hey corny. so i always see people recommending to outline their story before starting it, but could you talk a little bit more about what that means? what is an outline and how do you structure one? how long are the ones you write, depending on the project? do you focus on plot beats or feelings? how specific do you get? can u recommend any readings for learning more?
up front i don't have any resources for this, only experience. and outlines feel like one of those things where it's like... there are a million ways to do it and the way that works for me might not work for you. i have a friend who writes out all his ideas on index cards and that, for me, is insane. but he's also a better writer than me so who can say what is right or wrong.
anyway an outline is essentially a sketch but for a story. you go through the whole thing, start to finish, and figure out what goes where and what happens when. the idea is that this is the stage where you work out all the big picture stuff and make sure it all fits together, now, and not after you've drawn twenty pages and suddenly go "wait shit that doesn't work" and have to do it over. it is much easier to delete and rewrite a paragraph than to redraw several pages.
doing anything more, ie including dialogue or feelings, depends entirely on how useful that information is to you at that point in the process and whether the purpose of the outline is for your own guidance, or so somebody else can tell what you're trying to achieve.
this got really long with multiple examples
here is an excerpt from the original outline i used to pitch Hunger's Bite to publishers. this one had to be polished to a professional standard, because somebody else was going to read it and decide whether they wanted to give me thousands of dollars to tell this story. (also several of the details are no longer accurate. for instance it now takes place 9 years earlier lmao)
this paragraph represents the first eight pages of the book. the final book is 264 pages long, and the outline was 12 pages of paragraphs as dense as this one.
it establishes where we are, who's there, and what they're doing. i describe their conversation, but i don't commit to the dialogue. i will occasionally include snippets of literal dialogue, but usually only if it's Important Dialogue, or i just don't want to forget a good idea i had while outlining. it's not expected at this step.
an outline written as part of a pitch to a publisher should tell the whole story, with all the important details, and leave nothing ambiguous. they need to know the tone, shape, and the arcs. no secrets! all the spoilers. outlines for yourself should do this too, but outlines for others need to be as clear about your vision as possible. again, an outline like this exists for the purpose of getting you paid thousands of dollars. you should write it like that.
in comparison, here's an excerpt from the outline i wrote for revisions to my WIP prose novel, so i could show it to my agent (who already read the draft) to be like "do these changes sound good?" i'm not selling it to anyone yet, just making a guide so i can have a conversation about it. so it doesn't need to be neat, it just needs to be functional and clear. the first chapter was entirely new stuff. the second bit was just writing down what was already in the chapter that existed.
i have historically been very bad at outlining things when i don't think i "need" to, and only wrote this one after having written like 60k words of the book without any overall plan. i gave what i had to my agent for feedback and then sat down and figured out how i could apply it. it's made the whole revisions process significantly less daunting. now i have a checklist for things i need to do! this one was a paragraph or two for each chapter, with the ones that needed a lot of rewriting given a bit more detail.
lastly, here's a bit of the outline for the first roger crenshaw book. i was the only person who had to see this, and since the story was planned to be very short i didn't have to worry about a whole lot. as long as i knew what was supposed to go where, it would work. honestly it's not a whole lot different from the previous example.
this one was like five paragraphs and it did the job, and this story was like 15k words. you only need as much or as little as will actually help you on the page.
basically if you take nothing else from this, it's that there are multiple ways to write an outline, that it does not need to be perfect if you're doing it for yourself, and that it only needs what you think is important (unless it is for other people. then it should have everything). and also it's a good idea to do it earlier in the project than after you've written 60k words or drawn--jesus christ i got up to 12 chapters in never satisfied? it's amazing i didn't quit sooner
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my problem with owari no seraph's writing, from someone who's been reading it since 2016
finally decided to revive this blog after it sat untouched for years and collected copius amounts of dust.... just ignore my old posts LMAO
anyways, i have a small list of issues that i think i've already posted about before? but i wanted to compile them all, and add on anything i haven't mentioned before.
*small spoiler warning for recent chapters & light novel*
the countless neglected side plots and characters. i understand that every side story will eventually get its time to shine... but when? i don't think i'd have such a problem with it if the comic updated more often, but i understand that kagami has other scripts to write and it takes yamamoto time to draw the beautiful art. but it's been years since we last saw characters like lacus welt, rene simm, seishiro hiragi, chess belle, makoto narumi and horn skuld. i definintely think it's a huge shame that after being present for like, 50 or so chapters, they just... disappeared. hell, last time yoichi's plan to get revenge on lacus was mentioned was over 5 years ago. again, if the updates were faster i wouldn't have such a problem with it taking so many chapters to finally get to the side storylines. but i just feel like it's been way too long at this point... this has already been stated before, but the lack of mistuba, kimizuki, yoichi, and sometimes shinoa's respective stories being addressed is also really annoying. it feels like they've been completely forgotten and neglected and like the comic is just 'mika & yu + extras''. i want to see yoichi get his revenge on lacus, i want to see ferid's backstory, i want to see mitsuba's relationship with her sister branched out more, i want to see chess and horn and how they're relevant to crowley's story, i want to see where narumi ran off to, i want to see kimizuki's storyline with his sister, and i know these will be addressed eventually, but like... when? to add onto this, i feel like new storylines keep being added on without old ones being addressed. the whole thing with mika turning into a demon, turning into a sword, finding out the first's past, and all of that. but then again, it took us years to finally figure out the first's past, so i trust that these side plots will also eventually get addressed! it's just very messy, and all over the place.
2. the same lines being repeated over and over again. i swear to god every couple of chapters they go through the same dialogue of "we're going to revive everyone and save all of our family members and save the whole world" and i just feel like nothing really happens after that? just from chapters 100-130 it's been mentioned SO many times and i just. if i'm missing something i'd appreciate it if someone could just tell me at this point because i really don't see why the almost exact same dialogue has to be said so often. i am perfectly aware that the whole storyline revives around the importance of companionship, friendship, and love, but it just seems futile for the same exact thing to be stated so often. i think when it's SHOWN rather than just being told is really nice, like how krul and ashera's backstory was played out, or how the love between paimon and bael was shown. we can draw our own conclusions and interpret the story differently based on what we see rather than being spoonfed the same information over and over again. ashera basically cursed his sister because he couldn't fathom living without her, and bael ended his life because he couldn't fathom living without paimon. i think when the love and importance of the character's relationships with each other is shown like this, rather than the same dialogue being restated chapter after chapter, the story flows much smoother.
3. the lack of character development. again, if i've somehow missed it then please just tell me because i can't find it anywhere. specifically in yu's case, because it's been YEARS. i will say, in the early volumes of the manga i definitely saw him undergo a huge change, because before he got put in the demon army he had a very sour attitude and refused to make friends. but after he found his new family, he did a complete 180 and made it his life's mission to live for them and do anything to save them, mika included (later on) but again, that was years ago and since then i've honestly been unable to see much change in his behavior. despite the numerous times guren has shown himself to be a shifty, shady person that's hard to trust, it doesn't go through yu's head. even after they had that huge fight around chapter 112, his anger towards guren wasn't even about the fact that guren planned for his family to be murdered by ferid! he rarely listens to mika, and he generally just goes off and does whatever he likes. i UNDERSTAND that this is just part of his character and personality, but my god is it frustrating to watch... i will say though, him bowing to krul and requesting her help to save mika was a nice surprise that i didn't anticipate. i'd really like to see more of that! more of him listening to other characters who desperately try to help him, etc.
4. the way female characters are written and treated. i understand that this is a shounen manga, but the only female characters in the series being used for fan service gets on my nerves a LOT, especially since they're not really that well written in the first place. also the dialogue and interactions between them... i really really hate that majority of the conversations between just shinoa and mitsuba are played off as boob jokes or something when they could be having legitimate bonding moments and building their friendships. like i'm not gonna lie, shinoa is an absolutely FASCINATING character to me. but i want to see the girls interact with other girls outside of topics that have to do with a man or just making boob jokes!!! (i've only read volume 1 of the catastrophe manga,) but going off of that, the way there could've been so much more attention paid to sayuri's character for example but a lot of the spotlight on her just consisted of either a. her boobs being shown or b. somebody talking about her boobs. i'm not gonna lie, one of the first pages of the manga being a naked 14 year old girl was ....?? anyways. and how could i forget about chess and horn! they're vampires that're hundreds to thousands of years old, and they can't even fall in love or feel romantic desire, but the whole blushing thing while getting down on their knees to suck crowley's blood from his finger? chess getting jealous of horn for being able to suck his blood? hello? like... come on. i will say though, i really like how krul's character is written. in my opinion, she's an example of a well written female character.
an additional note that's not criticism: my opinions on the new art style are kinda 50/50... i feel like for the adult/older characters, the tiny eyes and sharper/more realistic features can make them look kinda weird sometimes, especially their front profiles. but for the younger/child/teen characters, i actually really like it and i feel like it suits them! not having their eyes take up half of their faces anymore looks good, and it can also be interpreted as physical growth.
anyways, there are so so so many things that i legitimately love about owari no seraph, so this isn't me just shitting on the entire series. i'm gonna follow it through to the end, and i'm excited to see how that goes! i just think the writing could use.... some work.
*please excuse any typos*
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Haha, I also spoil myself intentionally, but for the plot of movies, tv shows, and games I’m not super invested in. If I accidentally spoil myself (especially if I learn a character dies) I’ll cope by telling myself “I don’t know how/when it happened though”
Anyways Major Character Death!!
I’m SO disappointed in them killing off Soap and especially in how they did it! No buildup or anything! To me it was disrespectful to the character and to Neil Ellice. And then the 141 don’t even say anything and it cuts to them spreading his ashes with a simple goodbye! They could have at least made them a little more upset 🥲 also I hate how abruptly the game ended. Makarov gets away, but no mention to that at the end.
I had also initially requested what would become infinity in the palm of your hand (eternity in an hour) as a way to “cope” with 2009 Soap’s death because it’s always been on the back of my mind for years (weird, I know). But now after playing the new MW3 campaign I look like boo boo the fool because of who went and got killed off 😭 now every time I go back to reread it, it will be painful knowing what’s in store for reader for their current reincarnation of Soap.
Tldr I’m kinda not okay with MW3.
From what I've seen, it feels like they pulled it out of a hat. All names went in, but his (amongst others) came out. And I guess it's safe because he died in the OG, so the backlash can easily be deflected from within their own community when other fans come to their defence over this choice. But idk.
I agree with everything you said. It doesn't make any sense. It's jarring and misplaced, and canonically pointless. I'm not against character death. Grief is a powerful thing. But I just hate when it's so contrived and needless. It was definitely done for shock value over plot/character growth and I think they were trying to re-create the massive storm that happened when OG Soap died because they know they don't have much else going for them. It just massively missed the mark because: a) Price and Gaz had no tangible in-game relationship with Soap the same way Ghost did; and b) what does his death really amount to in the end? Nothing. It feels cobbled together and poorly thought out. It's sad when Portal 2 has better writing than your whole remake combined. Honestly, it's kind of impressive how little thought they put into this. I'm getting flash backs to DGG's Halloween.
If it's any consolation, the mythology I based the reincarnation off of in infinity would essentially just be neverending. An ouroboros. The events would happen much the same way. A knock on the door. Spiral of grief. A bog. A deal. Restart. So, you'd just wake up again and live life until whatever the old you made a deal with decides it's time to collect. You're forever stuck in a loop with your soulmate until you get it right.
The rest is just how I kinda wish it went, but this was getting very long because I have more thoughts on this than I anticipated lmao 😅
Personally, I think it would have been much more interesting if they brought in a new passel of characters and slowly chipped off the main cast in a series of horrible decisions that slowly begin to feel hollow and empty. That leave you, the player, feeling emotionally gutted with each new chapter because the choices previously are absolutely impacting the way they move forward, but they're too deep into their own revenge fantasy to see it until the very end when it's too late. Give me actions have consequences and every choice you make is directly responsible for someone's death. The realities of war. And what happens when you give a group of people the power to play god in countries they know nothing about. It would have matched the gritty tone they tried to go for with the trailers and actually served as an interesting conversation about war and how we tend to deify the military when they're just men with too much power in their hands. Instead, we have a death that means nothing. That arguably happened much too early in the series so the payoff is solely meant for clicks and reaction channels. Pointless.
