#for the record! i am actually open to criticism on my fic! it says so on my ao3! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

breathplayed · 9 months

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4, 6 & 8 💜

below cut to save dashboards!!

(4) what is the plot bunny you've been carrying the longest? ooouuuuhhh..... so many............ So many............ i have full fic outlines from 2017 LOL but the most viable one is a jikook au where they're both vampire hunters + jimin is Turned + jungkook swears to hunt him and be the one to kill him bc it's "what he would have wanted" some good ole lovers to enemies bullshit Once Again. every year since 2018 i've thought it'd be a fun three-part fic i could post for halloween and have never gotten around to it. lately i keep thinking it'd be good for an original novel (hello lesbians <3) but then i would have to actually worldbuild and write well which is daunting......... so back to the drawing board every time...... Maybe Some Day

(6) do you have any kind of consistent writing schedule or just hoping for the best? 💀 i always tell myself i will try to write a little bit every day, and there's been periods where that worked well enough for me, but tbh i write the best and most when i am daydreaming about a fic idea and get batshit possessed and fuel a Fixation. in those moments i am seized by insanity and sit down to write for about 4-6 hours straight in the dead of the night and manage several thousand words in one sitting. the record is 10k for DSD pt1 in like a day, and when i wrote the 90k fic that is WBIO in like 3 weeks off the high of not having any responsibilities in early lockdown (incl almost 20k in one sitting)

So kind of a mix.... When I have more free periods of the year i tell myself *trying* to stick to a schedule is good, like "ok i should go TRY to write at least a little every day, and if it doesn't work and im not feeling it today that's fine" but I can't lie, most of what I put out is the product of a feverish manic haze. Where i daydreamed too hard about a fic idea and accidentally came up with the whole plot and exact dialogue lines and need to bullet point it immediately before I forget it all. I am tormented by visions

(8) what’s your relationship with constructive criticism and feedback like? do you seek it out? how well do you take it? Constructive criticism: not exactly a fan unless I ask for it lol, just bc I think it's kinda rude to offer constructive criticism unless it's asked for? So I already automatically feel a lil cornered. I spent a year as an art major bringing paintings in for concrit sessions, I can take it, but that feels like a facilitated environment where I knew I was opening myself up to hear things so I could improve..... however, I'm not super interested in 'improving' writing beyond naturally improving by doing it.... bc it's just a hobby if that makes sense? I'm also usually super aware of how/where one of my fics is weak (example: i Know my worldbuilding and side characters and settings are not the most fleshed out, that I usually only focus on the main pairing/conflict and let everything else be a cardboard cutout, RIP) and just didn't put the work in to improve it bc I want to have Fun doing this hobby and struggling with fixing weaknesses is not super fun. Yes i am very lazy but it's ok it's fanfiction posted for free not something I'm trying to publish ukno. I'm a perfectionist in other ways! It balances out

Important to note I define constructive criticism as like "it would have been better if you did x instead" and a lot of times in fanfiction that's just people's personal tastes. I do consider everything readers say to me! Like someone said they didn't think the side characters served any point in "folie à trois" and it's just me inserting my faves, I Considered that opinion. There's been times I consider feedback and changed how I continued in a story, like in TLG people said they wanted more Jimin pov/motives and I said hmmm yeah that's valid I'll do more of that. In the aforementioned case for Folie, I considered it and decided (1) no, they're there for jk to see that Everyone is a lil fucked up and (2) it's my fic i can put my kpop girlies in it if i want lol. So sometimes 'concrit' is really just someone saying 'what you wrote wasn't to my personal taste' and not actually anything to do with the quality of the story/plot/style whatever itself.

Feedback overall tho, I do always want to hear from readers!!??! How a story made them feel especially. Tbh , TLDR, I think it really depends on the tone.... My relationship to it is on a case by case basis..... like I'm fine hearing that a character/plot frustrated someone, that they disagree with a character's actions, etc.... because that's Conflict in the story and I think good writing makes the reader Feel something..... it really just depends on what is being offered? if something is obviously mean spirited (which I have gotten) or offering concrit without asking like telling me "btw this would have read better if you didn't write like a possessed failed poet" i'm like ok well i have no plans on improving that. I am down to clarify any points of confusion on a scene/character/etc but I will not be improving. Lol

I hope that makes sense sorry I rambled as always. I took one of my adhd meds for the first time in weeks and now I am tachycardic and overexplaining myself worse than usual. Thank u for the ask <3

#ask game #myfic #ask

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batsandbugs · 3 years

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Bats Bugs and Boomerangs Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone, coming at you with another series! This is actually for a late secret santa gift exchange! My recipient was @m3owww! Her fandoms were Maribat and Avatar the Last Airbender, so I thought: Why not both? She already had a Maribat characters in the show type fic, so I created a fic where they watched the show. It slowly spiraled out of control though, so this is Chapter 1. I’ll eventually have the batfam (and Marinette) react to the whole series, so comment here and on ao3 what you want to see. So Phi, this is kinda like the gift that will keep on giving? Maybe? I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy!

Our story begins on a frosty winter evening, outside Gotham at Wayne Manor. Marinette sat in the library working on an assignment for her History of Fashion class. She was alone, because Damian, Dick, Tim, and Bruce were out on patrol, with Barbara on comms. Tikki, unless eating or involved with a transformation, spent her time sleeping due to the freezing weather. While the other Kwami either resided in the box or roamed the grounds, and generally stayed out of the human's way.

Marinette gazed out the window, snow falling softly through the air, covering the ground and the tree branches. A crackling fire warmed the room. She shifted, and a painful ache shot through her leg. Marinette glared at the offending appendage, which was the reason she wasn’t out with the team tonight.

Her Miraculous could cure any injury sustained on the battlefield, it didn’t help her one bit when it came to her own natural clumsiness. She hadn’t paid attention as she’d walked out of class one evening. The dim lighting hid a black ice patch and she slipped and fell. Thankfully, her ankle was only sprained and not broken, but she would be out of commission for at least two weeks. Probably more if Alfred got his way.

Speaking of the elderly butler, he strode into the room carrying a tray of tea and cookies.

“Good evening Miss. Marinette. Need another refreshment?”

She sighed at the cold coffee dregs in her mug. “That would be nice, thank you, Alfred.”

He hummed, grabbing a teacup, and pouring her a serving. “How does your leg feel today? I notice you were leaning heavily on Master Damian after supper.” He handed the cup to her and the warmth was a welcome sensation for her chilled hands.

“Yeah, he’s been nice helping me around.” Nice was a misnomer, more like extremely overprotective. He point-blank refused for her to stay at her own apartment, mostly due to its location on the fourth floor with no elevator access. He all but forced her to watch him pack her essentials to bring to the manor while she recovered. Since then, his attentiveness in ensuring she had what she needed within reach and helping her to class had grown. It was a tad smothering considering his usual aloofness, but she enjoyed his actions for the affection it implied.

“It’s throbbing and hot and feels worse than it did three days ago.” She took a tiny sip of the tea and relaxed into its spiced aroma. Alfred made the best tea.

He nodded. “It will feel uncomfortable for a while until it starts to mend. Just continue to rest and remain off it and you will be back to carousing around the city like the rest of them in no time.” He poured his own tea and seated himself in the plush armchair across from her spot on the couch.

“Oh, Alfred you say that as if you would not be right there along with us if age allowed,” said Marinette with a grin. The stories Dusu could recount about the elderly miraculous holder were nothing short of entertaining, and she knew damn well Alfred had the same need for action as the rest of the Waynes and their assorted allies.

“I’d do nothing of the sort,” he said primly, taking a sip of his tea to hide the tiny smirk on his face. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.

The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant silence. Despite the pain in her leg Marinette pushed through it and finished her assignment, while Alfred read until it neared time when patrol ended. He bustled up the remains of the tea and promise her a fresh cup when he finished seeing everyone arrive safely.

Later, although she could not say how long, she was buried deep in a book and didn’t notice when Damian entered the room until he sat next to her on the couch.

“Good evening angel.” His hair flopped in his eyes, loose and damp from the shower. In his hands, he held a tray with two cups of steaming tea.

“Thanks.” She took the proffered cup of tea with a smile. “How was patrol?”

“Boring,” he sighed. “You certainly are not missing anything.” If he wouldn’t have taken offense to it, Marinette would have described the look on his face as a pout.

“What about the drug seller Tim tracked to the lower docks?”

Damian shrugged. “Gone silent after we busted the last shipment. Seventeen years in and maybe the criminals finally figured out committing crimes in the same city as a relentless vigilante team is a bad idea,” he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Marinette couldn’t stop herself from giggling. It was a common joke among the family that Gotham’s criminals never learned.

“I think it means we’re doing our job right,” said Tim walking in with a steaming mug. Marinette opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Don’t worry, it’s decaf.”

“Like Pennyworth would let him drink anything else this time of night,” scoffed Damian, while taking a sip of his tea.

“I’m perfectly capable of monitoring my own caffeine intake, thanks,” Tim said in offense, seating himself across from the couch in the reading chair previously abandoned by Alfred.

“No, you’re not,” called a voice from the hallway. Dick walked in with a large mug of what was undoubtedly hot chocolate. “The last time he didn’t check your drink after patrol, you used coffee instead of water to brew another pot, and then added four whole bottles of five-hour energy. You didn’t sleep for three days.”

“I also solved five crimes, figured out where the Penguin was hiding, and streamlined the dropbox submission system for Wayne Industries. Life requires tradeoffs.”

“No that’s just you, ignoring basic human necessities. Anyway, besides Tim’s caffeine addiction, what are we talking about?” asked Dick.

“The reason for the lack of crime,” offered Marinette.

Dick shrugged, “Happens every year because of the weather. Even criminals get cold. They’ll return to their usual transgressions once the weather warms.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Tt. Weak,” muttered Damian.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Not everyone receives extreme weather training under threat of dismemberment, demon brat. We should take the opportunity to enjoy the break.”

“Tim, your version of a “break” involves paperwork,” chided Dick.

“It’s not my fault the rest of you people don’t have lives. I’m a remarkably busy person. And what is this, the-criticize-Tim-hour?”

“Oh, only an hour?” smirked Damian. “I thought it was a continuous event, one could choose to participate in whenever the mood struck. I will have to file all my complaints immediately.”

Tim pouted. “Marinette,” he whined. “Can’t you control him?”

She shrugged, “What do you expect me to do? I’m his girlfriend, not his minder. Besides, they criticize because they care.” She laughed when all three boys snarled their noses at the prospect of feelings.

“Marinette, angel, please; never say that again. I criticize because I am right, and they should know it. Not because of any high-minded ideals such as genuine affection.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” said Dick. “If we have a bit of a break, we should do something! Together, as a family. I think Cass and Steph come back in two days.”

“Grayson, just because your girlfriend is off-world visiting family and you have nothing to do does not mean it holds true for the rest of us.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Tim, “Except not quite, because I don’t have a girlfriend, but I just said I’m busy. R&D is rolling out a new prototype next week, and I have two board meetings scheduled and-”

“Not to mention,” Marinette cut Tim off. He could talk about his schedule forever because he just had that many events. “I can’t move around, what would we even do? Play games?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The list of games officially banned in our family includes, but is not limited to; Monopoly, Uno, Checkers, Risk, Risk: Legacy, Twister, Jenga, Clue, Guess Who, Poker, Chess, and Go Fish.”

“Oh…” muttered Marinette.

“And that doesn’t even include videogames.”

“After the Wii Bowling incident of 2013, the media room wall was never the same,” Dick said, shaking his head in despair.

“I actually apologized for that, okay?” exclaimed Damian. “Why do you always have to bring it up?”

Marinette fully intended to ask about the incident later. “Okay, so games are out.”

“Ooh,” Dick’s eyes lit up, “How about we call a Family T.V. Event?”

Tim groaned, “The last time we did that we blew up the shed, and got the police called.”

“Well, we won’t watch a crime show.” Dick turned to Marinette. “Jason picked; we watched Breaking Bad.”

“I can see how that would spiral out of control.”

“The time before that, we set fire to the media room and started a familial feud,” Damian pointed out. “Game of Thrones,” he added when Marinette looked to him for clarification.

“Even worse.”

“Okay, fine, so we don’t have the best track record picking shows. But I swear I have a good one this time.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Avatar: The Last Airbender.”

Tim snorted. “What? Like the kid’s show?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Really Grayson, a cartoon? I know you are developmentally stuck at five, but not all of us are.”

“I’ve never watched it, but I’ve heard good things about it,” said Marinette. She knew there was a French translation of the show, but she preferred to watch media in its original language. Before moving to America, before dating Damian, her English had not been strong enough to confidently watch a show and understand all of it.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Dick. “I know you three and Cass haven’t seen it, and neither has Bruce or Alfred. I would bet Jason’s seen some of it, but I’ll have to check. Barbara and I have, but that’s fine, she loves the show. We’ll have to see about Steph too, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it regardless. There are awesome characters, battles, suspense, comedy, and it’s not likely going to inspire us to blow up the shed or tear each other to pieces!”

“I have in no way agreed to this Grayson. Drake back me up.”

Tim paused for a moment, stuck between his need to disagree with Damian and the need to get out of Dick’s crazy plan. Unfortunately for Damian, the former won out. “Actually, you know what, a show could be fun. The episodes are what, thirty minutes? Shorter than Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones.”

Damian groaned while Dick responded happily, ignoring his brother’s distress, “Around twenty minutes actually. We could have the whole show finished in about a week or so.”

Damian turned to her, eyes wide and hopeful. “Marinette, please tell me you are on my side?”

She patted her boyfriend’s arm, “Sorry, mon amour, I’m stuck either way. Might as well watch a show.”

