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justanotherblonde23 · 3 years

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I Want You - A Din Djarin Story

Author’s Note: Hey there, internet friends. So I had an ask from my friend @hdlynnslibrary that I can’ find to save my life. Luckily, I wrote it down! “Hi Kat! My darling! I must admit to feeling #horny okay? Soooo what about a prompt for my fav space man Din? Like maybe with an #inexperienced reader?” Oh Heather, my love, ask and you shall receive! What started out as a little somethin became 14 pages, double spaced, 12 point Times New Roman font. So my darling, I hope you enjoy this Din x reader fic, it was made with LOTS of love <3

Warnings: SMUT, there is definately sexy times going on over here, all aboard the horny train, leaving the station as we speak. Choo-fuckin-choo! Also, language because I am me and since I was born and raised in Boston and I have been swearing like a goddamn sailor since, well, ever lol. Oh, and there’s a slight breeding kink, just an FYI. I’m sorry, it just all came out and I couldn’t help it and Din Djarin wants his clan to expand, okay?

Thank you to all who read, like, comment, reblog, etc. It warms my heart that you all are enjoying my work. Please let me know what you think of this one :-)

You had been traveling with Din on the Razor Crest for the past year or so. He found you on Arvala-7, working alongside Kuiil. You were good with your hands, fast with a blaster, and most importantly, you connected with the Child. From the second that kid saw you, he decided that you were his. He was the largest reason that you were here right now. How anyone could resist those big eyes, his floppy ears, and that cute baby smile. He turned your heart to putty.

Your days were spent mostly on the Crest, keeping an eye on the little one and tending to the ship the best you could. The baby required a fair bit of effort, but you didn’t mind; he had become like your own child without you even realizing it.

Somewhere along the way, you had become closer with the Mandalorian that you traveled with. Clipped sentences became more extended conversations as you gently urged him out of his shell. Soon, he became curious about you, asking all sorts of unimportant questions, ranging from where you grew up to what your favorite color was. Dinners alone with the kid turned into Mando joining you, lifting his helmet ever so slightly so that he could take a sip of the broth you made or a bite of the ration pack you heated up. Every time he did this, you made sure to keep your eyes on your plate, never wanting to disrespect his Creed in any way.

As the months progressed, your feelings for one stoic Mandalorian grew. You caught yourself lingering in the cockpit more when after you put the little one down at night. You also caught yourself staring on more than one occasion, and you knew for a fact that Mando saw you, too. How could you not stare at that imposing figure that you shared a home with? The duality of the man was awe-inspiring, to be sure. He was a fearsome warrior, and you had witnessed his prowess first hand many a time. He brought bounties in nonstop, always jetting off to the next one before the last quarry had been frozen away in carbonite for a day. And then there was the gentleness that he had with the baby. You could tell that this was his first time taking care of another person by himself. Sometimes he was a bit rough around the edges, but he did try his best. He was learning how to be the best parent he could for the kid, and watching that play out warmed your heart.

Often times, when he took the kid up to the cockpit so that you could use the refresher and wash the day away, you could hear him up there talking to the kid gently. Sometimes he speaks in Basic; other times, he speaks in what you assume is Mando’a. Every once in a while, you hear him sing the baby a lullaby on those restless nights where nothing seems to calm that sweet baby down. The first time you heard him sing softly to the kid, you knew that you loved him.

You never felt right acting on your feelings; you didn’t know how he thought about you. Also, you were terrified of making a fool of yourself. Truth be told, you have never been in a man’s bed before. The life of a refugee of the Empire didn’t leave much time for amorous encounters. By the time you found Kuiil, all you wanted was to keep your head down and do your work. If you happened to meet someone along the way, fantastic, but you had more pressing matters to attend to, like surviving in the desert.

That all changed one night when you least expected it. Mando had taken the kid to soothe him and put him to sleep, so you took the opportunity to use the fresher. You had been working hard that day, repairing areas of the Crest that needed maintenance while juggling an inquisitive little one. You took your time, relishing the way that the water felt against your bare skin, the warmth seeping into your muscles and soothing your bones. You wouldn’t tell anyone, but you viewed water as a gift from the Maker itself. For the first time in your life, you didn’t have to scrounge and save every last drop. You’d never had the luxury of using actual water the bathe daily; you’d never been in the financial position to have such a thing. For the Galaxy working class, a sonic was the best you could hope for most of the time. It cleansed the body of dirt and grime just fine, but it wasn’t pleasant like water was.

In all honesty, your idea of a luxuriously long shower was well under ten minutes, but it was a dream come true for you. After you were clean and smelling of the fresh soap that you used, it was time for you to get out. You grabbed the small towel, drying your body, and then reached for your clothes. Your hands floundered around a bit until you realized that you had inadvertently forgotten to bring a new pair of clothes or your sleep shirt in with you. You had been in too much of a rush to hand off the baby and get just a few moments to yourself.

You groaned at your flightiness. Kriff, that only left you with two options: you could either put your dirty clothes back on, or you could try to make your way back to your sleeping quarters wrapped in this tiny ass towel. Neither option particularly appealed to you, but your desire for cleanliness finally won out.

You gathered up your belongings and quietly opened the refresher door, careful not to be too loud. It usually took a bit of time to calm the baby down enough for him to go to sleep, and you didn’t want to interrupt that process. The lights in the hold were dimmed, leaving you with the ability only to see a few steps in front of you.

Unfortunately, your quest to be stealthy was in vain. You had forgotten that you had moved a particular toolbox during your work project this morning. Said toolbox ended up being placed right where you could smack your little toe on it. You yelped in pain, dropping everything in your arms in favor of hopping up and down on one foot and clutching the other in your hands. This caused the towel to also fall to the ground, leaving you bare. A noise drew your attention up, and your eyes met a helmet, staring right back. Mando was standing right in front of you, apparently drawn by the noise.

You dropped your foot, standing up straight, eyes wide in shock. You didn’t move; you barely breathed. Your mind was short-circuiting, and you didn’t even have the sense to pick up your towel off the ground. Your body was overflowing with embarrassment, horror, and- was that arousal? Stars, you were standing here, completely bare, across from the Mandalorian who has every inch of himself covered.

Ever so slowly, he reached down and grabbed the towel you had dropped, carefully wrapping it back around you. His hand accidentally brushed your breast, causing you to suck in a breath of surprise. He murmured his apologies, beginning to withdraw his hands, but you were faster. You reached out, stilling his retreating hands and placing them back on your body. You wanted this, you wanted him, and you wanted to make sure that he knew it.

He tilted his helmet curiously, waiting for you to give him a prompt. He took in your labored breathing, your increased heart rate, the way you bit your lip. Your eyes met his visor, and he could barely even see your eye color because your pupils were so blown with lust and desire. He groaned a deep, low sound in his chest at your obvious reaction to his presence.

“What do you want, sweet girl?” he ground out, trying to keep himself in check.

You moved your hands, gently cradling his helmet where his cheeks would be, breathing in his scent swirling so close to you. You could smell the blaster residue, the leather, the metal of his beskar, the soap you both used in the shower, and that smell that was uniquely his. You’d never get tired of it, not in this life or the next.

“I want you,” was your reply. “Touch me, Mando, please.”

“Din,” came his reply, almost in a whisper, as if it was something sacred.

You frowned, your nose scrunched up in confusion. You studied this helmet, eyes searching for answers.

“My name, it’s Din. Din Djarin.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, eyes wide with confusion. You knew the sacredness of a name in this Galaxy. Stars, you hadn’t even told him your own name for a solid three months. The only reason he had found out was because he overheard you talking to the kid one day. A name was even more sacred to a Mandalorian. It was precious, something to be guarded with the utmost care. You’d never even wagered that he’d give it to you, ever.

“You can use it, but with just me and the kid around. No one else gets to know it, no one but you.”

You nodded, understanding just how much it had taken for him to tell you. His name was a gift, something that you would keep close and cherish.

“Din,” you spoke the Mandalorian’s name for the first time, testing it on your tongue, relishing the taste of it in your mouth. It was a good name, a solid name, a name fitting for the warrior before you. “Din Djarin, a beautiful name.”

Hearing his name in your mouth set Din’s soul on fire. The way you spoke it, the way you had considered it and acknowledged the importance of what he had just given you, it made him want to hear it again and again. He wanted to listen to you moan his name in ecstasy, begging him for more, begging him for pleasure. He wanted to hear you yell it, mutter it, say it in everyday conversation. He wanted to hear his name drip from your lips for the rest of his life.

That night was the first time he took you and gave you pleasure. You had come on his tongue and fingers three times before you were strung out and exhausted. You fell asleep in his bunk wrapped tightly in his arms. That was two months ago.

You still had yet to take him fully, to allow him to be inside of you. You had admitted that you were nervous, that you had no experience to work off of. Din had been nothing but patient and kind, never pressuring you into anything that you weren’t comfortable with. He had told you that, “We have all the time in the world, sweet girl. There’s no need to rush.” You believed him wholeheartedly, but in the past weeks, you had found yourself wanting more. Sure, you were still frightened, you didn’t know what you were doing, but that burn and ache inside of you kept getting more intense as the days went by. You know that Din would take care of you.

It’s been a rough day, and that’s an understatement. You helped with the bounty this time because the information you were given indicated that this quarry was heavily guarded. Mando couldn’t say no to an extra blaster covering his ass. Thankfully, this mission was on Tatooine, meaning that you could leave the little one with Peli. Maker knows that woman loves your little green bean; how could she not? Green bean loves her right back and seems to be particularly fond of the pit droids. You think it has something to do with the fact that he can bonk their noses to make them spring to life, but you can’t be sure.

Unfortunately, it turns out that this asshole was much more protected than you had been led to believe. You would have some choice words for Greef Karga to pass along to whoever had commissioned this kriffing bounty. You both had more or less emerged unscathed, but there would most certainly be bruises covering you two from head to toe.

Once the bounty was frozen away in carbonite, you could breathe a little better. He wouldn’t be giving you any trouble now. When Peli saw that state you were in, she insisted that she keep the little one for the night, which was a relief. As much as you loved that sweet little boy, you needed a breather. Hopefully, you’d be able to spend some much needed time with just you and your Mandalorian.

You found yourself on Din’s lap with a blindfold covering your eyes so he could kiss you. You would rather not see anything at all and have his lips on yours than have your sight with his helmet on. You both were in your underclothes, your legs straddling him.

That’s when the kisses began. There was something about kissing Din Djarin that was otherworldly. The way he poured all his love and care into a kiss never ceases to blow you away. He always started so gently, building you up and setting you on fire. How could anything be that good, that pleasurable? He licked into your mouth, moaning at your taste. Your Mandalorian loved to kiss you. He nipped at your bottom lip, causing you to gasp, pleasure shooting straight down to your core.

He moved his kisses to your jaw and down the column of your neck, leaving bruising in his wake. Din whispered in your ear, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you tasted, how you were just for him. The thought that you were his, that this fearsome warrior had opened himself up enough to let you in, it urged you forward.

You began to rock back and forth on his thigh, chasing that feeling of bliss. He stopped you for a moment, helping you wiggle out of your panties, before urging you to start once more. This felt even better, your slick dripping out onto his thigh, helping you create beautiful friction. By the sounds he was making, Din was enjoying it, too. The feeling of his muscles hard beneath you, your clit rubbing deliciously against him, was heavenly. You could feel the sparks in your tummy, the clench of your cunt around nothing; you were so close.

Din urged you on, his hands at your hips, moving you. He muttered about how gorgeous you were as you took your pleasure on his thigh, how he wanted to see you cum on him, how he wanted to taste your sweet pussy after you came. His words were what finally did you in, the dam bursting and your orgasm hitting you full force. Your hips began to stutter, but your Mandalorian kept you moving, riding the waves of pleasure, extending your bliss. Finally, your whines led him to stop; you were far too sensitive to continue. You panted, trying to catch your breath.

As you sat there, your head on Din’s shoulder, centering yourself once more, you realized what exactly was pressing against your thigh. You could feel his rock hard, dripping cock, just within reach. The thought of it made your pussy clench and your mouth water. You wanted Din Djarin, all of him, in every way possible. You wanted to feel him inside of you, wrecking you and making you see stars.

“Din,” you murmured, “I want you.”

He nuzzled his nose into your hair, breathing you in. “You have me, Mesh’la, any way you want me.”

You sat up straight on his lap, facing him. If you didn’t have a blindfold on, you’re sure you’d be looking him directly in the eye. “No, I want you. I want you inside of me; I want your cock, Din.”

Your Mandalorian groaned at your admission. There was nothing he wanted more. He took in the earnest expression on your face, looking for any sign of hesitance or anxiety. He never wanted you to feel pressured into doing anything that you didn’t want to do. He didn’t want you to feel as if you needed to do something to please him. He wanted you to explore sex at your own pace, never another’s.

“Cyare, are you sure? There is no rush for us. My satisfaction comes from the fact that I can satisfy you and that you trust me enough to allow me to be the first to touch you in this way. There is no timetable besides your wants, needs, and desires, mesh’la. I don’t want you to pressure yourself.”

You smiled at his words, his voice so soft and sweet for you. He was always so considerate, never rushing you or telling you that you were going too slowly. The kindness and care this great warrior continuously showed you reminded you of this complicated man’s duality. You felt safe with him, and you wanted all of him.

“Din, baby, no, I don’t feel pressured. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now. I want to feel you inside of me; I want you to make love to me, please.”

He cradled your face in his palms for a moment, his thumbs gliding over your cheeks. Then, he kissed you. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was full of passion, sinking you deeper into arousal. He kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that he loved, and maybe he did. Perhaps you and the kid were his whole heart. His tongue expertly explored your mouth, causing you to mewl and moan. He knew just what would get you going.

He pulled away, sucking in precious oxygen as you did the same. Carefully, he turned the both of you around and laid you down on his cot. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the galaxy, not by a long shot. It was designed more for efficiency than comfort. The thing was, though, you didn’t care. It was Din’s, and he was willing to share it with you. You could feel him hovering over you, his breath warm against your face.

“Let me taste you, sweet girl. Let me get you ready to take my cock.”

You gasped, feeling his cock rock back and forth, covering himself in your slick. You were at a loss for words, so many sensations happening all at once. All you could manage was a nod, and a whimpered, “Please, Din.”

Your Mandalorian kissed his way down your body, leaving behind bite marks and bruises where he wanted to cause heightened sensations. Before he even made it to your pussy, you were already painfully wet for him. You could feel his breath ghosting over the place where you wanted him the most. You lifted your hips in an attempt to spur him on, but all it got you was a muscular arm forcing your hips back down to the cot.

“Patience, cyar’ika, I want you to feel every ounce of pleasure that I can wring out of you. Enjoy the moment, feel the suspense, don’t simply rush to the finish line, little one.”

You yelped as you felt him bite into the juncture of your hip and thigh, sucking in hard to leave a mark. He soothed the skin with his tongue, so close to where you needed him, but not close enough. He repeated the process on the other side, marking you in a place only the two of you would ever see, like a secret that you both would share.

Unexpectedly, his tongue licked a broad stripe from the bottom of your slit to your clit. You sighed; that was the feeling you so desperately wanted. He lapped at your cunt like a man starved, and you were the best thing on the menu. He knew how to work you into a frenzy, and quickly, he played your body like an instrument that he had been practicing on for a lifetime. You quaked and shook as your second orgasm of the night took hold, bursting and pulling you ever forward into the bliss you so desperately craved.

Even after you had ridden out your orgasm, Din didn’t stop. He worked you over, inserting one finger and then another inside of you, hitting that one spot inside you that made you see stars over and over. His mouth never stopped, his tongue lazily drawing loose circles around your clit, never slowing down, but keeping a steady pace. Your hips fought to lift off the cot, simultaneously fighting and chasing that feeling of ecstasy. When he scissored his fingers inside of you and twisted his wrist just so, you lost it once more. A scream that sounded something like his name tore out of your throat as the stars exploded behind your eyes.

You felt like you were floating in space, freely and without a care in the world. You reached a new height of pleasure that you’d never even imagined before. You could touch the sky and would never ever come down. You thought every encounter with your Mandalorian was pure rapture, but this was beyond anything you had ever felt before. You were panting, gasping for the oxygen your body so desperately needed, and you felt better than you ever had before. As your head left the clouds, you realized you had a dopey smile on your face, and your lover was covering you with kisses everywhere he could reach.

Vaguely, you heard his whispers in the dark. You were so good for me, mesh’la. You looked so beautiful cumming on my fingers and tongue. You taste divine, starshine. Those words went straight to your heart and to your pussy, flooding you with more arousal than you had ever thought possible. A deep kiss on your lips finally brought you back to the present, the warm body on top of you centering your mind.

“Are you ready for my cock, sweet girl? Do you still want to feel me inside of you? I promise I’ll go slow.”

You nodded in response, your words failing you.

“I need to hear you say it, cyare. I need to hear you tell me that you want this, that you’re sure.”

Your head lolled a bit as you processed his words, still feeling slightly hazy.

“Din Djarin, I want you inside of me. Please, please, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.”

He chuckled at your pleas, a smile pressed into the crook of your neck.

“I’ll be most delighted to give you what you want, sweet girl. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Are you ready for me?”

You breathed out a yes as you felt him coat himself in your slick, making sure he could ease into you. You knew he was quite large. You had curiously wondered aloud one day if all men were built like that. Even though his size intimidated you, you wanted everything he could give you. The excitement fizzled in your belly; you were getting wetter by the second.

Ever so slowly, your Mandalorian lined himself up with you and began to press in. You gasped at the feeling of just the head of his cock inside of you, the blunt tip spearing into you. He paused before he began to move again. Slowly, inch by inch, he pressed himself into you, stopping ever so often to make sure that you had time to adjust to him. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as the girls in your hometown had made it seem. Maybe they hadn’t been with the proper lovers, or perhaps the boys they were sleeping with were just inexperienced and too young. All you knew was that there was a pinch of pain, yes, but the pleasure outweighed any discomfort you may have felt.

You could feel every delicious inch of him inside you, splitting you open and filling you up like nothing ever had before. You could feel every ridge and vein as he inched his way into you. You couldn’t even put a name to this feeling, but you wanted more. Eventually, he was fully seated inside of you; your hips flush against his own. You felt so full, stuffed to the brim, and Maker, you loved it. He waited for a minute or two, allowing you to adjust to him and have a chance to take in all these new sensations. You had thought his fingers were terrific, but they were nothing compared to the feel of his cock deep inside of you.

He kissed you. It was all teeth, tongue, and lips, and stars; it was perfect. He devoured your mouth, taking what was his. You couldn’t help the little sounds that sprung up from your throat when he did that. He answered you with guttural groans of his own. You could feel the way those sounds made his chest rumble; you could feel it in your chest pressed against him.

He grabbed your leg, propping it up on his hip, and he began to move. He never went too fast for you or too hard, keeping a steady pace that kept you comfortable but still dragged you forward to a fourth orgasm. You didn’t even know you had it in you until Din used two of his fingers to assault your clit, encouraging that bundle of nerves to give you one more burst of pleasure. The combination of his cock deep inside you and his fingers on your clit was enough to send you toppling over the edge once more. This orgasm was more intense than the others, blazing white-hot through your veins and setting your soul on fire. If you thought you had been screaming before, you were mistaken. You writhed and squirmed under your lover, your pleasure causing your body to shake like a leaf. You sobbed his name over and over, tears spilling out of your eyes from sheer ecstasy.

Your Mandalorian groaned deeply at the feel of your pussy clamping down on him like a vice. You were so tight, to begin with, and your orgasm grabbed him and shoved him into his orgasm. As he emptied himself deep within you, he couldn’t help but mumble praises. “Oh Mesh’la, you’re so tight for me, so beautiful laid bare just for me. You’re such a good girl, a sweet girl, my girl. I’ll give you whatever you want, baby. Adventure, new experiences, my love- fuck if you want it, I’ll give you warriors, children of our own.”

You both laid there for a while afterward, basking in the glow of post-sex haze. You carded your fingers through his curls, gently scratching his scalp as he pressed sweet kisses into your skin. He was still inside you; neither of you could bear the thought of being parted just yet. You could stay like this forever, caught in this in-between time, not yet floating back into reality.

“I would like that,” you murmured, never stopping your movements in his hair.

“Like what, cyare?”

“For you to give me warriors of our own, Din.”

You could feel him twitch inside you, clearly interested. His head shot up, studying yours closely, looking for any falsehood or hesitance in your blindfolded face.

“You mean it?” He breathed out.

You grinned, feeling around for his face. You traced his sharp jawline, the proud cure of his nose, the pout of his plump lips. This was the face of the man you loved, the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Wherever he was in the Galaxy, that was home.

“Yes, my love, I mean it. We have our little green bean, and eventually, he’s going to need some friends to play with. We wouldn’t want him to be lonely. And besides, there’s no one I’d rather raise warriors with than you.”

You heard a faint sniffle before his lips were on yours once more. You had a family, but there was always room to add more to this clan of three.

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musette22 · 3 years

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Drunk in Boston

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: A week or so ago, I saw this post. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I decided to write a ficlet, a little Evanstan AU. It’s a bit late maybe, since Christmas has already been and gone, but it’s still technically the holidays so just indulge me? :p

Also, I hit 3k followers this week, so this is also a sort of thank you to all you amazing, wonderful, beautiful people for getting me here. Love you all as much as I love these boys as much as they love each other 💘 Hope you enjoy!

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

It’s 3 p.m. on 17 December, and Chris is a little bit drunk. Maybe even a lotta bit.

In his defense, he is currently in Boston for a bachelor party and they did just do a tour of the Samuel Adams Brewery. It’s not like he makes a habit of daytime drinking. Not this much, anyway.

Chris stumbles out of the bar that’s attached to the brewery, surrounded by a dozen or so old school friends, all of whom are in a similar state of inebriation, when they pass the gift shop and a familiar image catches his eye. Chris stops in his tracks. On closer inspection, what he saw turns out to be a photo, displayed in a stand outside the shop, of a park in Concord near where Chris grew up.

No, not a photo.

A postcard.

He plucks the card from the stand, swaying on his feet a little as he peers at it. In the image, the park is covered in snow, much like it would be right now, and stamped across it in a red, gothic font are the words ‘Happy Holidays’.

Instantly, Chris is hit by a wave of nostalgia. No doubt the feeling is heightened by the alcohol – he always tends to get a little sentimental when he’s drunk – but it’s not just that. It’s also the fact that Chris and his friends have been reminiscing about the good old days all afternoon as well as the sudden, depressing realization that despite all he’s achieved in the past decade or so, his happiest memories are probably those of childhood Christmases spent in Concord.