And Makarov. A Russian Ultra Nationalist. I feel like that title alone says everything for me, and yet. They still somehow managed to give a Russian War Criminal so many wins. I'm just so irritated by it all.
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Deceits of the Devil (priest!marcus pike x f!reader) | chapter one: the high priestess
series summary: when you find love in a priest, a litany of spooky events begin to follow you that can only be described as a haunting. is it your own guilty conscience that disturbs you... or could it be something else?
chapter summary: you're visiting your best friend in her new town for the first time when you are begrudgingly thrust into her devout way of life. however, something - or someone - makes you rethink your plans of avoiding the church at all costs.
word count/series~chapter-specific warnings: 6.4k+ words // MATURE (18+ ONLY) MDNI!: reader uses she/her pronouns and is incredibly non-religious, SLOW BURN TABOO RELATIONSHIP BABYYY, lots of religious/spiritual talk, horror elements and general spookiness ~ lots of character introductions so pls bear with me, mention of the death of a loved one and some light grief, food and eating mentions, sudden illness, potentially cringe banter, take a shot for every time i wrote 'father pike' in this (trust me we learn his first name soon enough but for now it's all formalities between him and reader), is this whole thing blasphemous? probably
a/n: sooo this is something very different from what i normally write, but i'm so excited to be trying something new! :) i'm not too sure where i want to take this story yet, so i don't have a total number of chapters or an ending planned (i really don't even have much of the plot figured out LMAO) but i'd really really appreciate any and all feedback from my readers! ♥️ let me know what you liked and what you want to see more of in future chapters!
“So I won’t burst into flames when I walk through the doors?”
You ask your best friend, Lucy, sending her into a fit of laughter. She clutches your hand tighter in hers, squeezing it with pompous affection. Despite your best efforts to maintain your feelings of impartialness towards the church, your palm slips against hers with a sheen of clamminess as you travel closer to the hulking cathedral.
“No!” She laughs, that breathless laugh you’ve always found comfort in. “You’re holier than most of the people who go every Sunday.”
You scoff and give her some side-eye, something that just makes her shake her head even more. Whether or not this is how you wanted to spend your first day in Carmeltree visiting her, you are going to this harvest dinner.
She sighs contentiously, contrasting the playful smirk on her face, “Trust me, you’ll be fine. Now come on, we’re gonna be late!”
——
Lucy has been your best friend since kindergarten. The maple leaves that swirl around you both in the crisp autumn air as you run through the streets now invoke a fierce sense of nostalgia, one that’s almost painful. One of your first memories together is making leaf rubbings in class with the fallen leaves that blanketed the frosted school grounds. She liked warm colors and you liked cool colors; she liked maple leaves and you liked birch leaves. Two complete halves made an even brighter whole when you came together, and the rest is history.
Despite the big city you grew up in, somehow you always managed to be in the same classes, share the same hobbies. But your luck had to run out sometime; when you both graduated, you got accepted into universities on opposite sides of the country. You kept up your communication, talking to each other every day and spilling your guts about everything, from the monumental to the regrettable, the joyous to the devastating.
You thought something was amiss when she called you in the middle of the night a few months back. At first you brushed it off, thinking maybe she fell asleep with her phone in her hand and dialed you by accident, something you’ve both done plenty of times over the course of your friendship. When she called you back as soon as you didn’t answer, you knew there was something wrong. That’s when you learned her mom had passed away.
It wasn’t sudden, but that didn’t spare her any devastation. You were there for her all day, every day. Consoling her when she wept, relishing in the happy memories that brought a rare but vital smile to her voice, sympathizing with her grief. But without a physical shoulder to lean on, Lucy went looking for more support to help her.
Her mom was a devout Christian and, by proxy, so was Lucy. She isn’t as rigid in her faith as her mom was, but she always viewed it as a guiding light to betterment, a sturdy foundation to catch her when she crumbled. Luckily, the whirlwind of life events in the past six months that displaced her from her college friends to the small town of Carmeltree was gracious enough to gift her a tight-knit, painfully orthodox population.
On the contrary, you grew up in a household without any influence of organized religion. Your family celebrated Christmas and Easter, but it was mostly for all of the gifts and chocolate.
Religious differences never caused any turmoil between you and your best friend, because you love each other for who you are, regardless if you share spiritual beliefs. If praying and attending sermons helps Lucy to process her grief and gives her something that uplifts her soul, what kind of a friend would you be to forbid her from that?
——
That doesn’t make you any more enthused about being dragged to the dinner held at the church to celebrate the autumn harvest. Lucy dropped the plan on you the second she picked you up from the major airport, whose segregating miles seem to swell with every second that passes. Knowing you would come up with an alternative plan you’d both like better, she didn’t give you a chance to back out, and you didn’t fight. Committed to being a good friend, and with a curiosity pricking your heart, you run alongside her through residual puddles as the street clocks chime eight times.
And let’s get one thing straight - “church” was a dishonorable term for the structure you’re going to. For hundreds of years, since the first round of colonizing settlers that invaded this square patch of disparate land, the citizens have been addicted to worship. They would lend their last cent to their religion, egregiously ignoring their growling stomachs and dilapidated houses for the sake of a prosperous God. The result of this frenzied generosity is the biggest cathedral you’ve ever seen.
You’re still a few blocks away, but the spires reach over the trees and spear up at the moon; whose craters can be seen with miraculous clarity on this autumn night. As you move closer and closer, the details in this spectacular of gothic architecture reveal themselves. There are a litany of pinnacles that stand like soldiers guarding their fortress and clerestory windows that dance and swish with light coming from inside the maw of the beast. When your eyes drift to angular beams that aid the structure - flying buttresses, if you remember correctly - your marvel is suddenly absent.
“No gargoyles?” you ask.
Lucy matches your disappointment with a shake of her head, “They come too close to the pagan border.” It’s unmistakable the way she lowers her voice, though there’s only a handful of patrons a hundred feet away from you.
Against the cloudless, darkening sky and a comically-eerie full moon, anyone would be dosed with at least a few drops of intimidation by the staggering black outlines. You fail to find any ease once you come to one of three entrances. The carvings of ancient tales you don’t know loom over your head in the angular tympanum and greet you with uncertainty. Are they supposed to make you feel welcomed or warned?
The gigantic doors are swung and held open by their own weight, giving way to the narthex. There’s a singing choir hidden deeper within and their melodies echo all around you. A large chandelier emits a soft orange glow, which is peculiarly swallowed up instead of reflected by the intricate, gilded etchings that coat the walls. Maroon velvet beneath your feet turns into a dark abyss of shadows from the unprecedented amount of people in here. You cling to Lucy’s coat with both your hands, somewhat subconsciously, and she laughs before taking your hand in hers and parting though the sea.
You’ll admit it, you can be very shy when you’re overwhelmed. Though for some inexplicable reason, crowds usually didn’t give you a fuss. You actually found a sense of comfort in being lost in the blur, blending in as just another body amongst hundreds, sometimes thousands of others. But you didn’t like this crowd, didn’t know these people, and not in a stranger-danger kind of way; you’ve unknowingly crossed the line of some Christians in the past and have dealt with their fiery ravings. From knowing Lucy all these years, you seem to have an understanding of their way of life, but then you slip up - use His name in vain, talk about a crush you have no plans to marry a little too fondly. You’ll be chewing on your third forkful and look up at the table, meeting ghastly stares and wanting to smack yourself in the face for completely forgetting grace.
Lucy never scorned you about forgetting or misunderstanding the rules. She knew that you didn’t mean any malice, you just simply… thought it was all a little silly sometimes. Between lighthearted Lucys and tyrannical Karens, it felt like walking on a minefield. So, you guess, you do know these people; it’s their unpredictability that worries you.
The claustrophobia wanes as you enter the nave. The ceiling spreads out, breathes, and is lined with stained glass windows that bend the moonlight into faint rainbows. Some of the outermost pews have been moved to accommodate long tables, adorned in chestnut velour, copper filigree and serve as the throne for only the most impressive squashes of the harvest. A buffet joins the autumnal decor, sitting in sterling silver that you can imagine was forged at the beginning of the century and is used only for occasions such as these.
Ever atune to your mind and body, Lucy pulls you into the line of hungry patrons just as your stomach grumbles. You’re transfixed by the magnificent altar at the back of this illustrious cave, your eyes climbing up the grand steps of the sanctuary to the stone table where you know the priest stands when mass is held. You try to picture one giving a sermon and reciting from scriptures. Doesn’t he have a cup or something too?…
A plate is stuck in front of you, waving a little, and the priest laughs at you when he finally gets your attention. You take the plate with a little embarrassment, your smile a sheepish one. “Sorry,” you mumble with pity.
The tall, wispy-haired man smiles with his teeth and places his arthritic hands around one of yours as you hold the plate. “Oh, it’s alright, my child. I myself have gotten lost in the wonders of the cathedral many times.”
Lucy chimes in, reading your awkward gaze. “It’s her first time,” she whispers with a little too much excitement for your liking. The priest puts on a goofy surprised expression, his eyebrows going up and his mouth forming a small 'o'. He looks back to you with a softer smile, “What a beautiful thing to witness, then. I’m Father Gala, pleased to meet you.”
“There’s no one better to come here with for the first time than Miss Finkle. You’re in very good hands.” As you nod in agreement, you can’t help but wonder… what would this elder man, in his starched and pressed vestments, think if he knew you and Lucy had “practiced” kissing so you’d know what you were doing when the “real thing” happened?
You wave the thought away like a gnat, not wanting to feel like you’re keeping another clean secret that’s considered dirty by some. You’re already under the guise of being a practicing Christian; Lucy had said they were more readily accepted than anyone else, despite the church’s proclamation of aiming for cultural diversity.
The choir has ended their singing, replaced by applause then the soft, overlapping chatter of the religious folk, and their red robes merge seamlessly into the surrounding crowd. Three other priests emerge from doors on either side of the sanctuary, two from the door closer to you and one from the other. You don’t get a good look at the singular man, since the door is on the opposite side of the grand hall from you. The two others are deep in talk, gesturing with their hands and keeping their faces close to one another while they walk as to not let anyone eavesdrop. You move ahead in line and depart from the eldest priest, whom the two new faces greet and guide a few feet away from everyone.
You don’t mean to pry, but you can’t help your curiosity and look back at the men. You can’t hear them, only watching their mouths move, but Father Gala’s sweet smile grows somber, then bitter. With scowling brows to match, the other two priests keep up their gestures laden with well-maintained passion as they tell Father Gala a story.
In the first lull of this conversation, the eldest priest, with his arms crossed over his chest, flickers his eyes to yours without moving his head. Your heart springs from your chest to your throat. His glower lessens when he bites the inside of his cheek, but you feel a doubling, tripling of stress when the other two priests turn to look at you too. The taller one, with a jet black, scraggly bowl cut, mirrors Father Gala and crosses his arms. He looks down his long nose at you in dignified annoyance. The third, with stocky limbs and strawberry blonde hair, glares at you from his periphery. Your eyes widen, in an attempt to show them you’re not a threat, expose your remorseful guilt, or provide a silent apology, you don’t know.
Lucy snaps you back forward with a gentle push against your back to get you to move in the line. You’ve finally reached the buffet, but suddenly the smells that wandered up your nose in wispy, tempting little tendrils earlier instead worm their way down your esophagus and instill a powerful nausea. She can sense your discomfort, your disorientation from what just happened, and supplies your plate for you. With a protective gaze over your head at the men, and a loving hand on your bicep, she guides you to sit in the pew farthest away from them.
