#i guess general psa though.. one piece we are so back... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

carryonmywaywardwriters · 4 years

Text

Knot In Love - Alpha!Dean x Omega! Reader

A/N: Part twenty four is back. Again, where it’s a daily thing? I am not tagging anyone new. 3pm is the magical time. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy one of my favorites <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Series Warnings: Forced mating. Knotting. Alpha/Omega dynamics. Witchcraft (more based on real craft than Hollywood). Angst. Etc. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: Roughly 6,800

“So...” Rowena managed to corner you in the kitchen. Proud as a peacock that she'd found yu seeking out tea. “How is it that a witch would come to be so...comfortable with the Winchesters?”

“I'm...a soft core witch,” You decided the term fit. She wasn't getting a full explanation. Despite your trust in the fact her motives were fear based, there was more enough craftiness bubbling beneath the surface to make you wary. “I haven't been alive for centuries. Gave me an edge.”

“You could be,” Her eyes twinkled all too bright as she pulled the herbs from your hands. A healthy sniff of the mix let he know what she was dealing with before she dropped it in. “I could teach you...if you'd like?”

“I don't want to live forever,” You brushed that off easily. Leaning against the marble counter. Away from her. “Appreciate the offer, though.”

“Then, what do you want to learn?” Rowena was nothing without allure. There were things she could teach. The trick she'd pulled earlier was a fine example.

“Why are ya so interested in handing out your tricks?” Your brow quirked, demanding an answer. “You don't even know me

“I tried to start my own coven before,” Another one of those overly emphasized sighs left her painted lips. “It didn't work out.” The confession wasn't much of a surprise. “I just wanted peers of my own. To teach up and coming witches what I know. As for that last bit, you have a...feel about you.” Her eyes narrowed, looking over you. Seeing far too deep for your comfort. “You're important, dearie.”

“Hardly.” Was your response. You'd helped Wendy and Donna. Aided in shaping Jack into the caring boy he'd become. While you were sure it was where you needed to be, you weren't nearly as vital as the two men you lived with. “I'm just a puzzle piece in a much bigger game.”

“Y/N,” She leaned in, “you're more than that. You're going to be the queen of the chess board.”

“Just what I wanted to see,” Dean's voice broke up the discussion. “Glinda being wooed by the Wicked Witch of the West.” He sagged against the doorway, jaw twitching under the lights. “Y/N, can I talk to you?”

“Oh, go ahead-”

“Alone,” The hunter cut off Rowena, earning an offended sniff. As soon as you were by his side, it began. “What's she pulling?” His hand was holding your bicep as he tugged you along behind him.

“Hell if I know,” You retorted with a snort. Throwing forward his own analogy, “Before I got anything worth value, the scarecrow interrupted.”

“So, you're a double agent, now?” He shoved open the door to your room, yanking you in behind him. Ensuring that you two were well and truly alone as he slammed the door shut.

“Can you please let me go?” As soon as you were secure, he did. Noting the way you flinched at his touch.

There was no angel to take away the aches and pains from the earlier fights- if you could call them that. At first, he'd assumed you were mad at him. Then, he saw the truth of it.

“You okay?” Suddenly, the alpha was worried. Taking in the stiffness in your movements as you sat down on your bed.

“Just sore,” The brush off wasn't good enough. He leaned down, lifting your shirt to see what the damage was. Bruising and scrapes lined it from his boots. You tried to pull away. To hide the evidence. “Dean, it's not a big deal-”

“It is,” His fingers traced over it, gently. Noting where it hurt the most based on the intake of your breath. “I'm sorry.”

“You were in love,” A shrug left you at that, pushing even harder to drop your shirt. That time, he let you. “It makes us all a little crazy. You're just a little...extra.” The teasing got you absolutely nowhere. His face remained pinched. Eyes zeroed in on your middle. As if he could see the damage.

“That...that wasn't love.” Dean's voice was soft, then. Almost nervous. Tilting your head in confusion, you silently prodded for him to go on. “It was something...but it wasn't love.”

Your heart fluttered at the words. Begging for it to be real that time. It took everything in you to ask what was on your mind.

“When you were...under...you didn't knock me out.” His head lowered, listening to you speak. Carefully choosing your words. “You didn't hurt me...not like you tried to Sam.”

“And you want to know why.” He finished the thought. Chewing at his bottom lip. His fingers tangled together as he anxiously started bouncing his knee. “I dunno...Probably the same reason why I wanted to rip that Marlon kid to shreds with my bare hands when he turned you.”

“Donna sped things up a bit,” Your lip twitched in pride. She was doing a little better. You kept in contact with her. Checked in with Jody to be sure. The hunter played a vital role in your humanity that night. It'd been the least you could do. “Probably for the best, that time.”

“Yeah, probably.” He agreed, nodding and pursing his lips. Then, he turned back to the matter at hand. “You...you, uh...you're kinda important around here.”

“For Jack-”

“Not just, Jack.” You hadn't even been able to finish. “I'm not very good at this.” His lips screwed to the side. “Hell, probably suck. But...it's not just Jack. Okay? Trust that.”

Stewing on his words, he turned his head away. Brows knocking together. So sure that he'd made a mistake.

“You're important, too.” The reply was soft, but he heard it. Your fingers moved up, tugging at the thin chain around his neck. “Guess this didn't work out so well, huh? We'll have to try something else.”

You went to lift it away, only to be stopped by a meaty grip, “No...No, I want to keep this one.” When you opened your mouth to protest, he shook his head. “It works just fine.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding there for a moment. “I'm going to find, Sam...Just...be careful with Rowena.” The answering nod was enough for him. He walked away, glancing back over his shoulder before he disappeared.

As he left, he thought back over everything he could remember from that morning. He saw your face softening when he talked about love. How you'd shifted instantly when you realized it was Jamie he was raving over.

The irrational urge to do whatever was necessary hadn't included trying to seriously harm you. In that moment, when he'd had you pinned? He'd almost come back. Nearly had shaken off the influence when he'd watched his hand wrap around your throat. The charm he carried had practically burned at his chest. Pulling him back to reality. His lips curled upwards a bit as he moved back to the library, whistling away...

–

“Welcome to Stillwater Oklahoma,” Sam announced as the Impala came to a halt.

“How depressingly midwestern,” Rowena grumbled, her wide rimmed sun glasses covering her eyes. The scenery was nothing to look at. The grass was dull from the chilled air. Even the sky was covered with grey rather than blue.

“Alright, Red, where to?” Dean turned around, looking at the witch in charge for the moment.

“The tracking spell isn't like GPS,” She pointed out, unhappily. You knew that pain. Location spells were only so helpful. “The book's not moving, and it's in the general area.” A sigh of resignation left her lips. “We'll need to talk to the yokles.”

“Okay,” He clearly wasn't thrilled with that news. “Well, small-town folks usually like to look out for themselves.” The older Winchester pointed out unwillingly.

“I can make them talk,” The arrogant answer curled up her lips. More than eager to speed up the process. You were positive it would be in a way you wouldn't dream of.

“Uh, your spells tend to boil people's brains,” Sam cut in, making your eyes widen a bit. She shrugged your way at that. Telling you it was no big deal in her mind. “So, maybe let us handle it?”

“Fine,” She gave in, that dramatic flare ever present. “Fine, we can do your very time consuming investi....” A snore left her lips as her head fell over. Rowena's way of saying that they were boring.

For all her trouble, you couldn't deny it. She was charming as hell. It'd be cute if she wasn't the literal mother of the past king of hell.

“Okay,” Dean spoke up to clarify. “See, 'we' aren't doing anything.” His hand pointed at the entire group. Making it clear she wasn't included.

“I'll keep an eye on her,” Sam volunteered. Just as a little safety net to ensure that you weren't overly tempted.

“Leave me with a babysitter if you must, but do start with the women.” She sighed out. Annoyed at the necessity of it. Then, she seemed to think for a moment. Tugged her glasses down to look at Dean, “Something tells me that they aren't popular with other ladies.” As you started to move, you were stopped. “Oh, but why can't Y/N stay with me?” Her arms wrapped around the one closest to her. Smiling brightly at you to try and schmooze her way into your heart. “You'll stay with me, won't you dear? These Winchesters are rather brutish, so it would be much better if-”

“Sam will take care of you,” You laughed, peeling her away. “We'll be back...you two...just talk.” The door was shut behind you, just in time to hear a dramatic huff.

“You act like you know a secret,” Dean leaned your way, bumping your shoulder with his as his hands tucked into his pocket. “Spill.”

“They both have some underlying trauma,” You shrugged out, knowing he'd know about that better than you. “I did a reading for Sam a while back.”

“I know,” Came the nod, surprising you. “Wasn't thrilled with the idea, but...”

“But, you didn't want to duke it out,” You finished for him. Moving towards the first building. “It wasn't anything bad. It was on what kind of healing still needs done. Everybody has something, and he wanted something personal.” A shrug followed that news. Blowing off what you'd offered to the younger brother. “Rowena isn't the only one hiding from what Lucifer did...maybe it'll do them both some good. To have someone who experienced...something to the same...intensity, to talk to.” At that, Dean paused, watching you move ahead.

He turned back to look at the car, frowning at the thought of Lucifer still haunting his little brother. Not that he was surprised. Sam had to keep reliving it every time the archangel came into play.

His lips tightened before he followed your movements. Wanting the angel to die, yet again. Maybe then the man he'd raised could feel some peace.

“It's a little freaky how you dig into people's minds, you know that?” He called out, extending his stride after you.

“I get that a lot,” You laughed, sending a grin his way as he caught up. “Keeps people on their toes.” A twist of his lips and a noise at the back of the throat was your only answer to that one.

“Hi there,” Dean called out towards a worker as you two entered the hardware store. Third time was the charm. The bell clanked over the top of the door as it shut. “Been to a few other places,” He stated, moving up to the counter. “Haven't had much luck. Was hoping you'd help me out.”

“Oh, happy to try,” The woman's smile was a little too bright. Earning a cough to hold back your laugh as she looked over Dean. You weren't even a blimp on her radar. Evidently her glasses were in full working order, as her eyes darted up and down. “What do you need?”

“I'm looking for these two girls in, uh, town.” He started out. Either too used to that kind of response or simply oblivious to what was happening. You elected to believe the first option. “Jennie and Jamie.”

Just the name made you want to curl your nose. Instead, you plastered a smile to your face as she glanced your way for the first time. Trying to understand what a woman would want to do with them.

“Oh,” The sour tone made your brows lift. Seems you'd run into a 'fan'. “The Plum sisters.”

“Right,” You spoke up. Noting the disappointment on her face. You understood the feeling a little too well. “Yeah, we're looking to track them down.”

“Hm...” Her brow lifted at that, letting you know that her mind had gone somewhere scandalous. Apparently their reputation held steady. “You and every other man west of the Ozarks.”

“Popular, huh?” Dean asked, prying out more information.

“That's one word for it,” The hostility was tangible in the air. You mentally reminded yourself to send this woman a little extra good will when all was said and done. “And a whole mess of trouble.”

The pointed look told Dean that he was better off avoiding them. Something you agreed with wholeheartedly. If you hadn't needed the book, there'd be no way in hell you'd have been in the small town.

“Well, they took something. And I need to get it back.” Was the hunter's way of trying to end that theory. It didn't work.

“Heard it before,” She cut off, rolling her eyes at the line. “They stole your heart, and you can't live without them.” The disgust was evident. She had no intentions of aiding that cause.

“They stole a book,” Your answer seemed to puzzle her. Her head tilted as she took you in for the first time.

“A book?” Dean hummed in confirmation.

She laughed, then, “Honey, now I know you're lying. I doubt they can even read.” Your own snicker landed with you getting your foot pressed on. Not hard enough to hurt, but the warning was there all the same.

“Well, that has been up for debate.” He acknowledged, looking your way. There wasn't an ounce of shame in the shrug you gave out. You'd made the same jab on the way over. “If it helps, I don't plan on being nice about it when we do find them.”

“And if he can't hold up to that, I will.” She looked into your eyes, taking in the hard edge you carried. Letting all of the anger you possessed show. That appeared to sell it. She seemed surprised, but she didn't argue. Pushing out some of the receipt paper so that she could write down the information.

“You gonna be really mean?” Women could carry an infinite amount of spite. This one was no different. Dean let out a small 'yeah' to give her a little extra satisfaction. “Cause it's about damn time someone was.” The note was passed over.

“Thank you,” The woman leaned against the counter, sending appreciative eyes back over Dean. Suddenly more attracted at the thought of him being out to get her enemies.

“You're welcome,” She murmured as he walked away. She placed her body over the counter to watch his ass. You followed her gaze, not blaming her in the slightest. “You hold onto that one,” She told you, letting out a little sigh of want.

“I'll keep that in mind,” You nodded her way, thanking her again before moving after him. Snickering all the way.

As you two approached the car, Rowena was getting out. Sam following behind, calling after her. “I'm not fleeing,” She told him, moving away. “Don't release the hounds!”

“Hey,” Dean asked, looking between the two. “What's going on?”

“Uh, she,” Sam motioned towards the witch, swallowing a bit as he talked. “Uh, she just needs a minute. She's alright.”

“Alright, well, I got the address.” He confirmed, nodding towards you. Giving credit where it was due. “With a little help.”

“Rowena was right,” You finished for him. Noting the way it seemed to perk her interest. She moved towards you all, then. Suddenly back in her usual spirits.

“These girls are not fan favorites,” Dean chuckled pulling out the paper. It was the biggest understatement of the day. Not that you could blame any of them.

“Right,” Came the excited Scottish agreement. “Time to get that book!”

“Oh, no.” The older Winchester cut her off. “No, you've done your bit, okay?” He motioned between the people he deemed fit for the job. “We'll take it from here.”

“Dean-”

Your protest was cut off, “No.”

“Y/N,” She cooed towards you, pleased as could be. “I appreciate what you're trying to do, but they aren't going to change their minds.” Another one of those long, loud sighs left her. “Be a dear and keep me company for a moment? While they plot and...well, whatever it is these two do.” That earned a glare. Before Dean could protest, you were pulled away. A bag was tugged from her pocket; dropped to the ground as she urged you forward, “Manete!”

“What did you-” You turned back to see the men staring in disbelief as they tried to move their feet. They didn't budge.

“It means 'remain' in Latin,” She stated proudly. Glancing back over her shoulder as Sam yelled out her name, flailing his arms a bit as he struggled. The bag out of reach. “They won't be going anywhere. Now...do you join them? Or do you help me make these girls pay?”

“Y/N!” Dean bellowed out, making your eyes meet his. The warning clear.

“This isn't going to fix the damage you've already done,” You began, noting the way her eyes widened a bit at that. She turned to the younger brother, having heard almost the same thing earlier. “But, fine. I'll go along with it.”

“Don't you go with her,” The older brother roared, leaning forward to try and grab at you. Nearly falling to his face in the process.

Sam braced himself on the car. Stretching towards the bag. Dean tried to jump, his feet glued to the cement. Both men even more bent on getting free as they realized what you were about to choose. You mouthed a sorry over your shoulder as you started after the witch. Listening to the alphas shout in fury all the while.

It wasn't a far walk. Six blocks at most. The witch hadn't even needed GPS.

“Are they arguing over tin foil?” You whispered towards Rowena at the door. Catching something about the aluminum being mentioned. She simply shrugged, before pushing open the wood silently. Not even creating a creak.

“Okay, so you don't think it said anything.” One of the sisters demanded, becoming more clear as you ghosted into the room. Shutting the door quietly behind you. It was Jamie. The 'lover' from earlier.

“I told you,” The other retaliated heatedly. “There's all kinds of weird writing. I was totally honest about that.”

It took everything in you not to snicker. The cashier had been right. They couldn't read the book.

“Maybe there's something wrong with his soul.” Someone had been sacrificed for whatever spell they'd been attempting. Rowena set down her bag as she started leading the way forward. “Maybe he was, like, a really bad guy or something.”

“Come on.” The one who couldn't read the book dismissed the idea. Jennie. “He was obviously a total boy scout.”

A loud sigh was released at that, “I don't think that even matters.” Rowena peaked in through the door, past the body that rested in the chair.

“We need to do something.”

“I'm looking!”

Pages flipped loudly. The black grimoire taking abuse at the hands of new age witches. Rowena motioned for you to wait, then, and be quiet.

“You were supposed to get the book and wait for me,” She sounded darkly, approaching the doorway.

At one point, you might have been surprised. However, by that stage, you weren't. She was too wily to be trusted completely. There'd been too many coincidences.

“I...uh...” One of the sisters stumbled over her words.

“Okay,” The other spoke up. “Like, the Winchesters were all over us, and-”

“And we didn't wanna call you.” The obstinate one finished. Jamie. She set down whatever she was holding. “Because we can take care of ourselves.”

For a woman, she sounded more like a teenager than you'd imagined possible. Another strike against the girl. A deep breath left you as you struggled to remain in place.

“I told you about the book,” Old witches were far more formidable than either sister expected, you were sure. “Where to look for the boys. We had a deal.” The anger in her tone couldn't be denied. “Now, I've had to use them to find you.”

“You brought them here?” Jamie hissed out, unaware that you rested behind the wood. Reaching around behind you to pick up the item even Rowena hadn't known you carried.

“When you nincompoops ran, I did what I had to do.” She replied heatedly. You weren't her only pupil, as it were. “But, I can still complete the spell. We can still complete our deal.”

“You'd still help us?” The sister asked: Jennie.

“As long as you give me the book when we're done.” Your mind wandered to the brothers. Curious to see how long it took them to break free. “You don't need it, anyway. Witches of your level would-”

“Witches of our level?” Considerable offense had been made at that statement.

“Yes.” Rowena didn't butcher her words.

“Are you saying what our mom taught us wasn't good enough?” The tension in the room rose. Thick enough that you almost made your move. But, it wasn't time. Not yet.

“Shit,” The mutter left you when the floor creaked by you. A figure approaching was enough to make you duck down.

She looked like a zombie. All rotted and stiff as she moved. Internally, you wished Jack was present. Knowing he'd love the walking dead scene in front of you.

“Jennie, I think what she's saying is that we're not good enough.”

“You think you're so smart, huh?” The voice was filled with annoyance. “Well, we already did the spell...mostly.”

“Mostly?” You heard when Rowena saw the woman appear. Small hissing leaving the cadavers' body. “What have you done?”

“It's like...step one of bringing her back.” You crept forward, slowly. Just as Dean had taught you. Careful to keep the pressure on your feet angled just right to ensure not a sound escaped.

“We'll figure out the rest when she kills you,” Jamie stated easily.

“Unfortunate,” Rowena sounded solid. “But, not my first zombie, love.” She jerked her hand through the air, “Abi!”

“Oh, the side effect of the spell?” Dean's former 'love' spoke eagerly when nothing happened. “She's, like, magic proof!” The hissing woman lunged, then.

“And she's totally gonna eat your brain!” Jennie called out as Rowena bolted.

She locked herself in the first room she found as the zombie beat on the door. Next to the sisters. You cocked back the hammer, preparing yourself for what was going to happen.

–

“Needed a minute, huh?” Dean looked down at Sam, nostrils flaring in unconstrained rage.

“You don't have to say it, Dean,” Sam grunted, stretching his arm out as far as he could. So close to the item they needed.

