed: Mars red, Neptune blue, Jupiter orange - you try to guess which planet he thinks looks best against olive. He taps the brush against the palette. Imagine the planets. How they dandelion in the air.” /end id]

When you sit in front of him, your knees press together. When he tilts your head up, thumb on chin, nail grazing the curve of your lip, his hand is ice on your skin. He studies your face, you close your eyes. When he pulls back, you swear you still feel his thumbprint on your skin. You don’t know which palette he’s using, but you remember his favourite is space themed: Mars red, Neptune blue, Jupiter orange - you try to guess which planet he thinks looks best against olive. He taps the brush against the palette. Imagine the planets. How they dandelion in the air. He holds your head in place, hand sprawls over you cheek like veins. Brushes colour into your eye socket. Underneath the radiator, your phone buzzes twice. Don’t say anything. Ignore your heartbeat.

(before this Tomas threw his phone at the radiator because someone texted him :) yeah okay mood :) )

this story is really about the ~gay disasters and also the ~dialogue

You flop onto your bed, arms crossed over your face. “I dunno. I might just print off all the emails Uni's sent me about my dissertation. Staple them to a jacket and tell people I'm going as mental illness."

"Tomas, if you want to go as mental illness then you don't need a costume at all."

Unfortunately the rest of the chapter is not as fun because plot had to happen but this first scene was :)

14: Junie

Junie is not a fan of Halloween so she gives up halfway through the night and invites the girl she met in her lecture over to bake cookies at 1am instead. Fellas is this gay?

(CW: alcohol)

The girl in the kitchen brought cookie cutters in pink Tupperware. She explains she’s had them since she was eight, but she hasn’t had a chance to use them this Autumn. She has seven: cat, butterfly, crescent moon, heart, three stars matryoshka’d together. “I have more, these are just my go to ones. I’m a bit of a collector.” She lines them up on the counter, you trace the outline of the cat. She says she didn’t want to bring too many, but she likes having the options with no plan, the potential. You want to tell her that, after you invited her over, you spritzed the counters with lavender surface cleaner twice and tucked the discarded vodka and raspberry liqueur bottles in the cabinet you can barely reach. You piled unfolded laundry into your closet and hid drooping plants behind your closed curtains when you had zero intention of her inviting her to your room. You want to ask her why she said yes, why she replied in two minutes at one in the morning, and you want to ask her why people feel the need to cookie cutter themselves into a false potential. She asks if you want to bake with coconut or chocolate chip.

she is actually such a disaster around girls i love her so much

The girl in your kitchen clears up glass that isn’t hers. You drop the measuring jug and it fireworks against tile. No shards lodge in your skin. Whilst she cleans, insists that it’s okay, you brew peppermint tea because you insist it’s the least you can do. The girl tells you a story about how she did the exact same thing, when she was nine, and her mother shrieked so loud the neighbours banged at the door a minute later. She laughs, muted. You apologise again. She insists it’s okay again. Rain hardens against the window, looks like TV static. You breathe in the peppermint steam.

The biggest thing I’ve learnt since drafting is that, at it’s core, this is a love story. And that makes me so excited because so many people, especially in mainstream media, still think that autistic people are incapable of love - or even worse, undeserving.

15: Kristen

Kristen’s favourite holiday is Halloween so naturally on his special day I had to make him go through it :) I can’t share a lot of this, but it feels right to end this beast of an update on this beast of an excerpt because it came to me out of absolutely nowhere and it is one of my favourite passages I’ve ever written OOPS

(CW: death, parental death)

[image description: a cluster of stars against a dark blue, almost black sky. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads “You want to ask your dad how something can end if for you it never began, but he’s asleep in his armchair back home. You look at the stars. You wonder if any of them are her.“ /end id]

You’ve mapped Sheffield’s streets since 13 so you know you’re walking the wrong way. This isn’t the way to Crookes. This isn’t the way out the city centre. You should order an Uber. You keep walking. You stop at a crossing. There’s no cars. You don’t cross. The traffic light flashes red and bleeds on your face. The stars are out tonight, and now it’s 2004 and you’re in the lounge with Lion King in the VHS. You’re off sick and your neighbour - Mel, recently retired, recently widowed - nurses a glass of brandy in your dad’s armchair because you don’t know it yet, but he can’t afford to miss work. You’re sprawled on the dusty-red rug when Simba and Mufasa sprawl in the grass and Mufasa tells Simba that all the stars are the Kings of the past and they are watching over him. You ask recently retired, recently widowed Mel if that’s true; her smile is happy but her eyes are sad and she says “yes, and not just Kings. Nobody leaves Earth, they just move to the stars.”

Ten minutes later, Mufasa is flung off a gorge’s edge; you haven’t studied storytelling yet, but you understand those two moments are connected. And when you relay this to dad over ready made pasta that evening, you ask him if people really live in the stars: Sometimes, when they can’t live here anymore. Then you ask if they can come back from the stars: No, but people remember them. They’ll tell stories about them, so people don’t forget. Then you ask if memories and stories are like stars: A little. Then you ask why they can’t live here anymore: It’s hard to explain, Kris.

After dinner, he lets you play on the plastic slide in the garden as he scrubs the dishes. You climb to the top and try to see faces in the stars, but it’s too cloudy. And after that but before bedtime, you’re sprawled on the dusty-red rug again, and Lion King is in the VHS again, and as Simba and Nala are bathed by their mothers again, your five year old mind connects what’s different about you. You go to ask dad about it, but he’s asleep in his armchair. It’s 2018, you’re stood on a phantom street in Sheffield. You want to ask your dad how something can end if for you it never began, but he’s asleep in his armchair back home. You look at the stars. You wonder if any of them are her.

And I usually don’t do this, but I think the playlist for this wip is absolutely fucking elite, so here’s a handful of the songs that I think encapsulate the story the best:

The Wombats – Greek Tragedy

Duncan Laurence – Arcade

FKA Twigs – Two Weeks

Peach Pit – Alrighty Aphrodite

Khalid – Saturday Nights

Alfie Templeman – Stop Thinking (About Me)

Rina Sawayama – 10-20-40

If you read this far, then I love you and we shall have a platonic wedding this summer. But I cannot express how excited I am about this story and to see where it goes!

#atlastracking #LCOMS #writing update #amwriting #seriously though i have had the best week but also my brain? a fried egg #sfoidhfsdf even before the cut this post is long i hate it here #long post

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byamylaurens · 3 years

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On Structuring Plot: A List Of Useful Resources + My Recent Process

I was asked on Instagram last week how I go about structuring my stories, whether there’s a set way I like to do it, or if it’s different for every story, or what. I promised an answer last week, and that didn’t happen, but hey! It is this week and now I can answer! 😀

The truth of the matter is, I feel very self-conscious about plot structure. It’s the area of writing I’m least comfortable with, and so my attempts either end up with me just writing and ignoring structure entirely (A Fox Of Storms And Starlight), or else plotting everything else in meticulous detail, usually with the help of Liana Brooks (How Not To Acquire A Castle, as evidenced in our epic plotting video).

And then there is everything else, which tends to fall in the middle. Honestly, it depends on the book, and the mood, and how much of a concrete, specific handle I need on the story before going in.

Because that varies widely, too. When Worlds Collide, the final book in the Sanctuary trilogy that won Best Children’s Book 2019 in my state? You’re reading the first draft, prettied up with some proofreading for typos. The first book in the series, on the other hand? That’s the …eighth, I think, draft? And again, everything else falls somewhere in the middle, though generally speaking I plan my novels more than my short stories, and things that feel “fast paced” more than things that luxuriate more in the prose. Though even that’s not entirely true. And it overlaps with the length tendencies.

SO. Rather than continuing to ramble about my actual processes (variable), I thought I’d share with you a range of resources that you might find useful (if you’re a writer) or simply interesting (if you’re not, or even if you are I guess).

1. Liana Brooks’ Outlining Sheet

Liana, who you probably know is my writer-buddy and co-conspirator with regards to Inkprint Press, is excellent at plot. She does developmental edits for a really reasonable rate, and is absolutely stellar at what she does. So it’s without shame that I recommend first up her outline sheet, which is a take on the Lester Dent Plot Formula (google it).

2. Beat Sheets.

For when a general outline with key touch points isn’t detailed enough, there are beat sheets. The best ones I’ve found came from Jami Gold, and you can download them here. I’ve also converted them to word docs with scenes numbered for a 40-scene/chapter book and a 20 scene-chapter book, and you can grab those here (word docx download).

3. MICE Structure.

I posted this video on Friday, but Mary Robinette Kowal’s MICE theory has been hands down THE most useful plotting resource I’ve encountered for me personally. I’ll elaborate on this a little more below, where I’ll talk specifically about a project I’m working on right now.

4. Brandon Sanderson’s Plot Lectures.

I listened to these nearly a year ago, then relistened recently and was interested to discover I’d done something similar with Moon Shot, the project I’m currently plotting. Definitely worth a listen. It’s a little more general in scope than the preceding resources, but very necessary for a sound understanding of what your plot should be DOING.

You can also check out the posts I wrote on plot structure years ago, starting here.

Okay, now to the specifics. On Tuesday, I posted the following to Instagram, which is what precipitated the question that resulted in this post:

This is me working on Moon Shot, and it’s the first time I really used the MICE process on a longer work very deliberately, and I LOVED IT.

So I thought I’d quickly delineate for you here exactly what I did. (ETA: Quickly, ha.)

Worldbuilding. I had a giant conversation with Liana about the worldbuilding for the world, and how the main sci fi element works. She took notes and emailed them to me.

Brain Dump. I did a stream-of-consciousness dump into my notes just rambling through things roughly sequentially, and stopping to research the sciencey stuff I needed.

List Of Questions. From this, I listed out on my small whiteboard (A4-ish size) all the questions that would be asked and answered in this book. Will they escape? Why can’t they go to Earth? Who are the kidnappers? Etc.

MICE. I then colour-coded each question according to it’s MICE category: milieu, inquiry, character, event. If that doesn’t make sense, go watch Kowal’s video first (resource 3 above).

General Plotting. I broke out the bigger whiteboard (A2 size?), separated it roughly into quarters across the ‘page’, and added every question to the board. Some questions are asked right at the start of the story, so that’s where their coloured line started, then I estimated roughly when the question would be answered in-plot, and ended their coloured line there. This was hands-down the most useful part of plotting, because it let me see a bunch of things in macro: I’d overloaded the third quarter with too many answers, and there wasn’t enough in the second quarter. Certain questions COULDN’T be asked until other ones were answered, and if I left the answering too late, the next arc would be too squished before the end of the book. And so forth. So I played around, adjusting arcs until I got a fairly even spread of questions and answers across the book, with little clusters at the 1/4, 1/2 and 3/4 marks. I also looked to make sure that I had enough strong questions asked in the beginning that weren’t answered until the very end.

Specific Plotting. For each arc, I now knew WHEN in the book it had to be. So I grabbed three A3 pages, taped them together in a long line, divided the page into 25 columns (see point 8 for why), and wrote headings with the basic beats of a story. Call to action, midpoint, final puzzle piece, act 2 antagonist, and so forth. See resource 2 above. Then I took my MICE arcs and started filling things in: this scene needs to answer this question and raise the next one. This scene needs to answer this question. That sort of thing. Not the specifics of what the characters are doing, but the underlying bones of what the SCENE needs to be doing.

Conflict! Once the beginnings and ends of each MICE arc were in place, I referred back to the MICE principle to figure out what kinds of conflict I needed to add. For example, one of the opening MICE arcs is a milieu question: How did the kids escape? Knowing that this is a milieu, I know I need to add points throughout the story where they run into dead ends in their attempts to escape, all the way until they actually make it out. Another MICE arc revolves around a mystery, so I knew I needed to throw red herrings and misleading information in there to influence the decisions the characters are making. I used different coloured highlighter to mark the main long-running arcs to make sure I was sprinkling them evenly throughout the book, and not accidentally ignoring one for too long.

Point Of View. I now had a really good idea of what was happening in each scene, so on to POV. Most books wouldn’t need this step necessarily, but part of the POINT of this book is that it has POV scenes from all 25 of my Year 8 students from a couple of years ago (you have not LIVED until you’ve tried this, oy, my head). AND on top of that, every character has one of eight different superpowers. So I wrote out all the character names on sticky notes, colour coded according to superpower. Then I played around. Which superpower would be useful in this scene? Which would lend an interesting lens to the events? Post-its meant I could test things and swap them around easily, until I got an order I was happy with, with the superpowers kind of evenly sprinkled throughout the book (as much as possible; they’re based on Myer-Briggs personality type, which, yes, most of the students were kind enough to do the test for me so I could allocate their powers accurately, HA, but it means some superpowers are more common than others).

Text Type. One of the only ways I could think of making this book hang together cohesively was to tell it via epistolary, which means including a bunch of other text types as well as narration (or instead of). So there are story bits, but also emails, letters, maps, interviews, transcripts and more. So once I had everything else in place, I figured out which scenes were going to be which text types so that again, there was a balance of them throughout.

PHEW. What a process. Still, overall it only took me about three hours, and it was SUPER FUN AND SATISFYING to do. I’ll DEFINITELY be doing at least steps 1 – 7 for a couple of future books, because it was just a really inherently enjoyable process for me, and makes me confident going into the book that the scenes will do what they need to do.

Here’s a sneaky peek at what some of the final outline looks like… 😀

On Structuring Plot: A List Of Useful Resources + My Recent Process was originally published on Amy Laurens

#Amy Laurens #Australian author Amy #beat sheets for writers #before you write #Brandon Sanderson #Canberra writer Amy #how to plot a novel #How to Write #Jami Gold&039;s beat sheets #Mary Robinette Kowal #plot plot plot the book #plotting masterclass #structuring stories with story structure like a well-structured story with structure #writing #writing resource #writing workshop #you too can write a story woo

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bookswitchcraftandcats · 3 years

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Rainy Days (Part 4 of 4)

Link to AO3 ----- Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: Emma and Julian are in charge of the London Institute for a week and find a box that once belonged to Cordelia Carstairs and contains poems written to her by James Herondale. The story switches between Emma and Julian and oneshots about things that happened in Jordelia's life to inspire the poems.

Sorry if the formatting for the poems is messed up, I tried.

Thank you all so much for reading this story, I really enjoyed writing it <3

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“Daisies must have been her favorite flower or something” Emma says as they look around the room. Looking now that was a very obvious statement. Even some of the blankets neatly folded on the end of the bed had daisies embroidered on them. The wall paper was lined with a daisy print and on the box itself was intricately carved flowers. There are also some very old flowers that were carefully pressed and put in the box next to the poems. They were afraid to touch them for fear that they would fall apart.

“Yeah, maybe I will do a painting of her when we go home,” Julian says thoughtfully, “I should include some daisies if I do.”

“I’m sure it will be great,” Emma says thinking of his other paintings. He has done so many great pieces that if he was a mundane she was sure his work would be in an art gallery. The institute itself had turned into a sort of gallery these days, some people visited just to see the murals Julian painted on the walls.

They both were laying back on the bed and Jules had his arm around Emma. This was a nice day off after the busy day they had yesterday, they had run into some demons by the river and were outnumbered. Luckily, Emma is the best shadowhunter of their generation. Her wielding Cortana was definitely a scene he wanted to paint when he got home. The grace of her movements when she was fighting was like a dance, he could never quite capture the movement with a set of acrylics.

He checked his watch, they had plenty of time before Jem and Tessa would get here.

“We should read another poem,” he suggested. “They are kind of interesting to see what they said to each other 100 years ago.”

“Ok, I will,” she says, reaching into the box again for another poem. There was one titled Rainy Days.

“That seems fitting for today,” Julian says, glancing out the window. Emma reads the poem aloud.

Rainy Days

Outside the sky is dark and gray, The rain falls in puddles on the ground, We are in the library by the fireplace, Listening as it down pours all afternoon.

The heat of the flames warms the room, You by my side warms my heart. Even on the darkest of dreary days, You light up everything by being there.

Now you are asleep next to me, While I write about our day. I'm starting to think that I quite like, These warm and rainy days.

It was another rainy spring day in London, the snow had just melted and it was still very cold out. You could hear the wind blowing all around outside, it was quite the stormy day. None of the merry thieves or their family members would be venturing out today, they too were curled up by a fire, just like Cordelia and James.

James now looked at the sleeping Cordelia on his lap, she looked so at peace. Her soft red hair was undone and free from it’s unusual style, he combed his fingers gently through it. He thought about the day they had had. Today was very good weather for writing. With a notebook in his hand he began to come up with ideas.

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“Good morning,” Cordelia says, sitting next to James at the kitchen table. She poured a cup of tea and looked out the window, it was raining very hard and forming puddles in the street.

“Good morning” James responds, reaching for some breakfast, “Looks like any plans for today are cancelled”

“I think it is far too cold to go adventuring in London,” Cordelia says with a shiver, it was almost spring but they still had many cold days ahead of them.

They finished their breakfast talking about rain and what crazy things their friends have been up to lately. Christopher had been working on a new invention, Mathew caused some trouble at the Hell Ruelle, nothing much different than usual. They then decided to head upstairs to the study where they could sit by the warm fire and play a game of chess.

“Shâm-Mât” Cordelia says, winning her 12th consecutive game in a row. James just laughs as they reset the board for another game. There isn’t much to do and he is still holding on to hope that he can win at least one round.

“You're too good at this,” James says with a smirk. She has always been brilliant at battle strategy, she could outsmart any opponent she faced. He looked at her with a smile as she planned her next move, her face was full of concentration. He could feel her plotting his demise.

They played chess until it was time for lunch, the sky was still gray with rain clouds. They then decided to venture to the library to look for a book to read on this cold and rainy day. James walked over to put more wood on the fire while Cordelia went to look for a book. They settled on the couch by the fire, Cordelia leaning her head against James’s shoulder while he read from an old volume of The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens. There were a lot of Dickens novels in the library mostly from James’s parents' fascination with the author. Will and Tessa were both staying in Wales for a week and were not at the institute, it was just James and Cordelia.

She began to fall asleep and he smiled as he see the book on the night stand. He grabbed his notebook and began to write.

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So now James was still sitting on the couch trying to write a poem about the letter but he realized the poem wasn’t what he should be writing about, he spent the whole day with Cordelia and she was more fierce and interesting than any storm.

______________________________

“That was very fitting for today,” Emma says, putting the poems back in the box. She looks at the time quickly, Jem and Tessa would be there soon.

“It must rain here a lot,” Julian says, “I miss the beach” They laugh, they would be back in LA soon enough to deal with the chaos that ensues there.

They had just renovated the institute more and had been busy painting more murals on the walls. They also updated their computer and Jules got a laptop which made some things easier and more organized.

They hear footsteps coming down the hall and Tessa looks into the room.

“I see you found James and Cordelia’s room,” she says with a smile.

“I haven’t been here in years,” Jem says looking around the room. Tessa was looking at the box in Emma’s hands.

“I see you found Cordelia’s jewelry box,” Tessa smiles as though she is remembering her, “She is an ancestor of yours, she was a Carstairs before she married my son.”

“James, right? Did he write poetry?” Emma asks. Tessa looked a bit confused.

“Yes, he did. But I thought I had all his notebooks saved at my house, did you find one?”

“We didn’t find a whole notebook but we did find a few poems he wrote to Cordelia.” Jules says. Emma opens the box and pulls out the pieces of paper.

“I always wondered where the ripped out pages went, I always assumed they were just rough drafts that got tossed away.” She paused for a moment, “did you two happen to find a book called The Beautiful Cordelia. I have been looking for it for a while now and I know Cordelia had it.”

Emma pointed over to the shelf they had originally found the box on. Tessa pulled out the leather bound book that had The Beautiful Cordelia across the top in fancy calligraphy and a small “by Lucie Herondale” on the bottom.

“Thank you,” Tessa said, holding the book. Jem was looking at something across the room.

“Hey, did some of our stuff get moved up here too,” he asked, picking up a stele.

“I think so, did you find something?” Tessa asks.

“This was Will’s stele,” He says, handing it to her and looking slightly incredulous. “How much of our stuff is still here?” Tessa laughs.

“Leave some for the other generations, we don’t want to fill our house with 100 years worth of clutter.”

They all turn to leave and go get something to eat. They would never forget the poems they found, the remnants of someone else's rainy day, of another time period far away yet so near to them. While the day was dreary, dark, and wet, never let the weather depict whether there is a storm cloud raining on your day off.

_____________________________

Cordelia looks at the poems one more time with a smile before placing them in her new jewelry box. It had been an anniversary gift from James. It is wooden with her name and intricate little daisies carved onto it. The box truly is beautiful. It had been raining so she took the opportunity to organize a bit but now the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds.

