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fountainpenguin · 4 months

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"And there's a magic act that saws Regina in half, and this time it will take! Now, that's a party!" (x)

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New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 18 - “Snap (Truce Night)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

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Truce Night signals the whole Dog's Life server to settle down for sleep, unless you're Joel and Ren with a plan to lure in phantoms on a stormy night... or maybe Impulse, who's been on the hunt for Bdubs since Session 2 began. Don't worry about him! He's not on red, so he can't kill the guy.

After all, that would be against the rules...

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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Etho-Scar Alliance

Unaffiliated

GoodTimesWithScar - Pillager

🖤 💜 🖤

It really is a big cave. Cleo, Tango, Pearl, and Jimmy probably don't even know anyone's lurking around down here in the second tunnel layer. Or is it third or fourth? They're pretty deep underground. Scar drags his fingertips along the damp wall, tracing stringy moss against his nails. It flutters. He can feel this world breathing like a coiled dragon underneath the surface.

Amethyst nearby. I can feel it pulsing…

And there, around the next corner, is the friend he came to find! Scar keeps his trudging footsteps heavy, and not only because he's limping now (his glitch clinging on the back of his leg; difficult to bend). His crossbow doesn't make a fantastic cane. Mumbo went and tucked his bed in the back of the little cave. He sits at the foot of it, the sheets still neatly made up. Yeah, Scar's been there. When there's red life juices thrumming in your code, it's hard to settle down.

Mumbo's hunched over there at the end, rubbing his thumb against his diamond sword. He's in his pajama skin - loose white T-shirt with all-too-familiar red text scrawled across the chest - and breathes slowly, warmly, in a way that flutters his mustache.

Oh, he's very red, you see… but Scar is not afraid of him. Mumbo is his friend.

The torchlight flickers against the pale, sharp edges of Mumbo's face. The blade is sharp enough, he's already nicked himself a couple times on both hands. White marks expose the first layer of goopy spawn egg code stuff between skin and soul. As Scar steps in on swaying feet, Mumbo lifts his eyes. The torch crackles halfway between them.

"I feel nothing," is the first thing Mumbo says. That's his greeting - all of that - and Scar tilts up his mouth in patient sympathy. Mumbo keeps picking his thumb against the blade, even though he's no longer looking at it. Hot eyes fixate on Scar's… Hot and cool! Very cool. He likes to think himself cool in the head, anyway. Mumbo murmurs, "See, that's why I don't think this game's for me. I feel nothing."

"Oh, you love me. I'm always there for my friends. Everybody loves me. In fact, that's why I'm here."

Mumbo lurches to his feet. He swings his arm, bringing the blade straight so it points at Scar's throat from several blocks away. "I could kill you," he says. His voice doesn't slip, doesn't tremble, but lands without emotion. "I could carve you like a pumpkin. You too are a lump of pixels with nothing inside, falsely smiling. I'd feel nothing, I suspect."

"No, no," says Scar, striding forward. He's not afraid of Mumbo, silly! Not Mumbo in his bare feet and pajamas, his eyes wide and wild. Mumbo's a good guy; Mumbo is his friend. He steps closer. Mumbo's shoulders tremble. He tilts back his head, staring through Scar like they're separated by a curtain of fire and nothing more.

Gently (firmly), Scar knocks Mumbo's blade aside with his knuckles. "You just need a good murder in your system, Mumbo! Red life is where all the good times are! I might even be jealous- you get to have all the fun! Why, I've got to uphold deals and alliances, and I'm carrying Etho's weight along with it, and killing BigB didn't give me nearly the rush I wanted. Would I lie to you about the good times?"

"I could kill you. I could kill you, Scar."

Grian stole the traits of Enderman

"Um- No, no! You actually can't- See, I'm all alone down here; that would be so mean… You have to be purple for the turn of an episode at least, I think I heard. I'm looking for a friend!"

"I could kill you," Mumbo says again, knuckles tight around the hilt of his sword. It's still extended, and Scar's so close now that it's an easy flick for Mumbo to press the tip of it against Scar's iron chestplate. Having literal iron abs would be a funny sight. Diamond abs would be amazing. That probably hurts when doing crunches. Imagine all that grating back and forth… Diamond cuts diamond- that's a real thing. No, it's true!

"Oh, it's Truce Night… Killing me will have to wait."

Mumbo's glowing eyes bore in a little deeper. "It's not Truce Night 'til the double beeps go off. You're in my cave."

PearlescentMoon went to bed. Sweet dreams!

Scar's hand glitters white. He shifts his crossbow from his inventory to his main hand. Mumbo's blade still rests against his chest, but in all the red haze - and in all his red protests - Mumbo looks frightened. He's backed into a corner, and if he's spooked, he'll definitely swing. Will he, though? Scar's allowed to strike back if Mumbo hits him first. Reds are mostly dead, you know… Reds have wild, mind-messing mods pumping in their code. "But I want to team with you!" And he laughs. Isn't that obvious? Has he not been clear?"

"You can't, Scar." Mumbo's tone is short and fierce, like the blade pressing into Scar's chestplate.

"Oh, you were wonderful at scaring people back in Last Life."

There's a pause. Mumbo's eyes fidget like he's snapping screenshots or zooming on Scar's face. The sword point scratches, diamond squealing over iron. It doesn't drop any lower. "Well, that's quite encouraging. Thank you for, um… saying such flattering things about me." Mumbo blinks. "I don't really know what I'm doing here; to be perfectly honest, I feel like I was absolutely pants at being a red name last time. I really don't know if I deserve to be here."

"Why, you're here to be my friend, of course!"

"Am I? Really?"

"Oh, of course, of course… Have you seen Bdubs, by the way?"

Perplexity (Perplexion) stitches its way across every line of Mumbo's face. For the first time, the sword scrapes downward. It drops from Scar's chestplate and dangles, tip aimed at his heel instead. Mumbo upturns one hand. He holds it out, awaiting payment. "Have you brought me something nice? I can kill him for you. Would you like me to kill him for you?"

Such a polite request… Mumbo is so very polite. It's one of the beautiful qualities that makes him such a nice friend. Scar grabs his hand instead, shaking up and down. Mumbo's mouth twitches at the contact, though he keeps breathing and doesn't jerk back his hand. "Oh, no," he says, "but Bdubs is at the surface! And Bdubs is such a lovely man. It's our job to protect him."

"That… sounds like the exact opposite of my job right about now, Scar."

[ Full chapter link at top ]

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rose-of-the-grave · 3 months

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Castle

Pairing: Nesta x Eris

Hey all! This is my first official fic of the year!!! This was for a request. As always I'm the author (please no reposting)

Masterlist. Read on Ao3

Warnings: (18+ I think), suggestiveness, allusion to rape, killing, kissing, angst, protective Eris, I swear that this isn't that dark

Word count: 5,919

Description: When Nesta accepts Eris' proposal she had no idea what she was in for during her new life in the Autumn Court.

Taglist: @sylveryfire

“I want you to tell Eris that I accept his proposal.” Nesta said.

Rhysand looked pleased. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll send word right away.”

“What’s going on?” Feyre stood not too far away.

Nesta imagined that her brother-in-law had communicated with her mind to mind because her sister immediately turned to face her.

“Are you sure about this?” Her younger sister asked.

“Yes.”

“What about…?”

Nesta didn’t want to even think about Cassian. Earlier when she had told him that she had decided to marry Eris he had been shocked. He had asked her why and she had told him that it was because she deserved it. It was then that she realized that if she wanted him to let her go he would have to believe that this was what she wanted and that she would not budge.

So Nesta told him what she thought would hurt him most. That she thought she could love Eris if given the chance. He had recoiled, hurt, but hadn’t said anything more. Instead he just walked away without another word.

“I want to marry him.”

“If that’s really what you want…” Feyre trailed off.

“It is.”

“Then it is settled.” Rhysand said.

“Good.” Nesta replied, already walking away. Maybe she would come to regret this decision but for now she didn’t want to think about what awaited her. At least this gave her a way to leave the Night Court behind, even if it meant trading one prison for another.

A week later

I'm headed straight for the castle

They wanna make me their queen

All of the preparations had been made for the wedding, it was going to happen in the Autumn Court. Elain was unhappy with her decision but had said that she wanted to come. Rhysand was winnowing them there. Feyre had also wanted to come but with her being pregnant Rhysand didn’t want her anywhere near the Autumn Court. He hadn’t even wanted Elain to come but she insisted.

Nesta tried not to think about Gwyn and Emerie. It had hurt having to tell them that she was leaving but she owed them a goodbye. She was going to miss them.

Elain was dressed in a pretty pink dress with her hair falling down in loose waves. She looked beautiful. Standing next to her was Rhysand in a black suit, as per usual. The wedding was going to happen right after they arrived so Nesta was already dressed. She didn’t want to wear the Night Court’s colors, nor did she want to wear white. Eventually she decided on a blood red dress that was decorated with rubies.

It shone like fire, perfect for the Autumn Court.

She had braided her hair and twisted it up, securing it with a ruby encrusted gold comb. Walking down the stairs was a challenge. The dress was a tripping incident waiting to happen.

“Come on, let’s go.” Rhysand said, wasting no time for pleasantries.

He seemed impatient, perhaps he was worried that she would change her mind at the last minute and run.

The minute she came within range he grabbed onto both her and Elain, winnowing them all away.

They arrived right on the steps of where the wedding was supposed to be. It was beautiful. There were trees outside that were in a permanent state of changing color. People were milling about outside, about to head in. She wondered if Eris was already inside.

What did a Fae wedding even entail? Nobody had explained that to her. Were they like human weddings?

“Rhysand.”

They all turned to look at the High Lord of Autumn who was approaching them. In a matter of minutes he would be her father-in-law.

“Beron.”

Beron smiled thinly before shifting his gaze to her, assessing her. The last time she had seen him was during the war. He arched an eyebrow before turning away, dismissing her. Rhysand stood partially in front of Elain as if to protect her.

A moment later, Nesta realized that the four of them were all alone.

Rhysand escorted her sister in, leaving her out there with the High Lord. He offered her his arm, which she took reluctantly. They walked into the building and he continued walking. He went with her all the way past the spectators, depositing her at the front where Eris stood.

A priestess emerged from the shadows and everybody went quiet.

Nesta followed the robed figure with her eyes until she was standing just behind her and Eris. The priestess started saying something in a foreign tongue. Nesta shifted her gaze to the male that was about to become her husband only to find that he was already staring at her. She looked into his eyes, ignoring what was going on until he started repeating something that the priestess said. When it was her turn she did the same. The rest was a blur.

When it was done everybody stood up and went outside.

Nesta hugged Elain tightly, knowing that there was a chance that they might never see each other again. She smiled, watching as her sister disappeared along with Rhysand.

Eris came up behind her and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Follow me.”

She turned to him, masking her emotions with a smile. If she was going to fool an entire Fae court then she was going to have to appear besotted with her new husband. He showed her the way to a carriage that was going to take them to the castle.

Once they were sitting in the carriage facing toward each other he told her, “I must confess that I was surprised to hear of your acceptance.”

“Then why did you ask for my hand in the first place?”

“Perhaps you enchanted me with your dancing.”

She laughed. “That’s not a reason to marry someone.”

“I was under the impression that that was exactly why people got married, because they had enjoyed dancing together.”

“Normally they spend some time getting to know each other before they propose.”

“You still said yes.” He reminded her.

“Indeed.”

“Why?”

“If you are fishing for a compliment you will not get one from me.”

He clasped a hand to his chest. “You wound me my dear wife.”

“I sincerely doubt that considering your over-inflated ego.”

“I can assure you that that is not the only thing about me that is big.” He smirked.

Her cheeks flushed a light pink at his unexpected innuendo. Deciding to not dignify him with a response she looked around at their surroundings. The carriage was traveling along a road through the forest where the trees created an arch over their heads.

When they arrived he jumped out of the carriage before turning to offer his aid. She lightly placed her hand into his gloved one, pulling it away once she was standing on the ground. Together they walked up the stairs and into a ballroom. There were even more people in the room than there had been at the wedding.

She straightened her posture and lifted her chin before entering with Eris. The entire room went silent, all eyes on them. Someone started clapping. Then they were all applauding, their eyes still on the pair of them. The crowd parted as they passed through on their way to the front where the High Lord and the Lady of Autumn sat.

Eris bowed, greeting them both. Nesta simply shallowly curtsied. She refused to show any weakness.