Damian flopped against the couch with a pout. “Betrayed. I have been grievously betrayed by my own brothers and girlfriend. What is this world coming to?”

“Woo!” exclaimed Dick, a wide grin splitting his face. “This is going to be great.”

“This is going to be awful,” moaned Damian.

-0-0-

It took a bit of convincing on the part of Dick to get Bruce and Alfred to agree to the venture. Marinette, after learning the full details of the last two Family T.V. Events, was wholly unsurprised. She also did not know the full extent of what Dick did to get Jason to agree (apparently, he and Bruce were fighting, again, so this was expected.) although it probably involved a bribe. But by the week’s end, the entire family was together, all under strict orders (and puppy-dog eyes from Dick) to be on their best behavior.

Which, without a doubt, not a single one of them knew what that entailed.

The arguing started with seating placement, then about who controlled the remote, then over the distribution of snacks, drinks, blankets, and pillows. At one point Jason pulled a knife, which prompted Damian to pull his knife, suddenly Cass had two shurikens visible (where she even kept them while wearing a tank top and shorts, no one could say), and then everyone was yelling with sharp pointy objects in hand.

Once the argument was firmly under control, Alfred collected the weapons and placed them in a wicker basket, along with all the mobile devices, until the episodes for the night were finished. The only one allowed to have a phone was Barbara who was in charge of checking police scanners for any major trouble while the family took the evening off.

Marinette seated herself curled up against Damian on the edge of the couch. She set her foot propped up on an ottoman so it wouldn’t get jostled, and she could continue to ice it throughout the evening. Damian secured their own bowl of popcorn, so they didn’t have to share it with the others.

“Alright, here’s how we’re breaking this down,” announced Dick, who won the battle for the remote, and therefore the episode schedule. “The episodes are short, at least, much shorter than the last show we watched.” He directed a pointed look at Jason.

“I make no apologies.”

“We’ll watch half a season a day, ten episodes apiece. The closed captions will be on but try to keep the chatter to a minimum.” Marinette held back a laugh. Damian explained no one kept quiet during these nights. Watching the show wasn’t the point of these events; if that were the case then they would just watch it all on their own time. The point was the time spent together. This is why even Bruce, emotionally constipated and single-minded in his pursuits as he was, put away the suit for a few days to watch T.V. with the rest of his collected family. Talking was expected.

“We will, if you will,” called Stephanie.

“I take offense to that.”

“Aw just sit Dickie, let’s watch the show,” exclaimed Jason.

“Yes, Grayson you already wrapped us into this pointless venture; we might as well get it over with,” Damian grumbled. Marinette found his hand in the folds of their shared blanket and laced her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand, and, when he was sure no one else was looking gave her a small smile. Marinette smiled back, he pretended to be such a grouch, but deep down he was a giant softy at heart.

Dick frowned, saying “Fine, fine, you don’t have to be spoilsports about it.” And pointed the remote at the T.V. starting the first episode.

-0-0-

It didn’t take ten seconds before the commentary began.

“Four elements?” exclaimed Tim. “Are you serious? I could name at least a dozen off the top of my head. How are there only four nations? 0/10 completely unrealistic. Political infighting alone-”

“Ah, shut up, replacement.”

“Ruthless fire nation?” said Stephanie. “Methinks a little propaganda might be occurring here.”

“A hundred years!? What, has no one competent been born the entire time?”

Marinette shrugged. “The disadvantages of finite magic systems, Dami. It's learned indifference.”

“Honey, after a hundred years that’s not hoping, that’s naivety,” said Stephanie in response to Katara’s impassioned speech.

“She’s right!” exclaimed Dick.

“We know that, but she doesn’t.”

The show moved on to Katara and Sokka in a boat. Sokka held a spear above the water.

“Is he hunting that fish?” growled Damian.

“Ah yeah, I forgot you may hate the entirety of Sokka’s character,” said Dick with a grimace. “Whoops.”

“She’s not very good at the water moving, is she?” asked Marinette

“Waterbending,” Dick and Barbara said in unison.

Sokka chided Katara about her weird water magic. “Oh, he’s not going to be a dick for the whole show, is he?” asked Steph.

“He gets better.”

“They grew up here right?” asked Damian, as Katara and Sokka become caught in a rapid. “How did they not anticipate an event like this.”

“I knew I should have left you at home. Leave it to a girl to screw things up!”

“HEY!” shouted all the women in the room.

They watched as Katara’s fury built and broke the iceberg behind her.

“Good. Use anger, anger is alright,” Cass commented for the first time.

“Okay, you’ve gone from weird, to freakish.”

“This punk is just asking for a beating isn’t he,” growled Jason.

The beam of energy shot into the air after Katara and Sokka broke open the ice. “That’s not going to cause any trouble,” said Tim, rolling his eyes. “Nope, not suspicious or completely conspicuous at all.”

The scene switches to a metal ship.

“Finally! Uncle, do you realize what this means?”

“Oh, look, the bad guys,” deadpanned Tim. “I was right.”

Jason grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth “What happened to his fucked-up fa-”

“YOU’LL FIND OUT!”

The scene switched back to Katara and Sokka. The figure is revealed to be a hyperactive little kid.

Damian frowned“Oh, I won’t like him either, will I Grayson?”

Dick tilted his head, “Eh.”

Then Appa is introduced.

“Father, could we-”

“No, Damian.”

They watched the children depart, and the scene moved back to the Fire Nation ship.

“Even if you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all tried and failed.”

“Well considering the Airbender child has been in an iceberg, it’s not surprising they failed.”

“Because their honor didn't hinge on the Avatar's capture. Mine does. This coward's hundred years in hiding are over.”

“Is it just me or does this angry, emo prince remind anyone of demon spawn?”

“Todd, shut your mouth before I remove your tongue.”

Marinette leaned in close, “Maybe just a little like you.” Damian looked at her with a betrayed pout.

The scene switched and they watched Aang lie to Katara about the Avatar.

“The air child is guilty. Will cause problems later.”

“Narrative Cass, it’s narrative.”

Damian scoffed. “Miscommunication is plot convenience, and it’s a sloppy one at that.”

They watched Aang’s dream of how he ended up in the iceberg, him waking up to Katara and his introduction to the village.

“Well, no one has seen an Airbender in a hundred years. We thought they were extinct until my granddaughter and grandson found you.”

“Extinct?”

“He went into the ice and woke up to find the world different. Anyone getting serious Captain America vibes here?” said Jason, tone-deaf to the clear horror on Aang's face.

“Jason, he just found out his people potentially went extinct!” chided Marinette.

“It's not for stabbing! It's for air bending.”

“Please tell me the main character is not a pacifist,” begged Damian.

“Well, he is a monk,” said Barbara with a sorry look.

“I sense he's filled with much wisdom,” Katara says as Aang sticks his tongue to his staff and it freezes.

“I switch back and forth between liking this girl and not. One second she’s got gumption, and the next she’s all starry-eyed and naïve,” grumbled Steph.

“I wonder who that reminds me of,” Damian whispered into Marinette’s ear. She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'm not naive," she shot back.

He raised a hand with two fingers close but not touching, "You're a little naive." Marinette huffed, but silently admitted to her boyfriend's point. She had a tendency to believe the best in people; she saw it as a strength and appreciated it in this Katara character, but it was so far from how Damian viewed the world, it honestly confused his siblings when they first started dating.

Damian confided in her that he found it inspiring. She had been through so much, understood the cruelties of others, and still could see the good in people.

The scene switched to the Fire Nation ship again, and Iroh explained the concept of firebending to an irate Prince Zuko.

“Finally, a display of actual competence,” exclaimed Damian.

“Enough! I've been drilling this sequence all day. Teach me the next set! I'm more than ready!”

“My tutors would have skewered me if I dared to act in such a manner,” he commented again, softer than the first time. More so that only Marinette could hear. Damian’s family was more than aware of his childhood and what it entailed; Marinette slowly learned with comments like this. She squeezed his hand again and received a small smile.

The scene shifted back to the village where Sokka’s failed “warrior lesson” occurred, and then-

“We don't have time for fun and games with the War going on!”

“What war? What are you talking about?”

“Where have you been, frozen in ice for a hundred years?” joked Dick.

They watched Aang offer to take Katara to the North Pole to find a water bending master. The two children go and play with the penguin creatures, but the tone shifted when an old Fire Nation ship appeared on the screen.

“Bad ship” muttered Cass.

“If you want to be a bender, you have to let go of fear.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start,” said Tim.

They watch Aang and Katara enter the Fire Nation Ship and wander talking about the war.

“Aang, how long were you in that iceberg?”

“I don't know. A few days, maybe?”

“I think it was more like a hundred years!”

“Are you kidding me?” yelled Jason. “How are they just figuring this out now?”

On-screen Aang stepped on the line of wire, tripping the traps.

“Tt. Amateurs.”

"See, she told him it would be a bad idea!"

A flare rises through the air.

“That’s not going to cause any-”

“Oh, shut up Tim.”

The Fire Prince once again appeared on the screen.

“The last Airbender!”

“I was right,” he mumbled.

The screen faded to the credits, and Dick turned to the group.

“So? What do you think?”

“Slow.”

“Nobody has any sense.”

“Are any of the characters actually likable?”

He frowned. “Okay, okay, so the first episode isn’t the best. I swear it gets better. Back me up here Barb.”

Barbara nodded. “He’s right, it takes a few episodes to build the characters up and we see some genuine action. But by mid-season, I swear you’ll be hooked. And then we’ll get to season two and the best characters will arrive.”

“Hey,” Dick exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “No spoilers.”

“I thought it was fun,” Marinette offered. “It’s very clearly a kid’s show, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” She wasn’t going to say each and every person in the room had childhood traumas, and a show full of lighthearted fun was probably just what they needed. She could think it, but she wouldn’t say it.

“Thank you, Marinette,” said Dick with a smile.

“I rather enjoyed the elderly tea drinker,” intoned Alfred. “He’s more than he appears to be.”

“Uncle Iroh? Yeah, he’s the best!” commented Barbara. "But everyone is great."

“Alright, episode one finished, nine more to go.”

“Let’s hope it’s more enjoyable than the last,” uttered Damian, a chorus of agreement followed his statement, but when the show started up everyone grew quiet again.

Marinette was sure whatever happened next, it was bound to be interesting.

Tag List (Although it is on ao3 too)

@m3owww @your-resident-chimken-nuggie @loveswifi @fusser90@animegirlweeb @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere

#damian x marinette #maribat #maridami #damimari #mlb crossover #ml x dc #marinette dupain cheng x damian wayne #marinette dupain-cheng x damian wayne #moodboard #damientte #damianette #marinnette dupain cheng x damian wayne #mlb x dc #characters watch the show #maribat watching atla

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kurinoot · 3 years

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[day 1] one box of chocolates | tendou satori

-> you’ve been wanting to surprise your boyfriend with your own batch of chocolates and better yet, grace him with your presence this coming valentines. to your shock, you got more than what you thought it would be.

pairing: tendou x reader

themes: fluff, post-timeskip

word count: 2125 words

author’s note: I can’t believe I’m writing again! hahaha, and tendou being my first haikyuu character to create a fic uwu anyways, he was kinda hard to write on as he only got shots from seasons 3 and 4, so this may somehow seem ooc but please, I do accept constructive criticisms :) enjoy!

btw, I added a music in specific parts of the story so you can play them if you want so as to add some touches while you’re reading :)

"Ah, I hope the chocolates haven't melted yet!", you sigh tiredly with worry as you scramble your hand inside your carry-on bag, carefully checking your box of handmade chocolates as you make your way through the bustling Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport. The almost 14-hour non-stop flight has definitely taken a toll on you and the jet lag is definitely not helping you either.

You finally feel the cold air kissing your skin as you drag your way out of the airport, gingerly carrying your baggage all the while ensuring that your handmade gift is in good hands. Apparently, you weren't informed that Paris in February would require you more layers of clothing than what the thin sweater you’re wearing could offer. With a rush, you immediately went to the nearest vacant taxi. You rattled your brain for some basic French, muttering a soft “Bonjour” as you pinpoint the driver to your phone, showing him your destination. After a while, you finally feel the weight of the jet lag in your body. You deeply sigh as you finally let yourself sink in the back seat of the taxi. The driver seemed to know something, if you fumbling with your words and the way you slumped on the back seat was a sign.

"Rough day, mademoiselle?", the driver asks you in English (to, at least, your surprise) with a rough French accent, smiling. You brighten up a bit despite the stress, "Uh yes, monsieur. Am I right? It's probably the jet lag, but yeah.".

"Don't worry, your basic French is good! So, what is a young mademoiselle doing here alone? And on Valentines’ Day?”

“Ah merci! I’m actually here to visit this chocolate shop.”, you reply with a bright smile as you pinpoint your phone to the said location once again. He grins, to your surprise.

“Ah yes! That shop is actually famous around these parts, especially this Valentines’ season. Although, the owner is quite weird and even creepy for most people from what I heard around here.”, he mentions, and despite getting accustomed to how most people see Satori, you felt your hand cusp into a fist as you gritted your teeth, seething in annoyance and preparing to fight back or even to get off the taxi.

“Yet despite the rumors, he’s a kind young man. Eccentric one, I admit, but he knows the chocolate fit for the customer. Hell, he even helped me pick for my wife!” The driver continues, chuckling at the memory.

You feel all the anger in you disappear, proud of your boyfriend, as it was somewhat kind of rare for you to hear good compliments about him, “That’s just probably how other people see him. I would say, he’s a tad too eccentric for most people. He’s kind and soft-hearted and cute if you get to know him beyond the surface.”, you reply languidly with proud eyes.

You saw his eyes glance at you, before looking back at the road.

Unknowingly, your smile didn’t falter at the memory of Satori. “In fact, the owner is my boyfriend! And I’m actually here to visit — or rather, surprise him today!”

