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fallin-4-ya · 3 years

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From Me to You

fred weasley x reader

summary: being from france yourself, you loved writing letters to those back in your home country. but, what happens if your letters are interjected, and someone begins writing in your pen pal’s place?

warnings: none! slight mention of food in this chapter! (gif is not mine, credit to owner)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

Sans toi, je ne suis rien

It was already dark as you rushed into the Great Hall. This was the third time this week you had been caught in detention with Snape. Polishing the cauldrons wasn’t an awful job, but he could at least keep a clock in the room so you could leave in a timelier fashion.

Famished from scrubbing, you sat next to Hermione and began putting food onto your plate before even greeting your Gryffindor friends.

‘What a warm welcome, Y/N.’ Ron commented, ‘How are you, Ron? Good, thanks Y/N. How are you?’

‘Shut it, Ronald.’ You said rolling your eyes, ‘I’d like to see you the next time you scrub potion cauldrons for two hours.’

Ron, Harry and Hermione had been your best friends at Hogwarts; and they had always been there for you. You moved from France to England the summer before your first year and you were quite nervous to say the least. No friends, no family; well, not including your parents and siblings anyways. That was until your father introduced you to some of his friends from work, one of them being Mr. Arthur Weasley.

And the rest is basically history. It was safe to say that you were very close with the Weasley family. Whether it was spending Christmas together or summer holidays playing quidditch, you all had the best of times. Being a year above Ron and a year below Fred and George, you had a good friend everywhere you turned.

‘Oi! Monet! Sorry about the dung bombs, hope your detention wasn’t too awful.’ Shouted Fred across the table, George laughing next to him. Monet, the nickname given to you by your friends at Hogwarts, short for your last name Monedeaux.

‘Oh, bugger off, you two!’ you shouted back with a lightness in your voice, ‘You know, if you were really sorry you would have taken the blame.’

The red heads looked at each other with smirks across their face and said ‘Never.’ In unison before turning their heads to finish a conversation with Lee.

There was no denial that you were secretly pinning for the elder of the twins. Fred was just a great guy, and sure he was a bit rough around the edges, but that’s why you liked him. He wasn’t the perfect guy, and you weren’t a perfect girl. You sighed shaking your head, because as much as you wished for something to happen, it was unlikely. You were just their partner in crime, their pranking bud. Fred saw you as another little sister, and although he loved you, surely it wasn’t like that.

So, you pulled yourself out of your thoughts and rejoined whatever conversation was happening in front of you, which was just Ron and Hermione passionately disagreeing, talking about quidditch. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle, because they were just so painfully obvious; and Harry seemed to think the same thing because he looked at you laughing as well.

‘Y/N, did you hear about the new pen pal exchange?’ Harry questioned, you responded by shaking your head no, ‘Oh! Well the headmasters decided that they would set up a sort of letter exchange program with the students of Beauxbatons. You know, to help them improve their English and for us to learn a little bit more about magical schools outside of the U.K.’

‘Really?’ you said surprised, mostly because you hadn’t heard of the program before. ‘That’s wonderful! Sounds like fun! I’d definitely want a go!’

‘Yeah, I figured. Especially you being from France at all, I think you just need to ask Dumbledore about it.’ Harry offered his advice.

‘Thanks, Harry!’

‘Not to worry, Monet.’ He smiled as you got up and began walking out of the great hall.

You began your ascend to the headmaster’s office and sheepishly knocked on the door. Dumbledore opened the door with a grin. ‘Ah, yes. Miss Monedeaux, just who I’d been expecting to see.’ He offered you a seat. ‘I expect you’re here to partake in our little, shall we say, writers’ rendezvous.’

You laughed at his words, ‘Yes, professor. I hope it’s not too late.’

‘Of course not, my dear.’ He said gently, ‘In fact I was so certain you’d arrive I’ve already picked out you partner!’

Dumbledore handed you a slip of paper with the name Maison Badeaux inscribed onto it, along with an address.

‘A charming young fellow, very handsome as well I hear.’ Dumbledore sent you a wink, which made a bubblegum pink crawl up your cheeks.

‘Thank you, professor! I’ll let you know how it goes!’ And with that you walked out of the head master’s office giddy and excited.

You practically skipped your way to the Gryffindor common room, antsy to write your first letter to your pen pal. Reciting the password, you entered a fairly busy space. Snagging a seat by the fireplace, you took out some spare parchment and a quill, beginning your work. However, you hadn’t have but five sentences in before you were interrupted by some troublemakers.

Fred and George knelt down beside you, looking down at your work. George shook his head, ‘Who on earth is Maison Buhdehawx? And why are you writing to them.’