Beron made a motion with his hand and, perfectly on cue, the music started and the people started to dance.

Her husband turned to her with an outstretched hand. “Might I have this dance?”

Placing her hand in his once more she replied, “You may.”

He spun her out in front of him before following. He kept on twirling her, occasionally bringing her in close to him before allowing her to dance freely. Her dress caught the light, shining brightly throughout the room.

“You are mesmerizing.” He whispered in her ear before spinning her out.

She kept on dancing, letting the music grab hold of her. She was so lost in the dance that she didn’t realize the wide berth people were giving them as they all watched her. When the band played their last cord Eris pulled her in one last time.

Their faces were close, so close that she could see the tiny flecks in his eyes. When the music started to play again people started to dance once more. He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips for all to see. Before she knew it he had pulled away and was dancing once more with her.

They continued to dance for several songs before they got tired and he led her off of the dance floor in the opposite direction of his parents.

He showed her the way upstairs to what she assumed was their room. She was fairly certain that, considering it was their wedding night, she knew what was going to happen next. It felt odd to think about considering everything she and Cassian had been doing together up until a week ago.

Eris opened the door, allowing Nesta to enter. The room was spacious and well-decorated. She walked over to the full-length mirror, slightly curious what she looked like after so much dancing. Pulling out the comb, she placed it on a dresser that was off to the side. She was about to undo her hair when Eris came up behind her. He pulled out the handful of pins holding her braids in place before unbraiding her hair.

Out of nowhere he somehow had a brush in his hand which he ran through her hair before setting it down. Sweeping her hair over one shoulder he placed a gentle kiss to her shoulder just to the side of her dress’ straps. Pushing the strap off of her shoulder he continued to place delicate kisses across her shoulder. Unable to resist, she leaned back into him.

He made eye contact with her in the mirror, one hand at her waist and the other holding her dress strap. She turned around in his arms and kissed him. For a moment they both allowed themselves to get lost in the kiss but he quickly put space between them, distancing himself from her.

“Good night my lady.” He bowed slightly before walking out of the bedroom. She watched as he walked away, puzzled by his reaction.

The next morning

I'm headed straight for the castle

They've got the kingdom locked up

Nesta awoke to light streaming into her room through the windows. Looking over she sees a maid standing by her bed holding a piece of paper.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a message from my lady.” She curtsied before handing it to Nesta.

It was a request to have tea at noon with her in her room.

“Can you please tell her that I accept?”

“Of course.” She curtsied once more and left.

Sighing, Nesta got out of bed and got her first real look at her bedroom. It had a fireplace that was already lit and the stone had images carved into it. The entire room was red with gold touches. The mirror, which quickly managed to catch her eye, only served as a reminder of the night before. She was still confused. She thought that she would be relieved that Eris hadn’t expected her to sleep with him but she found that some small, traitorous part of her was disappointed.

Determined to put her infuriating new husband out of her mind she opened one of the dresser drawers. The clothes that they had sent along early had been folded and put away in the dresser. She dug through it until she found a red dress that was patterned with black. Tying a belt around the waist she completed her outfit with a coat to keep her warm.

As a final touch she rebraided her hair. Satisfied with her appearance she put on a pair of boots and walked out of her room.

The halls looked a lot less complicated in the light of day than they had when Eris had been showing her the way. After a minute or two she reached the staircase and walked down. Noticing a door that led outside, she went out through there.

There was a path that seemed to wind around the entire castle. Feeling like a bit of fresh air, she randomly chose a direction and started to walk.

The leaves on the ground crunched under her boots and the wind blew right in her face. It was colder than she had expected. She was glad that she had chosen to wear a coat.

After only a few minutes she realized that she had greatly underestimated the size of her new home. The entire castle was beautiful. There were stone statues and fallen leaves and tall towers. It took a really long time before she finally returned to the door that she thought she had used before.

Unsure of where her new mother-in-law lived in the castle she decided to wander around until she found someone she could ask or until she happened across it.

“Nesta.”

She turned around to find the Lady of the Autumn Court standing in a pale red-orange dress that had a high neckline and a sweeping skirt. It was simple but elegant and reminded Nesta of something she herself might wear.

“I apologize, I wasn’t quite sure where to find you.” Nesta said.

“It is quite alright. Please, follow me.” She motioned to a door to her left. “Right through here.”

She led Nesta out onto a balcony where there was a small table with tea and biscuits laid out on china. Nesta took the seat opposite her companion.

“It is lovely to finally meet you.”

“Indeed.” Nesta responded.

“My son has mentioned you several times since meeting you but I never imagined that we would have the opportunity to meet. I remember you from the High Lord’s meeting before the war but I don’t believe I knew your name back then.”

“To be honest, I never imagined we would ever meet as well.”

“And why is that?” The lady of the Autumn Court took a sip of tea.

“I never expected that Eris would propose, let alone that I would accept. At first I had planned on declining him.”

She smiled understandingly at Nesta. ”I would like to think that he is not quite as bad as people imagine.”

“Perhaps. During my time in the Night Court I spent time with Morrigan. They were engaged at one point were they not? It is quite horrible to hear about everything that was done to her. I hear that he takes after his father in regards to his treatment of others. Have you found that to be true?”

She looked sharply at Nesta. “The walls have ears in this castle my dear. You would be wise to not voice your opinions of my husband or your own.”

Nesta nodded and stood up, leaving her teacup full. “I thank you for your advice. Now, if you would please excuse me, I feel a bit under the weather.”

She walked off of the balcony and out into the hallway. In her time spent exploring she had gotten turned around. She had no clue as to where her room was.

After a while she found herself back in the ballroom from before. Now that it was empty it didn’t seem nearly as intimidating. Before it had been full of people watching her every move but now it was just a room.

It was a beautiful room with gold all around. The ceiling was covered with paintings and the arches that went from one side to the other were all decorated with golden leaves. The floor had an enchanting floral pattern that was entirely gold on a white marble.

Her boots were loud against the floor, the noise echoing through the room.

“Here you are.”

Whirling around she found Eris standing in the doorway across the room.

“Were you looking for me?”

“I wanted to inform you that I will be gone for a day or two on business.”

She nodded and started to turn away when he took a few steps closer to her.

“About last night…” He started.

“What about last night? You made yourself quite clear.”

“No, I don’t believe I did.” He walked towards her slowly as they talked.

“I don’t wish to talk about it.” She responded, turning away.

“But I do.”

“What is there to say? You didn’t want to sleep with me on our wedding night. There’s nothing more to be said.”

“I at least owe you an explanation.”

“Don’t.”

“Look at me.” She didn’t turn around. “Look at me Nesta.”

He was finally within arms reach and, grabbing her arm, he turned her to face him. She looked up at him defiantly, not particularly wanting to hear what he had to say but her curiosity won out.

“Well?” She crossed her arms across her chest.

“You were clearly not over that Illyrian brute.”

“Don’t call him that. And there is no reason for me to be over him, I don’t love him. I don’t even like him!”

“I’m not blind Nesta. I can still smell him on you.” He sneered.

“You’re wrong. I may have fucked him but that was weeks ago. I married you. If that doesn’t prove anything then I don’t know what will. I chose marrying you despite knowing just how much of a prick you are over staying in the Night Court with Cassian. And all for what? To be yelled at for how I smell? I don’t think so.” She brushed past him, walking away.

“I’m sorry.”

She turned around to face him again. “For what? For yelling at me or for marrying me?”

“For yelling. It’s none of my business what you did with him.”

“I’m glad you realize that.” Turning back around, she walked out of the ballroom and followed the same path that she had taken the night before with Eris. Luckily she made it back to her room with no problems.

The next day

And there's an old man sitting on the throne

That's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean

Determined to learn more about the castle, Nesta awoke the next day with a sense of purpose. She was going to explore.

At first it was mostly boring with long hallways filled with bedrooms. That is, until she reached the library. Excited to finally find something new to read having not managed to pack that many books she decided to look around. She was hopeful that she would find something of interest and that it wouldn’t all be boring.

It took a few minutes but eventually she hit the jackpot. Near the back was a collection of books by several authors that she recognized. Among them were Sellyn Drake’s books. Or at least some of them. Most of them she had already read but there were one or two that looked unfamiliar. Selecting one of them from off the shelf she found a chair and started reading.

By the time she had reached the end of the book the light streaming in through the windows had dimmed. She had been sitting there for hours, she realized. Nesta got up and put the book away in its original spot before taking a few others from off the shelf.

Her stomach grumbled, the last time she had eaten had been breakfast and it was now almost dinner time. Most of her meals the past two days had been brought up to her room so she had had ample time to herself.

She was on her way to the door when she heard something. It sounded like yelling but she couldn’t quite be sure. Following the sound she soon started to hear other noises. It sounded as if someone was having sex in the library. The sounds stopped and a young girl who was dressed similarly to the maids ran from behind one of the shelves and right past Nesta on her way to the door.

The girl had looked terrified and Nesta soon understood why when she saw who she had been with, the High Lord.

“Ah, Nesta. How wonderful to see you here. I had quite wondered where you disappeared to. I see you’ve seen Lyra.”

At Nesta’s confused look he clarified, “The young serving girl that just ran past you. She’s pretty enough but still needs to learn her place.”

“You are detestable.”

“She knew what she was getting into when she started working here.” He smiled darkly, causing Nesta to wonder just how safe she was standing there alone with him. She hoped he would respect the fact that she was married to his son but considering he had no respect for those who worked for him and couldn’t even think about saying “no” she was a little skeptical.

“The poor girl was terrified. How can you not see that?”

“Oh but that’s what makes it all the more fun. Watching them protest only to eventually watch them break.”

She hated him.

That was the only thought in her head when her hand rose of its own accord and slapped him across the face leaving a bright red splotch on his cheek.

“You’re disgusting.”

He stared at her in disbelief.

Realizing just how alone they were she turned to leave but he grabbed onto her wrist.

“With a pretty face like yours it would be a shame if anything happened to it. You’d be wise to not be so unkind to your High Lord.” His grip on her wrist started to dig in. Pulling away from him she ran out of the library, not wanting to remain there another moment.

She didn’t stop running until she reached her room. Once inside she put the books down on the bedside table and sat down.

There was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?”

“Just Greta, my lady. I’ve brought dinner.”

“You may come in.”

The maid entered holding a tray of warm food that had steam rising from it. She carefully placed it beside the books.

“I’m also to inform you that there will be another ball tomorrow to celebrate since the rest of your new family wasn’t able to be there. Lord Eris’ brothers will be in attendance as well as a few cousins who were not able to come for the actual event.”

“Thank you. Will Eris be returning in time for the ball?”

“I believe so, my lady.”

“Greta, would you mind if I asked you a question?”

“What is it about?”

“The High Lord.”

Her smile dropped. Suddenly she was no longer willing to chat. She seemed nervous, scared almost.

“If that’ll be all miss.” She curtsied without another word and left.

The next day

And there's an old man sitting on the throne

That's saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut

The day after her encounter in the library with Beron was a whirlwind affair of trying on dress after dress. She tried to protest but the maids who had been sent to her room insisted. Greta was noticeably absent from the group.

Eventually they settled on a crimson red dress that was somewhat similar to her wedding dress except it was a bit more traditional in its style. The thin straps were replaced with long, fitted sleeves and the neckline was a bit lower. The waist was decorated with a golden belt that separated the fitted bodice from the long, full skirts. Made from what seemed to be hundreds of thin layers of fabric it had impressive volume. It made her feel like a princess.

Her hair had been put in a complicated style that involved multiple braids being woven together and was matched with a gold tiara. She wore no other jewelry and minimal makeup which allowed the crown to be the centerpiece of her outfit.

They left her in the dress once they settled on it to limit the amount of times they had to button up the back of the dress. It took a while to completely button it up but once it was on her it looked beautiful.

As they were all leaving Eris walked in.

He took hold of her hand, bringing it up so he could brush a kiss against her knuckles. “You look stunning.”

“Thank you.”

The sleeves of her dress mostly covered the bruise that had started to form on her wrist but she was still a bit apprehensive. She didn’t want to bring it up to him knowing that it was his father that she was talking about. Nesta sincerely doubted that he would side with her.

He took hold of both her hands and looked like he was about to say something when he stopped. He brought her hand up for a closer inspection. Pulling back her sleeve he finally saw the whole bruise.

“Who did this to you?” He said, his voice quiet but intense. She didn’t want to tell him.

