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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Pink Scarf - PART 18.1 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: References to sexual situations. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: OKAY Y'ALL, Part 18 is split into two parts (18.1 & 18.2), so be aware that there is a bit of a cliffhanger for this reason. This part as a whole is another monster, but in a completely different way than the action-packed Part 17, and I didn't want to torture y'all anymore by making you wait for a GIANT chapter, since I was at 13k+ with no end in sight! We're diving into uncharted territory here (which was a challenge, let me tell y'all!) and 18.1 is all in flashback because of this. The vibe is DIFFERENT for obvious reasons, which you'll understand shortly. I promise there’s a good reason for the pivot, which will become more apparent in 18.2. Thank you so much for your patience, and I really hope you enjoy this perspective change in the story!

I've set the mood with lyrics from Teresa Brewer's Till I Waltz Again With You which is the song Elvis really sang in the talent show in '53 (unfortunately there is no recording of him singing it *sob*), and I've added pictures of our boy in the different years referenced, just to really give you a mental picture and break your heart a little bit. Only because I love y'all!

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

Elvis in 1951

You'll be waiting for my arms

September 1951

Elvis meanders down the hall through the crowds between classes, quiet, blue eyes sharp and watchful. He heads towards the lunchroom, his cheap and worn guitar slung over his shoulder. His dark blonde hair is too long for the popular style, greased and pushed back, a stray lock falling into his eyes. The style of his clothes is too bright and bold for a scrawny 16-year-old white boy, gaining him stares that range from curiosity to contempt, but he doesn’t care. He is wholly himself, a separate standout from the masses, but somehow unassuming through it all.

A few weeks into junior year, he already has his head down and tries to pay attention in his classes as best he can, even though sitting still is hard. He knows he must graduate and his mama and daddy will have his hide if he doesn’t, so he sits in the back row and listens and does his work as best he can. He makes decent grades. He’s respectful to his teachers, all “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, sir,” just like he was raised. All the while, his fingers drum out rhythms on his legs (the desk is too loud—he learned that the hard way a long time ago), his mind whirling and spinning with melodies and harmonies and dreams for the future.

But mostly he observes. He knows he’s different. He knows most kids don’t understand what he’s about. He’s a poor, church-going kid from the projects who is so quiet that he seems a little slow, except that those piercing blues see and hear everything, constantly cataloguing, constantly adapting, constantly thinking, constantly moving. Always searching for a way to get his family off the dole and into comfort. So, he waits and watches and learns. He doesn’t care if that earns him strange looks.

The halls start to thin as underclassmen hustle to their classes and upperclassmen run to lunch, loud and hungry and antsy. Elvis is not in a hurry, though, yet not without direction.

The little, fluttering thing that rounds the corner is, however, and plows straight into him, managing to knock herself and her books to the floor. He’s not quick enough to get out of the way, but he is fast enough to catch her as she goes flying backwards.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, his hand grasping your forearm as momentum carries you in the other direction. He somehow manages to swing his guitar down gently enough that it doesn’t splinter but the strings thrumb in a dissonant chord as it hits the ground.

The move to save both the guitar and the girl throws off his center of balance, so as you wheel back, you take him with you. In your panic to stay upright, you grab at him desperately, latching onto his wrist, which damns you both, but does serve to soften the blow as you land with a gasp on your backside.

His fancy shoes have no traction on the slippery tile, and he struggles and slips this way and that before gravity wins the battle, sending him ungracefully to his knees, pinning your skirt between your legs. He manages to catch himself with his free hand at the very last moment, avoiding completely crushing you under his weight. His breath huffs out with the exertion, and that’s how he ends up sprawled on top of you in the middle of the hallway, your books scattered around like shrapnel.

Time seems to slow for a second, and he really looks at you for the first time, his face in too intimate of a proximity for comfort as he looks into your big, wide eyes and sees a pink blush grace your cheeks. Your pretty hair surrounds you like a halo in disarray. And your lips, well, they are much to close because he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. His chest heaves and then catches because you are quite beautiful, sprawled out there on the tile under him.

Then reality and propriety rushes at him like a freight train, realizing the compromising position you are both in, through no fault of your own, but compromising, nevertheless. He feels heat rush to his face at the inappropriateness of his thoughts.

“Aw, h-heck, s-sorry,” he blunders, pushing up and back off of you as fast as his lanky limbs will allow.

“No, I should be the one that’s sorry,” you bluster back, leaning on your forearms “I was too much in a hurry and wasn’t looking where I was going.” Your voice is light and as pretty as you are.

“Are ya o-okay?” he asks, truly concerned but also happy with the excuse to look you over as you sit upright, your hair cascading over your shoulders. Taking in your slightly disheveled state, he can’t help but feel like you’re the loveliest girl he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s not just because you’re pretty—of course you are—but more like the feeling he gets from you, like you’ve reached something inside of him that no one else ever has. He can’t explain it. It’s like he’s always known you somehow. Shaking off those strange thoughts, he kneels, gathering your scattered books off the black and white tiles.

“Aside from my bruised ego, I think I’m fine,” you sigh shakily, “and now I’m late for class, on my first day, no less.”

“O-Oh, y-you’re new?” he asks, stammering yet again. He doesn’t understand why he’s so tongue-tied. He talks to girls all the time. The boys may despise him for a multitude of reasons, but the girls…well, he likes them a lot, and they seem to like him right back, with all his sweet Southern politeness and his pretty eyes and how he strums on his guitar and warbles at night in the shadows at the Courts. He’s had girlfriends from the time he was twelve, and he seems to have some innate knowledge of what women of all ages like. It’s one of the things he’s good at—talking sweet to girls and kissing on them.

But this pretty little girl has him thrown for a loop.

You’re both kneeling now, gathering papers and books. “Yeah, we just moved here…oh, thank you,” you say as he picks up your books and stands, offering his hand to help you up. Your hand is soft and cool in his larger one, the touch of your skin on his shooting and crackling through him like lightning. Those eyes of yours catch his briefly, and he almost feels dizzy with the way they make him feel.

Lord have mercy, he thinks, what the hell’s wrong with me?

“Oh gosh, I hope I didn’t break your guitar!” you gasp, seeing it discarded on the floor, obviously mortified at the prospect. It’s the last thing on his mind, and he manages to tear his gaze from you for a second to look down at the instrument. Honestly, he’d break a hundred guitars if it meant running into you again, but by some miracle, it’s undamaged.

Elvis picks it up and strums it. “It’s fine, no harm done,” he drawls, lip curving up in a shy, boyish grin.

Relieved, you flash a little smile, and the sight nearly knocks him over. “Well, good,” you say breathlessly, taking your books back. “I really am sorry, again. I—uh—I gotta get to class.” You are obviously worried about being late, face still flushed with embarrassment. Before he can say another word, you are already rounding the corner, scurrying away, your hair bouncing in your wake.

He stands there, staring after you and blinking as if coming out of a trance. He realizes he didn’t even catch your name or get a chance to introduce himself. All he knows is that you’re a pretty little freshman that just moved here, and while this information is pertinent, it doesn’t really help him much.

Walking to lunch in a daze, all he can think about is how he can go about seeing you again.

Till I kiss you once again Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

Unfortunately, he doesn’t see you, not for a while anyway. The school isn’t that damn big, but he never seems to be able to catch you or your name. Which is a damn shame because his thoughts seem to drift towards you when he least expects it. You show up in his daydreams or when a song he’s singing strikes him a certain way. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

By the next time he finds you, he’s just about put you out of his mind. But the minute he sees you that morning, out in front of the school, giggling with your new girlfriends, it’s like you’ve plowed into him all over again. His heart thuds a little harder in his chest as he passes you, trying not to stare, but he manages to catch your eye for a split second all the same.

At first, there’s no hint of recognition, which nearly breaks his heart, but then your eyes widen with realization and a hint of a shy smile plays on your lips. He returns it in kind, unable to stop himself from the bashful and relieved way it spreads over his face. For a moment, he considers stopping and asking all the questions he’s dying to know the answers to, but the flow of the crowd pushes him onwards and into the building.

He’s near giddy the rest of the day, wondering how and why the pretty girl he barely knows has captured him so completely.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in 1953

April 1953

Standing backstage in the high school auditorium, Elvis wonders why the hell he’s agreed to do this damn talent contest. His hands are shaking and clammy and he can feel the vomit rising in his throat. He’s scared shitless because he’s really only ever sung in the dark to his neighbors at the Courts, or in church with the congregation, but something inside him knows he needs to do this, even if it’s just to show himself that he can. It’s like a part of his soul drives him forward, even though his mind thinks he’s nuts.

It's not until he sees you backstage, ahead of him in the line, that his mind switches from crippling stage fright to a sense of excitement and curiosity. Your hair is done up real pretty and you’re wearing your Sunday best, he can tell. You don’t see him right away, and he knows he’s staring, but at least it’s keeping his mind off his churning stomach. You must feel his gaze because you turn and look back, your intelligent, wide eyes locking onto his.

It sends a thrill of a different kind through him when you tiptoe back towards him, and his heart races a little more than it already is.

You look him over carefully, and he might feel more self-conscious except your eyes are kind and concerned. “You okay?” you ask in a hushed whisper, not wanting to interrupt the current act on stage.

“I-I-I-I…yeah,” he stutters, unable to get the words out. His legs are wiggling, hands shaking, and he feels like he might puke all over your shiny shoes, but sure, he’s fine.

Lord, why is it in this moment of all moments that you come to talk to me?

You smile knowingly. “Yeah, I’m real nervous, too,” you breathe, seeing right through him. When he looks at you this time, he can see it, how you wring the sheet music in your hands and your eyes keep darting to the stage. It makes him feel a little better, somehow, knowing he’s not alone in this.

You stand there with him for a moment, and it should be awkward, except it isn’t at all. That strange familiar feeling of you makes this seem natural. He can’t seem to get any words out, so he just waits and jiggles.

“It’s gonna be fine. I think we’re just supposed to imagine everyone naked, right?” you whisper a little too seriously and that sets him off, a loud chuckle erupting from his mouth. Hearing the word “naked” come from your proper, pretty little lips just tickles him in a variety of ways, and he can’t help it. Other people in the line shoot him warning looks for being too loud, so he quells his laughter as best he can.

You look over, your eyes dancing more with amusement than nervousness, and you cover the giggle that starts to come out of your mouth. He’s reminded once again by the warmth that spreads through his chest that you are the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on, and hell, you’re funny, too.

You have to stop looking at each other because you’re one small step away from setting each other off into more peals of nervous laughter, which would surely disrupt the show. He watches as you bite your pink bottom lip and thinks of how much he’d like to do the same to you, imagining how soft it would feel yielding to him. Then he tries to push that less than appropriate thought right out of his head as soon as it pops up because, damn, this isn’t the time or place for that kind of thinking.

As your laughter dies, you look down at your feet, obviously feeling a swell of fear as you play with the necklace around your neck. He can feel it coming off of you in waves, despite your attempts to comfort him.