You stifled a laugh and turned your head to face him. ‘His name is Badeaux and he’s French. We’re doing a pen pal exchange, where we help the students at Beauxbatons learn English by writing.’

Before you could turn your head the other way to meet Fred’s he snagged the letter out from under you. Hey you nearly shouted. But it was to no avail.

‘Oh, so this Maison person’s a boy?’ he instigated.

You looked at him with a bewildered expression, ‘Uhh, yeah? Why?’

Fred just cocked his brow and shrugged, ‘Just wondering.’

Then he walked away. Pretty unusual behavior for Fred Weasley. You’d expect more of a reaction, if you were being honest with yourself. Fred was more protective than anything, especially when it came to boys and dating. Once you had gone on a date with a Hufflepuff from your year and Fred inquired him so much, the poor boy cried. So, it was strange he left you with no further questions. You turned to George who seemed to look just as confused as you were.

‘What’s up with him.’

‘I’ve got no idea.’

(a/n: thank you all for reading!!! this is my new series, from me to you, and i really hope you enjoy it. i really love this concept and i hope you do too! let me know if you want to be added to this taglist! chit-chat soon!)

#Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #Fred and George #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley headcanons #hermione granger #george weasley #Ron Weasley #france

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Revelation Sunshine, Chapter 2 (Courtney/Vixen) - Veronica

A/N: I am so excited to finally be writing this story, especially as part of the challenge. Thank you so much to anyone who’s liked or commented. And especially thank you to the creator of the Galactica universe, @theartificialdane

Last chapter: After flirting via text and social media for a few months, Vixen and Courtney finally met in person, and ended up in bed.

This chapter: After a slightly awkward morning, they try to navigate an undefined long-distance situation.

***

It could have been a lazy morning, cuddling in bed while the rain pounded down outside, streaming against the windows, turning the whole world blurry and surreal. Vixen could have stayed in bed, warm and safe, and basked in the glow of their adorable puppy-love until Courtney had to leave for her photo shoot.

She could have let herself enjoy this—whatever it was, for at least a few more hours.

Instead, she woke up feeling unsettled and insecure, slipping out of bed to hunt down a toothbrush while Courtney dozed peacefully. It wasn’t until she was trying to quietly put her clothes back on and figure out where the hell her coat was that Courtney stirred.

“Good morning,” Courtney said with a yawn, sitting up slowly, tousled hair falling over her shoulders.

“Hey, sorry, I was trying not to wake you,” Vixen said. Her coat was nowhere to be found, she realized, because it was still downstairs where she’d checked it when she arrived. She rolled her eyes at her own alcohol-fueled stupidity and shoved her feet into her shoes.

It seemed to take Courtney a few moments to comprehend what Vixen had said, brow furrowing.

“You weren’t gonna say goodbye?” she asked softly.

Vixen froze.

“No, that’s not what I...I just know it’s early and I didn’t want to bother you with-”

Shit.

Courtney pulled the blankets up over her chest, an inscrutable expression on her face.

“Look, I know that I have a reputation for…” she paused, swallowing, “...I guess, taking this kind of thing lightly. But, that’s not what this is. I really like you.”

Guilt bloomed in Vixen’s chest as she moved to the bed, sitting down beside her. It actually hadn’t occurred to her, until this very moment, that Courtney might be feeling a scrap of the insecurity that plagued her. Everything about her life felt so charmed and perfect and easy; it was hard to remember that she was human too.

“I’m sorry,” Vixen said sincerely. “I really like you too. I just...I wasn’t thinking.”

Courtney nodded. It seemed like she believed her, so Vixen decided not to push it.

“Um...you fly back tonight, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And then your tour starts on-”

“Friday,” Courtney answered, a hint of resigned exhaustion in her voice before adding a chipper, “Can’t wait!”

Vixen chuckled softly.

“Well...then I guess I’ll see you when you’re in Chicago.”

“Yeah?” Courtney’s eyes shone hopefully.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

Courtney gave her a lopsided grin, which deepened when Vixen moved closer, kissing her lightly.

“Hey, um...text me later. Tell me about that museum,” Courtney told her, fingers lacing with Vixen’s.

“I will. And you...let me know how everything goes today.”

“Sure.”

When Vixen pulled back to look at her, she was relieved as the brightness in her eyes. It was going to be a long couple of months, but with things being what they were, it seemed unwise to try and define their relationship any more than “can’t wait to see you again.” So for now, this would have to do.

***

Trying to keep a lid on her obvious fuming, Vixen typed out a text.

Sorry to bother you right now, but the guard won’t let us in without backstage passes. Can someone maybe call him?

“Where are your passes?” the guard said again, crossing his arms, a scowl on his face.