She has to stick a fork in your petrified fist for you to speak. “What the hell was that about?” You question, chancing a glance over your shoulder at the offending party and see that they’ve gone off to greet guests with friendly smiles again. “I wasn’t trying to listen in, they just looked worried and-“
Lucy pats your knee once, “Don’t worry. There must be some sort of drama happening behind the scenes, something that the town would inquire about. Since they’re priests, they think they have immunity from gossip.” She scoffs lightly and you think you catch your devout friend rolling her eyes at those most holy. “They’ve been acting weird for a while now, off and on. One week, Father Gala is like Mr. Rogers, and the next, he’s Dracula.”
That earns a snort from you, hiding your smile behind the back of your hand. She gives you a reassuring smile, filled with her signature warmth that’s comforted you all these years, “You’re doing great. Now eat.”
Thankfully, your nausea has quelled enough that you taste the delicious food as it’s meant to be tasted. Maybe you don’t have to worry about foraging during your stay in this town void of all fast food, only relying on two quaint grocery stores to feed itself. You’ll just have to become friends with whoever made this delectably gooey mac and cheese.
Lucy interrupts you, “Oh, by the way,” she covers her full mouth and then swallows, pointing daintily, “that’s Father Thorn,” at the tall one, “and that’s Father Angus,” at the blonde one. You nod once in understanding, taking a look at their faces to match their names with, before Lucy turns away with a laugh. She teases under her breath, “Maybe they’re all pissed they could never be as handsome as Father Pike.”
“Priests can be handsome?” you ask of the mysterious fourth priest, bemused. Priests, deacons, popes and the like all conjure up images of men with wrinkles as delicate and numerous as the pages in the ancient books they abide by. If they’re not a million years old, they’re unsightly at best and possess a visceral lack of sensuality, like Father Thorn and Father Angus. Lucy has got to be pulling your leg.
“Yes,” she breathes, a soft pink blooming in her cheeks, “and young, and warm, and have a voice that makes every sermon a lullaby, and big, tender hands…” she trails off in a dream.
You let out a laugh, amused by her dramatics. “Oh, so he’s really ugly, then,” you sneer, trying to expose her hyperbole.
She giggles at your tone, shaking her head. You reign down on her, spurring her giggles on with a barrage of sarcasm until they’re uncontrollable.
“Is that why this place doesn’t have gargoyles, because he can take its place? Does he have leathery skin,” you drag your hands down your face, pulling your cheeks down to expose your eyes, “rotted fangs,” hold your hands by your mouth and snarl your fingers, “hairy feet with long, twisting toenails that tear through his shoes?” You get up and drag your feet along the floor, growling and licking your lips rabidly.
Lucy doubles over, tears threatening to spill over her eyes every time her lungs have to suck in a breath, “Stop!” She’s wheezing and you drop the act, putting your hands on your hips.
“Well, you gotta tell me if I’m wrong or not!” Tapping your foot, you await her retaliation, until a voice warm with a smile cuts through the air.
“You forgot the giant rat’s tail that drags behind me.”
Your heart stops for a second, thumping wildly when it starts up again to catch the missed beats. Turning tentatively on your heel, you’re met with… exactly what Lucy described.
Before you is one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen, if not the most handsome ever. Chocolate waves that crest over top one another in a cute, slightly overgrown style glisten like ganache on top of his head in the candlelight. He’s got a scruffy beard that’s cut close to his cheeks and jaw, avoiding looking unkempt, threaded with two or three streaks of gray. His aquiline nose is gorgeous, there’s a little dimple in his cheek that deepens as he’s smiling, and his eyes… oh, his eyes…
“I’m Father Pike,” he extends his hand in greeting, keeping his other tucked behind his back. He has to bend forward slightly to reach your height better, aiding your descent into enchanted madness as he gets closer. You take his hand and introduce yourself- GOD Lucy was right. His grasp is light, comforting. Where Father Gala made you feel stuck in his eternal cage, Father Pike sets you free. You fall into a stupor fantasizing about what his hugs must feel like.
He smells like cinnamon. It could be from the pie you suspect he ate, from the apple undertones you detect, but you wouldn’t be surprised if that’s just how he naturally smelled. A warm, cozy, inviting dream; he sure looked like one, at least.
His gaze lingers on your expression frozen with intrigue before he turns and welcomes Lucy. They begin a polite banter that allows you to stand back and try to quell your blood that throbs with nerve. If you had known someone like Father Pike was going to be here, you would’ve dressed in something nicer, possibly sexy - the modesty expected in a place of worship be damned. You curse yourself for choosing these well-worn jeans and roomy sweater over the opaque tights and a dress of an acceptable length you were going back and forth on in your mirror earlier. But, in an odd sort of way, you still felt exposed in front of Father Pike from underneath all your thick layers. You couldn’t hide yourself from him, no matter how many clothes you armored yourself with.
He turns back to you, and he doesn’t ogle your nervous body, or try desperately not to; he looks into your eyes with a soft smile that crinkles the skin around those big brown puddles. It makes your chest feel like it has a big, gaping cavity that you could look inside of and see your heart thumping hard, vulnerable blood spilling from all your edges and trickling down your legs. The flustered emotions of a blooming crush rapidly morph into something malicious and parasitic, causing you to put the back of your hand to your forehead that has broken out in clamminess. It’s hard to hear Father Pike over the rushing buzz in your head when he speaks to you.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, are you new?”
And just like that, your knees start trembling beneath you. Your heart misses a beat, causing your lungs to seize in anger and you suck in a harsh breath. In a flash, Father Pike’s friendliness snaps into genuine concern and he steps forward, taking your elbows and catching you on your way to the floor. You make a startled sound and his timbre slashes through your panic, “Let’s get you sat down somewhere, okay?”
You can barely muster a nod, tears threatening to spill over your eyes and join the rivulets of sweat on your cheeks. Father Pike more or less carries you by your middle as you pathetically cling to his arms, dragging your debilitated form a short distance to a secluded, abandoned pew by the door he entered from earlier in the evening. Father Pike sits you down and takes the place right beside you, putting his left arm around your shoulders and his right hand in yours. As soon as you’re grounded on the unforgiving wood, your vision stops spinning, even though you didn’t realize it had started. Breathing suddenly feels easy again, returning to its involuntary glory instead of being laborious. It’s like your body resumed its regularly scheduled programming with an invisible snap.
Away from the hub of the crowd, his voice seems louder, its velveteen quality more clear, “You alright?”
You take a precautionary, steadying breath before meeting his eyes, fearful that something in him will set off all your alarms again. But when you meet his eyes, everything is serene. “Y-yeah, I’m okay.”
A pause to verify your sincerity, and then he chuckles, trying to uplift the atmosphere with a lighthearted tone, “I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just…”
You laugh, as much as you can muster in your breathless state, “No, no, you didn’t!” He retracts his hand from yours slowly and you instinctively grasp his forearm with a reassuring touch. Once you notice what you’re doing, you let go of him with an embarrassment like he’s burning you. “I- I don’t really know what happened, all of the sudden I just felt… sick.” With your confession, a wave of nausea infiltrates your stomach and makes you feel a little queasy again. It’s climbing to its previous intensity quickly. The fossilized church feels like it could cave in on you at any moment.
Father Pike touches your shoulder softly, “I’m going to go get you some water, okay?” You nod and the waning gleam in your eye sends him swiftly disappearing into the crowd.
A decent number of paces away, an older woman looks at you with fear as Lucy speaks to her, no doubt explaining your abrupt qualm. Drawing any more attention than you already have will just worsen your panic, so you thwart the drama. You raise your hand at her with a thin-lipped smile to deter her worry and she places her hand over her heart with a happy sigh before walking away.
Father Pike reappears behind Lucy and drifts by her with your drink clutched tight in his hand. Lucy’s eyes flit from the priest’s chivalry to your shy, measly form and she raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth with a scoffing smile. You could read your best friend’s face better than written word: she thinks that you’re doing this on purpose to get the Father’s attention.
You wish you could say you were reeling him in with salacious spite, however, you were anything but. Your illness was true and unforgiving. You shake your head at her in defiance, but you can tell she doesn’t buy it. She turns away to busy herself with the rest of the party, but really she’s intending to give the two of you some privacy from the wink thrown over her shoulder. With a roll of your eyes, you think about how you’ll have to defend yourself with a foolproof case under her gavel later tonight.
Father Pike retakes his seat next to you, handing you the bottle of water, unopened, that your puny fingers struggle with. Kindly, he offers his hand and you pass over the bottle for him to open. He hands it back to you and sits hunched over his lap, hands clasped between his open legs, staring at you intently as you take a few slow sips. You feel a little awkward, looking down at the bottle in your hands and fidgeting with the wrapper on the outside, so you take a note from his book and try to lighten the mood, “I knew I wasn’t a big fan of parties, but I didn’t know I was this bad.” You chuckle dryly, risking a glance at him. It works: he’s laughing with you.
“I’m not a big party person, either,” he smiles, his dimple creasing within his beard. You raise an eyebrow at him, a little befuddled by his statement, given he inserts himself into the lives of others for a living. He takes your hint, “I enjoy talking to people, giving sermons and all of that… but even this feels a little overwhelming for me.” You nod, finding comfort in the fact that you’re on the same page. He keeps that endearing smile with a measuring eye as he continues watching you, looking from the crease of your brow to how your legs squirm uncomfortably.
There’s something about this man that makes you feel… transparent. Like how you felt exposed to him earlier, even underneath all your coarsely knitted layers. You feel like a fraud, sitting next to one of the holiest figures in the entire congregation. And for some reason, out of all of the people here, you feel that he deserves the truth. There’s nothing about him that has given you any indication that he won’t turn on you like the rest would if you confess to your disguise, but at the same time… he makes you feel safe. Of course, he just recovered you from some undisclosed blight, but you can write that off as convenience. You were sick, he was right there, certainly he would’ve tended to you. There must be some moral code within the priesthood to never let a sick person lie. But even before that, putting aside his obvious handsomeness, there was something in his eyes that held you. Let you know that it was all okay. You decide to ply him with honesty.
“Um… so, I’m not very religious. Like, at all.” Your voice is a little shaky, worried if his nice-guy facade will finally melt away to reveal a sneering orthodox. He doesn’t seem to have a reaction, so you keep going.
“So, if I’m not religious, and I’m drinking this, does that mean…” You trail off in question, and he doesn’t understand what you’re getting at.
“It’s holy, right?” You raise the water.
Father Pike looks like he can’t believe what you just asked. He shakes his head in amusement, void of condescension, leaning the slightest bit closer towards you. He lowers his voice slightly, protecting you from any invasive ears. He softly explains, “Just because it’s water in a church doesn’t mean it’s holy. A priest or some other figure has to bless it.” His smirk deepens at your visible relief, “You’re not sinning, or anything near it. You’re perfect.”
He said you’re… what? Your heart skips again but this time it’s not from sickness. Well... is it sick to be attracted to someone who is virtually untouchable? You get to thinking; you know enough about the church and its inner workings to know that priests usually take a vow of celibacy. Consequently, most never date or get married. Does that mean… are they barred from all things sensual? Are they allowed to tenderly brush their fingers against someone else’s, and not for the purpose of prayer? Can they share a glance that lingers a little too long for it to be considered chaste? Can they… can they even think about anything remotely sexual?
There’s no way that can be true. You can understand physical celibacy, sure, but it’s impossible for one not to have a thought that makes them quiver at least once in their life. In your own experience, sensuality sometimes has nothing to do with sex. You’ve felt the warmth of eroticism lying under the sun’s rays in the middle of spring, savoring a delicious meal, when you finish a book with a satisfying conclusion. If Father Pike starves himself of such pleasures, you can’t fight the pity that chokes you.
“What if they have priests at the packaging plant?” You joke, hoping to simultaneously break the silence that has swelled between you two and put a wedge in your brain’s cogs so they’ll stop churning.
Father Pike laughs, genuinely from his belly, and oh you could get used to that sound. His eyes crinkle at their corners with a grin, “Then the church would be thrilled at our outreach.”
