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starrysnowdrop · 6 months

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Reactions to Days Gone By, Days Yet to Come

Here are my reactions and thoughts about the encore side story from Tales From The Dawn, which you can read HERE before proceeding under the cut. Beware: MAJOR Endwalker spoilers ahead! Keep in mind that I’ll be discussing my own headcanons with my Azem, so if you don’t care about that, feel free to move along.

So I want to just say that this was the absolute best side story they’ve ever written so far! And because it’s also the one that the community voted on, it makes it even more special. I’ve re-read it twice already and I’m so beyond happy to have read this. I’m still crying from reading it and processing it all. In fact, they gave us so many little details about all our favorite Ancients that I’m eating it up!!

First of all, I LOVE that this is all from Hyth’s POV. It’s fantastic. Anyways, next we get a detail about Azem talking to Hyth about the fourteenth in a series of concepts helping with travel, and I NEED to know more!! What is it?? I have many questions about this one thing in particular. Then we have a brief appearance from Byregot himself in the form of Hyth’s secretary trying to stop him from leaving but I giggled at the fact that Hyth just ignores him and goes to do his own thing. This has such gremlin energy that is so perfect for Hyth, but I also giggle at the fact that this is exactly what Urania would do as well. The sibling vibes are over the top here and I love it.

Then we get a huge lore drop that I wasn’t expecting at all: Mitron is a woman!! Which means that Mitron and Loghrif are both women and with the tons of hint drops we have throughout the canon, I’m here to say I’m celebrating the lesbians today! In my head this is Mitron x Loghrif as confirmed as a lesbian couple as we are ever going to get, and I’m soooooo happy.

Next we get another lore drop, this time with Lahabrea and Igeyorhm, and we have confirmation that they are cousins! This makes so much sense now, as we already knew about them working closely with one another and then they joined together in their fight against WoL in Azys La. I was never a Lahabrea x Igeyorhm shipper, so having them be cousins makes way more sense to me. Nice to see someone scolding Lahabrea for all of his Pandaemonium shenanigans.

Then we get Elidibus and I just know all the Elidibus shippers are screaming with joy. Whether you are a Themis x Erich or a Themis x WoL shipper, you’ve been fed, and I’m happy for you all.

Skipping over the part where I’ll blab about forever (ahem Hermes and his existential dread ahem), we get yet another Emet smile as Azem departs on their journey!! Ahhhhhhhh my heart!!! I am so full of emotions with how Hyth talks about Emet here, and in the parts following this scene. No matter if you read Hyth x Hades x Azem as platonic or romantic, or if you romantically ship only one part of them or none at all, you can just feel how deeply Hyth, Hades, and Azem all love each other. I can feel the love coming out of the words and it’s absolutely tragic and beautiful. Especially when you find out that Emet was the one holding out till the last minute to not summon Zodiark until they received word from Azem. God my heart just shattered right there.

And we also get confirmation that Azem left the convocation in order to find the cause of the Final Days and to stop it without the sacrifice to Zodiark. This was my headcanon and it’s probably a headcanon many of you shared, so to see this confirmed as canon sparks joy. It’s absolutely perfect for Urania, although with the new information about Emet trying to have the Convocation wait until they heard from Azem, I will have to reconsider her departure from Amaurot and her feelings towards Hades and Hermes now that we have this new information.

Another tiny piece of detail also confirmed a headcanon I’ve held for years: Hyth and Hades are childhood friends! I’m so happy to see this be confirmed as canon.

Alright, I think I’ve held off long enough. It’s time to talk about Hermes.

So, overall I’m so goddamn happy that we got to have more Hermes in this short scene. Every little bit of him I can get I will gladly take it. And I especially love that we are getting to see the man who lived through the Kairos mind wiping and what he was like after all of it went down. And yet… I feel completely devastated for him.

He looks like a wreck, he’s buried into his work, and he’s also deep in mourning with no one around to understand him. He thinks he has killed Meteion and says he “murdered her”, and it is so upsetting to see him like that. He also I believe is discovering the beginnings of the Final Days and I think he somehow knows that there’s something else wrong, something that he should know and doesn’t remember, and it’s tearing him up. But it’s even more tragic when Hyth mentions that he and everyone else talks about the Kairos incident and the “death of Meteion” as an “amusing anecdote”, and mentions that no one talks about familiars as people, so it truly shows how utterly alone Hermes really is. My heart broke when Hyth says that after the loss of Meteion, Hermes never made another flying creation ever again, and god I just want to cry.

I do like how Hyth is trying to be a friend and get Hermes to rest, and he’s doing what he thinks will help him. But even with Hyth’s caring soul, he just can’t understand what Hermes is going through. And it’s such a tragedy. It reinforces that even Azem couldn’t help Hermes in his time: it’s not until the WoL can offer the answer to Amon of “next time we will find the answers together” that he finds a true friend that understands him. And yet Amon is only the sundered reincarnation of Hermes, not Hermes himself. And I’m sobbing in my room on a Thursday morning over it all.

Now more than ever do I want to write more for Hermes. Not just in the tragic canonverse, but for the Modern AU that I have brainworms for, and quite possibly in a Happy Ending AU for him… with maybe Hali shipping with him??? It’s just a thought.

Anyways, I think I’ve rambled on long enough. If you’ve survived reading all of this, I commend you and thank you wholeheartedly for doing so! If you have any further questions for me about any of my reactions, feel free to send me an ask or a message!! 🥰💖

#ffxiv endwalker #endwalker spoilers #tales from the dawn #days gone by days yet to come #unsundered hali: urania #urania x hermes #ship: think of me #I have tons of brainworms now #and I don’t know what to do with it all #I need time to process it all #now I have not only canon story stuff to write but possibly two AUs

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steddieunderdogfics · 22 days

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This week’s writer spotlight feature is: Sleepingoffyourdemons! They have 6 works posted to AO3 and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

Nevertheless_5 recommends the following works by @punkslovepoints:

in the back of your girlfriend's car

The most that I could give to you is nothing at all

"The A is for Ally"

What Happens at Comic Con Stays at Comic Con

obliterations everywhere (we blaze with scorching heat)

Sleepingoffyourdemons’ fics are character studies, grounded in reality with all the painful angst, real world consequences, and heartwrenching love you could want in your Steddie wish fulfillment. They hurt and heal in equal measure. They feel immersive in a comforting way. I fell in love with the first fic I read, and proceeded to read everything else by the author. Also, the research put into the time periods and info in notes is just icing on the cake. -- Nevertheless_5

Below the cut, @punkslovepoints answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I don’t know! I didn’t watch season 4 and immediately think, “These guys are in love.” In fact, during Eddie's first scene, I didn't really even like him. Then, existing on the edge of the wider Stranger Things fandom, I saw a few fics showing up here and there and that was what really pulled me in.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I love a good missing scene fic, although I can understand why there aren’t many of those in this fandom, given that staying true to canon leads to a very grisly end to one half of the ship. I also like a slow burn, friends to lovers and a wee bit of angst.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Honestly, the same that I like to read. I try to write for myself and hope that other people will like it too. As difficult as that can be sometimes, like everyone, I also crave external validation where every comment makes your day.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

A Certain Type and the rest of the series by @anniebass. It’s one of those that burrows into your chest and lives there for the rest of your life. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about that fic.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I’m annoyingly resolute to sticking as close to canon as possible (Eddie dying aside!) so I’ve never really strayed away from that. But have had an idea for an AU for the upcoming Steddie Big Bang that I think I could write with enough connection to canon that it’ll keep the part of my brain that screams ‘that wouldn’t happen!!!’ quiet.

What is your writing process like?

I tend to get an idea then focus on that until it’s done and posted. I don’t write that often, and I obsess over small details. I must have read each one of my fics twenty times or more, just going over and over them before I post.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I don’t know! There’s probably a lot that I’m not even aware of. Most of my fics have a lot of references at the end, even ones that aren’t specifically historical, so that’s probably a dead giveaway that a fic is one of mine. That and going off on tangents for whatever my special interest is that month.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Definitely when I’ve finished. Although as I’m posting, people’s comments and feedback may inspire me to make small alterations or add scenes here or there in future chapters. I wrote an extra scene into the final chapter of The Most That I Could Give To You… to give an OC a proper send off because of the number of comments I’d had earlier in the fic from people who loved him. I also re-wrote the final scene of “The A is for Ally” the night I posted it because I decided I didn’t like how it ended and changed it.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Probably “The A is for Ally”, because of the sheer amount of research that I put into it. I wanted to write an exploration of queer history that focused on queer joy in the early 90’s. It can be hard to find that balance, writing queer ships set in less progressive times. Because it wasn’t all sunshine and roses, but, equally, there were moments of joy and communities of real queer people living their lives and fighting for those queer spaces. I wanted to pay tribute to that. [Side note: The title is a joke, the A is not for Ally].

How did you get the idea for What Happens at Comic Con Stays at Comic Con?

As with most of the fics I've written, I wanted to read it, so I wrote it. I was looking for something set at comic con and was shocked when I couldn't find anything, especially with the source material being what it is. I later discovered Descent into the Depths of the Earth (Or at Least Milwaukee) by disastardly on Ao3, but by then I'd written mine. Luckily they are totally different, and I'd highly recommend that one too.

When writing "The A is for Ally", what was something you didn’t expect?

How popular it got! I’m still a small writer, not a big name or anything, but I got so many more comments on that fic compared to all the ones before and @cemeterylight even drew art of it. It was so nice that something I wrote resonated with people.

What inspired in the back of your girlfriend's car?

There’s a song by Lucy Dacus called Christine that has the lines “You're falling asleep on my shoulder in the back of your boyfriend's car” that is a beautiful portrayal of queer longing. Loving somebody who is with somebody else who obviously isn’t right for them. I love Nancy, and wanted to follow that thought: What happens if Steve does win Nancy back, but they’re both different people now? My pitch for the fic is that it's an exploration of trauma and chasing highs, loving multiple people in multiple ways at once, messy relationships and making out in cars. All with a Steddie endgame, of course.

What was your favorite part to write from The most that I could give to you is nothing at all?

Probably the couple of chapters in California. Eddie and Steve have been hooking up on and off for a few years long distance, and after it all blows up, they agree to spend some time getting to know each other without letting sex get in the way. It was fun to write in that space where you have two people who are obviously in love, have a history, but are trying desperately to avoid falling into old habits. That simmering sexual tension.

How do/did you feel writing What Happens at Comic Con Stays at Comic Con?

Really nostalgic for going to comic con! I haven’t been to one in a few years and it just made me miss the feeling of being in a space where everyone is as weird and nerdy as you are.

What was the most difficult part of writing obliterations everywhere (we blaze with scorching heat)?

I hadn’t actually written a proper fic before when I wrote that one. I had written two drabbles over a decade ago and that was it. So just writing it was difficult. At the time, there were next to no fics where Eddie was the one having a bi crisis and Steve was fairly chill in his sexuality (there still aren’t enough in my opinion, it’s a top tier trope) so I just wrote what I wanted to read.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

Probably the whole conversation this snippet is taken from within The Most That I Could Give To You… where Steve has the charm turned up to eleven and Eddie is fighting for his life (figuratively this time). I adore writing the Stobin back and forth dynamic too, so there's this one from The Most That I Could Give To You… where they're talking about Sisyphus and May 29th 1992 from “The A is for Ally” where Robin sees something she wishes she hadn't. I also got a lot of nice comments on this scene from “The A is for Ally” where Wayne mistakenly thinks Steve and Eddie are dating and “Steve didn't correct him, didn't feel the distinction was all that important.”

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’ve just posted a new one, Pebble and I've got another one that I’m part way through, both of them returning to my roots and featuring Eddie having a bi crisis. I’m also planning on taking part in the Steddie Bang, but obviously can’t talk about that!

Thank you to our author, @punkslovepoints, and our nominator, Nevertheless_5! See more of Sleepingoffyourdemons' works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #writer's wednesday #ao3 writer #steddie writers

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ceterisparibus116 · 1 year

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4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral? 7. What is your deepest joy about writing? [this one made me laugh, so I'm sending it too lol] 14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back? 19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going? 24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

Thank you so much for these!

4. PERFUNCTORY.

It's such a fun word! Say it out loud and tell me it isn't amazing! One of my friends say I use it too much in my writing but I don't care? It's amazing?

7. Already answered here. 💖

14. I do not lend books to people because they're MINE. My "lost" books are all truly lost books and I alone am responsible for their fate. Will I ever get them back? Probably not.

Actually, I'm not solely responsible for all my lost books because some of them were destroyed when my parent's house caught fire and yes, I grieved the loss of my books more than the loss of anything else (except one (1) thing).

