Anyway, I'm going to write 1000 words a day, and whatever I write, I'll post here by midnight each day, even if it's total garbage. As a way to motivate myself, I've asked Rock to ban me for a day for each 48 hours I go without posting 1000 words of fiction in this thread. Clock resets after each ban and after each day I've posted 1000 words.
I'm not going to be working on one project at a time. I'll just write whatever, new projects, old projects, garbage fan-fic, story outlines, whatever. I've got my 1000 words for today, so I'mm be posting that before midnight.
Feel more than free to criticise or offer comment on anything I post here! In fact, I welcome criticism!
It still felt so rare, to be able to take a moment and just breathe. To feel a gentle breeze, the sounds of people talking and laughing, the warmth of the sun on her face. Ellana looked up at the sky, still scarred from her final battle with Corypheus. A sign perhaps of how close they’d come to the end, yes, but also a sign of victory. Victory achieved by people of all sorts all across Thedas coming together to fight for a common cause.
Ellana lowered her gaze, drew her arm back, and loosed the arrow.
“HA!” Sera’s exclamation was immediate. “Yes! Told ya I’d win, didn’t I? You may be all fancy savior of Thedas, but I’m still the best shot in Skyhold.” Sera rushed to collect the arrows from the target while Ellena shook her head.
The first few months after Corypheus’ defeat had been a whirlwind of meeting with nobles and royalty, travelling to this castle and that. Usually Josephine travelled with her, but there was scarcely a moment that the two could steal away for themselves. Slowly, the tide became a river, then a stream, now little more than a gentle brooke. Inquisitor Lavellan’s advice was sought by many people on many issues, but the elf found it easy to speak from the heart and not overthink it. Josephine advised against this, of course, but listening to her heart is what got them all this far, so Ellana supposed it couldn’t result in complete disaster.
Now, she was glad to walk the courtyard and spend time with Blackwall and Sera. She’d check on Dorian occasionally, usually locked up in the library, and often she’d receive a lecture on whatever bit of Tevinter history he was studying then. The mage insisted he was studying for when he eventually returned to Tevinter to try and make reforms to the Emperium, but Ellana thought he just didn’t want to leave his friends. Especially not since he and Iron Bull has gotten so close recently.
Instead of trekking all across Thedas to close rifts and kill demons, the Inquisitor spent her days sparring with Cassandra, or maybe reading the newest chapters of the next book Varric was writing, the book about her and the Inquisition. The Orlesian Civil War had ended, and the Great Skyhold Prank War had started between Ellana, Sera, and Blackwall(though the man’s sense of humor wasn’t nearly as sharp as his sword). Long nights camping out under the star were instead spent at the tavern drinking with Iron Bull and Krem.
And of course Josephine. Walks in the garden, stealing a kiss as she dealt with letters from nobles and paperwork, falling asleep in her arms and walking up to the sunrise over the Frostback mountains. Life with Josephine was perfect. Life was-
“Betcha I’ll beat Your Magical Ladybits again!” Sera was back with the arrows, already lining up a shot.
Ellana insisted she only lost again because she was daydreaming, after all, how could she not on such a perfect day?
“Ooooh thinking about Josie, were ya?” Ellana instantly regretted her excuse. “I’m glad I live in the tavern, I don’t know how anyone else can sleep in that big fancy tower with all the noise you two love birds must make.”
“I, we don’t really, it’s not like-,” the Inquisitor’s cheeks were crimson, and words kept tripping over her tongue.
“I bet she’s a screamer. It’d be funny if it was you, right? Because you’re the Inquisitor and all, innit? But you’re too serious, I don’t think you ever really loosen up.”
“I’d stop talking about it, but now the image is in my head, y’know? I can’t stop thinking about it now, you and her, you gotta tell me everything, or else my imagination’s gonna make up all the juicy details and-”
“Josie and I haven’t been intimate yet,” The Inquisitor rushed the words out in a strained whisper, anything to get Sera to stop talking. It did the job, but now the silence was worse. Sera just staring at her, her eyes wide, Ellana cheeks burning up, her teeth clenched, shoulder bunched with stress at the realization of what she’d just done.