“Oh, I'm gonna say it.” He continued, standing tall and proud while his brother attempted some kinda of yoga looking grasp that fell short. “She played you.”

“She played us,” Small stones dug into the palms of his hands. Still attempting to end the hex placed on him. “And she's scared.”

“Yeah, well she better be.” Dean bit out. Narrowing his eyes. “Especially if Y/N gets hurt.” When Sam's hand fell short, again, he sighed. “Come on. You're like eight feet tall. You can't reach that?”

His fingers just brushed over the black bag with purple thread, “I almost got it.” His fingers extended until he was sure all of the joints were popping out of socket in his body. Finally, the edges managed to be gripped between two just enough to tug it closer. Another roll had it within grip. He grunted, standing up proudly as Dean opened up his lighter.

“Alright,” He took the offending bag with ease, and set it afire. Immediately, their feet were free to move. “Alright, let's go kill some witches.” As the flame burnt, he tossed the damaged bag at Sam's feet, who was still breathing as if he'd run a marathon, “You want that?”

A bitch face was his only answer. Without another word, they got into the Impala. Prepared to go save the day.

“It's just a magical zombie,” Rowena sang to herself. Bracing against the door. “You've dealt with worse than magical zombies before, Rowena.” The wood splintered as the hand came through. “Clearly you wanted your mom back in better shape,” She hissed out, searching through the objects at her disposal. “I can still do that.”

“Nah, you missed your chance to play nice.” One of the blonde ditzes stated easily.

“She never had it,” You grumbled, understanding your role, then, as another weak zombie crack was made. You were her back up plan. It was almost genius, really.

With a grunt, you rounded the corner. Taking aim and firing a single shot. All in the span of a second. The skull of the dead woman flung forward, slamming into the door along with pieces of coagulated blood and brain. You weren't the best shot. Too far left to place a perfect bulls-eye, but the damage was done deep enough to get the desired result.

“Mom!” The broken cries echoed as they rushed over to the cadaver. No signs of life. You cocked back the hammer, taking aim once again.

“Why you-”

“Uh, uh, uh, girls,” Rowena was back in charge, realizing that the danger had passed. The broken door pushed open. “That isn't in your...best interest.” As they moved to attack, her hands raised. Casting the spell that would end it all. “Impetus Bestiarum!”

“Y/N!” Dean's voice echoed through the house. “Rowena!”

“In here,” You yelled out. Calling them forward before the spell could take full effect.

“End it.” Rowena instructed the bound women.

Slowly, the sisters got to their feet. Blood began to ooze from their eyes. Slowly staining their cheeks.

They squared off. Before either men could say a word, knives were lifted and they attacked. Screams and grunts filled the air as they stabbed blindly at each other. Hitting any open area that they could. Feral jabs and high pitched wails escaping. It was over in seconds. The fight too brutal to be survived for long.

The guns were dropped as Dean turned your way, “You okay?”

“Been better.” With that, you rushed over to the trash can. Emptying your stomach. Retching without abandon.

“Ah, hell.” Dean's long stride had him over to you in seconds. Brushing his hand over your back as he waited for you to get through.

“What happened?” Sam demanded, turning to Rowena. Letting his brother give you the care you needed.

“She saved me,” The woman purred out, batting her eyes innocently. “We make a hell of a team.” She looked over your way as you wiped your mouth, stammering to your feet. “Or, we will once she gets over that. Does that happen with every kill, dear?”

“First kill,” You bit out, spitting away the taste in your mouth. Anger taking over. “I know why you did it,” Your gun lifted again, this time facing her. “I just want to ensure it doesn't happen again.”

“Did what?” The younger Winchester turned your way in confusion.

“I'll tell you later,” You glanced his way. Never taking your peripheral vision from Rowena. “In case this wasn't very clear, they're witch killing bullets. So, I'd agree pretty damn fast.”

“Agreed,” Her lips lifted a bit instead of retaliating. She didn't flinch, simply looked over you. Impressed. “I think I do like you. Even if you do act more like a hunter than a proper witch. It's the company you keep, I'm sure.”

“That isn't quite good enough,” The hammer cocked back. Staring stonily at her. “I want it spelled out.”

“Fine,” Rowena stretched the word out dramatically. “I won't pull anymore nasty tricks against the boys to get the book.” Her hand waved dismissively. “You saved my life. It's the least I can promise.” She had stressed the book bit, but it was the best you were going to get. The gun was dropped. “Now, then, back to what I came for.” She made her way over to the table, lifting her precious novel as if nothing had happened.

“As underhanded as she is, I still kinda like her,” You turned to Dean. Passing over the weapon. “Long story short? She double crossed you.” With that, you waltzed out of the room for some air. To clear your lungs of the smell of decay and fresh blood.

“What just happened?” Dean turned to Sam, tucking his weapon into the back of his waistband.

“I...I have no idea.” He answered seriously, looking at all of the carnage around him. “But, I'm pretty sure that they just saved us a fight.”

“We did.” Rowena confirmed. Pleased as could be. “And, I'm afraid she was wrong. I triple crossed you, actually. So, I ended up on your side. We defeated the villains. Just as I planned.” Sam's eyes squinted at the nonchalant confession.

“Yeah,” Sam leered over her. Using his much larger height to his advantage. “Not buying that.”

“And that book?” Dean spoke up as Sam tugged on the pages. Making Rowena yank it towards her. “You're going to give it to us, or we're can take it, either way.” Sam gripped it tighter, only to have her pull back more desperately.

“You know what I've seen,” She whispered fervently towards him. “You know what it's like. Lucifer may be locked away, but he'll be back.” Fear shined bright in her eyes. Begging for him to understand. “He always comes back...and when he does... I can't be helpless again. I need the spell.” Sam tugged the grimoire into his hands without a word. Giving her his answer. With that, she walked away, head down. “Your boys are cruel,” She huffed out, falling down on the porch step beside you.

“Must not be,” You breathed out. Lifting your head from your hands. “You're still alive.” Her lips tugged up for a moment before falling back down. “What you did...I get it. You're scared...But, I'm on their team, Rowena. That isn't gonna change.”

“You're loyal.” She nodded, sighing in defeat. “It's not a bad thing, ya know. For all of their blundering ways, they're good enough men.” The words held the bit of a grudge that kicked your own smile. “I'm still willing to teach you a thing or two.”

“I'm not gonna lie...I'm curious, but...I'm not on the same level,” Your reference to the earlier discussion made her chuckle.

Being a witch to you wasn't about power. It was about connection, over all. You were more than content to keep it that way.

“No? Perhaps next time, then.” She patted your knee before standing. Preparing to go on her way.

“Rowena,” Sam called out, making both of your heads turn. “Wait.” The ripped out page rested in his hand. “If he comes back...make it hurt.”

“This...” The witch took the page in disbelief. Reading over it once. Then a second time to be sure. “Thank you.” She smiled softly, hugging the spell to her chest. Leaving with her shot at safety.

“Dean know what you're doing?” You asked, looking up at the tall man.

“He thinks I'm checking on you.” Sam gazed down, raising a brow to silently ask if you were going to snitch. You simply nodded in approval before shrugging it off. It wasn't your secret to tell. “Gotta clean up in there.”

“Alright,” With a resigned sigh, you got to your feet. “Let's get this over with.”

It was somehow worse than the actual kill. Having to push the spilled innards back into the corpses. Wrapping them all up. Only to burn them all in the woods after bleaching everything in sight.

The bunker was a relief after all was said and done. The three of you naturally drawn to the kitchen. In dire need of a drink. Only, you took yours to your own room.

“Can't believe I fell for a love spell,” Dean grumbled, twisting the cap off of his beer and setting it beside him. “And that Y/N saved Rowena.”

“And killed the Zombie mom.” Sam pointed out, moving to sit on the metal island in the kitchen. “Those are details that sell the story.”

“Oh, yeah,” The cranky tone only made the younger brother laugh. “Yeah, getting out played by a bunch of girls. That's a story I wanna tell someone.”

“Girls beat us all the time,” The truth couldn't be denied. When you looked at a score card, the numbers did rack up.

“True,” Dean acknowledged after taking a healthy gulp. Sounding incredibly bitter, none the less. “Hey, you know that Rowena is not our friend, right?” The entire conversation switched in a moment.

“Yeah, I know that.” The older man wasn't impressed with that answer.

“Hm,” The beer slid away. Grimoire that rested in front of him was opened. A ripped page stood out like a beacon. His finger tapped against the torn edge. “Then, what's that?” Sam looked down in guilt. “You gave her the page. She got in your head man.”

“She didn't get in my head,” Sam protested.

“Look, what happened to Rowena was messed up, okay?” He agreed, lifting his hand as he talked. “But, you just let the deadliest witch in the world walk away with a page from this book.”

“Yeah,” The answer made Dean pause. “And, if Rowena breaks bad,” Sam slid down from his rest. Beer forgotten. “I will hunt her down, myself, and put a bullet in her.” The older brother didn't look like he bought it. “I will, Dean. But, if she's right, and if she does see Lucifer again? Then...I hope she makes him suffer.” Sam smiled at the thought. Hoped she'd be able to do what he wished he could.

It took a minute, but finally Dean came up with a response, “You gotta get out of this dark place. You know, whatever is going on in your head...”

“Dean-”

“What?” He wanted to understand. He really did. But, he couldn't if Sam wouldn't talk to him.

The little brother inhaled deeply, “You know what? Honestly?”

“Yeah, how about honestly?”

“I know what Rowena is dealing with. And she's not the only one who...feels helpless.”

In that moment, Dean did understand. You'd been right. They had talked about Lucifer. At least on some level.

“What do you mean?” His question was soft. Nudging for clarification so that he could comprehend exactly what he needed to.

“I mean,” Sam started, avoiding the green gaze. “I had a plan, you know? I, uh...” He stammered, trying to put what he was feeling into words. “Help Jack. Um, bring mom back. It wasn't much, but it was something. It...it kept me from spinning off the rails. A...and now...Jack is gone. Mom is still in hell, basically...a...and I...I...I just...”

“We'll figure it out,” Dean looked up at his brother. His tone gentle in a way that surprised Sam.

“Dean, we don't have a plan.” He countered, not understanding how the older sibling could seem so calm about everything. He'd been off the rails before, when they'd had more to go on. “We don't know what to do...So...So, how?”

The answer was brutally honest, “I don't know.” Sam turned up to the sky for a moment, before shifting away. Not believing it. “But, we will. You, me, and Y/N.”

“Yeah...” That wasn't quite good enough. “Night.” With that, Sam left. Beer in tow.

A sigh left Dean as he tapped the book closed. He rubbed over his head. Looked back at the way Sam had gone.

The beer was finished before he got to his feet. Book was returned back to the drawer it had belonged inside. As he stood tall, the sound of your footsteps caught his attention, “You holding up okay?”

“Better than I thought I'd be,” You answered honestly, holding your small blanket around your shoulders. “Just hunting down a new book.”

“It's there if you want it.” He pointed to the black grimoire's resting place. The bait fell short. “Earlier...you went off with Rowena...why?” He was done beating around the bush. Waiting for the answer he wanted to hear.

“Because it was the best shot of getting that book back here,” The reply settled in the air between you to. “Do you want an apology? 'Cause I'm not sorry.” Defensively, you stared into his eyes. “If I hadn't, you two could have been hurt, at the least. Rowena, for all of her difficulties, could be useful. So, I couldn't let her die. I'm just...I'm not sorry.”

“What'd ya think I felt, thinkin' you could've been hurt?” He snapped, then, making you step backwards. He didn't stop, stalking you like prey. “It sure as hell wasn't relief. I couldn't have saved you if it'd gone wrong.”

“It's not like you have to worry about being mated, anymore.” You shot back. Dean had managed to corner you. Your lower spine pressed against the table as you stared up at him. “If anything would've happened, you would've been fine.”

“Fine?” A step forward had his chest brushing against yours. Looking every bit the alpha that he was. “What part of you're important, don't you get?”

“Important doesn't mean that the world stops if something happens,” The answer was soft as you turned your head away. Airing out every thought you'd ever had on the matter. “You'd move on, Dean. The world relies on you. You have to find Jack and your mom. That's the important thing, right now.” As if that wasn't good enough, you kept going. “Besides, this is what you've been training me for. What's the big deal?”

“You're an idiot,” He bit out, reaching up to cup your neck. Forcing you to look up. “You're the only thing keepin' my head straight since we lost Jack... If I lost you? I'd be done.” His nostrils flared as his green eyes stared into yours. Realizing what you had made him admit.

With that, his hand dropped as if he'd been burned. The hunter stalked away. Shaking his head all the while. Muttering under his breath.

“Dean...” The blanket was forgotten when he disappeared towards his room. Falling to the table you were leaned against. Having needed that extra minute to process his words. With your shoulders set, you took off after him. “Dean, wait!”

“There's nothing else to say, Y/N.” He bit out without looking back. “Just let it go.”

Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, making him spin around. Before he could say another word, you grabbed onto his shirt to steady yourself. Slamming your lips into his.

It took him a moment to respond. His hands moved up, cradling your face gently as you softened against him. Mouth moving slowly against yours. Savoring the touch.

“So? Don't talk,” You whispered when you pulled back. Letting your forehead rest against his. “That's all I wanted.”

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @michaelneedssomemilk @lemondropirwin @fanfictionismydeath @neii3n @surmya1907

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff @woodworthti666 @coldmuffinbanditshoe

115 notes · View notes

nock-and-bolt · 3 years

Text

First Lines Meme

Omg wait this is actually such a fun concept? @pinkwebby Thanks for the tag, dude! <3

List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

I only have 10 fics total as of now haha, so ima just do those. Most of them are DBH, a couple aren’t, so let’s sort them lol

DBH FANDOM FICS

Connor was frozen with dread. (On the Other Side)

Topping the list with my ongoing longfic cause why not xD

Statistically speaking, it was a highly unlikely confluence of events that led to the entire ordeal. (Not What It Sounds Like)

Most recent fic, and honestly probably the most fun to write

Sumo was never the most obedient of dogs. (A Machine’s Best Friend)

This first line is very important—if you’ve read it you know what I mean haha it comes back around

OCT 4, 2038//3:17PM//OBJECTIVE: OBSERVE AND ANALYZE FINAL TESTING PHASE OF PROJECT ALPHA FOR IMPROVEMENTS

The RK800 was losing. (Ouroboros)

Yes, I might’ve bent the “first line” directive, but I wanted to give a bit more than just the date lol

“Accidents” were common at Urban Farms of Detroit. (Birds of a Feather)

Spoiler alert: a lot of them aren’t actually accidents (also, a friendly fandom PSA that Rupert and Ralph deserve more love xD)

The glass door of Fowler’s office banged shut with such force that some might have feared it would shatter. [Five Times Nines Got Gavin Coffee (and One Time Gavin Returned the Favor)]

One of the fics (if not the fic) nearest and dearest to mi heart, for a number of reasons <3

“I can’t believe that fucker.” (Of Memories and Maelstroms)

Just try to guess whose line this is. 😂

OTHER FANDOM FICS

“Monkeyfeathers!” Katara yelped after ramming her shin on yet another un-identifiable piece of furniture in the dark. (Uncomfortable Truths, ATLA fandom)

My most popular fic on AO3 haha (though I strongly suspect that’s cause the fandom base is the largest of those I’ve written for lol)

Sometimes, Reid wished he wasn't so good at misdirection. (Magic, Criminal Minds fandom)

Because if you’ve seen CM, you know that Reid’s season 2 ordeal/resulting drug addiction was ridiculously mishandled

Morgan would have screamed. (Checkmated: A Reflection on Zugzwang, Criminal Minds fandom)

Just a short drabble of pain, as you do. Lol what a one to end on

There is technically one more fic I’ve kind of written that still theoretically exists on the internet but I wrote it in middle school lmao and it’s kind of actual trash and also not on AO3 so we aren’t going to speak its name here xD

So! Patterns! I’d definitely say what stands out is the general succinctness of them all. I like to start with short statements that grab le attention and create questions readers want answered. Not really descriptions or dialogue so much as statements, it seems, though there is a bit of everything.

My favorite opening line: Hmm, you know what, I’m actually going to go with the one for “Magic.” Like gosh darn it, the trip down memory lane this post took me on, and the story behind each of these stories tho...but yeah, Magic’s opening line, cause:

It’s very closely tied to the whole theme of the piece and a sort of constant thread throughout, which, I will always love intentionality like that, whether from my own writing or others’

It’s a pretty good example of what appears to be my “style” of opening lines haha

I wrote it a while ago and even though it was only three chapters, it was the first multi-chapter thing I ever finished, so that’ll always hold a special place in mi heart, that sense of actually accomplishing something xD

Also screw the tag limit, cause I got a lot of writer pals: @lobsterslovewhump @veilder, @the-exploding-toaster, @timebird84, @pechoraflow, @headfulloffantasy, @chicago-reeed, @viva-la-trans, @acechill666, @cingulomaniac, @dat-carovieh, @msquarmby, @rk-frog, @connork1000, @sv926, @gavinisqueer, @shurbington, @coffeeboy900, @mollyinthewater aaaand that doesn’t even cover all of it but yes anyhow haha, no pressure to do this if I tagged ye, tho I will say it’s a fun lil exercise that brings backs some memories :))

#nock stuff #my fanfic #my writing #dbh fanfiction #dbh fics #atla fic #cm fics #fanfic #fanfiction #my fanfic stuff #dbh #detroit: become human #atla #criminal minds #writing #tag game #as usual I chronically overwrite #even for a simple list of things I add way too much commentary oml #😂

28 notes · View notes

pocmuzings · 4 years

Text

hello hi , it is g , ur friendly local neighbourhood hindu indian ( as in south asian ) ! so a few people requested that i just make a guide-esque sorta thing on hindu indian characters ! im not really good at guides , so instead , these are just little things i’ve noticed or picked up on that could really potentially strengthen the next indian character u ( pretty please ! ) pick up !

disclaimer : i am writing this from my perspective and it is NOT definitive , nor do i speak on behalf of all hindu indians ! i am a 23-year-old bisexual cis female hindu indian , with one older gay brother, and a Train Wreck middle brother . my mother is from new delhi , and my father is from nairobi but has indian heritage ( not sure which part of india bc he’s an Engima ) . i have extended family in india and have visited india about 10-15 times throughout my entire life .

so firstly , im so glad u all are here and want to write more hindu indian characters ! please please do so ! i hope this helps , encourages u , and isnt too confusing !!

psa : i need everyone to know that this is a very basic ‘ guide ‘ and theres a lot it DOESNT touch on or address bc i didnt want to get too Extensive and Detailed and have people Turn off and not Read it . this is just written in the terms of hopefully helping build character / be relevant to characters a bit better that ive employed into writing my OWN hindu indian character creations ! but if u have any other questions pls reach out to me or any other indians in the rpc and im sure we’ll try our best to assist u !