19. Ooh, I love this ask, and since the prompt is "tell me a story about your writing journey," I'm gonna get blatantly self-indulgent here.

I vividly remember when I started writing which makes me so happy because my memory is crap.

Okay. So. I was 8 years old. I was sitting at the kitchen counter. My mom was making lunch. And I said: "Mom, I wanna write a story about our guinea pigs." And she said: "That's great."

I then proceeded to get blank yellow-ish paper (because it looked cool) that didn't have lines, and I exclusively wrote with the paper turned horizontally (why???), and I almost exclusively wrote in a tiny little "studio" I built in my closet that was just me sitting cross-legged in front of a box turned upside-down.

That said, I started storytelling even sooner. I don't even remember how young I was when I started. But I'd play with toys (mostly stuffed animals, but also Barbies and Star Wars action figures), and I'd narrate everything they did out loud. The fun part for me was choosing the right words (I'd even re-do a "scene" if I didn't narrate it "correctly") and hearing it out loud.

I was, however, absolutely enraged to discover that one of my brothers had been sneaking into my room and hiding under my bed to listen to me. In hindsight, I realize it was actually a compliment. He just liked my stories.

The main "bump" in writing was that I was initially writing stories the way that I narrated playing: literally just recording whatever the characters did, with no real intentionality and no real vision. Which is fine, except that it made it really hard to build to anything within the story, and made it almost impossible to find a satisfying ending.

But eventually, I started reading books about writing, and that really helped me figure out the mechanics of storytelling. And far from turning writing into something boring and technical, it gave me the tools I needed to actually write a story from start to finish. I completed my first story when I was 10 years old: it was called "Betsy the Pug" (inspired by my grandparent's pug) and it was a solid 40k words.

(My dad had this thing where he'd read stories out loud to my brothers and me when we were kids, and he was still doing that for us at this time, so he got really excited over the idea of reading "Betsy the Pug" out loud to everyone. I was mortified.)

I also owe a huge debt of thanks to the Warrior Cats books, which inspired my first series. I wrote five books on dog tribes and some of the later ones in the series were actually decent. This was also a great lesson for me because I sent the first book to the editor of my grandma's books (she's an author), and the editor graciously gave me feedback. Obviously it sucked to hear "this isn't publishable" (which...duh, I was like 12), but I turned right around and started trying to implement her advice. That memory probably wouldn't be so meaningful to me but for my dad (thank you, Dad) regularly bringing that moment up as an example of a time when I received discouraging news and not only didn't quit, but sought to find something good in the situation (by taking the advice).

Where am I now? Nearing the 2 million word mark of fanfiction. (I am absolutely going to throw myself a small party when I hit that milestone.) Also working on publishing some original works. More on that to come. ;)

24. TOTALLY DEPENDS. Okay, well, with all stories, I think it's important to know generally how the story ends. You want to be able to say "This is what the story is about," and it's hard to do that without knowing how the characters change. And even with short one-shots, I care about leaving characters in a different place than they started (otherwise I wonder why the story "mattered"), so I still try to know something like: "Matt accepts help" or "Foggy learns to help Matt in a different way."

On the other end of the spectrum, we have the Ella series, or my Trust fic, both of which were incredibly complicated and required very detailed outlines. Trust specifically required a lot of research as well. The whole time I was writing it, I was also researching the related issues.

That said, a lot of the things that might be considered "prep" work are things I do as I write the story. Like with Trust, where I researched both before and during the writing process. Or with the Ella series, where I'm still fleshing out the outline for Redeemed.

I find that when I force myself to do all the "prep" work up front, I run into two problems: the first is that I lose all inspiration for the story (having spent it all on prepping, instead of on writing); the second is that I get too locked into ideas that sound okay initially but are just less good than the ideas I come up with later as I'm getting to know the characters and plot elements better.

Do I enjoy the prep work? Eh. Not a ton, lol. I enjoy moments of connecting dots, which sometimes happens in prep work. But I'd rather just be writing.

#personal #writing #writing ask game #asks #ask me things i'm friendly

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genericswordsmaiden · 11 months

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summer reading/writing/arting tag

Tagged by @inkysqueed (thank you so much, fellow Jumpluff and Oblivion enjoyer!)

1) Describe one creative WIP you plan on working on over the summer.

Of course, even though I have many ideas in mind (a one piece/crossover fic, an oblivion fanfic and a story about an AU me and my friend @zombinafonfrankenstein came up with) I'm going to continue writing Dark! I'm giving it my all because my goal is to publish it and see it on shelves!!! But for now the english version is available on ao3 (it is updated a bit irregularly because of life and other stuff, but some friends said that it's good nonetheless)

A description of it? Magic amnesiac guy and friends travel across the Afterlife to retrieve books and save the universe from some kind of eldritch creature. It sounds like pure crack and in some way it is. It's also brutal.

2) Recommend a book!

Oh, this is a tough one! But if y'all haven't done it yet, go read The Book Thief. That story changed my life, and it made me cry so much. I loved Liesel and Max's friendship, and also Rudy... He was best boy. And Hans deserves the title of best father ever. Oh god I'm crying again, it's been years since I last read it and it's still a fresh wound! A masterpiece.

3) Recommend a fic!

Another tough one, since there's so many fics I'd like to share! I can't name less than five though, because I absolutely adore them and I wish people of the respective fandoms would read them. Sorry.

Honor bound by penwarrior11 (The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion) (this one is part of a series and it is the first fic of it. It follows the story of the game alright, but I love the scenes with Mara and Martin, and also Baurus. A precious little gem.)

Everything by nonman (Half Life: Alyx) (this one began in 2021 and proceeded slowly, as of now I'm waiting for the last chapter but guys, it is great! It gives continuation of the cliffhanger at the end of HL:A and it is written masterfully)

No more dreaming of the dead by @mina-murray-harker (Re-Animator 1985) (I love the style of this one, safe and disturbing and full of movie and music references. I think the Re-Animator fandom would love it to bits just as yours truly does)

Candlelight by @clichejoe (Encanto) (this is still my comfort fic and it is very beautiful, colorful - and the main character is the most lovable oddball researcher ever)

The fear of the ocean by FishingLure (JoJo's bizarre adventure) (this one emotionally scarred me - it's been two years and I still haven't recovered)

4) Recommend music!

Pat Metheny Group's discography. But also Seventeen's discography... No, I have to choose a single song. I must choose a single song or else I'll be here all night! Alright, here we go: Haru No Maboroshi by Superfly. It sounds like a sunset. I used to listen to it when I ended uni lessons late in the afternoon, it gives me a comforting feeling and restores my spirit a bit.

5) Share one piece of advice!

Hmmm, I'd say to never forget yourself. Other people may leave, but yourself is the only one who will never leave you. Some people might see this as insensitive wording, but I truly mean this with all my heart. There's time to be spent in introspection, there's love to be found in ourselves, for ourselves. There's a certain kind of healing that can only occur when you are with yourself. Also, to everyone reading this, regardless of shape color gender and preferences regarding tea - tell people who are dear to you how much you love them and hug them. Spread good stuff, hugs are the best drug - and they're free!!

Tagging @koumeowkami and @stardusteyes and also the other beautiful people I already tagged are totally free to copy this and post their own answers!

#tag stuff #<3 #the chaos trilogy : dark #the elder scrolls #oblivion #half life alyx #reanimator #bride of reanimator #encanto #jojo's bizarre adventure #fanfic reccomendation

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flambeaufelid · 1 year

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Warrior Cats Chronological Liveblogging Masterpost

Hello, and welcome to my attempt to read through all of Erin Hunter's "Warrior's" (AKA "Warrior Cats") books, in the order shown here. I've previously read basically everything released before the third Dawn of the Clans book, so ~half of these wont be blind reactions, though it's been so long since I read these that I don't remember a lot of them well. Still, understand that this blog will often contain spoilers for books other than the one a post is about, as I reference future material!

Dawn of the clans:

The Sun Trail:

Prologue and chapter 1

...And that's all for now. Hit keep reading if you wanna hear why I'm doing any of this though.

Warrior cats means a lot to me.

Growing up, I had a strange relationship with reading. Until I turned about five and really tried to read a book for the first time, I was convinced that I hated reading. Then once I'd tried it, I loved it, but was convinced that I'd only be able to understand kids books or manga.

Of course, I was wrong. I was more capable than I thought. But bigger, more serious books... they were strangely intimidating to me.

So. One day, me and my sister are at swimming lessons, but there's enough of an age gap that we weren't in the same class. We'd both have to wait like half an hour for each other to be done.

I had made the mistake of not bringing anything to do. But my sister had.

Warriors books. But specifically, the manga.

Warriors having manga spinoffs is one of the weirdest marketing gimmicks ever, but it worked very well on me. A more traditional book might have scared me off.

With no other options, I picked up- if I remember correctly- Tigerstar Sasha book three.

For the record, this is an absolutely CURSED way to get into these books. It was so far disconnected from the main series that it was practically it's own thing. Not to mention it was the finale of this little spin-off.

Still, it was mildly entertaining.

And then a kitten fucking drowns.

That's fine. After all, there's no way they would really kill off a literal kitten. I continued reading.

But it never showed up again.

I reached the end of the book. Kitten still dead.

I leaned back on the uncomfortable poolside bench, mind fucking reeling. It was the most brutal thing I'd ever read. I felt a little sick to my stomach.

But, oh how I wanted more.

I proceeded to read every Warriors manga my sister had brought. Then every manga my library had.

This continued to be a cursed way to read this stuff. The clans are portrayed as distant, ambiguously villainous, and almost irrelevant. The characters the manga feature are fucking bizarre. They occasionally do weird things to the cannon.

But I loved it all. I wanted more.

But I didn't get more. I ran out.

There was no other option. If I wanted to read more Warriors, I'd have to read the books.

...I didn't start with the first one. But I got to it eventually. I got to them all.

I credit Warriors with making me truly love reading. It's a debt I cannot repay. The Erins are responsible for making me the person that I am today.

So it's a shame that. Uh. The books are...

....................not always very good.

In fact, Warriors kinda sucks sometimes. It's worldbuilding is nonsense, it's characters are idiots, and the books are so repetitive that there are tons of scenes you could take out of context, remove the names from, and then show me... And I'd have trouble telling you what arc they were from, much less what specific book.

I've tried to do this whole "read Warriors chronologically" like five times. I don't think I've ever gotten past sun trail.

The hope is that if I make this blog, maybe I'll be able to keep with it enough to get properly re-invested. Not to mention that one of my motivations for wanting to get back into the series is the distant idea that I'll write some fanfic- so, these posts can act as notes about things I found interesting, that I can possibly refer back to.

Also, I've heard some fucking crazy shit about the newer books I've not read. I so desperately want to know the details.

It's a long road I walk now.

#spoilers #warriors #warrior cats #liveblog #masterpost #warriors spoilers #warrior cats spoilers

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originalninaland · 2 years

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No book, no title...

‘Organic African nectar’ …. A story of Emancipation Day….

It was Thursday 1st August. Slap bang in the middle of the wet season. The day started well enough, sunshine and a cloudless sky. But like lovers spoiling for a fight, by lunch time a passionate quarrel broke out between the rain and the sun. It was a short, fierce tussle but the hostilities did not last. The two kissed and made up and in the aftermath of the love-making, the sun came out, shy at first, but warming up as it got later in the afternoon.

I was feeling a little restless. Defeated by the million and one neglected chores I had left unattended that kept staring at me resentfully as I tried to ignore them. Laundry, jumbled wires, books askew, dusty surfaces, smudgy mirrors, piled up dishes… the little birdcage of a flat that I lived in was beginning to feel even smaller …. I have to clean! And so I spent my morning, spinning top in mud, starting a task and leaving it undone and moving to another with no particular focus in mind. My phone stared back at me like a dead fish…. I wondered if anyone would call and give me a valid reason to leave this mess for some other day. Perhaps not. I could hear my dear friend Lula’s voice in the back of my head saying. “Oh, I called you today but you didn’t answer”. My standard response would be …” oops sorry I forgot my phone at home that’s why I’m only now responding”. She would add drily, “I guess it really doesn’t matter too much with you… since I’m perhaps one of the two people who might call you on a regular basis…hhmm? It is about three telephone numbers you have saved,no? Mine, your niece’s and work or your sister?” She means well. But the point is: I soon abandoned the wish to be rescued by a call… there had to be a person behind the call and of the three I knew, one was in London on holiday, my niece was at work and my sister, the hermit only comes out once a year, at Christmas to meet and greet. I was three months too early for her call.