The hint of a smile started forming at the corner’s or Sera’s lips. “Sera, please, don’t-”
“You haven’t even fucked her yet!?’ The words were shouted in amused amazement for everyone in the courtyard to hear. Blackwall’s head shot up from the wooden horse he was painting, Cole was so startled by Sera’s exclamation he nearly fell off the rampart he was perched on, Vivienne - out on her balcony - looked on with pity.
“You saved the world from Coryphifish and sealed a big giant hole in the sky, but you haven’t screwed your girlfriend?” Sera’s words rushed out in a flood of laughter. “I mean, if it was me, I don’t know how you can restrain yourself, I mean, just look at her! Should I be impressed, are you, like, saving yourself for marriage or whatever? Hehe, saving yourself for marriage, that’s proper romantic innit it. Nah, I bet you’re just too scared.”
All of a sudden laughter overcame words. “Oh Maker, how sad is that, too scared to give your girlfriend a screw. I’m sorry if I’m being a bitch, I guess I can be a bitch sometimes, but, this is just too funny-”
Sera was cut off by Blackwall, his hand clamping down on her shoulder. A sharp edge of authority in his gruff voice, “Sera. That’s enough.”
“Wha-” indignancy entering into her voice, “Oh come on Blackwall, she killed a frickin’ wannabe-god for Maker’s sake, I’m sure she can handle-” Sera’s words caught in her throat as she saw tears silently falling down Ellana’s face.
The Inquisitor was painfully aware of their eyes on her, Sera’s shock, Blackwall and Cole’s pity, Vivienne’s disapproval, and all of the Inquisition soldiers, the nobles, the merchants, all of them seeing their Inquisitor with tears on her face.
And for the first time, that unconscious confidence, that comfort in her body that took years to find, all of it shattered. The elf stood there, trembling, aware that they could see the angularity of her face, the smallness of her breasts, how lanky and tall she was. Even things she knew they could not see, they burned inside her. They knew, they all knew. Ellana Lavellan was an imposter, a broken little elf in a pretender’s body.
And her voice, when she spoke, that’s when the shock would turn to laughter. But she had to say something, she had to. She’d faced demons, dragons, old gods, she could face this.
Ellana opened her mouth to speak, but a sob hitched in her throat. The panic set in, and she ran before the sobs starting coming right there in the courtyard.
How long had it been? Running away in tears, hating herself, hating her body. Finding a quiet corner to cry in, away from the rest of the world. Out there they were talking about her, she knew they were. Blackwall was probably chastising Sera, Vivienne would go to smooth things over with the nobles, Cole would be worrying about how to make it better. Word would spread. Skyhold could feel like the smallest place in the world at times. All her friends would be concerned, would want to know what could reduce the headstrong elf who stood strong against the end of the world to tears, and the last thing Ellana wanted to do was see any of them.
A knock at the door. Ellana tried to shout for whoever it was to go away, but her voice came out in a horse croak. The knocking persisted, and Ellana found she did not have the strength to move.
The door creaked open, and Josephine called out, her voice heavy with concern, “Darling, are you alright?”
Josephine! Ellana had thought she’d be busy in her office, that the rumor wouldn’t reach her for at least an hour, maybe two. Ellana desperately wiped the tears from her face and tried to get her breathing under control as Josephine climbed to stairs to her room.
She was still on the floor leaning against her bed when Josephine found her. She rushed to her lover’s side, cupping her face with her hands,wiping away the few stray tears that Ellana hadn’t been able to stop. “My love, what’s wrong?”
Ellana opened her mouth to speak, to say she was fine, but closed it, unable to say anything. She stared for a second or two into Josephine’s soft brown eyes, so full of love and worry in equal measure, than broke her gaze away.
