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dragonlady7via https://ift.tt/2Z0KDtF
oh also, my notifications are currently useless because of the post about being a slaughterhouse worker, which is great, i wrote that because I wanted people to read it, but this hellsite, regardless of who it belongs to, is fundamentally unusable for communication, so. i see glimpses sometimes that people have replied to me or something, but i never actually get a chance to read them, and sometimes i can see them eighty times on my dashboard but not in a way where I can actually reply to them, so. *shrug*
I’m sort of stuck at the moment in a kind of maelstrom of differing impulses, and I want to do a lot of writing and I can’t focus on one project. Currently I’ve got four going? five? I keep accidentally opening Google Docs and then being like ohhh that one. And then I add a sentence to each, and waste all my set-aside writing time on rereading.
I think the issue is that none of them are currently telling a story I’m horny to tell, to use the current parlance.
Here are some snippets anyway. Two original works, a Good Omens, and a Goblin Emperor.
solarpunk cyborgs:
The coronation was a glittering event, formal and remote and high and ceremonious. Ena stood off to the side where he belonged, a reasonable distance away from Zalanat, separated from him by the entourages of his sisters. The one he hadn’t met yet was there, in a softly-draped gown suitable for a new mother, and she looked at him sharply but did not approach him. He should meet her; she was his half-sister, but now was clearly not a good time. Rusada smiled at him, and Liatra was in her escort and gave him a wink that for some reason made him blush.
When she happened to turn, Ena noticed in some shock that Liatra’s exquisitely fancy dress had more or less no back; it went around her shoulders and then swooped down nearly to her waist, exposing the long sweep of her spine and the broad wings of her shoulder blades, and an impressive set of well-defined back muscles. He had never seen anything like it, and stared entranced until he caught himself and tore his gaze away.
He wasn’t sure what he felt about it, or why he kept wanting to look at her again.
****
a Good Omens thing I was emphatically not going to write:
“What do you get out of this?’ Aziraphale asked, catching the demon by the wrists. “If it’s not the temptation of me, what in Hell’s name could you possibly be getting out of this?”
“Maybe I just like it,” Crowley said, far too casually, tilting his head so his hair fell back fetchingly.
“Why do you like it, though?” Aziraphale persisted, struggling with himself.
“It’s hot,” Crowley said.
“I don’t– if you don’t tell me I won’t do it,” Aziraphale said. “I know you think I’m just a helpless hedonist but if you think I don’t know how to deny myself–” and he backed up his threat by pushing Crowley back.
Crowley looked resigned. “It feels good,” he said, but there wasn’t all that much conviction behind it, like he knew Aziraphale wasn’t going to find it adequate. There was a moment, and then he took a deep breath, looked down, and said, “I, it’s, it feels like Grace, angel, if you must know.”
“Grace,” Aziraphale said. Crowley couldn’t mean–
Golden snake eyes flicked up to glare at Aziraphale. “Grace,” Crowley said firmly.
Divine Grace. God’s love. The thing that lived at the core of Aziraphale’s celestial being and illuminated him always.
The thing that had been ripped away from Crowley when he had Fallen.
Aziraphale forgot to breathe for a moment, and then wheezed for it like he’d been punched. “Crowley,” he said.
“Don’t,” Crowley said, face twisted in anger, “make it into something it’s not, angel, I know fine well what is and is not possible. Don’t delude yourself I even want–” He broke off, hissing, and went on in a moment, more composed, “I wouldn’t take Her back if she’d have me, it’s not that at all. It just feels good. That’s all. The way you like chocolate even though you don’t need to eat.” He sneered a little. “A demonic version of hedonism, if you will.”
*****
oh yes still noodling around on Goblin Emperor, this is :
He kissed her shoulder. “I thought I hurt thee,” he said, pressing his face against her neck.
“No,” she said, “never, my love.”
But she’d distressed him, she could tell; he was tense, curled into her. She kissed his forehead, and his hair. “I mean it,” she said, “thou hast never hurt me, I have no fear thou ever wouldst.”
“An I did,” he said quietly, “wouldst thou tell me?”
She thought briefly of their wedding night, that fleeting moment of resigning herself, but then she thought of what it had come to. “Yes,” she said. “I know thee, now, and I know thy heart.”
He was quiet, and she couldn’t tell if he was convinced or not. After a moment she added, “I don’t know what’s in thy heart, love, but I know something of the shape of it. An thou didst hurt me, I know I could tell thee, and thou wouldst not again.”