This chronic shortage of ‘friends’ afflicted me in the same way when I was pitched unwittingly onto the Face Book scene…. (that I later re-christened ‘fake book’). My dear friend, in a moment of so called sympathy, decided to spearhead my social life (a euphemism I later discovered for what she said was my non-existent love life), and set me up on Face book. She proceeded to post a photograph of me (an unflattering passport shot of me that made my features look like a bird of prey), with information like where I lived, my schooling, some vague general information like hobbies (none of which I knew I had), books read, and of course, music. The point was to make me as user-friendly as possible, so as to increase my ‘traffic’ of visitors. So my reading taste would be the standard armchair psychology-fare - books like the mass consumed ‘Secrets’ series. Because I would be a soul-searching person, troubled (in a good way) searching for the ‘truth of my existence’. I would be wanting to find self fulfillment and do good works like the millions of people out there and most importantly I would want the entire planet to know that I was a ‘searcher’ and a ‘believer’ in all that is good and spiritual and self affirming. I noticed that I had a quote from my Yahoo profile that I liked an awful lot, a little playful, risqué phrase that said … ‘A woman is like a piano, when she’s not upright, she’s grand’ … but for some reason, my friend did not think that sat well with the image of do-gooder, middle-aged, new age spiritualist, so she neglected to include it.

So saddled with my debut into social media I set about familiarizing myself with FakeBook…. It grew on me. When I would see, professionally finished, touched up photos of invitations from people, with sparkling repartees and clever quotes on their ‘walls’, sending me ‘friend requests’ I was only too happy to oblige. I was like the child who neglected to listen to the parental warning ‘do not take sweets from strange people’ . I was clicking ‘yes’ gleefully to any request, happy to be exchanging phrases and one-liners that I would never dream of using in my real world … like ‘awesome’ or ‘cool’ or ‘big up’. Once I got bored with this, I started snooping on my ‘friends’ and clicking on their hundred and one photos. Everyone except me seemed to be having social lives in clubs, dressed to the hilt, listening to ‘amazing’ new artistes, reading books that ‘rocked their world’ like Steve Harvey’s Act like a lady, think like a man, which to me sounded like the autobiography of some newly-arrived drag queen. Or commenting on films I’d never heard of, that dealt with infidelity or black women’s search for the ideal black brother… a la Tyler Perry style… which in my real world would hold my attention for one minute as that is how long it would take me to work out the entire film.

So soon the love affair with the FB wore off. I got tired of being a social media ‘spy’. That added to the fact that my social and love life remained suspended in mid-air like a clumsy amateur trapeze artist, I asked for my get-out-of-cyber-jail card and bolted. Not for me. I would hold on to my idea of ‘real time romance’ and continue to ply the aisles of supermarkets, bus stops stands, shopping malls, even my favourite coffee shops and dentist waiting rooms to find that special someone. Fate would smile on me… on a good day I would hold on that belief like a child does to their favourite ‘blanky’ … the one they carry around with them as they suck their thumbs and that clutch tightly at night, as they go off into their lovely little dream worlds.

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh!" he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you." ~A.A. Milne

The start of their parade…. Frenchie comes a visiting…

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finelinevogue · 3 years

Note

I love your “little moments” series… I have a weak spot for dad!Harry💕 and I love the relationship between the family’s members 🤗 and I really hope u will continue to update it! And for this series I would like to request Harry doing the 73 questions interview for Vogue and his kids and wife make an appearance (u can choose if the kids are toddlers or teens) and they even answer some questions OR an Howard Stern interview where Harry is asked about his family,maybe the host makes like not so nice-low key shady comments on his wife and on Harry’s daughter coming out story. Ok I’ m done, so sorry ik it’s so long 😅 it’s just I love your series sooo muchhh 🥰🥰 ok I’m done love u have a good day 😘

i’d love to answer this one!! thank you so much for loving my little series💕this one’s for you and for the other request i got which i’m combing with this: “Harry is doing a interview on facetime when his kid crashes the interview.” so pls enjoy and yeah enjoy;

oli - 6, felix - 4, belle - 1

The day had finally arrived for Harry Styles to complete the 73 Questions with Vogue.

It had come to be the promo for ‘Don’t Worry Darling’ and his schedule was booked with interview after interview after interview, and it wasn’t ideal for this to all be happening months whilst also having to look after three meddling toddlers, one of whom had only recently turned 1 years old.

The house was chaos. Fun, but chaos. And it was also the setting of this interview.

“Alright you lot, this way.” You shoved your children along to your living room, giving Harry the space he needed with Joe Sabia - the interviewer.

“Thank you love, see you later.” He blew a kiss to you and returned his focus to Joe. This interview was the first of many and it was also a major marketing ploy. These types of interviews were so highly recommended for Harry to be involved in and Jeff had thought it was about time for him to do one.

Joe had arrived around 15 minutes ago, just to

run over the script and remind Harry of the pre-determined questions - which reminded him of the answers that you’d run through with him the night before. Now the cameras were set up, the mic people were all at stand-by and Joe was ready it was time to begin. The children had been so fascinated by all these new people, after not seeing anyone for months due to the coronavirus pandemic, which is why it took a lot of trouble to get them to shuffle away from their beloved dad.

A fake door knock arose.

“Harry Styles hello!”

“Hi!” Harry waved at the camera.

“I’m here to do the Vogue 73 Questions, shall we get to it?”

“Of course! Come in!” Harry welcomed Joe into the house and shut the door behind him, not trusting his little ones to not escape if they were running wild.

“Beautiful house! Is it your only one?”

“No, but it’s my only one in London.” Harry made a point of not exploiting how many houses he did have and where they were. In fact, you still didn’t know about the Island that he was currently investing in just for you. You were a huge conservation activist and so Harry thought you could spend your free time helping the fragile ecosystem on this island.

“Did you design it yourself?”

“Me and my wife built the plans, but we go the experts to finish it all off.”

“What’s your favourite room?”

“Um, probably the living room.”

“Why?”

“So many of my favourite memories have happened in there.”

“Could you give us some?”

Harry could give loads, but they were far too precious for him to just give away. The living room wasn’t even a massive room, it was quite quaint with a couple of sofas, a logwood fire and then rugs and paintings on the walls. It was a home within a home. It was where Felix had taken his first steps. It was where Oli had spoken his first words. It was where Belle had fallen over for the first time and given herself nasty carpet burn. It was where presents were opened at Christmas. It was where you and Harry had made love next to the fire. It was where Felix and Oli had had their first tiny argument. It was where you spent family nights. If your house was a map then that room marked X the spot.

It was treasure. Priceless.

“My favourite would probably be when my wife, Y/N, spilt red wine all over the new white carpet and then proceeded to throw white wine over the stain because she’d read somewhere that it helps to get rid of it.” Harry chuckled at the memory.

“Did it?”

“No, God no. The carpet’s grey now.”

Joe laughed, as did Harry.

“I have to say Harry, you’re looking very fashionable today who are you wearing?”

“Gucci.” He blushed, because he knew that everyone would’e known that without question. He was wearing a lilac silk shirt with his name embroidered on it - but really it was to symbolise your last name not his - with a white wife-beater shirt and white shorts. He looked rich.

“Shouldn’t have asked really? Is your wife as much a Gucci avid fan?”

“She hates anything expensive. I think she still wears the same jeans she was wearing at university!” He knew you’d hit him later for saying that.

“So she’s a hoarder?”

“God yeah. She keeps everything and anything.” Harry laughed in admiration.

“Has she always been?”

“Always. When we went on our first date, her bag was so full that she couldn’t find her purse and she was so embarrassed because she thought I would think she was taking advantage of who I was. Anyways I did end up paying that night, but she had actually, I don’t know how, sent me money for her portion of the bill. From that moment I knew it was going to be her.”

“Do you write songs about her?

“Every day.” He smiled at the thought of the one he’d written just this morning.

“Which one is your favourite about her?”

“I don’t know about favourite, but the one I hold closest to my heart is probably ‘Fine Line’.” Harry stopped there, not wanting to share the intimate details of why and Joe respected that.

“Do your children have a favourite song of yours?”

“They go crazy for Kiwi and Golden. Belle loves Treat People and Oli knows the dance to that one actually.”

“Did you choreograph the dance for TPWK?”

“Partially, but I had help from my friend Paul and Y/N helped too actually.”

Harry and Joe had now made it through the house, weaving in and out of rooms, until they had made it to the Garden. Unfortunately, you’d forgotten to shut the bifold doors to the living room and so as soon as Harry came into focus for your children they immediately ran for him. Oli and Felix could run quite well, but Belle was a lot slower. She was only learning how to walk and so she fell a lot, unless she was being supported by you or Harry. Oli reached his dad first and then Felix, to which Harry knelt down to embrace them in ‘super-dad’ hugs as he liked to call them.

“And who do we have here?” Joe asked.

“Trouble.” Harry replied in jest, but whispered something into his boys ears before backing away.

“Hello i’m Oli.” Oli waved proudly to the camera.

“Hi i’m Fix.” Feliz shied into his dads neck, embarrassed of himself. Harry kissed the back of his head and kept a hold oh him around his back for comfort.

“Fix?” Joe asked at the peculiar name.

“It’s Felix, but he can’t pronounce his own name for some reason so we just call him Fix now. Or Flix. Don’t we buddy?”

“Oh my! I’m so sorry about this!” You ran out in panic, knowing your one job was to keep the kids entertained and away from their dad. At least that was the original plan, but both Harry and Joe like this idea so much more. You were blushing red in embarrassment, picking up a fallen over Belle on your way over to everyone else. “So sorry.”

Belle became restless in your arms, reaching forward for her dad. She whined when she couldn’t quite reach and Harry immediately stood up to take his winging daughter from your arms. As he did, he leant into you and whispered in your ear whilst leaving it a warm kiss behind.

“You’re okay love. Don’t be sorry.”

“Hello Y/N!” Joe spoke.

“Hiya! How are you?”

“I’m great, and you?”

“Peachy.” You laughed, leaning down to collect Felix who was making grabby hands at you. Oli was quite happy standing next to both his parents, one of Harrys hands running through his tiny locks of hair.

“So now we have the family together, how do you feel to all be together?”

You looked to Harry smiled to find him smiling back already at you, knowing you both had a very similar answer. “It feels right. It feels like home.” You answered and Harry nodded in agreement, giving Belle a gentle rock in his arms.

“Are you okay with showing your children’s faces publicly?”

“No we’re not.”

“Looks like we have a hell of a lot of editing to do back at HQ.” Joe laughed, but completely understood the reasoning behind yours two decision. If needed, you could re-film scenes of this interview so that it didn’t include your children. Joe had done his best to keep the camera on you and Harry and luckily the children kept their faces buried in their parents necks anyways. “Is that going to be forever?”

“When they are old enough to decide whether they want to be in the spotlight then we’ll see.” Harry smiled, holding onto Belle tighter because all he wanted to do was keep her protected, and his, forever.

“You two seem like very good parents.” Joe spoke sincerely, and it made you swallow down a sob because it was always really lovely to hear such compliments - knowing you’d struggled with postnatal depression.

“Thank you Joe.” Harry nodded respectfully.

“Okay let’s carry on?”

The interview carried on until Harry had answered so many questions. He redid bits, due the children being too involved and he re-filmed answers to questions he found difficult to answer the first time around. He had such a great experience and was happy with the way that the day turned out.

