#750words

He couldn't really smell anything else these days except for gunpowder, flowers, and redstone. Did that matter? Not really. It was too much fun to play around with explosive fireworks. It was all he thought about. All he dreamed about.

So of course he didn't notice that that small patch of cyan dye on the back of his lab coat wasn't just cyan dye mixed with a little black. He didn't notice the little shimmers of light, the places where it was clear that it wasn't dye but skulk. Cub had other things on his mind. he wasn't thinking about skulk.

But of course he was always thinking about skulk. It had never really left him, just gone dormant, waiting for the right moment to reappear. He'd felt it in his bones towards the end of last season, as he was tending to the museum. Was he afraid of it? Maybe a little, in the same way he was a little afraid of the Vex when They decided to possess him. It never stopped him going to ancient cities though.

That said, it had felt strange to be in the deep dark on a new world. The skulk felt both familiar and not. It had been like that when they'd visited the Emperors too. The skulk there was particularly vicious and possessive in a way it hadn't been on other worlds. Perhaps it's why he was possessed. He was stupid enough to go into the fog and get himself possessed.

But the skulk back on Hermitcraft was...

Cub didn't really know how to describe it. It had still sunk its tendrils into his brain, he had willingly obeyed it when it had need of him, but it lacked something. And the skulk on this new world was... pensive. Curious. It clearly recognised the dormant skulk within him, but didn't know why it was there.

Cub sensed it when he touched the skulk, walked over it slowly, hoping not to disturb the place. He knew how sacred this place was to the skulk. How he shouldn't disturb the Mourner. He understood now. He knew now. Wordless memories, pictures of ancient times that Cub couldn't really interpret properly, floated into his mind. The time before. The time before there was mourning and sadness and a need to isolate. A time when there was light, and life.

Whenever Cub found himself down in the deep dark, he always wanted to sink his fingers into the skulk, making contact, even if the skulk didn't seem to care about possessing him this time. It seemed to think him... not tainted. Sacred? Chosen to host the skulk and give it a body? Cub didn't quite know how to interpret the feelings.

No. It wasn't quite that. It was more... a feeling of kindredness. Was that even a word? Cub didn't know. He just knew the skulk didn't seem to see him as an enemy. As long as he was respectful in the deep dark, as long as he didn't awaken the Mourner, made no sound at all, he felt safe there. Which was both a familiar feeling, and also a strange one.

Sometimes, he felt he was always in the deep dark when was working in the factory. It wasn't his fault that the skulk really showed off the fireworks really nicely. It was like a substitute starry sky, but he couldn't deny that having the skulk close brought him a little comfort. It wasn't whispering to him, wasn't really doing anything other than just being there, but it was nice to have. Could he have just used black concrete? Sure. But why use black concrete when skulk was right there and available? He didn't need to craft that.

A name feared by most of the underworld, and hated by all law enforcement personnel. A name that had been reduced to a whimper after the team took him down. They knew his name, but he didn't know theirs, and for once, the power did not lie in his hands. They took down his empire and shook him to the core. His world has fallen down around his ears and yet...

And yet Eliot worries that they did not do enough, that somehow Damien'll escape to wreak destruction and terror on the world again, and the first to die will be the team. That he'll give Eliot a choice: either Eliot kills them himself, as painlessly as he wants to, or Damien will kill them in front of him, prolonging their suffering until they are begging Eliot to kill them.

Eliot couldn't live with that.

Fortunately, he probably wouldn't have to. Damien would watch Eliot's world burn, just as they burned his. And after Damien destroyed everything in Eliot's life that he cares about, he'd come for Eliot.

Then - and only then - would Damien kill him. (Probably pretty quickly, too.)

As much as Damien may want to torture Eliot (a desire Eliot isn't even sure exists; Eliot was, after all, one of the only people Damien ever - well, not loved, but cared about), he knows that the longer Eliot's alive (and the more Damien destroys those Eliot loves), the larger the chance is that Eliot can get away and kill him. Damien knows exactly the kind of damage Eliot could do if he ever got the chance to get revenge. Even with two broken arms and two broken legs, the threat Eliot would pose is too great for him to take that chance.

So I forgot to give you all an update yesterday, which is fine. 

Yesterday’s total was just over 1000 words, most of which were me adding a bit in the middle of a previous part of the scene that I’d written. I think the concept will make the scene better, although I anticipate in the future moving some of it to a scene later on in the fic because I think it’s too early for Christian to have this much cognizance around his current situation. Basically--he’s appreciating how Vincent can go from sort of goofy and awkward instantly into alluring model mode at the mere sight of a camera and I think there needs to be some of that here, but he’ll observe it a bit more as the fic goes on. Right now he’s just overwhelmed and trying to figure out what hit him and I think I need to pull back a bit. But it’s fine. I’ll use the words somewhere, probably.