The driver chuckled softly, “Figures. You were talking about the owner like he’s your lover, and,” He paused, his eyes gazed towards the photograph of a woman that you took notice of earlier. “I can say the same.” His voice became tender as he continued driving.

You have finally arrived at your boyfriend’s little happy place, much to your joy and excitement. You immediately paid the driver and thanked him for the ride (and for the conversation). As soon as you get out of the cab, the driver calls you out, rummages something from a compartment in his cab, and surprises you with a lush red rose, thankfully free of its prickly thorns.

"You somehow remind me of me and my wife when we were younger, and it's Valentines' Season and better yet, you're in the City of Love! So please, take this as a Valentines' souvenir, mademoiselle".

"Oh you didn't have to, monsieur!"

“Good luck with that boyfriend of yours, mademoiselle! Yer both lucky to have each other.”, he says, somehow inspired by how you defended Satori as he mutters an ‘ah, young love’ to himself afterwards as he waves before driving to his next destination. Despite the jet lag creeping in your system, you grasp the remaining energy you have to at least surprise your boyfriend with your presence in the spirit of Valentines' Day in the City of Love.

I can't believe I'm in Paris, and I'm seeing Satori's shop for the first time!, you thought as you giddily reached for the eccentric gold-gilded handle of the door, slowly opening the door to the shop. The instant scent of the cocoa hit right through your senses as your eyes ran across the various chocolates on display. Walking further, you were graced with the view of your beloved with his back on you, occupied with washing his tools to finish the day as he sways his hips to the rhythm of the song he’s humming so softly.

He stops humming as soon as he hears the chime of the door bell, "Je suis désolée, on est fermé. (I’m sorry, we’re closed)", you hear Satori with bits of his Japanese accent as he continued humming afterwards, clueless of who had entered his shop.

"Well, I was thinking of grabbing a Valentines' special with my boyfriend.", you replied teasingly, emphasizing the word boyfriend, which left the budding chocolatier a bit frozen in shock as he turned to your direction with wide eyes before shifting to a smirk as he leans on the countertop, narrowing his eyes towards you as an “Oh, what do we have here?” leaves his mouth.

“My Sugar!”, he nearly screamed, seeing you as he dropped everything he’s doing and rushed to hug you tightly, not caring about his wet hands.

You lovingly welcome his arms as you hug him back tightly, soaking in his presence after being separated for so long.

“I missed you so much, Satori!”, you pout as you felt him tightening his embrace, as you savored his warmth after a long flight, his breath tickling the nape of your neck. You gasp a little bit as he gently caresses your hair, maximizing his hug with you to finally see, touch, and feel you in person.

You felt Satori loosen his arms, as you immediately replaced with the warmth of the Parisian cold, much to your disappointment. Without you knowing, Satori sees even the slightest of your body trembling from the current weather and rushes back in the kitchen to grab his Shiratorizawa jacket, much to your surprise. He then returns to you, gracefully sliding the jacket over your shoulders.

You pout at him with a prominent blush on your plump cheeks, “Thank you, Satori”, to which he replies with another hug much tighter compared to the one a few minutes ago.

“I love, love, LOVE you so much, my chocolate ice cream!”, he exclaimes as you were suddenly smothered with a couple of pecks — light kisses on your head. You snuggled closer to his chest, eagerly smelling his sweet scent of chocolate that suddenly reminded you of your handmade chocolate that you’ve left unattended for hours. You quickly scramble away from the contact, much to your endearing boyfriend’s curiosity, to see if the chocolate has withstood not only the long flight, but also Satori’s warm, tight hugs. Luckily, the red cardboard box was sturdy enough and only had a couple dents — making you sigh in relief. As soon as you pull out the box, you see your boyfriend narrowing his eyes to the direction of the box with peaked curiosity.

“Ah, what do we have here?” Satori teases, pulling off a smirk, eyes still on the box as he receives it. He gave it a little shake, that made you giggle as he playfully tried to guess what was inside. Although you could feel your cheeks burning in embarrassment with each second passing. You look away in embarrassment as you watch him. He looks at you with piqued interest, wondering what has gotten you a bit tad embarrassed, if the pink in your cheeks were even a telltale sign.

You anxiously mumbled, “W-Well, I mean, my boyfriend probably makes the best chocolate in the world, so it k-kinda sucks that the only Valentines’ gift I can give you is a box of chocolates that I have made—”, you got cut off as you see and hear your boyfriend already popping one of the chocolates in his mouth, much to your chagrin. To your surprise, he kept popping more and more of the chocolates, savoring each delight.

“Waif, lemme geth sum hot milk.” he says, with his mouth full of your handmade chocolates as he scrambles back to the kitchen, heating up some milk. As you wait for him, you notice a gramophone on the countertop with a vinyl record already in place, with Edith Piaf written on on the center portion in black marker, which you found cute as you imagined Satori listening to Edith Piaf while doing his daily chocolate-making routine. You try to play the music and much to your delight, your head gently swayed to the song, and eventually your body. Immediately after the song has started, your body has already succumbed to the rhythm of the music that you didn’t notice Satori returning with two mugs of hot milk. He grins, enjoying the view of you dancing to French music as he places the mugs down on the counter. He slowly sways as he walks up to you, his hands snaking around your waist from your back as your bodies swing leisurely to the rhythm, much to your surprise yet you quickly relax as you lean back on him, holding his hands around your waist.

Never in your wildest dreams have you imagined that the Satori Tendou, your boyfriend, the oddball, would be dancing with you like this, alone in his chocolate shop under the moonlight on Valentines’ Day in the City of Love. It was too much for your heart to handle, and probably for his heart, too.

You dance for a couple more minutes until the song slowly fades. He then relishes the way he holds you, albeit the music has already finished. You both savor each other’s presence a few more, before Satori then gets the mugs of hot milk, not wanting to waste the good heat on a cold Parisian night. You gladly accept the milk with one hand, as you grasp his jacket with the other, not wanting to feel even the slightest cold breeze. Your boyfriend then leads you to a seat on the counter, sitting next to you as he prepares his mug and your box of chocolates, now with only a few pieces.

“I never thought you would actually go here in Paris”, he starts, as he pops another one of your chocolate in his mouth, followed by gulping down his warm milk.

“I never thought I would actually go here, but I’m grateful that I did, because this is the best Valentines’ Day I’ve ever had!”, you beam as you hold your mug with both hands, relishing the warmth as you drink down your milk.

Tendou then takes note of your chocolates, “You know, I was thinking of adding your chocolates to the menu, and credit you also. Probably name it Le Chocolat Y/N Au Lait Special or something!” You smiled and held a hand on your chest, feeling how warm it suddenly felt.

“Satori, I’d love to.”, you replied, to which his smile grew bright that could burst your heart to how cute he is.

Your beloved continues to chew and drink, looking around when he notices the fresh red rose from earlier sitting atop of your luggage. You follow his line of sight, immediately seeing the lone rose. You finish drinking your milk before you tell him enthusiastically, “Ah! That was given by the taxi driver that drove me earlier. Said that we somehow reminded him of him and his wife on Valentine's Day in the City of Love in this same shop, so he gave me one.”, imitating the way your driver said City of Love. Much to your shock, Satori sardonically laughs, saying it was a tad bit too French, at least for his taste.

While finishing the last remnants of your warm milk, he then goes to the nearby gramophone and plays another Edith Piaf classic. You glance at him with curiosity as he looks at you smugly, stretching out his hand as he invites you to another dance.

“So, where were we?”

back to valentines masterlist

#tina.writes #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #tendō satori #tendou x reader #valentines #haikyuu valentines #haikyuu fics #haikyuu imagines #14 days of valentine

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moonlit-han · 3 years

Text

hold you close ↠ han jisung, seo changbin

genre: angst, fluff at the end word count: 1.6k warnings: angst, swearing request: yes a/n: this is from the universe of Date a Boy Who Makes You Mixtapes. you don’t need to read the series to understand this fic, although you’ll get a little spoiler (sort of?) about the relationships the develop over the course of the series.

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

That’s not it… Still not good enough. Why doesn’t this work? How am I supposed to make this any better when I’ve spent weeks on it already. What the fuck…

Jisung slumped over the desk in front of the monitor on which rows and rows of tracks layered together glowed green, orange, purple, and white. He roughly yanked his headphones from his head, letting them fall to the floor, then held his head in his hands. He’d been trying to improve a song he’d presented to the Music Department for midterms—it was supposed to be something he could include in his senior portfolio. They’d given him some of the harshest criticism he’d ever received, which, at first, only pushed him to improve the song; but now, after spending every minute of free time in the recording studio, he still couldn’t get it right.

Taking a deep breath, Jisung scrubbed at his face and looked back up at the screen. The colors seemed to blur together as his eyes unfocused and his head simultaneously felt like it was about to burst and float away. Was it possible for his consciousness to exist outside of his body? Because that’s what it felt like.

Five minutes later, he came to himself and let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. His throat was slightly raw from lack of sleep and water, and when he went to grasp the mouse to save his work and shut down the computer, his hands were shaking.

As quickly as he could, feeling like his blood was vibrating, Jisung packed up his things and made his way out of the Fine Arts building to trudge home. And, as much as he tried, he couldn’t stop the thoughts circling round and round in his head.

↠↞

It was a typical Thursday evening, meaning you were at Jisung’s apartment and sprawled on the couch next to Changbin, casually reading a book. Changbin’s and your schedules matched fairly well, so you usually ended up studying while he worked on one project or another, munching on snacks and drinking copious amounts of tea. Jisung, meanwhile, had the studio to himself on Thursday evenings. When you both were tired of working and thinking, you’d beat his ass at video games.

Just as a round ended, you heard the front door open and looked up to see Jisung slink into the room. His head was down, his beanie and bangs slipping down over his eyes, and his shoulders were slumped.

You bolted to you feet, your voice full of worry at seeing your boyfriend in such a state. “Ji?” He didn’t respond. “Oh my god, Jisung, are you okay?” The gaming console dropped from your hand as Jisung stumbled into the room, shaking a little. Your heart dropped: Jisung looked terrible, absolutely terrible. Beside you, Changbin stood as well, but allowed you to go to the young man who you both cared for so deeply.

As you reached Jisung, you reached to take his bag while your other hand gently cupped his cheek. “Baby, what happened?” His eyes were wide when he finally met your eyes, shaking like a leaf under your touch.

Jisung’s lips parted slightly, as if to speak, his breath hitching as he tried to speak and failed. He gulped.

You pulled Jisung into the room and guided him toward the couch on which he curled himself into a tight ball, lower lip quivering slightly. His breaths were shallow and there were dark circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there a few days ago. You sat beside your boyfriend, drawing him toward you so he could nestle into your embrace. Changbin had pushed the coffee table away from the couch and knelt in front of both of you, a hand on Jisung’s back and the other resting comfortingly on his thigh.

“Jisung, what happened?” Changbin softly echoed your words as you slipped Jisung’s beanie off to caress his hair—you didn’t mind that it was a bit oily from lack of washing. Jisung was usually so fastidious… What the hell was going on? He leaned into your touch, his shaking lessening little by little now that he was with both you and Changbin—his boyfriend and girlfriend.

Jisung took a deep breath, turning his face into the crook of your shoulder and shifting so that he could hold your hand more easily. “The faculty gave me really harsh comments and,” he paused, “I-I’ve been trying to work on the song but I just can’t get it. I don’t know what’s wrong!” You and Changbin just waited for Jisung to continue, knowing he needed space to gather his thoughts.

“It’s just all shit, you know?” Jisung continued, trying to breathe through the shaking that had returned. “I can’t think. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t I can’t I ca—“

“Jisung, love,” Changbin murmured, taking Jisung’s other hand and holding it fast. “You’re okay, I promise. You’re wonderful and talented, and I’m sure the song’s great.” Jisung made to shake his head. “No, I know your compositions and you’re amazing, baby. You really are. Please don’t let their comments get to you, okay?” Changbin leaned forward pressed a kiss to Jisung’s lips, trying to put as much sincere affection into the gesture as possible. Jisung smiled wanly.

“He’s right, baby,” you added. “You can’t let their comments get to you. How about Changbin and I listen to the track sometime and help you figure out what to do?” You traced the curve of his jaw, and Jisung looked up at you once you reached his chin, inviting you to peck his lips, too.

“Okay,” Jisung murmured, snuggling back against your chest. “That— That would be nice.”

“We’ve got you, Ji,” Changbin reassured him, brushing back the hair that had fallen into his boyfriend’s eyes. You smiled at Changbin over Jisung’s head. This was part of being a unit, being together—you supported each other and helped however you could. “You wanna go get in bed so we can both cuddle you?”

Jisung sighed, nodding, but made no move to rise. “Ji, baby, you have to get up for that to happen,” you said, a laugh coloring your voice.

“Here,” Changbin said, standing and reaching out his arms to pull Jisung up. The other young man let himself be pulled to his feet and then squeaked as Changbin lifted him bodily into his arms. You giggled at how Jisung immediately curled his arms and legs around Changbin as he was carried into his bedroom. With the ease of long practice, you turned out the lights, locked the door, and closed the front curtains to Jisung’s apartment before following your boyfriends into the bedroom.

Changbin had just set Jisung down on the bed and was riffling through the dresser drawers for pajama bottoms as you quietly entered the room and turned closed the door. The faerie lights above Jisung’s bed were already on, lending a faint glow to the room. He sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders still hunched, and stared listlessly into space.

“Did you—“ Jisung began, looking up.

“I closed and locked everything, babe, don’t worry,” you quickly reassured him, shrugging off your light sweater and pants so that you were simply in underwear and a camisole. Before Jisung could say another word, you pulled back the blankets and hopped into bed. “Come on, Ji, let Changbin help you into pajamas and then we can all snuggle.”