“I...already told you, we don’t have passes, but I’m supposed to be on the list. Toni Taylor.” Vixen shifted, indignation rising in her chest as he stared her down. She was not going to lose it, though. Not here.

“You’re not on the list,” he said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Show him the text!” Monet said, elbowing her in the ribs.

“Oh right...sir, look. I have a text from Courtney Act that says to meet her here. I just contacted her again, but I’m sure she’s busy, so if you could-”

“How the hell do I know that’s a real text?” the guard scoffed.

“I...how far would we get if it wasn’t?!” Vixen asked, exasperated. “You think her people are just gonna let us in? Do you think that we think we can sneak around anywhere?” Vixen gestured to their group, five tall Black women all in bright, colorful club wear. Not the most inconspicuous of groups.

COURTNEY: OMG COMING NOW

“She says she’s coming,” Vixen said, looking up at the girls.

“Herself?” Monique asked, head tilted questioningly.

“I...I don’t know,” Vixen said.

But in fact, within 2 minutes, Courtney rounded the corner, in silver thigh-high boots and a makeup smock, hair half in curlers, the blonde offset by fresh rainbow highlights, marching towards them like a bat out of hell. A terrified redheaded boy wearing a headset followed on her heels.

“Where are they?!” Courtney demanded, then looked up and spotted Vixen, her face softening, hurrying toward her. She wrapped Vixen into a tight embrace, saying, “I’m so sorry about this, are you okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Vixen laughed. “Don’t worry, no one got out of line.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, this kind of shit is so fucking irritating.”

The guard, utterly chagrined now, started to stammer out an apology, but Courtney held up her hand.

“It’s fine. It’s your boss that I’m annoyed at.”

“So are they all on the list for-”

“Yes! All of them! Jonathan, give them the passes.” Courtney snapped her fingers at the ginger boy by her side, who hurriedly handed out VIP backstage passes to the whole group as Courtney led them back down the hall to the green room.

Mayhem and Monet exchanged a glance, Mayhem mouthing, ‘BAD ASS,’ and Monet laughing silently, nodding.

When they finally reached the large green room, Courtney turned around, urging the girls to make themselves comfortable.

“Have a seat anywhere. There’s food, drinks, and I…” she clasped her hands together. “...I’m so sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, girl. I love seeing someone yell at a douchey bouncer. Hi, I’m Monet.” She reached out a hand towards Courtney.

“Monique,” Monique jumped in quickly. “…and this is Mayhem.”

“Monet...Monique...Mayhem…” Courtney repeated with a nod. “Well, that’s gonna be a challenge.”

“Why?” Vixen asked, brow furrowed. “‘Cause all Black people look the same?”

Courtney’s eyes widened in alarm.

“No!” she insisted. “No, I meant because it’s just a lot of M names! And if-” she stopped short, seeing the stifled grins on all the faces around her, and narrowed her eyes.

Unable to hold back any longer, the girls all burst out laughing, peals of laughter bouncing off the walls. Courtney shook her head at Vixen, grinning.

“Good one. I almost had a heart attack,” she said, finally allowing herself to chuckle.

“Vix, what have we told you about scaring white girls just before their concerts?” Asia asked.

“Uhh...to do it?” The girls continued to laugh.

“Hey...I’m Moesha,” Asia said, and Courtney nodded slowly. When Mayhem hit her on the arm, she grinned and said, “Just kidding. I’m Asia.”

“Thank god,” Courtney breathed, a relieved giggle escaping. “So, I’m so glad you guys are here, but I kinda need to go finish preparing. I, uh…” She gestured to her half-done makeup and hair.

“Of course. Don’t worry about us,” Asia told her. “You go do your thing, get your makeup done, we’ll just be here. We’re gonna switch shirts and then test you on all the names.”

“Brilliant,” Courtney laughed. She turned to Vixen, fingers brushing against her wrist, asking, “Do you wanna come...hang out while they finish my makeup? You can see Kylie.”

“Sure!”

“Who’s Kylie?” Asia asked coyly, and Vixen turned around to give her a warning look before following Courtney into the adjacent room.

“Her dog.”

“Oh. Pity. I was hoping that it was her pus-”

“Asia!”

***

The concert was great—Vixen hadn’t seen Courtney perform for years, and she’d certainly upped the production value. Plus, having a VIP experience with some of her closest friends was awesome. It felt like the old days, all of them laughing and drinking and dancing and gossiping like school girls. Asia especially made her feel some type of way—ever since making partner at her law firm, she’d been working so much that Vixen hardly saw her. But tonight, they felt like kids again, even doing shots at one point, laughing until their stomachs hurt.

By the time they met Courtney backstage, collapsed in a sweaty mess on one of the green room sofas, Vixen felt pleasantly buzzed, happy and warm all over.