James walked over and kissed her on the cheek while she latched the box shut.

“ We were invited to a picnic in the park, just the usual group. Do you want to go?” He asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“That sounds lovely,” she says, standing up from the bed and carrying the box over to the shelf. She puts it between The Beautiful Cordelia and a book of persian mythology her mother had given her. She slipped on her shoes and took James’s hand. They walked off happy as can be, standing in the sun for a change instead of being stuck inside on those rainy days.

Tag list: @fortheloveofthecarstairs @thehotfaeriethreesome @shadowrunner2000 @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @surrounded-by-exquisite-clutter @gabtapia @niathesanctuary-bolastair-kanej

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list :)

#james herondale #cordelia carstairs #emma carstairs #julian blackthorn #the last hours #the dark artifices #the shadowhunter chronicles #jordelia #jemma blackstairs

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wherearemyglassesbro · 4 years

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A h/etalia Umbrella academy au but it isn’t actually one, it’s just inspired by UA kinda...idk

//Uh keep in mind that this is going straight from the drafts onto your dash and uhhh there will for sure be spelling errors so don’t roast me lmao

Roman ‘Roma’ Vargas: An eccentric billionaire who founded the Academy of the World’s Finest (or the AWF for short). He gets bored very quickly and went from buying rockets to building hotels to managing casinos to buying children. A very crazy sequence of events! (Roma has many secrets but I don’t feel like fleshing it’s out rn this is just the bare bones of this just for fun!! And if you’ve seen both seasons of UA you probably already knows what you need to know). One faithful day, October 1st 1989, multiple beautiful babies were born from women who were not pregnant the day they were born. This phenomenon made itself known to Roma and he was off to find as many of these children that he could! He sent his staff all over the world to buy these children. He successfully purchased 9.

Number 1, purchased for $10,000 in Las Vegas: Number 1 was picked to be number 1 because Roma thought he was such a strong looking baby. Alfred was actually purchased fifth out of his siblings but no one knows that except Roma himself. Alfred, from a young age, was able to cause an obscene amount of damage. When he held Roma’s hand while learning to walk, he crushed the bones in his hand. When he kicked a soccer ball down the hallway, it went through the wall like a meteor. When he knocked on Arthurs door to bother him, the door snapped in half (and Art screamed bloody murder). He has an insane amount of strength without even trying! It was very hard for him to get a handle on it because he’s so spontaneous and isn’t really one to think before acting but once he and hs siblings started training for hero work?? That was his motivation to be better, to control his power to use it against bad guys!!! He’s the golden boy of the family, he never disobeys Roma and will never, even now, say anything bad about him. ‘Hey! He’s my dad, he saved me from whatever shithole life I was destined to have in Nevada. I couldn’t be more thankful for my life! And mom, if you’re watching this...Thanks. I don’t know who you are but...Thank you’

Number 2, purchased for $25,000 in Le Mans: Number 2’s power presented itself only after he learned to talk. Francis’s power of persuasion is both a blessing and a curse for him. He’s struggled greatly with being ‘number 2’, he wants the same validation and attention as ‘number 1’ gets. He doesn’t think it’s fair. He often used his power for bad things arond the house like ‘J'ai entendu une rumeur that you broke every finger on your right hand!’ that was a very gruesome morning for Alfred and the scolding that Francis got scarred him for life as he was insulted and cursed out in front of his family. Even after that, he still kept up his happy exterior. He was also usually the face of the AWF, appearing on magazine covers which he may or may not have influenced the writers just a bit. His power is strong but he does not use it on Roma because he’s terrified of what would happen if he did!! As he’s gotten older, he’s falls off the wagon a little but he’s trying to make a solid recovery. Also, when he was 7 he found out he was born in France! He then forced himself to become totally fluent in French and taught himself to have a French accent too. Whoopie....

Number 3, purchased for $1000 in Sicily: Number 3 is a dangerous child, he was from day one. When he was born, he was presenting a 116 degree fever yet he was acting totally normal. His mother was convinced he was the devil and was more than happy to sell him off to Roma. Roma felt a deep connection to Lovi from the start....Lovi looked like him. He looked like he could be his biological son. Lovi got special treatment from Roma often but he still felt overshadowed by his siblings. I mean, a majority of his siblings are pretty blondes. He felt left out often. But he would channel that anger into training and cooking! He has a trick that he likes to do, cracking an egg into his palm and cooking it. That one impresses Alfred every time! Not that he’s hard to impress. Lovi would often push himself too far in his quest to be the best and snap at his siblings, leaving him even more alienated from them. He spent a lot of time around Roma and Feli, mostly Roma. He got a lot of one-on-one training with him and a lot of praise too. All he ever wanted to do was be perfect for his father. He set bad guys on fire, did interviews on live tv, set fire to a warehouse full of gang members, all kinds of stuff that he never would have done on his own. Stuff that he didn’t want to do. All so he could impress Roma

Number 4, purchased for $700 outside of Berlin: Number 4 has always been hyper and loud! But his powers suddenly developed over night, which was terrifying for him. Gilbert awoke in the middle of the night to pee one night and was met with a ghost in the bathtub. Naturally, Roma encouraged him to speak with ghosts and would make him go to cemeteries to talk to the dead. Ghosts scared him so he’d secretly take Benadryl to knock himself out but as he got older, he realized that he couldn’t be scared anymore cause these ghosts needed a friend :( so he used these ghosts to fight in missions and in return, he’d play games with them and chat with them, just being friend with the ones who had a hard time crossing over :’) he likes using his powers for good but feels like he’s taking advantage of his ghost friends sometimes which took the fun out of crime fighting

Number 5, given to Roma for free outside of Kyoto: Number 5 got a late start compared to his siblings. His powers took awhile longer to manifest and he had trouble learning to read. But once he caught up, he proved himself to be the smartest out of all of them. Smarter than some of them combined, even. Kiku still often indulged in his siblings antics but at the same time, he felt he was somewhat superior to them. He learned to poof himself from one side of the room to the other, starting off small. He figured out he could time travel one night when Francis and Gil were hammered and knocked a vase over. Kiku felt every muscle in his body tense, then a sensation of falling, then he was suddenly 10 seconds in the past!! Wow!! He caught the vase before it could hit the ground and kicked Fran so he fell down, leaving him to sleep on the foyer floor while Gil just stood there like ‘wtf...?’. When Roma started berating him for ‘getting too cocky’, Kiku threw a bit of a hissy fit and decided to jump to the future!! He did and landed himself in the aftermath of the 2019 apocalypse, unable to get back home cause he wore himself out and had no idea what he had even done to get himself there in the first place lmao sucker.

Number 6, purchased for $10,000 in York: Number 6 was an extremely fussy baby. All he did was cry and cry and cry, it was very frustrating for Roma since the other babies were somewhat easier to handle. Arthur was indeed a handful. When he was hungry, baby food tins and spoons would float out of the pantry and over to his highchair. When he wanted to torment his siblings, he’d take their things and throw them across the room with his mind. When a sinking was annoying him, he’d simply lift them up and shove them out of his room. Easy. He is probably the smartest or second smartest of his siblings. He isn’t the most athletic but he spent lots of time studying, so much so that Roma had to constantly buy new books for Art to read to keep him mentally stimulated. He was often a voice of reason though no one listened to him. When fighting he was very useful!! He never needed to get close to the bad guys, he could throw them around without moving a muscle! The only downside is that it wore him out after awhile...Ugh. He avoided the media but did do interviews with his mask on, encouraging kids his age to stay in school! By the time Art was 13, he was taking college level tests and reading college level material so...he’s one smart cookie

Number 7, given to Roma for free in undisclosed location in Russia: Number 7 is too powerful for her own good. At a young age, Francis was told to convince her that she had no powers. This was done in secret, only Roma, the house staff, Francis and Kiku knew it happened. Everyone else was oblivious and left out of the loop. Vanya has the ability to shake the earth, to cause obscene amounts of damage in the blink of an eye. Her power was something that Roma could have never prepared himself for. So from that day on, Vanya was a ‘normal girl’. She watched from the sidelines as her siblings got to train and fight. She sat with Feli to paint or sew or just talk. She went through every day feeling worthless, like she wasn’t meant to be a part of this family. She channeled her feelings into art, painting canvasses worth of rainy cities or melting people. She made a series of paintings depicting her siblings’ abilities through chunky brushstrokes and vibrant colors. Each painting sold for over one million dollars. She thought her art career would impress her father. It didn’t.

Number 8, purchased for $15,000 and 10 cows outside of Oslo: Number 8 was always a quiet boy, he kept to himself and Roma thought he may be powerless as well for almost 5 years until lightning struck the house...on a bright sunny day...not a cloud in the sky. Turns out Lukas and Kiku were arguing. They were only 5 so they were just shrieking and yelling nonsense then BAM!!!! Lighting. Roma was so terrified but Lukas was giggling and shooting soarks out of his hands, his hair sticking up like crazy. He was always quiet and reserved, he spent a lot of time in the library or on the roof just looking out over the city. He didn’t like sneaking out of the house like his brothers and sisters did but he went ‘to keep an eye on them’...he always had fun though. He stayed away from the media and wore a mask that his most of his face so he wouldn’t be recognized. Sadly, in a tough fight in a hostage situation, Lukas was shot and killed when he was 15, right when he was starting to consider writing a book about hero work and how as he aged, he was becoming more confident in himself due to helping others. It was a tragic loss for his siblings

Number 9, purchased for $800 and a new car in La Coruna: Number 9 was successful from the start, surpassing her siblings in height very very fast. Her power just happens to be her speed. Carmen, as a baby, was a lot to handle since she crawled around the house at 40 miles an hour. Even her sleep schedule was quick, she’d take a 20 minute speed nap and have enough energy to run around for hours after. When she was introduced to the idea of being a hero, she agreed so fast that she nearly bit her tongue off. She always got her chores done quick, helped around the house, all of that since a task that would take 3 hours only took a few minutes for her. She was a great female role model and did many interviews for teen magazines to encourage girls to be their best, that has always been her message. She even wrote ‘GRLPWR’ on her cheeks in black paint before heading off to fight crime in case she had her picture taken. Roma wasn’t a huge fan of that but she didn’t care too much :) she has always stuck up for her sisters!! And she has always been close to Fran and Gil but as they got older, their interests began to differ so she found herself hanging with Vanya and Arthur more

Feliciano Vargas: Roma Vargas’s only biological son. He does not have powers and often felt left out when he was left behind while his siblings went on missions. He’s 2 years younger than the rest of them and is often referred to as ‘stupid little brother’ by Lovino which hurt his feelings. When he was a baby, they were like 2 and a half so they didn’t see him as ‘aww look my baby brother!’ They just found him annoying cause he cried a lot. Like his siblings, he never met his mom but he does feel good knowing that he will always have his dad. When he and the academy kids fight, he will often rub it in their faces that at least Roma is his biological dad. That really rubs salt in the wounds, huh? Feli has always gotten on well with Vanya, they got left behind all the time so they got to paint and play music together :) they made eachother very happy

Gilbert and Lukas: Gil didn’t really like Lukas much when they were younger cause Lukas was just...quiet and reserved. Gil is the exact opposite. But now that Lukas is dead, Gil pities him and hangs out with him. They trained a lot together but Gil got embarassed when they trained cause if someone were to walk in, they’d just see Gil shouting and punching at nothing so...They trained in the dark at 3am on the roof where they wouldnt be interrupted. Now that Gil is older, he can channel Lukas almostperfectly. Lukas has an almost totally physical form when Gil uses his powers, allowing Lukas to channel lightning the way he was able to when he was alive. Lukas doesn’t like doing that too often cause it’s a bit cruel, getting to feel alive when you’re not :/

Kuma: Kuma was a normal polar bear that was experimented on in a lab that Roma funded. The scientists combined his DNA with monkey and human DNA and after much trial and error, they were able to get his brain to process English. So he wears a collar that allows him to talk. He scolded the kids for running around in the house but then five minutes later he’d let them ride his back while HE ran around the halls :) he was like a fun uncle to them. He wore a bow tie :)

Wan yu: Roma fell in love with a woman from China when he was younger. She was studying culinary arts in Italy and he absolutely fell head over heels for her. But things didn’t work out. So once the tech came around, he had an advanced robot version of his first love created for the sole purpose of loving him and his children. She was programmed to be a great role model, compassionate, patient and...A good cook. The kids all called her mom or ma and even though she never technically had favorites, she was always fond of little Kiku. She was the one who taught him to read when he had trouble doing so and she’s stay up late with him in secret to help him catch up in other languages. The kids all had to learn Italian, English, Spanish, Greek and Russian bedore they were even 8 years old. Since Kiku took a bit longer to grasp that kind of stuff, she would sneak him down to the library to have one-on-one lessons with him. :) she was also very caring when it came to Alfred, she saw how hard he pushed himself sometimes and it hurt her to watch. She made cookies for him on especially rough days

Lukas’s death: Lukas’s death hit Arthur, Vanya and Gilbert especially hard. Arthur and Lukas bonded over similar interests, Lukas and Vanya played chess all the time and gossiped and Gilbert always thought that Lukas was the coolest sibling he had. His death was used as motivation for everyone else to continue training. Gilbert ‘summoned’ Lukas three days after his death and Lukas has followed him around ever sicne. Lukas wasn’t avtually summoned, he’d been secretly roaming the house for days and decided to just let Gil think he summoned him. Roma was depressed about his son’s death for a week or so but he never really allowed himself to feel negative emotions for too long so he was over it a bit...too quickly.

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serendipitous-magic · 3 years

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what's your writing process like? do you plot things out beforehand? or do you sort of write it as it comes? a mix of both?

Depends on what I'm writing!

In general I'm a planner. I can't write from a blank page, unless I'm just like... really really captivated by whatever I'm writing, which was what happened with the first chapters of both The Art of Living Your (Second) Life and The Partnership Plan.

a) In general, if it's a fanfiction I'm writing, I tend to build the plan as I write - meaning, oftentimes I'll be inspired to write the first chapter, and I'll write that with little idea what the rest of it will be. Or, even if I have an idea what the rest will be, it's more of a vague skeleton than a full plan. And then, as I continue to write, I think more about where the story is going and I continuously add to and refine my plan kind of alongside the actual writing. In this way, the plan grows at the same time that the actual chapters do - but because the chapters take significantly longer to write than planning does, the plan outpaces the "real" writing and I usually know the basic story arc from fairly early on. Then it's just a matter of fleshing it out, adding detail, writing down scenes I thought of, etc. And then when I get to that point in the actual writing, I have a framework in place already.

-_-_-

b) Sometimes for fanfic, I have a more complete plan upfront - although I use "complete" here to mean "from beginning to end," not "completely detailed." So, more like a full skeleton than a full body, if that makes sense. I did that with Roll for Strength. What usually happens is that my plan will look something like...

...

Chapter One

-Will suspects Mike has a girlfriend and is kind of put out about it but thinks he's over Mike so he tells himself he doesn't care

-Will walks in on Mike and his BF (name??) and has a crisis (they don't see Will, so Will knows about Mike but Mike doesn't know that Will knows)

-Will might get off to that later, guiltily? (Or move to chapter two)

Chapter Two

-Do Mike's POV to tell about how he ended up dating a guy, how he got very disillusioned with the world after canon events and got into a "fuck it, the rules don't matter and I hate them anyway" mentality, which eventually snowballed into him kind of realizing and accepting his sexuality earlier than usual fanon

-Also introduce BF (name??) in a scene

-Set time and place - season should set the mood if not already mentioned in Ch 1

-Maybe also do BF's POV briefly to introduce him?? Or leave that for later

...

Etc.

And that's the original skeleton plan. And then it gets expanded upon more and more and more as I continue to think about the story, sometimes even with full pages' worth of unbroken text blocks as I get inspired and start basically thought-vomiting an entire scene. So by the time I get around to actually writing it, it might look like the above, or it might be a few steps shy of an actual draft already, depending on how much I've thought about / worked on that part.

See #5 in this writing advice post to see what I mean about a "thought vomit" draft.

-_-_-

c) Here's the thing - the above was for fanfic, or for short stories, or stories that I'm just kind of having fun with.

For original stuff, I adhere much more tightly to the "rules," because the guidelines for original work (that you might try to publish in the actual publishing market) are much stricter - and for good reason! Fanfiction is a sandbox, and we're all invested in the characters and worlds and settings already. We're all reading and writing fanfic because we already love these characters and this world, and we just want to play in it.

It's a different situation with original novels that you hope to publish. The plot, pacing, tension, and story beats have to be much, much tighter and more polished. Because people reading original work have no prior reason to be invested in it or care what happens - that's work that you have to do. For fanfic, that work was done for you by the original thing. Not to mention, the publishing world is so absolutely choked with competition, and the emphasis lies so heavily on sales, that if your book isn't fucking top-tier compelling, no publisher or agent will take a second look at it. Which is kind of unfortunate, because there's value in slower, more relaxed, more reflective storytelling, too - it's just not what capitalism has decided to value, which is sad.

But anyway.

When writing an original thing, I basically need a full plan - beginning to end, covering all plot points. Not necessarily all the details, just all the plot points - I need a skeleton and I need connective tissue. The rest comes later. But to start, I need to know what happens, why, and how the characters get from event to event. I need to know the physical story events, the emotional beats, and how those things logically flow throughout the story.

Some people can write without this and it still turns into a compelling story, tight narrative, etc. I envy these people. I have all respect for these people. I cannot do this. If I write original work with no plan, and especially without at least like 50-75% of a plan, I end up with something slow, meandering, and kind of limp. No bueno.

So, I usually use a beat sheet.

What's a beat sheet?

It's a 15-beat plotting structure used by screenwriters. And, yeah, technically it's for movies / screenplays. But storytelling is storytelling. And it's highly flexible. (And my favorite professor ever taught it to me in college so you can pry it out of my cold dead hands.)

Google it. It's what I use to make sure my (original work) plots are tight, have momentum, have a satisfying character arc, etc.

Okay, okay, I'll paste the basic structure below just so you can see wtf I'm talking about:

-_-_-

-Act I:

1) The First Frame

-What is the first thing we see? This should be a snapshot of the main character’s problem, before the story begins

-Ex: the Star Destroyer in A New Hope

2) The World Around Us

-What is the main character’s world like at the beginning of the story?

-What is missing in the main character’s life?

3) State the Theme (sneak this into The World Around Us)

-What is the story secretly about? This should happen during The World Around Us

4) Inciting Incident (smol tentpole)

-What happens to put the hero on the road? This is where the hero’s life changes forever.

5) The Hero Questions

-1st introspective moment

-Can the hero really do this? Should the hero chicken out?

-Oftentimes the hero fails at something

-Ex: Luke gets his ass beat by the raiders

-Act II:

6) Crossing the Threshold / The Emotional Hurdle (big tentpole)

-The main character makes a choice

-Beginning of Act II

7) The B Story / The Love Story

-Introduced here

-Often but not always a love story

8) Promise of the Premise

-Fun and games in the world you promised

-Horror movie? Creeps here!

-Sci fi? Space battles!

-Animation? Shenanigans!

9) Midpoint (big tentpole)

-The hero finds out that what they want is not what they need

-Luke rescues the princess - turns out that’s not really what the story was about

10) Bad Guys Close In / Throwing Rocks

-Events conspire to tear the hero’s goal to shreds

-Wesley is mostly dead, Inego is drunk, Fezzick is part of the brute squad

-This is the other side of the fun and games coin where things are no longer fun

11) All is Lost

-Something super bad happens, and that goal is impossible

-If someone important is gonna die, it’s probably now

12) The Pit of Despair (smol tentpole)

-The hero mourns the death (if someone died) and wallows in his/her lowest point

13) Inspiration

-A fresh idea

-Act III:

14) Come and Get Some / Final Confrontation (big tentpole)

-The final confrontation - the final showdown

-A and B stories wrapping up at the same time

-The theme makes sense and the battle is engaged

15) Final Frame

-Opposite of the first frame

-The hero is changed

-_-_-

It's what I use. But hey, you don't have to. What works for me might not work for you.

