#prolife writers

[sunshineandrosesnoraincamemyway]

Do not do NaNo!

NaNoWriMo has made it very clear on where they stand on the subject of abortion. If you are a pro life writer they want nothing to do with you. So what writing challenge is left for the Christians and members of the pro life community? 

I recommend joining NoQuWriMo, or Not Quite Writing Month. It’s “an alternative writing program built on a Christian and Constitutional foundation but open to all.” that was started by a dear friend of mine last year. 

If you’d like to join, the link to the website is below

https://ednapellen.wixsite.com/noqu

#NaNoWriMo #NoQuWriMo #NoQu #prolife #prolife writers #christian writers

[fluffmonster31513]

do you ever think about how luo binghe was supposed to spend five years in the abyss but got out early. and how after that, shen qingqiu was dead for five years. do you think it’s some inevitability that no matter what, they have to be apart for that long. and maybe binghe turned what was meant to be five years into eight because he wanted to see shen qingqiu so badly. do you think that his good intentions brought them both more suffering.

#god im glad this book has a happy ending #i dont know what i would become if it didn’t #a more prolific writer ig #bingqiu #svsss #svsss spoilers #the scum villain's self saving system

[piosplayhouse]

Absolute favorite twitter level discourse is when people are like "yaoi is bad because it's created by women which makes it evil and fetishizing, but bara is good because it's made by gay men for gay men" as if the creator of bara wasn't one of Japan's most famous alt-right hyper-nationalistic conservatives and also porn writer on the side who trained and maintained his own personal militia to enact a failed coup on the modernizing government in 1970 and then proceeded to publicly commit suicide after because he had a fetishistic obsession with ritual disembowelment

#obviously not trying to say bara is problematic but i do think its a little funny how people will shit and whine about how awful the #creators of yaoi must be when mishima yukio prolific gay writer of gay porn's origin story is like. comically insane

[emry-stars-art]

____

Progress has been made today 💪 I may have accidentally lengthened the first part according to my new outline? But we won't know for sure until it's all put together and briefly edited so I'll have an update then I guess

#do you guys like these lil updates/snippets #idk im not a prolific fic writer or reader i dont know how this works 😭 #thank you for being patient ily all very much #my writing #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #royal au

[tigerfancy]

tHaT wAs ThE wOrSt TaKe On ClAsS cOnCiOuSnIoUs I'vE eVeR sEeN, eMerAlD fEnNelL iS pOsH aNd ThE FiLm HaD nO bAcKbOne

bestie, idk who lied to you, but that film was never meant to be an eat the rich film. there is a huge difference between messaging and setting and I am begging everyone to understand that.

#Saltburn #sometimes #things can have rich people in them #and just be a pulpy gothic romance #and yes I know #the scary commoner turned out to be evil and brought down the poor rich family #I just can't believe all the fuss when Patricia Highsmith is RIGHT THERE #prolific queer writer telling almost the exact same story and everyone loved it #no one is holding the classism torch about Tom Ripley #please I beg of you #sometimes you really can just enjoy things or not enjoy them and move on #I stg a lot of you went into this film demanding it fit into the idea you got from the vague trailer #and then you refused to adjust your expectations when it wasn't that thing at all

[dumbnotstupidfuck]

currently thinking abt the 1940s hollywood huskerdust au with angel in this dress from unfaithfully yours

#I can’t get over it omg #starlet ​academy award look as he shows up with his prolific writer husband !!! #he WILL be winning best actor #huskerdust #casinohearts #hanthony

[mellowthorn]

the funny thing about smut fanfic from fitz's pov is the implication that he is writing it as a part of his recollections. like. he started writing down the history of the six duchies and somehow ended up with hundreds of scrolls about beloved railing him senseless instead

#fitzchivalry farseer. the most prolific smut writer in all of the six duchies #do y'all imagine he burns them as well or does he keep an archive of his past sex adventures for future use or something #rote #realm of the elderlings

[realitys-ex]

Now, Everyone can agree that the Fullmetal Alchemist Manga is a banger (I assume both animes are too, but I haven't watched 'em so no comment).

What a bunch of people don't know is that the artist/writer Hiromu Arakawa has written 2 other original works (one is complete the other is ongoing.

Silver Spoon: About a kid from Tokyo who, to get away from the demands of his parents/the stress of academia, attends a Farming School in the middle of nowhere where he is p.much the only one without a farming background. Hilarity, character development, etc. ensues.

Daemons of the Shadow Realm: A dude is raised in a mountain village, farming, hunting. etc. Until one day a fucking helicopter comes out of nowhere, his village is 50% slaughtered, turns out that the village existed for the sole purpose of breeding him and his sister, and it is not the 1400s anymore. Oh and Demons are a thing. Violence, humour, character development, etc. ensue. (This one is ongoing)

Now they are both 10/10, and I highly reccomend reading them both But that is not the point of this post.