They settled in with more drinks and Indian food ordered from a nearby restaurant.

“So, how do you guys all know each other?” Courtney asked.

“College, mostly.” Vixen said, telling her how Asia was her RA freshman year at Hillman. “I was a fucking mess,” she said, laughing.

“You sure were,” Asia agreed, telling Courtney, “She spent most of the Fall semester on my carpet in tears.”

“Awww…”

“Well, fuck you, I had a lot on my mind!” Vixen snapped, then giggled again. “And, uh...Monique was in the same dorm. Although we didn’t really become friends until that Spring.”

“Yes! That philosophy class, with the...ugh,” Monique recalled, shaking her head.

“Monet was my study partner until she abandoned me,” Vixen went on, and Monet laughed.

“Listen, I just didn’t connect with all that sociology jargon. It didn’t speak to me,” Monet said.

“And uh, Mayhem met Monet through some educational leadership networking bullshit, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Monet nodded.

“And now we’re just...a bunch of boring ladies who work too hard and meet like once every 2 months for brunch,” Monique said.

“Party!” Mayhem added, clinking their classes.

Courtney grinned, listening to them share stories of their debaucherous college days and their sordid, stressed out twenties. Vixen could tell she was exhausted, knew that she was sacrificing her precious few hours of sleep before she had to get back onto the tour bus, just to hang out with her and get to know her friends.

Vixen kept looking over at her with a stupid, goofy smile on her face. At some point, it became permanent, making her cheeks hurt.

When the tour manager pulled Courtney away for a quick discussion, Asia took Vixen’s hand and squeezed it, saying, “Now, I know you don’t need my approval…but I like her.”

“Thanks,” Vixen grinned. Well. Continued grinning.

“And tell her I want tickets to the Oscars.”

“Oooh!” Monet chimed in. “I wanna go to the Tonys!”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be her first priority, guys,” Vixen said with an eye roll.

“It’s not fair...why can’t a rich, famous pop star fall in love with me?” Mayhem whined. “I’m very lovable.”

“Ehhh,” Monique gave her the ‘so-so’ gesture and the rest of the group busted up laughing once again.

Later, after several rounds of good-bye hugs, the girls headed for their car, and Vixen lingered behind, telling them to go ahead without her, she’d get her own car. (And then of course, she had to pretend not to see Asia’s knowing wink.)

“We had a great time, I really...you were fantastic up there,” Vixen said.

“Thank you for coming,” Courtney said, leaning against the door frame. “Now, don’t get me wrong, all audiences are special, in their own unique way…”

Vixen laughed, reaching out to cup her cheek.

“But, um…” Courtney trailed off, eyes shining as Vixen’s thumb grazed her skin.

Vixen leaned in, watching her eyes fall closed before pressing their lips together. The kiss was soft and sweet, and fairly chaste. But when Vixen pulled away, the dreamy expression on Courtney’s face made her heart hammer heavily.

“I love your hair like this,” Courtney said, admiring the gold woven into her twists.

“I tried to glam it up for you.”

“You’re beautiful.” Courtney’s lashes fluttered, arms wrapping around Vixen’s waist.

“So are you,” Vixen said, hands still cupping her face. “So...I know you must be pretty exhausted...but…you’re also really hot.”

Courtney bit her lip and leaned in for another kiss, lips trailing down her jaw and then nuzzling into her neck. She heaved a deep sigh.

“I really want you, but I can barely keep my eyes open,” Courtney admitted, voice muffled against Vixen’s skin.

“So...maybe I should leave, and let you rest.” She trailed her fingers through Courtney’s hair, watching the way her colorful highlights caught the dim light, not yet ready to let go of the moment.

“Okay,” Courtney agreed, hands still gripping her waist tightly.

Of course, she ended up staying. By the time they settled into Courtney’s hotel room, they barely had 3 hours. So Vixen just wrapped Courtney into her arms and held her, enjoying this little sliver of affection before she took off again, knowing that it might not be until her tour ended in October that they would see each other again.

***

Vixen had watched the video twice already, feeling only mildly ashamed as she started it again. Courtney was lying on a yoga mat, post-workout, skin glistening with sweat. She picked up a bottle of water, the video switching to slow motion as she began to pour it all over her face and chest. She batted her wet lashes, blinking the water out of her eyes before looking directly into the camera and slowly licking her lips. The whole video was just silly enough for plausible deniability (especially the caption of “oh no, i spilled!”) and yet unmistakably alluring. And of course, Vixen’s stomach flipped every time she saw that tongue. What was wrong with her?

VIXEN: Wow. Your last post was…

COURTNEY: You like it? ;)

VIXEN: You look like a THOT

COURTNEY: LOL! Are you slut shaming me?!