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mysticdragon3md3 · 3 years

Video

youtube

Ranma ½ is GENIUS. Here’s Why by Bonsai Pop

The thing I really appreciated about Ranma ½ when I was younger, was that it was a discussion about gender without getting sidetracked by sex, the way most “sex comedies” did, especially at the time. At the time, publishers tried to market Ranma ½ as a “sex comedy” in the vein of raunchy college-setting Hollywood movies or fanservicy Male Gaze series (compare “Futaba-kun Change” or the proceeding “harem genre” that Ranma ½ started). But Ranma ½ felt more like a discussion about gender more than sex, or even more than sexuality. And being an AroAce kid, who didn’t know what AroAce was at the time, but was very confused about my gender, I really appreciated Ranma ½’s focus on gender over sex, fanservice, and heterosexuals navigating (sexual) relationships—which, I *cannot* express enough, was the saturated majority of all anime/manga, that even came close to discussing gender, at the time. I just wanted a discussion about gender, gender roles, complaining about presumed traditional ideas about gender, and how to define one’s own gender despite society’s pressures about gender. I wanted a discussion about Strength, that the martial arts genre did so often, without an advocation for sexist ideals, toxic masculinity, stereotypes about “feminine” being weaker (even as warriors), fixated only on romance, or any number of female stereotypes, etc. I feel like I can’t remind people enough of how it was back then, when not only were these toxic mysoginist ideas portrayed frequently, but they were also portrayed as good, true, “right”, or unquestioned. At least when Ranma Saotome was being a sexist jerk, he was punished for that terrible thinking or eventually had to reconcile with his dissonance. And Akane Tendo was revolutionary at that time too. It used to be that on the Shonen genre side, we had only hyper fem, passive, romance-fixated, love interests, OR nagging, cold female characters that really felt like the author was conveying all their horrible views on women in general, OR sexy eye-candy that had close-ups on their boobs or butt so frequently, that it completely made their lack of focus on romance or anything else in their personalities, secondary. Then on the Shoujo genre side, we had girls who were fixated on nothing but romance, constantly jealous and possessive—and often over guys who hadn’t even proven themselves worthwhile to pursue romantically. Let’s face it: A lot of Shoujo leading men were often jerks, treated their female love interests badly, and for some reason, she was just supposed to play the devoted “Lady Murasaki” and be totally “in love” with him. Whyyyyyyyyyy????????????? Even worse on the Shonen genre side too, because he treats her badly, it doesn’t get portrayed as bad treatment, he doesn’t understand why she’s angry, so she just looks like a volatile nag all the time, often existing only to be objectified or serve as a flimsy motive for his character arcs and actions. It was a pretty bad time. Not that now has eliminated those problems, but when Ranma ½ and Akane Tendo seem like the shining lights of something different, maybe then you can understand how much I sorely needed Ranma ½ and Akane Tendo at that time.

Really surprised that this video essay didn’t mention Jackie Chan. The thing that differentiated Ranma ½ from so many martial arts battle anime/manga at the time, was that Ranma ½’s style of martial arts was inspired by Jackie Chan. Meanwhile, all the other Shonen martial arts manga/anime were so serious and based more on “cool”, “action” genre toned martial arts movies.

I’m intrigued by this video essay’s idea that Ranma ½ the series isn’t sexist, but rather, characters within the series are sexist, and are so in order to make a point about how them being like that is messed up. I need to grapple with this because one of my problems in looking back at Ranma ½ is that it can be a little transphobic and/or homophobic at times. Like, I’ll never forget when Tsubasa Kurenai was introduced and, Akane, this character that we’re supposed to completely sympathize with during this series, just keeps screaming in Tsubasa’s face that they are a “pervert”, simply because it’s revealed that Tsubasa identifies as a boy but dresses as a girl. I think the episode just ended like that, and that was supposed to be a joke, but I don’t know whether the reveal’s shock intended on the audience was supposed to be conveyed through Akane and we were expected to have the same reactions as her, or if we were supposed to be shocked at Akane’s reactions and her reactions being ridiculous were the joke. I dunno; it was a long time ago, I don’t remember much context, and I really should look it back up. But frankly, there’s a lot of Ranma ½ to sift through and that’s more time than I have, writing this post. Akane does seem to repeatedly have instances of being perfectly nice to characters, but when she discovers they’re actually guys, she spends a lot of time yelling “pervert” in their faces. Sometimes I don’t know if we’re meant to see how ridiculous Akane is being or if we’re meant to agree with her. Again, I watched/read the series a long time ago, and maybe if I re-watched/re-read it now, it would be clear to older me. Because, when it happens between Akane and Ranma, Ranma has a specific line, grummbling about how Akane was perfectly nice to him, up until she found out he was actually a boy. And Ranma was a bit nice in his characterization up until that early line of dialogue, so maybe we were supposed to be on his side in that thought. So maybe Akane spending the rest of the series yelling “pervert” at Ranma (repeated so often it’s essentially their running gag), is supposed to be a joke laughing at how irrational Akane is being. o.o? I’d hate to think we’re supposed to be on Akane’s side, repeatedly calling Ranma a “pervert” over a curse that he had no control over getting, and early on was portrayed as a misfortune that the audience was supposed to sympathize and pity him over. Maybe the whole thing is supposed to point out Akane’s flaws, since everyone in the series is pretty messed up. (Even Kasumi unsettled me a bit when I was younger, in that she dropped her entire life, to replace her mother’s role when she died. For me, being a young girl who didn’t buy into those traditional female roles, that were still at the time, strongly pushed onto girls in society, that was a little unsettling. Still love Kasumi as a person though.) Akane did have reason to “hate boys”, as the series specifically states early on, but I’d like to think that she was given this flaw as a point to grow away from. Just as this video essay calls to attention Ranma being sexist and, over the series, eventually growing out of it. But back when I was young and initially into Ranma ½, I feared that some of these sexist or even homophobic ideas in Ranma ½ were actually reflective of thoughts that Rumiko Takahashi advocated. After all, there’s a point in Maison Ikkoku where Kyoko berates herself by saying all women are fools. Maybe I was too young to see the nuance in a character berating her own mistakes in her love live, vs the implication that all women are “properly” stereotyped into being obsessed with love and end up acting foolish for it. Nowadays, I can see how we can berate ourselves whenever our specific actions can slot us into generalized stereotypes, and we curse ourselves for falling into proving stereotypes true on occaision. But back then, when I was younger and watching Ranma ½ for the first time and reading Maison Ikkoku for the first time, I was afraid that such lines were reflective of Takahashi believing such stereotypes as truth. Which is why I was so happy when sometime after Ranma ½, Inuyasha had a canonically gay character, and instead of Inuyasha calling him a pervert the entire time, he just got exasperated with his non-stop flirting, the way that all the female characters from Ranma ½ are tired of guys who won’t take “no” for an answer. At the time, I thought, “Yay! Takahashi has evolved to a less homophobic stance!” But maybe, all this time, she was always against such things, and merely portraying them, even through characters we were supposed to sympathize with, merely to show how messed up such ideas are. I really like that thought which this video essay presented.

But I will disagree with this video essay on 1 thing: The manga is better. I’m not trying to be elitist. I realize that comedy has a very subjective sensibilities, and the anime leans into awkward silence type comedy, whereas I am sick of that type of comedy. But so many visual gags and jokes in the manga, and Rumiko Takahashi’s style in general, involve panels that are almost completely re-drawn, with only 1 element changed—the gag element—suggesting that the eye is supposed to read from panel to panel quickly (since the human eyes/brain filters out a lack of change, and is hard-wired to focus on changes from previous conditions). To me, this suggests quick punchlines, whose sudden oddity is supposed to shock, implying an intended fast pacing to the jokes. And yeah, Takahashi will draw seemingly normal scenes, detailed with all the normalcies of a commonly recognizable environment, then suddenly the next panel is exactly the same except a character is contorted into a silly pose or an absolutely ridiculous creature with an intentionally nonsensical facial expression has suddenly appeared, amid that completely “normal” scene, with all its “normal” details _redrawn_. It’s why the “evil oni” episode in Ranma ½ had a ridiculous face, despite its supposedly ominous background. In fact, anywhere Takahashi can fit a gag face, especially if it contradicts the surrounding scene’s/story’s serious tone, she will do it. She has even said in interviews that if scenes are too serious, she will try to put in a gag in the corner. I remember reading Maison Ikkoku during a depressive episode (for both me and Godai) and suddenly Yotsuya had poked his head through a hole in the wall, into the scene, shining a flashlight onto his own face, like a kid telling a ghost story, all while he made funny faces and Takahashi’s typical gag with the sign language “I love you” gesture. The woman cannot let things stay serious (except for Mermaid Saga, parts of Inuyasha, and some short stories), and I love her for it! ^o^ But the way she suddenly injects ridiculousness into scenes and character designs, suggest, at least to me, an intended fast paced delivery with the jokes. That sudden shock when you notice Yotsuya making faces in the corner of a depressing scene. That sudden shock, when Ranma is hiding from his mother, and is clinging to the ceiling or futons like Spiderman, and Akane is just supposed to act natural so Ranma’s mom won’t notice where he’s hiding. To me, this suggests the punchline is supposed to come at you like a sudden punch, unlike awkwardness that hangs in the air. So when the anime tries to make the joke linger, I just don’t enjoy it as much as when my brain can dictate the faster pacing I want (and believe better fits) while reading the Ranma ½ manga.

Also, the manga is better because those manga filler episodes were not as well written as the manga. Rumiko Takahashi is a master of short stories. And that shows when you run into the less-effective filler anime episodes–even when you don’t know they’re filler episodes! I remember watching the Ranma ½ anime before reading the manga, before there was even internet lists of which were the filler episodes, and coincidentally, all the filler episodes did not make me laugh out loud, whereas every episode up until that point, had made me uncontrollably laugh. I feel like the anime thought that because Ranma ½ was an episodic, very silly series, they could just insert anything and it would fit. But clearly, only the manga-based episodes—and even individual scenes!—had the nuance of Takahashi’s writing and pacing, to make even an episodic, ridiculous series work.

Also, I love how this video essay just lavishes the love on Rumiko Takahashi. ^o^

Another thing this video essay pointed out that I appreciate about Ranma ½ is how indifferent Ranma is to all the advances of his suitors or even accidental fanservice. All the consequential “harem genre” series that tried to emulate Ranma ½ always seemed to include male protagonists who were surrogates for the audiences’ intended horny reactions. But Ranma was neither turned on, enticed, nor tantalized by even accidental fanservice falling into his lap. (As Mother’s Basement has noted, harem genre protagonist have a penchant for accidentally falling and grabbing a girls’ boobs, or their face falling into her boobs, or accidentally put into a position to forcibly see up her skirt, etc.) If anything, he’s more embarassed that he accidentally walked in on girls in undress, rather than enjoying the view OR reacting so long, that the scene drags on, fixating on the accidental nudity/groping/fanserivce. And I was about to postulate that maybe because most harem genre and fanservice series are usually made by straight men for an audience with a Male Gaze. But Takahashi wrote Maison Ikkoku’s Godai, right before she created Ranma ½, and he very much enjoyed the view, took peeks, and fixated on any accidental fanservice. So it’s actually Ranma himself who had reactions and a perspective that were very agreeable to this asexual.

I hadn’t noticed before this video essay said it, but Happosai really is condemned much more for being the “pervy old man” archetype, whereas other series are very permissive towards that same archetype, even when they’re being sexual predators. I’d like to attribute this to Takahashi bringing a woman’s perspective, but Sailormoon was also written by a woman and (if I remember correctly) Rei’s grandpa’s pervy ways were reprimanded in only 1 episode then permitted as a running gag in the rest of the series (thankfully, not often). Then again, lots of the Shoujo genre also advocated for many toxic traditional ideas about gender (like girls picking romantic partners who don’t respect them, and girls being fully devoted/invested in such guys, because they “once” meet the bare minimum for human decency by being nice to them once). So maybe it was uniquely Takahashi’s prerogative to not let the “pervy old man” archetype slide as supposedly “endearing” silliness.

#ranma 1/2 #ranma1half #rumiko takahashi #video essay #analysis #gender #manga #anime #nostalgia #old otaku #martial arts genre #shonen genre #reactions #reminicing

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finn-ray-nal-beads · 4 years

Note

HERE'S THE OFFICIAL ASK BABE, YOU CAN SAVE IT FOR NEXT WEEK BUT HIT ME WITH THE RONNIE GOODNESS. That boy has a serious sweet tooth (fight me it's my own canon) and I want to hear about the VERY MOMENT that it dawned on him that he can eat things off of us whenever he wants. ALLOW ME TO SET THE SCENE. Friday night. The Mandalorian is back for season two and you're both FUCKING STOKED. Ice cream sundaes. You have a little something on the corner of your mouth and he leans in to kiss it away. 💜

A/N: LET ME JUST SAY... THIS FIC GIVES ME ALL THE FUCKIN’ FEELS I COULD POSSIBLY HAVE AND I THINK IM IN LOVE WITH THIS ADORABLE NERD NOW... @millenialcatlady THANK YOU FOR PUTTING THIS NUGGET IN MY HEAD AND THANK YOU FOR ALLOWING ME TO RUN WITH WHATEVER I PLEASED AS FAR AS IT ALL GOES! I LOVE YOU MY MUSE AND I HOPE YOU LOVE THIS TAKE ON YOUR AMAZING ASK!🖤

Warnings: food play, pregnancy, pregnant sex, tit sucking, cowgirl style, DIRTY TALK (the good kind), slight breeding kink, stuffing/creampies, Use of the word Daddy but not in the kink way, absolute fluff, absolute smut, just pure marital bliss

(Text Thread)

Ronnie: Hey, honey. At the store picking up some things. Anything you want for dinner?

Y/N: Oh, babe, you read my mind. I would love some ice cream, chocolate sauce, cherries, the works… oh, and pickles!

Ronnie: LOL. Okay whatever you and my lil’ pumpkin want. I’ll be home in a little bit.

Y/N: We love you, daddy!