She has drawn hundreds, if not thousands of faces at this point, so it is no surprise that you will see some repeats between the mangas.

BUT DO YOU KNOW HOW JARRING IT IS TO SEE EITHER INCARNATION OF GREED, HIS CREW, OR ROY FUCKING MUSTANG HANGING OUT IN A SCHOOL TALKING ABOUT COW BREEDS?

REALLY FUCKING JARRING! (somewhat less jarring to see them in tactical gear murdering people, or speaking with demons, cause that feels slightly in character)

Anyway, that aside, if you liked her worldbuilding, realism, in depth characters, approach to romance, etc. I do really reccomend them both.

(She also did another one entitled 'The Heroic Legend of Arslan' but as I haven't read it yet and it is a collaboration, I didn't mention it above)

#Hiromu Arakawa #fullmetal alchemist #Silver Spoon #Daemons of the Shadow Realm #I'll skip tagging the characters as that feels like a bit of a stretch #again this is not to throw shade at all #she is an increadible artist and writer #I have re read fullmetal probably 4 times by now #silver spoon twice #and when you are as prolific as she is it is more of a feature or easter egg then anything else #but man did I do a double take the first time I was reading through silver spoon #I still do to some degree but not as much as the first time #also: her afterwards comics about arguing with her editor about when the comic would end #and the lack of love triangles in silverspoon were great

[lauronk]

random recs on a friday

here i am with yet another futile attempt at catching up on the gazillion amazing fics in this fandom. taking a writing break for a couple days to reset my brain, so this is a long one. recs under the cut 💗

(this isn't even everything i still have so much reading to do this is a herculean task and you can expect more recs in a couple days probably)

move so quickly (it can't catch me) by @howtotrainyourdoofus - BALLET ELLIE ugh so phenomenal

next of kin by @probssomethingorother - oh my GOD? joel & sarah & sarah's mom prequel that had me IN TEARS

gasping at glimpses of gentle true spirit by @flowerpetvls - i am just setting out to hurt myself with these apparently?! oh my god?!

just babes being dudes by @ciaconnaa - ellie & jesse bromance, i die for you

magnetic susceptibility by @penandinkprincess - bye i loved this whole thing so much we all know how i feel about outsider POVs of joel & ellie

he shall provide by @bumblepony - joel taking care of ellie after silver lake, my one true love

midnight in texas by @boopernatural - astronaut ellie and i don't think i'll ever recover jesus FUCK

#random recs on a tuesday #once again using the tuesday tag even though it's friday bc i want all of them in the same place #literally i need everyone to chill #not be so prolific #or write so many words #i wanna devour them all but there's SO MANY #petition to quit my job and life to be a full time fic reader and writer #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #fanfiction recommendations #fanfiction rec list #read all of them #you're welcome

[tmarshconnors]

"Truth is as terrible as death but harder to find."

Philip Kindred Dick, often referred to by his initials PKD, was an American science fiction writer. He wrote 44 novels and about 121 short stories, most of which appeared in science fiction magazines during his lifetime. 

Born: 16 December 1928, Chicago, Illinois, United States

Died: 2 March 1982, Santa Ana, California, United States

Influential Works: Philip K. Dick's impact on science fiction is profound, with several of his works adapted into popular films. "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" served as the basis for the iconic film "Blade Runner," directed by Ridley Scott. The movie's success helped cement Dick's reputation in mainstream culture.

Personal Struggles: Dick faced numerous personal challenges throughout his life, including financial difficulties and mental health issues. His struggles with mental health and experiences with hallucinations and visions heavily influenced his writing, contributing to the surreal and introspective nature of many of his works.

Prolific Output: Despite his personal challenges, Dick maintained a remarkably prolific writing career. He wrote 44 novels and over 100 short stories during his lifetime. His ability to produce imaginative and thought-provoking content at such a high volume is a testament to his dedication to the craft of writing.

Philosophical Themes: Dick's works often explore philosophical and metaphysical themes, challenging the boundaries of reality and identity. Questions about what is real, the nature of consciousness, and the impact of technology on humanity are recurring motifs in his stories, reflecting his deep interest in these subjects.

Posthumous Recognition: While he faced financial struggles during his lifetime, Philip K. Dick gained increased recognition after his death. His influence on science fiction literature and the exploration of complex philosophical ideas have earned him a lasting legacy. The Philip K. Dick Award, established in 1982, is given annually to outstanding science fiction works in paperback original format, honoring his contributions to the genre.