I'll finish this off by pasting in a section of actual real-ass planning I have open in a document for one of my novels at this moment (it's giving me the evil eye, I swear) so you can see what I kind of mean by "thought vomiting." Also note that in my actual document, the bullet points are indented incrementally to be kind of "nestled" underneath the relevant points, if that makes sense, and that it's a whole eye-watering mess of different colors. But for Tumblr, it's this:

-_-_-

-You have to be rescued by the rest of the team, because you fell down that hole - and you are, eventually, after screaming yourself hoarse some more (plus it’s been like an hour or more now, so they have since noticed that you were missing)

-I could gloss over this, like end the chapter when you run away, and open the next one with “It takes another half hour of screaming your throat nearly bloody before the team finds you,” or something

-They berate you for chasing after ghosts - you say you didn’t find anyone down there, because you know for damn sure nobody’s gonna believe what you think you saw, and you don’t even think you believe it

-This leads to a trip to the local doctor (a clinic, probs, akin to UrgentCare), which you’re not happy with because that’s more people taking notice of you

-However, you’re also going through the change in mindset here - see below

-Note: I as the writer don’t have to worry about the paperwork or whatever that you’d normally have to fill out, getting hurt on the job, because you weren’t officially hired - however, it would be a good “humanity is okay” moment if the guy who hired you came in and helped you with the medical expenses because he felt bad - he’d also probably be a little nervous about you suing or something, but you assure him that you have zero interest in that

-I could include a funny line where the guy says he’ll pay for your doctor bill and you try to say no (being indebted to someone is bad news for you) but he insists, because he says he feels responsible, and you just kind of stare at him and then blurt, “Do you need me to kill anyone for you?” (Something you probably regret as soon as you say it, not because you expect him to accept but because you abruptly remember what happened two days ago.) (Would it be too much to also add like “You want me to murder anyone for you? You want a blowjob? I will do anything,” and he gets flustered and bats it off like “Nah, nah, nah, chill out. You’re crazy, man.” And insists that you don’t need to pay him back)

-Here’s a decision I have to make - does the guy pay for your doctor bills as well as paying for your work today (leaving you enough money to potentially split town, but you decide not to), or do you have to pay the $2,500+ in doctor bills with no insurance for the injury, which raises the stakes by depleting all your money?

-I think I like Option A best, because it gives Sam more agency as a character if they decide to stay despite having the option to leave, versus them just being stuck completely - plus I don’t know how else I’d be able to explain away you having money for the hotel

-The guy who hired you pays you for the work day here - and maybe, just maybe, that gives you barely enough to buy that used car (although, why would it? It couldn’t have been more than like $200 for 8 hours of work, maybe $300 if he was really really desperate - if it was a really cheap used car, that might give you barely enough to buy the car but literally nothing left over)

-Point being, maybe you have enough money to bolt now, if you chose to - and you have to make the choice not to

-The car you found might be a $1,500 Honda Civic (or Jeep or whatever) with a dead battery, and the guy selling it says it should run fine with a new battery, which you Google (apparently it would be somewhere in the range of $100-$200) - maybe you think of how nice the mechanic was for you and wonder if you could cut a bit of a deal with him, if you get this car - and if the guy pays for your trip to the doctor and pays you for the temp work, this could just tip you into the margin of being able to afford the car, if you haggle with the seller

-_-_-

Or another example, with more actual sentences:

-_-_-

-As you approach the trailer you start to register a smell that turns your stomach - something like a porta potty and something like the sharp tang of rusting metal. It makes you pause - maybe there really is someone in there, using the place to live whether there’s a sewage hookup or not - it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing you’ve heard of. But after standing for a bit, silent and listening, and then hiding behind a large tree to chuck a rock at the vehicle to no response, you continue forward. You’ll just have to be cautious. Your spirits lift when you see the door. It’s completely grown over. (Leafy vines lace over it, tangling in the handle, yellowing and unbroken. If someone is living in there, they’ve been using the window to come and go, and that doesn’t seem all too likely. Bolstered by a new swell of confidence, and picturing the unlikely riches you might find stashed away in a cabinet or a glove compartment, you cross the last few feet towards the shape.

-You find the body and recognize it as one of the two obnoxious vlogging dudes from the motel

-I’m kind of imagining the moment of discovery like the wardrobe moment in Narnia where, during your nice forest trek, there’s been some pleasant acoustic music playing (like All the Pretty Girls by Kaleo maybe) and then it just stops abruptly in the middle of a phrase, maybe echoing slightly, when you see the body, and all at once everything is sickly silent.

-Oh dude, maybe you continue thinking it’s a duffel bag (possibly feeling pretty upbeat, though cautious until you’re literally about to step over it, and then you happen to glance down and get a sickening, chest-slamming shock when an empty human face is staring up at you

-Note: there should be mushrooms growing in, on and around the RV, because mushrooms are Creepy

-You go to investigate the RV

-Maybe you recognized the body as one of the vloggers and you’re trying to see if his friend is around - or maybe, in a kind of sick daze, you short circuit and find yourself doing the only thing you can think to do: continuing along your trajectory, stumbling towards the RV and tearing the rusted-out door free from the lattice of brittle vines that held it in place (this is what alerts The Dude that someone has been here), like if you just get to your original goal that’ll fix everything - somehow, if you just keep moving forward on the track you set out on, that thing won’t be real anymore - at the very least you have to get inside, to put a door between you and the body, like you’re pulling the blankets over your head to shield yourself from the boogeyman. Just as long as you’re not out there with, with...

-_-_-

Anywho, I'll stop.

I apologize again for... (scrolls up for a million miles) all of that, but you asked me about my passion and now you pay the price, lmao.

#asks #anon #writing #writing advice #i guess?#my writing #thought vomit draft #also you get a sneak peek at The Vanishing Day I guess lmao

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worldsentwined · 3 years

Text

Tagged by @shoreslip

Name(s): Kira, Kiraly (on AO3, Dreamwidth, Discord) worldsentwined (Tumblr, Twitter)

Fandom(s): So if we go by “has created fanwork for at some point” I have at least twelve under my belt, maybe more if I’ve made some fanart that isn’t on AO3. Currently my brain is pointing at The Queen’s Thief and The Murderbot Diaries, with a side order of DnD, but I can’t quite give up on my unfinished SSSS works.

Where you post: Fic? AO3, with a rare ficlet on Tumblr. Fanart mainly goes here, when it happens. DnD character backstory is mostly just on Discord for now, I don’t know if it would be worth it to cross-post.

Most Popular One Shot (by kudos) this year: Contingency Plan 6186 words, 135 kudos

Most Popular One Shot (by kudos) Overall: Borrowed (The YOI fandom was SO good for my self-esteem, this one got like five comments within an hour of posting). 6106 words, 482 kudos

Most Popular Multi-Chapter (by kudos) this year: Oh hey, I actually did post a chapter of Every Little Thing He Does Is Magic this year! Time is totally fake. 31906 words, 40 kudos, I swear I will not leave you all hanging with the current chapter forever.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter (by kudos) Overall: If we’re counting ficlet collections, it’s Vignettes with 8437 words and 145 kudos (technically unfinished, as I will keep dumping Emil/Lalli ficlets here if I have them). If we aren’t, it’s still Before It Was Cool even after all this time - 31899 words, 118 kudos, unfinished and increasingly likely to stay that way I’m so sorry y’all.

Favorite story you’ve written so far: Oh gosh, I don’t know how to choose! Picking some from this year that aren’t already on the list, I’m so proud of how Seven Summers Ago turned out, Soldier, Poet gives me SO many feels, and it was so much fun writing Dear Mx. Machine Manners with Anrea and KalynaAnne!

Fic you were nervous to post: Ehhh I can’t remember any in particular...I think in general I get nervous posting my first fic for a new fandom, and anything for an exchange because I’m worried my recipient won’t like it.

How do you choose your titles?: Sometimes I pick a silly title for the draft document and it ends up becoming permanent (looking at you, Every Little Thing etc.) Other times I get to the end and need a title, so I either 1) look through the fic for some good line I can steal from myself, 2) look through the source material or song lyrics to find a good line I can steal from someone else, or 3) whine at my friends until someone suggests something brilliant. Once in a while I come up with a random title out of nowhere, or figure out what I want the permanent title to be before I’ve even started writing...that’s what happened with Contingency Plan, I wanted something that resembled the book titles.

Do you outline?: Not usually? Sometimes for multichapter fic I write down ideas for what will happen in future chapters (I did this for Every Little Thing etc and it helped a LOT) but usually I just wing it.

Complete: 140 on AO3...if we’re counting the ficlet collections as single, complete works, which I am because I am too lazy to count chapters right now.

In-Progress: Uhhh...let’s say three incomplete on AO3, two of which have already been mentioned I’m so sorry and an absolute mountain of WIPs that haven’t been posted yet. The other partially-posted one is Piecing Together An Imperfect Archive, which I wrote for a writing challenge in 2019 and decided to continue. I actually worked on it some this summer, maybe one day I will pick it up again. It is original work and has like NO engagement on AO3 though, so external motivation is not high.

Coming soon/not yet started: Listen I do NOT need more WIPs...the QT Bakery AU has been progressing though, slightly morphed into a cross-town road trip AU. And I was working on a sequel for Waking Up during NaNo but lack of planning got me very lost, haha. There are also some ideas lurking from the Murderbot discord, we’ll see what comes of those.

Prompts?: I will never say no to prompts, but fair warning they might languish in my inbox forever.

Upcoming work you’re most excited about: I am excited for the Bakery/Road Trip AU to be done. Does that mean I’m actually working on it?? Debatable.

Tagging: anyone who wants to do this, I never know who has or hasn’t done these already. ^_^;

#tag memes #writing #trying to be encouraged by those kudo numbers and not depressed #no two fics are the same can't compare them etc etc #mainly I'm more bothered by my inability to finish anything these days

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

Flatbush & Atlantic: part iv

And here’s part iv! I’d love it if y’all would reblog, this is a work I’m really proud of and the more people it’s shared with the better! My inbox is always open, and I’d love to hear your thoughts, even if it’s just “AAAAAH.” Enjoy!

part i part ii part iii

part iv

December 12

Cass grimaced, looking over at the tab on her laptop that had the Islanders game open. They were down 3-1 late in the third, and it didn’t look like they were going to be able to pull it off. It was the last game of a ten day roadie, and they had lost all but one against the Red Wings right at the beginning. And the Wings were 10-21, so it wasn’t even a confidence booster. To make matters worse, Mat was on a points drought; he hadn’t gotten an assist, let alone scored, since the first game of the trip, a 4-1 loss to the Blue Jackets. They also were playing a few players down, an MCL sprain and the ever-vague “lower body injury” kept the team from being at full strength.

As the game came to a close, she didn’t even know if Mat wanted to talk to her. His relentless dedication was one of her favorite things about him, but it also led him to take things way too personally and be way too hard on himself even when — especially when — the situation didn’t call for it. He was probably beating himself up as the boys headed back into the locker room, being short with his teammates and trainers and whatever poor sports reporter had been sent to ask “how they planned on snapping this unfortunate streak” in the post-game interviews. He’d never be deliberately mean or unkind to anyone, but just like anyone, her boyfriend got stressed and overwhelmed and didn’t always know how to deal with it. I saw the game, she texted him, I’m proud of you. Call me if you want.

Dec. 15 (wed)

Mat had barely spoken to her since the return from the roadie, and it was starting to get on her nerves. Texts were responded with single words, if they were answered at all. They were supposed to have visited the Met yesterday , but that hadn’t happened either. He had cancelled, saying that “some team thing came up” and he wouldn’t be able to make it. Barely apologized. And what pissed Cass of more than almost anything was that she wanted to help, she wanted so badly for him to just talk to her, she wouldn’t judge him or make him feel like he was a shitty player or a shitty person, but she couldn’t do that if he wasn’t even picking up her damn calls. Who do you talk to when there’s almost nobody in the world who understands the position you’re in?

Maybe that was just it. She’d go to the people who did understand. Paige had added her to the WAGs Whatsapp group the week prior, and from everything she had gathered so far, it was exactly the sort of place to go for advice. Cass pulled up the chat, torn between not wanting to seem like she was oversharing but not really sure what else she could do. Hey, guys, she started. Mat’s been taking the losing streak pretty personally (as I’m sure a lot of your guys are) and seems to be pulling away. Any advice? I don’t want to push him but I know it’ll get worse if he just keeps it all bottled inside. Clicking send, Cass sighed, leaning back in her desk chair and trying desperately to study for her Environmental Law final.

At some point after midnight, she closed her books and laptop with frustration. The test wasn’t until next week, but she wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to study as distracted as she was. She grabbed her phone, heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth and check the group chat. No fewer than six of the women had written back, some of whom she hadn’t even met, with long, sympathetic paragraphs overflowing with advice. She read them all, touched by the time, effort, and care that everyone has put into making her feel just a little less anxious. But the overwhelming message was clear. Find balance, but don’t let him blow you off. Be a support system, but you’re not his therapist. And repeated again and again, Talk to him.

She tapped out a message before she turned her bedside lamp off, hoping that with morning would finally come a proper response from Mat. Can we meet for coffee tomorrow morning? You know as well as I do that we need to talk. I’ll be at Donahue’s at 8.

Read: 12:23 AM

Dec. 16 (thurs)

Her foot tapped nervously, hands clasped tightly around the cup in front of her and beanie pulled over her head, curls poking out from under. He had read the text, but Cass had no clue if Mat was actually going to show up or not. He hadn’t responded. It was ten past eight, and Cass was just about ready to give up and head to school early. She had just put her laptop back in her bag when she caught Mat out of the corner of her eye. He gave her a small smile, equal parts nervous and almost — bothered? “Hey,” he said softly, unzipping his puffer coat and sliding into the chair opposite her. “You said you wanted to talk?”

Suddenly, the whole elaborate speech Cass had prepared, about letting her in and supporting him and communication, left her mind. “Yeah.”

“So, talk,” Mat said, with a slight edge to his voice.

She looked down at her cup. “I get that you’re disappointed about the losing streak. I get it and I’m sorry that you’re not doing as well as you hoped —”

“I don’t think you do get it, Cassidy —”

She cut him off. “Let me finish, Mathew. I’m sorry that you’re not doing as well as you hoped, and I do get how shitty it is when you know you’re putting in the time and effort and practice and it doesn’t seem like anything’s working, but you’ve barely talked to be about any of it.”

“‘Cause I don’t want to,” Mat mumbled.

Cass leaned back in her chair. “And I get that. I get if you don’t want to talk to me. But you’re not talking to anyone. You’re not talking to Tito, I asked him and he said you’ve been just as closed-off with the team. You’re not talking to any of the other guys. And I’d bet you’re not talking to your parents or your sister either.”

No one gets it!” Mat said in frustration, a little louder than was necessary. “I go through so much shit and have so much pressure on me and…” He trailed off for a minute. “I don’t want to disappoint the team, I don’t want to disappoint the fans. I don’t want to disappoint my family. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Everyone had their ups and downs,” Cass started.

“And I get that,” Mat said, holding his head in his hands and looking down at her coffee cup. The same white-and-blue one he had gotten her two months earlier. “But it’s hard. It’s hard when I’m feeling like the fans aren’t getting what they deserve when they come to games, and like I’m not worth what they’re paying me right now. I know you want to, but you don’t get it.”

Cass looked away, turning her eyes to the street. The sidewalk was dusted in white, turning to slush every time someone walked past. It was the first snow of the year. “Then help me to.”

He breathed out, finally relaxing a little. “It’s not that easy.”

“I want to help you,” Cass said, leaning over the table and clasping his hands in hers. “But you can’t keep freezing me out like this, chou. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me.”

Mat closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “I just don’t want this to become your thing too. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I know right now kind of sucks for me but that’s just how it is sometimes, you know? It’s just how it is and I have to get over it. I have to get over myself.”

“Mat, your well-being and mental health isn’t something you can just ‘get over.’ Or even something you should. I’m not a professional, and if you need one that’s something we can find,” Mat wrinkled his face, and Cass was pointedly reminded how often men’s mental health was ignored, “but I’m here for you to talk to. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

He ran his thumb over her hand. “But you didn’t sign up for this.”

Cas shook her head. “Mathew Barzal. This is exactly what I signed up for. I’m pretty smart,” he cracked a smile, “and I knew what I was getting myself into. Dating someone with such an unconventional job and schedule can be stressful, and frustrating, and confusing for everyone involved. But I chose it, Mat. I chose you.”

Dec. 21 (mon)

For once, Cass wasn’t headed straight home after work, or headed to a game, or — God forbid — back to the library to study. Her last final had been that morning, and she was free for three blessed weeks until the New Year. Which meant that she didn’t have to worry about turning in another essay or memorizing another case, which meant that she was more than free to go to the team Christmas party with Mat later that night. He had somehow been coerced into hosting, and Cass had promised to get to his apartment early to help set up. He was mostly done by the time she got there, so “setting up” turned out to mean setting up the bar and putting out snacks, Cass mixing up an enormous pitcher of her favorite sangria, a signature standby from her sorority’s Wine Wednesdays.

Mat had even put up a proper Christmas tree, and Cass smiled at the piney scent as she headed down the hallway, bag in hand. “Cool if I change in your room?” She shouted down the hall at Mat, who was currently engrossed in pouring a bowl full of chocolate-covered pretzels. “Yeah, go for it,” he called back. Cass didn’t have a lot of excuses to dress up, but liked taking advantage when the occasion called for it. Her dress was short, red satin with a slit on one side and silver embellishment on the other. She used his bathroom to touch up her makeup, swiping her burgundy lipstick on and double-checking her brows. Cass shoved her work clothes back into her backpack, tossing it onto the plush armchair in the corner of his room.

She walked down the hallway, which was pretty much bare save for a few pictures of his friends from home and one with his family on the day he was drafted. She was kind of surprised that Mat owned a single picture frame. Cass sat on the couch in his living room, looking at the Christmas tree. There were one or two Islanders ornaments, a paper Santa that she assumed had been a kindergarten art project, a photo of his family around the fireplace that looked like it had been taken a year or two earlier. Mat wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind. “Whatcha looking at, babe?”

She smiled. “Your ornaments. They’re really pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

The door rang, Mat kissing her quickly before walking across the room to open it. A group of the younger players piled in, mostly rookies and call-ups from Bridgeport. One of them had brought along a keg of beer, and Cass had to fight back a laugh while showing him to the kitchen and setting it on the counter. He was just out of college, she’d stake her life on it. By the time she’d secured the keg and started getting people set up with drinks, the living room had started to fill up. “What can I get you?” She asked Paige, who had left Tito with the boys by the tree and made her way over to Cass.

“What are my chances of getting a Moscow mule?” Paige asked. “I don’t want to be a difficult guest, but,”

“Very good,” Cass said, turning around and grabbing the vodka and ginger ale. “We don’t have the proper mugs though, so don’t be complaining.” One shot of vodka. Half a can of ginger ale. Squeeze a lime. She had bartended for a little over a year when she first moved to New York, and it was still one of her favorite things to do for friends. Mixing herself a whiskey sour, Cass wandered back over to Mat and Tito.

---

It was well past eleven and the party was nowhere near stopping. While everyone was conscious of the noise level — for the most part, she had seen a few of the guys being reminded to use their inside voices — the conversations were still going and the drinks were still flowing. Cass had passed the tipsy point somewhere around 10:30, though she was nowhere near as hammered as some of the team. Or their dates, for that matter. She was cuddled up against Mat on the couch, heels long having since been abandoned and nursing what she was pretty sure was a vodka sprite with way too much vodka and way too little sprite. Whatever, Cass thought ruefully as she tipped the last of it back. It gets the job done.

Mat was a touchy drunk, Cass had learned, and one hand seemed to have taken up permanent residence at her waist while he sipped a beer with the other. “What do you think Christmas will be like for you?” Cass asked softly, tilting up her head to look at him. “Since you won’t be with your family.” Mat knew it was a possibility, but he was still pretty upset when he looked at the schedule and realized that his family wasn’t going to be able to fly out to spend the holidays with him, and he didn’t have enough time to go back out to Vancouver.

Her parents had extended the invitation for Mat to spend Christmas with them when she had been back up for Thanksgiving; he couldn’t make Christmas Day, but was able to carve out two days to visit. He smiled at her, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “You’re cute when you’re worried, y’know that?” Cass scrunched up her nose. “It’s not like I’m going to be alone. I’m doing Christmas with Beau, since Paige’ll be out of town too, and some of the guys usually plan a nice dinner thing for anyone who’s not with family.”

“That sounds nice,” Cass noted, still feeling a pang of guilt.

“Hey,” Mat said, noticing her distraction. He sat up, turning her face to look towards him. “I’ll be fine. I’m a grown-ass man.”

Cass cocked an eyebrow. “Sure about that?”

Mat giggled. “Okay, okay, fine. Point taken. But yeah, it would be nice to have my family, but I kind of do, y’know?” He said, nodding around to the guys. Cass could have sworn that in that moment, her heart melted. “And I want you to spend time with yours. I’d be kind of a shitty boyfriend if I didn’t want you to.” Mat leaned in, and his lips brushed against hers so that they were almost touching but not quite, hesitantly. Cass pressed against him, her fingers finding purchase in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck. She loved that he was letting his hair grow out. He tasted like whiskey and tequila and some cheap beer that she was pretty sure was Natty Light, but she couldn’t have cared less, just like she ignored the not-so-subtle wolf-whistles from the teammates.