“Who did this to you?!” He repeated with more volume.

“Was it my father?” She finally met his gaze and nodded.

“What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No. I’m fine. I slapped him so he told me to not be so mean. He said it would be a shame if something happened to my face.”

At her words he pulled away and walked out of the room. She watched as he stormed out wondering what he was going to do.

When he returned about an hour later, just in time for the ball, he wouldn’t answer any of her questions.

“Come on, we’re going to be late.” He said, not looking at her. He stood by the door, half facing away from her.

When she placed a hand on his back he hissed in pain. She jerked her hand away but the damage was done. What exactly happened to him?

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing.”

She went to question him further but stopped. He still wasn’t looking at her. She had a feeling that he wasn’t going to tell her even if she kept on asking.

Instead she placed her hand on his arm, allowing him to escort her to the ballroom once more. For once she didn’t feel like dancing. In fact she was dreading this event entirely. She didn’t want to have to see the High Lord again after the night before, nor did she want to meet Eris’ brothers. She didn’t know that much about them but what she did know did not make her want to ever meet them.

Once in the ballroom they walked over to the throne where Beron sat. As much as it disgusted her to say it she could see where Eris had gotten his good looks. Even though he had been alive for many centuries he still remained handsome. Eris’ mother was nowhere in sight. After the other day at tea and the night before in the library Nesta was beginning to see just how dangerous the Autumn Court was.

Eris’ mother was plainly scared of her husband and for good reason. Thinking back on Eris’ reaction to her touching his back she wondered if it was something his father had done.

She was introduced to Eris’ brothers briefly but could not remember their names even moments later. Nesta and Eris danced for a bit before the High Lord cut in.

Eris did not look as if he wanted to leave them alone but he seemed resigned to what was about to happen. At first Nesta and Beron danced in silence and she hoped that he would not bring up the previous night.

“I’m impressed.” He said, breaking the silence.

She looked at him, puzzled.

“I did not think that you would dare to tell my son what happened. It is unfortunate that he took offense, I did not wish to punish him for his insolence.” He did not look as if he regretted it. She had a feeling that he was taking some twisted glee from this predicament.

“I do not wish to have to tell you twice, Nesta. You would be better off keeping your mouth shut in the future.” With that parting threat he pulled away as the song ended.

As more people drifted towards the center of the ballroom Nesta tried to find Eris. Not being able to see him, she decided to leave. She didn’t want to remain there a minute more. If her mother could see her now she would be very disappointed. She had spent many hours drilling her on ballroom etiquette only for Nesta to ignore one of the main rules. It was the height of impropriety to leave a ball after only three songs.

Unable to bear staying she escaped to her room where she pulled the crown off from her head. She unbraided her hair and let it fall down her back in waves. She wiped her face clean before looking into the mirror. Only a few hours earlier she had felt like a princess, now she felt like she was suffocating.

Contorting her body she managed to reach the buttons that held her dress together. Undoing them finally allowed her to breathe fully. She pushed the dress off and pulled on one of her nightgowns. Its soft fabric was a welcome comfort.

She laid down on her bed, looking up at the ceiling for a long time before she heard a knock at the door.

“Nesta, are you in there?” Eris called through the door.

“Yes.”

“May I come in?”

“As you wish.”

He pushed the door open and walked over to her. Sitting down beside her he looked down at her. She sat up and looked him in the eye.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“No.”

“What do you need?”

Looking at him she made her decision. “A distraction.”

He took a deep breath before asking her, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Eris nodded.

Nesta leaned in and kissed him. She pushed him backwards onto the bed, both of her hands holding him down. He wrapped both arms around her waist, pulling her in closer. It was a battle of wills, both of them fighting for dominance. She shifted her leg so that it was on the other side of him, straddling him.

He twisted them around so that he was on top of her, using his strength to his advantage. She gasped allowing his tongue access. He tasted like cinnamon and smoke. When he was distracted she managed to push him off her, rolling him back under her.

He chuckled and she smiled into the kiss. She started to place openmouthed kisses along his jaw before drifting down his neck. When she reached the neckline of his shirt she started to unbutton his top, placing kisses on each newly revealed inch of skin. Before she could undo his belt he pulled her back up.

“Not yet.”

He claimed her mouth once more, holding her against him. Rolling her back under him he started to kiss her behind her ear before drifting down her neck. She moaned as his hands drifted away from her waist. One went up to play with her nipple while the other drifted further south, pushing underneath her nightgown.

However her moan soon turned into a yawn. The past few days had been exhausting to say the least and it was already getting late.

Hearing her yawn Eris pulled away and lifted her off the bed. Holding her in one arm he used the other to pull back the blankets. He then helped her underneath.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Stay.”

He looked at her, surprise flashing across his features before he pulled his shirt off. He also stripped off his pants leaving in almost nothing.

Nesta shifted over to give him space and he laid down in the bed next to her. Turning on his side he wrapped his arms around her before closing his eyes.

The next morning

Nesta awoke cocooned in warmth. Eris’ arms were still wrapped around her tightly as if he was worried she would disappear. Not wanting to get up she closed her eyes, determined to get a few more minutes of sleep.

When she next awoke it was to an empty bed. Turning over she found that the other side of the bed was still warm but there was no Eris in sight. She started to wonder if perhaps the previous night had been a mistake but then saw a note that had been left on the bedside table.

It was from Eris informing her that his father had asked to see him.

Alarmed after knowing what Beron had done to his son the day before she quickly got up and dressed. She rushed through the castle not sure where they would be but hoping she found them soon.

“...you should’ve done better!”

Hearing the High Lord’s voice she knew she must be close. She stopped outside the door, eavesdropping. From what she gathered Beron was berating Eris about the trip he had gone on earlier. It must have been a business trip that had been unsuccessful.

“Perhaps if you hadn’t been so distracted by your wife you would have actually been decent at your role.”

At those words she barged in.

There they stood, facing each other. Both males turned to look at the intruder.

“You have no right to yell at him like that. I’m sure he tried his best. Don’t blame this on me, I wasn’t even there.”

Beron didn’t even acknowledge her, simply turning towards his son. “If you plan on becoming the next High Lord you had better learn from my example and keep your wife on a leash.”

“Watch it.” Eris warned through gritted teeth.

Not even registering what she was doing she picked up a sword off of the wall that had been part of the decorations and rushed him. He turned but wasn’t able to react quickly enough before she could stab him right through the chest. The sword pierced right through him and Nesta twisted the sword before pulling it out.

Breathing heavily she met Eris’ gaze as the magic went from his father to him. Eris was the new High Lord of the Autumn Court.

“What did you just do?” He asked, stunned. It was hard to believe that what he had been so carefully planning for had just happened.

Taking a step towards Nesta he pulled her in for a kiss. The sword clattered to the ground.

He pulled away but kept close, his nose brushing against hers.

“You look hot with blood on you.”

She tipped her head back and laughed.

There was going to be a lot of chaos in the Autumn Court but for now she was simply happy that she ridded the world of Beron. And so, staring into the eyes of her husband of only a few days, she kissed him once more. It was a kiss of triumph and relief. While the night before had been all about passion this was a reaffirmation of life. Of success.

When she had first accepted Eris’ proposal she had no idea that she would end up killing his father, making Eris the new High Lord but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

#acotar #rose of the grave #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #eris x nesta #nesta x eris #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #eris acotar #eris vanserra #neris #neris fanfic #fanfic #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction

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thatfuckinjester · 5 months

Text

@p1nkcanoe SORRY IT WOULDN'T LET ME POST WITH THE REAL ASK FOR SOEM REASON

GSNZHSHS YES ABSOLUTELY I FUCKING LOVE THEM.

i'm so sorry it took so long i took a mental health break from everything and i wanted to write it in a fic kinda way and i haven't written in a while so it might be really shitty

and you can read here on ao3 or under the cut <33

It was raining, harsh drops hitting any surface they can without any breaks, Swiss was laying in his bed while the flashing bluish light of a lighting was seen from out of his window and a few seconds later he heard the thunder's deafening noise.

Usually Swiss slept through storms like this, he found it calming, like some kind of white noise.

But this time, he couldn't, maybe it didn't have anything to do with the storm, maybe it was all him, but it was easier to blame the storm then to face his own problems.

And so he laid in bed, rolling from side to side, counting all the corners in his room in various of different ways.

Until, of course, his problem came knocking on his door.

"Aurora?" He asked, his door half open and his voice a little hoarse so he cleared his throat and said her name again.

"Hey," She said, smiling at him, another flashing bluish lighting again and four, three, two, one seconds after the loud thunder noise was heard again, and Aurora flinched, lifting her hands as if to cover her ears before stopping herself and giving Swiss a small smile again.

"You wanna come in Rory?" Swiss asked, opening his door all the way as she nodded and got in, taking a deep breath while Swiss was locking his door and sitting on his bed, patting the space next to him for the baby ghoul to sit next to him.

"I'm sorry," She started and Swiss frowned, -she have absolutely nothing to be sorry about- "I know that it stupid but i heard the story about Noah and the flood, and everytime it rains..."

"Aw, don't worry princess," He half hugged her, smiling softly as she leaned into him, "I promise you that nothing bad will happen."

"Thanks Swissy." And her eyes closed, taking in the deep comforting smell of Swiss all around while he held her.

Swiss was sure that it's only been a few minutes before Aurora was sleeping in his arms, he looked down at her before laying down so she'll now lay on his chest and he sighed.

He could use a cigarette right now.

It's not like he had a problem with Aurora, not at all, he adores her, but that was exactly the problem, he adores her.

Usually he knows what to do with those kind of feelings, or more like Aether has threatened to cut his tail off if he keeps pushing his feelings aside so Swiss actually started to talk about them, but it's not like Aether is around now to fulfill this threat.

His fingers twitched next to her hair and he sighed tiredly again as he played softly with her hair.

Aurora is way too good for him, she's nice, she laughs at all of his jokes, she like to smile, she looks at all of them with adoration in her eyes.

She's too good for all of them, especially for him.

Sometimes when she laughs at his stupid, lame jokes he can frel his heart beat faster and then she looks at him with her beautiful eyes that are always full of love and he has to look away.

All because Swiss knows that if they gets even closer than they are right now, his heart will break to pieces when she'll tell him that no, she doesn't like him that way, and no, she'll not go out with him to this stupid date.

And really it's not that he's nervous or anything, it's just a fact that he knows. If he'll ask her out, she will say no.

He stopped petting through Aurora's hair, his fingers twitching once more and he tried not to think of her, tried thinking of how much he wanted to smoke right now, just to feel the smoke, to taste it, to think that he actually looks cool and not stupid while blowing rings of smoke out of his mouth.

But his mind always turned back to Aurora and how heartbroken he'll be if he ever even dares to ask her out.

Honestly, he's just doing a favor to himself by pushing his feelings aside, his keeping himself from a broken heart and from getting hurt.

Swiss didn't even noticed when Aurora opened her eyes, he flinched when her hand touched his cheek softly and barely heard when she whispered "We should go on a date sometime, I really like you swissy."

#ghost #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #fluff #kinda i think #swiss #swiss ghoul #swiss ghost #aurora #aurora ghoulette #aurora ghost

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isahorcrux · 2 months

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WIP TAG GAME

Thanks @kay-elle-cee and @alittlebitofeverything23 for the tags — since my life has turned upside down (work, and also Percy) I feel like it'll be good to do a little state of the union.

1. List the titles your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

2. An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

3. Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

4. Then tag 10 writer friends!

Titles

1. love, james -- jily love, rosie au multi-chapter.

2. london is lonely -- jily modern muggle au multi-chapter.

3. I am no mother, I am no bride -- jily first war au one-shot

4. a false start -- some with arrows, some with traps jily prequel

5. the hen do -- modern muggle au jily one shot (based on an incident that happened at a bachelorette I went to this year)

There are some spoilers upcoming so if you're behind on reading maybe don't read onwards...

Upcoming Writing

1. This is going to sound incredibly unhinged, but as we near the birth of James and Niamh's baby I was getting really nervous writing the rest of this fic. I don't have children and I'm not entirely sure I ever will, so I was worried about authentically writing the scenes to come. That being said, since adopting Percy, the nonexistent maternal bones in my body have awoken slightly, so I'm actually really excited to dive into the complexities of James and Niamh as parents.

