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cheerfulmelancholies · 8 months

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Paradise Rock

Another one from the archives. I wrote this waaaay back in high school for a project, I believe. I did post it on Wattpad but I haven't used that in ages so I figured I'd migrate what little I have from it to here. This was interesting to work on and a bit challenging for me because I usually don't write in this style and I was still just figuring out horror. I also wanted to try making it vaguely mysterious but I was never really satisfied with it and even now I'm still trying to improve on that genre. It definitely reads like my writing from that time period, lol. I actually forgot all about this but it's nice to see how and where I've improved and what I still incorporate into my works.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this blast from my past I dug up. To avoid any confusion in advance, time passes with each new paragraph.

He awakens with a jolt, drenched in sweat and panting. He's disoriented, panicked and has no idea who the middle-aged couple standing over him are. His head feels foggy and it takes his sluggish brain several seconds to realize that the gray-eyed, raven-haired teen staring at him from across the room is his reflection. It takes him a few moments after that to process what the couple is saying.

He is unsure of everything. Nothing is adding up and when he tries to put together what broken pieces he does have they always leave him with even more questions. His parents told him that he cannot remember simply because of an accident and that his memories will return soon enough. He shouldn't push himself so hard to remember, they say. They tell him to just relax and let it run its course. Something deep in the haze of his mind refuses to let that happen.

He hears quiet whispers that warn him of trouble.

He often wanders through the house aimlessly, feeling as if he should be doing something important. He still can't remember a thing and he thinks he's beginning to annoy his parents with his constant drifting. There are snippets of visions he can't decipher; pieces of jewelry, people laughing, faces that he feels he should know. There's something... important about them. Every time an image flashes briefly in his mind, however, he mentions it to his parents and they say it is nothing to worry about. He's always been 'somewhat delusional.' They go so far as to call him extremely paranoid, as he often claims that things appear to be off and how something, possibly even someone, is telling him there is something wrong.

"It's all right," they always say with a smile. "There's nothing wrong here."

Only there is. He knows there is. Things are happening here that shouldn't be, he can see it.

Why don't they notice the people in the shadows, with their silent pleas, or hear the hushed whispers of some invisible being?

Their gentle reassurances do nothing to quell this gut feeling of his and they certainly can't hide the sheer wrongness of this place. However, they continue to tell him that he's fine, that it's just a phase and that things will be better soon. So why, then, have they not gotten better? He's heard that line since the beginning and he never believed it then either.

Their faces begin to scare him. They scare him even more than the voices that whisper in the back of his mind for him to run, run as far away as he can and don't look back.

There never used to be so many.

Their smiles, which are supposed to be beaming with love and understanding, are now taut with distress and discomfort. Sometimes he catches glimpses of something darker underneath the thinly veiled distaste, though it could be his frantic mind playing tricks on him. In any case, they continue to speak to him all friendly-like, and laugh and joke and play as though there is nothing wrong. Outwardly he believes it, but deep inside he knows that it's all a lie and, somewhere even deeper within himself than he can imagine, he knows he has to do something. He's wasted too much time already.

They like to act as if he doesn't remember, couldn't possibly, not with all the things supposedly wrong with his head.

He knows he's not crazy.

They think he's incapable of recalling their slip-ups, the things said that he was never meant to hear. They seem to believe, perhaps through some outside force not at all affected by common science, that he cannot hear their hushed voices radiating from a back room or through a closed door if he wishes to be near enough. Or, just as likely, they don't think he'll do such a thing. No matter the reason, he hears every word with ease and remembers even easier.

Catching people's nervous habits seems to be his natural talent. It's been the one and only thing he can count on in this place, ever since waking up in his room a couple weeks ago with his 'parents' watching over him. The twitch of a hand, the fiddling of an item, the quick glance of an eye. He can name every single flaw about their demeanor and point it out in his sleep. They are terrible liars, surely they must realize that by now.

It doesn't matter how long it took himself to notice.

There is no point in them keeping secrets, he's said as much. Still, they carry on the charade. He's not sure whether they're lying to themselves at this point or if they just don't know any other way to live.

Lying awake in bed one night, ignoring the harsh syllables in his mind and staring vehemently at the dancing silhouettes on the walls that are only getting worse, he wonders. The tight smiles have morphed into disgusted grimaces and he still hasn't received any straightforward answers about his past, his memories. They keep telling him--insisting, really--that he shouldn't be worried about it. He just has to trust them, his parents. They know what's best for him.

Is that why he's never allowed outside? Is it why they get so defensive when he questions them on how different they look from himself? Why they hate when he ponders why he can't interact much with the 'neighbors'?

He feels like he shouldn't believe a word they say. The voices constantly tell him that it's not his imagination running wild and that he needs to leave before it's too late.

He doesn't know who to trust anymore. On one hand, there they are, the people he calls his family. They are supposed to love him more than anything no matter what and, so far, they haven't hurt him in any way. Then there's the talking in his head that mysteriously turned up ever since that first seed of doubt planted itself in his heart. He felt it take root mere hours after regaining consciousness from a supposed accident that he still can't recall. He knows the disembodied voices aren't entirely misleading; he can see through most of the lies with ease. The voices tell him to get away from these people who want to hurt him. Some part of his brain not attacked by the barrage of warnings can tell there's some truth in those whispered words. There's somewhere he has to go.

There's something important he's left behind somewhere.

He can't recognize them anymore. They are not who he thought them to be, who they told him they were. All falsities are gone, their kindness replaced with an inhuman malice that he couldn't possibly have imagined even if he wanted to. He can see it now, more clearly than he ever wanted. He regrets his choice of ignorance.

Rushing out of the house, he takes in the neighborhood, with the brightly painted homes and vibrant flowers. Until now, he'd only seen a small section of the street from the living room windows; a quaint little suburban neighborhood. He now knows it is nothing more than a front for something much, much darker. He can even see it in the people. They look at him, some from porches and others walking along the sidewalks, but he does not see their happy smiles or friendly waves. All he sees are the sinister glares and hungry eyes that are no longer lurking in the background. It's all out in the open, unable to be pinned on his 'mental instability' that he is certain never existed.

He remembers now and he knows it has nothing to do with what his 'parents' told him, what they told all the others before him.

He dreads the possibilities if he'd just blindly accepted their lies.

He turns and sees them too, his false parents, glaring at him in the same way the rest are. It is at that moment he fully grasps the severity of the situation and just how much of an idiot he has been. The voices beg him to run and he does, full sprint, dodging clawing hands and fists. He has no idea where he's going and glances behind himself to see them give chase with snarls and screams. He decides location is irrelevant.

Panting and drenched in sweat he stops, hunched over with his hands on his knees. He is behind a seemingly empty library and the voices are telling him to enter, but he doesn't. He's seen more than enough horror movies to know that you don't corner yourself in a building when there are things trying to kill you, not to mention that it was giving him a bad feeling. He isn't about to put all his faith in a bunch of disembodied voices that did little more than endlessly scream at him to run, no matter how good the advice had been. He feels safer out in the open where he's less likely to be trapped.

Having regained his breath, he stands and listens for any approaching footsteps. There is no sound at all, not even wind.

"Thank you," is all he says as he lets himself drop to the ground. His breathing is no longer labored but his legs ache too much to stand unnecessarily, and he could use a chance to get his bearings. He knows this isn't the place he came from; if one could transition that easily from woods to suburbs then deforestation was worse than he thought. None of the buildings ring any bells and he can't spot a single recognizable feature in the light of the setting sun.

He sighs and wonders how he'd ever forgotten in the first place. His real parents, his sister, his entire life. How had it all slipped out of his mind so easily? What made him believe the nonsense those people fed him? Things didn't feel right from the very beginning. An accident that couldn't be named, blaming the voices and his mistrust on some mental condition, amnesia... And it took him a month to realize the truth. He was supposed to be better than that. Of course the voices would know what they were talking about, they likely had first hand experience...

Something lightly brushes his shoulder and he gasps before leaping up, cursing himself for getting so distracted.

There's nothing there. There are no demon townsfolk ready to devour him and nothing from the library, just empty space. He lets out a shaky breath and continues to stare at the spot where he'd been sitting. The voices have all gone quiet and he feels as though he might miss something important if he turns away.

Just as he's about to give up and look for a new hiding spot the air shimmers, but only for a moment. In a rare twist, it's not something that frightens him. He can hear what seems to be a voice--outside of his head, for once--but can't quite make out what it's saying until he leans in close. The area distorts again, shaking and warping like rippling water, and then he hears it.

"...nt."

It sounds far away, so faint he can hardly hear it, but he knows who it is and that it's calling his name.

"Trent."

It's louder now and the air violently shifts as though the girl on the other side is trying to reach through and grab him. He smiles at the thought.

The silence erupts as footsteps rapidly approach from all around him and he hears horrid sounds, voices morphing into animalistic growls and shrieking. Knowing he's out of time, he reaches his arm into the rippling air in front of him and is mortified at the fact that it does nothing more than give his appendage the same distorted look. The creatures are closing in on him--all beady eyes, sharp teeth and claws--and he has no choice but to dive headfirst into the bubble, hoping and praying that something would happen and he'd be warped back home to his real family, where he wanted to be.

How ironic that it had been the exact opposite that led him here in the first place.

They surround him. Their twisted too-wide smiles and gleaming eyes are all he can see and he becomes frantic, thrashing around in the distorted pocket. Jumping in had been a terrible idea because now he can't escape, can't breathe and his world is quickly darkening. The creatures who called themselves his parents take the front of the crowd, watching his struggle with glee. He looks away from their eyes, their pupils like two glowing red marbles, and curses himself for being so foolish. He stops struggling against the force of the bubble. He'd much rather suffocate than die at the hands of these monsters.

Just as he resigns himself to such a fate, he feels the air stretch and shake and suddenly a human hand is reaching for him. Before the monsters can get their claws on him he is being pulled through what he assumes is space itself, as when he opens his eyes he is lying on his back in the middle of a small clearing surrounded by trees, with his sister--his real living, breathing twin sister--hunched worriedly over him, the sun's rays illuminating her dark hair.

Her eyes are scrunched shut and her hand is poised in the air; he hardly has the chance to blink before she slaps him across the face. He lets out a gasp and she jolts back onto her butt with a shriek.

"Kate?" he says, still in shock. He watches her stare at him incredulously before she has to wipe at her eyes.

"Trent, you idiot!" she shouts, ignoring his shocked expression and crawling back over to his side. "Are you okay?" She takes out her phone and turns on the flashlight so she can try to shine it into his eyes to check his pupils. She gives up when he pushes her away and instead begins pacing. "Mom and Dad were so worried. I was so worried. What's wrong with you? Why would you do this?"

He is still recovering from both the slap and the experience as he shakily gets to his feet and stares. "Huh?" is all he can manage.

Kate whirls and storms back over to him, making him flinch in preparation for another slap. She grabs him by the shoulders and gives him a light shake. "Trent, we thought something might have happened! Usually you at least text me when you do stupid crap like this."

He gasps. "That's right." He steps back when she appears to consider another assault. "I... I ran away."

"I know," she says softly. Her frustration dissipates and she is left standing there like the lost younger sister she is. Though well into her teens and only younger by mere minutes, even she has her limits on what she can handle alone. "It was really stupid you know..."

"That means I'm not crazy," Trent mutters to himself. He's never felt so relieved. A grin forms before he can stop it. "I'm not insane!" A few birds can be heard fluttering away in the trees.

She is both surprised at his sudden outburst and mildly annoyed that her sentiment was cut off so rudely. "Of course you aren't," she says, folding her arms. "I know you're special up there but it's nothing like that." She watches him survey the surrounding area, wide-eyed and ecstatic like a kid in a candy store, and considers rescinding her previous statement. Next thing she knows, he has her in a tight hug, and she can practically feel her ribs bending under the pressure.

"You were gone for five whole days," she wheezes. She awkwardly pats him on the back, asking to be released. When she can breathe again, she adds, "We've all been worried sick. You might be close to eighteen but Mom was practically hysterical. You should really be thanking me that I convinced her not to file a report for you just yet. I told her you were probably just hiding out at a hotel somewhere, and that you'd turn up eventually. You took enough clothes and stuff with you, after all. That only worked for the first few days. She called off work this morning and is probably still harassing people with pictures of you, asking if they'd seen you at all.

"I got worried when you didn't at least shoot me a quick text saying you were okay so I started my own search. I knew you wouldn't go stay at a hotel or somewhere obvious like that after the fight we all had, and there really aren't many places you'd go to if you ran away from home." She takes a breath and stares at him, gray eyes full of concern. "What were you even thinking? You're lucky nothing ate you. When I saw your body just lying spread eagle in the dirt I freaking lost it and scared half the wildlife away. I thought you were dead." Her voice cracks and she sniffles back a few rebellious tears.

Trent absently wraps his arms around her again, gentler this time, and ponders how any of this could even be possible. Five days? He'd been trapped in that nightmare for a month. Not to mention, his body couldn't possibly have been here if it had been...

"Hey. Are you alright?" Kate pulls away and looks him dead in the eyes, mirror images of her own. She watches them come back into focus and she can see her worry reflected back. "Did something happen? How'd you pass out? You didn't hit your head, did you?"

He doesn't remember that. Everything else came rushing back the moment he realized the truth about what was happening, everything except how he'd gotten there in the first place. The supposed 'accident' was still a mystery. "I... I don't know. I don't think anything hurt me..."

"You don't remember? You sure you didn't hit your head or something?" She checked his vitals when she first found him. His breathing, pulse and temperature all seemed normal, or as normal as she had an understanding of. He was still alive and that had been all that really mattered. There's still no blood to be found and aside from his odd confusion, he seems okay mentally. She can't hep but wonder if she missed something.

Trent flinches and tries to get away as her hands feel around his scalp. "Stop it," he says, backing up a few steps. "I'm fine. I didn't hit my head." At least, not in the real world, he thinks.

"Are you sure you're okay? Nothing hurts?"

"Aside from the slightly stinging bitch-slap, no. I'm not in any pain."