VIXEN: I mean...

COURTNEY: Wow. And here I thought you were all about empowerment. Smh

VIXEN: FINE. Go ahead...live your best slut life.

COURTNEY: Aww, thx! Xoxo

***

Vixen was deeply aware of what she said on social media. As much as she wanted to pop off at people (and had, frequently, back in another lifetime, years ago), she knew that her academic credentials required at least a small semblance of self control.

So for the most part, she kept her tweets and instagram comments brief and professional. Almost formal.

Courtney, however, had no such rules for herself. She basically said any and everything on her mind, commented unabashedly, posted without filters. (Except like, literal filters, which she seemed to enjoy tremendously.) It was both endearing and, at times, deeply concerning for Vixen, for whom privacy was essential.

For instance, there was the story from Seoul Pride, where she met up with one of her old friends, Adore Delano—the two of them gallivanting around, drinking and laughing and screaming like idiots from a parade float. The whole thing culminated in a video of Courtney in a nightclub, glassy-eyed and extremely proud of herself, literally licking Adore’s face.

And then when Vixen posted a still from an interview with the Tribune, she immediately responded with nothing but a row of 10 heart-eyed emojis. Which led to Vixen getting hundreds upon hundreds of comments from what she presumed were Courtney’s (very young) followers: unbridled, hysterical excitement the likes of which she had never seen.

VIXEN: Um. What...with all due respect...the fuck?

COURTNEY: Oh yeah. The shippers. Sorry, I should have warned you.

VIXEN: I mean. Jesus fucking Christ.

COURTNEY: We’re OTP #couplegoals now. I’m afraid you have to marry me.

VIXEN: Seems that way, doesn’t it? BTW where are you? What time is it? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?

COURTNEY: Berlin. 4 am. Yes.

VIXEN: Say goodnight, Courtney

COURTNEY: Goodnight Courtney <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

***

A few days later, after finishing some rather emotional office hours (why every student felt the need to unburden their deepest traumas on Vixen that Wednesday, she didn’t know), she took a much-needed break, sipping a cup of coffee. She saw the picture right away (okay, maybe she had alerts set up by now, whatever)—Courtney curled up in bed with her dog, wearing a fuzzy pink unicorn onesie with turquoise accents and a ridiculous rhinestoned horn.

VIXEN: I can’t decide if it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever worn, or like...mortifying

COURTNEY: Both!

VIXEN: Lol, fair enough

COURTNEY: And perfect for cuddling ;)

VIXEN: I’ll bet!

COURTNEY: Why don’t you send me a pic in your favorite sleepwear?

VIXEN: I’m supposed to be a respectable member of the faculty, and you want me to use school wifi for that?

COURTNEY: SEND NUDES XXX

VIXEN: Lol

About a week later, a box showed up at Vixen’s front door. The return address had Courtney’s name and an unfamiliar return address. She assumed it was fine, but her suspicious nature required a safety check.

VIXEN: What’s in this package that just showed up at my house?

COURTNEY: OMG! That was so fast!! Open it!!

VIXEN: So, not a bomb? Please confirm

COURTNEY: Lol, no. Open it.

Vixen took the box inside, cutting it open carefully. Inside, there was another box, pink and shiny, with a card on top. The note read, ‘To replace your hoodie. Perfect for snuggling. XO, C.’

She lifted the lid on the pink box, and nestled inside was a fluffy turquoise dragon onesie with iridescent pink scales. It was the silliest thing that Vixen had ever seen. Silly and beautiful and perfect.

VIXEN: Damn. I guess fantasies do come true.

COURTNEY: I hope so...

#rpdr fanfiction #the vixen #courtney act #courtney x vixen #trans!vixen #asia o'hara #monet x change #monique heart #mayhem miller #fluff #mild angst #lesbian au #galactica au #fic challenge #black girl magic fic #revelation sunshine #veronica #diversity fic #trans character

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chibinightowl · 6 years

Note

Bakery AU Jaytim if you’re still doing prompts? 💕

I am! But I think I’ll save the rest of the ones I received for this next weekend. It was a fun way to spend my downtime at work.

