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keenobjectmentality · 2 years

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Ok, first time ever doing this but I fell down the same rabbit hole as every person writing Namor/Ku’kul’kan fics. So here’s my contribution. The original is on my Ao3 account if anyone wants to check that out. Lorein_nur.

Summary:

Clara Alcázar is a world renown archeologist and author, known for her professionalism and composure. After another successful exhibit inauguration, one centered on Northmen and Vikings to be precise, she decides its time to shed some light on a culture a little more close to home, Mesoamerican.

Moving back to México, and even further from her home town all the way to the peninsula of Yucatan will bring forth a new sense of adventure and unveil a secret of such magnitude the world has never known.

Chapter 1: Señorita Alcázar

The flash of camera lights followed her as she exited Edinburgh Castle, microphones and voice recorders were shoved her way as she walked down the carpet that had been drawn out in order to draw an even path up the stairs she now descended and through the sturdy wooden doors that lay at her back. She kept a steady pace, the fine tips of her heeled stilettos leaving the faintest of indentations on the well kept velvet, the skirt of her dress barely brushed the floor in a parody of a chaste kiss. Voices intermingled with the chords of a professionally strung violin, the orchestra the event organizer had hired was starting anew precisely after a 15 minute pause.

“¡Señorita Alcázar!”

“Miss Alcázar!”

"Mademoiselle Alcázar!”

The calls for her attention never stopped, and neither did she, all that had needed to be discussed had been within the stone walls of the castle at her back.

“Señorita Alcázar, por favor Señorita Alcázar espere un momento!”

"Miss Alcázar, please Miss Alcázar, hold on a moment!"

The use of her native tongue gave her pause, and with that one minute of hesitation the vultures flocked in, effectively surrounding her and blocking her sole exit from that night's event. A stifled groan was hastily swallowed, though she found herself unimaginably tired self composure still had to be kept, she’d practically built her reputation from that iron like control with which she held herself, so instead she smiled. Mauve painted lips parted in an upward grin, the whites of her teeth peeking from in between, the movement stretching the softness of her powdered cheeks.

More flashes followed, and with them more microphones, recorders and questions pertaining to the new archeological exhibit shed helped establish.

A slick recorder clutched in a well manicured hand was quickly thrust centimeters from her face, had she not been used to this form of treatment she would have blinked or worse taken a step back from surprise. “Christine Everhart from WHIH World News, Miss Alcázar, how hard was it to arrange a meeting between you and New Asgards reigning king?”

“Not hard at all if you know who to call.” She primly answered, a little cheekiness slipping into her words. She took a step forward, fully intending on continuing her trek from the castle to her hired driver and car no more than a few feet away when her progress was once again stopped this time by a microphone and a recording camera in her face.

“Cecile Lavigne from France24, Mademoiselle Alcázar, was this a difficult project to collaborate in with her majesty the king?”

“Heavens no, her majesty was wonderful all throughout.” She was quick to reply, the words slipping out with ease from the sincerity behind them, she flashed the camera and its reporter another charming smile before beginning anew her trek towards the car. Her driver now waited outside the vehicle with the backdoor open.

“Señorita Alcázar, ¡un momento de su tiempo!”

"Miss Alcázar, a moment of your time!"

And there it was, the voice that had halted her quick escape from the masses.

“Señorita Alcázar, por favor.”

"Miss Alcázar, please."

Please, he’d been the onlyone to ask now not once but twice for a moment of her time. Having the leather seat of the car not only in sight but one carful step away she found herself secured enough in her escape to turn and hummor one final reporter. The silk of her dress turned with her, the powder blue material hugging and curving over her figure, she cocked her head to the side and with a fleeting smiled invited the reporter to ask his question.

“¿Si?”

"Yes?"

“¡Muchas gracias Señorita Alzázar!” was enthusiasticly exclaimed before all matter of seriousness returned to the man whose words they belonged to. “Julian Herrera de La Octava TV, Señorita Alcázar, ¿cuál vendría siendo su siguiente proyecto? ¿En qué cultura se planea enfocar ahora que ha concluido su trabajo en Escocia?”

"Thank you, Miss Alcázar!" -" Julian Herrera from La Octava TV, Miss Alcázar, what would your next project be? What culture do you plan to focus on now that you have completed your work in Scotland?”

“En casa, creo que es hora de regresar y enfocarme en las culturas que formaron gran parte en la creación de nuestro increíble país. Es hora de darles el reconocimiento que se merecen y alzarlas al mismo estatus de importancia, de interés que las otras religiones y mitologías que son frecuentemente estudiadas tienen. ”

“Home, I think it's time to go back and focus on the cultures that played a big part in creating our amazing country. It is time to give them the recognition they deserve and raise them to the same status of importance, of interest that the other religions and mythologies that are frequently studied have. ”

It was the longest reply yet, and the one most fuled by passion, a fact Mr. Herrera had taken note of, his unmasked grin being a slick tell at that. Alcázar nodded in passing before turning once again and taking the final step into the car, the door shutting and shrouding her from the constant lights was a definitive sign that the end of the night had finally arrived. As the car moved on and made its was towards the castle exit, Clara Alcázar fulled from the shallow depths of her evenings clutch her phone, with nimble fingers she tapped and unlocked the screen tapping once more to open her go to messaging app.

“Nos vemos pronto! <3” Was typed and sent.

"See you soon! <3"

#black panther #wakanda forever #namor the sub mariner #namor fanfiction #namor x oc #namor x reader #namor x you #tenoch huerta namor #kukulkan

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kemendin · 2 years

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And still, even sitting beside Khel, watching the slow rise and fall of the Sith’s chest against the blankets, Malavai almost couldn’t believe that both of them were here. His mind was still reeling under the abrupt reversal of his own circumstances. Five years in prison, culminating in being shoved against a wall and nearly shot by an Imperial execution squad, only for Khel to descend like a cold and vengeful star upon the scene and whisk Malavai away. Back to the proud, ordered spires of Kaas City, where Quinn had taken his own brutal revenge on the worm who’d thrown him in prison - uncovering a conspiracy against Empress Acina in the process - and then found himself, at the end of the day, not only pardoned for his crimes, but promoted.

Quinn couldn’t protest how things had turned out, of course. Not at all. But from any reasonable perspective - it really was all a bit much.

Malavai Quinn x Light Side Sith Warrior Words: 6200 A/N: I ended up writing a bit of an epilogue scene to Cleansing Our Ashes. While the main story has a decently happy ending, I felt that things wouldn’t continue to be quite as neat and tidy as that first gasp of relief. Quinn’s been through a lot, and he still has some guilt and doubts to work through - hence this fic. Lots of hurt/comfort, softness, intimacy, a dash of humour. Implied sexual content but nothing explicit.

Read on AO3 (short excerpt below cut)

His tired eyes found Khel again, and after a moment he pulled himself a few centimetres closer across the bed. With a tenderness that surprised even himself, he reached out, brushing the back of his forefinger over the small diamonds of ink that patterned over the Mirialan’s shoulder and curved towards his neck.

It was the lightest of touches, and yet the Sith stirred beneath it. Khel’s eyes fluttered open and a low noise of question hummed from his throat. Startled, Quinn hastily pulled his hand back into his lap.

“I’m sorry, my lord. Did I wake you?”

“It’s alright,” came the mumbled reply. Khel dragged his head round to look up at the other man, a small and sleepy frown pulling between his brows.

“What’s the matter, Quinn?” he murmured. “Can’t sleep?”