He was still quiet, thinking that over, and she fought down the urge to keep talking, recognizing that it wouldn’t help. “It isn’t possible to know what’s in someone’s heart,” he murmured finally, contemplatively.
And it struck her, then, a truth: “Thou wouldst not tell me if I hurt thee,” she said.
Again, a long moment of quiet. Then: “I can’t promise I would,” he said.
****
and somehow i wound up re-opening a doc I started just after Kyrgyzstan:
“He doesn’t like me much,” Nuradil said. “He’s not really fond of any of us but he hates me especially. I’m sorry, he was probably crude to you because he thinks you and I are friends.”
“I mentioned you by name and he acted like it was unthinkable that I’d even know your name,” Damira said. “I guess he figures if I’ve spoken to your family then clearly the two of us are having an affair.”
“He wanted to fuck me,” Nuradil said. “He tried to make it a condition of our employment. He doesn’t think I’m enough of a person to be allowed to turn down any offers I get. Of anything.”
“That’s disgusting,” Damira said.
“Yes, well, he’s not entirely wrong,” Nuradil said. He sighed, face obscured entirely as he looked away. “So maybe you see why I was afraid of answering you at all when you spoke to me, and why I maybe cling a lot to weird old-fashioned customs.”
“You’re allowed to practice your beliefs as you like,” Damira said mildly.
“I’m being ridiculous,” he said. “Don’t think I don’t know that. But I’d rather do that than fend off insulting offers like Artraim’s all day.”
“You’re not being ridiculous,” Damira said.
He didn’t answer for a moment, and she tried to read his expression without seeing any of his face. His shoulders had gone stiff, and she realized belatedly that she might have seemed condescending. Too late, she tried to think of a better way to phrase it, but he turned his face toward her and his eyes were cold.
“I don’t think you have the point of view to tell me whether I’m justified or not,” he said. “I’m sure you took a whole class on it at university, but we’re not in a university now.”
“I know that,” she said, fumbling for a better answer, but he didn’t give her time. “Wait,” she said, as he started to ride away, “I’m on your side!”
“You can’t possibly be,” he said, not unkindly. “We’re not even playing the same sport.”
oh also, my notifications are currently useless because of the post about being a slaughterhouse worker, which is great, i wrote that because I wanted people to read it, but this hellsite, regardless of who it belongs to, is fundamentally unusable for communication, so. i see glimpses sometimes that people have replied to me or something, but i never actually get a chance to read them, and sometimes i can see them eighty times on my dashboard but not in a way where I can actually reply to them, so. *shrug*
I’m sort of stuck at the moment in a kind of maelstrom of differing impulses, and I want to do a lot of writing and I can’t focus on one project. Currently I’ve got four going? five? I keep accidentally opening Google Docs and then being like ohhh that one. And then I add a sentence to each, and waste all my set-aside writing time on rereading.
I think the issue is that none of them are currently telling a story I’m horny to tell, to use the current parlance.
Here are some snippets anyway. Two original works, a Good Omens, and a Goblin Emperor.
solarpunk cyborgs:
The coronation was a glittering event, formal and remote and high and ceremonious. Ena stood off to the side where he belonged, a reasonable distance away from Zalanat, separated from him by the entourages of his sisters. The one he hadn’t met yet was there, in a softly-draped gown suitable for a new mother, and she looked at him sharply but did not approach him. He should meet her; she was his half-sister, but now was clearly not a good time. Rusada smiled at him, and Liatra was in her escort and gave him a wink that for some reason made him blush.
When she happened to turn, Ena noticed in some shock that Liatra’s exquisitely fancy dress had more or less no back; it went around her shoulders and then swooped down nearly to her waist, exposing the long sweep of her spine and the broad wings of her shoulder blades, and an impressive set of well-defined back muscles. He had never seen anything like it, and stared entranced until he caught himself and tore his gaze away.
He wasn’t sure what he felt about it, or why he kept wanting to look at her again.
****
a Good Omens thing I was emphatically not going to write:
“What do you get out of this?’ Aziraphale asked, catching the demon by the wrists. “If it’s not the temptation of me, what in Hell’s name could you possibly be getting out of this?”
“Maybe I just like it,” Crowley said, far too casually, tilting his head so his hair fell back fetchingly.
“Why do you like it, though?” Aziraphale persisted, struggling with himself.
“It’s hot,” Crowley said.