Changbin, having finally found appropriately comfortable pants for Jisung, came to stand in front of his boyfriend and leaned in to capture his lips. Jisung let his head fall back, opening to Changbin like a sunflower to the sun—he was still slightly dazed from dissociating and stress, and let Changbin do the work of kissing him. Lingering at his bottom lip, Changbin slowly broke the kiss, only to press his lips to Jisung’s forehead in a silent promise of the comfort and affection he would bestow.

Changbin stripped down to his boxers, then helped Jisung out of his clothes, having to prompt the other young man to actually put on the pajama bottoms proffered to him. After a moment, Jisung was curled under the covers with you and Changbin on either side of him. He clutched your joined hands to his chest, as if the two of you could hold his heart if he pressed your hands just that much closer to his body.

For long minutes, you and Changbin nuzzled you boyfriend and whispered sweet nothings to him, calming Jisung’s racing heart and completely dispelling his shaking. His eyes closed as the warmth of your bodies pressed together washed over him and Changbin’s soft singing began to lull him to sleep. He loved feeling the vibrations passing from Changbin’s chest and through his back—it was calming in the way a cat’s purr is.

You slanted your mouth against Jisung’s one last time before snuggling down along his body to tangle your legs together and hold him even more tightly. Changbin shifted slightly to more fully embrace Jisung, now his arms and legs going around his boyfriend. Jisung still held your hands to his bare chest, his breathing finally calm and the lines of worry smoothed from his face.

“Sleep, love,” you whispered against his skin. “We’ll still be holding you in the morning.”

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bewires · 3 years

Note

A lot of people in the fandom have been talking about how depending on who you project onto, that affects the top/bottom dynamics within your fics. Has that ever happened to you?

Hi anon, thank you for this can of worms that I will now try to delicately upend without hurting anyone.

The fandom top/bottom projection debate as you’re relaying it here is a really old one and has a lot to do with gender politics. If you read fandom zines from the 80s or so, you’ll see a lot of sex scenes between two men where the actual biological mechanics work like they would in a het couple. We’ve since learned better (some have even said we’ve overcorrected in terms of writing prep scenes but that’s another kettle of fish), but the standard still often applies that when het cis women write sex between two men, the bottom is “the woman”.

I try to avoid this like the plague?? for one, I do write a lot of scenes that are from the POV of the person topping which is a thing that doesn’t really happen in what I’m referring to above; for another, I do make some slight effort to put a bit of realism in my sex scenes. I also put a lot of effort into characterization in longer fics and try to make the sex that happens congruent with the characters that I’m writing and also relevant to their storylines (another old fandom trope based on age restrictions on certain sites is “plot happens, plot pauses for sex, plot resumes”). However, I can’t say whether I’m successful, that’s for readers to know.

In terms of this specific fandom, the debate was a little different though. In this fandom, the debate was “it’s a questionable trend to see the white person in an interracial couple frequently be cast as the sexually submissive of the two while the POC is cast in the traditionally dominant role”. I would like to state for the record that by relaying this argument, I am not saying that every fic featuring top!Joe is inherently written with racist intent, I am saying that some fics can easily be read as containing implicit racist biases. And given that statistically a lot of fandom is white cis women, including myself, there’s a lot of value in listening to people who know more than I do on this topic and taking what is said to heart.

As with above, this is something I try to avoid. But I am not excusing myself from it. I have written a fic about supremely inexperienced Nicky with more experienced Joe showing him the ropes, and I kind of regret that now. I even wrote that little romance novel AU that had Joe as a feudal lord and Nicky as his serf. I did make a concerted effort in that fic to clarify the lines of consent and to write both characters with empathy, but I can still easily see both fics being part of a larger problem. Again, this is a trope I try to avoid by thinking about both characters in the context of their backstories (including the ones I give them in my au stuff) and the plot of the fic when I write them having sex, but I’m a product of the culture I grew up in like everyone else. I’m sure I’ve written things in that come across as ill-informed or even racist to a reader who has different experiences of the world than me.

All this to say, if any of my fics have made readers uncomfortable for that reason, I’m very open to criticism because I don’t want my writing to be the reason someone feels unwelcome or uncomfortable in this fandom. I come to fandom to relax and unwind, and probably I don’t always think as hard about my writing as I could or should because of that, but my relaxation is worthless if I’m causing someone else harm with what I write.

#joe x nicky #the old guard #tog #fandom disk horse #tw racism

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Note

“You’re such a dork.” for the emotional writing prompts! I don't know anything about critical role, really, so for TMA :)

I spy, with my little eye, Bryce’s attempts to shove her own interests into her fics. Anyways, I am an American in college so I was basing this on my own experiences oops. Enjoy!

Date night was Wednesday evenings. Jon and Martin both found it preferable for a variety of reasons; it was the most likely nights for happy hours at the pubs in town, guaranteeing a cheap drink, and keeping to a weekday night minimized the chance of Jon seeing one of his students out. He hated seeing his students. Not that he hated them of course, he really rather liked them…not that they would ever know that. Being a professor, of parapsychology of all things, was rather rewarding. He knew the content inside and out (it felt good, using the mark of The Eye to actively work against it, to pass along information instead of consuming). And they didn’t seem to mind him either.

That was the thing about university students. They really didn’t care about who he was or where he came from. The fact that he was a scrawny, scarred Englishman in a lecture hall in Scotland didn’t matter to them. In the classroom, all they cared was whether he taught the material well (he did) and was kind to those with late assignments (he was. He had been a university student once too; he remembered the anxiety and depression that took him and his mates in waves). He was a good professor; Jon knew that objectively in the marks his students received. But in the subjective? His student had decided they liked him.

This had dawned on him at the end of his first semester; when he was inundated with emails of sincere thank-you for a great semester, for being such a helpful teacher, for taking the time to help review, et cetera. Martin had grinned at him, poking a tongue out his mouth and making some remark about teacher’s pets coming full circle (Jon was never a teacher’s pet though. He had always asked too many questions. He welcomed those questions with open arms now, to be the teacher he hadn’t had.)

The next semester it had been more obvious that students liked him now that he knew where to look. It was in the open “good-mornings” and questions about his weekend plans, and in the fact that he had the best attendance records of his department. It was in the way they asked genuine questions about his material and the waitlists miles long to get into his sections. Later on, it was in the gentle ribbings about his looking tired and the grey hairs even as they celebrated his fortieth birthday with him, bringing in cupcakes and sneaking in between lectures to decorate his office and the sincere questions over his scars, his life, his relationship with Martin (his introductory lecture always featured Martin and Her Regency, their thick orange tabby). To make eight wonderful semesters short, he was familiar with his students, and they weren’t afraid to be familiar back. Which was wonderful in the classroom and all, but not when he was trying have a relaxing evening with his husband.

Which brings them back to Wednesdays. Wednesdays were the days least likely to have students out in town, he had learned from Dr. Kerrigan, the positive psych professor, because Thirsty Thursdays started off the weekend’s partying and drinking for the undergraduates. Wednesday was the day students, in theory, buckled down to finish homework and give themselves a free weekend.

So here they were, Martin in a collared shirt, printed with tiny flowers, and jeans, hair bleached white from the Lonely and curling softly at his temples; Jon in a slouchy ribbed turtleneck and high-waisted pants, his own thick curls half-piled atop his head. Jon was listening intently as Martin spoke animatedly, talking about his own day as a guidance counselor at the local primary school.

“…and I swear Jon, if it wasn’t bad enough that Kimmy has decided never to speak to Lawrence again, now Lawrence has confided in me that he is positively in love with her.”

“Did he say that verbatim? In love, I mean.”

“I mean, no, but he said he was willing to give her all his Squishmallows for a playdate. Squishmallows. That’s real eight-year-old commitment, right there.”

Jon barked out a laugh and put on a puppy-eyed expression, grinning all the while. “Martin Blackwood, do you hereby take Jonathan Sim’s stuffed animals, to have and to ho-”

A gentle swat to the knee with Martin’s shoe cut Jon off. “Oi! Respect my children. They may be fools but its not their faults their brains aren’t developed yet. And yes, I know, ‘they’re not developed ‘til twenty-five and you can argue that your students’ brains aren’t developed either.’ But it’s different. They’re babies.”

“And I’m the All-Knowing One,” Jon mused thoughtfully around a forkful of food, earning him another love-filled kick.

“Speaking of,” Martin pointed to Jon with his glass, eyeing him deliberately. “Midterms next week, yeah? How do you think it’ll go?”

Jon shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “Alright, I hope. First exam went well but could’ve been better. I’m worried about Avonni, honestly, he’s nodded off a few times in class and I’m not confident he has someone to get the material from.”

“He has you.” A pointed, snow-white eyebrow.

“Right, but sometimes students don’t want to ask for notes because they think I’ll say no. Maybe I should email him. Speaking of email! Did I tell you what Suzanne sent out?”

“Oh no, what?”

They carried on like this through their meal and into dessert, and not for the first time Jon was struck by the sheer normalcy of it all. His greatest concerns were Suzanne’s passive-aggressive emails and his students, not the inevitable destruction of reality as they knew it to be. They were scarred, inside and out, everyone who had escaped The Magnus Institute was, but they were safe and free and happy. In defiance of everything that had happened to and because of them.

“Dr. Sims!”

Uh oh. Spoke too soon.

Bite of lava cake halfway to his mouth, Jon squeezed his eyes shut, rolling his eyes back in his head and willing there to be another professor with the surname Sims in the restaurant. When he opened his eyes, Martin was valiantly trying to suppress a smile as he eyed something, someone, over his head. Jon twisted awkwardly in his seat to see—

“Parker. What a surprise.” His voice was warm but carefully measured, and the dark-skinned boy waved, shit-eating grin on his face. “I have told you that you can call me Jon.”

“Yeah, I know, but you earned that doctorate! And “Doctor Jon” sounds awful, like you should have your own show or something.”

He hadn’t earned that doctorate, actually, but Martin’s expertise in lying and the disastrous apocalypse that had left everyone disoriented meant it had been easy to exaggerate some of Jon’s CV and manufacture a fake diploma.

“I do have my own show. Monday and Wednesday mornings, where I teach a bunch of caffeinated undergrads parapsychology,” Jon replied easily. “You’re welcome to tune in.” He liked Parker; he was a bit of a class clown, liked to ask off-topic questions or pretend to sneak a look at Jon’s answer sheets, but he was sharp and knew his stuff. Jon respected that. He reminded Jon of someone he dearly missed.

But Parker had already turned his attention to Martin, who was watching the interaction with mirth in his eyes. “Hello sir! I’m Parker McMichael, Jon’s favorite student.” Martin shook the extended hand and nodded in mock seriousness.

“Of course. Pleasure to finally meet you. Are you the one with the essay on ESP or the one on psychokinesis?”

“Neither,” Parker shook his head proudly, short dreads swaying gently with the movement. “The Validity and Continuity of Near-Death Experiences,” he made a mock marquee with his hands, arching curved fingers to indicate the title hanging in the air. “Researching any consistencies in near-death experiences stories, whether they’re legitimate, and what they mean if they are. But-” Parker shook his head and turned his attention back to Jon. “That’s not why I’m interrupting.” He took his phone out of pocket idly as he spoke. “I’m afraid I’ve come to settle a dispute among the 11 a.m. section.”

Oh no.

The Ceaseless Watcher whispered to him, unbidden, the dispute in question. Jon generally knew how to suppress the powers, and they were weaker than they had been, once upon a time, but when he’s caught off guard with the desire to know, to Know, it could still overtake him.

“This you?” A blurry screenshot of a Youtube video is shoved under his nose, a part of a text chain titled Sim’s Spoopy Spirits, captioned by many text bubbles expressing disbelief and objections and a variety of emojis. Jon took the phone and examined it, the truth already sure in his chest. Yes, that was him, dressed in his Jonny d’Ville costume, eyeliner streaked and eyes closed, mid-ballad. God, he wished he could be rid of those Youtube videos.

Jon’s gaping silence must have been enough of an answer for Parker because he whooped a little too loudly for the restaurant they were in and pumped his fist to his chest before typing very quickly on his phone. “I knew it! Take that Sabina,” he was mumbling to himself, lost in his texts for a moment.

Martin took the opportunity to clear his throat. “Sorry, uh, no one’s asked so I will. How did you know to look for him-us-here?” Jon frowned, He hadn’t thought about that.

“Oh, a couple of my mates work here and mentioned seeing Dr. Sims and his husband here a lot on Wednesdays and I dunno about you so much, but Dr. Sims is pretty habitual. Figured it was as good a guess as any. Some things can’t wait til Monday.”

“..an email. Parker. You could’ve sent me an email.” Fingers ran over scarred face, as if he could wipe the irritation (and Martin’s poorly-hidden laugh) from existence.

“But then I couldn’t do this.” His phone was back up again, level with his own face and he twisted so both his own and Jon’s faces were in the shot. “I’m here at 7:02 pm on Wednesday the 26, here to make a very important announcement,” Parker spoke to the camera with confidence. “Dr. Sims just confirmed to me that he is the one, the only, Jonny d’Ville.” Parker held the camera to Jon’s voice. “Anything to say to your adoring fans?”

Jon sighed and tugged on an errant curl. “Don’t forget, reading due Monday.” He wasn’t genuinely upset with Parker, just filled with fond embarrassment.

Parker sent the video off and clapped the back of Jon’s chair. “Well, Dr. D’Ville, its been a pleasure. Everyone’s really excited to get a confirmation on your status of coolest teacher. Any plans for the evening?”

Jon sighed through his lower lip, stray curls framing his scalp flying upward in the sudden burst of wind. “Watching a documentary and trying to forget—wait. What?”