#Philip K. Dick #PKD #Science Fiction #American Writer #Novelist #Short Stories #Blade Runner #The Man in the High Castle #Ubik #A Scanner Darkly #Reality #Identity #Metaphysical Themes #Sci-Fi Literature #Prolific Author #Psychological Exploration #Mind-bending #Human Experience #Science Fiction Magazines #Literary Legacy

[miraluking-respectfully]

man while i'm on my felix kick it fucking sucks that they keep not knowing what the FUCK to do with this character when he's actually very strongly characterized. i went off about this last night but like, underutilized aspect of felix: he's like, a really good leader?? and i'm not talking an uber-inspiring protagonist-type leader like the PC; i'm talking an extremely functional organizer of people that you especially need in a military context. it's kind of hard to clock at first if you're not paying attention, especially because you're introduced to him while he's desperately trying to stave off a mutiny; but considering he's on a shithole iceball with a group of restless 18-to-25-year-old recruits who, as far as they're concerned, are trying to kill an immortal enemy, the fact that only one of them winds up ultimately raising a hand against him is impressive. he boosts morale, he makes good tactical calls on his own while not being too proud to take assistance, he metes out swift discipline without being needlessly punitive. and when the squad splits up, people keep in touch with him!!!

like, felix is extremely good at his job, and that aspect of him kind of deepens the tragedy of his permanent stagnation in rank when you compare him to other soldier comps like Rusk or even early-game Jorgan. i'm not a fan of fictional or real militaries but this character's skillset as an officer has been a repeatedly underutilized resource narratively & it makes me want to eat glass

#felix iresso #jedi consular #visions that manifest to me after watching & rewatching the consular hoth story multiple nights in a row to help me fall asleep. #@swtor writers if you're gonna recycle felix plot points try recycling the one where he's expertly wrangling a flock of scared morons w gun #instead of the one where he *checks notes* gets physically & psychologically tortured. thankyou<3 #while i've got you here: did you know his VA Dion Graham is a fucking former Broadway actor and -prolific- audiobook narrator??? #he's got like 84 fucking awards for the quality of his narration #he's narrated a ton of literature and specifically a lot by black authors #there's this fantasy novel he narrated called Black Leopard Red Wolf by Marlon James that looks really fucking good #OH AND HE WAS ON THE FUCKING WIRE FOR 8 EPISODES?? #looking at this man's career it feels extra awful to me that they gave him NOTHING. #and he still kept coming back to the booth. not just for Felix but background roles in Onslaught as well. #GOD. #Mr Graham sir thank you for everything i'm so sorry they're taking you for granted like this

[lulu2992]

Who wrote Eden’s Gate’s songs?

Of course, the person who actually did is the game’s composer, Dan Romer, but who is supposed to have written them in the Far Cry 5 universe?

A popular assumption (often presented as fact) is that Jacob was the cult’s songwriter. I suppose the rumor started because of this line said by “Cult Security Male 04” (CSM4 for short from now on):

Have you heard anything as heavenly as the music Jacob makes for us?

To my knowledge, this is the only time in the game that someone implies Jacob “makes” music. While it could signify that he composed it, it can also simply mean that he plays it for other people, which is something we know he does when he uses “Only You” and his music box to condition recruits.

The first reason I believe CSM4’s comment was actually about Jacob’s training techniques rather than the cult’s songs is that Resistance NPCs sometimes mention “Jacob’s music” too, but when they do, they say he uses it to train his soldiers and that it messes with people’s brains, which suggests they’re talking about “Only You”.

The other reason is the context of the line. In the game, each line of dialog is triggered in a specific context, and we can know what that context is in the files. Here, the context of CSM4’s line is:

contextual_idle_filler_region_north\Theme\Regional_Resistance\Resistance_Level\Res_Level_3

It means it can be heard anywhere in the Whitetail Mountains region once you reach Resistance Level 3. It’s a generic comment and the character isn’t reacting to the cult’s music specifically.

This matters because NPCs can react to the cult’s songs when they hear them. In this case, the context is:

reflex_singing\Song_Cult_ANY

And when NPCs make comments about the cult’s hymns... no one talks about Jacob being the songwriter. The only person they mention, several times, is Joseph.

Resistance fighters and civilians will say:

Thanks for the earworm, Joseph.

A song for the sheeple, written by Joseph Seed.

Music for the lunatic fringe. Thanks a lot, Joseph. Dickhead.

And cult members will say:

Oh, Joseph's music always puts a smile on my face.

Joseph's songs give me life.

My favorite song. Praise Joseph.

I love Joseph's songs.

Joseph is a gifted songwriter.

This is why I personally believe that the person who wrote (at least some of) the cult’s songs is actually Joseph, not Jacob. In my opinion, the comment about the oldest Seed brother “making” music is most likely a reference to him using it to train people.

It’s also worth mentioning that cultists will sometimes say this in the Henbane River region:

Faith's song and the Bliss is like a match made in heaven.