FCS:

one thing i’d really like to say is that its great to see fcs like dev patel , deepika padukone and avan jogia picked up every now and then in rps , but there’s actually a LOT of other indian fcs you could be and should be using ! the main reason people don’t seem to know them is because they’re not ‘ hollywood ‘ stars per se ( it was a super big deal when pr*yanka broke out of bollywood and into bollywood but we don’t talk about her on this Blog ) . they’re usually bollywood stars and i don’t really see bollywood discussed that much in the rpc !

if you’re after MORE indian fcs , i have a tag of indian females here , and indian males here . the fcs on my blogs are also not ALL that exist . there are plenty of other blogs out there that post indian fcs , such as sonamhelps & bollymusings !!! there’s also some really great faceclaim directories out there that include a LOT of indians with resources !

unfortunately , i do not know of any trans indians or nonbinary indians but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist . indian cultures and beliefs are still quite Old School and not super progressive . india only just had it’s first wlw mainstream bollywood film released last year . lgbtqia+ issues are NOT really spoken about in india or within indian families at ALL , and if they are - they’re usually dismissed or reacted to Very Very Badly . ( again this isnt definitive and im sure and hopeful that some indians have had GREAT coming out stories and been accepted by their families but this has not been a common thing ive seen or witnessed from my cousins my age , indian friends , myself and my brother who are lgbtqia + )

FOOD :

we do eat with our hands and we eat like PROS with our hands . we can shovel it so easily and quickly . i don’t know how to describe it but you use the first three fingers of your hand to place the Food there , and then use your thumb to kinda scoop it off and into your mouth . this is NOT unhygienic because indians wash their hands very regularly and most of the time we aren’t actually touching our mouths to our hands !

indian food is MADE to be eaten with your hands for the most part . it is literally NOT practical to eat food with a knife and fork . here’s a really great article explaining things more in depth re: indian food and using our hands !

cows are seen as Very holy beings in hindu indian culture , and for that reason - there isn’t a lot of beef being eaten or consumed. sure , some indians DO eat beef but i don’t think its super common, but in my personal experience as a non-beef-eater this results in A LOT of me asking ‘ oh , sorry what sauce does that pasta come with ? ‘ ‘ oh those are beef sausages ? sorry i can’t eat them ‘ etc etc . beef is in a LOT of things , and this makes me very very careful and almost pedantic about what i do eat and ask about , food wise !

indian food is seen as stinky by a majority of white people . it has a very very strong smell as im sure u know , and opening ur lunch box as a little kid to a Curry or Dal ur mum has made u ? one way street to being bullied . i also remember a time a real estate agent continuously told my dad nobody was interested in buying our house bc it smelled too much like curry, despite my mum not having cooked curry in Weeks ( just say what u Really mean , bitch ! )

indian curry exists but so does dal / daal . this is curry-like dish that is usually made out of lentils . so if ur going to talk about indian food and u know curries and samosas . . pls also bring up dals . and sabji ! ( sabji is usually just boiled vegetables plopped together . a lot of potato usually )

desserts are what we call Indian Sweets . this is stuff that is usually very VERY sugary and a bit of an accustomed taste . theyre very colourful and LOOK beautiful but even i , for one , can not eat many indian sweets bc they are a Lot of Sweet and Sugar . examples of indian sweets that u can google : gulab jamun , burfi , rasgulla , jalebi etc . here’s a great link for more !

give me spiced food or give me death . literally . . put some cumin in . . put some garam masala . . put some chillies . . flavour ur Food for my Indian Taste Buds

FAMILY :

if you are the oldest son of an Indian Family . . congratulations . you are now the Head of the family and must carry every weight and burden alone . it is extremely isolating and taxing on you ( my dad is the oldest indian son , and also - so is my eldest brother , obvs ) . there is a LOT that is expected of you to do . you are expected to quite literally run the family and be the ‘ man of the house ‘ by yourself .

if you are a daughter . . . even BIGGER congratulations ! you are basically a maid to every male or guest who EVER comes over to your house . you must be a Hostess , you must be in the kitchen cooking , serving snacks, bringing tea , and then washing up and basically waiting on Hand and Foot . you will not be included into a lot of dialogue or engaged in a lot of conversation and TRUST ME ! THAT WILL GRIND UR GOD DAMN GEARS IN THE 21ST CENTURY !

if you are a boys’ boy ( aka straight and Sporty ) , then congrats ! you get it the easiest : you are the favourite of every social event . the uncles and cousins love talking to you and dude-ing it up with you , and the aunts fawn over you and think you’re the Best Thing since sliced bread . sit back , put your feet up , and expect to be treated like a God. you can do absolutely no wrong . ( my middle brother is this to a T and listen . . he’s been in and out of jail for physical violence and ab*se for over 5 years . and family still FROTH over him . my teeth are gritted to dust thinking of this again )

indian aunties are lethal . they gossip like teenage girls . they will find out everything . they will bitch behind your back . they can NOT be trusted .

everyone is ur uncle or aunt, sister or brother . literally everyone . ur cousin ? no. thats ur sister . ur dads friend ? no , thats ur uncle . you will call them as such . EVERYONE is family .

family is in general a VERY BIG THING in indian culture , too . ‘ what will it Look like to everyone else if we don’t all arrive together ? ‘ my dad usually asks dskjdfjn . it’s all about Looking Right and Standing As A United Front . that being said , indian family has undying and unwavering loyalty for one another , they just show it in a very Weird way .

FASHION:

female hindu indian formal clothes are usually really embroidered to hell and back and this makes them very scratchy , uncomfortable, and HEAVY . you aren’t running anywhere anytime soon in a full blown lehenga or saree

most ‘ modern ‘ hindu indian women do not wear full Indian Clothes all the time . some do , but usually it’s a lot of wearing a kurti tunic with jeans , or just normal everyday clothing . again , this is going to be different based on which parts of india your character is from , though !

usually , older women and married women wear traditiona hindul indian clothing quite often . i know my mum wore a sari AT HOME everyday when i was growing up, until i was like 13 and took her shopping with me to get something Else to wear .

bindi’s just stick right onto ur forehead but they do fall off a lot , especially when ur wearing makeup or sweating . again , you don’t need to wear a bindi everyday , unless thats ur preference . i usually only wear them for festivals . ( festivals means indian celebrations , not like . . coachella ((which u should not be wearing a bindi to , if ur not indian fyi )) )

male formal clothes are usually just literally anything Formal and buttoned up for the most part , and u can get away with that , or you can wear a really nice kurta

indians wear white at funerals , not black ( not sure if this should go in the fashion section but this entire thing is being organised into a Mess by now anyways ) . you CAN wear black to a funeral of course , but its common to wear white !

DATING ( tw’s for islamaphobia ):

modern day indian / desi fuck boys exist and my god they are Something Else . hasan minhaj did a really good piece about this and explaining them to a T ( starts at 1:43 )

( THIS IS THE POINT THAT WILL MENTION ISLAMAPHOBIA AND HOMOPHOBIA ! ) basically according to Older indians , , ur dating options in 2020 go like this ( if ur a cis female like me ) : hindu indian men are god tier , white men are Not Okay But I Guess So Bc We Have To Accept They’re Everywhere , females / being lgbtqia+ is not Taken Seriously , and muslims are literally not even close to being an option or Accepted . again this isn’t definitive but based on a lot of indian media i’ve consumed and seen how they portray muslims in general as well as Dating Options , as well as talking to other indians , both who are older / traditional and hold these ideals , whereas Younger gens generally do NOT hold these ideals / actively are Against these backwards ideals. i remember when i was in year 6 and had my first boyfriend . . he was a muslim and my dad FLIPPED the FUCK out . it’s not even that i was dating someone / young / his only daughter . . it was mainly because i was dating a muslim . again , this is a very OLD SCHOOL and traditional way of thinking and it is NOT CORRECT . pls don’t take this as a note to be islamaphobic if u write an indian character bc . . thats literally the opposite of what im trying to tell u here .

yeah arranged marriages are definitely still a thing for us , even now in 2020

YES if u are an unmarried / single indian ( ESPECIALLY if ur a woman ) about to enter ur 30s . . ur in DANGER and u are the black sheep and theres probably something Wrong With You bc why are u still single ?

TRADITIONS / BELIEFS / SUPERSTITIONS :

idk if its just me and my family but we are SUPER superstitious . if you say anything like ‘ he hasnt gotten sick in years !’ immediately , everyone knocks on wood or their head . if you were planning on leaving the house and sneeze ? thats bad luck , stand and wait for five minutes then u can leave . we have a strong belief in drishti , or alternatively : The Evil Eye , and making sure we don’t invite it into our lives . a lot of our prayers are about warding drishti away .

the evil eye is kinda Complicated but basically its an ill-wishing upon an unsuspecting person . if somebody is jealous of you or angered by you , they may wish upon you or cast upon you the Evil eye ( or even just glare at u whilst ur not looking and thats Big Bad ) .

a lot of older indians , like older people in general i guess , are not super progressive or Open . this isnt ALWAYS the case but older indians can be very very stubborn in their beliefs in what is Right and Wrong , Normal and Not Normal

theres a LOT of hindu indian festivals and events ! tbh too many for me to even keep up with . but without fail at least once a year ill say to ONE of my friends ‘ oh sorry i cant make it . i have an indian Thing on that day ‘ and its usually about a festival , so pls be aware that there are a LOT of indian festivals and if ur writing an indian character , its perfectly understandable and Relatable for them to say they can’t make it to a party or hang out with their friends that night , for that very reason !

the main / most popular ( ? ) festivities that i personally do celebrate every year without fail are :

diwali ( the festival of lights , celebrating goddess lakshmi roaming the earth . in my household this is usually turning on literally every single light and lighting candles and fireworks / sparklers and saying some prayers , and eating a formal dinner all together ! )

holi ( the festival of colours . celebrating victory and love . again personally for me , this was usually celebrated at the temple with all of us Kids running around throwing paint on each other ! )

rakhi / raksha bandhan ( a day of sisters celebrating their brothers . you tie a rakhi which is usually a bracelet / holy string around your brothers wrist , feed them some food , pray for their wellbeing and in return they gift you something . in my case, i usually get money from them ) .

navratri / durga puja ( 9 nights and 10 days of celebrations but tbh u don’t have to do all the days . or i mean . . i don’t . i fast one day from morning to night and then i slide on over to boogie and dance dandiya which is literally the MOST FUN dance ever bc its based off some Historical Fight and u go faster and faster and keep going until ur absolutely SPENT bc u dont wanna lose ur place in the circle )

there are SO MANY HINDU INDIAN GODS too . and so many prayers to all of them and to just general Life Wellness . chances are that ur character will know at least ONE aarti / gazal / prayer off by heart and have sung it at least 30 times in a monotone voice . the ones i know off by heart bc ive had to sing them 3000 times ? om jai jagdish hare , & the gayatri mantra

GENERAL LIL THINGS I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO CATEGORISE ( tw’s for skin whitening , colorism and classism ) :

( THIS IS THE POINT THAT NEEDS A TW FOR SKIN WHITENING AND COLORISM ) lets hold indians accountable right now : we advertise SKIN LIGHTENING CREAM . i think they finally stopped that earlier this year / due to BLM ( i’m not entirely sure / could be wrong ) , but thats literally how bad it is , that we would openly advertise and encourage people to literally bleach their skin rather than look darker .

( THIS IS THE POINT THAT NEEDS A TW FOR COLORISM AND CLASSISM ) colorism is a BIG thing in india and usually linked to class . generally speaking , the people who are Darker Skinned are usually people who work outside / labourers or homeless even , and are therefore seen as lower class / bottom class . the lighter skin you have , the more privileged and advantaged you are bc ur seen as working a Good job out of the sun and having a home . it’s incredibly classist as well as just generally Fucked Up . why am i telling u this ? mainly so u understand the importance of using a dark skinned indian fc vs a light skinned indian fc which i know is hard , bc a lot of darker skinned indians arent in hollywood / have resources , but its still something to Think About .

i have a long Ethnic name . literally my first name is 10+ letters , which i know doesnt seem that long Necessarily but its also a Super Ethnic name with e’s and and j and n . it Flows and Sounds very clearly different from a christian name . it is VERY important to me that my name be said Correctly because i’ve spent so much time having it said incorrectly or Westernised . i also know a lot of indians my age who ( like me ) have had to dramatically shorten their REAL first name ( which is usually also pretty long . not always , but it is Common ) , to fit their name into white people’s mouths better . please put some thought into ur indian characters name !

not all indians speak hindi ! hindi is one of MANY dialects within india . there is also tamil , urdu , bengali , punjabi , telugu and SO many more , so pls research which part of india ur character / their family is from bc hindi won’t always be the default language for them !

not every indian is hindu ! of course ur character doesnt have to be religious at all , bc if im being honest IM barely religious but my FAMILY is and this is smth u should think abt bc religion is a pretty big thing for indians . so even if ur character isnt hindu , they were probably raised with SOME religious beliefs . have a think about which religions they would have been brought up with ! there’s a very large percentage of practicing muslims , sikhs and buddhists too ! and even christianity !

WRITING WISE / CREATING AN INDIAN CHARACTER WISE :

the first step should be to consume indian media ! listen to indian music . watch bollywood movies ! theres SO MANY out there on everyone’s netflix . if u want some recs , let me know and i can try my best to find smth for u ! if u want smth thats Hollywood-indian . . . Hasan Minhaj is great to watch , especially his episodes on indian culture / politics , and Never Have I Ever on netflix was rlly good / relatable for me personally as an indian growing up in a western society !

i would really really love to see more indian rep in general , but i’d also like to discuss the Stereotypes that ive seen indians portrayed as in mainstream hollywood media :

indian women as soft spoken and subservient beings who are abused by their husbands and have no say in anything

heterosexuality within indian relationships and indian dating

indian men as sleazy

indians in general not being seen as Sexy or Sexual beings with any sex drive at all

Stumbling , Stuttering , Nerdy awkward messes of men who don’t know how to interact with anybody they find sexually appealing

an indian character that everybody ( usually white ) finds Uncomfortable and Weird and is seen as usually the Butt of the joke .

i think those mentioned above could be helpful in how to plan your next indian character and think about how to SUBVERT a trope theyre often portrayed as , or create an indian thats not stereotypical !

so what and who SHOULD you write ?

an indian character who is proudly and openly gay , or bi

a trans or nonbinary indian ( PLEASE ! )

an indian character with really super accepting parents and family

an aromantic indian

an indian who is focused on their career first and not their dating life

a fuckboy / fuckgirl ( honestly . . i’d love to see it )

a indian character who is a party animal

an outspoken indian female who takes no shit and is strong in every sense of the word

a confident , smooth talking indian businessman who is Sexy and Lusted After ( not in a gross christian grey way but just . i’d love to see indian characters seen as Sexy . not in a fetishy way , either , but just because it’d be a nice change in pace ! )

a character who IS traditional / religious but also very progressive and forward thinking in their beliefs

honestly just any character that isnt whats mentioned above

#guide #writing help #rph #rpc #islamaphobia tw #colorism tw #classism tw #idk if this is any good and i was very uncomfortable putting in the part abt how a lot of older indians feel abt muslims #but i mean . . lets just call it the fuck out bc its Gross Behaviour so lets call it out and work to change it #anyways every trigger is tagged super clearly in every point that talks abt it #i kept those parts Brief and as Direct and Honest as possible #pls let me know if u need me to tag anything #and lastly . . . pls write indian characters !!!!

204 notes · View notes

southslates · 4 years

Note

hi dee! i’ve recently gotten into writing fanfic and whenever i try writing dialogue, it just seems...out of place. do you have any tips for writing dialogue?

Hey! Anyone who reads my fics knows that I shift between writing fics with no dialogue and fics that are mostly dialogue :) I thought about this for a hot second, and I think that there are two things that matter to me a lot when I'm reading/writing dialogue:

First of all, grammar/punctuation. I don’t want to sound really stingy here, and perfect punctuation or dialogue is certainly something that I’m not the best at, but some things are important for readership! These are just a few things which I see a lot in fanfic :)

Don’t end every piece of your dialogue in a period -- and if you do end your dialogue in a period, don’t add a verb after that period -- use a comma there.

“I feel like this is going to be a night to remember.” She said.

“I feel like this is going to be a night to remember,” she said. ☑

When you add an extra period you disturb the flow, and the verb flows as another sentence, though it should be lumped in with the initial statement. I’m not the best at the opposite of this, lol, but I see more prominently than its opposite.

Along with that, just . . . generic dialogue things!

Always capitalize the beginning of your dialogue, unless it’s within two commas.

“yeah, this looks like it’s going to be fun.”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “this looks like it’s going to be fun.”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “This looks like it’s going to be fun.” ☑

“Yeah,” she smiled, “this looks like it’s going to be fun.” ☑

And I’m sure these are all obvious, but general proper and consistent capitalization, proper spacing, and punctuation at the end of the dialogue is always important!

“Yeah” he told her.

“Yeah,” he told her.

“Okay, fine “ he glared over at the other side of the room.

“Okay, fine.” He glared over at the other side of the room.

“I’m so excited!” She said.

“I’m so excited!” she said.

“ How are you doing?” She questioned.

“How are you doing?” she questioned.

Secondly, flow!

Everyone’s dialogue is really personal to them. I think making sure your punctuation is mostly correct adds a lot to flow. There are no rules to dialogue or writing :)

Here are some things I do in order to maintain ‘flow’ --

I have my characters interrupt each other with em-dashes a lot. This is something I feel is really reflective of the way most of my conversations in real life occur, and it’s something decently unique to me, but I really enjoy doing it. (These are excerpts from ‘we walk a fragile line’ because I have no imagination, lol)

“Did you tell the ambassador —”

She was dreading this. “I don’t know, Zuko. He said that he can’t give me the job back. There are too many applicants.”

Same thing with ‘. . .’ because a lot of people trail off a lot when they talk as well.

“You can’t work while . . .”

“I know. But I can’t quit.”

Have your conversations out loud if they feel awkward! Sit down and talk to yourself or a trusted friend, and either say what you have out loud or record your conversation. You can incorporate the nuances of your voices into your conversation.

Every character has a unique voice. You can choose one thing about a character and give them a voice. In ATLA, Uncle Iroh speaks formally, slowly, so his words are enunciated and very thought-out, while Zuko just speaks his mind. Azula has a haughty tone that’s combined with a large vocabulary, and she tends to use words with cruel connotations. Aang is really excited, so he speaks clearly and with a lot of exclamation points.

Dialogue is really reflective of you. Personally, I do debate and had a terrible lisp growing up, and I’ve gone through years of speech therapy. I personally speak very fast and using run-ons. I know other people who tend to speak very slowly. Characters can have these differences too.

Don’t be afraid to let characters stutter, forget what they say, or stop talking in the middle of their sentences and blush xD

I think the biggest thing to remember is that dialogue is not description. Characters don’t tend to use gigantic academic words when they speak even if those words are a part of their vocabulary, and your general writing is going to be more varied and include more words than what your characters are going to say. Don’t be afraid to have characters repeat speech patterns, especially with different people, because we do that. A lot of dialogue can end up stilted and formal, and sometimes that doesn’t always flow in fic.

Explore your writing and your dialogue! Read your work to yourself! Get a beta-reader! Explore your capabilities :) I will do that as well! Sorry for this long and rambling answer, but I hope this made some sort of sense. Thanks for asking this, @i-guess-the-tables-shifted, it made me think about my own writing a bit!