“Oh yeah no, everyone thinks it’s badass. You’ve got a super nice voice and the stories you told were really interesting, if a little buckwild.”

Jon felt his cheeks flush and Martin grinned slyly at him from across the table. “Y-Yes. I guess we were rather good.”

Parker gave his farewells and Jon’s shoulders sagged (he had immediately righted his posture on seeing Parker, his grandmother’s voice in his ear reminding him of his manners), turning his full attention back to his husband. Martin had maintained that grin and was eyeing him intensely, like he expected Jon to say something.

“What, Martin?”

“God, you’re such a dork.” The words were soft, expression fond, and Jon could feel the radiation of unadulterated love Martin gave off in his smile, the one only ever used for Jon. “You really love your students, don’t you? You know how much they love you, right?”

Jon grumbled, but he couldn’t quite sweep the smile off his face either as their waiter made his way over with their check.

“No comment. But we are switching to Tuesday date nights.”

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #prompts #date night #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fanfic to a tea

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ouyangzizhensdad · 3 years

Note

I love ur takes but I'm kind still impressed by ur persistent hate for cql. The novel is the base but all the medias adapted from it take a single aspect of the story and make it their own. Look at the manhwa, audio drama, donghua or the drama. I still dont know what ur issue with the drama is coz for a low budget drama with censorship they did everything they could for the novel fans (yes they recorded straight bit so if they had issues they will go straight but they are a drama)... yes they added a few things for the show to telecast it for the chinese consumption (they dont really need white validation unlike kdrama which has more ifandom). Both cql or winter begonia were handled very well and the dramas were overnight hits coz of the scriptwriters and directors keeping the novel story alive.

I think it's also coz u and most white fans of the novel or cql haven't seen anime and its live actions so u dont know that the live actions made in different periods of time change the story according to the area they're being released in... Itazura na Kiss has 3 live action dramas and all three are from different countries and different time periods so the way all three are adapted are alot different eventhough the base story is the same. If u want to follow the novel read that but if u want to enjoy the story cql, donghua, audio drama of MDZS and the manhwa are very nicely done. I hope just coz white cql fans have issues with the novel u dont spread hate for the drama that has made it possible for a relationship to be shown between two men. The asians arent as thick to think they're best friends, everyone who watches the drama knows that it's a gay love story

Hi anon,

There’s a lot in there and honestly I don’t think I can address all of your points. But I’ll try my best.

I have said many times that I do not hate CQL and that I enjoyed watching most of it. It was a fun little idol drama that wasn’t a very serious watch. At the beginning I even enjoyed the fandom for a little while. Now, yes, I do post a lot of content that is negative toward CQL and/or its fandom. But you may have noticed a few things though. My criticisms (or my moments of incomprehension) are always related to:

Specific issues I have with the choices it made as an adaptation

People trying to pass CQL, a cheaply-made idol drama, as a masterpiece. This is nothing personal against CQL: it has more to do with how it puzzles me that people don’t see to know what competent and good tv looks like. I have nothing against people praising the show, but they don’t have to act as it doesn’t have a lot of basic, technical issues.

the CQL fandom cross-posting everything, or bringing CQL canon and fanon into novel-specific discussions. People can mix and match the canons, of course, but it’d be a nice courtesy to be at least open about it so that people who want to stick to one canon may be able to do so. And it is frustrating because people like me have literally just given up on trying to read fics because authors are not forthcoming about which canon they are drawing from. That’s frustrating and a source of bitterness!

arguments that CQL is a stronger/more complex work of fiction than MDZS. Again, it’s nothing personal about CQL, it’s just mind-boggling having to explain something so fucking transparent.

arguments that CQL is better “queer rep” than MDZS.

absolutely whack takes from the CQL western fandom.

You feel that the screenwriter and director kept the story alive, and hey, that’s great for you. Yes, I’m aware that adaptations will change things. Analysing adaptations is actually partly how I developed a lot of my media analysis skills. However, I personally believe that the story that CQL tells and how it chooses to tell it fundamentally changes so much about the narrative, the characters or even the genre of the story that it does not keep the truly interesting and engaging elements of the novel. It might be flippant to say, but even if the production team were truly doing their best (and I do believe they did), it doesn’t mean they achieved what they set out to do--and some of it may just come down to a question of skills, as story-tellers.

Although I am white, I may not fit into the narrative you present since I have watched many live actions and animated series adapting a manga/manhua/novel. I watched my first jdrama 15 years ago, and to be illustrative, this first jdrama was Hana Yori Dango. In the past I’ve also watched many dramas that were originally japanese/taiwanese/chinese/korean and their adaptations. Hell, sometimes even adaptations that crossed to the western market. I assure you that I am familiar with a property being adapted at different times and in different countries and through different mediums. I’ve also interacted with the other adaptations of MDZS. The thing is, what this has showed me is simply that doing something differently doesn’t translate necessarily in doing as good of a job. Adaptations can fail, either by virtue of what they fail to do as their own work of fiction, or as adaptations of an existing property.

I’m not trying to shit on to what CQL may mean for chinese audiences or diasporic chinese audiences as well. When I point out the fact that Wangxian is just subtext in CQL, it’s not because I think “asian audiences are dumb” but because the reason why subtext may be acceptable under censorship is that it keeps a level of plausible deniability. Some people will of course recognise it for what it is, but some will simply not pick up on it or refuse that reading. I also do take pains to remind people how the flow of capital that allows for these adaptations to exist may have to do with how far the portrayal of the subtext is being pushed over any concerns for the original story or nebulous gay rights. I do find it interesting though that CQL is often presented in fandom discussions as this unprecedented occurrence in Chinese media, since there was very heavy subtext in earlier live action adaptations like Guardians or the side couple in Love H2O, just to think of quick examples.

But obviously anon, my more salty or bitter posts about cql seem to bring up frustrations, so if it is an impediment to your fandom experience it might be best to simply unfollow me. If you wish to stay for the novel meta and avoid these posts, I do tag them with either “brine corner” or “cql negativity” or “cql vs mdzs”.

#anon ask #cql negativity

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freddieofhearts · 3 years

Text

Bye bye, dears (for now!)

I know there have been a lot of rumours and some posts about me leaving, so here I am to set the record straight and say a quick ‘au revoir’. This post is long, and I don’t expect everyone to read the whole thing—if you just want information on how to keep in touch, or about access to my removed fics, scroll to the bottom. ⬇️

Why are you leaving?

Firstly, of course I’m not leaving Freddie. This is just an ongoing hiatus from the social side of fandom, because while I have some incredible friends here, who have done all they can to support me and have made this experience wonderful in lots of ways—it’s also true that the social space has become more and more toxic for me.

I get a wild amount of hate. Despite never having my ask box enabled on here, people create new accounts just to message me and tell me all the problems in this fandom are my fault, that I’m faking being sick, that I should kill myself, that I’m fat, etc. I also very regularly get hateful comments on AO3.

Obviously I realise that I’m not the only one who receives these cruel attacks, but it’s become increasingly hard to handle them—especially as some people (‘real’ accounts, not faceless anons) do continue to blame me for wider problems in the fandom. It makes me feel consistently sad, anxious, and paranoid, so that I can’t focus on anything Queen-related that I enjoy.

More pressingly, it’s affected my mental health, which is—imperfect at the best of times. As I’ve occasionally alluded to in older posts on this blog, I have a history of anorexia, OCD, PTSD, and some other overlapping issues. Most people who know me in the fandom are also aware that I’m ‘clinically extremely vulnerable’ to Covid-19, significantly immunocompromised, and have been isolating at home for eleven months.

The combination of all of these things + the constant toxic messages has really been triggering me, and leading to an uptick in disordered behaviours, which my body cannot sustain. Every new instance of hate from an anon—every time there’s another indication of groups in the fandom wanting to ostracise me further—my reaction is deeply self-punitive and unhealthy. Ultimately I need to be out of this environment for, at least, a protracted period. My therapist, my partner and my close friends in the fandom support this decision.

So, what went wrong?

In 2019, I expected to be an absolutely tiny blog in the Queen Tumblr landscape. The fandom was already well-established, and I have never worked to ‘build a following’ on here—I think I’ve linked my own fic a maximum of three or four times!—in fact, more or less the opposite. As I mentioned above: ya girl is nutty as a fruitcake. As a result, I often avoid extremely niche things in daily life which cause severe anxiety for me, Relevant examples here: I never look at my timeline. I never intentionally look at my follower number. Yup, it’s strange, I fully admit it, but it’s best for me to go with these things—usually. In Queen fandom, however, this avoidance both of analytic stats and of most direct engagement led to some problems... My followers grew without me realising, and way more people were reading my blog than I was aware of. I was still in a—“Wow, this fandom is very frustrating, and rife with ableism, racism, etc., so how do we fix this???”—mindset, and I wanted to share my opinions, sure! but I also thought I was sharing them with 15-20 like-minded people.

Now, intent is not impact, and I recognise that I was brusque, didn’t phrase things particularly sensitively, and absolutely did hurt some people by criticising the fandom so freely. I still regret this—and I regret just as much the fact that some assholes have used my criticising the fandom on my own blog as implicit justification for attacking authors. I have said on here many times that I don’t condone that behaviour—but I also think there’s some truth in the presumption that these anonymous malcontents felt my critiques somehow ‘permitted’ them to engage in abuse. For the first few months, though, I genuinely had no idea there was a link at all—and so I was initially slow to condemn this abusive behaviour in public, because I was taking it for granted all authors agreed it was shitty. It took someone directly telling me (shoutout to @a-froger-epic) that people had identified a connection between my posts and the anons, before everything fell into place.

I would like to offer my apologies to the fandom at large for not being more quick on the uptake about this, because I feel that had I realised sooner that these people were taking ‘inspiration’ in some way from me, it might have been easier to put a stop to it. It does seem that there is still a lot of confusion about whether I support them and which of their views I agree with. Let’s be 100% clear on this: I do not support the anonymous commenters on AO3. At times there is some, limited overlap between parts of their views and parts of mine, but even that is less than you may think—I often see anonymous comments from so-called ‘Freddie fans’ that I substantially disagree with.

Perhaps even more importantly: I do not support anyone who sends anonymous hate on Tumblr.

What’s all this about ‘overlap’ with the anons?

Let’s do a mini-summary of the myths vs. the truth. There are views I hold which are genuinely unpopular in the fandom—but which I own up to completely, and have never tried to hide in any way. I’ve never needed to use anonymous to share my opinions because I’m completely open about them! What people who don’t know me tend to have ‘heard’ about me, though, is usually a drastic distortion of my real opinions.

What people think I think:

- Freddie should never top.

- It’s okay to send anon hate if someone writes Freddie ‘wrong’.

- It’s more important to correct ‘wrong’ portrayals than to respect other writers.

- It’s inherently wrong to be more interested in band pairings than canon pairings.

- Freddie should be overtly written as a r*pe survivor/victim (and not doing this is wrong).

- Freddie should be overtly written as having an eating disorder (and not doing this is wrong).

- Kink fics are wrong.

What I actually think:

- I believe Freddie did have a strongly defined sexual identity with marked preferences, but I don’t think Jim Hutton lied when he said that Freddie topped. I believe Freddie did top, but this isn’t the time or place to get into my thoughts on why/when/how much. I do believe that my analysis of the sources relevant to this subject is as historically accurate as one can reasonably be in matters of sex (where historical accuracy will always be particularly limited and imperfect)—but I don’t think it’s morally wrong to write Freddie as topping more than he probably did.

- I don’t believe there’s only one ‘right’ version of Freddie (all others being ‘wrong’). I do believe it is possible to be more right or less right—but I’m also conscious of the fact that this scale of value is not one by which everyone measures fanfiction. As a result, then, I don’t think that any perceptions surrounding ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ justify sending anonymous, non-constructive criticism, or outright hate.

- I do believe constructive criticism is a good thing. I welcome and appreciate it myself; I have received it on my fics in Queen fandom, and it has made them better. I have been in writing workshops which included very forceful criticisms, and the value of such feedback has been intimately and immediately part of my life as a writer for years. However: in this case, I have accepted that my opinion differs from the general community preference, and so I no longer offer any constructive criticism (outside private beta-reading). I haven’t changed my view, but I’ve changed my practice to align with community norms.

- I do not think any single, individual writer has a personal responsibility to write about Freddie Mercury in any given way. That ranges from including the more distressing topics to which I’ve devoted attention (such as trauma)—to concentrating on ‘canon’ pairings like Jimercury—to, even, focusing on Freddie at all.

“Now, that doesn’t sound like you, @freddieofhearts,” you might be thinking. And I know it doesn’t; I think something I’ve done a poor job of articulating is the difference between how I view each individual fan—namely, as free to shape their creative experience at will, even in ways that I might find distressing or offensive; even in ways that you might find distressing or offensive—and the way I view the Collective. I think people have interpreted some of my critiques of ‘Queen Fandom’ as meaning something like: “You-in-particular, a specific Queen fan, are doing it wrong and should change everything about how you do it; also you don’t really care about Freddie.”

And—that’s not it. What any given fan, as an individual, does, isn’t a problem. And that can be true alongside—concurrently with—a multivalent critique of how the fandom is lacking in representation of Freddie’s life, with all that that (wonderful, deservedly celebrated, but also profoundly traumatic) life entailed. I still hold that view; I still have myriad problems with ‘the fandom’ (structurally, collectively, historically and presently—from the 1990s to the 2020s). Some of what I want to work on (away from the social life of fandom) is expressing those critiques with greater nuance, in ways that can’t be misinterpreted as shading any particular fanfiction author or subgenre of story.

In brief: I haven’t changed my mind, but I think Tumblr is an untenable environment in which to discuss the things I want to analyse, especially as there is an ever-present danger of hurting someone.