These days, Chris lives in on the West Coast. He’s kind of a superstar now, after all, and superstars live in LA – everybody knows that. Chris doesn’t usually let himself dwell too much on how lonely he is there, or how he misses the comforting accents and the real winters of the East Coast. Tonight, though, whether because of the booze in his system or the ghosts of Christmas past, he allows himself to feel the stab of homesickness.

Without conscious input from his brain, Chris finds himself buying the postcard. When the cashier asks him if he’ll be needing he stamp, too, he hesitates. “Yeah, why not,” he decides, on a whim. It’s a Christmas card, after all, and Christmas cards are supposed to be sent.

There’s just one slight issue with his plan, Chris realizes as soon as he puts the borrowed pen to the card.

He’ll need an address to send the card to.

Frowning, he taps the pen against the counter, thinking as hard as his beer-addled brain will allow him, but the only address he can think of off the top of his head is that of his childhood home, back in Concord. But… that would be weird, right? He has no idea who’s been living there, since his parents sold the house after the divorce. Then again, Chris tells himself, this could be his good Christmas deed. Sending a postcard to a total stranger just to wish them happy holidays, that’s totally in the Christmas spirit, isn’t it?

With a decisive nod of his head, Chris puts his pen to paper and starts to write. It’s just a few lines, because there’s only so much you can say to a total stranger, but when he signs off with his initials, he feels good about it. He asks the cashier for the nearest post box, which happens to be just outside the building, so he thanks the guy and heads outside.

Pulling his pea coat tighter around him against the glacial December air, Chris spares the card one last look, and drops into the post box. It feels significant, somehow.

He doesn’t get time to dwell on it though, because the moment his friends spot him, he’s immediately and enthusiastically subsumed back into the group and dragged on to the next boozy destination.

Three drinks on, Chris has forgotten all about the postcard.

***

On the morning of 18 December, Sebastian Stan opens his postbox to find a postcard with a photo of the park near his house on the front, and a hastily scribbled message on the back:

Hey,

I used to live in your house.

I’m drunk in Boston, and it’s the only address I know.

Happy Holidays,

C.E.

Even after re-reading the message three times, Sebastian is none the wiser as to who sent it.

It makes sense other people used to live in the house Sebastian’s been renting, but unsurprisingly, he has no clue who they were. It was only last year that he’d decided to relocate from New York to Concord, craving a change of pace and more peace and quiet than the Big Apple had been able to offer. He’d visited Concord on a research trip for his third novel the year before and had immediately taken a liking to it. So when, after asking his estate agent to put out some feelers in the area, the guy had found him this beautiful place to rent within a day, Sebastian had taken it as a sign.

It’s a big old house – more appropriate for a family than a man living alone, perhaps – but Sebastian can afford it, and it has a lived-in vibe that makes it feel intimate, somehow. Its location on the edge of a large park, peaceful apart from the joggers and young families that frequent it, suits his needs perfectly, too. Despite being a successful author, Sebastian prefers to keep himself to himself. He’s not one for ostentatious book tours or photoshoots, doesn’t believe in social media beyond its promotional potential, and he’s found that he blends in perfectly in this picturesque little town.

In addition to being a private person, however, Sebastian is an inherently curious one.

It’s why he became a writer in the first place, and it’s also why the random, slightly mysterious postcard instantly fascinates him. Someone who decides to send a Christmas card to the stranger living in their childhood home has got to be an interesting person, Sebastian figures.

Unable to resist the temptation, he finds the landlord’s number and presses call.

“The initials C.E.?”

“C.E., that’s right,” Sebastian repeats patiently. “I received a postcard from someone with those initials who said they used to live in this house and wished me Happy Holidays. I’d like to thank them for the card, maybe tell them they’re free to come by the house anytime, if that’s something they’d like.”

“Well,” the landlord says, clear hesitation in his tone. “I wouldn’t usually give out this kind of information, especially not about this particular person. But seeing as he approached you first, I guess it should be alright…”

Chris Evans.

Famous Hollywood actor Chris Evans used to live in Sebastian’s house. The house he’s renting. Whatever.

The point is, Chris Evans sent him a postcard. Sebastian would be lying if he said that knowledge didn’t make his heart beat a little faster. He isn’t one to get star-struck, normally, knowing full well the rich and famous are people just like anyone else, only with an added layer of expensive, sparkly veneer.

Chris Evans, though. Well, let’s just say Chris’s blue eyes, his dazzling smile, and his chest – god, that chest – had helped along Sebastian’s gay awakening considerably, all those years ago.

So even though he realizes what he’s about to do could be considered slightly unethical, the next number Sebastian dials is that of his agent. There’s no harm in asking if there’s any chance she could use her industry connections to pass on a message to Chris Evans, surely?

“Chris Evans?” his agent repeats blankly. “The British radio DJ or the actor?”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh. “Actor. Definitely the actor. Why would I want to send a message to a British radio DJ?”

“Why would you want to send a message to the actor?” she shoots back. “Apart from the obvious, of course.”

Touché.

Once he’s explained the situation to her, his agent hums thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll admit that’s pretty amazing,” she says. “As it happens, I know someone at CAA who owes me a favor. I’ll see what I can do.”

Sebastian thanks her warmly, and then he waits.

***

That afternoon, Chris gets a phone call from his agent.

“Thank you for the postcard,” she reads aloud. “If you're ever in the neighborhood, you’re welcome to stop by the house and have a look around, for old time’s sake. Happy Holidays, Sebastian Stan.”

“Sebastian Stan?” Chris asks, eyebrows shooting up. “The author?”

“Oh, you know him?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. I’ve read one of his books, though, the one that’s shortlisted for the Pulitzer price, I think? He’s very good.”

His agent hums. “If you say so. Do you want me to pass a message back to him?”

Chris opens his mouth to say yes, then closes it again. “Actually,” he says, making a spur-of-the-moment decision, “I’m still in the area so I think I’ll just pay him a visit. Do you think you could you cancel my flight back to LA this afternoon?”

His agent grumbles at him for a bit but eventually concedes, though not before she’s made Chris promise he’ll be back in LA on Tuesday, for the Christmas special he’s due to appear in. Fun.

For a few moments after he’s ended the call, Chris stares out of the window of his hotel room. It’s snowing again, big flakes fluttering down from the sky, slowly turning the grey, slushy roads white again. He wonders if Pulitzer-finalist Sebastian Stan likes to make snow angels in the backyard too, like Chris used to do.

Putting his phone between his shoulder and his ear, Chris starts to put his things in his overnight bag, and calls an Uber.

It’s almost twilight, by the time the cab come to a stop in front of the house. Chris thanks the driver and steps out, booted feet sinking into the freshly fallen snow. It’s piling up quickly, he notices distantly.

It’s odd, being back here, after everything that’s happened since he moved away, so Chris gives himself a moment to just stand there, in the middle of the deserted street, taking in the sight of house he grew up in.

The house that holds countless memories, many of them good, some of them not so much. His first dog and his first kiss. Scraped knees and snowball fights. Raucous laughter and hissed arguments.

The house looks the same but different.

Chris walks up to the front door, snow crunching under his boots, and rings the doorbell.

***

Chris Evans is on Sebastian’s doorstep.

All blue-eyed, bearded, gloriously muscled, six-foot-something of him.

“Uh,” Chris says, blinking at him in something like surprise before his gaze sweeps up and down Sebastian’s body in a blatant once-over. “Sebastian Stan?”

“Oh wow, you actually came,” Sebastian blurts by way of reply.

Chris’s eyes widen. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought- ‘cause you said-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sebastian interrupts. “I did say that. I just- I guess I wasn’t expecting you to really turn up – or not this soon, at least. But it’s no trouble at all, I live alone so it’s nice to have a visitor. Especially, y’know. You.” Forcing himself to stop talking, Sebastian runs a hand through his messy hair and wishes he’d worn something better suited to meeting one’s celebrity crush. “Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “Let’s try that again. Hi, I’m Sebastian Stan.”

“Chris Evans.” Chris smiles back warmly as he shakes Sebastian’s extended hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Lovely,” Sebastian repeats, holding Chris’s gaze. There are tiny flecks of green mixed in with the blue of his eyes, and his lashes would put any Maybelline model to shame. It takes Sebastian longer than it should to remember to let go of Chris’s hand, but fortunately, Chris doesn’t seem to be in any rush either. Huh. Sebastian clears his throat. “Would you- would you like to come in?”

“I’d love to, if you’re putting out,” Chris replies. There’s a beat, and then he freezes, eyes widening in horror. “If I’m not putting you out – not- not if you’re- I wasn’t, I didn’t mean- oh my god, Chris, stop talking you meatball,” Chris groans covering his face with a large hand. His next words come out a little muffled. “I am so sorry. Just ignore me. I have a horrible hangover, I promise I’m not usually this much of a disaster.”

Sebastian laughs, equally charmed by Chris’s helpless chattering as he is by the blush coloring his cheeks, just visible above the line of Chris’s well-groomed beard.

“You’re fine, I’m not easily offended,” he assures him, stepping aside to let Chris into the hallway. “I can take a lot.”

Oh.

This time, it’s Sebastian’s turn to wince at his choice of words, but when he tentatively glances back at his visitor to see if he noticed, he stills. The look on Chris’s face instantly makes him forget all about feeling embarrassed.

Still standing by the door, melting snow forming puddles around his feet, Chris is watching him intently. There’s something curious in his gaze, something sharp and searching.

It makes Sebastian’s breath catch in his throat. He swallows, resisting the impulse to avert his gaze, play it off as a joke. Instead, he makes himself stare right back. Lets the tension build, lets it simmer and crackle as it stretches out between them, growing stronger with every second they spend looking at each other in heavy silence.

“That right?” Chris asks finally, his voice a low rumble that settles in Sebastian’s bones like smoldering embers. Chris takes a careful step forward, slowly, giving him every chance to back away.

Sebastian stays where he is.

“Mmm,” he hums, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down lightly, experimentally, on the soft, plump flesh. When Chris’s eyes flick down to his mouth instantly, homing in on it like an eagle on its prey, Sebastian decides to take a chance.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian says huskily, stepping closer under Chris’s dark, watchful gaze. “Why don’t you give me a tour and show me which bedroom used to be yours-” he comes to a halt right in front of Chris, looking up at him through his eyelashes, “and maybe you’ll find out just how much I can take, hm?”

For a moment, Sebastian holds his breath, praying he read this thing right and didn’t accidentally sexually harass a virtual stranger – but then Chris growls and surges forward, and Sebastian knows his gamble is about to pay off.

Big time.

Merry Christmas to me, Sebastian thinks wildly, just before Chris claims his mouth in a searing kiss. After that, he stops thinking altogether.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

#evanstan #rpf #my fic #my writing #chris evans x sebastian stan #3k celebration

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atlascas · 3 years

Photo

re-made my cover of presque vu from like 2 months ago bc i received the copy and realized i’d made a whole bunch of amateur mistakes re: typesetting and cover design, and was so bothered that i designed myself another copy (that is winging its way to me RIGHT now). notes under the cut if anyone’s interested! i needed a place to put all my thoughts about the process

so this was the old design:

i designed this first one in a day, and didn’t have any idea what i was gonna do beforehand - the concept ended up being like, arthur + arthur’s vision of paris being inverted + the surrealism of the pink ink. so like the corruption of dreaming seeping into arthur’s reality. saying i discovered the thematic elements along the way would be an understatement though lmfao

the only new fonts i used were for subtitles/the author name, as well as the publisher stuff on the back cover - otherwise i used preinstalled fonts. i didn’t prioritize the title either. i kinda worked it in around the design i had and hoped it wasn’t too hard to read against the pink

as for the typesetting/interior: i threw the manuscript in indesign, put in chapter #s, figured out page numbering/master pages, and set it in book antiqua. i also put in these handdrawn-ish dice end-stoppers and spaced them really weirdly, because i was scared the spaces between sections would be too big. actually for a lot of the interior stuff i was worried abt how spacing would look, so i left the text like. single spaced

and then i was really excited and i wanted to print it before i lost interest in the project entirely, so i did, and unfortunately all those issues that i overlooked in the design phase came back to bite me in the ass. like, i didn’t figure out the trim properly, so the barcode was way too close to the bottom of the book. the font was HUGE on the back, and made it look like a kid’s book. title/author on the spine were too small and spaced weird. the margins in the interior were too small on the bottom, spacing was way too small in general, book antiqua ended up looking weird in print (though at least half of that was also probably the spacing), and there were widows and orphans everywhere (single words/lines at the tops and bottoms of pages). there were also typos and little mistakes in the text itself. i couldn’t have figured all of that out w/o seeing it for myself in print, but i did immediately start taking notes on what i wanted to change w the next edition LMAO

so here are a few prototype designs i had before settling on my new design:

basically i tried to go into this cover design w a much stronger concept than i did for the first one. i worked through a few ideas before settling on my final design, and i let them sit for a while instead of impulse ordering! final concept ended up being how arthur’s life was effectively destroyed by dreaming - first his career, then mal, then his relationships w eames and dom in a terrible domino effect - while maintaining an iron grip control over himself through all of it. (that’s fallingwater, a parisian hausmann apartment building, and the tuileries exploding on the cover!)

made the font smaller on the back cover, made the text on the spine bigger, made sure the title stood out and was a focal point by using a display font, and tried to make a coherent color scheme via an exclusion filter

biggest changes were in the interior, though. i modelled it off the raven cycle books! i found a nicer serif font, double spaced, and made sure the margins were bigger. i also put all the text on a baseline grid and replaced the dice stoppers w a really nice symbol that i can’t copy paste here lol, which did wonders to line up my text on the grid. i also figured out justification/keep options to solve my widows/orphans problem, and did some light editing to ensure the last lines were even on the page. i just barely scraped the surface of typesetting too! even w all the research i did this time, i’m sure there’s more to typesetting that i haven’t discovered yet :’)

so fun so so exhilarating to see the entire thing come together. i can’t wait for the book to come in!!!!!!

#inception #presque vu #arthur x eames

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whattheheehaw · 3 years

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Hi! I’m sorry you’re getting shitty anons about this and you’re probably sick of it so I apologise for asking this but I’m genuinely curious what made you start actively disliking zutara? Like, considering how much excellent and insightful content/meta you yourself used to make/write? I get that interests change over time and you’re totally valid!! the anons sending you hate over it are really dumb, but if you’d be ok with sharing, I’d be really interested in hearing why you’ve done almost a complete 180 on the ship? Was is just burnout/end of a hyper-obsession? Or was it some of us in the rest of the fandom that turned you off? Or was it even something about the ship/characters themselves that you changed your mind about? xx

In short, it was a combination of burnout, dissatisfaction with fandom, and disappointment in myself that caused my disinterest for Zvtara.

I got asks similar to this one a couple of times before, but I never gave a comprehensive answer, mainly because I didn't know how to articulate my reasons why I don't like it anymore. But now that I've been out of ZK fandom for a month and have had some time to reflect, I think I can give a much more thorough response. Beware, this is long and I heavily critique the Zvtara fandom, so if you're a ZK shipper, keep reading at your own risk.

My first minor annoyance with Zvtara is that the fandom has a tendency to idolize certain fics and creators. And while there’s certainly nothing inherently wrong about that, I feel like the Zvtara fandom does it to such an extent that it influences the type of content that content creators make in order to get recognition. And to illustrate my point, I’m going to talk about one of the most famous Zvtara fics of all time: Once Around The Sun by eleventy7.

Don’t get me wrong, I love OATS. I think it’s a great fanfic and I think the author devoted a lot of time and effort to make it such an excellent fic. The plot, the development of the characters and their relationships to one other, and the messages about family and love were all brilliantly written. I mean, there is a reason why it’s regarded as the “Zvtara Bible”. This one fanfic had such a profound impact upon the ZK fandom, and I think the biggest impact that came from it is the dramatic influx of post-war Zvtara AU fanfiction.

Because so many people kept reading OATS and recommending it to others, I think there was an overall interest in ZK fics that take place in a post-war setting. And I think that all of the high praise towards OATS made more fic writers start to write post-war fanfics because of this demand for post-war AU.* I normally wouldn't complain about it because more content is more content, but in my opinion, 99% of ZK post-war fics are the same fic but in different fonts.

Like, there's at least 3 of these elements in every ZK post-war fanfic:

Ambassador Katara

An assassination attempt (usually on Zuko's life)

A healing scene between Zuko and Katara (usually Katara heals Zuko)

Aang and/or Mai is pushed to the side or vilified to some extent in order to make ZK happen

A private journey between Zuko and Katara to facilitate #6

S L O W B U R N (that's not really slowburn and more like "I love you and I very much want to be vocal about my feelings but #7 is in this fic" but the love story takes up like 30 chapters so I guess it's a slowburn?)

Zuko's advisers don't want him to get married to Katara because ✨racism✨

Ursa is found

Azula is in the fic because a) she's going to get a healing arc ft. Zuko and Katara and thereby helps them get together or b) she's the villain and thereby helps them get together

ZK wedding happens in the FN

After reading multiple post-war fics back to back, I could tell that the format was pretty much the same across the board, which isn't very interesting for me to read. My only other fic options in the Zvtara tag on AO3 are canon divergence fics which almost always take place during The Crossroads of Destiny or after The Southern Raiders. And to some extent, those stories are pretty much the same too. There's nothing really new or creative going on in the ZK fandom fic-wise, and because of that, my interest in ZK fandom started to dwindle.

My second issue with Zvtara is that it's a very old ship from a very old show. Because there's been 10+ years since the end of A:TLA, every nuanced point about shipping and the show itself have been talked to death.** There's just nothing new to say. It's the same arguments being rehashed over and over again in the tag because there's no other interpretation one can come up with.

For example, there's so many people who talk about why Zvtara as depicted in The Southern Raiders is not toxic and that's great and all, but I (and most likely many others) have read those same points about five times already. And for some reason, each time this happens, people act like someone just discovered the lost city of Atlantis when they bring up their new-but-not-new argument in defense of Zvtara. Honestly, I'm ashamed to say that I'm not exempt from being part of the group of people that reiterate old arguments. I've done it with one of my posts about The Southern Raiders and I've done it again with my Zutara/Omashu parallels post.

There's no new content to really dissect and analyze (especially considering Zuko and Katara are rarely in the same panel in any of the post-war comics), and because of this, people are just restating points that someone else made several years ago.*** And even if someone did have a different interpretation of an episode, their ideas would most likely be shut down because for the past several years, the same interpretation has been recycled through the fandom repeatedly and people are resistant to new perspectives.

This brings me to the third thing that I dislike about Zvtara: the insistence that there can only be one way to interpret The Southern Raiders. For the longest time, I've read take after take that said if Katara decided to kill Yon Rha, it would be ok because that's her grief to deal with and if she thinks that's the best way to mete out justice, then good for her. And again, I'm ashamed to say that I perpetuated that idea in a few of my own posts. I have always thought that "Katara killing Yon Rha is ok" is just a bad take in general, but I didn't want to vocalize that opinion when so many people—so many of the nice mutuals that I made—all shared that same opinion. Taking down a popular opinion of your own ship is completely different from taking down a popular opinion of a ship that you dislike. The Zvtara fandom is the first fandom that I was actually active in and I wanted to fit in so badly with everyone else that I just parroted whatever other people said, even if I didn't agree with those sentiments.

This leads me to my final reason why I don't want to be a part of ZK fandom anymore. I think I established myself as a "meta" person pretty early on and because of that, I constantly felt pressured to come up with new takes on the ship. And when people started flooding my ask box with stuff like "Can you write a meta about your thoughts on the idea that 'Zuko only took Katara on that field trip in TSR because he wanted her to forgive him'?" and "What are your thoughts about antis saying Zuko and Katara are toxic because of TSR?", I realized that I don't need to come up with new takes. People just want me to paraphrase something that 10 other people said about the same exact topic, because if I said what I actually thought about the subject (i.e. there is some truth in what antis say about TSR and it's not as much of a "Zvtara episode" that most people make it out to be), I'd probably get ZK shippers in the replies telling me that I'm wrong because x, y, and z or "you shouldn't tag this as Zvtara".

And that was pretty much how my love for ZK turned into disinterest. I was and still am disappointed that I didn't stick to my personal opinions. For as much as I talk about herd mentality on Twitter, I certainly don't practice what I preach. In all honesty, the only reason why I held on so long to ZK fandom was because I had so many nice mutuals there and we all shared this collective distaste for antis. I think I started to become more anti-Zvkka and anti-Kataang than pro-Zvtara, which isn't what I wanted to do when I made this Tumblr blog.

The thing that made me joke about becoming anti-Zvtara was the fact that some ZK shippers just like to send shitty anons to people whom they've reblogged countless different metas from. Sending shitty anons to people in the first place is wrong, but sending them to people who tagged their posts correctly and did nothing wrong is just disgusting.

*I'm not a fic writer and can't speak for fic writers, but it definitely feels like a lot of ZK fic authors are pushing themselves to write the next OATS, and by doing so, they are proliferating the tag with post-war fics that have very similar aspects to OATS.

**I think that as more people point out the same nuanced points about Zvtara, it diminishes the actual significance of those points. Like, it's hard to explain but the more people talk about the subtleties of the ship, the more those parts become glaringly obvious and I become numb to their actual impact on the characters and the show.

***At this point, if someone wanted to make a new argument about Zvtara, I think they would have to look very closely at every little detail in every single one of their scenes together to find a crumb of new meta material. And speaking from experience, it's not very fun trying to make a mountain out of a molehill. Whenever I post a "meta" like that, I feel like I'm reaching to make a point that doesn't exist.

#anti zutara #anonymous #ask and ye shall receive

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nanowrimo · 3 years

Text

A Step-by-Step Guide to Self-Publishing a Middle Grade Adventure Book

It can be so exciting to share your story with the world! While everyone’s writing journey is different and there’s no right way to seek publication, here’s a guide from middle grade author RJ Vantalos detailing the steps they took to get their novel published:

Back in November 2018, my writing partner (my fiance’s 11-year-old daughter!) and I wanted to craft a middle-grade fiction book during NaNoWriMo. We decided to write about a family that has magical powers that they use to save a romp of Sea Otters in Monterey Bay.

That NaNoWriMo journey created the first draft of the book we just self-published called The Magical Mystical Mirror under our pen name RJ Vantalos. Why a pen name?