Suddenly, he can’t stand the sight of your uncomfortableness. He has the deep urge to fix it and make you feel better. Without thinking, he nudges you with his elbow. When you look up at him in surprise, he crosses his eyes, making a googly-eyed silly face at you. It has the intended effect, sending you into a fit of giggles, earning a glare and shush from the teacher in the wings.

It’s the cutest thing, watching you laugh like this, and it sends a rush of calm and satisfaction over him to know he’s the cause. He almost forgets that he has to go out there and sing in a few minutes.

“I’ve got to go, we’re on next,” you whisper.

“You’ll be great,” he says. He doesn’t even know what you’re going to be doing but it doesn’t matter. Anything you do will have his attention.

You smile shyly, as if reading his mind somehow, and he feels heat rise to his cheeks that has nothing to do with his stage fright. You nod, then skip off to the front of the line.

He watches in awe from the wings as you accompany your singing friend on the piano. Your hands fly over the keys with practiced, concentrated ease, and if he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t ever have guessed that you were nervous.

He suddenly thinks he needs to take up the piano. Maybe you could teach him and then he’d have an excuse to see you.

That thought is fleeting though, as your performance is through in the blink of an eye, and you exit the stage with a relieved smile, meaning that he’s one step closer to having to get out there himself. Now that he knows you’re okay, his nerves come rushing back. His leg vibrates uncontrollably, but he still manages to give you a thumbs up.

You slow as you pass him, placing your hand lightly on his bicep. He stills and looks at you in surprise at the contact.

“Thinking of them naked works,” you whisper with a smile, “Break a leg out there.” Then, you give him a light squeeze before being ushered away. Sparks fly through him at the echoes of your hand on his arm.

Elvis thinks his heart might explode. It’s crazy, this way you make him feel like he’s flying. It carries him out onto the stage, where he sings a rendition of Teresa Brewer’s “Till I Waltz Again With You” that somehow brings the house down and wins the talent show. They even call him out for an encore.

Thinking of them naked works, indeed.

But when he closes his eyes to sing, it’s you he thinks of. It’s you that gets him through.

The feeling he has coming off that stage is a buzzing, electric high he thinks could get used to. A dangerous, tiny thought in the back of his mind tells him to chase it like there’s no tomorrow, but the relief at the whole thing being over is too strong and pushes the thought away.

But the feeling lingers in his body like lightning in the clouds, just like your touch.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

Elvis in 1955

Winter 1955

Jack somehow convinces him with a begging phone call, on this cold-ass winter night on one of his only nights back home in Memphis in so long he doesn’t even remember the last time he slept in his own bed, that he has to help Jack get some broad at some diner across town.

And because Jack’s his best friend and he hasn’t seen him in years due to Jack’s stint in the Army and his insane touring schedule, Elvis bags off his family and Dixie (poor, lovely Dixie) and jumps in the Caddy to head to this diner across town. He figures he’s gotta eat anyway, so might as well get some time in with an old friend, and it’ll be a bonus if he can help ole’ Jacky Boy get some tail.

Absolutely exhausted from gallivanting all over the South, playing sold-out shows, and doing other things he’ll never tell his mama about, he drags himself into the diner, hands stuffed in the pockets of his big wool coat. Good old Jacky sees him coming and leaps out of the booth to give him a big, manly hug.

Elvis can both see and feel the change in Jack. There’s a bravado to him now, an air of machismo that is new. He’s broader and more muscular than the boy who enlisted right after graduation instead of waiting for the draft to get him. And Elvis gets it—Jack didn’t have much to stay for, what with his father being such a mean drunk and him having no special skills to speak of. Jack figured, why not just get it over with?

Even though Jack’s only a little over four months older than Elvis, he was a grade ahead in school, but that discrepancy never mattered much to either of them.

“Look at ya, ya sonnofabitch! Finally got some meat on those bones!” Jack says gleefully, slapping him on the back.

“And you’re as ugly as ever,” Elvis shoots back with a smile, sliding into the red booth.

“Damn, man, I’m hearin’ your songs all over the radio. Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it when I got home and every station I turned on was your warbling ass,” Jack teases in a congratulatory tone.

“Honestly, I’m so damn tired I could sleep for a week, but we’re back out on the road tomorrow,” he replies.

“What happened to that scrawny, shy kid who’d only play in the dark, huh? I’d be scared shitless to get up in front of all those people! Now you’re playin’ all the time…I just can’t believe it, man,” Jack shakes his head.

Elvis shrugs, “Can’t really ‘splain it. It’s like the biggest rush ya could ever have and it just overpowers the fear. The crowds are wild though—never knew chicks could be so crazy.”

“Oh, I bet you are just drowning in it, ain’t ya?” Jack says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Elvis shrugs nonchalantly but his lip curls up into a mischievous grin as he looks out the window. He was indeed taking advantage of his newfound popularity with the girls, almost to an insatiable extent. He’d done good resisting in those first few months, knowing he had Dixie waiting for him at home, wanting to be faithful to her, wanting to be a good Christian boy. But damn, the more he was on the road and the higher the highs of his performances, he just needed a way to wind down at the end of the night. And there were just so many pretty girls literally tearing themselves apart to get to him.

In the end, he hadn’t been strong enough to resist. He knew cheating on Dixie was wrong, and he felt terrible about it, having her waiting here at home for him like she was, but with every show he was learning that he wasn’t gonna be giving any of this up any time soon. No, he wanted to take this as far as he could go, and while a small part of him wanted to hang on to the idea of starting a family with Dixie, a bigger part knew that wasn’t in the cards, not anymore.

“Speakin’ of, what the hell am I doin’ here? You suddenly forget how to talk to girls while in the service?” Elvis ribs, yet truly wants to know.

Jack lowers his voice to a hush and leans in, his eyes darting up every so often to make sure he’s not overheard. “No, man, but this girl, she’s different, I’m tellin’ ya. This ain’t about gettin’ laid. I don’t know what to say, I walked in here right off the train my first day home and it was like the goddamned heavens opened. Every time I try an’ talk to her, I just get all tongue tied like an idiot. I figure, you were always good with talkin’ to girls in general, so I need your help buddy.”

“You’ve got it bad, man. She must be a real looker,” he says, shooting up an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. She’s smart…oh, shit, here she comes! Be cool,” Jack hisses, leaning back too casually, a dumb grin spreading over his face. Elvis can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his friend being so head over heels for a girl he barely knows. He leans back, taking a much more relaxed and subtle stance than his friend, one that has been well practiced these past few months, as the waitress comes up from behind him to take their orders.

If nothing else, watching Jack be a dumb shit is entertaining, he thinks.

The waitress bounces over and Elvis rolls his eyes slowly up her body, taking in every lovely curve along the way.

“Oh, hi, Jack! I see you’ve got a friend with you today.”

Elvis freezes, his eyes reaching your face just as you start speaking and look over at him.

It’s you.

Holy shit, it’s you.

His brain short-circuits. He hasn’t seen you since he graduated a year and a half ago. And damn if you don’t look prettier than ever, all grown up and filled out in all the right places, your smile brightening the room.

His lips part as his mouth drops, he can’t help it.

“Um, yeah, y/n, this, uh, this is my friend Elvis,” Jack stumbles over the introduction, looking to Elvis for help. But in this moment, Elvis feels utterly useless, every ounce of confidence he’s gained in the past year draining out of him all at once.

His heart gallops in his chest, and he sits up straighter. He can see you looking over him expectantly, eyes narrowing as if trying to place him. He knows he shouldn’t care if you remember him, but by god, if you don’t, he thinks he might be crushed. But he’s also aware he’s different, too. He’s filled out and his hair’s darker, and why in the hell would you remember him from all those years ago anyway? You’d barely spoken to each other in four years.

“Elvis…” His name drags and plays on your tongue in a way that makes his toes tingle. “Like that singer?”

Of course, that’s how you recognize him, he thinks. But at least you know of him, even if it’s not in the way he wishes. He decides to lean into being “Elvis” because maybe that’ll make him feel less like an awkward high schooler and more like a cool cat. Regardless, the shyness he’d felt for being odd in high school is now mostly gone, and his unique style is part of the reason he was garnering so much attention these days. His confidence, especially with the ladies, is ever-growing. He knows he’s getting to be hot shit in the South and now has an image to live up to. There is no space for shy Elvis Presley here in this diner, for all the reasons. So, he manages to turn up the dial on his Southern charm, forcing himself to relax in your presence.

“Well, Miss y/n, seein’ as I never met another man with that name, I suppose, yes, like that singer,” he responds with a coy smile.

“Aw, don’t let him trick ya with that modesty. This here’s the one and only Elvis Presley,” Jack kicks him under the table, the message clear: Use your fame to help me out.

Your face lights up a little at that, which has a little flutter rolling in his empty stomach. “Now, Jack, you never told me you were friends with a celebrity,” she teases, her attention divided between the two men.

Elvis has to very consciously remind himself that he is here to help Jack, not steal you out from under him, but it is taking everything in him not to reach over and play with the hem of your skirt and tell you just how much he wants to take you home to his mama, Dixie be damned.

Jack smiles almost giddily, obviously pleased with your attention. “Well, I’m not one to go showin’ off or nothin’,” he says self-deprecatingly.

Elvis rolls his eyes at that.

“Well, my sister is gonna be beside herself when I tell her who came in tonight. She’s thirteen and might be your biggest fan, Elvis,” you say cheerily. He notices you aren’t completely beside your own self over him being here, which he has some mixed feelings about. On the one hand, he desperately wants your attention and admiration, but on the other hand, it’s kinda nice that you aren’t fawning all over him. It makes you even more appealing somehow.

“So, what can I get ya?” you ask, taking out your pen and paper, looking from man to man.

“I’ll have a hamburger, well done, please, and one of your vanilla milkshakes,” Elvis says, unable to take his eyes off you.

“I’ll have the same, except the burger medium rare, like a real man,” Jack jokes, poking fun at Elvis’ picky eating habits. Thankfully, you don’t react, and Elvis can’t help but kick the shit out of Jack’s shin.

Jack winces.

“Hmm, why do I get the feeling that you two are gonna be trouble?” you smile knowingly at them, pointing at each with the top of your pen. “I’ll be back with those in a jif. Try not to kill each other before I get back.” You bounce away and both men turn to watch.

“No promises, honey,” Elvis calls after you.

“Y’see what I mean, don’tcha? Ain’t she just special somehow?” Jack whispers excitedly, totally gone over you.

Oh, Elvis knows intimately how special you are, but he can’t say it, so he settles for a, “Yeah, man, she seems great,” and tries not to feel sullen about how he’s got to be Jack’s wingman for his own dream girl.

They shoot the shit, and he does his best to get Jack talking to you when you come by, even though it’s hard because he wants you for himself. It’s painful having to keep himself so in line, his heart cinching in his chest every time you come by to check on them. That’s when Elvis knows he’s in deep trouble. He reminds himself often that he is off the market anyway, at least when here at home in Memphis.

He promised to help Jack out, and so he will, even if it kills him.

“I gotta take a leak, man,” Jack says after the food is finished, scooting out of the booth.