2. london is lonely is one of my more popular fics, so I'm honestly excited to give the people what they want with fic (which seems to be another chapter). There's going to be an upcoming twist that I came up with pretty early on in this fic writing process that I'm excited for people to see. Moving forward I really want to stop over thinking this fic and really use it to write just to write (which was it's intended purpose).

3. I'm excited to see how I end up ending this fic. The reason this hasn't been published yet is because I have no idea what choice I want Lily to make at the end of this one. I think once I've got the latest chapters of london is lonely and love, james out, I really want to spend some time marinating on this one.

4. I love swa lily and james, so I'm really excited to get back into their POV. I also can't wait to write them falling apart, because that truly is the most exciting part of fic writing for me (evil? yes.)

5. This is a very fun one shot idea that I just can't wait to expand. It's based on a bachelorette I went on where the bride's wallet was stolen (nothing ended up happening irl, but excited to completely extrapolate for THE PLOT). Also the stag do jokes are just WRITING THEMSELVES.

Tagging a whole host of people that I'm sure might have already been tagged if you fancy: @thequibblah @clare-with-no-i @emeralddoeadeer @firefeufuego @oyprongs @possessingtheproperspirit @theesteemedladydebourgh @nodirectionhome-ao3 @mipwrites @sunshinemarauder and anyone else who'd like to do the wip tag!

#isahorcrux writes #wip tag game

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otrtbs · 5 months

Note

Hiiii how are you??

I wanted to ask if you were inspired by the Goldfinch when you were writing AHB? Maybe inspired is a big word but yk, did it leave a mark on your work? Because recently I read the Goldfinch and I couldn't stop thinking about you and your work. Maybe it's just because of the paintings idk but I wanted to know. Also, what did inspire AHB? Like when did you first have the idea? How much time did you take to actually start writing? Did you do a lot of research?

Anyway, hope you have a great day!!!

hello my friend!!! i'm good how are you??

first of all, how did you like tgf??? did you love it or did you love it?? to me there is only one book ever. screw shakespeare, the bible? idk her. the iliad?? that's NOTHING. there is only the goldfinch by donna tartt. and it absolutely inspired so SO much of ahb! welty's death in tgf heavily inspired regulus' death in ahb! the amsterdam of it all inspired ahb! the way donna tartt writes about art and love and death!!!!!!>>>>>>>> the art swaps were also very heavily goldfinch inspired. yeah. that book is in my bone marrow. absolutely

also super inspired by money heist on netflix and the documentary 'this is a robbery' i would say those are the big three that went into ahb!

but as for inspiration, i was an undergrad art history major looking for more outlets to express my love of the subject and someone becoming rapidly obsessed with the marauders with each passing day. originally, i just looked for art heist jegulus fics on ao3 to read, or just art fics w jegulus in general, and then took a stab at writing one. i would say that planning-wise i just thought really hard about writing the fic for a solid month and then actually opened a google doc one day haha. research-wise, i mainly pulled from experience. i had been in art galleries and museums spaces as a student, a volunteer, and an employee since i was 16. and additionally, i was in university studying the subject so most of the research came from class readings/discussions/assignments or experiences i had working in art galleries/museum spaces!! so while there was some research done for the fic (art-wise) it was mainly information pulled from what i was already learning for school! <3

i hope this made semi-sense!! and i hope you have a great day as well!!<3

#asks #art heist baby!#tgf

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slow-burn-sally · 5 months

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20 questions for fic writers

Thank you @totallysilvergirl for tagging me <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

171

2. What’s your total A03 word count?

2,559,305

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I live for the days when anyone asks me this question, because listing things I love is just so great. I don't actively write for all of these any longer, but I would go back to all of them if anyone threw me like, half a prompt.

BBC Sherlock

Good Omens

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell

The Terror

Our Flag Means Death

What We Do In The Shadows

The Adventures of Tintin

The Hobbit

BBC and CBS Ghosts

Pacific Rim

Father Ted

Lord of The Rings

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

Death In Paradise

Dalgliesh

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

1. Crowley's Game - Good Omens (Ineffable Husbands)

2. Return To Sender - Good Omens (Ineffable Husbands)

3. Silk All Around You - Our Flag Means Death (Ed/Stede)

4. Oh Good Lord - Good Omens (Ineffable Husbands)

5. Out Of Suffering Into Love - Good Omens (ineffable Husbands)

hmm. Guess GO fandom is where I've cashed in the biggest, kudos-wise *Raises a glass to Good Omens Fandom*

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to respond to as many as I can, and I want to respond to all of them, but ADHD and work and life keep me from doing it right away, and then ADHD and being off work and life make me forget. I will sometimes loop back around to read a new comment, then see that I never replied to another, far older comment, then go about replying to several, two years after they were left. I hope people don't mind. I promise everyone who's ever left me a positive comment, that I eat them all up like chocolate bonbons and count myself blessed for each and every one.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably that Childercelles fic where Henry dies in the end. I think maybe 10 people read it. If you're in JSAMN fandom, and you ship Childercelles, and you want a link, PM me, but I can't remember the name of the fic for the life of me. It was pretty angsty. Outside of that, I hate angsty endings. Everyone eats ice cream and cuddles at the end of my fics.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Gonna echo the wonderful @totallysilvergirl and say that I don't do unhappy endings. That Childercelles fic was the only one I think I ever wrote with an unhappy ending, and even that was more of a melancholy ending. Everything else is Häagen-Dazs and rainbows.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've gotten a few harsh criticisms, and a few snarky comments, but never actual hate.

9. Do you write smut?

I sure do! I've written a whole lot of smut, and I really love it. Regardless, it can be challenging sometimes. I have to be in the right place, and have the right focus to write smut, and lately, it's been feeling more labor intensive. I've been taking a step back from the explicit stuff lately, and playing around in M rather than E, and less sexual waters for a change. Sometimes a gal needs a break. I'll always happily write it for others, but don't feel inspired to write it for myself right now.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I really see my Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell/BBC Sherlock crossover as my first and only crossover. It involves main characters from both fandoms meeting one another, and John and Sherlock live in a world where England's history is the same as the history in JS&MN. It's been a very fun experience, but I'm really writing it for @keirgreeneyes 's birthday, because we share a lot of stuff between those two fandoms, not because I love crossovers. I don't feel drawn to them at all usually.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope. Someone came to me a couple of years ago, saying they were being bullied over accusations that they were plagiarizing my good omens fic. They even showed me the fic people talked about, and after scanning it for a bit, I didn't see anything that looked like plagiarism. I posted on tumblr saying I'd rather people plagiarize me than cause one moment of suffering due to bullying, and left it at that. I was really just jazzed to have people *want* to plagiarize me, honestly. It was flattering.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! In Korean I think.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, and I'm not sure I could. I also don't like cooking with other people or showering with other people. I just like having the reins on writing and cooking and showering fronts I guess.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Oh god please don't make me choose. My children, my precious children. After careful consideration though, I'm gonna have to go with Crozier/Jopson - Jopzier from The Terror. I mean. Come on. It's me.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I wrote many chapters of a really fun, but really complex and pain in the ass multi-chapter mystery fic for the rarest of rare pairs, Jack Mooney/Florence Cassell from Death In Paradise. So yeah, I would love to finish it, but I don't have the spoons, and it will have a readership of roughly four people.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I write good dialogue. I write good smut. I can make up stories at the drop of a hat, and then put them down very quickly, in large amounts of words. I'm a long distance runner when it comes to fic. I like my sense of humor in fics, and I'm always so happy when someone leaves me a comment telling me they laughed really hard at something I wrote. Ditto incoherent babbling about my fics making them horny. Those comments are so good.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Eh, my weakness is I'm just not an amazing writer? I do it because I love it, and it brings me so much joy, and people reading my fics brings me so much joy, and that's pretty much it. Also, I use a lot of run on sentences, and I have like six tropey things my characters always do, and I can't break out of it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I didn't understand this one. I would love to write dialogues in other languages if I spoke them fluently. Outside of speaking a bunch of Spanish, I'm not fluent in anything but English.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

eeeeeeeeee @keirgreeneyes @totallysilvergirl my first ever fanfiction was BBC Johnlock! I tried writing a fic, probably back in 2013 or something, and gave up after a handful of paragraphs. I just lacked the confidence. Then, it wasn't until 2019 when I went nuts for Good Omens and wrote a bunch of fic that I wanted to go back and write that one, first, Johnlock fic. And I did it! It's Homecoming. BBC Sherlock is my first fanfiction fandom, and my introduction to fanfiction.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Oh wow. That's a tough one. I really loved my one Father Ted fic, A Sweet, Hot, Sticky Romp, because I loved emulating the comedy style of the show and thought I did a good job.

I loved Out Of Time, my Jopzier time travel wackadoo fic for The Terror.

I guess I'll stop at two. I've written 171. I should get at least two favorites.

I tag @fol-de-lol @ilthit @yeswevegotavideo @keirgreeneyes @holycatsandrabbits

#the terror #good omens #jsamn #ofmd #fic writer asks #this was fun ya'll

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kalinara · 4 months

Text

I was skimming through my dashboard and I saw a post that I thought was really interesting.

In the post, the person stated that they missed when fandom was more interactive, when it came to fanfic writers and fan artists, rather than today, where it was like the content creators were machines that didn't need positive feedback, but were just there to create product.

I'm paraphrasing, because I can't find it again. It stuck with me for a bit though.

See, I think this is the natural effect of discouraging constructive criticism.

I can appreciate that very few people enjoy logging into their email or messages and seeing a comment regarding a project that they've spent so much time and effort on and seeing "Well, this is what I think you did wrong."

I can appreciate that for most folk, fanfic is a labor of love, something that they're sharing with the community. They're not craftsmen honing a craft, per se. They're not looking for advice on how to improve.

That's understandable. But I think it misses something really important: that constructive criticism, heck, even a polite yet negative review is still ENGAGEMENT.

It's a conversation in a way that kudos aren't. It's a conversation in a way that gushing praise really isn't.

I'm not saying a writer has to agree with the criticism. People are people and sometimes people are full of crap. But the fact that someone took the time out of their busy day to actually engage with a writer about something they created, and to talk about it, and think about it, and examine what worked for them and what didn't...

That does mean something, in my opinion. I've been a fanfic reader, primarily a lurker, since I first took baby steps onto the web in 1996. Back before AO3. Back before fanfiction.net. I remember webrings, and mailing lists, and geocities. I even, vaguely, remember bulletin boards.

As I said, I was a lurker primarily. I didn't talk much. I followed the discussions. Sometimes I'd agree with it. Sometimes I'd disagree (quite strongly). I very rarely commented or reviewed.

But when I did review, that was because I really wanted to. And when I did review, I put a LOT of effort into it. I'd talk about what I thought the author did really really well (which was a lot! Or I wouldn't have bothered.) I'd mention what didn't work so much for me, and what I thought might have worked better. It'd take hours, sometimes, to figure out exactly what I wanted to say - what I would want to HEAR if I'd written the story. I always tried to leave the kind of reviews that I wanted to receive on my own work.

I'd never write a review like that now. The etiquette's changed. I recognize that the kind of review I wrote back in 1998 would be incredibly rude now. But when I look at the comments I've left nowadays - they're quick. They're meaningless. Even on fics I've truly loved. Sometimes I don't even comment. Just a kudo. Sometimes I forget to do that. It's not personal, but I've got things on my mind.

It occurs to me that even the word is different. "comment" vs. "review". There are very different expectations.

I see people sometimes talking about how what they really want is comments, though. And interaction. And I get that, but when you limit the type of interaction that you're looking for, then I think that you're going to get less of it.

I'm sorry. But sometimes I'll read a fic that's okay, but not great. It's got wonderful ideas, but they could be developed better. It's got good character voice, but some of the word choice is a little off. It doesn't sing.

At least, to me. Maybe it's just a matter of personal taste. Maybe it's a craft issue. The author didn't ask for my opinion, and that's fair enough. But am I going to leave lukewarm praise and nothing else? Maybe. I have before. But more likely, I'm just going to hit the back button and look for something else.

It's easier to give feedback now than it was in 1997 in a lot of ways. Kudos buttons are lovely. Instant review buttons/forms that don't require a perpetually shy anxious person to send an email to a stranger are wonderful things. I probably do leave more comments now than I did back in 1997.

But when it comes to actual substance and engagement...I'm not sure there's even a comparison. Why bother? If I feel really strongly about something in the fic, well, I can write a blog post about it instead.

It is kind of funny that this means that I get the engagement out of it, rather than the author, but that's how it goes sometimes.