---------------

You put the phone down to adjust your body on the couch, the further along you were getting, the harder it was to feel comfortable, let alone pretty. But Ronnie never failed to make you the happiest woman in the entire world. Always asking what you needed, rubbing every inch of your body when it ached, running baths to soothe you and your growing little one, and fucking you whenever you had the rush to eat him alive.

He always went out and got whatever you needed, even if it meant waking up from a dead sleep at four in the morning all because ‘the baby’ wanted some black olives that seemed to be missing from the pantry. He was so selfless that way and in every way. You thanked whatever entity over and over again that he and you had met at the diner that one day. Both ordering the same cheeseburger and milkshake for lunch, sitting across the way, shooting glances as his mouth devoured the meat like the carnivore he was, and then proceeding to do the same to you in his smart car not even thirty minutes later.

The both of you were inseparable at that point. Loving the same things, watching the same shows, eating the same foods. It was kismet in every single sense of the word and even more so when you found out that a carbon copy of you both was on the way.

You sat there, contemplating the last year, waiting for your knight in shining armor to arrive home with the good stuff, rubbing your protruding belly as your little girl flailed around like the deviant she was.

“I know sweetie,” you whispered to your bump, “daddy will be home in a little while,” glancing up as you heard the key turn in the lock.

“Hey, there ladies,” your grinning husband beamed as he saw you cuddled up on the couch waiting for him, “how’s my favorite girls?” he put the paper sack down and knelt between your legs, pulling your face to him with his large hands, kissing you with the sweetest effort he could muster.

“We’re good daddy,” you grinned, grabbing his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs along his shaven cheeks, admiring his soft pouted lips, “we missed you today.”

He sighed, bringing his hands to meet your bump, rubbing it to get his daughter’s attention, “I missed you girls too,” bending his head down to meet your clothed skin, kissing the baby, “So. Much.”

A series of flutters hit his hands as your daughter squirmed at his honeyed voice, “I think we’re slightly hungry, huh, baby girl,” he laughed as he felt more kicks pummel his fingers.

“God, yes we are,” you whined as he got up to pick up the sack and bring it to the kitchen, “comin’ right up ladies,” he smiled grabbing the stuff out of the bag and chuckling at your excitement when bringing the jar of dill pickles and a fork your way.

He kissed your forehead after taking the food, “I’m gonna make our sundaes after I get changed, okay honey?”

“Ronnie, I can make the food,” you said struggling to lift your body from your spot.

“Woah there mama,” he pushed you and your pickles back on the plush sofa, “I can do it. How about you queue up the show and put your feet up. I’ll rub ‘em when I sit down.”

“Honey I really wan-,”

“No,” he scolded, “you and my daughter relax while I get the menial tasks done that you shouldn’t bother yourself with. You’re the one doin’ all the hard work after all,” he grinned again, his glasses moving up his perfectly chiseled nose, displaying his precious dimples.

You prayed that your little girl would get those perfect features of his. The ambered eyes, the dark hair, the moles that littered his body. He was too damn perfect.

“Okay honey,” you sat back, balancing the jar on your belly as you shoved one pickle down your throat, rolling your eyes back into your head at the satisfaction of sustenance. He chuckled again, padding upstairs to change into more comfortable clothes as you got your weekly show ready for viewing.

He made his way down after changing into a pair of black joggers, and a grey t-shirt, the sight of him hopping down the stairs causing a warmth to radiate through your pussy. After a few minutes of cabinet opening, and fridge closing, he came into the room armed with the majestic concoctions he’d created for the both of you, grinning ear to ear at the sight of your doe eyes twinkling at the food.

“Babe,” you looked at him, “I love you so much, this looks amazing!”

“I thought you’d like all the fixings,” he grinned even wider, sitting down and handing your special sundae to which you located where the pickle jar had been.

He situated himself with an arm around you, and the sundae on his thigh, lifting the blanket you’d had over him so he could scoot even closer. After some rearranging, you pressed play on the show you’d decided on and devoured your ice cream as if you’d never had any your entire life.

Half an hour in you held the empty bowl, thinking about sitting up to put it on the coffee table. You started to strain up to put it there, when Ronnie noticed your movements before you could even put them to action, “honey, here,” gesturing his large hand to which you placed it in and he did the deed for you.

Sitting back after putting both bowls down, he threw his arm back around your shoulder, and the other to meet your belly, rubbing the spot as you laid your head between his neck. He looked down at the scene before him, smiling and kissing your crown, taking in the jasmine-scented shampoo that emanated from your gorgeous hair. Grinning yet again as he saw his unborn daughter writhe under his touch.

His eyes wandered to your plunging cleavage, where a stream of chocolate sauce had found its home. His eyes widened at the glimmer from it, thinking of how he’d love to cover you head to toe in the mixture and lick every single bit of it from your perfect skin. His loose cock straining in his joggers as he became restless at the thought of bending you over the couch and stuffing you fuller than you already were of him.

“Babe?” you looked up at his lust-blown eyes behind his glasses, “are you okay?” running your hand to brush his painful erection.

“What’s going on?” looking at him with concern, “do you need something?”

“Honey,” he calmly stared into your eyes, “I need to do something,” his lips fell into a pout.

“Okay?” you gestured, “what is it?”

“I need to fuck you,” he matter of factly said, gripping your belly with his hand.

Your lower stomach twisted in a knot, “o-okay babe, that’s fine with me,” you chuckled at his desperation.

“But I need to cover you,” he moved his hand to plunge in between your tits, the motion causing a gasp to leave your mouth, “with chocolate sauce,” he said showing you the amount that had found its way there in the first place.

You were fully on fire at this point, willing to let him cover you in anything he wanted to get him to fuck you good and hard.

“Get the bottle,” you gripped his forearm, pleading him to wreck you.

He jumped from the couch and ran to the kitchen to grab the large bottle of sauce, grinning like a fucking kid in a candy store. In the time he had grabbed it and run back, you were already completely undressed and sat upon the edge of the couch, tits, and belly protruding out as you arched your back towards him.

“Fuck, honey,” he beamed at your changed body, opening the bottle to drip it on your delicate skin, “you look fucking delicious,” watching the cascade of sweetness drip into the crevices of your breasts.

You sat there, completely dazed as your husband painted a mural on your tits, musing as he watched the chocolate cover your engorged peaches.

“Perfect,” he marveled, capping the bottle and setting it on the coffee table. He made quick to remove his shirt, displaying his thick body to which you shuddered at the sight.

“Suck my fuckin’ tits babe,” you mewled, falling to pieces as he brought his lips to your aching buds, sucking the life out of them as he situated himself between your legs kneeling before you on the couch again. His hands caressing your luscious pregnant curves, rubbing the sauce all over his face and your jugs.

“These fuckin’ tits,” he moaned, “they’re gonna be the death of me, honey,” removing his glasses as he devoured them, leaving no trace of chocolate as he finished his work.

He gazed at your blissed-out face, taking in the sounds you made and the way your lips parted as he made you fall apart over his gestures. His hand wandered down to your heat, feeling the wetness seeping out of your weeping cunt for him.

“So fuckin’ delicious,” he groaned, rubbing the skin with his middle finger.

“I want you to ride me, honey,” he begged with golden eyes.

You of course couldn’t resist his puppy dog pleading and made him lay back on the couch like the good boy he was.

“Take your pants of babe,” helping him undo his joggers as his large cock sprung free from its cage. Grabbing it in your soft hands and pumping it as he guided you onto his lap, your juicy thighs straddling either side of him. You let him help you guide your pussy to his tip, settling down as the shaft was covered by your walls as you sank down.

“Fuck, Ronnie,” you whined out, feeling every inch of him touch your fluttering pussy, “you make me feel so damn full babe.”

Undulating your hips on his lap, his hands gripping your sides with a bruising touch, rocking you back and forth on his body.

“Yeah, honey?” he panted, “you like bein’ all full of me don’t you?”

Thrusting up into your cunt, knocking on your tight cervix, releasing a piercing moan from your open mouth.

“Goddammit!” you screamed speeding up your motions, “I fucking love it so much!”

Your tits bouncing at his gyrations, your belly on display, it was almost too much for your poor husband. Your walls began to clench around him, signaling your orgasm, to which he moved his left hand down towards your throbbing clit. Rubbing tight little circles as he watched you unravel in front of him for the millionth time that night.

“That’s it, honey,” he growled, “fucking cum all over my cock. You know you want to.”

Watching your face look down at him, screaming for release, “I wanna cum on your big cock babe!”

“Fuck Y/N,” his eyes went wide as your pussy released its sweet nectar, causing his pulsations to quicken.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” he gritted his teeth as you were rag-dolled on his thighs, sweat beading up on his forehead as he watched you grip your aching tits whining and moaning like a whore on his thick cock splitting you in half.

“Stuff me full babe!” you cried out, rubbing your sensitive nipples, as he slammed your hips harder with his. He let out a feral growl as his dick twitched inside you, releasing his potent seed into your sopping hole. He pumped up and down slowly, watching the mixture began to seep out, only to have this bright red cock push it back in with a squelch and a groan.

You both took some deep breaths, stilled in position, still gripping your tits as his hands left your hips to grip your bump, “you girls okay?” coming out of his haze in concern.

“Yes babe,” you laughed moving to get off his lap to be more comfortable, “we’re just fine, I promise,” patting his blushing chest as he tried to control his pulse while helping you get into position. He sat up, grabbing your t-shirt from the ground as well as his, helping you place it back on, kissing every inch of your face and neck as he did so.

“I love you, Y/N,” he grinned, pulling your face to his in a searing kiss as your fingers found his loose strands, pushing them back as your tongues danced over each other.

You pulled off, gazing into the swirl of his ambered eyes, still petting the baby hairs that had stuck to his face, “I love you too babe.”

At that moment, your daughter made her presence known again, sandwiched in between your sweat covered bodies. Ronnie brought his large hand to meet your over your belly, “she’s gonna be mad at us all night now, huh?” he laughed, rubbing on the spot where her little foot was poking in and out.

“Ya,” you agreed, “I’m gonna be up all night with her I think,” putting your other hand over his and kissing his cheek as you both sat back into the embrace of the couch.

Leaning down to press his lips to your bump, “pumpkin you’d better not give your mama any grief tonight,” he pecked a few times, rubbing his thumb over the flutters erupting, “she needs to sleep just as much as you do baby girl.”

Your hands rubbed the back of his head as he nuzzled on your belly, cradling it as he shushed your squirming little one. The sounds of his hushing lulling you to sleep in the light of the tv playing the show you’d both been neglecting.

After a few minutes of rubbing and cooing, he lifted his head to look at your sleeping form, admiring the way your face looked so peaceful in the white light of the tv. He kissed your forehead, gripping under your knees and back, lifting your dead weight into his hulking body. He sauntered up the stairs, carefully moving you out of the way of sharp objects and corners as he found your shared bedroom. He placed you gently on the bed, making sure you were on your side, and grabbed the body pillow you’d worn out over the last few months of its purchase.

He placed it just so it supported the baby, and your aching body, watching as you closed in on its plushness, sighing in relief when you’d relaxed on it. He stared in the dim light of your bedside lamp in total adoration of you, noticing the baby moving in your body as you quietly snored.

He bent down once more to kiss the appendage poking out, “go to sleep baby girl,” he whispered on your skin, “mama and I love you to the moon and back, pumpkin,” kissing it again and then moving up to you.

“Goodnight honey,” he whispered into your ear, kissing it at softly as he possibly could, “I love you more than life itself.”

He switched the lamp off, and slid into his side of the bed, enveloping himself around you, cradling his baby. Letting out a heavy sigh as he let the sweet sounds of your snores lull him to sleep.

-----------

I. AM. A. FUCKIN’. PUDDLE.

IF ANYONE NEEDS ME IM BURYING MYSELF ALIVE BECAUSE IVE DIED OVER THIS ONESHOT. I JUST LOVE IT SO MUCH.

🖤,

ray-nal-beads

#ronnie peterson smut #ronnie peterson x reader #ronnie peterson x female reader #ronnie peterson #the dead dont die #ronnie peterson fluff #tw pregnancy #tw pregnancy kink #adam driver #adam driver fan fiction #adam driver fanfic #my writing #adam driver one shot #ronnie peterson oneshot

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kanene-yaaay · 4 years

Text

Go Virge, go!

Kanene’s note: TODAAAAAAAAAY IS A SPECIAAAAAL DAYYYY!!! DO YOU KNOW WHY?? THAT IS RIGHT! BECAUSE TODAY IS @why-not-a-tickle-blog BIRTHDAY!!!! Gooooosh!!!! I know I already did a whole speech before, mah friendo, but you’re just so amazing and lovely! Aaaaaa I’m happy for being your friend! <33

Okay, I got a little carried away! Enjoy the gift! x3

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders and his series Sanders Sides!

