#i'll rework his pages and come back

[me-and-your-husband]

body ink || e. williams

summary: you tattoo ellie's thigh. it's a bit of a compromising position, and it leads you down an unexpected road. female reader.

warnings: smut!, fingering (e receiving), oral (e receiving), tattoo guns, mentions of a needle, tattoos? finger sucking?? not beta read (i didn't even read tbis through once)

a/n: i've risen from the dead. lets chat, my inbox is open :)

e.williams

Hey! I've gone thru your page and I love your work. Especially your big pieces, they're sick asf. I was wondering if you had any openings for July?

y/ntattoos

hi! i'm glad you like my work, thank you for the kind words! i've got a couple openings in july, when can you come in?

e.williams

I can come in whenever. I'll make time for it if I have to...I don't care when, as long as you're the one doing it haha

y/ntattoos

how does july 13th at 1pm sound?

e.williams

That works!

y/ntattoos

perfect. what are you looking to get done?

e.williams

I was looking to get something kind of floral but not super...soft, yk?

y/ntattoos

so not super feminine? like no roses?

e.williams

Yeah, exactly like that. I don't have a design in mind...I kind of wanted you to design it? I'll pay extra for it I don't mind, but I saw your other designs on your page and liked your style lol

y/ntattoos

okay, tell you what: i'll draw up a couple designs and send them your way before the appointment. sound okay?

e.williams

Yes! Perfect.

y/ntattoos

cool cool. i'll send you the quote once we choose a design. how big were you thinking? and where?

e.williams

I was thinking on my thigh...? I know some artists won't do thighs so if you're uncomfortable w that it's cool!

I was hoping to cover most of my thigh tho

y/ntattoos

haha dw about it. i'm fine with the thigh. trust me, i'm sure i've had weirder requests.

e.williams

Oh yeah? Like what?

y/ntattoos

had a guy a few weeks ago who wanted a full portrait of his grandma on his ass.

e.williams

Oh my goddd. Did you do it?

y/ntattoos

...

$300 is $300...

e.williams

At least I know you're cool with a thigh 😭

y/ntattoos

absolutely. well, i've got some more dms to answer but i'll get to drawing up your design asap. i'll be in touch, thanks ellie :)

e.williams

Sweet. Have a good one :)

ellie walked into your tattoo shop about fifteen minutes early, to which the receptionist told her to take a seat as you were still finishing up with another client. "she shouldn't be too long."

you had reached out to ellie with five or six amazing designs, all of which she loved. she had such a hard time choosing between all of them, but you managed to rework her favourite parts of each design into one. you both finally came up with a tattoo design that she was obsessed with.

ellie half expected you to be a middle-aged woman with black lipstick and face tattoos, maybe even half of your head shaved and the other side bright pink. your page didn't feature any photos of yourself, just your work.

so when you came waltzing out from the studio and into the foyer, ellie thought you were the client.

"hey, your next client is here," jess said, gesturing to ellie in the chair by the entrance scrolling her phone.

"thanks, jess," you said before approaching ellie. "ellie?"

she looked up from her phone at you, completely startled by who was in front of her. a girl about her age, fucking gorgeous. there's no way you could've developed such skill in so little time.

"hi, yes, that's, uh, that's me," she said as she stood, shoving her phone in her pocket.

"nice to finally meet you," you said, holding your hand out for her to shake. her breath hitched slightly as she took yours.

"you too," she mumbled.

"i'll take you back into the studio now, i've just gotta wipe everything down from my last client." you started walking into the back and she followed you.

"cool, cool ," she said nervously.

this wasn't her first tattoo. she knew what it felt like. she wasn't sweating, stuttering, and shaking before she caught a glimpse of you.

her breath caught in her throat when she realized that you'd have to sit between her legs for most of the appointment.

she was so fucked.

she stood awkwardly playing with her fingers as you sanitized the tools and the chair, listening to you hum slightly to the music playing. she could hear the buzz of the tattoo gun from other artists in the space tattooing other clients.

in the back, an older man was tattooing a woman on the back of her knee. that had to hurt. next to them was a older woman tattooing a woman not much older than you two.

"alright, we're all set. i'm just gonna put this up," you said, unfolding one of those old-timey partitions that princesses change behind in the movies. "it's just to give us a bit of privacy, since you're getting tattooed in a bit more of an exposed place, you know?"

"oh yeah, that makes sense. thanks."

"don't thank me," you laughed. "okay, not to be too forward or anything, but if you brought shorts to change into, i'll give you a minute. if not, i'm cool with you just taking your pants off."

ellie laughed nervously, knowing it didn't even cross her mind to bring shorts. "take me out to dinner first, damn," she chuckled, starting to undo her belt buckle.

you pretended to occupy yourself with putting your gloves on and preparing your table as she took her pants and shoes off, leaving her in her black boxers, your mouth watering a little at her toned thighs.

"you can hop up on the chair when you're done. if you can just like, throw one leg over each side— yeah, like that. perfect."

ellie couldn't believe that she was borderline straddling a tattoo chair in her boxers right now. in front of you, especially. fuck.

without much warning, you slid your swivel chair almost between her legs.

"left or right?"

"uh, i write with my right hand, but i can do some things with my left?" she swallowed hard.

you laughed, "are you getting it on your left or right thigh?"

"oh, uh," god, she was an idiot. "left."

"cool. i'm gonna put the stencil on, then you can look in the mirror and see if you like it. 'kay?"

she nodded, watching you peel the film from the stencil, trying her hardest not to tense up when your soft fingers placed the stencil onto her milky skin, sending shivers straight to her centre.

when she looked at it in the mirror, she grinned, rotating her leg around to get a good look. "fuck, that's sick. i'd be content with just the stencil, you know."

you smiled at her through the mirror. "well hopefully you'll like it better once it's actually shaded."

once you had her back in the chair, you began prepping your gun. "okay, i know you've had a tattoo before, i saw that piece on your arm. so you know what to expect, right?"

"yeah. yeah, i'll be fine."

"okay. if you need a break, just let me know, kay? thighs can be sensitive." you switched the gun on.

"will do."

you began the outlining, humming to yourself over the buzz of the gun. she watched your face focused on the lines, keeping a steady hand.

"who did your arm piece?" you said as you wiped the ink away, making brief eye contact with her.

"oh, my ex-girlfriend did it. she bought a cheap tattoo gun when we were teenagers and i was her test subject i guess."

"cute," you said. "i was just curious." you went back to tattooing her thigh.

ex-girlfriend. that piqued your interest. i mean, it was kind of a given based on the fact that she was wearing boxers and looked like the idea of men repulsed her. and the way she took you in when she first saw you. like she was thirsty. and she was so fine, the way you could see her thigh clench and feel it under your fingers making you want to take her right behind that privacy partition.

"my ex let me tat her too. she was brave. let me do an entire leg sleeve my first time."

"oh?"

"yeah. it kind of ended badly though, so she probably regrets it."

ellie sighs, "that's the beauty of being into girls. they fuck you up."

"amen," you said, looking up at her again.

you made small talk as you worked. you found out that she was a university student studying astrophysics, that she works with her dad in the summer as a contractor to make some extra cash, that she teaches guitar throughout the school year, and that she's an artist herself (her media of choice being oil paints). she even told you that she missed work with her dad today specifically to come.

you quite enjoyed how she'd tilt her head back when you shaded some more painful areas, the cords in her neck more prominent and the column of her throat exposed.

four and a half hours later, the tattoo was finished, and you placed the second skin over her tattoo. you gave her all the aftercare instructions, going over the dos and don'ts. she held her breath when you didn't move your hand from her knee until you told her to go look at it in the mirror.

"holy fuck!?"

"...is that a good reaction or a bad reaction?"

"it's fucking amazing! jesus christ, that's so fucking cool. oh my god. you're amazing."

you blushed and thanked her as you watched her check it out in the mirror, inspecting it and gushing over how detailed it was.

she put her pants and shoes back on and you walked her out to reception.

"i've got this one, jess. take a smoke break," you said, smiling at your receptionist. she thanked you and scurried into the back room.

"alright ellie, that's $200."

"what? you quoted me at $350?"

you just smiled and looked at her, leaning forward against the counter. "pretty girl discount."

her face turned red as she took out her wallet and grinned. she counted out the money, laying $200 in cash against the counter.

"you gonna give the next client who walks through that door today a pretty girl discount, or is it just me?"

"actually, you're my last. and for the record, you're the first to get the discount."

she smiled and returned to her wallet, folding up more bills. after you put the money in the register, she leaned forward and tucked a stack of folded bills into the front pocket of your shirt, pulling you in close. "pretty girl tip."

you bit your lip as you looked at her. her eyes flicked between your eyes and your lips, finally deciding on your eyes. "you said i'm your last client, yeah?"

"yeah," you breathed.

"what're you doing after this, then?"

"well, a pretty girl hasn't asked me to go home with her yet, so i guess i'll probably pick up a coffee and—"

"come home with me?" she breathed, leaning in slightly. "please."

you giggled, "like i could say no to that."

tired of her teasing, her breath eternally fanning over your lips, you grabbed her and pulled her into you over the counter. your lips met and she groaned into the kiss, pulling away after a few seconds. she held her car keys up and shook them, "you ready, babe?"

she had you pressed up against the wall as soon as she kicked her door shut behind her, hands all up in your hair, lips bruising against yours. you kissed her back fervently. your hand slid down to her core, feeling the wetness through her boxers and jeans. she whimpered into your open mouth at the feeling.

"fuck, you're so wet, ellie."

"then do something about it," she said, hiding her smirk in your neck as she sucked hickeys into it.

"then take me to your bed."

she led you to her room, closing and locking the door, just in case. you pushed her flannel from her shoulders and undid her belt buckle, undoing the buttons on her jeans and sliding them down her legs, being careful of her thigh. she groaned.

"this doesn't seem fair," she said, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and sliding it off. she slid your pants down your legs and threw them onto the floor. "that's better."

she laid on top of you, caging you in, undoing your bra and sucking on your tits, trailing kisses down to your stomach. "fuck, so beautiful," she groaned. 

you pressed your knee gently into her core, "still want me to take care of that?"

"fuck, yeah."

you flipped her over so her ass hung off the edge of the bed and you got on your knees on the carpeted floor. she propped herself up on your elbows, watching your every move.

you began running your finger over her covered core, soaked so good that your finger was covered in her wetness when you took it away, bringing it to your lips.

"please, fuck, i need more, take them off," she said, bucking her hips up.

you hummed, "but i'm enjoying myself, el."

"please, i need you so bad y/n."

"what do you need ellie? tell me."

"i need your fingers, your mouth, anything. i'll do anything. just need you," she begged, shame gone.

"you're lucky you're insanely hot."

you slid her boxers off, watching the strings of slick that connected her pussy to the fabric. you laid your head against the thigh that wasn't freshly tattooed, tracing your finger through her dripping core.

"open up for me, honey," you instructed, gently spreading her thighs further apart.

she let out the most guttural moan when your tongue finally slid through her folds, collecting her juices on your tongue. her hands found your hair and pulled gently, making you moan into her cunt.

you sucked her clit gently, sending waves of pleasure up her spine. when your middle finger slid into her entrance she tried to muffle her moan with the back of her hand, but you yanked it away. "wanna hear you, el. don't do that."

"fuck, you're too good. fuckkk."

"you almost there el? can feel you clenchin' around me," you said, sliding another finger in and returning your mouth to lapping at her folds, paying special attention to her bundle of nerves.

she hummed and nodded fervently. with every thrust in and out, you felt her clench around you, a small white ring forming around the base of your fingers.

"fuck, fuck! i'm gonna— ohhhhh god—!"

you lapped up all of her release that you could, only coming up for air once she had to push your head away from the overstimulation.

you wiped her release from your face with the back of your hand and brought your fingers to her lips, "open."

she grabbed your wrist and obeyed, swirling her tongue around your digits and closing her eyes. "see how good you taste?"

she released them with a 'pop'. "i bet you taste better."

"i seriously doubt that."

"you've been between my legs twice today. i think it's my turn to be between yours. take your panties off."

permanent taglist:

@winters-fairy @idkwhattonamethisblogs

ellie taglist:

@chrry1ovr @milly-louise @dankpunks @starhrtz

@pedrobaby @urlocalgingersnap @wrendermedone @kissyslut @felsweb

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams x reader fluff #ellie #tlou #the last of us #tlou2 #lesbian

[vanillacreambunny]

enjoy the silence

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, romance

words: 2034

warnings: reader is not gendered but has breasts, smut (mdni), biting, blood, established relationship, probably ooc; if I forgot anything, let me know.

notes: this scene popped into my head, and I wrote it. I intended for it to be around 500 words, and it quickly grew out of control. There is no dialogue. I wanted to write something without it, and it seemed to fit what I envisioned. I'm unsure if I accomplished what I wished to. I enjoyed writing it, but I'm not exactly happy with the end. Perhaps I'll rework it one day.

Second time writing for Dottore. Second time writing for Genshin Impact. Second time writing smut, which I didn't want to write in too much detail (for the sake of the story), so I'm sorry if it falls short; I did my best.

Titled after Enjoy the Silence by Depeche Mode.

As always, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors that may have gone unnoticed. Thank you to those who take the time to read and comment on my work; it’s greatly appreciated ♥

Another failure. 

Dottore’s not one to let his composure slip, cool and calculated in his actions after centuries of learned patience. First and foremost, he’s a scholar; he cannot allow his emotions to distract from or influence his work. Frustration and doubt simmer below the surface, buried deep within his heart as he starts over from square one with a determination to see the experiment through to the end—to prove to himself he can. Now here he stands, materials knocked haphazardly across the floor, blood on his hands, and his work in ruins. He rips the pages from his journal, cursing his past self for his incompetence. Days locked away in his lab, forgoing sleep, wasting time that could have been better spent elsewhere, and for what purpose? 

His fingers tangle in his hair, pulling until pain pierces his skull and dances along his spine. A laugh reverberates through his chest, shaking his shoulders, and echoing off the walls. His voice sounds foreign to his ears, and he almost doesn’t recognize his reflection when he catches his gaze on the scraps of metal at his feet, the smile on his warped face unsettling even to him. A monster stares back at him—expression bordering insanity—baring its pointed teeth in mockery as it too laughs; not with him, but at him. 

Wrenching the mask from his face with an angry shout, he tosses it across the room, nearly hitting you as you step inside. 

No one dares to approach him at his best and certainly not at his worst—except for you. There’s not a trace of fear in your eyes, only concern. You treat him akin to a wounded animal and not the predator he is, a growl of defiance dying in his throat as you reach up to cup his face in your hands and kiss along the scars that mar his skin, whispering words of comfort he doesn’t deserve though refuses to deny. You’re a mystery he has yet to unravel, and he wonders why you make his heart beat when so little in this world can. 

You coax him from the bowels of his lab into your shared living space, once cold and empty until you wandered into his life, a rabbit making its home in the wolf’s den; fortunately for you, he decided to keep you and claim you as his own against his better judgment. You proved yourself useful, and he’s loath to admit to anyone—including himself—that he longs for your touch when apart and finds solace in your arms, the chaos that is his mind falling quiet in your presence. If he’s a madman, he’s convinced it’s your doing, and his fellow Harbingers may agree. He’s spent years alone, growing accustomed to the loneliness that followed him in his adolescence, embracing who he is and what that meant for him. You’re an outlier, blindsiding him and driving him to question all that he’s come to know. 

With a gentleness that brings him pause, he observes you as you clean and bandage his hands. You care for him. The cynic in him wants to laugh and renounce your foolish affections. How can you let your guard down around him; do you not realize what he is? Your lack of awareness infuriates him. If he were anyone else, you would be dead. The thought itself is sickening. He shouldn’t be bothered; however, you speak to the part of him that yearns to be understood—accepted—to feel the love he once believed out of his reach. 

Smiling, you kiss his knuckles as if those same hands hadn’t spilled blood and taken countless lives. Your eyes meet his, and he’s at your mercy. 

Your patience knows no bounds. No matter how long he’s away, you wait for him. Maybe he had it wrong. It’s not you who is fortunate, it is him, and he’s unsure of how to feel when he comes to that realization. 

He brings your hands to his lips, looking up at you through pale lashes. You shiver beneath his touch, your skin prickling with heat, and he smirks, a low chuckle escaping him. How easily you fall into his grasp, leaning into him instead of pulling away. Sweeping you into his arms, he cradles you against him, humming in contentment. His frustrations disappear, your warmth and the softness of your body easing his mind. You understand the importance of his work, never complain when it demands his undivided attention, and, in turn, he always makes up for lost time. 

His eyes meet yours, and he sees himself mirrored in them, his gaze intense—hungry. Your scent alone is dizzying, and he thinks he’s truly lost it. These carnal desires were of no interest to him before, but you drive him mad. He wants your mind, your heart, your body, and your very soul itself, hoping you can continue to accept a monster such as himself into your loving embrace. He’s so pathetic, and he can’t find it in himself to care. 