Kate lets out a cough to mask a laugh before meeting his gaze again. "Sorry. I couldn't wake you." Her light smile fades when she sees the look on his face.

"How did you find me?" He can't wrap his head around any of this. He was teleported, wasn't he? Like in the stories. He'd somehow ended up in another plane of existence. Or had he left his body behind somehow? Is that what happened? People's souls were ripped out of their bodies, brought into that horrid place, and what was left in the mortal plane eventually got devoured by the animals?

"A hunch," she says, shrugging. "I'd already tried all your usual spots and none of your friends even knew you'd ran off. I just... had this feeling..."

"But how did you find me here?" They were standing in the middle of the woods, probably some sixteen miles or so away from home. Unless he'd been tagged with a GPS tracker at birth, there was no way anyone could have found him so quickly.

"I don't really know myself," she says, looking around. "It just... seemed like the right place to come. I remembered a few days ago before everything boiled over and the fight happened that you and some friends were going on about Paradise Rock." She nods at the unusually shaped rock standing tall at the center of the clearing, right behind her brother.

Trent suddenly feels a chill when he turns and catches sight of the thing, its odd proportions and strange markings--scrapes, lines and gouges that couldn't have come from nature--setting off some primal feeling of fear. His sister's hand is grasping his wrist before he can get too absorbed in the chunk of stone that he swears is whispering to him.

"We should head back," she says, bringing a hand to his forehead. "I think you might be dehydrated or something." The distant glaze leaves his eyes after a few moments.

"Wait." He pulls his arm free and shakes his head to clear it. "Something did happen, okay? I got... pulled into wherever it is those people in the stories went. Except... It's not like the stories at all. I couldn't remember anything. There were these people, they said they were my parents. They kept telling me I had this bad accident and that everything would be okay. I almost believed them."

Kate is staring at him like he'd just lost his mind and suggested they go live in a swamp and groom alligators for a living. He can't stop though, he has to tell someone. "I started hearing these voices and seeing things and having these weird visions. They--my fake parents--told me I was still recovering from my accident. Then they said I was mentally ill. I still couldn't remember, so I just went with it. But the voices wouldn't stop. They kept telling me to leave and that they were lying. I didn't know what to do but I know I didn't trust those people completely. I had this nagging feeling that if I let it go then something horrible would happen.

"Then I just sort of snapped out of it. I finally saw them all for what they were. Demons, or something close to it. I don't know. I just knew I had to get out of there before they could turn me into a disembodied voice like the others. So I ran as fast as I could until I lost them by this library."

"Library?" Kate's brows are furrowed and she's hopelessly lost. Her brother doesn't try to elaborate, just continues on with his insane story.

"The voices were telling me to go inside, but I didn't. It gave me the creeps, y'know? So I waited and tried to figure out what to do, then you showed up. Sort of. I heard you calling me." He finishes with a crooked grin.

"I... You were still breathing okay and everything, so I started shouting at you to wake you up. If you hadn't started twitching I would've had to find reception to call an ambulance. I thought giving you a good jolt would get you to come to." Her eyes are narrowed, though not with anger. She's squinting at him as though he were some sort of puzzle and it was taking all her brainpower to figure him out.

Trent deflates. "You don't believe me." If his own twin wasn't convinced, what chance did he have against his parents? His mother would likely be too relieved that he was home safe to be angry, but his dad...

"It's not that I don't believe you," she says as his shoulders sag. "It's just... You know how Mom and Dad are. They don't believe in all that supernatural stuff. I'm not saying that this couldn't have happened. It can and does, to absolutely anybody, but they aren't gonna accept some out-there story like that. Do you have any idea how mentally unstable you just sounded?"

Trent chews his lip. Even if she backs him up, he still has no chance of proving it happened. He knows Kate believes him, he can see that in the way she's staring at the rock with a bothered expression. His parents, however, are not going to accept a story like that; if anything, they'd grill him for trying to frighten his sister with ghost stories on top of everything else. "Let's get out of here," he finally says, pulling her attention away from the stone.

The two of them slowly make their way through the clearing, up the gentle slope, and into the trees. As Trent tells her where he left his bike and bags he catches her glancing warily at the rock one final time before it disappears into the surrounding bark and foliage. Another chill creeps up his spine and he rubs his arms to stop the goosebumps forming as a single whisper grazes the back of his mind.

"Come back, Trent."

#my writing #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writeblr

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regretthatsme · 3 years

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A Night to Remember

Harry Potter x Reader

I finally wrote it. This is smut. Very smut. Exceptionally smutty. 18+. Angst too.

@hestpwk072310

Harry was lost. He didn't know where he was going and he didn't care. It was too much. First it was Cedric, then Sirius, now Dumbledore. It was all too much. Too much. Too much. Too-

Harry collapsed to the floor. He couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in. His heart was racing. His blood was rushing. What's happening? He was dying. He had to be. It was to only thing that made sense. Death seemed to be the only constant in his life. He closed his eyes and accepted his fate.

"Harry?"

The voice called to him. Must be an angel.

"Harry!"

He felt something touch his hand, though he couldn't have told you what it was. His hands went numb long ago.

"Harry. Listen to me. Can you hear me?" Yes. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say it so bad, but he couldn't. His body was unable. A small groan was the best he could do.

"Okay. Okay. Okay, listen to me. On three, we're going to breathe together, alright?" He could tell the voice was panicked. The was a certain exasperation that could only be described as anxiety. "One, two, three." Harry gasped at the air like a dying man. He kind of was.

"Good job, Harry. You're doing so well. Again. One, two, three." He gasped again but it was much easier.

"You're doing so well. Again. One, two, three." Harry finally opened his eyes. His vision was blurry, but he could make out a face, but there was little detail. His vision came into focus and saw... one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen. Her hair, her eyes, her... concern. She cared. She cared about him. This had to be an angel.

"Am I dead?" Harry asked. "Are you an angel?"

The angel laughed for a second before responding. "No. I am not an angel, and, as far as I'm concerned, you are not dead."

Harry took another deep breath before mumbling, "Too pretty to be a person."

"While that is a very lovely compliment, I hate to say I am a human." She softly brushed hair off of Harry's sweaty forehead. "Now, it's quite late. We need to get you to bed." Her voice was as gentle as her touch. Harry limped back to his dorm, with the support of the lovely angel student. In his delirium, he forgot to ask for her name. The only thing he remembered in the morning was a yellow tie around her neck.

-*-*-*-

"Honestly, Hermione, it isn't that big of a deal."

"It is that big of a deal, Ronald. It's ridiculous. She's insisting that she survey the entire school! What is she even searching for? I can only imagine the affect on her mental health. Lack of sleep is very-"

"Will you please be quiet?" Harry whisper-shouted. His friends made a habit of bickering like a married couple and it's been getting on his last nerve. "And what are you on about, anyway? Just let them search Hogwarts."

"Harry, it's more complicated than that-" explained Hermione before Harry cut in.

"How? How is it more complicated? Please, enlighten me."

Hermione looked at Ron, almost as if asking for permission. "Well, it's Y/N. She's the Hufflepuff prefect. Ever since a few weeks ago, she has insisted that she is on petrol. And she checks the whole castle. It's like she doesn't trust us." Hermione expressed. "One time I followed her around the school and the whole time she was mumbling." Hermione was clearly livid about this. Y/N was showing a clear distrust and disdain for the other prefects. I mean, Malfoy is understandable, but Hermione? Ron? They were the nicest, well meaning people that Harry had probably ever met.

"Actually, she was mumbling about you, Harry." Hermione said.

"What?"

"Yeah, she kept going on and on about how you were and if you were okay. Which, don't get me wrong, is a perfectly valid thing to worry about. You have gone through much hardship, and mental health is important, but it seems a bit out of place, especially considering that she probably has never spoken to you or even taken interest in you before." Hermione confessed.

Harry was quote confused. Why would she suddenly start to take an intrest in me? Unless...

"Hermione, what does Y/N look like?"

"Oh! Um.... she has h/c hair and e/c eyes. We have a fair few classes with her. She's always top of the class." It all came back to him in one big rush. The hair that framed her face perfectly, her eyes that sparkled like jewels, her tender touch.

"I.... I think I know her."

-*-*-*-

If she goes on petrol every day, travels around the whole school, and I have an invisibility cloak plus a map, we will find each other.

Harry crept into the hallway and took out his map.

Where is she? Where is she? Where is-

Y/N L/N.

Harry raced to her. He moved as fast as he could. He was running and running and running until-

She's there.

In front of him.

And she knows he's there.

Because she's calling his name.

Harry takes off the invisibility cloak. He clears his throat. "Hello, Y/N." She nods towards him as a hello.

"You need anything?" Her eyes began to fill with concern. "Oh no. Is something wrong? It has to be. Why would you be coming to see me."

"No!" Harry was quick to reassure Y/N. He cupped her cheek and caressed her cheek bone. Maybe the James in him was acting up, but she didn't seem to reject his advances. In fact, she seemed quite comforted by it. "No. No. It's not that. I just wanted to say.... thank you. So incredibly much."

"What ever for?"

"For... just worrying, honestly. I know you helped me when I was having a panic attack and then you stayed up every night to see if I need help." Her face heated up. Harry could feel it on his hand. He smirked a bit. "Thank you. Truly. I just wish I could repay you."

"I can think of a few ways." Y/N slapped a hand over her mouth. "I didn't mean to say that."

"Well. How do I repay you?" Harry's smirk was much more apparent.

"I told you, I didn't mean to say that."

"But you did say it, and I would really, really, really, really, really, love to make it up to you."

Y/N looked down for a minute before mumbling "a kiss."

"What was that? Speak up, love."

"A kiss. I know, it childish and your not going to want to - mmmph!" Harry had already pulled Y/N into what she desired most. It was... perfect. Nothing short of absolutely magical. It was soft and quick and yet spoke so much.

"Was that good enough?"

"Actually, I'd quite like you to do that again." So they did. And then again. And again. And again. And again. Each time longer than the last. A passionate battle of lips, teeth, and tongue. A quiet wimper was released from Y/N. "Ha-oh!-Harry."

"Yes, love?" He began to kiss down her neck.

"Harry! We're in the middle of the hallway! Anyone could see us."

"What are you suggesting?"

"How about we go somewhere a bit more...... private."

The two teenagers quickly ran off to the Room of Requirements, which had spawned a rather lovely bed, a loveseat next to a fireplace, and bath, which was sure to get some use later. Their clothes came off in a frenzy of hushed whispers and lingering kisses.

Soon, the gravity of what was about to happen took over Harry and Y/N.

"Are... are you sure?" Harry asked. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." Y/N said. She kissed Harry so softly. So lovingly. "I've never been so sure of anything."

Harry smiled before kissing down the expanse of her body. First her neck, then her tits, then her stomach until he was right in front of her sex, glistening in the romantic light of the room. "You look so beautiful."

"Please."

"Please what, princess?"

"Touch me. Please."

Harry finally gave Y/N what she wanted. He placed a thumb to her clit. She bucked her hips into him. "Try to keep still for me, sweetheart. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

He rubbed soft, sensuous circles. Luscious moans left her lips. Her hips moved occasionally and every time they would, Harry pinned her hips down harder. "Your pussy is so pretty." Whispered Harry. She moaned at this. "Such a pretty pussy. Looks good enough to.... eat?"

"Yes! Please. Please eat me out." Her begging was all that Harry needed to hear. His tongue met her folds and he moaned, the vibrations sending shock waves up her spine.

"So sweet, darling." He said as he inserted a finger. A large gasp erupted out of Y/N's mouth.

"Oh, fuck!" They kept this up until Y/N could feel her orgasm approaching. "Fuck! Oh..... I'm gonna cum. I'm close." Harry pulled away just before she could. The whine that left her lips was almost pitiable. Almost.

"Awweee. Did I made you cry, Angel?" Harry mocked. Y/N hated how that turned her on even more.

"Why did you do that, Har?"

"Well, personally, I would love to feel you cum on my cock." She hummed before nodding and spreading her legs even wider. That was before her eyes snapped open.

"Wait!" Her eyes held so much worry.

"What? What's wrong?"

"It's just... I've never done this before."

Harry cooed and kissed her cheek. "Don't worry. We're going to take it nice and slow. Ready?" She nodded once again and he entered her. They could only look into each other's eyes. Harry hissed through his teeth like a snake, which would not be too out of character seeing as he is a parceltongue. Y/N had a slight grimace on her face as a tear trickled down her cheek. Harry kissed it away as he let her adjust.

"You can move. Please move." He moved slowly and the slightly uncomfortable feeling slowly became a most pleasurable sensation. The moans became louder and louder as the movements became faster and faster and the sound of skin-on-skin became harder and harder. Soon, the familiar feeling bubbled up again. "Oooohhhhhhh fuck. I'm so close. I'm going to cum. Please let me cum. Please, please, please, please."

Harry let her beg for a few more seconds before allowing her to cum with fake reluctance. Her pussy squeased him just right. She absolutely milked his dick. He came not even a minute later. His head naturally found its way to the crook of her neck. She gripped his broad shoulders as she came down from her high.

"Holy shit. I just fucked the chosen one." Harry giggled with her as they collapsed on the bed. Harry slowly pulled his dick out of Y/N.

"I need to get a washcloth for you. We made quite the mess." One conveniently formed next to them. He ran the cloth under the tap of the bathtub. "Can you spread your legs for me, Angel?" The feeling of the cold cloth made her jump.

"'m sorry."

"Don't be. You were incredible." Y/N smiled.

"I'm going to remember tonight forever."

"As will I."

#harry james potter #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x reader #harry potter #harry potter x hufflepuff!reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x reader smut #harry potter smut #i finally did it #i finally did the thing

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rohad93 · 3 years

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Hi! I really admire the fics you do, I find them amazing. I'm thinking of writing one too and I'd like you to give me some technical advice, if possible. Especially with how to make the dialogues, describe situations or how to get the ideas across. thanks a lot in advance!

Hey, thanks!

Whoo, you don’t ask any short questions do you, anon?