“I’m afraid not.” Quinn offered him a quick, wan smile. “I can’t seem to turn my mind off.” He expelled a light breath and automatically raked his hair back from his forehead. “But don’t let me keep you up. I’m certain my thoughts will sort themselves out eventually.”

But instead Khel rubbed at his eyes and rolled onto his back beneath the blankets, his grey gaze no longer bleary, but quite pensive as he regarded Quinn.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered evenly, after a long moment.

That was the question, wasn’t it? Quinn dithered, his hands once again kneading together in his lap. Did he want to talk about the disorganised mass of thoughts and feelings which had begun to feel increasingly overwhelming, as they pawed and shouldered at the hastily erected walls of his composure?

Malavai wet his lips, feeling rather on the spot under Khel’s gentle yet still-keen scrutiny, and at length he admitted, “I - I’m not sure I can, my lord.”

Khel tipped his head slightly against the pillow. “Try,” he suggested quietly. Extracting a hand from under the blankets, he set it in Quinn’s lap, and gratefully the other man took it.

“The thing of it is….” Quinn started.

But he didn’t know where to go after that. His eyes lowered, watching the way he toyed with the Sith’s hand without even thinking about it, tracing the dark dabs of ink on gold-skinned fingers.

He had no trouble explaining statistics, or elaborate combat strategies, or the inner workings of any number of institutions that made up the Empire; but he was far less confident in expressing his own sentiments when not strictly pertaining to external affairs. During their early years together Khel had encouraged him to speak his mind in all matters, and in time Quinn had learned to do so - and then he’d spent the better part of a year having his words dismissed and discouraged by everyone he turned to, and ultimately it had been his mouth that had gotten him locked away. That Khel might treat him similarly was absurd, of course, but after so long being silenced, Malavai was having a very difficult time indeed removing the stopper again.

He released another small breath, this one tinged with embarrassment at his continued lack of reply. Haltingly, he tried again.

“I’m certain you’ll think me idiotic for it, but I’m still having difficulty… coming to terms with all of this. With - with you, in particular.” Quinn pressed his lips together and ventured a glance at Khel, who gave him a thoughtful look in reply.

“Truthfully, I thought your recovery seemed a bit on the quick side to be completely realistic.” Khel’s voice was sombre as he pushed himself up onto his available elbow. “That’s not idiotic, Quinn. That’s natural.”

“But it shouldn’t be, my lord,” refuted Malavai, with a vehemence that seemed to spring out of nowhere and seize him by the throat, causing his voice to quaver. “Not for me.” He gripped more tightly at Khel’s hand, as though that might steady him. “Clearly all is well - you are alive, and I am no longer incarcerated, and the two of us are doing our best to get back to normal. And yet this damned brain of mine is still refusing to entirely accept it, even when the evidence is right before my bloody eyes -”

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #swtor fanfic #malavai quinn #sith warrior #star wars the old republic #star wars fanfiction #swtor sith warrior #swtor:khel #kem oc #kem writes #kem fics #FINALLY FINISHED IT #MORE QUINN ANGST GO #but a happy ending I promise #otp: servants of the empire

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secretly-an-automaton · 6 months

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Hi, I’m Auto!

This is an intro post; if you’d prefer, just shuffle my blog for a sample of the madness 💚

Pronouns:

I’m cool with whatever

Tag chains:

(and tagging in general)

Feel free to tag me—I won’t always participate if I don’t have the time but I love to see what my mutuals are up to! Don’t be shy about sending asks or DMs either.

What I post about:

(subject to rapid change)

Mostly

Danny Phantom (#dp)

LEGO Ninjago (#Ninjago)

The Magnus Archives (#tma)

Sometimes

Miraculous (#mlb)

Danny Phantom x DC (#dp x dc)

Malevolent (#malevolent)

Starkid musicals - mostly Hatchetverse (#starkid)

Gravity Falls (#gf)

The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System (#svsss)

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - mostly 2012 (#tmnt, #tmnt 2012)

X-Men (#marvel, #x men)

Other things I love:

(but are rarely found on my blog)

WOE.BEGONE

Project Hail Mary

Alice: Madness Returns

Dungeons & Dragons

Spiderverse

Bendy and the Ink Machine

Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss

Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog

The Hunger Games

Riordanverse

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

Tokyo Ghoul

The Crane Wives

Minecraft

Things I write about:

Posted on AO3

Danny Phantom (18 works)

LEGO Ninjago (6 works)

The Magnus Archives (1 work)

Unposted (as of yet) but feel free to ask about them

Miraculous

Danny Phantom x X-Men

TMNT 2012

Ninjago x Danny Phantom

My tags:

Auto speaks (general ramblings)

Auto does art (mostly digital fanart, occasionally other crafts or cosplay)

Auto writes (writing challenges, AO3 links, and fanart based on my writing)

WAYHiL au (art, memes, and writing pertaining to my dp au fic)

Chicago au (art, memes, and writing pertaining to @rice-n-honey and I’s dp au fic)

Resource (mainly for personal use, contains any posts I want to refer back to)

Note: I try to tag common triggers like gore, needles, SH etc. but my TWs aren’t perfect so follow me with caution. If I post something you think I should tag, feel free to tell me.

Requests:

I’m always open to writing/drawing requests! I might not always do them, especially if I’m busy, but don’t be shy about asking! I don’t do commissions, but so long as anything I create is only used for personal reasons and with proper credit, I’m chill with it.

Other places to find me:

Reddit (u/Aut0mat0nWitch)

Archive of Our Own (Aut0mat0nWitch)

Last updated:

September 7, 2024

And that’s all I’ve got for now! Wishing you all a lovely day 💚

Sike; if you want to see a new and …improved… version of this, you can read my friend’s unhinged parody intro post—thanks Rice, your clowning always makes me feel so loved<3

#intro post #auto speaks #resource

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snickerdoodlles · 3 years

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📓

I may or may not have read all bad buddy fics on ao3 already and this may or may not be me looking for a new fix

nonny i admire your strength so much, im still working thru my 'to read' list of bbs fics omg. but okok, i have a PatPran pirate AU for you!

okay so like, real quick, this potc meta post on elizabeth's kiss of death inspired me to rewatch the pirates of the caribbean trilogy. and normally, this wouldnt mean anything, except i have a compulsive habit of making Pran a god in everything i write, and then we wound up...here... Technically a pirate AU, but we're also dipping into foggy nautical lore with it (also heads up for talk of character death at the end--not big, same level as the potc 'verse and nothing graphic). I put this one under a read more because it got...long, but i hope the messy plot sketch and WIP snippet help satisfy your needs nonny!!

i haven't really found a story for this AU yet, so this is going to be pretty disjointed, but to start: the story before our story begins (*quick note: until we're given canon names, my name claim for Pran's dad is Santhad and my name for Pat's mom is Nam)

Dissaya is a deity of the sea. Santhad is the Davy Jones equivalent, a figure tasked with guiding souls lost at sea into the next life. Ming is a very skilled sailor and heir to a very successful merchant company.

Dissaya finds humans to be very curious. It's hard to say she's friends with them, just because of the sheer scale between her existence and anything a regular person would experience. Santhad is the closest she's come yet to loving someone. But there are other people she's still friendly with, in something that comes very close to friendship.

So Ming and Dissaya are something close to friends. The sea is still as fickle and tempestuous as it always is, but it's perhaps a little more kind for him (or perhaps he's just lucky). It's difficult to say if Ming's skills at sea are his own innate talents, or something borne of her favor.

(But Ming doesn't just want skill at sea, he wants mastery. He might, perhaps, even begin to search for a certain ritual pertaining gods and bindings...)