You sashay over to clear the plates, and Elvis can’t help but stare as you lean over the table. Your eyes dart to his and he swears he sees a hint of pink on your cheeks. Warmth spreads across his chest and he tries not to avert his eyes. Any other girl he would confidently ogle, so he tries his best to stay the course.

“Y’ know, I’m not sure how you do it,” you say, breaking some of the tension as you stand over him, hands full of dishes.

“Do what, honey?” he drawls, raising only his eyes. Now that Jack’s gone, he’s laying it on thick and can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Not when it’s you.

You shift your weight, but otherwise ignore his advance, much to his chagrin. You’re probably used to getting hit on by customers. “Getting up in front of those big crowds, all those people, and singing like that. I could never,” you shake your head.

A split second and he decides to play his hand, mostly because he has to know, just has to, so leaning back confidently, he drawls again, “Oh, well, a pretty girl once told me you just hafta picture ‘em all naked.” A slow grin spreads across his face.

Your eyes widen as it hits you. He watches you carefully, cataloguing your expression as you remember, your eyes travelling over him quickly, trying to reconcile your memory of him with the man in front of you. Your cheeks go rosy, and he relishes in the fact that he’s the reason.

“Well, damn, I guess I give really good advice,” you finally say, a little breathless, with a shake of your head.

Elvis can’t help the loud laughter that escapes him at that. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but you surprise him with your quip. You smile back at him, proud of yourself. The smile makes him feel special somehow, like he’s the only guy in the world.

“You’re really somethin’ else, y/n,” he says, his laughter dying down and being replaced too quickly by the awe he always seems to feel in your presence.

Something flashes over your face, something he can’t quite interpret. “Right back atcha, Elvis Presley,” you respond, and there’s something in the softness of your voice and in the way your big eyes stare straight into his that sends electricity zinging down his spine.

Then, as he watches as you walk away, he knows with absolute certainty that this won’t be the last time you see him.

Till I waltz again with you Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

And it isn’t. In fact, Elvis somehow manages to stop into the diner nearly every time he is home from then on out. Sure, Jack is his best excuse, but he also rounds up the band and Sam and even Dixie once or twice to go to this great diner he “just happened to find.”

Once he knows you are more often than not going to be there because it’s your family’s place, he wants to go frequently, and Jack is thrilled because the man might be more entranced with you than he is.

It’s not long that being friendly customers turns into being friends. Even when they find out you’ve got a serious boyfriend (because of course you do), neither him nor Jack is much dissuaded by the fact. Elvis would much rather have you in his life as a friend than not at all, and Jack is somewhat delusional in thinking you’ll drop your boy for him.

And while Elvis wants more than anything in the world to have you all to himself, he knows it’s likely not in the cards, at least not now, and maybe not ever. Not with the boy you want to marry you ever so close and Jack waiting in the wings like a puppy. And certainly not when he is running himself ragged with tours and recording, with his very real dreams of stardom so near he can taste them. But, as reality shows when he and Dixie finally part ways in late spring, it is no kind of life for a successful relationship.

So, he has to be content with watching you walk away with someone else, knowing he can’t have you, even though those electric shocks go through him every single damn time he sees you.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in early March 1956

March 1956

Elvis’ career takes off so dramatically that he barely has time to process his good fortune. In the moments when he’s not traveling, recording, touring, or appearing on television, he relishes the somewhat normalcy of hanging out with friends and family. It’s steadily getting harder for him to go out without being bombarded by fans, but he generally enjoys the attention. He’s grateful for his fans and for his budding success, though sometimes it feels so overwhelming he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There are moments when he desperately wants to be still and alone but when he finally has a moment to himself, it feels like the world is closing in on him.

It’s one of these moody, antsy nights that he finds himself at your doorstep, without anyone else in tow. The last time this happened was the night he signed his contract with RCA. You’d been the first person outside of family he wanted to share the news with and without a thought, he’d ditched everyone else and showed up at the diner in his fancy suit, uncharacteristically lifting you up in a hug and spinning you around in his exuberance.

But the mood tonight is decidedly less enthusiastic. He’s tired but hasn’t been able to sleep in what feels like days, pressure pushing in on him from all sides. Usually he didn’t mind, taking it all in stride as part of his new life, but tonight he was worn and restless, his body vibrating with energy that has no outlet.

When he feels like this, he gets needy. He’s already the sort of guy that thrives on physical touch, but in the state he’s in, it’s a necessity rather than a preference. Normally, he might go out with a girl and fool around a bit, but the idea of having to charm and swoon and put on airs right now feels impossible. But he knows he needs a woman’s touch to soothe him and that’s how he finds himself here, alone, knocking on your door.

Your eyes widen with surprise when you open the door and then soften with concern at the state of him, near pitiful with the dark circles rimming his eyes, his body slumped against the door frame, and his pallor a sickly pale.

God, he just wants to weep at the welcome sight of you.

You quickly and quietly usher him inside. By some merciful twist of fate, you are alone. Your mother and sister are out of town visiting relatives and your father is working late at the diner.

This visit should be awkward but isn’t—it’s as though he has been dropping by your house alone and unannounced your whole lives with the way you receive him, and for this he is thankful. And perhaps this is why everything seems to hit him at once, a wave of anxiety rolling over him so strongly that he can barely speak as you lead him to the couch.

It’s suddenly all too much, this feeling of responsibility towards his family and friends and fans. He’s overworked and overtired and the panic of his rising success has him shaking before you, his heart beating too fast and his breathing too shallow, making him dizzy and lightheaded. As he hyperventilates, you hum at him softly, prompting him to put his head between his knees while rubbing circles on his back. Tears leak from his eyes, staining his cheeks and where he leans his head against his forearms on his knees. He too worked up to even be embarrassed by how completely raw and vulnerable he is before you.

With very few words, you just seem to know what’s happening. You don’t ask him to explain or to defend his feelings, you just accept them for what they are and accept him for all that he is. There are no expectations. He feels incredibly relieved by that.

As he eventually starts to calm, he falls over, exhausted, laying his head in your lap. He feels your slight hesitation, but only for a second, before your fingers begin to cart through his hair. He cannot help the small whimpering moan that escapes his lips at the tenderness of the gesture, one he so desperately needs in this moment.

You are exactly what he needs, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to deny that right now.

Perhaps that is why, once his breathing slows and he feels himself start to fade away into drowsiness that he turns in your lap and asks what he does.

“Can I stay?” he breathes, begging, looking up into your beautiful eyes. The plea is not full of lust, yet there is an open-endedness to it that he doesn’t hide, as his need for your comfort in any way you will give it to him is his prerogative. He cares for you far more that he dares to admit and cannot resist the pull of your soul to his, not tonight.

He watches your face carefully, seeing your brow furrow in the slightest and how you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. Propriety says you shouldn’t dare go there—you both know this—but at this point he’s not beyond batting his long lashes at you hopefully and a little mournfully.

“Oh, alright,” you finally concede, “but you need to be quiet as a mouse. I don’t know when Daddy will be home. And no funny business, Presley.” You point at him playfully, but there is a seriousness to your tone that makes him nod to give you reassurance. Exhaustion and moodiness cloud the way his heart wants to soar at this development of trust between you two, but he is too worn out to even muster a joke about the situation. That and he admires you too much to do anything that might jeopardize your blossoming friendship.

And with that settled, he raises from his all too comforting position in your lap. Much to his dismay, he’s unsteady on his feet, his attack having drained him of what little remaining energy he had, but you are quick to come to his side and walk him through the house to your room.

This doesn’t stop an unintentional tension from building, however, as you enter your room with him held close. He waits for you, wanting to follow your lead, wanting you to be comfortable, though he would just as soon collapse on your single bed without another thought.

You turn to him as though not exactly sure what to do next, your mouth opening then closing quickly, and he suddenly wants to kiss you so damn badly it’s painful. But it’s not the first time he’s felt that way in your presence, and probably won’t be the last, but then again, it never has been just the two of you alone in your bedroom before.

“I…I’ll be right back, I’m just going to…to go change,” you stammer, grabbing what is likely a nightgown out of your dresser. “Um, make yourself comfortable.” Then you escape into the hallway beyond, and he can’t help the little smile that plays at his lips in your wake.

He takes the moment alone to remove his coat and jacket and slip off his shoes and socks, folding them neatly at the end of the bed. He hesitates for a moment with his shirt and pants, but as emotionally wrought as he is, all he can think of is the calm feeling of being near you and ends up stripping down to his boxers and undershirt. Figuring he can always put them back on if it eases your mind, he then sits on the edge of the bed and waits.

It's not long before you come back, clad in a pretty white nightgown with little blue flowers all over it, your hair all brushed out and face washed pink. His heart actually skips at the sight. You look gorgeous and he has to remind himself that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here for you, yes, but not in that way. Luckily, his exhaustion overrides that sort of thinking rather quickly—he’s not sure he could do much in this state, even if you wanted to. You shut the door quietly behind you, even though there is no one else home to hear.

The air in the room feels heavy with potential and he can sense your trepidation as you turn back towards him and sit near him on the edge of the bed. His body begins to drag with sleep, the comfort of your arms and your bed beckoning to him. Finally, he chooses to break the silence.

“I’m not going to hurt you...I would never do that. I promise I won’t touch you like that. I just want to—” he says softly.

“I know, Elvis,” you interrupt quietly, “It’s okay. I know.” And your eyes are so big and sweet and open to him that it nearly makes him want to start crying all over again. Part of him wishes he didn’t need you like this, that you didn’t have to see him in this moment of weakness, but part of him is glad it is you. It could only be you, really, that he would give this part of himself to, he realizes, though he’s not entirely sure why. It’s that strange, unspoken bond between you two that has lingered under the surface from the beginning. This almost unreasonable need to take care of each other even when it doesn’t always make sense.

Once you climb under the covers and invite him to join you, he falls in next to you faster than you can blink. The bed is small which doesn’t matter much since he instantly curls close into your side as you lay on your back, notching his head into your shoulder. He can smell the soap and cold cream on your skin, and he drapes his arm over your midsection as though he’s done it a million times before. You stiffen at the contact at first, but then he feels you relax, your head leaning onto his, eventually running your fingers soothingly over his arm.

Yes, this is what he needs, he thinks dreamily, feeling like he can finally breathe again. And it’s not long before he drifts off into a deep slumber, surrounded by your comforting scent and warmth.

It’s the gray early morning light peeking through your white curtains that has him stirring awake, and it takes him a good minute to figure out where he is and who he is with, a feeling he is all too used to considering how much he’s on the road. But waking in some seedy motel in the middle of Texarkana in the arms of some random chick from the night before is not anything like waking in your cozy little bed, your warm body pressed back into his.

There is a care here with you that he yearns for, positively aches for, but did not realize he wanted or needed until this very moment. He is surrounded by the sweet smell of your silky hair, the warm softness of your bare legs against his convincing him that everything about this situation is just right. In his sleepy, unthinking haze, he pulls you closer, spooning you tightly into him, thinking he could just stay here forever, blissfully unaware yet of why he shouldn’t do so.

Until his virile, 21-year-old body reminds him, that is.