Faith's lyrics just speak to me on so many levels.

This could mean Faith also wrote a song (most likely “Oh The Bliss” because she frequently hums it), but the lines are generic comments and not reactions to the cult’s hymns, so they could simply be about her singing the song and not necessarily about her being a part of the creative process.

So, in the Far Cry 5 universe, which Seed sibling wrote Eden’s Gate’s songs? Contrary to popular belief, there is no definite proof that Jacob did. Faith might have worked on at least one, and nobody says John has ever written music. However, NPCs clearly say that Joseph wrote several (if not all) of the cult’s hymns.

And, according to “Cult Follower Female 04”, the Father does more than just compose songs…

You haven't lived until you've heard Joseph sing this live.

…he performs them to his congregation, too!

#joseph is very musically inclined it seems #he’s definitely a prolific writer in general #far cry 5 #eden’s gate #joseph seed #jacob seed #faith seed #john seed #I’m a bit sad john is never mentioned because we know seamus dever is a good singer #ah well I can still headcanon that john can sing but just doesn’t like to do it publicly #or that it’s simply not his role to do so #I can see him playing the guitar too for some reason

[karinyosa]

you haven't connected shit / i've connected them / etc etc

[ID: watching another movie about gore vidal and iuehriuefhiweuh so when he talks about his time at exeter and early life stuff it's revealed that his name was eugene at birth. there's a clip of him being asked if he'd had any "great love affair" in his life although like the first half of the question seems to be sort of cut off so idk what the context is. but anyway he starts talking about his classmate at exeter who he compares to a twin because "all that i was not, he was, and all that he was not, i was, and the two of us would've been pretty good had we been rolled into one" and describes him as a "sunny, non-political athlete". after he was killed at iwo jima, his mother sent gore his letters, which he describes as being uncharacteristically bitter. i'm not gonna like boldly claim that asp is based on this but the parallel STARTLED me. he describes it as "schoolboy stuff, in a boy's school, where such things happen" so i take that to mean that this dynamic just happened sometimes. plus i'm pretty sure asp is written BECAUSE stuff like that happened. but again. STARTLED form the moment they said he was born eugene i was like hold on hold on hodld holdn on. roll that back for me. enjoy that info. end ID.]

#a separate peace #for context brinker is supposedly based on gore vidal (he says in his memoir that knowles told him so) #who was john knowles' upperclassman at exeter. and obviously also prolific writer and debator and queer man #HELLO. CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME #gv

[suddencolds]

Fool Me Twice | [2/?]

Part 2 to my OC fake dating fic! Thank you so much to everyone who expressed support for part 1 ❤️ This chapter is slightly on the longer end (I was considering cutting it off halfway but decided against it). Hopefully it doesn’t feel too disjointed :’)

Part 2 (ft. fake dating, a party, a confrontation, and an elaborate lie)

(You can read [Part 1] here!)

—

Yves wakes up the morning of the 31st with a dull, throbbing headache. 

His whole body feels heavy, his limbs leaden and sore as if he’s just gone through a day of heavy lifting, and it feels as though he’s barely slept at all. It’s the kind of unshakeable exhaustion that doesn’t dissipate even after a hot shower and a cup of coffee (nearly hot enough to scald, though at least it feels good on his throat), and he’s congested in a way that no number of tissues seems to alleviate.

He spends the morning wrapping his presents for Margot, shoveling enough snow off of his front doorstep so he can open the front door, and rifling through his closet for something to wear. Then it’s a stop at the pharmacy for cold medicine—he picks out the kind that he hopes will leave him least symptomatic for the party—and a short text exchange with Vincent, who doesn’t say much except confirm that he has everything ready for tonight, followed by a longer text exchange with Mikhail, who will be at the party too.

If Yves is honest with himself, he could use a nap, but he denies himself one until he finds himself nodding off in the middle of putting together lunch. If he’s going to be staying close to midnight and driving back after, he thinks, then perhaps a short nap wouldn’t be the worst idea.

The nap, as it turns out, doesn’t help much. He wakes up groggy and disoriented. Still, he hopes maybe, at the very least, it might help keep him awake enough on the drive back. Vincent’s address is a twenty minute drive from home. Yves downs a dose of cold medicine, sets his presents down in the trunk, texts Vincent that he’s on his way, and then heads out. 

Outside, it’s snowing in thick, heavy flakes. Snow settles over the roads, over the trees and the houses. He gets there five minutes early, out of courtesy, but it’s barely ten seconds after he knocks on the door that Vincent is opening it.