Who knows why he betrays Dissaya in the end. Maybe it was selfishness, information in a desperate gamble for his life, or maybe it was greed, a smokescreen for someone else to trap Dissaya and take her wrath so that his merchant ships were stronger and luckier sailing. In the end, it doesn't matter: Dissaya is bound to a human form, Santhad goes mad tracking down the perpetrators, and Ming's killed at sea

But Ming, deity touched, has a little more awareness than your average lost soul, makes his way back to shore. He stays there, unchanging, for years and years and then decades and decades. And so long as he stays on dry land, he's beyond his punishment and the sea's scorn

so that's the start of it. as for the story proper, i only know some details for how it begins and its ending, but i hope you enjoy it all the same:

Pran, the son of a goddess trapped in human form and a human man who's grown beyond himself, washes up on shore as a child remembering nothing but his name and a half-forgotten lullaby no one else has heard before.

Pat, the son of the most successful merchant up and down the coast, finds him and is immediately drawn to him. He never questions why he is, all he knows is that he wants to know everything about this strange boy there is to know.

Nam and Paa find Pran to be quite endearing. Ming finds Pran to be disturbing. He doesn't know what it is about the boy that sends him into such alarm, but Ming has not survived a century of avoiding larger punishment by ignoring his instincts. Ming can't stop Pat from being friends with Pran, no matter how hard he tries, but Pran always returns to open water, a compulsion he can't fight, and Ming can at least forbid Pat from following Pran into the open ocean.

(Pat is as sea-mad as his father once was. But Papa forbids him from even stepping foot on a boat. The closest Pat has ever come to the sea is the inlet so shallow and rocked in it's more river than sea, and Pat yearns.)

In this world, Junior's mom does become a famous pirate--a faceless phantom known as 'Captain', otherwise only known as a modest merchant sailing for Ming's company--and Pran joins her crew as a teen.

Ming knows exactly what's going through Pat's head when they hear the news, and he catches Pat sneaking out that night, trying to join her crew as well. It's the first time they fight.

Here's where things grow murky. Stuff certainly happens in here--Pran's visits to port, Pat trying to go with him, the growing number of fights between Pat and Ming. I have plenty of childhood PatPran ideas distracting me from the main plot, but eventually, Pran's piracy is discovered, and Ming issues a death warrant for him over Pat and Paa's protests. That inspires Pat and Paa to conspire for Pat to finally meet Pran out on the open seas (and he does eventually go). I have no idea where Dissaya and Santhad are just yet, or how anyone gets tangled up in the goal to free her, or what Paa does to reunite with her brother, or even what Pat and Pran get up to. I think the most concrete idea I have for the middle is Pat somehow winding up on Santhad's ghost ship, and Santhad immediately recognizing him as the son of someone he hates. But then he comes face-to-face with Pran, who he ofc recognizes as his son, but Pran doesn't recognize him. The second most concrete idea I have for this story is Pat and Pran on the open seas, both of them taking to sailing like they were born for it, and thinking nothing feels like freedom the way the winds over an open ocean or the salt spray of the waves on their cheeks do. They both love the sea's fickle nature--you're only ever you before the sea. Titles, names, ranks; none of it matters under the endless skies or over the open waves, and both of them thrive in the uncomplicated bluntness of it, Pat especially.

I don't know how any of that ties into the larger story yet though. But I do know what I want for the end:

Somehow, someway, there is a confrontation on the open seas after Dissaya has been freed. It's the first time Ming's taken step on a boat in a century, and it's going to be his last.

Somehow, someway, Pat is hurt and near dying. Santhad sacrifices himself so that Pat can become the new ferryman, and as the corrupted sea falls from his body, that's when Pran realizes that's his father, right before the man goes overboard to reunite with his first and only love.

As the ship sinks, Pran's pulled away by his friends, and Santhad's crew carves out Pat's heart.

Pat wakes to the deep water abyss. The waters are black from lack of sunlight, only lit by dim green soul lights that glitter like stars in the sky or light breaking on water, and everything is still and silent without time to push them forward. One soul, more defined than the rest, drifts a little ways before him. It's of a man, peacefully resting. When Pat tries to take a step closer, something like a tide pulls him back, and abruptly Pat knows. She's omnipresent and gone simultaneously, ubiquitous in the currents curling around his limbs, as fleeting as a gust of the wind.

Pat presses his hands together and bows. "Madam," he murmurs politely. His quiet greeting is swallowed by the drowned depths yet ripples through them like a shout.

Madam Dissaya is...difficult to look at. Even beyond his father's guilt, she is everywhere and nowhere. Between one blink, she's a shadowed version of her human form curled over the drifting soul, the next ripple she's the crushing dark waters. There's nowhere for Pat to look, and nowhere for him to look away.

She takes pity on him, and the form curled over the soul solidifies just a bit more. She looks almost like she did when she was human, except the ripples of her hair are wild and free, her skirts turn seamlessly to tide, her skin subtly ripples like light swelling on the waters. Her eyes are the only fixed part of her, never turning away from the soul resting in her arms.

"I trust you understand what you've been tasked with."

Pat tries not to shudder at the sound of her voice. It's like the roar of the waves and crushing pressure of the depths, and his bones know the terror it should inspire. It's also when he notices that his heart should be pounding but is not--or rather, it is pounding, but its thundering is not where it should be. His eyes slide to the drifting soul. Now that he knows what to look for, he recognizes the man's peaceful face from the echoes in the sea-logged nightmare of his memories.

The thought of what he's become is more difficult to swallow than the idea of his death. His swallow scrapes down his throat like salt. But he thinks of the horizon filled with waters shining unearthly green and littered with boats of souls still as lost as they were when they had died, and Pat bows his head solemnly. "I'll do everything I can to help those that die at sea."

"That's nice, but I was talking about my son."

Pat snaps his head up to meet Madam Dissaya's gaze head on. Her eyes are the drowning dark of the deepest ocean, and so familiar to him Pat aches.

You have the sea's eyes, she had said to Pran the first time they met, more literal than he or Pran had considered before they'd dismissed it.

Pat gapes at Madam Dissaya as she turns back to her love. "The hearts of men aren't built to love the sea completely," she says. "It's a heavy burden to bear, loving something so vast and unchanging that won't or can't return it in equal fervor. My love was special, but even he was overwhelmed in the end."

For the first time, Pat's mask cracks in irritation. Maybe she intends the warning as a kindness, or maybe she just doesn't want her son to be with the son of her betrayer, but it doesn't matter. He'll love Pran until it's too much to bear, and then he'll still love him even then. If all he'll gain is a broken heart in the end, he'll have it because of what he takes, not because of what he gives up.

Madam Dissaya's lips gain the hint of a smile. "You're lucky my son has his father's heart," she says before Pat can even begin his case.

The words slam into Pat like a cresting wave. He's now almost certain she's smiling, but it's difficult to muster any anger over it. As far as tests could have gone, he's getting off scot free.

He swallows, eyes burning, and bows. "Thank you for trusting me."

"I didn't. My love and my son did. Do not let them down."

And with that final warning, she waves her hand, and the waters churn into a crushing swell around him that carries him and his new ship up and up and up to the surface sparkling anew and cloudy skies breaking into gentle sunbeams.

Whatever happens next happens, but Ming will die and Pat will ferry his soul across the sea to where he should've gone on long ago. Pat and Pran continue on in the liminal space beyond the horizon, free to cross over and back again as they explore the seas they so dearly love together. And even when they're apart, both of them still carry a piece of the other with them--whether that be the sea itself or one's heart, though truly those are both quite the same.