Can we keep in touch? Where is the fic?

I will drop by this account periodically to check out posts that friends have sent me, so you can always sent me a private message to ask for my contact details on the other app that I’m using now for fandom friends. Multiple Freddie conversations and projects are going on over there, off-Tumblr, with a much ‘gentler’ environment and no bad actors—I personally love it!

All my fic has been downloaded and saved. I don’t want to deal with constant harassment on AO3, but I’m happy to share a copy with anyone who missed it and wants to read/re-read something. I also saved everyone’s lovely comments and thoughtful con-crit, so none of that has been lost or erased.

Thank you to everyone who welcomed me to the fandom, made me think, taught me, shared with me, sent me into fits of the giggles, collaborated with me creatively, and otherwise made this one hell of a ride! Love you all. ❤️

#au revoir my dears #lil gay bby

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kalee60 · 4 years

Text

@larkboyd Larissa! I'm sorry you're having a really crappy, awful day! I get you, I honestly do, the last few weeks have been really... Well... trying is probably a polite way of putting it.

So therefore in response to your cry for a distraction and a little care and love - I present you with this little one-shot - I quickly threw it together in the last hour so apologies for any mistakes.

I hope your day gets better and that when you get home tonight you can relax, put your feet up and remember that even though we are all on opposite sides of the world @darter-blue @iamsherlockedondoctorwho and me (plus so many more) are always there for you 😘

Enjoy this Merthur fic made just for you!

*~*~*~*~*~*

Merlin sighed heavily as he hung his coat over the back of his chair, seeing that he was the only one in the lab's office once again. Frustration didn't even begin to cover it, especially when his phone started to ring almost immediately.

Eyeing the most hated piece of technology on his desk critically, Merlin tried to work out telepathically if he could figure out who was calling.

A rap on the partition window between his office and the next made him jump. Gaius was staring directly at him, giving him the Eyebrow of Contempt, a phone to his ear and pointing towards Merlin's, which hadn't ceased it's relentless mating call.

"Welcome to Camelot Labs, this is -"

"- Merlin you fool, it's me."

Merlin looked up to see Gaius run a hand over his face tightly, oh right. Maybe he shouldn't have gone out the evening before.

"Were you at the tavern again last night, are you still drunk?"

Looking heavenward, Merlin finally sat down, booting his computer up and wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder.

"It's called a pub, Gaius, and what do you need, I'm extremely busy." He proceeded to place each of his three coloured pens (blue, black and red) neatly next to his blank notepad, adjusted his takeaway coffee so the pattern on the cup faced him, then picked up the red pen and wrote his name with a flourish on top of the page. The heart over the I, probably the best one he'd ever drawn.

"You're on your own today."

"What?" Merlin yelled, dropping the phone to glare at his boss who just shrugged in return, the Eyebrow suddenly looking a little more friendly in the presence of Merlin's plight. He picked up the god awful device to exclaim hotly, "You can't do that to me! I can't hold the fort down by myself, take all these calls, I'm not a wizard that can magically conjure a second Merlin."

Gaius did not look impressed at his sarcasm, Merlin grumbled some more and took a long pull off his coffee. It ceased to satisfy.

"I'm trying to get one of the boys from marketing down here to help."

"Oh no, no you don't. This is why you're calling me through the window? Isn't it? You're too scared to stand before me and tell me - I'm telling you, you can't send me one of those lunk-heads, those clotpoles who wouldn't know their arse from their -"

"- their what Merlin?"

"Gaius no!" But Merlin was speaking to nothing, Gaius had hung up and was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Gritting his teeth, Merlin spun around to watch Arthur fucking Pendragon walk over and put his bag down at the desk… the desk right. Next. To. Merlin.

He wasn't having it. Arthur was the biggest douche to walk the hallways of Camelot, always pushing Merlin's buttons in meetings, and generally acting like a Prince holding court. It didn't help that his father Uther ran the company.

"And what brings you down to the bowels of the Camelot Labs?" Merlin snarked, then opened up his emails only to see a hundred new ones. Oh god, his day was over and it hasn't even begun.

"Gaius said you needed help, so here I am. I can go if you like."

Merlin gave Arthur the side eye, "can you read reporting figures to let departments know their results?"

Arthur nodded and sat his coffee cup down, seeing that it was from the same place Merlin bought his. Huh, maybe his taste wasn't that awful.

"Can you use the online filing system for collections and batch records?"

The nod came again, while Merlin watched Arthur place two pens either side of his notepad. Rookie. He wouldn't be lending his red pen out, even if Arthur begged. And that was not an image Merlin needed to see in his mind. Arthur on his knees, walking towards him… begging and naked.

"Fuck," Merlin exclaimed, noting how Arthur raised a brow sardonically at him. "Can you use a phone?"

"Can I use a… really? Look, just tell me what you need me to do and I'll do it. And don't be a dick about it."

Scowling, Merlin quickly showed Arthur the phone, the programs and what he needed done. He ignored the crisp, woodsy scent that clung to Arthur's skin as he leant over him, and he most definitely ignored when Arthur's arm brushed against his then left it pressed there, for almost a minute. Not that Merlin was counting.

Yes, Arthur was helping, and it was much better than being there alone, but Merlin, although very vocally did not like Arthur, had always found him unfairly attractive. And that set him on edge, made him feel itchy under his skin, knowing that Arthur, who was basically royalty on the London scene wouldn't even look twice at someone like him. So it was much easier to be an arse.

Four hours into their forced working conditions, Merlin had to admit that Arthur was actually more of a help than a hindrance. And it grated his nerves.

"Maybe next time, you should write the batch into the system before you give out the results."

Arthur's brows were in his hairline as he turned to face Merlin, and he felt a flush rise up his cheeks, it honestly didn't matter the order you did it in, but he had to say something.

"You really don't like me do you?"

The retort died on his tongue when he realised Arthur was serious.

"Err, well, it's not exactly that, I actually think you're -" his phone rang, thankfully halting anything else he might blurt out unintended.

A few minutes later he was off the phone and typing again, lost in calculations and figures when he heard the chair next to him roll over the floor, and it didn't stop.

Startled he looked up into bright blue eyes, eyes that were only a few inches away.

"You were saying?"

Merlin's cheeks filled once more and he couldn't help the small gulp, audible in the quiet lab. Oh god.

"I was saying that I think you're a complete arse, " Arthur's eyes narrowed at his words, "but if you had a red pen, and stopped taking mine, I'd actually admit you've been a huge help today."

Arthur's face transformed into a grin and Merlin couldn't help mirror it, having never been on the receiving end of it before, or had he, and he'd just blocked it out? But Arthur was still too close, within touching distance and as if realising it for the first time as well, Arthur ducked his head, before looking up again.

"Can I buy you a drink after work, Merlin?"

Startled, Merlin floundered for a moment, uncertain what was happening and why Arthur Pendragon was asking a lab tech out.

"With you?"

Arthur's laugh was deep and fond, another anomaly, "yes with me. I thought you were smart?"

"I am, thank you very much, ask anyone and they'll tell you that I can -"

"- no Merlin, I meant I've been flirting with you for months and you've completely missed it, haven't you?"

Merlin's mouth was agape, he knew it, Arthur knew it, and he snapped it shut. Arthur thought he was...? He wanted to go for drinks and...?

"I'm taking that as a yes on both counts."

"My god you're arrogant..." Merlin started but faltered when Arthur grinned broadly at him.

And feeling off balance wasn't something Merlin relished and as Arthur started to wheel his way back to his desk, he reached out, fingers tangling in the collar of Arthur's shirt and yanked him back. The wheels squealing on the floor.

Falling forward he pressed his lips against Arthur's, feeling the shock run through the other man's body, and Merlin smirked until Arthur's hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb running over the skin softly, reverently then pushed forward into the kiss. Oh. He'd not expected the feel of tongue against his, the slip of their lips as they deepened the kiss, nor hear the small unbidden moan falling from Merlin's throat.

It was the sweetest and most perfect first kiss he'd ever received.

"Well that shut you up for a minute."

Well it was until Arthur spoke. "One drink, that's all you get Pendragon."

And with a conceited smirk that hit Merlin directly in the guts, and a push of his chair, Arthur put his headset back on and looked Merlin directly in the eye.

"Perfect, I like my coffee black in the morning, preferably before I get out of bed."

And Merlin could do nothing but snort and shake his head fondly as he answered his phone, greeting the person on the other end brightly, holding Arthur's blue sparkling eyes in his gaze. Maybe it wasn't going to be such a terrible day after all.

#mywriting #Merthur #Larissa I hope this helps you a little bit ❤️#always here if you need a chat #gorgeous people are lovely #spread the positivity people!!!#arthur x merlin #you have this way of teasing an unintentional Merthur fic from me 😂

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lithgaeril · 3 years

Text

Interaction

Hello! I’m Lithgaeril, and while I primarily interact with fandom on ao3, I made a blog for the times when that isn’t as convenient. However, there are probably a few important things I should have on the record here, ranging from topics I won’t touch to how frequently you can expect a reply.

If you don’t read below the cut, here’s the very watered down tl;dr: I’m always down to talk tolkien, just don’t be a dick! Also I don’t usually reply quick, sorry.

Availability

1) I can’t guarantee I’ll be on more than a couple times a week (though at other times I may be available multiple times a day, it all depends on my energy levels and schedule). I do try to check at least once a day if I’m participating in any events that involve communication.

2) At present, I am only following event blogs whose events I may participate in. This is to avoid the infinite scroll sinkhole, not because I don’t like other people’s content. This may change in the future, if I become more active on this blog.

Content Specific

3) I flat out refuse to engage in discourse. I used to find it fun, but now I mostly find it ruins my enjoyment of things I love. I may make an original post (using my unique tags to avoid the main tag search) discussing my thoughts on a subject that is considered controversial, but I will not add these sorts of comments onto other people’s posts and if you try to argue with me on mine, I will ignore or possibly block you. I do my best to keep any possibly controversial post out of the main tags, so if you’re reading it on my blog, you’re welcome to leave, unfollow, or even block me. I don’t care. If you’re just curious about my opinion on a controversial topic, ask me and I’ll probably (but not definitely) respond.

4) I am generally open to NSFW discussion, but please always ask first. I will always try to extend the same courtesy in any conversation. If you are a minor, do not initiate conversations regarding NSFW topics. If we get to talking about headcanons/ideas/etc. and you either don’t want to go anywhere near NSFW or you’re a minor, please specify that you don’t want the conversation going in that direction. This will let me know not to bring up anything NSFW without the need to disclose any personal information like your age

Comments/Criticism

5) Please do not compliment my headcanons or works by disparaging someone else’s. Everybody has things they like better and things they can’t stand at all, but comments like “I love that you did ‘x’ instead of the more common ‘y’, which I hate” can definitely be seen by people who like ‘y’. Not to mention, I often hold more than one, sometimes conflicting, headcanons about characters, and it’s very possibly I like ‘y’, too.

6) If you have a legitimate concern with something I have written or posted (ex. you believe it perpetuates racism, transphobia, ableism, etc), please let me know specifically which part is the problem and how, so that I may research the topic further and make changes where necessary.

7) If I say something that contradicts canon and fail to mention that fact, feel free to politely let me know, as sometimes I truly am not aware, but also please know that sometimes I break canon deliberately. That’s part of the joy of fic writing

In Conclusion

8) Alright, I think that’s all the disclaimers lmfao. Fun fact about me: I’m the person who actually reads the EULA/ToS & Privacy Policy :)

9) I do actually enjoy talking to people (although I confess, I *am* always this wordy)! If you want to talk about Tolkien’s work in general, my works/ideas, or even send me fic recs, please feel free! I enjoy in-depth discussions, learning about other people’s ideas & how they differ from mine, and brainstorming fun ideas for fics/hcs/etc! Please don’t be nervous just bc we’re not mutuals or whatever other reason you might be able to think up. I am equally open to asks and messages, but I will post asks publicly unless otherwise specified.

#blog housekeeping

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dettiot · 4 years

Note

i saw your fake! married trope post and i’m begging you to write something where the senate makes padmé and anakin be fake married for a mission, so they have to pretend to be married while concealing the fact that they are actually married. if you don’t want to that’s cool too! i just love your writing and i’d love to see you write the prompt! 💜💜💜

Since I love the fake!married trope, I’ve already started writing a Star Wars spin on this idea! This ficlet follows love and politics.

“Bail, you can’t be serious with this,” Padme Amidala said, once she had collected her wits after her friend and colleague’s stunning idea.

“But I am,” Bail said, his voice gentle. “I speak from experience--an arranged marriage isn’t all bad. And after what Alderaan went through during Ascendancy Contention, I saw how my marriage to Breha united Alderaan behind us. Healed the wounds between my people.”

Padme sighed softly. “I know how successful your marriage has been, for Alderaan and for the galaxy, Bail. And I’m very glad you and Breha have created happiness out of politics. But . . . marrying a Jedi? Me?”

Never mind that the idea of marrying a Jedi wasn’t nearly as foreign as she was making it sound. She could not reveal that she was already married--not when it would mean losing her seat in the Senate, not when it meant Anakin being punished, even expelled from the Order . . .

“You’re young, intelligent, talented: you represent the best of the Republic, Padme,” Bail flattered her. “When I had this idea, I knew you would be the perfect candidate.”

Sighing softly, Padme rose to her feet and turned to look out the window of her office. Her reluctance was only partially feigned. Because yes, she could acknowledge the intellectual strength of Bail’s argument. A wedding between a Senator and a Jedi would be a wonderful way to draw the galaxy together, with the Clone Wars still raging and systems leaving the Republic to join the Separatists.