You go to take another sip of your water, but his hand comes out to touch yours. The impossible delicacy almost makes you flinch. He puts gentle pressure on your skin, making you stop in your tracks. He shifts closer to you, his voice dropping an octave, warning you, “I’d be careful though; there is a possibility that you could grow rotted fangs and hairy feet, if I’m remembering correctly.”
Your fluttering nerves make your laugh squeak out of your tightened throat, louder than you intended, in a bark. Slightly mortified, you hide your smile behind the hand that isn’t suspended in the air by Father Pike. With mercy, he releases you.
“What about a rat’s tail?” You ask with a teasing glint in your eye.
He ponders for a moment, comically deep in thought. “That only affects the most sinful of us,” he reveals.
...What? That was flirty, right? It had to be flirty. There’s no way he didn’t mean it to be flirty. Your imagination can be very active at times, but there was no mistaking the twitch of his mustache to repress a smirk.
Trying to ignore the furious heat that has instantaneously kindled between your thighs based on that singular tone change, you latch the bottle to your mouth and avert your eyes elsewhere. Out of your periphery, you think you see Father Pike’s shoulders droop and his gaze lower to the ground with a silent huff. Shit, did he take your silence as a blow to his humor?
You can’t think too much now because the clocks outside in the streets resound ten chimes. Lucy appears and her beaming at the two of you seems to rejuvenate Father Pike a little. He straightens his back before he stands and they begin talking, shaking hands. Their mouths spew unintelligible babble to you as your entire nervous system is locked on one thing: Father Pike’s back. His gorgeous personality had swept you up and away into a cloud of bubbly giggles and blushing cheeks that you hadn’t noticed what he was wearing. Maybe if the robes had made a greater impression on you, they would’ve served as a reminder to restrain yourself from dreaming about the forbidden, but alas.
Father Pike is dressed identically to the other priests: black clerical shirt, cassock, pants, and shoes, and a white tab collar. But he wears everything so much better. The garments are majorly obscured by the enveloping cassock, but even the thick, flowing fabric can’t hide the broad width of his shoulders. When he gestures with his hands, you can see the muscles move dreamily in reaction by the flickering candlelight. He’s tall, and this fact is only emphasized as you continue to sit motionless on the pew watching him and Lucy.
When he turns with a hand outstretched to help you to your feet, you bite your lip with ravenous desire. Somehow you didn’t notice - probably because you were too enthralled with everything else about him - how his Adam’s apple sits on glorious display with the white tab collar as its pedestal. The tempting image makes you swallow hard. God, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
“Time to get going,” Lucy says, motioning from behind the Father’s back for you to take his hand. You do and stand, drifting to the front of the church on autopilot. It feels like the calm quiet of your time with Father Pike and the chummy, sociable atmosphere of the dinner has dissipated and a sense of urgency has taken root. The friendliness remains in the goodbyes and promises of meeting again you hear all around you, but you’re definitely being ushered out with the rest of the herd. You guess, remembering a tidbit about religious folk, that they have a curfew.
It feels like you’re being ripped away from Father Pike and you don’t like that. Although you’ve only known him for all but two hours - which sounds ridiculous when you put it like that - you’re desperate to know more. You’d find genuine, complete contentedness in simply watching him go about his daily activities. Recording what details he decides to give you privy to and admiring his boundaries when he reserves himself. He’s the first possibility of a new friend in this conservative township and you don’t want to let him go.
You’re grateful that he ghosts your back as Lucy leads you to the entrance, it gives you comfort and makes this dream last as long as it can. You don’t sense just how close he’s following behind you until you get to the heavy front doors and the toe of his shoe snags on the heel of yours. It makes you trip and fumble forward, but Father Pike reaches to catch you. His hands grip your waist, molding your oversized sweater to your body. Then, he gently steadies and pulls you back upright. The foreign sensation of your flattened heel tickles your foot and sends you stumbling back into his chest. He looks down at you, his hands still on you, “I-I apologize.”
Through the darkness you see the tips of his ears glow red. Before you can say anything in return, he renders you speechless by getting on his knees. Without a word spoken, moving in tandem with implicit choreography, you lift your foot up so he can fix the heel back into place. He doesn’t give you the choice of wobbling on your lonesome, placing one of your hands on his right shoulder to keep you balanced. And god, you wish he hadn’t done that.
Your lips part as your breaths gain some weight, but you snap your oblong mouth shut when you hear an ancient, warbly voice. “Oh, no, what have we here?” Father Gala teeters over just as Father Pike finishes retying your shoe. Imperceptibly, you squeeze his shoulder in reverence as he stands up and then you let your hand fall innocently to your side.
You shrug, giggling a little uncomfortably, “Father Pike stepped on the back of my shoe, it was an accident.”
“Young and clumsy,” Father Gala jokes, you think, with a grumbly tone. He claps a hand on Father Pike’s left shoulder with more effort than you thought the old man could muster. As Father Pike steadies the elder priest’s cane, you reason he more so fell into Father Pike than anything else. Your favored Father chuckles with accountability.
Father Gala passes off his cane for a moment to take your hand in his two, like he did when he gave you the dinner plate earlier this evening. Clearly the party has tired him out; his hands are quivering and his back is permanently bent at an angle. “Peace be with you,” he croaks with cheerfulness, despite his withered voice.
You freeze. You know you’re supposed to say something back to complete this exchange and from the innermost depths of your brain you think it should be a simple phrase, something that any ardent Christian would remember. Between your disinterest in the church and the Father Pike fog that has eclipsed your mind, you’re dumbfounded.
An angel appears in your midst and comes to your rescue: Father Pike, peering into your eyes over the shoulder of the crouched figure before you, mouths the words silently, “And also with you.”
“And also with you,” you recite amicably. Father Gala smiles, pats your hand twice in delight and turns to give Lucy the same departing sentiment. You release the air of worry you held inside and take a few steps to meet Father Pike, whispering close by his side so only he will hear, “Thank you.”
The handsome Father closes your height difference by leaning down and pretends to brush some invisible dust off of your shoulder, an excuse to be this close to you.
“Don’t mention it. Your secret’s safe with me,” he murmurs.
And you trust him to keep his promise. Sure, he could go behind your back and spill your lies to the other priests, the entire community, let them know that there’s a rat infiltrating their congregation.
The mischievous sparkle in his gaze as he looks at down you, biting your lip to suppress your giggle and keep your little inside secret just that, tells you he won’t let one word slip.
Father Gala has returned for his cane, so Father Pike clears his throat and stiffens himself. Clasping his hands together, he builds an appropriate distance between the two of you before anyone sees it was anything otherwise.
The night winds have picked up, biting at bits of exposed skin with a malevolent appetite. To shield the older priest, Father Pike guides him back into the cathedral. “I hope to see you two back soon,” the handsome Father interjects as you’re turning to leave.
“We’ll be here Sunday!” Lucy shouts over an unnatural gust that howls and warbles her voice. With one arm over each other’s shoulders, holding tight together, you begin the trek back to her house to take refuge for the night. Behind you, you hear the cathedral doors shut, sealing you off from a final parting glance to Father Pike. You aren’t too disheartened by that and the cold can’t gnaw at your heart, either; Sunday is only two days away and you can’t contain your excitement.
——
The whole night has felt like a whirlwind. To your complete and utter surprise, visiting the church is no longer seems like it’ll be a chore, but rather an opportunity. For what, you’re not exactly sure just yet. But you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks and skirting down your spine at the infinite possibilities. Maybe you should start praying for your salvation now.
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author's note | chapter 9: wintering ❄️
thank you so much for reading chapter 9 of beasts. in this chapter, ginny goes home for christmas, back into the fold of the family that anchored the anti-voldemort movement now grieving the loss of a brother and a son - and finds it's tougher to keep secrets from one harry james potter than she might otherwise have thought. this was a tough chapter to write, and one i cared a lot about trying to get right. so - let's have a chat about it (and a little sneak peek of chapter 10)...
✨ spoilers for this chapter below the cut ✨
writing notes and headcanons:
writing: this is the first chapter where i’ve strayed from the chapter plan and shunted scenes to a future chapter. i ummed and ahhed about it, then remembered no-one else knows what the plot is and what this chapter was supposed to be, then got a grip lol. lesson learned - if it’s hard work and it feels like you’re trying to force it, you probably are, so chill out lmao
this ended up, then, as a chapter about families. we see the blacks, the order itself, andromeda and teddy’s new little unit, little glimpse of the lovegoods - and the possibility of new families, most obviously in the case of bill and fleur’s baby on the way. at the core of this chapter, though, are the weasleys, this openly political family of freedom fighters, first family of the resistance, and a family thoroughly scarred by war. i’ve talked a bit about this elsewhere, but i have always been so struck that the weasleys enter the narrative as add-ons to ron, harry’s mate, but over the series increasingly become the core of the entire anti-voldemort movement, with a history of resistance and also of grief and sacrifice (fabian and gideon). so this chapter spends some time with each member of the family, a little panorama of the weasleys eight months on from the battle to see how they’re all coping (or not). it was really really important to me that each family member’s grief and emotional state got a moment in this chapter. partly this is because i think that writing character-centric fiction shouldn’t neglect attending to the broader emotional context of the ensemble around a character, but also because each family member is quietly showing ginny the different ways they’re all responding to fred’s death in ways that might get her thinking about who she feels most similar to and who her family needs her to be. that bill is the only family member who answers ginny’s wish that her family would talk about fred more and stop avoiding saying his name was deliberate. with his parents struggling so much, bill is clearly stepping up as the person to look after his family. he’s aware of his own emotional responses, he’s discussing his own grief, but he’s also looking to the future, making plans for it and trying to improve the world he’ll spend it in, even though he knows it’ll be bittersweet. it was important for me to have ginny to have that behaviour modelled to her from someone she singularly admires.
space: as the plot of ginny looking back and processing a childhood at war progresses, i wanted to draw together and quietly contrast two spaces, grimmauld place and the burrow. these are the two headquarters of the order of the phoenix, two family homes, two sites of familial rupture - and, now, two places equally haunted by the ghosts of people who once lived there and who are now gone. writing this chapter i did a lot of imagining the communal spaces in both residences kind of as a set for a play with ensemble characters walking on and off stage at whim, which actually made the whole thing much easier when i was freaking out about having too big a cast for one chapter lol.
harry and ginny: see here!
molly weasley: my real soapbox issue for this chapter is that molly weasley’s grief really, really matters. i know molly is rarely anyone’s blorbo. she’s increasingly hated in certain corners of the fandom (check the most kudos-ed fic tagged under molly & ginny lol) and even among those people who like molly, lots of postwar fics focussing on different characters’ pics have her just sort of return to normal, get back to fussing about the house and the kids’ relationships and careers in her mumsy way. i do get this: it’s hard to want to give a lot of time in a fic to a (usually) tertiary character’s grief rather than the protagonist’s, especially when everyone is grieving, and molly is an often convenient source of either amusement, nuisance or even antagonism in hinny fics (many of my own favourites!) for her (seemingly) conservative views on sexuality and her busybody behaviour. but i’ve never subscribed to this in my own headcanon as a canon coherent choice, simply because canon is very clear that molly weasley’s worst nightmare is the death of one of her children, and that nightmare happens. (in fact, it’s even worse than she imagines in the boggart, because even in her worst nightmares she didn’t imagine one of the twins dying and not the other.) while i absolutely do not want to relate this fictional loss to the real life experiences of friends and family who have known terrible loss, it was important to me to try and write an alternative version of molly that centred her grief in a way that felt plausible and true, and acknowledged that the loss she and arthur have endured is one that would change them enormously.. truthfully, i don’t think either character would ever really be ok again (which why grief is so hard to work with narratively - it offers no neat conclusions or easily legible arcs of healing).over the past few months, ginny has been worrying about a very teenage set of worries re molly, stressing about her mother’s response to her losing the captaincy and poor school performance, thinking she might get a howler, gearing up for a fight over whether harry can sleep in her bed - only to get home to find her mum has fallen apart. narratively, i wanted ginny to see her mum like this, and to finally start to understand why her mum was so insistent on her being a child and having a childhood and keep her away from the war that ginny was so desperate to fight in.