[[ask me about the fic im not writing]]

#bad buddy #patpran pirate au #confession time #this AU is fueled purely by the two magic words: god!Pran #so i have a lot of the mythology in place for how it'd come about and what it might mean for the two of them #everything else? ehhhhhhhhhhh #im just here for them Vibes(TM)#stuff sure does happen!#idk what but it definitely happens #but what i care about is pran being otherworldly and pat being free and both of them being disgustingly in love #anything else is for someone thats not me to deal with lmao #the snippet is still in its really raw stages and ill probably cry from embarrassment when i look at it again later but #i spent too long trying to trim this ask down hjghjfhfg i dont wanna /edit/ too rip #ask game: fics im not writing #*please ask before writing anything using these specific ideas

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dreamhot · 2 years

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no no listen, I was looking something up on twitter yesterday and it glitched so it only gave me tweets from approx jan 2021 and earlier. and it felt kinda bizarre looking back? there where multiple tweets about dnf in there and they were all so MASSIVELY trigger tagged? "// dnf, dreamnotfound, only ship their personas, I don't ship them irl, my friend dared me" this is not an exaggeration btw, I saw multiple tweets exactly like this, and the tweet itself then only proceeded to say "aw Dream says George's name so fondly"???? the trigger tags were sometimes longer than the actual tweet itself?? 😭 truly crazy times. I've been around since late 2020 but never on twt, now looking back you'd think "dnf" stands for some obscene crime with how heavy it was tagged for blacklist, not a fun gay little ship of two youtubers. we've really come a long way, those were the dark ages. Dream's unashamed dnf-ing on main liberated the scared dnfers

it's not surprising to me tbh like i said in the last fandom i was in that had some degree of rpf, it was EXTREMELY hush hush. you'd see content on ao3 but that was IT. if people on twt found out you wrote for it, you were likely to get shit. the reader fic community was flourishing, but anything pertaining to shipping was basically the fandom's dirty little secret. it's no shock that dnf would've started the same way - frankly it's almost incredible how open people are about it now. i've truly never seen an rpf pairing this widely acknowledged by the fandom at large

#smile.ask #anon

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

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tell me how to balance my coins

Summary: When Spencer falls down the stairs one morning he decides not to tell anyone, his insecurities about not being enough winning out. Too bad insecurities don't matter when they end up trekking through miles of barren land on a search and rescue mission, and his injuries finally become too much. The team knows exactly how to make it better.

Tags: hurt!spencer, whump, hurt/comfort, hiding medical issues, insecurity, angst with a happy ending, fluff, team as family TW: self-esteem issues

Pairing: GEN / Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Set in S1 but there's no Gideon because he didn't really fit the plot, so it's just the five other field agents here. This entire fic was inspired by this post by @i-write-whump so credit goes to them for the premise! Title from this poem by Zahraa Surtee <3

Maybe it’s embarrassment that stops him from telling the team. Spencer runs headfirst into dangerous situations every day, puts his life on the line repeatedly and escapes unscathed more often than not, but his nemesis this time is the single flight of stairs in his apartment building he descends each morning.

He’s later than he usually is, and already feeling a little flustered from both his toaster and coffee machine breaking, leaving him with a cup of instant coffee and an overripe banana from breakfast, which only makes the situation worse. As if lying sprawled out in a public stairwell wasn’t bad enough. He gingerly pulls himself up, catching a glimpse of a “Caution: Wet Floor” sign he somehow missed, and winces as pain floods his body.

His ankle is screaming at him, throbbing and burning, and for a moment Spencer has to close his eyes against the gut-wrenching pain of a twisted ankle flaring up his calf. A couple of thankfully undisturbed minutes later, the pain eases enough for him to open his eyes and inspect the damage. It’s already swelling slightly, and he’s certain he’ll be covered in bruises by tonight if the aching of his entire body is anything to go by.

For a brief moment he considers calling Derek or Penelope or someone else on his team; maybe even calling in sick, but he quickly pushes that thought away. It’s not embarrassment that stops him from telling the team. It’s a good cover story to keep him from addressing the real reason, but it isn’t the truth.

The truth is that the only time he ever feels valuable is when he’s contributing to a case. That cruel voice in the back of his head will waste no time in piping up, telling him how worthless he is, what a burden his friends see him as, how insignificant he is to the team if he doesn’t suck it up and head into work.

Fighting back the tears burning hot behind his eyes with ardent determination, he drags himself up by the stair handrail until he’s upright. His ribs ache and his ankle burns something fierce, but he compartmentalises it, breathing deeply and taking a few tentative steps, one at a time until he’s limping towards the train station.

The moment he walks into the bullpen, JJ grabs his elbow. “You’re just in time, Spence,” she says, marching towards the briefing room with a pace Spencer can’t quite keep up with. “We have a new case. Rural Kentucky.”

Everyone’s already seated at the round table, and no matter how much he tries to disguise his limp, putting far too much weight on his battered ankle, he can’t get it past a room full of profilers.

“Hey, pretty boy, you alright? You’re limping.” Derek’s tone is light, carrying the cadence of joking banter, but he can see the concern in his eyes, and that’s just unacceptable. He can’t have people worrying about him: he’s not worth their pitied looks or vapid attempts at comfort, especially not when they have a far more important case to be focusing on.

He slips into a seat, and manages to conceal a wince at the movement of his ankle swinging forward. “Oh, uh, I just stubbed my toe pretty hard on the way in.” It’s not convincing even to his own ears, but luckily it’s enough of a time-sensitive case for JJ to barrel on regardless, drawing everyone’s worried glances away from him and towards the board full of grizzly crime scene photos.

Even though he’s been on the team for close to three years now, he still feels like the new kid. Elle is newer than him, but she’s still far more confident in her place on the team than he is. He suspects that’s probably because someone like Elle doesn’t have trouble fitting in anywhere. It’s never been quite that easy for Spencer.

Pushing his insecurities aside like he always has to do in these meetings, he reads the case file thoroughly before offering his own contributions. The unsub is snatching young women from bars and clubs and holding them for weeks before leaving them to succumb to the elements in the rural countryside of Kentucky. With a missing woman and the expected deadline for the unsub dumping her fast approaching, they don’t waste any time in boarding the jet and flying the short way to West Kentucky.

It’s a short enough flight that there’s no time for personal conversation — no time for Derek (or anyone else for that matter) to confront him about his blatant lie and obvious injury — since they spend the whole journey discussing the case. Thankfully, throwing himself head first into theories and hypotheses keeps his mind off the pain a bit, but he can’t fully keep it from bothering him.

He’s just thankful that he has enough experience in disguising his true emotions that no-one’s attention is drawn to him by poorly hidden winces.

They dive straight into the investigation when they arrive at the sheriff’s station, everyone laser focused on finding Marissa Williams. By mid-afternoon, though, Spencer’s gritting his teeth as he forces himself to persevere through the pain despite it increasing incrementally every hour, and he curses himself for not being able to dedicate 100% of himself to the case. If he can’t help everyone find this woman, then what is he good for? His stomach twists at the thought.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on, Spence?” Derek asks him as it approaches 4pm, cornering him at the coffee machine.

Spencer looks around as subtly as he can for an escape, but he quickly succumbs to his fate. “I’m fine, Derek,” he promises. It’s so far from the truth he wants to cry.

The concern in Derek’s eyes only intensifies at that. “Seriously? You’ve been quiet this whole case, I catch you wincing when you think no-one’s looking, and you’re still limping. A stubbed toe wouldn’t do that, kid, and you know it.”