#fandom woes #this is not to say that fandom back in 1997 was all sparkles and wonder #there were a LOT of problems too #but that's not the point of this post

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rainbowcrowley · 16 days

Note

for the good omens ask game— a lot since you said you’re traveling! 1, 3, 9, 11, 16, 19, 23, 24!

oh, what an honour to get an ask from op! :D thanks! strap yourselves in this is gonna be a looong one!

1. when did you first watch/discover good omens, and how did you find out about it?

i actually first heard about it after the first or second trailer for s1 dropped! idk how and when exactly that was (it's been a while) but i remember thinking 'oh i gotta watch this, it looks funny and has david tennant in it'. guess what. i didn't watch it until s2 came out and the entire internet was screaming about it. so i finally caved, asked for my friends amazon account (bc she had a prime account) and gave it a shot – the rest is history.

3. have you created any fanart or fanfiction, or really any content for the fandom?

i have created some gifs! you can find them here

9. have you seen any other work by david tennant and/or michael sheen?

oh yeah LOADS. i've been a fan of DT since i first watched doctor who back in 2011? or 2012? and i've seen the twilight saga films lots of times (aro was always a fave).

now, After-GO, i've seen/listened to a lot of davids stuff (like idk, 50 or 60%? which is a lot bc he has done soo much things) and i'm currently "working on" michaels filmography :) 'm watching masters of sex atm and i just bought tickets for the cinema run of Nye, since i wasn't able to see it in person when i was in london 2 weeks ago, sadly.

11. what is (if you read) your favourite type of human au for good omens? (ex. coffee shop au, surgeons au, plant store au

i adored almost every human au i've read so far!! but the two i'm obsessed with are that one actors au everyone and their mother knows and read (Slow Show on ao3, don't have a link rn sorryy) and the formula 1 au (idk how that happened, i don't even watch f1, it's just so good) i'm currently reading.

16. do you know anyone irl who has also watched good omens?

UHM YEAH but that's because i made them watch it lmao. a few of my close friends, that is. but besides them... nope.

19. have you ever read the crowley therapy fic (the most-read fic in the fandom)?

yep! i took me a while bc it was... A Lot but i finished it a few weeks ago. let's say it fucking destroyed me yup yup ✌🏻

23. what's a good omens headcanon that you considered canon?

idk if this is considered a headcanon but... they kissed in 1941. 100%.

24. what's a theory for season 3 that you NEED to be included?

hmm i'm not sure. like, i really like all those theories going around, but i'm traumatised by bbc sherlock so i'm trying not to get my hopes up lmao. again idk if that's considered a headcanon or theory, but i think we're likely gonna see (parts of) crowleys fall and i think it will also play a part in the plot. also: book of life shenanigans. and bamf aziraphale dismantling heaven (and hell). OH and a part 3 of 1941. (maybe a kiss...? 👉🏻👈🏻). yeah.

ask game for people in the good omens fandom!

#ask games #answered #midnights-dragon #good omens

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 7 months

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when i tell you i am frothing at the mouth reading through your metas. oh my god. obsessed with everything you have to say. we seem to have a few of similar opinions and theories regarding dazai and i love it. he’s my absolute favorite character in the series and second favorite character out of fiction overall and i just LOVE what you have to say about him so much!! your theory on him being the book’s seal? BRILLIANT oh my god so interesting. i’ve never had any real reason for it nor specific idea of why they’re wealthy, but just today i was talking to a friend about how i’ve always kind of had a feeling that he grew up wealthy, and so when i saw the one of him being the son of mafia benefactors it caught my eye so fast. i just have this image in mind?? as him as a young child, right after the war ended — maybe he’s 11 or 12? — sitting silently in the back of a full classroom, maybe at a private school (his parents are neglectful, always having had preferred to send him away rather than raise him), observing all of his classmates with an apathetic expression on his face. he doesn’t fit in with them; he never has. always excluded, and most of the time, it’s of his own accord. he doesn’t feel like them, doesn’t understand why they are just so… different from him. he often is punished by his parents for it, the purposeful seclusion and all the things that come along with it, because despite the fact that they neglect their other duties as parents, they never forget to punish him. omg i’m getting so carried away describing this i’m rambling again LOL sorry!!!! -from, frog!

Hello Frog! :)

Sorry this took me so long to reply! I'm really glad you're enjoying my analyses, and that you shared your thoughts with me!

Dazai is a really fascinating character. For all that we follow him in the story closely and get to see what he was like and how he changed at different ages, he's very much still a mystery. It makes it really fun to theorize.

The "he had a wealthy family who were probably associated with the Mafia" comes from three places:

He's stated to not be an orphan in Fifteen, or connected to Mori in any way before their agreement. But he had to be someone, or some random 14 year old wouldn't make any sense as a key witness whose word would be believed by the Mafia.

He clearly knew the Old Boss and vice versa, but he's apparently never seen death up close before, nor was he a part of the Mafia. That doesn't make it seem like he's the Old Boss' son or grandson or anything. Maybe he was a nephew, for Hamlet reasons. (That actually might work, considering irl Dazai wrote his own spin on Hamlet... food for thought!)

Oba Yozo's backstory in No Longer Human, as an alienated young boy who couldn't seem to feel or understand the importance of the things his wealthy family placed importance on, and so disguised his true feelings and fear of being "found out" by clowning to make everybody laugh. (Overly simplified, but I don't want to get too into it in case you haven't read it. The author also came from a wealthy family, so I feel pretty confident about this take on his backstory!)

If you enjoy Dazai backstory theorizing, @daz4i has some good headcanons. You've already read mine, but I've since written the first chapter of a fic called Clear Eye on ao3, which does kind of go into my own interpretation of it. There's also lots of other theories out there that are worth a look!

And of course, maybe you have written something yourself in this span of time... (if you have, please let me know!)

#thanks for the ask!#🐸 anon #<-this is you now #bsd #bsd dazai #storyrambles

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ao3commentoftheday · 5 months

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Hi. First of all I would like to thank you for everything you said in response to my question on how to tag my relationship for the story, it was very informative and I even ended coming up with my own tag. A thing that I’ve been thinking about for some time now recently came to mind and I was wondering whether you could also help me with that.

I have this story that I posted some time ago which is the third part in a series and I was wondering whether I should tag it as ‘Found Family’ or not. The reason I’m not sure is because the family forms itself in the previous two stories and its in the third story that they are the found family that they continue to be for many years to come (even in the fourth story that I still have to post). For context, in my first story my OC K befriends a bunch of people, both from university and through often hanging out at her brother’s bar where a part of the original series’ main cast (mostly guys and one young girl that they pretty much adopted) hang out. Though she is closer to some of them than others. One she ends up in a romantic relationship with and another one is her male best friend. She does get along well with most of the others, they just don’t appear as much in the story because she’s not extremely close to them.

Then in the second story this male best friend that I mentioned above gets himself a girlfriend (maybe not the best way of wording it but it’s the best I could come up with) and she becomes part of the friend group consisting of K, her boyfriend and her colleague and the best friend of her boyfriend S. This one is really short and is only about the developing relationship.

Now in the third story S and one of K’s university friends (H) end up together and this is where they truly start referring to each other as family. H appeared every so often both in the first and second story but it’s only now that it’s obvious that she considers K and later the rest of the friend group her family, same goes for the rest of the characters. So now with all that said, I’m wondering whether I should even tag it as found family or not because it’s not like they found each other in the last story, they’re only properly saying it aloud that they consider each other family. Hope all of this makes sense and doesn’t come across as too much of a ramble. Thanks a bunch in advance and I hope you have a wonderful day / evening.

Similar to your last ask, I'm going to ask you a question: would someone searching for fics about found family enjoy your work?

Any time you're wondering whether or not you should tag something, that's a good first question to ask. Would someone who loves this tag want to find my work in that tag?

A good second question to ask is: would someone who hates this tag and filters it out of their search results want to be able to avoid reading my work?

Tags on AO3 are sometimes compared to ingredients listed on food items you buy at a store. If I buy a product with chocolate listed as the first or second ingredient, I'm going to expect it to taste chocolate-y. If I buy a product with a warning label that says "may contain traces of peanuts" then I'm probably not expecting much peanut-y flavour, if any.

However, if someone tags a fic peanuts and I go in looking for peanuts and it ends up being a situation where this fic was processed in a factory that also processes peanuts? Well, I'm going to be pretty damn disappointed. Y'know?

All of this is to say that found family is not about the act of finding that family. It's about a relationship your characters have with people they're not related to that feels familial. So, are your characters giving off that family vibe in the fic? Then tag away.

#asks and answers #long post

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jinkieswouldyoulookatthis · 10 months

Text

Someplace Called Bamberg

Author’s Note: Wrote this based on the @wincestwednesdays July Wincest Fest. The prompt for the first week was: americana / american gothic / parallels

This ended up completely gen, but I'm happy with it.

Words: 2909

Just a little fic about Sam and Dean at a seedy, rundown carnival in 1999.

Read it on AO3

--Saturday, July 3rd, 1999--

It had been raining for most of the past week as they’d worked their way through Georgia and up into South Carolina. When they’d checked into the Relax Inn in someplace called Bamberg just after 3pm, the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle that lasted another two hours before the clouds had finally been wrung dry, which meant the sun had come back out.

Somehow, in that way that only seemed to happen in the deep south, rather than offer any lasting relief to the sweltering summer temps, the rain only made it feel hotter. As soon as it stopped coming down, it would steam right back up off the pavement and make the air feel like a wet, wool blanket, hot and suffocating. Even now, with the sun finally setting, and the ground already looking dry and parched, there was no sign of relief. Not that it seemed to be stopping anyone but Sam from enjoying themselves. He felt like he’d been sweating non-stop for days and he was tired of the neverending dampness.

An hour ago, Dean had driven them to a carnival that had sprung up on the outskirts of town in the parking lot of a long vacant car dealership. The garish lights, whirring rides, and blaring music trying vainly to hide how rundown everything was. But everywhere Sam looked, all he saw was chipped and peeling paint, burned out or missing light bulbs, dirty splotches of old chewing gum, and carnies that looked like they hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in years.

Dean, on the other hand, seemed to be having the time of his life ogling the various groups of scantily clad girls that seemed to be everywhere. And, as far as Sam could tell, the girls were having just as much fun ogling him back.

Still painfully pretty, a descriptor that Sam typically reserved for when he really wanted to piss his brother off, Dean had filled out over the last couple of years, and the combination of broad shoulders, muscular arms, big, green eyes and his annoyingly perfect face, seemed to draw a lot of favorable attention his way. Although Sam still occasionally wondered how and why their dad ever thought it was a good idea to let Dean loose on the world, he figured it must’ve only been because dad had never noticed how many of the appreciative glances Dean drew in came from men. Of course, Sam wasn’t entirely sure that Dean’d noticed either.

“Dude.” Sam said with a level of disdain only a sibling could pack into a single word. The line they were waiting in moved and they both stepped forward.

“What?”

“One word… Jailbait.”

Dean scoffed and kept smiling at a particularly well-endowed blonde who definitely didn’t seem to mind his attention. “Isn’t that two words?”

“No, it’s one word. You’re 20, Dean, and she’s probably younger than me. You are officially a creeper.”

“Aw, come on, Sammy, I’m just looking. Besides, no way she’s under 16.”

“Still, ew. Besides, we’re supposed to be looking for a monster, not stalking schoolgirls.”

“Oh my god! Maybe you should lighten up and try smiling at some pretty girls instead of scowling at me? And maybe, if you’re lucky and get some action, it would improve your goddamn mood.”

Sam glared at his brother but managed to keep his voice low. “Getting some action,” he made air quotes with one hand, “is not going to improve my mood, if it means we weren’t paying attention and someone gets killed because of it. Aren’t you the one who’s always lecturing me about how important hunting is? Get that big head of yours in the game and stop thinking with your little one.”

“First of all…” Dean leered at him, “nothing little about it. And second, whatever is killing these people, if it’s even in this town, is not at this carnival.”

“Oh yeah? And you know that how?”

“Because dad sent me here… with you.” Dean moved forward as the line advanced again.

Sam fumed for a second before stepping up next to him.

“We’re next, what do you want?”

“I don’t care.”