He’s dressed in a white button-down shirt, a black blazer, and tight-fitting jeans, though something about the way the jacket fits over his shoulders makes them look sharper and more angular than usual. His dark hair is sideswept, and there are pink-tinted sunglasses perched atop his head, and there’s a tiny golden rose pinned to his lapel. He looks simultaneously put together and flatteringly in his element. Definitely photoshoot material, Yves thinks. 

“I didn’t have much other than work clothes,” Vincent says, which is how Yves realizes he’s been staring.  

“No, you...” Yves swallows. ...You look like someone I could fall in love with, his mind supplies unhelpfully. “You look fantastic. I can’t thank you enough for doing this.” 

“It’s no trouble,” Vincent says. He shuts the door behind him, locks it, and steps outside into the cold. 

Yves follows after him. It’s cold enough outside to make his nose run, and he sniffles as discreetly as he can, clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He can only hope he looks half as presentable as Vincent does, right now. The cold medicine is working its magic as it stands, but it’ll start to wear off around eleven—hopefully by then, everyone will be drunk enough not to take notice.

“I know you said parties are not your scene,” Yves says, rounding the corner of the driveway towards his car. “So we can leave whenever you want. I mean, I’m guessing you probably have New Year’s plans anyways? I can make sure to… hhEHh-!” As if the timing could be any worse. He veers sharply away, raising an arm to shield his face, and buries his nose in his suit sleeve. “hHEH… hEHh’iisZSCH-ieww! snf-! Ugh, sorry, unfortudately you’ll be hearing a lot of… t-that… HEHH’izsSCHH-Ew!”

The sneeze is messy and spraying, and he winces, wipes his nose on the back of his wrist.

“Bless you,” Vincent says, seemingly unaffectedly, though Yves can’t help but wonder if he’s disgusted.

“Thadks. But dod’t bother,” Yves says, and sniffles again. He’ll make a point to ask Margot where the tissues are. “You’ll get tired of that phrase really quickly. Adyways, as I was saying, I can mbake sure to get you back home before midnight. Or… earlier, if that’s what you prefer.”

“I can stay late,” Vincent says. “Though if you’re unwell, you should probably get some rest.”

“That’s sweet. I’m ndot really that unwell, though,” Yves says. “But I can’t promise I’m not contagious. I wod’t make you like, hold my hand or adything.”

“If it’s to sell the relationship,” Vincent says, “I wouldn’t mind.” 

Yves says, “Still.”

“You’re doing this to prove to your ex you’ve moved on,” Vincent says, as if it’s really that simple. “For that to work, we’d have to be a convincing couple.”

“You can just sit close to mbe,” Yves says, pulling open the car door to slide into the driver’s seat. “Or laugh even when I crack a bad joke. Or tell embarrassing stories about mbe—great power, great responsibility, of course.”

“I could do all of those things as a friend,” Vincent says evenly. “But it won’t exactly look like I like you if I refuse to touch you all night.”

“If the others dod’t buy the act, at least I can say I’ll have tried. I just - snf-! - don’t want it to be an inconvedience to you, especially when i…” Yves turns away sharply, towards the window at his left, and lifts his arm to cover. “hHEH’iIIZSHEew! Ugh…” The sneeze mists over his sleeve, leaving him teary-eyed and sniffling. “...when I’b - snf! - so evidently… well, you know.” He clears his throat, though even that small action is enough to make him cough. 

Vincent goes quiet for a moment. Then he asks, “What would you be fine with?”

“What?”

“You said you wouldn’t make me hold your hand. But would you be fine with it?”

“Just hypothetically, I’d be fide with whatever,” Yves says, with a shrug. “Hand holding, hugging, making out—i mean, it’s ndothing I haven’t gotten drunk and done before with a stranger, but obviously I don’t actually expect you to do any of that. You just being there is more than edough. I mean, you’re already spending your New Year’s Eve doidg this for me.”

“Yes,” Vincent says. “That’s exactly why I want it to not be for nothing.”

When Yves looks over to him, Vincent’s expression is difficult to parse.

“It wod’t be for nothing,” Yves says, mustering up a smile. It’s almost endearing how seriously Vincent is taking this.

Really, if Yves can get through tonight with this cold of his—and his ex of his—he’ll consider it enough of a win.

—

When they get to the party, Margot waves them in. She steps in for a hug, and even though Yves thinks that’s probably inadvisable, he lets her—Margot hugs everyone, and the extra warmth is more than welcome, as it stands.

“I made sure that tonight’s refreshments included orange juice,” she says. “How’s the cold?”

“Fantastic,” Yves says, trying not to sniffle. “I’m sure the orange juice will cure it.”

“That’s the spirit.” She steps in to hug Vincent, too, who stiffens at first, but then returns the hug more naturally than Yves would have expected. “And this is Vincent, right? Yves has told me all about you.” “Nice to meet you, Margot.” Vincent says. “Your apartment looks spectacular.”