As artists, we want to focus on our art and write some great stories together. RJ Vantalos gives us the space to collaborate as co-authors in this adventure series under a single banner, without blurring the lines with other aspects of our respective lives. Besides, RJ Vantalos is just an awesome pen name and was begging to be put to use.

We wanted to share how we did it so that if you might have a book you want to self-publish, you’ll at least have one experience to guide you.

Know Your Genre and What Readers Expect

At the time, we wanted to write a middle-grade story that had some roots in our lives. Since we take trips to Monterey Bay often (at least before COVID), we decided to make that the setting of our story.

Since one of us is a middle-schooler who loves both Scooby-Doo and Nancy Drew, it was decided that she would guide what a middle-grade reader might want to read about. This was invaluable and allowed us to fill in a lot of the story as we took our trips to Monterey Bay Aquarium, Mission Carmel, and Cannery Row.

We also knew that we wanted to have some magic, mystery, and a “crime” to solve. That led us down the path of Fantasy/Adventure that’s a cross between Scooby-Doo and Harry Potter.

What this also did was make us realize that we needed to have illustrations for the book. The middle-grade chapter books we are fond of, such as Boxcar Children, Nancy Drew, to name a few, all had illustrations.

So the first step in our process (after we finished our Draft 0 during NaNoWriMo in 2019) was to find an illustrator. You can skip that if you don’t need them.

Step 1: Find an Illustrator

We needed to have illustrations for the cover and beginning of each chapter. That was an essential part of what a middle-grade chapter book must provide for the reader. We worked with a local San Francisco artist named Julia Geller who writes books as well.

We had to make sure that our draft was not going to change too much since the illustrations will be based on what’s in each chapter. That’s why we needed to make sure it all made sense. This brings us to step 2.

Step 2: Have Friends and Family Read It

Thankfully, we have a wide variety of friends and family in our target reader group, so they served as our “beta readers.” This is an essential part of creating a story that works for your readers. As we had them read the close to final drafts, we got a lot of great advice on how to refine the story. This refining process is a good way to know when you’re ready to hire an editor.

Step 3: Hire an Editor

Hiring an editor is a great way to ensure that your final book makes sense and does not have typos. Since we already had the structure of the book nailed down, we only needed to hire a line editor as opposed to a structural editor.

For what, we used Kerrie McLoughlin, who not only is a great copy editor but also has kids in our age demographic. Win and double win!

Step 3b: Rounds of Editing

Editing a book is such an art and it’s also something that feels like it’s never done. After we got the edits from Kerrie, we went through them to make sure they worked from our perspective. Even after that, we got others to look at it just to make sure.

If you don’t have someone awesome like Kerrie, there is a marketplace for editors on Reedsy.

Step 4: Create a Cover

Julia also did the cover illustrations for the book but not the cover. For that, we used 100covers. At first, you might be tempted to try and do a cover or use an automatic cover generator from one of the self-publishing tools (more on that later). We’d recommend against that.

One thing we found is that automatically generated covers tend to be a little off and that makes the paperback look a little weird. For eBooks, that’s not as true. We’d say experiment with it and see how it looks. The beauty of self-publishing is that you control the process and can iterate over and over again. Which we did.

One upside with having 100covers do your cover is that we got a lot of marketing images to use as well since we picked that package.

Step 5: Format the Inside of the Book

Since we have images in our book, we hired Formatted Books to do both the paperback and the eBook. This worked out extremely well. At first, we tried to use the Reedsy formatting tool to create the print version. This did an okay job.

The problem was with the images and how we wanted them to look. We wanted the images to be above the first page of the chapter. The Reedsy tool did this but not on all of the chapters.

If you have a book that is not image-heavy (or no images at all), then you could save a bit of money on formatting. Again, play around with it and see how it turns out.

Step 6: Setup the Book on Blurb

We used Blurb.com as our “publisher” for the print version. It’s an easy site to use and also allows independent bookstores to order books as well. This was an important part of our promotion plan. We LOVE independent book stores and want all our friends and family to be able to buy them there.

Of course, with Blurb, they can also buy it on Amazon and Barnes and Noble if they so choose.

NaNoWriMo Young Writers Program participants also get a special Blurb discount by using the code YWP30

Step 6b: Setup the eBook on Kobo

Blurb.com does offer eBook distribution but you have to create an eBook from your print book pdf. This did not work out for us.

The formatting of The Magical Mystical Mirror turned out awful when we ran it through Blurb’s converter. It also gave us an error that we could not use the font that was in the print version. That was the main reason the formatting went wrong. When the tool tried to swap the fonts, everything went sideways. That’s why we went with Kobo.

Kobo.com allowed us to upload the eBook we got as part of the package from Formatted Books. This worked out awesome.

Kobo is easy to use and is a great way to sell the eBook (and audio if we had one) all over the world. We first heard of Kobo from Joanna Penn, whose podcast and books on self-publishing we relied on for help and guidance. She’s even done NaNoWriMo several times!

Step 7: Review Print & eBook

We did several rounds of galley copies of the print book to double and triple-check it. A galley copy is what publishers call the first book(s) “off the press” that is used for final checks.

We did find a couple of typos and mistakes in the galley copies that we had to feedback to Formatted Books. It’s hard to find every typo or misspelled word when looking at an electronic copy. We’d highly recommend getting a couple of galley copies to look at before officially hitting publish.

Step 8: Hit Publish!

On both Blurb and Kobo, you can keep your book in “draft” while you’re reviewing all the versions. You’ll also have to set pricing for all of your versions and if you’re selling to bookstores, the discounted price. Both tools have good guidance on this and we would recommend looks at “comps” in your genre. “Comps” are books that are similar to yours.

Congratulations! You just self-published your book. Have a party to celebrate while you think about how to promote your book.

The Promotion Plan

We love independent books stores and a big concern of ours was whether or not they could carry our book. Thankfully, if you use Blurb, they can.

Our promotion plan is centered around local independent bookstores and creating demand for the book via friends and family. Of course, writing a blog post on NaNoWriMo does not hurt either!

Research All Your Local Bookstores

We used bookweb.org to find our local books stores. This only works for U.S. based bookstores. They have a great search feature that gives you a URL for the search results. This URL is what we’re going to email to all our friends and family along with instructions on what to tell them.

We know this is a bit “old school” but it’s important to us that we try and promote our local independent bookstores to help our local economy. We’re not sure how successful it will be yet but it’s worth a try.

Thanks for Reading This Far

If you made it this far, thanks for reading our journey to self-publishing The Magical Mystical Mirror. It was a lot of work but also a lot of fun. There is something magical about seeing and feeling a book you worked on. For us, it’s a matter of pride and a job well done that we had an idea and it’s now a reality.

If you’d like to read The Magical Mystical Mirror, why not try and pick it up at your local independent bookstore. The ISBN number is 978-1034384199. Tell them RJ sent you! If you’d like the eBook version, then try Kobo.

RJ Vantalos is the pen name of the collaboration between an entrepreneur and his fiance's middle-schooler daughter who one day said "why don't you write books for kids?" So we did! RJ wants all young writers, their friends, and their adults to create more together. It's through creation that we can all learn more about each other and thrive. RJ lives in San Francisco, CA.

#nanowrimo #writing #amwriting #ywp #young writers program #now what #publishing #self-publishing #by nano guest #rj vantalos

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lilydalexf · 3 years

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Dreamshaper

Dreamshaper has 54 stories at Gossamer. Her stories often feature Mulder and Scully exploring their feelings in ways you really, really wish you could’ve seen on the show. I’ve recced some of my favorites of her stories here before, including Found in Memory, Just By Existing, Purpose, and Promise. Big thanks to Dreamshaper for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I'm not at all surprised people are still reading X-Files fanfic! There's a deep catalogue of good and interesting fiction there, and the X-Files still has cultural significance. And of course there were the recent seasons to bring it back to mind. I think if you had asked me in 2000, I might not have supposed that it had this kind of staying power. So now I'm thinking of this interview as a time capsule--what will my answer be in 2040?

My own fic was not designed to have staying power. If anyone is reading it now, bless them, they are kind and patient. I would only recommend probably reading the first and last things I posted just to see what kind of growth is possible. The first time I ever posted fic, someone told me to never write again. I was a teenager. I was crushed but I went on writing anyway, and I worked hard to improve.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I think of two things. As for the show itself, I still think of Mulder/Scully as the ultimate in romance. I can still picture certain moments from the episodes, from the movie. I look for pairings with tension that reminds me of theirs--an almost-regency level of UST, but with a modern element of danger.

As for the fandom itself, I grew up in it. My entire online life and the core of how I participate in fandom was formed here. I was 17 or so when I started writing and posting MSR. I was 18 or 19 when I started meeting fans in real life. I was fortunate enough to fall in with people who were equal parts gracious and nerdy, and while my own nerdiness is innate, I remember and emulate the kindness which was shown to me.

I have an entire side post to this question about how strongly I disagree with the current age stratification in fandom--this idea of not interacting across artificial age divides is tragic to me.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

ATXC, and mailing lists. I don't actually remember the names of all the mailing lists! I can picture myself sitting in my kitchen on my computer, and what the emails looked like--the font, the signature lines--but not the names. I can even remember specific conversations we had! One of them must have been Scullyfic, because I remember the first meetup being planned. Is that right? Was it the Scullyfic meetup? [Lilydale note: Probably was Scullyfic. There was a big email flurry when the first Scullyfic mailing list meetup was being planned.] My mind was absolutely blown by the idea of a fan con. Now I've led panels at a dozen of them.

I remember some of the arguments, too. It's funny that some of them are the same arguments I still see here and there, like whether or not criticism of a fanwork is valid. Real Person Fic being this unbelievably shameful thing you had to ask to be shown, and the doyennes of the fandom would have given you the cut direct at Almack's if they'd found out, you know?

This was also the era of AIM and ICQ. mIRC too, right? I spent a lot of time in channels. I absolutely loved when people started to be more open about themselves in chats. I was always so interested in how fandom fit into people's lives. Some people I talked to were moms, college students, people who had interesting careers, and they all just found ways to make fandom work for them. They had a need and were meeting it, despite the pressures of their offline life.

I don't know how to explain the impression that made on me, but--it normalized fandom. That seems obvious, maybe, but I hadn't known this was something you could integrate into your everyday life.

It also normalized the idea of women taking their own needs as primary, in a way that went beyond what I was exposed to in my home life, or through the feminism of the 1990s. There was this wild intersection of the--the domestic and intellectual life of women, and the playful life of women, just making itself known to me in a way I'd never seen before. That was enormous. Absolutely a foundational experience for me.

My experience was that ATXC and email lists were like, these surface-level interactions where people figured out, roughly, if your mind ran on a similar track to theirs, and then you were invited to make deeper relationships in more private corners of the internet. Social media filled both functions at once, I think, for a while. But the privacy was missing. I'm not surprised that Slack and Discord are starting to fill that private corner gap--everything old becomes new, etc.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

UST and monsters. This is still an unbeatable combination for me!

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I loved romance novels--I read so many of them. Somehow, before we even had a computer at home, I started to tell myself romance novel stories with Mulder and Scully as the lead characters. This was how I talked myself to sleep--I wasn't a good sleeper. Then when I got online and did whatever search led me to ATXC, I was just shocked. Shocked! Can't do the surprise justice, in this era where fanfic is relatively mainstream. Other people had also independently invented this thing I loved! But they wrote their ideas down! I jumped on the bandwagon immediately.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

It's like my relationship to my childhood, frankly. Foundational, but I don't think about it all that much on a daily basis, right? I smile and reblog gif sets. I get nostalgic. I get embarrassed by social mistakes I made. I feel the way many of us do about memories from our teenage years. I wouldn't be who I was without it, but I'm not still in it.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I was. I've spent 20 years in fandom! I did some beta work for someone who'd started writing slash--The Sentinel. The actual Sentinel, not just an endless loop of Sentinel AUs based on Sentinel AUs based on etc. I had some idea at the time that I was queer, but this was my first real exposure to romances that weren't straight. So I tore my way through the early 2000s slash fandoms as they developed: The Sentinel, Due South, Stargate Atlantis. Popslash, where a mix of good writing and absurdity ruled. Bandom, where I met my wife. Since then, many smaller fandoms.

It's hard to compare any of these things to each other, let alone to the X-Files. In each one, I was lucky enough to find a circle of women who were strong beta readers and good friends. I never wrote as much or for as long as I did in the X-Files.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I watched the new episodes. I've shown friends important episodes--I remember that a few years ago, another friend and I tried to hook a third friend on the show by binging some favorites--mostly shippy MOTW, so it was like, Arcadia, Triangle, Bad Blood. Fun stuff!

We finish watching and I'm like, well? And? And she says, that was fine, but I'm more of a man-pain, secret babies kind of person? I'll never forget it. She had no idea but she'd hit the nail on the head! We were wheezing with laughter. We went back and watched mytharc episodes, which was much less fun for me, but much more interesting to her.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I don't read X-Files fic often. I look at new things sometimes, and I've reread a few old classics, but my reading taste has changed so much. I still love straight romance, but it needs to be fast and sharp in a way that is hard to find.

I read fic in other fandoms when I have time. In the past few years, I've finished a degree, had a daughter, renovated a small Victorian and then sold it and bought another one during this pandemic--so time has been short. Currently I read some Untamed fic, some Good Omens fic, Magicians, Schitt's Creek...a sampler. Whatever friends are writing, whatever they recommend.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I never have a favorite of my own fics. I'm never satisfied. The second I post something, I'm always full of regrets. I've written fics that did very well and still hated them a month later. People have asked me over the years to move more of my stuff off Livejournal and onto ao3, but I do it really reluctantly and only by specific request. Everything's ephemeral! Let the old works diminish, and go into the West!

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I have no oldies to dust off. I do periodically think of X-Files stories I would tell, but I don't have enough time for current interests--and so it goes.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I do. I was most recently writing in The Magicians fandom. I posted a couple new stories in an old fandom last year--I'd written Good Omens fic fifteen years ago, and then again for the Amazon adaptation. I have a pile of original novels in various stages of completion, but I'm never happy with them. One day I'll figure myself out, perhaps, or I'll just keep writing myself this and that and leaving it all in a drawer.

What's the story behind your pen name?

So AOL had a character limit for user names--I think it was 10. I was a teenager at the time I was coming up with the one I'd use for fandom, so I went with Dreamshaper. It was kind of literal, in the sense that I was going to share the stories I'd been telling myself to help me sleep. But the character limit meant I went with Dreamshpr, which I later liked because of the alternate reading of Dream*shipper*. A reminder to the younger fans that we were the original shippers!

I would also come up with new pen names when I wanted to experiment with a fic that didn't fit my usual style. I don't remember any of them. I probably did that a dozen times, so, sorry to those poor completely abandoned stories.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Giddygeek on tumblr and ao3. I'm most active on twitter, but largely about my domestic life with dips into fandoms or original writing; message me on tumblr if you're an old friend who'd like to reconnect elsewhere.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Just gratitude--I'm so glad that I found people to share an obsession with, and that they were good people, at a time in my life where that made a significant difference to me. I don't know where I'd be now without my time and my growth in this fandom!

(Posted by Lilydale on December 22, 2020)

#new post #old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #dreamshaper

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youngster-monster · 3 years

Text

shallow grave

Archmage Kael’thas Sunstrider comes back home to a kingdom in ruin, a city in flames, and a father whose body has not yet finished cooling on the cold dry earth. The sky is choked with smoke and ashes; the streets run red with blood. His people need him — his people need better than him — and if he’s all that they have, then he’ll have to be enough.

He allows himself a day and a night to grieve, to bury his father and water his grave with his tears. Then, in the hours before dawn breaks on that second day, while his people do the same — while they bury their dead and mourn all that they’ve lost — Kael’thas lays down his grief and goes to the Sunwell.

The font of magic, like its city, like its people, was broken and tainted at the hand of the Scourge. The air echoes with a sound like the distant howling wind, but it sits heavy and still around him. Once it rang like a struck chord with the arcane energy swirling within.

This, nearly more than the bodies still lying in the streets, tells Kael’thas that they are dying.

His people need magic to thrive. They need magic to survive. Arthas has cleaved through the city to reach the heart of their power, but it’s no surprise that he wouldn’t bother to destroy them the way he has destroyed Lordaeron. What is left of them, without the Sunwell? What more does he need to do than sit and wait for them to succumb to the hunger that Kael’thas can already feel clawing at his heart?

Their survival isn’t a given anymore. It’s a question.

And what remains of the Sunwell offers an answer.

It is alive, Kael’thas finds, though he’s always expected that much. It is alive enough to be in pain, as its body is the sin’dorei’s body and their suffering is its suffering. Soon, it will die, and there will be nothing left to soothe the pain of their people.

But in these last moments, the Sunwell does not look for a way to ease its own anguish. It doesn’t fear its own end; for really what end can there be, for the mindless soul of a people, that shall live as long as they live and die alongside them? But it fears that they might never be avenged. They have been baptized anew in blood; now it would have them drown their enemies in it.

Magic, like its practitioners, holds grudges. It is a language of debt, spoken only through what you draw from it and what it takes from you. And there’s nothing quite so daunting as a debt never paid back in full.

Kael’thas hears this — the rage, wordless and unending, of a being that only exists as an instrument to a people’s collective will. Something in him answers.

This anger that finds its echo inside of Kael’thas is a pyre, he thinks, and it shall consume him if he lets it.

(His name means phoenix, in their language. He can no more fear the flames than the Sunwell can fear death. It is not in his nature.)

Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider walks into the throneroom changed, though the people gathered would be hard-pressed to say how. Perhaps it is in his eyes, the barely noticeable flicker in their golden light.

The Sunwell is gone. Long live the Sun Prince.

Still, no one speaks of it. They may not know what has transpired, but there is an instinctual recognition of the Sunwell buried deep in them. Like a compass points true to the north, they recognize this magic without knowing it.

He can feel it as well, like another heart within himself. The pulse, alien as it is, chills and comforts him in equal measure. He is both more and less than what he was before stepping into the Sunwell. Maybe he isn’t even the same person at all; something different, rather than exalted or diminished by the change.

“We will march in a week’s time,” he tells the new Ranger-General, Lor’themar Theron.

The man looks weary. The mantle is heavy on his shoulders, for all that he wears it well. Already he looks Kael’thas in the eyes when he speaks, and refuses to flinch at what he sees there.

“With what army, my lord? Over half our forces are dead; those who still live are exhausted, or stationed too far from the city to reach us before we depart.”

“You worry about the living, Lor’themar, and I will worry about the dead.”

The Sunwell was tainted by the Scourge when it sunk into Kael’thas; he can feel that as well. But Kael’thas is not a Well of magic that feeds an entire kingdom.

He is but a man, and a man may be touched by necromancy and survive in a way a Well cannot.

A man can be a necromancer.

And Kael’thas intends to be one. He intends to be the best necromancer there ever was, actually, because when has he ever settled for anything less?

When he walks through the streets, people hush and step aside. They see that he is grieving, and the world knows what happens when the Sunstriders grieve.

Dath’Remar founded a kingdom over this grief — for a time past, for magic that he could not bear to be parted from. Kael’thas has lost so much more; his retribution will match the scale of his grief.

He walks until the ground underneath his feet has gone black with ashes and graveyard dirt; until the stench of rot chokes him; until he can walk no more for all the bodies still not buried, and the few still walking that threaten to take notice of him. They could tear through him in seconds, alone as he is, still strong from their master’s passage.

That’s fine. He won’t be alone for long.

He knows his people by the shape of the space left empty by their absence. The awareness is unnatural — no, not unnatural. It’s foreign to him; not meant for a body like his own. Not meant to be embodied at all. It’s like an itch under his skin, a calling that he can’t quite hear.

When he reaches for it, something reaches back.

It feels rather like fire, where he would have expected ice. It stands to reason that his magic would not suffer the cold, no matter how necromantic the source. If anyone were to raise the dead with the very fire that would see them cremated, likely as not it would be him.

The flames race across the ground, seeking their brethren: the fires that used to burn in the heart of dead sin’dorei. Once found, the embers are rekindled by the deadfire; light blazes in empty eyes, and what few bodies were left behind by Arthas rise to their feet. Fire can be seen through the gaps in flesh, beneath exposed ribs, like a coal engine fueling the precious machine of their reanimated body.

The ghouls shy away from them, hissing at the light they cast. The burning dead pays them no mind, if they have any mind left to pay; they gather themselves into neat ranks to be inspected.

Kael’thas expected it to take more energy, but even the shattered remains of the Sunwell are more magic than any one man should hold; he doesn’t even feel winded. He steps up to one of the risen bodies. A civilian, he thinks; most of them must be, to have been discarded by Arthas. She looks up at him and he sees nothing in her eyes but a reflection of his own resolve.

These he will walk out of the city, to be buried with dignity. They didn’t live a life of battle, and he finds himself reluctant to give them such a restless death. Without the instinctual knowledge of weapons carrying over from their life, he’s not even sure he could make them fight.

But after— he’ll have to find motivated graverobbers, he thinks, and appeal to the noble houses of Silvermoon for authorizations to desecrate family crypts. There are many soldiers buried in the city, and he intends to make use of them all.

Again bodies walk through the streets of Silvermoon, though this time the prince that leads them trails embers in his wake rather than frost. It’s a testament to their grief that few bother to curse him for it; once he’s laid the bodies outside of the city, away from the ghouls that would devour them before they can be buried, his people come to him with questions on their lips but little blame.

Though it might be because they are too shocked for outrage to take root.

“How?” Lor’themar asks, helpless, as they watch the last of the dead lay down at the end of a row of their kind and go back to their eternal sleep.

“It is my duty to keep this kingdom safe,” he replies, which is not much of an answer at all. “And, this failing, to see it avenged.”

It doesn’t feel wrong, that playing with the natural order of things, though he expects Arthas had a remarkably similar train of thought before laying waste to the city of his birth. It feels as natural as all other magic Kael’thas has ever wielded. It will take care to keep it from getting out of hand; this is the kind of power that corrupts absolutely.

Unlike Arthas, this magic does not come from a place of corruption; it is born of the sin’dorei and for them, and draws its power from the seven thousand years of memories and magic that made up the Sunwell. As long as he holds on to that impulse of protection rather than destruction, he thinks he can make it.

Maybe that’s why it doesn’t feel any different than other spells. Because it fits him, that burning desire to keep what belongs to him safe, to the point that he’d bend the laws of nature to do it. Maybe it wasn’t so much a transformation as an evolution; a rebirth into something not so much changed as made better suited to its task.