(General PSA that I’m sixteen and write fanfiction, so this is not the word of God, or even someone incredibly credible, but take it as you will, and let me know if you disagree with anything here)

#dee writes #zutara fics #fanfiction #writing #writing dialogue

14 notes · View notes

a-lil-perspective · 4 years

Text

I don’t want to be that person—

But I really need to get this off my chest. This is the culmination of two months buildup of thoughts that have been screaming far too loud for me to continue simply taking in stride. I can’t do it. I apologize in advance, for anyone who actually reads this, if this is a deterrent to you about my character or my minuscule space taken up here on Tumblr. Again, I really can no longer remain silent. If it’s any solace:

I tried.

Where to begin. First off—as much as I’d love for this to be an update on the next chapter of Remember Me, it is not. For those of you who’ve kept up with the story, I’m sure you’ve noticed my uploading pattern these past few weeks has been reduced to solely weekends—and barely that, might I add. While I will try to have Chapter 9 up within the next few days, I cannot guarantee when. At this point in time, it’s not a lack of creative streak, it’s a lack of time. I have all these outlines and segments in my head but can’t seem to even catch a breath much less put the story down in my notes or in Word for later edit and upload. But I’m trying. I really am. As I’ve said before: I will finish this story, come hell or high water. But currently being engulfed in the former has been a huge burden.

Per my past psa’s: My health? Two giant thumbs down (nothing to do with COVID-19). Personal aspects? Two giant thumbs down. Both are and have been slowly corroding me. To avoid this post seemingly grabbing for sympathy, I’m going to just stop there with that. But I’m truly suffocating in this corner.

Next point in case: I’m going to be completely candid here. It’s extremely difficult and utterly exhausting to continue posting fics. Mentally and Emotionally. The pressure to post. The pressure to post because if you don’t in a timely manner, you lose your momentum and “fall behind” when you post again. Then you’re right back to square one thereafter because people have grown absent in your absence. It’s exhausting and stressful to spin in that wheel.

It’s difficult when you pour every drop of energy into a work, only for it to sit largely unnoticed on your blog. To stay up literally all night making sure your punctuation is impeccable, re-reading the same fic over and over before you post until your brain explodes and you utterly forsake the fic the minute you hit that post button. To take up space on a post tagging and adding those notes and engaging flares that go unrequited. It’s... well, it’s detrimental. It gets you down. It gets me down. I’m not going to lie about that. We all want validation and I will be the first to shoot my hand up in acknowledgement.

I’m going to stop right there as you’re reading to clarify: This is not a call-out post. This is not a guilt post. This is not me giving an ultimatum. This is not me demanding reblogs. This is not me telling you “your likes don’t matter” (I have literally seen that on posts and it kind of disgusts me. That’s all I’m going to say about that for now).

Reblogs, while unanimously appreciated, are not a priority to me. Comments and feedback and communication are invaluable to me. That’s it. That coveted and intimate interaction between the Writer and the Reader. One is not more important than the other. We’re a team, a unit, a force that balances each other on a broad, diverse scale.

I don’t ask for much—I don’t ask for anything here, actually (unless it’s directed towards the general audience over what y’all would like to see, which largely goes unengaged whenever I bring up). No, I don’t post fics that frequently. No, I don’t crank them out as quick. No, I don’t have that many. Yes, I’m new to fanfic writing. But I work quietly and solely with all my own plots and dialogues and ideas (I love prompts and requests, though). Thus my usually hefty works. Y’all get the whole nine yards. But I don’t feel like I really get to bounce my ideas around to others, which can further exacerbate that sense of isolation for me around here. I put myself through a really long process for every single thing I write because, the quality of my work matters to me. A lot. So I try to take my time to deliver that. And... I guess I just hope you know that or can discern that as you read each time.

Another astronomically exhausting aspect is this platform itself. It’s painfully evident to me, in my four meager months here, that Tumblr is just one big popularity contest. Who can upload the most, the fastest, the most efficiently. Who has the most followers. Who accumulates them the quickest. A place where your “exposure” is literally at the mercy of others. And when people purposely don’t want to aid in that, it spirals into this really toxic mindset causing friction between Writers and other Writers, causing unnecessary strain, avoidance, insecurities, and hinderances to YOUR precious work. And I’m not about that. It’s a no from me.

Also, I’ve just got to interject with this bit: Bad Batch Writers. Bad Batch Writers struggle. In my opinion, from what I’ve seen, it’s like if you aren’t writing for a popular Clone like Wolffe or Fives or Jesse, you don’t get traffic. Which I think is just... kind of corny. Okay. I think it’s really corny and ridiculous. Please know that I’m not saying anything bad about those Clone babies, the people who write them, or anything like that. Please don’t hear what I’m not saying. I’m just making a point. Bad Batch does NOT get enough love. And the Writers ultimately suffer because of it. That’s all there.

We’re all supposed to be in this together. Your work—your writing—is neither good nor bad. There’s no such thing. There’s only YOUR writing; your unique, beautiful words that I LOVE more than anything, that only YOU speak. We all speak a different dialect and flow through our storytelling. And it’s a beautiful, wholesome thing. It always has been. It should never be this detrimental stage Tumblr has made for content creators. Let’s be honest: Tumblr is not the ideal place to thrive. And I’m just... sick of it.

I’m beyond an exhausted state. I can’t remember that last time I wasn’t. (I know everyone is, with the ebb and flow of our world’s daily uncertainties during these unprecedented times). But for me, personally, it’s getting increasingly harder to keep up with the reblogs and comments and blogs of all the stories I love, while updating my work and trying to interact on my blog, while battling my health and nonexistent energy, and constantly be exposed to the “Tumblr Tumbles”, as I call it—the overbearing popularity and the waiting and the wondering and the silent seething because of it. It’s just too much. And it doesn’t take a detective to pick up on that attitudinal shift around here. It’s all just one big, pernicious cycle. And seeing that here nearly every day, exhausts me. I don’t know how else to convey as much. But I just can’t do it. And honestly, I get this overwhelming loneliness just being here.

I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I’m going to continue doing my thing until my engine sputters out. I’m going to keep up with storytelling, because I love it more than anything. I just needed to get this off my chest. I’m just rambling. I might delete this but, I might not. Who knows.

I just... Geez. I need to know that I’m not just shouting into the void over here like always.

Communication to me is key. If you don’t want me to tag you anymore: tell me. If you don’t want me to message you: tell me. Please. Just don’t like me? Cool. Tell me. It’s better to know and communicate than to walk on eggshells around everyone and everything. I’ve applied that flawed strategy throughout my whole life and I strongly dislike doing so. It adds no benefit to either party. Just be honest with yourself and others. That’s always super important.

For those of you, my handful of regulars who are around... you know who you are. Thank you. My thanks is but a meager conveyance of my undying gratitude for you. But I want you to know how much I appreciate your presence here. Words cannot express.

@halzore... You are a real mate. You are an incredible being who is not only insightful but, a true muse here. I look to you as more than just a devoted Reader of mine, and you should know that I would NOT have gotten this far with my Bad Batch Post Order: 66 series—or any of my Bad Batch works, for that matter—without your encouraging words. Holy cow. You’re a dearest friend. Your writing, art, and musical talent leaves me in awe. (A truly brilliant mind, please go love her y’all). Thank you for seeing all the good, little things in me and my work. It makes this all worth it. You make it all worth it. I get really overwhelmed thinking about it. But I just want you to know I appreciate you so much.

To anyone who’s ever left me kind, encouraging, and wonderful comments... I remember them. I do. I think of them when I’m down, and I think of them now as I write this—which is in my dispirited state, ironically. But I appreciate it. I think it is so SO important to lift each other up with words. You don’t have to reblog and all that (only speaking for myself here). Just take a moment to say something kind to someone. It makes someone’s entire day, week, month, year. Please... love other Writers. Love yourself. We all struggle. But let’s do it together. Let’s be there for each other.

Come talk to me. I don’t bite, I promise. Tell me about your day. Tell me something about yourself. I care. I love that interaction, because you are MORE than just a Reader to me. You are a valued human being with feelings, desires, wants, needs... come share that with me. If there’s something you’d like to see in my future works, something that would engage you more; please, come tell me.

I’m going to try and get better. At writing, at navigating this strange place, with my health, with life. I’ve been at my breaking point for so long that my barely held together pieces and exposed, worn chinks are almost uneffected and unresponsive to any help or healing. But I’m going to try.

Thank you for being here. I’m sure it can be hard to have patience with me and my nonexistent uploading schedule, but, I do have several wips in the works (teases in my masterlist in case you’re wondering). They’ll come around. :’)

Keep your head up and shining, lovelies. And I’ll try to do the same.

#psa #lil speaks #I’m... sorry.#I have a ton of anxiety posting this but I’m also almost indifferent.#could I have worked on my WIPS instead of this?#yes #did I? no.#yes this is long but I needed to say all that.#I’m tired.#trying not to explode.#it’s a lil thing

18 notes · View notes

dragonofdarknesschaos · 5 years

Text

Look at Me Twirling my CVS Receipt!!

DelaneyArt said:

Me again.

Here. If you wanna get yourself involved even more than you already are. This is what Sky said to me recently. And I’ve agreed to her terms. Me and her are MUTUAL I never said we were friends.

Transcription if the image does not load:

From Skyrawathi, 12/24/2018

Okay so I have read your letters. I understand what you mean. I am just not sure if you are honest with your apologizing and with willing to end this war. I mean it is hard now for me to trust you because I am afraid that you will start insulting me again soon. I hope I am wronf. [sic] Maybe I just need some time. I guess we both need to calm down. Especially it is Christmas now. Emotions are hard to handle. I am also sick of this situation already. But if what you say is true and you want to be honest with me, ans [sic] you don’t want use [sic] anymore to be enemies then it is so cool

I could show you how you can develop your art, where you can find inspiration and how to use them to create sth original. You really don’t need my art that much and you don’t need to redraw them. I mean it is so cool if we could inspire each other, but you have to start first creating something original. And yeah, you can because as you have mentioned that comic Possessive of yours, you prove with this that you can be creative and inspiring for other artists. Just lets calm down because I never intended to be your enemy, I never wanted to. But you see how far this conflict went and it is stupid? Don’t you think?

I understand that sometimes it is hard for everyone to come up with sth new and we lack new ideas. Every artist suffer this so it is nothing to be ashamed of. I can show you how to fix that so you will always have awesome ideas in head.

But first you definately [sic] have to credit me. And if you want to make a redraw of my work then you should write in post that this pic is study of Skyrawathi’s art. And it is nth wrong because lots of artists study others. Me either. I always mention the source of the pic that I used as reference.

So yeah, we can definately [sic] end this war and come to agreement. But just please, do what I ask. Credit me when you use my art, and if you can be that cool to ask me for permission before you do a redraw then that would be really awesome of you. Then you will never ever deal with reporting because your hands will be clean.

In return to show you that I am not evil, I can help you with improvement. I can show you how to turn your inspirations into original ideas and how to draw chamiko so well that you will never ever need someone’s pic as a base.

Does it sound ok for you?

Now, from what I’ve gathered from the first paragraph of this email along with mentions to prior emails in the same chain as alluded to in the PSA post, D decided that before Christmas–a time when everyone wants to relax and spend time with their families, friends, and loved ones; the season of comfort and joy–was an excellent time to send insulting emails and threats to her most inspiring idol, just for reporting D’s facebook page. I cannot imagine what was said, but the way Sky is reacting leads me to believe that the insults were so volatile that they may never see the light of day again. Sky might have even feared for her well being and that is why she is offering to help. If this is how D treats someone she claims to hold in such high respect and idolize, then I cannot imagine how she treats anyone below such a pedestal.

Actually, I can. For telling the admin of a closed Xiaolin facebook group that D was plagiarizing other artists, which resulted in D getting kicked from the group, I was called “a crazy bitch” back in September of 2018.�� I have not once insulted D, yet she continues to berate me and harass me on multiple social media sites for warning others about her. I’ll speak more on this later.

Back to the email. To summarize what Sky is saying:

Sky is tired of this war; it’s stupid and she wants it to stop

Sky doesn’t know if she can forgive D

D’s actions have repeatedly shown that she cannot be trusted

Sky is willing to help D improve so that she can get better and not need to copy other’s art

In order to get to that point, Sky asked D for four things:

give Sky credit on the art that D has already posted

start crediting and sourcing the artists whose work D “studies” or “copies to learn from”

ask Sky (and any other artists) for permission before doing a redraw of their respective artwork

create something original

At no point does Sky say they are friends or “mutuals.”

At no point in this email does Sky say that D and her are mutual in anything, but I would infer there is a mutual understanding that D must do better. None of this excuses D’s harassing and abusive behavior.

Alright, if D wants to work on herself and get better let’s see how she is doing on her end of the deal with crediting and sourcing artists. I’d give links to D’s OPs, but she has me blocked.

“Version inspired from [Sky’s real name] aka Skyrawathi”

Ah yes, I always love getting doxed when one of my fans credit me without linking back to my original work! Please don’t do this. Only villains do this.

Three instances of “Inspired from Skyrawathis version”

Again, no link? Not even going to mention the title of the piece? Sky has HUNDREDS of pictures! How am I going to know which one D is copying? How will I know where to find Sky’s original works if you DON’T LINK TO THEM???? I am but a lazy potato!

“Inspired from Skyrawathi Chamiko Great Wall Kiss”

Better, but still no link.

“Inspired from Skyrawathi “Together in Snowflakes” ”

Getting fancy with the formatting here, but WHERE IS THE LINK??????

“Original design and concept”

Ah, finally! Something original, just as requested! Although… Chase’s pose looks kinda familiar. So does that horse. I wonder…

Chase’s pose is Dashi’s character art from the Xiaolin Dragons Kickstarter art dump part one.

Oh, and Kimiko’s pose and horse are literally the second result for “mulan horse” on Google images. But, tell me again how D has changed and is crediting artists and making original drawings without reference?

If you want to credit people, please use MLA format for your citing. Or if that’s too hard to remember, here’s a handy formula:

[Artist’s username]. “[Title of Piece].” [Publishing platform or publication e.g. Tumblr, Deviant Art, Instagram, Time Magazine etc.], [date published], [source URL].

@Skyrawathi. “Together in snowflakes.” Deviant Art, December 24, 2017, https://www.deviantart.com/skyrawathi/art/Together-in-snowflakes-721748400

Here’s a more casual way to credit someone if that’s too formal for you, with links bolded:

Couldn’t get enough of @Skyrawathi‘s “Together in snowflakes” so I had to redraw it (with permission)!

Here’s an original image I made using these references: Chase’s pose (Grand Master Dashi), Kimiko and Horse.

The point is to LINK BACK TO THE ORIGINAL ARTIST. Simply mentioning them as plain text does not work. LINK TO YOUR REFERENCES. I should not have to do an internet search to find what you are referencing. The citing I did here took less than two minutes. If someone cannot take two minutes or less to show such a basic level of respect then there is no hope.

As for the matter of being “mutuals,” I am sorry for jumping to “friends,” but that is usually what “mutuals” means on Tumblr; “two people, usually friends, that follow each other’s blogs.” Not all mutuals are friends and not all friends are mutuals. I jumped the gun a bit based on personal meaning assigned to that word. However that doesn’t explain this:

Facebook status post from D that reads:

[Sky’s real name] (aka Skyrawathi) is an amazing Chamiko artist and I am truly inspired by her work. I should’ve credited her in the beginning, I didn’t think I had to but I will from now on out of respect for her work. I hope to improve my art as much as I can and strive to get my skills to her level, even though I know I have my own set of skills and will still continue to be inspired from her work and in general in the future, but I hope to not have to rely on a reference to draw. I appreciate us coming to an agreement and I hope we can be mutual in all of this. Thank you Skyrawathi, and it’s a dream come true to be able to become friends with the person who has inspired my work all this time. I will work on making original Chamiko art that is 100% from me (heart emoji)

Once again, don’t put someone’s real name with their URL. It can be construed as doxing. Do not do that. It’s highly disrespectful gesture towards someone one claims to hold in such high regard, but as has already been established, D lacks this basic understanding of respect.

I have been doing art for almost three decades. I know people who have been doing it two and three times longer than I. We all use reference. Do not set yourself up for failure by saying you “hope to not have to rely on a reference to draw,” because that is never going to happen. This goes for everyone. Using reference is not a crutch. Reference is a tool for when you do not know how to draw something. Young artists use a lot of references because they do not have the knowledge or experience of drawing a hand 500 times, or a head 1,000 times, or a leg 250 times! There is no shame in that perceived lack. Getting around it is just practice. Find photographs–either free and open stock or your own–and draw what you see. D has a great eye and very nice photos on her Instagram before it was taken down! She could learn a lot by doing studies from her own photos like this. But Sky’s art, my art, everyone else’s art is NOT anyone’s reference! It took me a while to understand that, but I’m lucky in that I didn’t get myself into any trouble with that misunderstanding. The best way around that misunderstanding, should it occur, is to first, apologize to the artist you referenced; second ask what they would like done with the artwork you made. If they want it taken down–remove it from all platforms. Do not reupload it anywhere. If they say it’s fine, just credit them, then credit them as I explained above with LINKS. “Crediting” the original artists as plain text shows that D has not changed as she claims to, or is only trying to placate her audience to believe she is telling the truth about her change.

Continuing with that lack of change, here is the text I bolded:

“I hope we can be MUTUAL … it’s a dream come true to be able to become FRIENDS…”

What is the truth, Delaney? Friends or Mutuals? Since D is so unreliable in her narrative, let’s hear Sky’s take:

Transcription of DMs:

Sky: Sorry, that I will bother you with Delaney but she has just written to me. She said that there is some drama on Tumblr. Said that she never called me and her friends and I approved it because I am hell no friend to her. And she also asked me what kind of problems people still have with her…xD and I was a bit like WTF. But I told her again that she has done so much harm to so many ppl that she cannot expect from anyone to just simply forget.

[…]

She actually left me in peace and I am happy about it. And even if she writed sth [sic] then I just ignore her, because I don’t want to have anything to do with her. But I just checked this letter about Chaos. Anyway I would very much appreciated if she wasn’t mentioning me and using my person as a ladder for her business.

This is what I also told her. She can’t expect from us to be ok with her. Nobody will start liking her just because she said sorry.

Once again, I repeat, Sky is NOT D’s friend. Sky wants nothing to do with D. Sky does not even want D to mention her at all, ever. So all that artwork I have screen capped from D’s blog should not even be posted, because–per Sky’s wishes–D cannot credit Sky without mentioning her, inevitably associating the two together. As such, D cannot have any of the artwork she copied from Sky posted without violating the wishes of someone she claims to highly respect. Furthermore, posting the artwork she claims to be “original” while still copying well known and iconic material without due credit or sourcing shows that D has not changed, or even attempted to change. All this drama has bungled things for D so much that no one is wiling to talk to or work with her. Thus, all of the terms Sky set up to help D have been violated. If D wants to claim she has changed she needs to SHOW she has changed without words, through actions.