He sighs, knowing the jig is up. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Derek.” He’s not sure it’s the truth, but it’s close enough to it that it doesn’t bring burning tears to the backs of his eyes.

Derek’s about to say something when JJ calls out for him. They both turn to look at her, Spencer feeling relief flood his chest, while Derek’s expression quickly morphs into one of frustration, sighing heavily as he curls his hands into tight fists.

“This isn’t over,” he says, levelling him with a serious look before walking back over to JJ, leaving Spencer to stir his bitter coffee in peace. It definitely doesn’t make him want to cry.

They finally get a break in the case at nightfall, a call on the tip line combined with their profile leading them to a secluded wooded area down by a small river. Knowing there’s nothing more for them to do at the office, Hotch gathers them all up, insisting they join the search party to find the poor, beaten woman currently suffering exposure, awaiting their rescue.

Spencer’s heart sinks as everyone gathers their equipment, and he’s almost relieved when Derek speaks up.

“Reid can’t go,” he insists to Hotch, only barely in earshot of Spencer. If he doesn’t go out in the rescue party, then he’s still served his purpose hasn’t he? He helped with the profile that narrowed down the area she’s likely to be in, he worked the case until this point, he can rest and still be worth something. Right?

Besides, it’s not exactly like he can don the heavy walking boots everyone else is pulling on. If he goes out, he’ll have to wear the same loafers that have been squeezing his swelling joint all day, and that’s hardly going to work. Hotch will let him stay back, and for once, he’ll accept the rest he’s offered.

His hope is quickly dashed. “We need all the manpower we can get,” Hotch says, clearly distracted in the same way he has been throughout the entire case. Spencer likes his boss but he has a tendency to wear blinkers when on a job, not noticing anything that doesn’t pertain to the ultimate solution. “He’ll be fine.”

Derek sighs again, clearly frustrated.

“I’ll be fine,” he says as Derek comes over to sit with him, not sure who he’s trying to convince. His ankle is still burning in pain. The last time he checked it, it was bruised and swollen, tender to the touch. It’s nothing short of a nasty sprain.

“You stick close to me, Spencer. I mean it.”

He can’t help the small smile that crosses his face, genuine happiness warming his heart at the concerned protectiveness of his friend. “Sure, Derek,” he says softly.

The pleasant temperature of the mid-Spring day drops to almost freezing as the sun sets, the moon and stars taking over the clear night sky. Even Spencer’s thickest coat isn’t enough to keep him from practically vibrating with the force of his shivers as they trek across the miles of terrain, staying as quiet as possible to listen for anything that could indicate their victim’s whereabouts. They’re spread out a little, but for the most part they all walk reasonably close together, the beams of their torches criss-crossing as they fight their way through the windy countryside.

Thankfully, it’s only a couple of hours into the search and rescue mission that a call crackles over the radio, telling them that Marissa had been found, beaten and weak but alive. Spencer can’t even bring himself to feel any kind of victory or relief, nothing being able to penetrate the haze of pain he’s in. Everyone else chatters happily enough as they converge back together for his silence to go mostly unnoticed.

His obscurity doesn’t last long, though.

“Are you ever gonna tell us what happened to your foot, Spence?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow at Spencer’s heavy limping and Derek’s worried hovering. By the second mile of their walk, Spencer had given up trying to hide the limp, instead focusing on gritting his teeth and breathing through the pain as it flares up his leg.

She’s clearly voicing what everyone else is thinking, judging by their worried expressions. Part of him wants to give in and tell the team, but the part that wants to continue to hide his embarrassment away, the part riddled with fear and insecurity wins out. He stubbornly shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. In the kind of terrible timing so emblematic of the life of Spencer Reid, in the short second he has his eyes closed he manages to stumble into a small divot in the ground, and he trips, twisting his ankle all over again as he falls down.

His vision whites out, the pain suddenly all-consuming, punching nausea through his stomach and he can’t help the cry he lets escape as he lays helplessly in the grass.

“Spencer!”

Derek crouches next to him, laying a hand on his shoulder as he checks him over frantically, and Spencer can’t help but lean up into it, craving the kind of comfort he can only get from his best friend. Hotch joins them quickly as JJ and Elle stand close enough to offer support without crowding him.

“That’s it, Spencer,” Hotch says firmly, blinkers well and truly off by now, “you need to tell us what’s going on.”

As the blinding pain slowly fades into something minutely more bearable, Spencer forces his eyes open to face the team. “I fell down the stairs this morning,” he finally admits, sullen and teary. “Pretty sure I sprained my ankle.”

Hotch wastes no time in gently rolling his trouser leg up, exposing his ruined loafers and the bruised, swollen joint to the torches of his teammates. Derek audibly winces as he positions himself behind Spencer, supporting his back as his tired, aching body starts to collapse.

Hotch levels him with a stern glare after he finishes his tender inspection of his ankle. “Spencer, it was incredibly irresponsible to hide something like this. You not only put yourself in danger, but you put the rest of the team at risk, too—”

He doesn’t get any further in his lecture before the tears he’s been holding back all day, finally spill over and a dry, sudden sob, his bruised and aching rib cage heaving as he starts to unravel at the seams. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Softening immediately, Hotch puts his leg down gently and shuffles closer, taking Spencer’s hand in his. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry for yelling,” he says soothingly, watching as Spencer presses closer into Derek’s hold. “You’re not in trouble, I’m just worried about you, Spencer. Why didn’t you tell us you were hurt?”

He squeezes his eyes closed again: it’s as much dignity as he can hope for when his face is crumpling and he’s sobbing on the cold, hard ground as it nears midnight. “I just… I just wanted to be worth something.” It’s an admission he’ll regret later, he already knows that, but he’s so so tired and all he wants is the comfort that only his team can provide.

Derek pulls him into an even tighter hug before anyone can react, holding him against his chest fiercely while his hand plays gently with his hair. “Spencer, you are worth something whether you’re injured or fully intact, you hear me? We’d love you with a broken leg, with a bad case of the flu, if you quit the team tomorrow and decided to never work again. But most importantly, we love you now, kid. No matter what. Nothing can change that, alright?”

“He’s right, Spence,” JJ says softly, sinking to the ground along with Elle. “I know you think we only tolerate you because of your brain and what you bring to the table on a case, but you’re so much more than that. We love your nerdy rambles and your awkward waves and the way you love so openly and protectively, no matter how many times you’ve been hurt before. We love everything about you, Spencer.”

“Yeah, if you’re hurt, Reid, we wanna know,” Elle chimes in, sounding a little hesitant as the one who’s known him the shortest amount of time, but firm in what she’s saying nonetheless. “I know I haven’t been on the team that long but this is a group of people that watches out for one another, that supports each other, that builds everyone up leaving no person behind. That includes you, Spencer Reid, even when you don’t feel like it.”

“Everyone is right, Spencer,” Hotch says softly, still holding his cold and shaking hand protectively in his gloved one. “I’m just sad that you still prioritise your work over your own health. You are not this job. You are an incredibly talented and multi-faceted person that oftentimes needs a little TLC, and until you’re willing and able to do that for yourself, we’ll be here to do it for you, okay?”

Tears are streaming down his face as he nods, feeling warmer than he has all day despite the cold dark night they’ve found themselves in. The strangest part about it all is that he’s actually starting to believe them. It’s not like they haven’t all said similar things before, but hearing them all vehemently corroborating each other’s stories, hearing it all laid out in front of him as they promise him with earnest expressions that they’re telling the truth is doing something to shift the leaden weight of insecurity and low self-esteem that presses on his chest each and every day.