But she had served as Queen of Naboo for eight years. Had been a Senator for almost four years now. She was willing to sacrifice her time, her energy, even her life towards democracy and service to the galaxy.

Must she sacrifice her heart, too? A heart that wasn’t even hers to give, since someone else held it in his hands?

Admittedly, there was no legal record of her marriage to Anakin. Their ceremony on Naboo, conducted by a holy man, held no weight in galactic law. But Padme knew she was married, even without having any legal documents to prove it.

But none of that mattered. She couldn’t do this.

Bail joined her at the window, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. “I know this is a surprise. Even a shock. But I do hope you’ll consider the idea. Especially since Master Yoda has suggested a Jedi who . . . who I believe you might be amenable to forming such a bond with.”

She blinked. “You’ve already talked to Master Yoda? He agreed to this?”

With everything Anakin had told her about the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, and from her own acquaintance with the small green Jedi, she couldn’t believe he was in favor of this idea.

“I believe Master Yoda agrees with me that the galaxy is at a critical point. The people don’t realize how much we need the Jedi, and while they’re seen as heroes of the war, no one really feels like they know them,” Bail said. “The wedding would not take place immediately. You would have enough time to establish a relationship with your prospective groom, to come to an understanding.”

Padme doubted sincerely that there was much chance of any real relationship forming between herself and a Jedi. Not when he found out she was in love with another Jedi--was married to another Jedi.

But . . . but what could she do? Perhaps the best choice would be to stall. To show she was actually considering the idea, to give her time to come up with a solution that wouldn’t involve her becoming bigamy.

“Who is Master Yoda suggesting as the groom?” she asked. “From what you’ve said, I guess it’s someone I know.” She paused and felt her heart drop. “Not Master Kenobi?”

Bail looked confused for a moment, his eyebrows drawing together. “Master Kenobi? No. Master Yoda suggested Anakin Skywalker.”

XXX

After being under the thumb of the Jedi Council for more than ten years, Anakin Skywalker knew what to expect from them. Masters Yoda and Mace disliked him and wished he had never been trained. Master Koon was kind and welcoming. Master Shaak Ti had a good sense of humor, Master Mundi was a stick in the mud, and Obi-Wan . . . Obi-Wan was his greatest defender. Always.

But standing before the Council and finding out that they wanted him to marry some Senator . . .

He had never expected anything like this.

“Unusual, it is. Times like these, unusual they are,” Master Yoda said.

“I--but--how--” Anakin flailed, looking to his Master and sensing an equal amount of shock from him.

Giving his head a shake, Anakin said, “What about the Code?”

“Exceptions have been made before,” Master Mace said, sounding like he was being forced not just to suck a lemon, but to eat it. “Master Mundi, for example.”

“I know, but--but this is different,” Anakin said, still feeling shocked.

And honestly? Pretty angry. Because how was it fair to brush aside the Code for politics but not for love?

“I must agree with Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s already nearly unprecedented for exceptions to the Code. And the reason for this exception sits poorly with me.”

“Meditate, we all must. A shock it is, acknowledge I do,” Master Yoda said. “But persuaded, I am, by Senator Organa’s arguments. And hope, I see, in this plan, from my own meditation.”

Senator Organa? Padme’s friend? Anakin did his best to keep from scowling. Trust an Alderaanian to be all smooth and sneaky.

Anakin ran a hand through his hair, giving in to the urge to show his confusion and surprise and worry. Because what if this was all a way to get rid of him? Sure, they could say they would grant him an exception to the Jedi Code, but what if he actually was seen as being attached to his wife? What then?

Of course, this was all pointless. He loved Padme--was married to Padme. There was no way he would ever love anyone other than her.

And there was no way he would give her up for some stupid political arranged marriage. Even if it made the Council trust him.

Master Shaak Ti folded her hands. “I admit, spending more time away from the Temple, among the peoples of the galaxy, has made me see how little they know about us. How misunderstood we are.”

Master Luminara nodded. “This idea of Senator Organa’s might be promising. But Master Yoda is correct: much meditation is required on this idea.”

Nodding, Master Yoda looked at Anakin. “You, especially, must meditate. Much we ask of you, young Skywalker. A sign of our belief in you, it is.”

It took everything Anakin had--every scrap of training that Obi-Wan had pounded into his head--to stay calm on the surface. He bowed, and even though he didn’t really mean it, he said, “Thank you, Master Yoda.”

Master Koon leaned forward. “If you don’t mind my asking, Master Yoda, who would Anakin be marrying, if this plan goes ahead?”

“Provide a bride, the Senate would,” Master Yoda said. “Suggested by Senator Organa, Senator Amidala is.”

If Anakin had been shocked before, now he was . . . was there a word that meant knocked ass-over-head in Basic? He knew what it would be in Huttese, but definitely not Basic.

Because he could marry Padme? Officially? In front of the whole galaxy?

He opened his mouth to agree immediately, but only caught himself in time. He couldn’t do that! Not when the Council hadn’t agreed to the idea, not when he had just acted like the idea of marriage had never crossed his mind.

But for just a moment, Anakin’s mind soared on wings higher than any starfighter could carry him. Because if this actually worked . . . he would be married to Padme for real. It would be all right for him to love her. He could live with her, see her every day, cook dinner for her . . .

Have children with her.

Anakin’s throat tightened as he thought about his dreams. Of the children with his hair and Padme’s eyes. With Padme’s warm heart and his skill with machines.

Could he really have everything he had ever wanted? The respect of the Jedi Council, a family to love, a place in the galaxy? The freedom to be the man he truly was?

Clearing his throat, Anakin said, “I will go to meditate on this at once. If the Council will excuse me.”

“Yes, yes, young Skywalker, go,” Master Yoda said. “Mediate now, we all will.”

Only taking a moment to exchange a look with Obi-Wan, who looked concerned but thoughtful, Anakin slipped out of the Council room. He kept himself under tight control, maintaining his shields to hold back the wealth of emotion sweeping over him.

It wouldn’t do to lose the chance to make all his dreams come true, just because he let slip he was already in love with Padme.

End.

My Star Wars Fic Masterlist

#anidala #star wars #arranged marriage #love and politics #i-want-a-bracken-to-my-kendra

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girlofmanyfandoms · 4 years

Text

Forbidden Spicy Gatorade Chronicles Chapter One

A/n: Ok, so the cult is getting stronger by the minute so if you haven’t been introduced yet, don’t be offended! I’ll try to go through everyone and introduce you in the next chapter. Erica (@the-never-ending-void) has asked not to be included in this fic.

Key:

Tater - @a-lonely-tatertot

Lynn - @lesbilynnette

Gray - @silver-snow

Lilah - @tribblemakingalicorn

Cadence - me

Ivy - @imaramennoodle

Molly - @molly-sencen

Farris - @everyonehasthoughts

Speens - @an-absolute-travesty

Holes - @holesinmyfalseconfidence

Connor - @linhammon-roll-bromance101

Panda - @worldwidepandamonium

Meg - @ultralazycreatorfan

Word count: 2,382

Warnings: If you’re reading this, you already know what’s about to pop off

Lilah poked Cadence’s shoulder who promptly rolled over. Lilah poked her several more times, a bit more aggressively. Grumbling Cadence sat up quickly and smacked her head on the top of the bunk bed. She sighed, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings, taking in the strangely black, purple, and gold aesthetic room.

“Why’d you wake me up?”

“You got a notification,” Lilah said, eyes wide open, handing her the phone, slowly walking out of their shared room.

Cadence furrowed her brows, unlocking the phone before calling out to her roommate. “Wait, how long have you been up?”

“OREOS!” she called back. “Where are the keys?”

“On the kitchen counter,” Cadence replied, checking her emails. 1 unread message from Gray, the AI developer who she made small talk with during lunch breaks.

Dear Cadence,

Good evening! There’s a new play coming out on Mainstreet, called The Facade, and I was approached by the team to create a promotional piece. I was hoping you could help, and we would split the rewards 50/50. The play is about a murder crime, which is plotted out in a series of intricate riddles. The plot twist: the lead detective was the murderer, and had been delaying her trial while she was pretending to gather evidence, and stealing from a suspect to gain enough money to flee. And her second in command was funding the plots without knowing that her boss was the mastermind behind it all.

Ok, now that my boss has read above the cut we can talk freely. The offer is real, and I WOULD like to split it 50/50, I just can’t stand talking all formal, y’know? Anyway, since you said you do animations and stuff as a side gig, I thought maybe you could make the animations, and I’ll edit and do the social networking? Idk, I’m just spitballing here, let me know what you think.

Also, Lilah directed me towards this email, she’s really good at tracking people down.

Sorry if I made any spelling mistakes, I haven’t slept in weeks,

Gray

“Huh,” Cadence huffed, glancing at the clock. 3 AM. She had time. So, grabbing her IPad, she opened Procreate and got to work. The Facade. Sounds interesting enough. But what to draw? A lock perhaps? A silhouette of the main character? Before she could decide, her phone buzzed again, a voice recording this time, from Lilah.

“Hey, so I just ran into two of the actresses from The Facade and they said they want to talk to you about it so you can create a better promotional vid, meet me at the local library, k bye.”

Cadence wished on a shooting star that at least an hour had passed by so the buses would be running. But how wrong she was. It was 3 AM. It was raining. And the library was at least a mile away.

“This should be fun,” she mumbled, grabbing her set of keys, her IPad, and a raincoat before jogging the mile it took to get to the library.

_______

By the time Cadence arrived her hair was drenched and she was so out of breath and tired she thought she was going to pass out. She looked for any sign of her roommate, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, she saw three people sitting at a table chatting freely and crying laughing. The librarian wasn’t fazed in the slightest. On the contrary, they seemed to be enjoying it, leaning over the library’s registry system, talking with them. Quickly Googling “The Facade,” Cadence confirmed that the two ladies were the actresses from the play. The other one offered occasional comments, mostly just watching the occurrences that went on. Social anxiety kicked in and told her to run in the other direction, but she really needed the money. She forced herself to approach them.

“Hey, I’m Cadence,” I introduce myself nervously. “Lilah said you wanted to speak to me about promoting your play?”

“Cadence! Lilah mentioned your animations, and we thought it’d be a new, eye-catching way to get our work out there,” the first one chirped. “I’m Molly, by the way. I play the detective’s second in command.”

“And I’m Ivy,” the other one greeted. “I play the lead.”

Cadence expected the third person to introduce themself next, but the librarian took the initiative. “Hello, fellow human, you may address me as SPEENS, I accept liver sacrifices.”

“They do that all the time,” the third person assured her. “Tater, by the way. I’m not in the play, I’m just working on a novel with Molly. We met up here to talk to good ‘ol Speens when these bit-”

“Language,” Molly warned.

“When these lovely individuals,” Tater corrected, “decided to make this a research sesh for the book. As if we needed more work. I’m free to fly wherever the wind takes me.”

“Amen to that, sibling,” Speens responded solemnly, pulling five wine glasses and vodka out from under the desk like a bartender. Cadence looked confused, but not against it. “Say, where’s the rest of the crew? Lynn, Gray, Farris, and the lot of them?”

“Farris doesn’t work on the set,” Ivy reminded her. “They’re an archaeologist. Holes makes the sets for us.”

Speens wrinkled their nose, seemingly in disgust. “And the others?”

“Well, if you can take a break, we can meet up with them at the theatre. Even Farris, since I heard their last trip was a bust,” Molly offered.

Without a second thought, Speens put up a sign that read “The Librarian is Out.”

“Do they-”

“All the time,” Ivy nodded. “It’s kinda their thing.”

“But, yeah, Farris and Connor tend to hang around the set,” Molly explained. “They don’t bother anyone, no one bothers them. They’re a bit older, kinda like the authority figures of the group.”

“If authority figures would let you make a dumba-”

“Tater,” Ivy nudged.

Tater changed their wording. “-unwise move in order to see what would happen.”

“They’re responsible for us without being responsible for us, if that makes sense,” Ivy commented. “Let’s get going though, before someone blows something up.” She shot a sideways glance at Speens, who put a hand up in surrender.

________

Ivy swung open the doors to the theatre and immediately had to duck for cover. “What the HELL, Connor?”

They were holding onto some theatre seats, zooming back and forth the row on rollerblades, occasionally losing balance and having to sit down. After a particularly messy turn-around, they decided to crawl over to the red carpeted steps and laid there for a moment. Farris was perched in a seat a row down, calming watching as Connor seemed to be having an existential crisis. Upon seeing Tater and Cadence, Farris got up, carefully stepping around Connor. “New kids?”

“Farris, this is Tater, and that’s Cadence,” Ivy helped. “They’re helping us promote the play.”

“Congratulations, you’re adopted,” they vowed, though Tater looked confused. “What? I don’t make the rules. Oh, wait, I’m supposed to be the responsible one…. Ok, so I make the rules, but they can be bent if the alternative’s interesting enough. Right, Connor?”

“Uh huh,” he called from the floor tiredly. If he hadn’t spoken, he would have been deemed dead.

“Lynn and the rest of the gang are in the back,” Farris informed them, pulling a skateboard from under their seat and helping Connor stand. Connor’s rollerblades flailed a bit as he struggled to get up, but his arm was slung around Farris’s shoulder, supporting him.

“DO A KICKFLIP,” Connor prompted, his words slurred.

“Are you kidding, I haven’t skateboarded since I was six, I need an actual skate park to practice that,” Farris recounted. “And how drunk are you?”

“Yes,” he responded, giggling in a hiccupy way. “Does anyone have more vodka?”

“I got you fam,” Speens said, pulling out a suitcase of alcohol from thin air.

“Anyways,” Ivy interjected, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I’ll go get the others, wait here.”

Ivy returned with Gray, Lynn, Holes, Panda, and Meg, and introduced them accordingly. “Gray works on the special effects, Lynn designed everyone’s costumes, Holes makes the set, Panda is a theatre critic, and Meg is our concept artist.”