the other point here, and i do feel strongly about this, is that for a fandom very interested in how families, loss and trauma during wars shapes characters (marauders fics are some of the richest best explorations of these themes), i worry we don’t care nearly enough about what molly weasley goes through, and about how women respond to their grief in complicated and nuanced ways. as @saintsenara has pointed out, the lack of attention paid to molly weasley’s backstory and grief over her brothers, and especially her grief after fred’s death, smacks of misogyny. perhaps molly’s frumpy mumsy unchic domesticity fretting about her children’s grades makes her not a cool enough character to care about her pain: perhaps it’s that she beefs sirius, everyone’s traumatised fave (and a character i adore). but i do really care in this fic about offering a rendering of molly that shows a possible way she would respond to fred's death, now seeing in her children the grief she has lived with already for so long, no longer able to return to the person she was before. i think molly weasley is a person who understands how their awful world works and tries to encourage her children into a path that will provide for them with material security and offer chances to do meaningful work towards reform. and while you can disagree with that as advice to her children, i don't think that worldview invalidates her right to thorough, compassionate treatments in fics and analysis as a character who is so very loved and special to harry. molly weasley is the only person who demands these children have a childhood and we should not forget it!
andromeda: ahhh man. ok this chapter i learnt people writing andromeda are really strong soldiers because i tried like 30 different characterisations until i found one that didn’t make me want to gouge my own eyes out. she couldn’t be too warm, because she’s a) a black and b) canonically wary of strangers and quick to be offended/insulted (ted’s the gentle one of the two of them). she does have to have a certain domesticity to her because tonks mentions her knack for household charms, but couldn’t be overly mumsy, in contrast to molly, because tonks clearly was drawn to molly’s mothering instincts (early HBP kitchen scene) in ways that suggest andromeda’s were less obvious. i wanted her to be a proud person, someone polite but wary, self conscious (and self critical) of her own particularities and mistakes as a parent, who has a working relationship with harry but not a maternal one, and who would probably be a bit suspicious of all these teenagers playing with teddy, who is now the centre of her world, lest they drop him on his head or stand on his baby toes. i imagine ginny and andromeda having a cordial but eventually slightly fractious relationship - 'girlfriend of the teenage godson to my orphaned grandson' is a weird role to play in a person’s life, after all. i can see ginny reminding andromeda of the daughter she lost, and it was fun to draw that out a bit here (andromeda immediately kibboshing the broomstick idea as a case in point).
relatedly sirius: finally getting to begin using some of my sirius scenes now we’re at grimmauld place 😈 i’m really excited about the plot to draw in the memory of sirius in this fic, and so it seemed right to begin bringing him in in a chapter about families, generations (mothers!) and what living with trauma and grief after war can do to a person. we see him finally arrive in person in a flashback to the day the weasleys arrived in his house, freshly reconfined to grimmauld and sullen because of it, but also being perceived by ginny and the weasleys as someone with great presence. he becomes the subject of a great deal of interest and hero worship by the twins and ginny, with only ron (following hermione) noting that sirius black does not seem to be a well man. sometimes in fics the (understandable) impulse to focus on sirius’ good godfather traits can be taken a bit too far with authors overstating how warm/inviting/interested sirius would be in the parade of weasleys who move in with him at a very low moment for him personally. i liked having sirius being sort of shrug about their arrival, having only the briefest moment with ginny where a commonality between them (the betrayal of a brother) is identified but saying nothing about it. sirius black is in no place to reassure someone about sibling estrangement. ginny, in her approach to sirius, tries to position herself in opposition to her mother, apologising for her with an eye roll kind of vibe, and raging at her for excluding her from the order meeting when no one else was. she also expresses empathy with sirius’ plight of being confined for your own protection when you really want to fight and have your revenge (👀). meanwhile, in the present, harry and ginny wake up in sirius’ childhood bed, spend the day inside grimmauld watched on by paps, and the ginny goes back to her own family home, where she throws herself into christmas planning and prepping to try and raise spirits and distract from all of the shit going on, à la sirius in ootp. (i’ll finish that sirius and ginny meta before the next chapter i swear).
dolohov: me, a few months ago, realising that the man killed fabian and gideon prewett also killed remus
percy: so far in beasts, percy has come up only in passing - unfavourable press coverage, and on the board in graves’ classroom, part of the machine that sent muggleborns to azkaban and some, in all probability, to their deaths. lots of brilliant brilliant fics (some rec’d below) explore percy plausibly as a resistance agent working within the ministry, but i’m always a bit suspicious of this reading, given his line in the room of req (‘it’s been coming on for a while, but I had to find a way out and it’s not so easy at the Ministry, they’re imprisoning traitors all the time’ - this doesn’t sound to me like a road to damascus moment the second scrimgeour died, does it? when exactly did you realise you'd fucked up perce? like babe you’re the assistant to the minister - how many people did you help imprison, given the muggleborn registration commission was up and thriving within a month of the ministry takeover?) i think, whatever the extent of percy’s resistance (and there will be more on this!), it’s clear that ginny, of all of the siblings, would probably be the least likely to forgive percy. it’s not just that the decisions he makes are so far from her own, or that his treatment of her parents was egregious, it’s also her loyalty and ferocious protectiveness of harry, who percy royally fucks over at every possible turn with little remorse. (he doesn’t engage with or apologise to harry in the room of requirement!) ginny wasn’t there with percy when fred died like ron was, an experience that i think would help ron decide life’s too short and make a cordial peace with percy. i think ginny would want percy to feel a hell of a lot of shame before ever warming up to him again. i like percy as a character, i think his arc is so good, but i also find satisfaction putting him in the corner at the weasley christmas with old xeno, stood with the other guy who should have done the brave thing and didn’t. just because your family tease you doesn’t mean you should commit war crimes!
teddy: me writing this chapter like
the order: the interaction i have in this chapter between lee and ginny, over whether the order beat voldemort, is my attempt to get something i have been thinking a lot about without much resolution, which is (partly) what does the order actually do, but also how do the order think about the end of the war when it turns out they kind of were peripheral to the effort of winning it? obviously they did some things, and order members obviously fought in the battle, but the order actually were instrumentalised by dumbledore into a bigger plot that involved harry that he kept them in the dark about. i think it would be very weird for the order in the aftermath of war to think about what their efforts really meant when their losses are huge and their accomplishments minimal, other than helping keep harry alive at times - and weirder still for ginny, who was never old enough to join and was kept at arm’s length from the soldiers’ table only to find out those soldiers didn’t really matter anyway. no profound takes just curiosity on my part, but very interested if anyone has any takes on this!
ron and hermione: very sorry to the lovely anon who just asked about hermione — saying nothing for now but what do you think’s going on there! weird innit. a real mystery. if only someone would tell us
harry’s kitchenware collection: what’s up with that hmmmmmm
songs on the playlist for this chapter:
i listened to a lot of choral music for this chapter - ofc christian symbolism is all over the series (can't move for it), so was leaning into that a bit (lol), and the little church by the graveyard in godric's hollow with the muggles inside on christmas eve has always struck me as a very beautiful and sad image, so i was trying to channel those vibes too a bit in this chapter (ginny and bill listening to the carols in the village in the garden, and the view from molly and arthur's window of the ottery st catchpole church spire). my favourite is the holst arrangement for lullay, mine liking, a fifteenth century carol originally in middle english, which has these very tender lyrics that are about the infant christ but also work painfully well for molly's grief: lullay, mine liking, my dear son, my sweeting.
lullay my liking (arr. holst) by the godley singers | hey, ma by bon iver | gregorian chant for the dead by aurora surgit and alessio randon | 7 o'clock news/silent night by simon & garfunkel | i don't like my mind by mitski | this is me trying - the long pond studio version by taylor swift | should have known better by sufjan stevens (i mean - my brother had a daughter/the beauty that she brings - illumination. perfect no?) | hope by james newton howard (i have a lot of songs from the soundtrack to terence malick's incredibly beautiful film a hidden life on this playlist, because that film remains a real touchstone for the visuals i'm imagining for a lot of this fic but also a lot of the vibes of family and resistance)
reading list:
on percy (loads here):
dawn is coming, open your eyes by dialux (an all time fave)
The Last Something That Meant Anything by Anonymous (TW for sexual assault)
'Hope' is a Thing With Feathers by PeachyKeener
on molly (and molly and ginny):
Every Mother is a Grave by @witchofimber
Mother, any distance greater than a single span by Simon Armitage (did anyone else read this for gcse english lit and still find themselves thinking about it a dozen years later?
on sirius and molly:
'He slammed the door in her face' by @ashesandhackles
Meta: An alternative read on Sirius and Molly's argument also by @ashesandhackles
on andromeda:
turncoat: in defense of andromeda tonks née black by dirgewithoutmusic
on teddy and the potter family:
little accomplishments by irnan
ok technically i am cheating with this sneak peek because technically i shared a bit of this scene a bazillion years ago/way back in january, a month or so before i started putting the fic out (over here), so here's... a bit more of it hehe:
‘Did it hurt?’ she asks. ‘Becoming an Animagus?’
His laugh is a bark. ‘Unbelievably.’
‘It must have been worth it, though.’
‘It’s hard to know what things are worth.’
Definitely in one of those moods.
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I love everything that you’ve written for F1 so far (you are just the most incredible writer, I could read all of the fics you’ve written a million times and never get bored) but you’ve truly outdone yourself with Where You Go, I Go!!!! I literally read chapter 2 like 4 times last week and I’ve just been counting down the days until I could read chapter 3 (but I pinky promise I do not mean that in a “write faster” kind of way, I mean it in a “I was excited that I audibly squealed when I saw you posted today” kind of way). And ABO is something that I hardly ever read. But you just do it SO well. I LOVE the world you’ve built. And this fic is just SO incredible. I wasn’t sure how you could top the first two chapters, but eek CHAPTER THREE. The way that Charles going into pre-heat prevented any questions about Max and his intentions from getting answered (the tension is buildingggg) and Pierre showing up and Charles getting claimed, oh my god every scene was incredible and I am SO EXCITED to find out where this is going, because I genuinely don’t know what to expect!!! Thank you so, so much for sharing this fic with us!!!
I am a different anon than before, but I was very interested in reading your response about if you found writing long fic to be daunting. Like prev anon, I am a numbers girl, so learning a little about your writing process/philosophy was super interesting!! I have another question if you don’t mind me asking- how do you decide on your posting schedule?! Although I would literally read this whole fic in one sitting, I do love the 1+ weeks between updates because I love getting excited for a new chapter and looking forward to it, but you said in the ask that you were already writing ch6, so I’m curious what made you pick the schedule you did!!
thanks again for sharing this fic with us, we are truly all so lucky to read it!!
ahhh!!!
well firstly I can't take the entire credit for this fic. @saiyanwitcher reached out to me after I wrote Give Me That Fire and offered to beta for me. As we were getting to know each other, she asked if I'd ever consider writing an Omegaverse fic, and I said yes, and here we are. But if there is any reason why this fic is better than the others, it's all because of her! She has spent so many hours brainstorming with me, proofreading, and pulling me back from the edge when I said "I want to do THIS" and she said "girl what" (she didn't really, everything I propose she says "alright, lets figure out how we can make that work").