I wanna start by saying that I’m probably not the person you want to ask for technical writing advice, despite writing for the last 15 years. Most writers you ask will tell you about outlines and rough drafts… I don't do that. I am very much a ‘make everything up as I go’ kind of writer. Which I don’t recommend if you aren’t practiced at it cause what you’ll really end up doing is missing things you want to include and a number of stuff that will bite you in the ass later, like writing yourself into a corner from which you now have no escape. So I highly recommend, if nothing else, plotting out all the major points you want to cover so that what you’re doing is working toward them. You can make stops along the way but don’t forget your end goal! I wrote Moonlit Masquerade under the pretense of “I want them to dance at a masquerade” that was it. Everything - in the first one at least- is geared toward this goal. (and the confessing feelings part i guess,lol)

Anyway, you asked me though so!

Well, for dialogue I assume you mean making it flow and not so clunky. This is tricky at times and really depends on your situation and how well the characters know each other. Characters meeting or conversing for the first time are going to have stilted and rocky dialogue with each other more likely than not, as opposed to ones who are friends and can all but pickup a conversation they had two days ago without so much as a hello. Paying attention to how conversations flow around you will help. As far as making interesting scenes around conversations, and scenes in general, I always offer the same bit of advice.

Your characters and their conversations do not happen in a void. There is always something going on around them, sounds, stuff. Say you have characters sitting on a bench, talking in the park. What else is going on? Birds, a lawn mower, traffic somewhere in the distance or kids playing. Maybe one of them is distracted by their phone or playing with the frayed strands of their jeans. When characters interact it's not just standing perfectly still in a soundless, sightless black hole. Remember this if you want your scenes to feel real and lived in. Another not about dialogue.

"Like this?" he asked.

"No, this sucks," he replied.

"Are you sure?" he questioned.

"Yep," he responded.

Not this. There nothing wrong with these dialogue tags per se but you can easily make this scene less monotone.

"Like this?" he asked, gesturing to the document.

"No, this sucks," he replied with a shake of his head.

"Are you sure?" he questioned with a lilt, brow cocked upward as he glanced back at it.

"Yep," he responded, sounding sure.

Now it reads far less monotone.

You have to give your scenes and characters life by giving them personalities. Quirks, habits, ticks. Ways they behave in situations. Though, in fanfiction this is more about your understanding of the existing characters,

As far as describing scenes go. It’s much the same as conversations though you have to be careful about belaboring points. Some things, especially if they are important, require far more detailed descriptions, don’t spend a lot of time describing things that really aren’t important. Detailed enough that you can see it, roughly in your head, going into greater detail only about things that really need it.

If you have characters going to a park (i dunno why i seem to be stuck on using parks as examples here) you don’t need to describe every brush and shrub and piece of playground equipment in the place. Just a park and describe in brief detail a few of its key features, a fountain, a playground, traffic whizzing by. That's all you need, the scene is set.

Say you have them go to that fountain though, then you can describe that with more detail. The stone, the carvings, etc, again though, only if it’s important or to add to your conversation. The sound of water in the background or the way it feels under their hands.

Really, you’re just always looking for ways to engage your reader, make it interesting. The more relatable and familiar these things are the easier it is to get sucked in.

So yeah…. Hope this helps? Good luck!

#writing #Rohad Rambles #How i word

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kineticallyanywhere · 4 years

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I'd love to hear those fusion thots :eyes: the pacific rim ones were V good

If you’ve been around this house for a hot minute you might know that fusion aus are My Entire Jam Garden so you might imagine I’ve already put some thought into this and you would imagine right. The following was brainstormed in consort with @aryashi my second brain.

The basis for this au is that fusion is possible in the forgotten realms and is just a thing people there can do. This also applies to sudden interdimensional travelers.

tl;dr I wrote basically a one-shot’s worth of words down there but in short fusion is rad but also there's an unexpected amount of drama. which is basically a summary of the podcast but replace "fusion" with "fatherhood"

(preface: fusion is not a sex metaphor, just like pacific rim. Platonic fusion is normal. Familial fusion is normal. Okay, continue.)

First inter-dad fusion: “I silence his dumb ass with a kiss” except its “I silence his dumb ass by accidentally fusing our bodies and consiousnesses into a single being w h o o p s”

I like to name fusions as something other than their romantic ship name so let’s call him… o h yeah we named all of Henry’s fusions after animals. So this guy is Hare (like Darryl). Hare is pretty stable from the outside, but their internal dialogues clash really hard so they're incredibly slow to make decisions.

Internally, Henry feels like he's crossed Darryls boundaries. They have to hold it, but he lets Darryl take the wheel and all similar mistakes are made. They make it through the thing with the Lance before unfusing. Darryl has no idea what that was and already has a lot of intimacy issues, so he’s not particularly inclined to try that again for funsies. Henry is curious, but there’s a buried part of him that’s making him deeply unsettled by the whole experience. He can barely have a straight thought about it, much less articulate the feeling, so he doesn’t try. He lets it go.

First sons fusion: When the Lord of Chaos throws back his robe, yelling “Dad! !” it’s a GIANT Lark&Sparrow. They’re like trying to fuse two rubies together, you just get a bigger ruby. This changes a bit later, when the twins start to diverge from each other vis a vis Love Wolfism, but basically the Lord of Chaos is an Oak Twin the size of their dad. But still looks 12. It probably actually takes the Love Wolf speech from Henry and their divergent reactions to get them to unfuse.

Second inter-dad fusion: That other time Henry and Darryl smooched while high on drug flowers. It was very unpleasant, they don’t talk about it, they don’t try that again for a while.

They get a book on fusions from the Library that reads almost like a birds and the bees talk and there is minor culture-shock panicking about whether fusion is Like That, but something in Henry is telling him “No. It’s not Like That.” He doesn’t really know why he’s so solid in that belief. He understands that fusion is unique and powerful and a wonderful thing, but something about doing it is just… getting under his skin.

Third inter-dad fusion: Glenn and Ron. I’m not even sure the exact context or anything. Maybe they were just vibin’. All I really know is that I imagine these two occasionally fuse for the weirdest things, like

Fourth inter-dad fusion: also Glon, fishing magic items out of a giant toilet. They needed to be taller.

Glon is… gosh, what the heck is Glon. Performative out the ass, for sure. Down for basically anything. Allowed to wear bootie shorts.

Back up a hot minute though, because first dad-son fusion: almost happens on the Tower of Terry. It comes so close. They’re in that hug, and Ron thinks maybe if they fuse, the magic won’t take TJ. Or even if it takes them both, that’s better than TJ getting taken alone. They don’t have to say “I’m sorry” or “I love you, son” out loud, but before it really takes, Terry gets ripped away. Because Willy can’t have that, can he?

Fifth inter-dad fusion: is Glon again, but the circumstances are way different because Ron just saw the mummy of his wife and Glenn is trying to help him breeze past it and it works until it doesn’t and they fall apart with Ron a crying mess.

Sixth inter-dad fusion buckle up because we’ve reached Ravenloft. Before dad-fusion 6, Henry gets caught in his dad’s claws. He feels something very familiar and rejects it with everything he has, and escapes to grab Glenn. Then he gets hit by Calm Emotions, Glenn reaches up, trying not to fall, and Henry is already super chill about everything all of a sudden, so when Glenn tries to fuse out of panic, Henry goes for it.

Gila—Henry and Glenn—can do actual bard magic. They’re like Opal, in that a single moment of disconnect is enough to snap them apart and finding that disconnect is not difficult. But when the situation is saving their kids and telling their asshole dads to get lost, that’s plenty enough connection to cast an actual magic-ass thunderwave with a guitar and maybe a bit more.

(Barry didn’t like that.)

So another fun thing about adding this factor to cannon is that this lets the dads have glimpses inside each other’s heads. So certain conversations could change a little bit. For example, in the van while they’re driving away from the Ravenloft fight and Henry’s explaining a few things.

Henry: I don't have a lot of memories from that time in my life— Glenn: Not a lot? Try "not any.” Henry: Glenn— Glenn: Dude, none of my business, but your brain was weird. Henry: Glenn. Glenn: Like did the government get to you when you showed up on earth or— Henry: Glenn what the fff—rick are you even saying just shut up Darryl: …

Darryl had noticed, too, but Glenn has other fusion experience to compare with. Henry could catch glimpses and imprints and trains of thought which ground in different points of Darryl/Glenn’s entire life, and Glenn and Ron can do that equally with each other. But a bunch of things for Henry, if you try to backtrack to where the decision comes from it just. Stops. Especially with using magic, which Glenn got to do. And Henry’s thoughts on fusion end dead hard.

(filtering all of this through Freddie’s headcanon that Glenn always figured Henry was from Faerun but was just wildly wrong about all the details is so much fun)

This is the part in the fic series where there’s a one-shot about Henry having a panic attack just outside of the camp at night, and the most he can explain is just that something about seeing his dad again set him off.

And then we get to a lighter turn for first dad-son fusion but for realsies this time: Ron Stampler nat 20s to hug his son and then also is the son. And that dad. And dads are supposed to be inside to do a ritual for a demon cow.

RJ is the sweetest dude. Also if you don’t sit on him he will wander off and do the most extreme version of the first thing that comes to his mind for a problem solution or release from boredom. And he will not tell you about it in advance, so seriously. Sit on him.

So they stand there for a second like "yes... Yes. Yes... Okay. Im... I'm the dad. But I'm the kid? But im. The dad. And all the other dads are also the kid so... Dad... Trumps kid status. And I'm the dad... Cool." and they go in to help with the demon cow.

The kids are flipping out outside.

Henry spots them and drops the cage, almost like he’s Garnet and just spotted Stevonnie. While all the other dad’s are freaking out/fawning/curious, Glenn lifts their glasses and theres four eyes and he drops the glasses and never mentions this again.

Rj: hi um. I'm a dad.... Yeah. So I'm here tooooooo frickin kill a demon cow let's do this Rj: got the good dad vibes comin out of my butt

For realsies though Terry should be outside, so they unfuse for the cow thing and the bbq but then Dennis happens.

Second dad-son fusion: Dennis: are you sure you've got this? Ron: i can do it TJ: he can DO it dad GIVE ME YOUR HAND

RJ’s an arcane trickster and it’s real cool and Dennis looks so jealous ha ha ha and also they separate after the fight and suddenly Terry’s unsettled and needs to talk to Ron for a second because “Hey Dad is Dennis not real????????”

Third dad-son fusion: is way less eventful, but who the heck can say no to more reasons to cry about the Wilsons at the tail end of the Supper Bowl arc?

Fusion is not a replacement for talking, but it is a bit smoother in communicating emotions. It doesn’t happen until the end of their talk, when Darryl’s got his arm around Grant. I don’t think either of them are super attached to this whole fusion thing, (If Grant is, it certainly wasn’t his dad he’d been thinking about trying it with. Maybe one of the other kids… “maybe Terry.”) so they may not even pick a name. Henry certainly cries at least twice as hard, but when they want to just get something to eat and maybe just hang out for a while, nobody pushes.

I think the most important part of this is that it gives Grant a kind of… emotional break. Lets him feel something nice again— like he does in the show, too, but in a way that’s a bit more stable while it lasts. Like the feeling when you’re a kid on a long car ride with your parents, one that ends in getting home late and you’ve fallen asleep and they carry you out of the car.

Good things for Grant Wilson for til forever.

Somewhere in that arc, though, Glenn approaches Henry by themselves. Glenn’s not really a feelings guy, but whatever’s going on in Henry’s head is a problem. It’s a one-up the o-dads have on them, and they can’t afford that right now.

Glenn: so you like... Really don't hardly remember being a kid? Henry: Glenn, I don't want to talk about it Glenn: I bet your dad's gonna wanna talk about it Henry: well... i don't care what he wants Glenn:... You seriously don't know how you got to earth? Henry: [exasperated] the frick are you-- I got to earth like anyone else, Glenn. You know where babies come from, right? Glenn: of course i fucking know where babies come from. A mommy and a daddy love each other very much and then their kid runs away so hard he skips dimensions Henry: wh-- wait you-- do you think I'm an alien? Glenn: obviously Henry: Glenn that's-- [sighs, rubs his face] Glenn this isn't the kind of time for your conspiracies Glenn: hey as far as I'm concerned, a man who sleeps with an axe under his pillow is a fool every night but one. and you shoot poison from your hands and shape shift into bears

Which adds nicely to the slide of heading to Oakveil next

Henry: y'know what. When we leave here, we can get my kids next. Glenn: your interdimensional kids Henry: to prove to you you're being crazy. Again. Glenn: De Nial is a river man, and we left it back on earth

And one more dialogue bite, because…

Glenn: claim your powers latched onto you from this world all you want. But that language you and your dad spoke, didn't come out of the air, it came out of the door in your head

...fusion means the other dads get to learn about the metaphorical brain door.

This brings us into the most recent arc, heading into Oakveil. He and Ron sneak in, and Beary tells Henry he’s home, and pieces start to click together. Henry’s from this world, so he understands why he’s had such a particular view on fusion and that basic cultural understanding. That it’s considered normal. And that it’s even normal for a kid’s first fusion to be with their parent. Their parent who loves them and knows them wants to see them grow.

Bear Ry’Oak is not that.

First O-dad fusion: Henry’s first fusion was with his dad.

I think the worst thing is that, when fused with his dad, Hen doesn't feel like he's not himself. one of the interesting things about the Oaks is that they're kind of all slight alterations on the same traits. Like as gross as it feels to admit, Beary is just Henry but with the condescension turned up to a billion and his high horse is basically an elephant and no self-awareness or care for how others might have different perspectives from him

But Beary is still so overwhelming to Henry that it just flattens pretty much anything that makes Henry, Henry. Specifically the parts that Barry dislikes. like Henry's anger. To directly quote Aryashi: “Beary thinks using fusion for combat is barbaric. obviously fusion is for Conflict Resolution. Fuse with Beary so he can sort out your disagreement with him!”