Dean glanced at Sam and shook his head before shifting his focus past him for a second. He looked between whatever had caught his attention and his brother as if connecting dots, then leaned in close to Sam and nudged his arm. When Sam looked up, Dean nodded for him to turn and look. “All I’m saying…” a pretty brunette with long braids and bright blue eyes smiled at Sam before looking away shyly, “...is that life is short, and often brutal, so when it gives you hot chicks… carpe noctum.”

Dean stepped up to the window in the food truck and smiled at the woman inside. “Hi! Two funnel cakes and two lemonades please.”

A few minutes later, Sam was sitting, perched on a stretch of temporary metal railing, picking halfheartedly at his funnel cake, while Dean leaned next to him, powdered sugar dusted around his mouth as he obscenely licked his fingers clean.

“Dude.” Sam said, laced with disgust this time. “How do you even get any girls at all? You’re so gross.”

Dean shrugged and wiped his hand off on his jeans. “It’s like Cindy Crawford’s mole.” He tapped a finger against the side of his mouth. “Without some sort of flaw, I’d be too perfect. This way I’m less intimidating, approachable, you know?”

“Having the table manners of a rabid toddler is not the same as a beauty mark, Dean.”

Seriously, he thought, how were they even related? Dean was practically lounging against the railing, his elbows out to either side, one hand holding his drink while the other quietly tapped the opening riff from Kashmir, which had been the song playing in the car when they’d gotten to the carnival. He had one leg bent, heel of his boot hooked over the bottom rail, white tee shirt pulled tight across his shoulders, the cord of the amulet Sam’d given him just visible around the back of his neck before disappearing under his shirt. He looked a bit like a 50’s greaser, minus the leather jacket.

A couple of older girls, who may have actually been 18 this time, giggled at Dean as they walked by.

“Ladies.” he said as he flashed them a smile. The giggling bubbled up into actual laughter as they hurried past and Dean’s smile faltered the tiniest bit.

“You’ve still got powdered sugar all over your mouth.” Sam said before taking a sip of his lemonade.

Dean pulled the front of his tee shirt up and wiped his mouth with it before turning towards Sam who nodded that he’d gotten it clean enough. Dean eyed the remains of Sam’s funnel cake. Sam held it out towards him.

“Go for it.”

Dean smiled as he took the paper plate and quickly devoured the rest of the sugary, greasy treat.

At full dark, a fireworks show started up while the national anthem played all scratchy and discordant over the carnival speakers. Scattered exclamations of oohs and ahhs followed every colorful burst.

“Remember that field we set on fire a few years ago with that box of fireworks?” Dean quietly laughed. Sam didn’t say anything, but he remembered and he smiled.

There were times, when his brother wasn’t gross or annoying, that felt like anchors in his life. Not in the sense that they weighed him down, not usually, but more like they grounded and connected him to something stable, something permanent in a life of non-stop motion. Precious little in Sam’s life was stable. He could count on one hand the things he could really rely on. The first was always Dean.

“Come on, Pipsqueak, I wanna ride some rides before we call it for the night.” And he sauntered off without a backwards glance.

Sam fell into step next to him, easy as breathing. “I’m almost as tall as you.”

“Yeah, well, almost only counts in horseshoes and handgrenades.” Dean threw an arm around Sam’s shoulders and pulled him into a sudden headlock as they walked.

“Dude! Ugh! Get off of me!”

“What, you’re getting so tall, Sammy… make me.”

“Dean,” his voice cracking embarrassingly and sounding a lot less threatening and way more little brother than he’d wanted. But Dean just barked out a laugh and planted a loud kiss to the top of Sam’s head before releasing him.

As they waited in the line for the Scrambler, the ride at least stirring the air up into a breeze as it zipped around and around, Dean sighed and shook his head. “Yeah, there’s nothing more dangerous here than a bunch of rigged games.”

“How can you be so sure though? Dad couldn’t be at both carnivals and he said he didn’t know which one was more likely to be targeted, right? And he trusts you,” the implication hung in the air, “so how do you know that no one here is in danger?”

Dean frowned for the first time that night, “I don’t know, just my gut, I guess. My spidey-senses ain’t tingling. Everything here just feels so…” he opened and closed his hand a couple of times, as if trying to grab the feeling out of the air, before shrugging it off with a disappointed sigh, “...banal.”

Sam looked around, studying faces, clocking body language and hand movements, took a deep breath in and opened up his senses, not even sure what he was searching for, just trying to take in as much information about his surroundings as he could. “Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Turning back towards Dean, Sam caught a second of his brother looking at him, pensieve, chewing on the side of his lip, before the ride attendant unhooked the chain and started ushering the waiting line onto the ride. Dean’s eyes lit up with a smile as he slammed his shoulder into Sam, pushing past him to get on the ride.

“Ow, jerk.”

It was getting late and the crowds were really starting to dwindle. Nothing worthy of noting in their dad’s journal had or was likely to happen, but if they went back earlier than John expected them, they’d be subjected to a grueling cross examination. It was easier to just do their due diligence and stick it out to the end, plus even Sam had to admit that they were having fun.

“I gotta piss.” Dean veered to the right towards a row of porta-potties tucked in behind the game booths. Sam followed him away from the main thoroughfare but then drifted to the left where there was a cluster of cheap tables and plastic chairs, presumably for patrons to sit and eat at, or maybe the carnival workers took their breaks here, but there was only one other person there now and they seemed to be asleep. He sat down quietly, as far from them as he could while still being able to see them. Laying curled half over the table, their head on one arm, hair falling across their face, in the dim lighting, Sam couldn’t tell much of anything about the person, just that their hair was longish and in need of a good wash, and their clothes were almost theatrically tattered, like they’d been cast to play the role of a homeless person in a movie.

“It’s rude to stare.” they said in a surprisingly deep, smooth voice.

Sam looked around, Dean still hadn’t returned, and no one else was nearby. When he glanced back, the man had rolled his head up so his chin was resting on the back on one hand, dark eyes twinkling from under the lank hair.

“I wasn’t…” Sam started until the stranger raised an eyebrow at him. “Sorry.” he said instead and then added, “I’m just waiting for my brother. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

The man took a long slow breath and sat up, stretching his long arms and rolling his shoulders. He nodded once. “It’s been a long day, but I think I’ve got one more reading in me. You interested?”

There was a worn deck of cards on the table in front of him.

Sam shook his head. “My brother’ll be out in a second and all I’ve got is…” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins that he quickly added up then said with a small laugh, “Um, seventeen cents. So, I’ll pass, but thanks.”

“Well, well, well. Luck is on your side, young man, because that’s precisely how much the last reading of the day costs.” He scooped up the cards and began shuffling them. “Come on, everyone wants to know their future. It’ll just take a minute.”

Every warning that his dad had ever given him whispered across his mind. They were hunting something that was killing people, and John seemed certain that it was somehow picking its victims at seedy, rundown, traveling carnivals. But there was something about the moment that struck Sam as safe, so he stood up and moved to take a seat across the table from the raggedy fortune teller, although he did make sure to stay out of reach of the man’s long arms and was fully prepared to bolt if needed. As soon as he put the dime, nickel, and two pennies down on the table, the man set his deck of cards in front of Sam.

“Cut the deck.”

Sam looked at it, glanced over his shoulder, half expecting Dean to be right there to slap his hand and chew him out for being so stupid. But they were still alone and the heavy humid air made him feel like the world was holding him in its mouth, breathlessly waiting.

Fuck it, he thought, and reached out and quickly split the deck into two piles.

The man placed what had been the bottom half of the deck on top and started dealing out cards.

“This is you.” he said with the first card laid down, it was the 3 of Swords.

The man paused, looking at it, and then picked it back up. Picking at it with his fingernail, it turned out to be two cards stuck together. He separated them and set them back down, still overlapping, but so both could be seen. The other was the Page of Wands. “Huh.”

He looked at Sam and his eyes flicked past him for a second, before he focused back on the deck and turned the next card, laying it to one side of the first two.

“This is your past.” It was Justice.

He flipped another card and laid it on the other side. It was the 6 of Swords. “This is your future.”

He flipped one last card and laid it sideways across the middle two. “This is the complication.”

It was The Devil.

The man breathed out a long sigh.

“What does it mean?” Sam asked.

“It means you’ve got a long, hard road ahead of you, kid.” A lot of his act had dropped away so suddenly that Sam actually found himself taking him seriously for the first time. “Shit. Okay, so yeah.”

He sat forward. “You are going to go through a lot of really bad shit, harder and more unfair than what you’ve already been through. Life is going to do everything it can to get you to give in, give up, let go. It’s going to use your own feelings of unworthiness against you. Don’t buy into that crap. Don’t give up. Don’t stop fighting, no matter what. You do not want to know what will happen if you fail.”

At this he touched the two cards in the middle and spread them a little further apart. “The good news is that if you keep going, you will get through it, and… you won’t have to go through it alone.”

Sam heard the soft crunch of footsteps approaching. The man looked up and past Sam.

“Sam?” Dean said, a cautionary warning and question all at once.

The fortune teller looked at Sam, there was a lot he was leaving unspoken, Sam could see it in the man’s eyes. But he smiled and then shrugged and collected his cards. “You’ve got someone watching your back.”

The man stood up, he was taller than Dean, but lanky and long, so he seemed to unfold from his chair. Cards and coins disappeared into his pockets. He nodded at them both and walked back towards the lights of carnival, whistling what sounded a lot like the opening riff of Kashmir.

“The hell was that? Seriously, Sam? I left you alone for like two minutes.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, Dean, I’m fine. The guy offered.”

“Oh my god! Do we really need to have the ‘don’t take offers from creepy guys at creepy carnivals’ talk? Because I honestly thought you were smarter than that.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not a helpless little kid. It was fine.”

Dean’s brow knit together as he looked Sam over and then looked back the way the guy had gone. “Whatever. Come on, it’s late enough. Time to get outta here.”

He reached out and tugged at the shoulder of Sam’s tee shirt, pulling him along after him, keeping him close.

“So, what’d he tell you? Anything interesting in your future?”

“Nah, same stuff as always.”

#gencest #wincest #wincest wednesday #samdean #pre-stanford #gencest fic #spn fanfic #spn fan fiction #dean winchester #sam winchester

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maple-keenes · 1 month

Text

life's fucking long til it stops (and god's fucking fake til he's not)

>> READ IT ON AO3 HERE

summary: In the aftermath of their hostile takeover of Passione, Mista is maybe not coping super great with the death of three of the most important people in his life. But, like, he’s fine, right? Could have been four. (Mista struggles to navigate his new reality. He receives help from an unexpected source, and then two very expected ones.)

notes: it’s really impressive how much i’ve cried over jojo at this point. it’s, like, arguably way too much, but it apparently gives me a lot of inspiration, so here we are! giorno/mista are intended to be platonic but if you want to read them as romantic i'm not gonna stop you as always, my jojo fics are dedicated to @thesmalbox and @drawbucket. thank you for introducing me to these men and their problems as per usual. title of this fic is from ajr’s “god is really real”, since the song is unfortunately a very good fit for mista’s emotions about his family dying.

Mista’s life has not been going super well recently.

He can’t help but feel like he’s on his own now, a little bit. He’s got--he has people. He has Trish and Giorno, and he’s really fucking lucky that he has Trish and Giorno, and he’s like, Don Giovanna’s right-hand man! That’s really cool!

But when the dust settles on the rubble that is the old Passione, Mista is the one who lost his family.

Giorno and Trish are hurting too. They’ve lost a lot of good friends in the past few--weeks? Months? Everything’s been sort of blurry for a while. Time stopped making sense to Mista when Abbacchio died and he had to look Narancia in the eyes later that night and say I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we could have done. He’d never wished for a stand other than Sex Pistols before, but at that moment, Mista really, really wanted a stand that could fix the dull, sad look in Narancia’s eyes, in whatever way was easiest.

(He’d still take that heartbreak in his eyes over the lifelessness that came later. A sad Narancia is better than a dead Narancia.)

And it’s not like Giorno and Trish don’t get it, right? ‘Cause they lost all the same people Mista did. But they also knew them for less time, and they didn’t--it doesn’t hurt them. In the same way it hurts him.

Maybe it does. He’s being a little selfish with his grief. They all lost people, they all suffered, and they’re all recovering from the mission in equally questionable ways.

(They’re all dead, one way or another, at Diavolo’s hands.)

He hopes Narancia gets to see Abbacchio again. He hopes Bucciarati’s proud of him. He hopes it stops hurting, one of these days.

It hasn’t yet.