“You’re different,” Rommath notes nonetheless, though it doesn’t sound accusing.

In the absence of the Convocation of Silvermoon, Kael’thas brought his demand for bodies directly to the noble houses. Most have agreed, animated by the same desire to see their enemies brought down, never to hurt them again, no matter the cost. He’s making rounds through their cemeteries now, watching every undertaker in the city and any abled person willing to take up a shovel digging up caskets and carrying shrouded bodies to the outskirts of Silvermoon where their troops are gathering. They’ll have to be quick. Work with corpses requires speed as hygiene can hardly be guaranteed.

It’s lucky that they’ve somewhat lost the tradition to cremate their dead. Many still do; and they are safe from his sacrilege now, though all sin’dorei soldiers are sworn to protect the kingdom any way they might, in life and beyond. Commoners have been coming to offer their own dead to his cause. He would not ask that of his subjects; but they understand the need for desperate measures.

What good is a full grave to the living?

“Am I really?” He asks idly, crossing names off his list. The Brightwalker crypt has been emptied already; their matriarch watches over the process herself, red-eyed but strong in the face of her youngest son’s body being brought out and covered by a veil for transport. “Besides the obvious.”

Rommath tilts his head, considering this. “Not by much, I suppose.”

“Is it a good difference?”

“That, only time will tell. But it’s a necessary one; that much I believe.”

Of course Rommath would understand. They are, in the end, creatures of pride, and pride begets duty. Good has nothing to do with it.

They march out of Silvermoon with a force diminished from the invasion of Quel’thalas — but still thousands strong, and twice what they might have been able to gather if not for Kael’thas’ foray into graverobbing. Grave-borrowing? He’s regent, now, would be king if he had bothered to get crowned. He has a right to conscript a few bodies, he thinks, if he promises to give them back after.

Arthas leaves a clear trail to follow, and they do. The dead can march forever, if need be; the living are not so impervious to fatigue, but desperation pushes them forward nearly as efficiently as Kael’thas’ magical control would.

He rides at the front, half a mind on the control of the army of undead at his back and the other half on the army of undead they’re marching towards.

They plan to cut Arthas’ path in Northrend; they meet the Forsaken on their way north, which is a surprise for both parties.

An arrow nearly takes Kael’thas’ head clean off his shoulders. It combusts in flight and disintegrates to ashes before reaching him, caught by a mage more attentive than he is. The next volley meets the same fate, and is quickly followed by the soldiers shifting formation — Lor’themar’s cry of protect the prince answered by hundreds of clanking armor.

Looking up, Kael’thas sees them coming from the trees like wraiths; dark figures, alight with death magic, but walking with a confidence that the shambling masses that Arthas controls simply lack. He holds his counter-attack, for now, though their approach makes his entire body shake with a kind of aimless bloodthirst. The Sunwell remembers what has hurt it; it does not forget hate nor fear easily.

When it becomes clear that the undead will neither attack nor come forward, Kael’thas rides out of the protective circle of his men, heedless of Lor’themar’s complaints. He recognizes Sylvanas soon enough. She’s a difficult woman to forget, even looking for all the world like she’s just clawed out of her grave.

“Ranger-General Windrunner,” he greets, as pleasantly as he can muster. He’s had a hard time sounding pleasant, lately. “I’m afraid I’ve given away your job.”

Her glare is a fierce thing, and her hand flexes around her bow like she’s considering striking him down anyway. “Prince Kael’thas. You’re alive.”

“No need to sound so disappointed.”

Ignoring him, she casts a look at the troops at his back. He can imagine what she sees: the strange glow of the reanimated soldiers, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the living in an uneasy, desperate show of force.

“Your soldiers are not.”

“Indeed they aren’t.”

Her sharp eyes come back to him, assessing. “Have you gone and pledged yourself to the Scourge, then, since you could not beat it?”

Her tone suggests he would not leave this place alive, if that were the case. But her assumption is only met with a flash of rage; Kael’thas’ grip over his reins goes white-knuckled, and he has to breathe shallowly through his nose before he speaks again.

“I would have Arthas dead by my hand, if I can; the Sunwell concurred, and gave me the means to achieve this goal.”

It is a remarkably reserved way to summarize events. Yet Sylvanas looks as if he had struck her, eyes widening as she takes in the force behind him once again, quickly.

“Ana’band tur, anu dor’ishura belore.” You speak, and we should hear the sun. Once a ritual phrase meant to show respect to the king or queen of Quel’thalas; now a literal truth.

He tilts his head to the side in acknowledgement. “So it is.”

As expected from the fierce ranger, she takes that information with suspicion rather than relief. She squares her shoulders and asks, walking the fine line between curiosity and suspicion, “What makes you different from the Scourge?”

“I do not claim to resurrect anyone.” At her disbelief, he gestures at the army at his back. The corpses are still in a way the Scourge, ever shifting like one giant creature of hunger, could never manage. “They are all animated, by magic and the lingering will of their soul to protect their land — puppets rather than slaves, I suppose.”

When one lives hundreds of years, their soul leaves an imprint on the body that is hardly scrubbed by death. Even when only skeletons remain of the people they once were, the bones remember what it was to love Quel’thalas — and to die for it. They are ready to do it again, if they must.

Sylvanas observes him silently. Gauging him, though what she hopes or expects to find here he doesn’t know.

“Will you join us?” he asks, once it becomes clear she will not speak again.

“We have taken Lordaeron for our own — as free, independent people. I cannot fight your war, prince.”

Death changes them all, no matter which side of it they are on. If she considers herself more undead than she is elven, then so be it.

“Then will you fight with us?”

Sylvanas Windrunner has never turned down a fight. Especially not against the Scourge.

Northrend is a cold, barren place, but Kael’thas’ army burns bright as if it is carrying its own sunlight, stowed away in the gaps between their bones. It keeps them warm when the howling blizzard would tear the flesh right off their skeleton.

It is only a worry for those of them who still have flesh to lose, which is a majority by not quite as much of a comfortable margin as they may like.

Kael’thas makes them march on until they can’t take another step, and then a few miles more, until the snow and the storm-grey sky have become one uninterrupted expense of darkness and they have no choice but to put up tents and fires. His men suffer through because they, too, can feel the end coming. They are running out of time. Soon fate will decide whether Arthas lives or dies, and Kael’thas intends to wrestle the decision from its hands.

The dead among their ranks light the way in the dark, they keep frostbite and hypothermia away, they keep their kin safe. That is what they were made for.

The fire set to an arrow and the fire of the hearth come from the same ember.

And through it all Kael’thas keeps a tight hold over the magic that animates them. It grows in him, like a fire kept well-stoked by rage, rekindled whenever it falters by the sight of yet another body puppeteered by Arthas.

Every forward party, every cohort of undead they cross paths with, they dispatch with immense prejudice. And once the dead have been killed again, they sort through the wreckage and pull the sin’dorei from their hard-won rest.

Fight for me, Kael’thas whispers, breathing fire into the furnace of their chest. Fight for your people, so that they may one day rest as you do.

There is nothing left of the person they once were in these restless dead — sometimes very little of their body even — but that small kernel of devotion to their kin, that banked ember that he coaxes back into a blaze.

Their numbers keep growing as they pick the Scourge apart, little by little. It makes them easier to spot; good. Let Arthas come track them down. Let him face the people he sought to destroy, and be destroyed in return.

Someone else takes notice of them — this glowing army of half dead men that burns through Northrend on its way to the Frozen Throne.

The demon hunter descends upon them, armed and unafraid, as if he might fight them all single-handedly if given the chance. But he keeps his hands at his side as he asks which master they serve, with a kind of foolish hope that they may not fight him.

“We serve the crown of Quel’thalas,” Lor’themar says, bright and sure in his role of Ranger-General, shielding Kael’thas behind his greater bulk. “Who are you? Who do you serve? Who do you fight?”

Illidan Stormrage serves no one, he claims, but himself; but he fights the Scourge, and the man at its head who would summon Archimonde to their world, and little matters more in an alliance than shared hatred for the Scourge nowadays.

Kael’thas steps past Lor’themar, crosses the barren space between his army and the lonely figure of the Betrayer, stands toe-to-toe with him and asks, “Will you fight with us?”

And Illidan — anger burning in face instead of eyes, a grief too large for even he to carry — a man who has only ever had himself to fight for, and to fight with—

This man looks back at Kael’thas’ smaller form, at the burning army of the dead that follows him, at the suffering of a people hounding his steps. He looks at the dark resolve in his golden eyes and the stubborn set of his shoulders as he prepares to fight — he’s always prepared to fight — and sees himself, younger and fairer but just as hungry. Just as desperate.

Victory or death, he whispers, quiet around a mouthful of teeth and blood, taking Kael’thas’ hand.

Sometimes both, Kael’thas replies, only half in jest, and shakes it.

These are three armies alike in desperation, taken to the limit of their force, unified in singular hatred of the force marching to the Frozen Throne.

It’s their edge, in a cruel way. No one could expect them to reach Arthas in time to cut him off; no one but themselves, pushing themselves to cross the continent in half the time it ought to take, the dead carrying the living when their mortal bodies fail.

They’re sharp, the three of them, all too clever for their own good, each ruthless in their own way. Each foolish in the same way. Sylvanas would have their men die to reach the battle one day sooner; Illidan would die himself for a chance at slowing Arthas down; Kael’thas would burn this continent to the ground and fall with it, if it meant ridding the world of its curse for good.

They balance each other out, somewhat, or rather keep each other contained by virtue of their sharp edges, like brawlers stuck in a fighting ring made up of the drawn blades of the audience. Stray too far from the plan, and you bleed. It’s as simple as that.

As a long-term alliance, calling it flimsy would be an abject overestimation. But here, in Northrend, with their time quickly running out, it’s as solid as steel to Kael’thas.

“You are fascinating,” Illidan says, watching the way golden light plays across Kael’thas’ skin as he weaves the spell over his troops stronger, makes sure they keep moving, keep burning, and never run out of fuel. The Sunwell is not an endless source; but it will hold until the end. That much he knows.

“I don’t think I am,” he replies easily, though that’s a lie. He knows himself to be one of a kind; but he’s been raised properly, and it’s impolite to brag.

Illidan doesn’t buy it for one second. “You are,” he insists, holding a strand of Kael’thas’ hair between two claws. It emits a faint glow, like heated metal, that might go unnoticed if not for the color it casts over Illidan’s darker skin. Like holding sunset in his palm. “All the power of a well of magic, held within one man— It’s not so much a surprise you can raise the dead, when one thinks about all the other things you might do with such magic at your disposal.”

Slowly, so Illidan might clue in before he makes a remark of it, Kael’thas lifts his eyes up and quirks up an inquisitive eyebrow at the piece of his hair that the other man is currently manipulating. He flushes, dark against his nightshade skin, and drops it as if it burned.

Pity; Kael’thas did not mind the touch, only found it amusing that Illidan would give it so freely. But the man might not have noticed himself doing it. Out of habit, perhaps, of being more free with his affection among other demon hunters; or because he, like many of the magic-infused elves, finds himself drawn to Kael’thas for reasons he could not put into words if pressed upon it.

Pushing the offending strand of hair behind his ear, he casts a glance across their assembled troops again. His men mill about, as comfortable among the Forsaken and Illidari as among their own. Only the dead stand still, puppets without a purpose yet. He longs to put them to rest. It aches to see them denied their rightful afterlife.

“This power isn’t mine,” he says eventually. “I must give it back, though I do not know — do not wish to know — how I will go around to doing it.”

It surprises him that he’s willing to say that much, to a man so nearly a stranger as Illidan. But it is true: he is running out of time in many more ways than one, and once Arthas is dead and he has brought his brethren back to their graves, he’s afraid of what will be left for him to do.

A phoenix must die to be reborn, after all.

At least he would die for his people; there is honor in that. What would happen if he were to die here, on this frozen hellscape, bears not thinking about.

He will not, cannot, fail.

In the final battle — their last chance before Arthas ascends to the Frozen Throne and crowns himself Lich King — Kael’thas thinks he may die.

His blood is hot on his skin, the stench of the undead pervasive in the air, and though every one of his men that fall can still fight he’s not sure the same can be said for him. He’s nearing his limits; he’s not sure he’ll notice he has crossed it until it’s too late.

Kael’thas wants to scream as he struggles to wrestle the control of sin’dorei from Arthas’ grasp, to cut the strings that tie their spirits to this world and burn the Lich King’s mark from them until only the piece of sun inside of them remains. Give me back my people. Let my kin come home. Let me bury them properly, and never disturb their rest again.

The wind whips his hair around his face as the battle rages, and each arc from his sword draws blood, too thick with decay and frost to splatter over him. All the blood on his skin is his alone; or his kin’s, but that is very nearly the same thing.

But he’ll make it through; he has to. For his people, for his father, for all the bodies held together by magic and prayer fighting around him.

When he reaches Arthas, the world falls to a standstill.

He’d like to gloat; he’d like to rage. But words fail him. Felo’melorn in his hands, the ghost of the sin’dorei at his back, it does not matter. Actions speak louder than words.

Whatever his sword says for him, Arthas gives his answer in blood.

#writing #world of warcraft #kael'thas sunstrider #illidan stormrage #necromancer kael'thas

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chipper9906 · 3 years

Text

Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 1: Love Is...

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 12,073

Overall Word Count: 12,073 (In Progress)

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (1/?)

Fic Summary:

It was insane when he thought of how much had changed in such a short amount of time. How much he had changed. His perspective had shifted entirely, becoming the kind of man he used to laugh at. Love was weakness. Love was giving someone else the opportunity to take advantage of you, distract you from what truly mattered. Love was something that turned you soft, that made you think twice before doing what needed to be done.

Oh, how he was wrong. Love was… power. Love was giving yourself to another person -- not relying on that other person to make you whole, but to better one another, to strengthen the weaknesses you thought were buried and hidden.

Love was… everything that she was.

* * *

I had initially made this is a single one-shot after the Season Finale, but it kind of just... kept going? More and more scenes came to life in my head, and now here they are; A multi-chapter continuation fic following Sylvie and Loki as they try to get a start on mopping up the multi-verse whilst trying to work out these messy, confusing feelings they have for one another.

Link To Fic

Click Below To Keep Reading

AUTHORS NOTE: If you've already read my one-shot Sylki fic 'Love Is', then you can skip straight to the next chapter because this first chapter is just that fic.

* * *

Perhaps, in another time, another him, he would have told the story of this moment differently. He would say that he stared upon that looming statue, the impassive stone face of ‘He Who Remains’, and he did not tremble. He looked into the face of the man he knew he was to take down, and he got to work.

But he’d be lying if he’d said that.

He had looked up to that statue in horror. He had stood there, wishing he was looking at the statues of the timekeepers, instead. Because he knew that, the horrors of all that happened before? That was going to be nothing, nothing, compared to what was coming.

The room he was sat in now was almost familiar. The same type of nearly every interrogation room that the TVA had, but there was something… off about it. Perhaps a slightly different shade of orange compared to the previous TVA’s color scheme. Or… or perhaps the font they used for the number plastered on the wall was different?

What was familiar was the collar locked in place around his neck. ‘Purely for safety purposes’ they had told him as TVA security swarmed him, all but picked him up by his arms, and hauled him off into this room. He had been sat on this hard, uncomfortable chair for… actually, he still wasn’t too sure how time worked in the TVA. All he knew was that it had been too long already.

It had barely been a moment. The change had happened so fast. Too fast. He had tumbled back through that time door, and… time itself had erupted. Chaos, just as ‘He Who Remains’ had told them it would. And this was just one. One branch of what was going to be infinite – some good, and some very, very bad. But it didn’t even matter if there were good ones. Because ultimately, the bad ones were coming. The bad ones were out there, and this time, they were going to do everything in their power to make sure their timeline came out on top.

And somehow… he had to stop it?

No… No, not just him.

Perhaps… perhaps he can find a way out of here. Steal a TemPad, perhaps? No, no, that wouldn’t work… There was only one TVA, wasn’t there? So, that meant… Mobius was truly gone. His Mobius, anyway. The one who was going to burn this place to the ground. The one that was going to spread the truth. Now, he was… just another variant. The same Mobius he had first met, who was just trying to do his job. Maybe he could do this all over again, find a way to get Mobius to believe him.

Or... Or what if there were multiple TVA's now? All those branches were no longer just branches, but entirely new timelines. New universes that would, ultimately, clash with one another. So maybe, somewhere out there, was the true Mobius from his timeline. Perhaps, if he explained everything to them, to this TVA – tried to find a way for them to understand that his timeline was the only one that didn't involve all-out chaos?

But it seemed unlikely. This was… different. There were no more lies about the TVA in this timeline, it seemed. No timekeepers. Just him. They might already know that ‘He Who Remains’ is in control of everything. And… what exactly is this version of ‘He Who Remains’ like? Was this one that had already planned for eons of chaos?

Was this TVA already planning for a multiversal war?

No, perhaps the TVA wasn’t the way to go. He… he needed to go back there. To that place in the void, beyond the end of time. He… he had to go find her. He needed to find Sylvie.

Simply thinking of her name lodged a hard rock of messy, almost unidentifiable emotions down his throat. Loki’s nails dug into the soft flesh of his palm as he squeezed his hands together atop the cool surface of the table, his eyes scrunched shut as he struggled to get his thoughts back under control. This pain was… new. And horrible. Dull, like a heavyweight pushing down on him, yet simultaneously sharp like a dagger being plunged through his chest. He knew what it felt like to be on the other end now, he supposed.

It wasn’t fun, to say the least.

Would she still even be in the citadel? In whatever time had passed, surely she would have… actually, he doesn’t know. Neither had she. The plan she had meticulously crafted her whole life had finished with slaying the one responsible for all her suffering. And now it was done… what else would she do?

‘Maybe… we could figure it out… together?’

‘Maybe…’

Loki shakes his head vigorously, trying to push away the memory that seemed to echo around the room. He had to focus. Sylvie could be…

Oh. Oh, but… this TVA had a new ruler. The one consistent factor among all the branches, was the same TVA. Which surely meant the same place at the end of time. The same citadel. And if that was the case, then…

Would everything have changed within? Would the new variant of ‘He Who Remains’ already be shacked up in his office?

Would Sylvie still be there?

Was she even alive in this timeline?

No. She couldn’t… It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t think like that. She was still out there, somewhere, he knew it. But… but where? If she had grabbed that TemPad, then… then she could be anywhere. There was only one place he could start looking, though. He had to go back to the citadel.

“You doing any better?”

Loki startles at the familiar voice, looking up from the table he was sat on to the door that had been pushed open. He can’t help the small jolt of hope that rushes through him at the sight of Mobius, but the reality of which Mobius he was looking at quickly drains it away.

“Happens more often than you’d think,” Mobius tells him with a soft chuckle, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. Loki keeps a cautious eye on him as he strides over to the table, sitting down on the orange chair opposite with a tired-sounding grunt. Mobius pulls out the wooden clipboard he had tucked under his arm, placing it down onto the table and tapping his hands against it like a drum.

“What happens more often than I’d think?” Loki asks, not even trying to hide the miserable tone seeping into his voice.

“Cracking under pressure,” Mobius picks up the pen tucked neatly away within the clipboards holder. “This is a stressful job. We know of the importance of our work; the fact that you’re going through this now shows just how much you care.”

Loki barely holds back a snort of laughter. He had no idea…

“Can I… get you some water or something?” Mobius offers. “Sorry about doing things all… you know, like this. Treating you like some sort of variant-,”

He can’t help it. The laughter does push out of him this time, although the way none of his smile reaches his eyes definitely puts Mobius on edge.

“No… No, I wouldn’t like any water,” Loki finally speaks once his short burst of laughter is over. “And to answer your earlier question? No. I am not doing better. In fact, I am quite far from anywhere near okay-,”

“Alright, alright…” Mobius stops his rant, hands held up in defense, as if it would somehow calm Loki down. “That’s why I’m here, okay? We’re gonna figure things out.”

“Figure what out?”

“First of all, it’d be good to know who exactly you are.”

Loki’s brow scrunches in confusion, his eyes flickering between Mobius’s peering stare and the file clipped onto the clipboard. “You’re telling me you haven’t figured it out already?”

“Well, we tried looking you up in our database,” Mobius’s hands go to the insides of his jacket, pulling out the rectangular appliance Loki was all too familiar with by now. “Weird thing, but uh… you didn’t come up on our employee register. Not a thing. Now, I know there’s a lot of us here – partly why I wasn’t too worried when I didn’t recognize you from anywhere. But… there should be some record of you here.”

Loki’s eyes were drawn to the TemPad Mobius still held in his hands. Mobius took notice of the direction of his stare, his eyes narrowing by just the slightest as he safely tucked the TemPad back into his jacket pocket. It was only as his hand went into his pocket, moving the side of his suit away from his body, did Loki catch sight of the pruning stick holstered by his side.

“How about we start with a name?” Mobius asks.

He could lie here. Spout out some random name, send Mobius searching for the records once again. It could give him more time, put together at least some semblance of a plan. And yet, on the other hand… There was that urge, that nagging feeling deep down to tell the truth. He still wasn’t sure what the rules of this new reality were exactly. There could be a chance, however small, that the Mobius he knows still exists somewhere within the stranger sat opposite him. Maybe, if he told him his name… Mobius might get that slight tickle of ‘I know this person'. Perhaps even enough for him to go looking for secrets that change his view on the TVA forever.

It was worth a shot.

“Loki,” Loki answers, his eyes searching deep into Mobius’s face for any sign of familiarity. “My name is Loki.”

But there’s nothing from Mobius. No light-bulb-over-the-head moment of realization he was hoping for. He simply shakes his head in a nod, before scribbling down his name upon the record sheet in front of him.

“And it seems you already knew who I was,” Mobius mutters as he finishes writing something down that Loki can’t see from this angle. “Though, not too sure how. I mean, it’s not like…”

Mobius pauses, an almost curious look on his face as he looks at Loki. “…Have we met before? No offense, but I meet a lot of analysts in my work, and… I can’t say I remember us ever meeting.”

Loki gave Mobius a strained smile. “What’s the point? You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, anyway.”

That got Mobius’s attention. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, leaning forward in his chair. “Try me.”