(and then bathe in bleach)

So Beary finds them in Oakveil and Henry starts panicking and he tries to Handle Henry like he did when Henry was a kid, fusing with him to stomp down on his feelings to cut a panic attack or outburst off at the pass. If Henry's in no place to fight back it usually works, but if Ron's there--literally pressed against Henry's back--to see the fusion coming, maybe he reaches for a fusion, too, and lets Henry's instincts choose which pull to follow, and Henry's instincts choose Ron.

Seventh inter-dad fusion: Wren is suddenly there before Beary can even start his attempt to coach Henry through breathing (his half-effort to help Henry and be able to say that he tried freakin hate him) and is sitting on the ground and the disgusted look Beary gets seeing this. (Fusing with an outsider is something he considers so beneath his son.)

Beary:... Ah. Ronald. Wren, existing, suddenly, and mostly being Ron's processing power as Henry's mental wheels try to slow down to match Ron's pace (cultivated through a childhood of dealing with Willy) rather than amp them both up: uhm... It's just Ron, actually Beary: would you mind... (there's other people around so he can't say "decontaminating") liberating my son. (as if ignoring the role his son had in choosing this fusion over his) Wren: Henry is uh... (me? Not me? Yes me, not up for this, we should go somewhere else that usually works fine, we can just leave and find the others and that'll be fine) he's good. We're good, we're gonna... (looking at the other people who look like Henry and the "not amping each other up” thing is working less and less) Wren: bye

And then they just stand up and fast-walk away

Wren is either chill af and rolling with every punch or the living equivalent of a coke bottle that you popped a whole roll of mentos in and then closed immediately. At this moment, it’s very much the coke bottle side. Beary lets them go because he knows Henry will be back, and they make it just outside of town to where the others have just shown up before they fall apart.

Ron: We found the door! Darryl: what door? Ron: the one in Henry's head! And all the dads know what he's talking about Glenn: did you open it? Henry: no Ron: a little bit Henry(probably now starting that panic attack): the anchors in there Ron: his dad came out of it Darryl: his dad???????? Henry, vulnerability, Oak: I AM FEELING VERY VULNERABLE RIGHT NOW AND I HATE IT [chorus of mumbled sorrys] Ron: oh also Oakvale is Henry's home Darryl: WHAT Glenn: Uh hey anyone gonna pick up the phone cause I FUCKIN CALLED IT Henry: That's not my home! My home is with Mercedes back on Earth! Glenn: Yeah, this is just where you were born. Henry: Glenn I swear to God-- Glenn: Dude lay off, I was agreeing with you! Home's where the heart meds are and all that jazz Darryl: Wait, you have heart meds? At home? When was the last time you took your heart meds? Glenn: Uhh... not since I came here? It's fiiiiiine. Never felt better! Ron: Not to interrupt but Henry's on the ground breathing funny. Glenn, are you sure you don't have any heart meds? Henry: being hugged by both of his sons in a simultaneous way that is not their normal simultaneous way (i.e. the Lord of Chaos way): WHY ARE MY SONS TALLER THAN ME Glenn: I'm more surprised that they're hugging you Lord of Chaos: to assert dominance! Any moment now, we will turn this hug into a suplex!

And that basically brings us to now? I want a Triple Oak Fusion (the King of Chaos) but with how the fight with Beary went I’m not sure where it’ll go. OH YEAH.

Autumn stopped fusing with Hen even when he was a kid because she couldn’t stand to see how much her son craved the approval of that evil man who stole her life away. And whether or not Henry ever fuses with anyone ever again after finding out he’s got Eldritch in him has gotta be up in the air.

And at this point I could easily be convinced that the next inter-dad fusion is Darryl and Glenn, those beautiful idiots. They could be… Denn. Glarryl? We’ll workshop it.

#jakalboy #dndads #aus #fusion aus #dungeons and daddies #me talking #my writing

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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Two Qs, 1. How do I stop people from assuming I'm ableist n hate me for it if a character I Hate for TONS of petty+ serious reasons just happens to be a disabled character? Like if they were a brain in a jar with a mouthpiece I'd still not be in their vicinity without setting my head on fire it has nothing to do with their body or gender or skills etc. And 2. How do you post a fic w/o fear of some lurker stealing ideas n publishing it as a novel n becoming popular I mean... like CC exists......

Here’s the thing….there’s never ever going to be a person who manages to make it through life without being misconstrued on SOME subject. We have no control over what other people think about us, only on what we put out there for them to perceive and form opinions on. And sometimes those opinions are entirely contrary to what we feel we’re putting out there, and that sucks and can be aggravating as hell, and you might need to vent about that or groan to yourself or a friend or maybe it’ll make you bitter and petty on a subject, but at the end of the day - it doesn’t matter. You can’t ENSURE someone has the opinion about you and what you’re putting out there that you want them to have, and you just gotta find a way to be okay with that.

And there’s really no way around it, you just kinda gotta….figure out a way to make that happen. And its easier said than done, for sure, and its far from a sure thing, I bitch and moan constantly about people getting me wrong on various subjects because hoo boy do I seem to get a lot of people steamed about opinions I don’t actually have lolololol. So like I said, I get it, its frustrating as hell, when you’re absolutely sure the opinion they’re expressing of you is not based on something you’ve actually said or believe.

BUT.

But but but but but.

Before you go raring off to the races getting frustrated and fed up with a person because they seem just determined not to hear what you’re truly trying to say on a subject…..double check, triple check, make crystal fucking clear that you’ve reviewed what you’ve ACTUALLY said - not just what you think you said, not what you meant to say in your head, but rereading back to yourself what you ACTUALLY have said on the subject - and make 100% sure that they’re not picking up on something that YOU YOURSELF DIDN’T PICK UP ON WHEN EXPRESSING AN OPINION.

Because that happens. All the time. To all of us.

And just because we didn’t MEAN to put any ableism or racism or homophobia or sexism in there, that doesn’t mean that some didn’t slip in any way without our realizing not. We all grow up steeped in environments that are chock full of all those things and more, they inform and influence so many more of our opinions and choices and decisions than even we realize. And just because we don’t THINK of ourselves as being any of the above, doesn’t mean that we haven’t at any point expressed certain viewpoints or said certain things or performed certain actions…..that in and of themselves are ableist or racist or homophobic or sexist or transphobic or any of the above or more.

And just because we didn’t notice it was there didn’t mean it wasn’t there, and THAT could be what they’re picking up on…..and while that one instance of harmful thinking/speech/action isn’t necessarily representative of who you are as a whole…..to someone who only knows you via certain limited interactions, that one instance is a far greater slice of the pie, so there’s no real reason for them NOT to assume that’s representative of you overall, rather than an exception that only slipped through the cracks because you didn’t realize it was there.

So if you genuinely, truly don’t believe you’re ableist in your thinking or opinions and thus don’t want anyone to assume that of you, the only way to really do that is NOT to assume that nothing you say or do is ableist because you know yourself and know that you’re not an ableist person.

Rather, the thing to do is each and every time someone accuses you of that, like….take the time to review what you ACTUALLY said or did that they’re responding to, and double check that its not actually ableist. Reaffirm if only to yourself that you stand by what you said or did and that you said or did it for the right reasons and not what they’re presuming. It really doesn’t cost you that much time or energy to do that check-up on yourself….and the end result is that it doesn’t mean that you’re going to be able to change that person’s mind about you - if you said what you meant to say originally, and after reviewing it still stand by it, chances are, they’re probably interpreting you the way they are for their own reasons, and there’s not much any of us can do about that.

But at least you can be sure then that no matter what someone else thinks, YOU are comfortable with your reasons for feeling a certain way about certain characters or whomever…….and that ultimately is all that really matters. All that we have control over, and what we have to fall back on even when people are pissing us the hell off because they seem bound and determined to interpret us wrong - and truuuuuuust me, I mean it when I say I get that, lol.

But you gotta do the work. There’s no shorthand, not if you’re genuinely sincere about NOT wanting to be the thing that they think you’re being. None of us can unilaterally just….decide not to be ableist or something like similar, and TRUST that deciding not to be that thing ACTUALLY means that no ableist or similar thinking is ever going to sneak into our opinions or actions regardless.

So ultimately, my best advice is just to remember to listen just as much as you pay attention to what you say and put out there….because no matter how certain you are of your own nature overall, that doesn’t mean that individual actions and speech can’t get away from you…..and it doesn’t hurt you to be open to being told you did or said something ableist even if unintentionally. Rather, if you genuinely don’t want to be ableist, its to your BENEFIT, to be told when you unintentionally put something ableist into something you said or did or wrote…..so that you can be aware, and thus make sure not to do the same thing again….since if you were already aware of its ableism, you would never have put it in or said it in the first place.

So I mean, I guess its just about…..trust in yourself when you truly believe you’re right, after re-checking your math or the equivalent….but just as important, don’t be afraid to be wrong, if your real priority isn’t being ‘right’ about not being what they think you are, but instead just being or BECOMING ‘better’ than they think you are.

2) As to your second question, just do it, Nike slogan or not. LOL. Sorry, but there is no real means of protecting your ideas because ideas can’t be copyrighted - that’s how someone like CC gets away with what she did. Similar advice to what I just said above…..just trust in your own ingenuity. Don’t focus so much on the importance of having singular ideas or stories that nobody else has anything like, because there’s nothing truly new under the sun….other than execution. Only the way YOU execute an idea and unfold it over the course of an entire story is ever going to be truly unique, because any single idea can be taken in any of a million different directions. And the more you allow your own creativity to be about more than just a single idea or premise you had, the more its going to become distinct as YOUR creativity, YOUR execution of your various ideas, no matter how many other people do stories of similar premises.

‘Real’ writers get ripped off all the time, and it sucks, but its never stopped any that I’ve ever met, because the thing about real writers is they don’t NEED to rip off anyone else’s ideas….because they’ve got more than just one. And anyone who can come up with an idea for a story in the first place, rather than just stealing someone else’s, can come up with a second one, and a third. I truly believe that. There’s no imagination that only has a one-story limit…..just people who lack so much imagination or faith in their own imagination they default to stealing others’ in the first place.

Trust in your own uniqueness as a person and have faith that will imbue your execution of any story idea with enough unique elements or flavor that it’ll still be distinctly yours even if someone else rips off the basic premise. Once you give yourself permission to just….not be afraid of someone ripping you off, because you know that EVEN IF that should happen, you’d be okay because you’d still have other ideas, more stories to write……I PROMISE you, the fear of someone lurking around and waiting to rip you off will vanish completely. It doesn’t mean that such a person won’t still be out there. It doesn’t mean that someone won’t still try and steal one of your ideas somewhere down the line. But it does mean that even if they do, it won’t matter….because unlike them, you’re more than just one single idea.

And if someone actually rips off your execution of an idea, ie plagiarizes your actual story? That’s a different matter, but there are recourses for that. I mean, the mere fact of being able to point to your story existing in some form before they ever brought out their ripped off version of yours means that at the very least, you can torpedo their credibility. The only way to truly LEGALLY be protected in case of actual plagiarism is to copyright something, and you can’t copyright a fanfic for instance, since you don’t own the intellectual property, and you can’t copyright your premise since as I said above, nobody can copyright an idea, so honestly, I really do say and believe you’re better off just….not worrying about it. If it happens, there are ways to address it then, but building it up as an inevitable or even a likely hypothetical usually just acts as a form of self-sabotage convincing us there’s one more reason not to put ourselves and our work out there.

And that is SO much more devastating to your career as a writer or even just a fanwriter, than someone potentially ripping off one story of yours…….because it means you never put ANY stories out there, just for the sake of protecting even just that hypothetical singular one.

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i-choose-liam · 5 years

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Stress Buster - King Liam x MC

A/N: I apologise for the length of this post for those who want to scroll past. I wrote this on the fly and I'm posting it from mobile, so I couldn't add the "Keep reading" line. Sorry! 💙

Hello! This is my first time posting a fic in quite a few months. So any feedback is appreciated. It's sort of a continuation (with a major leap in between) of my TRR Chapter Tie-Ins series. You don't have to read the previous parts to make sense of this story. For those who haven't read the previous parts, my MC in this series is Riley Spencer, a law school dropout and twin sister to Dani Spencer, the MC from Lovehacks. So this is actually a The Royal Romance and LoveHacks crossover.

This is for the anon who asked me to write a fanfic about Liam teasing a tired Riley. It's a bit different than what you asked for, but I hope you like it, anon! ☺️

***

It was the end of a long, tiresome week. Liam was holding himself back from grabbing Riley and jumping into bed together. He took deep, calming breaths as he sat on the ottoman and took his shoes off, watching his Queen fire away some rapid texts on her phone. He wondered how it was possible that she grew more and more beautiful with each passing day. There she stood by their bed, holding her phone up at eye level.

"Constantly looking down at the phone causes neck and spine problems, babe", she had told him once.

A small smile curved the corner of his lips, as he took in the sight of her. Those silken locks in ombre, which he had curled around his fingers nearly every night since their wedding. The graceful bearing with which she carried herself, even as she stood still. And that face - the one which had illuminated his life, like the moon did to a clouded night.

"Are you texting Madeleine?", Liam teased.

"Yes"

Normally, that name was enough to make Riley roll her eyes or crack some joke about the Countess. But she kept typing away, filling in Liam about some event she had to attend on Monday and how important it was for the apple export. It didn't sit well with Liam to see his lovely wife in her Queen mode when they had done with their duties for the day and were now alone in their bedroom. He shed his coat and unbuttoned his collar as he walked to her. The fading smell of her shower gel and deodorant, with just a smidgen of that womanly musk, was what greeted him first. Liam placed his chin on Riley's shoulder from behind, letting his arms wrap themselves around her. He closed his eyes as he kissed her cheek, gently rocking her sideways in his snug embrace.

"Honey, not right now. This is important stuff", she said, without looking back at him.

Liam didn't get upset or angry. He smiled in defeat as he recognised what was happening. He let go of her, but couldn't help putting his hands on her shoulders. He said,

"Do you realise what's going on?"

Riley said, still looking at her phone screen,

"What?"

"You're pulling a Riley"

That earned him a tired glare from over her shoulder. Liam grinned.