“I… I heard what Sera said,” Josephine was treading carefully. “Ellana, my love, you should not let her words harm you. I know how deep your love for me is, and you mine. We do not need to be physical to love each other.”
Ellana wanted so badly to tell her love what was wrong, that the reason why she was never intimate with her was because she still felt as a stranger in her body, that she was haunted by an irrational fear that Josephine would find her repulsive, that Sera made her feel exposed and naked in front of everyone and she did not know if she could hide again. Years of pain and trauma and sadness came rushing back in a moment in the courtyard, and the Inquisitor found herself struck silent.
The tears started again, silent this time, and Ellana brought her lips to Josephine. Their kiss was deep and tasted of tears.
Josephine whispered, “I’m here for you, my love. I’ll always be here for you.”
Ellana wanted to tell her, I know. The words caught in her throat. She held Josephine close, and hoped it would be enough.
Sidenote: This has gone through exactly 0 revisions, so there's probably a ton of spelling errors and awkward sentence structure and stuff alongside the bad... y'know, writing. Sorry about that. If anyone reads it. Which they probably won't. :P
More embarrassing fan-fic! Why I decided to exorcise my personal demons over my transition in the form of a Dragon Age: Inquisition Fan-Fic? Not a clue! But hey, at least there are words on a page! That's a start to something, right?
Funnily enough, this is not actually the first fan-fic about the Inquisitor being trans that exists. There's a couple out there I found out. So... that's something?
Anyway, I did hit my goal of 1000 words today, but it just kinda worked out that this next chunk kinda acts as "Chapter 2" or whatever so I'm just gonna post it even though it's not the full 1000. Plus, I did like, 1600 yesterday, so, that makes up for it.
Deep breaths. Yesterday was an anomaly. You are not that young elf wandering the Free Marches anymore. You are a hero. You’ve slain dragons and giants. You’ve uncovered ancient dwarven secrets. You hold within you the knowledge of the ancient elves. You faced the first Darkspawn. You’ve lived through all of that, you can live through this.
Ellana turned to face the mirror hanging above her wardrobe. She examined her face, eyes moving slowly, taking in every detail. She didn’t think it was a beautiful face. Pretty maybe, in a strange way, but not beautiful. It was too long for that, too angular and sharp and rigid. The tattoo over her left eye drew attention to her soft, pale blue eyes. Sandy blond hair framed her face, making it slightly more attractive than it would otherwise be. And of course, those pointed ears. All in all, it wasn’t a bad face for an elf. The sharpness of it was almost to be expected for her kind, and the ears and dalish tattoo actually did her some small favors.
Her height, her narrows spindly limbs, that was also to be expected. She was taller than everyone in her inner circle except Iron Bull, and for all the anxiety being tall had given her back in the Free Marches, she actually quite liked it now.
Ellana’s hands went to her breasts, if they could be called that. They were tiny, and made little more than a small indication of a feminine figure. Back in the Free Marches, Keeper Deshanna had given Ellana several tonics made from rare herbs to help her pass after she’d been living as a woman for two years after her coming of age. They hurt, and it took another year to even grow, and when they were done growing the young elf couldn’t help but be a little disappointed, but she remembered being filled with joy when the Keeper first presented Ellana with the tonic.
All in all, Ellana Lavellan’s life, and her passing, had not been bad. Dalish clans strive to preserve history, so they knew of those like Ellana from times past in Elven culture. When she was young some of the other children were cruel in only the way children can be, and some of the adults were incredulous in a way that hurt more than they knew, but she loved her Clan for accepting her as best as they could. From what Krem had told her about life in Tevinter, it could have been much worse.
Krem was the only one who knew, and despite her panic the day before, Ellana was confident that was still the case. Occasionally a noble would make a snide comment about how deep and husky her voice was when they thought the Inquisitor couldn’t hear, and Sera did seem to have a certain fixation on the Inquisitor’s breasts at times, but it’s not like deep voiced and small breasted women didn’t exist in Thedas.
