I've written, and I've tried to keep writing, but I believe I might have to scrap everything I have and start anew.
List of problems.
- I feel my story lack motivation
- it was supposed to be a oneshot, but now I lowkey want to embrace the universe/story and expand it.
- I am not happy with my writing style at all.
- it feels I am constantly talking out of my ass and nothing makes sense.
- I don't know what conclusion I want
- I am insecure, I haven't written anything in ages, and never have I done fanfic before! Any tips are greatly appreciated. (Do you write fics differently than books? What makes a good fic? How to feel more confident etc)
- whatever tf this is
Woke up to this:
If you have any fanfic suggestions please bring them to me!! Any ship (besides EreHisu, I can't stand Erehisu)
Just a silly little thing I did for this week's art challenge in our discord server.
We all know why Reiner is buried in snow..and Porco ain't about to help him.
I wish I liked my art more,because I can acknowledge this is kinda cute! Yet I hold so little value to myself I simply cannot imagine my art leading me anywhere? I've had a friend mention this would look cute as a postcard! Yet I can't find it in me to believe people genuinely like what I make-
Can you do more Marcel Galliard? Still modern AU but during his twenties and soulmate au, how will he react and how will he approach her? Especially if she's a complete opposite of him, reserved, quiet and spend most of her days in the library?
Marcel Galliard | modern soulmate au
summary: Marcel Galliard x fem!reader, modern au, soulmate au (what happens to the body of one person happens to the body of the other: injuries, bruises, scratches, tattoos, etc.)
wc: 3.2k
Marcel doesn't like it. He doesn't like the fact that everyone is gossiping about him. He doesn't like that a lot of girls are sighing because of him. He doesn't like that some of them secretly dream that he is their destiny. Oh, and he also doesn't like that the person he can truly love is tied to him by some higher power. Soulmates, is that what they call it? He hates that he can't even get a tattoo – it will stay on another person's body. And he's ashamed in advance. He's ashamed of every scar he received during the matches, for every clumsy fall. And he's ashamed of that stupid scar that the kitchen stove left him too.
Marcel has never seriously thought about finding his soulmate. It was not a principle, it was not a goal. Unlike his brother, who went to numerous tricks to find his destiny, Marcel just… was. He was just Marcel Galliard.
What does it mean? He played soccer, spent his evenings at the bar with the guys, worked part-time at an amusement park, and honestly didn't know what to do with his life. Football used to be the meaning of his existence, but now he didn't even know what he wanted.
And at a critical moment, when everything seemed meaningless, as his mother had said in childhood, fate decided to throw him a gift.
The family dinner scheduled for the evening was abruptly canceled. Their mother got into trouble at work and, running away from home, she asked Marcel to warn his brother that everything was canceled. Where could Porco be found at this time? Not at home, that's for sure. Not during the pre-exam period. So, Marcel went to the place where his brother was supposed to be. To the library.
Throughout his years of study, Marcel had been there once, but Porco hung out there with friends all days. Whether it was Pieck's fault, or just the younger brother's desire to be smarter than the older one, Marcel didn't care. But now the library seemed to him… cozy? Rows of tables, old books on equally old shelves, dim lights and absolute silence. Marcel himself didn't understand how he stopped in front of one of the shelves, captured by the most collapsed book. It must have been at least 100 years old.
"Be careful, it's a rarity. If something falls out of it, your head will be twisted off," came from the side, which made Marcel flinch violently. The book in his hands swayed, but he managed to grab it before something terrible could happen.
A quiet exhale. Marcel looked up and froze. He probably looked like an idiot when he stood there with his mouth comically open and his eyes as wide as possible. She was like... wow. He couldn't find the words to describe her. Comfort, home, warmth – the only thing that flashed through his mind before he realized that he was openly staring.
"Sorry?" he answered sluggishly, returning the book. The girl smiled out of the corners of her lips, taking a step back.
"There's nothing to apologize for, just be careful," and she disappeared among the rows of books. Marcel stared blankly at the side where she was standing for a few more seconds, and felt a silly smile spread wide across his face.
He seems to have found something to do for the life.