The anger that coursed through his veins boils over into an excitement he often feels when his research ends in success, his hard work culminating in a fever pitch that leaves him sated and breathless. And you, you never disappoint. No, you are familiar and comforting, similar to the Ruin Guards he’s studied time and time again, mapping you out from head to toe in a way no one else can. Rather than wires and circuits, you are flesh and blood, full of life and love—a love you willingly give to him. He doesn’t need you. He wants you, your affection, to chase the emotion that swells within his chest when you’re together. These are the moments he accepts his humanity, and he ponders a life that could have been . . . 

The bed creaks under your weight as he lays you down upon it, studying you, how your breath hitches in your throat and his touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. His actions are methodical, precise, removing your clothes at a painstaking pace and trailing kisses down your body all the while. You reach for him, tugging at the collar of his harness, but he pins your arms above your head with a growl and nip of warning to your lips; he wishes to lose himself in you and analyze every dip and curve, every little detail that makes you who you are—he cannot afford distractions, and the tenderness of your caress is far too potent.  

He swallows your whine with a kiss, slow and languid, his free hand coming to rest on the column of your throat, stroking the delicate skin with his thumb. Still, you do not fear him, baring your neck to him with a sigh of longing that makes him all too aware of his own arousal as your legs spread to accommodate him. You’re so needy, but he’s no better, his resolve wavering the second he tastes you on his tongue. 

Your thighs tremble, muscles tensing, as his fingers gather your wetness and sink into your heat. The sound that leaves you is music to his ears. Nuzzling between your breasts, his lips poised above your heart, he listens to the sweet melody of its beats mingled with your breathy moans and the slickness of his thrusts. You are far from perfect, a slave to your humanity, and yet your beauty is unparalleled. Without your flaws, you would not be the person he’s come to adore.  

When his cock replaces his fingers, and your warmth envelops him, he sees stars.  

For a moment he forgets to breathe, his chest tight and eyes glazing over. Every time feels like the first—beautiful and agonizing all at once. He both curses and praises you for bringing him back down to earth and forcing him to feel things he hasn’t in years. How is it possible to hate and love something as much as he does you? His attempts to snuff out the flames you ignited in him failed long ago. In the beginning, the burn was much too painful, and now he welcomes it, melting into you without hesitance or remorse. 

He exhales, shuddering as you brush the hair back from his face and stroke his cheek—tethering him to this godforsaken planet. You gaze up at him, face flushed and eyes brimming with affection. You’re exquisite, and his heart aches at the sight. His fingers flex, digging into your hips, and your lips meet in a bruising kiss. 

You want him. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing him in as he pulls you into his arms and holds you tightly against his chest. This close he can watch the pleasure flicker across your face, not missing a single detail, not even the most minute. His desire comes second to his observations, mind working to commit the image of you to memory. For as long as he lives, he wishes to remember you this way, tears on your cheeks and back arching when you call out a name he once considered long dead. 

You want him. 

His head spins, your cries a siren song he can’t help but follow over the edge. Your body tightens and convulses, and he loses all rationale, swept out to sea in the waves of your ecstasy. It’s as if he’s drowning, gasping for air but unable to stay afloat, and he doesn’t want to. 

A deep growl reverberates through his chest, and he thrusts into you like the madman he is, sloppy and unrefined, but he loves the way you squeeze him, your body begging for all he is and has, and he gives it to you. You writhe beneath him, screaming when his teeth sink into your shoulder, the heady scent of blood filling his nostrils and sliding down his throat like a fine wine. Laving his tongue over the wound, he tilts his head up to lick away your tears before kissing you, staining your lips red. 

In his eyes, you look perfect; his finest creation. Beads of sweat dot your skin like stars, creating constellations he could study for hours. You’re more real than the sky above at any rate. 

Collapsing atop you, into your awaiting arms, you tuck his head beneath your chin as your fingers stroke through his hair. The sensation is electrifying, grounding him as he steadies himself and catches his breath. Exhaustion weighs heavily upon him, though he hasn’t felt such peace in weeks. He allows himself this, your warmth and affection regardless of how many times he’s told himself he doesn’t need this—need you. It’s a part of himself he has yet to come to terms with, but he doesn’t want to lose the happiness you bring him. It’s different than the happiness his work provides. It makes him feel human—it makes him feel whole. 

There’s no harm in exploring it further, is there? 

He rolls onto his back, bringing you with him. A smile softens his features, and he doesn’t hide the fact he’s enamored by you, admiring your blissful expression in the afterglow of your lovemaking. Sliding a hand between your legs, he gives a purr of satisfaction at the stickiness of his release that now coats your thighs and the shiver that travels through you from his touch. 

This calls for another round of tests to evaluate his findings, he decides. A true scholar wouldn’t stop here, after all. 

The following morning, fractured sunlight pours through the frost on the windows, and you snuggle into his thigh, blanket pulled over your head to keep out the cold and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Perhaps he merely required a good night’s rest to clear his mind, and he has you to thank for that. His pen glides across the parchment with ease, and it’s almost infuriating how everything falls into place. You were the exception it seems. Setting his notes aside, he joins you under the covers, tongue tracing the bruise that now darkens your shoulder. He grins, all teeth, when you gasp. 

It’s only fair he rewards his assistant for their hard work. 

#genshin impact #dottore #dottore x reader #dottore x you #reader insert #noelle writes

[mostmagical]

"You are always deserving of love"?! I HAVE to ask about that one ❤ gimme those juicy details pls!

okay SO full disclosure, you are always deserving of love is something I started back early last year when I was recovering from a loss and I was basically just throwing my grief onto the page and seeing what stuck. it was going to be a fic where gabriel falls into a coma and adrien is dealing with a lot of grief and sadness. there was also going to be a lot more focus on his friendships with nino and plagg rather than romance. I'd probably have to rework a few things if I returned to it but I did generally like what I had! I'll put a little snippet under a read more since this answer is getting a bit rambly haha

The tightening in his throat warned him that another sob was coming, and he turned his face up into the water. Rivulets ran down his face and along his neck. How much was from the shower head and how much was from his eyes, he wasn’t sure. His sinuses ached. A pounding from his forehead to the tip of his nose, reminding him of how much his body had already expelled that day. “Hey.” Plagg’s voice. “You need to use some soap or get out. Now.” Adrien sighed, his head dropping down to stare at the drain and the rivers flowing into it. Methodically, he reached for the shampoo. He barely felt as the liquid dripped into his hands, and even as the suds ran down into his eyes, he welcomed the painful sting. Better than nothingness.

ask me about my wips! <3

#thanks for asking about that one 😭♥️ #i haven't read through it in a while. it was very cathartic for me #if anyone else asks about this maybe i'll share some snippets of the ~friendship~ bits #ask game #wip #my writing #hueynomure

[kindestegg]

Analyzing all the differences in the storyboards posted by Yasmin Khudari and the final product! - Part 2: Collector Edition!

And so here we are! If you haven't seen part 1, I urge you to do so, as we looked into some pretty interesting and lore rich boards that were cut or done differently compared to their final episodes!

This post will cover all the boards for For the Future, and as always I'll try to be mindful with how many pictures I add for the image limit!

While chronologically the sequence with King and Collector playing pretend comes first, that one gives us a LOT more ground to cover, so I'll start with the Bedtime Story sequence, which is frankly easier to get through!

First of all: minor change, Collector used to get big sparkly eyes when asking King to read them a story!

And there also used to be dialogue by Collector after he drops the huge book down, stating that this book usually takes 300 years to get through, but assuring King they usually fall asleep midway. I think this is kind of a funny line and it would make sense with the way King responds "easy..." afterwards, which did make it in the final cut. Of course we still get that impression without this dialogue, but it was kind of funny. The book also appears to have paper pages here, rather than stone slabs.

Minor visual thing that I think is very cute: the scribbles over the "bad" part Collector did used to have little angry faces! I'm so sad they didn't make it in! Look at them! One is sticking its tongue out!

Small but super interesting dialogue change also: King used to read aloud the part Collector scratched out anyway, and go "yikes" as a response to it (fun! and accessible for viewers who may not be able to read it when it comes up for some reason!) and as a result, Collector doesn't say "don't read the NEXT part, skip to where I fixed it", but rather just "don't read the BAD part", confirming he does view it as bad. He also would say "right..." when finishing reading! I like how talkative he used to be here... sad it got lost.

Minor thing! King also used to tilt his head when telling Collector he only lets one other person hold François. This little movement is absent from the final cut!

There's also a dialogue change with Collector, he doesn't refer to Luz as "that human", but rather by name, going "your old best friend, Luz". I wonder if this was changed because the crew thought Collector might not want to admit this about Luz, or if maybe it felt inaccurate since Luz is more specifically King's sister figure.

And finally... oh these boards have gone viral baby. Excited to talk about them!

Instead of saying "I don't like being alone" after asking King at least leave François to watch over them, Collector says they promise not to touch it which... oh myyyyy God, this is so cute.

But I am conflicted about it! I think the inclusion of the line about loneliness makes a lot of thematic sense considering how this is brought up again by King to Eda and Lilith, as a reminder of the pivotal part of Collector's trauma dealing with his imprisonment, but on the other hand! This original line would have driven home the point of how good Collector is trying to be for King, specially with the divergence that comes next.

This! This feels so important! This is a call back to the moment where King tells Collector they can trust him (and this is present in both the roughs and cleans AND the final episode!) and make a pinky promise! This right here is a direct parallel that has King decide that if he tells Collector they can trust him, he should trust them too! This is decisive in portraying them as two kids who are trying to see each other as equals and just have immensely unhelpful circumstances all around them!

I can understand why it was reworked though, again, I feel like they might not want to let the audience forget about The Collector's loneliness because it is such a pivotal part of their arc and it constitutes the very important theming of how wrongful imprisoning someone is, and how punishing children through methods that border on or are straight up torture do nothing to help them grow. If this wasn't brought up again at least once, I can see the crew feeling this section of his character was neglected, and he was made into just a playmate for King to hang out with that'll inevitably turn good by the end.

I just... wish I could have them both, lol but well, other fans also had some pretty big losses in other storyboard changes, so I guess I'll settle for what we have now! I did speculate the theming of trust and telling the truth and striving to see each other as equals will come back next special, so here's hoping this won't be dropped completely!

Anyway, now for the big event! The roughs AND cleans for the playing pretend sequence! For this one, since there are sometimes differences happening between each of the board sets AND the final episode, I'll be adding those simultaneously as things happen.

First of all! Immediate punch to the gut: In the roughs, Willow used to run at her dad and get close to him and try to talk to him, not just wait until the puppets started running and screaming! I can only imagine they took this out because this would just be really sad?? But this show also revels in sadness and they do want to make us feel for Willow so I do not get it... maybe time save? Either way. I cry.

Oh yeah also! As you can see here! The puppets used to, for the most part, have stars for eyes instead of just stylized eyes? It's more subtle in the clean version but their eyes still turn into stars when they're "activated". I'm not sure why this was changed other than to maybe make it easier to animate.

Willow seems to have no dialogue when running after her dad both in the roughs and cleans, though in the cleans she does only run after him when he starts running and screaming, just like the final episode.

Also! There is a small scene not present in the final episode but both in the roughs and cleans: When Terra is running around as the owl beast, there is a close up of her obscured face with mouth open looking like a big monster mouth. I can see that they probably cut this due to it probably being weird to get such a close up without giving away it's not Eda, or maybe it was just for some extra time.

Another minor change, when she sees her dad getting attacked, in the roughs, Willow doesn't bring out her staff, instead just covering her mouth. In the cleans, she does the final episode motion normally. I think they may have changed this to reflect her personality better: we do know Willow is the type to want to jump into action to protect those she cares for.

Also minor detail: after Collector says "stop right there, beast" there used to be no frame showing Willow being surprised by this and hesitating, cutting directly to Collector's star descending with him and King on it.

Minor dialogue difference as well! Both in cleans and roughs, Collector did not address the "citizens of Bonesborough", but rather declares "I'm here to stop your mad rampage!" at the beast! I feel like it may have been changed to better reflect his view of playing the hero of the story here, instead of just playing the role of hunting the beast as he may have done before.

However the identification of his role as Luz came in the form of something else, as King used to have added dialogue in both the roughs and cleans, going "Use the spell I helped you find, Collector!" This is very cute, and I kind of wish they kept it in, it solidifies that King is playing along as an important part in the story, just like the actual episode they are referencing! I wonder if it was cut for time or if it was redundant or something...

And then King goes "I believe in you!" with your usual "Thanks, best friend" reply from Collector.

We also have this short little cut moment where you can see them looking at each other happily and there's a weird divergence between the roughs and cleans here. See, they're nearly identical, but in the roughs, King appears to be blushing for some reason?

Granted, we have seen characters blush in non-romantic settings before, even cut blushes in storyboards such as Luz blushing when being happy about Philip being impressed by her (I still feel so bad for her!) ...but it is at least notable here because a lot of people debate whether King actually enjoyed Collector's company and would like to be friends in the future or not, but I feel like moments like these in the storyboards (the bit about trusting each other from earlier on comes to mind) help solidify that they were always meant to befriend each other, King isn't just a miserable participant with no agency whatsoever! His little blush could indicate he feels happy by now to play with them! And there are further boards I will show that further prove this!

In the final cut, this bit is of course, absent, instead just cutting to Luz's eyes widening. This also leads to a funny little divergence in the roughs and cleans, where what I think happened here is that the reaction Luz used to have at Terra coming out of the Owl Beast costume was instead at first going to be her reaction to King and Collector playing together and seemingly enjoying each other's company... which is very funny to me. I think they may have changed this because it may have seemed a little too mean spirited to have Luz react so badly at King being happy around Collector.

Look... I made a GIF to show how they're one to one the same frame... This literally is just funny to me.

Another small cut moment, there used to be an overview shot of the puppets cheering for Collector! This one is very cute. Look at them with their little hands on their hips!!

And because Luz's reaction to Collector and King being besties got switched around, this caused another set of fun divergences in the roughs, cleans, and final storyboards.

In the roughs, Luz has a moment where she looks attentively at the Owl Beast costume as the camera holds on it, likely doing a kind of suspense zoom and then bait and switch. In the cleans, the zoom doesn't happen. However in both the roughs and cleans, there is a close up of Luz reacting with a weirded out face at the same time as Terra says "back to normal" offscreen.

I imagine what happened here is that these expressions from the boards were then re-tooled to be the close up shot we see of Luz reacting to King and Collector, her eyes just widening as she stares in shock.

Further on, Terra also has some cut dialogue and actions, which are the same in both the roughs and cleans:

While kicking off a bit of the costume, she then throws her "hair" back and goes "Bad girls and so on". This is a funny little bit that I can only think was maybe but for time!

And then! We actually have a case of added content! In the roughs and cleans, Collector didn't give Terra any descriptions about Eda being "like a cool aunt" who "actually cares a lot". I do think it was clever to include this, it helps show a little better that Collector actually respects and likes Eda despite how things are at the moment.

After that, both in the cleans and roughs, Terra's dialogue changes a little bit, instead of calling King a "stupid little" dog, she calls him a "little freak" dog, which does sound like a kind of harsher insult.

Another minor change that is barely noticeable, the roughs and cleans call for Terra clearing her throat before going "Ooh, I like musicians", and you can see a BIT of this motion in the final cut, but she doesn't actually do it, just sort of inhales.

Similarly, there's another cut bit in both the roughs and cleans where Terra would cough and gag right after this line, indicating she would maybe be disgusted by Eda and Raine's relationship. I think this could've been a funny bit but I understand if it was cut for time or maybe the VA couldn't cough at that moment due to complications for any reason.

This next scene is also slightly different! And contains also small differences between both the roughs and cleans! Collector, instead of saying, "You're not being very nice right now", goes "I never pinky swore to THAT."

In the roughs, he assumes more of a frowny expression, just looking kinda angry at Terra like in the final cut, but in the cleans, he gives this sinister ass smile that I love love love! Oh, my little son named warcrimes who commits atrocities and I adore it.

Minor change: Terra used to plead "no no no no" before getting turned into a puppet in both the roughs and cleans, but this is absent in the final cut.

Alright, this next part gets REAL complicated with the divergences not just towards the final cut, but with both versions - rough and clean - between each other. There's a ton of dialogue changing and even action/expression changing, and I'm very excited to talk about it.

First, in both the roughs and cleans, after going "Collector, buddy, you gotta stop doing that." King doesn't plead "Think about what you're doing to these people", but instead says "You're running out of people to play with." I imagine they may have changed this to make King seem more sympathetic to the plight of the people getting turned into puppets, whereas the first one showed more of his practical side knowing just what to say to Collector to get them to question things, as Collector would probably respond better to being reminded this is less people to play with. Another reason why this may have been cut is because one could argue Collector can still play with the puppets, just that they won't be sentient.