I'm so delighted to hear you loved chapter 3! this whole fic is sooo different to anything I've ever written, but I LOVE exploring new themes and topics and ideas in fic - you'll never really catch me doing the same thing twice. pushing boundaries is what I love about fic, but it doesn't always pay off, so I'm SO happy to hear that people are loving this fic as much as they are.
as for your question ... which, firstly, like most artists I am extremely self involved, so talking about myself is like my fave thing to do lmao. I will answer literally ANY question you could ask.
but, posting schedule. after many years of trial and error while posting long fics, the thing I've found that works for me is that I need to have a fairly sizeable amount of the story in the can before I start posting. I usually like 5-6 chapters, but, more importantly, I want to know that I have the feel of the story before I start to post, because once I post I can't go back and change things. at about that 5-6 chapter mark, I know that I'm deep enough into a story that the plot is right, the characters are right, and the tone I'm using is right, and then I feel comfortable starting to release it out into the world.
from there, I post a chapter only when I finish a chapter. so I finished chap 6 on Tuesday, and then I worked on chap 3 on Wednesday, gave it to @saiyanwitcher to beta on Wednesday evening, and then by this morning she'd done a final check and I was okay to post.
my own personal goal is to write one chapter a week, with Wednesday being the day I'm always aiming towards. so this week I was actually a little later than my "schedule" because ch 6 was giving me a headache and it took longer to write than I wanted.
at this point, I know roughly how long it takes me to write one chapter for this story (a week), but I also know some of these chapters are harder to write than others so I HAVE to give myself some extra leeway (hence the maximum of 2 weeks).
I hope that kind of explained my thought process and as I said, I'm so happy to answer any questions!
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After 3 years of being on hiatus (if I can even call it that), I’ve decided to return to my writing, despite only having published one fanfic from the Winx Club series lmao. I had written two more before and left them unfinished but I’m back at it.
Anyway, I’ve recently been reading the Winx comics and some fanfics that I’ve either read before or are new to me. Again anything with Griffin, I’ll read. Even more so if it’s a Griffin and Faragonda friendship/romance. Also anything with the Company of Light, I’ll also read.
I think the time before the Winx really fascinates me, especially the Company of Light era. There is so much material to explore, which I think is a HUGE missed opportunity from the writers of the show. Not to mention the countless plot holes that I, and several other fanfic writers, are trying to piece together in our own AU.
I’m currently rewriting ‘Heartbreak Anniversary’ and potentially changing its name to something more suitable. This follows 10 years before Season 1 and provides my own backstory of what went south between the two headmistresses of Cloud Tower and Alfea with flashbacks from the battle in Domino and when they were younger.
This leads to my second chapter, which I’m also writing, following the end of Season 1. To me, this is the time when they reconcile their friendship that gradually changes over time to lovers. (Though, they’ve always had something for each other in my verse)
The third chapter I'm writing follows Season 2, Episode 17 where Griffin teleports into Faragonda's office just to 'talk about strategy' *wink, wink*. After the three chapters, I’ll start piecing together my Company of Light AU. I’ve been writing notes of my head canons for each member, some of the winx’s parents, villains, planets/realms/dimensions, and the whole world building of it that I’ll share soon.
I guess I’m trying to fill in the holes the Winx writers left throughout the series, picking up clues to make sense of some of the characters and their storylines in my own alternate universe.
I’ll probably write some Griffin x Faragonda one-shots in the future but don’t quote me on that lol because I don't know when I'll get to it. I’m still finding my feet with my writing because my only background is poetry and it’s always been one of my passions. I’ve only ever written 3 fictions and a few magazine articles.
For now, I’m gathering facts about Griffin from the show, comics, and the enciclomagia. Feel free to exchange head canons with myself!
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this weeks chapter was very... :/
i don’t even hate the chapter this week like content wise i don’t think it’s a bad chapter i just think that the lead up (the entirety of the culling game) and the pacing and gojos reaction to everything is making it all very. meh to me :/
the whole culling game wasn’t my favorite for a lot of reasons and i don’t necessarily blame gege for it completely. i think that there isn’t an arc better than hidden inventory and there aren’t any fights better than the ones in shibuya, so following both of those really incredible arcs with another that is supposed to be equally as good or better does not seem like an easy thing. (spoilers for CG and new ch. under the cut)
one of the reasons the fights in shibuya are sooo good to me is because they are fights that are deeply rooted in character and character development. maki killing the zenin clan, megumi fighting toji, etc. the itadori-mahito fight at the end of the shibuya arc is entirely a character/meant for character development fight for itadori, with his whole "i am you, you are me" realization/acceptance, and it is arguably the best fight in the manga like it is sooo good.
but there arent any fights built around character in the culling game and like. given that gege has made such amazing, character oriented fights in the past. it is a little bit disappointing. esp since i don’t personally want to just watch/read a bunch of fights repeatedly like i WANT there to be some kind of deeper meaning/purpose to them (outside of trying to end the culling game/free gojo obv). makis fight in the CG is probably the most “character” oriented fight and i was just very eh about it :/ but i love maki <3
the treatment of the women in the CG recently has just turned me away from the manga in general too. scorpion hair remi girl was fucked, uro not having more of a role was disappointing, yuki DYING wasn’t great.
tsumiki was the reason i didn’t stop reading the manga earlier in the arc because i was looking forward to her having her moment for LITERALLY THE ENTIIREEEE ARC. just for gege to do that to her and it reallllyy pissed me off.
as much as i hate how tsumikis arc went, i think i could’ve been a liiittle bit more accepting of it if the whole yorozu-sukuna thing was done well. but i didn’t like that either LMAO. i think the whole “yorozu loves sukuna and she sees how lonely he is etc” is like. a cool concept overall and i think if it was done right it could’ve been a good addition to the plot. even if there was just a little bit more of a flashback of yorozu and sukuna from that era with more information and context i think it would’ve made it a lot better. and i could’ve been like. a tiny bit less pissed about tsumiki. but the fact that it wasn’t a very satisfying arc for tsumiki OR yorozu just made it all very underwhelming to me. esp since tsumiki was what i was looking forward to the most in this arc 🙃🙃🙃
so yeah this chapter wasnt the worst thing in the world its just very underwhelming bc everything that led up to this was really underwhelming for me too :( and gojos reacction in this chapter is. upsetting. esp following the whole yorozu-sukuna thing and the "sukuna is lonely" part of it. like sukuna and gojo are meant to be foils of each other. gojos character is built around the fact that he has those connections and relationships with his friends and the students and he fell in gay love with geto and he "wont let anyone else be lonely" like the relationships he has is WHY HES LIKE THAATTTTT. him having no reaction to nanamis death and nobaras condition and maki and megumi and ALL of his students feels like a very surface level "gojo is a funny silly goofy guy" thing to do. but i would like to believe that gege knows and cares about his characters more than a surface level interpretation but. idk well see i guess. i just would have liked to see the sukuna-gojo being foils of e/o actually being played out narratively in these past few chapters more. but hopefully there'll be more of that during the next arc.
anyways so like. the chapter itself is not necessarily bad i just think that the CG itself was really abrupt and lacked a lot emotionally/character wise (for me at least), and then the pacing of this whole thing has been really off for me so its hard to look at the whole thing collectively and actually like it lol.
i feel like gege is really just trying to speedrun the rest of the manga and move onto something else which SUCKS bc it has soo much potential to be sooooo good. whatever anyways goodnight.
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17 and 19 for the writer asks! (I know 17 is so general -- it's like writing?? discuss -- but I'm super interested in your editing process, especially for longer fics)
thanks soooo much hehehe love these
17. talk about your writing and editing process
lmao writing? discuss. SO alright process. i approach writing long fics the same way i approach writing original fiction, there's just a lot less pre-prep because the characters etc. are already defined, so anything i plan will largely be plot, theme and structure-based. i focus on story beats and what the flow of events is. i don't worry too much initially about separating things into chapters, because this sort of happens naturally once i've figured out where the different arcs are within the whole journey.
it also often works out that particular things take longer to tell in the writing than i intended in the planning - for example, i had it loosely in my head (not on paper) that i would get to Laurent's introduction in ASTTE in chapter 2, but then in the writing, i needed more time to destabilise Damen's mental state and put him under the Comte's thumb, to make it really clear why he doesn't just go "fuck this" and try to leave as soon as Laurent starts insulting him.
i mostly write chronologically, but i will write ahead if specific inspiration strikes and i need to make sure i get it down correctly, which then becomes a matter of filling in the gap between what follows the chronology and the future scene i've written. this can also be helpful for keeping on track, because you've got in mind where the character will be, and the concern becomes getting them there.
editing! it's not a perfect system, but i do my best with what i've got. i send any new writing to my beta reader so we can chat about what works/what doesn't, and any typos/errors she finds she'll note for me as well. i make those edits as soon as we've talked about them. i also generally re-read what i wrote the day before, when i sit down to write, and may make some edits then.
i do edit fic differently to original work. with original work, i'd write a whole draft and then do a series of full edits. with fic, i prefer to do a sort of rolling edit, particularly if i reach a writing block. i'll go back and reread everything from the start, in a different format to the one i'm writing in; for original work, i'd print it out and write on it, but with fic, i export as a pdf or epub and annotate via highlights and comments. this is a dual proofread and edit read: the former looks for technical errors (spelling, grammar, punctuation), while the latter looks for style, coherence, and cohesion.
another key part of the edit read is reading it aloud. you'll be so surprised by how much you catch when you're forced to slow down and look at every word: typos, awkward sentences, unintentional repetition, clunky phrasing, dialogue that just doesn't roll off the tongue - it's honestly my #1 piece of editing advice, no matter what you're writing. read aloud.
i do this multiple times while working on a longer piece, and will also do a cursory proofread before posting each chapter. things still get missed! i found a typo in EIAT the other day, and another mistake that seemed quite glaring to me and i couldn't figure out how i didn't notice it before. but, people are fallible. two individuals reading a 200k+ word piece of writing are bound to miss some stuff, and that's just how it is - especially when you've already read something so many times.
i think what a lot of readers forget about fic in comparison to published books is that published books will have had multiple rounds of multiple people reading them: alpha and beta readers, test readers, proofreaders, agents, editors, the author themselves, etc. etc.
meticulous editing takes time and people, and while i do put in the time, it's only me (and a friend who has a very busy life in her own right) and a metric fucktonne of words. so this is my soapbox moment to say, i wish we could all extend more grace to hobby writers who have typos or other innocuous errors in their work.
19. the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic
LUCKY FOR YOU, i answered this here so you don't have to put up with any more of my rambling lmao
(questions from this writer ask game!!)
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More of my deltarune dream stuff!!
Also I want to name this but idk what. I mean it's mostly just self indulgent stuff anway
So !! Uhm, plot stuff that I glossed over . And also new stuff im making because I wanna flesh it out for funsies :)
This au takes place in the school's science/chemistry lab! The end of chapter two didn't end like it did in canon, instead Kris just went to sleep as well.
The Head's whole goal was to keep their dark fountain from being sealed and to create more. Unlike Queen, the Head knows exactly what will happen if more dark fountains are created, they just don't care. They also want to study the properties of the Players soul. It's.. unique
Kris has their own soul!!! I can't remember the color tho hmm. It mightve been cyan? Kris' attacks did the least damage, and were pencils, swords, and playing cards (for some reason???). Susie had a sweeping attack with her axe!! And fireballs !
Ralsie and Kris were the only ones who like. Really knew how bad it was that the Player was stolen. They give Susie like . A rundown of who we are, cuz Susie has no idea lmao.
If you died during the boss fight against them, instead of the usual death screen, it was just. Ok so there's a couple different ones!
One for each character! Kris' dialog would be more upset, begging us to stay. Ralsie would panic, because they can't close the fountain now. Susie would be like. Shed tell you that you can't give up. The generic stuff.
But there'd one more. Strange noise. Wingdings. Ehehe. ;]
Anway!!!! After you reload there's new dialog for the "check" action. Here's what.
You tell Kris that you've already died (insert number) of times. Kris looks nervous.
You ask Susie if she remembers what happened last time. She's confused.
You tell Ralsie you believe in all of them, and it doesn't matter how many times you die. Ralsie looks uncomfortable
Idk stuff like that!!!! Also for this au I am using mt vessel I named Hollow.. . . Yes I named them Hollow and its fuckin hilarious lmao
Ohhh also the Head looked like the. In the core of uhhhhh uhm. True labs! The big skull thing? Like that but a bit smaller and also in a huge lab coat. Nice
Also the vessel has their own dark world form!! The skin color stays the same, tho. Their outfit is like Kris but not as blue!