Everyone started clearing out around midnight, a few staying to help stuff cans and bottles into trash bags that were left unceremoniously in the kitchen to be dealt with the next morning. Cass yawned, rubbing her eyes. She had sobered up some, but was still well past the legal limit. “Whatcha doing?” Mat asked, seeing her about to order an Uber.

“Calling a ride?” Cass questioned.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Mat asked haltingly. “If you want.” Cass had obviously been over to his place before, multiple times, but hadn’t stayed the night yet. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, because she did, but it was something that was a big step for her. That meant a lot to her. But it was late, and she was sleepy, and Mat did make a really good pillow. “Okay,” she conceded.

Mat smiled, taking her hand and leading her back to his bedroom. He rummaged through his dresser, grabbing an old Thunderbirds t-shirt and athletic shorts and handing them to her as she walked into his ensuite. “I don’t have stuff to get your makeup off, but there is soap?” He offered.

Cass laughed. “I brought some wipes, but thank you. That’s really sweet.” She changed and took her makeup off, finding a spare toothbrush in one of the drawers and brushing her teeth. She popped out after a few minutes. Mat was already changed, dressed in pyjama pants and a comfy-looking heathered grey top. “The red toothbrush is mine now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, cracking a smile. A few minutes later, she had claimed the left side of the bed and he had come back from the bathroom. They were lazily kissing, Mat’s hand just barely brushing the skin on her waist from where the shirt had ridden up. Cass was still tipsy and she knew Mat wouldn’t try anything, not like this, but God, it was nice just to feel close to him. After a few minutes he pulled back, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of the loose messy bun she had thrown together. “What’s running through your head, babe?” He murmured.

Cass looked down, biting her lip. She was usually good with emotions, good with communication, but something about Mat made her heart skip a beat and brain go into overdrive all at once, and somehow she was convinced that it was the best feeling in the world. “I’m just really happy right now,” she breathed. “It’s Christmas, with our friends, and you...It’s everything I could want.”

Mat gave the softest smile. “You, with me, right now? That’s all I could want, Cass.”

Dec 22. (wed)

Cass zipped her suitcase shut, double-checking that she had everything she’d need for her two weeks in Connecticut. It wasn’t a big deal if she forgot something, there was probably some stuff left in her old dresser, and her little sister Eliana was about the same size. Mat had just texted that he was almost there. Cass grabbed her backpack and suitcase, stopping for a moment to pop out the final few chocolates on the Advent calendar her mom had sent down. She closed her bedroom door, wishing a harried goodbye to Ryanne and Stella, and ambled down the stairs as fast as her bags would allow her. She didn’t want Mat to have to double-park and risk getting a ticket.

True to his word, Mat was just pulling up when she came out of the building, waving one hand and double-checking the street was clear before flipping his hazards on and hopping out to help her put her bags in the trunk. Kissing him on the cheek in thanks, Cass slid into the passenger’s side, giving Mat a very pointed look when she saw that the first song on his playlist was Justin Bieber. “Don’t make fun of me,” he mumbled, blushing.

“Who said I’m making fun of you?” Cass said lightly, trying and failing to hide her smile.

They had decided that Mat would make the drive, since he was only staying two nights they had figured it would make more sense. The directions had been plugged into the Bluetooth system, and they had just made it out of the city when Mat looked over at the passenger’s seat, furrowing his brow when he saw Cass’s expression. Something was bothering her. “What’s up, babe?”

She bit her lip. “Nothing.”

“C’mon, we both decided we weren’t going to do this anymore. You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to, but I think you want to talk.”

Cass looked down at her lap. “I got a letter from the company that’s handling my student loans.”

“I thought you didn’t have any debt?” Mat asked quizzically.

She let out a single, humorless laugh. “That was for undergrad, and that was only because I was really, really lucky. I got some money from the school and I worked some, but that only covered about half of my costs? A little less?”

“Which leaves you with how much?”

“A hundred and ten thousand dollars, give or take. They were sending me the payment schedule, I have to start paying it back late next year.”

Mat breathed out. He knew that Cass didn’t come from money, but being from Canada and not having gone to college himself, he wasn’t really aware of just how debilitating student debt could get. “Do your parents know?” He asked gently.

Cass picked at a loose thread on her scarf. “Yeah. They helped as much as they could, but there’s three of us and they’re not made of money. “I, uh,” she paused briefly, “I told you I went to private school, yeah?” Mat nodded. “Catholic school doesn’t come cheap, so I was actually on work-study at my high school, which helped a lot. But I hated it.”

“Your school?” He questioned.

She shook her head. “No, I loved my school. It was great. I just hated feeling like a charity case. My school’s in a pretty well-off neighborhood, so most of the families there had money, and some were like proper ‘old money’ New Englanders. I had some great friends and nobody ever really outwardly was an ass about it if they knew, but still…” She trailed off.

“You felt like you never quite fit in.” Mat finished.

She nodded. “It was hard and it sucked sometimes, but that’s just how it is, I guess,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Two hours later, Mat pulled into Manchester, following Cass’s directions down the winding roads and corners of her hometown. “Do you think they’ll like me?” He asked nervously, eyes flitting between Cass and the road in front of him.

Her brow furrowed. “Who? My family?” Mat nodded. “My family’s going to love you. You’re kind and you treat me with respect. That’s all they’ve ever wanted for me. And my brother already worships the ground you walk on, practically,” she added with a smile.

“He’s a junior, yeah?”

“Mhm,” she responded. Cass’s younger brother Noah was a junior in high school, and one of the best players on his club hockey team. Hockey didn’t run cheap and he had been lifeguarding the past few summers to pay for it, but it was all starting to pay off and he was having some interest shown by college scouts.

Mat pulled up beside the curb in front of her house, killing the engine and shoving the keys back into his pocket. Cass popped the trunk and took her backpack, while Mat got his duffel and her suitcase. She reached for his hand as they walked up the driveway, giving it a reassuring squeeze as she rang the doorbell.

“Cass!” Eliana squealed, hugging as much of her sister as she could manage around the bags. “Put your bags by the door, Dad’s grilling out back and I think Mom’s making your bed.” Mat had had an afternoon game and the two had left not long after, so it was dinnertime and Cass was ravenous. “Grilling in December?” She questioned.

Eliana shrugged, closing the door behind them. “You know Patrick, you go be the one to tell the man he can’t make burgers in the winter.” She turned to Mat, also greeting him with a hug. “You must be Mat, Cass talks about you a lot.”

Cass swatted her. “El!”

Mat chuckled. “Yeah. Mat Barzal, nice to meet you. Good things, I hope?”

“Only the best,” Eliana said, leading them through to the back porch, where her dad was grilling on the patio while Noah was doing sprints up and down the lawn. He almost fell when he spotted Cass and Mat, causing Mat to have to hide a laugh behind his hand. Her dad turned around, setting the spatula down when he saw them. Mat swallowed, sticking out his hand for a shake. “Mat Barzal, sir.”

“Call me Patrick. Good to meet you Mat, go get settled and we should have dinner ready in a few, okay?” Mat nodded. “Noah, pick your jaw up off the floor and go help them with their things, okay?” Noah ducked his head, brushing the dirt off his shorts before jogging over to where Mat and his sisters were on the porch.

“Do I hear my Cassidy?” Cass could hear her mom inside, walking down the hallway with Noah and Mat before she ran into her by her old bedroom. “It’s me, Mom!” Cass said excitedly, hugging her mom. Mat initially went for another handshake, but she shooed it away, embracing him. “We’re huggers in this family,” she said by way of explanation, pulling away after a moment. “Ysabel Cabrera, so nice to finally meet you, Mat.”

Mat smiled. “It’s great to finally meet you too.”

Ysabel pointed down the hall. “Noah’s got bunk beds, so you’ll be with him in there, it’s the last door on the left. Cass, I trust you still can find your room.”

“Yes, mamá,” Cass said, rolling her eyes. “See you in a few, chou.” He kissed her on the cheek, under the watchful eye of her mom, and followed Noah down the hall.

---

Two hour later, Mat and Cass were cuddled together on the living room couch, his arm slung around her as they half-watched reruns of Parks & Rec. “D’you just want to do presents now?” He asked, looking down at her. “Because I know we’ve got plans tomorrow, and I don’t see how it really matters if we’re not going to be together Christmas Day.”

Cass looked up. “Uh, sure, if you want?”

“Meet you back in a minute,” Mat said, hopping off of the couch and disappearing down the hall. Cass rolled her eyes, walking into her room, grabbing the envelope, and returning to the living room. Mat got up when she entered, proudly handing her a surprisingly well-wrapped present.

“You look very pleased with your work,” Cass noted, laughing.

“I watched a Youtube tutorial,” Mat admitted, “but did you know that there’s so much that goes into folding neat corners? It’s practically an art!”

“I’ll take you word for it,” Cass said, handing him his envelope. “Open yours first.”

Mat sat back down, running his thumb through the flap and pulling out a coupon. He looked at it quizzically for a minute. “Beer delivery?”

“Craft beer delivery,” Cass corrected pointedly. “Because I don’t want you to have to resort to Natty Light ever again. I saw your fridge, it’s actually the worst. You need taste, babe.” Mat snorted. “And they deliver to Canada, so you don’t have to worry about missing out on the offseason.”

“I love it, pretty girl,” Mat said, kissing her. “Now open yours.” Cass carefully popped the corners open, unfolding the wrapping paper. My Beloved World - Sonia Sotomayor. “You said once that you really admire her, and I didn’t see it on your bookshelf, so I thought you’d like it.”

“I do, I love it. I love that you remembered even more,” Cass added.

But Mat wasn’t done. “Open it,” he said expectantly.

Confused though she was, Cass opened the cover of the book. “It’s...signed? She said softly, reverently tracing her fingers over the inscription.

“Yeah.” Mat went on, explaining, “I found it in this little bookstore in Brooklyn, and knew I had to get it for you. Knew what it would mean to you.”

“It’s incredible. You’re incredible. I can’t believe you’d do something like that for me.”

Their foreheads touched. “Why wouldn’t I?” Mat whispered. “It’s for you.”

And in that moment, there was nothing anyone could do to take away how happy that made her feel. How happy he made her feel.

#hockey imagine #hockey writing #nhl imagine #mat barzal imagine #hockey smut #mat barzal #nhl smut #nhl writing #nhl imagines #nhl fluff #hockey imagines #hockey fluff #islanders imagines #islanders writing #new york islanders #islanders

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jq37 · 4 years

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On a scale of 1-10, how difficult is it to make a podcast? I’ve been following ANA since you first announced it (I’m so excited for it) and the other day I came up with an idea that I think would make a good series

Hey, thanks for the message! And thanks for being interested. Absolutely No Adventures has been a lot of fun to put together and it's nice to see that people are looking forward to it.

As for your question I'd say maybe a 6? But that's a really incomplete answer and I did a lot of searching for help on how to get started when I decided to do this so I'll give you more in depth breakdown of the steps and if you have more questions you can totally message me off of anon.

(1) Write The Thing

So yeah, no getting around it. The first thing you have to do is just write the podcast. For some people, this is the hardest part. For me, it was probably the easiest part because it's the thing I was most familiar with. You already have an idea, which is great. So now you probably want to sit down and figure out things like is this a limited miniseries or will it be on-going with multiple seasons? How long will each episode be?

You also want to make sure you write for the medium. For example, in a book, you can just say, "She hugged him." But if it's audio, you have to make there's some kind of indication for that (ie: Man: Oh, and now we're hugging).

Format doesn't matter too too much as long as it's consistent. I used film script format in Celtx (which is free) but people also use Google Docs. Just pick what's easiest for you and get going.

I also highly recommend you finish a full season of scripts (or the whole set if it's a mini series) before you move on. Some people write as they go and if you want to do that, cool, but it's one less thing to worry about once you're in production and you don't want writer's block to slow you down once you're already going.

(2) Casting

So this is where I left my comfort zone and had to learn to do things I was unfamiliar with. The good news here is, there are a lot of actors available to be a part of projects like this for varying amounts of money or no money at all if it's an interesting enough project. I will advocate for paying people if you can though because I wanna make money off of my art someday so I think it's only fair to reciprocate. If it is unpaid, just be upfront about that. It's common among indie projects so it's not scandalous or anything.

Anyway, the basic process here is you write up a casting call that says what the project is, what the deadline is for auditioning, and has some audition lines for each characters (called sides). Then you post on Twitter which has a pretty active voice actor community plus some other places like reddit and certain FB groups and auditions will start rolling in. Casting calls tend to spread--people came to me from Discords I'd never heard of. Once you get a bunch you can pick who you like or, if you can't decide, invite back some people for callbacks and then pick.

I think 2 weeks is a good length of time to keep auditions open, longer if you're looking for something really specific.

It's also possible to simplify this step if you happen to know friends who have mics and wanna help or if you want to do a podcast with a very small cast--maybe even just one person who could be you. There are a number of podcasts with that format. I maybe should have mentioned this during writing but I'll mention it here instead. Anything you have to write, you will have to produce, so keep that in mind. Like, when you're writing, it's easy to have a bunch of extras and sound effects and crazy things happening, but remember that you have to bring that all to life later, so maybe a different character can give that exposition so you don't have to cast ANOTHER person as an extra.

(That being said, most actors I've worked with are chill with doing an extra voice or two.)

Oh! Also. Time zones are a thing. Keep that in mind. I do no regret casting an Australian, a Brit, and Americans across the country because they were all fantastic, but it was hell to schedule.

(3) Recording

So there are 3 main ways to record--in person in studio, remotely together, and remotely apart.

Option one is kind of a no-go right now because of Covid so let's talk about the other 2.

Remotely Together means you get all your actors on a Zoom call with you and they're all in their studios and you record as if you're all in the same room. I did this for ANA and I think it's the best way to do it cause people get to react to each other in real time which is great. The only thing is, it means you have to line up everyone's schedules which is a total bear. Still, if you can do it, worth it.

Remotely Apart means you give everyone their scripts and tell them to send in their lines in x weeks. I did this for some episodes of Secret Podcast Number 2 and it works fine. But for the more emotional eps, we still recorded together. This method is good because it gets rid of timing troubles which was necessary since we're doing a December release (which, trust me, is crazy quick for what we’re doing), but there are some things, you want people to be able to adjust their intensity levels for in the moment.

Either way, but especially in scenario 2, I'd suggest you do a table read first where everyone gets on call and reads through everything. It helps everyone get a feel for each other so they're not going in cold.

Wrt directing, it can feel a little weird to tell people how to talk or inflect or how much they should be crying, but, as long as you're polite, just go for it. They're actors. They can take the notes. That's what they do. All of my actors were always super great about it.

(4) Production

Alright so you have lines in from all your actors.

The next question is, how are you going to handle your production? The actual putting together of the lines and cleaning them up and balancing and adding effects and all that?

I specifically wrote ANA to have relatively simply sound design and it was *still* too much for me to handle so I opted to outsource for that and it was for sure where most of a budget went. If you happen to know how to do this or have the time to learn, you'll def save yourself some money. It is still very time consuming though. The one part that I did do--deciding which takes to use from the lines my actors sent (aka: picking takes) and putting them together to send to my sound guy--took super long as is.

If you're going to hire/recruit someone to do this stuff for you, I recommend you do it before you cast because they'll be able to let you know if the actors who want have compatible audio quality.

IDK what standard procedure is here but the way it works with my guy is I send him lines and then he puts stuff together and sends me a draft of the episode. Then I say what I want changed in an excel spreadsheet with time stamps and we go back and forth until it's done.

(5) Ancillary Stuff

Theme music! You probably want that! There are a couple of routes you can go here. You can get something from a music library--either totally free or for a relatively small fee. This is the most cost effective but will probably more generic and likely in use somewhere else if it's fully free.

You can write it yourself if that's a thing you're good at obviously. Or you can pay someone to do it which will probably cost you a couple hundred bucks but will be totally tailored and unique.

Cover Art! Also very important. People do judge things by their covers so I def rec getting a really dope one made. Canva is also your friend for like icons and stuff.

A Website! You'll want at least a basic one for like contact info, transcripts, stuff like that. I just use Carrd. You can get a pretty classic, website-like setup by using sections and you can link to a custom URL for only like 13 bucks a year which is great.

(6) Marketing

OK so, I'm gonna be real with you, this is the step I'm working on now so I'm still figuring it out!

Besides posting on social media and stuff, you also need to make a press kit which is basically a doc with all the info about you and the show. You can see mine on the ANA site.

I also have mood-board-y graphics I made on Canva to drop with each ep (or ahead of them. Haven’t quite decided).

I will say, I’ve made friends in the community and a lot of them have hyped up my stuff without me even asking. Which isn’t me saying, “Make friends for what they can do for you.” Gross. What I’m saying is that just participating in the community can help.

Anyway, this is getting way too long. I hope this was at least somewhat helpful. Like I said, if you (or anyone else) has more specific questions, hit me up!

#asks #anon #podcast #podcast advice #audio drama #Anonymous

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thewritewolf · 5 years

Text

Nino’s Quest Chapter 1: Gathering the Party

When his uncle leaves for Morocco, it looks like Nino might be stuck without any Dungeons and Dragons for a few months. Since this is a terrible fate, Nino takes it upon himself to make a campaign of his very own.

Now if only he could find a party...

Thank you to @alienducky for inspiring me to expand on this one shot from last year’s fictober prompt! And thanks to @marinoodles for letting me steal her name!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3. My ko-fi.

“As you clutch Raygar close, he whispers a single name into your ear as if it were the most important thing in the world: ‘Doznak.’ The moment the word passes his lips, the light leaves his eyes.”

“No! Not my dude Raygar!” Nino wailed, his fist hitting the table, gently shaking the drinks that had been set on it.

“...And I think that’s where we’ll end this session. Thanks for coming out, you guys.” Uncle Hassan gave a hug to the other two party members as they left, leaving just him and Nino to pick up. “Thanks for the help, little man. How are you liking this campaign?”

“It’s totally awesome, uncle dude!” Nino raised his voice to be heard as he carried the glasses to the kitchen and left them in the sink. “Each story gets better than the last. And man! Tonight’s cliffhanger. I can’t wait to get the low down on who this Doznak dude is next week.”

When he returned, he saw his uncle smiling sheepishly and rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… about that.”

“What?”

“I’m going to be visiting your grandpa in Tangier. So, uh, you might be waiting on that thrilling conclusion for a while.”

Giving his uncle a suspicious look, he asked, “How long is a ‘while’, exactly?”

“I won’t be back until New Year’s, kiddo.”

Nino gaped. “Dude!” He said, betrayed. “We’re only just at the end of summer! How am I supposed to wait that long?!”

Uncle Hassan chuckled. “Well, you’ll be starting school soon. That’ll help keep your mind off it, right?”

“Maybe a little.” Nino pouted and pulled his cap down, trying to hide his disappointment.

A large hand settled on his shoulder and Nino looked up into the hazel eyes of his uncle. “Kiddo, you’ve been doing great and it’s been fantastic having you around in the game. But sometimes groups have to take a break for a while. These things happen.”

Nino sagged. “But… I was just getting the hang of Dungeons and Dragons…”

“Well, you don’t have to stop.” Nino looked up, curiosity getting the better of him. “My books are just going to get dusty waiting for me here. Why don’t you take them and make a campaign of your own? Invite your friends. Trust me, it’ll be way more fun than playing with us geezers.” Uncle Hassan laughed, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

His friends? Nino thought of Adrien, with his impenetrably dense schedule. Alya and her lack of interest in games, whether they be board games or video games. Marinette and her tendency to always be juggling fifty projects at once. Although… they weren’t his only friends, right? It couldn’t be that hard to find two or three people willing to game with him like once a week.

“You know… you might be onto something.” A grin reached Nino’s face as he took the rulebooks that his uncle passed him. Outside, a car honked its horn - his dad was there to pick him up.

“Tell my brother-in-law I said hello. And good luck, kiddo!”

Nino waved and felt his mind light up with the possibilities of adventure.

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

The last month of summer went by in a blur as Nino put his mind to work getting his campaign drafted. When school started, he took a few weeks to get back into the swing of things before he started the hunt for a new party.

That’s where he hit a snag.

There weren’t that many Dungeons and Dragons players in his class. Or, at least, not many that he knew of. He managed to corner all three of them during lunch and pitched his campaign to them.

“...So what’d ya think, dudes? Sound like a party or what?”

Max cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses. “I really am very sorry, Nino, but I’ve been kept adequately busy with my work on game design. While I’d love to join up, it would cut into my other projects. Regrettably, I’ll have to decline.”