That means that instead of finding my three month old post about her and replying “lol” on multiple occasions has to STOP. Replying to my posts about her misdeeds has to STOP. Messaging people who give notes to those posts about her has to STOP. Directly messaging people who give her original posts notes asking them to follow her has to STOP. Harassing everyone and anyone who slightly disagrees with her has to STOP. All of this:

D replied to your post: You’re so wrong. And if anyone is toxic in this, it’s you for not letting this go. You re jealous of me. Period. That’s why you can’t seem to let it go. I have apologized and redeemed myself. If you people can’t get over that, that’s on you.

D IM: You have issues if you can’t seem to let this go. Me and sky are mutual now. Not that I have to explain anything to you. I have redeemed myself and apologised to everyone. Still you people make posts about me, trying to diminish my following but it’s never gonna happen. Thanks for the publicity again

D asked me: Please get a life, It’s pathetic

D replied to your post: Again, me. Clearly. Let it go like Elsa.

HAS TO STOP.

I have made three (3) posts about D including this one (excluding reblogs). In total D has left harassing messages to me 7-10 times. Not once has she apologized for harassing me on dA, Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, or Twitter. Not once has she shown me any sign of changing her ways. All we have asked for is BASIC RESPECT. At every turn D promises to start respecting us and change her ways, then laughs in our faces for even thinking we were worthy of Her respect and attention.

Respect is an interesting thing. You have to give it to get it. Even a three year old understands this. Until D shows the capacity at this basic level to show respect and common courtesy to her peers, superiors, and kohai no one is going to interact with her; she will continue to be treated as nothing more than a joke.

You want to learn how to draw using reference? I have a rough tutorial for that.

You want to learn how to use and learn from your studies? I got something for that too!

You want some references? Try Senshi-Stock’s official app or what’s left of Tumblr. AnatomicalArt has thousands of references and tutorials, and with all of this on Tumblr, crediting your sources is easier than ever!

Or, you know, take some selfies and not have to credit anyone. ;D

TL;DR

D: you’re wrong; I never said Sky and I were friends; we’re MUTUAL! D: here are some terms Sky made that I agreed to–

Sky’s terms:

Give Sky credit on the work D has already copied

D must credit and source all other artists she copies

D must ask permission to copy anyone in the future

D must create something original

If all these terms are met, Sky will help teach D how to use reference correctly so D can draw better.

Receipts showing the following:

6 instances of D not properly crediting Sky

D claiming something to be original without citing referenced materials

Mini guide on how to properly cite an artist or reference:

LINK TO THE ORIGINAL POST AND ARTIST PROFILE!!

Seriously, it’s not that hard!?

Facebook status from D calling Sky both “a mutual” and “a friend.” [what is the truth.gif]

DMs from Sky saying as follows:

Sky is not D’s friend!

Sky wants nothing to do with D

Sky wants D to stop mentioning her altogether

Sky cutting ties like this means that D cannot mention Sky to credit her on reposts of the copied art.

>violates term 1

D has few other artworks to post, so she cannot credit other artists.

>fails term 2

Everyone is so hurt by D that she has been completely shut out and will be hard pressed to find anyone to give her permission in the future.

>fails term 3

D’s attempt to create something “original” resulted in copying and not sourcing more artwork

>fails term 4, 3, and 2

Please stop harassing me. Look at all these receipts! Learn some basic respect before coming back.

Have a few tutorials and resources.

#submission #long post #Chamiko #PSA #RaiKim #delaneyart

16 notes · View notes

paradisobound · 6 years

Text

Light in the Dark

Summary: Phil is the RA (Resident Advisor) for his local college where he manages the residents on the floor of his dorm building. But his junior year in college is about to take a turn when one of his residents, who’s named Dan, is blind. Soon, Phil develops a friendship with Dan as he soon discovers that they were meant for much more than just a platonic relationship. He just hopes that his Alpha abilities won’t scare away the timid Omega.

This is a chaptered work. This is chapter 8.

Word Count: 2,222 (no, this was not planned lmao)

Warnings: medical disabilities (blindness). Mentions of smut. Mentions of alcohol. Underaged drinking.

Authors Note: This is just a PSA to make sure all of my viewers know this: never take a drink from someone at a party! Make sure to either bring your own or drink from an unopened bottle. If you leave your drink somewhere, do not pick it back up. Leave it and get a new drink! This is just general knowledge that I want to spread because no one deserves to have their drink drugged! Also, never mix liquors together (i.e beer and wine). It will get you drunk faster but it can also lead to serious implications! This is just in reference to a certain middle section of this chapter but I want everyone to know this! Happy reading! :)

Phil remembers this exact time the year before. His classes were beginning to pick up and he was already bombarded with a calendar full of due dates and homework. This year was no different.

It had been nearly two weeks since Dan fell asleep in his arms and Phil can admit that no progress has been made between them. But he knows that there is something going on inside Dan’s head. Dan’s body language has changed around him and Phil could have sworn the other day when they were hanging out again that Dan wanted to grab his hand and lean into him again.

Phil is scared of the feelings between them though. He didn’t want to get mixed up in another relationship just because of his past with Devon. But part of him is drawing into Dan, wanting Dan all to himself and never wanting him to leave.

But Phil didn’t want Dan to know that just yet.

Even as he and Dan walked with linked arms to the plaza off campus where Phil was going to buy Dan a real pizza and not just the frozen kind the cafeteria serves them. When he had asked Dan to lunch this morning after meeting up together briefly in the elevator, he got happiness at the blush that spread through Dan’s cheeks before he answered.

And now, they’re almost there and Phil is loving the way Dan’s arm squeezed his as they walked slowly to make sure Dan didn’t trip and fall. Phil had to admit he was kind of a shit guide and being clumsy himself didn’t help. But it didn’t seem like Dan minded. He just laughed it off.

As Phil opened the door for them and they walked in, they were first bombarded with the scent of coffee from the Dunkin Donuts that was in front of them. But then Phil hung a right and took them to the pizza shop where he guided Dan to a seat.

But as they were almost to a booth, a sudden grip on Phil’s arm stopped him. It was coming from the opposite arm that Dan was holding so he was confused as to who it was until he turned his head.

A mop of blonde hair came into his view.

Devon.

“Hey guys!” Devon announced cheerily. “What are you two doing here?”

Phil gritted his teeth, not wanting Dan to be associated with Devon in any way. Over the past week, his entire body just hated Devon. He’s ignored all of his texts and pleas. Devon even came to his dorm room and asked for favors with which Phil refused.

“Dan and I are getting lunch?”

“Phil?” Dan’s timid voice broke through. “Who is that?”

“No one.” Phil snapped.

“What the fuck do you mean no one?” Devon shouted. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Phil’s blood boiled through this veins and he let go of Dan momentarily, his hands gesticulating madly in front of him. “Leave me–us–alone!” He belted out, his Alpha voice shining through enough that Devon immediately cowered where he stood. And the whimpering next to him made him turn his head and see a very upset and distraught Dan who was whimpering, his lips shaking.

Phil let out a breath and smoothed back his hair in frustration. “You need to leave.” He said point blank to Devon.

Devon shook his head and took in a shuddering breath. “We had so much together and you’re going to throw it away from him?” He asked, his finger pointing to Dan.

“You threw it away long ago and I was stupid enough to keep letting you in.” Phil stated.

Devon let out a forced breath. He furiously wiped his cheeks before turning on his heels and stomping out of the door, back outside. Phil stood there, in the wake of the fight that had just occurred, unsure of what to do.

He’s never had to use his Alpha voice before and it just happened.

It happened and he scared everyone, including Dan.

Oh, yeah, Dan!

He quickly turned and looked at Dan, who was staring at the ground, his shoulders drooped and his body language sad. “Dan?” Phil asked. “What’s wrong?”

Dan didn’t look up. He just spoke softly. “You really scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” Phil immediately answered. “What I said wasn’t meant for you. You shouldn’t have had to hear that.”

“Can you explain it to me later?” Dan asked. “I don’t like secrets.”

“I know, baby.” Phil winced at the slip of the pet name. He didn’t even know where it came from but it happened so naturally. He reached out and touched Dan’s arm. “Do you still want pizza?”

Dan didn’t answer for a moment. But then his little head bob told Phil he still wanted food. So Phil moved Dan to a seat in a booth and got in line to grab a small pizza for the both of them to eat.

Throughout lunch, Dan remained quiet. His unseeing gaze was fixed on the table and he showed no signs of moving it. Multiple times, Phil had the urge to move onto Dan’s side of the booth and just hold him until he calmed down. He knew Dan felt better when an Alpha touched his skin and held him.

But he knew that would have to be for later. And only if Dan wanted to. He didn’t know how Dan felt about him quite yet.

They finished their lunch in quiet but when they left, Dan took Phil’s arm again and they went back to the dorm building.

When they got to their floor, and began walking through the hallway, Phil stopped and asked him if he wanted to come back to his dorm room for a while and talk and Dan agreed. It surprised Phil that Dan wanted to go back with him after how scared he got. But he was glad.

It meant the Omega wasn’t totally afraid of him.

Phil unlocked the door to his room and brought Dan over to his bed where they both sat down and relaxed onto the stiff mattress. Dan took off his jacket in the process and let it slide to the floor as Phil removed his sweatshirt. As Phil laid back, Dan laid back too and cuddled next to him, which surprised Phil once again.

But then Dan spoke.

“Was that guy your boyfriend?” His voice was shy and timid. Unsure.

“No.” Phil said. “He was an ex.”

“An ex-boyfriend?” Dan asked.

“Yeah.”

“What was his name?” Phil smiled at Dan’s curiosity. He normally would have been annoyed at the prodding but with Dan, he was okay with it.

“His name was Devon.”

Dan’s hand came up and rested onto Phil’s shoulder.

“How long were you guys together?”

Phil sighed. “I’ll just tell you the whole story. But I warn you it’s kind of long.”

Phil didn’t want to be at this party. Okay, that was a total and complete lie. Of course he wanted to be at this upperclassman party, but he never expected himself to be invited. He guessed it paid off to have a roommate who was on the soccer team. And he was even more lucky that the party was at the soccer house tonight.

It was his first college party. He knew it was probably gonna be a mistake but he felt like if he didn’t go, he would have regretted it in the end. He didn’t want to be seen as one of the prude freshman who never let loose or have fun.

But as of right now, he wasn’t totally having fun. He didn’t know anyone here and everyone was packaged in like sardines. He didn’t even know where to go or where anything led to.

He saw a staircase in front of him, but it was lined with students making out on every step, some of them going further on a few of the steps. And to his side, he had a tell jock pushing a red cup to his hand. “Dude. You need to have a drink man. Your hand is empty!”

Phil took the drink and looked down at the weird colored liquor. He slowly lifted it to his lips and tasted. It was disgusting and strong. He coughed and sputtered, the taste wetting his lips. He didn’t like this.

Okay, maybe this was a mistake.

Phil left the cup somewhere on a mantle piece as he walked through the living room and somehow ended up in a less crowded kitchen with jocks pouring various liquor bottles into a giant punch bowl.

Okay, that spells disaster pretty quickly. But he grabbed a cup of it anyway from a way too drunk jock that sloshed it down his front in process. Good thing he was wearing his black shirt.

Taking a sip, this drink much more appealing, he found himself wandering outside to the back of the house. His legs were just moving on his own. He made it to an open area and sat down, the loud music pumping outside through the ground and the lights from inside shining out.

He was tapping his foot on the grass when a blond male came up to him, his head bouncing of curls and his green eyes staring at Phil. He was cute. He was extremely cute. And as Phil took an intake of breath, he noticed that the male was an Omega and his scent was delicious.

“Hi there.” The boy said, sitting down next to Phil with his own cup. “My name is Devon.”

Phil looked at him and smiled. “I’m Phil.”

“Any reason you’re out here all alone?” Devon asked.

“I just don’t know what to do here.” Phil said with a laugh. “I’m a freshman.”

Devon chuckled. “Same. But don’t tell anyone else that.”

“What major are you?” Phil asked.

“I’m a political science major. I wanna become the first Omega lawyer in this town.” Phil smiled at that. That was such a great accomplishment.

Phil went over his major with Devon as they both sat and just stared ahead at the party going on. He didn’t know what to expect when he left with Devon that night. He didn’t expect for him to lose his virginity to him in his dorm room as Devon took control. He didn’t expect for them to become an item–to begin dating.

He didn’t expect for Devon to go off his heat suppressants and begin going through heats. He didn’t expect himself to be so intrigued at Devon being his mate that he went off from his pills too. He didn’t expect to share a rut and heat with Devon as he locked inside of him, his knot swelling for the first time ever as he bit deep into Devon’s mating gland. And he definitely didn’t expect for Devon’s body to never heal because Devon never felt the same.

But Phil didn’t know that when he took Devon’s hand and showed him his dorm room at three am on a Friday night after drinking a little too much at the soccer house.

Phil finished the story and looked down at Dan who was tense.

“Do you still care about him?” Dan asked.

Phil shook his head. “I did. But I’ve got someone else on my mind now.”

Dan blushed and curled in closer to Phil. Then his smile faltered and he managed to look up–almost–directly at Phil. “So does that mean you’re not a virgin?” He asked.

Phil was taken aback at the question but he figured if he and Dan were actually soulmates, like his body was beginning to sense more and more every day, that they needed to talk about this with each other.

Phil nodded. “Yes, I’m not a virgin.”

Dan sighed. “I am.” He said. “I’m a virgin because Omegas are supposed to be pure when they meet their mates.”

“I know that.” Phil said, his arm tightening along with his jeans at the sudden arousal he was feeling. Stupid Alpha hormones.

“I hope that I don’t disappoint my mate with my inexperience. I’ve never even kissed someone before.”

“Yeah?” Phil asked.

Dan nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you–”

Phil’s voice got caught in his throat as Dan lunged forward and his lips landed somewhere on the corner of Phil’s mouth and his cheek. He chuckled softly as he reached his hands out and moved Dan’s head so their lips were connected.

His body was screaming at him how right this was. This was his mate. He knew this now. Everything about this was exactly what he needed. And oh God, he never wanted to stop.

Their lips moved together in sync before Phil pulled away and smiled at Dan, although Dan couldn’t see it.

“Did you feel that?” Dan asked.

“I did.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think we’ll know soon enough.”

Dan smiled at Phil and rested his head back to Phil’s chest. Phil reached down and threaded their fingers together as their hands rested in each others.

This was perfect to Phil. The inner need inside of him to find his mate was suddenly being unleashed but also quenched. As he looked down at the blushing curly hair boy on his chest, his heartbeat sped up.

Yeah. Dan was definitely his mate.

Last Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

108 notes · View notes

words-writ-in-starlight · 6 years

Note

TAZ Fic prompt: Taako and Kravitz on their second date please!

6300 words later, this is also on AO3.

PSA: there be some smut here.

Here is a list of the shit Taako has learned about the GrimReaper since threatening to execute some tentacle porn on theman—being?—several months ago:

The accent? Fake. He’s not sure why Kravitzfeels the need to have a business accent, since his normal voice is soft andcharming, but sure, dude, some people have train names.

His hands are cold because Kravitz is dead. This feels like it should have been obvious.

Kind of a dork? It’s strange to equate the shy politeness with the same person who spenta good minute and a half shouting about Merle’s death bounty.

Likes red wine, can’t get drunk, which seemslike a shitty deal.

Taako is considering adding more information to that list,starting with a fucking loser andmoving on from there, because Kravitz just spent solidly five minutes trying toarticulate a sentence over the link between their Stones.

“Hang on, bubbe, let me take a stab at this,” Taakointerrupts, and Kravitz falls silent. “Drinks at the Chug and Squeeze again? Say, nine o’ clock moon time?”

“Yes,” Kravitz says, relieved. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Sure about that?” Taako drawls. “That was like pulling teeth.”

Kravitz laughs a little bit—nice laugh, another fact for the list. “I—well, most people are pretty glad to seeme go.”

“I’m sure they are, handsome, it’s a pleasure to watch yougo.” Kravitz makes a faint choking noiseand Taako snickers, which might be a little mean, but also, Taako doesn’tcare. Taako carefully draws a brush fullof silver-green polish across his thumbnail and cocks his head at the Stone ofFarspeech. “We haven’t died any timesthat I’m not aware of, right? This isn’ta business thing or whatever?”

“Uh, no,” Kravitz says, stumbling over the words. “I was—it was—I was thinking maybe a date.”

Taako grins. WindingKravitz up is probably cruel, but it’s so eminentlygratifying. “I’d take you somewherenicer for our third date, but there ain’t a lot of options on the moon,y’know? I guess we could go to FantasyCostco and you could see how you do against Garfield–”

“Third date?”

“Sure, keep up.” Taako counts them off on his fingers, unnecessary but amusing. “The lab, the Chug and Squeeze, andtonight. Hey, if you count the nightafter Refuge separately I guess this is four.”

“The lab—Taako, I was under orders to hunt you down and execute you in the lab.”

“I dunno, homie, kinky tentacle shit generally counts as adate. I’ll see you tonight, dress nice,okay-peace-bye.” And Taako severs theconnection while Kravitz is still stammering through the start of his response.

Taako keeps snickering the whole time he finishes paintinghis nails, because the alternative is to chew on his lips and wonder what thefuck he’s doing. At least the familiardetail work keeps his hands steady.

Kravitz is nice, is the thing. Nice,fuck, Taako’s never really…nice isn’treally Taako’s type, see, because Taako’s a lot of things and nice isn’t one of them. Taako breaksnice people. Like Glamour Springs. It wasn’t his fault. It was all his fault. You fedthem their death.

Hell, Kravtiz has his big book of badness, shouldn’t he knowthat Taako’s a—an accessory to mass murder?

And for all his grim work—grim work, ha, Taako’s cracking himself up—Kravitz is nice, andgentle, and sweet. He does things likesit with shell-shocked elves after time loops and laugh at little acts ofrebellion and splutter when Taako hits on him, and honestly Taako doesn’treally get his logic. Taako is the bombdiggity, of course, but Taako’s also rude and prickly and downright mean sometimes and that’s not the kindof person that matches up with Kravitz. He doesn’t understand what Kravitz wants. A date, sure. Maybe even a fuck, or two, and Kravtiz’s magically constructed body is apretty hot piece of ass so Taako would be fine with that.

But what the fuck else is Kravitz after?

Taako can hear Magnus’ voice in his head telling him thatnot everyone is after something, but just because Magnus is a big dumb lug whowears his big dumb heart on his big dumb sleeve doesn’t mean Magnus is right.

Everyone’s always after something, with Taako.

God, maybe Kravitz is just lonely. For all that he’s a fine figure, in his suitand…well, his skin, when he’s wearing it, there can’t be that many peopleinterested in chatting up an avatar of death, a vengeful emissary of the RavenQueen herself. And it’s not like he canjust go pick someone up at a bar, even if he had the free time—he’d still haveto explain that cold skin, and that would need to be one hell of a bluff.

That thought makes Taako feel a little steadier. His hands don’t shake when he puts away thenail polish and turns to his closet, which is strewn half across the floorbecause there’s honestly no point inbeing a wizard if he can’t use it to keep his shit from wrinkling.

Right, then. LonelyGrim Reaper. Taako can deal withthat. Besides, Taako hasn’t gotten laidsince before all this Bureau fuckery started—again, one hell of a bluff to pick someone up in a bar, and it’s not like themoon is that big—so he could stand tofuck a handsome semi-stranger in the Chug and Squeeze bathroom.