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info about my main WIPS rn:
i have too many WIPS shut up i know
original stories:
next christmas:
short story (kind of, if I say it's a short story it'll still be lots of words lmao) about two girls and a small look into their life each christmas and they're best friends who think their pining is unrequited and every time they're like "it's ok it'll happen next christmas!" and it just doesn't and they have to deal with lots of mental health stuff
main characters:
August: lesbian, she/her, i love her so much she's the loml, people pleaser, slowly realises that she doesn't have to be the second choice and she should be a priority, is a bit of an asshole to Lottie in like chapters 5-9 but Lottie deserves it tbh
Charlotte/Lottie: bisexual, she/they, kind of a bitch a lot of the time, gets into relationships for like a week and then gets into another one a month later, commitment issues, eventually has a redemption arc thing and she actually does deserve August
Ayanda/Aya: asexual, panromantic, they/she, they are my spirit animal i love her so much, August's new bestie, absolute sweetheart who values friendship over anything else, also basically the reason EVERYTHING happens in the story
everyone else is kinda irrelevant ngl
love is not enough:
name will definitely change I hate it.
plot is very complicated idk if I even understand it and I'm the one writing it 😭💀 basically gay royalty but it's confusing and the economy is dying and the main love interest is kinda a fugitive??? i guess???? lots of secrets yay
main characters:
kit chevalier-fernsby: gay (very much closeted), he/him, prince, science, slightly pretentious but that's his parents fault, he loves dates where they stay in with blankets and candles and hot chocolate and read books together. he's such a cutie patootie i wanna give him a hug <3
lucas akehurst: unlabelled, he/they, gaurd, hopeless romantic, artist, midnight walks in the rain + art galleries + coffee, mysterious. he is my baby i will protect him at all costs.
no side character information bc i can't be bothered <3
fanfics
hell is a teenage girl:
hunger games fic! finnick's younger (15 years old) sister going through her hunger games and gaining a lot of trauma. very emotion and relationship (familial, platonic, and romantic but the friends she makes are arguably more valuable to her than her relationship). basically she goes through what finnick goes through and she learns to be a manipulative little shit bc what else is she meant to do
main characters:
serena odair: loml. bisexual icon (with a preference for woman) who is a little bit manipulative but let's be real when you're in the arena you do whatever the fuck you can to stay alive. district four, she wins (duh she's the main character) and her brother means absolutely everything to her. spoiler: trauma yay
cassie farwater: serena's best friend! district 11 and a mean lesbian. 16 years old and her friends mean the world to her. her loyalty is what gets her killed.
eloise astor: serena's gf!! district one – been training for the games her whole life so it comes as a big surprise when she sacrifices herself for marina!!
kaz claremont: the district partner/close friend – he's quite and determined and he listens. he knows all the gossip. very impulsive and bold. panromantic + asexual
ash terra: the only person who gives serena a run for her money in the manipulative category. he's an absolute bitch and will stab anyone in the back without hesitation. makes it clear to everyone that this isn't a game of trust. district 3
sadie nightgrove: district 5, cassie's gf. bisexual. very charming and puts on a clueless facade before turning on people. despite being absolutely able to win the games she would never hurt the people she's allied with - and that is her downfall
mad woman
sequel to hell is a teenage girl and yes it's named after the taylor swift song. quarter quell and lots of serena and finnick sibling bonding. very protective finnick and very manipulative (not to finnick) serena, they're a power duo.
serena is like the only original character in this so she's basically the same just more traumatized and hotter.
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Sweaters
Chapter x + 0.5 of my König x Fem!OC fic, Rush
Fuckin chapter name. It's good as a standalone at this point LMAO
See Chapter List
Photo from Freepik
Summary: König takes a look at Kate’s closet.
C/W: MAJOR ANGST. MAJOR PLOTLINE SKIP. Established relationship, grieving, mentions of possible death, implications of violence, one pinch of racism
A/N: Chapter works fine alone, but is wayyy beyond the current position in the plotline. Sorry about the algebraic chapter number. While I still want my story in chronological order, I am mainly writing this for my enjoyment, and my mind is incapable of forcing itself to write in order right now.
As with my prior attempts to make multi-chapters in other fandoms, I can map out the whole plot almost instantly, but the writing itself of each chapter is so difficult. Enjoy (?) this sharp, angsty left turn though.
. . .
Possibility // Lykke Li
Dominik awoke lying face up, his limbs carelessly limp on their mess of a bed. It was the same position he fell asleep in. Like a corpse—hollow, lifeless—of which was the closest thing he felt like at the moment. The first thing that flooded his consciousness was a seeping ache on one side of his head. His eyelids reluctantly fluttered half-open. A boundless blur of white manifested itself into their bedroom ceiling; the same thing he last saw before his body surrendered to slumber.
Two painfully slow days have passed. Two days of tossing and turning in an untimed cycle of crying, then not crying. Not that he had a sense of time. Or a sense of being. His stomach grumbled as hunger crawled up to his throat, but no amount of food or water could answer for his soul craving his wife’s presence. No warm shower could replicate the feeling of her skin on his.
By now, the passengers’ and crew’s loved ones would have been storming Harrier Air’s headquarters for answers. He wished he had the strength to join them. He grew sick of watching the news too—it was all that everyone could talk about. There was no further lead anyway as to the plane’s whereabouts except the video that the hijacker sent to provoke the public.
“Captain down, First Officer down…”
If the shows weren't broadcasting replays of the same information, they were spewing senseless theories and tirades directed at anyone and anything. One of them pointed at Kate being “fairly new and foreign” as a possible fault. At that point, there was nothing more that Dominik wanted to do than to fling the remote control through the screen and into the commentator’s face, but instead he chose to simply turn the TV off.
He turned his head to the side and caught sight of her closet.
Her clothes are still in there. At some point I have to clean it—
Nein. Not unless they bring her body home.
A part of him wanted to believe that she was still alive. That maybe the terrorists were just exaggerating to add to their scare tactic. Or that, by some miracle, she was able to hold out for her life until rescue reached the plane. That is, if there still was a plane. Regardless, she was gone and no one knows where, and he wasn’t shying away from the possibility—the likeliness—that she wasn’t coming home and all he had left of her was her possessions.
With a grumble, he sat up and stared at the closet, then groggily paced towards it, mentally preparing himself to look at what’s inside. His fingers shakily gripped at the door handles, and the doors of the cabinet opened with a soft creak.
Her clothes were neatly kept in rows of hangers and columns of folded fabric. He ran his hands through the row of memories.
She wore this dress on our anniversary.
These were her favorite trousers to wear in-flight.
She would wear this coat over literally anything.
His hand stopped over the sleeve of a silken blouse hung in front of him. He closed his eyes as he brought the sleeve close to his face. Faint hints of Kate’s scent and her perfume immediately crept its way into him as the fabric softly rested on his cheek and nose.
For the first time in two days, he smiled.
But it was a bitter smile as a lump grew in his throat, a mere attempt to console himself over this meager replacement for human contact. When he opened his eyes, they were watering and his heart was racing, another wave of sorrow making its way. He leafed through the clothes lined up in hangers once more, this time with urgency, then slid them aside to reveal the rest of her clothes below. At the left corner, a stack of sweaters were safely folded away.
On top of the pile was her favorite—a knitted one that they bought together in Nuremberg during the holidays, already slightly worn out from being used and washed so often. If wearing it outside was deemed embarrassing, she would proudly wear it inside the house as a substitute for a t-shirt or a pajama top.
“It’s not just a Christmas sweater!” she would insist with her classic cackling laughter.
“It has Christmas tree designs, Katie. You don’t have to wear that all the time,” he would jokingly argue back.
He took the sweater out. Then the hoodie under it. Then the next one. Bunching them up together, he clutched them close to his chest and relished the small amount of comfort he found in Kate’s scent again. The wool from her favorite sweater brushed lightly at his lips as he held the clothes near, reminding him of what it was like to embrace her.
When was the last time we hugged?
After sorrow came a wave of guilt, and the joyless expression returned on his face.
I wish I gave a more proper goodbye.
I wish I had kissed her more before I left.
I wish I knew how much our fights didn’t matter.
I wish I was a better husband.
He wanted to cry, but his tears were close to running out that all he had left were the ones clinging around his lashes. That and the silent, crushing pain that felt like his demons pressing their muddy boots onto his heart and shattering it into a million pieces.
He crashed onto the pillows again, knees weakened by the agony. He rolled over to his shoulder, still desperately holding the sweaters close. If there was something Kate helped him do, it was hacking away at the walls that he put up so there was nothing but honest emotion expressed within the walls of their home. But honesty meant vulnerability, and with her gone, he was defenseless to his own grief.
Please come home.
If you really are dead, at least haunt me right now.
No tighter embrace was enough as he squeezed the sweaters even closer towards him. His head bowed into the fabrics as he winced, pleading with his own body to cry the pain out, but no tears were coming out. But there were none left. One would know they’re in a whole other level of misery when they’re begging themselves to cry for relief. All he had to grasp onto was to imagine what she would be doing if she was with him at the moment.
She would’ve snaked an arm around him and pulled herself into a cuddle, murmuring soft words of encouragement to comfort him. Her gentle hand would trace its way up his back and rest at the back of his neck, her thumb moving back and forth behind his ear.
He placed his hand where hers would’ve been.
When he opened his eyes, her face would be inches away, looking back at him. Smiling softly, wordlessly telling him things will be better, and that it’s okay for him to be this way around her.
“Damn it, Schatzi…” she would say in a long whine, “If you’re crying, I’m crying too.”
Then, still teary-eyed, they would giggle at them being absolute softies for each other behind closed doors. He would close his eyes and pull her close too, and slowly, things would become okay again.
Where are you, Kate?
Oh, how he missed those deep brown eyes of hers. He could fall into the pools of her irises, sinking into the depths of her being until the last sliver of light bid goodbye, but he wouldn’t think he was drowning. Rather, he would happily explore the mysterious abyss of her soul in that darkness.
It’s been around three months and two days since he last saw those eyes face-to-face. If only he was granted another chance to look at them again.
It’s been two days since the hijacking. There was still no sign of the plane. Its fuel could only last for so long. There were only two possibilities: that it landed somewhere undetected by radar and its navigational equipment tampered, or that it fell before it made its way to land. Dominik was afraid he knew which was more plausible.
If the plane crashed, I hope that she was unconscious or dead as it happened.
The thought of her suffering the way she did delivered the final blow to his chest as tears finally poured out again in sobs.
She didn’t have to suffer.
He knew that between the both of them, he was the one built to withstand that kind of torture. Not her. She didn’t deserve any of it. His hands clutched even more tightly at the sweaters as he cried out in torment, his mind calling out for her despite those around him convinced that she was gone, and his imagination convincing him that she was right next to him on the bed.
Es tut mir so Leid.
And the cycle starts again. He cried until he couldn’t cry anymore, tormenting himself to exhaustion until he fell back asleep.
. . .
Translation:
Es tut mir so Leid - I'm so sorry
For the algebra chapter number, the timeline skip, the spoiler, the PAIN, I am once again willing to receive a "SILVER WHAT THE FUCK" in the comments HAHAHAHAHHA love u all
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Started reading In The Dark, first chapter Nightmares:
Interesting vibes. Before anything else, I love the descriptions in this. I've been losing my own ability to spit out what the fuck Im trying to describe when writing lately, and the slightly poetic imagery but also to the point present tense of how this is written... it's really helping inspire me. (And of course, seeing quick examples of describing characters and buildings quickly without clumsiness but also still with some emotion is helpful)
Expectedly, the leads appear to be "two hot men" as is the bl usual ToT it is what it is. I'm partial to modu's babes still, but I'll get used to a new novel again lmao (what can I say? No character in a Long While is gonna top the fucking Captain China descriptions, the personality of priests characters screaming out so much that its ultimately the feeling of the character so unique and bizarre that you remember more than actual looks).