After the last prompt I filled, I decided I need to end my day on a fluffy note. Have some sweetness! ~*~

Tim bites his tongue as he concentrates on carefully icing the delicate cupcake in front of him. It’s a special order for a wedding and he wants each one to be perfect. Stephanie teases him for being too intent on his decorating but it’s the meticulous nature of it that appeals to him in the first place. That and the creative freedom. He still can’t believe he runs a small business — and a bakery to boot. How far the Drake name has fallen. Whatever, Tim’s happy and that’s all that matters. He took what little inheritance he got after his parent’s death (that survived the conservatorship while he was in the foster system) and promptly invested it. Baking always served as an escape for him, and his foster grandma encouraged it and taught him all kinds of things, so after he graduated high school, he went to culinary school to become a pastry chef. The intense pace of restaurant life didn’t suit him, so he sold all his stocks and bought a food truck where he started selling cupcakes and other easy to make (but no less delicious) baked goods. Thanks to his tech savvy, Tim maintained a strong presence on social media and soon his business grew. After six months, he hired Stephanie as his baking assistant and they hit it off fabulously, with her bright energy contrasting nicely against his somewhat intense personality. And now, here he is with his own storefront. Stephanie still takes the truck out during peak hours but now Tim stays behind for the most part to hide in his kitchen and simply create. Customers occasionally interrupt but most of his work now comes from special orders. Like the six dozen black forest cake cupcakes with a dark cherry filling and a blood red buttercream frosting dusted with edible gold glitter. They’re for a gothic inspired wedding, which Tim finds awesome. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the last few years, it’s the eclectic crowd that inspires his creativity the most. “Tim!” Steph all but shouts as she comes bursting into the kitchen. He’s used to it so he barely startles and keeps working. “Oh. My. God. You won’t believe who just walked in and asked for you.” “Let me guess. Mickey Mouse?”That earns him a smack upside the back of his head. “No! It’s Jason Wayne.” It takes a moment for the name to sink in. When it does, Tim drops his piping tube. “You’re shitting me.” Jason Wayne. Second son (adopted) of Bruce Wayne. Formerly Robin and now Redwing. Tim is a fan. A massive fan. He’s been a fan of Robin since he first figured out Dick Grayson was Batman’s sidekick at the tender age of 9. But Jason…Tim always kind of considered him his Robin, especially after the night he rescued a younger Tim from some gang on his way home from the library late one night. His foster family didn’t live in the best part of town but it wasn’t the worst either. “I know!!” Steph all but squeals as she shoves him toward the door. “He says he has a special order he wants to run by you. Now get out there!” She picks up the piping bag to take over. The cupcakes have to be done in a couple hours. Tim stumbles through the door but he still takes a moment to glare back over his shoulder at his friend and assistant. “Just be careful with those!”“Since when am I not? You taught me how to do it, Mr. Picky-Pants.” His ears burn as Tim turns around to greet his famous customer. Of course he heard that. Jason leans casually against the counter and grins at him. “She’s feisty, huh?”“You have no idea.” Tim rubs his hands on his icing smeared apron and grimaces when they’re still red. “Uhh, excuse me if I don’t shake your hand.”“Don’t worry about it. A little icing never hurt anyone.” Jason holds out his hand. “I’m Jason Wayne.”“I know,” Tim replies and then blinks. “Umm. Sorry. Tim Drake.” He shakes Jason’s hand. It’s big and warm and wow, there’s a lot of scars on his knuckles. Jason must notice where Tim’s eyes land. “I box and do some MMA,” he offers. “Oh. Yeah.” Tim reluctantly lets go and tries to put his business face on, much to the dismay of his inner fanboy who is screaming and bouncing in glee at meeting one of his heroes. “So! Steph says you want me to make something for you?” The taller man chuckles easily. He must be used to this. “I am. Normally we have Alfred make cakes, but he just broke his foot and he’s getting up there in age, so I thought maybe we’d contract out this year.” “Oh? What’s the occasion?” “Damian’s 15th birthday.” Jason doesn’t sound enthused. Even Tim’s heard and seen stories about how challenging the youngest Wayne (and current Robin) is. “Gotcha. So, teenager then.” His wheels are already turning. He grabs a pad of paper and a pencil and then heads over to a small table in the front of the shop. “Come into my office,” Tim jokes. Jason takes a seat, his long legs sticking out from either side of the table. The denim of his jeans strains over his incredibly muscular thighs and Tim does his best not to whimper. But it’s hard because the man just hits every single one of his buttons. It’s not fair.“What does Damian like?”The question garners an eye roll from Jason. “Sharp pointy objects. Art. Dogs. Any music that involves a symphony orchestra.”Tim’s done dog cakes before and even one that resembled Monet’s garden, which had been a bitch and a half. “So, a violin perhaps? Oh! Maybe a throwing star! Does he like ninja?” He gets all excited and starts sketching, completely missing the sharp look Jason gives him. “He hates ninja, but loves throwing stars. He’s got a few,” the man replies cautiously. But Tim’s in the zone, drawing a design for a modified star-shaped cake and sharpening the edges, tightening some lines and widening others. “I haven’t seen one since I stopped watching Naruto, but I think it’s something like this.” He shows Jason the drawing. He stares at it a moment before grinning broadly. “That looks fucking awesome. You think you can pull it off?” Tim scoffs. “I don’t see why not. It’s laying flat after all. Unless I can get it to stand…” the wheels start to turn again but Jason brings him back to the present by actually waving his hand in Tim’s face. “Slow your roll there, Timmers. Flat is fine.” “Oh. Okay.” He can’t help the slightly disappointed feeling that he won’t get a chance to really show off for his favorite Robin. Tim forces himself to focus. “So what kind of flavors does Damian like?”Jason rattles off a list of some definitely uncommon tastes, but by the end, Tim only has one idea and he can’t wait to give it a try. “I wonder if I can make a spiced chai cake.” “That…that would be awesome if you can pull it off.” Jason sounds impressed. Tim is already making a shopping list as star anise and cardamom aren’t spices he keeps on hand. “I’ll have to make some samples to see how it turns out. Are you available at all for a tasting?” Another really important question comes to mind and Tim brushes his bangs away from his face. “When do you need this by?” Jason’s staring at him in bemusement. “Two weeks. I know it’s short notice with what I saw online but I was kinda hoping maybe you’d make an exception.” Tim laughs at him. “I’m making Damian Wayne’s birthday cake. Even if it’s just for a small party, that kind of exposure is huge for a little business like mine. I’d be a fool not to.”“In that case, I can stop by next week for a tasting,” Jason says and stands. This meeting is apparently over, at least for now. “That should be plenty of time. This is going to be fun.” Tim knows he sounds eager and doesn’t care.