“Now, come on,” Derek says. “Let’s get back to base and I’ll go with you to the hospital to get you checked out, make sure it’s nothing more than a sprain.”

He shifts behind Spencer, using his already firm hold on his waist to help gently pull him up to a standing position, taking most of his weight as Spencer whimpers at the pain that swiftly reignites at the movement.

Derek turns around and bends at the knees slightly as Spencer leans on Hotch, before looking over his shoulder, his signature grin returning. “Hop on, pretty boy.”

“What— Derek! I’m way too heavy!”

Everyone immediately breaks out in amused laughter, even Hotch chuckling fondly.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Come on, Spencer, you’ve gotta weigh what, like, 140lbs? 150? You can’t exactly walk on that ankle anymore and it’s the only way we’re getting back without calling for a search and rescue team of our own.”

“Reid, I’m pretty sure I could give you a piggy-back ride,” Elle points out, raising her eyebrows. “Just let him carry you back.”

Let us take care of you is implicit enough in everyone’s words and expressions that it doesn’t really need to be said, but Spencer hears it anyway.

Hotch helps him up onto Derek’s back and they begin the long trek towards the search and rescue base, and Spencer’s never appreciated the easy banter they all share more. Hotch is visibly relaxed with the case solved and his youngest team member soon to be taken care of, so he joins in with the conversation, his light and happy expression that he only ever wears around his family or the team on rare days and nights off, replacing his focused frown.

Spencer clings on tightly to Derek and presses his face into the space between his neck and his shoulder, closing his eyes as he listens to the conversation, the vibration of Derek’s laugh and the shameless flirting between Elle and JJ taking his mind off the pain that throbs in his ankle with each step Derek takes.

When they finally get back to base, they all gather round the ambulance that’s been designated to take Spencer and Derek to the hospital.

JJ steps forward to give him a hug first. “Love you, Spence. Let us know what they say, okay?”

Hotch surprises him by stepping forward and wrapping him in a hug as well, forgoing the macho pats on the back for a short but close embrace that feels fatherly enough for tears to prick the back of Spencer’s eyes. “We all love you, Spencer. Remember that okay. And actually listen to what the doctors tell you. Morgan, you’re my eyes and ears.”

“Well now I want a hug, too,” Elle says dramatically, squeezing him in a tight embrace for just a moment before stepping back, lining up with JJ and Hotch to present a united front of people on his side.

“We’ll see you both in the morning,” Hotch says as the paramedic starts prepping for the journey, moving Spencer onto the gurney and rolling him in.

“Hope they don’t keep you too long!” JJ calls just as the doors close, making them both chuckle.

Derek takes his hand in both of his, staying out of the paramedic’s way as she quickly places a line of mild painkillers before sitting back, knowing that there’s not anything more she can do for Spencer until they get to the hospital.

Derek must see the anxious look on Spencer’s face, because he’s quick to reach a hand out and brush his cheek gently. “Hey, I’ll be with you the whole time. I’m not gonna leave you on your own, okay? You’ll be alright, pretty boy, you’re gonna be just fine. I promise.”

And on the flight home the next morning he realises that Derek’s promise was kept. He’s fitted out with a crutch and a temporary wrapping around his ankle, resting comfortably with his head in Derek’s lap while his foot sits elevated on a pile of cushions carefully built by JJ, surrounded by people who swear up and down that they love him while proving it to him in a thousand little ways, and he’s really not sure it gets any more alright than that.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @jellejareau @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

#my writing #cm #criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds whump #criminal minds gen fic #hurt spencer reid #spencer reid whump #found family #aaron hotchner & spencer reid #derek morgan & spencer reid #tw self-esteem issues

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eldritchgray · 3 years

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A Few Inches From Burning

I wrote a fic based off of @saturdaysky ‘s dark shadowgast au. If you prefer to read it on AO3 you can find it here

There are situations that call for maintaining a calm and rational mind. In fact, Essek liked to believe that most situations could be best handled in that way; it’s how he’d gotten as far as he had.

This situation was most certainly one of those. But no matter how many times he told himself that, Essek continued to fail miserably at calming himself down. He was frankly surprised that his heart still had the strength to beat as hard as it was. Working with the Assembly had its risks, and he had known that going in, of course. But while sitting alone, stewing in his thoughts, he had to admit to himself that he never actually expected things to go this direction.

This direction being chained to a chair in a nondescript stone room somewhere in the Empire.

It was difficult to tell how much time had passed in this windowless room, but it was long enough that Essek’s original panic at being chained with anti magic manacles with no idea where he was, had festered into a steady stream of anxious thoughts and dread. Hence his poor overexerted heart. Assuming that Essek had any chance at all of getting out of this predicament alive, he would need all his wits and his wits were simply not cooperating.

Thinking back, he couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment things had gone so wrong for him. Sure the Dynasty declaring war over the Beacon Essek had secretly given to the Assembly was… problematic, but everything had been going relatively smoothly up until very recently. He wasn’t even sure of the developments that led to his current predicament. He wasn’t currently aware of any missteps on his part.

Of course there was always the chance that his business partners had changed their minds about working with him due to complications of the war. That was certainly an unsettling thought.

It happened to be the first of many unsettling thoughts for Essek. Time dragged on and no one came into the room, so for better or worse, his only company was himself. He was almost certain it had been hours at this point, and he didn’t know if the wait was to make him as uncomfortable as possible or if something big enough happened in the Empire that the Assembly was delayed. Regardless of the answer, and the rest of his spiraling thoughts, Essek felt fatigue starting to set in and despite his better judgement he started to drift off.

A rattling sound woke him. Essek was immediately aware of the door being unlocked and then opened with a soft creak. A man stepped inside and Essek’s heart pounded faster in his chest as his stomach dropped.

“Good morning Herr Thelyss.” The man said softly with a charming smile. A simple hand gesture later and the room was lit just bright enough to be painful to Essek’s drow eyes. It glared off of the man’s sharp blue eyes, long red hair, and pale skin.

“Ah, so it is morning then.” Essek replied. Squinting against the glare, he noticed the man was pulling his gloves off and rolling up his sleeves revealing criss-crossed scars. He had worked with the Assembly long enough to recognize this was probably one of Ikithon’s scourgers. That certainly didn’t bode well for his chances.

“It is. Apologies for the wait Herr Thelyss. I meant to talk to you sooner, but something came up.” The man kept up his charming demeanor; if the situation were different Essek would have found it disarming, but given current circumstances, it only unsettled him further. In a few steps the man had crossed the room. “My name is Bren Ermendrud. I am here on behalf of the Assembly.” The man’s blue eyes focused on him and hardened slightly. Eremndrud’s next words were just louder than a whisper and the easy charming smile edged into something more sinister. “We have some questions for you.”

“Ah, I see.” Essek surprised himself with how calm the words sounded. They certainly did not reflect the panic he was feeling. “What exactly are these questions pertaining to?”

“I’m afraid that given some recent… developments in the war, the Assembly has chosen to tie up some loose ends.” Essek’s blood turned to ice in his veins at those words. This was very close to a worst case scenario. “But the Assembly can be reasonable.” Ermendrud took slow deliberate steps behind the chair he was chained to as he said these words. “You have quite a bit of information at your disposal after all.” There was suddenly a hand on Essek’s shoulder; its fingers briefly pressed into his tunic and then let up. His breath hitched. “It would be such a waste to let that knowledge go. And if there’s one thing the Assembly despises,” Ermendrud leaned down, speaking his next words directly into Essek’s ear, “it is wasting resources.” Ermendrud’s breath was hot, almost unnaturally so, and there was no mistaking the underlying threat in his tone that replaced the earlier charm.