I am hoping, somehow, this novel's gonna be written as intelligently (as in intense themes, parallels, symbolism, points to make) as a priest novel. Im spoiled cause all the other chinese bl novels ive finished reading? Fucking excellent. I think my hopes are justified, tbh. If for no other reason than this writer doing some of my favorite shit: they name dropped a japanese murder author Ive read (and mentioned a plot of it im intrigued by), and they've left a TON of potential foreshadowing threads.
Said threads: opening, character dreams of a bloody woman? Could be a Fei Du (ish) situation where he did awful stuff and blacked it out. Could be a darker situation, where he's actually the bad guy/antihero/dangerous and we get a story from THAT point of view in some regard (which is a fascinating potential).
Character meets guy who clearly matches him, was at the theater for him, stalking him? At some prior point, started watching him first? Oh you know me. I like a slow burn. I like a long history (as long as its not childhood friends anything but that), i like rivals, its giving L X Light, Beyond Evil guys energy.
The movie playing: the stranger says he doesnt like roses. And the earlier quote from the murder novel, the Xie Lanshan remebering the quote that "even a demon essentially Id still love you." My prediction: one of them believes even cruel they'll love the other, but the other believes they'd stop loving and fight each other. This of course also implies: one will go darkside/be cruel/lose themselves/already is lost, and either that same one Or the other will not be loving the other when love is whats expected. Sort of the whole "youre a monster, but you wont hurt me" then the monster DOES hurt you. Or "even though youre a monster, ill still be here with you" (which is luo wenzhou 100 percent) but with the monster going "well that was a fucking mistake cause i am killing/betraying you now." If this novel likes foreshadowing, which i like, itll play with this AT LEAST in some case long arc. And ideally itll play out between the leading lovers. Which if so, is a story Id be interested in reading
And yes, i did go into this totally blind except knowing its (probably) a dark detective bl story. So we'll see how the predicting goes lol
For real though, i do really enjoy its writing style and the way its snappy but lingers just enough on painting images emotionally.
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honestly, i really don't want to sacrifice mc. all the hardships, keeping yourself alive and gaining meaningful relationships just for yourself to be a sacrificial lamb? it's the mc's purpose, but can we be selfish? i'm a sucker for angst but it's just so sad to leave everything behind... if you know what i mean. will there be an option where we refuse to take loha's place? (will take advantage of having saves for the different outcomes bc i sure am traumatized by endless summer. being selfish and staying on the island felt like shit this ain't right but didn't have the heart to repeat the chapter anyways)
overall reaction for chapter 20 though: knew matthias was ever the shady ass mf in the whole story. kinda expected betrayals and all kinds of plot twists bc knowing you guys haha but i was honestly still surprised lmao. what the fuck was that? are you telling me all of that happened just for us to wait for weeks to know what's gonna happen next?
ps. it was a rhetorical question. take your time on working on this masterpiece my loves. you are doing so good i'm sobbing why does this have to end
there's so much to think about, it's true. 😔 I finally have settled on telling everyone that there are about 5 major endings, though each of those major endings has a lot of variation within them. So you can always try them all out and settle on the one you think fits best!! glad we got you gasping with this recent chapter, and i'm already on the edge of my seat with wanting to share the new chapters 👁
i'm glad you're enjoying the game and thank you for your trust in us and support!! 💜
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ToG Read-a-Long, Queen of Shadows, day 9
I’m so normal about this chapter set you guys
Ch 52
"Not yet," he said roughly, his own breathing uneven. "Not now.”
BOO
BOOOOOOO
Rowan you TEASE. How dare you.
Please, my crops, they’re so dry. Please. Chomp down on her neck. Mark her up, be a beast, I know you want to do it, SO DO IT! You think Aedion has never heard the sound of people having sex in the next room?!? It’s fine! He’s a big boy, he’ll get over it!
You can be as loud as the hell you want when you’re making love, don’t let the neighbors stop you from having fun; they’ll have peace and quiet when you’re good and done.
Ch 53
AGAIN?!?
(SJM: hey are you turned on? Excited to read a chapter about Rowan and Aelin dancing around the idea of maybe potentially consummating?)
(Me: yeah yeah gimme gimme!)
(SJM: *writes about Dorian filled with doom and gloom and sorrow instead*)
(Me: *sigh*)
Who edited this. Who let her get away with this. I need to know where to send the bill for my whiplash.
Ch 54
Heyyyy well this is a surprise
Kaltain beat back the demon
(With fire) (mmmm)(sounds good I’m pretty sure we can muster some fire)
Good job Kaltain, can you tell our baby boy Dorian!
Ch 55
Lysandra god damn it
How dare you get kidnapped, my crops are turning to dust in the field and I’m so thirsty, I can’t be concerned for you right now
You better not be about to be killed violently like Nehemia
(I can’t keep going through all this intensity) (I CAN’T)(my feelings are all over the place)(what is even going ON)
Ch 56
I feel like I am actually being pranked right now
There is no way
There is no way she can keep getting away with this
Is the next chapter going to be another sad Dorian chapter, SMH
how much longer can these two possibly hold out! Another temptation and another postponement… yeesh
Ch 57
I’m getting so sick of all the war and high stakes stuff happening in this book
I AM IN HELL
Like genuinely I can tell this is important and I should care about what’s going on right now and yet, HEAD EMPTY, DON’T CARE
I WISH I CARED
BUT I DON’T
Ch 58
Plot!
I care a little bit
It made me kinda excited when Dorian managed to talk in his own voice, Dorian, what the hell have you been waiting for? The right moment when Aelin happened to be watching?
Lol
Is grandmother Matron fucking the king?
Probably not, since he has a wife
I just want to see Manon eat everybody, actually
Ch 59
My how the turn tables, CHAOL WANTS TO KILL DORIAN NOW
Chaol, are you fucking kidding me? This whole time you have been the only one holding onto hope
How could you let your hopes die now? Don’t you believe in good triumphing over evil? Weren’t you fighting for a better world, for humanity or whatever? What happened, Chaol? I thought you were on my side.
I thought we were doofuses together
Don’t leave me here to be a doofus by myself
I find Manon so sexy especially how she just effortlessly holds Chaol captive. I still think Baba Yellowlegs is the silliest name for any villain, it just rolls off the tongue in such a funny way. Shouldn’t Manon be glad that Baba Yellowlegs died, though? I mean maybe it’s bad when a witch dies because they’re so strong, but the fact that she died is what caused her and the other clans to join together and rival for a new Wing Leader, sooooo actually, Aelin did you a service, baby. If you look at the bright side. If you are capable of looking at the bright side.
Lol
Yeah! fight each other
Hot!
Ch 60
“If he had been one inch farther behind, it would have hit his heart.”
Aw shit be careful Rowan! You can’t be out here getting mortally wounded! I am so sick of it! Get your act together, what do you think this is, an action novel? NO, dummy, it’s a steamy romance, I don’t have time for your bleeding heart heroics! Literally!
The Manon x Aelin fight is pretty hot actually
I am here for it
Guys this chapter set gave me hell
IT GAVE ME HELL
It wasn’t a very LONG set but boy was it hard for me to pay attention lmao, and I KNEW, I KNEW the stuff happening after the Rowaelin tease was important but I was like what the actual fuck is this! Get back in bed! No! I hate myself - I hate everything!
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i would love to hear more about some of the unfinished The Wilds fics
Buckle up. There's a lot of stuff dying in my hard drive. Maybe, when I get the time, I should try to finish some of it up/patch it up/post random snippets (if anyone would be interested?).
So here's the thing, I have my drive separated into two types of fics for The Wilds: there are fics I consider potentially still in play and fics I've scrapped altogether. Two different folders. I'll make you a list under the cut and tell you what I consider each to be. And I'll probably give too much commentary about each.
If you want to know more or get a snippet of any of them, please send follow up asks. I would love to share. Or I'd love to hear what, if I were to pick back up with writing, you'd want to read the most. No guarantees, but I'll think about it.
I posted the snippet for i'll be waiting on you forever from Fatin's POV in another ask. Not very far into that, but I also haven't moved it to the scrapped folder. I think my problem with that kind of fic is it doesn't feel fresh enough - it's hard to make it feel new when we already know where it's headed. I've done it before, but it's hard.
I started a second Star Wars AU that's unrelated to the first where Leah's a Jedi Padawan and Fatin is a senator - literally Anakin and Padme in Attack of the Clones. Didn't get very far but didn't scrap it.
I have one that I'm still hoping to finish that's placeholder titled "Leah loses her mind" rightfully or wrongfully, I don't know. It explores her season two on island hallucinations and how that affects her and the group. It's 6.5k and unfinished, but I'm planning to take a look at it and see what can be done.
There are so many post island fics that are just snippets and doing nothing on my drive. I kept trying to experiment with writing all of the season two POVs post island and that shit is hard. Probably a sign not to expand too far away from Leatin because apparently I can only care so much lmao. But I haven't bothered to scrap them.
There's one where I attempted to write Leachel but that shit was also hard apparently. Really I was trying to write all different pairings and didn't get very far. Not scrapped and I have considered trying again more than once.
I started a no experiment AU where it was just an actual plane crash. I have 5k of that and no memory of writing it. Not scrapped. Not sure if I'd ever finish that.
The season 3 fic outline I mentioned in another ask but didn't link because I was on mobile, so that's here if you missed it. Not scrapped, but unfortunately I think outlining it made me feel like I told the entire story even though I never wrote more than 2-3 chapters. That's the problem with outlining, but only sometimes, because I outlined the exes fic/we're falling apart still we hold together, and that was fine.
I started a road trip AU back in 2021. Wrote 7k. Outlined the entire thing and same problem as above. Got stuck. I think I was trying to force word counts on myself for each chapter and it wasn't working. Not scrapped but very unlikely I'll touch it.
I have one just called "waterfall 5" that has five moments spent at the waterfall, and I almost finished it. I think I still have some hope of finishing it, since it's a quick thing.
I've talked about it before, probably two/three years ago at this point jfc, but I don't remember what I've disclosed about this fic. It's the one I mentioned in another ask about it not feeling right, so I didn't put it out, and it's something like 50k words and had a massive plot hole that I had to try to fix, and I was going to do a whole rewrite and maybe put it out. This one haunts me. There's a chance I'll throw the entire draft out one day without editing or fixing any issues. Or maybe I'll take another stab at it, since it's all there. Truly, this one haunts me. For once, I had a perfect title and nothing to show for it. There's probably snippets of it in asks on my blog somewhere from back when The Wilds wasn't cancelled and I was insane about it.
I scrapped the Grey's Anatomy AU. Just gave up on it.
I wrote 239 words of something vaguely Dotin and scrapped that too.
I have a first draft of the fake dating AU i don't belong to you (but you're wrong) that I scrapped. I took it in an entirely different direction and scrapped 10k of this other thing. I think I salvaged some of it for the posted fic, but it started going the wrong way.
Also have a scrapped draft of the last chapter of the soulmate AU i said i wouldn't let you in. That first draft of that chapter was BAD.
I scrapped 14k of everyone else's perception of what was happening with Leatin on the island. Like Leatin through every other character's eyes, and I don't remember why it didn't work or what I didn't like about it.
I'm not gonna lie, some of this stuff I'm looking at...even I don't know what it is anymore.
I scrapped a document called "untitled" and this is literally all that's in it:
"She sees her on the first day of school, sitting with the kid that supposedly led the FBI to Gretchen. Leah smiles slightly as Fatin crosses the lawn, and the kid – Ian – turns to look where Leah’s looking, and Fatin just tilts her head in acknowledgment and keeps walking. There’s nothing more for her to do."
I don't know what that is.
There's STILL a lot more documents I haven't touched on because I haven't bothered to open them and find out what they are (and my placeholder titles don't tell me much all the time). But I feel like this is a good start lmao.
Sorry for writing a novel, but you did ask. If you want more, let me know and I will make time over the weekend to post some stuff.
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