Perhaps it is the drowsy little sigh that escapes your lips in the same moment you unconsciously wiggle back against him that does it. Suddenly, he is very much awake, in more ways than one.

A stupid, instinctually carnal part of him very much wants to lift the hem of your nightgown up higher than it is already bunched and slide himself right between your inviting, bare thighs and into your heat, and dear god, that thought has him unraveling himself from you quicker than lightning.

Aw, hell.

He rolls over and sits up too fast, forcing himself to think of anything and everything but how you are lying in that bed so invitingly near. He closes his eyes against the brightness of day and breathes a few deep breaths before reaching for his clothes at the end of the bed.

A lesser man might allow himself to slide back into that bed, but by god, he swore he wouldn’t touch you like that and he refuses to take advantage when you’ve been so good to him. This thought, more than anything, sobers him as he puts his clothes on.

“El…Elvis? Are you okay?”

Oh, the way your sweet little voice sounds all clouded with sleep has him biting his lip so hard he nearly draws blood.

“Yeah, baby, it’s all good. Go back to sleep, honey,” he whispers, finishing the buttons on his shirt as quick as he can.

The domesticity of this little scene coupled with the ache in his groin has every damn cell in his body wanting to get back in that bed, and maybe if it wasn’t you, he would. But it is you. And as desperately as he wants this, he respects you too much to let his hormones get the best of him.

So, before he can change his mind, he kisses the top of your head for a little too long, breathing in the scent of you one last time, then puts on his shoes, grabs his coat, and climbs out the window, escaping into the dawn.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

His thoughts drift to you all day. He doesn’t even want to change or shower because the smell of you still lingers on his clothes, on his skin. The unfamiliar feeling of being so well rested and content has him singing and smiling all day, prompting his mama to ask him, with a knowing eye, exactly where he was last night.

And this gets him thinking about how much he would love to wake up beside you every damn day if he could, how amazing that would feel, and about how maybe, just maybe, it’s possible that he can.

Ted is out of the picture, and it’s been long enough now that you’ve moved on through the heartbreak. You’ve even casually dated a little bit, though no one has seriously caught your eye.

But then there is Jack, who is still pining hopelessly over you, refusing to make a move. And Jack is one of his best friends. It wouldn’t be right to sweep you off your feet right out from under his nose. He knows he could do it, too, and not just because he’s cocky in his growing fame. After last night, he just knows somewhere deep in his soul that if he asked, you’d be his.

And he wouldn’t even consider it except now he’s had a taste of you, of your sweetness and your comfort and your care and goddamn it, your smell is still all over him.

Well, shit or get off the pot, Jack, he thinks, because I ain’t waitin’.

He works himself up into it, trying not to think about all the obstacles in the way, namely his career and how it’ll take him far away from you, but in this endorphin-fueled moment, none of that matters. Only you matter, that and how you make him feel like he’s on cloud nine and how now that he knows what it’s like to wake up next to you, he knows he wants that again and again for as long as possible.

In truth, if he’d stop long enough to really think on it, he’s known it for a long time.

He’ll catch you at the end of your shift tonight. He buys a bouquet of flowers and everything. Energy pulses through him all day, sending his fingers tapping and his legs bouncing so much that his mama tells him to go run it off. Junior and Gene and Red think maybe he’s lost his mind because he’s even more restless than usual.

Finally, after a full day of working himself up into a near frenzy, he jumps in the Caddy and heads to the diner, ready to make you his.

But when Elvis parks in front and looks through the window of the car and into the diner, he sees Jack has gotten there ahead of him. He sees Jack holding your hand and then kissing it, pulling you into the booth next to him. He sees the lovely way you blush and smile in response.

And then he watches as Jack pulls you into him for a long, lingering kiss on the cheek. The way your eyes flutter closed tells him all he needs to know.

Fuck.

He’s too damn late.

Jealousy roars through him as he sees his best friend touching you, touching you when it should be him, not Jack, doing so. He can’t help but feel the memory of your body pressed so perfectly against his just mere hours ago. At that, at the thought of never having that part of you ever again, Elvis’ heart breaks into little pieces. He rests his forehead against the top of the steering wheel, unable to look at the romantic little scene before him.

This is how it was always supposed to be, he tries to convince himself. It was always Jack who was pursuing you, not him. And the worst fucking part is that he knows that Jack can give you something he can’t: Jack can be there for you, stable and sure, with you in the same damn city every damn day.

He cares for you, but he knows that his career is taking him places you cannot follow. And it wouldn’t be fair of him to ask you to put your life on permanent pause for him, no matter how desperately he wants you, no matter how deeply he believes that there is something powerful drawing you two towards each other with every breath.

He cares enough for you that he realizes, at least for now, that he has to let you go.

Friendship it is, then.

My light, my light I will keep my promise true Till I waltz again with you

Elvis in 1956

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shzmluvrs · 11 months

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The Disconnect

Prompt: My random headcanon that pretty much just focuses on that odd... difference in vibe between Billy as himself vs when he's in his superhero form.

Timeline: Both movies

TW/Content: None, just me talking just to talk fr

Reader: None

Requested By: My damn self😼🫶🏽

Back to Master List

So like, duh, Moon and I have like... constant headcannons for like, every single person ever in the Shazam movies. And I did plan to write/list 'em out and post at some point. But this one is my biggest one, so I think it deserves its own post🤷🏽‍♀️.

Anyone who's seen just either one of the movies is pretty aware of that... weird little (but noticeable) disconnect between Asher Angel's Billy Batson and Zachary Levi's Shazam. Asher is a damn good Billy, while Zachary... he's good at being Shazam and acting like a kid who doesn't know what he's doing (which is the overall plot, ofc), but I just can't/don't believe him to be Asher's Billy, if that makes sense (??).

So, while yes, this is a little jarring for viewers, if you're anything like me, you know it's kind of not the end of the world and can be bypassed/looked over. Fixed, even, if had been given the proper attention to do such. And what better way to do that than through some good ol' writer brain🤷🏽‍♀️?

My in-media headcanon for why Billy acts so differently in his super-powered adult form is because he simply just becomes heaps more confident. He knows he's invincible to most things, he's got all these different and god-like powers and abilities, etcetc... So natrually, with those things comes an overwhelming and amazing sense of security, right? Therefore, leading to a surging amount of both confidence/ego and recklessness that you might not see come from some vulnerable, hard-knock-life-stricken, defensive kid.

It also gives him more freedom to come out of his shell (almost forces him to, really), hence why it becomes so much easier for him to talk to/interact with others while he's in his adult form. He almost wants to, because of that classic teenage boy need to show off (for the ladiesss😼🫶🏽⚡️). He gains the chance to actually be a kid, frfr, because he had to grow up and learn to care for himself so soon. Because, hell, it's not like he knew if his powers were a privilege he was gonna get to keep🤷🏽‍♀️. Gotta make the most of it.

Not to mention, poor boy has probably felt all alone and helpless all his life. Constantly having to do things on his own, constantly worried about how he's gonna get by and/or where he's gonna end up next. These abilities are like a free "out", if ykwim. He can essentially do whatever he wants, go wherever he wants now that he can just fly off somewhere...

I'd be eager to run around and do the most over the top shit, too, if it had been me. As Freddy once said, "I'd kill to have what you have...".

Plus, I mean, he is a teenager. A teenage boy, at that. I'm pretty sure no matter how hard and tall you've set up your shell, at the end of the day, if you randomly got superpowers n shit, you'd act a little bit out of normal character, too. Especially if your "normal character" are/is a bunch of walls n shit you've built up to protect yourself from the things that, you now no longer have to, because again... SUPERPOWERS!!

So, to try and wrap this all up, I, personally, am one to believe there's nothing a fanfic or a headcanon can't fix, hence... this lmao. And that's pretty much my way to try and fix/make sense of that disconnect between acting styles so I can properly hyperfixate in peace lmfao. And hopefully, now that you've seen this, you can, too :).

Okay, the end, that's it, goodbye🫶🏽😼.

Headcannons on all characters to come relatively soon, y'all, I promise🫡💕.

~ Star✨️

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tlbodine · 1 year

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A PSA Written While Taking a Break from Cleaning My Home (because I am old and my knees need a rest)

If there is one thing that being in my thirties has finally taught me, it's this: If there's something in your day-to-day life that you are really struggling with, some seemingly simple and obvious task that you feel stupid or incompetent for not being able to do like everybody else, that paralyzes you with shame, or that you feel the need to beat yourself up over to tough-love your way into accomplishing it...

...there's probably an obstacle between you and completing it, and a practical solution for that specific obstacle.

In other words, the solution to "I can't fix this problem" is absolutely never going to be "I need to verbally abuse myself into somehow being a better person with more energy/willpower/work ethic."

The solution is almost always going to be, "I need an accommodation that might look a little different from what I perceive as 'normal' but suits my needs just fine."

Because, first of all, and I say this with my whole chest as someone who works in the advertising industry: fuck normal. "Normal" is a lie sold to you by advertisers and Hollywood taste-makers (who are often also advertisers) and lifestyle influencers (who are definitely also advertisers). "Normal" standards for how you should look and how your house should be kept and everything else? Those are set by folks who want to sell you things, so throw those expectations right out the window.

Instead, ask yourself with 100% honesty: What is actually the thing holding me back here? Physically, practically, specifically, what is the actual thing that is stopping me from getting the result that I want?

Because once you dig down deep into it, sometimes the answer is way simpler than you think it is.

Sometimes it's "The cord to the steam mop isn't long enough" (you can buy a cordless one!)

Or "Trash keeps piling up on end tables" (your garbage cans probably aren't in the right place!)

Or "My counter tops are covered in clutter so I can't even clean the surface" (you could buy some cute containers to give all your clutter a home!)

You would be frankly astonished at just how many personal failings and character flaws can actually be overcome with 1.) devices made for making specific tasks easier 2.) decorative containers to stash stuff in 3.) better-quality products (that require less effort on your part)

And yeah, I 100% will acknowledge that sometimes your house (or whatever) gets super grimy because you're too depressed to deal with it, or because you can't afford the things that would make it easier to deal with.

But you know what? That's not your fault, either.

Why the hell are you judging yourself against a standard set by people who aren't (in that moment) paralyzed by mental illness or poverty? That's not very fair. You should be nicer to yourself.

And then, when you can tackle it again, you can start building things into your routine that will make your life easier. Like buying machine-washable slip-covers and rugs instead of stressing about how to shampoo furniture/carpets. Or watching a five minute YouTube video on how to clean out your dishwasher drain so your dishes get cleaned properly the first time instead of needing multiple runs through.

If something isn't working, you probably just need to learn how to fix it.

You've got this. I promise.

Now back to work for me.

#cleaning #adulting #I've been poking at this for like two hours #but it's fine #honestly it's kind of pleasant #but oops I was supposed to be offline today #*vanishes*

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emeraldcatears · 8 days

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Whether you're making your own tiles or using an existing set, there is a little bit more to using them than just placing them on the map. Here's where we get into the database.