Here is where we run into our first divergence: present only in the cleans, King also adds "plus, you could've really hurt someone!" I imagine this bit was added in the cleans to make up for that need of showing King's compassion, but I think the reason this was also changed is that it doesn't make sense? We know the puppets aren't getting hurt, sure it's terrifying to lose control of your own body and be forced to be a doll and sleep within that wooden carcass, but they're not at risking of being actively hurt and can be easily fixed if anything happens. This is of course still bad, but the threat of physical harm doesn't make sense in this case particularly.

Because of this divergence, here's where the roughs, cleans, and final cut split into three different versions:

In the roughs, Collector responds by continuing to seem sad and going "But we'll NEVER be able to play Owl House right without an Owl Lady." He then pleads: "Maybe if you let me talk to Eda myself-" which... certainly seems a lot different than the chipper "maybe if I ask her real nice, I won't have to turn her into a puppet" from the final cut. This reads even more like Collector wants to connect to Eda and talk to her, but is being actively kept from it by King. I can see why maybe this was cut as it would make King look a little bad for barring Collector so much from seeing Eda if he is so well meaning, whereas the final version actually seems more threatening and like King has a reason to not want them interacting yet.

In the cleans, however, because King added that comment about maybe hurting people, Collector responds in a really interesting way: "You said this game was pretend, why do I gotta worry about stuff like that?" Both the roughs and cleans as you've probably already picked up lack that malicious "you're so boring" jab at King, but this one is definitely the one with the most striking contrast, as this one directly implies Collector WOULD worry about hurting people, and is just confused as to how this could happen in their game.

This makes King go into his little speech about playing pretend having consequences, but this one is also slightly altered: Instead of saying "playing pretend", King says "living in a fantasy has consequences, too. Real ones". And ohhh! I would like to bite my fucking arm off at this!! Do you see this shit! Not only is this perfect fodder for the theory Collector is trying to shut himself away from the grief he feels over the titans and refusing to confront his past trauma and generally repressing his emotions, but! It is even more of a DIRECTLY DRAWN parallel to King, by HIMSELF, at King's season 1 self and his backstory of having once believed he was the King of Demons.

But of course, I can see reasons why this may have been changed. Namely, "living in a fantasy" may have confused audiences while "playing pretend" is more of a direct description of what is happening. Also "real ones" may have just been cut for extra seconds. Lord knows they need those.

After King says that, Collector launches into his usual excited talk of Eda, though he doesn't say "no substitutes allowed". However, just like in the roughs, how he refers to talking to Eda here is pretty different. Here, he says "Maybe if you'd let me talk to her, she'd wanna play-"

Again, no mention of turning her into a puppet. Hmmm.

So, I have some theories. First is pretty straight-forward, they added the threat of her maybe getting turned into a puppet to keep the stakes high and give a reason for King to really object Collector talking to her. The second one... well, it involves a lot about Collector's arc in this episode and how it may have changed over time, but I want to talk more about it once we finish looking at all the boards for differences, and believe me, we aren't done yet.

After this, the roughs and cleans meet again, and both of them feature King going "n-no", but unlike the final cut, his dialogue is slightly different here again: he doesn't say "Her curse is still in effect." He says "She's still... not feeling well... y'know. The curse and all that." It's a subtle difference, and it does use more words and pauses, so I think they may have just changed this for time.

The roughs and cleans and final all diverge again here: In the roughs, King reassures Collector by saying "I'll talk to her about joining the game, don't you worry." In the cleans, it switches to "D-don't worry! I'll talk to her for you". In the finals, we have the known "But I can check if she's feeling better." Here we have a progression that I think shows us the difference between King promising Collector something we really aren't going to see- which is Eda joining the game, to say he'll talk to her for him which is similar but vaguer, and then, just saying he'll check on her. I feel this change may have occurred so his promise is mostly kept here.

Slight divergence: Collector goes "you promise?" as a response in all versions, but only in the cleans and final version does he do that little lean while smiling. In the roughs, he used to remain kind of sad looking. I wonder if initially they were going for Collector initially doubting King, but discarded that in favor of his more confident behavior.

And hoo boy, this next divergence is another that makes me kind of insane. You see, while King says the same thing in all three versions, "You can trust me, Collector" and offers a pinky promise, his expressions and motions! They are so different in storyboards!

In the final version, you'll recall King has his gaze averted while offering the pinky and looks kinda sad while doing it. In both the roughs and cleans though...

Look at how happy he seems doing it! He looks at Collector the whole time, only looking away at their pinkies for a second, then they have a moment where they just look at each other happily!

So this is that further implication I was talking about, that King and Collector, at least in some iteration of the story, were written to actively be friends, and not just have a one-sided thing.

Again, I have a few theories about why this was changed. Another straightforward one is just that they wanted to show King was still worried about things and not just nonchalant about the misery around him. Another possible, less straightforward one is that they really wanted to keep the thing about King actually caring about the Collector and not wanting to hurt him a surprise. In a way, that makes sense, younger people may fall for this, hell, I've seen at least one or two people online confess they really thought King wanted to kill Collector with that line from him. So to show them being so indisputably intimate would kind of spoil that.

That being said though... I have another theory, the very same that connects as to why other things have been changed, but again, it's kind of big so I wanna talk about it after we're done.

Only in the roughs now, there's a small bit where we see Camila scoot over to Luz's side to ask "Is that the little guy you've been telling me about?" (Notice in the final cut she also says little King, not just little guy. I feel like this was done to avoid confusion on who she referred to.) In the cleans, it just cuts instead of showing her getting there.

There's also a big divergence in the roughs, cleans, and final result here. First of all, in the roughs and cleans, there's no zoom in on Camila's face.

Then, in the roughs, after Camila comments "ay, que lindo", Luz gives out a giggle and goes "Verdad?" which means "True", like she was saying "true, right", like!! It's like ikr for spanish basically. However, she looks sad right after, and so does Camila upon realizing Luz still feels bad. I think they probably cut this for time, really, as well as maybe they thought Luz wouldn't be in the mood to laugh at her mom reacting the same way she did when she first met King.

In the cleans, however, this scene is way more depressing. Camila still gushes over King like normal, but here, Luz's reaction is just sighing and giving an eerily blank looking dejected expression. My god girl. You are not doing well. And of course, Camila does get sad seeing her this way.

Minor change, Collector used to not say Archive House, just the Archives!

Another minor but fun change: Amity used to reply to Camila's question about the eyeballs being normal but not Collector, by going "Yeah, that's basically it."

Some pretty heartbreaking cut dialogue here as well, in both the roughs and cleans, after Hunter says they should follow Collector and King as Belos is probably trying to get back to the Collector, Willow points out they're flying too fast.

The roughs and cleans diverge here a bit, but Hunter's reaction is more or less similar.

In the roughs, Hunter goes "Flap would be able to-" before cutting himself off and storming off.

But in the cleans, this is made further more upsetting, as he says "Flap could-" then pauses for a moment, entirely silent, realizing what he just said. Then he announces "It's fine." and walks off, stating that "there's more than one way to find him."

I! Really mourn these losses! These are such neat little moments that solidify Hunter's grieving and I wish we could've kept them! I can only think they may have been cut for time, the crew felt they didn't need to add more, or they didn't want to rub it in.

Minor dialogue changes ahead, Gus doesn't say "it looked like they were playing a game", but specifically focuses on The Collector, saying it looked like (they) were playing pretend (hmmm, possible Gus role with the Collector foreshadow?) Similarly, Luz doesn't described it as a "messed up version" of her life, only HER life. Gus also doesn't refer to them as puppets in roughs and cleans, but rather as toys.

Before climbing up the debri to look at the Archives, Luz would say "The Archives..." dramatically, in both the roughs and cleans. Also, may just be the nature of the roughs being roughs, but in the rough storyboards the Archives look way more like a bunch of floating debri strung together rather than a full on circular castle.

And... that's it basically! Whew! That was... quite a lot as you can tell, just these two scenes had so much material they practically overshadow the sheer amount of content the first part of this little analysis project had.

Okay, so. Again, as the guy who usually goes cuckoo crazy theorizing on every little thing related to the Collector, this was a feast for me, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't very intrigued by how much Collector's characterization -specially in relation to King- changed from the storyboards to the final product.

One thing you may have already clocked just from this is that The Collector and King used to seem much more like close friends, as well as there was less of an emphasis on Collector's loneliness and implied trauma rather than on the issue of trust between King and Collector- can they really call each other best friends if they don't take the steps to trust each other and be honest with each other?

Hell, there's even ANOTHER modified detail from the storyboards where King used to SMILE while beaming up with Collector after meeting Odalia.

So... what happened? Why did they change this? I've given you my reasons before but have been teasing one big theory all along, so I will say it now: I think they were pretty confident up to a certain point in diving into the themes of friendship and trust and telling the truth with Collector and King that I've already kinda identified as remaining in this episode, but that got kinda built up for the next episode, but then they realized "oh shit, we are barely touching on Collector's own trauma from being put in hardcore solitary for hundreds of years and having his psyche shattered into pieces from that we should probably. Focus on that huh."

And so was born a revised version of the episode that focused on King feeling a lot more general pity and sadness for the Collector, and the Collector in turn also being allowed to show more sadness that wasn't just related to not getting why his games are going wrong or why King won't let him talk to Eda. One where a more young and/or impressionable audience may be excused to think King didn't like Collector that much, but the twist is that he does, in fact he feels bad for them and relates to them.

Put simply, these earlier versions were nice, but they lacked the drive back to focus on the metanarrative Collector brings to the table of how terrible it is to punish a kid- or anyone- with extended solitary imprisonment, even if they did do bad things or are still doing them. And honestly, I'm still conflicted! I still like both of these a lot, I really think I would have enjoyed this earlier version with them being clearly besties maybe even more, but I also can't say I wouldn't have been frustrated if they never brought up Collector's trauma and issues ever again, specially after setting that up through Season 2B.

But well... I still will hold these storyboards near and dear to my heart, and I hope this post will reach many more people and spread the good word of the King and Collector endgame besties agenda being real!

#the owl house #toh analysis #the collector #toh collector #king clawthorne #commander's orders

[vodika-vibes]

Fox: "You're doing something important."

PA: "You're important too, Fox."

😫 i love these two so much

I do too, lol. They're so sweet together.

"Yuu, my dear," You smile vacantly at Palpatine as he looks at you quizzically, "What is this that I'm looking at?" You peer over his shoulder, and you smother your glee with the ease of practice, "It's a popularity poll." You chirp, "I wasn't able to sleep the other night, and did a deep dive on the net, and I collected all of the information, and this is what I found-" "Explain it to me, please, my dear. I'm afraid I'm not quite sure what I'm looking at." You blink at him, "Of course!" You flip through the sheets until you come to a pretty looking graphic that you spent far too long on, "As you can see, the people of the galaxy aren't happy with you." "The war-" "Yes, yes. The war. But that's not why they're unhappy. In fact, the majority of people in the Republic blame Count Dooku for the war continuing as it is, rather than you, which is a good thing." You interrupt, "No, they're unhappy because they feel like the creation of the Coruscant guard is stealing jobs from hardworking people across the galaxy." You flip to another page, "Not to mention, the crime levels on Coruscant have gone up since the start of the war, and the people on Coruscant no longer feel safe." "That's unfortunate, but I'm not sure what they want me to do about it." "Ah! Yes. Well I spent a long time thinking about it, too long probably," You admit with a blinding smile, "And I think I have a solution." "I am, as the kids say, all ears." Palpatine says. "I think we need to rework the way the guard works." You say, "Here, I wrote up a proposal-" You pick through the papers, and hand him one, "Basically, we have the Senators hire guards for the senate and themselves from their own planets, and we move the clones out of the senate building into a separate building and use them as a police force." Palpatine frowns, "That might work-" "Of course, for them to be a viable police force, they would have to have more power than they have now." You add lightly, "Not all of them, but the men in the Guard." Palpatine taps a finger on his desk, and for a moment you worry that you pushed too hard, but then you notice that his gaze keeps drifting to the graphic showing his popularity. "If the people in the Republic remain unhappy enough, Chancellor, they can vote you out. We need to get ahead of this. And this is a good start." You offer, keeping your vapid smile on your face. "Yes. Yes, I agree. Put this into play, Yuu. Do you have a Senator who will support this idea?" Your smile never wavers, "I'm sure I can find a Senator or two to support this idea, sir." You duck into a shallow bow, "I'll get right on it. Though it will be helpful if Senator Burtoni doesn't push back too hard-" Your smile becomes slightly sharp, though Palpatine doesn't see it as he's not looking at you, "Not to worry, sir. I'll handle it."

#star wars #star wars au #PA AU

[lraerosesims]

Hey, hi, hello, greetings, sul sul!

So I know I've been a little quiet lately on the Sims CC front, so I thought I'd update you all on what stage I'm up to on each project:

1. The Elderwood Manor Build

I was working on testing this build for functionality etc, and tried to test in different spots in the neighbourhood, and that's when I discovered some broken terrain in the back of the lot (where the terrain slopes from road height to the beach). I've tried to fix it, haven't had any success yet. So I may end up having to either:

Do more heavy research on how to repair just the broken part - putting off uploading it until fixed, or

Remaking the build as close as possible to how it currently looks but on a flatter beach lot to avoid breaking terrain

Either way, it's unfortunately not ready to post for you all to enjoy just yet, I'M SORRY!!! 😭😭😭 I was really hoping to post it but I'd rather not give you guys a broken lot.

I haven't made basically any progress on this outfit since I last shared a texture WIP here. No excuse really, just taking on too much for my little pea-sized brain to handle and can feel the ADHD burnout creeping in so I don't wanna push myself too hard. Making my CC textures is exhausting, and takes a very big toll on ye olde✨mental✨ so I promise it will get done, but I just require some time to recharge so that way I can share the best possible retextures for you all to enjoy.

2. The Harlow Jumpsuit outfit

This one is about 75 to 80% complete. It's another very time consuming project, with the screen recording, video editing, voice over recording, blah blah blah. The biggest problem I have is that I feel the need to announce when I'm working on something (to build interest and anticipation for what's to come) but then take ages to finish it - which leaves people wondering if I'm just full of shit or actually going through with it 😂😂but I promise the tut is happening still!

3. Retexturing YouTube Tutorial

Don't expect this one anytime this decade🤣 I have no idea what I'm doing so I'm winging it entirely. Watch this space though, because who knows maybe I'll just magically find the willpower and mental capacity to figure it all out.

4. Stretched earlobe mesh

And...5. Whatever this hair is

So I did a recolour of a base game hair to make an undercut bun hairstyle (that's accurate to my real life five-head)...not sure if anyone would ever even want this in their game. So far I haven't gotten around to binning it, or even making it in different hair colours. It's also just using a Maxis texture I stole from a different hair and reworked to fit this one. But anyway, that one...exists...for some ungodly reason 😅😂

If you read this far, and haven't given up on me or this page yet then I'm eternally grateful (and slightly confused, but I won't question your intentions 😝)

To be honest with you all, I've got a heap of stressful shit going on in the real worldz right now so bear with me and I'll eventually work through the current projects I'm yet to finish.

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤 - L'Rae

#WIP update #Help I'm tired and need a 10 year long nap #lraerosesims

[sigma-el]

Thank you for tagging me @captain-of-silvenar! I got so much, writings as drawings. I tried to translate, but I'm not sure I've not been losing meaning in translation, so in an other post I'll link the original text. As a result, I'd like to tag @lokorum that has been one if not The One artist I began to follow for TES content. I love your wips, they are a gift. And I'd like to tag @thana-topsy, bc we talked about a fic I'm curious to read on day, and I love the way you write. Here's of my ongoing writings I've never posted anywhere yet, hope you'll like ! (first page: here)

He hasn't been fooled for a long time now.

No matter how much I direct his gaze to other angles, he keeps coming back to me. Now he's watching me with concern. He feels the things that go through me. He knows I shiver when I dress us. That I'm always putting on a little more make-up, always dressing us up a little better, that I'm spending a lot of time and effort for less and less results. He senses that I'm wavering little by little. I don't want him to suffer for me, I've given him enough to do, but lying to him is no longer an option. This envelope encloses me, a prison that I certainly cherish, but which only gives me the opportunity to observe an inconsistent form that is not Me.

We are not Me.

The more carefully I dress us, the more I feel this widening gap myself, as I rework the silk and velvet. I feel, when I clothe myself, that I am costuming stupidly. The feeling that I'm wearing a ridiculous disguise to hide our frail figure as much as possible. I force myself to continue eating and drinking with rigor - to maintain, to tenderly adore, this large piece of meat in which we are all stuck. Some days I'm not very good at it, and The Cold doesn't help.

The Cold starves of everything.