Today I went back to using a site I used to use called 750words.com. Essentially, the challenge it gives you is akin to the concept of “Daily Pages” where some writing advice or another used to tell writers to freewrite around three pages of handwritten WHATEVER first thing in the morning. Now...I can attest to you that my best writing/thinking/doing anything time is not first thing in the morning. In fact, it’s from about 10am until 2pm, which makes trying to get writing done pretty inconvenient because of this weird thing like “standard business hours”. On the bright side, my brain is functioning at peak capacity during the time I’m getting paid to do a job...on the downside this means anything that’s NOT my job often gets the short side of things when it comes to my capacity for thought. BUT! If I can manage to rearrange things a bit I can probably use the hour I’d take for lunch and do at least SOME of the words for the day during that time (although I do still need to eat as well) and then hopefully fill in with time on the bus/at home in the evenings, even though those times aren’t the best times for writing.

But! Back to 750Words. I like the site because 750 words each day over a month translates to close to 25k in a month, and that’s about the length of one standard fic for me (or one part of this AU, I think). Today I wrote close to 1200 words because I had the time and I wanted to finish the scene and it took me ~50 minutes of writing time. So if I can get faster then 750 words should be fairly manageable over lunch, especially if I don’t stop to research, but just leave notes and do the research later on in the evenings or on weekends. I like the site because it does keep a counter at the bottom to tell you how many words you’ve written so far, which can be stressful at first when you’re like HOW IS THAT ONLY 200 WORDS??? but it’s a good accountability tool. You can set it to email you at a certain time every day to remember to do your words, and you can enter into monthly challenges to write 750 words every day. You get points for number of words written and consecutive days of writing. Plus it’s just a clean page where you can type that days words without getting distracted by whatever you did previously (if you’re like me and will pick at the other bits that came before the bit you’re working on and keep revising/editing them instead of just leaving them be and trying to make progress). Plus they have fun features like tracking your most commonly used words or the moods/emotions it associates with your writing and gives you other potentially interesting/helpful stats like this

Just something that helps me out sometimes and I thought I’d bring it to you. I think I’ll probably use it to write, at least on the weekdays, since I’m trying to set myself a 750 words/day minimum in the hopes that maybe I can make some decent progress yet this month before I inevitably get derailed on a project I know is coming down the pipe even though I don’t want it to *cough*Belgian NT*cough*

they were supposed to be safe here, hidden away from the shitty neighborhoods and the shittier people that would bother them sometimes. safe from being harrassed.

she should have known that it wouldn't last.

she wants to chastise herself for that but she can't, not with blood that suddenly is like ice in her veins at the sight before her. her buddy stirs and she can feel a growl growing in her chest and the effort to keep it down is almost more than she can manage

they're hurting him.

she can hear faint argueing, muffled, like it's underwater, like it’s buried underneath the thunderous racing of her heart; she's not sure what rythian is saying but it can't be good, not with the way he's scowling, twisting in the grip of some stranger who's entire demeanour screams arrogance, pleasure even.

she doesn't like them at all. but that's irrelevant, really. what matters is that they're hurting him and she can barely bear to see it, muscles tightening as she's poised between one moment and the next, either to run away or to jump towards them to see if she can do something, anything.

she nearly makes a noise when rythian meets her eyes all the way from where he is, some kind of plea for her not intervene, and fuck she hates how tempted she is. how badly she wants to turn and run away, flee from what is slowly unfolding before her and hide somewhere in a dark corner until it's safe to come out again.

her self-preservation screams for her to do just that, to make a run for it and count her losses and get somewhere safe, but for whatever reason her eyes stay glued to the scene, even when rythian almost unnoticably shakes his head.

they were supposed to be safe here. damnit. damnit.

it takes everything she has, nails digging into her palms with the force of it, to keep a leash on her friend when they’re stirring in the back of her head, a shiver running down her spine with the intensity of it.

let me run let me bite let me kill them they're bad we're good we can do this let me at them come on it might be fun and it'll be good let’s move come on why are you not moving--

don't, she thinks, quietly, teeth grinding behind her mask. we shouldn’t, what if we hurt him more.

an agreement, though a begrudging one. they sit, and wait, unable to leave and unable to do anything other than watch.

the tension breaks, snaps when they start touching his mask.

it's a line they don't cross, ever; they understand secrets, understand the need to hide some things away from the prying, judgemental eyes of the outside world, and that's that. 

there are never any questions asked or excuses needed; and now they're grabbing the very thing that keeps him safe, keeps his secrets hidden, and they’re yanking it away like it's some piece of worthless cloth and god, she can imagine the panic he must feel, can see it as it lights up his eyes in the suffocating dark.

and that, she cannot take.

quickly, before she has a chance to think about it, sev reaches behind her and snaps loose the fastenings of her mask, heart hammering away even as she lets it fall to the ground with a soft thump that is muffled enough that no one looks around to see her. and there's something in her chest that's almost like joy, like euphoria;

yesss, yes, they’ll pay we'll get them come on lets run they're hurting we will k i ll

she doesn't stop to question it. before they've even noticed her moving through the shadows, let alone identify her, her teeth are already digging into someone's thigh and tearing away cloth and flesh alike. the taste fills her mouth and she knows it should make her nauseous in some distant part of her mind, but it's wonderful; just like the screams of agony and pain that override the soft, muffled conversation.

"what the fuck, what was that."

it's us, she thinks. it's us, and you've fucked with the wrong person. you've fucked with my friend.