As a refresher, you can get to the database under Tools, by pressing F9, or by selecting the gear icon at the top of the screen.

You can tell that a lot of the magic happens here because there are a lot of ways to get to it.

There's a lot in the database, but we're still focused on tiles for now so I'll pop down to the tilesets button. It'll bring up your tilesets.

As shown above, all parts of a tileset can be adjusted here, from the separate parts of the A tab through the B-E tabs (though the sample set shown here only goes through C).

Outside here is made of a few different subgroups so a set can mix and match from your available assets for flexibility. For example, the Outside and SF Outside sets that comes with RMMZ both use the same A1 and A2 tiles but have different A3-C tiles.

Once you've got the tiles you want to work with put together, the important stuff is that column of buttons on the right. That's where you tell RPG Maker how to make the tiles behave in the game.

The first one is Passage and it actually has three possible settings.

An X, as shown on the barrel and gravestones, means that the player cannot walk on the tile. Whether it's a solid object like a building or a hole the character cannot just jump down, an X is used to prevent the player from walking where you don't want them. An O means the tile is passable and the player can walk on it, as with the clumps of grass and stepping stones.

Finally the star, as shown on the upper tile of the tree, means that the player can pass the tile and whatever is shown on the tile will appear above the player. This allows the player to walk behind tall trees or under hanging signs.

Passage (4 dir) is that but more nuanced. It's for tiles you want the player to be able to walk on in some directions but be blocked in others. Think like a bench the player can "sit" on or a bridge over a gap of land.

If I kept the passage as it was in the default settings for this set, the player would be able to walk north or south off the bridge directly onto the grass "below". Likewise they could just walk onto a bridge high "above" them from the ground and destroy the illusion of elevation in a 2D environment.

So to fix this all I have to do is go into the B tab...

... and make the bridges 4-direction passability match how I want the tile to work in-game. Now I can build bridges over land as well as over already impassable tiles like water.

Next is Ladder.

Basically, this setting being on indicates that the player will always face up when standing on this tile regardless of the direction they're moving up or down it (so you don't climb down a rope and just look like you're walking).

In XP if you wanted this effect you'd have to make direction fix events. MZ allows you to build it into the tile and call it a day.

Whether it's to indicate sinking into shallow water or trudging through deep snow (or, you know, walking through tall grass where wild Pokemon are ready to jump out), this setting makes it so the lower part of the player becomes semi-transparent when standing on the tile.

Counter is for if you want a tile to be a solid object but still allow you to interact with an event on the other side.

You can "talk" over a counter if there is a one-tile width counter between you and the event you're trying to talk to (like a businessman seated behind a desk or a shopkeeper behind their counter).

A counter will also extend the A2 autotiles a little to extend the legs down a bit to look more natural.

Damage Floor

This one's pretty neat to have built in. Damage floor is for stuff that drains HP from walking on it, such as swamps of poisonous goop.

I honestly don't remember whether this existed in XP or not.

Elsewhere in the database you can also control whether the player can reach 0HP from floor damage or if it instead only drops to 1HP. That's for later, though. We're still here for tiles. When I say I'm doing a learnalong I'm going into painful detail here.

Finally there's Terrain Tag.

Basically you get a default of 0 and up to seven other tags you can assign to tiles. Terrain tags were a big thing in determining encounters back when I played around in Pokemon Essentials (think Tall Grass) but I never played much with them otherwise. They allow custom versions of the aforementioned ways to assign special rules to a tile that automatically works when put on a map.

That last bit about priority basically refers to the layer the tile is placed on.

In other words, a table (counter) placed on layer 2 would be read by the game over whatever the floor or ground below it is. However, if a tile on a higher layer has a default 0 chosen and the ground below it has a numerical tag added, the 0 tile will be ignored in favor of the one with a terrain tag assigned.

Even if you're not building all your own resources these are pretty useful to know for if you want to change something up, like I did with the 4-directional passage on the bridges.

#emeraldcatears's rmmz learnalong blog #rpg maker #rpg maker mz #tiles in the database

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crazyexdirkfriend · 10 months

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Hiiii

I was wondering if you had any advice on writing fics? I find myself struggling with structure/timeline(?) the most

Hi! Thanks for asking! Hmm I'm not sure what tips I have for you exactly, but I'll try and explain my process.

I have two approaches myself when I write fic:

I plan meticulously. I know exactly every scene and every chapter that will be in the fic. I do an outline, I explain it, and then I write it-- sometimes in order, generally depending on what bit I want to write when to keep myself motivated. Examples of this approach: Can Town Communication Manual, Okay Cupid!, calvariæ

I come up with a concept, theme, plot premise. And then I write whatever I want, whenever I want to, and when I have a solid chunk written I start figuring out how that's all supposed to flow together and tidy it up, write the intermittent parts etc. Examples of this approach: we were something, perpetuity, eschewal

Two alternatives to those: Now and then I write a fic in one sitting, such as lunar calendar, let it linger, or vote now on your phones. And now and then something theoretically has a chapter plan or structure but I go so loosey goosey off script that it ends up not mattering at all, such as shag emotionally devastate etc. or two short hours etc.

I will admit, most of my approaches use 2. BUT. I can use 2. because I spent about 4-5 years writing only using approach 1 and can generally eyeball what something is supposed to look like. Am I always right? No. But generally I think my pacing works for what I want it for.

BUT you want advice, not me being like eh? I throw darts at a board and sometimes they stick?

Okay! So here are my guides.

One, look at a three act structure. I ganked this one from the internet.

This is how a typical movie or book or, yes, fanfiction is set up. How this works is v easy to explain for multichapters or longfics with numbers in my opinion. Take a ten chapter standard long fic.

Chapters 1-2 should introduce your characters and premise, and involve your inciting incident- ie, what idea is dropped into the narrative that is going to make the rest of this plot roll out.

Chapters 3-4 should get your ball rolling. The plot should be happening, characters should be introduced, your quest should be underway.

Chapter 5 (and maybe one before or after) is where stakes should be getting high, the action is rising, the tension is occuring. Things are starting to get into action.

Chapter 6 or 7 should have a new plot point or a twist in the tale. Something goes very wrong or very right. A battle results in a huge victory and our hero is cocky. Or they lose a football game and it's a huge blow. Some wedge comes between our favourite ship- and they're going to need to confront it. This is often where a couple hook up for the first time in romances- that can be done well, it's often cliche, but hey fanfiction in general is. Here you can also have the calm before the storm too- things can be going wrong, but they can also be going well! Too well.

Chapter 8 is your conflict climax, the culmination of what you've been building up to. This is often where your ship will realise they have a seemingly irreconcilable difference, or they'll have a dispute that leads to a breakdown. An earlier betrayal can be revealed! In non romances, your hero can realise they've been fighting for a lie, they can be taken off the football team for something, their friends can abandon them. You know this part in a movie- it's where the music builds and you start to feel sick with stress. Or at least I do.

Chapter 9 is your resolution, your falling action. If you're going to fix things, this is where you do it. This is your resolution climax-- if your protagonist is going to, hm, chase their love interest through an airport to propose or confess their undying love or apologise for all their misdeeds, this is where they do it.

Chapter 10 is your quiet end, your new beginning: your epilogue if you will. Or, since this is fanfiction, this is often where you stick the sex scene but I often find that can be tonally jarring. Up to you!

Now you may be thinking: JEEZ that's awfully rigid. Well that's for math structure nerds like me who need to get their pacing down. That is to be taken not as gospel, but as a very basic "yes this is proven to work, if needs be" structure guide. It's the structure you'll find in classic films such as Legally Blonde 2001 or Music and Lyrics 2007 (warning: music and lyrics is not a classic film). But structures ARE made to be played with and broken. But to do that you need to understand the basic structure first, and then play with it. If you don't, you'll end up with like 7 climaxes like Outbreak 1995

One shots often don't have this kind of structure. There is no conflict in perpetuity for example. There's no real resolution in shag emotionally devastate etc. That's fine! I am a big big big BIG believer that writing form is a specific skill: not every novel writer can write poetry, not every poet can write plays etc. And fanfiction allows writers to use prose in a way that doesn't work in stand-alone fiction.

Which brings us to point two: meat and candy

Ganking this from Hussie himself because it does genuinely mean something. If we take meat to be plot, form, action, and candy to mean character, relationships, dialogue, then we know that any good story has BOTH. Fanfiction can sometimes get away with being all candy (fluff fic, aus, etc) and movies often get away with being all meat (can you remember the characters in various action films?). But generally speaking? You need that balance. Without candy, I don't care about your characters enough to give a shit if one of them dies in the meat. Without meat, there are no stakes, no tension, just some characters having meaningless banter that goes nowhere.

So with structure, you need both. You need a plot that's engaging and you need enough tension, twists, stakes in that to keep readers interested. But you also need to pad that out with periods of rest for your characters to speak to each other, show us things about themselves, and show their every day lives. We'll care more when we see what's being snatched away from them.

Ideally, you interweave this. Casual conversations will drop little tidbits in that foreshadow something that will happen later in the plot. Action sequences will have little interactions that tell us something about character relationships ie. one character protecting another.

Third point, read more of what you want to write. Look, ideally we'd all broaden our horizons and watch and read loads of things from different forms and genres and we'd all be great at media literacy. But let's face it: maybe you should watch Citizen Kane, but it's probably not going to help you write your fanfiction. What WILL? Reading fanfiction.

But also. You want to write experimental prose fic? Great! Read poetry. Read experimental prose flash fiction. Watch short films at your local LGBT film festival that absolutely bewilder you. You want to write long form ship fic? Great! Read romance chick lit. Watch rom coms. How are these structured? What styles do they use? How do they show love or growing affection? Then GANK IT. I'm stealing the entire "she can't order a sandwich" bit from When Harry Met Sally as we speak.

This also works for my math friends. You love a particular long fic? Want to structure yours that well? Gank it. Copy and past a chapter and see how long it is and aim fo that word count. That fic has 3 scenes per chapter? Aim for 2-4 yourself. 6? Aim for 5-7. How many chapters does it take for the oh oh moment to occur? How many times does the main couple speak per chapter? When does their inciting incident occur? Gank. It. You can't steal a chapter structure so reference it all you want.

And all of that is to say: if you struggle with structure, you need an outline. Check the fic you want to be most like and reference how long it is, how many chapters etc. Then make a bullet point list of each chapter, then fit your plot into it. Then expand it. Expand it some more. Put every detail you need to remember into this outline. Mine are generally 1/8th of the piece's total length. Then sit on it for a week and come back to it. Make sure you're following some act template, or your approximation of it for what you're writing. Make sure each chapter has plot progression and character introspection, meat and candy.

Bonus Round!!! Some random tips

If you struggle with description (LIKE ME) write dialogue first. It's just like rping with yourself and it can help keep your character voices solid.

Try to start and end chapters on engaging notes. One liners, cliff hangers, something to keep people waiting without pissing them off. True cliffhangers (near deaths, accidents etc) are often cliche, but can be done well. But leave a reader something to chew on, something to comment on, something to hypothesise about. Or even just a line you think fucks.