Ermendrud shifted his other hand in front of Essek’s face, which had him confused until it was suddenly ablaze. Essek could feel the searing heat, and while Ermendrud’s hand didn’t appear to be burning, he was under no illusion that the fire wouldn’t hurt him . Keeping his eyes open against the bright flame in front of him was now painful , but Essek didn’t think he could afford to look away.

“I am sure if you are generous with your knowledge, Shadowhand, the Assembly will be reasonable. I think you and I can come to an agreement.” Essek was finding it difficult to structure his rattling thoughts into something coherent. He apparently hesitated too long because the flaming hand crept closer towards his face. Essek forced himself to speak.

“I-I would- ah. I would be willing to cooperate further with the Assembly.” His words sounded desperate to his ears. He was certain the scourger took notice of it as well, but it had the desired effect of getting the open flame to stop moving closer to him.

“Hmm, that’s a start.” The hand was unfortunately still there so Essek thought back to the most recent meeting with the Bright Queen. He was already a traitor to the Dynasty, it wasn’t as if he could sully his conscience anymore, and if it meant he could get out of this place alive well…

He had always put himself first in these matters.

“I am, ah, certain the Assembly wishes to end this war just as the Dynasty does?” Ermendrud hummed a non-committal response. “I have recent news of a weapon some of the Dynasty’s engineers are building, as well as knowledge of its function.” The flames went out and Essek released a breath he’d been holding. Ermendrud walked back around to face him. The hand that rested on his shoulder moved to pat Essek on the cheek.

“I knew you could be a good boy and see things our way.” Ermendrud’s smile shifted into something cold and sharp. “Let’s begin with everything you know of this new weapon.”

Essek nodded slightly and tried to breathe normally again. He had a feeling this interrogation would last for the foreseeable future.

#critical role #critical role fanfiction #critical role spoilers #cr campaign 2 #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #scourger!caleb #shadowgast #essek thelyss week #one shot #man was this fun to write

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brugioshi · 3 years

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Fic requests are currently closed!

Boop! Requests are closed for now.

I’m somewhat new to the JoJo fandom, which has brought me back to Tumblr and fanfic writing. I am now accepting fic requests! Some of my previous fanfiction can be seen on my ao3, but I’ve worked professionally as a writer for a long time, so feel free to request things that appear out of my range from my ao3 alone.

E ras: strong preference for golden wind, but all parts that have been covered by the anime series are welcome

Ships: Strong preference for same-age brugio. I also personally ship bruabba, naratrish, jotakak, and josuyasu. Happy to fulfill requests for other ships and non-romance prompts. (Ship names as they are written here do not imply a preference on who tops. I don’t care who tops.)

Requirements: mbf me with (on the honor system) no plan to unfollow after request is filled, because I think of these as gifts for my friends and acquaintances. New followers totally okay. Request doesn’t need to be detailed, but part of it must pertain to the plot. Good examples are in these summaries. If you wish to remain anonymous, no problem, say so in your ask.

Soft no-no’s: Pairings should be adults (aged-up okay) that canonically didn’t meet when one was a minor. Brugio is an exception because I never found Giorno to be a realistic 15-year-old, to the point that I kept forgetting he was supposed to be one. But if the request is compelling I am open to writing a pairing that canonically met when one was a minor.

Hard no-nos: any ageplay, incest or extreme kinks (if you’re not sure it’s okay to ask.)

I’m not an anti, I just don’t personally feel comfortable writing some things.

As always: Be patient, and keep in mind that I won’t fulfill reqs that I don’t feel qualified or comfortable doing.

#brugio #giobru #jjba #jjba fic requests #golden wind #jjba requests open #jotakak #bruabba #josuyasu #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba fic requests open #bruno bucciarati #giorno giovanna #naratrish #narancia ghirga #vento aureo

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m34gs · 3 years

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I saw you reblog some of my merlin posts, do you have any recs 👀

Recs you say?...Recs....hmmm, recs indeed. I have recs. For what? A whole plethora of things. So I'll give you a few of each:

(This'll be long, and potential spoilers for things so I will put the rest under a cut here!)

First up, the fanfics! This is the reason I took so long to answer...it's been a long time and I first read Merlin fics when I was new to AO3, so I didn't know how to bookmark yet. I had to hunt through my history for these:

1. Connecting the Dots by Rona23: this is a funny crack fic where the knights of Camelot speculate about Merlin and all the goings on around Camelot, and what really might be happening. It's fun, lighthearted, and full of situational irony. Makes me grin just thinking about it.

2. Lost in Forever by Camelittle: A cute sort-of fix-it fic. Takes place after the big battle in Season 5. Arthur is alive and at the castle recovering with his knights. Merlin is nowhere to be found, but a crotchety old sorcerer is giving Arthur grief as he goes on a quest to find his manservant. Very endearing, I highly enjoyed this.

3. how to knight (orphan_account): this one follows some original characters who are new knights of Camelot. They are given a secret set of instructions by the older knights, mostly pertaining to Merlin and Arthur and what to Never Do. Very cute. Only 2 chapters, but I enjoyed it very much.

Alright, let's move on! Recs for books that have some similar aspects! Let's goooo:

1. The Faithful and the Fallen series by John Gwynne, a fantasy series set in a medieval time period. This is a series about a prophecy involving the Champions of two gods fighting to determine which god would win and rule the land. The fun thing here is that there is a prophecy, but it is very open to interpretation which allows everyone to have their own motives and drives. There is a variety of characters and I really enjoyed this series. The first book is titled "Malice". There may not be dragons, but there are giants, magic, spirits, wolves, and other fun aspects!

2. The Ranger's Apprentice series by John Flanagan. Medieval fantasy? Yup. Variety of characters? Yup. Underdog as the main character? Yes indeed. Enemies-to-friends(to potentially lovers if you wanna stray from canon)? YES. Will is an orphan, brought up with other orphans, and when he comes of age to start apprenticing for work, he is chosen to be a Ranger. One of his meanest bullies goes to train as a knight. Do they go through character development? YES! Do they end up fighting in multiple wars together? YES! Do they end up travelling to solve conflicts all around the country, sometimes with and sometimes without one another? YESSSS! Are there kick-ass women in this story, like princesses who know how to use their power to bargain and diplomats who are quick-witted enough to give even the oldest scholars a run for their money? Hell yesssss! So, while it may seem a bit geared toward younger audiences (as in young teens) I adore this series and highly recommend it. There are many books, and there are even spin-off series that take place in the same universe but follow a different set of characters! Very fun!

Let's talk about anime and manga! I do have a few that I think you would like based on the fact you enjoy Merlin.

1. Moribito: Guardian of the Spirit. I will never skip on an opportunity to share this title. It is set back in time, when a young prince must run from his uncle who wishes to kill him. A spear-wielding woman is hired to act as his bodyguard. They end up developing a very familial mother-son dynamic as they evade and run from everyone sent to kill the prince. To be honest, the parts of this I find most similar to Merlin is the found family aspect, magic being considered a thing to be feared, and the ending being rather bittersweet.