Or in his quarters, more likely. Kravitz seems like ‘public sex’ is probablyone of his hangups.

Whatever.

He and Kravitz can go out and drink and harass the potteryinstructor, and then they can fuck, and it’ll probably be good because Kravitzjust screams ‘considerate in thesack’, and then they can both go their separate ways and get on with theirgoddamn lives.

Taako waits to feel the weight of anxiety lift from hischest, but instead it just settles into his gut, sullen and thick. He shakes his head, trying to shake thefeeling away, and settles down to picking out some clothes that will get himlaid tonight. His hair will be easy, asimple braid, something that will come undone in a rush if he needs it to—heconsiders putting it up, maybe something effortless like a messy bun, somethingthat would show off his neck, but. No. Taako lets his hair fall fromwhere he’s holding it, looking away from the mirror as something kicks in his chest, like he’s seeing—likehe’s missing—like he’s—like—

The blue skirt will go well with his nails, he decides.

***

Kravitz shows up in the shared living room of the Reclaimerdorm at five minutes to nine, because Kravitz is a monster. Taako had enough time to kill that he’s alreadyset to go, but it’s the principle of the thing. Who the hell is that punctual?

Well, Taako allows with a little smirk, Death, obviously.

“Hi,” Taako says, flicking his braid over his shoulder, andKravitz looks up at him and smiles—fucking beams,really, and Taako really needs to stop hanging out with so many horrifyinglygenuine people.

“Hi,” Kravitz says, a little shy, tugging at his cuffs likehis suit is real and not just a convenient manifestation of his power. It’s a very sharp manifestation, though,Taako has to give him that, black and sleek with a pearly grey shirt and a darkred tie that makes him look a little livelier with its color. “You look incredible.”

“Obviously,” Taako sniffs, stepping over to Kravitz anddraping a hand over his shoulder, toying with one of the long dreadlocks at thenape of his neck. “But really, my dude,so do you. Do you even have to try tolook this fine?”

“It, uh.” Kravitzsmiles down at him, the red glow behind his black eyes warm and cheerful. Kravitz is tall, almost as tall as Magnus,and he has a whole head of height on Taako, but he doesn’t seem nearly as biglike this as he does in his skeletal form. “I’m happy to put in the effort for you.”

“Good answer.” Taakogives the lock in his hand a light tug—hey, might as well start as he means togo on—and makes a point to stroke his fingers along the curve of Kravitz’sthroat as he pulls his arm back.

Kravitz, of course, is incapable of blushing, because he’sdead. But he looks like he mightspontaneously develop the ability in order to cope. It takes him a beat to offer Taako hisarm—because Kravitz is a fucking gentleman—and allow himself to be pulled outof the apartment.

This is going to be a fucking walk in the park.

Drinks and pottery go very much the same, with quietconversation and Taako taking every opportunity he can find to get his handsall over Kravitz. It’s not ahardship. And besides, Kravitz is reallypretty funny, when he’s talking about things that aren’t his divine obligationto execute Taako and his—his coworkers. Taako learns that Kravitz was a bard, and that he can’t help the way hiseyes glow, and that he’s easy to embarrass.

It’s been about an hour and the two of them have split mostof a bottle of chardonnay when Taako sways over to Kravitz and rests his chinon the reaper’s shoulder, close enough that his breath stirs one of thedreadlocks closest to him. His lipsalmost brush the shell of Kravitz’s ear—faintly pointed, enough to render Kravitz’srace firmly ambiguous.

“Hey, thug,” Taako murmurs, shamelessly enjoying the way hefeels Kravitz stiffen against him in surprise. “Do you want to get out of here?”

He lets his hand wander up Kravitz’s thigh, just in case hismeaning was unclear. Kravitz doesn’ttake that as hard as Taako might have expected, but he also seems to havefrozen in shock, so maybe the two cancel out.

“I—are you sure?”

There he goes again. Being nice. Taako almost grabs his dick in the middle ofthe room in revenge, but resists the petty impulse in a show of purewillpower. He settles instead fortightening his grip on Kravitz’s leg, just hard enough to hurt a little.

“Do I not seemsure?”

Kravitz laughs a little at that, and it’s that easy. Kravitz lets Taako pull him outside and steala kiss in the shadows of the quad—Kravitz’s lips aren’t quite cold, just…cool,room temperature, and it’s a little like touching solid water with the way theyslide over Taako’s, and he can taste the wine and power. Magic like nothingTaako can recall, except maybe for the way that the relics leave a crackle ofsomething in the air after they’ve been used. Kissing Kravitz is something like that, maybe, like breathing in airthat’s had an enormous amount of energy put through it very recently, and whenthey separate and Kravitz looks a little rumpled, a little dazed, Taako feels arush of smugness unlike anything in recent memory.

Once they’re back in the Reclaimer dorm—Magnus is still outhitting things with Carey and Killian, and Merle is god knows where doing godknows what—Taako doesn’t hesitate to crowd Kravitz up against the nearest walland kiss him again. More aggressively,this time, tangling his fingers in the cords of Kravitz’s dreadlocks andsighing into his mouth when those broad cool hands came up to rest on hisback. Taako catches Kravitz’s bottom lipin his teeth and bites down, not quite hard enough to do damage, and Kravitzmakes a sound like a growl deep in his chest. It vibrates against Taako’s ribs where they’re pressed together and thesharp jolt of want takes him offguard for long enough to find himself pressed up against the wall in Kravitz’splace, with all of Kravtiz’s height caging him in, and it doesn’t feel likebeing trapped so much as being wanted.

It’s the first time that Taako wonders if he’smiscalculated, but then Kravitz lowers his lips down over Taako’s cheek and jawto the side of his throat and the thought is wiped away like someone fed it tothe voidfish. Somehow Kravitz taking theinitiative is a shock, as if Taako had expected him to be a novice at thiswithout even realizing it, but he doesn’t seem lacking in experience and Taakois profoundly enjoying the benefits of it.

“Fuck,” Taako sighs as teeth scrape against his skin,tipping his head and pressing a thigh up between Kravitz’s legs. He really should ask what Kravitz even is, ifthings like elf and human even apply to him, but whateverthe fuck gives him teeth like that, sharp and even, is a-okay by Taako’sbook.

“Taako,” Kravitz says into the pulse at his throat as Taako’shands busy themselves with the knot of his tie. “If your friends come back and we’re out here, they’ll be unhappy.”

Oh, right, Taako lives with people now. People who might possibly still want to hitKravitz with a war hammer over some limbs or some shit like that. It takes him a few moments to conclude that thisis a sufficiently serious concern to justify moving, because thealternative—letting Kravitz fuck him against a wall in the next fewminutes—seems far more compelling.

“Merle’s never happy,” Taako says, and Kravitz pulls away tolaugh as Taako sulks at him. This timeTaako really does grab his dick in revenge, reaches a hand between them andpalms Kravitz through his pants, and the way the laughter turns into a hissingcurse, a thoughtless push of his hips, is absolutely worth it. “Fine,” Taako says, magnanimous, and reachesup to loop both arms around Kravitz’s neck. “My door’s the second one. Youcan do the work, handsome.”

Kravitz chuckles again and complies, lifting Taakoapparently effortlessly, Taako’s legs coming up to wrap around Kravitz’s waistwithout regard for the indecent way it shoves his skirt up almost past hiships.

“Strong boy,” Taako muses, giving a teasing squeeze to oneof Kravitz’s biceps as Kravitz shifts his weight so that he can catch thedoorknob and open it. Inside, Taako snapshis fingers absently to wake the spark of magic in his lamp, shedding brightlight across the room at once. He wantsto see what it looked like, when one of the Raven Queen’s own elite comesundone in his bed.

“I execute necromancers, Taako,” Kravitz says with a smallroll of his glowing eyes. “I’m very strong.”

“Mmm,” Taako hums, and when Kravitz tries to set him gentlydown on the bed, he twists his weight to trip Kravitz down beneath him.

This, sitting on Kravitz’s lap and pressed up against himfrom hip to shoulder, is possibly even better than the wall, and Taako kissesKravitz again as he starts working on the layersof buttons in the suit. It’s aproduction.

“Why do you wear so many fucking clothes,” Taako muttersagainst Kravitz’s lips as he finally manages to wrestle jacket, shirt, andbraces off in one motion.

“Sorry,” Kravitz says, his hands—almost as warm as Taako’sskin, from contact—sliding up under Taako’s shirt, slowly, as if giving Taako achance to pull away. “Would you ratherthe cloak?”

“God, you’re such a fucking dramatic loser.” Taako ends his statement with a firm grind ofhis hips, and whatever Kravitz was about to say dies unspoken, swallowed by achoked sound as he closes his eyes sharply and takes a deep breath. His skin goes thin and transluscent over hischeekbones for a moment, the edges of a skull pressing through until he getshimself under control, and the high of that is palpable, better than anythingelse Taako’s ever tried, the high of having made a Reaper lose control withnothing but a twist of his hips.

When Kravitz opens his eyes, they glitter, and he pullsTaako’s shirt off over his head, a clumsy tangle of fabric for a moment beforethe shirt is gone and Taako learns some interesting facts about himself, amongthem that, apparently, the temperature thing is a Thing. He can almost taste the spark that jumps to his corewhen he presses up against Kravitz’s bare chest, almost cold against Taako’sflushed skin.

Wow. If he wasn’thard before, he sure as hell is now. That’s a thing that he didn’t see coming.

“Taako,” Kravitz says, almost gasps, like he needs air atall, against Taako’s shoulder, “I’ll need to get up to get my pants off.”

Taako considers just—just not moving, grinding down likethis and kissing Kravitz until they’re both stupid with it, coming half-dressedlike a pair of kids, but the appeal of seeing Kravitz naked is pretty strongtoo. He kisses Kravitz again, wet anddirty and deep, before he slides off and abandons both his skirt and his underwearon the side of the bed.

Kravitz is beautiful, Taako thinks somewhat fuzzily as hewatches him undress. Like, Taako isbeautiful too, don’t get him wrong, humility is for other people, but Kravitzknocks him out a little in a way that very few people can claim to havedone. It’s not just the symmetry of hisangular face or the way his tendons line his hands or the perfect vee shape ofthe bones at his hips, it’s also that he has something other about him, a statement worth making when you could hit abaker’s dozen races with a well-swung cat.

But that’s not to say that the muscles of his thighs and themotionless curve of his ribs and his cock don’t make Taako’s mouth water alittle bit. The latter, in particular.

Next time, Taako thinks idly as Kravitz kicks away hispants, Taako should put a little more planning into this, because he’d reallyenjoy having that inside him. As it is,he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t last long enough.

The thought almost brings him up short. Next time? There’s not going to be a next time. Taako already decided that.

“Are you all right?” Kravitz asks—nice, even standing there completely naked, he’s still nice.

“Fine, babe, all fine,” Taako says, and holds out ahand. “You planning to join me or what?”

Kravitz smiles and takes Taako’s hand and—fucking save him—kisses the knuckles as heallows himself to be pulled down onto the bed. Taako pins him down, and knows that Kravitz is letting him, and stopsresisting the urge to rub up against the cool silk of Kravitz’s skin, untilhe’s breathing hard and rambling and Kravitz is barely breathing at all.

“Taako,” Kravitz whispers, one hand coming up to tangle inTaako’s hair while the other reaches down to find their cocks, his hand bigenough to wrap around them both easily, and if the cool touch of his skin was ashock against Taako’s chest, it’s a fucking religiousmoment against Taako’s dick. Hedoesn’t even try to hold back the yelp, and reaches down to weave his fingersthrough Kravitz when it seems like he’s going to pull away.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Taako hisses.

“Are you sure, I know–”

“Kravitz, I swear to fucking—fucking everyone, I’ll burn aspell slot on your ass right now if you stop.”

He gets another laugh for that, faint and almost breathy. Kravitz is quiet in bed, mostly soft gaspsand moans when Taako does something he likes, once or twice that bone-rattlingrumble when Taako lays his blunt mortal teeth against Kravitz’s collarbone andbites down hard. But then he doessomething a little unforgivable—laughs and says, “All right, darling.”

Taako’s heart stops in his chest, and his mouth comes downso hard on Kravitz’s that he thinks he might be bleeding from where his teethhit his lip, but the kiss silences anything else Kravitz could say.

Kravitz seems taken off-guard when he comes, a little breathof ah escaping his lips as he goesstiff and his mouth goes still under Taako’s. His hand tightens around the pair of them, and Taako comes too, theworld popping with white lights at the corners of his vision as he shuddersthrough it. The world seems to havenarrowed down to Kravitz, his hand around Taako’s cock and his fingers inTaako’s hair, resting against his neck, the places where his skin is warm fromcontact, the taste of wine and magic on his lips.

By the time Taako comes back to himself, blurry andblinking, his head is bowed down to Kravitz’s shoulder. The hand is still at the nape of his neck,looser now, lax, and Kravitz’s other hand is resting on Taako’s hip, thumbdescribing an arc over the line of the bone, like Kravitz is happy to just…liethere, feeling Taako’s weight on him and not doing a thing about it. There’s a scar on Kravitz’s chest, just belowTaako’s cheek, like someone put a spike through his heart—the only mark onhim—and it makes Taako feel almost special to be so close to it, like Kravitzis sharing something with him.

Taako gives himself a few minutes of that, of the wayKravitz noses kisses into his hair and strokes gently over his skin.

It’s…nice.

Kravitz is nice.

Taako doesn’t let himself think about that anymore as herolls to the side with a sigh and casts Prestidigitation to clean up. He also doesn’t let himself think about theway Kravitz’s fingers lingered in his hair, or the soft warmth in those red-liteyes.

“Thanks, bubbeleh,” Taako says, plastering on his bestgrin. “Call me later, or whatever.”

Kravitz looks bemused. Oh, fucking god, he’s actually going to make Taako kick him out. “Taako?”

“This was fun, we should do it again sometime,” Taako says,ignoring the way that weight settles back into his belly, ignoring the way theback of his mind kind of wants to curl into Kravitz’s side with a blanket overthem, ignoring the look of confusion shading to hurt on Kravitz’s face. This was just sex. Just physical. There’s no reason for Kravitz to look likeTaako’s personally cancelled Candlenights.

Kravitz seems to be getting the picture, though, because heslowly sits up, propped up on one hand. “I—Ican go,” he says, like there’s an offer there, rather than an impliedoutcome. “If you want.”

“As opposed to what?” Taako arches an eyebrow at him. There’sa moment of silence as Kravitz studies him, his head cocked at an angle, tryingto parse something, and Taako waves a languorous hand at him. “It’s all right, thug, I’m not gonna take itpersonally.”

“I’m sorry,” Kravitz says, falling back into stiff formality,and he does a remarkably good job for someone still sitting naked in Taako’sbed. The look of confused hurt has beenerased, his face a politely emotionless blank. “It’s been some time since I did this. What are you not taking personally?”

Ah, right. Kravitzhas been a wandering skeleton bounty hunter since forever. Culture clash or some shit.

“I knew what I was getting into,” Taako says, keeping hisface cheerful. “Just sex, right? And don’t get me wrong, the sex was prettyfucking choice, I’m happy to do that again whenever you have a few hours free,but you don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings or whatever.”

“Oh,” Kravitz says, quietly, and he stands, waves a hand,and his clothes sort of knit themselves back into being on his body, even histie perfectly knotted at his throat.

He tucks both hands into his pockets, straightening up untilhe looks as forbidding and untouchable as he did the first time they met, hiseyes the only trace of any emotion as they linger on Taako’s face for a momentbefore they flicker away. He bends downto catch Taako’s hand in his, and kisses the knuckles again—something lurchesinto Taako’s throat, words throwing themselves at his teeth from behind, someuseless stupid hey maybe you could stay,I could make you breakfast, did you know I’m a chef, and he bites them backmercilessly.

“If you ever need anything,” Kravitz says, still quiet, “callfor me.”

And then he gestures for his scythe and tears open the worldwith the blade, and he’s gone.

Taako lies down on his back and stares at the ceiling. This is the easy thing to do, this is what heknew was going to happen. Hell, giventhe circumstances, this might even have been the right thing to do.

So why does he feel like he just betrayed someone?

***

Taako’s not one for stewing. He’s not one for sitting and brooding and worrying about hisproblems. He’s a master of the art oftaking any inconvenient emotion and kicking it off the nearest available cliff,never to be seen or considered again, because who has time for feelings, thesedays? A Relic hunt would be excellent right about now, somelife-threatening shit to take his mind off everything, and by the time they gotdone being healed by someone other than Merle, he would have forgotten allabout this. He would be more focused onwhether their fighter was finally going to kick the bucket—Taako needs a meatshield, all right, he’s a delicate little magic user, so if Magnus could livepast the age of forty for Taako’s sake, that would be amazing.

Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be a convenientlyapocalyptic artifact surfacing any time soon. If anything, things are calmer than usual, like the other two Relics aresquirreled away in some dark dungeon rather than out causing trouble. The mood on the base is bright and confident,riding high on their successful rescue of Refuge, totally lacking in thetension that usually precedes a recovery mission. Carey and Killian and Noelle spend all theirtime bounding cheerfully through the halls like baby deer. Johann cracked a smile and laughed at a jokelast week. There was a party on thequad. Taako’s pretty sure he saw theDirector relaxing.

It’s loathsome.

It’s three days before Magnus asks Taako what’s wrong. Taako rebuffs him easily and pawns him off onMerle, but it sticks with him. Magnus isan empathetic guy, but he’s not a genius, and Taako’s not supposed to haveanything wrong to ask about.

Five days after hooking up with Kravitz, Taako finds himselfin the Icosagon. Training.

Taako does not train. Beauty of Magic Missile: his aim doesn’t evenmatter. Area effect spells are his bitch. His ability to Fireball someone in the faceis entirely unrelated to his abilityto do pushups, Magnus. Wizards do not train, they read some books and blow some shit up and call it aday. Sometimes Taako deigns to do someactual calculations in order to maximize a spell’s efficacy, but that’s hislimit.

So when Taako realizes he’s halfway through a short swordtraining form that he barely remembers, he stops and considers that he mightneed to actually take steps to deal with this situation.

It’s just…he keeps thinking about that quiet oh as Kravitz stood up and it’sbothering him. He’s not really sure why it keeps coming to mind, butwhenever he stands still and silent for a few seconds, it plays through hishead like a Fantasy Vine, a handful of seconds that just don’t quite makesense.

Kravitz had gotten what he wanted, right? Company, affection, a roll in themetaphorical hay. So who the hell gavehim permission to look at Taako likethat as he said oh and stood up toleave, is the real question here.

In Taako’s experience, the only real solutions to hisproblem are to get incredibly drunk or to actually interrogate the man himself. In theory he could also just leave but avoiding the Grim Reapersounds like it would require a bit more effort than just wandering off the sideof the base. Magnus and Merle wouldprobably come try to hunt him down, regardless.

And if he’s being totally honest he’s already tried thealcohol. Avi brings the good shit tocompany parties.

“Yo, Krav,” Taako says, casting Levitate on his Stone ofFarspeech and giving it a flick to set it spinning. He’s back in his room, with his feet proppedup on a desk that has never seen a scrap of Bureau-mandated paperwork and neverwill, if Taako has anything to do with it. “You busy, my dude?”