Loki was about to shake his head. Moments away from spouting out some other lie, something to get him out of this mess. But then his eyes are drawn back to the pruning stick he knows is hidden behind Mobius’s suit, and he realizes… there’s only one way this can go. He needs to get back to the citadel, and to do that, he needs to go back to the Void and – somehow – enchant Alioth again. It was a stupid plan, he knew that fully, but there was no other choice. He needed to find Sylvie – and this was the only way to start looking for her.

Either Mobius believes him, or he prunes him.

Win-Win.

“We messed it all up,” Loki confesses once more. “The sacred timeline. The original one -- the one I’m from. That’s where I was before I was sent here.”

“The original one?”

“Yes. We were… we were trying to set everything free. The timelines, the variants, the TVA, everything. We needed to bring it to an end, bring him to an end, and-,”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait just a second,” Mobius stops him, holding out a hand. “You needed to bring who to an end?”

“Your leader. I believe your strange clock mascot likes to call him ‘He Who Remains.’ But, where I’m from, you all didn’t know he was your leader. He created these androids, three reptilian creatures he called ‘The Time-Keepers’. You all false fully believed to be doing their work, but you weren’t! It was all his! He was lying to you, to all of us, and… He… he offered us something. A way to… to stop the timeline from erupting into chaos. We thought he was lying, that the whole TVA was a lie, but… it wasn’t. It’s already happened, don’t you see? We killed him. We killed him, and it started all of this. And I did know you -- a different you. But now it’s all changed, and you… you’re not the you I know, anymore.”

The silence that stretches on between them is almost unbearable. Mobius still looked as calm as ever, quite the difference to Loki who had become worked up, leaning far enough across the table that it dug into his stomach, hands outstretched almost in pleading.

“Okay…” Mobius was the first to speak, picking up his pen once again. “You said ‘we’ a few times in there. Who’s ‘we?’”

Loki opened his mouth, ready to let her name roll off his tongue, but it remains frozen in place. He didn’t know where exactly this whole conversation would end. The very last thing he wanted to do was send another version of the TVA on a manhunt for Sylvie. Again.

“It doesn’t matter,” Loki said hurriedly. “You need to understand – your leader? He’s not the only one of himself. It’s all because of him, that this whole thing started.”

“You’re telling me that ‘He’ is just a variant?” Mobius’s voice was tense, clearly struggling to keep up his professionalism here. Loki could already tell he didn’t believe his story in the slightest – and he certainly didn’t appreciate Loki calling his leader a ‘variant’.

“It’s the whole reason he started this place,” Loki continued on anyway. “The other versions of him? All they want to do is conquer. They want to rule over every other timeline there is. And they won't stop. There will be all-out war, Mobius. Across all the different timelines.”

Mobius only nodded at him, his expression impossible to read as he reached back into his pocket again. The TemPad was back into his hands, and Loki’s vision filled with the memory of being trapped in that time-loop, reliving the same memory over and over again. Mobius tapped lazily at the screen, glancing up to Loki a few times, switching between the screen and him.

“Look, I get it; you don’t believe me,” Loki stretched forward, and Mobius immediately pulled himself away. “But just-,” Loki frantically gestured to the ugly little computer monitor sat in the middle of the desk. “Look me up! Look up my name, and you’ll see. You’ll find my file-,”

“I’ve already looked,” Mobius interrupted him. Something in his expression had changed. He was still guarded, still looked just as disbelieving as he did prior, but there was also… a general sense of uncertainty spread across his face. “Just now, I mean.”

“Right? And?”

“Well, it’s… it’s a strange thing…” Mobius uttered softly, stuffing the TemPad back into his pocket, staring at nothing as he found himself lost in his own thoughts. “You have no file, Loki.”

It felt like his heart had come to a sudden and abrupt stop. It… it wasn’t possible. How was that possible? Mobius had told him, hadn’t he? He was one of the most frequent, pain in the arse variants they had to deal with. And now… he wasn’t on their files?

In this timeline, did he… not exist?

“What?” Loki spluttered out.

“Mean’s that someones messed up their job,” Mobius says with a pinched expression, the chair screeching as he stands up from it. “Someone must have brought you in when they didn’t need to - took you from the timeline you were supposed to be on. No wonder you’re confused-,”

“I don’t-,”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this,” Mobius promised, scooping the clipboard up from the table. “We’ll find whichever Hunter brought you in, get you in front of the judge – they’ll make sure you get back to your timeline. You haven’t done anything wrong; there was probably just some kind of mix-up with the confusion of all these new branches and-,”

“DON'T YOU GET IT!” Loki shouted out to Mobius, one last desperate attempt to convince him. Mobius startled at the sudden yell, stopping any movements he was about to make. “This is because of me! If I was brought in by your workers from my timeline, then why the hell did I come wearing one of your TVA uniforms?! I even had the damn Variant jacket for crying out loud – that you gave me!”

“Calm down, you’re just confused-,”

“I can’t calm down! I… I need to go back. I need to go back to the edge of time, the end of the void, and fix this! I… I don’t even know how, but… I have to try. I have to.”

Loki hated the look Mobius was giving him right now. He much preferred the cocky, equally as manipulative interrogator he got from his Mobius. This Mobius was just looking at him with… with pity. Like he was saddened by the poor, pathetic Variant who was losing his mind.

“We will fix this, okay?” Mobius assured him, soft and quiet, and Loki felt close to ripping his hair out in frustration. He was already beginning to turn away from him, one foot in front as he moved towards the door. “We’ll get you home-,”

Mobius didn’t even see the movement as Loki lunged forward, turning around and looking on in disbelief as Loki grabbed hold of the end of the pruning stick sticking out from his suit jacket. Mobius scrambled to dig his TemPad out from his jacket, just waiting for the moment that the Variant in front of him would activate the pruning stick and prune him with it.

Only… his fingers still, frozen above the button on his TemPad as he sees Loki step away from him. There’s a look of both dread and utter determination on Loki's face as he activates the pruning stick and then – to both Mobius’s disbelief and horror – holds the pruning stick towards him, ready to self-prune.

Loki’s view shifts. One second he’s staring at Mobius’s shocked face, the stick in front of him held primed and ready. Then Mobius’s fingers slam down on the TemPad, and the world shifts around him. He’s suddenly right back where he was a second ago, stood right in front of Mobius. There’s not enough time to react, not expecting the shift in position, but Mobius was prepared. Grabbing hold of the stick once more, he yanks it back towards him whilst simultaneously shoving the hand holding the TemPad into Loki’s chest, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

Mobius holds the pruning stick close to his side, staring down at Loki in bewilderment at what just happened. Loki doesn’t even bother to get back up. He doesn’t even look at Mobius. He remains sitting on the floor, head hung low and eyes closed tight.

He was so very, very tired.

“What…” Is all Mobius can say at first, looking down to the weapon he held in his hands, and then back over to Loki. “You were… you were about to prune yourself…”

Loki doesn’t answer him. He didn’t see the point anymore.

“...Why?”

Loki just about glances up at Mobius. It wasn’t like he’d understand. “It’s the only way. I need to find her.”

Mobius still looked just as baffled – not that he could blame him. “What do you mean it’s the only way? And who the hell is her?”

Loki feels his jaw clenching involuntary, the pressure of it rumbling in his ears, teeth squeaking and creaking in protest. “Just… get it over with. You prune all the other damn variants anyway, so why not me? Prune me, throw me in a time loop again – I don’t care anymore.”

“Again? I hadn't even met you before 'till-,”

“PRUNE ME!” Loki yells from the floor, his voice sounding unnatural to even him as it echoes back towards him.

The fight drains out of him just as quick as it comes. Mobius still has that same damn pitiful look on his face, and he can't stand to look at it anymore. Loki drops his head into his hands, pushing his fingers through his hair and grabbing hold of clumps of it, yanking tight until he felt the sharp pain of it across his scalp.

“I’m not gonna prune you,” Mobius says so quietly, Loki nearly misses it. “Least, not till I figure out exactly what’s going on here. This could all still be a simple mistake-,”

“It’s not,” Loki interrupts dejectedly, his head still buried in his hands. “Not that it matters if I’m telling you the truth. No one seems to believe me when I tell it, anyway…”

The silence he gets in response is almost stifling. Enough time passes with nothing said in response that Loki pulls his head back up, only to be greeted by… nothing. The room was empty, and Mobius was nowhere in sight. He had somehow managed to sneak out of the room without making a noise.

Alone again.

* * *

He might have fallen asleep. He wasn’t sure. It certainly felt like he had drifted in and out of consciousness, but there’s a good chance he just found himself sinking in and out of his thoughts, instead. He had managed to move from the center of the room, but not far enough to get himself back up on the chair. He had found his way to the wall, finding some sense of comfort in the wall pressed against his back. A sense of… security.

‘Well, I never sit with my back to a door.’

The sounds of commotion from outside the door snap him out of his memories. He scrapes up what little energy he had left to look to the sound of pounding footsteps and muffled shouts getting closer and closer. Something was going down. It was only a matter of time before they stormed through that door, and-

Something shifts out of the corner of his eye. A dot, golden and gleaming, suspended in mid-air. He knows what it is before it even expands, jumping to his feet with a burst of energy he didn’t even know he had left. The time-door shimmers just in front of him, inviting him into the unknown beyond. The sounds of chaos from beyond the door had only grown more frantic, coming closer to the door with every second he remains standing in place

He makes up his mind.

Loki reaches forward, jumping through and into the time-door just as the physical door behind him slams open. He doesn’t even get a chance to see who was coming for him before he’s gone from the TVA.

Loki stumbles forward as he exits the time-door, his rushed entrance kicking up pools of water beneath his feet. There's a click, and suddenly his neck feels a whole lot lighter, the TVA collar around his neck falling into the soaked pavement below. He could barely see a thing past the rain pounding down on him, soaking every inch of his clothes in as little as a second. The howling wind around him seemed to bite into his skin, the raindrops feeling like small blades as they shot down against his body.

And yet, somehow, he knew. The moment he stepped into this place, the moment he felt the rain atop his skin, he knew. He had been here before.

Loki looks back to the time-door, waiting for the inevitable moment the TVA burst through it. But he only lays eyes on it for a few seconds more before it collapses in on itself, leaving him in nothing but the faint glow of the neon signs ahead.

And there, hidden within the shadows, was where he saw her. Sensed her. She was nothing more than a dark silhouette at this distance, watching him carefully from afar.

“Sylvie…” Loki whispers, mostly to himself, unable to be heard past the storm raging around them. The sense of relief, of pure joy that overtook him was something he had never known before. His feet are moving forward before he even realizes it, picking up in pace the closer he gets to her. And, miraculously, she was walking towards him, too.

The instinct of it was overwhelming. Every part of him screamed to get back to her, to be back by her side. He wanted, needed to know that she was okay. He wanted to grab hold of her, to hold her in his arms and-

He stops. So does she. Loki’s eyes fixate on the blade held limply in her hands, the dark liquid he sees coating its end steadily dripping onto the ground as the rain hits it. No doubt the blood of him, he knows. On that same hand he could see the TemPad secured snuggled around her hand, its few cracks of gold in its marble-like surface shining through the darkness.

She didn’t seem to be holding it like she planned on wielding it against him. They were close enough now for him to see her face in the glowing light of the supermarket’s signs. He knows full well that the droplets of water running down her face are not only because of the rain – mostly because he himself feels the burn of a few stray tears escaping his eyes.

It was all still so vivid in his mind: the sharp bite of her steel against his neck, her trembling arms underneath his hands as he begged her, a type of euphoria he’s never known as she closed the distance between them, foolishly sinking into the feeling of ‘rightness’ at the taste of her against his lips, eagerly chasing them as she tried to bring it to an end.

But the pain… oh, he vividly remembers that too – of the shock of feeling himself be flung back by her magic, unable to scramble back to the time-door in time before she had shut it – shut herself – from him. He didn’t know what to do with that pain. He was used to pain. Harnessed it, even. It was easy to let the pain turn to anger, to drive him towards his goal. But he had been drowning in this pain, one had never had to experience before. There was… nothing. The world had been sucked out from underneath him, everything that had started to make sense taken away, and he could do was nothing but… sit. Sit, and replay that moment over and over again. What could he have done differently? What did he do wrong?

What did he need to do for her to trust him as much as he had trusted her?

And worst of all... Why didn't he feel angry? He should be bitter, should be clinging onto that sting of betrayal. But it simply wasn't there. Not anymore. Not with her just a few paces away from him. He didn't care about what had happened, or what she had done to him. All he cared about was that she was here, and she was okay.

And that scared him more than anything.

Loki started forward again, closing the gap between them in just a few strides. It's of great relief that she doesn't push him away – or stab him if he's being honest – as he all but collides into her. He pulls her into him, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tight, pulling her close until she was all but engulfed into his chest.

"Sylvie," He breathes her name in relief, not even bothering to hide the tears that squeezed past his closed eyelids. "I was... I was terrified something might have happened, that you... Oh, thank the gods you're okay..."

Sylvie's arms have a weak grip around him, her entire body tense as she's pinned under his embrace. He pulls her away from him, holding her at arm's length as his eyes furiously scan across her face, as if to reassure himself that she was indeed okay.

“Seems we’re both a fan of the dramatics,” Loki can’t help but say, gesturing to the supermarket behind her with the smallest of smiles. “You’re not going to try and strangle me with a hoover again, are you?”

"Don't-," Sylvie starts, her voice clipped and strained. "Please, just... No jokes."

Lightning strikes somewhere nearby, a particularly large fork that he's half-convinced could only be conjured by his brother. The strike lights up the darkness that enveloped them, allowing him the briefest of glances of every detail of her face through the murky gray of the night. The twist of pain on her face is the first thing his mind notes. Yet, despite the pain, his chest still constricted tightly at the beauty of her that shone through. . He had never felt so torn, so overtaken by the need to comfort, battling against the sting he still feels at the reminder of their parting.

"Why here?" Loki asks her. Standing out in the pouring rain with an apocalypse-level hurricane looming nearby wasn't exactly the best place for a conversation. "Why did you take us back to where we met?"

Sylvie glances down at the TemPad on her wrist. "I don't know. I just knew I had to pick an apocalypse, and... This was the first one I thought of."

He nods at her answer, the movement getting a few soaked pieces of hair to plaster onto his face.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Sylvie suddenly snapped, and he found himself taken aback by the sudden hostility. "I know you want to. You... You have to be angry at me. Want to yell at me, say I told you so-,"

Loki could only blink down at her in surprise for a few moments, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he struggled to come up with a response. "I...what? Is that why you brought me here? For me to yell at you?"

"No-,"

"Then... Why did you bring me here?" Loki can't help but let a little bit of frustration slip through into his voice. "I thought that... That after what happened, this was it. That you were just...done with me. Didn't need me anymore. And now, I… What do you want from me?"

Sylvie flinches somewhat at his use of words, reminded of the night he had said those very words in this very place. Sylvie swallows harshly, looking away from him for a moment and to the ground. She shakes her head, holding her head high as she looks back to him. "I need you to tell me I did the right thing,” The confession comes out shakier than she probably intended to, judging by the flash of annoyance he sees on her face. “I did the right thing.”

Loki wasn’t too sure if she meant to say that as a statement, or a question. She certainly didn’t sound too sure of herself right now. “Would you believe me if that’s what I told you?”

The look she shot up at him made the weight in his stomach sink heavier. It was the same look she gave him when she thought he wanted the throne. He wanted nothing more for that look to be gone. “No. No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”

Loki sighed softly, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see her disappointed face anymore. He took a deep breath through his nose, taking a risk and reaching out, gently wrapping his hands around her upper arms. She didn’t immediately pull away, or smack his hands away, so he counted that as a success.

“You did the right thing-,” Loki began carefully. Sylvie frowned up at him, mouth partly open to point out that she had already said he wouldn’t believe him, but Loki carried on before she could get anything out. “-For you. And I get it, okay? I understand why you did it-,”

“No, you don’t-,” Sylvie spits out, one hand shooting up to grab hold of his hand on her arm. “You got to live most of your life. You had a chance to grow up in your home, with your family. You’ve only had to deal with the TVA for a few days; I’ve been up against them nearly my entire life. And it didn’t even matter! Everything I did, every attack I made against the TVA, was apparently supposed to happen! I had no free will! No one does but him! And I stopped it! I freed everyone!”

“Yes, you did,” Loki agrees with her, trying to keep his voice calm to temper the heat in hers. “And I’m not saying that that part of all this is a bad thing. People deserve to have their freedom, the decision to do whatever they want with their life.”

“Then why the hell did you try and stop me?” Sylvie asks, making an attempt to rip his hands off her. “If that’s the way you felt, why did you-,”

“Because I didn’t want you to make the same mistakes as I have!” Loki exclaims, fighting off her attempts at shaking him off, digging his fingers in, and giving her a slight shake. “Making that decision right then and there, after everything He told us… I could see it in your face, Sylvie. The hate you felt for that man, all that pent-up rage you had kept buried down, fueling you your entire life – that’s all you could focus on in that very moment. And I know what that feels like! And I know what that awful, all-encompassing regret feels like after. That’s why, Sylvie. I just wanted you to take a minute, a moment outside of all your emotions – and I know that’s easier said than done. I thought that… maybe you would trust me enough to at least listen. And… I don’t blame you for it, for everything you did back there. But I wanted… I wanted to do what I could to make sure you didn’t have to live with the same regrets I have.”

“Why?” Sylvie whispers, not trusting her voice enough to speak any louder than that. “Why do you care?”

“I wish I knew,” Loki says, chuckling despite the tears that continued to build in his eyes. “I’ve never felt this way. Not like… this. My whole life, I only ever focused on myself. Looked out for me. And now, for the first time in my life… that’s no longer the case. Now… all I care about is you.”

Sylvie gave him a strained smile, shaking her head slowly from side to side. “I am you, remember?”

The corner of Loki’s lips hitched up in the slightest of smiles – one he didn’t really mean. “Yes… except, you’re the one who said that I’m not you.”

Even Sylvie winced at the reminder of her last words to him. It was strangely reassuring to him that she looked pained at his pain. Surely, that must have meant she cared about him in some capacity, right?

“I meant what I said back there,” Loki let his hand slide down the soaked material of her sleeve, his hand coming to a stop at the base of her wrist. His thumb lightly brushes against her pulse-point, able to feel the pounding of her heart and the rush of blood around her body, same as his. “I wanted you to be okay, and when I thought of you killing Him, and the guilt you would have to carry if he was telling the truth, and we doomed infinite amounts of timelines? I knew you weren’t going to be okay.”

Sylvie could only look at him, taking in the earnest, pleading look he was giving her. She wanted nothing more than to believe him, to take that risk and fall straight into the undying trust he so easily seemed to have in her. But trust didn’t come easy. There had never been anyone else but herself to trust.

“But, if you had taken that moment?” Loki continued, catching her off guard. “If you had just talked to me, thought about it, and you still came to the decision you needed to kill him? If you thought that that was what was going to make you okay? Then I would have handed you the dagger myself.”

Sylvie could only shake her head at him, her fruitless attempts to keep her tears at bay infuriating her as she feels them slide down her face, mixing with the rain that quickly washed them off. “I couldn’t take that risk. He might have been telling the truth, or maybe he was lying just like the rest of them, and you were-,” A gasp catches in her throat as his hand slides further down, his fingers fitting perfectly between her own as he holds them in a comforting grip. “-You were supposed to be on my side. And then you weren’t. This whole time, every moment we spent, it felt like… like you had just thrown it all away. I knew that, with any other person, I should have killed you right then and there.”

Loki can’t fight back the shiver that ripples through his body, one he knows full well isn’t because of the chill of the storm around them. It had felt like his blood had run cold at her words, throat tightening painfully at the thought.

“But I couldn’t,” Sylvie admits to him, and it sounded like it pained her to do so. “Because you were saying all those things, and… and I believed you, because I felt it, too. I didn’t want to hurt you, and… and I wanted to be okay, too. I couldn’t kill you, but… I couldn’t let you stop me, either.”

The thunder from above is almost deafening, the power of it rumbling against the pavement underneath their feet. It was strangely comforting to hear. It reminded him of home, of family.

“And so you did it,” Loki states the obvious. “You did what you had set out to do. You killed He Who Remains.”

Sylvie nods, and the blank look in her eyes sends a dagger through his chest. This was a moment where she should have felt triumphant. If things had been different, they would not be here. Not like this. They would have been celebrating, felt accomplished at doing what was the right thing for once – not just for them, but for the entire Universe – and every other Universe out there that had been deemed unsuitable to exist by a single dictator.

But this wasn’t that moment.

“I saw Mobius.”

Loki feels himself freeze up involuntary at the name. He hated it. He hated that his memories of his friend had been tainted, now nothing more than… a stranger. Perhaps even a potential adversary in the near future…

“After I…” Sylvie trails off, swallowing harshly with a painful clench of her throat. “After I killed Him, I… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t feel better. I... I couldn’t get you out of my head. I wondered if… maybe you were right, but I… I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Even when I managed to pick myself back up, and saw the space outside the citadel, within the void at the edge of time, and what I saw-,”

“What? What did you see?”

“It looked like stars…” Sylvie whispered, her eyes unfocused as she replayed the scene in her mind. “The timeline, all those branches… There were so many… And I should have been thinking about all those people in those timelines that would never have to live with the fear of taking a step out of line and finding themselves, their family, everything they ever knew taken from existence. But I didn’t. I thought about how many of him were out there. How many would be scrambling to get right back into that damn office to claim their throne once again…”

Her eyes came back into focus, swiveling up to meet his unwavering gaze. “And then I thought of you. I thought you would be safe in the TVA. Safe away from me. But once I saw all those branches, I realized that… I could have sent you anywhere. I might have just killed you myself.”

“You didn’t,” Loki rushes to assure her. “Granted, I’d much rather you hadn’t pushed me through that time-door in the first place. The fall quite hurt, actually-,”

“Loki,-”

“Right, no jokes. Sorry.”

The weary look on Sylvie's face is one he's seen many times before whenever people are subjected to the torture that is interacting with him. "When I made my way back, and you weren't there, I thought that I... That it might be too late."

Loki's lip hitch into a half-smile. "You seem to forget that I am capable of looking after myself."

Sylvie narrows her eyes at him, and it was enough for him to doubt any and all of his combat and survival skills. "Says the guy who planned on running towards a giant cloud that ate everything in its path and stabbing it."

"In my defense, that usually works."

"Oh really? So it worked on Thanos too, then?"

Loki placed a hand over a heart in mock hurt and... well, perhaps a little bit of hurt considering that's the only death of his where he was destined to die. "Now that's just cold, Sylvie."