“So, other than animation, is there anything else you bring to the table?” Molly asked.

“Well, I do glass art,” Cadence supplied. “It’s probably not relevant, but when it’s still really hot and glowy, which is when you can shape it, it looks like it would make a good snack. Hell, it almost looks like Gatorade. I can show a picture if you’d like.”

Cadence took her phone out and everyone crowded around to see.

“More like Powerade, Gatorade doesn’t come in that kind of blue,” Speens added.

“F O R B I D D E N S P I C Y G A T O R A D E,” Connor yelled, startling Farris.

“NO,” Holes countered, clearly distressed. “Do NOT drink molten glass. You’d die!”

“You call it death, I call it adventure,” Molly smirked. “I’m here for it. C’mon Holes, live a little.”

“Sis, how have you made it to adulthood thinking like that?” Lynn questioned, looking a bit scared.

“And I know how to live, I’m living right now!” Holes countered.

“Sure you are, nerd.” Molly rolled her eyes. “And how many near death experiences have you had, huh?”

“Near death- okay, first of all, I am not a nerd-”

“You kinda are,” Tater mumbled. Holes gasped, putting a hand over her heart as if they were betrayed. “What? You are. You make a living off of reading books.”

“Used to, friend,” Holes clarified. “I’m a freelance artist now. I picked up this gig because of these fools. And good thing too, because now you’re about to poison yourselves! Second of all, um, none?! How many have you had?”

Molly clicked her tongue in disappointment. “Five. Blended corn, acorns, eating soap, eating paper, and an intense game of dodgeball. I haven’t even peaked with these experiences yet.”

“Immortal until proven mortal,” Connor finished for her.

Meg stood next to Molly and held her shoulders. “This girl, she’s going places.”

“Meg, not you, too, I swear to god-”

“sLuRp,” Ivy joined in, grinning from ear to ear.

Holes was getting hysterical. “What the actual hell is going on? Lynn, help me out here.”

“The Gatorade is Forbidden for a reason, kids,” Lynn tried to reason.

Gray stood up with a mischievous glint in their eyes. “Where can we get it?”

“From the crunchy forbidden chocolate powder, of course,” Connor chimed in. Panda gave him a high-five while Holes became paler and paler from the cult forming in front of their eyes.

“This one speaks the truth,” Panda shrugged.

“Ok, what even is crunchy forbidden chocolate powder?”

“Sand, duh,” Connor said matter of factly. “Add some vodka, a martini, and some olives, and you got one heck of a slushie.”

“So that means there must be Forbidden Chewy Lettuce and Flavoured Forbidden Chewy Lettuce,” Tater went on. “Grass and flower petals. Cursed, but not wrong.”

“Ooh, and crackle air can be limestones and sodium carbonate, pies are dirt, bread is wood, and hard candy is metal,” Panda proclaimed.

“Fidget spinners are Forbidden Bagels, too,” Connor helped. “I should know, I tried the other day and cut my lip.”

Farris ignored the last part of Connor’s rant. “The variety pack, I like the sound of that.”

“Farris you’re supposed to look after us and you’re condoning this?!” Holes shouted.

Farris mounted his skateboard. “I’m not condoning anything. I’m enabling and hyping them up without joining in. That’s some big brain stuff.”

“This is why they control the brain cell,” Ivy nodded. “WAIT, ARE MY CHICKEN NUGGETS BURNING?!”

“Ives, you literally set a timer on the microwave backstage, you’re fine,” Tater reassured Ivy, holding her from running to check on her meal.

“Oh, like you know anything about microwaves,” Ivy argued. “You microwave ice cream.”

“It takes too long to soften, and I’m impatient,” Tater defended, turning to address Holes. “And it is eaten with a spoon.”

“Do not start this debate again- you know what, Panda, get ice cream from the mini-fridge, we’re settling this here and now,” Holes demanded.

“I think the real question is why is ice cream so hard,” Speens mentioned as Panda brought a tub of Haagen Daz ice cream. Holes used a fork to attempt to chisel out part of the snack. It wasn’t very successful.

“I think that’s just how Haagen Daz works,” Cadence observed.

Holes saw this as an opportunity to gain some momentum in the argument. “Not just this brand! All ice cream works like that!!!”

“No,” Panda objected. “Not Breyer’s. That stuff is always just right when you need it. Hashtag not sponsored.”

“Did you just break the fourth wall?” Lynn asked. “You know what, I don’t wanna know, just for the love of all that is good in this world please don’t drink the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade.”

“Too late,” Cadence said. “It’s easily accessible. Also, I’m calling E so we can recruit her.”

“Holes, I know you’re hiding it from us,” Molly speculated.

“What are you talking-”

“You’re keeping the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade all to yourself because you know of its power and you want it all to yourself.”

“I don’t HAVE the Gatorade, and I’m explicitly telling you it’s going to kill you if you drink it!”

As the bickering went on, Lynn slipped off to the vacant staff lounge to pull out her phone. There had to be a supplier somewhere who would give them this. She searched for a few minutes, and, after a few dead ends, she finally found an investor. “Cha-ching. Forbidden Incorporated is in business,” Lynn smiled to herself.

“Forbidden Incorporated, eh?” Farris asked from the doorway. Lynn froze and cursed herself for forgetting to lock the door. Now Farris knew of her plans. “Tell you what, I’ll keep your secret under one condition: We split the money 50/50, and get equal control over the decisions. So, deal?”

Lynn hesitated. She wasn’t sure she could trust Farris, but seeing as this was the only way to stop Holes from knowing just yet, she had no other choice. “Deal.”

_______

A/n: So that was fun and took entirely too long to write. I hope you enjoyed it and if you’re in the cult and I didn’t include you, reblog this and I’ll make a list. The next chapter might focus on a smaller group bc there are like thirteen characters here and I’m tired. Peace out!

#forbidden spicy gatorade

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fandomandflowers · 3 years

Text

About Beta Readers: For Authors

This is a guide for those who are wanting to work with a Beta Reader.

I posted a guide for Beta Readers here, but even though this is aimed at authors, I think it is good to read as a Beta Reader too, as a lot of the messages apply both ways.

(There is also the fact that many Beta Readers are also Authors, and many Authors are Beta Readers)

These are just my thoughts on the matter having been a Beta Reader, had help from Beta Readers, and having friends who are writers and Beta Readers alike.

It should also be known that I don’t always listen to these. I’ll not say no when I should, or I’ll leave a fic in the middle for months before picking it up again while my Beta Reader hangs on, just waiting to know what happens next. But even so, I hope that anyone who reads this will take the information into consideration and do their best to consider things from a different perspective:

Beta Readers don’t work for you.

I wasn’t planning on putting this up the top, but actually, I think this rule is most important (watch out, I’ll say that a lot!) They work with you. They don’t work for you. While there are some who work for hire and money, that is not my point!

So work with them. Talk about your ideas. Ask questions. Open dialogue. This is an opportunity for you to grow as a writer, to learn from mistakes, and to see things from a different perspective.

And just as they don’t work for you, don’t expect them to do all of the work for you.

They’re not your personal spell-checker! That is what Grammarly is for, so use it. And if you can’t use it, then find a basic spell-checker. They’re very helpful! It is also helpful to have a dictionary and thesaurus so you don’t sound repetitive. Grammar guides and “The Emotion Thesaurus” by Angela Ackerton are good to have handy while writing.

I think one of the more annoying things as a Beta is when you put all this work into correcting SPaG, sentence structure and repetition; then the author just accepts all the corrections, not even looking through them. It is fine if you agree with every suggestion/ correction, some Beta Readers are just amazing like that. But what I mean is that you should be reading and considering each of them. This way you can see where you are making the same mistakes over and over, and learn, not repeating the mistake again.

Some things I have learned from Betas: When to capitalise titles, when to use a full stop rather than a comma in quotation marks, that it is great to be passionate about what I write, and that con-crit is super helpful when you ask for it.

Respect a Beta Reader’s limits.

If your Beta Reader tells you they have Arachnophobia, then it is your job to let them know if there are spiders in your piece of writing. This goes for everything. Just because you don’t get triggered or squicked by something doesn’t mean they don’t. Everyone has different things they can and can’t tolerate and different reactions. There are certain things where if I read them then it can lead to me spiraling and not being able to think of anything else for days.

It is your job to know what is in your fic. If someone says they won’t read a certain thing and it is in your fic. You must tell them. They might be okay with it, they might ask you to black it out, they may have to leave you to find another Beta. But you won’t know unless you tell them. Because I know for me, nothing will make me want to leave a fic more.

Know what you want.

Before you even start looking for a Beta Reader I recommend you have some clue what sort of help or advice you’re looking for. I am likely to think all of these notes are the most important, but trust me when I say that this one really is. Or if not the most important than for sure one of the most helpful notes.

Some things you should think about before asking around for a Beta Reader:

Are you after a critical analysis, or a cheerleader?

Is there a time restraint?

Is your writing in the final stages, or are after ideas?

What are you needing checks for? (these are some common ones)

SPaG

Britpicking

Flow and pace

Plot holes

Sentence structure and wording

Canon accuracy

Realistic dialogue

How you’re going to talk to them throughout the process

What content warnings you may need to give

The word count. (less something you have to think about, but definitely something you’ll need to communicate)

Once you think you have a general idea of what you’re after, then you need to actually tell your Beta Reader. They’re not mind-readers. This is really the most helpful information to receive as a Beta Reader.

If you have no clue what you’re really after then that is okay, just say that! You can ask your Beta what they think needs work… If they’re a regular Beta or have done it a couple of times then they’ll probably have a pretty good sense.

Communicate!

I’m trying not to be a Google Docs advertisement here but seriously, it is amazing! You can see each other in the doc, in real-time! There is a chat function in the top-right corner. Maybe I need to write a Google Docs fan piece. (*Writes that down in my notes*)

If your Beta corrected something and you don’t know why, having the ability to point it out and ask why is great! Talking things through and having someone to bounce ideas off of is one of my favorite parts of having Beta Readers!

It is also important that you be open and honest with them, if you have a preference for a certain platform then tell them! If you’re both going around in circles saying ‘oh, I don’t mind,’ then nothing is getting done, is it?

If you’re having issues in your personal life and can’t devote as much time to writing or looking over things with them, then tell your Beta that. Don’t ghost. Talk.

Commit to your story.

Be passionate! Care about your story! You don’t have to be in love with every aspect, you can not love it in general for all I care… But there has to be some sort of attachment to it, because if you don’t care about your own story, then why should I?

While there are different types of Beta Readers, for the most part, if you’re asking for someone to look over your work then you’re usually not far off posting. If that is the case then please do so! Or at the very least tell your Beta Reader

Don’t make us feel excited about the fic and never finish or publish it! If there is a valid reason then that’s okay, but really, if you’re looking for a Beta Reader you should either let them know that you may never finish it, or that you may not publish.

I am 100% guilty of this. And I am sorry to my friend A. who is still waiting for me to write an ending. I’ll get there, I promise!

If a reader says no, or drops out, don’t get angry at them.

Please! Things happen. Don’t get angry, it just makes everyone feel worse in a situation no-one is happy with to start. Besides, if you get mad then it is a pretty easy way to make sure they won’t come back or Beta for you again.

You’re allowed to say no, too.

This is my favorite note. This applies to everything in life, and sometimes it can be difficult to remember that you’re always allowed to say no.

If you put out the details of a fic and say you’re after a beta Reader, you’re allowed to say no to anyone who puts their hand up. As a matter of fact, I recommend it! It is your fic, your writing, your baby. While it is nice to help out people who’ve never Beta read before it is also important that you feel comfortable with the person who is about to be looking at your writing. (Especially with the amount of self-projection I put into my fics.)

You’re allowed to say no to suggestions. If your Beta Reader gets offended that you’re not accepting all of their suggestions then I would be questioning if they’re the right fit for you. I always recommend you read through every suggestion and think about them before accepting or rejecting them.

You’re allowed to say no to a Beta in the middle of them going through your document, (just tell them first.) It is your creation, and you should always feel safe and comfortable with whoever is looking at your rough, unfinished work.

You’re allowed to say no to anything and everything.

Don’t say ‘I don’t take criticism well’ to your Beta.

It is perfectly valid not to take con-crit (constructive criticism) well; I certainly don’t. The point of a Beta is to give you con-crit to help you improve. It is okay to have feelings about your writing; I am very sensitive about everything I write. But if you’re asking for a Beta Reader, then that is what you’re asking for. You can tell your Beta if you’re more after cheerleading or critical analysis, or maybe a bit of both. (Always communicate what you’re after.)

But if you tell your chosen Beta that you’re not good at taking con-crit, then it can put them in a tough spot; they may feel like to be able to help you then they have to hurt you, and I don’t think anyone ever wants to feel like that. And for me, if it is a choice between hurting my friends or leaving them. Then there is no choice, I will leave.

If you’ve already told them in another context that you’re not good at taking con-crit and they are worried, then tell them that there is a difference between unsolicited con-crit and asking for it. A big difference.

Stan our beloved Beta Readers.

I know someone who records themself reading the document and correcting things as they think of them. That is pretty gosh darn cool! I wasn’t sure where to put that… but I think it is important to say that writing and Beta Reading, they’re fun! That is the whole point, so have fun! Chat about your creation and as I frequently do, gush about the characters! Talk about your favorite lines! Because you’re allowed to love and be proud of your work. I recommend it, it is such a lovely feeling.

We stan our Beta Readers. They give us so much help and encouragement; help us learn and grow. I hope that every passionate writer finds a Beta Reader just as passionate. Because making friends, to me, is the best feeling in the world.

#beta reader #fandom #fanfiction

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