Can't think of a structure? Write now, figure it out later. One shots often don't need a strict structure, like I said-- sometimes you have the luxury of writing off pure vibes if your themes and characterisation are solid.

Refer back to canon. Call back to canon in text if you have to. But it's always good to have notes for what you're trying to do thematically-- would facets of your character's character interfere with your pacing? ie. yeah okay maybe the couple sleeps together at the chapter 7 point in fanfiction a lot, but if you're writing a character who would never do that, or a character who would have done that 5 chapters ago, then consider if that takes precedence over structure or if there's a reason for this point.

Having a solid chapter plan allows for foreshadowing, even for minor things in dialogue. And this is so so so so so so so fun please don't deprive yourself of this. I am literally kicking my legs writing Okay Cupid! right now. I think there are like 7 incidents of foreshadowing in chapter one alone. I love when a plan comes together.

If you want more writing/storycraft tips and theories: Save the Cat- Blake Snyder (Scriptwriting based) The general go to book for film structure, definitely solved major holes in my script-writing Into the Woods- John Yorke (Storycraft) A classic On Writing- Stephen King (Novel) Worth a read, solved a big character quandary for my personal work

Also I follow a number of writing tumblr blogs that frequently put tips on my dash: you might find these useful too, so I recommend having a scour!

x x x x x Research semiotic theory, such as Barthes (Death of the Author, Mythologies) or Chandler (Semiotics: The Basics). Also look at intertextuality and cross-border, cross-media analysis (Such as Henry Jenkins). This is if you're feeling adventurous and want to look at thematic structure in Homestuck and apply this to your work. You can write very good fic without ever considering this, so this is an if you're interested not a you must.

Anyway that was obscenely long because I do NOT know how to structure a neat ask response, but I hope this is all of some use to you! Good luck with your fic writing, and if you've any more questions shoot them my way!

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bitletsanddrabbles · 11 months

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Tips For Portraying Allergies In Writing

There are all sorts of posts out there on how to portray things in writing. Emotions, action, dancing, being drunk, competitive ping pong, etc. And enough people have allergies that you'd think this doesn't need one...but I realized today that it kind of does. First off, there are different kinds of allergies. I can't speak to a lot of them - such as food allergies* - because I don't have that problem. Feel free to reblog this and expand. Second off, there are a lot of different symptoms for different allergies and they crop up differently in different people. For instance Mum and my cousin are both allergic to cottonwoods, but while they both have eye problems, Mum's itch and are accompanied by a scratchy throat while my cousin's just water like crazy.

So today at work as I was struggling to eat my last break snack in between breaths, I decided I'd make a post with some details of allergy suffering that are a bit more interesting than the usual 'the person with hay fever sneezed and looked through watery eyes'.

Here we go. Feel free to use any of this, to add to it, to provide medical reasoning, to commiserate, whatever.

You can develop allergies. I feel like most people know this, but it bears repeating because it can be an interesting detail. When I was younger, I went through a phase where orange juice made me break out in a rash, but that went away. I was first tested for actual allergies in my 20s and had nothing. I am now allergic to dust mites and grass pollen. I had a former coworker who developed an allergy to chocolate...which she loved. You can have lots of character angst with this! Also people who have known you for a long time frequently display a certain degree of surprise unless they've gone through a similar experience.

Everyone knows how to cure allergies. EVERYONE. The second you say you're suffering, you will be treated to an endless barrage of 'Oh, use this steroid spray! It fixes everything!", "You need X brand of saline nasal spray. It's the only thing that works!", "Have you tried Y brand antihistamine? I swear by it!" Never fails. Now, if you've developed your allergies, it's best to listen to all of this and look into it. I've tried all of the above except the nasal sprays because I am super leery of anything that might mess with my sense of smell. The saline sprays don't work for me, but I've found one brand of antihistamine that...helps. Usually. Depending on the day. Once you've been dealing with them for awhile, though, you've heard most everything and the whole things just gets very annoying.

Meds can stop working. This can be abrupt or gradual, but when there's only one thing that works for you, it sucks big time.

Symptoms are generally not consistent. They will be better or worse depending on the time of day. They will change over the course of the allergy attack. I'm not sure all of the reasons for this. A lot of people have problems in the morning, when allergens have managed to settle in their system overnight (and if your problem is dust mites, bedding is a huge place for them!). I also get them really bad at night, to the point that when I first started having problems a coworker was convinced I needed to dust my bedroom because nothing I said could convince her that 'night' meant 'after sunset regardless of location' and not 'in bed'.

Combining the last two points, the meds that work well on one set of symptoms may not do so well on later ones. Last Wednesday when the pollen level spiked and I woke up in the middle of the night unable to breathe, one pill had me back to normal. The next two and a half days were itchy eyes, low grade sinus pressure, and just enough post nasal drip to be uncomfortable and make my throat scratch, but it would have been So Much Worse without the meds! As we've moved past that stage and into the 'well, there's not much actual pressure, but my sinuses are packed with concrete and I sound like it', they've stopped doing anything, which is super annoying. Why? See the next point.

As stated above, it's quite common to have allergy laden characters sneeze every time they're near an open window, but somehow, unless it's a cartoon, they never pull out a handkerchief or grab a facial tissue to deal with the after math. I've four handkerchiefs that need washing from the past three days at work. People really don't address other issues. Having to sleep with your mouth open, which leads to bad tastes, dehydration, poor sleep, etc., for instance. Or, the one I alluded to in the intro - having to choose between breathing comfortably and eating. One of the reasons soup is such a good go to at this point is that you don't have to chew, so the fact you basically have to inhale, intake food, swallow, exhale, inhale again is a bit more doable. Actual chewy foods are terrible and eating neatly with your mouth closed is not happening, sorry. Brushing your teeth is also incredibly unpleasant.

Year round allergies can still have 'seasons'. Dust mites, for instance, see upswings in autumn, when everyone turns on their heating units and leaves are falling everywhere, etc., and spring...which I believe is mating season. I know my doctor told me why that one, but I can't quite remember. Pretty sure it was mating season.

While having people give you 'must use' remedies is annoying, there is still a certain comfort in other allergy sufferers, especially ones who show the same symptoms in much the same manner. One of my coworkers who also has grass allergy asked me a question today in a not-quite-so-nasally-but-still-congested voice and immediately responded with recognition and sympathy to the tone of my reply. We spent a good several minutes comparing notes and yup, same symptoms start to finish. Misery does indeed love company.

And that's all I'm being able to scrape out of my sinuses brain right now. I may add more later, as things progress, or other people say things that remind me of other things or...you know. Whatever. In the meantime, I hope someone finds this useful.

*it's worth noting that while I'm not actually allergic to food, I have a weird and annoyingly inconsistent sensitivity to tomato products. Pizza sauce has never bothered me, but tomato based spaghetti sauces run the gamut from 'fine' to 'my lips tingle' to 'I have a mouth full of fire ants that have flayed the skin off of my tongue'. The same product will give different results on different days, although fortunately the last one only happened twice when well meaning friends served me 'nice organic tomato sauce'. Best guess is it's something to do with the acidity.

#writing tips #writing advice #allergies #seasonal allergies #grass pollen #character development

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pocket-deer-boy · 1 year

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thinking about how miserably bad my little pony G5 is and how much better it would've been if they just decided not to try to canonize it as taking place in the same world as G4.

Like it's bad enough as is, being tied to simultaneously releasing as both a youtube series AND a netflix series which are both dubiously canon to one another for some ungodly reason (as in, SOMETIMES events from the youtube series carry over to the netflix one and vice versa, but sometimes they aren't? and they like. forget major events, or character development happens in one that doesn't carry over to the other, it's a mess. It results in a Netflix show where characters will seemingly pull objects out of their ass because they made or received them in the youtube show, but it's so poorly integrated it feels like a total asspull every single time. Don't fucking do that.) but on top of that they also wanna canonize this mess of a show to friendship is magic?

G4 has fucking 200+ 22 minute episodes. It ran for 9 seasons in just under 10 years. There's going to be continuity errors, basically guaranteed. Even it by itself has some continuity errors, and yet still it managed to hold itself together even between a spinoff series. But like you've got a whole new concept with new writers and staff too. You're already setting yourself up for disaster and the moment they revealed this fact I was already immediately skeptical about their ability to pull of *literally anything* by making it a sequel series. And boy howdy they fucked it up fast!

Now you've got not just the restraint of trying to write two shows that air on separate platforms at the same time in different formats, but *also* you're tasked with following up a DENSE BEAST of a series that's beloved by a sizeable audience of (among others) autistic adults who where stupidly obsessed with it and chronicled all the lore of the colorful horse show.

The solution they came up with is. They don't have one! Magic is nonsense now and will do whatever the plot currently demands. Need a problem to happen? Magic. Need to fix a problem but don't know how? Magic! The music is largely generic forgettable pop fluff. The show can't tie its own world together, let alone tie itself to the previous generation. It's implied some great calamity race war happened but the writers really really like to pussyfoot around it so it kind of just seemed to happen for no reason. And wow the show is bad at teaching about prejudice! Like really bad! The show is bad! It's just bad!

It's like. I've never seen a product that feels simultaneously cynical and yet also bafflingly incompetent at pleasing literally anyone. They put 0 pussy into it i think that's the problem

#idk if this whole thing is gonna be interesting to anyone #i've just been sittin on these frustrations for a while #MLP FIM was so good :(

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creation-help · 2 years

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OMG i just saw you saw it !!! Dang tumblr and its faulty notification system !!! Aaaa I'm so glad you enjoyed my silly rambles :'] and yeah, Solaris is literally just a bag of skittles that controls everything and everyone is like "yeah that guy seems reasonable, that guy is a god for sure"

As for the Celestial Managers- They are often separate entities from Vessels, and while now looking back I see I worded it a bit vaguely, the difference between them lies in the very concept of their existence: Managers exist to serve their respective God, organize and help respond to any kind of needed influences over the Mortal realm (Which is why many Mortalis classified Gods have many, because it just affects a LOT of people on the hour basically), and Vessels exist to expand said Influence through their own means, which means "live a while on the Mortal realm, do a bit of everything, see what it is like, and maybe you can even ascend into something else who knows".

Gods make vessels because by nature they are unfeeling, being only pillars of what a concept is and should represent- Their whole "personhood' is defined by whatever sees them, and since Mortals are what define what they are and what they're like through their belief and shared intuition, they have a weird "Fondness" for the little guys. It's like looking at a TV character and going "wow your personality is cool im gonna steal it", but on an unimaginably higher scale.

...Tiny problem though: as they are unfeeling, sometimes when they try to reach out to the ones they care most about, things go HORRIBLY WRONG because Gods aren't physically capable of knowing what a Mortal is and isn't resistant to, so sometimes they'll be like "I heard you needed water so I flooded your village" and won't know why suddenly their Believers are crying violently. To fix this, they're like "Hello small version of me, you should go on earth and see what these people need so I can be nice to them a little bit" and their vessel will be like "Ookayyy". After looking around for a bit, they tell their God/Manager that the people need water, but like just enough so they don't die and stuff, and it helps everyone.