He doesn't mind the hurt too much, though. Not when his over-the-top reaction pulls a small yet genuine smile out of Sylvie, one he finds himself mirroring without much of a thought. He knew that he wanted to do all he could to keep that smile on her face for the rest of their lives.

Oh, he really was in deep... When he finds his brother once more somewhere out within the multiverse – his version of his brother – he knows he's going to be set for days upon days of teasing and ridicule.

Or...witness the terror on his brother's face as he's confronted with two Loki's...

Their small carefree moment doesn't last long, though. The weight of the situation comes crashing back down on them, wiping the smile from Sylvie's face as quickly as it had come. "The TVA is... In shambles right now, which is what I always wanted, but... I saw that... that statue, of him, and I just knew, I... I knew it was all so much worse now."

"I take it that was you that caused all that commotion outside my door, then?"

Sylvie nodded her head, and Loki was surprised to see that pained look back on her face again. "It's because I tried talking to Mobius."

Loki grimaces at the reminder. The hurt of what had happened never seemed to lessen. "Yes, I... I might have made the same mistake."

"They seemed a tad bit preoccupied with everything going on, but... Mobius definitely seemed on edge."

"Well, it was twice in one day that someone he didn't know came up to him spouting nonsense and claiming they know him. I think he might be smart enough to realize something's not right."

"Considering the security that swarmed me, I'd say so," Sylvie huffs. "Quickly realized it wasn't a situation I was going to fight my way out of."

"How did you find me?" Loki asks.

"Mobius," Sylvie answers, and the guilt that crosses her features makes his stomach clench uncomfortably. "I... I had to take him hostage. Was the only way to stop their hunters from surrounding me. Opened up a time-door and just... dragged him through with me."

"Is he...?" Loki didn't even want to finish that sentence.

"He's okay," Sylvie's answer helps to loosen the knot in his stomach. "I enchanted him. He fought back a bit, but... I got through in the end. Found out where they were keeping you, and... Opened up another time door to get you out of there."

"And... What did you do with Mobius?"

"He's in a time-loop," Sylvie says, the smile on her face no way near malicious. "It's a good one. I think there was a jet ski?"

Loki huffs out a laugh of relief. "Good, that's... That's good."

"I told him, you know," Sylvie says, the serious tone to her voice catching his attention. "I told him the truth, about him being a variant. How everyone that works for the TVA is a variant."

"Did he believe you?" Loki asks.

"He already knew," Sylvie tells him, and it feels like another blow. "Whatever this version of the TVA is, and whatever version of Him rules it, it seems he was a bit more truthful with his workers than the last one," The frown on Sylvie's face deepens more and more with every word she speaks. "They just... don't care. They believe they were selected for a higher purpose – like it makes it okay they were ripped away from their lives."

"Ah... I suppose that might make it a bit more difficult to sway Mobius onto our side again," Loki says, his overwhelming feeling of dejection seeping into his voice.

Sylvie's eyes drop down to the ground, suddenly finding herself unable to meet Loki's gaze. Loki frowns as he notices her avoidance of him, craning his head down to try and meet her gaze once more, only to find her stubbornly focusing on a drenched piece of paper as it floated by. "Sylvie...?"

"Loki, I..." Sylvie starts, closing her eyes from the sight of what she could only describe as 'sad puppy eyes'. "I... I still don't know what to do."

"About... What?"

"Everything," She forces out. "I should feel accomplished now, shouldn't I? Satisfied, that I finally killed the man who took my life from me?"

Loki barely pushed down the urge to reach out for her again. He had a feeling she wouldn't take too kindly to physical attempts at comfort right now. "I take it that means you don't feel that way?"

"No," Sylvie whispers, and Loki could tell she hated to admit that. "I just felt... Empty. Because if he was telling the truth, and... And you were right? There's just gonna be a bunch more of Him out there. It feels like I've done nothing. Nothing but-,"

The sentence gets stuck in Sylvie's throat, forcing her mouth shut with an aggregated shake of her head. Loki lets his instincts guide him, taking a step towards her, arm outstretched ready to comfort. But then Sylvie takes a step away from him, just a small single step, but it feels like she's trying to put miles and miles of distance between them.

"What are you doing to me?" Sylvie gets out between clenched teeth, threading her fingers through her hair in a way that Loki knows he does when he's stressed.

"I... I don't know?" Loki said, sounding rather baffled by her exclamation. It wasn't exactly like he wanted to aggravate her further. Far from from it. Rather... there was something about the way his heart leaped up to his throat, wondering if whatever she said to him next would reignite that small spark of hope still burning in his chest, or extinguish it before it can fully catch aflame.

"This isn't – wasn't – who I am. I've never needed anyone in my life! This whole time, it's been only me. Me who kept me alive, me who's been carrying out this plan for years. And then I did it. I accomplished that, and... I didn't think about the victory I had earned. I didn't think of how I was finally free to live my life, make my decisions and know they're solely my own. All I could think about was you."

Loki froze in place. He didn't dare move, didn't even dare breathe. To say he was transfixed was an understatement. It seems he was wrong, in the end. She had found her own way to enchant him...

"I've never had... Companionship. I've never known what it's like to have someone by my side, someone who... Who understands. When I pushed you through that time door, I thought that I'd be okay. I'd been alone my whole life, I was used to it. But when I was sat there, alone in that office, and I wasn't okay. I was lonely, in a way I've never been before, and I didn't want to, but... I missed you. And... I wanted – needed – for you to be okay, too.

"Now, it's... it's all so complicated. After... After what I did, it's... I feel like I can't even trust myself anymore, let alone..." Sylvie trailed off, bowing her head down so Loki wouldn't see the tears that were ready to spill again. Not that he even needed to see them to know they were there. He could feel the pain radiating off her in waves as much as he could feel his own. "I'm sorry."

Loki nearly couldn't hear that last part. Whether that be because of the overwhelmingly strong blast of wind that knocked down the weather battered sign above the supermarket, or because she had purposefully uttered it so quiet like she didn't want him to hear it. He was fairly certain it was the first time he had heard her say those words to him.

They don't come very often from a Loki, that he knew for sure.

"I'm sorry, too,"

Sylvie nods her head, still bowed, her face pinched as she struggled to bury her emotions back down.

"You know, back in that interrogation room, I had time to think," Loki starts, giving her a sad smile in preparation for what he's about to say next. "I, um... I thought over that dagger metaphor I said before, and I think I've got something."

The confusion of what he's doing at least manages to distract Sylvie a little. She still eyes him with understandable caution as a burst of lime green light manifests a dagger into his hands, but the wary look in her eyes disappears almost immediately as he holds the dagger out for her to hold. She slowly reaches out, wrapping her hands around the thin handle and lifting it out of his grasp. She raises an eyebrow at him, eyes flickering between him and the new blade she held.

"Love... Is like a dagger," Loki couldn't help but smile, brought right back to that day on the train, with everything a little a lot dizzy, and warm, and nice.

"It's a weapon to be wielded far away, or up close," Loki continues, gesturing to the weapon in her hands, still pointed at him. "You can see yourself in it. It's beautiful... Until it makes you bleed. But ultimately, when you reach for it-"

Loki's hands shifted in a blur of movement, taking Sylvie by surprise. His hands had shot out to reach for the dagger, but not for the handle. Instead, he had wrapped his hands around the blade itself, the sharp edges of the weapon biting into the soft flesh of his palm. She jumped at the rapid movement, but found that – to her surprise – she had not responded by trying to move the weapon out of his reach. She had instead dropped the sword she held in her other hand, the clang of it hitting the concrete below echoing around the parking lot. Her now free hand had shot up in an attempt to stop him from cutting himself on the blade, looking up to him in utter bewilderment.

"You reach for it too quickly-," Loki didn't even wince at the sharp sting across his hand. He slowly pulled his hand away from the blade, suppressing a shiver at the feel of her hand partly covering his. He held his hand out to her, revealing the shallow cut as a thin stream of blood oozed from the newly opened wound. "-And you only end up hurting yourself."

For the most part, Loki had been expecting for Sylvie to call him an idiot for cutting his hand open. Which, while he had no doubt she was probably thinking that, wasn’t at all what she did. She shot him the tiniest of smiles, removing her hand – that of which she had used to try and stop him from doing said idiotic move – from the blade, revealing a slice in her own palm that mirrored his. “And more often than not, you both end up getting hurt.”

Sylvie could already see the blame Loki was placing on himself as he saw her wound, unable to fight back the bubble of warmth at the clear concern on his face as he took her hand in his, completely disregarding his own wound. There was another burst of light from his magic, and that bubble of warmth only grew at the sight of the bandages he had materialized. His hands were methodical yet oh so gentle as he applied the bandage around her hand, pressing his fingers into her palm tenderly once he was done, as if he wished he had the power to magic away her injuries.

“Probably should have done that after you bandaged yourself,” Sylvie says, biting back a smirk as she gestured with a pointed look of her eyes down to his handiwork, handing him his dagger back.

The dagger disappeared back to where he had manifested it from, glancing down to the bandage he had applied around her hand and seeing his own blood smeared across the once pristine white material. “Right… I wasn’t really thinking about that.”

She shook her head at him, though this time with nothing but fondness for the man in front of her as she slid the other piece of bandage he had left from his hand. Despite the fact that he had just done it for her, Loki still looked baffled as he watched her begin to bandage up his hand just as carefully as he had, like the thought of her returning the favor would have never crossed his mind.

Sylvie finished tying the knot to his bandage, giving his hand a soft pat as she does so. Her hand begins to slide away from his, and almost on instinct does Loki reach out to grab hold of hers once more. Her hand seems to fit in his like a mold, his thumb gently caressing across her knuckle whilst her thumb comes to a rest at the base of his wrist. Typically… touch wasn’t a thing she welcomes. Touch usually meant a tight grasp around her wrist, dragging her from her home. Touch usually meant the hard rack of knuckles across her jaw, or a swift kick of a boot to her ribs. Touch usually meant meaningless nights with no name strangers, trying to feel something other than the desire for revenge that kept her going, as worlds upon worlds came to an end.

But with Loki… touch was the feeling of his hand under hers, letting her make the first move as they stared out to the lake, waiting for their coming death. Touch was his back against hers, letting her know that he – quite literally – had her back, letting her know that she wouldn’t have to fight the TVA alone. Touch was his hands wrapped around her arms, the lightest of touches that told her that as much as he wanted to hold her, he would let go if she asked him. Touch was the first set of lips against her own that wasn’t one of end-of-the-world desperation, the first to make her heart pound against her ribcage as she pulled away from him, only for his lips to chase hers once again – and letting herself fall straight back into him.

“So, love is… something that can be twisted without meaning to. You might reach for it too quickly, and in doing so… you only end up hurting one another,” Loki broke her out of her thoughts. Sylvie’s eyes danced across his face as he spoke, though Loki’s stare was still fixated on her hand in his, and the wound he knew that lay just below his own, parallel with one another. “But… you can learn that, despite the pain…You can always find a way to heal. Together.”

His words were at least enough to pull another smile from her lips, which at the end of the day, seemed to be the only mission he wanted to succeed in. Sylvie took a deep breath in through her nose, returning his comforting squeeze on her hand with one of her own to prepare him for the coming blow.

“I still think it’s a stupid metaphor.”

The burst of laughter that escaped Loki seemed to catch them both off guard, as close to a snort as Sylvie thinks she’s ever heard from him.

“Well, to be fair, I was very drunk when I came up with it.”

“I thought you said you were ‘just very full’, not drunk?”

Loki’s mouth shifted into a rather comical ‘o’ shape as he tried to come up with a response, only to find that there simply wasn’t one he could use to defend himself.

“Okay, so maybe I was drunk-,”

Sylvie does snort at his answer. Loki huffs indigently, though the smile plastered on his face gives away the illusion of irritation. “Well, alright then, what’s your metaphor for love?”

This gets her to stop laughing. Loki hadn’t entirely been expecting for her to take his question seriously, but judging by the calculated look in her eyes as she looked into his, it was something she was giving considerate thought.

“Love…” Sylvie begins softly, the syllables of the word rolling off her tongue like she was testing the way it felt in her mouth. “Love is… a song sung to a crowded room that feels like it’s being sung to you, of words that remind you of home.”

Sylvie felt Loki’s grip on her hand tighten for just a moment, though she could tell he was being careful not to touch the tender wound on her palm. “Love is… lingering glances where you both don’t care to hide it, even as the world falls apart around you.”

Sylvie didn’t know if it was Loki that shuffled closer to her, or if she shuffled closer to him. Not that it mattered much. They always just seemed to be drawn to one another like magnets.

“Love is… knowing that you care about someone as much as you do yourself. And the terrifying realization that… you may just care more.” Sylvie’s voice quietened with every word she spoke, as if inviting Loki to move even closer on the excuse that he couldn’t hear her. “Love is… pretending to be cold – despite being frost giants –just to find an excuse to huddle close under a blanket; which, for the record, I’m still convinced is some kind of drapery you stole from a dining table.”

Loki tries to hide his bashful smile by bowing his head down, but it doesn’t escape Sylvie’s gaze. She placed her fingers under his chin, forcing his head up to look him straight in the eyes.

“Love isn’t a damn metaphor,” She whispered to him, savoring the sight of his Adams' apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. “Love is whatever the hell we decide it to be.”

The gap between their mouths was so small that she barely had to lean forward, her entire body melting into his as their lips slotted together. His body had seemingly turned to putty under her hands, one of them sliding up his arm to rest on his shoulder, trying to pull him even closer until his body was flush against hers.

This one was different than the last. There was no painful tug in her chest in knowing she needed to turn him around, to get to the TemPad and get him out of the way without hurting him. She did not feel the wetness of his tears as they slid down to their joined lips, only the droplets of rain that ran down from the drenched strands of his hair.

She did feel that same curling, burning heat in the pit of her stomach, similar to the pleasant burn of her skin wherever his hands trailed, leaving a trail of goosebumps as they moved up the back of her neck, threading his fingers through her hair. She could feel his reluctance to end this any time her lips left his, even for a moment of air, as he quickly swooped back down to reclaim her lips. The feeling of his lips were feather soft, warm, yet with a firm and addicting pressure as they slid against hers. It wasn’t until she felt the swipe of his tongue across her lips, a pleasant invitation – an eager ask for permission – that she found herself separating from him with a shaky gasp for air. Her entire body seemed to be buzzing with the after-effects of adrenaline, taken aback by the sensation of her body trying to overtake her thoughts, screaming at her for more.

Loki’s chest heaves just as much as hers as he takes in deep gulps of air that their kiss had deprived them of, too busy with breathing in the alluring scent of each other to remember such a basic necessity. The rain still had yet to let up – which it wouldn’t, her oxygen-deprived brain reminded her – and she briefly wondered how many humans shacked up inside the supermarket behind them were watching them here, standing out in the pouring rain, kissing like--

Well… like the world was about to end.

Loki moves forward again, at first she thinks to re-initiate their kiss. Instead, she feels the comforting warmth of his forehead pressed against her own, and they both find their eyes sliding shut, any pent-up tension left in their bodies seemingly draining away. She could feel the warm puffs of air against her face every time he breathed out, his breathing matched with her own, and she had no doubt that if their breathing was matched, then the way her previously thumping heart was starting to slow down could only mean that their heartbeats were matching one another, too.

Loki’s hands had dropped down to wrap protectively around her waist, eyes still closed as he savored this moment of peace. Sylvie placed her hand delicately on his chest, though this time not to push him away. She felt the reassuring thud of his heartbeat beneath her hand, unable to suppress the satisfied smile that pulled at her lips at the way his heartbeat sped up as she dragged her fingers across his chest, curling her fingers underneath her palm.

“We will figure this out,” He whispers down to her. Her eyes flick up to meet his, believing his sincere gaze. “Truthfully… I don’t know where to start, either. I mean, I know you spent your whole life running from them, but…”

“The TVA,” Sylvie completed the sentence Loki was clearly reluctant to speak. “You want to go back?”

“Good God, no, not that one. But… But somewhere out there is the one we know, surely? The one that our Mobius was in the middle of transforming? A TVA made of variants that didn’t know they were variants – until now.”

“And should be rightfully pissed,” Sylvie guessed with a knowing smirk. “Maybe enough to get revenge?”

“Maybe,” Loki agreed, mirroring her grin. “And I’m sure they’ll be eager to meet the person who freed them from their controlling dictator.”

Sylvie’s smile wavered at that, poking the tip of her tongue out of her mouth to wet her lips – a nervous gesture from her he’s noticed every now and then, making him wonder if he does the same thing without knowing. “And created infinite amounts of that same controlling dictator, who was apparently the best version of him…”

Loki’s eyes softened at the sight of her guilt as it began to dig its claws into her. He knows too much of that guilt. He felt it too often, failed to fight off the way it tried to drag him down to that pit of self-doubt that took him eons to climb out by himself –more often than not because he refused the help of anyone that offered.

But Sylvie won’t have to fight her way out of this alone. He’ll make sure of it.

“An infinite amount of universes to search through, huh?” Loki wonders out loud, giving a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “No problem.”

Sylvie rolled her eyes at his confidence, even if she knew he was greatly exaggerating it right now. “And I suppose that means an infinite amount of us are out there now, too?”

“And an infinite amount of our brother…”

“Wait, our brother?” Sylvie asked, head jerking back in surprise. “Thor is your brother?”

“Um, yes?” Loki frowned down at Sylvie, wondering what she was getting so caught up on. “Why, isn’t he yours?”

“Uh, she certainly isn’t my brother, no.”

Loki’s eyes widened as his mind caught up with what she was saying. “Oh…” He dragged out the syllable, looking out to the stars above in mock horror. “So your Thor is your… your sister?”

“Yep.”

Loki bent his head back with a bellow of genuine laughter, already picturing the glorious scenario of his brother meeting Sylvie’s version of him… Oh, what a sight would be to behold… Actually, the look on Thor’s face would probably be quite similar to the look on his face the moment Sylvie pulled the hood off her head and showed him her face for the very first time.

“Oh, we need to get them together as soon as possible,” Loki said gleefully. “Four of us together? We’d make quite the team.”

“Do you… do you really think she’s out there somewhere?” Sylvie asks, and the vulnerability he hears in her voice stops his laughter altogether. “I barely remember her, you know. After the TVA pruned my timeline, and… and everyone with it, I had to accept that I’d never see her again.”

“If what He Who Remains was telling the entire truth?” Loki says with a shrug of his head to the side. “Then anything’s possible now. Every possibility you can think of, every step that could have been different…”

“An infinite amount of butterfly effects,” Sylvie finished for him.

“It’s almost overwhelming, isn’t it?” Loki drawls with as much sarcasm as he can muster. “Perhaps we should… break it down step by step? First things first being to find Mobius-,”

“-And find the old but improved TVA,” Sylvie adds.

“-And see just how riled up and ready for revenge they are,” Loki agrees. “And… I suppose we should probably find some more powerful allies to help us…”

Sylvie raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “No offense, but do you even have any other allies?”

“Well… not exactly,” Loki said with a wince. “But I’ve been acquainted with a few… highly powerful individuals. Should probably go and find the versions of them that haven’t met us before, though…”

“Hmm, I imagine they’d be a bit more willing to help when you haven’t tried to claim leadership over their home?”

He probably shouldn’t have been too surprised that she was able to guess that.

“Something about all this still feels so… so strange,” Sylvie tells him.

“Yes, that’d be the feeling of the need to do the right thing for others, and not just yourself,” Loki says with a grimace. “Strange feeling, I know-,”

“Oh, piss off,” Sylvie cursed with a shove to his arm, though the smile on her face took out any venom from her words. “I wasn’t trying to kill the leader of the TVA just for myself, you know.”

“And now you get to do it all over again,” Loki said with a grin, gesturing to the TemPad on her wrist, that of which had already begun glowing with a faint golden light that streaked through its surface like bolts of lightning. “He’s the one that started all of this, right? Then it shouldn’t be too far out of the question that he’s the one that can end it.”

“He did say he’d be seeing me again soon,” Sylvie mumbled, sliding her fingers across the surface of the TemPad. A door sprung to life under her command, manifesting a portal to a dimension that… well, that of which they didn’t know. The second they stepped through that door, they’d be whisked away to a universe beyond their knowing – one that could be infinitely better than the one they were currently in, or one that could be much, much worse.

Their hands found each other once more, fingers sliding together like lock and key as they face the door together. Loki turns his head to face Sylvie the same time she does, matching shaky smiles of both nerves and anticipation on their faces.

“Ready for another adventure?” Loki asks, and the squeeze of her hand in his gives him all the answers he needs.

Whilst they didn’t know what would be waiting for them on the other side of the door, they had been certain that, as they stepped through the Time Door hand in hand and they disappeared out of sight as the warm glow of the portal faded, that the memory of what happened here would only belong to them as the wrath of nature let out her anger on the small town of Haven Hills, Alabama.

But what they didn’t know was that this wasn’t the Haven Hills they knew. This was the version of Haven Hills that didn’t find itself wiped off the map, miraculously avoiding the complete and utter destruction the hurricane was predicted to inflict. It was here, for years and years later, that the survivors that had taken shelter in the nearby Roxxcart would tell the stories of the mysterious strangers in the rain who seemingly appeared together from thin air, shrouded by a veil of golden light that came and went with their arrival and exit.

Rumors would be spread of these two people. As was such in the more religious southern state, the tale of these two strangers would be twisted into one of two angelic beings who had appeared in the glow of Heaven’s light with golden halo’s atop their head, the sheer sight of their loving embrace seemingly bringing God’s wrath to a stop.

There were many iterations of such a story, but there was one consistent detail that remained in every iteration of this timeline's story of them: that the two of them were heroes, who had risked their lives to save the lives of many.

And what else they didn’t know was that this was a story that would spread across multiple worlds, in multiple universes. A beacon of hope in even the dreariest of lands, the legend of these two saviors was one of whispered fantasy that wasn’t quite as much fantasy as some thought, the description of the two figures whose heads were adorned with angelic halo’s slowly changing to ones with protruding horns – no longer the devilish image that such a sight once brought.

These hushed stories would, over time, be reduced to one word. A single word, whispered out by those in the most dire of situations, as if praying to the only God they’ve ever known. This word, this name, would reach the ears of a single man, of every version of this one man, spanning across billions upon billions of timelines. And – despite never having have met the subjects of these stories – he would speak the name out loud to himself as if it were the name of an old friend, waiting for the day they try and stop his work and he gets to greet them personally. The two beings many people had promised would bring him down with their last, dying breath.