---

It’s been maybe a couple of months since their hostile takeover ended, and Mista’s still carrying around that same hollow grief he has been since the end of their mission. If Giorno and Trish are as distraught as Mista is, they’re doing a great job of hiding it. But Giorno was always good at hiding emotions. Mista can’t tell what the Boss is thinking for shit.

To be fair, Mista isn’t exactly flaunting his fraying mental state around either. He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of keeping things under wraps.

He thinks so right up until Giorno drags him to a meeting with Polnareff (because not even being a spirit that lives in the magical room belonging to a turtle gets you out of meetings with Don Giovanna)--and the meeting is in the turtle room, of course. He then promptly gets a call from someone else and excuses himself to take it, leaving the other two alone in the room together. Polnareff takes one look at Mista and says, “You’re not doing too well, are you, Mista?”

“I’m doing just fine!” he protests, but he’s not sure he’s even convinced of that himself. “It’s cool. I’m coping.”

The Frenchman sighs, giving Mista a look that for some reason reminds him so much of Bucciarati (it’s the disappointed parent vibes) that he nearly bursts into tears on the spot. “You are not--you call it coping, yes? Telling yourself you are not alone in missing them is not coping.”

“I’m not just telling myself that…”

“You knew them better,” he continues, ignoring Mista’s half-hearted response, “but you do not want to dismiss Don Giovanna or Miss Una’s grief, so you are being quiet. And in doing so, you have not spoken about this to anyone. You are not well.”

“I don’t need to talk to a fuckin’ therapist or anything,” Mista grumbles, idly twirling a pencil through his fingers. “I’m not, like--I know it’s fine that I’m sad that they’re dead. It’s not like I didn’t know I loved ‘em, right? They were my family. And we were all real young, but we were gangsters, so we always knew it was a possibility.”

Polnareff scoffs at that. “Knowing that it may happen does not adequately prepare you for when it does happen.”

“What are you, the fuckin’--the fuckin’ expert on trauma, or whatever?” he all but growls, the hole in his chest welling up with something that is probably despair but feels like anger. “Just. Fuck off. I already said I was fine.”

“On trauma? Non. On losing people you loved?” His eyes get this weird faraway look in them that Mista doesn’t like. It’s too serious. The man lives in a turtle. “Do you think you are the only person who has lost their family?”

“It’s different--”

“It is not,” he snaps, and Mista’s eyes go wide. “You do not… how much do you know about me? Who I am?”

He shrugs, suddenly a little uncomfortable. “You work for that foundation that deals with stands, you’re French, and you were part of the team that killed Giorno’s vampire dad in 1988.”

“And do you think,” Polnareff asks, voice deceptively even, and Mista feels like he’s really missing something here, “that everyone who faced DIO survived the encounter?”

“Well, I kinda doubt it, but…” Realization dawns on him and he feels like he might actually be the world’s worst person. Ever. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

The older man looks exasperated, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face even though Mista has just directly implied that he doesn’t know jack shit about what Mista’s going through even though he really, definitely does. “Pas de souci, you did not know. You could have made an educated guess, but I do not necessarily expect that of you.”

“Hey!”

“I am joking. See, Mista, I am doubly the expert on this because I have lost people twice over. I once lost the same person twice, even,” he says, with the intonation implying that this is supposed to be some sort of joke but it just makes Mista feel really fucking bad, which was maybe the actual intention the whole time. “It is okay to be sad. To miss them. Giorno will not think less of you for it.”

They’re both silent for a while before Mista’s brain-to-mouth filter finally fails him and he blurts out, “Who was it?”

“Hm?”

“Who was it that died,” he repeats sheepishly. “I don’t know a lot about the mission to kill DIO. I don’t even--I still don’t one hundred percent believe that Giorno’s dad is a vampire from a hundred years ago.”

Polnareff huffs out a small laugh, folding his arms over his chest. “I admit that if I had not faced the man myself I would find it difficult to believe as well. As for who it was… well. We had called ourselves the Crusaders, because we thought our cause quite righteous, and because Jotaro did not find it very funny at all when we did so. There were… six of us, in the end. Five humans and one dog.

“And it is still difficult to talk about this, even though it has been nearly 25 years since I lost them. It has been even longer since I lost my sister. It gets easier to miss them, over time. But in the beginning, I did not think I would ever be able to say their names again,” he says quietly, and Mista finds himself leaning in. “There were six of us, yes. Myself, Joseph Joestar, Jotaro Kujo, Kakyoin Noriaki, Muhammed Avdol, and Iggy. Iggy was this horrible little bastard dog who ended up with a stand and got sent along with us when we reached Egypt.”

Mista has heard of Jotaro Kujo and Joseph Joestar--and obviously, he’s heard of Polnareff--though it’s very recent, and little information has been shared. They’re related to Giorno, technically, maybe, kind of. Kujo is the one who sent someone to find Giorno. The other three he’s never heard anyone mention.

The Frenchman continues, “I think I was luckier than you were. Luckier than Mr. Joestar, certainly. I only had to watch one of them die.” Mista lets out a soft gasp at that. “Well. I had watched one of those three die already, so maybe I was only spared the hardship of watching one of them.”

“You don’t have to tell me this--”

“Hush. I am proving a point. We went into Cairo knowing that we were not safe. Expecting that we were not going to survive, but our resolve to kill DIO was so strong that we were not afraid. We are all fearless in the face of death when you have watched your friend come back from it already, of course.” He sighs. “And we had just gotten Kakyoin back from the hospital, too. He had been gone for so long… but we entered the manor, and Avdol had said to me, ‘Polnareff, do not try to save me. I am not going to save you. One of us needs to make it out alive.’ I agreed because he was right. Saving me is what nearly got him killed the first time. And then we are exploring, and suddenly he yells my name, pushes me out of the way, and is gone.” Polnareff laughs somewhat bitterly. “My back was turned. I did not watch him die. It was so fast I would not have been able to. There was no body to bury, either. He was simply gone.

“And then the dog--the dog I despised, who had been nothing but awful to me the entire journey--he sacrifices himself to keep me alive. He uses the last of his energy to keep me from being killed by the man who killed Avdol, and I am thinking the whole time, do I even deserve this?”

Mista is taken aback by how raw the emotion is in Polnareff’s voice, something he never expected from the goofy older man who always seemed to take situations a little less seriously than he should. He also--he gets it. Being funny is easier than being honest with yourself. “That sucks,” he says, rather eloquently. “I can’t imagine someone just being there and then… not.”

“Mm. But Avdol and Iggy knew what they were getting into, to some extent. They were adults, as much as you can consider a dog an adult, I suppose. Kakyoin was not, for all he acted like one sometimes. He was barely seventeen.” Polnareff looks up from where he’s been staring at the wood grain in the table at those words as if he knows Mista is going to recoil at them. Barely seventeen. “I wasn’t there to watch him die. I didn’t even see the body. Jotaro never did either, and I think that hurt him very much, in the same way that Avdol vanishing hurt me. To not have anything left of them.” He clears his throat, eyes darting back down. “But Mr. Joestar was there. DIO had carved a hole straight through Kakyoin, but he used his last bit of strength to tell Mr. Joestar what DIO’s stand did.” Mista’s cheeks are wet with tears. He doesn’t know when that happened, but he does know that what Polnareff is describing sounds a lot like Abbacchio’s death, and also Narancia’s, and Bucciarati’s, and he just--he really fucking misses them. “Without his sacrifice… without Avdol’s, and Iggy’s… we would all be dead now. But that is little comfort when you are laying in a hospital bed and thinking about the fact that they are dead and you are not.”

“I really miss them,” Mista voices out loud this time, not expecting the choked way it comes out. “I really, really miss them. It doesn’t get better, does it? This. Feeling like this.”

Polnareff shrugs loosely. “I cannot say. But you know what makes it less painful, at least a little bit?”

“What?”

“Talking to someone.” He gestures above them. Mista’s gaze snaps up to where a shocked Giorno is standing, wide eyes transfixed on the tears rolling down Mista’s face. He’s standing next to Mista in the turtle before he knows it. Polnareff smiles a little before saying, “Don Giovanna, I apologize, but I don’t think I’ll be able to attend our meeting today. Something else came up.”

“That’s alright, Polnareff. We… we can reschedule.” Giorno inches toward Mista slowly, as if he’s not sure whether or not he’s allowed to get any closer. “Please let me know when would work best for you.”

He nods, still looking between Mista and Giorno. “I will.”

Giorno grabs Mista’s hand and yanks him back out of the turtle just before Mista closes the gap between them, crushing the young Don in a hug. “Dude, I know I’m supposed to be playing it real cool as your right-hand man, but I really fucking miss the rest of the team and is it okay if we’re just Giorno and Mista today? I kinda need my best friend right now,” he asks, voice still thick and cloudy with tears. They are best friends, at this point. Inexorably bonded by horrible experiences and a dream.

Giorno returns the hug just as tightly and buries his face in Mista’s sweater since that’s the height that he’s at. Christ, he’s so young. “Okay. I can do that. Do you want to talk?”

“Right now? No. Right now, this is okay,” he says, mostly into the top of Giorno’s head. “But. Later, maybe.”

“Later,” Giorno agrees. “I’m sorry I never--”

“Don’t,” Mista interrupts him firmly. “I also didn’t say shit. We’re all doing kinda bad right now.”

He hums into Mista’s chest, not moving. His familiar doughnut-shaped hair is weirdly comforting. “What did you and Polnareff talk about?”

“He… gave me some advice. Said that maybe keeping all this shit bottled up was a bad idea. Told me a story. That kinda stuff.”

“Must have been some story.”

Mista huffs. “Sure fucking was.”

They’re silent for a while, still hugging each other tight before Giorno speaks up from where his head is still buried in Mista’s sweater. “You know you can talk to me, right? I didn’t realize it was hurting you so badly.”

“Course it is. Probably gonna hurt me for the rest of my life, GioGio. But you know, it’s not so bad,” he says, resting his chin on top of Giorno’s head. “I’ve got you, don’t I?”

“What am I, chopped liver?” someone else asks from the doorway of the conference room they’d placed the turtle in. Mista looks up to see Trish leaning against the doorframe, hand on her hip. She’s traded out her pink and orange outfit for a black and white one, with gold accents, and. Well. There’s no question where her color scheme came from, and it makes Mista’s heart ache. “Got a call from the boss saying I might be needed today, but I wasn’t expecting this!”

“Wasn’t planned,” Giorno murmurs, finally disentangling himself from Mista. “I originally wanted you two here to investigate a new stand user that’s apparently cropped up in Sicily, but…” he trails off, glancing back up to Mista’s tear-streaked face. “I think the three of us should talk about what happened with Diavolo.”

Trish frowns, shutting the door behind her as she takes in the two of them. “Is there something wrong? Did he get out of the loop?”

“No! No, nothing like that,” he reassures her. “It has come to my attention that maybe we have not communicated about the effects of the battle as well as we could have and I would like to remedy that.”

“Is there some sort of lingering--”

“He wants to talk about our feelings, Trish,” Mista interrupts, because Giorno’s clearly not getting the point across. “Shit, man, I talked to turtle man and he made me realize that maybe I’ve not been doing so hot recently.”

Her face crumples and she reaches over to place a hand on his arm. “Oh, Mista .”

“It’s--okay, well, I was going to say it’s fine but it’s really not fine. Um. I just--” he starts and stops over and over again, unable to find the words to phrase this thing that’s been building up in his chest since he saw Abbacchio’s body on the beach. “I really fucking miss my family.”

Trish looks up at him with sad eyes--not pity, never pity, she has seen him through too much now to call it pity --and says, “Of course you do. It’s…” She sighs, then takes a seat on the floor right in front of him. “Come on. If we’re doing this, we’re doing this properly.”

Giorno looks at Mista, who shrugs and follows suit, then takes a seat on the ground himself. How ridiculous they must look, the Don and his right-hand man sitting on the floor alongside the former boss’s daughter, all in their nicest day clothes. Giorno’s wearing a fucking suit. Trish has three-inch heels on. Mista’s carrying a gun, for fuck’s sake, and here they are having a feelings circle on the floor of a conference room.

Goddamnit, he loves them so much.

“So,” Giorno says, all businesslike, “I wanted to apologize, first of all--”

“Gio, please .” Trish dismisses him with a wave of her hand. “I walked in here and you were crying all over Mista. Let’s skip the ‘I’m in charge here’ part, why don’t we?”