"I'm sorry but that's what this is. You have been doing so much these last few weeks. And unlike a normal person when overworked, you just jump deeper into the deep end"

She said, pouting a bit at her phone as she typed,

"This is not a "Riley". I'm just... just busy"

"Darling, you remember what happened the last time you got overburdened and wouldn't let anyone help you?", Liam reminded her, "You ended up eating all the cake at Maxwell's birthday, you called Drake a denim whore, then you wept while hugging both our corgis, and kept saying "It's a cool name, Mr. T! Mr. T's a cool name!*"

Riley's shoulders stiffened a bit under his hands. Liam smiled and massaged them.

"Do we want an encore of that?", he asked, trying to keep the smile out of his voice.

His wife was stubborn as she was beautiful. She said,

"There's not going to be an encore cause I'm not overworked. I've got everything under control. Totally"

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder and took her phone to the bathroom. Liam decided to let her have her privacy. But he was worried about her now. She had confided in him about her law school days, and how she had been put on "leave" by the school for reasons concerning her own mental and physical well being. That was when she had started working as a waitress and met him.

'Ah, fateful night', Liam thought.

How fearless and carefree she had seemed to him then. In a way, she was still all that. But her type A personality reared its head every now and then when the going got tough. If she kept throwing herself into work 24x7 like she had been doing lately, Liam was sure there would be repercussions for her health.

'If only there was someone who could...'

Liam smiled to himself. There was. There was someone who could pull Riley out of her workaholic spiral. The only person who could do it in fact.

Liam checked the time, and making sure it was still daytime in San Francisco, he called.

"Liamm, hii!", answered the voice from the other end.

Liam grinned at that enthusiastic tone and the thumping sound of music coming from somewhere behind his sister-in-law. He said,

"Hello, Dani"

***

Riley had back to back appearances scheduled before apple picking season. As a suitor for Liam's hand in marriage, she had hated the Cordonian obsession with apples. But as the Queen of her people, she had come to realise that the apples were a symbol of the Cordonian spirit. The Cordonian Ruby was one of their most valued exports and she knew its importance to the Cordonian morale and economy quite well.

"Riley, this is such a lovely dress. I didn't know you had something from Ana de Luca's summer '19 collection", Hana said.

Riley had to turn her head to look at Hana, who was sitting next to her in the car. At first glance, she saw a large apple in place of Hana's face.

'What?'

Overworked for the last few days, she had to shake her head to clearly see the winsome face of Lady Hana Lee.

"I haven't even seen Ana's summer collection this year, let alone buy something. What are you talking about?", Riley said.

Hana showed her the webpage on her phone, the picture just taken that morning... of Liam and Riley leaving the Parliament.

Her mind was so bungled with apples and all the bullet points on her schedule for the day that she had to take a minute to think. Hana pointed out,

"This was taken a few hours ago. But you've been with me since morning"

Riley asked, clearly confused,

"What?"

Hana looked concerned. She said,

"Riley, you were photographed with Liam outside the Parliament this morning. But that can't be you cause you have been with me all day. So who is this? And what happened to you? Are you okay?"

In a quick snatch, Riley had Hana's phone in her own hands. She speed-read through the article and slowly scrolled past the three pictures. Only her side profile was caught in the pictures, most of it hidden by a gigantic hat. Riley scowled, angered but not scared. She handed the phone back to Hana.

"That's my twin sister", Riley said, "And she and Liam have a lot to answer for when I get to them"

***

Come evening, Riley nearly stormed into the palace, followed by her assistant who frantically tried to keep in pace with her. She had confirmed with Liam's assistant that he was at home after the day's work. Dani she hadn't bothered calling because her head already felt like it would burst. If she had to argue with her reckless, impulsive sister for one...

"That's one big butt to carry on your neck, butthead"

Riley turned around at the call that had come from behind her. Dani stood laughing in the distance, in casual attire that made her stand out even more amidst the palace interior. She met Riley halfway, hugging her tight.

"Oh Riiless, it's been sooo long!"

Dani hugged her tight, shaking her a bit. Riley would have offered an even tighter hug which her family, the Spencers, were known for. But she remembered what had put her in a bad mood for the entirety of her day.

"The photos this morning", she said, without any emotion.

Dani drew back, still grinning,

"Your press secretary didn't tell you? I was on my way to surprise you here at the palace. She... what's her name... like that cookie Mom likes?"

"Madeleine?"

"Yeah, that one. So she saw me and she was like, "Ah the twin sister". I tried to be polite and all but she didn't seem to have time for that. She asked me if I'd be okay to stand in as you for a few pictures for the paparazzi. I thought what the hell, and did it"

Riley folded her arms and asked, raising her eyebrows,

"Oh really? You just conveniently happened to run into Countess Madeleine and she asked you, even though I was just a phone call away, to take pictures with Liam? And for whom, the paparazzi? Dani, I know this is some stupid prank of yours but you've really lost your touch. That is so absurd I can't even..."

"I'm not kidding, seriously", Dani explained, with an earnest expression, "I told her that someone might notice the slight differences in our features. You know, twins being mirror images and all. She said that your face was plain enough to not warrant such close scrutiny. Yikes"

Riley bit her lip. She said,

"Fine. That does sound like something Madeleine would say but it doesn't make any sense why she would want me and Liam to be photographed together by some paparazzo"

Dani explained,

"Right? I asked her the same thing. She said it was because rumours have been going about your marriage losing its spark cause you two are barely seen together in public anymore"

Ouch.

It took Riley a moment to counter that. She tried,

"But... it's not... it's just because we've both been busy with our individual duties. There's nothing wrong with our marriage. We love each other"

"I'm sure you do, Riles. Don't listen to what the haters say. They have nothing better to do", Dani assured her.

Riley couldn't stop thinking about it though. Had it really been so long since she and Liam had been seen together in public? She couldn't recall the last time they had had a private moment together let alone one in front of other people. She had thrown herself into the role of the best Queen she could be and yet...

"You okay?", Dani said, "If I had known it would bother you so much, I wouldn't have done it. That Madeleine said she would let you know and you'd be okay with it"

What hurt her - more than the speculation about her marriage - was the fact that Liam had gone along with this scheme. He had let himself be photographed with Dani as a substitute to his lawfully wedded wife.

Riley had to ask,

"What did Liam say? He must have felt pretty uncomfortable pretending you were me"

"I don't think he noticed it was me and not you. We didn't say anything to each other. We just walked side by side, not even holding hands. And that was it", Dani shrugged.

'No way. Not in a m...'

Riley shook her head, giving a little laugh of disbelief.

"Now that's taking it too far. Liam would have immediately known it was not me. Or Madeleine must have told him it was you. Yeah. That's why he..."

Really? She thought to herself. Did Liam really not care or notice that the woman next to him wasn't his wife?

It hurt. But Riley endured. She put on a smiling face for her sister and saw her to the guest chambers.

***

Riley dropped the impassive act when she walked into her own bedroom that she shared with Liam. He was sitting on the settee, reading a book. Like a child in want of attention, Riley walked over and stood right in front of him. Liam looked up at her from his book then, asking,

"When did you get in, my love?"

Oh the nerve.

She folded her arms across her chest, trying her best not to let her cheeks swell in anger like they always did. And which was enough to make Liam not take her seriously as he kept trying to "puncture" her cheeks instead.

"Did you seriously pose with Dani this morning and not know it wasn't me?", she asked.

Liam closed the book, his perfect eyebrows furrowing just a bit. He asked sweetly,

"Dani? Your sister?"

"You posed for paparazzi bait shots with her this morning. Did you really not know it wasn't me?"

Liam stood up and peered down into her face. He said sincerely,

"Riley, I really didn't think for a moment that it wasn't you. And Dani... when did she arrive? And why was she the one posing with me?"

Riley recapped for him what Dani had told her. He sighed, scratching the side of his brow.

"That's too much, even for Madeleine. I'll talk to her"

"I'm not jealous or something that you posed for a picture with my sister. It's not that", Riley said in small voice.

"What is it then?"

She could feel her stupid cheeks inflate as she spoke.

"It's just that... you couldn't even tell that it wasn't me. I know Dani and I are identical twins but I thought...", she mumbled, "I thought you would always be able to tell"

"Oh"

That's it? Oh? That was what he had to say in his defence?

Liam said, a bit sheepish,

"Well, to be honest with you, we didn't talk during the photos. She was wearing a very... interesting hat that hid nearly half her face from me. I supposed that you were busy and didn't want to talk, that's all. I didn't want to annoy you"

This wasn't something she had expected to hear from her Liam. Riley gripped his arms with her hands, saying,

"You don't think I'd ever be so mean and want to avoid you? Not you, Liam. You're the only reason I'm even here. You know that, right?"

He took her in his arms. But cautiously, she noted.

"I know. I'm sorry", he said, "It's... you have been so busy lately. I know how hard you try to give your best to everything you are called upon to do as the Queen of Cordonia. I just didn't want to annoy you when you have been working yourself to the bone lately"

That sure did it. Riley could feel the tears murking her vision. She had been so occupied with being a good queen lately that she had forgotten who she was doing it all for. The man who was holding her in his arms like she were made of fire and would burn him any instant.

She didn't want to know the answer to it but she asked anyway.

"Liam?"

"Yes, dear?"

"You're not scared of me, are you?"

He stroked her hair away from her forehead, smiling.

"Of course not, my love. I'm in awe of your strength and your courage every day. But you have never given me any reason to fear you"

Throwing herself into his embrace, Riley muffled her face against Liam's shirt. He seemed to panic.

"Hey. You okay? What's wrong?"

Riley mumbled,

"I pulled a Riley"

She could feel the laugh reverberating through Liam's chest. He kissed the top of her head, saying,

"There, there"

"I'm so sorry", she said, sniffing.

"Don't be. I appreciate how much effort you put into being a good ruler. You have no idea how grateful I am for that", Liam held her face so she was looking up at him, "But nothing's worth the anguish and damage to your health. You are the most important person in the world to me. And if anything were to happen to..."

Riley sniffed petulantly, interrupting him,

"Why am I like this?"

Liam kept reassuring her, kissing her tears away.

"There's nothing wrong with you, my love. I just wanted to remind you to take it easy"

She wiped another tear falling down her cheek. The exhaustion of the past few weeks was catching up with her. More than that, she was chiding herself for reverting back to her old workaholic ways. She didn't need all the stress when they were trying for a baby.

Liam looked at her like a sad, guilty puppy, which just added to her confusion. He suddenly pulled her closer.

"Oh my darling, I'm sorry. Don't cry. I'm so sorry", he said.

"Why?", she wondered.

"If I had known it would make you feel so bad, I never would have agreed to Dani's plan"

Hold up.

Riley looked up sharply through tearful eyes that were now blazing with a slow fury. She repeated,

"Dani's plan?"

Liam confessed,

"Yes. I asked her if she knew how I could stop you from overworking yourself to a burnout, and she said that she would fly to Cordonia and help. She didn't tell me much. She just said that I shouldn't speak a word to you or her today if we met in public, and that she would handle the rest. I knew it was not you with me this morning outside the Parliament, but since she had forbidden me from speaking to either of you, I didn't say anything"

Liam was startled when a woman's voice in an American accent called him "Tattle tits!". Both he and Riley turned to see Dani standing in the door to their bedroom, with her hands on her hips.

"For the record", Dani said to her sister, carefully taking a step backwards, "Lady Hana and Madeleine were in on this too. So you can't just punish me for the whole thing"

Riley gave her husband a sweet smile that spelled murder. She said,

"I'm going to deal with you tonight, right after I kill my sister"

She could tell from Liam's eyes that he was up for whatever sexual punishment she had hinted at. He said softly, so only she could hear,

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me"

She shook her head at him in horror, saying,

"Oh my god. You only spent like half a day with her... Jesus Christ. Dani!"

Liam couldn't help but grin as he stood there watching. Dani dashed out of their rooms with a laugh, followed by the Queen of Cordonia and her shoe.

"Oww!", he heard Dani yelp from somewhere outside, "That hurt, you jerk!"

The loud bickering he - and the guards - could hear outside reminded him of similar occasions from his own childhood.

Not wanting to get in Riley's way when she was in an avenging mood, Liam took his phone and dialled a number.

"Leo?", he smiled on hearing the voice, "Hello to your filthy self, brother"

He sat down to catch up with his own sibling while Riley punished her imp of a twin outside.

---

*That line's from a Key & Peele sketch. God I miss that show.

#king liam x mc #fanfiction #riley & dani #lovehacks #trr #trh #the royal heir #the royal romance #playchoices #romance #comedy #siblings #twins #king liam #thatoclady fanfics

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estrxlar · 3 years

Text

The Ghost Of You

06 - Too Little Too Late

Chapters songs:

Yam Yam: No Vacation

Numb: Men I Trust

4EVER: Clairo

—

Sugawara

Hey, I won't be riding the bus this morning. My father is visiting and I have to spend the morning with him I'm guessing. I might be available after school, though. So if you wanna walk

Yeah, I'll let you know. I hope everything with your dad goes okay.

Okay. See you later then.

Yeah, you too.

—

One last message from Sugawara is received, before I close the messaging app, and turn off my phone. I wasn't quite ready for what was to occur this morning: seeing my dad. You would think I would be happy about it, or at least be a little excited. But really, I couldn't be more stressed. All my father has ever done is criticize my talents, my behavior, and almost everything that has to do with me being me. Every time he comes to Japan, which isn't a lot, it's the same lecture all over again about what I'm doing with my life, and where I'll be when I'm older.

But at least two or three more hours of sleep. Might as well take advantage of missing a day, right?

—

As I stretch out my arms under my sheets, a knock on my door is heard, followed by my mom's soft voice. "Y/n, your father is getting you today. I'm off to work, okay? Make sure to feed Astra." Her tone is low and worry full, but I wouldn't blame her. Surely your ex-husband coming back shouldn't be so easy.

"I know, mom. Thanks. You have a good day," I say back to her, hearing her footsteps slowly disappear. That's my queue to begin getting ready. What I wear consists of something simple: a thin white shirt, a sage green sweatshirt on top, and jeans with white sneakers, which is something safe. I wouldn't want him to begin criticizing me by starting with my outfit. And as for my hair, I wore it the way I always did.