And it does—Margot’s decorated it with string lights and HAPPY NEW YEAR! banners, strung in neat arcs from the ceiling; champagne flutes lined up on the fireplace mantel, 2017! spelled out in glittery block letters on the living room wall. Pale golden balloons bob up and down in the hallway; yellow roses are strewn neatly across the living room tables, the walls gilded with shining gold streamers.

“Thank you, thank you!” Margot says. “I’m so glad you could make it.” She leans in conspiratorially. “We need you for intel. We’ll trade you embarrassing things Yves did in college for embarrassing things he’s done at—”

“Please take my peace offering instead.” Yves says loudly, and then hands her the gift he’s holding. Margot laughs and squeezes his shoulder.

“You didn’t have to,” she says. “It’s good to see you again, Yves.” Then, to both of them: “Dinner will be ready in an hour. There are drinks in the iceboxes, so feel free to help yourselves.”

Then someone knocks, and she’s off again to meet the newcomers at the door. Yves muffles a cough into his sleeve, remembering too late he’d meant to ask her where to find the tissues. He’s sure there will be some napkins laying around.

The hour before dinner goes better than he expects. He introduces Vincent to a few of his friends—he runs into Mikhail, who thanks him for helping him move in and asks about his family, and Nora, who—like him—is going into business, and asks him and Vincent both about the work culture at Evertech. He talks to Joel, who congratulates him on the relationship and asks them how they met (they have a story prepared for this, of course) and Francesca, who—much to his embarrassment—says, “You really weren’t joking when you said he looks like a model,” to which Yves nods and smiles and pretends not to notice the questioning look he gets from Vincent.

He thinks his cold is manageable enough, too—he gets accustomed to turning sharply away from Vincent mid-conversation, to burying his face into his sleeve to stifle another harsh, wrenching sneeze, and to the (unnecessary, but thoughtful) bless you that sometimes follows—though all this talking is not exactly conducive towards his voice, and he finds himself clearing his throat incessantly and stopping mid-sentence to cough. If Vincent notices how his voice is getting hoarser as the night goes on—or how every stifle exacerbates his headache, if only slightly—he says nothing of it. 

It’s only when they’re all settling down for dinner—Vincent at his right side, pouring him a glass of water—that Erika arrives.

She looks just as he remembers her—beautiful and intimidating, with her hair down over her shoulder, curled just for the occasion, her eyeliner a large, graceful dark wing. She’s wearing a long sheath dress which hangs off from one shoulder, and Brendon is at her side, with his arm around her waist, wearing a suit with a boutonniere which matches her dress, and he says something that makes her laugh loudly and lean closer into his chest.

“Thadks,” Yves says, to Vincent, as he sets the pitcher back down. Maybe this will be fine if she doesn’t speak to him. She doesn’t have any real reason to start a conversation with him, anyways.

But then Erika takes a seat diagonally across from him.

“Yves,” Erika says, looking straight at him. “It’s been awhile.” He watches as her gaze slides over to Vincent. “And who’s this?”

“This is Vincent,” Yves says, clearing his throat. “Vincent, this is Erika.”

Really, the introduction is nothing more than a formality. Vincent must already know. 

Erika turns to look Vincent over. There’s something calculating in her expression, something that unsettles Yves. “Your coworker?”

“Boyfriend,” Vincent corrects her, with a small, economical smile that seems to fall just short of sincere. “But yes, coworker too. And you’re his ex? I think Yves might’ve mentioned you in passing.”

“Yes,” Erika says. “Only good things, I hope?” If it’s meant to be a joke, it comes out a little too pointed, but she laughs after it anyways. Yves wonders if there’s a way to stave off the headache he feels brewing. He needs a drink. “It’s great to meet you. I didn’t realize that Yves was seeing someone else.”

“We haved’t exactly kept in codtact, so I wouldn’t expect you to kdow,” Yves says to her. Then, remembering himself, he grins. “Mbuch to catch up on, right?”

“Yes, much,” she says, leaning her head onto Brendon’s shoulder. “Brendon and I were just talking about how easy it is to fall out of touch with old friends.”

“It really is, if you think about it,” Brendon says. “I think it has to do with how we’re all very different people from who we were in college, even though it’s barely been a year and a half. And with all of the job stuff, too, and all the moving away—it’s really only natural that people drift apart.”

Yves shuts his eyes briefly. It’s really only natural. As if that justifies everything—the cheating, the dishonesty, the lack of apology. Briefly, he wonders if Brendon even knows what she’s done, or she’s reframed things the way she likes to, rephrased cheating as unfortunate miscommunication over a falling out.

He used to think of it as one of her strengths, back when she’d done debate in college: that she was so good at redirection, that she knew exactly what she believed in, that she could frame things as favorably or unfavorably as she wanted. Now, that knowledge makes him feel sick to his stomach.