There’s a pause, long enough that Taako wonders if maybeKravitz isn’t near the Stone, before a voice answers.

“Taako?”

Kravitz sounds hesitant, and there’s a lift at the end ofTaako’s name that sounds like hope and kind of makes Taako want to throw theStone across the room and run.

“Who else, bone boy?”

“What can I do for you, Taako?” Kravitz’s voice goes steely, and he asks, “Areyou in trouble?”

“What? No! I can go more than a week without gettingsucked into some kind of weird timeline bullshit, fuck you very much, and plusI have a Magnus for solving trouble, it would be cruel to deny him the chanceto…hit stuff.” There’s a huff ofamusement on the other end, and a quiet shuffling sound. “Krav, thug, I really gotta ask, does theGrim Reaper do paperwork?”

“Of course I do paperwork,” Kravitz says, a littleaffronted. “Do you know how much work itis to keep files on necromancers and liches and whatever the hell you threeare? Don’t you have to do paperwork forblowing up towns?”

“Magnus does paperwork,” Taako says, leaning his chair backon its rear legs. “Sometimes I sign itif he asks real nice. I dunno who doesMerle’s shit.”

“I should have known.” It sounds like Kravitz is smiling. Taako’s chest heats a little, a piece of charcoal flickering into anember, and shit, that’s not what he’s doing here. “Also, it would be more accurate to call me a Grim Reaper.” The warmth in Kravitz’s voice fades, and thefire in Taako’s chest follows. “Is there…didyou—was there anything in particular that you wanted?”

“Yeah,” Taako says, and Magnus would be proud of him, hereally would, because Taako just fucking goesfor it, just rushes right in before he can think better of it. “You want to come by? Like, are you free right now? To come to the moon?”

“Sure,” Kravitz says, and there’s a rustling sound, papersbeing moved around, before the Stone shuts off.

It’s barely a minute and a half later that the world ripsopen and Kravitz steps through, skin raveling itself into place over the smoothwhite bones of his skull and hands, his cloak fading away into his usualsuit. The rift closes behind him, andKravitz is just standing there, hands in his pockets, looking unsure.

“Hey.”

“Hey, handsome,” Taako says, letting his chair thud backinto place. “You want to do something?”

“Something—like what?” Kravitz isn’t an especially outgoing person, particularly since Taako’smajor points of comparison these days are a proselytizing cleric and the mostabsurdly friendly individual he’s ever known, but he seems more guarded thanbefore, almost like he’s expecting Taako to throw a spell at him again. But he did come, when Taako called.

God, people were so much easier when Taako was younger. He doesn’t really remember what changed—maybedoing the show made him overconfident—but he knows that when he was younger henever felt this clumsy and fumbling.

“Everything all right, Krav?” Taako asks, arching an eyebrowat him.

“Fine,” Kravitz says, and hesitates for a moment, and thenhe meets Taako’s gaze for the first time. “I don’t want to sleep with you,” he blurts out, fast, all in a rush,like he’s been planning it. “Or, I mean,no, yes, I do, but not—I don’t—I think you’re confused? About this?”

Taako opens his mouth with a fast retort, then snaps itshut, because he’s…he’s not sure what Kravitz is expecting from him there. He makes a little go on gesture with one hand instead.

“I thought—I thought I had been pretty clear that yourbounties have been suspended,” Kravitz says, rocking back on his heels like hewants to pace but doesn’t know if it would be permitted. “And Refuge is a nonissue, we already talkedabout that, so unless you and your friends start doing necromancy in your freetime, you’re not under my purview. So—soI don’t want you to think that you’re making some kind of trade, here, with me,all right?”

“Some kind of—hang on, do people try to seduce the Grim Reaper? Wow,”Taako muses, “I’ve got to admire that kind of confident crazy.”

A smile, faint but genuine, flickers over Kravitz’sface. “Every once in a while someone triestheir luck. Although having someonebypass any sort of seduction check and go straight for threats of tentacleporn, that was novel.” The good humorfades, and Kravitz just looks tired and…lonely, Taako decides. He’s spent a lot of his life feeling lonely,he knows what it looks like. “And I don’twant you to be with me because—because you’re scared of me, or because youthink I expect something in order to keep your bounties suspended, or–”

“That, um. Thatactually didn’t occur to me,” Taako interrupts, because Kravitz seems more thanready to keep up his nervous ramble indefinitely. A surge of guilt rushes through Taako’s chestat the open relief on Kravitz’s face, and he sighs. “I just—I just figured this was a casualthing. Company, sex, not much else, youknow what I’m saying.”

“Is that what you want?” Kravitz asks, and the light behindhis eyes brightens as he focuses on Taako, until Taako imagines that he canfeel the weight of his stare, as cool and invulnerable as Kravitz’s handsaround his scythe. “Company and sex andnothing else?”

“Hey, you know me, Taako’s easy.” Taako waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll take whatever. What about you, thug, what do you want?”

Kravitz looks distant for a moment, then sits down on theedge of Taako’s bed, so that they’re facing each other, closer to eyelevel.

“I really like you, Taako,” he says, and the sincerity inhis voice makes Taako want to kiss him, or maybe cast Blink and escape to awhole other plane—except, of course, that Kravitz is Kravitz and could probablyfollow him. “It’s been—it’s been a reallylong time since I had mortal friends, let alone anything else, and I wasn’tmuch good at this while I was alive, either.”

“With that face?” It’s wildly inappropriate given the tone, butoh god Taako can’t help himself,there’s no way that Kravitz wasn’t absolutely spoiled for choice during hislife.

Kravitz grins a little, reaching up to touch his cheek andjaw as if reminding himself of what he looks like. “You’d be surprised.”

“Oh, I’d be fucking shocked,homie,” Taako says thoughtlessly, one hundred percent of his brain fullyoccupied with Kravitz’s words.

I really like you,Taako. What the fuck is a personeven supposed to do with that.

“Taako,” Kravitz says, and Taako snaps back to the presentmoment. Kravitz sounds like he’s maybesaid Taako’s name a few times. “I just—ifyou’re not interested in dating me, you don’t have to worry about telling me,but I’d rather you be honest.”

“Are you,” Taako says slowly, lining up the same thoughts hehad before the date in a different order, “interested in dating me?”

Kravitz tips his head and says, “For someone so brilliantlytalented, you can be a bit dense.”

“Thank you.”

“Taako, you’re charming, and beautiful, and funny, and youhelp save the world. Of course I’minterested in dating you.” Kravitz looksdown at his hands, where they’re laced together in his lap, and he rubs a thumbup the line of a metacarpal, something that’s almost a nervous tick. The pressure drags a line of white bonebehind it, until his dark skin knits itself back together. “I would understand, of course, if you’relooking for something more casual. I’mjust…I’m not built for it.”

God, Taako can’t deal with this. This level of honesty is going to make him break out in fucking hives. The way Kravitz glances up at him through hislashes, a tiny spark of hope in the black of his eyes, is like taking a MagicMissile straight to the chest.

“So, what, you want to hold my hand and cuddle and shit?”Taako demands, and he means it to come out harsh, but instead it sounds almostfragile.

“If that’s okay with you.”

Taako scoffs. “You’rea fucking sap.”

“Well, don’t tell anyone,” Kravitz says. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

And then he offers Taako his hand, palm up, harmless andinviting. I really like you, Taako. It’sbeen a long time since someone made an offer like that, and it went so horrificallywrong last time Taako accepted more than a one-night stand.

But Kravitz is nice. And honest. And he’s alreadytried to murder Taako and the others and then taken steps to make sure he doesn’thave to do it properly, which is a selling point, these days. Half of everyone Taako knows has tried tomurder them, by accident or as a test or just because the three of them were inthe way.

More than anything, though, Kravitz doesn’t say anything,doesn’t press, just sits there with his hand out as a silent offer, waiting forTaako to decide.

Kravitz’s hand is cold, still holding the chill of theastral plane. Taako adds one more thingto his list of Grim Reaper Facts: his fingers fit perfectly with Taako’s.

#taakitz #taako x kravitz #taz #the adventure zone #taz fic #starlight writes stuff #otp: i'm about to tentacle your dick #lalalalalalala i spent two days on this #don't tell me if it's terrible because i like it #i am satisfied #this is the fastest i've ever written a smut fic in my entire life #but yeah anyway that exists #it's on ao3 #also yarndarling i got your ask and i'll put the other one on ao3 too so you can cite it #i came out of this with a lot of very serious kravitz headcanons #like #a lot #i like the idea of him being the wonderland twins' little brother for pain reasons #but i also know that's not considered canon by word of god so my headcanons also work for non-wl-brother krav #i love him so much #and taako i love taako to bits and pieces #i really hope i did taako's speech patterns all right #ya boy's speech patterns are a pain in the motherfucking a s s #but i tried my hardest and that's what counts #fun fact i am magnus burnsides but very short?#i want to do a magnus cosplay but i'm 5' and idk if i could pull it off #anyway here's wonderwall #lathori #asked and answered #taz balance

24 notes · View notes

apparitionism · 7 years

Text

Sound 6c

I’m putting up parts 6c and 6d, which together form the end of part 6, in rapid succession this evening; combining them would make for an insanely long post, but this is all of a conceptual piece—well, in my head it is; who knows if the connections actually connect, or if I’m really just hitting every point with a too-wordy hammer. Trying to do both too much and not enough? Anyway, I wrote some things down. Cf. Soon, as well as part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5a, part 5b, part 5c, part 6a, and part 6b of this.

Also a PSA: Tumblr friend @shipsbecomearmadas is working hard to raise funds for the Kaleidoscope Youth Center (http://www.kycohio.org/), which serves LGBTQIA+ kids in Columbus, Ohio. The group is trying to get Ellen’s attention, and you can help by tweeting or blogging about the center and tagging it “#4Ellen”. (I’ll mention too that wherever you are, if you have a local youth center, they most likely could use any help you can give.)

Sound 6c

Myka had never bothered much with Christmas when she lived alone; she was content for it to be nothing more than a quiet day. Very near silent, and possibly even holy, though religion had, and has, occupied her thoughts only when relevant to translation or teaching. Abigail, who has apparently (and incongruously, as far as Myka is concerned) gone to church every Sunday of her entire life, takes great delight in calling Myka a godless commie. Pete doesn’t call Myka a godless commie, but he does go with Abigail to church now, her interdenominational Chinese Christian church in D.C. “They look at me like I’m a zoo animal,” he once confided to Myka, and then he said, with slight puzzlement, “Weird to be the different one. But I guess I do look like a zoo animal, sitting there with everybody. Probably sound like one too; you know I can’t sing, but Abigail pokes me when I just mouth along with the hymns. I think she does it so they’ll laugh at me and not hate me.”

“Is it working?” Myka asked.

“Well, they laugh. Real quiet, but they laugh.”

“Is that okay with you?”

He frowned, just a little. “Course it is. What kind of guy am I if it’s not?”

“A not-Pete kind of guy,” Myka had assured him.

Pete’s on her mind this afternoon because she’s wrapping his Christmas present: a New York Mets baseball cap. Christina has decided that the Mets are her team, given that last year was their first year in the league and it was also her first year paying close attention to baseball, so Pete takes her to games whenever he and Abigail visit New York during the season. When Myka had wondered aloud what to get him, “a Mets hat” had been Christina’s immediate suggestion.

“Will it be okay for him to wear a New York hat in Washington?” Myka asked.

“The Senators left, so I bet nobody there even cares about baseball anymore. But also I bet it wouldn’t matter to Pete anyway.”

Of course it wouldn’t. Because Pete is a Pete kind of guy.

To wrap the present, Myka is sitting on the floor, next to the tree, because Christina is taking up most of the table with the newspaper. Christina generally doesn’t have time to read the paper before school, so that is one of her rewards for finishing her homework in the afternoons. But while she’s always intent, she isn’t always as intent as she is this day, this unremarkable, not-yet-Christmas Tuesday. She has the newspaper open in front of her, and she’s gone to get the dictionary too; she is on her knees in the chair, her whole body hunching over their small table as she reads, consults the dictionary, then reads some more.

Myka doesn’t begrudge her the table space, because she is enjoying being near the tree, breathing in green and outdoors; while she can’t imagine ever calling Colorado home again, this pine scrapes with familiarity through her lungs. They don’t have enough tree here for the smell itself to go deep, but she’ll take shallow, because it signifies her having won once again an argument she and Helena have now had for three Christmases: Helena says she wants to buy one of the popular aluminum trees, and Myka objects, based both on Colorado and on “where could we possibly store it?” Then Christina tells her mother that it’s an aluminum tree, not an aluminium one, because they are Americans now; Helena objects that she is not in fact an American, so she will continue to say “aluminium tree”; and Myka says it doesn’t matter how anybody pronounces it anyway because it isn’t a tree.

The first time Myka won this argument, in 1961, Helena had stepped back and regarded their newly decorated, blessedly nonmetallic tree. She had at that point declared that if there was no chance of real modernity, she would at least like said tree to be flocked. “Fake snow,” Myka had sighed, “on a real tree?” But the next day Helena brought home an aerosol can of the stuff, saying that Myka did not need to trouble herself over it, that she herself would deal with the application. “Tomorrow, though,” she’d yawned.

Myka had been the first one up and out of bed the following morning. She walked into the living room and caught sight of the tree. She blinked. She rubbed her eyes, then blinked again. But no, the sight stayed the same: the bottom two-thirds of the tree—the still-decorated tree—seemed to have been dolloped with melting strawberry ice cream. She stood in front of the tree for some time, trying to formulate a thought.

“Helena, could you come here?” she called.

Helena grumbled, from their bedroom, “I don’t want to get up yet.”

“I really would appreciate it if you would come here and tell me what you see.”

She emerged, buttoning her robe, muttering “fine, fine,” blinking. She leaned against Myka, nuzzling brief and warm into her neck. Then she stood straight up, facing the tree. She blinked some more. “You want me to tell you what I see.”

“Yes and no,” Myka said, “or maybe I mean yes or no. Depending on what you tell me.”

“Hm. I see that I have made two errors.”

“Two errors, you say.”

“Yes. First, I failed to attend to the color of the spray I purchased. In my defense, I don’t suppose I had any idea it came in colors other than white.”

“It’s fake snow,” Myka reminded her. That was met with a heavy sigh that did not do much to disguise an underlying growl, and Myka chuckled. “And your second error?”

“Second—well, technically first, chronologically—I had a child. Who I believe is now lurking in the hallway, and who might as well come here and regard, with shame, what she has inflicted upon our tree and ornaments.”

Christina walked to the tree and sighed. “I wanted to surprise you.” This said with remorse, but also with something a little like pride.

“You did do that,” Myka had to concede.

“Quite successfully,” Helena said. “And you managed to do this in the night without waking us, which is also a bit of a surprise.”

“I didn’t turn the light on. So I guess I couldn’t see the color in the dark. Also I couldn’t reach all the way up the tree either. Are you mad?”

“About your not being able to reach all the way up the tree? Actually, I’m not at all angry about that, because at least some of the decorations were spared a pinkening.”

Myka said, “I wonder if it comes off. The pinkening, I mean.”

Christina pulled a formerly shiny gold metal ball from the tree. She rubbed at its dried pink drips of flocking with her thumb.

So yes, Christmas was once a quiet day, a day with which Myka never much bothered. But now Christmas is something else again, something that is signified, for her and for Helena and especially for Christina, by the removing of pink-encrusted ornaments from their various protective boxes and newspaper swaddlings and the placing of them, as the finishing touches, on their tree.

Myka raises a hand to the ornament nearest her, a plastic Santa who looks as if he’d been minding his own business on the sidewalk, only to be splashed by a taxi driving through a puddle of melted cotton candy. His pink imperfection clashes terribly with his red coat, and Myka feels more than a little silly for how that makes her heart swell. He’d look even more ridiculous if he were hanging from an aluminum—or aluminium—branch... but Myka suspects her heart would swell just the same.

“Myka,” Christina says from the table. Her voice is querulous, a little jar to Myka’s Santa-inspired sentimentality.

“Christina,” Myka answers back. She will later reflect that she should somehow have known what had Christina concerned, but fate had made her take just one glance at the newspaper that morning. She’d glanced at it again, just the front page, just above the fold, when she arrived home. She hadn’t known. She couldn’t have known... but that was no excuse.

“You and Mom.”

“Yes.” She doesn’t see what’s coming.

“Are you sick.”

“Sick. Sick?” And still she doesn’t see what’s coming. “We had those bad colds, but that was last month.”

“No. Not colds. Sick with.” Christina looks down at the paper. “An incurable, congenital disorder.”

Myka stands up, walks to the table. Christina has the paper open, but now she flips to the front page—the front page, it’s below the fold, but the front page—and reads the headline out loud: “Growth of Overt Homosexuality in City Provokes Wide Concern.” Christina stumbles, just a bit, in that out-loud reading, over the “sexuality” part of “homosexuality.”

This is the kind of situation Helena was made for, as a parent; she would know the right words to say to either defuse it or dismiss it entirely. Myka is... not a parent, so she cannot have been made for any situation as a parent. But her footing is in any case far less secure, not just because they don’t talk very much about this with Christina, not directly, but also because Myka herself tries not to think about it very much. Not directly. Except when she’s forced to. Except when things happen.

But all right, this newspaper article has now happened. Myka reads the front-page portion. It doesn’t seem so bad, despite the headline; it’s about the state liquor authority revoking licenses of so-called “homosexual haunts.” She nods and Christina turns to the continuing page—and there the article seems to go on forever, columns upon columns. Christina points to a particular section: “Out of the Shadows,” the subhead reads, and Myka braces herself. She scans the text there: apparently the best argument that the “organized homophile movement” can muster is that, just as Christina had quoted, homosexuality is “an incurable, congenital disorder”—which in turn would mean that homosexuals should be considered “just another minority.” Analytical psychiatrists, on the other hand, say it’s the result of “ill-adjusted parents.” Which for some reason means it can be “cured.”

Myka asks, “Have you read the whole thing?”

Christina nods.

“Will you give me a minute to read it too, so I know what we’re talking about?”

Christina nods again. It isn’t her fully nervous nod. Myka takes that as a genuine okay for her to go ahead.

But as Myka starts to read, Christina executes a seemingly aimless wander over to the record player. She puts on... she puts on the Drifters. Their 1962 LP, the second side, and Myka now knows that Christina is more upset than she wants to say out loud, because if she is starting with the second side? Helena plays on every track, and the songs themselves do not matter in the slightest: what’s important is that Christina knows she is hearing her mother.

She comes back to Myka, who is now sitting at the table; she stands behind Myka’s chair and drapes herself over Myka’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” Myka says, and Christina nods against her neck. She doesn’t move away, though. At no point while Myka reads does Christina move away.

The article deals mainly with men, where they go, how they talk to each other, why they act as they do. Women are worth almost no mention, and Myka comes close to convincing herself: This is not about me. This is not about Helena. This is not about me, and it is not about Helena. It is not about us.

But one section, despite its male focus, rips the ground from under her tentative self-persuasion. It’s subheaded “Impossible Dream.” It begins, “Many homosexuals dream of forming a permanent attachment that would give them the sense of social and emotional stability that others derive from heterosexual marriage but few achieve it.”