Standing there, staring into the mirror. Maybe her body wasn’t perfect, but it was hers, and she was happy with it. This is who I am, thought the elf, this is who I’ll always be.
Still… What Sera said the other day.
The Inquisitor let out a sound somewhere between an exasperated sigh and a groan of frustration and turned to fall onto her bed. Staring up at the ceiling, her thoughts wandered. Josephine Montilyet - the love of her life. Ellana had foiled the plots of assassins and dueled nobles for the beautiful, charming Antivan. The two women had spent hours talking to each other, staring out across the Frostbacks from the balcony, strolling through the garden, being in each other arms on cold nights in front of the fireplace. Ellana always wanted to be with her, to be with her and never let her go. To hear her talk, the sweet lilting of her voice as she talked about Antiva, or vented her frustration with this or that noble. To watch the sunrise and the sunset with her, neither as beautiful as she was. To kiss her and…
And what? To be close with her, closer than they had been before. Ellana had dreamed about it, her hands on her shapely body, feeling her, feeling Josie’s body against her own, bringing her pleasure, expressing her love in a way she had not before.
Josephine, with her sweet full lips and devious smile, her hair cascading like a dark river, her golden-brown skin that looked so beautiful in the warmth of the firelight at night. The curves of her body. She was a goddess, and Ellana was…
Sharp and angular, narrow and spindly, with two pathetic little bumps declaring her womanhood and the voice of a hurlock.
I don’t deserve her, Ellana thought, but this is just who I am, and I have to accept that. There’s nothing I can do to change that.
The Inquisitor shot up from her bed, a thought forming in her head. Or is there?
Sidenotes: Still absolutley 0 revisions, so probably a bunch of spelling/grammar errors and awkward sentences.
More garbage fan-fic. So, this is literally just a vessel for me to work out some of my own personal issues while practicing stuff like physical descriptions and dialogue that I'm not so good at... with Dragon Age Inquisition characters.
In this chapter, the Inquisitor has a talk with Dorian, and I've just finished writing, given it my usual 0 revisions and not even a quick once-over, so I have no idea how I did with Dorian's dialogue. Not good is my guess.
At this point, the only positive benefit of this exercise in getting me more into the habit of writing. Even though it is all garbage.
At any given time, Dorian’s preferred reading alcove in the Mage’s Tower was a complete wreck. Books strewn everywhere, notes covering the tables piled up on top of each other, plates brought up from the kitchens. For a man who took such great care in his appearance and his words, you would never know it by his reading habits. This was the state Ellana found Dorian’s alcove in, with the mage himself right in the middle of it all, engrossed in yet another tomb of Tevinter history - part of a set Josephine had ordered from Tevinter after Dorian’s many incessant requests.
Ellana first tried clearing her throat, then knocking on the wall. Dorian didn’t look up.
“Dorian, I need to ask you a question,” She said. He still didn’t look up. The inquisitor rolled her eyes. She reached over and tapped him on the shoulder, shocking him out of his reading.
“By the Maker Ellana, don’t sneak up on me like that!” he exclaimed, almost falling out of his chair. Ellana rolled her eyes again. She’d learned to perfect the expression talking to Dorian.
“Good book?” She asked with a lilt of her head and an ever so slightly sarcastic smile.
“It is indeed. I’ve come to the conclusion that if I am to reform the Emperium, I might listen to the tales of those at the bottom, rather than the top, so I asked Josephine to find any books written by Tevinter slaves” he was clearly very proud of himself for this revelation. “The idea came to me from a conversation with our good Ser Thom Rainer-” Dorian never tired of that particular name for Blackwall- “we were drinking in the tavern and,” he finally looked up and saw the Inquisitor’s patient, yet obviously very strained expression.
“Oh,” he remarked, disappointed. “You didn’t come here to talk about my reading habits, did you?”
“Sadly, no,” Ellana was pleasantly surprised Dorian caught on so quickly this time. “Although it does sound fascinating.”
“I have a question for you, about magic,” at this the Inquisitor faltered, her nerves getting the better of her for a moment. Dorian raised his eyebrows in curiosity, and motioned for her to go on.