“On the contrary,” Vincent says, “I think it’s a matter of making time for the people you want to keep in your life.”

“That’s much easier said than done,” Brendon says.

“I didn’t say it was easy,” Vincent says.

Erika looks between them, her eyes flashing, and Yves looks away in favor of muffling a cough into his fist. His throat is really starting to hurt. Maybe he has been talking too much tonight.

“I guess we can agree to disagree,” Brendon says, as if that makes him the bigger person.

Or maybe he has it wrong, Yves realizes. Maybe Brendon knew exactly what Erika was doing, back then. Maybe he even encouraged her.

“Either way, it’s good to see everyone agaid,” he says. “Eved if we have changed.” There’s a slight, almost imperceptible tickle in his nose, but knowing this cold—knowing how many of his sneezes tonight have caught him off guard, often with barely enough time to cover—he’s not sure how long it will stay that way.

“So,” Erika says, deceptively nonchalant. “How did you two meet?” 

Yves is ready to give her the spiel he’s already given so many times tonight. “We met at work,” he starts. “I was assigned to Vincent’s team, so I—” His voice breaks on that note, and he clears his throat again, fighting the urge to wince. Has he sounded this rough since he got here? “So I relied on him a ton for… hh… those… hHEH… sorryIhavetohH… HEh’IZCHH-Eew! snf-! Ugh, snf-!” The sneeze is just as theatrically loud as usual, which, embarrassingly, prompts a few bless yous from further along the table.

He thinks he can feel the effects of the cold medicine starting to wear off—or perhaps his cold is just getting worse. Either way, all this sneezing must be making him lose his voice twice as fast.  “I relied on him a tod for those first few weeks, with all the… snf-! All the odboarding stuff. And then after that, I… hH-!” he really, really doesn’t want to sneeze again, but the tickle in his nose seems to have only gotten worse. “...figured I should thank him… f-for… hh-! for helping out…  sorry, I— hh!... HEh-hhHEH’IZSSCH-EEW!”

He can feel Erika’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t have time to interpret her expression before he’s twisting away from the three of them, coughing so harshly into the crook of his arm that he can feel his eyes beginning to well up with tears. His throat really hurts—every subsequent cough seems to scrape uncomfortably against his throat, making it feel impossibly sorer.  

He feels a hand settle on his own, feels someone interlace their fingers with his, though the incongruousness of the action doesn’t quite register to him immediately; at least, until—

“Save your voice,” Vincent says, softly. “I can take it from here.”

Something about his tone of voice startles Yves. He’s never heard Vincent sound like that before—uncharacteristically soft, despite the command.

“You’re sick?” Erika asks. 

Yves opens his mouth to respond, but Vincent beats him to it. “He’s a little under the weather.” 

“It’s - snf-! - a lot better than it sounds, I prombise,” Yves cuts in.

Vincent sighs. “What did I say about saving your voice?”

“He was saying something about onboarding?” Erika says, as an invitation for Vincent to continue.

Vincent nods. “Back then, we worked pretty closely for a few weeks, so Yves took me out to dinner as a way of thanking me for my help. That was in June, back when Starcruisers was just premiering in theaters.”

“That movie with Willow Alder and Denver Gill?” Brendon says.

“That’s right. Yves likes the same kind of sci-fi as I like, so we went together.” That’s a half-truth: they have talked briefly, but not extensively, about Starcruisers, and Yves does like sci-fi, but he’s not sure if he’s communicated that to Vincent before. “After that, we started seeing each other more often. Dinner, and a movie, every Friday after work. And when we ran out of movies to watch in theaters, he invited me over to his place.”

The smile Vincent has on now is worlds away from the strained, tight-lipped one he’d given Erika earlier. If Yves didn’t know better, he might have thought it looked sincere.

“If I’m honest, it became the thing I looked forward to the most every week. I mean, it’s not uncommon for me to meet people who are easy to get along with at work. That kind of surface-level agreeability—for lack of a better phrase—is generally well-valued in our field, to the extent that it hardly even feels like a choice. But even outside of work, even when it doesn’t benefit him, Yves is actually one of the most thoughtful people I know. He’s always thinking about others, even when it’s ill-advised. I’d imagine you know that too.”

At that, Vincent looks to Erika, as if he expects her to agree with him. But he doesn’t wait for her acknowledgement, either, to continue: “And he’s good at taking initiative, which saved me a lot of stress. He asked me out shortly after I realized I had feelings for him. We’ve been together since then.” 

Yves stares back at Vincent. His mouth feels suddenly dry.

He owes Vincent a free dinner over this. And a performance review so good that it earns him a raise.