The main story in this World is about a Solarian Vessel called Baltazar (he/they) and how he kinda really liked the mortal realm so now instead of like, actually telling their God things they just hang around and live with all the cool, feeling kids until he "dies" again and is forced to tell their Parent (tm) what they learn. Solaris doesn't really mind them doing that, seeing as its actually pretty interesting information extending through several Mortal centuries, and even goes as far as allowing other vessels to do it too for funnies

--------------------------- - - - - - - Below this line everything is written by me, blog owner

First of all tumblr did that thing again where it doesn't tell me I have a submission. /Fuck/ but hey so glad it brightened up your day! Second of all BAG OF SKITTLES I'M LAUGHING

Thanks for the clarification, it makes sense! Also quite interesting. I like the concept of these Vessels tbh! I feel like there's a ton of potential for different characters and stories. They're sorta like game avatars for the gods, aren't they? To get perspective on the mortals. Also I'm reeling from that Flooding the village thing omg. What a great thing the gods have something to give them perspective, and like I absolutely love that you considered this too, in your setting. Because yeah gods absolutely would lack perspective and have very vague overviews of the mortal world. Mwah.

I also appreciate the fondness "For the little guys" that is lovely.

Go Baltazar don't tell your parents where you've been out so late! "Live" your life! I find it nice that this isn't actually reprimanded either because it's still beneficial to the gods haha

#submission #Featured #Your ocs #Aaahhhh #Solaris really is just. Oh okay that guy seems like a god #And everyone goes with it #Good for them (him?)

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incorrectmarvelquotesss · 4 months

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I’m starting off with writing and I never know where to begin. Could you help me out? If you’re free of course.

omgomgomg yessssss

but i will start off with saying that it depends on the person and their methods.

(this is a long post so check under the cut)

for me, what i like to do is start off with the main plot of the story. so like answer the five w's. like who for me (for stories on this blog) is usually bucky and y/n, but also 'who's pov is being highlighted?'. 'what' would be 'what's the problem?' or 'what are they dealing with?'. 'where' is usually decided later for me, but i do have an atmosphere chosen such as 'cheery' or 'sadness' (to be completely vague). 'when' is more like 'when does the story come to its climax?' and/or 'when does the problem arise and/or dissolve?'. 'why' is the hardest for me. it's usually just 'why does this happen?' which isn't at much different than 'why?'.

after getting a little summary of the plot to the story, you can start your first draft!

i tend to write out the dialogue that starts to play in my head nowadays. before i used to start with the settings, but found that the dialogue would become choppy and sort of stoic. so now i've started to write out the dialogue before doing anything else. i try not to look back and fix spelling errors or whatever, but it happens sometimes. but try not to do that. also just write the dialogue and don't worry about quotations, but add a little name letter at the end of the sentence so you know who's saying what.

like this:

Hey, you good? b I've been stabbed. What do you think? y

after that, i add the missing punctuations, character's names and a vague action. this would be the beginning of adding details to your story.

"Hey, you good?" Bucky asked, eyeing you wearily. "I've been stabbed," you hissed, hand coming up to your wound. "What do you think?"

Again, this is the first draft so don't worry about adding too much or too less. you want to keep it vague, but detailed enough for you to know what's happening.

after that i usually start the second draft that, most of the time, is what i post here. but, to be clear, this is the method i use to post here. so if you're thinking about publishing a book, i would say that you would have at least three drafts before you get your final one. for the second draft, i tend to add all of the sensory details and other little details, written depending on the theme/atmosphere that i've chosen.

kinda like this:

"Hey, you good?" Bucky asked, eyeing you wearily in the dim lighting. Between the deep breaths escaping your mouth, he could hear the tapping of water and humming of electricity coursing through the monitor. "I've been stabbed," you gritted through your teeth while tucking your knife back into its holster on the back of your thigh. When he caught your hand moving to your stomach and heard the hiss escape your lips before red painted your fingers. "What do you think, genius?"

i did skip over a few things that i'm pretty sure only i do, but that's basically all i do. for the most part, just follow your fingers and mind. let everything flow through and don't bother checking back every five sentences. it's tempting and you might do it a few times. i still do, too. if you keep reading the same thing over and over again, you're gonna find little mistakes and probably hate it just because you've been staring at it for so long. i promise that whatever you write will be completely new and exciting and probably way better than what you think for someone else.

i think that's about it. if you or anyone else have anything else to ask, please do!

#I’ll edit this later #loveys inbox #lovey answers #inbox is always open #ask #thanks for the ask!#lovey talks

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nicorfyrweorm · 5 months

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I saw this post by @fantasiawandering and went "oooh!", so I guess I've been tagged.

How many works do you have on AO3?

108, which is... far more than I thought it'd be, now that I actually check.

What's your total AO3 word count?

680,841. That's... well, according to what I've looked up, that's about 8.5 novels, so... whoa...

What fandoms do you write for?

Doctor Who, Transformers (G1 and some Beast Wars) and Jujutsu Kaisen. I've also briefly forayed into Batman, Final Fantasy VII, One Piece, Dinosaur King and Zombies, Run!

You don't want to know how many unposted fandoms I'm in, trust me.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The first five installments of my Doctor Who S05 AU, After the Time War.

The premise goes as follows:

In one universe, the Doctor regenerated after sending Gallifrey into the Time War, and the Master along with it. In this one, the Doctor didn't regenerate... And the Master didn't get stuck in the Time War. ... Amy Pond still has to deal with a crazy alien, though. Or the one where the Doctor dies and the Master has to figure out who he is without the noise in his head or a friend by his side.

Each fic covers an 'episode' of Season 05, except for the first one, which covers the last part of The End of Time.

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Most of the time. I would love to say always, but I sometimes leave the comments sitting for one reason or another, and by the time I get to it... Well, it doesn't feel right answering after who knows how many months it's been, though I'm trying to fix that.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I hesitate to name anything from the After the Time War series, because even the angstiest one has something that tells you it'll get better. Maybe some first parts of two-parters were angsty, but I wouldn't call them the angstiest. There's a few Transformers prompt fics that have dark or sad endings too, but again, not that angsty in my opinion.

I'll have to go with an oldie, surprised as I am to admit it. Somewhere Only We Know, a Transformers one-shot set in the far far future of the G1 iteration, exploring Starscream's fate after Cybertron's death.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I have a few, but I'll have to go with, ironically enough, Lost Innocence. Despite the title, it's the most wholesome. It's a Final Fantasy VII post-Dirge of Cerberus 'slice of life' oneshot focused on the Turks and AVALANCHE.

Do you get hate on fics?

I don't remember ever getting any. Perhaps a few unkind/too blunt comments, but not hate, and definitely not on Ao3.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope. I do have some romantic pairings and relationships, but I tend to 'fade to black' if things seem like they are going to turn down that road, so people can take it whatever way they please.

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I have some between related fandoms, like Doctor Who and its spin-offs or different iterations of the Transformers franchise, but they could hardly be considered crossovers. The one that is not and which is the craziest by premise alone is City of Nightmares. It's a Batman/Miraculous Ladybug crossover of sorts, a oneshot that combines both worlds.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think I have. Could be, but if so, I'm not aware of it.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone asked me for it once, on a different platform, but I'm not sure it ever came to be.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, though I've tried some co-writing in real life and it's hard.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Season 7 Amy and Rory, from Doctor Who, could be one. Asmodeus and Fizzarolli, from Helluva Boss, are another one. And I can't come up with any others right now :P

What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Big projects like After the Time War, in which I change something about a story (characters, premise, lore...) and then rewrite the story around that. I'll probably never do something as big as I'm currently doing, but I experimented with different ways of doing that in Devils' Fruit, a One Piece premise-change that covers up to the Time Skip, so I'll have to see if I could do something similar with those unfinished WIPs.

What are your writing strengths?

The ability to let the characters steal the show. I may have a plan about how a chapter/fic will go, but when I start writing, the characters say or do unexpected things and I follow them to its conclusion, even if it completely ignores my original plans. It can be a headache, but I like the results. They feel more 'organic'.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Discipline, or rather lack thereof. I write when I feel like it, but I have a bajillion fics at the same time, and when a new idea pops into my head, I have to try really hard not to allow it to take over. Usually, I do that by outlining it and then letting it go, which takes some time but nowhere as much as it would've otherwise.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I don't usually do it, because I don't want to botcher it, but when I must... I know a few languages, so I'm comfortable if it's in those languages. When it isn't, I try to avoid it, taking a "they started spouting gibberish" approach. And when I absolutely cannot avoid it, I tend to turn to online translators and be open to corrections.

First fandom you wrote for?

Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles, though it was very briefly and on a different site. The first 'serious' fandom was the Transformers franchise, with a brief foray into the Bay-verse and a more permanent one with the Generation 1 cartoons.

Favorite fic you've ever written?

Am I the only one that thinks that's a low blow? How can I choose? I guess I could say one of the newer ones, because I'm more experienced with life and writing and whatnot, but my first ones were the ones that gave me that boost to post, even if they're rough.

It's not on Ao3 because it's an old fic (2014-2018) and I would like to polish it a bit before posting it there, so it remains on FF.net exclusively. It's called Half the Truth, and it's a Transformers G1 fic about Spike figuring out some truths of Cybertronian culture and the fallout of those. It was the first fic that made me think hard about things, instead of it being just a story.

#20 questions for writers #tag you're it #if you think it's interesting #or that it could help explore yourself #or if you made it to the end of the thing #if you want to try it that's a tag too #too many links #sorry not sorry

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aplaceofstone · 7 months

Text

AO3: faceofstone

(with treats enabled!)

Dear Yuletide Writer,

All prompts and ideas are just suggestions, if you are the kind of Yuletide writer who likes to follow them. If not, cool, they are certainly not the end-all of what I love about these fandoms and characters.

If you like visual prompts, this entire blog is 20% recipes and 80% aesthetics that mostly fit my requested fandoms…

I like found families, oddball friendships, sympathy toward outcasts, characters who fully embrace being outcasts, melancholy, a sense of place, bittersweet accomplishments, and a stubborn flicker of hope in an overall bleak world. Dreamlike atmospheres that aren’t necessarily scary, some sort of reassurance that can be found in the weird and the profoundly unnatural.

My only ship in these three fandoms is Atrus/Catherine. DNW CW/Farley and Margot/Turner.

Myst: any (Atrus, Catherine, Yeesha, Worldbuilding)

30th anniversary! 🥳🍉 how about "30 years later" as a prompt? Counting from whenever you want. 30 years after Myst 1? After Yeesha left Tomahna? After Atrus (or either other nominated character) first made contact with the people of an Age he wrote? After the ice cream expedition first brought cones to the Cavern? Or "celebration" or anything with a celebratory twist. Atrus and Yeesha reuniting after End of Ages? Catherine having a nice day? Yeesha in Chiso Preniv?