“Alright, dude, no sweat.” Nino patted Max on the shoulder and turned toward the other two. “What about you guys?”

Juleka shook her head. “Sorry. I just started one with Rose. Can’t back out now, you know?”

“And I just got hooked on a new MMO with Ivan,” Mylene said with a wince. “If I stop now, I’ll lose my placing that I worked so hard for!”

“Major bummer.” Nino tugged at his cap as all four of them got up to return to their usual seats.

“According to my projections, I’ll have a greater likelihood of joining on the next adventure.”

“Maybe next campaign,” Mylene patted his arm as she walked past him.

“Yeah, we can try again next time.” Juleka paused. “Have you tried asking Adrien?”

Nino shook his head. “Nah, dude is always super busy.”

‘Sure, but he was asking me and Rose about D&D. I dunno, maybe just try it?”

“Really?” Nino perked up. His best friend had gone home for lunch, but he was still just a text away. “It might be worth a shot. Thanks, Juleka.”

“No problem. Good luck.”

Taking a seat at the table next to Alya, Nino shot a quick text to Adrien.

Nino: Heard you were asking about DnD. You game?

“What’s that about, babe?” Alya asked, looking over his shoulder.

“I’m trying to get a party together for Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Dang, and the first half of that sentence was so promising.”

“So is that a pass then?” Nino said with a faint smile. While sometimes he could get her to play games with him, he understood that it wasn’t her favorite. Just like how he didn’t share her love of rom coms, but indulged her every now and again.

“Yeah, babe. Although…” She looked at Marinette as she rushed into the building clutching a brown bag with the Dupain-Cheng bakery logo. “...there might be potential there.”

“Hey, guys!” Marinette sat down opposite them and opened the bag, passing some chocolatines to the two of them. “What’re we talking about?”

“Hey, M.” Alya leaned forward. “Do you ever play roleplaying games?”

“Um, sometimes? You know my favorite is fighting games, but I’m up for some adventure sometimes.” Marinette tilted her head to the side. “Why?”

“Well, Nino here was thinking about running a Dungeons and Dragons campaign…”

“I’m… not sure.” Marinette’s eyes widened. “Not that I’m not interested! It sounds like it’d be fun to do with friends. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to find the time. Plus-”

She was interrupted by the sound of Nino’s phone going off. He’d left it on the table, so everyone could see that it was from Adrien. A small smile crept across Nino’s face when he heard the little intake of breath when Marinette noticed.

“S-so, um, how’s- how’s Adrien?”

Poor dude. The guy isn’t even here and she is stuttering. Nino pulled up the text.

Adrien: Yes!!! I got all the rulebooks months ago and I’ve done my best to learn but no one plays. [sad cat emojii] Are you going to be a DM??

Chuckling, Nino sent him another message.

Nino: You bet! Would you be able to meet once a week?

The response was immediate.

Adrien: Maybe if I say I’m working on a group project? I could pull it off, yeah.

With a huge grin, he looked back up at the girls. “My boy is in!”

Marinette bounced up and down in place. “Then so am I!”

“Oh?” Alya leaned forward with a smirk. “What happened to not having the time?”

“I will find the time, I promise. But gaming with friends? And Adrien? Too good an opportunity to pass up.” She met Nino’s eyes and had the good graces to look sheepish.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. If this means I get more players, than I don’t mind.” He turned towards his girlfriend. “Speaking of more players… Now everybody else is in. How ‘bout you?”

Alya rolled her eyes with a smile. “I guess someone has to keep an eye on you hooligans.”

“Nice. This is going to be great!”

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

Nino: And… we… are… LIVE!

We’ve been expecting you, Adrien Agreste

Marinette joined your party. Everyone look busy!

Alya is here, just as the prophecy foretold.

Nino: Say hello everybody

Adrien: Hello everybody

Nino: You’re hilarious

Marinette: hello! Hey guys!

Alya: Sup

Nino: We’ll be using this Discord server for all Dnd related things, k? Mostly for planning new sessions

Adrien: What about… spicy memes?

Nino: Know what, bro? I’ll make a channel that you can spam to your hearts content

Adrien: <3

Nino has changed his name to Lord DM

Alya: Seriously

Lord DM: Definitely

Adrien has changed his name to Adrien Regreste

Alya: Pffft

Adrien Regreste: Come on, Mari! Its what all the cool kids are doing!

Alya: Hey now

Marinette has changed her name to marinoodles

Marinoodles: ...How’s that?

Adrien Regreste: ;-; Its so cute. And also hilarious??

Marinoodles: I mena thank you! *mean

Alya has changed her name to Alya’ll Beware

Alya’ll Beware: Sweetie you know you can just edit your comments right

Marinoodles: ...Now I do.

Lord DM: Lol Anyway. How’s this weekend looking?

Alya’ll Beware: Just jumping right into it, arent you? But yeah I’m free

Marinoodles: I babysit Manon on sunday but saturday is clear!

Adrien Regreste: I can pull off saturday! Where are we meeting??

Lord DM: Whoever we meet at provides food. Since I am DM, I am exempt. (Plus my place is always supes crowded)

Adrien Regreste: Uh I can probably manage it off. Father will be out of town with Nathalie. The Gorilla is much more lenient hwen it’s just us.

Marinoodles: Gret sounding! *Thta sounds gerat! **That sounds great!

Adrien Regreste: Haha, yeah! I’m pumped to have you guys over. :)

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

Despite Nino’s fear of a repeat from last time, none of them were thrown out or belittled on their way to Adrien’s room. The worst that any of them received was an uncertain glare from the Gorilla as they filed upstairs.

As it turned out, the most difficult problem they had to face was Adrien’s purchasing habits. Nino had to explain to him that even though they were teenagers playing D&D, there was no way they’d be able to get through five pizzas and all the drinks he’d ordered. After he’d extracted a promise not to go overboard again, Nino went straight into explaining the basics and had them roll for stats.

“You sure about this, dude?” Nino leaned over Adrien’s shoulder and frowned at his character sheet. “I get you’re gonna be a bard, but max Charisma and low Wisdom just sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

Nino could just barely overhear Alya whisper to Marinette, “Attractive but kinda dense? Doesn’t that sound like someone we know…?”

“ALYA,” Marinette whispered back in a scandalized tone.

“Maybe, but that just means it might be more memorable, right?” Adrien looked up at Nino and couldn’t hold out against the excitement he saw in his eyes.

“Sure, bro.” Nino walked over to the girls. “And how’re you two hanging?” He craned his neck to see where Marinette was sticking her highest stats. “Dexterity… and intelligence? Good choices for a rogue.”

Marinette smiled. “Thanks! I’ve been thinking about her background. Get this - the rebel daughter of an elven baron.” She nudged Alya. “Pretty neat, right?”

“Wow, that sounds way cool, Marinette!” Adrien beamed at her and she melted.

“Than- than- Thanks, Adrien! You’re cool too!” She winced, but Adrien’s smile didn’t dim.

Nino raised an eyebrow as he noticed her hit points. “But, uh, why’d you stick your lowest stat in Constitution? Your dude isn’t gonna be able to take a hit.”

A sly smirk spread across her face. “I won’t need to take a hit if I play my character right.”

“Heh. Fair enough.” Nino turned his attention to Alya’s sheet, only to see it blank. “Um, something wrong, babe?”

“I dunno.” Alya shrugged. “I’m not big into games like you guys are, so its all going in one ear and out the other.”

“Well…” Nino took a seat next to her and thumbed through the core rulebook. “Maybe we should just keep it simple, right? So you can get your bearings.”

“A fighter?” Alya raised an eyebrow. “Seems kinda boring.”

“Yeah? How about a knight errant, looking for glory to make her name in the world? Rushing forward to defend the weak from the strong? Still sound boring?”

A grin split her face. “Now you’re speaking my language, cappy.”

“That’s Lord DM Cappy to you, babe.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Okay, so let me see if I get where we’re standing.” Adrien pushed the hair out of his face and looked at the three of them. He pointed to himself. “I’m a half-elf bard.” The finger shifted to Marinette who blushed and frantically waved at him. “Elven rogue.” Alya fell under his digit next. “Human fighter. Where does that leave you, Lord DM Cappy?”

Alya groaned and Nino chuckled. “Since someone needs to watch out for you guys, I’m going to be playing a human cleric. A priest of the sun.”

“Sounds like we’re pretty well balanced? Well,” Adrien ducked his head. “Except for me. Maybe it’d be better if I just played a wizard…?”

“N-no!” Marinette quickly interjected. “Adrien, you can be what-whatever you want to be!”

“Dude has a point. There is more to having fun than being the most efficient party possible, bro.”

“Alright.” Adrien relaxed. “Awesome.”

“Now, let’s get everything else sorted for character creation. And while we do that, I can tell you a little about the world you find yourselves in…”

As Nino began by telling them of the Good King Hamon, he felt a spark light up from within. He could already tell this was going to be the best campaign.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Nino Lahiffe #Alya Cesaire #DJ Wifi #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrienette #Dungeons and Dragons #D&D #ml fanfiction #my writing #Nino's Quest

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commodorecliche · 4 years

Note

Hey Lindsay, I've read a few of your fics and I love the way you write :) I've been trying to write a story but i'm just stuck at the outline. So, I was wondering if you could, perhaps, make a little tutorial or a walk-through your process? I'd like to have my story points defined before I start writing but I don't have a structure that I can follow and I really love your style *-* It's okay if you don't feel like it though. I understand. Thank you in advance ^^

hey there friend! i’m not sure when you sent this ask today, i so hope you haven’t been waiting all day for my reply!! i just saw it.

first things first - thank you so much for your kind words about my writing. they really mean the world to me. and i am SO EXCITED to hear that you’re working on your own fic. that’s amazing!!

now to the meat!

so i don’t know if i have specific or... super organized... process, per se, and i don’t really do a ‘strict’ outline, in the most traditional sense of the word (meaning i don’t have a document full of numbers and bullet points and such). and everyone’s process is going to be a little different, so bear in mind, what works for me might not work for you. but once you get the feel of writing your story, you’ll get a better sense of what your own writing process is. and you’ll figure out what works and doesn’t work for you. the way i do things might not work for you, but that’s totally okay, you’ll come into your own as you go along. and hey, maybe this will work for you! who knows!

but what i generally do when i start a new fic is:

1: i type out my rough and basic idea. i like to do this (and most of my outlining/drafting) in all caps, it helps keep me focused and helps me organize what i have ‘drafted’ and what i have properly written lol.

so for example, um, In the House We Remain, my first idea was jotted out like this, at the top of my document: SAPPY GHOST STORY, AZIRAPHALE BUYS A COTTAGE THAT CROWLEY USED TO OWN, CROWLEY DIED THERE. CROWLEY WAS AN AUTHOR AND HIS BOOKS ARE STILL IN THE HOUSE, WHICH IS HOW AZIRAPHALE GETS TO KNOW HIM.

that’s my base level idea, and i kept it at the top of the document.

2: from there, i start thinking about what are some MAJOR scenes i want to have happen. not the minute details, just the major scenes that were popping in and out of my head when i was daydreaming about the fic. these can be as minimal or as thorough as you like. for In the House We Remain, i had a pretty set idea on how i wanted the story to progress from start to finish, so i had a lot of scenes already in mind.

using the same fic as an example, these are some of the scene ideas i wrote in my fic document, underneath my top line idea: SCENES: - AZIRAPHALE SEES THE COTTAGE (ANATHEMA IS THE REAL ESTATE AGENT) AND HE LOVES IT. HE BUYS IT THAT DAY. (DEFINE THE LANDSCAPE AND HOW THE COTTAGE LOOKS, PROBABLY WANT A POND IN THE BACK, THAT COULD BE HOW CROWLEY WAS MURDERED. COTTAGE SHOULD BE COZY AND DREAMY, A LOVELY THING SET OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE COUNTRYSIDE. LOOK UP PICS FOR REFERENCES.) - GUNNA HAVE TO MENTION SOMETHING ABOUT THE HOUSE THAT’LL CONNECT TO HOW CROWLEY DIED, SOME VISUAL INDICATORS OF HIS SPIRIT. MAYBE WATER STAINS ON THE FLOOR? LIKE DRIPPING WATER MIGHT POOL AROUND A WET PERSON’S FEET? AM I GOING WITH DROWNING AS CAUSE OF DEATH? DUNNO.***COME BACK TO THIS. - WHILE UNPACKING AZIRAPHALE SEES A BUNCH OF UNFAMILIAR BOOKS IN THE STUDY AND IS CURIOUS ABOUT THEM. - AZIRAPHALE TALKS TO ANATHEMA ABOUT THE BOOKS AND THE AUTHOR. LEARNS THAT CROWLEY IS THE AUTHOR, AND THAT HE OWNED AND DIED IN THE HOUSE MYSTERIOUSLY. - AZIRAPHALE READS THE BOOKS, LOVES THEM, FEELS A CONNECTION WITH CROWLEY. - AZIRAPHALE SOMEHOW CONNECTS WITH CROWLEY’S LINGERING SPIRIT IN THE HOUSE (DETAILS TO COME) - THEY START COMMUNICATING. CROWLEY REVEALS THAT HE WAS MURDERED - I WANT THIS TO BE AN EMOTIONAL SCENE, AZIRAPHALE VERY UPSET AND DISTURBED BY WHAT HE’S BEEN TOLD. ALSO AFRAID CAUSE HE’S MADE CONTACT W/ SOMEONE WHO’S VERY DEAD. MAYBE HE EVEN CALLS ANATHEMA AFTER TO REVEAL THE NATURE OF CROWLEY’S DEATH. - NEED SCENES OF AZIRAPHALE GROWING OLD IN THE HOUSE WITH CROWLEY’S GHOST, THEN EVENTUALLY DYING AND ACTUALLY UNITING WITH HIM. SAPPY, EMOTIONAL, THE WORKS. - AZIRAPHALE AND CROWLEY’S SPIRITS LINGER IN THE HOUSE, EVEN AS A NEW COUPLE MOVES IN.

those were my major scenes that i needed to write and that would make up most of my story.

3: flesh out the aforementioned scenes. break these scenes down individually and think about them, picture them like a movie in your head. when aziraphale sees the cottage, what’s happening around him? has he gotten out of the car? what is the weather like, is it a dreamy setting? should the wind be gently rustling the trees and his hair? is he in awe? does he take a moment to take in the exterior of the house. what does the house look like? picture that entire scene from start to finish, then jot down your thoughts. remember, you aren’t actually doing Proper Good Writing out. you’re just getting the ideas down and the draft ideas fleshed out. 4: once i have those scenes fleshed out (always typed in all caps for me lol), i start the actual ‘writing’ process. I drop the all-caps, start using proper grammar, and go into I’m Telling A Story Mode. I usually try to start writing at the beginning, because i tend to visualize my stories as movies that play in my head. i need to mentally see it progress as i write it, like i would do if i were watching a movie or reading a book. but sometimes that doesn’t happen - sometimes beginnings are the hardest part. if you struggle with the beginning, skip to the first most fleshed out scene you have, the one you feel most comfortable with, or whatever scene you feel REALLY ready to write. this writing doesn’t have to be perfect (it definitely won’t be lol). but you’ll start to get a feel for how you want to actually present this story and these scenes once they’re all finalized. you can edit it and make it prettier later, but for now, just get some words on the paper as if it were a story you were ready to tell. 5: once you have your main scenes fleshed out, you need to start making connections between them. stories need depth and background, so you need to be able to go “okay, i have aziraphale loving the house and buying it, then i need him to find the books in the study, how am I going to connect those two scenes?”

you can do this part either as you go along (example: you’ve written your first Major Scene, and you want to progress onto your next scene, so you write the connections first, then once you have the connection scenes done, you can then move on to the next Major Scene from your draft) OR you can get all your major drafted scenes written, and make your connections AFTER those scenes are done. you just gotta see what works for you.

i prefer the first method, i try to write the major scenes and the connection scenes as i go along so that i have a natural flow. that also allows me to make some changes to a later Major Scene before i actually write it. (example: hm, i was gunna have Aziraphale do XYZ in the next scene, but with this connection, I think having him do ABC in that scene might work better).

if you don’t have a clear-cut idea yet for how to connect your scenes, go back to the all caps ‘drafting’ mode, where you’re just throwing ideas on the page in between, like: ‘AZIRAPHALE HAS JUST MOVED IN AND IS READY TO UNPACK, I NEED HIM TO BRING HIS BOOKS TO THE STUDY TO START UNPACKING THEM AND SHELVING THEM. THAT’S WHEN HE SHOULD NOTICE CROWLEY’S BOOKS THAT HAVE MYSTERIOUSLY APPEARED ON THE SHELVES.’ from there, go back into ‘proper writing’ mode when you’re ready, and flesh out that scene - what is aziraphale doing while he’s unpacking? are his boxes of books already in the study, or do i need him to have a reason to bring them into the study? maybe a mover accidentally placed one in the wrong room. this is your connector that will get you between scenes. 6: once you have all your scenes done in a proper first draft, go back, do re-writes, add new things that you think you might need, take out things that aren’t necessary, check your grammar and spelling, and do your final proofing. (read your story out loud too - it’s the easiest way to catch typos, errors, or weird phrasing)

7: don’t be afraid to write ANYWHERE. many of my ideas for scenes popped up in the middle of a work day, and every time that happens, i text myself. i send myself a text, all caps, with the scene idea, and i don’t open it until i’m ready to write. it helps me keep track of things. i did a lot of writing in notebooks, on post-it notes, wherever really. i even have googledocs installed on my phone so i could access a fic from anywhere if i had a sudden idea. and if i had something new to add to the document, i put it in all caps, so i would know i needed to address it later.

8: act things out! seriously, i’m not kidding. act your scenes out with yourself. especially dialogue scenes. have those dialogues with yourself, think about how you want dialogue to progress, and talk those ideas out in a way that sounds natural to you. that’ll help you write your dialogue later. (the number of times my husband has walked in on me running through some dialogue aloud......... goodness).

9: don’t be afraid of music :) maybe it’s silly, but i make a playlist for every fic i write because i like to listen to music to get me into the correct mood for what i’m writing. it helps me a LOT. maybe it won’t be as helpful for you, but always worth a try.

and that’s really.... the extent of my process. it’s a little messy, i know, and maybe it’s not the best advice. and i just hope that it at least a LITTLE bit of sense... but i hope it will at least be of some help to you! if you’re confused about anything, please don’t hesitate to message me.

or if you want to chat one-on-one, that’s totally fine too. i 100% don’t mind if you send me a chat message. i’m always happy to help.

#kind nonnies #long post #writing #advice #fanfic #Anonymous

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trashforeverythingdotcom · 4 years

Text

Vendetta

A/n: Well, hello. Hi, how are ya? Jeffree Star is about to sue my ass ‘cause I stole his greeting. Anyway, I’m triggered. Tumblr be tryin’ me. It wasn’t letting me add a gif, so I saved this chapter as a draft and exited from the page, and when I came back, I found out that the bitch never saved. Honestly, Tumblr, get your life together. So, it’s been a while. Sorry, I took longer than expected. I just got a job. I am now a responsible *coughs and chokes* adult.

The next chapter will come soon enough and it’ll get interesting, I guess. lmaooo.

Update: whatever, here. Here’s the fifth chapter lol. Hope you enjoy it. Love y’all no homo/hetero.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

Word count: 4183

Warnings: cursing and stupidity as always.

Chapter 5

January 7th, 1926

Small Heath, Birmingham

07:30

There was a loud pounding on the door of the Nieves residence. Yet, however loud the rapping on the door was, hardly anyone budged. None of them wished to wake up, so they remained in bed, unbothered by the noise. Everyone except Y/n, being the light sleeper she was, of course. She groaned and moved her blanket to the side. She stepped out of her comfortable bed and clothed herself since she slept naked, and made her way toward the noisy door. She tiptoed, even though she didn't really need to and sighed when she saw who was violently pounding on her door.

"Good mornin’, how may I help you?" Y/n asked, curious as to why this person was visiting her so early in the morning.

"I wanted to apologise," the second youngest Shelby brother, John, answered. Y/n crossed her arms across her chest and couldn't help the smirk and quirk of her brow that made their way onto her face. "Apologise for what, Mr. Shelby?"

"I’ve been behaving somewhat childishly."

She stayed quiet for a bit. The ‘apology’ wasn’t a very good one and she knew he was put up to it by his brother. It was just too good to be true. There was no way he’d go from believing she was somehow involved in his wife’s death to apologising for the way he’d been treating her. It was also too much of a coincidence that he’d apologise to her, at an inconvenient time, not too long after she threatened to pull out of the deal she made with Thomas. Knowing all this, she decided to challenge him. She wanted to see if he’d lie to her face or be a man and tell her the truth. "Your words or Tommy’s?” “Tommy’s.” “Not surprised," she shrugged.