It took me a long time to realize that it wasn't just a question of appetite, of altered metabolism, of the natural consequences of exposure to magicka, substances and diseases. No, The Cold has only the vague appearance of the symptoms of vampirism. I expected every moment that we'd move like night spawns, certain of the opposite - I cling to other occupations to make sure I don't succumb to too overwhelming preoccupations. Sigma-El doesn't embrace his body, he probably doesn't realize what of a curse The Cold is, but he sees me and he divines me. My behavior changes. I'm gradually becoming disgusted with everything, as if nothing was enough to quench my curiosity and hunger, yet everything was too nauseating for me to taste. I'm bored with the daily effort of fetching food in vain, and I'm bored with the interests that used to keep me docile and passionate. I'm bored cultivating our big garden and hanging out with our cats - and the cats themselves hardly recognize me nowadays. I need stronger, more vivid, more visceral things, more of them.

Yet there's no change in our constitution. Our body remains hopelessly the same, that of a mortal, the one that tightens around me every day and suffocates me, and I'm dying a little more, every morning, of the desire to make a hole in it to finally find some air.

#tesblr #the elder scrolls #artists on tumblr #original character #dunmer #oc #roleplay #dark elf #lore #writings #a look into the very intricate and intimate life of Xangr #an aspect of what happens to them and who they are #id love to roleplay the rest with you bc i think its better when slowly discovered through relationships and discussions #so i cutted some parts bc i was more comfortable with it

[ashes-writing]

sweet emotion | stranger things ; e. munson

A/N ;  .... so .... I couldn't pick between Eddie and Steve. And apparently, my idiot brain decided well hey, just write similar versions/plots for both your babies, Ashes. So here we are. This is yet another x reader mini series. Each version has it's own take on a Henderson!fem reader -this one is artsy/stoner/smart/pretends to be a witch but in reality just has really strange interests and a dark humor / literal hell on wheels just an fyi. I'll keep them both going but feedback is a motivator as to how frequently they'll get updated. Right now, this is all I got, babes. So if you wanna see more, idk. We'll see.

Pairing ; Eddie Munson x Henderson!Fem reader

Timeline / Other Stuff to Note ;  As stated in all my other x reader fics that belong to Stranger things, the Upside Down and all it's unholy horrors are left out. The timeline for this is 86. No, Eddie will not be dying. If you like normal / slice of life / romance-y type shit, this is that.

Tag List ; @musichealsscars @hcloangcls @allelitesmut and @aries-arcade are the only ones currently on my Stranger Things tag. I throw out a courtesy tag to @rampagewriting -feel free to ignore if you wanna bb. if you'd like to be added to my taglists for anything including Stranger Things, please let me know or add yourself -> here.

Warnings ; reader is hell on wheels / detention / swearing / teenage antics and shenanigans, mentions of the devils lettuce to come, mentions of drinking to come, kissing / making out / maybe even filth to come, beyond that, nothing. Oh yeah and Jason Carver is a prick and will probably catch reader's hands by the end of this at least once bc I fucking can. ALSO... Chrissy's ED / home problems are mentioned in this so huge trigger warning for that.

Other Stuff ; tag list doc || my rules - fandoms and some characters I write for || requests are open (pls.. pls... send me things) but they're limited to headcanon asks + filth/fluff alphabet letters and I'm not accepting wrestling / wrestlers in my ask box. Any other fandom/character but wrestling that I happen to write for is fine and I beg of you -> send me things.

I do not consent to my work being reposted elsewhere or copied/reworked/rewritten and reposted here or elsewhere. You don't own this, I do. So like... don't steal my shit.

You dash down the noisy hallway, your clothes and body a multitude of different colors. You’re wielding a paintbrush as you chase down your friend Astrid, taunting her with what will happen when you finally catch her. As you all but baseball slide around a corner in the hallway because the floor is wet, you smash into Eddie Munson.

The collision sends you onto the floor with an unceremonious “Hmmph.” as you settle on it on your ass. You’re about to quickly scramble to your feet but Eddie reaches down and grabs hold of your hand wordlessly, hauling you up off the floor.

And then, with a cute little smile, you’re off to the races again. But you stay on his mind the whole day.

When he spots you sitting alone at lunch, now with a yellow handprint on the left side of your face and your nose stuck in a book that’s been read so many times it’s falling apart as you turn the pages, Eddie finds himself watching you.

Doing it so intently that Gareth nudges him and nods in your direction. “She’s in my homeroom.”

Eddie glances back in your direction and to his shock, he finds you kind of staring at him. When you know you’re caught, you cross your eyes and stick out your tongue, pulling a face that makes him snicker quietly and shake his head. Gareth laughs. “‘M gonna ask her to go see a movie.”

Eddie clenches his fist but he tries to give his friend a smile of encouragement.

Jeff speaks up, laughing. “And she’ll shoot you down for the millionth time, Gare. Just like she’s done every single time you ask.”

Eddie’s gaze shifts to Jeff, who shrugs and then goes on to explain that since at least 7th grade, you are the girl Gareth is always trying to ask out.

And Eddie can sympathize because after all, Chrissy. He’s in a similar situation but he’s just her dealer now.

And he’s not a creep, so he’d never try to use that situation to his advantage.

Jeff continues. “You’re making it weird, Eds.”

“Super weird.” Gareth adds quietly. Glaring at Eddie quietly. A little annoyed, because he noticed you first.

Down the table, Mike nudges Dustin and  nods to the table you’re sitting at. “Why the hell is she covered in paint, Dustin?”

Dustin drags his spoon across his pudding as he shrugs. “You know how weird my sister is, Mike. I learned not to question it a long time ago. I’m just glad she’s happy again.”

“Yeah, summer was rough, huh?”

“Kinda. She’s a pain in the ass when she’s moodier than usual. And she won’t say it but that jerk she was dating really hurt her.” Dustin shrugs as he says it.

You spot your younger brother across the lunchroom sitting at the Hellfire table.

And down from him a few seats, the guy you crashed into in the hallway when you and Astrid took the little paint war going on inside Art class to the hallway at the end of it. You study the guy for a few seconds, eating a bean from your salad as you do so. Astrid told you his name is Eddie Munson. Not that you asked or you needed to know to begin with because you’ve kind of had a crush on him since at least 8th grade… You’ve just never really… crossed paths until today. 

Eddie is reading Newsweek to the other guys sitting around the table and he’s laughing every other word.

And then, Eddie is standing on the table. And he’s making a speech.

During which, he mentions literally every major clique except your little circle.

To be fair, you’re kind of known as the artsy wannabe witch and that’s how it’s almost always been. The last time you were even a little popular was way back in 6th grade when you were still best friends with Chrissy, who has since gone on to become the so-called queen of Hawkins High.

When Eddie compares basketball to a game where one tosses balls into a laundry basket, you nearly choke on your soda laughing. And you can’t resist it, you have to speak up. You have to make it known that Jason’s actually not that good at it, either.

“And sadly, they’re not even that good. Except Sinclair. The rest of the idiots fucking suck.” you muse aloud, flipping to the next page in the book you found in a throwout pile in the library during homeroom.

But as always, nobody really seems to notice. Which is fine with you, you’re content to go back to the book you’re currently caught up in. To eat in silence.

Jason snaps, calling Eddie a prick.

Eddie makes a face and laughs before sitting himself down.  Everybody’s gone back to doing their own thing by now, Eddie’s disruption is for the most part, forgotten and ignored. He said what he needed, he didn’t waste words or anything. Just said what was on his mind and sat down without a care in the world.

“Yeah, somebody’s jealous because they still can’t find theirs without tweezers and a magnifying glass, I see.” you say it without thinking when you overhear Jason at a table over when he goes on a tangent about satanism and freaks and how pricks like Eddie Munson need to be run out of town on a rail. You didn’t think anybody actually heard you say it, but apparently this time, when it’s about him, the idiot can hear perfectly fine.

Jason’s steely blue gaze settles on you.

“What’d you say?” he’s standing and he’s heading your way. Fast. “Repeat it. C’mon, witch.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes and toy with a strand of hair, waiting.

When Jason finally reaches you, you barely give half a glance up at him and you shrug. Taking an aggressive bite of the bean in your salad as you laugh. “You heard me, Carver. I’m not repeating it. I don’t think you want me to, I mean… Unless you just want the entirety of the cafeteria to know you’ve got a teeny tiny little baby dick. Or that’s what I heard, anyway. I’d rather fling myself off the highest cliff down at the quarry than find out for myself.” you grimace and stick your finger down your throat to induce gagging.

Mike nudges Dustin and Dustin glances over right around the same time Jason stops by your table and plucks the book out of your hand, surveying the title critically. “Oh shit. So, what are the odds she snaps and Jason gets bitten, punched, slapped, kicked or stabbed with the fork in her hand?” Mike asks, barely hiding a laugh.

Dustin stands, as your very protective younger brother, he’s ready to go and intervene before your motor mouth overruns your midget ass. Even with the age difference, he towers over you just slightly. And he might not beat Jason’s ass, but Jason will come away knowing he was there. “Shit.”

Lucas stands too, ready to go over and help get you and Jason apart should the need arise. Because he’s learned that there’s a good way to coax Jason into backing down or changing his mind and it’s a useful trick to have in his arsenal.

“Buckland’s Complete Book of Witchcraft. Nice. I thought the board was going to ban this crap..” Jason glares at you and nods towards Eddie. He chuckles. “Hawkins High should kick you out… Both of you..” he shoots Eddie a smirk when he says it and Eddie flips him off, turning his attention back to the situation at hand. He can’t help but notice Dustin, Mike and Lucas’ vested interest in the whole scene as it unfolds and despite being curious, he just doesn’t ask. He’s too busy watching you to see what you do.

“You first, Jim Jones.” you spit out the words and stand, snatching your book back. When you grab hold of his wrist, it’s with a smirk and a warning squeeze during which you dig your fingernails into his skin, just a little. Not enough to draw blood but enough to issue a clear warning of intent if he keeps on pushing his luck. “If I were you, blondie.. I’d shag ass back over to the cool kids table… It’d be a shame if something just kinda…Accidentally happened, right?” you say it innocently enough, with the sweetest little grin you can muster. It’s not meant to threaten or anything, or it wouldn’t seem so to the people looking on as this little confrontation unfolds.

But Jason’s slightly smarter than your average meathead jock. Only slightly. He picks right up on the true intent in your statement.

“Did you just threaten me?” Jason deadpans.

You shrug, mild and calm as possible. Smirking up at him without a care in the world. “Not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, are we?” you ask, tapping your foot a little. That smirk growing on your face as you watch his face contort from that normal holier than thou smug look to one of fury.

He steps closer. Studying you intently like he’s looking for something, anything he can use to hurt you.

He’s trying the wrong girl but he’s too stupid to see it just yet.

When he gets a little too close,  you reach back and grab the bowl of salad you were finished with anyway and you raise it, planting it in his face. “I told you, idiot. Walk away.” you practically purr the words as you shove past him and slink out of the cafeteria.

At the Hellfire table, Dustin and Mike are gaping. Both of them knew you were a bit of a hothead but neither of them would’ve ever thought you’d shove your salad into Jason’s face like that. Dustin can’t help but laugh.

Jeff glances at the two.

“You two idiots know her?” Jeff asks. Gareth glances down the table at the two younger boys, waiting. Curious himself, because Dustin looks a breath away from going over there to intervene and he’s only just sat back down.

“My sister.” Dustin is beaming, he’s having a full-on proud little brother moment.

“My old babysitter.” Mike shrugs and drags thin fingers through shaggy black hair. “At least she didn’t punch him.” he muses, mostly to himself. “She punches like a freakin boxer.”

And suddenly upon hearing this particular little revelation, Eddie’s very intent gaze is fixed on Dustin. “You never told me you had a sister.”

Dustin shrugged and took a bite of the bologna sandwich in his hands. “You never asked, Munson.”

Mike palms his face. “Let me save you the hassle, Munson… She’s a grouch. She’s also slightly feral. Dustin, their mom and maybe like… one other person are the only people she really gives a shit about. And she’s always been this way, Munson. It won’t change. Just trust me.”

Eddie mulls it over. When Wheeler put it that way, the whole bizarre high speed chase with paint in the hallway seems to make perfect sense. Then there’s the book you were reading. That fits too. But deeper down, Eddie’s already figuring out that the attitude and the ‘witch’ rumor that you’ve never actively tried to speak up against are probably your defense mechanisms at this point.

You’re swinging at your locker just to rid yourself of a little pent up frustration when Chrissy clears her throat from behind you. Whirling around, you size her up and wrinkle your nose. “You? What do you want, hm?”

“To apologize.” Chrissy mumbles quietly. Gazing at you as she steps away, cautious. She really wants to tell you that she misses being your best friend but somehow, she knows it’s maybe just a little too late to say it.

“Mhm, well.. It’s whatever.” you smirk a little. Lean in a little closer. “It’s your little boyfriend who might wanna watch his back.” you warn and shrug at her. Upon closer look, you feel really bad, she’s obviously struggling with something, you can see it in her eyes. And every part of you wants to say something that might help, but you shove it down. Why should you care? She’s the one who went off and got popular and then spent the next few years ignoring you. If she really gave a shit, you think to yourself, she never would’ve turned her back. 

You’re starting to walk away but Chrissy calls your name. And not your actual name, but the one she gave you way back when you were both kids. Before popularity became the wedge that got driven between the two of you.

“Bubbles.” Chrissy calls out to you, making you pause.

“Don’t call me that. Bubbles is gone, Cunningham.” you say it in the harshest tone you can muster and it hurts like hell, but deep down, you don’t mean it and you hate it when she looks like she’ll cry. The unshed tears are what make you walk away as quickly as humanly possible. Because if you don’t, then what if this isn’t some kind of trick? She is one of them, after all.

Astrid is waiting at the end of the hallway, waving you over.

“Guess what I found.” she’s excited, she’s practically bouncing all around.

“Hm?”

“Just c’mon.. Hey, what was the head bitch of Hawkins High saying? How did you refrain from punching her, huh?”

You shrug off the question but you do snap at Astrid calmly that Chrissy isn’t a bitch, despite all attempts to seem as if you don’t miss your best friend and you don’t give a shit about her either way. 

“Okay, sheesh. Noted.” Astrid grumbles, adding that you were an idiot to give Chrissy any sort of leeway because she’s the one who ditched you. You make your way out of the building with Astrid and you hear meowing.

Astrid grabs your hand, she’s dragging you down the alley between buildings. When the meowing grows closer, you’re grinning.

But the litter of motherless kittens are under the dumpster and back towards the corner, out of your reach from a certain angle and without a little coaxing.

“Let me go ask O’Brian if we can borrow his broom. Maybe we can kind of scoot it back there behind their little furry butts...” Astrid is settled on the concrete, trying to reach beneath the dumpster from the front but she lacks an inch or two to reach the cluster of meowing kittens.

A throat clears from the top of the alley.

You glance back over your shoulders to find Eddie Munson leaning against the wall. Watching you and Astrid as you both kneel in front of and at the side of the dumpster, trying to meow in the hopes that you’ll coax the kittens out of their safe haven without having to try grabbing them and risk hurting yourself or them in the process.

You manage to get a grip on the smoke colored one when it comes just a little closer and you pluck it out, hissing and in perpetual recoil as you pull the soft little furball into you and gaze down at it, giggling.

“Hey, little one. I’m gonna call you Bjorn. You kinda look like a little bear, yes you do, you’re the cutest kitty…” you coo as Eddie comes to a stop nearby, gazing at you and the zesty tempered little animal in your arms.

You pull yourself up off the ground.

Doe eyes move from you to the spicy little furball you’re holding against you and back again. You’re staring back but you’re really trying not to. But his eyes have this magnetic effect.

“We’re gonna need the broom.” Astrid stands up, brushes off her paint splattered bell bottoms and walks around to the side. “I’m trying to get the solid white one because the poor little dude has some funky stuff in it’s eyes.”

You nod. “We could try to coax ‘em out with tuna.” you suggest, breaking your gaze with Eddie for a second or two. You’re wondering why he’s even outside, but you’re too focused on rescuing baby cats to ask.

“Yeah, but where are we gonna get tuna, hm?” Astrid asks. 

Eddie stands back quietly, listening to the exchange. Then he nods to the dumpster.

“If we could move it just a little.” Eddie suggests.

“That thing is fuckin heavy, sir.” you insist as a rebuttal. 

“And I have friends.” Eddie points out to you.

You snicker quietly. “So do I.. My little brother has to help me with my bullshit. Familial obligation.” you start to trudge down the alley, wandering right back into the outside cafeteria door to step inside. 

You make your way over to the table and grab a chair from beside Gareth Emerson, a boy in your science class. And then you drag it over to where your brother is sitting, flanked by Mike Wheeler and Lucas Sinclair. “You three little shits are comin with me, alright?”

“Please?” Mike hints. You laugh and roll your eyes, standing.

“C’mon… I mean unless you idiots wanna walk home in the rain.” you shrug mildly as you say it. Lucas stands. He notices the kitten and chuckles. “Where the hell did you find a cat?”

