#ly merrick

[ultraterrestrialstars]

FABERRY / QUINNTANA/PEZBERRY /MISTYxCORDELIA FANDOM!

Years ago I spent time with y'all as a writer of fanfics here

https://m.fanfiction.net/u/3022981/

I wrote "Somewhere a Clock is Ticking" and some others in the glee fandom as well as some Misty and Cordelia stories from AHS.

back when I had no idea what ao3 was and I started to wonder what my place as a male identified person could be as a writer of these young women. I love the characters I wrote because I love strong women. My childhood hero and obsessive collection is still Xena: warrior princess. Anyway -

If y'all want, I'm willing to pass over access to my old account and stories somehow to give them back to the community. I love them so much and maybe some talented younger writer than myself (31 here) can even change or fix the faults in my stories!

As a queer trans man, I don't feel it's my place as a man to have possession of these tales. They were my treasured love stories for my own lonely heart, and as a lifelong writer I used them as a place to grow my writing and explore prose. I'm an illustrator and poet and freelance author now (and an overnight laborer to pay the bills) and these stories are where that career started for me. Yet I also identify as male and am almost six years on testosterone (no top surgery, too expensive). I'm not a queer woman, though I am a queer person. These young queer women were my heroes even after transition. Rachel Berry and her unfailing focus, Quinn Fabray and her secret desire for emotional vulnerability, Santana Lopez (rip naya) and her determination. Later in my fanfic career I wrote a fic in which Cordelia makes a pact to bring Misty back and when AHS made that canon, I felt so happy to see what I had wished would happen come true. Misty is who I wish I could emulate, and Cordelia is who I wish I had in my life. Writing their stories was like being immersed in those two fluid emotional desires.

I have easily multiple hundreds of thousands of words published on the account - most fics ranged from 30k to 150k words.

I just feel these stories about queer young women should belong to queer young women now.

+ ask here

send me a message and we'll work something out. I need to recover the password to my account and see what works I had in progress on my actual computer.

[ultraterrestrialstars]

Re-emergence

So quite some years ago I dedicated a lot of time and effort to fanfiction.  It was not only a therapeutic practice but also just playing with characters I loved.  I felt strange after transition and after years of growing out of young adulthood, writing stories about some of the characters. 

I am planning on getting back into the work of it, though, and finishing some old incompletes.

If you were ever around in the Faberry, Pezberry, or Misty/Cordelia fandoms you may have read some of my work.  If you do remember me, let me know what stories you want finished!  I need a place to start!

You can find all my works on Fanfiction.net HERE.  I was at one time under the pen name Ly Merrick and wrote stories such as “Somewhere a Clock is Ticking” (Faberry), and Sacrificial Wonder (Misty/Cordelia).

I’ve missed writing about a lot of these characters.  I’d love to reconnect with old friends, but if I can’t find any of my old community, I’d love to reconnect with new shippers.

[ultraterrestrialstars]

Apocalypse made me want to go write more misty/cordelia fanfic on my ffnet account. I haven't touched that account in so many years.

[ultraterrestrialstars]

creative writing prompt (under cut) - november 12

trigger warning: police brutality, violence, gore, dystopian theme

They shoot the white girl first.  From the moment it all began to the final escalation, this is not was Morris was expecting.  His hands, trembling against the back of his skull clench hard and before he can close his eyes, the pool of blood creeps toward him.  LED lights shine through his eyelids and dart around the room amidst shouts from men who have no reason to fear persecution or death.

It had started simply -- Morris, Angelina, and Stephon had decided to try getting into the old Victorian house at the end of the street just to see what had been abandoned there.  The entire city, really, had been abandoned and destroyed slowly over time as the government failed to help its citizens recover from poverty.  There had been old childhood rumors of hauntings, once, inspired by the large tower built up from the top floor of the home.  As children, they’d all joked that the Munsters lived there. 

Angelina was 22 today.  Was, Morris reflected as hot tears stung his eyes and the shouting blended into meaningless garble.  It was her birthday today.

Someone had called them in for trespassing, Morris assumed.  His hands unclenched and suddenly he felt a great need to open his eyes and reach out for Stephon.  As he did so, the Policemen were dragging Stephon to his feet, pulling his arms painfully behind his back.  Morris cried out, hot tears mixing with the blood on his face (his head had been slammed into the ground by an overzealous armed Policeman - he’d heard a crack somewhere inside his head then). 

“Please!  We weren’t doing anything wrong!  Please -- oh god,” he choked on his own vomit suddenly as he saw Angelina’s face, serene except for the red hole above her left eye.  Her beautiful red hair splayed and mixing with her seeping blood. 

As Morris was bent over, heaving his grief from his stomach, crying, he heard Stephon begging to be let go.  “What did we do?” 

An inappropriate, unsettling laugh arose from the shadowed Policeman at the doorway.  “I don’t know, I guess it doesn’t matter now does it?”

Bewilderment.  Morris, still crying, charged forward stupidly and caught Stephon around the waist, tackling them both to the ground too quick for the officers to respond.

Shots popped off near them, and Morris thought maybe the bullet had scraped him somewhere in passing, but he was up and dragging Stephon with them.  They ran as fast as they ever had, over the side of the property and into the woods. 

“Angelina!” Stephon cried, the word like a mourning howl.  It took effort to make him run.  Morris grabbed his face, slammed him against the trunk of a tree in the pitch black woods.

“I am so sorry,” Morris’s tears had not stopped.  Suddenly he was clutching to his best friend and feeling the absence of Angelina between them.  “I am so sorry, so sorry,” his words muffled against Stephon’s neck.  “We gotta go man, we gotta go,” and again he was grabbing Stephon’s hand and they were running.  Half-tripping over fallen logs and branches, they just kept running.  A mile back, lights passed through the edge of the trees like will-o’-the-wisps, harbingers of trouble.  Shouts, gunshots.

They didn’t have anywhere to go but forward through a blackening forest.  The town had degraded to an occupied place where only the institutions of power were safe.  There would be no court order or suspension for murdering an innocent white girl.  There would certainly not have been any justice had Morris or Stephon been shot; the framework would have been something much more monstrous if they were found.

So they ran until their knees wobbled, until Morris finally tripped over a log and landed face first in dry leaves and a decaying forest bed.  The pursuit had stopped.  There was nothing but the sound of owls around them and the ominious silence of the stars.  Stephon and Morris lay together, huddled against a hollowed log, trembling and completely uprooted.

They would wait for the sun, and keep going.  The town was lost, like so many others, to Police occupation.  The woods might be the only safe place to be.  So the young men trembled together, cried together, hands clasping the back of one another’s necks, foreheads pressed together, hot tears falling silently between them.  Twin brothers of tragedy in a growing dystopian land where life didn’t matter if you didn’t have a badge.