Jason smiles again, and Tim wants to just melt because it’s so unlike the playboy smile he sees on TV or his Instagram feed (because of course he follows Jason Wayne). “You really like a challenge, don’t you?” he asks.

“I love a good challenge,” Tim agrees, grinning back at his hero.

“So do I.” Jason hesitates, then reaches out and runs his thumb over Tim’s cheek. It comes back red, which Tim swears could probably be from the amount of blood rushing to his face because Jason just touched him. “You always covered in frosting?”

For once, Tim’s brain lines up with his mouth and he says something that sounds clever. “Only on special occasions.”

Or not.

But Jason smirks and raises his thumb to his mouth, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste the red frosting that has apparently been on Tim’s face the entire time they were speaking. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He takes the pencil and pad of paper from Tim and writes something on it before handing it back. “See you soon.”

Tim stands there petrified as Jason walks out and drives away in an absolutely sick red car that screams money and horsepower. Once he’s out of sight, he looks down at the pad of paper.

There’s a phone number written next to his picture. More importantly, there’s a little note in a bold print.

I wonder if you taste as good as your frosting?

#chibinightowl writes #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Stephanie Brown #BakeryAU #JayTim

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adeaddrop · 7 years

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The fourth-annual LA Podfest. Photo by the author

The line in the Sofitel Hotel in Beverly Hills already ran the entire length of the second floor hallway and coiled down the foyer stairs into the lobby. This wasn’t a queue of excited fans waiting for a pop-up concert, book signing, or early film screening. These people, all of whom had paid between $30 and $120 to be here, were waiting to watch comedian Doug Benson and his yet-to-be-named guests play movie-centric word games as he recorded another episode of his hit podcast, Doug Loves Movies.

This was the fourth annual LA Podfest, a congregation of podcasters, sponsors, and ardent podcast fans who gather to celebrate and discuss the industry. For the first time this year, the event had a festival-wide sponsor—Audible.com, a subsidiary of Amazon.

As someone who listens to podcasts daily as a zen escape from LA’s traffic, I was excited to catch live performances by the people I’ve listened to year after year—but the cynic in me wondered if the medium sits precariously on a bubble that could burst at any moment. After all, some have argued that podcasting won’t survive, since the medium hasn’t exactly gone mainstream and no one’s making millions on them.

Podcasts have existed in their current form for a little over a decade, starting with small-scale shows and growing to include quite a few breakout stars. What was once a cottage industry is now a full blown Big Business, with major movie studios buying podcast networks and A-List celebrities making appearances on podcasts to promote their new shit, the same way they flood the internet with mandatory Reddit AMAs.

But it wasn’t until last year’s murder-mystery series, Serial, that the general public figured out what the podcast medium really was. With over 80 million downloads since it launched in November, Serial seemed to signal that the medium had finally arrived. It was as if one day your mom, boss, and middle-aged neighbor came up to you and said, “Hey! Have you ever tried this stuff called ‘su-shi?’ It’s so good! You have to check it out!” People were going nuts—TIME even published the handy “You Asked: What Are Podcasts?” to explain the medium beyond Serial‘s fame.