“Outside. Under the dumpster out back. There’s like… Five more.” you’re giggling and grinning. You hold out the smoke colored kitten in your hand to Lucas and the kitten’s immediate reaction is to swing it’s little paws and hiss as much and as loud as felinely possible. You pull the kitten away when Lucas shakes his head and you’re muttering softly to the kitten, “Aw, it’s okay, little guy. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Dustin palms his face. “No. Absolutely fuckin not. You are not going to build an army of cats. Look, you already have the lizard. And the garden snake. And the stray dog you think I don’t know you’re trying to lure into sticking around. We’re not a zoo, damn it!”

You place your free hand on your hip and gaze at your little brother. “Bold of you to assume I asked you, dustball. Me older. You younger. Understand, little brother?” you flash him a butter wouldn’t melt grin.

“Mom..” Dustin tried to appeal to your common sense but it fell on deaf ears.

“Will love these little shits as much as I, their new mother, am going to.” you laugh out the words. As you return the chair, you reach out and feel both Gareth and Jeff’s upper arms. “Okay, you two.. C’mon.” you mumble as you gaze at them both after reaching the assumption that they have the required body strength to maybe wiggle the dumpster out enough so you and Astrid can free the kittens.

Jeff and Gareth share a look, puzzled.

“Where?” Jeff asks, shrinking back when the kitten hisses again. “Keep your demon away, woman.” he laughs as he says it.

“Yeah, I mean.” Gareth stammers and gulps, “I’ll help, just.. Are you aware that those uh.. They’re wild. You could get like so many diseases…”

You shrug. “They’re babies, jerk!” you pout a little, holding the kitten tighter when it tries to jump out of your arms. “Ignore him, sweet Bjorn. You’re a little angel, yes you are.” you coo at the cat.

You make your way out of the cafeteria’s back facing door with your brother, Mike and Lucas all grumbling and Dustin trying to argue you down that you absolutely cannot take in another stray, he doesn’t care how cute they are or how much they make you happy and you, humming Sweet Leaf to ignore him. Gareth and Jeff wander out too because they can’t resist the chance to watch a good bout of fuckery as it occurs.

Astrid has gotten one of the kittens and Eddie’s jumping back a little because the kitten in Astrid’s grip is twice as wild as the one you managed to grab before going inside.

“And you were saying, Munson?” you tap your foot and tilt your head slightly as you glance up at him with an amused gleam in your eyes. And your cute little grin.

Dustin nudges Eddie. “She’s lost her fucking mind. Totally.”

“She just wants to help ‘em, Henderson. C’mon, have a heart, kid.” Eddie says it as he’s watching you and your friend Astrid. Well, mostly you. He’s laughing to himself and shaking his head.

“Stop checking out my sister!” Dustin grumbles, annoyed. “Seriously, Munson?”

“Trust me, Munson. This isn’t even half of the crazy. Just stop yourself now. While you’re ahead.” Mike warns a second time, but he happens to look at Eddie as Eddie watches you directing Gareth and Jeff which way to shove the corner of the dumpster. And as he’s watching Eddie watch you, he gets the distinct feeling that Eddie Munson isn’t listening to a damn thing either of the two say.

The dumpster is pulled away and kittens go scattering. You manage to grab an orange colored one with white socks and a black and white one. Astrid snags the remaining two, the white one she’s going to take home to nurse back to health and a solid black one.

“Hey! I’m the supposed witch.” you pout.

“Tough shit! You’ve got three!” Astrid argues. “And my mother is the town vet.”

“Okay, alright.Fiiiine. But I want weekends with those ones.” you insist, nodding to the wild kittens in Astrid’s arms but struggling hard to get free.

“I want weekends with yours.” Astrid nods to the kittens in your arms.

Dustin nudges Mike. “They’re going to be negotiating the rest of the day.”

“Unless your sister just sits on her like she did over the last brownie last weekend. Remember that? We had to pull them apart.”

“I swear, sometimes I wonder how they’re even friends.” Lucas snickers quietly.

Eddie nudges Dustin at some point during the negotiations and he nods to you. “Do they uh… Does this happen a lot?”

“We tried to tell you, idiot. She’s very… strong willed.” Lucas answered, a hand on his hip.

“She negotiated my mom into a 1 am curfew once. Mom was so pissed when she realized what she’d agreed to.” Dustin snickered.

“She’d argue with a brick wall, Munson.” Mike states with a shrug. “But hey, be my guest.”

“Just know that the party has rules about our family.” Dustin says it with a calm smirk.

“And there are no takebacks.” Lucas is grinning, amused little shit.

“Rules?” Eddie scoffs.

“Yeah. Rules.”

“You three little shits sound like the mafia right now.” Eddie laughs as he says it.

Then he clears his throat.

“Ladies.” he fixes his gaze on you and Astrid, who are happily sitting on the gravel, trying to cuddle six little kittens. “Maybe it’s a good idea to take them in. Leave them with the nurse?”

You and Astrid share a look.

“Should we?” Astrid questions you. You shrug but you’re lost in his damned stupid doe eyes again, so naturally, you don’t look away to look at her.

“I mean… at least then she could feed them til we’re done with school.” you muse quietly and you finally make yourself look away.

“And our shared after school detention.” Astrid swears quietly. “No fuckin thanks, Henderson.”

“You went along with it, Cooper.” you assert.

You gaze at Eddie. “Fine.” you pout a little. “But only so these lil nuggets get food when they need it. And if that old bat even thinks she’s getting one of ‘em, she’s not.”

“Again.. Pretty sure Mom said specifically no more animals.” Dustin points out.

“And?” you shrug it off.

“Dustin, just give it up. She literally never listens, buddy.”

“She’s so fucking stubborn.” Lucas laughs as he shakes his head.

– ( later that afternoon )

“Dustin.”

Dustin whirls around to look at you. “Oh god, what now?” is the first thing he asks, which makes you pout. You twist some hair around your finger and laugh. “Do you still have your little thing? The make believe game?”

“DnD, gremlin. It’s DnD. It’s a tabletop rpg, not make believe.”

“Whatever, same thing.” you laugh softly. 

“Yeah, we have a meeting. Why?”

You shrug. “Do you guys like… Bring food to these?”

Dustin’s brow raises.

“A cake, doofus. I made a cake. In stupid Home Ec.”

“You mean you didn’t light the stove on fire?” Dustin taunts you and you pout, snatching the covered cake dish away. Dustin is a sucker for chocolate though, so he pouts. “C’mon.. Please?”

“Okay, alright. It’s just to thank you guys for earlier.” you shrug it off.

“How is the little army of demons anyway?” Dustin asks as he takes the cake dish from your arms.

“The nurse mixed them up something that’s close to their mother’s milk. Says they’re eating it like crazy. She gave me the recipe, so before I take you three dorks home later, we gotta go by the market. And the vet because Astrid said her mom would look at ‘em and try to make sure they’re all healthy.”

Dustin grumbles, but he nods. “Okay, alright.”

“Parking lot. After your meeting. Cos detention will be over for me like, two minutes later. Five if I get bored and crawl out the window again for funsies.”

“You are the sole reason for every single one of our mother’s gray hairs.” Dustin palms his face as he says it.

“And yours, sweet little old man.” you reach out to fluff his hair as you taunt him. Dustin makes an annoyed face and steps away. “Don’t be weird, damn it.”

You pout. “Oh come onnnnn. You’re my little brother.” you’re doing it again, just to get under his skin. Maybe embarrass him just a little. But you’d never admit it. You’re happy he’s at the same school as you are now. You always worried about him and his little friends getting picked on and you not being able to be around to stop it.

“Don’t you have detention to be getting to?” Dustin questions.

“Yeah, right. That shit.”

“Do I need to escort you?” Dustin asks, smirking a little when you flip him off and pout. “I’m goin, I’m goin.”

As you walk away grumbling, Dustin makes his way into the classroom the Hellfire Club is meeting at only to come in on the tail end of exactly how you and Astrid managed to get yourself a detention. 

“Wait.. That’s what she did?” Dustin questions, trying not to laugh.

Eddie nods to the cake dish in Dustin’s arms. “What’s that?”

“My sister, uh.. She had to bake this in Home Ec. So she gave it to me before I came in. She said it was a thank you for helping her earlier.”

“You mean the teacher finally let her use the oven again?” Mike questions, snickering to himself when Dustin flips him off. “Ha fucking ha, Wheeler.”

“That chocolate?” Lucas’s head snaps up.

“Chocolate cake.” Dustin answers.

– ( meanwhile, in detention + after detention )

“The old bat is napping. Are we making our early retreat now?” Astrid asks you the question as she bounces a paper ball off your nose. You look up from the book you’d stolen out of the library’s trash bin during homeroom and yawn as you give her the thumbs up.

“Shit. She didn’t leave the window open.” you frown as you glance over to the row of windows lining one wall.

“And the door creaks too loud.” Astrid points out.

You grumble, but then inspiration strikes.

“Mrs. Bennett?”

The sleeping teacher comes to. “Can you at least try not to make another visit soon, you two?” she asks, still half asleep and not even realizing that she’s just let you both go an entire five and a half minutes earlier than she was supposed to.

You and Astrid are bursting through the door and into the hallway, laughing chaos.

You rush into the bathroom and when you hear the sound of someone vomiting in the end stall, you hold a finger to your lips and share a look while cringing.

Then Chrissy walks out, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth and suddenly, you feel ten times as bad as you thought you did earlier for walking away. And you want to do something, you want to say something to her.

But words won’t come.

And she won’t even look you in the eye as she passes.

Once she’s rinsed her mouth and walked out of the bathroom, Astrid sighs quietly. “My mom says her mom’s a real bitch. Did you know her mom wouldn’t even let her have real cake at her birthday? That’s what one of the girls in homeroom who went to her stupid party told me.”

You can only nod.

“Yeah. Mrs. Cunningham’s a real piece of fuckin work. She hates me. Hates my mom more though because my mom called her out on her shit years ago. Then suddenly, the ice queen can’t allow her perfect little daughter to be seen in breathing distance–” you shake your head sadly and frown. “It doesn’t matter, she chose those shitheads. Jason treats her like shit and she still dates his pathetic ass.”

“Look, she was your best friend. It’s okay to be a little mad. I-I.. I didn’t get it before. But I do now. Maybe there’s something we can do?” Astrid is giving you that look and you shake your head swiftly, every intention to shut it down.

But then Chrissy steps into view.

“When I said I was sorry earlier,” Chrissy fumbles with her words like she’s twisting a blonde strand around her fingertip. “I meant it. I just.. You know how my mother is.I didn’t have a choice, okay? I just…” she trails off and wipes at her eyes. “I needed you to know that.”

“What the hell is she doing to you, Cunningham?” you ask quietly.

“It’s more what am I doing to myself now.” she sighs sadly. “Because if I don’t give them all what they want, I’m worthless.”

“You’re not a goddamn show pony!” you assert.

“She’s right. Blunt as usual, but right.” Astrid says it more gently. Giving you a warning elbow in your side.

You give her a calm shrug. You realize you’re not as gentle as she is, but in this case, it’s fear for your ex best friend that’s taken over.

“Look.” you shuffle your boots against the bathroom floor. “If you need me.” you trail off, Astrid speaking up quietly, “Us. If she needs us.” she corrects, giving Chrissy her best wary grin, “Come find us, alright?”

Chrissy looks back at both of you, equally wary.

“I,uh.. If I don’t get back out there, Jason’s gonna be mad.”

“Fuck that fuckin fuck.” you mumble, another warning nudge from Astrid. You apologize quietly, but you nod. “I mean it, Cunningham. I still live in the same house and my mom is always there, no matter the time.”

“I know, I just…” Chrissy sighs. She wants to say something, she just can’t. And she’s mortified that she’s been caught. That somebody knows her secret.

Chrissy gives you both an unexpected hug and hurries out of the bathroom and you turn your attention to the mirror, reapplying the deep crimson lip stain and pouting at the mirror. Astrid waits by the door, packing her pack of cigarettes. “Mom said she’d go ahead and worm the babies tonight.”

“Okay, good. This gives me time to at least halfway prepare my mom for her three furry grandchildren’s arrival.”

“You really are committed to this crazy cat lady bit, huh?” Astrid laughs as she gazes at you.

You grin. “Animals can’t hurt you like people seem to enjoy doing. I’m not wasting my time saving the animals.”

“Not like you were with… The asshole.”

“Exactly. I’m fine, Astrid, do not start, alright? It still hurts. Just.. Not as much.”

“Good. I can’t handle you when you’re all mopey and moody.”

“I can’t handle me either.” you laugh when you say it, but the truth is, you can’t.

You wander out into the hallway around the exact same time your little brother and his two friends come out the door to the Drama class with Eddie, Jeff and Gareth behind them. You bite your lip and make yourself look anywhere but Eddie Munson. Just for a little further help, you remind yourself about what you literally just talked to Astrid about in the bathroom not even three seconds ago.

You’re sticking to it, doe eyes be damned.

Because Eddie Munson is probably a heartbreaker, just like your ex. Just like over half of the guys you know.

And you’ve always stuck to the belief that maybe it’s better if your infatuations remain just that. It’s gotta be better than letting somebody in only to discover they’re not what you thought, they’re using you or they don’t actually care about you -like your father when he walked away from your mother, you and your little brother and went out to get himself an entire new family as far away from the three of you as he could get.

Daddy issues, sure. 

You’ll gladly admit to having them.

“Your cake was a hit.” Dustin grins as he hands back an empty cake dish. You smile and slip an arm around your brother, who immediately scowls and pries your arm down. “Not here, damn it.”

“Dustinnnnnn.” you whine.

“Damn it.” he grumbles.

“Hey, uh… Are you baking anything else?” Gareth has popped up beside you. You glance up at him and smirk. Shrugging. “Depends.”

“ The chocolate chip cookies, woman!” Lucas and Mike chorus from nearby.

“Okay, alright. Fiiiine.” you laugh. “I suppose I could make some cookies.”

Gareth chuckles. And he’s giving you this little grin. And you bite your lip and try to pretend you don’t know exactly what he’s up to but he makes it so painfully obvious. When he asks if you want to rent some movies on Friday night, you sigh and shake your head. “Gareth, no.”

He gives a little frown but he nods.

And maybe some of Astrid’s gentle nature is finally rubbing off of you or maybe it’s having recently had your own heart ripped right out and crushed. You tap his shoulder and he looks down at you. “Yeah?”

“I’m not in the right headspace right now. I swear, it’s uh.. It’s not a you thing, Emerson. You’re a real sweet guy, just… I don’t wanna lead you on or anything.” you catch sight of Astrid checking him out and you nudge him, nodding in her direction when you’re sure she’s looked away. “Astrid really likes you anyway. I mean, she really likes you. Your little band is the reason she got grounded not long ago.”

Gareth rubs the back of his neck and chuckles. “She is kinda cute.”

“Dude, she’s freaking hot, okay? Go for it.” you encourage.

He smiles and nods. You shuffle away, catching up to your brother and his two friends, who are walking up ahead with Eddie Munson. You pop up right between Eddie and your little brother, laughing. “Hiiiii.”

“Gareth asked you again, huh?” Jeff laughs as he asks the question.

“Mhm.. But I let him down gentle. And told ‘im that Astrid’s in love with him because it’s not like she’ll ever fuckin do it.” you smile at Jeff and shrug.

Eddie’s gazing down at you thoughtfully when Jeff says something to him so he misses it the first time.

Dustin’s looking from you to Eddie and back again, rolling his eyes as soon as the realization of what’s happening right in front of him occurs to him.

Eddie talked about you -and asked entirely too many questions, for most of the little meeting.

To say you definitely got his attention was a bit of an understatement at this point.

The poor bastard was tripping and about to fall right into feelings headfirst.

“Hey, dustball..”

“Yes, gremlin?”

“Hold my backpack while I go pick up my babies.”

“You realize those are not your children, right?” Dustin laughs and shakes his head at you.

“Hmmph. So you say.” you pout as you stop in front of the door to the nurses office and disappear inside. Astrid and Gareth come in a few seconds later and after you’ve gotten the kittens, some droppers to feed them with and instructions from the nurse, you all venture out into the hallway. 

Eddie is waiting, talking to your brother quietly.

As you approach, Dustin is kind of grinning, kind of like he knows something you don’t. And before you can say anything, Dustin speaks up.

“You’re tutoring again this year, right?” he asks.

“Yeah?” you scratch your head as you look at your brother. “Why?”

Eddie clears his throat. “The guidance counselor, she’s been… Ya know.. Riding my ass again. Says I need a certain grade in classes to graduate.”

You’re getting sucked into his eyes. The smoke colored kitten has taken it upon himself to crawl up and nest in your hair, cozied up to your shoulders and neck. You finally realize what Eddie’s hinting at and you smile.

“You want me to tutor you… Right?”

“Yeah? I mean if you don’t mind.” Eddie says it fast enough that he stumbles over the words a little. You smile and nod. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

Eddie grins. “Great.”