“That’s very sweet,” Erika comments, with a pointed smile. “And I know where you’re coming from. I used to think some of the same things about him, too.”

Used to. Yves is sure Vincent must hear the unspoken remainder of the sentence: but of course, I’ve come to know better.

But Vincent merely nods. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Just a sec, I should give my presents to Margot before I forget,” Erika says. She reaches under the table for the packages she’s set down, both of them wrapped nicely in silver wrapping paper and sealed off with a neatly tied bow. Yves watches her leave. He’ll have to remember to thank Vincent later.

“Erika was telling me she doesn’t know why you don’t text her more,” Brendon says.

Yves stares at him, disbelieving. 

“We dod’t exactly have a lot to talk about,” he says.

“Really? She told me she wanted to stay friends.”

Yves knows this, of course. It had been his idea to not stay friends after the breakup. He missed her, then, of course, but it was the best decision out of several unfavorable options. 

“I ndeeded space,” Yves says, muffling a cough into his sleeve. “I’m sure you cad guess why.”

Erika reemerges from the kitchen, though she doesn’t take a seat just yet. “What are we talking about?”

“Whether Yves is open to being friends with you,” Vincent says.

Yves’s problem is this: if she announced, now, to everyone, that she was breaking up with Brendon and getting back together with Yves, there’s a part of him that would seriously consider being with her again. There’s a part of him that misses her, even still. There’s a part of him that would stop at nothing to have a semblance of that same closeness, that familiarity, that trust. 

But there’s a part of him, too, that knows better.

“Oh. That’s a good segue, actually. I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Erika says, lowering her voice and leaning forward. This can’t possibly turn out well, Yves thinks. “Do you remember that night with Brendon?”

“Of course.” As if he could forget, even if he wanted to.

“I had already been meaning to break up with you for awhile,” Erika says. “I was just waiting for the right time.”

Yves nods. She’d said that back then, too.

“But then I got drunk,” she says, “and I made decisions I shouldn’t have made, even before I broke things off officially.” She meets his eyes, now, with a frown. She’s always been beautiful, but something about the lighting tonight makes her look so beautiful it feels cruel. “What I’m getting at is that I didn’t mean to lie to you. I always meant to end things properly.”

Yves stares at her.

He really, really doesn’t want to deal with this right now.

“I’b sorry,” he says, with an apologetic smile. He gets to his feet, pushes in his chair. “If you could hold that thought. I really have to go blow my ndose.”

Then he just about bolts—he leaves the dining table and heads out into the hallway, leaving the three of them still there. He’s been to Margot’s apartment before, so luckily, he knows that the bathroom is just off to the right. Thankfully, it happens to be unoccupied. He slips in and shuts the door, turns the lock, turns on the light.

[Part 3]

#snz fic #sneeze fic #snz kink #sneeze kink #snz #this is one of the longer things i've posted (admittedly not super long for writers more prolific than myself #but this still took me like 4 days to write 😭) #i hope i am not disappointing anyone w the trajectory of this story 🙏 #my fic #yvverse

[word-wytch]

This is your reminder that you don't need to be a prolific writer to be a good one.

If you struggle with producing large quantities of text in a short amount of time, this is your reminder that you can still tell a compelling story that has short chapters if you make every moment matter.

This is your reminder that what seems like a weakness can actually be an advantage. If you jam pack each scene with meaning and story progression, it's easier to keep readers engaged.

If the story you're telling is compelling and engaging, you don't need the extra padding.

The benchmark of a good poet is being able to express an idea in as few words as possible.

Never underestimate the impact of a few words.

Never underestimate the impact of quality over quantity.

#just for the record i'm in awe of you prolific writers!! #that just aint me 😩 #just trying to reframe something i'm insecure about #writing #fanfiction #on writing

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

absolute DEARTH of dungeon meshi fanfics on ao3. in many ways but particularly gen fics that are over 2000 words and focused on adventure, magical shenanigans, fluff/angst, or some combination of those

#pickle pontificates #dungeon meshi #''write them yourself'' first of all i can barely write my homework rn and I've always been bad at ideas #second of all I'm not getting on anyone's case I'm just complaining #I've been blessed to have been in a few fandoms with a couple prolific/consistent writers that seem to dedicate all their spare time #to that exact genre of fic #and i am very grateful to those people #I'm just going to wait patiently. that stuff takes time and dm is still gaining popularity #i just know the girlies who were super into writing platonic angst for fma/mp100/and a few for bnha and httyd would be ALL OVER this manga #if they knew #like #there's SO MUCH idea fuel out there from all kinds of RPGs that would be really fun to work in and explore #PLUS the wealth of extra content Ms. Kui has provided in adventurers bible/daydream hour??? #IT'S A PLAYGROUND FOR FANFIC. REALLY GOOD FANFIC