But it wasn't that simple. The guys, with whom Marcel shared this wonderful story the very next day, just grinned. The girl wasn't from his usual social circle. She was always seen alone, never in company. There was no point in talking about parties or loud get-togethers.
She was different. Quiet, modest, detached. All she seemed to do was read and spend time in the library.
“You don't have anything to catch with her, look for someone else,” they kept saying, but Marcel had already decided. He wanted to know what was so amazing about this girl. He was indescribably attracted to her, and this was more important than the opinions of numerous friends.
Marcel wasn't used to thinking for long. Much more important for him were actions, sometimes stupid and unjustified. Where did she go most often? Who did she talk to? What did her social media look like? Her hobbies, interests, and outlook on life have become a real obsession. But to get to know a person better, you need to communicate with them one-on-one. And Marcel decided not to put it off.
There were many reasons for going to the library, and he took advantage of every one. He acted without a clear plan, the only goal was to get closer.
They bumped into each other a week later. Marcel came across her in one of the reading rooms and froze. He didn't know what to do or say again. So he just pulled back the chair and settled into it with some kind of textbook. He pretended not to pay attention, although it was difficult to sit still without action.
"Do you come here often?" It suddenly burst out of him after some 2 minutes. The girl raised her eyebrows in surprise, barely looking up from her reading.
“Hello? Almost every day, if I'm not busy," she gave him a quick glance and immediately returned to reading. "You're definitely not a frequent visitor here."
"Why do you thunk so?"
"You're an athlete, you have other priorities," she nodded at his sweatshirt with the logo of the football team and hurried to lower her eyes. Marcel looked surprised. One might even say offended. He was infuriated by such judgments. He was never stupid.
"You're wrong," he said, putting down the book, and leaned forward. "Let me prove that not all athletes are complete cretins and dumbasses."
"I didn't say that," she seemed to shrink under the bright flash of Marcel's emotions. He felt instantly ashamed, but it was too late to turn back.
"But you've thought about it." Marcel's face changed, the crease between his eyebrows smoothed out, and he brightened up. "Why don't you like athletes?"
A risky decision. She thought about it. She put some paper in a book, put it aside along with a pencil, which she had been nervously clutching in her hand. This sudden сonversation partner would not leave her alone.
"I didn't say I don't like them," and a slight smile. "Are they… you? You're cool, you do your job, everyone loves and adores you. It's just that intellectual work is more valuable to me than kicking a ball around the field."
"So you wouldn't fall in love with an athlete guy," Marcel drawled to himself and immediately hurried to shut up. The blush on the face opposite abruptly turned from light pink to more aggressive one.
The girl chuckled, returning to the book. Marcel seems to have hit a dead end. Not knowing what to do next, he decided to switch to a backup plan: escape. He took his book with him and buried face in his phone. And after a few minutes of silence, he slid off his seat and hurried to the exit.
"Who knows?" she drawled faintly after him.
Marcel did not hear this, nor did he hear agreement with his question. He also didn't want to admit it to himself, but his ears were on fire and his heart was pounding fast in his chest, clearly telling him something. And he didn't want to miss this "something" at all.
Month. Marcel was restless for a month. And he behaved, as Porco said, completely out of his character. He spent hours poring over books, skipped workouts, and abandoned his usual ways of relaxing. No bars, alcohol, parties in large companies and drunken brawls, as it was before.
But that's what Marcel didn't give up on – cooking. It helped him to relax, to find time to think about something abstract.
As he sliced cheese for homemade pizza, he wasn't thinking about the thickness of the slice or even the fact that the knife was too close to his fingers. He was thinking about what they had discussed with that girl yesterday. They saw each other too often, she never left his head for a second. That's why he did everything he could to be there for her.
They sort of bumped into each other on the way out of the library – Marcel was coming from a part-time job, she was going to return to her place after another study session. He didn't mention that he had been watching her for a couple of days before, finding out the time when she was coming home. It looked scary, but there was no other way. Surprised by the meeting, he offered to walk together.
He saw her off and helped her carry a couple of books. And if he tried, he wouldn't remember what they were talking about. But he would definitely have remembered her eyes, looking either with interest or with incomprehension, the shine of her hair in the light of lanterns and the tenderest of smiles.