"Whatever, can you tell my brother you forgive me?"

"Well, when you ask like that, I guess I'll have to think about it."

He swallowed his pride and asked if she was going to invite him in and she made a face he wasn’t sure he could decipher. "Do I have to? You woke me up a little early,” to which he justified by saying that she had more time to get ready before heading out now.

"Putting lipstick on doesn't take me more than five seconds, Mr. Shelby," she retorted, her voice low in volume, making her disinterest evident. "May I please go back to bed?"

"I need some help.” Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed. What could he possibly want from her? “Trust me, if I could ask anyone else, I would. But everyone I’ve asked today has told me that they were going to be busy and that they couldn--” “What do you need?” “Well, since you’ve mentioned that you’ve got nothing to do--” “What do you need?” “Would you mind babysitting for me?” A smile crept onto her face, “of course.” “I have six--” “I don’t care. Send ‘em over whenever you need ‘em to be taken care of.” “Thank you so much.” Y/n nodded her head and they said goodbye to each other for the moment. John informed her that he would be back with his children within the next twenty minutes to drop them off and she closed the door, immediately setting off to brush her teeth and make some food just in case they hadn’t eaten yet.

When the time drew near for John to arrive, she heard a knock at her door. Y/n had just finished cooking five minutes beforehand; she’d sitting on one of her couches, reading a book she had when it happened. She set the book down on the coffee table and stood up, walking over to the door with the biggest smile on her face, ready to greet the people she expected to be there. She loved being able to take care of kids, it always managed to temporarily fill a bit of the hole that she had in her heart.

She swung the door open right after unlocking it, and, upon seeing the man standing in front of her, her face dropped. It was the devil himself: Luca Changretta.

"Amore mio, how've you been? Did you get my little present?" He smiled cheekily at her. "I see you've dolled yourself up for my visit. Dammi un bacio!"

Y/n was beyond disgusted, her face contorted to express her discomfort. She couldn’t believe that after all he’d done to her that he’d have the audacity to ask her to give him a kiss. She couldn’t believe he’d have the audacity to even visit her, especially after having sent her a bomb not too long ago. But she wasn’t too surprised either, he was the same arrogant weasle she’d met more than seven years ago. How she’d been naive enough to fall in love with him in the first place, she had no idea. "I've been well. And yes, I got your little present," she spat. "Didn't see what was in it, though, since I didn’t bother to look before I got rid of it. And I'm not gonna fucking kiss you when I can’t stand to even look at your ugly face."

"Oh baby, you wound me. We haven't seen each other in years and this is how you treat me? I thought you loved me, like you'd said back then. You said you'd love me forever. You used to scream my name a lot too. I miss that. "

"You should've stayed away." She mumbled under her breath, but it was still loud enough for the Italian to hear and understand.

"You're not gonna invite me in? We need to catch up, after all, we do have a child together. Don’t you want to--"

"No, I'm not going to invite you in, come pinga. I don't fucking love you, your very existence annoys the living fuck out of me. Now get the fuck away from me, huevón."

He chuckled darkly, "Oh sweetie, haven't you learned? You'll never get rid of me. Just because I stayed away for a bit, it doesn't make you free, tesoro mio. No one gets rid of me." Luca wrapped an arm around Y/n's waist and pulled her close to him, despite her attempts to get free, he managed to place a harsh kiss on her lips and he only let her go when she slapped him as hard as she could. "You’ll regret that," he immediately walked away.

Y/n waited until he was out of sight before she screamed at the top of her lungs in frustration, not caring that it was early in the morning. Not caring if someone were to find it aggravating and reported her to the police for making too much noise. She needed to let it out, she'd watch herself go crazy if she hadn't.

When she finally walked back into her home, she slammed the door as hard as she could. She grabbed anything in her line of sight one by one and chucked it across the living room. She couldn't bring herself to care about the damage she'd cause to the objects in the room and she couldn't bring herself to care about waking her siblings up from their slumber. She threw vases, tables, chairs, whatever she could manage to pick up. She hadn't realised Victor was there until after he spoke, "hey, hey. What happened?"

He'd almost gotten hit by the coffee table that she hurled at the wall when he walked in. He ran over to her and pulled her into a hug. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay." He stroked her hair as she cried into his shoulder.

08:50

Polly’s House

John was pacing in his aunt’s living room while his kids ate whatever Polly offered them. He’d been thinking of what he saw an hour ago. He had intended to forgive Y/n, to fully trust her; if Thomas trusted her, why wouldn’t he? But it became very clear to him that Y/n wasn’t trustworthy and that Thomas was a fool for not having seen that. He was almost sure that Thomas had no clue of her ties with the Italian mobster.

Polly, on the other hand, was skeptical. While she was very open to the possibility of the girl’s betrayal, or anyone’s betrayal for that matter, there were a few key details John had brushed over when telling her the story that made her doubt his accusations. “Why would she slap him and push him away if they were together?”

“Are you siding with her?” “I’m just saying that there’s no reason for her to react that way to his advances if they were romantically involved with each other or if she truly were to be working for him.”

John was stumped, he knew there was no reason to continue to be suspicious of her, but he didn’t want to let go of it just yet. “Maybe she saw us,” he was left to grasp at straws in this stage of their debate.

Polly was at her wit’s end. She didn’t know how else she could try and reassure her nephew. But she didn’t want to give up the rest of her day to take care of his children, she wanted to go to work at the shop. That was what she had scheduled for the day. Yet she knew that she would have to end up having to take up both jobs today: working at the shop and babysitting. “Let us compromise,” she began, prompting the thirty year old man to nod his head to indicate to her that he was willing to listen to her suggestion. “How about, for today only, I take care of your children,” John sighed in relief and thanked the Lord in heaven. “With the help of Y/n.” He groaned and asked her why she thought that would be a good idea; and she gladly said to him that there was… a method to her madness. She had a scheme to figure out whether Y/n was reliable or not and if so, then John could leave his children with the woman instead of his aunt so she could continue helping the family business without having to worry about a toddler getting their hands on a pair of scissors and running around to wreak havoc; it’d happened before when she was dealing with a time sensitive matter and she was not willing to run the risk of having to deal with that kind of stress again. They just weren’t worth the wrinkles.

Aunt Polly watched him closely as she waited for his response. John started pacing again, this time, cursing under his breath as he did it. Polly assured him she wouldn’t let anything happen to them; that she always carried a pistol in her purse and that she wasn’t afraid to use it should she come to need to. Regardless, John continued to pace around and mutter under his breath as his children started throwing food at each other and Polly ran over to scold them.

09:20

Y/n’s apartment

Y/n was sat back down, as calm as she could be at the moment, on her couch. Her brother helped her pull herself together. He stayed with her for a few minutes until she was able to relax. And he served her the food she made while she pondered what to do with herself next.

"Good thing that dick head visited you before you had any makeup on. Imagine if he swung by when you were already on your way to a meeting or somethin’. Your lipstick would've been everywhere and you would've looked uglier than usual." He joked, making a lame attempt to make Y/n feel better about the situation. Y/n let out a small giggle before getting up and walking over to the sink, setting her plate in and giving her brother a kiss on the cheek.

"You’re an ass, but I don’t know what I’d do without you." She thought aloud as she gave him the tightest hug and squeezed as hard she could manage at the moment.

There was a knock on her door again and she was sent into a panic. Who could it have been now? What could it have been now? Luca had already delivered a bomb to her apartment and he had just recently made a personal visit to, what used to be, her safe place. She couldn’t let herself get too upset, however, when she knew what she was signing up for; when she answered Thomas Shelby’s phone call to help him bring the poor excuse for a man down. Victor answered the door, to Y/n’s solace.

“Oye, asere! Why’re you here? It’s Thursday, you should be headin’ to the fac.”

Y/n asked who was at the door, but her brother didn’t answer, instead he waved her off and looked at the person in front of him intently. She had a feeling she knew who it was, she recognised his voice. The girl rolled her eyes and got up to see who was at their door. Y/n was happy to see that it was John.

"Hey again."

"Why was Luca Changretta at your apartment?" The man interrupted her.

Victor scowled and Y/n asked him to let it go before she stepped outside to speak with John. He wasted no time in bombarding her with questions and demands to know why they’d kissed. "In case you went brain dead at the moment, I wasn't. Fucker kissed m--"

"And why did he do that?"

"Because he's a sick mother fucker."

"Are you work--"

She slapped him hard. John had been hit in the face by many people and many things, and he had to admit to himself that her hand was one of the most hurtful things to come across his cheek. "For the last time, this bitch right here," She pointed to herself. "Ain't working for none of them fuckin' Changretta cock suckers, okay? I have more reason to hate Luca than you think you do, so don't fuckin’ worry ‘bout me or where my fuckin’ loyalties lie." She was breathing hard through her nostrils; they were flared. "He took too much from me." Her voice cracked. She could feel the tears well up in her eyes. John looked at her and placed his right hand onto her left hand that'd been resting at his side before he moved it.

"I'm sorry…"

"You fucking should be."

John squeezed her hand in an attempt to comfort her.

"Is that all you fucking came here for? To accuse me of shit again?" She rubbed at her eyes to make sure that not a single tear drop would escape it or make itself visible.

"No, of course not. I came to pick you up.”

She asked him why, but he didn’t answer her. Instead he led her to the Shelby Parlour, where Aunt Polly and his six children were waiting. “You said you’d help me with babysitting.” He then continued to explain that Polly was willing to help her for today but she was going to be busy within the next few days, so she would have to take over completely without any other person to help. Of course, that wasn't the complete truth. The truth was that Polly was going to spend the day with Y/n and then pass judgement over whether or not she should be allowed to take the task on her own.

John watched Y/n interact with his daughter and let himself slip into his own thoughts. He couldn't help but feel guilty. Not just for almost making Y/n cry, but for feeling a bit smitten for her. His wife, the mother of two of his children died not even one month ago. And while he was still very much upset about her death, he couldn't help but feel attracted to Y/n. She seemed like such a strong woman, not just physically, but emotionally. She was mysterious and he felt as if he needed to figure her out.

10:04

Ramona had been out and about since the night before. Doing what? Only she and God knew. It was funny to her how no one seemed to notice her leave. She could get used to it. Although she loved Y/n, she sometimes felt that Y/n paid too much attention to the people she surrounds herself with and the things she wore when she'd go out. Ramona just wanted to mess around and not have a single care in the world while her older sister worried about everything she didn't have to and kept her living a comfortable lifestyle.

She felt smug until she realised she was lost. Well damn, her moments of independence have come to a startling halt. Ramona looked around for any passers by that she could ask for directions. She spotted a young black man that seemed to be around her age, he wore a suit and a cap on his head, much like all the gangsters, Peaky Blinders, in this place. She ran over, "excuse me, I'm sorry to be a bother, but do you mind tellin' me where the Garrison is? I'm kinda lost."

The young male shook his head, "I don't mind at all, I'm actually on my way there."

"Day drinker, eh?" She giggled, placing her left hand on his shoulder. She hadn't realised it was there until he looked down at it with a confused look on his face. She immediately removed it, "ah, sorry about that, I have a bad habit of touching people."

He shrugged it off and started walking. She stayed still. The young man noticed this and called out to her, "Are you going to come or not? I thought you were lost." Ramona ran up to catch up to him and apologised.

"Hope you don't mind, I'm going to pass by the hospital first, I've got a friend I've been meaning to visit."

"And I've got nothing better to do, anyway," she smiled warmly. "I've been stuck in a damn room for the past few days, I don't care what I do as long as I'm out of it."

Ramona gazed at the man as he reached into his pocket, he asked her if she smoked as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. The twenty year old woman shook her head in response to his question and watched as he placed one of the rolls into his mouth and lit a match to then light up his cigarette.

The woman asked him what his name was, which he didn't hear, "I'm sorry?"

"Your name."

"Isaiah."

"No last name?"

"Jesus."

"You don't need to complain, I'm just askin' you for your name, for Christ's sake."

"No, no. My name is Isaiah Jesus."

Ramon busted out laughing. Isaiah didn't know whether he should be offended or not. "Oh damn, I'm stupid," she wheezed in between her laughs. "I thought you were 'bout to cuss me the fuck out. Turns out you were just tellin' me your name. Oh fuck, that’s hilarious."

Isaiah didn't think it was that funny but he did think her laugh was and cackled. They laughed for a few seconds, hunched over in the middle of the street. Eventually, Ramona started realised the reason for his cackling was her own and when she listened to herself, her laugh became more intense. They almost got run over a few times. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. "I'll just take you straight to the Garrison." He said after they'd finished.

"Damn, you wanna get rid of me, already?"

"Actually, I want to spend the day with you. I'll see my friend another time. He'll understand."

Ramona bit her lip and suggested they go to his place instead of the pub. He seemed like a decent young man and she didn’t feel like seeing her oldest sister just yet.

12:46

The children ran around the naturally lit Shelby family shop relentlessly despite their great aunt’s requests. Y/n alternated between entertaining the children and helping clean around the shop while the older woman occupied herself by doing paperwork. For the most part, in adults in the building were fairly quiet; only speaking when needed to communicate with the younger ones amongst them. Polly barely looked in Y/n’s direction until she randomly removed her nose from the papers in front of them and opened her mouth. “Just out of curiosity, how did you manage to cross paths with my nephew?” Y/n looked at the woman with a confused expression on her face and asked her to specify which nephew she was speaking of because she did happen to have quite a few of them. “Thomas,” said Polly. The twenty-five year old figured there’d be no harm in telling her the truth; she seemed to be one of the few people Tommy trusted entirely. And so, she told her about the phone call she received from Thomas himself not even two weeks ago, requesting her assistance in getting rid of his enemy, Luca, who also happened to be hers as well. She told her how ready she was to accept the offer and even made the effort to offer him control of half of her company, half of everything she worked hard for, just for the chance to kill the man herself.

Polly listened to her dubiously, and she didn't bother hiding her doubts. It didn't make sense to her. She didn't understand why the girl was so willing to give up everything and work with them. She made it very clear to the younger woman that although she didn't trust her, she was willing to give her a chance because her nephew had trusted her. She also made it clear, however, that should Y/n do anything against her family, she wouldn't hesitate to kill her. Even going as far as saying that she wasn't afraid of getting blood on her hands and that she would take pleasure in doing so.

Y/n wasn’t phased by the warning, she would’ve been surprised if she hadn’t been threatened in one way or the other by Polly. The Shelbys were, after all, a family of hotheads. They couldn’t help themselves. Y/n found it difficult to keep herself from comparing them to chihuahuas; tiny dogs with a superiority complex that always tried to bite off more than they could chew.

19:18

It was seven in the evening and John had just walked through the door. He quickly greeted his children and the two ladies and gave his aunt a look. Y/n wasn’t sure what that look meant until they both, him and his aunt, left the shop and stood outside conversing amongst themselves; leaving the girl alone in the shop with the kids.

Polly dug into her purse and took out a pack of cigarettes.

“Well?” John asked, expectantly as she pulled a cigarette out of the pack, placed it between her lips, lit a match, held the match up to light the cigarette, breathed the burnt tobacco’s fumes in and put out that very match. She was taking too long to answer his question and he felt himself growing slightly impatient; when he was about to repeat himself, Polly cut in.

“What can I say? She’s a good girl, she’s very motivated, determined, smart. She’s good with children, too. Your pack of wolves love her--” “Can I trust her?”

His aunt sighed, “whether I trust her or not makes no difference. If you want to trust her, you have to make the effort to get to know her yourself.”

“That’s not what I asked you.” “I’d put as much faith in her as I would anyone else.” John took her words in and nodded, thanking her before stepping back into the shop. His aunt followed closely behind him and, once inside, went back to where she’d been seated before he came back. Y/n was almost finished with braiding Katie’s hair when John addressed her. “Would you like to have dinner with us tonight?” She glanced at him after securing the braids with some hair ties she had placed in her purse a few days ago; she made a face and said she wasn’t sure if she should.

The youngins groaned and pleaded for her to accept their father’s offer. Katie had turned to face her, pouting with her arms crossed against her chest. “Why don’t you want to come eat with us?”

“It’s not that I don’t wanna eat dinner with y’all, I’d love to! It’s just that I’m sure my brother already made dinner for me and I don’t wanna be rude--”

“Well, then, we can eat at your house!” John’s eldest son, Oliver, suggested.

“Yeah, his cooking is probably better than daddy’s!” said Connor.

“Hey!” John scolded.

“There may not be enough for all of us, so you may just have to endure your daddy’s cookin’ for one more night.” Y/n told them before standing up from the chair she was sitting on and looking dead at John. “I guess I’ll take you up on your offer, Mr. Shelby.”

Dammi un bacio: give me a kiss

Amore mio: My love.

Asere/acere: people spell it differently, but that word is basically Cuban for “buddy/friend”. For future reference, the Venezuelan equivalent of this is “chamo/a”.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders bbc #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders bbc one #John Shelby #john shelby x reader #john shelby peaky blinders #polly gray #isaiah jesus #DJ KHALED #another one #fanfiction #bro #im adding some unnecessary tags #for the fuck of it #it makes me feel accomplished #joe cole

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rewrite-the-wrongs · 4 years

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introductions / howdy, pardner

My first short story was about a fishboy and his human best friend. They battled a mutant piranha (whose name I think may have been Mutant Piranha, such was the monumental daring of my creative endeavor) and his army, who were out to destroy a mountain that held a whole planet together. The boys won singlehandedly, because scale was apparently a bit of a mystery to me.

This was the second grade. My teacher--who held me every day as I cried for weeks, confused and miserable and stranded in the throes of my parents’ divorce--understood before I did that I create to a ploddingly slow and steady drumbeat. A sentence is always so much more in my head than I’m able to let out, at first; I have to pore over it again and again, fleshing and flourishing (and often correcting) it, the same way I often have to reread paragraphs or pages or whole books to truly capture their meaning. In a word processor, this back-and-forth is as easily said as it is done; on double-wide ruled paper with dashed-line handwriting guides, the task is magnitudes more time-consuming, especially for somebody as messy as I am. So, while nearly everybody else played at recess on the sandlot and the jungle gym around us, a select few stragglers laid our reading folders on our laps and finished our stories.

My villain, that dastardly Mutant Piranha, found himself in prison at the story’s close. Awaiting trial, I guess; I never ventured that far ahead, seeing the big fishy bastard for a coward. “When no one was looking, he stabbed himself.” That’s the last line, stuck in my memory, not for its own sake, but for my poor teacher’s horrified face as she read my final draft there on the playground.

A mom volunteered to type up the class’ stories and get them printed and bound. For years afterward I reread that collection, always proud to have written the second-longest piece therein. I felt the weight of the pages, inhaled the tiny but acrid breeze that came from rapidly leafing through them. Knew it was a whole smattering of worlds inside, that one of those worlds was wholly mine, and I had the power to show it to people however I wished. Yes, I thought, I want this.

I’ve been introduced to writing many times over, by many people. Don’t get me wrong--I nightowled the first several chapters to many half-baked novel concepts all through my youth. But teachers have a way of showing a thing to you from new angles.

The first person to impact me as such was a high school teacher who was essentially given carte-blanche to construct a creative writing workshop in the English curriculum. The first semester was structured--you practiced poems, short fiction, humor and essay writing, drama, the gamut. Every semester after, the carte-blanche was passed on: A single assignment due a week, each a single draft of a poem or a minimum of two pages’ worth of prose. Forty-five minutes a day to work, and of course free time at home. By the time I graduated, I’d finagled my schedule such that I was spending two periods a day in the computer lab, and several hours after school every day working the literary arts magazine before I went home to get the rest of my homework out of the way and write some more..

My next big influence came in the form of a pair of writers who taught fiction at my university, a married couple. One had me print stories and literally, physically cut them up section-by-section as a method of reworking chronologies. Told me stories happened like engines or clocks or programs--pieces that meshed differently depending on how they were put together, rules that held each other in place. The other showed boundless confidence in me, listened happily to some older students who recommended I be brought on board for a national arts mag. They both encouraged me toward grad school, but toward the end of my junior year I began to stumble, and by senior year I was, to be frank, a drunken asshole. Time I could be bothered to set aside for writing began to dwindle. I limped through the editorship with the help of my extremely talented, utterly more-than-worthy successor--and come to think of it, I’ve never truly thanked her. Maybe I’ll send her that message, now that I’m feeling more myself.