* This is a SFW Tickle-Fanfic, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!! ^w^)b

* Oneshot. Something around 3.800 words.w-)b. Lee!Virgil and Ler!Patton in Human AU.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Since it’s a gift: Essa fanfic não será traduzida, mals. Thankys for reading, my lollipops, especially you, Livvy!! Have a wonderful and incredible day just like you!

[~*~]

Patton was confused. A lot.

And that wasn’t even a whole brand-new thing in his life.

Patton got confused quite frequently, being honest.

He got confused when he accidentally fell asleep on the couch and woke up four hours later with all his house painted in the dark of the night and without a single drop of memory about where he is or who he is for some minutes. Patton got confused when his attention was caught in some adorably adorable video of kittens being the best thing in the world and quickly ran to Virgil’s room just to show them to him, not understanding why his friend can’t stop looking at him quizzically until Virgil finally asks why does he has a spoon in the knot of his cardigan and Patton jumps because HIS COOKIES ARE IN THE OVEN AND HOW MUCH TIME HAD PASSED-

Oh. Wait. That is not what he was talking about. Focus, focus!

Anyway. Life is confusing, feelings, thoughts, actions, trying your best, keep going, look at the refrigerator just to realize you have no idea of what you were supposed to be searching in the first place, humans…

Yeah, especially humans.

Patton stared at the figure of his friend laid on the couch, absently looking at his phone while a piece of smile adorned his face. The movie both decided to watch paused in the background as the one currently in the kitchen waited for the popcorn get ready, his hand held lightly his chin and a frown rest peacefully in his features, mirroring the same expression he always saw on Logan every time he was confronted by a problem whose solution seemed impossible to find.

It was The Pose of all the incredible genius in the world, right? Therefore, in some moment about now the answers of all his questions should magically pop before him, unfolding and refolding in logic patterns just like in all the mystery series and books.

Right about noooow…

…

Now?

…

Well, it didn’t work.

Patton pouted, turning to pour the warm and probably delicious snack in big bowls that both would pretend they wouldn't be able to finish before even getting in the middle of the so expected movie. He grabbed the bowls and headed to the other room, reprising the entire day in his mind, a faint echo of Logan saying that could help basing his decision.

Everything started in the morning with Patton arriving at their breakfast table only to find Virgil, but not his usual Virgil.

That was a Virgil without his hoodie.

Not that it was a totally strange thing! Usually by his free mornings he would prefer to wander in the house on his comfortable pajamas, however the thing today is… he wasn’t on his pajamas. He was prepared to fight the world – actually Virgil was just going to work, but he said this sounded more badass - on his black Slipknot shirt, jeans and the hoodie nowhere near to be seen.

Besides that, today was predominantly cold. Cold enough for the one wearing glasses end up missing his favorite cat cardigan by the time he arrived their house, searching for the so dearly craved cloth in every little corner until Patton came across the scene of his friend - his best edgy, lovely friend cutely wearing it and being equally playfully bratty when tried ask it back, pulling out his tongue out as his form dazed in a chase the moment Patton’s promise of ‘physically fight for it!’ – which was a lie, obviously. He gave up the vestment the very moment his eyes locked in a Virgil playing with the cat ears sewed in it – flew from his mouth.

And, after getting tired out, they cuddled! Okay, this wasn’t nearly a strange occurrence between both, albeit was one of those rare moments when Virgil was the one who initiated it, laying on his lap with a pout and a sharp look, as if he dared the other to say something (and Patton didn’t!! He swears!! Squeals. Do. Not. Count. As. Words.), feeling comfortable enough to even start a Poking War as they were accommodating themselves on the cushions, rays of giggles, squeaks filling the place for some heartbeats before both decided to metamorphose their last bit of routine into a movie night.

Which was exactly what they were doing!

Now, don’t get Patton wrong. He was absolutely delighted by everything! Knowing Virgil felt comfortable, safe enough to act nonchalant around him was so heart-warming he could almost feel himself melt in happiness!

….But…

But there was this signal in the back of his mind. A particularly different gleam in the other’s eyes he had already seen before, however couldn’t quite place its meaning yet. Some words unpronounced amongst his lightly snarky demeanor. Some little thing that made Patton feel playful and happily bubbly as well, except he couldn’t really grab the exact information, the exact why or the exact memory.

Not yet, at least.

[~*~]

Virgil was about to fucking quit it.

No, actually, he was about to fuck quit everything when he woke up of his incredibly, horrible, wonderfully teasy tickle dream. The tingles of the dreamy tickles still ghostly buzzing on his body as he quietly giggled, burying his face in the pillows and kicking about everything on his bed, eyes firmly closed as the memories bathed his mind in a flow made to increase awfully his lee mood.

And then one of his favorite artists posted some new things on Tumblr, which obligated him to see all their new posts and, who knows, accidentally click in the tag ‘My arts’ of them, which end up with him re-finding other works he had already forgot about, path that consequently leaded to some more reblogs and therefore another bunch of tickle blogs which, of course, made his lee mood at work almost unbearable.

At least he had the cold to blame if someone questioned about the persistent blush spread on his features.

After everything, finally: The calm and quiet of home, broken by his determined decision to try to make – somehow - Patton tickle him. His friend was soft and playful by nature, and he already knew Virgil liked tickles (quite of an interesting story involving a meme, a movie and the power going out. Heh. Do not ask about it.) so, I mean, the worst part was already gone, right? It wouldn’t probably be that bad. Virgil would just act naturally, smoothly following a few advices he found in some blogs discussing this topic and hope, for the sake of his life, the Universe wouldn’t follow Murphy's Law for ONCE.

Of course, that didn’t happen. OF COURSE.

Virgil tried first to be a bratty. He stole Patton’s cardigan and even ran across the house in an attempt to maintain his new possession. He stretched while laid in Patton’s lap: no hoodie, ticklish spots right there. In the last shot he even let himself giggle every single time his mind wandered to the dark corner designed especially for the subject. The one wearing smudged make up even started a poke war!! A poke war!! What kind of poke war doesn't evolve to a tickle war where he would, so sadly and despise his best efforts, lose spectacularly??

He crossed his arms and DID NOT pout, blowing grumpily some strands of hair that fell in his vision’s field.

“I would sell my soul for a tickle.” Virgil growled, his usually careful façade crumbling under the quite persistent thoughts of fingers spidering on his ribs, counting each one of them before lazily dragging the tip of the nails to his quivering tummy, dancing and poking unbothered by his squi-

“What was that?”

Virgil squeaked, jumping some centimeters in the air when the voice of his approaching friend filled the room, the words getting stuck in his throat, his head shooting in the other’s direction, wide eyes.

“What.” He eloquently offered.

“I was too far, didn’t hear what you said, sorry. Could you repeat, please?”

Virgil tried – failing - to not blush. Patton was… actually being serious, right? That wasn’t any kind of tease, even if the traitor little demon he usually called brain unhelpfully unlocked all the memories of all the tickle fanfics he read that began with that exact same words. “Nothing. It was nothing.” He promptly ignored the way his voice came out slightly high.

“Oh, okay!” Patton kindly smiled, putting the popcorn on the coffe table and looking for some space on the couch to lay down while Virgil pressed play, the show’s opening quickly filling the air and silence hanging between both. Patton stopped. Suddenly Virgil felt a shiver run across his whole body, his gaze turning to his friend, only to find the one wearing glasses staring at him intently.

“You like tickles.”

The word only was enough to jolt his body back to a sitting position, butterflies starting to wake up, proceeding to fly the most desperate as possible in his stomach, his brain fuzzing, crumbling for answers of How and When and What the Fuc-

“What? NO! I mean, yes but how- when did you just…”

“Oh!” Patton gasped and Virgil felt his whole face in flames once the realization of the shiny gleam in the other’s eyes, almost as literal stars shining, hit him. Maybe… Maybe something he had done before finally work? “That is why you initiated a Poke War? Were you trying to make me tickle you? Vee, you just needed to ask!”

Yep. No. Nope. No way. That was definitely worse.

Virgil tried to hide himself in his hoodie, deciding he could very much rather perish in his Lee Mood than stare at the pure love and awe gazed right in his direction. His lips curving in a shadow of a smile for a second when he pressed himself further on the furniture, noticing with a grumble leaving his mouth the only armor he owned was the cat cardigan. Hood pulled up and his face firmly pressed on his knees, he ignored the way his excited giggles started to bounce and dance in his throat, resulting in his own body bounce a bit.

“Knock knock…” Virgil felt a light tapping on his knee.

“Fuck off.” The hissed answer ran without letting he even think about it, too much occupied in pretending to not notice how much this position left his entire tickl- I mean, sensitive torso vulnerable and how much not seeing what was happening increased second by second the tingles and shivers crazily racing in his skin.

“Gasp! Virgil!” The one dying in the cat cardigan internally rolled his eyes at the literally audible gasp his friend vocalized, almost being able to see the playful mood taking over his expression as it always has when they swore around him. “I should tickle you for this, Mister Potty Mouth!” Yes. Yes!! Come on, come on! “But I won’t.”

Hey now, what.

“What?!” His head shot upwards absurdly fast, a fact which, obviously, he would deny it to the end of his living and non-living days.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide or ignore your desire for tickles every time you have them! Especially…”

‘Please – see? I know how to use some freaking good words. - Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say, Patton. You’re cool, you’re a funny guy, you have good intentions but you have any ideas of what the fuck will happen??’ Virgil found himself almost pleading, the sentences already running in his head, but his lips firmly gripped in the fear to let out more than these simple words.

“… Since I’m totally okay in tickling you! Oh, wait. Did you just squirm? Aww, Virgil!! That is so, so adorable! You’re blushing, too! Awwwwww!!! Okay, okay, okay, I’m… Imma gonna die of cuteness. You’re truly the most precious being I’ve ever met!!! Wait, what I was just saying…?”

‘I will die! No! I’m already dying! See? You already accomplished what you wanted!! Let’s move on to the next damn part!’

“Oh right!” Patton lightly hit the side of his head. “I’m glad to tickle you! Truly! All you have to do is…”

‘Dude, Patton, Pat-Pat, Popstar don’t…’

“Ask me! Please, please, please!!” Virgil stared him dead in his eyes, crossing his arms, his cheeks so hot that he was surprised his face didn’t melt yet. “Aw, don’t give me that look, kiddo!” Virgil just narrowed his eyes further. Patton pouted, his ‘Puppy Eyes’ expression – more like an unfair weapon - showing and nailing cracks on Virgil’s resolution.

They stayed like this for a while, until Patton abruptly lifted his hands, his fingers wiggling on Virgil’s direction, the movement so out of blue that catched his friend out of guard, a true yelp jumping from him before he grumpily growled and let himself fall on the cushions.

“I can’t.”

“Of course, you can, kiddo! I’m rooting for ya! Wanna see?” And then he started to fold and unfold his fingers, approaching them to Virgil inch by inch “Go Virge, go! Go, Virge, go! Goooo, Virgeyyyy, go!” Inch by inch. Close and then even closer. The boy with a wobbly smile in his face felt like he couldn’t tear his eyes from the movements, the butterflies seeming to freak out in his stomach in the rhythm of the cheers.

He hides his face behind his hands. Patton was going to be the end of his existence.

“Stohop it.” Dammit. He was breaking.

‘Come on, guy! You can do this!’ He internally whined.

“Ooh, is that a beauty giggly giggle what I hear? The cheering should be working then, don’t you think?! We believe in you, Virge-poo! And we can’t wait for when we…” Virgil dared to spy the scene between his fingers, only to see Patton’s hands barely touching his sides, his fingers positioned in a claw shape. “… getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha!!” They suddenly moved, clawing unbearably away and terribly close at each couple of words.

No. Virgil did NOT squeal nor squirmed closer to the fingers. Fuck you. Nobody asked. That is none of your business anyway.

‘Just… just don’t think about it! Pull it off. Like… I don’t know! Like a stupid band aid!’

“It is going to be so much fun! I didn’t even tickle you yet and you’re already giggling excitedly! Think in all your wonderful, beautiful laughter flying everywhere when I finally tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle you silly!! You’ll be giggling up a storm! Happy gasp! Pun inserted!”

Virgil obligated himself to take a deep breath and not stare the warm, teasy hands which were oblivious of the intern turmoil caused as they rested on his sides. Their tips very lightly, almost impossible to feel and – even more difficult to ignore - poking the ticklish skin, as if they simply couldn’t bring themselves to stay still. The one laid on the couch and yet hiding his face felt the urge to kick just to get off all the pleasantly nervous energy building up in his body.