I love the whole cast, so feel free to set the fic in any era of canon, following pretty much anyone along with the worldbuilding or nominated characters. If you want to play with, idk, Ri'neref or the Watcher or Gehn or Esher or Zandi or Nelah or some schmuck on Releeshahn or whatever, go for it! I am not particularly well-versed in pre-Fall D'ni shenanigans - I’d be interested in reading something set anywhere in those millennia, just please write it assuming that your reader may not be already up to speed on what was going on historically at the time.

Obduction: any (Farley, CW, Josef, Worldbuilding)

What’s your favorite spot on Hunrath, dear author? What’s your favorite odd item (is it RIUM+’s Myst book or the Unwritten manual)? Tell me a story about it. Or tell me about how it’s like to live in that new world, humans, villein, arai and so very few mofang, and Farley’s plan was what got them there for better and for worse. Or a night at that cute little pub they added with the patch. Tell me about the differences between Farley’s worldview, since Hunrath is all she knows, and CW who misses his life on Earth so much. What’s Josef’s story in this regard? Or focus on any aspect of Earth culture that got lost on Hunrath, or one that got preserved, or how the 19th century habits of some obductees clash with their neighbors who come from a few centuries later, and how it all eventually becomes Hunrath’s unique culture. Or what are your favorite character’s feelings on the Sorian sky hanging on their head? Is there someone in Hunrath who insists on calling the seeds #spacepinecones, to everyone else's dismay? What's the smallest recorded obduction, a tiny seed that barely got the person from hair to toes, and what's the largest?

I don’t ship any combination of main characters but I am interested in all platonic interactions between the main trio (as well as actually seeing them forced to act like a trio. What would it take?). I am also interested in seeing any of the characters who are only mentioned in the various journals getting fleshed out a little: if your story needs an additional character or two, you could see if anyone there suits your needs! (and if nobody there does, actual OCs are welcome)

Firmament: Margot | The Mentor, Worldbuilding

Journals? Got any journals, dear author? Notes? Codes? Anything to make the Realms feel more lived-in, from the perspective of Margot or any Keeper? Or what do they find after the end, how do they settle?

I'm not necessarily looking for a fix-it for Margot, but if you've thought of something, I'm listening. Or at least, is it possible for the survivors to know what she's done for them, and to understand who she was as a person, what she went through? (which I suppose brings us back to "journals?" ;^; ) In general, has anyone ever tried to hack the memory loss situation through the written word? Were songs composed and shared from Keeper to Keeper until at last they made it back to the ears of their author?

While I didn't request Turner, and I'm not interested in fic about his character pre-amnesia, I'd be good with any worldbuilding idea that features him freshly post-canon coming to terms with being a blank slate with such a weighted past.

If you're into any of the irl Founders, I'd also love a deep dive in-universe on what their angle was in sponsoring the expedition. Like, Marx, I have Some Questions, and I'm sure there's plenty to say about the others as well! What they hoped for, which of their ideals were pivotal to the eventual success of the expedition VS which ones could've been thought through a bit better maybe…

#yuletide letter #yuletide signup Cyan edition for Firmament and Myst's 30th anniversary!

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sintreaties · 1 year

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May I ask you about your editing process, if you do not mind? How do I go from "a blonde haired woman" to "a woman whose hair looks like sunshine rays are threaded through it"

Although I’ll do my best to answer this ask, it's fair to say that my editing is currently the weakest part of my writing process. It is kind of a big problem, the biggest, in fact, given how editing is literally what makes or breaks a story.

The things that I'm about to explain are the same things that a lot of experienced writers would tell you in my place. The reason for that, very simply, is that they're perfectly logical and they work, yes, but... We'll see why it's not that easy.

Because this is quite a complex topic, this answer ended up being much longer than anticipated. I decided to divide this post into three parts, which you can read under the cut:

The Process

Purpose

Why It's Easier Said Than Done

I hope you'll find this somewhat helpful. Keep in mind that nothing I say here is an absolute rule, even I switch things up depending on the situation.

Part 1: The Process

Let's start by saying that editing is just another part of the writing process. Arguably, because it is the most important, you should do everything you can to ‘prepare the ground’ and make your life easier.

Here’s how I usually go about it:

1) Planning

In this part, you do everything you can to have a really good grasp of what you’re going to write. A few things that you should really focus on are:

Plot. Write down a timeline, an outline, or anything that you may come back to while you write. This will help you avoid plot holes and writer's block.

Characters. Make character sheets, write short introductions about them, make playlists and Pinterest boards — do anything you want, as long as you get to know them like the back of your hand.

Main Topics. Watch videos, read articles on the web, go to the library, or whatever, but do take notes of anything you might find hard to understand, unfamiliar or particularly relevant (like scientific cases, historical periods, different cultures, etc). This will really help you flesh out the kind of story you want.

Anything else. And I really mean it. Even if you might end up cutting it out, better to spend a few seconds deleting a paragraph than to waste hours and hours on research later.

This is crucial. I used to hate doing this stuff, but trust me, you'll thank yourself in the end.

2) Writing

Ah, the fun part! Time to put all that research to good use.

Your priority now is to finish the first draft. It doesn't matter if it gets ugly, messy or nonsensical. Trust the process. Editing will handle the rest.

Don't get hung up on details or tangents. If you find yourself struggling with a scene, a line or a character, you can always leave comments or write things (in brackets) so that you may come back to them later

3) Editing

Set the first draft aside. Ignore it for weeks or months — as much time as you can. You should forget as much as possible. Because your writing is not so familiar anymore, it will be much, much easier to spot what needs to be fixed.

More notes. So you're looking over the first draft again. Now that your eyes are fresh, take notes about what you believe needs to be reworked — everything from clunky dialogue to scenes to characterization to pacing. It's good to know from the start what will need more time and effort

Work in drafts. I usually use between three and six drafts. You can go about it however you want. For me, however, it's better to start with the big and move on to the small. You don't want to get distracted by grammar issues when you've got plot holes as big as the Grand Canyon.

Big stuff includes: plot, characterization, tension, everything that you left in brackets, key dialogues.

Small stuff includes: descriptions, subtext, phrasing, grammar, typos.

You can have as many drafts as you want, but if you find yourself growing tired, if it gets harder to catch and fix mistakes, set everything aside and give yourself time to forget about it for a bit.

Learn when to stop. Editing can be a never-ending process. The story will never be as good as it is in your head. It will never be perfect because perfection does not exist. Learn to settle on a final draft, otherwise you risk doing more harm than good.

Part 2: Purpose

At its core, editing is about purpose. Every element of the story, every word and character must be there for a reason. You need to decide what needs to stay, what needs reworking and what can be cut out altogether.

Clarity should always take priority. Do not be afraid to delete or change anything that impedes it, even if they might be your favorite elements. "Killing your darlings", it's called. A line might flow beautifully to you, but it's useless if the reader doesn't get it.

Learn to balance things out. You might be the kind of writer that focuses on characterization, or dialogue or (as in my case) introspection. These things are rarely enough on their own. George R.R. Martin is great at characterization, but his prose can be flat and repetitive and the way he writes about breasts and food is oddly specific. Stephen King can literally pull you into 1974 Maine, but he often goes on pointless tangents and his endings don't always hit the mark.

(Coincidentally, the fans of those incredibly successful authors will tell you that they both need better editors and that's why we should graciously learn from the critique they receive).

What I mean is that you don't have to give up what you enjoy writing. You simply have to make space for the other elements. Remember: if you're writing a story it's because you're expecting someone to read and appreciate it.

Let's take a look at your example now. Before touching that sentence, you need to ask yourself:

1) Who is this woman

2) Who’s describing her (is the narrator neutral? Is the POV relevant? A lover, an enemy and a secondary character should all give different descriptions)

3) What’s the situation in which she’s being described

If she’s a background character, someone we only see in passing (like a waiter in a restaurant scene, the cashier of the grocery store, etc) you have no reason to describe her in detail. Unless the more important characters — meaning, the narrative POV — have anything to remark about her, she’s just “a blonde woman”.

On the other hand, if this woman is the love interest of the main character or someone who is particularly relevant to the story, the other line you offered is certainly more fitting.

The secret to editing, in the end, is to know the story you’re writing. That’s why planning at the start is so important.

You need to have a good grasp of your characters, the tension of the single scenes, the subtext, the narration, how you want the readers to react and even your genre.

Once you know that a certain scene is more important than the others, it goes without saying but you will have to put more effort into it. If you’re writing a comedy, you’ll have to ensure that the tone is right all the time, otherwise the narration might sound flat or even obtain the opposite effect.

An easy, obvious way of giving relevance to an element of your story is to take away from other elements.

You want to write paragraph after paragraph to describe the battlefield of your epic fantasy's ending scene. That's cool. In that case, you might get away with saying that the king’s bedroom is large, lavish and warm, without getting into any details whatsoever.

Be careful about when you do this though. At best, it feels cheap and lazy because it takes away the reader's feeling of immersion.

At worst, it shows that you’ve gotten tired at a certain point (and God forgive me, but I’ve started to notice this a lot in my longest drafts).

Which brings us to the final point.

Part 3: Why It's Easier Said Than Done

Editing requires three main things: patience, time and enthusiasm. I intentionally left skills out, because without those three, I can assure you, you will not get to put skills into your work.

If discipline is what most writers struggle with, fatigue is the main obstacle that I face during the editing process. I get tired of reading and re-reading the same things, the story loses its magic, I just want to move on. Plus of course, I'm not a native speaker so there are instances in which my English sounds odd and I might not even realize it (even if the uniqueness of my speech can be used to my advantage sometimes).

Although I have still much to learn, these few things have been particularly helpful:

Alpha or Beta Readers. They don't know the story, which makes it easier for them to spot mistakes. One of the problems this presents, however, is that your opinions may vary. Make sure you go to someone who knows what they're doing — and no, that does not mean 'go to someone who will agree with everything you write'. Learn to take criticism when it's deserved.

'Read Aloud'. It's a Google Docs extension that does just what it says: it reads the text aloud. Although it's clunky and the robotic voice is completely devoid of pathos, it's very helpful when it comes to pacing and sentence length. Plus hearing your typos makes it easier to spot them.

Read Aloud — Literally. Flaubert used to do this all the time. The downside is, that with all the shit I write I risk growing hoarse, plus it's just plain embarrassing. This is a last resort for me.

Typing Assistants. Google Docs has a built-in typo detector but I also use the free version of Grammarly. Both of them can be pretty unreliable, Grammarly in particular can actually make things harder (as proved by the way it's trying to correct this post as I write it), but it's good to use them for one last spelling check.

Switching Between Projects. I only started to do this recently but it's been a game-changer. Focusing on only one story can be more effective, but working on multiple projects prevents taste fatigue and lets you clear your head. Pick no more than two or three stories at a time — unless you want to drown in plot bunnies.

Change Font and Screen. I swear it works. Using the Google Docs app on my phone instead of the web version helps with the tiredness. The change of font might give you a sense of estrangement, without having to set your work aside for weeks.

As I mentioned, some experienced writers will tell you these things because they are true. The challenge remains in trying to find what works for you.

That being said, I'd still like to go pro merely for the chance to have a personal editor.

#sintreatiesreplies #anon #writing advice #editing #writing

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