After a few moments of getting ready, I stand up in the mirror, making sure my personality wasn't showing on the outside. I hated that this is how I had to think of myself when around my parents, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. As suspected, a few minutes later, a message from him appears informing me he had gotten here.

—

Dad

Hey! I'm outside, come quickly so we can grab something at that small cafe you love.

Okay, I'll be out there in a second.

—

Nothing baffled me as much as him being so normal about this situation did, but there wasn't much I could say to him. I could only imagine how many questions he would ask me, or if he would even care about the important things, like if I was going through anything.

Reaching for a basic shoulder bag, I say my farewell to the cat, and make my way downstairs. Once I reach the front door, I take a deep breath and open it to reveal the usual view, except an expensive car stood in the driveway, with a smiling man inside of it. I smile back, easing that he didn't look pissed as fuck. After that, I locked the front door and walked towards his car.

Hesitantly, I pull the handle and step into the front passenger seat. "Hey, Dad." I greet him, meanwhile closing the door. "How've you been?"

"Hm, I've been just fine. What about you?" He begins to pull out of the driveway, and soon enough, we're on the road. "There's much to talk about."

I nod, as he states the obvious. "Yeah, of course."

This is awkward.

My hands begin to fidget, popping and stretching my fingers while he drove on the road, saying absolutely nothing. That was until I asked something to fill the empty space between us. "How's work been? I heard you got a bunch of promotions."

"It's been like always; normal. But yes, I have gotten promotions. I guess I've exceeded the limit, though. So.. what about you? You're still on your whole band-thingy?" He clears his throat, turning into another street: the same Suga and I would walk. "Your aunt says she's excited to work with you."

My aunt, AU/N, was my blueprint. She was my father's little sister, and she had a hell of a lot of money. One time when she was younger she slipped in dog pee at Walmart and sued them 50,000$. Since she was a musician, and far more successful than my band, she decided to start her label, signing many small bands like mine. And so, since I had a connection, my friends and I decided to sign with her during the summer after we graduate. We'd have to move to New York in America, but that was just fine. Because moving meant we could establish a good career and attend college as well.

"I'm excited too. You know, to move and all." My eyes take mental images of the portrait outside today. Trees were finally growing leaves again, and grass as well; spring was around the corner. "Why the sudden visit? Is there a conference being held in Miyagi?"

My question seems like have made him uneasy, for his fingers began making small beats on the steering wheel. In no way did I mean to be so sudden, but an answer to my asking was necessary.

Thankfully, his response isn't a shout and rude remark, but a simple explanation that frankly made me feel better about his stay. "I'm most likely not gonna be able to see you before you graduate, so I wanted to spend a day with you. I know I said I'd drop you off at school after breakfast, but I thought we could hang out longer.

Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

—

To my surprise, the drive wasn't as short as I thought. A total of thirty silent minutes felt as if it was an entire hour. Once we arrived at the small cafe in the plaza, the both of us got off the car and glanced at each other, beginning our way towards it.

I had a certain idea of why he'd picked this spot for us to eat at. When I was younger, I'd spent lots of time here doing whatever I was up to, and usually with one of my close friends, (not that we're close anymore.) To be completely frank, it came to me as a shock my father even paid attention to how much I adored this place. The light lavender concrete walls and cutesy pots with succulents and house plants. Not to mention its colorful m decorations, far more improved than when I was a little kid. Still, it drew Moku, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Toruku to make it our number one hang-out spot from the ages of 8-14, even if it wasn't as attracting as it is now.

As we enter, the small bell at the top of the door rings, and we're greeted by a young girl at the counter that surrounded many baked goods. "Welcome!" She says, meanwhile packing up an online order. "Is there anything I could help you guys with?"

"Two coffees, please." My father replied, holding up two of his long, worn-out fingers. 'Coffee? I mean, I guess. Not that I cared or anything. I honestly preferred the tea with the little peaches in it— what was it called?' My father's voice cuts off my thoughts. "And a fruit lemonade for her. The coffees are for me; long hours!"

'That's it!' I said to myself internally, briefly smiling at the worker while she wrote a few words down. And soon enough, we're told it'll take only a few minutes. Still, it baffled me my father even remembered such a little thing I loved when I was a child.

What a try-hard.

The two of us find a corner table for two, and he pulls out a chair for me to place myself. I do so, as my father does the same. Then, a long-awaited conversation begins. "How did you know I liked this place?"

He straightens his collar, saying, "You never stopped talking about it when you were little."

"And the drink?"

"I just remember how many times it appeared on my taxes from this place, that's all." He chuckles, leaning onto his arm along with stroking his sharp beard. "Why do you ask?"

Without thinking, I answer sharply, looking down at the wooden patterns on the table. "Why do you think? I didn't think you'd paid attention," I say to him, quickly looking up for a rude remark.

He effortlessly sighs and keeps the situation unproblematic. Although, I wouldn't have minded diving deeper into the reasoning of his absence. "I did sometimes. Sorry."

I tell myself to leave it at that, to leave it at 'sorry', but I can't. I can't not say something. "Can I ask you something? And I want a valid answer, not excuses. I know you wanted to have a nice time but this is the most I've talked to you in the past year so I'd rather get straight to it than poke around the elephant in the room."

In the corner of my eye, I see him nod, giving me an okay that I could rant. Well, more like calmly let out my feelings. "I just— I don't understand what happened. After you and mom got busy, it was a total blur. I'm not asking for you two to get together again, and I never questioned why you split up either. I'm simply asking why you guys forgot you had a daughter, that's all."

Not more than a split second later do I realize how rude that sounded. But too bad, I wanted to know. A few silent seconds slide by while he seems to be thinking of an answer, and explanation. Then, the sound of footsteps coming towards us, signaling our beverages had arrived.

"Two coffees," the young lady mumbles, setting them in front of my father as he smiles. "And a fruit lemonade!" She exclaims. The pink-tinted drink makes waves in cold glass in her hand once it's set down. "All set. Is there anything else I can get for you two?"

We shake our heads lightly.

"Alright then! Enjoy!" She beams, then happily walks away. Ever since I was younger, I never understood why the store wonder daughter was so nice. But I'm guessing it lasted throughout the years, or else she wouldn't treat customers so gently.

Father slowly lifts the drink to his lips, and enjoys his cinnamon roast, while I feel my back aching from the perfect posture I perform around him. "Ah, carry on, Y/n. What is it that makes you so upset? The idea your mother and I did all we could to give you a better life, or is it that we picked ourselves up and became better people?" His manipulative tone comes in, sending mixed signals. But I could see where he was coming from completely.

"I just wish you two had taught me what it's like to be a proper parent. Instead, every time I would try getting your attention, you would always look away, and send me off to do something else." I feel my hands squeeze my thighs under the table, as I look up and down at my father with a silent yet harsh tone, "all I wanted was to admire you and learn what was so interesting about sitting in an office working for another person. But that's changed now, right? Because you've maxed out the level of superiority now that you've not done a single other thing."

"Y/n—"

"The fact you worked endlessly doesn't bother me as much as you criticizing me does. It truly hurts me that you attempt to steer me into another direction every time you visit when you haven't even been to at least seven of my birthdays. I wouldn't be surprised if you forgot it, either. You would judge who I hung out with, what I liked to do, everything. You even judged the way I handled my best friend dying, yet didn't think to send me to therapy. Toruku's mom is the one who took us to get help, not you. Why do you do it? Why do you think it's a good idea to bring me down? You've never been there for me, so you don't know me. You never will, father. You'll never know who I am."

A trembling hand reaches for my drink quickly, as I sip from the thin black straw in silence, taking in as much as I can. And all he can do is sit quiet, still processing my explanation.

That is until he speaks, finally. "I'm— I'm sorry."

"It's too late for that."

He nods.

The straw twirls between my fingers during the spinning memories of spending more time with my friends than my parents that ran through my mind. But it's whatever, right? I did just fine raising myself. At least that's what I told myself. Truth is, I needed people. I needed to grow with others on my side. It wasn't any wonder that I felt so lonely when I was younger. I'm dependent, yet independent.

Before getting up from my seat, I make sure to down the rest of the cold lemonade I had in my hand and grabbed both my hood and small bag. "Can we go now? Please."

"Sure. We can leave."

—

After getting home, I can't help but immediately let a few tears escape my eyes. The fact two words were all my father could say made my blood boil and my bones stiffen, especially since it was the last time I would talk with him in person before I graduate. Maybe I could meet him before he goes back to Korea, but I'd rather not. Not after leaving it at that.

The doors slam still echoed through the house, while I sat against the front door, crying in my lonely arms. No car to leave, and no one to hear me except a sleepy cat. While I do so, every thought of ever healing the hole between our relationship entered my thoughts, and the never-ending process of realizing I can't fix it hurts just as much as the pain in my chest.

Throughout the blur of water in my eyes, I make out the image of a white figure lying across my feet. I look up briefly, wipe my eyes, and stroke Astras back. Her soft, thin hair glides between my fingers, giving me a realization that I wasn't completely alone. No, I wasn't. I still had old friends and family that supported me, other than my father.

Right now, I had to think about the things that were important to me. The things that would help me grow, not look back at my regrets. Maybe the purpose of his visit was a sign from the universe, telling me to get over my past because my goals are too close for me to hesitate.

I needed a break from today. A nap, possibly. I don't think I'd be going back to school anytime soon, so I might as well rest a bit. That's exactly what I need, rest after a long week. After all, the weekend was just around the corner.

I slouch up the stairs with the chunky cat in my hand. By the time I reach my room, both my pants and shoes are in the other, and I'm ready to knock out between messy blankets.

—

'Ring!' My phone makes alarms under me, sending vibrations through the pillow my head rested on, making my eyelids quickly open. A hand snaked for the device, bringing the bright screen up to my face. It was no other than the band group chat.

Xanax sluts

Giki

Guess who just got invited to a party

Toruku

Giki

No me but I asked if you guys could go and they said we can bring whoever

Toruku

Bruh

Who is hosting it

Giki

Some chick names Miya I know. She's a third-year and seems like a stuck-up little bitch but she's actually pretty cool.

Hikishi

Omg I love her she's so sweet

Oh I know who you guys are talking about she's the girls' volleyball team captain

Giki

Yeah

Anyways she said you guys could go

Hikishi

When

Giki

Uhh

In like

An hour?

HUH

GIRL IM NOT READY FOR A PARTY TN I JUST GOT IN THIS ARGUMENT WITH MY DAD 😟

Giki

Oh come onnn just slap on a dress or something and we can go

Hikishi

WAIT YES IM SO BORED

Toruku

Will, there be alcohol

Giki

Toruku

Will there be drugs

Giki

Toruku

Then this isn't a party-

Giki

Come on she's my friends and I promised you guys would go plus she's super popular so everyone's gonna be there AND she's rich

Toruku

And who's driving us

Hikishi

You mf who else

Fine I'll go but you guys better not do anything to cause attention, if there's gonna be snobby people then we're most likely to be looked down on

Hikishi

I'm so excited yayy

Toruku

What are you excited about there's no drugs or alcohol

Hikishi

Cause this is the first party we're going to ever since last month

Toruku

Oh yeah

Giki

Mhm it's like this back to school party

Toruku

Giki if this is a kids party I'm gonna slap the lesbian out of you

Giki

ITS NOT YOU TOUCH-DEPRIVED TWINK

See you guys in an hour ig

Hikishi

Oh-

—

Mom

Going out tn

Ok. Are you staying at anyone's house?

Maybe. Idk yet

How did it go with your dad

It went fine

Good baby I'm glad

Tell me when or if you get to someone's house

Ok I will love you

—

Happy that my mother didn't make an argument, I sigh, checking the time. It seemed pretty dark outside, so it had to be around eight or nine. And quickly after, I decide it's best to begin getting ready, again.

—

Please note chapters, it means a lot. I work endlessly on these making sure they're perfect for you guys. Have a good rest of your day, and I hope you take care of yourself. Love you lots!!

- estrxlar

0 notes

thesummoningdark · 6 years

Note

Okay, while I love everything you write I think for the DVD commentary I'd like a behind-the-scenes look into chapter 3 of At the Edge of the World. The entire fic is lush and gorgeous but I'm a sucker for the bits where Goody and Sam interact, and with the easy, sure steadiness that Billy brings to this experience that's so harrowing for Goody and would love your additional thoughts on either/both. -The Anon Formerly Known As Thrillingest

So this took forever. I’m happy to do more of these DVD commentaries (you can hit me up over on my writing sideblog!) if anyone’s interested, but I’d appreciate it if any further requests are for scenes rather than whole chapters. A chapter takes too long to do.

Anyway, answer below the cut~

When I originally set out to write this fic, the first neural handshake was what I’d actually been prompted to write (as a christmas present for @b-r-a-h iirc). It grew and took on a life of its own in the writing, but even so, that one scene was always going to make or break the whole fic. I spent a lot of time working on getting it just right.

It’s late enough by the time he finally leaves the kwoon that he doesn’t expect to find Sam in his office; he hesitates before going looking for him at all. But the prospect of another night stewing is unbearable. He doesn’t trust himself not to have lost his nerve by morning if he doesn’t commit to this now.

The shatterdome is quiet as he makes his way through. The overhead lights, motion-activated, flare one by one as he passes and settle into a steadily glowing trail behind him. It does nothing to quiet the sick unease simmering under his skin, feeling painfully exposed as his footsteps echo loudly in the silence of the bare corridors. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say. He can’t shake the conviction that there’s no choice he can make here which won’t turn out to have been a horrible mistake.

I was very pleased with the description of the shatterdome late at night, of how the quiet makes Goody feel so much more exposed and on edge. This opening part of the chapter was all about really showing his unease and how trapped he feels by the situation.

He hesitates in front of Sam’s door. Raises his hand; lowers it again.

He takes a deep breath, swears, and knocks.