He looks a little cowed, which Mista personally thinks is the appropriate reaction to most of Trish’s requests, mafia boss or not. “Right. Sorry. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Mista, because I’m sure there’s not been enough time to properly grieve and part of that is my fault for how many missions I’ve been assigning you. I…” Giorno huffs out a small puff of air, staring down at the floor in front of him. “I forget that it’s different for you. Abbacchio, Bucciarati, Narancia, even Fugo, because you lost him too, in a way… they were like your family, yes? And while I cared for them, I did not have the time with them that you did. I cannot imagine what it’s like to watch someone you felt like you owed your entire life to die.”

“And not even realize they had died,” Trish mutters under her breath. “I’m still a little mad about that, just so you know. I wish you had told us.”

“It didn’t feel like the time,” he responds, but his tone is apologetic. “Still, I am sorry. It was painful for me too, even if it wasn’t the same.”

Mista scoffs. “This isn’t a competition, Gio, we’re all allowed to be fucked up about it.” All three of them are quiet for a moment before he speaks up again and says, “Did you know Abbacchio and Bucciarati were gonna get married one day?”

“No, I had no idea!” Trish says in hushed tones while Giorno looks genuinely confused. “I thought something was going on there, but I didn’t think it was that serious.”

“I didn’t even know something was going on,” Giorno admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, I don’t know if it was really serious,” he can feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes again, ‘cause they’ll never get the chance to actually get married, he’ll never get to tease the two of them again, call them Mom and Dad when their backs are turned, “and I don’t have a really good idea of what romance is, but they were in love, y’know? The rest of us used to give them shit for it constantly. And Narancia, we used to call him their kid, ‘cause Fugo and I, I was older and we were cooler but Narancia really latched on to them and--and I used to tease him for it so much and I wish I’d gotten a chance to tell him that I loved him because he was my fucking little brother and I never got to tell him that !”

He’s fully crying now, but Trish has moved from her seat on the floor to kneel next to him and put her arms around him and Giorno has followed suit, and the three of them are having a group hug on the floor of a conference room. Fucking hell.

“If it helps,” Trish says, her voice barely above a whisper, “I spent a lot of time with Narancia and Bucciarati in that turtle, and… they knew. They all knew, Mista, and they really loved you too. I wish I’d gotten a chance to be a part of that family for longer because you guys were so good to each other.”

Giorno makes a soft noise that Mista can't quite place. “I agree. I could tell you loved them. I’m sure they could too.”

“I just wish I’d gotten to say it one last time, you know?” He laughs wetly. “I spent all that time making fun of Narancia and teasing Abbacchio and Bucciarati--”

“But who’s to say that wasn’t just your way of saying you loved them?” Giorno counters. “Plenty of people like to tease each other in a familial way. You and Trish do it all the time.”

“And I do love you, Mista, even if you are kind of gross,” she says, which gets all of them laughing a little. “And I love Giorno too! But I promise, if we could tell you loved them, I’m certain they could too.”

He smiles a little, head resting against Trish’s hair. “Thanks, you two. And while I’m here… I love you guys too. You’re my fucking family now, like it or not.”

“I love you too,” Giorno says, much softer than anything he’d previously said. “Thank you. For being there.”

Trish pulls back, grinning wildly despite the fact that her eyes are shining with unshed tears. “Hey, Giorno, I know you have important mafia stuff to do, but as the former boss’s daughter and your best friend, Trish, I am hereby requesting that you cancel all of that and the three of us have a movie night tonight instead. I think we could use it.”

He cracks a smile at that. “Only if you’ll paint my nails for me,” he says, and the thick fog of sadness still lingering throughout the room is lightened just a little.

“I think I can make that work,” she responds as Mista laughs. “Don’t laugh, Mista! I’m doing yours too!”

“No, Giorno has to do mine, and I’ll do yours! It’s only fair!”

And the thing in Mista’s chest gets a little bit smaller.

“You’re going to be horrible at it!”

“I am not! ”

And maybe, just maybe, things will be okay for the three of them.

#jjba #my writing #fanfiction #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #jojo part 5 #giorno giovanna #guido mista #trish una #jean pierre polnareff #that team as family type shit #one of these days i will let the part 5 gang be happy! not today tho #forgot to post this one when i posted the other one. whoops #jojo fanfic

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bluest-planet · 11 months

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Wasn't gonna tag this originally, but if you follow me for my current chaiflower atsv fic, although it has nothing to do with it, being on the tag for atsv on AO3 has really made some things apparent to me.

Specifically how the fandom, and the fic writers on ao3 writes for the characters and their subject matter.

Now, dark fic and taboo subjects in fanfic isn't a new thing and it's never going to go away. Which is a good thing, bc the second we demonize and try to censor that kind of stuff, is the second we loose a lot of the kinds of stories we can tell.

Writing is a medium for humans to experience something with no stakes. Be it dangerous or just a good time, it helps us explore our thoughts, and feelings of scenarios we might never have to face but prepare us, or have already had to deal with and help us deal with those scenarios.

I'm also not gonna police anyone and tell em what you can and can't write fanfic about. Do whatever the hell you want, and make sure to tag your shit appropriately, it's a common courtesy and it's a bad thing to not do because even if you don't face any repercussions for it; do you really want to be the one people avoid because of a bad rep?

Moving on, let me just preference; I am an aroace person. I am also Mexican/Salvi. I think Miguel is cool complex antagonist and I'll admit he does have a sculpted ass lol. He's cool and conventionally attractive, with a neat personality people can mess around with. I get why there's a thirst for him.

But I think we should acknowledge how... He's treated by the fandom. Especially during that first week of spiderverse coming out. I don't mind smut, I just ignore it and move on with my day if smth doesn't appeal to me. But when you don't put fics under readmores, or put in tags so it's seen by everyone ur gonna have to deal with people skimming or having a base understanding of what kind of smut n stuff you're writing.

I'm not kinkshaming or anything, you do you, but it quite frankly has made me (and maybe a few others I've seen but don't quote me on that I only speak for myself.) Uncomfortable with this 'Latine Lover' trope people have stapled onto Miguel. I can imagine it's worse for his comic fans, but sometimes people really do be out here writing wish fulfillment smut fics where they're plastering their, kinda racist stereotypes and fantasies onto this Mexican character. If that was it tho? I wouldn't be making this. Because I know that eventually it would die down as time passes and we'd all move on.

Then came the flowerfang/MilesxMiguel (or any other of the spider teens) fics.

Look, again. Dark fic is a part of fandom whether you like it or not, it's up to your personal decision whether or not to engage with it. I don't. But I do think some people should be self reflecting and analyzing why these are being written at the high rate that they are and if you enjoy them or get something out of it is fine, but just be aware and critical of what you're reading and not let it cloud judgement or the actual characters' movie portrayals. It's so easy to let fannon dictate how you view characters, which are often dumbed down and stripped of their original identities for instant gratification.

When these characterizations become wildly accepted, it's often not an issue because people don't have to read it or engage with it in their own little corners. However it ends up highlighting the racism prevent in these spaces. Because to me, it feels like a lot of this is coming from white or young fic writers (although that maybe might not be the case, but I'm trusting my gut here. No shade to young writes either lol I'm close in age w the spider kids) Doing what they want with these amazing black and brown characters and low-key ruining the fun for non white fans, specifically Black and Brown fans.

Fandom is only a safe space and escapism for white fans, and anyone else is forced to carve out their own space and safeguard it from these racist depictions.

When Miguel is not being painted as a 'Latine Lover', he's a predator, or a violent monster, hypersexual Mexican man, or a creep, or someone who's unreasonably angry worthy of no redemption. It makes him so terribly black and white, and while he may be a dark gray that doesn't negate the fact his complexity is being washed away so these writers can have a clear villain who fits this view of violent Latino men hurting women, and kids.

And while I still have this view of a cool antagonist, and can block tags for my own safe experience, that doesn't fix the fact that his character is going through this fanonization with an abundance of dark fic will change perception. Things don't just disappear if they're outta sight. It's still there. With an oppressive force and sour after taste to see how bastardized he's becoming to a majority of what fics are being created and setting precedent for.

Same goes for Miles; saved by the fact he's a young, smart, skinny kid and the protag. But that doesn't spare him from his own fanonization as this meek, weak, soft, baby, cryboy who needs to be comforted or face the worst trauma ever in order to get some trauma porn/wump outta him bc that's all he can be used for apparently. Instead of the confident, heroic, creative, outgoing and friendly kid who sticks up for what's right. I can't speak for black fans and how they feel about this characterization of him. But as a latine fan?

Miles is amazing. He's funny and cool, he's young and talented, and he doesn't take anything from anybody because he's been taught right. I may not be Puerto Rican but Miles is just.... Such a good representation for other latines. So to see him be striped of these traits a lot of the time for others that have been exaggerated; clumsiness, awkwardness, emotional availability, sweet, and caring attitude taken too far it's bad.

Part of it is the racism. People see this dark skinned boy and babyfy him to make him less complex, take away the sharp edges for something soft and malleable, something more digestible and able to process for their own needs. And another part of it is;

Writing is hard.

Believe me! I'm a fic writer! It takes me a long time to write, I edit, and I go back to add or take stuff out, I rewatch or reread whatever I need to make sure I'm doing my best with these characters and somehow try not to fumble the bag with my own scenes and how I interpret their character and relationships to tell a good story to my standards.

And sometimes I still get it wrong!

Which is totally normal! Hell! You don't have to even do all that, fic writing should be fun. You wanna write that chatfic, dark fic, one shot, smutfic, fix-it? Do it! Find your creative drive and do something with it! You get better the more you try!

Sometimes people write and don't realize what they're doing. They're doing it for fun and maybe don't consider some of these problematic traits they're writing. Or they don't know how to approach the character, dumb em down so they can start easy at first, and then get comfortable writing like that instead of slowly getting better with time bc it's for fun.

I take the steps because I want to make something accurate and introspective, not everyone is like that. Even I like wild fun chatfics or crack fics once n a while to shut off my brain.

But you're gonna have to learn that not everyone is gonna like what you write. That if properly representing the characters is what you want, you take that time to put all the love and care into that writing. Putting in that extra work does wonders, and it makes you a better writer! And it creates a good space for others to feel welcomed into!

I didn't even get to how Pavitr Prabhakar is also woobified most often than not, or how discarded his girlfriend Gayatri is in favour of gay shipping (although she doesn't have much screentime, and his ships aren't with white characters so I get why it happens.), Or all the drama I didn't even know about till recently around Punkflower, and Hobie's character. But I'm getting tried so let's wrap this up;

Fandom is gonna fanon. Yes we are responsible for our own experiences and what fan content we engage in, but that doesn't mean we should also turn a blind eye to racism, problematic tropes, or bad characterization. Just because it outta site doesn't mean it's outta mind, and doesn't effect others. I'm not saying harass these creators, no. They are people and at the end of the day they're not hurting anyone and just creating like you are. Leave them be.

But what I am saying is that you have to be the change you wanna see in fandom. As cheesy as that is. You gotta create and encourage the people you do like and enjoy the works of, and foster a fandom that does more than take the easy route. With time we might just win out the bad white fanon.

Or maybe not.

But at least we tried, and we made our point.

(and for the folks who do struggle or participate in these racist tropes or portrayals and fanonized characters and realize their mistake or want to do better; I encourage you to take a step back, rewatch the movie of you can and really study the story and characters. If not? Then listen or read the posts of black and brown fans. We're not all right, and some even have bad takes, but try to broaden your circle. It'll help you make your writing better. I'm not mad, I don't hate these writers. They have their own amazing moments and fics it's great! They're not villains, they're just people doing what they think is fun. They just need a push in the right direction sometimes.)

#atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv fanfiction #atsv fandom #blue speaks #long post #do not send me hate or try to argue with me. this was just my 2 cents and im going back to my hole.#say your peace in the replies and nothing else no rb on this one #this was wordvomit and not planned so again. don't come at me these are just my observations.#hope this doesn't come off as antagonistic bc its not supposed to be its just a warning #telling people to put more thought into their fandom and creative spaces and be critical (not in a mean way)#i am not going to fight with you. and i do not intended this as a call out or an attack on the people who do this #this is supposed to be a learning experience for all of us #thank you and goodnight #i WILL delete this if people come at me and refuse to interacd again w the fandom if they do #i can live blissfully in peace w/o caring about fandom drama #do NOT call anyone out in the replies either i will delete the post eother u guys are not attacking each other either #if i have anything to say about it on my post.

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