“Is it possible for someone to change their appearance using magic?”
At this Dorian smiled, “Oh my dear, naive Inquisitor. Is it possible to change one’s appearance using magic. Among the Tevinter Magisters, you’d be hardpressed to find a mage who has not done so.”
“Really?” Ellana asked, glad of the momentary distraction to her real question. “And have you…?”
“Of course not! I’m offended you could even suggest such a thing,” The mage took a stance that could only be described as preening. “I am a man of naturally stunning good looks. You wound me to suggest otherwise.”
Ellana smiled in spite of herself. Dorian’s tone changed, curious now. “I am curious, however, why you ask? I never took you to be much for vanity. No offense meant, of course.”
Ellana didn’t have a change to reply before, “Ah, does this have anything to do with that business in the courtyard with Sera?”
“Well, I can assure you, our good Lady Montilyet and sickeningly in love with you. I doubt very much your troubles are caused by your appearance, and you’re a fool if you think she’d be so vain. Those Antivans are if nothing else hopeless romantics.”
“It’s,” The Inquisitor’s cheeks flared red again, “it’s certainly related to yesterday, but not in the way you probably think.”
“Well then, I invite you to inform me.”
“I’d like your help… with passing.” Ellana drew on the phrase that Krem often used, passing. She’d never had very much use for it before, she was lucky enough that once she left her clan, most people simply thought of her as a woman.
Dorian didn’t seem to quite get the message. “Passing?”
“You know… like Krem does.” A poor way to phrase it.
“You want to pass as a man?”
Ellana corrected him before incredulity could turn to shock. “No, I want to pass as a woman!”
“Pass as a-? But you are a-” Understanding came, and the mage’s eyes widened. “Oh!”
For once he seemed at a loss for words. Ellana gave him time to process it, shifting her stance from one foot to the other nervously, hoping for the best.
“Well, I never would have guessed. You certainly pass better as a woman than our mercenary friend does as a man.”
Ellana didn’t quite know how to react to this. “Thank you…”
Several more moments of silence. “What about your?” Dorian’s hands motioned to his own chest.
“The Keeper helped. Some sort of… potion,” Ellana briefly explained.
Dorian looked as if he were about to say something more, then stopped himself. Then he said, “And your?” motioning to his crotch.
Ellana was feeling more than a little uncomfortable at this point, but answered anyway. “Surgery. The Keeper tracked down a text on how to… do it. Elves in the past were pretty accepting of people like me.”
“Interesting,” was his only reply.
Dorian’s hands came together, fingers interlocked. He lowered his head, and his brow knitted together in thought. The Inquisitor shifted her stance again.
“Well, what do you need my help for? You seem to be doing a fine enough job on your own.” Ellana didn’t have time to answer before Dorian figured it out. “Ah, so that’s why you and our beloved Lady Montilyet haven’t yet been intimate with each other.” The was more awkward than when she first came out to her clan. The elf just nodded.
The silence started again, but Ellana couldn’t take it. “Can you please just tell me what you’re thinking? You’re my best friend, and as strange as this is, I need your help.”
Dorian looked slightly surprised at the outburst. “Of course Ellana, I apologize. Simply lost in thought, taking it all in. It’s just a shock is all, I’ve thought of you one way, and now I have to get used to thinking of you another way, and-”
“Do you?” Ellana interrupted.
“Do you have to get used to thinking of me another way? You’ve only ever known me as a woman, and I’m still me. Just because you know I didn’t always look like this, have this body… Does that really mean anything’s changed?”
Dorian thought about it. “I suppose not,” he said, seemingly surprised at the conclusion. “Well then, we can continue on as normal. Though, before we get into the magic, I do have one question?”
“Why do you feel you need to change even more?” Dorian’s voice had gotten much softer, knowing how sensitive this must be for his friend. “As I said, Josephine loves you more than the stars themselves. Frankly, I find such unchecked sentimentality unsettling, but it seems to work for the two of you. So why change?”