These two lines work very well as punctuation to the scene, I think, slowing things down and underlining Goody’s hesitation. The short, sharp phrases are very different from how I normally write prose from Goody’s point of view - it’s actually a lot more like how I’d write Billy, oddly enough - but I like the sense it gives of these jerky, aborted movements and Goody second-guessing himself.

There are a few endless moments of silence before the sounds of movement emerge faintly from the other side of the door, a few muffled thumps and the quiet shuffle of footsteps. Goody hears the hollow clunk of the lock sliding back, but somehow it still startles him when the door swings open, his heart in his throat as he takes a step back and meets Sam’s tired eyes.

“I’ll do it,” he says in a rush before Sam can ask why he’s here. Sam regards him solemnly for a long moment before nodding.

“Good.”

“…I have some conditions,” Goody clarifies in a more measured tone, something sick and shocked crawling feverishly over the back of his neck as the magnitude of what he’s just agreed to tries to sink in. He pushes it away.

Sam sighs, and glances up and down the corridor before stepping aside. “Why don’t you come in.”

Writing this fic was the first time I really got to write interactions between Sam and Goody, and honestly, at first it was a little intimidating. Their conversation in the first chapter was the first time I’d ever written Sam period. I pretty much wrote this fic sequentially from start to finish, so by this point I was a lot more comfortable in their dynamic. I really love the ease between them, the sense of history in how well they know each other. A lot goes unspoken in their conversations because of it.

The Marshall’s quarters are larger than most others in the shatterdome, designed with the thought in mind that the occupant would be entertaining visiting dignitaries and the like. Still, it would take an impressive stretch of the definition to call any of the living quarters homey, and Sam’s have a certain barren neatness about them that speaks of a man who doesn’t own enough to clutter them, or spend enough time there to generate other mess. It’s very clearly a space where someone comes to sleep, not to live; there’s a distinct lack of personal touches. Save one.

Tacked to the back of the door is a single photo, unframed and a touch singed along one side, depicting a laughing family. Goody looks at it for a long moment before lowering his eyes out of some vestigial sense of respect. They all have their ghosts.

He sits on one of the spartan sofas, his gaze catching on the neat stacks of files spread out over the coffee table. Some he can identify; repair and maintenance records, duty reports, cadet evaluations. Others he doesn’t recognise at all. It’s truly startling, the amount of paperwork an organisation like the PPDC can generate in a day. “Has no-one ever told you it’s unhealthy to bring your work home with you?” he asks lightly. Sam snorts.

Some nice little set-dressing pieces of characterisation for Sam here. It doesn’t come up in any detail, but I imagine that he would have lost his family in a kaiju attack sometime before meeting Goody/joining the PPDC. That very clear sense of what he’s fighting for and why is something I consider to be pretty central to Sam’s character. I like having the old family photo there as a nod to his backstory - it crops up in the polyamory fill from KTT as well.

His room being fairly spartan is another hint at his character - very focused, all business - but it also handily doubles as a way of reinforcing the uncomfortable nature of Goody’s situation. The scene just wouldn’t feel quite the same if Sam’s quarters were cosy and welcoming.

“You mentioned conditions,” he says, sitting down opposite Goody and reaching for a gently steaming mug.

“Privacy,” Goody replies without hesitation. “And for it to be kept quiet. I’d rather not have an audience for this. And what a failed handshake would do to morale is the last thing the shatterdome needs right now.”

“We can arrange that,” Sam says, giving a nod, and Goody hadn’t even realised he was anticipating a fight until suddenly the tension is flowing out of him at the easy agreement. He sighs and sinks a little deeper into the sofa, scrubbing a weary hand over his face. Some part of him had half been hoping for an argument, for a refusal, but…here they are. For better or for worse, this is happening.

“For the record,” he says, “I’m still not convinced this is going to work.”

Sam considers him for a long moment. “So why agree?”

“Because…” Goody shakes his head, swallowing the sudden bitter taste at the back of his throat, some choking tightness wrapping around his chest. “Because in six months or a year, some green pilot pair riding a shaky drift are going to die in that damn jaeger.” He can see it clear as day from inside and out. The alarms screaming in the red-lit cockpit, the searing shock of the connection being violently severed; the roar of chaos over the radio back in the LOCCENT before everything goes abruptly, horribly silent. “I don’t need another what if to carry around.”

It was important to me in writing the first half of this fic to really work through Goody’s motivations: why he’s initially reluctant, and why he ultimately agrees. The progression from wanting to run from this to being willing to stand and fight even knowing how it’s likely to end for him is a parallel to canon I really wanted to keep. In a way this whole fic is about how he comes to that decision in this particular universe.

“I know the feeling,” Sam says quietly.

Goody gives him a thin, exhausted ghost of a grin. “Remember when we were young and bold and going to live forever?”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “No.”

Have I mentioned that I really enjoyed writing their interactions?

Perhaps unsurprisingly he doesn’t sleep well that night. He can feel the enormity of the decision he’s just committed to hanging over him, a frozen tidal wave poised to come crashing down if he dares acknowledge it. He dozes restlessly and wakes often to the lingering claws of formless nightmares, a cold sweat on his skin and his heart beating too fast in his chest, fighting his way free of tangled sheets in a panic. The darkness of his quarters is heavy and close.

He finally gives up on sleep entirely sometime before dawn. A few of the night shift are haunting corners of the mess hall; he keeps his head down so as to not inadvertently provoke a conversation through eye contact as he pours himself a coffee and walks out again with tin mug in hand. On autopilot his feet carry him to the gantry behind the loading docks. The ocean is invisible somewhere in the inky blackness below, the steady crash of breaking waves drifting up out of the darkness. The wind plucks at his coat and snatches away the smoke from his cigarette as he exhales, watching clouds scud by above in the pale moonlight.

Slowly the sky starts to lighten, dawn breaking somewhere behind the clouds. Goody flicks away the spent end of his cigarette, sighs, and heads back inside.

I always enjoy writing Goody alone with his thoughts. As I’ve said before, writing from his point of view makes it easy to lend a poetic bent to the prose, and in this kind of context you end up with this lovely evocative melancholy air. Especially when coupled with the imagery of the cold, stormy sea that crops up so much in this fic.

He considers breakfast for token moment, but even the thought of food has the knots in his stomach tightening nauseously; he drops his empty mug off in the slowly-filling mess hall and instead traces the familiar path up to the kwoon. A few diligent souls are already warming up beside the sparring mat. Goody does his best to ignore them as he skirts the opposite edge of the kwoon and makes his way to the door of the attached office.

Billy is sitting at his desk, an empty mess hall tray by his elbow and a mess of papers spread out in front of him. A hint of surprise flickers across his expression as Goody enters.

“Twice in as many days?” He raises his eyebrows. “Did you make some kind of late new year’s resolution?”

Billy’s sense of humour delights me. It’s something we only really see brief glimpses of in canon, but I’ve really enjoyed fleshing it out a little more in writing him. It’s an interesting contrast to Goody, who tends to use a self-deprecating sort of humour to deflect; Billy uses humour in a more pointed way.

Goody chooses not to dignify that with a response. He takes a moment to close the door behind him before taking a deep breath and saying with no preamble, “I agreed to it.”

There’s a drawn out moment of silence.

“…you talked to Chisholm already?” Billy asks, carefully noncommittal. His expression is unreadable.

“Yes.” Goody pauses, his gaze dropping a little as he considers his next words. “….I’ve asked for it to be kept quiet.”

There’s the soft rush of a sigh from the other side of the table, followed by the creak of a chair; Goody glances up to see Billy standing. He circles around and twitches the blinds aside to look out into the kwoon.

“You still don’t think this is going to work,” he says.

Goody gives a small shrug. “I’d rather be prepared if it doesn’t.”

“And if it does?”

Even before they ever actually drift, Billy and Goody know each other very well, and it comes through in the way they talk to each other. Especially about important things. There’s a lot that goes unspoken because it’s already understood. They get straight to the point..which would be the case anyway, I think, but it’s particularly pronounced here because Goody is still in that mode of powering through as much of this as he can before he loses his nerve.

Something icy crawls down Goody’s spine. It seems a touch ridiculous, now he suddenly has cause to admit it aloud, but he honestly hadn’t given any thought to what would come next if they were successful. He hadn’t seriously entertained the possibility that they might be.

If somehow, against all reason and experience this works, if they make it through the joint drop sims and every other test and barrier between them and that conn pod…he’ll be a pilot again. He’ll be back out there facing the kaiju. Just the thought is enough to have the sick stirrings of panic clawing their way up his throat.

It made sense to me that, being so caught up in all the ways the handshake could go wrong and what happens if it does, Goody hadn’t even stopped to seriously consider the possibility that it might succeed, much less think about what he’ll do if it does. He can’t let himself think about what happens if they succeed, because that’s the only outcome worse than failure. If trying to drift again is bad, trying to pilot again is so much worse. He’s found himself backed into a catch-22 where there’s no good outcome, and a lot of what I was trying to do with the first half of this chapter was to really get across his sense of dread.

A firm hand lands on his shoulder and he starts, blinking wide-eyed at Billy, who’s suddenly beside him. His expression is calm, but there’s a spark of something in his eyes that Goody doesn’t know how to read; something implacable and determined, something fierce enough to be alien after so long without allowing himself the luxury of hope.

“Goody,” he says, steady and certain in a way that brooks no disagreement. “We’ll figure it out.”

Goody takes a deep, steadying breath and gives a shaky nod. Billy’s right. What happens will happen, and while he may lack Billy’s confidence that they’ll be equal to whichever challenge comes of it, he can’t let himself get tangled up in anticipating it when it’s going to take everything he has just to get through what’s coming next.

The next few days are nothing but the gnawing unease of anticipation, part of him desperate to have this over and done with, another hopelessly wishing he could put it off indefinitely. It’ll be a relief for it to be over, even if he already knows that relief will be tainted with an old, familiar kind of shame. But to get it over with, he has to get through it, and some nagging voice at the back of his mind is constantly whispering that maybe he can’t. He doesn’t know if he has another handshake left in him. He’s so, so tired of wondering every time if this trip down the rabbit hole will be the one that finally breaks him.

It’s not something I chose to dig into a lot in this fic, but this paragraph right here is actually a very important insight into where Goody’s at in this place in time. It’s not that he doesn’t want to move on from the trauma of losing his copilot, or that he couldn’t do it under the right circumstances, but he’s trapped in this cycle of having to relive it and be traumatised anew every time he tries to enter the drift. He’s in this limbo space where he wants to move on but he can’t. He’s not being allowed to.

In a way, his psychological situation parallels his real life one very neatly. He’s not a pilot any more, but his experience is too useful to waste, so he’s still a part of a jaeger program. The fight his copilot died in was a long time ago, but he can’t heal from it when he’s still having to relieve it. Both leave him in a situation where he can’t do anything to help himself where he is, but he can’t distance himself either.

More than anything else in those achingly empty days, he finds himself seeking out Billy’s company. Perhaps it’s a good sign that the undemanding quiet of Billy’s presence steadies him in a way that not much that doesn’t come in a bottle can these days. But some darker, more pessimistic part of him can’t help but wonder if this is nothing but him savouring the last days of this friendship while he can, before the handshake ruins it.

He feels a pang of guilt for it, occasionally. It seems disloyal even to entertain the thought that Billy wouldn’t be better than that. But he can’t bring himself to believe that anyone could be exposed to the wreckage of his subconscious, and not want to do the smart thing and distance themselves. Lord knows he would if he could.

This comes up a lot in writing their relationship from Goody’s point of view: that he feels it’s a disservice to Billy to think that their relationship is on such a shaky foundation, but he still can’t help but be afraid of it.

The few days they spend waiting seem to last an eternity. But when word finally comes that LOCCENT are ready for them, the only thought in Goody’s head is that an eternity wouldn’t be long enough to let him be ready for this.

The solid warmth of Billy’s shoulder against his is a comfort he desperately needs as they walk into the drivesuit room side by side to be met by a skeleton crew of technicians. He hasn’t set foot in this part of the shatterdome since that last disastrous failed handshake; just the familiar smell of relay gel and oiled metal is enough to have his heart beating faster, a slight tremor shaking through his hands.

Generally it’s a more relaxed process, preparing for a handshake. In a combat drop there would be alarms blaring, the countdown displayed on every screen, running out the seven minutes they have after an event to get into the cockpit and be ready to launch. There’s none of that time pressure here. No rush, although the technicians pride themselves on their speed and efficiency even when it isn’t a matter of life and death. And yet he knows he’s never been this nervous before a combat drop, sick with the anticipation of what’s waiting for him in the conn pod.

He closes his eyes and tunes out the low murmurs of the technicians, clinging to a fragile sense of calm numbness as he lets himself be turned and posed and strapped into the drivesuit. At least there won’t be an audience. Sam has been true to his word about keeping it quiet, hand-picking staff he trusts to run LOCCENT and the drivesuit room, and choosing a time toward the end of the nightshift when the few people still awake will be tired and incurious. However badly this goes, at least he won’t have to deal with stares and whispers following him around the shatterdome for the next week.

The technician at his shoulder gives his backplate one last solid thump and steps away. He sighs, gathers what little courage he has left, and walks forward.

If he thought the drivesuit room was sickeningly familiar, it’s nothing beside the conn pod, the lights of the control panels and the waiting cradle of the command platform. For an endless moment he finds himself frozen in the doorway. He’s never set foot inside Widow Rose before - she was built long after his last drop, and quickly filled by a copilot pair of her own - but knowing that doesn’t help. It’s still horribly, achingly familiar.

Billy nudges his shoulder gently, startling him out of his reverie. He swallows down the pathetic part of him that wants so desperately to find some way, any way of delaying this even if only for a second, and gives a shaky nod. This is happening one way or another. The least he can do is face it with what little dignity he has left.

Obviously any writer’s work is informed by their own experiences, but for me, this part was a lot closer to the bone than most others. In this case I was drawing on my own memories of having to go through with crash escape/sea survival training despite having a massive phobia of water. That feeling of forcing yourself to go through with something you’re desperately afraid of, how badly you want to grab any chance to delay it just a little longer…it definitely stays with you.