Loki.

Next Chapter - - ->

#sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki/sylvie #lovedagger #enchantricks

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richincolor · 3 years

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Group Discussion: Fat Chance, Charlie Vega

*As is usual with our discussions, there may be a few spoilers ahead so beware.*

We were all eager to read something fun as we were getting to the one year mark in this very challenging time. Fat Chance, Charlie Vega seemed like a promising pick - and it proved to be exactly what we were seeking. I'm thankful that author Crystal Maldonado shared Charlie with the world. To find out more about Crystal, hop over to the interview here. It was great to hear directly from her about her writing.

Publisher summary: Coming of age as a Fat brown girl in a white Connecticut suburb is hard. Harder when your whole life is on fire, though.

Charlie Vega is a lot of things. Smart. Funny. Artistic. Ambitious. Fat.

People sometimes have a problem with that last one. Especially her mom. Charlie wants a good relationship with her body, but it's hard, and her mom leaving a billion weight loss shakes on her dresser doesn't help. The world and everyone in it have ideas about what she should look like: thinner, lighter, slimmer-faced, straighter-haired. Be smaller. Be whiter. Be quieter.

But there's one person who's always in Charlie's corner: her best friend Amelia. Slim. Popular. Athletic. Totally dope. So when Charlie starts a tentative relationship with cute classmate Brian, the first worthwhile guy to notice her, everything is perfect until she learns one thing—he asked Amelia out first. So is she his second choice or what? Does he even really see her?

Because it's time people did.

A sensitive, funny, and painful coming-of-age story with a wry voice and tons of chisme, Fat Chance, Charlie Vega tackles our relationships to our parents, our bodies, our cultures, and ourselves.

Let the discussion begin...

Crystal: Fat Chance, Charlie Vega made me smile just when I needed plenty of smiles. Over the past twelve months, I’ve found myself picking up many more rom-coms than usual. Even with the difficulties that the main character might face, readers still get to hope for at least a partially happy or hopeful ending and that is what I’ve been craving. Stories that deliver some joy can sure make a day brighter and Charlie’s story, totally did that for me.

K. Imani: I so agree. I’ve been doing the same over the past year and I really needed this sweet story. Like you Charlie’s story made me smile so many times. I loved how much she grew in this story and how she had such a loving heart.

Jessica: Ditto! There were so many times I looked up from reading and realized I was actually, physically smiling. I can’t get enough of YA romance right now.

Audrey: Fat Chance, Charlie Vega had some incredibly sweet and genuinely happy moments, and I was really glad we all agreed on this one for our first book discussion this year. That’s not to say there aren’t hard parts in this book--there are some that hit incredibly close to home--but it was so very nice to settle down with a book that had promised us an uplifting ending. I plowed through it in just two days and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Crystal: I found the cover to be simply lovely. Charlie is gorgeous and looks like she’s feeling beautiful in the midst of the flowers and warm colors. And she’s wearing glasses. I’ve worn glasses for most of my life, but when I was young, I thought nobody sophisticated or beautiful wore them if they could help it. Ruse by Cindy Pon, When Dimple Met Rishi (back of cover) and Slay by Brittney Morris are really the only other YA book covers I can think of that feature a main character with glasses. Mei in American Panda references her nearsightedness, but her mother says that “no woman is attractive in glasses” so Mei doesn’t wear them. Maybe there are other books, but there certainly aren’t many so it was fun to see Charlie rocking her glasses.

K. Imani: Fellow glasses wearer here too and I loved that the cover had Charlie wearing her glasses and that throughout the book she would fiddle with her glasses. It was such a small thing, but I loved how Maldonado wrote the little habits glass wearers do that are tied to how we’re feeling, use as a distraction, etc, that our glasses are really an extension of our being.

Jessica: Fat Chance, Charlie Vega definitely was one of my favorite YA covers to come out in recent years. The colors, the character, the font! Everything about the cover was just so gorgeous.

Audrey: I adore the cover. Not just because Charlie is a fat, glasses-wearing Latina like me but also because it reminded me a lot of Charlie’s references to the body positivity and fat fashion movements. The cover could be an Instagram post--Charlie front and center, looking right at the camera, all dressed up and with a gorgeous background behind her. Ericka Lugo, the Puerto Rican illustrator who designed the cover, did a phenomenal job.

Crystal: Charlie is delightful, but her relationships are seriously complicated. She has some work to do in her relationships with her mom, food, her best friend, her crushes, and most importantly with herself. This is the messiness that makes Charlie’s story feel real. The book did make me smile, but there are some struggles here too and I appreciated that Maldonado let us see Charlie do some hard work.

K. Imani: I feel like all the messiness from Charlie’s relationships is what really connected me to her. No one is perfect 100% of the time and sometimes we get into our own heads and can sabotage ourselves with our relationships. The thing with Charlie is that she learned from it, told people how she felt and made amends. Such great personal growth that is a tough journey to go on, but one we humans do on a constant basis.

Jessica: I loved that the book didn’t shy away from the messiness and complicated aspects of Charlie’s relationships, particularly with her best friend and her mother. I especially loved how Charlie’s relationships tangibly changed and grew as the book progressed -- she called out her mother on her mother’s toxic behavior, and got to a better place with Amelia. So many complex relationships were in play, and the nuance given to each relationship was really incredible.

Audrey: I think some of the most honest parts in this book were when Charlie knew--intellectually--that there was absolutely nothing wrong with being fat, that being fat doesn’t mean unhealthy or unloveable, but she was still affected by those messages and ideas. She still bought into some of them even while acknowledging they were wrong and unfair. It was rough to see her deal with those things and how they affected her own self-esteem and her relationships with others, but it was also incredibly genuine.

Crystal: Many of the issues with relationships are tangled up in how Charlie sees her body. She’s fat and is working hard to have a good and positive relationship with her body, but this is a journey that has ups and downs especially since it seems that some people aren’t willing to accept Charlie as she is. Her own mother seems to think Charlie’s body is not beautiful at the present size and thinks losing weight is essential for Charlie’s happiness. The U.S. culture strongly equates worth with our beauty standards and many of us don’t see how damaging this can be for ourselves and others. Readers can even see this in the relationship Charlie’s mother has with her own body.

K. Imani: Charlie’s relationship with her mother bothered me so much and showed how toxic our society is towards women’s bodies that her mother didn’t even realize she was hurting her child. I’m glad that Charlie sought out the body positive movement and referenced it a number of times throughout the book so folks could see how seeing yourself represented living a fully happy life, despite your size, is life affirming. It definitely was a nice juxtaposition to the messages she was receiving from her mother. On a side note, I really enjoyed how Charlie was a secret clothes hoarder and that she had a great sense of fashion.

Jessica: I sound like a broken record now, but I’m seriously in awe of how Charlie’s relationships -- particularly with her mother -- are portrayed. It’s messy, and tough, and I absolutely cheered when Charlie really told her mother how she felt. I also loved how the story depicted Charlie’s own not-so-linear journey when it came to her self-esteem, and the role that online communities played in that. Sometimes it’s easy to think of the internet as just a place of toxicity and trolls, but the truth is that there are so many wonderful communities online.

Audrey: Charlie’s relationship with her mom was so difficult and complicated, especially with her mother having put so much effort into losing weight and being able to keep it off. At one point Charlie acknowledges that her mom probably doesn’t even realize she’s being cruel. It was such a relief when Charlie was finally able to express her feelings about her mom’s behavior and comments. It didn’t magically make things better, but Charlie was able to say what she really thought and tell her mother that she was hurting her. There were a lot of painful conversations in this book, but in the end they helped Charlie sort out her important relationships and her feelings about herself.

Crystal: I agree with Brian and Charlie that Valentine’s Day isn't always great for everyone. The heart-meltingly sweet way that Brian dealt with that made me smile. To later find out that Crystal Maldonado experienced something very similar with her husband when they were younger made it even sweeter.

K. Imani: I loved what Brian did for Charlie, and their classmates, on Valentine’s day. It was so sweet and moving and definitely endeared me to his character.

Jessica: Regarding the valentines: Gasp. I did not know that! That’s so sweet. Wow.

Audrey: That’s so sweet! I really liked reading about Brian and Charlie’s relationship. The Valentine’s Day scene was incredibly endearing, and their bookstore date was also lovely. There were several great moments between them as their romance developed. I especially appreciated that Charlie--a fat character!--got to want and enjoy things like hand holding and kissing and being attracted to someone and feeling attractive. I loved all of that.

Crystal: I think we can all agree that reading this book was a delight. We recommend it especially if you’re looking for something to give you a little joy. If you’ve read it, please share your thoughts on the blogpost or on our Twitter account. We’d love to hear from you.

#crystal maldonado #charlie vega #fat chance charlie vega #ya lit

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notveryglittery · 4 years

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misc royality #3

summary: patton and roman talk after “putting others first” words: 2k / ship: royality warnings: might come across as a little harsh towards deceit but that’s definitely the author′s bias versus how the characters feel. uh, outburst of emotions, hiding one’s feelings. lmk if there’s anything else. author’s note: BEFORE YOU READ, PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT THIS IS UNFINISHED!! I DO NOT HAVE PLANS TO FINISH IT!! it stops at a point that can be considered a happy ending, in my opinion, or at the very least hopeful and heading towards resolution. i started writing this on may 11 and have since read too many posts about the episode/royality during or after the episode/etc to feel happy with where i was going here. it has not been beta’d. i hope you enjoy regardless <3

— — —

Okay, so that had gone… about as terribly as it could have.

To be fair! … To be fair, things had been alright for a bit. Patton had genuinely been trying not to force his opinions on anyone else, Thomas had been open to hearing from both of them, and Roman had done his best to reign in the insults. He thought he’d done a pretty good job, standing up for himself while making sure still to support Patton. It hadn’t been easy, sure, wanting to mention how attending the wedding had been a waste, and how they’d have been better off at the callback, and how he wished their court scenario had gone differently, but that… That was all water under the bridge. The bridge might have needed some work, admittedly, given that Roman could feel the heat licking at his heels, but that wasn’t something he could worry about right now.

Right now, all he could worry about was figuring out where he stood on this good versus evil scale. Heh… scale. Yeah, thinking about the reptilian rapscallion was not going to improve his mood. Roman sighed, pushing a hand through his hair, and kicking his boots off the moment he arrived in his room. They disappeared under the bed, which was going to be very annoying when he couldn’t find them tomorrow, but whatever, that was a problem for future Roman. The only problem current Roman had was trying to understand the line between right and wrong.

It was wrong to laugh at Deceit’s name, at… at Janus sharing something important and then throwing it right back in his face. It was right to be selfish, but only sometimes. It was wrong to put others before oneself, but only sometimes. It was right to lie to spare someone’s feelings…

Roman couldn’t remember that being a part of their discussion but like hell he could forget that he was no longer Thomas’ hero. He wasn’t even sure if it would have hurt less, had Thomas been honest about it.

Maybe Janus was wrong, a small traitorous part of him hoped. Maybe something got lost in translation.

Yeah, and maybe he hadn’t been tricked before. He had to keep his guard up now more than ever… Regardless of whether Patton and Thomas trusted Janus, Roman couldn’t… Not after he’d been fooled so many times already.

He’d just been considering disappearing into the Fantasy Realm for an arduous adventure, something to take his mind off of things until he could better process them, when there was a knock at the door.

“Ro, honey?”

Flinching at the simple sound of Patton’s voice was definitely something worth being concerned about, but he shoved it into the pile of things he’d deal with later. Instead, he fluffed his hair and straightened his sash and put on a smile. It stung a little bit, to do so, when all he wanted was to cry, but maybe this wouldn’t take long.

“Evening, buttercup~” Roman sang as he opened the door, “to what do I owe the pleasure?

If Patton seemed put off by his cheery attitude, he didn’t show it. “I wanted to check on you. I know I’m feeling pretty rough after all that. Are you doing okay?”

“First of all, lovebug, you’re always pretty, so jot that down.” Roman was quick to remind, “as for me, you needn’t add anymore stress to your plate by worrying over this silly old prince.”

The smile that twisted Patton’s lips at the compliment was quickly replaced with a pout. He put his hands on his hips and leaned in closer. “Now Roman, you aren’t just some silly old prince. You’re the most handsome prince in the world. I think you’re very sensible and wise.”

“Logan’s room is two doors down.”

Patton scowled. “Is that a self-deprecation in my house, mister?”

Roman pretended to check his fingernails, feigning disinterest. “Technically not your house so… no, not really.”

Patton pulled away. “Is there something you’d like to get off your chest?” His tone was sincere and Roman wanted to scream because he wasn’t sure he could believe it.

“I don’t know, maybe the suffocating weight of having to be perfect for you all? Or could it be the overwhelming guilt at constantly failing to succeed in the only thing I’m good for?” Roman ignored the way his breath hitched, curled his hands into fists to resist tugging at his hair. “It might just as well be the stifling reminder of how easy I am to manipulate! Gee, Patton, I wonder what I could possibly have to be upset about!”

“Oh.”

Roman reeled back, as if he’d been slapped. Immediately, he was sure that he’d overstepped, that he’d fucked up, and that Patton was going to reprimand him for being whiny and dramatic.

“Oh, okay. Okay, hold on.”

Before Roman could realize it was happening, Patton had stepped through the door. He was trailing his fingers through the air, using the power Roman had allowed him over the room to better suit… whatever it was he had planned.

“Forget I said anything,” Roman said, voice catching. He stayed put, gesturing back out to the hallway. “I’m sure you have much more important things to handle.”

The setting sun normally filled the room with a light that was sometimes glaring due to the wall of floor to ceiling windows, but Patton had lessened it by creating sweeping lace curtains. It seemed softer now, warm and gold, almost as if everything wasn’t actually sharp and broken.

“The only thing I care to handle right now,” Patton said, approaching him, “is you.”

He closed the door before taking Roman’s hands in his. Patton’s skin was soft against Roman’s callouses, from years and years of learning how to play instruments and how to sword fight and how to work himself to the point of pain and then to grit his teeth and keep going. He tried so damn hard, all the time. What even was the point?

“Can we have an open, honest talk, please? I want to understand what’s going on.”

Roman laughed, though there was no humor to it. He yanked his hands free. “Sure. Let’s start with that ‘we love you.’ Finding it real hard to believe there was any truth to it.”

Patton looked hurt and some tiny terrible, vindictive part of Roman thought good. He hated himself for it. He let his arms fall to his sides and brushed by Patton.

He took a seat at his desk, which usually doubled as his vanity, and tried not to look at himself in the mirror. Instead, he grabbed the nearest notebook and pen, and began writing. It didn’t matter what made it from his brain to the page, just that it did, and that he had something to do with his hands and his thoughts. It was quiet for a couple of minutes but Roman knew Patton hadn’t left, for the simple sensation that came with another side being in his room. After a little while longer, Patton moved, and Roman heard the shift of blankets. He was glad, at least, that he was being given some space.

“Feel free to stop me at any point, okay?”

Roman gave him a noncommittal shrug.

“I think I know where things got messy. I really have been blind to so much. Sweetpea, I had no idea how badly Janus had been misleading you. And for such a long time… I can’t change the past but I hope in the future, I can help to protect you from these sorts of things. You keep us safe from so much, Roman. You deserve to be kept safe, too.”

Roman’s vision blurred. With shaking hands, he wiped the tears away before they could fall. He waited until the trembling subsided before speaking. “That’s very kind, dearheart, but I don’t need protecting. I can take care of myself.”

“That doesn’t mean you should have to do it alone.”

“It’s the only way I know how,” Roman said with a hollow laugh.

He finally looked up from his notebook and into the mirror. His eyes were rimmed red and he could see Patton in the reflection, twisting his hands and frowning. The glass went black at Roman’s will and he shoved away from the desk. He turned and took in his room to see what else Patton had done with it. Along with the curtains, he’d added extra strings of fairy lights and piles of pillows on the bed. Now that he was paying attention, Roman noticed the wood floor had been swapped out for plush carpet. It was all exceedingly comfortable.

Lacking the energy to go through the whole process of undressing, Roman snapped his fingers and changed into clean pajamas. Patton smiled hesitantly and did the same. A box also appeared beside him.

“I want to show you a few things. Can we cuddle?”

Roman wasn’t sure how he’d react to being touched right now but there was only one way to find out. They situated themselves in bed, sitting up against the wall with pillows at their backs. Patton stacked the extras at their sides and under their arms; Roman brushed a hand through Patton’s hair as he placed the box on top of his legs. It was cardboard and had been colored all over, decorated with stickers and glitter. On the lid, Roman’s name was written in bubbly rounded letters, surrounded by stars and hearts.

“What’s this?”

Patton opened it and reached in, blindly taking something out. It was easily recognizable for the big font written across it. Christmas Carol. The I was dotted with a star and the O wore mouse ears. Each of the C’s hosted Santa hats and beards.

God, that looks ridiculous. What were you thinking? Roman thought. All the time he’d spent had been a waste once it had become clear how little the others cared. The blatant disregard for their parts and who all they belonged to; that wasn’t even covering how they’d torn him down for (admittedly, he understood now) Virgil’s single line.

“You worked so hard on this, remember?” Patton said, voice heavy with nostalgia. His expression was fond. “It was so much fun to sing.”

“Oh, definitely. Everyone changing the lyrics was my favorite part.” Roman snapped, taking the script and throwing it across the room. There was no noise indicating that it had landed and he assumed Patton had returned it to the box.

Undeterred, he reached in again and this time, it took Roman a moment to realize what it was. A copy of the cast list from the final high school play Thomas had been in. He’d scored the lead role. Roman had been ecstatic; he’d ridden that high for weeks afterwards. Memorizing the lines had been effortless and it’d been so easy to play their part. All of the late nights after rehearsal, 2am at Denny’s, syrupy sweet memories full of laughter and friendship. He took the paper delicately from Patton. Thomas had even gotten it laminated, so that nothing bad could ever happen to it.

“That was a really nice day,” Patton said quietly. “And every day after that. Going over the lines with you felt like such a big deal. I thought I was so clumsy but you still picked me.”

“You were so supportive.” Roman muttered, trying not to trip over the past tense.

The sound of sloshing liquid suddenly had Roman looking to Patton, confused. There was a snow globe in his hand, which he held out on his palm so they could see the scene inside. It was of Elsa and Anna, the former creating the snow flurry that would bring Olaf back to life.

“I promise you that I still am,” Patton told him, in a tone so genuine that Roman wondered how he could ever doubt it to begin with. “You create such beautiful, wonderful, amazing things. I’m proud of them all.”

He tilted the box so that Roman could see better into it. It should have been filled to the brim, with the number of trinkets inside, but it looked well organized. He couldn’t even begin to guess how many scripts, stories, and pieces of artwork Patton had collected.

“Is this a Mary Poppins bag?” He asked teasingly.

“Yes,” Patton responded seriously.

Roman watched as he stuck his hand in and passed all the visible clutter. His arm disappeared up to the elbow as he stuck his tongue out in concentration. Roman found it utterly adorable. When Patton apparently found what he was looking for, he gave a victorious cheer and yanked hard. Somehow, nothing else was jostled; it all sat safely, nestled together with the utmost care.

In Patton’s palm now was a sunset pink orb. It shimmered regardless of light or motion and despite not holding it himself, Roman felt warm from its presence alone.

“What’s that?” He spoke quietly without realizing it, as if any loud noise would shatter the moment.

“I have one of these for every Occasion. They aren’t always this pretty.” Patton’s smile went a little sad before he continued. “It’s important to remember, regardless. Sometimes, it’s just a few minutes. Other times, it’s a whole day.”

#sanders sides fan fiction #royality #royality fan fiction #roman sanders #patton sanders #putting others first #dani writes

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outropeace · 3 years

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elotito tagged me on this so i’m gonna do it for her <33333

1. describe how you first started writing and when you first posted

i began to write in general since i was around 14 like any other emo kid kdjdjsks and o began to write fics when a friend asked me for one as a birthday present. it was written in a hurry and it’s not my favorite but i really enjoyed doing it. i posted that exact same fic on their birthday

2. which of your characters do you typically resonate most closely with? do you base any characters off of yourself?

it depends the fic i guess. and not really, i think the closest i’ve been to do that is in the rockstar au (coming to the @bottomlouisficfest very soon), i put one or two of my old insecurities in h so he could connect better and wouldn’t be persieved as just an asshole-y dude cause i don’t like that and louis don’t deserve that uwu🌸

3. where do you often find inspiration?

music, movies, tiktoks (DONT JUDGE KDKDKS)

4. has quarantine helped or hindered your writing process?

before the quarantine i had around 3 wips, now i have 8

5. do you listen to music/noise while you write or do you prefer silence?

i listen lofi youtube playlists shjdkld

6. what is your biggest writing pet peeve in your writing or in general?

me repeating “Oh...” over and over again through tall my fics, it shouldn’t be legal

7. describe your ideal writing setup

rainy day, good coffee, comfy sweater, my cat besides me, arely sending texts about teeth/imessage games, snacks

8. favorite time of day to write?

nights (it’s usually when i have time)

9. favorite genre to write + one you’d like to try writing in the future?

i’d LOVE to write a thriller

10. do you struggle with writer’s block? how do you typically overcome it?

i just leave the fic for a bit, i don’t really like to push myself about this cause i’m just doing it for fun

11. what is the easiest part of your writing process and the most difficult?

the easiest is the dialogues, i could write pages and pages of just dialogues in hours and the hardest is the smut dhjdd

12. how do you come up with original characters? (if applicable)

it depends, is the antagonist? i ask myself how’d i feel if i were them, like a third party just trying (and usually failing) to get in between

13. what is your favorite and least favorite word?

i like “wet” i just... yeah.... and least favorite i don’t really know tbh

14. what is one thing about your writing that you’re really proud of and one thing you hope to continue working at?

i like that people conect with the characters because i always put a lot of effort in making them realistic (as much as i can), i make them flawled and sometimes even messy but with good hearts and intentions, all of them are (even the antagonists). and my grammar OH MY GOD MY GRAMMAR

15. what work of yours has your favorite ‘verse/world building? how did you come up with it?

hands down the ice prince fic. and funny thing is, i already had my prompt for the fic fest but i just couldn’t stop thinking about one particular prompt about a bratty prince and an alpha who hated omegas and the amount of POSSIBILITIES that had. two days later or so, the mods of the fest gave us the opportunity to pick another prompt if we wanted and the rest is HISTORY

16. what font and size do you write in? single spaced or double?