She was talking about some kind of test, about the conflict of the characters in the book she had just finished. Marcel was joking incongruously and felt his heart beating in his throat. In his place, any other guy would have walked her to the door and, taking advantage of one of the awkward pauses, would have kissed her for sure. And then – according to the standard scenario.
But she wasn't the one to pull off this scheme with. She was a real gem, so unusual. Marcel suppressed his indignation. Yes, somewhere deep, he might have wanted everything to be simpler. To her to be open, less complicated and inaccessible. But it was selfishness. And Marcel pushed these thoughts away. She was complicated, but he wasn't a gift either. But he firmly believed that at one moment their opposites would still attract. By all rights, this should have happened.
"Ouch!" the knife didn't go through the cheese. The wound wasn't deep, but it was unpleasant. Marcel applied a band-aid and forgot about it.
The next day, he noticed that his new friend was slightly grimacing, holding a book. And then he saw a cute pink patch on the index finger of her left hand.
"What happened?" he nodded his head towards her hand. She just waved it away.
"My soulmate is a real disaster," she shyly pulled the sleeve of her hoodie over her fingers so that Marcel wouldn't stare at them like that. Such attention from him was nice, but still not worth it. "I usually had bruises all over my body, or worse. But recently he stopped getting hurt so often, a couple of bruises in a month and here's a scratch."
"Your soulmate is definitely lucky," Marcel chuckled. "I don't think you're causing him much inconvenience."
"Sometimes it seems to me that fate threw some athlete at me just to laugh," she shrugged, settling herself more comfortably. Marcel chuckled, remembering their first conversation. Of course, she wasn't talking about him now, but about a certain fate. And that was probably a shame.
And only after saying goodbye, on the way home, Marcel stopped abruptly. A slight chill ran down his spine. He slowly raised his left hand and stared at the tiny scar on his index finger. In the same place where she had a band-aid. It can't be. It was just a coincidence.
But the obsession wouldn't leave him. All those times when Marcel found himself with small bruises were spinning in his mind. They were all frivolous, rather random. There was always every little thing that was normal for a quiet, not very active person. She was like that.
But how to check? To harm humself purposefully meant to harm her too. It was too disgusting of him. The idea came naturally, and Marcel decided not to give it up.
They agreed to meet at a coffee shop near the city center. To sit and chat in a new location. Moreover, Marcel tearfully promised that it definitely wouldn't be a date. Necessarily. She agreed only after his promises.
Still, Marcel was still an athlete, he hangs out with the cool guys, and she was just worried. They talked for quite a long time. He showed himself to be a good one, he turned out to be smart and reasonable, he was able to listen and analyze people. He also understood lots of psychology topics, and in many ways he opened her eyes to things. He saw the world in a different way, and that was what attracted her to him. Not to mention an excellent sense of style (not football merch, not that), beauty and charisma. He had a lot of it. But the inner fear of being deceived was high. Therefore, she still treated him with caution.
They took a seat at the back of the room. As usual they discussed the latest news, and the pause dragged on. She was looking at the busy street, at the interior, and he was staring at her. He had completely forgotten about the coffee, which had been set aside at the very beginning of the conversation.
"Your favorite book?" Marcel suddenly asked, leaning forward. Elbows on the table, hands locked, chin on top. And the most open look. She thought about it for some time.
"The most? That's for life? There's one," she named it, briefly walked through the plot. The delight in her words, the interest, the sparkling eyes. Marcel would have listened to it a thousand times just to see her so excited.
When she was distracted by a sudden call, he hurriedly added the title of the book to a note with the laconic title "her" in his phone. He put it down again. Their meeting was interrupted by something from the outside. She apologized to Marcel, promising that she would try to repeat such a meeting later.
She cheerfully waved goodbye to him and ran away. Marcel moved in the opposite direction, towards the bookstore. He found her favorite book quickly, and spent the whole night reading it, highlighting quotes and meanings. He hardly felt cheerful in the morning, but he was more happy.
Porco, who ran into him at breakfast, stared in amazement at the burnt scrambled eggs on Marcel's plate.