On feeling more myself:

That drunken rage was brought on by a myriad list of factors, the primary ones being 1) I am the child of recovering alcoholics, and our inherited family trauma runs deep, 2) An assault that will likely be mentioned no further from hereon in, as I have reached a solid level of catharsis about it, 3) Some toxic-ass relationship issues, and 4) I was a massive egg and had no idea (or, really, I had some idea, just not the language or understanding or even the proper empathy to eloquently and effectively explore it).

I had a recent relapse with drinking, technically--a mimosa at Christmas breakfast at my partner’s parents’ home--but I’m not honestly sure I can call it a legitimate relapse. I’m not in any official self-help group, I’ve never engaged in the twelve steps or a professional rehabilitation. I had a very wonderful therapist for a few years but reached a point at which I could not pay her any longer and we parted ways--I miss her dearly, as she truly became my friend and confidante; she was the first person I came out to, and very well-equipped to handle it, lucky for me--but I’m still on behavioral medication. That tiny smidgen of alcohol pushed my antidepressants right out of my brain, and I became terribly anxious and angry and sad all at once, and briefly lashed out during a conversation with my partner behind closed doors. Not nearly the lashing out I’ve released in the now-distant past--more on that maybe-never, but who knows, as I am obviously a chronic over-sharer.

Frankly, I don’t deserve my partner. She endured my past abuses, told me to my face I had to be better, and found it in herself to wait for me to grow. She’s endlessly and tirelessly supportive of me. She sat with me to help me maintain the nerve to start this blog tonight. I came out to her as a trans woman just under a year ago, now, and I’m happier than ever, and we communicate better than ever. Our relationship is, bar-none, the healthiest and stablest and happiest I’ve ever been in.

So, naturally, I apologized fairly quickly at Christmas, and continuing where I’d left off at two and a half years, decided I’m still solid without booze.

If we’re all being honest, though (and I’m doing my best to be one hundred percent honest, here, though I will absolutely be censoring names because no shit), I still smoke way too much fuckin’ weed. High as balls, right now. 420 blaze it, all day erryday, bruh. That self-medicated ADHD life. I should be on Adderall and not antidepressants, probably, but it’s been a while since an appointment and psychiatrists are expensive, so I’m at where I’m at for now. Sativas help a lot. It helps with the dysphoria, too.

I don’t have a legal diagnosis for gender dysphoria, but tell that to my extreme urge to both be in and have a vagina. I’m making little changes--my hair, an outfit at a time, no longer policing how I walk or run or how much emphasis I put on S sounds. If I manage to come out to my parents sometime soon--and it feels like that moment is closer every day--maybe I’ll tell y’all my real, full chosen name. For right now, call me Easy.

Anyhow. My goals here are pretty simple:

1) Share words, both those by people I like/admire/sometimes know! and occasionally words I’ve made that I like. See the above screenshot from my notes app. Steal some words if you want, but if you manage to make money off some of mine, holler at ya gurl’s Venmo, yeah?

2) Discuss words, how they work, and how we create them, use them, engage with them, and ultimately make art of them. I am not a professional linguist, but I went to undergrad for creative writing, so, hey, I’ll have opinions and do my best to back them up with ideas from people smarter than I am.

3) Books! Read them, revisit them, quote them, talk about them, sometimes maybe even review them, if I’m feeling particularly bold. No writer can exist in a vacuum, and any writer who insists they don’t like to read is either a) dyslexic and prefers audiobooks or b) in serious need of switching to a communications major (no shade, but also definitely a little shade @corporate journalism).

5) I added this last, but I feel it’s less important than 4 and does not deserve bookend status, and I am verbose but incredibly lazy, so here I am, fucking with the system. Anyway: Art! Music! Video games! I fucking love them. I’ll talk about them, sometimes, too. Maybe I’ll finally do some of the ekphrastic work I’ve felt rattling around in my brain for a while now. Jade Cocoon 2′s Water Wormhole Forest, looking right the fuck at you.

6) Ah, shit, I did it again. Oh well. Last-but-not-last: This is obviously, in some ways, a diary, or a massive personal essay. I will sometimes discuss people, places, or experiences that have informed my work just the same as other people’s art has.

4) Be an unabashed and open Trans woman. TERFs, transphobes, ill-informed biological essentialists not permitted. Come at me and my girldick and prepare to be dunked on and subsequently shown the door via a swift and painful steel-toed kick in the ass. Everybody who doesn’t suck, if I screw up on any matter of socio-ethics or respect for diversity, please feel free to correct me.

Punk’s dead, but we’re a generation of motherfucking necromancers. Be gay, do crime, fight the patriarchy, and fart when you gotta. May the Great Old Ones select you to ascend to a higher plane and learn the terrible truths of existence.

Much love--

Easy

#writers #writing #creative writing #trans #trans woman #fuck TERFs #writing about writing #writer #my writing #diary

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ivanaskye · 5 years

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We need to talk about NaNoWriMo.

You’ve heard of it. Your friends have heard of it. Your grandmother might have heard of it. Your dog has definitely heard of it.

You’re probably thinking about participating.

And I want to tell you, from the bottom of my heart: you don’t have to.

Not if you’re a beginning writer. Not if you’ve never written a novel. Not if you’ve written a few. Not if you’re a journeyman writer. Not if you’re aiming for publication. Not if you’re a hobbyist, not if you’re a professional, not if you’ve been writing for one year or five or ten or twenty.

You don’t have to.

That doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing to do! Lots of people find NaNo very useful and productive.

But it is not the only way to be productive, and it is not the only useful way of thinking about writing.

So, with that said, let’s talk about ten things NaNo doesn’t prepare you for.

1. Outlining

This, as far as I can tell, is the obvious one. NaNo has a tendency to emphasize the 50,000 words in November thing—but not so much what you might want to do before November. For people who are “pantsers”—that is, they prefer to write “by the seat of their pants”, without outlines—this is often fine. But I can’t be the only outliner who has at times felt poorly served by a hyper-popular event that hardly even mentions outlines.

So, let’s get something straight right here, right now: outlining is real writing work. You’re being productive if you’re “just” writing an outline. You can be productive in stages of the process other than drafting.

If you don’t want to use an outline, of course that’s fine.

But if you do…

Well, consider counting outlining words as words. Because they are! They’re real creative work; they really count as doing something.

And actually, I have enough more to say on this subject that I might as well expand it into point #2…

2. Teaching yourself how to outline

NaNo, and the conversations and mentality around it, by way of not really focusing on outlining, are also really bad at teaching you how to outline.

This is actually an issue for a lot of beginning writers, I think—you might have heard “hey, try outlining!”, but that doesn’t mean you know what an outline looks like. You probably already do know what a draft looks like, because… well, that’s every book you’ve ever read! They’re not first drafts (hopefully), but they are, you know, written prose.

But how many writers’ outlines have you actually seen? Probably not very many.

So, if you haven’t really outlined before and want to—or if you have before, and aren’t sure the way you’re doing it is best for you—I’d really suggest asking around on forums etc. what people’s different outlining methodologies are. There’s some interviews with authors out there which ask about it, too.

(I’ll write up my own methods sometime if there’s interest, but for now, at least google around.)

3. Editing

I’m definitely not the only one who’s brought this up.

Many a successful NaNo-er has gotten to December and just… stopped. They have a draft, but what to do with it? Who knows!

There’s no big push of “National Editing Month” in December, or January, or um… any time, really. And so there’s not likely to be a community of fellow editors polishing up their NaNo works—even though a bunch of people have works to polish. They just know how…

4. Teaching you how to edit

Yup, just like the outlining predicaments mentioned earlier, editing is also not particularly well-taught—and not necessarily all that many readers understand what their favorite writers’ editing processes are like.

Again, I strongly suggest googling around about the different options…

(And I could make another post about this in more depth too, again if there’s interest.)

5. Getting you beta readers

One thing that can make editing a lot easier is having someone to beta or alpha your work—read it over even when it isn’t polished, and tell you if something makes no sense or if you have a typo or if Elle’s shirt was red on page 4 but green on page 5.

But one thing that NaNo doesn’t do a great job providing is… a community of beta readers, or advice on how to get them.

(Unfortunately, I can’t give a lot of suggestions here because I often struggle with this as well.)

6. Preventing burnout

For a lot of people, NaNo is a lot. 50,000 words in a month? That’s 1,667 words a day! And most people participating in NaNo already have responsibilities of some kind—whether that’s school (in which case, November is like, the worst month to attempt to write a novel) or work or whatever.

And the culture around NaNo encourages folks to just go for it no matter what—which definitely can be a good thing, depending on the person, but also can lead to… completely burning out after November ends and being too tired to create anything else ever for the next several months.

In other words, NaNo doesn’t really teach you a lot about how to pace yourself. 1,667 words a day isn’t necessarily a bad goal, but is it a goal that makes sense for where you’re at? What if, instead, you could do 500 words every day… for a whole year? Or 2000 words for strings of days with weekend breaks in between? Or, or…?

And speaking of that…

7. Year-round writing

NaNo’s a great sprint, with people encouraging each other to just go for it and make something happen.

But what about when you don’t have that community?

What about when you don’t have that externally set goal of 1,667 words a day, with badges and so on to earn along the way?

This is something I struggled with myself, back when I did NaNo—I completed the novel I was working on within the first 18 days or so, and then just… stopped. I didn’t use the rest of the month to write another one; I didn’t even write anything as long as a short story for months after.

Why? Because I didn’t have an external reason to. I knew I loved writing—I felt so good when I did it!—but I didn’t know how to motivate myself. Not if it wasn’t already put into the bin of “something I was supposed to do.”

Actually, that could even have its own point…

8. Self-motivation without cheerleaders

This is hard. This is legitimately really hard. I’m not going to downplay it.

But if you want to be a creative person in a world that seems to think peoples’ only worth is their ability to work high-paying jobs which likely bore them to death? You are going to have to learn how to self-motivate.

I can’t tell you how, because even more than other things about writing, this one really differs by person. Sometimes the techniques that work great for one person and get them to feel great about themselves are the very things that send other people into spiraling depression.

It’s really, really hard. And NaNo doesn’t prepare you for it.

9. Slower, more careful writing

So… you may have noticed that 1,667 words a day is a lot, for lots of people. So how do many NaNo writers choose to accomplish it?

Well, they write as fast as possible. And sometimes what that means is writing, frankly, kind of sloppily.

I want to stress that this isn’t always the case.

But it often is the “mode” of writing that desperate first-time NaNo-ers are likely to try: the Just Get The Words On The Page Even If They Suck method.

And that’s not necessarily a bad method! Sometimes it’s the only thing that works for a particular day or scene or whatever. But you kind of want to be conscious about choosing to write with that philosophy—and aware that other philosophies of writing exist.

Because, honestly, hyper-fast, sloppy writing is a pain in the butt to edit…

(Then again, maybe that’s actually why you want to do it—if you’re someone who likes editing more than drafting. That’s something I can’t relate to at all, but I know there are people out there who are like that.)

Sometimes, an hour could be used either to write, say, around 1000 super-fast sprinted words… or 500 more carefully thought out words which will take half the time to edit later.

And you want to figure out which feels right for you, and makes things easier/better/more enjoyable. This might also completely differ by day or by project. But you want to be aware of it.

10. Project-switching

A lot of writers—and I do mean a lot—are, in one way or another, working on multiple things at once. For instance, they might be editing one story in the same week that they’re working on drafting another. Or outlining one thing and drafting another. Or drafting, like, two things that they switch between depending on their mood. And so on.

But you’d never know that from NaNoWriMo.

The focus on writing exactly one novel in exactly one month drowns out the very real possibility that with a different workflow and more switching between things, there are people out there who could put out two novels in two months… without having either done after the first month.

Or, you know, two in three—or two in four, or, or—which is a “slower” rate than NaNo asks for, but also lasts longer than November (see points 7 and 9.)

Working on multiple projects at once isn’t for everyone, of course—some people prefer focusing on exactly one thing at at time—but it’s still another possibility to be aware of.

Tl;dr

That was a pretty long post there—about the length of a day’s NaNo requirement, to be exact. So what’s the take-home?

Well, here’s what I’d say: Remember that outlining is real writing work. Remember that editing is real writing work. Remember that you can go at all sorts of speeds and use all sorts of processes to get writing done. And remember, maybe most of all, that November is only one out of twelve months in the year.

Thanks for reading.

#readmore because LONG #nanowrimo #nano #advice from a professional writer

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authorincrisis · 5 years

Note

How do I finish a simple AU when I get too caught up in wanting to perfect the plot,the character chemistry,wanting to keep the readers interested,in short just make it way too complicated and end up losing the fun of writing?

Hey, anon! Thank you so much for your excellent question! Now, I'm sure that you and many other writers may be wondering the same thing in regards to completing your story and really pounding things out before you get into specifics in the second draft and actually getting things done which, at times, can seem tedious and impossible. Maybe you have a million dollar idea, the idea that you’ve been working so long and hard on but it just isn’t working out because you can’t move forward. There’s always something more that you feel you have to add, one detail, one scene, one character, etc. So here’s the thing (and the main point of this response, I think): there is no one solution or any best solution.

Obviously, there is a lot going on in your mind, not to mention all the hullabaloo in your planning, but in order to get things done, you need to figure out the root of the problem. So, the first thing that I want you to do is really dig in. Why are you feeling the way that you are now? Is it because your plan is truly incomplete, maybe unorganized, that perhaps there is a reason preventing you from enjoying writing, or because you are starting to doubt your own literary skill? These are some of the main reasons as to why you may be stuck in the cycle and often, they might be interconnected as well. I will write a bit for each scenario below that you can skim through with the addition of some strategies that you can use to power through this period and hopefully, this can help you to get over this obstacle in your writing endeavour. : )

NOTE: The planning advice is worth reading over but if it is starting to feel like you are doubting yourself unnecessarily, the thought of your plan being ‘not enough’ may not be the case. If it is just the writing that you are worried about, please don’t dig yourself into another hole by restarting or tearing apart your current plan. Instead, perhaps only consider following points three and four.

1. Your plan isn’t actually complete: Often, writers can see themselves at the very endpoint of their story and know their goal, but not how they will actually get there. And although this may not be the case for you, it is worth looking over. Do you have a plan written out of your story that is comfortable for you? Is it solid enough that you have a base but also outlets for potential bursts of creativity? You are the only one who can decide if your plan is complete or not because it is designed for you and you only. It’s essentially the skeleton that holds together your story because it is the story, just a shorter, blueprint of it anyway. That’s a reason why it makes it so important. So, if you need any guidelines, I’ll link some resources here and here. These should be taken almost as checklists and are just to make sure that you have it all.

2. You need to organize your plan to better suit your needs: So, you’ve gone over your plan and decided that you indeed have everything that you need, but for some reason, it just isn’t working out. All the information is there, perhaps additional tidbits as well, but it’s just difficult for you to read and/or follow. For this, I want you to think if the format of your plan is working for you. If yes, you can skip this point but if no, maybe think of reorganizing it. There are so many types of plans, and I am 100% sure that there one perfect for you. This is why you should try out something new! Experiment with yourself and your flexibility and see what will allow you to move forward with your writing for not only this project, but for others to follow. Here’s a helpful link that can help you with just that!

3. There’s something that’s preventing you from enjoying writing: There may be multiple outcomes for this point here because honestly, it sucks. You have everything figured out, but you just can’t write because you aren’t enjoying it enough to do so. So, for this, again. Find the root of the problem. Is it the particular scene that you don’t love writing or is it the research and energy that it takes up bringing you down? Either way, there is good news. There are so many strategies that can help you with this and other measures that you can take from preventing it from happening so frequently. I’ll describe a few below and remember, experimenting is always encouraged, especially in a first draft:

Put your planning on a lockdown. Maybe you can’t help but constantly feel the need to add more. Maybe it’s because you think it’s not enough. Well, if you have everything you need for a proper plan, more times than not, what you have is great. So, try to stop planning until you get something done. Even if you think you can add something more, don’t. Write it down on a piece of paper and then wait for your second draft, the place where it is realistic for that to happen. By doing this, not only will it give you motivation, but also potential time for you to actually write. It will shift your focus elsewhere and hopefully, you’ll be able to complete something.

Sometimes writing isn’t fun and you have to be okay with that. Push yourself and write as much as you can! 500 crappy words are so much better than none at all. Remember that you are writing your first draft and this is where you’re supposed to mess up. Whatever you do, don’t look back and constantly read the whole thing, simply just power through.

Make a habit out of writing. Eventually, the quality will get better but instead of thinking of things to motivate you, just write. I cannot stress this enough. No matter what you do, what you learn, or what is around you, the most important part of writing is writing. And that just can’t happen if you don’t write. So, I will say it again. PLEASE JUST WRITE.

It’s the first draft, you’re bound to suck. Again, be okay with that because it is the whole purpose. If you are feeling insecure, perhaps after reading the works of other authors, be sure to remember that they had help editing, experience writing, and overall more time and people working on their project. They sucked one time too, but the difference is that they fixed it because they could actually get to the editing part of it.

Write the parts that you are most excited about and fill in the blanks later on. This is an interesting thing that Stephen King does as well. He writes the key parts and saves filling in the details and adjusting for later. (shit, I just repeated that sentence, it’s fine) Anyways, this helps you to have fun with your writing and also allows you to think about what could make the other details more interesting. It gives you practice and also purpose so with that in mind, why not try it out? See if it’s right for you.

Make your writing fun. Remind yourself of why you chose to write and why you were so excited about starting this project of yours. Obviously, it means something to you, and if it isn’t fun, maybe you aren’t focusing on the proper thing. Here is a resource that I found on the internet that could definitely help with getting back on track. This author, I believe, is really quite great and the article is extremely worth checking out.

Take a break (only if you haven’t been taking constant breaks so far though). Perhaps you’re pushing yourself too hard. For this, relax. Read a book and learn from it. How the author plays with their style, how they write. Watch a movie and see how it leads up to a twist. Learn by watching, and that will translate to your writing. Keep yourself healthy too! Drink lots of water, eat healthy, exercise, and sleep. If your writing is taking a toll on any of these things, please make it up to yourself by taking care of your mind and body. This is the most important thing, after all, because if you don’t have proper health, you won’t have any writing at all! At the end of the day, remember that you should be writing for yourself. This is absolutely crucial and a must-have for the success of your works.

4. You are afraid or don’t believe enough in yourself: The thing is, you, really, are the only one who has the power to dig yourself out of that hole. No matter how much help you get or how many of the strategies above you use, it won’t matter unless you actually start writing for yourself. You have to be willing to fail or mess up and take those risks in order to be a writer. So, in short (and again) just write. And when you do, write to please yourself. I know that it seems like the most terrifying thing at first but it will get better and you will see that clearly as your story unfolds. It’s always difficult, but that’s a part of the process, and you just have to trust it and yourself. You’ll thank yourself later for it too!

So, I really do hope that this advice could help! If you have any further questions about this, or anything else, please don’t be afraid to shoot me another question. I nearly have all the time in the world and would be happy to assist. Have a fantastic day and good luck! Cheers!

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emospritelet · 6 years

Note

Continuing Ripper's angsty hate sex prompt. Either 31. "I fucked up" or 97. "Don't touch me"

How about both? I think this was one of the first prompts I got after Ripper’s original prompt, and I’ve waited all this time to fill it XD

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25]

AO3 link

Belle was irritated after her visit to her father, and pushed the stroller home with more energy than the hot weather warranted. As a result she was breathless and red-cheeked, but Gold was there to help her carry the stroller up the steps and inside the house.

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly. “I shouldn’t have walked so fast in this heat.”

“Take a shower, if you like,” he said. “I’ll make Gideon’s dinner.”

He seemed oddly closed off, even more so than usual, his mouth set in a grim line and his eyes not quite meeting hers, silvery hair glinting in the light. She decided that she didn’t want to know why. Perhaps someone at the diner had said something unpleasant after she and Gideon had left. Although if so, she was surprised they had said it within his earshot.

“A shower sounds good,” she said. “Will you be okay looking after Gideon?”

“I’m quite capable of caring for my son, I assure you,” he said dryly, and she swept her hair out of her face with a sigh.

“I didn’t mean - oh, never mind!”

She stomped up the stairs, wondering what the hell had put him in a bad mood. They had enjoyed their lunch together at the diner, and she couldn’t think what might have happened since then to piss him off. But then she was pissed off herself, her irritation with her father making her snappish and resentful. Perhaps they would both have calmed down by the time they ate dinner.

She spent longer than usual in the shower, washing and conditioning her hair, scrubbing every inch of her body, paying particular attention to her feet, and rubbing her arms, legs and buttocks with a salt scrub she had bought in town. It smelt of roses and geranium oil, leaving her skin tingling and soft as silk, and she sighed in contentment as she turned off the water and wrapped her wet hair in a towel, feeling refreshed and relaxed.