11 and single

17. what is a typo(s) you find yourself making consistently?

baby do we have TIME FOR THIS ONE?

18. (if applicable) do you separate fic writing from fandom?

yes, always 100000000%

19. what emotion is your favorite to write? which is the most difficult?

angst, sadness, anguish, sorrow, jealousy, i love to hurt hearts. and it’s not an emotion but after they get together it’s really difficult to me to actually keep going (oh god dkdkdkkdd)

20. what is one thing you hope readers always take away from your works?

that that’s okay to fuck up, that no matter the circumstances you have to respect your partner and TALK WITH THEM and that a person can be successful, independent and a badass while being soft and a c*mslut

21. what is the best and worst writing advice you’ve ever received?

i think “write whatever you like, you’re not being paid for it anyways” is the best and only advise i’ve actually listened to

22. which one of your works would you most want to see turned into a film/television show?

it’s complicated cause my two favorites are abos and idk how that would work dkskkss but the ice prince and the alpha/alpha fic

23. do you write scenes chronologically or out of order?

chronologically but i have a document apart where i write everything that comes to my mind at the moment, that one is A MESS

24. how do you handle criticism?

i think good, if it’s respectful

25. what is the advice you would give to someone who is looking to start writing?

trust yourself, have fun

26. what kind of feedback on your work always makes your day?

ANY type of positive feedback makes my day tbh

27. which fic ‘verse of your own would you most like to exist in? which fic’s characters would you most like to befriend?

none tbh dkdkks and louis, obviously

28. what do you always enjoy getting asks about/wish people would ask about more?

about my stories, i love when people just come to rant to me about certain things the characters did and ask me why they did it

29. what has writing added to your life? how has it changed you?

it relaxes me a lot. i just can write for hours and hours and it just feels nice and in some way exciting

30. why do you write?

refer to question 29 kdkdkxk

boost yourself + tags!

1a. share the last sentence you wrote

from the exes to lovers au:

The second hiccup of the night came in the form of his ex smiling to a boy sitting next to him on a couch. The boy had gorgeous, dark and wild hair, clear hazel eyes and a pretty pouty mouth. Their body language screamed attraction and that they both were ready to devour each other. Louis was familiar to the smile Harry was giving to him, bright and seductive, ready to give anything you asked for.

2a. describe the wip you’re most excited about

right now i’m very excited for the happiest season au, my “cliche story” au and for my exes to lovers au dksks i’m excited about a lot of my wips i’m so sorryjdjd

3a. share the piece of dialogue from one of your works you’re most proud of

from the alpha/alpha au:

“I’m not giving up on love,” He softly touched the hand that was still grabbing his thigh. “To me, love is like flowers. Each one needs a special treatment, if you give an orchid the same treatment you give to an iris, the orchid will die. Same thing with love. I’m not giving up on love, I’m just changing the treatment. We might not be an orchid, but we could make such a pretty iris.”

4a. share the best first and last lines from your work(s)

favorite first line from the sugar baby au:

Powerful people only end up with powerful people. The rest are just playthings in their lives. Louis Tomlinson was many things, but he wasn’t anybody’s plaything.

favorite last line from the ice prince fic:

“Who would have guessed…” Harry whispered after a while, smiling against Louis’ lips. “the dragon finally got to keep the princess.”

5a. link the last fic you read

HAYLEY’S MASTERPIECE

6a. link the last work you published

that’d be the ice prince fic

7a. link to your ao3 (if applicable)

hereee

8a. someone that inspires you

louis teheeee

9a. a comfort fic/work that you’ve been grateful for this year

god, again, there’s so so many of them, like the amount of authors i’m so grateful for, the list is infinite but these are a few that comes to my mind

all elote’s (@defencelesst) fics makes me really really happy and never fails to give me a cozy/wintery feeling, her louis IS THE MOST PRECIOUS THING ON EARTH AND HER HARRY IS JUST PERFECTION, i’m in love with her descriptions and how she just takes you THERE. hanis @loulicate-recs always makes me smile so fucking hard. ris @falsegoodnight fics NOW.... well.... ris fics they make me smile but also make me want to throw my phone to the other side of the room BEST OF BOTH WORLD IG. MAR’S FICS (loubellies on twitter, idk their @ here i’m sORRY) ARE LITERALLY ONE OF MY FAVORITE AUTHORS AT THE MOMENT, such a pretty louis IM SO IN LOVE WITH MAR’S LOUIS ITS UNFAIR

10a. other writers that you’d like to tag!

omg i’m probably so late to this and idk how many of you have actually done this so here goes nothing @allwaswell16, @runaway-train-works, @greenfeelings, @kingsofeverything, @thepolourryexpress, @larents

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aloera · 3 years

Note

The ask prompt is too long to fit into an ask TT_TT but here's the doc for it docs(.)google(.)com/document/d/1yDI7iFRhOJ8ENv_IwZAo3rDSUqj80EiJROS10RzRbj4/edit

the lengths u are going for this,,, much appreciated you're very sweet!!!

prompts + answers under the cut!!

INTRODUCTION

Name: aloera

AO3 account: aloera

Fandoms you write for: bnha

How many stories have you written so far: 19

FANFICTION PROFILE

What's your favorite fandom to write for? hmm,,, used to do pjo and eah (ever after high) and eah was fun as fuck i will say!!! i think bnha is my fav mostly bc i made the most friends in this fandom :D

What's your favorite character/person to write for? bkg and kirishima!! cannot choose do not make me <3

Fic you'd want to improve? probably what we deserve? i rushed the beginning and the confession is a bit stilted imo

Hardest fic you've written? between lion and men -_- bc there is so much canon compliant stuff i've gotta write out before i get to the divergence and its HARD

Easiest fic you've written? come home to me!!! it happened so easily,,, no second guessing no writers block just vibes <33 was lovely i miss it

What would you say is the most "famous" fic you've ever written? also probably come home to me? its got the most interaction

first line of the first fic you've ever written and published. [not including my 2014 ffnet fics] "The bell rings, class starts, and Katsuki and Midoriya are inexplicably absent." from come home to me

Have you ever done a collab with another writer? yes!!!!! on two separate occasions and its so fucking fun i highly recommend trying it out its the best

Do you beta? if asked but honestly im a shit beta lmao

Do you like joining fic fests/exchanges? depends on what i have going on irl but in general yeah!!

FANFICTION PREFERENCES

Fluff or angst? definitely fluff

"OCs" or "Reader" inserts? reader inserts!! have been going ham on them recently

Blurbs or drabbles? blurbs!!

One thing you love about fanfiction i just. i really love slice of life romance?? and most media doesn't give you that bc its dedicated to plot and action and that's valid!! but fanfiction fills in the gap which is really nice

One thing you don't like about fanfiction most of the stuff i don't like is less about actual fanfiction and more about how people behave about it

What is/are your favorite fandom author/authors? IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE!!! TURN IT UP!!!

bnha: hiuythn, rae_tnub, Moniix, Ata_Lanta, wrunic, chezka, PurplePersnickety, surveycorpsejean, mahadevi, arxaris, deviance, Oceanbreeze7, MikeWritesThings, bonnia, wonhaebunny, dinosuns

voltron: hiuythn, Oceanbreeze7, DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee, arahir, dinosuns,

and honorable mention to loveclouds im not even in the haikyuu fandom i just love their fics So Much

these are just the ones off the top of my head i have so many favourites idc if i'm only supposed 2 have one!! die mad about it!!!

What is your favorite trope? secret relationship + relationship reveal til the day i die babie <3 <3

Least favorite trope? hm,,, probably just like. angst lmao i cannot stand 90% of it

A fanfiction cliché that you can't help but love? coffeeshop aus,,,, so good

Do you have a type when it comes to pairings? the otp where its like. piece of shit + himbo = love. ex. krbk, catradora, jade/beck

Favorite setting/au? hm,,, truly i cannot pick one KGKSJNHKj but i really like college aus!! and modern aus!! and roommate aus!!

Explain the meaning of your favorite line of dialogue you've written as if someone hasn't read it in context. “He doesn’t know,” Katsuki says, softly. “My timer stopped and nothing happened. He’s not mine.”

the line is from what we deserve!! it's a soulmate au where your timer counts down to the moment that you meet your soulmate!! bakugou's timer ends at USJ when he and kirishima attack kurogiri at the same time (impulsive kings <33) but kirishima's timer doesn't end until kamino because that's when he accepts himself as bakugous soulmate!! unfortunately, when bakugous timer has reached 0, he turned to see that kirishima's was still ticking and therefore believes that kirishima isn't his soulmate.

this line just,, idk. it's really sad. bakugou is such an action-driven character? if something doesn't go his way he Makes it go his way. he's got this insanely volatile quirk and he's got impeccable control of it!! but his love for kirishima isn't something that he can change and he's not going to ruin kirishima's chance of finding his own soulmate because he loves him and wants him to be happy. i really wanted to focus on how resigned he is? and how unusual that is for a character like him.

Favorite trope/genre to write? again, secret relationship with relationship reveals <33 fluff in general is my wheelhouse!!!

A trope/genre you haven't written but think would be a fun challenge? idk if this counts?? have been working on some dead dove concepts!! its super different from what i normally write so its a cool challenge

The one trope/concept you'll never touch and why probably cheating/infidelity?? it just looks,,, super difficult to write well and i don't have enough of an interest in it to try it out

Which do you prefer to write: longer or shorter fics? shorter!! low attention span gang <3

Ideal length to read? 5-10k?

Ideal length to write? 4-8k!!

How long was the longest fic you've ever written? control fraek is around 28k i think?

Have you ever written an AU? yeah!! i've done restaurant au's, soulmate au's, pro hero aus, and fantasy aus (general, not the bnha fantasy ending)

What's your favorite AU trope? hm,, probably when two people in authority are in a secret relationship? ceo's/uni professors/etc etc

Have you ever written smut? yeah!! was. difficult tho

What's your comfort genre? (the one you fall on most in writing/reading) fluff,,, hurt/comfort,,, fix-it fics with happy endings <3

If you were to start writing in other fandoms, which would they be? maybe jjk?? the characters are really cool!!!! fr i might go back to my ever after high roots i love the characters and setting so Much its so fun!!! idec if no ones into it anymore!!!!!

Is there a trope you think you could be easily recognized by in your writing? i've had people say they saw the mention of buff hagakure and recognized it was me so. probably that skdjhnksjd

WRITING STYLE

How would you describe your style? i tend to use shorter sentences and pretty simple words i think? and i gravitate towards lighthearted concepts that allow for ensemble casts and humour!!

Describe your style in three words romcom but fanfic

Favorite words to use when writing? the word reverent!! fuckin love including it!!

Dialogue tags or no dialogue tags? (she said, he said, they said, etc) dialogue tags!!!

Favorite dialogue tag (other than said, if you use them) again idk if this counts but "they said softly" is unmatched

Long sentences vs short vs a mix short <33

What colors would you use to describe your writing? hm,,, depends on the fic i would say?? control fraek is dark green to me?? kinda like a forest at night yk?? scary but there's still life there. sugar cookies is yellow like early morning sunlight, when it rains is yellowy-orange like a caution sign. not gonna list all of them cause theres a lot its just. do u get it? the colours change based on the vibe of the fic.

What song or music genre would you use to describe your writing? think. i am constantly trying to emulate that moment at the end of wasteland baby when hozier goes "im in love/im in love with you."

What kind of metaphors do you rely on? religious metaphors my beloved <33 they're just so pretty!!! i also love comparing stuff to water for some reason?? like that ocean vuong quote thats like "what are you now?/water." it goes hard!!!

What's something you'd say is experimental in your writing at this time? definitely action!! i have,,, no idea how to write it so anything i do is really just me playing around and seeing what works and what doesn't

Do you prefer to write by hand or to type? i've tried both!! personally i prefer typing because it goes way faster but i will say that writing by hand lets me get words down when i'm going through writer's block

What is your preferred place to write (notebook, laptop, cellphone, etc.)? laptop!!

What app/apps do you use to write (word, notepad, etc.)? google docs skjdnkjh its fine on desktop but mobile is,,,,, disgusting

Do you keep a notebook or file/notes page in your phone/device for notes on your writing? ngl i just have everything organized in my drive?? one folder per fandom and then sub folders for ideas+hcs, unfinished wips, and finished fics. multichaps get sub sub folders so i can organize outlines and drafts

Do you listen to music to help you write? yeah!! playlists organized by fic vibe :D

Where do you usually go to write (bedroom, living room, etc.)? mostly in my bedroom??? but moving around to different stops helps too i think!!

How long does it usually take for you to write? again this depends on what i have going on irl, how attached i am to the idea, my mindset at the time, etc!! i am,, the least consistent person skjnhdkjh.

What's your favorite font to use when writing? times new roman my beloved

Other writing habits? sometimes i'll write in the dark?? bad for my eyes but for some reason it gets the words flowing

CONCEPTUALIZATION

How do you conceptualize your ideas? (See specific moments like they're a movie, writing specific lines in your head, don't know until you put the words on paper, etc.) i tend to get inspiration from movies, books, poems, or other fics!!! sometimes one line just makes me go oh,, i want to write something like that,,, and then it helps me create an idea that makes me feel the same way?? i did this with control fraek!!!! i wanted a scenario where bakugou was cold and calculating and i was like hm. to do that he’d have to be focusing on something important. and from there i was able to flesh out the rest of the idea.

Which comes first: the pairing or the plot? with krbk its always always the pairing,, i'll be sitting there like wow <33 i love them <33 what if one of them had amnesia <33 (which, yes, wip!!) otherwise it's usually the plot!! and i slot in characters that i feel make sense

Have you ever used a prompt? yeah!! used a prompt for wlw week 2020 and it was fun as hell

Do you write around the story around a specific scene you want to get to or do you start from a plot idea definitely the first!!!! i almost always write like,,, a super messy scene thats 90% dialogue, keep it in my head, and then write the entire fic around that one moment

Do you find that you include a projection of some part of yourself in the way you write a character? a lot of the time when i write love confessions or love in general i'll have one of the characters think or say that the other person makes their head quiet? and it's because that's what i feel whenever i'm in love?? a quiet mind. i project on characters yeah but i think most of the projection actually goes to the way that i write love

Do you research some of the things you write deeply, partially and kind of wing the rest, or play entirely by ear (in this case, go with whatever base knowledge of the subject you have)? most of the time if i do research it'll be about the setting (ex. the izakaya in to have and to hold) or if i'm having the characters interact with an object that they like. need to know how to use (me, in control fraek: google. hey google. does someone die if they get shot in the foot??? no???? awesome thank u <3)

Have you ever had an idea for a story and forgot about it? lmaoo yeah all the time i'll find like 500-2k words of concepts in my gdocs like i do. not remember this at all

Is there a trope you think you could be easily recognized by in your writing? probably krbk secret relationship lmao

Are there concepts you've tried that turned out better than expected? yeah!! i fully thought the action in control fraek would be awful but it turned out not bad??? which im happy with

Are there concepts you've tried that turned out worse than you expected? again, what we deserve, i personally think it would have worked out better if i'd paced it slower and drawn out the pining but i. do not feel like going back to fix it so its staying the way that it is. pining is so fucking hard to do AHHHH i get so tired with it!!! im like just date already!!!!

PROCESS

How do you come up with titles? in rare occasions (literally. all my multichaps for some reason) the title comes after writing like .5 words of the first chapter im like YES this is it!!!!! sometimes i write the whole thing and pick out one line that fits (what i did with come home to me) a lot of the time i just. steal from songs or poems that i like

What's your favorite emotion to cause on your readers? i like making people happy!!!! love when people comment saying they're cheered up

What's your favorite emotion to write? lovelovelovelovelovelove

Have you ever cried or felt any emotion while reading something you've written? never cried?? but sometimes i'll rereading my hurt/comfort fics 4. yk. comfort

Do you write in order or whatever comes to you? in order!! unless i have a scene that i Need to write and i'll quickly jot it down so that i don't forget

Usual way you procrastinate while writing? ...doing asks like this, making playlists, discord, watching netflix. what don't i do smh

Do you outline or free write? i am. so shit at outlines. i mostly free write and write lil notes for stuff that i wanna add later

Do you set word goals or scene goals (scenes you want to include)? yes!! like i said i'll write loose notes for scenes that i want to add later!! it gives me something to write towards :D

What do you consider when writing your scenes? what goes into making the atmosphere and mood you want? to set a scene i do two things? the first is like,, the five senses bc that always sets the scene really well and makes it feel Real. i'll visualize stuff in my head like its a movie and write out what i would want to tell the set designer?? if the lights are low, if the space is busy, if it's supposed to exude comfort or not.

for putting forward the character's mood one thing i've found that makes a difference is sentence length!! long sentences are good for making a character seem flustered and nervous or not really in control of their emotions? good for love confessions. short sentences are good for when the character is focused on something or short on time. good for fights!!

What's something you never considered to include in your writing that you can't leave out now? def buff hagakure,,,, once i thought of it i was like. if i don't include this at least once in every single fic how could i look at myself in the mirror!!!!!! how could i face anyone!!!!

How do you start a story? establishing a fact about the character or describing the setting! option a is one single thread of gold, option b is between lion and men

How do you end a story? either by tying it back to the beginning or doing like a funny kind of closing??? option a is sugar cookies, option b is a godless society

How do you get out of writer's block? change something!! move something!! i go from typing to handwriting, moving from my bedroom to my living room, switching wips to work on something else!! i do sprints as well?? give myself like fifteen minutes to write something and sometimes 200 words opens up the way for another 2k. sometimes i'll just delete like 500 words and start fresh

Do you edit? or do you toss your writing out there? i edit!!! i'll go over it myself then send it to one or two betas (bee my beloved <33)

How do you edit? do you use spellcheck, grammar checkers, etc? bee is my grammar checker bc he is So Good with grammar. i use grammarly as well for spellcheck stuff mostly?? sometimes my edit process is just like "am i tired of looking at this!! yes <3" and then i post it

PROGRESS

Do you usually like what you write? yeah!!! i post stuff that makes me happy and that i'm fine with rereading!!! i write stuff for self-indulgence reasons first and foremost and i think my writing reflects that sjhnksj

Have you ever written something you didn't like but posted anyways? nope!! even what we deserve i LIKED even if i see a lot of room 4 improvement!! if i don't like smth it's not getting posted

Do you find yourself rereading your writing often? yeah!! the reason i wrote so much krbk secret relationship is because i loved it but i'd read all that there was so i just,, wrote more,, ngl its kinda nice being in a place where i actually like my writing bc i can write stuff that i want to see and really enjoy it!!

Can you tell us anything about your current WIP? sure!! i'm currently working on when it rains which is a fic where bakugou gets hit by a crying quirk!! i'm gonna be using it to explore So Much of all might's character and his relationships with bakugou and aizawa (and i think some people from his past!!)

Can you give us a sneak peek on your current WIP? “You did something. What the hell did you do?” Kirishima sounds pissed off. It would amuse Katsuki if he wasn’t fighting just to stay standing.

“Nothing he didn’t ask for,” Shinsou replies.

“K’ri… shima,” Katsuki croaks out. “‘S fine. Not him.”

His chest collapses back into the familiar dry heaving after that but Kirishima shuts up. He doesn’t apologize to Shinsou.

Kirishima’s a good friend, stubborn and loyal. He stands by Katsuki’s side like an attack dog, blocking him from the view of anyone ogling at his tears.

The last line you've written Ochako knows more than she'd realized. She knows enough to keep her guard up.

It’s not enough.

Open a wip. what’s the first line?

Katsuki wakes up feeling like absolute fucking shit.

INSIGHT

What's your favorite thing about writing? touched on this before but it's mainly just being able to write the things that i want to see and actually enjoy them!!! actually reread them!!!! i thought "wouldn't it be cool if bkg and kirishima owned a restaurant together" and then i wrote it and i like it enough to reread it!!!! being able to create content for myself makes me. so happy

How do you keep yourself inspired? this is gonna sound narcissistic maybe but honestly i'm just really excited about my ideas and where i'm gonna take them and the idea of "i'm gonna get to That scene" keeps me going through the entire thing. also my friends!!!! i'll talk to them about fics and their reactions keep me hyped up enough to finish!!!!

What is your favorite thing to write? just,, slice of life romance,,, stuff thats silly and makes people laugh!!

What do you think your strengths are in writing? i'm good with dialogue!! i do lil voice acting sessions with myself to make sure everything sounds natural and like it's coming from that character skhjnskj

i'm comfortable with my portrayal of love as well??? i spend a lot of time thinking about what it is exactly that i'm trying to get across and i think it turns out well!!

What are things you wish you could practice more? on one hand i wanna get better at writing angst on the other hand i dislike writing angst. do you see my issue

One way you've improved your writing since you began? characterization!! i think i've gotten better at writing characters that are all Different and bring different things to the table!!! i used to project a lot more and it would compromise the characterization because the character was like 70% me and 30% them? not to say that projection is bad but if you do it too much it just,, doesn't read like the character and from a reader's standpoint the narrative can become less compelling

One aspect of writing you're still working on? writing action!!! i. literally hate writing it but i write for a fandom about superheroes so. Unfortunately i gotta learn.

A piece of writing advice you've learned while writing saw this on another tumblr post but they said sometimes if you're struggling with a scene, the problem is five lines back. i've found that to be true!!!! sometimes u gotta delete a chunk and start a little ways back!! i did this with too busy being yours because i was stuck for Weeks and i deleted like 25% of what i had but it helped me actually finish it :D

A bit of writing advice you can't stand when people shit on show don't tell for being overrated lmao bc when u read their writing you can Tell

Something you wish you knew when you first started writing? ,,,,honestly i kind of wish i could know some of the stuff that i used to when i first started writing?? technically i'm better now but creatively i was must better when i wasn't stressing about whether anyone would like what i was writing. so i guess i wish i knew that i should keep that confidence? i kinda wish that i wasn't as insecure about other people's writing styles because i never used to be!!

Something you've learned in life that you apply in writing there's no point in feeling inferior?? writing one genre isn't better than the other. being in one fandom isn't better than being in another. the kind of language you use or the length of your paragraphs- none of that stuff like. matters. what matters is that you're having fun and happy with what you're creating!!!! enjoy other peoples writing but don't let it make you feel worse about yours :D

#AHH ive wanted to answer these for so long...... bro fr i was so happy when u sent these!!! like wow!! finally got sent one!!!#sorry for how long the responses are idk how to be concise #asks #anon #a(lore)a

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