"Are you sick?" Porco asked, touching his forehead.
"I think so," Marcel waved his hand, without looking up from the phone. He had a busy day ahead of him. He had only one thing on his mind.
"Your teammates asked yesterday when you would return to them," Porco carefully looked at Marcel's face, but saw nothing but the same pleased face. "Marcel! Are you even interested?"
"So far, I'm worried about something else. I need to find a soulmate right away, otherwise I'm going to go crazy," Marcel said without changing in his face. Porco gasped for air. Marcel? Soulmates? Something strange was happening to his older brother, and he didn't understand it.
"Good luck with that."
"You're quieter than usual today," she gently touched Marcel's hand, drawing attention. He slowly raised his eyes.
They met at this coffee shop again in a couple of days. They had been sitting together for half an hour, but there was nothing but a hug on his part. The silence was comfortable, but she felt that something was wrong. Either something terrible happened to him, or he was just tired. Or maybe he just didn't want to talk today.
But the night before, they had spent several hours discussing a recently released film, and he was quite talkative and wouldn't let her get a word in. But now it's nothing. It was annoying.
"Yeah? Maybe," he shrugged. He was holding the same book she had told him about. He was trying to figure out what exactly had hooked her about it. He also showed off a little. I am attentive and caring, I hear you.
"Is something wrong?"
"With me? No, it's fine."
And silence again.
She tried to return to the task she had been doing before, but she couldn't concentrate. The letters did not add up to words, the meaning passed by. She seemed to be thinking only of Marcel and the strange change in his behavior. It would have been better if he had been foolishly joking and interrupting again. It's better than this silence, anyway.
She slammed the laptop's lid shut and set it aside. Marcel, attracted by such abruptness, hurried to put down the book. All his attention was focused on her. But from the look in his eyes, it seemed like he was expecting something. She sighed, trying to find something to hold onto to start a dialogue.
"I'm sorry, I forgot myself last time," she smiled, glancing at the book that Marcel had put down a minute earlier. "What's your favorite book?"
"Wow! Have you started thinking of me as a normal human?" Marcel pretended to be very surprised. She lowered her eyes, nervously fiddled with her fingers.
"I thought so from the beginning," she muttered to the side. "A stupid person wouldn't be so persistent. And he certainly wouldn't be an interesting conversationalist. You're comfortable."
"I'm flattered," he pretended to cover himself with hand, like a lady from a chivalrous novel. She laughed back, covering her face with her hand. And at that moment, he saw that there was something vaguely resembling a tattoo under the long sleeve of her t-shirt.
"Wait a minute! What is it?" He pointed his finger towards her right hand, and she beamed. But Marcel's heart began to pound somewhere in his throat. Really?
"I forgot to tell you. My soulmate got himself a tattoo with a quote from my favorite book. There are such coincidences!" she rolled up her sleeve to reveal the entire tattoo.
Marcel wanted to laugh. He pulled off his hoodie in one motion and stayed in his tank top. There was an identical tattoo on his right arm, in the same place. She gasped. Marcel's smile widened even more. Apart from the noise in his head and the pounding of his own heart, he couldn't hear anything else. She smiled nervously, leaning closer. She ran her fingers over the tattoo, tracing the letters.
"So we met," he laughed anyway, opening his arms for a hug.
And those hugs turned out to be much better than he imagined them to be. Gentle, tremulous. He could feel her heart pounding. She laughed softly into his shoulder, hiding her tears of happiness. Marcel lightly kissed her temple before nuzzling her shoulder as she did.
"This is the most unexpected plot twist of all," she whispered, pulling away.
"I'd say classic," he shrugged and slowly bent down to her face.
Seconds of contemplation, an attempt to memorize every little thing, every mole and wrinkle. Her eyes, still shining, stared openly into his. He slowly bent down and their lips finally met. A slow, soft kiss, without unnecessary stress and fervor, brought Marcel back to reality.
She answered him. It was all true. When he pulled back to look at her again, she pulled him into a new equally sweet kiss.
Marcel has finally found the meaning of his existence. To be with her. To be close. And he was happy.