“So, look.. If you wanna start tonight, that’s awesome. And our mom is making homemade beef stew.” you smirk a little as you say it and Eddie laughs. “I’ll come by later. I’ve uh.. I gotta go to the laundromat first.”

“Uh, we have a washer and dryer.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No, why would I?” you shrug.

It’s not like it’s a big deal anyway, your mom’s always after both you and Dustin to be helpful and decent to other people. And while yes, you may have just the teeniest crush on Eddie Munson, it’s not like he actually likes you back.

And friends are always a good thing to have.

Besides, this is just tutoring… Right?

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x henderson!fem reader imagine #eddie munson x henderson!fem reader fanfiction

[soaps-mohawk]

hi! i want to start writing so baddd and i was wondering if you could tell us your writing process? if not i totally understand <3

Lord, anon, my knee jerk reaction to this was "what writing process?" 😂

I think this fic is the most organized and planned I've been when writing a fic. I'm a pantser so most of the time I just kind of dive into a fic with a general idea and go with what comes to me. Even each chapter I just kind of go in with a general idea and what comes, comes lol. I might have a scene or several in mind and then fill in the blanks from there.

With this fic I took all the scenes I had in mind, then tried to lay them out chapter by chapter and when I think they should happen. That's changed about 10 times since I did it starting Chapter 3 but that's just part of the writing process. I kind of decide what events I had planned, and then I lay them out in a Google doc in the order I decide and then write those out. Then I'll add in little filler parts (that's where all those fluffy cute moments come from 😊) and then edit and post lol.

That's basically it. Some days I'll sit and write an entire chapter in a day, some days it's one part at a time. Sometimes I'll start halfway through a fic or at the end and work as the parts come to me. It doesn't have to be linear. Some fics I've jumped chapters ahead and written things out and then filled in the middle chapters. Just kind of working with where the inspiration is at any given moment and then letting the rest come together naturally.

My best advice? Just sit and start writing. It doesn't have to be a final draft from the start. You can scrap and rewrite and rework later. Never delete anything, just toss it in another doc called "ideas" or something because you might change your mind or use it later and you'll wish you had it. If a scene is making you feel stuck, just write "they went to the store" and then move forward and go back and fix it later.

Yeah. That's my advice. Writing is hard, I won't lie but honestly it's so rewarding just getting your thoughts out onto a page 💚

#especially if you have too many thoughts like me #answered

[theeblackmedusa]

I not sure how I ran across your blog, you were probably 'on my orbit' but I was just floored at some of the things people say to you.

Full disclosure- I am white, and from an area where people of color simply don't reside, so when I first started writing, I did write for white people. In some cases, I was trying to describe an OC in a reader insert (cringe, I'm 🙄). But I would use phrases like 'pale skin' or 'long straight hair'. At some point I realize, and I either deleted or reworked all those fics and vowed to me more inclusive with the vaguest description of y/n possible.

Then I found you and a the nasty things people have been saying to you and I just want to say I'm sorry. It's deplorable of someone to ask you to stop using a tag because you write for poc!readers. And it's aweful to claim pale skinned characters (that probably aren't actually even white) and say that people of color can't enjoy them- to call you jealous. I can't imagine going through that, and I know I'll never have to, which makes it worse.

Sorry to be so long, but my question is, how can I help improve your experience with the fanfic community? Is it okay for me to boost your posts if they're not for me? How can I improve my writing to make you more comfortable to read it?

Please don't think I'm trying to be some white savior, I don't care about all that. I just hate seeing amazing people get treated so poorly.

Anyways, feel free to ignore, I know this is super long for an ask 😅. But I really do hope your day gets better and that the new year treats you wonderfully! ❤️❤️

hi anon. most bipoc writers want support and reblogs! it's perfectly fine to reblog a work and uplift it even if it isn't targeted toward you specifically. it's okay to read works that don't feature white people and comment on how good it was, how much you liked it, etc without acknowledging that you weren't featured in it. treat it like a normal book or a tv show you'd watch. say what you liked about it and don't be disrespectful or bitter, you know? usually, as long as you're respectful when coming on to a bipoc writer's page, you'll be welcomed (at least on my blog. show respect, get respect back). as for being a white savior, just don't speak over bipoc when it comes to issues and our opinions on something we see that we've interpreted as racist (regardless of intention. good intentions can still be racist).

#x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #x black reader #black reader #black!reader #racism in fandoms #fandoms #x black!reader

[leighlew3]

Q if you have time.. how long did it take you to write a script versus now when you’ve gotten so many more hours of experience doing it? Like more or less it’s complete and ready to be shared?

Hi!

So, tbh I think I've always written relatively quickly... when it flows. I've always been able to churn a script out in anywhere from 1-6 weeks, depending on if I'm solely focused on that one thing or not and how much time I can actually devote to it daily/weekly. Otherwise, it could take months if I get distracted or hop around between scripts. But my standard, since I started... a few weeks.

That being said, after writing many scripts at this point, I've certainly become quicker and smoother in terms of having to spend less time going back for rewrites after I churn out a new draft. For starters, I tend to proof and polish as I go versus doing a vomit draft (many people prefer the latter way of writing -- and to each their own). But my "first draft" because of this, is usually a tad closer to a typical 2nd or 3rd draft. And thanks to the experience of writing numerous screenplays by now -- I find that I usually hit the standard structural points organically, which thus saves time on trying to "fix" that later.

Stories now tend come to me usually fairly close to the structure they're expected to be, compared to when I was starting out. Example: back then, I'd know I wanted to tell a story about XYZ but I'd have to sit there and map out what the inciting incident actually was and when it should rightfully occur, and be sure I was following a three act structure properly, and figure out where those acts should end, and sort through what the story's true midpoint would be, and how to nail the climax on time and effectively, etc and basically focus too much on hitting all the 'expected' points in a screenplay. And, making a certain page count (sometimes coming up too long or too short).

Now, however, I find that I just hit these things fairly naturally as my story flows out of me in development. I'll write up an outline (or a jumble of bat crap crazy notes, ahem) and automatically, whatever I'm planning just sorta lines up and comes out hitting those elements without really trying, and I also usually land right at or at least close to the page count it 'should' be for the genre.

As you evolve, you find that things you used to have to sort of mark off like a check list and go back and fix later -- become things that happen organically and are built in from the start, thus saving time. And not just structurally or technically, but also in terms of character work and the overall story itself.

So yeah, TLDR: the more scripts I've written, the "easier" and a tad bit faster it's gotten, due to the basics and structure and such coming more organically now. Effectively, I'm spending my time more wisely. Thus, when I'm diving back into a script for a rewrite due to lets say realizing I could add a whole new arc or rework a plot element or character, etc -- I'm focused more on the meat than the bones, if you will. Which makes things go a lot faster, for me.

That's why it's really, really important as an emerging writer to get the basics down. Do the research on structure and formatting and all those bits, and most importantly: write as much as possible (and read as many produced screenplays as possible also) so that all of those "basic" / "expected" things like structure, format, etc come built in, automatically, second nature -- and thus you can spend the bulk of your writing time on the story and character work itself.

#screenwriting #screenwriter

[davidmariottecomics]

Send in Your Qs!

Hi there! 

This is a suuuuper short blog this week. It was going to be a "Stuff that Sucks" but probably because there is so much bad stuff going on, I'm not really up for doing that deep dive right now. But, y'know, please please please pay attention to what's happening at a local and national level. I reached out to my Senators to tell them the RESTRICT ACT is bullshit. And for some reason, 25 Senators are co-sponsoring it and should be appropriately shamed for such an action. Again, that's only one small of the larger puzzle, but as I said to my senators, it seems increasingly the U.S. is facing on a congressional and judicial level (which is it's own problem...), decisions that are polarizing simply because they will either define things for the better or for the worse and many of the decisions being made have been for the worse. 

Anyway, like I said, I'll be back to talk more about that soon, but for the moment, let's talk about what's coming up! 

Next week: I'm finally actually going to do another Ask Me (Almost) Anything blog! I've been teasing for a while, but next week I'm actually going to do it. I'll be soliciting questions on the comments of the website version of this blog or at my blog announcement tweet on Twitter. As usual, the rules are pretty simple. Requests for work/portfolio reviews will be disregarded, sorry. There are some things that I can't answer for confidentiality reasons. If your question isn't chosen, chances are, I just can't answer it. Questions about what it's like to work in comics, my personal life (within reason), and wacky hypotheticals--like what's more intimidating: one dog correctly riding a motorcycle or a bunch of dogs sharing a sidecar?--are appreciated. 

And hope everyone is having a peaceful Ramadan, Easter, Passover, or just weekend! 

What I enjoyed this week: Blank Check (Podcast), Honkai Impact (Video game), Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo (Anime), Mass Effect (Video game), The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog (Video game--I've only played the first half-ish, so no spoilers, please), Teen Titans Go (Cartoon), Poker Face (TV show, finally finished the first season), Forest Hills Bootleg Society by Dave Baker and Nicole Goux (Comic--it's very good!), Devil House by John Darnielle (Book) 

New Releases this week (4/5/2023): Sonic the Hedgehog #1 5th Anniversary Edition (Editor)

New Releases next week (4/12/2023): Quiet week from me! Enjoy another comic! 

Announcements:

I don't know if I can talk about it just yet, but watch this space in the very near future for an upcoming in-person appearance. I might have more things to announce soon too, so definitely consider this a tease! 

I was a guest on Becca's Twitch livestream, playing The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog. You can catch that on YouTube (and subscribe there and on Twitch for more of this kind of fun)! 

Wanna practice your sequential art skills and/or just do something kinda silly and fun? A few weeks back, Josh Burcham was sharing this really great thread from Scott Gray comparing Steve Ditko and Gene Colan's takes on the same script. It's a lot to see, especially since Gene was given twice the page count to tell it, but it's also just fascinating to see how wildly different two creators can interpret the same script. Josh suggested doing a new version where people draw from the same one-page script and I volunteered to write something for it! Here're the scripts (I did two so there's a robot one and a not-robot one) and if you're interested in participating, just draw what suits your fancy. They're meant to be loose and open to interpretation--so feel free to cut what isn't working, combine panels, rework things, etc! If you do it, please share with Josh and me!  

Lastly, I haven't exactly worked out how all I'm going to go about it, but you may've seen last week, I hit 4000 Twitter followers (and that number kept growing) and I hosted an art share. Check out the thread. There are a ton of very cool artists over there to go follow and hire and work with! I've talked a lot recently about how things are really difficult as social media is increasingly segmented and visibility is made harder on the existing platforms. I can't independently solve that problem, but I am going to be trying to do more stuff like this more often, be it on the remains of Twitter or adding a weekly round-up of cool stuff I saw this week to this blog or something else! 

Pic of the Week: While we were streaming this week, Tiansheng decided that he wanted to sleep on Becca's bag. Why? Who knows! But he really hammed it up. 

#ask me almost anything #but next week #comics #comics editorial #restrict act #cute cats #comic scripts #murder of sonic

[mine-sara-sp]

Hey! I was rereading some old fics I’d saved and rediscovered The Memory Of The Observer and I just wanted to tell you how much that story means to me. I particularly loved chapter 4 and the way you wrote how Grian is trying to put his thoughts together through the book. I thought Mumbo’s idea to use building as a medium to try and remember what he’s familiar with was very clever too, I was really looking forward to seeing where you were gonna take the story. I wanted to ask, if you don’t plan on finishing the fic, is there a chance you could share the outline? I’d really love to know how the story was supposed to go, even if it’s just a summary

Hello! I'll admit I still haven't entirely given up on the story ^^ as much as I struggle to write in general I would still love to get back to it one day.

I had a lot of things planned, but working on that fic was a ton of work since I was constantly rewatching old Evo videos and rereading what I had already written (Since there were many disjointed thoughts coming from Grian I had to be careful not to repeat stuff when not meant to or forget to include something) also when I was writing that the area 77 arc was still going. I had a very clear image of where everyone was and what they were up to which I really liked, now I wouldn't have that, I would have to go back and rewatch a lot of videos, even if the events of the story move away from canon.

I actually wrote a scene for the story not too long ago (I woke up at like, 4 am, with the need to write Keralis and Grian interacting because BOI do I like what I had planned for Keralis's character in that story) in the scene Grian wakes up after Keralis bonked him on the head with a bottle because he was doing the thing again and then proceeded to offer him a sangria, they are wonderful and Grian has a headache.

I'm kinda scared of trying to get back to it fully, my old google doc is like pandora's box but with like 40+ pages of notes and unusable scenes and also reading my old writing sometimes irks me so I would have a hard time rereading the old chapters (maybe I could edit/rework them, I don't know). Welcome to my little personal Hell I go through whenever I get a kudos on The memory of the observer xD

#ask #tmoto

[aohendo]

ello

i have a question actually if ya dont mind, how do you go about writing? just like in general, do you start before having a WIP intro, how soon do you start talking abt it/writing it, how much do you prep, literally all and any advice would be appreciated tysm <3

Hey, buddy!

I'm gonna preface this with the usual disclaimer of "what works for me might not work for you because human brains are squishy and cool" and all that good stuff. Pick and choose or completely disregard, as with all writing-related stuff, the choice is yours!

This is long, so hold onto your boots and here we go.

The concept stage is normally pretty straightforward for me. I'll be trying to take notes in class, at work, whatever, and my brain'll wander off and go "okay, but--but what about a giant pack-moose?" and bam, off I go (re. Prince for Hire). In this stage I'll normally develop the main character(s) or the situation/setting--whichever the stray thought fairy didn't grant. That'll usually take the form of scribbling out a few characters' names to get a sense of the time period/language-base (Kiris was the first character, but Iiriok Nelovskevouk of Dargoulvga was the first named character, and his name accordingly set my naming practices for the Novgor Plateau). If I had a character first, I'll come up with a setting/situation I think would challenge them. Once I have an idea of a character and situation (and realize, when I say "idea," it really might just be a name) I'll scribble out a page with that person/setting. So, for Prince for Hire, that makes the first scene I ever wrote for it Kiris escaping in a queen's bathtub across a giant lake because the queen just discovered he was a conman. Did I keep that scene? Myeh.

Nominally from there I'll try and rough out a plot. Having spent considerable time reworking Attenuate/Reverberate because I didn't rough in a plot, this is the one step I really would recommend you consider doing. By "rough out", I mean I came up with a few vague plot points. For Prince for Hire, there are only four I'm working with: 1) Kiris enters the competition to rule the Plateau; 2) Kiris teams up with Batar and eliminates the competition; 3) Iiriok is accused of being an imposter, convinces the empress otherwise, and Kiris volunteers to help Iiriok find the imposter; 4) Iiriok wins. Not much of an outline, really. But I've found that if I try and get any more specific than this, I won't end up writing it because I'll have tricked myself into already knowing what's going to happen. That said, I absolutely recommend you choose yourself a favorite plot structure (Save the Cat, Three Act, Five Act, whatever) and keep its major scenes in the back of your head. Vaguely adhering to a structure will make drafts two and three a helluva lot easier.

Once I've got a vague direction for the plot, I'll jump in and start writing. I personally use Word with default settings, as that's what I've been writing in since elementary school. I try and start near the front of the story, not caring much about the opening chapter, because I figure it's free words and the opening chapter will change. TBH not worrying about making the opening chapter at all remotely interesting helps me make everything behind the "opening" interesting. As I start to figure out the characters, maybe doing some more worldbuilding on the side, scenes I actually want to write start rolling in. I'll divert to go write those in what's usually a separate document (like an AU). After about 10k in the original document, I'll have a pretty good idea of whether or not the story is going where I want it to go. In the case of Prince, it wasn't, so I shelved the very first attempt at it and then started adding directly to the "AU" doc with all the changes I wanted to make.

I find I write best in the mornings or the evenings, and that afternoons are slow AF unless there's something else I should be doing, in which case, we're good to go. Depending on how fascinated I am staring at the blinky cursor, I'll handwrite. Handwriting for me also works well because it takes effort for me to read my own handwriting, so there's no chance of self-editing while I'm going for it.

On the topic of self editing, for first drafts what I like to do when I know something is going to need reworking, or need a hint input before, or is missing something, or I just really want to skip to the next scene ('cause again, I prefer the linear thing when possible), I'll stick it in <<>> triangle brackets. It's easy to search. Some people I've heard use a word, like elephant. Others use square brackets. Whatever shape you like best, just the key is that you want it ctrl-f -able. Putting things in brackets makes it so editor me doesn't butt in on creative me's time. It's gotten to the point where I even do it while handwriting, as a note for when I type it up to consider dealing with it (or, again, pass it off to draft two future me. I owe future me several coffees for all my little <<triangle notes>>).

Somewhere in here I'll try and come up with a synopsis type thing. TBH these usually turn out more as query-letter type things for me, but whatever. That's what the WIP intros for Attenuate and Prince for Hire are. These I've found help guide me, and keep in aligned with the general tone of the piece. If you'd like, I'd be happy to try and wrangle up the advice I used for writing those.