Her clean clothes had been pressed and folded and placed on her bed, and she felt bad for getting irritated with Gold when he had been good enough to take them both in and look after them. She dried and brushed her hair, then slipped on underwear and pulled a blue dress up over her hips, slipping her arms through its cap sleeves and zipping up at the back. She raked her fingers through her curls, looking herself over in the mirror before tugging her skirt straight and making her way back downstairs in bare feet.

Gold was just finishing up feeding Gideon, who had tomato sauce on his chin and the remains of what looked like pasta in the bowl in front of him. Gold scooped it up with a spoon, and Gideon opened his mouth, eating the last of it.

“I made plenty,” said Gold, concentrating on wiping the sauce from Gideon’s chin. “You can help yourself, if you’re hungry.”

“I’ll wait, thanks,” she said. “Did you open any wine?”

“No.” He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, then looked away again. “There’s red in the rack, or white in the fridge. Why don’t you pour us both a glass?”

“Well, if he’s done eating—”

“I’ll give him his bath and put him to bed,” said Gold. “Go and sit down. I’ll join you when he’s in bed.”

She couldn’t help feeling that his statement had an air of menace to it, but she couldn’t think why that would be, and so she kissed her son’s cheek and went to the wine rack while he lifted Gideon out of the chair and carried him upstairs. She opened up a bottle of Chianti, pouring two glasses and taking a sip from her own before washing Gideon’s dishes and wiping down his chair. She then heated up some milk for him, pouring it into his cup and setting it on the counter to cool before picking up the two glasses of wine and heading for the lounge.

She sank onto the couch with a sigh, setting Gold’s glass down on the little table to the side of the couch and letting her head roll back against the cushions. Her father’s place was almost ready, and she was due to move out in a couple of days, but she would miss living in Gold’s house, with its beautiful furniture and hordes of books and the pristine gardens. She would miss the kitchen that smelt of fragrant fruit and the sharp scents of herbs and spices and the heady warmth of garlic. And she would miss seeing Gold, early in the morning with his sleepy eyes and his hair awry, and late at night when he had washed the dishes and was seated on the couch with a far away look in his eyes. She had wondered what he was thinking, and whether he would ever tell her. She wondered how he truly felt about her.

Her phone buzzed, and she fished in her pocket, setting down her glass for a moment to answer the call.

“Hey,” said Mary Margaret warmly. “I haven’t seen you for a day or two. You okay?”

“Oh - yeah.” Belle ran a hand through her hair. “It’s been kind of hectic. I’ve been running the shop, and looking after Gideon…”

“Oh, I get it,” said Mary Margaret hurriedly. “It’s just - how do you feel about doing another girls’ night? Maybe Friday?”

“I don’t know…” Belle pulled a face. “Dad’s supposed to get out of the hospital on Friday. I might be busy trying to get him settled.”

“Well, that’s totally understandable,” said Mary Margaret. “How about me and the girls arrange to meet at eight in Granny’s, and if you can join us, you do? No pressure.”

Belle smiled gratefully.

“Actually, that sounds great,” she said. “I’ll see how he is, and hopefully I’ll be there.”

“Great!” said Mary Margaret brightly, and hesitated. “How - how are things?”

“You mean with the father of my child?” said Belle dryly. “About as well as can be expected. Which is - awkward and uncomfortable, but civil, for the moment.”

“Well, he certainly seems to have taken to fatherhood, for what it’s worth,” she said. “I saw him talking Gideon through the merits of every ice cream flavour at Any Given Sundae. They seemed to settle on Rocky Road.”

Belle couldn’t help smiling.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, he - he certainly loves his son. I’m glad, really.”

“So…” Mary Margaret seemed hesitant. “So, what does this mean? You have a life in Boston, right?”

“Right,” said Belle, after a pause. “Well, he says he’s gonna move there, find a place, take care of Gideon for part of the week. I’m sure we can make it work.”

“And your husband?” asked Mary Margaret gently. “How does he feel about it?”

Belle looked around at the sound of Gold’s feet on the stairs.

“Look - I have to go,” she said. “It’s Gideon’s bedtime, and I need to tuck him in.”

“Oh, of course!” said Mary Margaret. “Don’t forget about Friday!”

“I won’t. Speak to you soon.”

Belle hung up, glancing around as she heard Gold head upstairs again with the warm milk. She got out of her chair, making her way up to the landing, where she could hear Gold reading to Gideon in a low voice. Going into his room made her smile; Gideon was seated on his father’s lap, drinking his milk, listening intently as Gold read The Gruffalo’s Child. They made a sweet picture, and she felt a pang of sorrow for what they had both missed out on. Things were getting better, though. They had to.

Gold finished the story, closing the book and kissing Gideon’s head before glancing up to where Belle was leaning in the doorway.

“You want to tuck him in?” he asked, and she nodded.

Gideon was soon asleep, and Belle pulled the bedroom door until it was almost closed, following Gold back downstairs. He was waiting for her in the lounge, standing by the fireplace and sipping at his wine. There was a strange atmosphere in the air, a tense heaviness, and she waited for him to say what was on his mind.

“How was your day?” he asked quietly.

“Dad was an arse,” she said, with a sigh. “Yours?”

“Oh, it was - it was uneventful, for the most part,“ he said. "The test results came back, by the way. It was positive.”

“Does that surprise you?” she asked wryly.

“No,” he said curtly. "I told you, I believed you. What it means, however, is that we can start to discuss how we want things to be, going forward.“

“I - I guess,” she said. "Do we have to do that tonight?“

"Not formally, no.” He took a sip of wine. "I’ve had my lawyer draft a deed of trust regarding Gideon’s schooling and further education. I’ll let you look it over tomorrow.“

"Right,” she said, feeling uncomfortable.

He was watching her with those dark eyes, a measuring look, and it was making her defensive. He took another drink, setting his glass down on the mantelpiece, and she went to pick up her own, taking a sip.

“Tell me about your life in Boston,” he said suddenly, and her eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

“Well, if I’m going to move there, I’d like to know a little more about you,” he said blandly, spreading the fingers of one hand. “The area you live in, for example. What line of work your husband’s in. Perhaps we’ll have something in common.”

He smiled, his gold tooth gleaming, and Belle’s heart sank. He knows. Had to come out sometime, I guess.

“I mean,” he drawled, “I’m aware that you and I have something of a turbulent past, and one or two passionate indiscretions in the present, but I’m sure there’s no reason we can’t all get along…”

Belle was silent, glaring at him, and his smile grew.

“Of course I wouldn’t be revealing either of those times we fucked as though it was our last day on earth,” he added. “I wouldn’t want to cause trouble between you and the love of your life, after all, no matter how much—”

“Oh God, Alex, alright!” she snapped. “I’m not married, okay? I never was!”

“Well, I’m aware of that,” he said, his voice turning cold. “My lawyer told me all about your life. I have to say that it didn’t make for the most pleasant hearing.”

Belle’s mouth fell open.

“You - you had someone spy on me?”

“Of course not,” he said. “I merely told her to look into your current situation so that I could make a reasonable offer for child support. Imagine my surprise when she told me that you lived alone in a building that should have been fucking condemned!”

“It’s not - it’s not that bad…”

“You lied to me,” he said evenly. “And to your friends, no doubt. You told Miss Blanchard you married a businessman!”

“I never lied,” she said defensively. “I put the ring on because I couldn’t bear people asking me questions about Gideon’s dad, and - and judging me. So when Mary Margaret asked, I said his father was a businessman and that I lived in Boston. Both of those statements are true, she - she just connected the dots and reached the conclusion I wanted her to, that’s all.”

“You let me think you were married!” he said accusingly, and she put her hands on her hips.

“What, like my private life is suddenly your business?” she demanded. “You let me think I was a lousy lay and a waste of your precious time, or have you forgotten?”

Gold opened and closed his mouth, and then inclined his head.

“Touché.”

Belle glared at him, breathing heavily, and he took another drink of wine before setting down the glass.

“So, you’ve been alone since you left,” he said.

“I have friends,” she said defensively. “But no, I’m not married. Or dating, since you ask. All my free time is spent caring for our son.”

“And your studies?” he said. “You were going to do your Master’s. Become a librarian, live your dream. I - I thought—”

“You thought I could just give birth one day and head back to class the next?” she said dryly. “Wow. Can tell you never had kids.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away.

“So what happened with your studies?” he asked stiffly, and she sighed, running her hands over her face.

“What the hell do you think?” she asked wearily. “I found out I was pregnant not long after I started back, so I studied as long as I could, and then I arranged to take some time out. Luckily the university was sympathetic.”

“And - and you haven’t gone back?” he asked.

“Can’t afford it right now,” she said. “Takes all my effort working to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. Honestly being back in Storybrooke is kind of a relief. At least I don’t have to worry so much.”

Gold shook his head.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, and she threw up her hands, letting them slap against her legs.

“Because I couldn’t bear you knowing how utterly pathetic my life is!” she said. “I have a tiny one-room apartment in a crappy building above a goddamn Chinese restaurant, are you happy?”

His mouth was open a little, and she wanted to slap him, with his perfectly tailored suit and manicured nails and his beautiful home. For a moment she wanted to smack him across his smug face.

“It’s cramped,” she said. “And noisy. It’s in a bad part of town and I’m pretty sure one of my neighbours deals drugs because he gets a lot of visitors at night but I don’t feel like I can ask too many questions.”

Gold was staring at her, and it made her want to scream. God, this was humiliating!

“The elevator doesn’t always work,” she added, “and I have to pull the damn stroller up three flights of stairs! I work shifts at a diner and I barely make enough to pay the bills, never mind save up for anything better! And I can only do that because one of my friends loves kids and she’s happy to let Gideon stay with them when she’s not at college herself. My life sucks!”

“So all that time you’ve been struggling!” he snapped. “Trying to make ends meet, Gideon having to make do with hand-me-downs and living in a shit part of town - from what you say a bloody dangerous part of town!”

“It’s not - it’s not that bad—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he shouted. “I could have been providing for my son! For both of you! Are you so fucking stubborn you’d put your own pride before his welfare?”

“Don’t you dare say that!”

“It’s the bloody truth!”

“I tried to tell you!” she protested, throwing up her arms and letting them fall.

“Well, you can’t have tried very bloody hard!”

“I did!” she insisted. “But - but the last time I called you said you’d phone the police if I got in touch again! What the hell was I supposed to think?”

Gold’s eyes narrowed, his mouth flattening.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“I - I called,” she said. “Three times, actually.”

“When?” he snapped, eyes flashing.

“When I was around seven months pregnant,” she said, “so - it would have been around March last year, I guess. But - but I heard your voice and I couldn’t speak. I was too afraid! And - and then you told me not to call again, remember?”

Gold blinked, and then his eyes widened, a look of dawning realisation on his face.

“Wait - the silent caller I had was you?” he demanded. “Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that? You didn’t bloody well say anything!”

“Yeah, but you did,” she said stubbornly. “The last time I called you said my name. Right before you told me not to contact you again.”

“Belle…”

He groaned, running a hand over his face, and was silent for a moment, his breathing heavy, making his chest rise and fall beneath the silk shirt. Her own chest was heaving in anger and outrage, and she watched him mutinously, poised on her toes as though she was ready to flee. He seemed to take a calming breath, raising his head to face her.

“I didn’t know, alright?” he said, more reasonably. “Maybe a tiny part of me hoped it was you, but you didn’t respond when I said your name, so I thought it was some bloody idiot trying to piss me off. God knows there are enough of them.”

Belle swallowed what she had been about to say, sinking down onto her heels, toes pulling at the thick pile of the rug.

“Oh,” she said, and Gold shook his head, looking weary.

“That’s the reason you didn’t get in touch,” he said, almost to himself.

“One of the reasons.”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet. “You thought I’d take him away.”

“I—” She shrugged uncomfortably, not meeting his eyes. “Yeah. I was afraid of that.”

He nodded, looking terribly sad.

“Well, I’d certainly given you enough reason to think I’d be that big a bastard, I suppose,” he said quietly.

Belle hesitated, the desire to be honest pushing words up from the depths of her heart and into her mouth.

“And - and I was afraid to see you again,” she whispered, and he looked up.

“Why?”

She swallowed hard, meeting his eyes.

“Because I knew I still loved you.”

Gold held her gaze, dark eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite interpret. She was willing him to return the statement, but he glanced away, eyes flicking to the floor, as though he were ashamed.

“Well, in the spirit of honesty,” he said. “Perhaps there’s something I should tell you.”

“Go on,” she said cautiously, and he looked back at her.

“Gideon,” he began, not quite meeting her eyes. “Gideon - is not my first child.”

It felt as though she had been punched in the chest, the blow almost hard enough to hurt, and for a moment she was breathless.

“What?” she whispered, and he sucked in his cheeks, glancing away for a moment before turning back.

“When I was young, I had a brief relationship with a young woman named Milah,” he said. “She didn’t stick around, but about two years after we had broken up, she came back to town. With a son. My son. His name was Bailey.”

Belle shook her head.

“I - I had no idea,” she said softly, and he shrugged.

“We were together for eight months or so,” he went on. “Not a good match - there was no love between us, and I’m positive she only came back because I had a good job and money for her to spend on drink. But I loved him. I loved my son. More than anything.”

“She - she didn’t tell you she was pregnant?” she said, and he shook his head.

“Like I said. Two years. My father said he wasn’t mine, that he could have been anyone’s, but I knew.” His voice was almost a whisper. “The moment I saw him, I knew. I knew it. I felt it.”

Belle turned away, her hands over her mouth, her eyes stinging as she imagined how it would feel to lose Gideon.

“She took him away from you,” she said, in a tiny voice. “She kept him from you, then let you fall in love with him, and then she took him away again.”

She had never thought she could feel so bad. Guilt gnawed at her, and she ran her hands over her face. He was watching her calmly, but his eyes were filled with sorrow. It made her want to cry.

“What happened to him?” she asked, and he shrugged, shoulders hunching a little as he leaned on his cane.

“I have no idea,” he said wearily. “I tried my hardest to look for him, but as I wasn’t named as his father I had no rights. The authorities wouldn’t help. I never was able to track him down, and I suspect I never will. I lost him, Belle. I lost my son.”

Belle rubbed at her chest to relieve the stabbing pain his words had caused.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, and Gold sighed a little.

“Because I never tell anyone anything,” he said simply, and she let out a mirthless bark of laughter.

“Well, I know that!” she said bitterly. “Like you’d ever let me in, what was I thinking?”

He shrugged, and the motion irritated her to the point of wanting to shake some emotion into him. Bloody man!

“Since we’re being honest with each other, for a bloody change,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me why you broke up with me? The real reason?”

He looked away again.

“Because I thought it was best.”

“For who?”

He didn’t answer, and she could feel her anger growing.

“I loved you!” she insisted. “Why did you push me away?”

“Because I didn’t believe it,” he whispered. “I didn’t believe you.”

“But - but I told you!” she protested. “Why didn’t you believe me?”

He sucked his teeth, glancing away for a moment.

“Because it’s easy to mistake pleasure for affection, and I knew I could give you pleasure,” he said. “I knew I could give you that. If nothing else.”

“Why would you say that?” she demanded, stamping her foot in frustration. “I had the best nights of my life with you, and it wasn’t just about the sex, damn you! You - you made me laugh, and you were interesting, and you wanted to talk to me, and you listened! Why would you say you had nothing else to offer me?”

“I couldn’t give you what you wanted,” he said softly. “I knew that, Belle. I knew I couldn’t let you in, and I knew that wouldn’t be enough for you.”

“But why?” she persisted, stepping forward. “Why the hell can’t you let me in?”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes dropping briefly before glancing back up at her, fingers caressing the handle of the cane.

“I was always taught that love is weakness,” he said. “That love is pain. That you hold yourself back from emotional entanglements.”

“Don’t you dare call me an emotional entanglement!” she spat. “Is that honestly how you see me? How you see your son? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He lifted a hand, palm outwards, a placating gesture.

“Please,” he said gently. “I’m sorry, Belle. I didn’t mean it like that, I just - I just meant that I’ve never found it easy. Relationships. Interaction. Any of it, really.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo!” she snapped. “You think it comes easy to anyone? It takes work, you bloody idiot! Relationships always take work!”

He stared at her silently, and she put her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

“Tell me how you feel about me,” she said.

He looked away, his mouth thinning.

“I don’t see what that would achieve.”

“Tell me, damn you!”

Gold’s mouth worked, and she wanted to scream .

“So help me Alex, if you won’t be honest with me, I swear to God I will leave town and—”

“You - you are the only one!” he blurted.

“The only one what?” she snapped, and his face twisted, as though it hurt him to speak.

“The only woman I ever truly wanted,” he said eventually. “The only woman I - I ever - loved.”

He looked as though he was in pain, his breath coming hard, his lips parted. Belle swallowed hard, her heart thumping.

“You - you love me?” she whispered.

“Yes!” he hissed, his eyes flashing.

“How long have you loved me?”

He clenched his teeth, looking away, and she wanted to smack him.

“How long?”

Gold sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

“I don’t know,” he said wearily. “From the first, perhaps. From the first moment you walked into my shop and offered me your own savings to bail out your useless father. Or perhaps when I first kissed you. Perhaps when I first fucking saw you, It’s hard to say. I’m not the best when it comes to - emotions.”

Belle ran her hands over her face, tears pricking her eyes as she paced the floor. He was silent as he watched her, and she could feel herself shaking with a mixture of rage and grief. Rage that he hadn’t trusted her enough to be honest with her. That he had pushed her away out of fear. Grief for what they could have had. For what might have been.

“If you’d opened up to me just - just once,” she said, her voice trembling. “If you’d let me in just once we could have been together, we could have been a family!”

He remained silent, dropping his eyes to the floor, as though he were ashamed, and she stamped her foot, fury making her storm over to him, her chin jutting outwards.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she shouted. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? All this - this time, all those months when I thought I was alone, that you didn’t want me! That you didn’t love me!”

She slapped her hands against his chest, making him stagger, tears brimming over to track down her cheeks. He raised a hand, and she smacked him again, hating the way that his solid chest felt so comforting, so familiar. Hating that she wanted to bury her face in it.

“I was so fucking scared!” she whimpered. “I was pregnant with your child and all alone and so fucking scared, don’t you get that?”

“I didn’t know,” he said gently. “I didn’t know, sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry, believe me. I just - I thought you deserved more. Your father said—”

“Oh, so you’ll listen to him!” she said, lip curling in a sneer. “You’ll listen to his idea of what my life should be, but you won’t listen to me? Well, screw you!”

She turned on the balls of her feet, resuming her pacing, and Gold watched her with a desperate sort of look that made her want to growl in anger. His eyebrows were tilted upwards at the inner edges, giving him a pleading expression she had never seen on him before.

“I - I thought it would be better,” he said gently. “I thought I was giving you what you needed. To find your future. To study, to see the world. To live your life, to be happy. To - to find someone else!”

Belle let out a mirthless laugh, throwing up her hands in frustration.

“You seriously think there could be anyone after you?” she demanded. “Are you so fucking clueless that you think I could just move on like that?”

“But - but I wanted you to,” he whispered. “I wanted you to move on, Belle.”

“I love you, you moron!” she shouted. “I’ll never love anyone else! I felt your child growing inside me and I loved every painful, terrifying second because he’s a part of you, don’t you get that?”

She let a sob escape, shoving at him with the palms of her hands as her chest heaved.

“We could have been together, you bastard!” she wept. “We could have been together!”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I am, Belle. Believe me.”

He was trying to take her hands, to stop her smacking at his chest, and it only made her angrier. His fingers eased around her wrists, and she wrenched them away, turning her back as she sobbed.

“Belle, please…”

“Leave me alone!” she wept, and heard him sigh, a whispery sound of despair.

“Please,” he repeated, and she felt him step closer, his presence seeming to wrap around her with cold fingers, making her flinch.

“I fucked up,” he said. “I’m - I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder, a light, tentative touch, and she shrugged him off with a violence that almost hurt.

“Don’t touch me!” she snapped. “I can’t - I can’t bear to look at you right now!”

He drew back immediately, and she dashed tears from her eyes, her body shaking with sobs. A sound came to her, the faint noise of Gideon crying in his room, and she ran her hands over her face.

“i can see to Gideon,” he said calmly, and she squared her jaw, lifting her chin.

“I’ll do it,” she said, her voice cold. “Then I’m going to bed. And tomorrow I’m moving out.”

“Belle…”

“I mean it!” she snapped. “I can’t stay here! I’m going!”

She stormed away from him, slamming the door behind her, the tears flowing freely as she ran upstairs to comfort their son. They could have been a family. They could have been together.

#fic: dark heart #rumbelle fic #my fic #rumbelle angst #thatravenclawbitch

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