The anxiety returned, but Ellana pushed through it. “I want to feel comfortable with myself before I’m with her. I’ve always wanted more, but never been able to have it. I can’t let my body control me.” All true answers, but none of them the main one. She took a breath, and told Dorian the main reason, the nerve that Sera had struck in the courtyard. “I want to be the woman she deserves.”
Dorian’s eyes softened, the wit always present behind them for once momentarily absent. Had her opening her heart to him reached his sentimental side. “My dear Lavellan,” he said, “I find myself moved by your words, but I’d kindly thank you not to bring such emotional declarations into this space of learning in future. I fear you’d corrupt it.” Ellana smiled. Evidently not.
“So,” Dorian began. “What kind of magic did you have in mind?”
Here we are again, Ellana thought. Standing in front of the mirror, eyes taking in every detail of her face. Dorian was at the Inquisitor’s desk, a Tevinter book of spells or some such magical work that the elf didn’t understand lay open before him. Ellana tried to control her nerves, and wished that Dorian would read faster. At that, he straightened up, and walked over to her. Now she wished he’d read slower. “Alright,” he began, the softness now gone from his voice and the usual careful humorous tone back, “where shall we begin?” Ellana bit her lower lip. “Don’t you need your staff?” “Staves aren’t necessary for most magic, they help direct combat spells.” “You’re not going to use any… potions, or anything?” “No,” Dorian explained. “No potions.” Ellana’s lip began to bleed as she continued to distractedly bhew at it, her nerves getting the better of her. “We don’t need to-” “Ellana,” Dorian said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “I’d appreciate it greatly if you stopped stalling. If you still need time to come to a decision, we can do this later, but right now, I need to know if we are, in fact, going to start this process.” “I…” Ellana lowered her head and sighed. She looked into the mirror, eyes once more examining every detail of her face. Did she really want to do this? To change how she looked, who she was? Maybe she was too hasty in coming to Dorian, maybe… Ellana continued, a sudden confidence in her voice. “Yes. We’re doing this.” Dorian smiled. “Excellent, then where shall we begin? If you want my advice, then I’d point out that your jawline is a little-” Dorian might be her friend, maybe her best friend, but Ellana could think of nothing else in the world that she wanted less than Dorian’s thoughts on her appearance. She unwrapped the red scarf she wore around her neck at all times, revealing the protruding lump in her throat that was her mortal enemy and said, “Let’s start with this.” Dorian chuckled, “So that’s why you wear that? It’s not some odd Elven fashion?” Ellana rolled her eyes. “Alright then, let’s get started, shall we?” Ellana was shocked as Dorian’s hands began to glow a pale blue, and he placed them on her throat. She tried to say, What are you doing? But before she could Dorian informed her, “Don’t speak, it might damage the spell.” The spell was much quicker than she could have anticipated. Dorian applied a slight pressure to her throat, so light it felt like little more than her scarf usually did. He continued to pressure, and much to the elf’s shock, she realized that he was reshaping her throat, sculpting her like clay. The process continued for several very uncomfortable moments, neither of them speaking, until Dorian removed his hands from her throat and the glowing ceased. “And done. I believe that should be all.” Ellana was in shock, that dreadful lump now gone completely. She ran her hands up and done the new surface, now smooth. “Well, go on then,” Dorian said, “Give your new voice a test run.” “New voice?” Ellana said, and upon hearing her voice, her hands sprung up to clasp over her mouth, her eyes going wide. That constant strain she’d placed on her vocal chords before, the slight pressure that tired her throughout a day, the pressure to keep her pitch high and consistent, all of it gone. In just two words, a constant reminder of her pain, of a previous life, gone. Dorian scoffed lightly. “Only two words, and already the tears start. How you faced Corypheus with such strength I’ll never know.” Ellana didn’t mind the teasing. She was two overcome by joy to care. She start softly, slowly, but began to recite an old story her mother had told her when she was a child. The Eleven words flowing out in a soft, beautiful, lyrical voice. She sounded like her mother. Half way through the tale, she was shocking back sobs, and speaking through laughter. Joy and sadness in equal measure consumed her. The last few verses rushed out, she nearly shouted them. When it was over, her legs felt weak, but she resolved to remain standing. As she wiped tears from her face, she expected Dorian to say something, but for once, he was silent. The elf turned around suddenly and embraced him. He was surprised by this at first, but then she felt his arms wrapping around her. “Thank you,” she whispered, laughing slightly. “Thank you.”