It is the kind of bald statement that she seems always to be trying to tell herself is untrue, but here it is, in the newspaper. Everyone in the entire city read this today. Everyone in the city read that her life and Helena’s, their life together, is impossible... the ten-year-old who shares that life, she is a warm mantle of worry still clasping Myka’s shoulders but now slipped down, plastered against her side, as Myka looks at this newspaper on this table at which they impossibly eat breakfast, lunch, dinner.

“Okay,” she tells Christina when she’s through. “I read it. What are you thinking?”

“You’re not sick,” Christina says.

“I don’t think so.”

Now the words tumble out. “Okay, but then the people in the article who say you’re not sick, the ones who say it’s just that you have weird parents, if your father is hostile and your mother is... I can’t remember what it said about mothers, but they say you can be cured, but how can you be cured of something if you’re not sick with anything in the first place? That doesn’t make sense.”

She really is a very smart girl. “Not much sense,” Myka agrees.

“But do you want to be?”

“Want to be what?”

“Cured.”

How to explain the difference between what you want and what you want? Not that Myka can even explain that to herself, so she goes ahead with the response that had jumped into her head: “But that would mean I wouldn’t love your mom anymore.”

“I know what it means,” Christina says, with a hint of resentment. “Is it what you want?”

Smart girl. Discerning girl. “I want to love her forever,” Myka says. It’s as true as any of the other contradictorily true things she could say, but she does have to stop herself from adding “in an ideal world.” There’s only so much truth you can tell a ten-year-old. Even this ten-year-old.

“Forever?”

There’s both hope and certainty in that word: “do you mean it” crossed with “of course you mean it.” Myka has heard the same collision in Helena’s voice. She’s never known how to give Helena the right answer, and she has no better intuition here. “I do want to,” she tries.

“Is that what Mom wants too?”

“I hope so.”

“Me too.” Christina tightens her grip on Myka, a dramatic grasp of a hug, then lets go. “I think I’ll go read now.”

“Okay. What are you reading?”

“I’m not sure. I have about three or four library books.” Feigned disinterest, a lack of precision: she’s finished talking about this. But then she cocks her head, listening to the music. “Rudy isn’t sick either.” Most singers and musicians with whom Helena works, Christina can take or leave. She’s polite to all of them, of course, because Helena would never let her get away with anything less. But a select few—and this seems to have nothing to do with how famous they are, or even how talented—she adores. Rudy Lewis is among those select few, and in this case, the devotion is mutual. He always asks after her, and when he sees her, he declares “there’s that baby!”, which never fails to accelerate Christina’s usually slow smile.

“Rudy isn’t sick either,” Myka says. “Rudy is as sweet to you as I’ve ever seen anybody be, plus he sings like an angel, and he gets a huge kick out of your mom. I don’t think anybody who does all those things could be sick.”

“And he doesn’t want to be cured either, does he?”

“I don’t think so,” Myka says, but here, she is skirting an outright lie. Because Rudy might not be sick, but he does have his problems. And some of those problems do arise from the fact that he... isn’t sick. But here, too, there’s only so much truth you can tell a ten-year-old. Myka suspects that Rudy, as well as most of the people she knows who aren’t sick, would not volunteer to be cured. But she does wonder what they would say about it, what she herself and even Helena would say about it, if they woke up one morning and found themselves cured—or rather, found themselves not like this. Like everyone else instead.

“That’s good,” Christina says. “I wouldn’t want him to be different. I really am going to read now. I have A Wrinkle in Time again, and I got Ice Station Zebra and The Spy Who Came in from the Cold for the first time.” Over the summer, she had developed a fondness for spy thrillers, in spite of needing to look up what seemed to be every other word. Myka and Helena both found this new preference a little alarming, but it sent Abigail into hysterics. “Like mother, like daughter... no, I mean, like this person, like this person’s kid!” she had chortled.

Now Christina takes the dictionary from the table, tucking it under her arm. She likes to read books in her room. Newspapers on the table, books in her room, and she leaves Myka sitting there, still staring at the columns upon columns of the article.

She can’t decide how much to tell Helena about it, or even if she should bring it up in the first place. Given how invested Christina had been, she most likely should tell it all, including about their conversation, but on the other hand, Christina seems to have wanted to put the issue to bed. Although that may have been just with Myka... but of course it isn’t as if the problem won’t come up again in some other equally unexpected way...

Helena opens the door to the apartment, interrupting Myka’s choice-making. She sets her violin case and handbag down, and then she asks, with a twitch in her voice, “Did Christina read the newspaper today?”

“You know she did. She always does.”

“Did you?”

“I hadn’t. But then she asked me whether you and I are sick.” Helena’s posture slackens. “So yes, then, I did.”

“Lovely.” It’s a sharp word. Helena comes to the table, looks down at the newspaper, doesn’t touch it. In fact she crosses her arms at it. “Why is this necessary?” She might be asking the paper itself, interrogating it about its unacceptable behavior.

“Part of it is news. About the State Liquor Authority.”

“But why the rest of it.”

“You don’t really want an answer.”

“I’m not really asking a question.” She directs her attention now at Myka. “And I hope you bear in mind: not impossible. A dream, yes, and every now and then a nightmare, but not impossible.” Because of course she would know which part of the article had threatened to overpower Myka. And maybe it had had that effect on Helena too, at first, but now her shoulders are square: that’s anger, not hesitation or doubt.

They both notice that Christina has slunk up the hallway and is hanging there, uncharacteristically reluctant to interrupt.

“Come here, you,” Helena says, and Christina flies at her. She used to wrap her arms around Helena’s legs. Now, taller, she hugs Helena around the waist. Shoulders will be next... when she grows, it’s fast. Dramatic spurts, just like Myka remembers from her own childhood. Helena asks her, “Are you all right?’

“Mostly all right. But.”

“But?” Now Helena does sound a little uncertain, and Myka, too, braces for Christina’s answer.

“I’m too old to go to Macy’s and sit on Santa’s lap tonight like we were going to.”

Helena breathes a bit. Then she says, “You had hardly any Christmas at all for the first five years of your life. Please indulge me.”

Christina sighs. She says, “Okay, Mom”: not fully graceful in her acquiescence, but graceful enough. She is showing that she is all right.

“You’re the one who likes tradition,” Myka tells Christina, this perceptive girl who knows her mother well enough to know when she, too, needs reassurance... in fact Christina may have objected to the excursion just so she could acquiesce.

“Myka, I’m ten,” Christina groans. Well, then again, maybe not.

But everything is all right. They eat their dinner—fried eggs, bacon, toast, because eating breakfast at night is different, but it binds them together in its difference—atop the opened newspaper, making a mess of it, dropping crumbs, letting yolk dribble, setting bacon down just to watch the fat-stains blight the type.

Then they go to Macy’s. It’s as overwhelming as it is every year; this year, though, the fact that they are just three small parts of the teeming crowds and silver-belling holiday racket seems to mean they could be any three people at all. That they can be any three people.

But at a certain point, Myka turns to say something to Helena, and Helena... looks odd. There’s a little dampness at her temples, and her breathing is a strange not-quite-pant. Some sort of delayed shock reaction? “What is it?” Myka asks.

“Winter wonderland,” Helena says.

It takes Myka a second or two to realize that that carol is drifting through the bechristmased store. “What about it?”

“That’s the song. Well, not this version of course, but—on Phil’s Christmas record, I told you. I played it over a hundred times. And listened to it... uncountable. I can’t stand it. I need some air.” She bolts away, saying, “I’ll meet you outside.”

Christina looks at Myka, and Myka reads that look immediately. “Oh, no. You’re talking to Santa so we can tell her that you did.”

“Can’t we say the line was too long?”

“Only if it is. But you know she wouldn’t believe us anyway, so you’re stuck.”

“I’m ten,” Christina insists, but that’s the last objection she offers.

When Myka and Christina emerge onto the sidewalk, Helena is clapping her hands against the chill of the evening.

“You could’ve come back in,” Christina informs her, as they begin to walk toward the subway. “The song ended.”

Helena ignores this. “Did you ask Father Christmas to bring you anything in particular?”

“I asked Santa. Because I’m an American. I asked him for a Vac-U-Form.”

Myka says, “He was a little confounded. Apparently she’s the first girl to ask for one.”

“I don’t see what joy any boy or girl would derive from what is essentially a plastic foundry. And why on earth do you continue to want toys that will burn the house down?” Helena asks. But she puts her arm around Christina and drops a kiss on her head.

“It’s not even really a toy. Like you said, it’s a foundry.” Christina utters the word with evident pleasure. “Besides, the only thing I’ve ever burned is my own hand, with the sulfuric acid. And only one time.”

Helena declares, “That is, from my perspective, a distinction without a difference. Certainly in terms of damage.” At which Christina sighs.

Myka would put her arm around Helena and drop a kiss on her head, but she settles for laughing at her. “Never let it be said that you avoided hyperbole. Nobody was happy about that burned hand, but I think from almost everybody else’s perspective that’s a distinction with a pretty big difference. Even in terms of damage.”

“My hand did hurt though,” Christina says.

“I know it did,” Myka assures her.

“Hyperbole,” Helena huffs.

The subway is warm. On it, they are just three people.

****

Myka and Helena put Christina to bed together. Most nights, one or the other will take the lead, but tonight they are together.

Christina says to her mother, in the middle of the yawn that followed her insistence that she was not tired, “Myka says she hopes you want to love her forever. Do you?”

Helena says, “Of course I do.” She is all business, as if no more factual a statement could be issued. Christina relaxes—she’d been holding her head a bit up, off of her pillow, but now the feathers give way with the tiniest of exhalations—and Myka wishes that she too were ten, to be able to hear that voice and believe in its infallibility. “Now,” Helena says, with no change in tone, “are you still concerned about that ridiculous newspaper article? Tell me the truth.”

“You’re not sick,” Christina says.

“Not to the best of my knowledge.”

“But Immigration might feel like they have better knowledge. Right?” She doesn’t say this with any guile, but Myka suspects she’s been thinking it out for some time.

“You’re very clever. All I can tell you is that some people hold certain misinformed beliefs. Where those come into conflict with ours... well. We will face what we must, if and when we must. In the meantime, shall I let you know if I begin to feel ill?” Again, the tone says do not concern yourself, and again Myka wants to believe her. Christina believes her enough to nod. “All right, then,” Helena says. “Myka and I will retire to our bed that is not a sickbed, and you will sleep well.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“You say that as if you are addressing someone in this room, and yet I see only Myka and myself.” She leans down and kisses Christina’s forehead, then takes Myka’s hand and kisses it—and that too says do not concern yourself. “Vac-U-Form. What are we to do with you?”

“Make sure Santa knows I want one.”

Helena’s tone doesn’t change, but her smile deepens. “I don’t know who that is either, so I could not possibly convey the message.”

Myka laughs. “See, knock-knock, that’s why we had to go to Macy’s.”

“I’m ten,” Christina insists, but with little force. She blinks a very slow blink. She yawns again.

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Sound #part 6c #Soon sequel #the conclusions of part 6 will be up as soon as I can get it formatted #it's not particularly exciting #I am still building the exterior of the box #I do know it's a bit like waiting for plot-Godot at this point

27 notes · View notes

douglassmiith · 4 years

Text

How to Use Googles Spam Redressal Form to Level the Local Playing Field

For many SMBs, and even local SEO Companys, the Google My Business Redressal Form is a thing of mystery. Here, Platinum Product Expert Ben Fisher shares his top tips for reporting spam through the form and outlines some of the latest updates.

At Steady Demand, we deal with a metric ton of spam on a monthly basis – spanning a ton of categories and covering almost every major city in the USA. On average, we see about a 96% success rate in spam removal, so I guess you could say we know a thing or two about the use of this form…

What is the Google My Business Redressal Form?

First, let’s cover a little history about the Redressal Form. In February 2019, the Google My Business Redressal Form was launched as a way to replace the spam reporting area of the GMB community forum. There were various reasons for this, but one of the most important was to create a scalable way of allowing users to report harmful or fraudulent listings directly to Google (versus only having the option to suggest an edit).

How has the Redressal Form evolved?

In January of 2020, the form was updated to be a little more specific about what you should not submit. Specifically, Google added this language:

If your complaint is not related to fraudulent activity on the name, phone number, or URL of the business, we will not be able to review your complaint. Please use these steps to report problems for all other Google Maps features. If you simply need to correct an incorrect business name, phone number, or URL, do not use this form. Use these steps to correct the information instead.

Fast forward to today: as of May 1st, 2020, the Google My Business Product Expert group was informed that you could use the Redressal for title spam, but to please use ‘Suggest an edit’ first on the GMB listing itself beforehand.

GMB PSA: You can now submit Name Spam on the redressal form! (The text has not been updated, but you can) — Please Suggest and Edit first.https://t.co/57ESPvOI8R#localseo pic.twitter.com/ns2TWqT4T3

— Ben Fisher (@TheSocialDude) May 1, 2020

What’s the difference between the Redressal Form and suggesting an edit?

An important distinction that most are not aware of is that ‘Suggest an edit’ (see screenshot below) is, for the most part, an automated, machine learning mechanism to teach Google what users feel should be removed from Google Maps.

The Redressal Form, on the other hand, ends up directly in a human being’s hands. Yes, that’s right — usually, the Redressal Form submissions are reviewed by a spam team at Google.

That’s why you’ll see on the form itself that Google suggests uploading a spreadsheet if you’re reporting more than 10 listings at a time. Since a human is going to evaluate the submission, it is easier for them to handle bulk submissions this way.

I must also add that if you are submitting images as proof in the file upload option (pictured above), and wonder why you are not getting any good results, it is because you are not supposed to upload images here. If you want to share images as evidence, I’ll explain how to do that successfully later on.

Once spam has been evaluated (for better or worse) the data is then recorded and the machine learns from the input. This can lead to micro-changes in the listing environment where the algorithm sees patterns emerge and then small proactive incremental updates are pushed out to a broader set of listings.

And by the way, we should be thankful that this is how it operates. Remember June of 2019 — right when the Wall Street Journal article came out about spam? Well, a massive spam sweep occurred and lots of valid listings were suspended in the process. Small incremental changes are much better than reactive sweeps!

So, even though you are only submitting a small batch of listings, the impact these edits can have down the line is much greater than you might imagine. 100 listings submitted could lead to 1,000 being removed — I see this happen all the time. If we do large batch submissions in a certain vertical and in a specific market for a few months in a row, we’ll then notice the overall spam in that area decreases dramatically.

There are some real listings that get swept up in some cases, but those cases are usually pretty small. (Word to the wise: if you are doing massive cleanups in markets, make sure your clients are prepared for a suspension — it can happen, but then you can get them right back online).

How should I fill out the Redressal Form to get the best results possible?

Whether you are submitting the Redressal Form for one or for multiple businesses, it really does not change what information should be included. So here is how I suggest filling it out:

Name: Either your name or the email account’s name that you are signed in with.

Email: Again, either your email or the one you are submitting with. (This is where your caseID will be delivered to).

Name of Entity: I always put “NA” for one listing or “Multiple” if submitting more than one.

Content-type: Title (aka name spam), Address (virtual offices, UPS stores, or using another business’s location), Phone Number (for listings that are lead gen schemes, since they usually use the same number), or Website (again, this is usually for lead gen or malware types of sites). For a look into the different types of spam on GMB, take a look at Sterling Sky’s guide.

Public URL: This is the Google Maps URL for each listing that you are reporting. If you’re reporting more than 10, then submit one in this field and upload a spreadsheet for the rest. I always choose to submit the CID (otherwise known as the Ludocid) of a listing, as well. There are a handful of tools you can use to generate a business’s CID, including BrightLocal’s Review Link & Place ID Generator, or a Chrome extension from Tom Waddington, and one from GatherUp. Either way, the link ends up looking like this: https://www.Google.com/maps?cid=XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The last step (pictured above) is very important. This is where you are pleading your case. This is where you are explaining the impact that the submitted listing(s) are having on other merchants and consumers. This is not the place to cry about how it is impacting your rankings or how unfair it is that they are outranking others. It is about the real-world implications of fraudulent or misleading information.

If you are submitting one Maps listing, then this is where you provide all your evidence. If you submit multiple listings, then this is a summary of what is in the attached spreadsheet.

One thing to point out here is that it’s worth clustering submissions into different groups. So, submit all title spam as one submission, address spam as another submission, and so on. This takes more work but will increase your chances of succeeding.

Another mistake I often see is that people think Google cares about your screenshots. Well, they do… but not the way you are probably submitting them. If you are going to include an image as proof, use something like Snagit to make a short URL or upload it to Google Drive. I repeat, do not paste the image directly into an Excel file or Google Sheet. It is unreadable and a waste of your time.

Speaking of spreadsheets, for all you professional spam hunters, make sure you include the name, address, Maps URL, phone, and any other proof you are using to make a case in your sheet.

Some other useful things you can provide include:

Government sources like the Secretary of State or a licensing site: Include the URL to the source if you cannot show the search query.

Google Streetview: Share a screenshot if, for instance, the business is operating out of a residential home, or if the address matches a different business.

Link to the location: If the address matches another business, include a link to that location. For example, “This address is actually a Regus virtual office” and then link to Regus.

And finally, do not use 3rd party sites like Facebook or Yelp, (although LinkedIn can work sometimes).

What happens after I submit the Google My Business Redressal Form?

The first thing that happens once you submit the Redressal Form is that you will get an email. It will look something like what you see below. The number in the subject is your caseID, but other than that it is pretty useless. You cannot reply to it, or follow up on it. Since you do not own the listings in question, Google will not communicate about them with you.

At this point, most spam I see is actioned in a two-week timeframe. Smaller batches are actioned sometime in the same week. If you are submitting upward of 50 listings, expect the timeframe to be more like 3+ weeks.

At this point, it is a black box, you wait… and wait… and click links… and wait…

At Steady Demand, we actually built a system that checks all submitted links (yay, no more clicking!) for removal from Google and keeps track of the success or failure of spam reporting. If this is something that interests you, feel free to connect with me.

What do I do if I’m not successful?

Well, the first thing to do is give it some time. Then, check all your facts — did you miss something? Sometimes, there are small clues that prove a listing is actually real. Or, maybe you just did not provide a crucial piece of evidence.

Personally, I have even gone as far as to hire a private investigator or, where legal, record conversations with a building owner asking if a company is leasing space or not.

If you must submit the form again, then do so, but remember that a human being is looking at your submission and they keep a database of evaluated spam.

Finally, I know you feel it is Google’s job to do all of this work, and yup, it is infuriating that some spam gets ignored. But remember, it is Google’s platform, and they are bound by their own rules and they strive to seek a balance between you, the merchant, and the consumer. It is not perfect, it is also not worth getting upset about.

Use the tools you have at your disposal and even that playing field!

The post How to Use Google’s Spam Redressal Form to Level the Local Playing Field appeared first on BrightLocal.

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

Via http://www.scpie.org/how-to-use-googles-spam-redressal-form-to-level-the-local-playing-field/

source https://scpie.weebly.com/blog/how-to-use-googles-spam-redressal-form-to-level-the-local-playing-field

0 notes

laurelkrugerr · 4 years

Text

How to Use Google’s Spam Redressal Form to Level the Local Playing Field