If I realize I'm having some trouble wrangling the character (mostly apparent to me by the 15k mark), I'll pause, break out the notebook, and play arm-chair psychologist with them. What I'm looking to find in these sessions is a version of the classic "goal-want-need." I don't like being that structured though, so for me I go with Goal 1&2, Surface Belief 1&2, Actual Belief 1&2, and Need. At the bottom are the pages I did for Madison (Attenuate/Reverberate) and Kiris (Prince), and what that looks like in my OneNote. Their need--and the beliefs they need to overcome to get there--will give me the overarching emotional direction of the plot.

TBH I'm pretty sloppy on my worldbuilding. I usually figure it out as I write the first draft. Did I know that tea was going to be a very important, entirely truthful ritual for the princes' competitions? Nope. Not until I needed to kick the plot into gear and hit Kiris with the inciting incident, then bam, Prince Nazvili was ordering him to tea and he was freaking out because that isn't the way things are done.

Throughout this entire process, I'll also keep a running checklist of things to-do. These are things I'll usually <<note>> somewhere in the actual first draft manuscript, but which apply to the manuscript as a whole rather than that one specific section. Basically, if it's going to require a major change or continuity for longer than three paragraphs, it gets a to-do box.

Sometimes, I'll find that what I have just isn't working. That's what the "stuff I 2022" document is for! It's a hodgepodge of ctrl-x'd things from every project I've worked on this year that just weren't working in the main manuscript. Like a shipyard, I guess. All the words still exist if it turns out I want to add them back in or need to reference something, but they're basically in the recycle bin. The things added here vary in length from a sentence to a 30k segment (although the longer items generally only happen during later drafts).

Finally, the real way I keep the ball rolling? Work on it every day. Sometimes "work" will be that one miraculous 5k day. Sometimes it'll be half a word (actually though. There was one point in Reverberate where I just didn't have the mental energy to really work on it, so I tapped in the "Th" of "this" and that was it). Sometimes "work" will be coming up with characters, or figuring out worldbuilding, or dealing with some of the <<notes>>, or even just adding a comma. If it somehow progresses the WIP, it's work.

Anywho, like I said, that was long AF. I hope it helps, and never hesitate to ask questions :)

The armchair studies for Madison and Kiris. If you can read these, I salute you.

[image IDS: two graph paper pages full of scribbly handwriting. Both begin with Wants… Believes… Believes… sort of in columns. They continue, with white space, answering back and forth questions which grow increasingly personal. End id]

#writing resources #long #very very long #writblr #writerblr #writing #hendo's toolbox #also completely unedited

[russburlingame]

A is for Accident

So, here goes.

A few weeks back, I was supposed to have started work on the Alphabet Superset, a project from Struthless that's aimed at helping motivate artists who are a little...stuck.

I am, strictly speaking, not stuck. I actually have more on my plate than I can handle most of the time. Still, it seemed like a cool project, and something that could help me hone some writing muscles that I don't use very often. I have a fiction project that has been percolating in the back of my mind, but it has been literally years since I wrote more than a few pages of fiction. And longer than that since I showed it to anyone.

So. The Alphabet Superset. It's a weekly challenge format, where you have a consistent theme and approach to the art, and each week you come up with a piece of work representative of that week's letter of the alphabet. I SHOULD have just started with D -- especially since I know what D is, and it's exciting! -- but I also know myself well enough to know that if I bail on A through C, I'll probably do basically none of the letters down the line.

Recently, I have been going through a bunch of my old archives to see whether there are any diamonds in the rough. So my "style" is going to be creative writing -- fiction and creative nonfiction, mostly not journalism, which is what I do the rest of my life. And the theme I'm choosing is autobiography. That doesn't mean you're going to get a lot of stuff that's super revealing about me -- although there will be some of that. It means each project will speak to a theme, an idea, or sometimes an archival project that was significant to a part of my life.

For the first installment, I'm going with "A is for Accident." The accident in question? A first-time hitman kills the wrong guy.

Oops.

This is a reworking of the first bit of 'I Got Him,' a novel I wrote once...but didn't back up before my computer was stolen. Back in the 2000s, not everything was always being loaded to the cloud. That was a rough lesson to learn, kids!

The only part of 'I Got Him' that survived was the first 40 or so pages. And I have always fantasized about bringing it back to life. This is not entirely new content, but a piece of the original version, lightly edited. I may tweak and hone a little more during a future week, but the hope here is to get myself back on track for the Alphabet.

So...here we go.

Oh, and this story takes place around 2003.

CHAPTER ONE: Somebody Got Murdered

  “I got him,” Martin said into the phone. “Just like you wanted, I got him!”

  “You didn’t,” Alderman said coolly, the background buzz of a crappy payphone not enough to mask his irritation.

  “Best part?” Martin continued, undeterred. “I knew the bastard! Fucking comes into McVeigh’s all the time and gives me shit because his burger has mayonnaise. Like I can help it that nobody reads the ‘special order’ line.”

  Alderman sighed. “What are you talking about?”

  “What, I gotta say it?”

  “That’s what I’m asking for.”

  “How do I know the phone’s not bugged?” Martin asked, and instinctively looked around as he said it.

  “Why on earth would it be?”

  “Alright, fine….I killed the Zlomek guy for you.”

  “Somehow I’m guessing that one of us has got something very confused here,” Alderman said, sarcasm starting to creep in around the edges of his frustration.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I’m very busy right now, actually. Can I call you back?”

  “Oh, right, right. Fine. But we’re solid here, right? You’re going to make sure I don’t get blamed for this?”

  “I really do have to go. I have a friend from work here right now,” Alderman said.

  “Oh,” Martin said. “Didn’t realize. Sorry!” And then, after a pause, “We’re not on speakerphone or anything, right?”

  “No, no. Eugene Zlomek is here, is all, and he’s telling me about his plans for the weekend. I think I’ve mentioned him before, right? A business acquaintance from the City.”

  Martin felt his stomach fall into his testicles. “Fuck,” he said.

  “That’s right.” The happiness in Alderman’s voice was the kind you only heard when businessmen were placating a customer, or an employee. Professional Happiness.

  “How about I’ll call you tonight, okay? Have a drink and unwind while you wait, alright?”

  Franklin Alderman didn’t wait for Martin to respond before hanging up. Martin had said, “Ri—” before realizing that nobody was on the other end, and then hung up with a petulance rarely seen in a grown man. He tapped the end of his rifle impatiently against the side of the phone booth for a minute, but his mind was moving too fast to remain focused on that, and he inadvertently put the barrel through the thin plastic panel.

  The Verizon logo on the outside of the phone broke outward and away from the booth and bits of plastic rained on Martin’s hair. The reason it had rained on his hair, rather than on his shoes, is that when he heard the sound of the plastic popping and breaking away, he hit the ground in terror, dropping the gun. He was convinced that, somehow, it had gone off in the booth. Having no bullets in the chamber, though, the gun of course hadn’t go off, and continued not to do so when dropped. Suddenly he wondered what the hell he had been doing carrying the murder weapon around with him in the open to begin with.

  Martin picked it up and forced it into his long, over-packed gym bag. It was nylon-and-mesh, and intended for use by baseball players (hence the length to accommodate a gun). It was loaded up with shorts and towels, on the off chance that anyone should want to take a look through it and Martin couldn’t dissuade them. The bag had a Champion logo on the top of it, which Martin couldn’t help but feel was a little ironic riding next to his face at the moment, while he tried to figure out how he botched his job so badly and who, exactly, he had killed.

  He jogged to his car—a red, 1991 Ford Mustang LX waiting at the curb about fifteen feet from the payphone—and jumped in. He tossed the Champion bag in the back and shifted gears all at the same time, in one motion as though the release of the bag by his left arm had caused the right one to pull the lever between his front seats. The car failed to roar to life, but gurgled a bit, and rolled down the street in the way that 1991 Mustangs are wont to do.

  The street was well-lit for the night drive home, and Martin was thinking of his terrible mistake, wondering what would happen next, when he saw the lights of a police car in his rearview mirror. He looked at the digital clock he had fastened to the dash when all of the vehicle’s interior lighting had failed months before. It read 1:39, which meant it had been a little more than forty-five minutes since Martin had killed someone who was not Eugene Zlomek.

  He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his dashboard and took one out. He lit it with a Zippo from his jacket pocket because the cigarette lighter in the Mustang had been removed by the previous owner, who thought he had been improving the transmission at the time. He rolled down the passenger side window and blew the smoke from his cigarette in that direction. He leaned onto the passenger seat and opened the glove box.

The police officer, carrying a flashlight that was completely unnecessary given the intensity of the spotlight he had pointed at Martin’s rearview mirror, used it to tap on the driver’s side window. Martin opened the driver’s door a crack and half-shouted out it.

  “The window doesn’t open, Officer,” Martin apologized. “Wiring’s all screwed.”

  “Can I see your license, registration and insurance card, please?” The policeman asked, with no clear indication that he understood or cared what Martin had said about the state of the Mustang.

  “Absolutely. Hold on a minute.” Martin felt a cold sweat coming on as he rifled through the open glove box. He coughed a little on the cigarette, as he didn’t smoke. Instead, he had lit up to mask the odor of smoke in the car.

  Having worn gloves for the killing, Martin thought that maybe they would have gunpowder residue on them, and started the light them on fire in the bushes outside the

Zlomek house. But when people inside realized that someone—not, apparently, Eugene

Zlomek—had been killed, they started to mill around by the window and Martin had felt

obliged to get out of there, carrying—in his dazed panic and hurry—his flaming gloves

with him. The smell of smoke was very strong in the car, and he had made use of some

very old, very cheap cigarettes a friend had left in the car months ago. He sat upright in

the driver’s seat, passing his license and insurance card to the patrolman outside.

  “I can’t find the registration,” Martin said. “Can you take it off the windshield?”

  The patrolman shone his unnecessary flashlight at the windshield to confirm that

there was, in fact, a registration on the car. “I’ll get it from the plates,” he said, and

walked to the front of the car, shining the flashlight some more.

  The officer walked back to the open door. “Where is your front license plate?”

He asked.

  “Vanished a few weeks ago; haven’t had time to report it,” Martin said honestly.

  “You’d better.”

  “I will.”

  “Next time,” the cop warned, “you’ll get a ticket.”

  “Is that why you pulled me over, Officer?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get back.”

  “I wasn’t speeding, was I?”

  “I’ll talk to you when I get back,” the officer said, increasingly frustrated.

  The patrolman walked back to his car, clicking the flashlight on and off, and then

sat in the driver’s seat for what seemed to Martin to be a very long time. Finally he got

out of the car, still hefting his flashlight.

  “What’s that smell?” Asked the police officer when Martin reopened the door for

him.

  “Smell?”

  “Smoke. Do you have an exhaust problem, too?”

  “Not that I know of. Maybe my cigarette?”

  “Is it cloves or something?” The cop asked.

  “No, just very cheap.”

  “Hm. Maybe.” He straightened up. “Mr. Bidwell, do you know why I pulled

you over?”

  “Because I have no front license plate?” Martin ventured.

  “No.”

  “Oh. In that case, I’m not really sure.”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “No. Absolutely not. I’ve never had a drink in my life.”

  “That sounds very defensive,” said the police officer, shining his flashlight around

inside the car.

  “No, Officer. Just definitive.”

  “Do your headlights work?”

  Martin looked at the switch on his dashboard which controlled the headlights. It

was in the “Off” position.

  “Shit,” Martin said.

  “That’s what I thought when I saw you barreling down the road like that,” said the

patrolman.

  “I just pulled away from the gas station about two miles back. This is a very well-

lit road…!”

  “I understand. Are you related to Jonathan Bidwell?”

  “My second-cousin.”

  “His father was on my softball team last year.”

  “Mike’s a great guy.”

  “Yeah….I’m not going to ticket you tonight. Just be a little more with-it, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. And get your exhaust checked. I don’t think that’s tobacco.”

  “Thanks.”

  The patrolman walked back to his car and sat in it while Martin pulled back into traffic, turning on his headlights and blinker. In the back seat, the odor of the burning evidence still lingered. He left the passenger window down to get rid of it.

-----

  “…But it’s trash, Doug!” Irwin shouted.

  Irwin Shaw was sitting on a rolling chair in an office of white-painted concrete,

shouting emphatically at a stooped, wrinkled man whose white, bushy hair and lively eyes left even his best friends wondering how old he actually was. The man, his editor, walked away toward his own office and Irwin stood to follow him.

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s trash, Shaw,” Doug told him. “What you did was unwarranted.”

  “Completely unwarranted,” Irwin agreed, in a way that expressed a total lack of enthusiasm for, or interest in, Doug’s assessment.

  “You wrote—let’s see…” Doug rustled papers around on his desk theatrically until he found one that he wanted. He squinted at it, opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.

Then he threw that paper at the ground, and picked up another one instead. He looked pleased with this new acquisition.

“You wrote, ‘…where the only thing greasier than the fish fry and warm beer is the middle-aged barmaid who flirts with everyone under eighty.’”

“It’s true. The facts all check; I have quotes from seven regular customers.”

“I don’t care about your ridiculous quotes. You know you can’t say that shit.”

“Why not?”

“You know damned well why not,” Doug growled, withdrawing a pair of reading glasses from his paper-covered desk and putting them on top of his head as if he may wear them eventually, but not right now.

“I can’t tell the truth about the places I’m supposed to ‘review’ because they’re our advertisers and they might get mad if someone points out how shitty their bars really are.”

Irwin had used air quotes to emphasize his point when he said the word “review.”

“Not bars, Irwin. Clubs.”

“Three quarters of what you send me to cover for the ‘Local Clubs’ column are just crappy bars that have local cover bands playing on systems too loud for the rooms they’re in.”

“Tanner’s called. They won’t advertise with us anymore.”

“That’s not such a bad thing,” Irwin said. “I don’t think I would want our paper associated with that dive anyway.”

“No, no, no. That’s a very bad thing. Where do you think your salary comes from?”

“Salary?! You’re crazy. I get twenty bucks a story. That’s not a salary, that’s money for gas and food to get to, and then do, the story. And the food’s hardly ever any good. But I’m not complaining about the money, trust me. Play money for play journalism. It all makes sense.”

“I told you when you took over this column that the food is free at the clubs you’re writing up,” Doug sighed, putting his head in his hands and knocking the reading glasses askew, then taking them off and putting them back on the desk.

“I’m glad you think that; the bar owners don’t seem to have been told.”

There was a knock on the door, and a young, husky man with very black hair came in wearing a t-shirt that said, “Dammit—I Did Not Have Sexual Relations With That Woman Either.”

The young man said, “Mister Hooper? We really need you out here. It’s almost two,” and left in such a hurry, it was obvious that he was either very busy, or hoping to dodge Doug’s reply.

“Okay, Irwin. You’re off this column.”

“Doesn’t that have to wait until the real editors get here in the morning?” Irwin asked with a smirk.

“No. You run in my edition. And I already talked to Brad.”

“So, I’m fired?”

“No, you still have your other column.”

“Gee, thanks. You know, that one was also a lot more interesting before you guys started to get…”

Doug cut him off. “…And for the next few weeks, until we figure out what else you’re good for, I want you on newsdesk during this shift.”

“What?”

“General assignment.”

“I’m—what? Demoted? How does that even work, when you pay by the story?”

“Not demoted. The new Local Club writer came out of that slot. I just need you there until we fill it.”

“Roger is taking over the Club column?” Irwin choked on the statement, and caught his body trying to laugh without permission.

“Yes. Is there a problem with Roger, too?”

“Not at all, Doug. It suits him.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Doug asked, a vein in his head starting to throb.

“Your nephew’s not really a reporter, he’s just the nephew of an editor.”

Doug's face started to turn red, and he rose in from his seat, but Irwin continued. “That column isn’t really reporting, as I said, just kind of masturbation of our sponsors…”

The young man came back to the doorway, still looking harried. “Mister Hooper? It’s almost two.”

“Still?” Doug shouted.

The young man missed the sarcasm, and paused for a second before darting away to process it, as though the question might be a trick.

“…Yes?” He responded hesitantly.

“I’m coming,” Doug said to the young man, and then to Irwin he said, “Get out of my office. I just got like nine e-mails in two minutes, so something must be happening. Go check the places you go check.”

“Will do, Skipper. By the way, nice office you have here.”

“Yeah, Doug said, ushering everyone out the door. “It used to be a bathroom, but the Department of Health said it was too small for that. Now get out of it.”

“I see,” Irwin said, “You’ve gotta take a leak.”

Doug slammed the door.

Irwin walked around the corner behind him and was standing next to the computers that were set to receive e-mails from wire services, freelance writers and letters to the editor. Two of them were idling, waiting for a password to unlock them so that they may crash freely. On a third, there was an e-mail program open. This, Irwin knew, was the computer that John Ramsay, the editor in charge of the Op-Ed section, used to receive all of his e-mail. Irwin sat in front of the computer and looked up the e-mail preferences.