Ellana sat on her bed now, quietly reciting Elven tales and poems and songs from her childhood. Occasionally the tears started again, but for the most part, she was calm again. Dorian sat at her desk, speaking not a word. Occasionally slipping through the book he’d brought. Eventually he said, “So, what’s next?” Ellana looked up, for a moment slightly confused. “Next?” “Well, you didn’t want to just change your voice, did you?” Dorian’s eyes narrowed, and he considered it for a moment. “What about your height? You are quite tall for a woman.” “I’m an elf,” she responded. “Well, yes, that’s certainly true, but wouldn’t you want to?” At this Dorian faltered, and vaguely waved one of his hands around. Ellana gave a sly smile. “You don’t like that I’m taller than you.” “What?” Dorian said in mock shock. At least, she thought it was mock, it was sometimes hard to tell with Dorian what was genuine and what was sarcastic. “You think I’d be so vain?” Ellana was fairly certain it was sarcasm. “No offense, Dorian, but I think I’d like to make decisions about what to do with my body.” “Of course,” Dorian said, “As you have every right to do. I was simply asking so I could begin to prepare the next spell. Ellana thought about it for a moment. “If you don’t mind,” she began carefully, “I think I’d like to get used to this change for now, and then think about it a little more later.”
Decided to write something else and see if I felt better about it. Answer? A little bit. I still think my writing is garbage, but at least I won't look back on it in a year and cringe as hard as I will with that Dragon Age fan-fic. Also, at least I'm not like, dwelling on my own issues with my writing anymore.
So, I decided to go with a prompt from a website. Prompt was: “Write a scene or story about a character who has committed a misdeed—a crime or a more minor indiscretion—and must decide whether to face the consequences and make amends for the act, or to conceal or avoid it.”
Didn't quiet hit 1000 words but whatever, it's close.
Blood had a strange beauty under neon. Time seemed to slow, watching the gentle drip from his hands into the incessantly spreading pool. The neon made waves in it, reflecting and dancing in red. Blue and pink, and red, they sang a song together. A beautiful, intoxicating, deadly song.
The man hardly mattered. Who he was didn’t matter. How he died didn’t matter. Who had killed him didn’t matter. All that mattered was the gentle flow of red from his cracked skull.
He almost felt sadness, knowing no one else would observe this strange beauty.
A train blared past overhead, the alley itself shaking as the roar of the train sent horrible vibrations through the pool, shattering its beauty. Time was moving again, tick, tock, and horror settled in.
There was quite a bit of panicking and quiet rambling. Tears fell from his eyes, he couldn’t help it. Slobbering and crying and snotting all over the crime scene. Disgust and horror in equal measure filled his body. Before he realized what he was doing, he ran his blood-soaked hands through his hair.
Pleas to God and Mother went unheard.
Somewhere in Eastwatch District, a man died. It happened at night. It happened under neon lights. It happened in an alley, just one in a maze of crowded confusing alleyways. It happened when his skull hit pavement, and the pavement won out.
His killer was little more than a boy. Schools in Eastwatch still shut down, the strike into its third year, he was found by Ophiuchus - The Serpent. That sly deceiver offered him money and a home, and that was all it took to turn a sweet young boy into a violent young man. Nothing dangerous, was the promise. No blood on your hands, was the promise. Just scare them. Well, this one had been scared pretty good, right up until the end. Gurgling, eyes pleading, hands grasping at nothing. He’d been plenty scared alright.