“Virgey-wiggly-wiggley…~”

“TICKLEMEPLEASE!”

Patton squeaked excited, the teasy grin immediately giving space to the joyful smile. “Of course!” He grazed his fingers up his sides to his ribcage, the nails lightly drawing circles around each one of the ribs, receiving a quick tasering in the middle of them before going up to the next one, letting for a piece of moment Virgil’s bubbly and more high-pitched giggles fill the room alone.

The cat cardigan owner ran the tip of his fingers up and down, up and down, up and down his sides, watching in complete awe the way the other squirmed at each infinitesimal move. He stopped the movement on his right side, his eyes gleaming behind the lenses as accompanied Virgil adorably wiggling away from the reminiscent tickles, as if he tried to escape from the evil fingers scribbling in that exactly spot which connected his left side to his tummy and leaded cute, sweet titters escape from his gigantic smile.

A devious plan shinned in his head.

Patton ceased the tickling in order to give him a breath, smiling at the pout that didn’t take too long before blooming in the other’s features.

He quickly poked his left side, immediately hearing quiet, bubbly giggles dance across the air as Virgil wiggled to his right, only to be warmly welcomed by scratches of one single finger on his lower back, making his breath stop so fast a snort escape. Virgil widened his eyes, his hands automatically clapping in his mouth at the same time a big, gleaming grin took over Patton’s expression. They stared at each other, fingers never stopping, squirms never ending.

“No.” His voice was slightly wobbly, giggles beginning to intertwine his words as his friend scribbled softly again. “No no no! You are a- dON’T!- such a dork!!! No!!”

They initiated the cycle again. Every time Virgil squirmed to escape from the left tingles to the right tickles one more finger was added to the attack, soon leaving the blushed poor victim kicking sporadically when the ten fingers resumed their light, tickly attack. “I’m going t-t-to kick you!!” and then was subdued to the snorts and squeals painting his fast titters.

The one who wore the cat hoodie which moments before had slipped from his head in the ““fight””, now showing clearly the red strongly flaming his cheeks and the tip of his ears shook his head from side to side, the frown he tried to form being immediately won by the smile taking over his features. Virgil let himself embrace the feeling completely over, laughing freely, almost doesn’t believing this was actually happening.

That it didn’t matter how much he tried to escape nor squirm, the tickling just followed his movements, just as all his (fake) protests didn’t stop the excited, evil teases pouring from the other’s mouth. Not to tell how only the big, happy gaze from Patton was definitely not helping in the slightest his current state at all!

He was certain. There was no way out of this. He was going to melt and d i e.

And he was loving every single second of this.

“Aww! Tickle, tickle, tickle, Virge!! Look at the happiness shining in your face!! Someone really, really loves some tickly-tickles, am I right? But don’t worry, Virgey-wiggley! I will give you all the tickles you could ever want! Like here!” He booped Virgil’s bellybutton “Here” A couple of fingers slid on his waistline “And here, and here, and here and everywhere!” Fingers flew quickly, traveling on his hips, collarbone, sides, behind his ears…

The incapacity to know where Patton would strike next killed every single drop of coherent thoughts of his mind, which could only focus on the tickling and how much it was unbearable and everywhere and it t i c k l e d . His giggles grew to chortles, his hands flying from his own face to lightly push Patton’s, dislocating his glasses and freeing surprised chuckles mixed with his own squeaks.

“Virgil!!” Patton ceased the playful attack in order to retire the other’s hands off his face, before both knew they’re wrestling, laughter cutting their acts and weakening their movements. “Virge!! I will go to another spot this way!”

In a blink of an eye one of his friend’s arms hugged his sides and Patton felt a malefic grin crawling his lips without even noticing its presence. Very much different from Virgil, who in the same heartbeat realized his mistake, using the opportunity of the instant of distraction to lightly push the cookie lover off him, quickly dashing across the house. All his instincts gleaming and sparkling the sign of ‘Survive’ in his veins.

The only reason of what Virgil forgot about the numbness from spending so much time laid on his legs, resulting in trips that definitely made him lose some crucial speed as he encircled the couch, capturing with the corner of his eyes the scene of Patton jumping of the cushions and following his escape route. The crackling dancing in the air owned by nobody specific.

His heart beat faster, the joy raced his nerves and made his tummy tingle in advance just for imagining the exact moment where two arms would hug him firmly yet gently from behind and his ears would be set on fire the very same moment Patton would say-

“Gotcha, Giggly Storm! I gotcha, gotcha ya!!” Patton dug his thumbs right above Virgil’s hips, the remaining fingers clawing the poor, sensitive skin in his back, leading belly laughter to took over his friend’s sentence, his knees buckling and legs uncontrollable kicking as Patton sat with him on the floor, pressing his back on his chest and resting his head on his shoulder.

“Patton!! Pahahatton, come on, no!” Patton just hummed, two fingers calmly walking on Virgil’s waistline. “Don’t you dare!! Don’t you fuckin- gah!” The nails began to slid in the length of the belly, going from a side to another as elected soft snorts and bouncy giggles.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle, Virge!! Did you thought you could run away from the Tickle Monster? Poor unfortunate soul ~. Now the Tickle Monster has to give you a bunch of more ticklish tickly tickles just for this, don’t you think?!” And then Virgil felt the tickles speed up to scribbles and clawing and wiggles delivered in every inch of his tummy. Going in random patterns, drawing forms on his sweet spot, up and down, from a side to another, over and over again. Quick enough to make him sporadically squirm and kick, a rain of squeals, yelps and squeals flowing from his lips, yet soft and light enough to let him rest his head on the other’s chest and just enjoy the feeling.

“Awww! Look at how much shaking your tum-tum is! It is probably so happy in receiving its so much craved tickle tickle tickles, right, Virgey-poo?” The answer was only a blushy Virgil hiding his face on Patton’s neck, giggling nonstop.

“Nonono!! It’s not!” And, if that move only led to a now very exposed neck to be gifted with some special scratches? They both pretended it wasn’t on purpose.

Patton just rolled his eyes, playfully exasperated, quietly chuckling when the other jumped with the quick squeeze delivered on his hip.

It didn’t take long before Virgil let out his first ‘Stop’, which Patton happily obliged, don’t having the heart to move when he realized Virgil’s breath becoming calmer, his eyelashes closing as he snuggled closer to the one wearing glasses.

The duo knew very well they would probably regret napping on the hard, cold floor later, yet none of them managed to bring themselves to care, especially when Virgil’s quiet snorts with the second tickle dream of the day lullabied Patton to an equally peaceful dream.

[~*~]

Random non-said thing: Patton only remembered that information because the movie they’re going to watch was one of the trilogy they were watching when Virgil gathered up enough will to tell him he likes tickling.

#Happyyy dayyyyy <333 #Sanders Sides tickling #Kanene's fanfic #Kanene's Au #Lee!Virgil #Ler!Patton #I just realized the title sounds like that cartoon Go Diego go. Not changing it looool xDDD #Ticklish!Virgil #Soft and Playful tickles #Cute #This is so cute because they're precioooous #Tickle fic #Tickle fanfic #Kanene's Art #Sanders SIdes Human AU #<3 #<33 #I really liked writing this one <33 #Sanders Sides tickles

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

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One of the very last events I attended before the lockdown was a thing in Silicon Valley attended by many old friends, but the best moment of all was the chance to hang out with Kim Stanley Robinson, a friend and inspiration.

That's when Stan told me he had just finished a book that might be his last-ever novel, The Ministry For the Future, and that his future work would be nonfiction, starting with his long-planned book about the Sierras.

I was stricken. Robinson's novels are a lifeline for me.

The first Robinson novel I read may just be my favorite: Pacific Edge, a green utopian novel about a successful transition to a post-climate-emergency, just and stable world. Re-reading it is a vacation from all my anxieties, still.

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/01/15/pacific-edge-the-most-uplifting-novel-in-my-library/

My first novel, DOWN AND OUT IN THE MAGIC KINGDOM, wouldn't exist without Pacific Edge. That was the book that taught me that small disputes over beloved local treasures could be as dramatic as (and microcosms for) global conflicts.

I have been both dreading and anticipating MINISTRY FOR THE FUTURE, not wanting to read my last KSR novel but also wanting so badly to read this one, because it's the book in which he imagines the end of capitalism.

You've heard the phrase, "It is easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism," variously attributed to Frederic Jameson and Slavoj Žižek. As the author of a couple of postcapitalist novels, I have a real appreciation for the details of that truism.

It's actually not all that hard to imagine a postcapitalist society - but imagining the actual END of capitalism, the euthanasia of the rentier, the reversal of the doctrine of virtuous selfishness, the abandonment of the idea that some are born to rule, that is damned hard.

And while PACIFIC EDGE is my favorite KSR novel, my favorite KSR series is the string of books that starts with 2012's 2312 - a string of books that really leans hard into imagining the actual end of capitalism.

xhttps://memex.craphound.com/2015/01/15/pacific-edge-the-most-uplifting-novel-in-my-library/

2312 is set 300 years into postcapitalism. It's a novel of solar-system-scale civilization, riven by its own problems and contradictions, filled with tech marvels, a tale of natural wonders that showcase Robinson's incredible, John-Muir-grade genius for pastoral writing.

2312 was followed up by Aurora, one of the best space-exploration novels ever written, about the arrival of the first-ever generation ship at its destination world, and the hasty retreat it is required to stage.

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/11/02/kim-stanley-robinsons-aurora-space-is-bigger-than-you-think/

The book provoked a vitriolic reaction from science fiction's great reactionaries! I love a book that enrages the right people, and I was delighted to publish Robinson's rebuttal to their peevish complaints.

https://boingboing.net/2015/11/16/our-generation-ships-will-sink.html

From there, we move on to New York 2140, a novel of a pivotal moment in the transformation of capitalism and its relationship to the climate emergency.

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/03/18/new-york-2140-kim-stanley-robinson-dreams-vivid-about-weathering-climate-crisis/

These are like an artilleryman rangfinding a mortar, first overshooting his target and then walking his fire back, drawing closer to his bullseye. For Robinson, bullseye is the moment at which our society is transformed into one that can survive the coming emergencies.

It's telling that the 2312 books never got there. It is so fucking hard to imagine the end of capitalism.

But that is what The Ministry For the Future Does.

Sort of.

It's a novel about a specialized UN agency, chartered through the Paris Climate Agreement to represent unborn generations and the natural world in legal proceedings related to climate devastation.

Talking about this book, Robinson has described it as a kind of futuristic documentary, told in many voices, as a way of describing a phenomenon as vast as this global transformation.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/14/final_ver2/#ksr

Like many docs, it follows a couple of main characters, but weaves in dozens of other voices, some of whom we hear from only once or twice, recounting pivotal moments in which a moment calves away from our reality as we know it - moments of shear, giddy and terrifying.

Robinson is so good at this stuff. This is the book that he has been practicing for all his life. The vignettes are superb little jewels, mostly illuminating flashbulb moments in the lives of strangers met fleetingly.

But some of the most powerful moments don't even have characters: there's a transcript of the openng a fictional congress of global climate remediation groups after the crisis that is just an alphabetical list of countries and their associated projects.

This literally made me burst into tears of joy, bursting with hope at the thought that we could, as a species, spawn so many evocative and hopeful projects to save our world, our species, and our nonhuman cohabitants.

Robinson's versatility is on glorious display here: from long lists of hypothetical ecological projects, he veers into closely told moments of human endeavor in the natural world, showcasing his pastoralism with scenes so vivid you could reach out and touch them.

But all that said, the most interesting thing about this book is the stuff that Robinson couldn't or wouldn't put on the page. Robinson's hypothetical scenario for the end of capitalism is a baroque scheme of global cryptocurrency money-creation tied to carbon drawdown.

His technocrats trick capitalism into spending itself out of existence in a plan that is by turns brainy and daffy (as all blockchainism tends to be), with some pretty epic handwaving (especially when it comes to the breakup of tech monopolies).

But all of that would fail were it not for acts of absolutely brutal, ruthless terrorism. Robinson's transformation isn't merely about the carrots of double-bluff get-rich-quick schemes, it's heavily dependent on the stick of terror.

The aviation industry isn't (just) replaced by airships and rail because it's better and cleaner - but also because parties unknown use drones to bring down every private jet in the sky, and then commercial liners, until the aviation industry seizes up and dies.

And the world doesn't abandon beef because vegans win the moral argument or because greenies win the practical one - the decisive factor is drones that dart an unknowable plurality of the world's cattle with bovine spongiform encephalopathy.