Ramsay had set the computer, apparently, to filter out pornography, letters from a recently-fired Sentinel employee and anything with a subject heading containing nasty language. Irwin knew that there had been some very, very unpleasant language used in a some recent letters to the editor, mostly directed at Ramsay’s mother after a story he’d written on why it was necessary to enforce dog-leash laws that were already on the city’s books. Irwin changed the settings so that anything containing any one of several nasty words would be forwarded to Ramsay’s home e-mail account and marked with a little red flag that said “Urgent!” if you held the mouse over it for a second.

He also turned on an auto-reply feature that would tell anyone e-mailing letters to the editor that The Editor had been “…eaten by a rampaging groundhog, and that future e-mails should be directed to:” and then Ramsay’s personal e-mail address again.

He skated sideways on the rolling chair, then, and punched his own password into another computer to see what had been coming in while he was in Doug’s office.

A few headlines popped onscreen: “Fire at Soup Company Kills 11.” “Classical Pianist Arthur Dent Dies at Age 67.” “French Language More Prevalent In Michigan, Study Shows.”

He printed off each of these and left them sitting on a desk for the news desk reporter to find in the morning, then he walked toward the door.

“Where are you going, Shaw?” Shouted Doug Hooper from a light table where he was looking at the next edition of the Sentinel.

“My People of Interest column,” Irwin said.

“I’ve already got it!”

“The next one.”

“What was on the wires?”

“Gerard Depardieu in Detroit.”

“Just go home, Shaw,” Doug said, waving at him irritably, looking down at the table, then feeling on the top of his head for the reading glasses that were no longer there.

It was 1:40 in the morning when Irwin Shaw left the offices of The Sentinel.

It was 6:51 the next morning when he finally arrived at home. At 1:46, as he was turning into his driveway, Irwin had heard on the police scanner in his car that a man had been found dead about four miles from where Irwin lived.

He arrived at the address of the death five minutes ahead of The Sentinel’s police reporter, Jim Smith. Jim was a tall, jolly guy whose writing was as bland as his name and who didn’t really care if other reporters hijacked his stories. He’d just been working the same beat for so long, it was like getting paid to hang out with his friends in blue.

The house was enormous, but other than that pretty unremarkable. It was white with black shutters, squarish, and had what appeared to be about one window for every room in its three sprawling stories. All of the windows were the same; there was no picture window visible on any of the three sides of the house that Irwin could see either from the road or from his current position in the driveway.

Irwin, flashing his press badge to no one in particular, stepped up near the front door of the house where the police and the press had already set up shop. There was a police line, and just outside of it a handful of uniformed police officers were talking in subdued tones to a young man and woman in their early- or mid-twenties. The young man looked vaguely familiar, but it was the kind of familiarity that easily could have come from living so near to one another and shopping in the same places. Irwin couldn't place him.

The police didn't seem to be talking to the young man and the young woman as much as talking to the young woman and tolerating the young man being there, his hands on the girl's shoulders obviously being integral to keeping her from falling apart. The young man looked around him, and his eyes were red. He glanced through the crowd, fixed on Irwin for a second, and then looked away. There didn’t seem to have been any indication of recognition from the young man in the second they'd made eye contact.

The officer who had been talking to the young couple turned his back and headed indoors, and the couple sat on the bottom step of the house's big, all-wooden porch.

Irwin hung his head, took a reporter's notebook out of the pocket of his gray trench coat and approached them slowly. He spoke, first, to the girl, who had obviously been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair mussed. There was blood on her shirt, which had been partially covered by the brown corduroy jacket slung over her body. The young man next to her didn't look much better.

"I'm sorry," Irwin started. "I know this is a terrible time, but can I ask you a few things?"

"Who are you?" The girl choked out.

"Irwin Shaw, with The Sentinel."

"Oh. Press."

"Yeah. We always know just where we're needed the least, and that's more or less where we're paid to be. I live right down the way, so my editor figured I might know you guys,. Your brother looks a little familiar."

The young man didn't move, didn't respond. He didn't seem to be acknowledging Irwin at all.

"He's not my brother," the girl corrected. "My fiancé. This is James. His father is...was...he's the son."

"Of the one who passed?"

"Right."

Irwin looked at the young man, whose dark hair was longish and unkempt and who appeared to have been rousted from his sleep to come to the crime scene; he was wearing sweat pants, a mesh shirt and slippers. His eyes were also red with exhaustion and tears.

"I'm sorry for your loss, James," Irwin said, but the young man didn't respond.

The girl chimed in quietly: “What do you need, Mister…hmm…I’m sorry, forgot already…?”

“That’s okay. It happens. Irwin Shaw, Sentinel. You’ve had a long night.”

“So do you know what’s happened?” She asked him.

“I heard on the police scanner that someone was found dead here.”

“Yes, James’ father.”

“You said,” Irwin led her on. “What happened?”

“He was murdered. Shot.”

“Was anyone else in the house at the time?”

“He was shot through the window.”

“Are they absolutely sure about that?”

“I don’t know if they are, but I am. I was in the next room.”

Where was James here? In bed?”

“Yeah, in bed…at home…” the girl seemed flustered. “…At his house. Sorry. I don’t usually talk to the press.”

“You’re fine,” Irwin reassured her, “You’re doing fine. What’s your name, though?” He was scratching out the first notes in his pad.

“My name? It’s Michelle Zlomek. This is my house.”

“You live here alone?”

“No. It’s my dad’s house. I live here. I’m not out of college yet.”

“Where do you go?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Okay…”

“Don’t you want to know about who was killed?”

“I was coming around to that.”

“His name was Lowe. Edward Lowe.”

“Name sounds familiar.”

“He was the CEO of Keystone Security,” James said. His voice was so hoarse and quiet that it took Irwin a second to realize that he was being addressed.

“We did a feature on them not long ago,” Irwin said, turning to James and trying to keep from seeming put off. “They’re local.”

“Yeah,” James said.

“Was there any reason why anyone would be wanting to kill your father, James?”

“Plenty.”

“Want to tell me some of them?”

“Not really.”

“Want to tell me who? I might be able to bring them to justice….”

“I thought that was the police.”

“Them, too,” Irwin quipped, trying his hardest not to sound overly glib and failing.

“I think I’ll stick with them. They’re kind of officially doing it.”

“They’re just part of the Executive Branch. The press is the Fourth Estate.”

“I am greatly disturbed by the death of my father, which comes as a shock to our family,” James said. It sounded as though he were reading from a script. “I look forward to seeing his killer brought to justice and will support the law enforcement community in any way I can during the investigation.”

“Wow,” Irwin said.

“Is that what you needed?” James asked, ice in his tone. “A comment?”

“Did you kill your father, James?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’ll fuck off in just a minute. Just wanted you to know—if you give a press conference and make a remark that shallow, in that tone of voice, anyone who sees you on TV will think that you killed Edward Lowe.”

“Off the record?”

“That all depends.”

“I already know who killed him. I also know they’ll never be held accountable. I just don’t know what I’m going to do about it yet.”

“Tell me what you think. Maybe I can get some evidence to supply to the police.”

“Why can’t I just tell it to the police?”

“Or that.”

“You’ve got my statement, Mr. Shaw. Please just go away now.”

“Miss? I forget your name.” He looked down at his scrawled notes. “Michelle!”

“What?” She sighed.

“Why was Mr. Lowe at your house so late?”

“My father works with Ed at Keystone.”

“What’s your father’s name?”

“Zlomek.”

“His first name?”

“Just go read some press releases or something,” James hissed. “I’m sure you can put it all together.”

“Thanks for the help,” Irwin said.

He stood, much to the chagrin of his knees and ankles, and turned around. He almost walked into a uniformed police officer who was making a beeline for something important.

“Whoa! Sorry,” Irwin said. “Irwin Shaw. Sentinel. Got a minute?”

“No,” the cop said, and tried to sidestep Irwin, who followed his movement.

“How about half of one?”

The cop’s jaw tensed for a second and then relaxed. “What do you want?”

“Whose house is this?”

“No comment.”

“What relation is he to the deceased?”

“No comment.”

“I hear he worked with the victim. What’s the homeowner do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you know that Lowe was the CEO?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t know what Zlomek was? Is.”

“No.”

“You guys got on this pretty quick. I don’t live far.”

“I was in the area.”

“Doing what?” Irwin wondered if there was evidence to be had, which a slow patrolman might not put together and might, therefore, accidentally expose to the press.

“Someone busted in the side of a phone booth.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Irwin said, “What’s your name?”

“Shane Norton.”

“Thanks.”

Irwin put his pad and pen back in the pocket of his coat without having written anything about a vandalized payphone.

---

Martin’s phone was ringing.

He had been sitting up in bed for over three hours, waiting for the call, but he was slow to answer. On the small coffee table in front of his television was the morning’s paper. On the front page, with a tabloid-sized headline, was a story about a CEO of a locally-owned, New York-based company having been shot to death at his partner’s house the night before.

“Edward Lowe, 53, of Brick was killed last night in Red Bank….Lowe, the CEO of Keystone Security, was shot through the window of 212 Marsh Drive….The building belongs to Eugene Zlomek, Lowe’s business partner and the CFO of Keystone.”

Martin had killed Edward Lowe. Edward Lowe, the annoying bastard who always came into work and bitched about his cheeseburger. For a moment, Martin was struck by the pettiness of a millionaire—someone who obviously could have gone to a better establishment after one or two disappointments and left Martin the hell alone—coming every single day and bitching about mayonnaise. The thought, though, was hard-pressed to remain long in Martin’s mind, given the thoughts it was fighting for attention and the ringing of the phone that Martin knew could not possibly be good news.

“Yes?” He answered, tired and anxious and not at all happy to be alive.

“Martin, how are you?” Came Alderman’s voice from the other end of the phone; his good cheer was infinitely more frightening than if he had just called and started shouting.

I’m so sorry I fucked up, Mr. Alderman,” Martin said into the phone, so fast he could hardly be understood. “Please give me another shot—chance. I’ll fix things.”

“There’s nothing to fix. I’ve got things under control on my end, I think. You’re not going to be paid for this travesty, certainly. You did, after all, screw up the job rather severely…but you had the right idea and you got away without implicating any of us.”

“Thank you, Sir. Do do I…?”

“I want him dead by Friday, and I don’t want it in the papers. I don’t want my people to hear about it until it’s too late to be helped. This is kind of against the rules.” His sinister, faux-European voice paused to assume a more professional air. “Zlomek will be named CEO on Friday if he’s still alive when the Board meets in emergency session to discuss the passing of Mr. Lowe. At that point, he’ll become very useful to us. I’d rather he didn’t; he’s a prick and I don’t want to work with him for the rest of my days.”

“And you’re sure there’s nobody listening on the other end of the phone, right? I mean, I’ll get away with this, right?”

“The only thing that could get you in trouble now, Martin—is if you keep asking that. It’s really very unprofessional. It’ll give people the wrong idea.”

“Sorry.”

“Quite alright,” Alderman said. “I’ll call you when I hear that Zlomek is dead. In the meantime, you just sit tight.”

Before Martin could say goodbye, Alderman hung up the phone. Martin sat for a second, scowling at this indignity, and then hung up the phone and silently threw himself at, more than into, his huge blue easy chair. He picked up the remote control from the seat, flicked on the television and caught the news:

“Edward Lowe, President and CEO of Keystone Security, was killed late last night at the home of the company’s CFO Eugene Zlomek. This could spell more trouble for Keystone, whose bid to take over CopCo fell through very publicly last month and whose stock has been steadily declining since rumors surfaced that the company could face charges relating to union-busting. Lowe’s family says they intend to release a statement this afternoon. Keystone, meanwhile…” and Martin switched the channel. On HBO, they were playing a documentary about Lenny Bruce, and Martin left it there while he closed his eyes and tried to decide whether to cry or just take a nap until the phone started ringing again.

---

Irwin's phone was ringing.

After having filed the late-night story on the murder of Edward Lowe, Irwin had returned home and slept. His sheets were tossed everywhere, and there was a pretty clear trail of disorder from where Irwin had entered the dark room the night before, to where he'd hopped onto bed. In that trail were all of the pieces of junk that he had stepped on before falling asleep at five in the morning. He could see it all now, with his clear eyes and the light flooding the cheap lace curtains of the bedroom.

Monumentally disoriented, Irwin faced the wall and reached out. His hand struck the wall and he turned back around and reached out again, this time grabbing at his alarm clock.

"Yallo?" he muttered into the phone when, after its fifth ring, he finally had it in his hand.

"Shaw, what the hell were you thinking?" Hooper demanded.

"Say again?"

"I said, 'What the hell were you thinking?' Last night."

"Last night, I was thinking, 'I should hand in this story to Doug, so that he'll stop bitching.' Shows you Daffy Duck was right when he said it doesn't pay to think."

"Smartass. Stop screwing around. You were hounding someone else's story."

"Oh, come off it. You know he doesn't care."

"We have to have some semblance of order here, Shaw."

"It didn't seem to bother you last night; they said they were planning on running it on the front page."

"They did."

"Great. So what are you complaining about?"

And Irwin hung up.

Of course, I didn't know any of this yet. I figured it all out later.

"Blah-blah-blah!" The TV told me. I had been, for the previous hour, watching an HBO special on Lenny Bruce. Sunk low in a star-spangled camping chair in the living room of my small apartment, I stared vacantly at the television, too exhausted to either change the channel or take in the information in any meaningful way. My phone rang, and I ignored it. Finally, the answering machine kicked in.

"I don't know how you got this number," my voice came from the machine, "but there must be a good reason for it if you did. So state that reason and maybe I'll get back to you." There was then a series of beeps long enough to irritate all but the most persistent caller.

"Mr. Abernathy, we need to talk," a voice said. I cocked my head a little bit and hit the mute key on the remote control. Lenny Bruce was silent, but the TV continued to buzz with electrical life. The caller pressed on. "I believe that someone has tried to kill me. I was fortunate in that they failed, but I'm worried they may try again. I also have...fears...about the legal ramifications for me of their failed attempt. Please return my call at 200-8870. I will pay handsomely."

I clicked the sound on the television back on and mulled over what he had said. I already knew who he was, of course--it had been all over the papers about Ed Lowe at Keystone. There are only so many people who can afford my services, so there isn't a lot of room for coincidences in these matters.

There were only four or five people who could be calling me, asking for my help in this particular circumstance: Board members fo Keystone. I knew off the bat that I could count Mrs. O'Keefe out, clearly, and probably Bill Munger, too. He was too good a guy to be in a compromising position and too hapless to realize it even if he was. Also unlikely was Vittorio Graves, who was too old to be a suspect without a really solid motive--which nobody yet knew he had. That left the CFO, Eugene Zlomek. He made sense as a suspect; unfriendly, corrupt, young and strong...and the murder had happened at his house. So of course he hadn't done it, but the police would be positive he had.

Shit. I had to do this, didn't I?

I tuned off the television and sunk lower in my chair, closed my eyes and bowed my head. Might as well get some sleep.

#alphabet superset #murder mystery #struthless

[mydaymythoughtsandme]

I've failed her, I'm failing her, but I just can't be a round him

I love that little girl with my whole heart and I want to help her have the best life possible, but it's hard every time he comes around I just physically can't be there to continue helping her, and when he's gone and I come back I feel like I'm just reworking the same issues over and over because he kills any and all progress we make. She's my whole world mostly the reason I'm still living. Definitely wouldn't be alive if it weren't for her. So I can't continue to fail her. But I've got to work around him. So I'll be talking to one one that connects us about all of my concerns. I've been physically writing everything out and it has been very therapeutic but 2 pages front and back and I feel like I'm only on bullet point 2 out of a minimum of 10 so this is my last little blub on this tonight.

As for my him. I've decided to talk with him when he gets back. I have a little list and I'm going to start from the top and work my way down depending on how the first half goes. I'm just going to be blunt in asking him how he feels about us and where we're at. And if it's something he is also happy with and wants to continue, I'm going to continue my list. It's really only a few topics just with my thoughts about them too making it seem long. But just more of an okay, so we are going to continue this, then let's talk about what I need because these are some small problems I see becoming major issues if we don't start communicating about them now. And hopefully this will help open the door for him to discuss anything the same on his end. I feel like our communication shut down some and I want to reopen it if we both want to make this work. And I'm starting with the do you want to make this work so if he doesn't we can't figure out where to go from there. Obviously it would be the end of things but I just hope if that's how he's feeling about it then we can talk a few things out more so for my sake (selfish I know) so I can get some understanding and closure I guess? Idk we have some plans that I feel like most would not make with someone they don't intend to be with for a while, but again what do I know. I'm just trying to brace myself for the worst of it, but also be ready to do the work to make it work if we both want to. It just makes me anxious because I know if he doesn't want to continue I'm going to shatter, and I don't want the planning on my part to give me false hopes when it truly can go either way.

#personal #feel free to ignore #rant #relationship #family things