What to do what to do. Where to go where to go. Who to speak to? The man had shrunk back down into a boy, a boy soaked in blood and tears and snot. The boy had lived here all his life, he knew where the police station was. He also knew where to find an agent of the serpent. Two paths snaked out in front of him, all he had to do was take the first step, and the rest would be easy.
He sat, tears now a steady stream, sobs only hitching in his throat occasionally, blood now drying on his hands and his face and in his hair. All he had to do was stand up, take the first step, and the rest would be easy.
The boy felt a weight in his jacket pocket. He hands wrapped around cold metal, and found the blade of a knife. Given to him for protection.
The boy’s mind quieted, and his mind wandered down those two paths. The police were likely to just kill him on sight. The overseers had passed that law before the strike. Too much crime and too much red tape, they said. Eastwatch is overpopulated anyway. No one cares what happens in Eastwatch. They need a guiding hand to help them be better, and what better guiding hand than the one that pulls the trigger?
The Agents of the Serpent were likely not to be too happy the boy had killed his target. That hadn’t been the mission, that hadn’t been what he was supposed to do. He didn’t know much about the Serpent, the less he knew the better, but it was telling that the Serpent never failed. So many recruits, how was that possible? How indeed.
His fate was sealed. He knew it, and he knew that both paths were the same path. The sbos came again, louder this time, more violent. No way out, that first step had been taken when he’d gotten angry, when he’d killed his target. Or maybe it was when he accepted the Serpent’s offer. Maybe he was never the one to take it. Was it the teachers? The police? The Overseers? Was it whoever built Eastwatch, hundreds of years ago, or was it the cruel god who gave them this tiny, unsustainable world?
He’d never taken a single step in his life that was truly his. But maybe he could now. His fingers wrapped around the knife, the smallest rebellion came to mind. It wouldn’t mean anything. Just another beautiful death under those neon lights. But perhaps, at least, it would be his death. A death he could have ownership over.
The action happened faster than he thought it would. Cold steel plunged into his neck, a sharp breathe followed. Time slowed again as he pulled the knife out, and blood sprayed, lit in dazzling pink and blue as it painting the walls. Pain and fear left him as he collapsed onto the ground. He sat back and watched the show, the last one he’d ever see. It was beautiful.
I suppose you can consider this an exercise in prose. No real dialogue or characters. Feel free to tell me how you feel I did if you read it.
I'm outlining some notes for my vampire story(a trilogy of novels about this vampire named Eve. Starts off in 16 century France, then the Golden Age of Piracy, then the Revolutionary War, becoming more and more straight up alt-history as time goes on)
This outline is for a chapter in which she joins a theatre troupe and falls in love with an actress named Corinne, but is found out and blackmailed by the head of the troupe, Vincent. The whole thing is both(when i do eventually write it) going to be trying my hand at some poetic dialogue and a bit of romance, as well as working through the trope of how monsters throughout history have been queer-coded and how queer people are exploited for entertainment value, and trying to turn that trope on it's head by creating genuine romance and sincere emotions out of the "queer-coded monster who is repulsive and deserves to be punished" narrative, that also explores the mindset of people who are disgusted by queer people, but ok exploiting them for profit or entertainment. It also has what I hope is a cathartic ending before seguing into a chapter that's probably going to miserable lol
Anyway, the outline is rough and I need to do some more research before I get to writing, but if anyone would like to take a look and maybe give me their thoughts on what I've got so far, send me a dm
I've also been thinking of revisting that Dragon Age fan-fic to maybe try my hand at writing romance in a more low stakes environment before I apply it to an actual story.
bubbafightsunlimited: anyway long story short what happened the past 6 months: got dumped (sort of), had a very stressful first half of my second semester of senior year HS, then got accepted to harvard (yay)
Jul 9, 2020 1:35:17 GMT
bubbafightsunlimited: my life is pretty much unrecognizable from last year so
Jul 9, 2020 1:35:48 GMT