After the initial buzz wore off, podcast listenership continued to grow, nearly doubling between 2008 and 2015—but content on the medium still falls short of becoming the stuff of water cooler talk.

“Podcasts are never on unless you’re choosing to listen to them.” — Justin McElroy

Then, in June of this year, comedian and—for lack of a better comparison—the Oprah of Podcasting, Marc Maron, pulled off the coup of interviewing Obama. If this couldn’t legitimize the medium, nothing would. But, as with Serial, Obama’s visit to chat with a comedian in his garage didn’t seem to pull podcasts into the zeitgeist. Maron, who performed at Podfest over the weekend, told me that “it was an honor to do it—and then you kinda get back to business as usual.”

Marc Maron at LA Podfest. Photo by the author

So what’s the problem? Public ignorance about what a podcast even is remains one of the challenges—if not the biggest challenge—facing the industry as a whole. As Doug Benson put it, “You type the word ‘podcasting’ on your computer and a red line goes under it like it’s not even a word.”

That’s not to say the medium isn’t growing. The television was invented in 1926 but it took three decades before everyone had one in their living room. Just a decade into its existence, podcasting has already made impressive strides: There are now over 75 million unique monthly podcast listeners, compared to 25 million in 2006, so there’s clearly consistent growth happening.

But Maron and others say it’s difficult to attract new listeners, since listening to podcasts isn’t intuitive. If podcasts are ever going to go the way of television, Maron told me, “one of two things will happen: People will get into the habit [of downloading and listening] or there will finally be a platform that will make it incredibly easy to consume. Fortunately, I’m not the type that has an ego where I’m like, ‘I WANT IT TO BE HUGE!’ I’m happy at this point in my life to be earning a living in a medium that doesn’t require me to be pretty or to have it be based on ratings.”

Related: These Are the Five Video Gaming Podcasts You Need in Your Life

Justin McElroy, of the weekly comedic advice podcast My Brother, My Brother, and Me, shared similar concerns. “[Podcasts are] not really being curated for you in any way. I would bet the rate of people that just listen to one or two podcasts is a lot higher than the rate of people that just watch one or two TV shows.”

“TV is something you get pretty passively,” McElroy continued. “It’s on a screen. You walk into someone’s house, you see a bug for it at the bottom of the screen while you’re watching another show…Podcasts are never on unless you’re choosing to listen to them.”

Paul F. Tompkins. Photo by the author

Paul F. Tompkins, one of the more prolific performers in the podcast biz, cited this as the reason podcasts will probably never blow up in mainstream media.

“I don’t know if podcasts are ever going to ever achieve the same recognition that a hit TV show does, because I think not everybody likes to consume things in that way. It’s a medium that requires a little more work,” he told me. “TV is very easy. You just sit there and it’s audio and video. It’s everything you need. But I think the kind of theater of the mind that requires you to focus and pay attention on a voice… You’re already asking for one extra step from people.”

This could potentially pose problems for the funding of podcasts down the line—something that actually could kill the medium. For now, most larger podcasts on podcast networks use the advertising model: Advertisers like Audible and Squarespace place an order for so many ads over so many months. Smaller podcasts have adopted the paid subscription model, providing some free content to attract new listeners. Others, like the elder podcast statesmen behind Uhh Yeah Dude, which has been ad-free since 2006,have turned to fan donations to keep the lights on.

Did you know our food channel MUNCHIES just started a podcast? Listen here.

Dustin Marshall’s network, Feral Audio, tries to be more like a profit-sharing art collective than a business. This self-imposed independence has branded Feral Audio’s collection of shows as sort of the quirky misfits of the space. But what they lack in corporate support, they make up for in their talent pool, with flagship podcasts like Communitycreator Dan Harmon’s weekly pseudo-town hall meeting Harmontown, garnering upwards of two million downloads a month, according to Marshall.

“Everybody’s trying to monetize this thing, but [Feral Audio is] mainly concerned with maintaining independence. There’s ‘big podcasting,’ but we’re more concerned with owning everything because then we don’t have to worry about delivering to investors,” Marshall told me.

Sure, money and popularity are great. Nobody I talked to wouldn’t love to make the nextSerial. But it’s the intimacy, earnestness, and creative freedom that seems to be the main reason podcasts inspire such passion among both listeners and producers—and that’s why they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“I’m going to do this whether I make money or not,” Tompkins said. “I really enjoy the form. I really enjoy the medium and I like that you can do whatever you want. You just have to buy your equipment and put it up.”

Thumbnail photo via Flickr user David Martín.

Story from 2015

Source: Podcasts Aren’t Dead, They’re Just Getting Started | VICE | United States

#Podcasts #Beverly #California #dead #getting #Hills #Hotel #LA #Marc #Maron #not #Paul #podcasts #po

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