“Breathe,” Billy says, low and even. “You’ll get through it.”

“Said the butcher to the cow,” Goody mutters.

Billy huffs a laugh. “I’ll make it quick and painless.”

Despite himself, he can’t help but be lulled a little by Billy’s easy calm, even as he feels a pitiful stab of envy for it. He gives a thin, tired ghost of a smile and nudges Billy’s shoulder lightly in return. If he always would have had to find himself here again, he’s glad at least that it’s Billy here with him. He doesn’t know that he could have faced it with anyone other than Billy by his side.

I really enjoy writing these little exchanges that show how easily they play off of each other, especially in stressful situations. And the lighter flashes of humour that come from their conversations were something the first half of this chapter really needed.

Harness set for test mode is flashing on the screens as they strap themselves in. Goody’s hands are shaking badly enough to have him fumbling the controllers as he threads his fingers through them, sick unease prickling feverishly over the back of his neck and cold sweat crawling down his skin under the drivesuit. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming fast and shallow; lord only knows what his vitals readout in LOCCENT must look like.

“Pilots on board and ready to connect,” Teddy’s voice filters in tinnily over the comms. Goody sucks in a sharp breath.

“Steady,” Billy murmurs.

“Initiating neural handshake.”

This is mostly an inside joke, of course, but the thought of Teddy as Tendo makes me laugh.

For an endless moment there’s nothing but the visceral rush of sense memory, too quick and tangled to make any sense of, the sudden feeling of everyone opening and unfolding, of the mind flowing out into the space suddenly opened to it. He hears his mother’s voice, sees a fleeting glimpse of her face from a child’s low perspective. Somewhere behind it is another woman’s voice, words in a language he doesn’t speak but somehow understands. A sharp stab of unease; a man’s voice this time, abrupt and angry. Helpless frustration. Silence.

There’s a mirror in front of him and bruises on his face and the taste of blood in his mouth, and pain comes tearing up his flank, alarms blaring in the desperate red pulse of the conn pod emergency lighting, and in the last screaming moments he feels something snap with a brutal whiplash leaving behind nothing, nothing, nothing—

There’s a lot going on here. Some memories, like the image of the red-lit conn pod and the loss of a copilot, are very clearly Goody’s. but a lot of the rest don’t distinctly belong to one or the other - it was a conscious decision on my part to leave it ambiguous which memories are coming from who. I wanted to run with the idea that a flash of memory from one would pull up similar memories from the other, and they’d keep feeding into each other.

Off the record, the start and the end are Goody, and the middle (everything from another woman’s voice to blood in his mouth) is Billy.

Except that there isn’t nothing. Under it all there’s something solid, an unexpected rock to cling to and keep his head above water while he gasps for air. Just the shock of it, of being caught when he expected to fall, is enough to snap him out of the inward spiral for a precious, fleeting moment. It’s so very little, an eye in the storm of crushing panic. But it’s enough for something warm and steady to wrap in around him, and push back the howling dark.

It’s not the panicked clawing he remembers, the fingers of a doomed attempt to reel him in frantically scrabbling to find purchase on his spiralling subconscious. Instead it’s a mere brush of a touch, nudging him back toward an even keel so gently he might not have noticed it if he hadn’t been waiting for it.

That sea/storm imagery coming up again here. That second paragraph was actually the first part of this scene I wrote, and it’s definitely something I wanted to run with for the whole thing: the idea that rather than trying to keep too tight a rein like previous candidates have tried and failed to do, Billy has a knack for gently nudging Goody at the right moments to keep him from spiralling.

“Billy?” he mumbles uncertainly, his voice cracking. He’s here in the conn pod, but no, the alarms are silent. The lights are a calm, steady blue. The only pain is sense memory.

“Breathe,” Billy says again, just as calm and steady as the lights. “I’ve got you.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and slowly exhales. The rabbit hole is right there, aching emptily like a missing tooth, but no sooner do his thoughts drift toward it than they’re steered in another direction; a flashing school of fish easily startled into darting off by a dark shape slowly cruising by below.

With every step he expects to fall. But the connection stays steady, grounding him in the here and now. The jaeger is alive under his hands, and now he’s not so tangled in the cobwebs of painful memory…she feels different from Aura Blue. Lighter. And Billy is right there with him every inch of the way as he slowly settles back into the old familiar feeling of a jaeger’s heart beating with his, filling the drift with the undemanding quiet he’s always associated with Billy’s presence.

I liked the idea that once he’s been steadied enough to stop that spiral before it starts, Goody actually can more or less keep a handle on himself. Once again that reference to a light touch rather than a tight rein comes up, with bonus sea imagery - a flashing school of fish easily startled into darting off by a dark shape slowly cruising by below.

There’s definitely a turning point here: it’s the first time we really see Goody start to focus in on new things, things that are different, rather than the ways in which he’s reminded of painful memories.

Also fun fact, it took me for-fucking-ever to settle on a name for Goody and Sam’s jaeger. In early drafts it was referred to as “Ash” as a placeholder. It was that deleted scene that came out with Goody at the piano which gave me the inspiration to finally pick an actual name for it.

Tentatively he reaches out, testing the shape of their connection. There’s satisfaction radiating from Billy, pride tinged with relief, and— there, sitting at the centre of it all so deceptively unassuming that he scarcely recognises it for what it is, the cold certainty of what this means for them.

His own fears are skittering things, slipping away when his thoughts land on them in daylight; leaving only trails of lingering unease behind until they creep back up on him in the silence of his bunk at night. He half expects this one to do the same, but it doesn’t.

You’re afraid too he thinks, the realisation distant and dazed. He can’t see Billy’s smile, but he feels it. Grim amusement. Fatalism. Acceptance.

This was something I really wanted to put front and centre when they drifted: the idea that Billy knows what this means for them just as well as Goody does, but they handle that knowledge so differently that Goody almost doesn’t recognise it for what it is. Goody is the kind of person who tries to ignore his fears until he can’t any more. He’s not well equipped to get his head around the way Billy can look this in the face and accept it.

Goody says you’re afraid too, but he still isn’t quite grasping it. Billy isn’t afraid of this. Not in the same way Goody is. He knows that stepping into that conn pod together ultimately means dying there, but in his mind, he’s already weighed up the possibility and decided that it’s worth the cost. To paraphrase the original Pacific Rim: they’re all going to die one way or the other. He’d rather die in a jaeger.

Goody hasn’t accepted the inevitability of his own mortality; he’s still caught up in wanting to put it off for as long as possible. Billy has. It’s more important to him to die for something worthwhile than to avoid it for a little longer. When you get right down to it, I think this is probably the most fundamental difference in who they are are people.

The readouts on the screens are all in the green, the conn pod humming around them. “Full alignment,” Teddy’s voice comes again over the comms, static crackling on the line. “Handshake holding steady.”

“Congratulations,” Sam adds. To anyone else he might sound perfectly professional, but Goody knows him well enough to know what ‘self-satisfied’ sounds like on him. He’s sure that the fond exasperation that suffuses the link is wholly his, but the answering flicker of amusement is definitely Billy’s.

There is honestly no interaction between Sam and Goody in this entire fic that I’m not delighted by. There’s always such a sense of history and familiarity between them.

The process of disconnecting and powering down passes in something of a daze. It’s been so long since the last time a handshake ended in anything other than a spiral and an emergency shutdown for him that distance has made the standard procedure unfamiliar. It’s calm, matter of fact; clearly routine for everyone present but him. He barely has the presence of mind to follow what’s happening.

Fortunately, little is required of him other than moving when he’s told. In some kind of stunned trance he allows himself to be led from the conn pod and methodically peeled out of the drivesuit, the murmurs of the technicians and the voices from LOCCENT filtering over the radio so much white noise in his ears. […]

It honestly wasn’t until I hit the end of the neural handshake scene that it really dawned on me how long it would have been since Goody actually experienced a normal disconnection. It isn’t something we see in Pacific Rim either, so unlike the initial connection (most of the procedure for which I lifted directly from the movie), I didn’t have anything to go on. Fortunately under the circumstances it made sense for Goody to be in a bit of a daze, so I was spared the necessity of getting into specifics.

[…]Everything seems distant and hazy and unreal.

Everything apart from Billy.

It’s momentarily disorienting to turn and see Billy facing him when instinct insists that they should be moving as one. Billy tilts his head, considering; Goody notices himself mirroring the motion half a heartbeat after he does it, the two of them still half in sync as they ride out the echoes of the drift. His heart is still racing, hardly able to believe that they really did it. He hadn’t believed it could ever flow that smooth and easy again. After all this time he’d forgotten what it could be like to slip into a solid, comfortable connection.

They’re close, he realises belatedly; enough so to look odd to outside eyes. So soon after the handshake his instincts don’t even question that of course Billy belongs in his personal space as much as he does himself. A day ago he might have felt exposed under that searching gaze. Now it’s nothing but familiar.

This part got written out of order very early on as well. The image of them moving together, still half in sync, was something I had very clearly in my head when I set out to start writing this, and I wanted to get it down before it faded.

“You could have said something,” Billy says after a long pause.

There’s no point in pretending not to know exactly what he’s talking about. A flush creeps up Goody’s cheeks, but he doesn’t lower his eyes. “It never seemed like a good time,” he replies with a small shrug.

It’s strange to think how recently the idea of having every fleeting want and idle fantasy laid bare would have been mortifying. Here and now, still half in the drift, the idea that Billy knows seems as natural and unremarkable as admitting it to himself in the privacy of his own thoughts. There’s no unease, no knee-jerk revulsion. There’s nothing but slightly startled curiosity, and a trace of what might be cautious interest.

I toyed with a few different ways of approaching this conversation, but ultimately I decided that it would have to be very matter-of-fact. How could it be anything else, when they’ve just been inside each other’s heads? It’s not something that’s explicitly explored in Pacific Rim, but I figured that for a little while right after drifting successfully, you’d still be thinking of your copilot as essentially the same entity as you.

As it says above, the idea that Billy knows seems as natural and unremarkable as admitting it to himself in the privacy of his own thoughts. It couldn’t work any other way, really, or the whole premise falls apart a little. They both know exactly what they’re talking about, how they both feel about it…the fact that Goody now knows beyond question that while startled Billy isn’t opposed to the idea is definitely helping him keep his cool.

One of the technicians clears her throat, breaking their shared reverie, unfazed as only a long-term drivesuit tech can be when their attention snaps to her in perfect unison. She informs them that the Marshal is expecting them for a debrief, and politely ejects them from the drivesuit room to make the walk to LOCCENT.

“I knew you had another one in you,” is the first thing Sam says, smiling broadly.

Goody huffs a laugh and lets himself be pulled into a hug. “We’ll see,” he replies, noncommittal. “One successful handshake doesn’t mean a combat-ready link.”

Sam shrugs. “We’ll schedule a joint drop sim tomorrow. In the meantime—” He gives a wry grin. “—why don’t you give me five damn minutes to enjoy something going right for once.”

“Yes sir,” Goody replies with an entirely spurious dutiful air, throwing a mock salute.

“Very funny,” Sam says, a hint of a smile curling the corner of his lips. “Go on, get out of here. Both of you. Sleep. You’ve earned it.”

I find something about the phrase politely ejects them inherently hilarious. I also enjoy the image of the techs being utterly unimpressed by all this drift bullshit just through sheer exposure wearing the mystique off of it.

As previously noted, I love writing Sam and Goody interacting, and it was particularly nice to write this conversation. It’s the first one in this fic where they’re both happy and relieved, and it gives it a much lighter feel.

The first hints of the shatterdome waking are starting to drift through the air around them as they make their way back down from LOCCENT; internal lights slowly brightening, footfalls and distant chatter in the air as the oncoming day shift begin the sleepy shuffle from quarters to showers to mess hall. No matter what else may be happening, the rhythm of shifts and rotations carries stubbornly on like the slow beat of some colossal heart.

They get a few glances and mumbled greetings in passing, but no-one seems to pay them much mind. After the last few days of aching uncertainty, it’s an indescribable relief to walk through the halls of the shatterdome with the weight of the handshake off of his mind, with the lingering echoes of Billy’s utter self-confidence bolstering him. It’s a relief to find himself not avoiding anyone’s eyes.

It doesn’t feel real yet. Part of him remains convinced that some other stumbling block up ahead will catch them out, that they’ll trip over a reason why it can’t work when they’re least expecting it. He doesn’t know if he’s afraid of it or hoping for it.

The theme of people coming together to form some joint entity greater than the sum of its parts is, of course, a powerful recurring theme in Pacific Rim. It’s most overt in the copilot pairs, but I wanted to throw in these occasional reminders that even the jaegers themselves are just one part of the greater entity that is the shatterdome itself.

The end of this chapter is probably the lightest and most hopeful in tone of any part of the fic, but Goody is definitely still unsure if he’s really prepared for what success means for them. He doesn’t want to have to go back out there and fight.

“You’re still not sure about this, are you,” Billy says aloud.

Goody gives a small shrug. “As I said to Sam, compatibility doesn’t necessarily mean a link stable enough for combat.” Keeping the drift steady in the calm, controlled environment of a test handshake is a very different thing to maintaining it under the stress and demanding neural load of combat.

“Tell me you don’t think I can hold it,” Billy says, flat and matter of fact. Goody sighs.

“No,” he says. “No, when you put it like that, I suppose I don’t doubt that you can.”

One of my favourite things about Goody and Billy’s relationship, the thing which drew me to them in the first place, is how much trust there is between them. Goody still isn’t sure that he can do this, but he believes completely that Billy can. And he’s willing to trust that Billy can steady him when he needs it.

As I think I’ve mentioned in previous replies, I do struggle with ending chapters sometimes. In this fic I actually did it differently to how I normally would: I wrote most of the fic as if it was a one-shot, and then went back and divided it up into chapters based on where it felt natural to pause. It was a much easier way of doing it, and I think the transitions from one chapter to the next after are definitely improved by it.

#Anonymous #claire writes a thing #ask meme #the anon formerly known as thrilling

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