There's more - pitiless, remorseless, anonymous. And while Robinson gets up close and personal with one traumatized individual who engages in an ecologically motivated, short-lived (and nonlethal) kidnapping, we never meet any of the terrorists or their victims.

The terror that begets the transition is recounted in the dry language of an encyclopedia entry, not dramatized like the pivotal moments of so many other characters.

It's a very telling omission.

My 2019 novella "Radicalized" is about an online community of men who, after watching their most treasured family members die slow, painful, preventable deaths because of insurance company fuckery, become suicide bombers who murder health execs.

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2019/05/who-says-violence-doesnt-solve-anything-a-review-of-radicalized-four-tales-of-our-present-moment-by-cory-doctorow.html

Writing that story was an intensely uncomfortable experience (and, judging from reader comments, it can be uncomfortable to read, too).

It's one thing to recognize that a systemic problem might not be solved without grotesque, mass violence, and another to put yourself in the shoes of either the perpetrators or the victims.

Robinson's end of capitalism is, superficially, a story of a transition, not a spasm, not a capital-T Terror. The lives we inhabit in this novel are people who are engaged in struggle, but not mass-murder.

But right there on the page is Robinson's uncomfortable and only partially elided conviction that we're not in for a transition, but rather a bloodletting, a reckoning commensurate with the ecocidal crimes that led up to this moment.

MINISTRY is a book that, on first consideration, feels like a utopia - not merely for the beautiful descriptions of people, animals and environments finding a way through the emergencies, but for the emergencies resolution.

But on closer examination, MINISTRY represents the dark fears of one of our brightest, most hopeful writers, that the world can only be saved by means that are literally too terrible to contemplate up close.

It's an uncomfortable read. It's a brilliant book. If it indeed turns out to be Stan's last novel (oh please don't let it be Stan's last novel), it will be a fitting capstone. But the subtext of this book is that we are past the point of no return.

Not only will rescuing our planet entail sacrifices of species, habitats, and coastlines - it will also entail sacrifices of the moral convictions that make vast spectacles of bloodletting unthinkable.

#pluralistic

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thegirlwholied · 3 years

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any chance you can describe the scene in bridgerton that has sparked all the debate? i see people argue about it but i just need like.. the most basic description to decide if i can/will watch it and you seem to know bridgerton things

OK. Deep breath. Because you asked, I will try?

Without wading into debate... with some spoilers... and with the caveat that I’m always Team Extremely Enthusiastic Consent; this is one series I (clearly) both read & watched so the answer to can/will was yes for me but mileage will vary:

The two main characters have a very traditional romance-novel dynamic in one respect: the plenty-of-sexual-experience hero, and the so-innocent-she-doesn’t-even-know-how-sex-works virgin heroine.

However consciously the book was playing off that trope, which is in so many romance novels, I’ve always read it as ‘when your entire sexual education relies on 1 guy & only what he shows you’... that can go wrong. And it goes wrong.

You may have seen some of the series’ sexcapades going by on Tumblr in gif form by now... That Scene is episode 6, of 8.

Short version of the major driving plotline at this point: Daphne thinks her husband can’t have children when actually it’s a matter of won’t. Episode 6 is mostly filled with giddy honeymooning sexcapades... but with Simon using the pullout method, which goes right over Daphne’s head. And then she catches on.

Basic show-version scene breakdown, from there: Daphne leads Simon into their bedroom, with things proceeding as laughing-honeymoon-ly as usual... until the point where he’d usually pull out, when he says “wait”, meaning to do so. And realizes, when she physically hangs on (on top), instead, something’s different this time. It’s intentionally filmed as a power shift. Immediate aftermath, Daphne gets up to leave, starting to head to her own bedroom for the first time in their marriage. The duke, still in bed, realizes what just happened.

From his reaction, her suspicions re: his lie of omission are confirmed. From her reaction, he knows she did this intentionally. His dawning hurt is the hardest part of the scene to watch, for me.

It plays out as a ‘how could you’/’how could you’ situation, with fallout & reconciliation over the following two episodes ~

~and whether the narrative sides too much with Daphne, whether there’s the right kind of fallout and reconciliation, whether this scene was integral to the plot or should have been changed more, how much casting changes how the scene feels... that’s then part of the debate.

Which... oh no am I wading into debate? I do not have the energy to pull wellies on right now and that river runs deep... I do think the writers still could have done better especially in subsequent episodes, but sometimes characters’ actions are meant to be morally questionable and raise debate and sometimes it’s just a writing whoops (looking at Wonder Woman 1984, which I also watched on Christmas Day & which also managed to spark a consent debate, omg why, writers, when Steve could have just appeared). Bridgerton’s was an intentional writing choice - ‘murkiness’ is I think an apt word here - & I think the last paragraph of this article, and the articles it links to, speak well to overall context:

“as the number of romance novel adaptations continues to rise in upcoming years, there will be ongoing debates about how many of these now-dated books — in which nonconsensual sex, sexual assault, and rape are not infrequent — will be best adapted for the screen. The good news is that the genre has largely moved away from depicting these types of sex scenes as romantic. The bad news, however, is that it's a lot harder to erase them from the industry's messy past.”

I’m glad romance novels are being adapted; I’m glad I discovered how smart & fun many of them are (it took me too long!). Many romance novels are also Not for Me, for the above-stated reasons. Bridgerton, books & show, I do enjoy... but there’s many things I don’t enjoy that other people do because something in it’s problematic in a way that gets to me, so completely get it if it’s Not For You.

Whether you see the show as a success or failure on that front, I do think it’s trying to tell a story that reflects that sex is messy & complicated & has a learning curve & can be full of laughter & can make you feel deceived & helpless even when it is consensual especially when no one’s communicating clearly. Whether That Scene is/isn’t is the whole debate, but in writing I do think intent matters -especially as perception varies - and I do find it interesting the showrunner’s stated intent was to still evoke deception & helplessness without crossing the consent threshold. It becomes a a debate as part of the audience does see it that way! It’s also... fiction, as opposed to a how-to manual on consent. Since Bridgerton’s the first adaptation of its specific kind, there’s also a lot of extra attention/pressure on it. Can stories, romances especially, model consent? Yes; some do it brilliantly, and happily, more & more of them do! Do they have to...? Well... no. And when we start policing fiction we get a little Victorian & that’s not a good thing! That’s part of why AO3 exists, after all.

My personal take is, if Bridgerton was a fic on AO3, the writer would tag it as ‘dubcon’ not ‘noncon’. Some reviewers might disagree, but writers tag based on intent and to warn, I think that’s the warning they’d give.

...And also, my take is that Netflix would be better with AO3-style tags. & so would romance novels. AO3-style tags on everything please, the better to choose wisely!

I hope this helps you decide whether you can/will watch!

#bridgerton discourse #long post #under the cut because i do not want to trigger anyone and am adding tags as quickly as possible since answers make you post before tagging #(which is dumb)#more tags for everything #the summary version of my opinion: Netflix should have AO3 tags #and i think Bridgerton would be tagged as dubcon not noncon #as tags are based on writer intent and to warn and i think that's the warning they'd give #bridgerton #i don't use a blacklist I don't know what people may have blacklisted but we're going to take a stab at it!#tw: consent issues #cw: consent issues #tw: dubcon #(...discussion thereof this is the first time I've ever had to use this tag this is not my usual topic range!)#i also do think it's interesting the book is a woman writer but the showrunner is a man as that... brings both sides to bear on the topic #answers!#someday i swear some media i enjoy will be unproblematic again #...and then five or fifteen years will pass and that too will look problematic #the circle of life?#(recently was rewatching Doctor Who 2005 and it mostly holds up but also... there are the Slitheen episodes)#anyway i'm pro the debate but also the world is exhausting and the show is shiny with pretty people and flowers #i am just here for the pretty people and flowers tbh #...i'd bet maybe some people who didn't know what they were getting into and just wanted pretty people and flowers felt betrayed #by the That Scene of it all #...and that is why Netflix should have AO3 tags #...people would still disagree about what those tags should be but c'est la vie

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jdeowrites · 3 years

Text

Baby’s First Book Deal

Sooo… about that YA contemporary I’ve been working on.

(x)

As a young teen, I devoured countless books, TV shows and movies where girls living in fantasy worlds were forced into skin-revealing dresses; where girls in dystopias and apocalypses shed clothes for romantic scenes; where girls in contemporary settings changed into swimsuits for an impromptu swim, all without any warning beforehand. And I couldn’t help but wonder, didn’t they ever worry about their body hair showing? Did they get waxed in between chapters and it just wasn’t worth mentioning by the author? Or was this something that didn’t matter to most people? Or did these girls just not have body hair? I remember reading The Hunger Games and thinking it was a breath of fresh air when Katniss was waxed and plucked to be deemed pretty for the Capitol. Finally it was on the page. So maybe it wasn’t all in my head after all.

But I knew it wasn’t just in my head, because the only other time I saw body hair on femme people was when it was played off for laughs. Understandably, this all really screwed with me growing up. So maybe it’s no surprise that eventually I would decide to write a book about it.

Fast forward to early 2019: I emailed my agent with a couple of new book ideas including: “high school debaters (I used to be on the debate team and there's so much potential drama!) and body hair beauty standards for girls. Possibly both in the same book?”

I held my breath when I sent that. I needn’t have worried; she was really into the idea. I started writing it in June 2019. Which was also the start of what I suspected was going to be a very challenging school year (I was right about that for more reasons than I knew at the time). I did this on purpose because I thought it would be a light, fun book to escape into. I was partially right. It was really fun to write all the high school drama, debating, and romance. It did help me through some hard times. But it was also unexpectedly painful.

Because it was so personal. In order to confront the issue of body hair, I had to confront the shame and stigma and subconscious biases drilled into me my whole life. I had to analyze my own concept of what beauty is, and its significance to a person’s self-worth, their worth in the eyes of others, and how those things overlap. And digging so deep into my own trauma was excruciating. I had to force myself to do it sometimes… and to write it without a filter. There were times that I’d re-read a passage and think, "This is too much. I should tone it down a bit." But those were the times it was most important to me to keep going.

It was March 2020, the early days of the pandemic, when I had a draft I had run by betas and felt good about sending to my agent. I was so nervous. Was the subject matter too cringey? Would it be too unrelatable for most people? Was it even marketable?

Well, my agent loved it a lot. She said it made her cry. Which made me cry. It was just such a relief to know that someone else could identify with this book I had been so honest in, that I had poured some of the most personal parts of my soul into.

We went on submission that summer (for the uninitiated, that means your agent submits your book to editors at publishing houses. AND THEN YOU WAIT.). I had a good feeling about it, but as always I tried to manage my expectations. That didn’t stop me checking my email every 5 seconds but, you know. An effort was made.

We were nearly two months into sub when It Happened. I won’t bore you with the details of my life, but I was in the middle of a 26 hour shift when I got an email from my agent: “Call me!” Is all she said (oh the suspense). I sort of knew at that point. I stared at that email for quite a while, debating whether to wait until the next day when I was off work to get in touch, because as it was I knew I could become busy at any moment. But I couldn’t wait, of course. Patience? I don’t know her. Anyway, I called my agent.

She told me we had an offer, and proceeded to read it out loud. Cue me crying silently in a tiny windowless room. Literal happy tears dripping down my chin as she talked, which has never happened to me before. I didn’t know how to process it. It was a surreal night after that.

Then we let other people who had the manuscript know, and suddenly there were more editors from different houses who wanted to talk! The next week was… a lot. Along with having a series of calls with a bunch of editors, all of whom I loved to pieces, I was also dealing with a 50+ hour work week, prepping for an exam, writing the exam (in the middle of which a preempt offer came in), an 11 hour road trip, and moving to a new city. I’ll probably remember that week for the rest of my life for the utter chaos it was… but hey, it all worked out. (also, funny thing: my deal announcement came out in the middle of a cross-country road trip. publishing stuff only happens when I’m busy, apparently!).

And now I get to say words I’ve only dreamed of: My debut novel will be published in summer 2022 by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Random House! Although it’s been a long time since I received this news, every so often I remember that it’s HAPPENING—that I get to go on this journey of publication, of being a debut author—and it feels brand-new and exciting all over again. There’s so much to look forward to! And I have so many more stories I’m excited to tell.

But I’m glad this book will be my debut. Somewhere along my process of research, writing, learning, and discussing with others, this story changed the way I viewed myself. I had not thought that would happen—I set out to write this story for other people, not for me. But it happened anyway.

My singular hope for my debut novel is that it can do that for someone else. If just one hairy girl picks up this book and understands there was nothing ever wrong with them, everything was worth it. Everything. I hope that happens.

And if not, well, this book has already changed one person’s life: mine.

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