“I don’t– if you don’t tell me I won’t do it,” Aziraphale said. “I know you think I’m just a helpless hedonist but if you think I don’t know how to deny myself–” and he backed up his threat by pushing Crowley back.
Crowley looked resigned. “It feels good,” he said, but there wasn’t all that much conviction behind it, like he knew Aziraphale wasn’t going to find it adequate. There was a moment, and then he took a deep breath, looked down, and said, “I, it’s, it feels like Grace, angel, if you must know.”
“Grace,” Aziraphale said. Crowley couldn’t mean–
Golden snake eyes flicked up to glare at Aziraphale. “Grace,” Crowley said firmly.
Divine Grace. God’s love. The thing that lived at the core of Aziraphale’s celestial being and illuminated him always.
The thing that had been ripped away from Crowley when he had Fallen.
Aziraphale forgot to breathe for a moment, and then wheezed for it like he’d been punched. “Crowley,” he said.
“Don’t,” Crowley said, face twisted in anger, “make it into something it’s not, angel, I know fine well what is and is not possible. Don’t delude yourself I even want–” He broke off, hissing, and went on in a moment, more composed, “I wouldn’t take Her back if she’d have me, it’s not that at all. It just feels good. That’s all. The way you like chocolate even though you don’t need to eat.” He sneered a little. “A demonic version of hedonism, if you will.”
*****
oh yes still noodling around on Goblin Emperor, this is :
He kissed her shoulder. “I thought I hurt thee,” he said, pressing his face against her neck.
“No,” she said, “never, my love.”
But she’d distressed him, she could tell; he was tense, curled into her. She kissed his forehead, and his hair. “I mean it,” she said, “thou hast never hurt me, I have no fear thou ever wouldst.”
“An I did,” he said quietly, “wouldst thou tell me?”
She thought briefly of their wedding night, that fleeting moment of resigning herself, but then she thought of what it had come to. “Yes,” she said. “I know thee, now, and I know thy heart.”
He was quiet, and she couldn’t tell if he was convinced or not. After a moment she added, “I don’t know what’s in thy heart, love, but I know something of the shape of it. An thou didst hurt me, I know I could tell thee, and thou wouldst not again.”
He was still quiet, thinking that over, and she fought down the urge to keep talking, recognizing that it wouldn’t help. “It isn’t possible to know what’s in someone’s heart,” he murmured finally, contemplatively.
And it struck her, then, a truth: “Thou wouldst not tell me if I hurt thee,” she said.
Again, a long moment of quiet. Then: “I can’t promise I would,” he said.
****
and somehow i wound up re-opening a doc I started just after Kyrgyzstan:
“He doesn’t like me much,” Nuradil said. “He’s not really fond of any of us but he hates me especially. I’m sorry, he was probably crude to you because he thinks you and I are friends.”
“I mentioned you by name and he acted like it was unthinkable that I’d even know your name,” Damira said. “I guess he figures if I’ve spoken to your family then clearly the two of us are having an affair.”
“He wanted to fuck me,” Nuradil said. “He tried to make it a condition of our employment. He doesn’t think I’m enough of a person to be allowed to turn down any offers I get. Of anything.”
“That’s disgusting,” Damira said.
“Yes, well, he’s not entirely wrong,” Nuradil said. He sighed, face obscured entirely as he looked away. “So maybe you see why I was afraid of answering you at all when you spoke to me, and why I maybe cling a lot to weird old-fashioned customs.”
“You’re allowed to practice your beliefs as you like,” Damira said mildly.
“I’m being ridiculous,” he said. “Don’t think I don’t know that. But I’d rather do that than fend off insulting offers like Artraim’s all day.”
“You’re not being ridiculous,” Damira said.
He didn’t answer for a moment, and she tried to read his expression without seeing any of his face. His shoulders had gone stiff, and she realized belatedly that she might have seemed condescending. Too late, she tried to think of a better way to phrase it, but he turned his face toward her and his eyes were cold.
“I don’t think you have the point of view to tell me whether I’m justified or not,” he said. “I’m sure you took a whole class on it at university, but we’re not in a university now.”
“I know that,” she said, fumbling for a better answer, but he didn’t give her time. “Wait,” she said, as he started to ride away, “I’m on your side!”
“You can’t possibly be,” he said, not unkindly. “We’re not even playing the same sport.”
no subject
Date: 2019-08-17 11:41 pm (UTC)