2. The Rising of the Shield Hero. This is an anime, and also a light novel series by Aneko Yusagi. Do you like isekai shows where the main character actually isn't immediately liked by the people in the other universe? And has to work his way from the bottom using every skill and ounce of self-preservation he has? Who is pretty much discriminated against by the king because of his power, even though he works time and time again to save the world he was transported to? Do you enjoy CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT?!!!! AND REALISTIC STRUGGLES????? Then this would be something I recommend. Again, there is plenty of magic, lots of fighting, and some very interesting storytelling as four heroes summoned from different worlds fight to save a world none of them realized existed until now.

3. Wise Man's Grandchild, another anime and light novel series, written by Tsuyoshi Yoshioka. This one is an isekai anime that relates to the story of King Arthur. In this story, Shin is a young boy in a medieval world where magic exists, whose soul was reincarnated there from our modern world, where he was an adult. Shin retains much of his knowledge from our world, and he applies this extensive knowledge of science to his innate magic abilities, making him very powerful. He is taught and raised by an old wizard named Merlin (the wise man who pretty much adopts him as his grandson). He goes to a school where other students are learning to master magic or the sword and gains a group of friends to learn more magic with in order to protect their king and country. Very fun, a short anime, easy to binge-watch.

4. Yona of the Dawn, an anime, and a manga series by Mizuho Kusanagi. A princess who has to flee for her life with a loyal servant, and needs to find the other human incarnations of the different-coloured dragons. Very fun and beautiful, I really liked this anime. Unfortunately, I have not read the manga (yet) but I found the anime very fun!

These are just a few of what's out there! Feel free to ask me for more, as I am always collecting new anime/manga/books/fics that I would more than love to share with others!!!! Enjoy :D

#anonymouslylovesyou #friends #mutuals #recs #recommendations #anime #books #fanfics #hope you enjoy this list #have fun #Merlin #bbc merlin

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

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A Legacy Begun (2)

Chapter 2: The Wedding | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: After a long time of running and fighting, you and Cal decided to finally settle down after all these years to raise a family. However, it was never a life of peace whilst the shadow of the Empire looms over your heads.

Prompted by Anon: Hiya! Still taking any requests? If so, can you write something about Cal and JediReader finally settle down and have a kid or something.

A/N: Alexa play A Thousand Years by Christina Perri & Steve Kazee ;;;///w///;;;

Also posted in AO3

Additional prompt: My fic idea

Tags: Scruffy! Cal Kestis, Daddy! Cal Kestis, Adult! Cal Kestis, Jedi Family, Jedi Offspring, Force-Sensitive Offspring, Settling Down, Rebel Alliance

Previous: Part 1 | Next: Part 3 | Masterlist

2 of ?

Two days before the big day, Merrin woke up early—perhaps the earliest you’ve seen her up—and she told you to wash up and get dressed. She dragged you along to the town that sat on the valley, a trek away from where the Mantis sat in a forest clearing.

It is clear that she was excited for you and Cal, and wanted to be of help to you in time for your celebration.

“Have you ever attended a wedding, Merrin?”

“I can’t say I have, but that’s what makes me excited—I get to see one for the first time, and it’s yours, no less!”

Her enthusiasm was new to you, normally, when she’s curious about something—beyond the knowledge that she has from living in Dathomir—she would only inquire, question after question until her mind has been sated. But this display of hers was unique—there was a child-like glee in her as she tugged your hand in hers, leading you into the town with the objective of the perfect dress.

“Don’t the Nightsisters and Nightbrothers in Dathomir have a sort of union?”

“We’re not a celebratory kind, [y/n]. Once a Nightsister finds her mate in the Nightbrother village, that is that, apparently,”

“I see,”

The city, known as Reema, was a sizable settlement whose business districts and residential areas mingled together—as well as the peoples that resided there. It was a town abundant in textiles, exotic foods, as well as a sturdy, construction material whose raw state originates from a bluish-green mineral called Zakora found in the planet’s oceans and deeper reefs—giving the citizens’ homes a decorative, mosaic-like effect.

You made it clear that you want everything to be simple yet perfect. Merrin already understood that you were not one for grandeur. There was one street in the business district that had a whole row of stores that sold fabrics and pre-made clothes. Some of the shops had a dress or two displayed behind their glass window; but you two girls skipped most of them since they didn’t fit your taste or they priced the clothes unreasonably… or both.

“I think we’ve swept the entire street in search of your dress, [y/n],”

“It’s okay, there’s no need to rush. We can take a break if you like, Merrin,”

“Of course,” the Nightsister’s eyes trailed over your shoulder. “There’s some shade over there.”

“Perfect! Come on,” you take her hand and bring her along to the bench underneath a tree.

After taking a breather, you and Merrin agreed to have one last sweep before heading home. Hopefully by then, you would have found what to wear before heading back to the Mantis. The two girls walked together through the street, passing by the same shops but stopping to look at the ones you’ve skipped.

Merrin gave a slight tug of your hand when she stopped to see a dress hop that stood out from the rest.

“This looks promising,” the Nightsister commented.

“Come on, no harm in trying,” you added.

Perhaps, it might be the smallest atelier you’ve seen in this street. The person who greeted you was a young woman, you’re under the impression that she was an apprentice seamstress, but upon examining the studio, you realize that she worked alone.

She was startled by the sound of her door chimes ringing upon your entrance, she fumbled about on her work desk and she stomped through piles of fabric that pelted the floor.

“H-Hello,” she stammered shyly, embarrassed by the mess. It seemed that she wasn’t expecting any visitors.

“Hi there,” you warmly greeted.

Merrin looked around the place, “Do you work alone?”

“Yes, m-my name is Milana,”

“Hello, Milana, is it alright with you if we take a look around your shop?”

“Please, by all means, miss,”

You flashed a friendly smile as you thanked her, she managed to repay the gesture and awkwardly leaned against the edge of her worktable. She constantly fiddled with a strip of cut fabric, anxiously watching these two ladies who just entered her shop. The young girl’s head was racked with questions that she answered herself in her mind.

“For what occasion, may I ask?”

“A wedding,” Merrin answered, then bobbed her head to you. “For her.”

The young lady’s eyes lit up, suddenly enthused, and she tried to break out of her awkward demeanor.

“Oh! I have a section specifically for that,” she chirped. “Please, follow me here.”

Her studio had another room, neater and less cluttered than the main space, two racks hugged the walls and another work desk sat by the window of the room—but a dress on the works occupied the table instead of drawings and sketches. She helped you out in deciding the designs by asking you what kind of style you wanted.

“Just something simple, Milana, please. I don’t want to go through puffy skirts and wide sleeves anymore!” you joked.

The young designer had an array of dresses that nearly fitted your taste—pertaining to your preference of straight skirts, slim sleeves, and minimalist designs.

Eventually, after scouring every dress she has out in the racks, Milana spotted you pulling out a particular white dress—its transparent neckline gave the illusion that white leaves, sown and expertly shaped with beads, crawled up to a lady’s bosom, though it lacked sleeves; and the skirt is made out of billowy tulle. You instantly fell in love with it.

“May I?” you smiled.

“Oh, of course, miss!”

Merrin helped you in fastening the back of the dress, minutes later, you come out of the fitting room—which was only a nook covered by drapes—and the two girls gasped upon your appearance. You walked up to the front of the mirror, turning around to get a look of yourself in different angles, you even attempted to do a little twirl so the skirt flared.

“Aww [y/n],” Merrin fawned.

“This is it!” you giggled.

“It’s perfect, Miss [y/n]! Simply immaculate!”

When you announced in the studio room that you’re taking it, the young designer ran towards a closet that sat beside the mirror. She pulled out one of the drawers and produced a small box.

“Originally, when I made that dress, it had to go with this,” she flipped the lid open, revealing a silver headpiece. The designer explains that it should be worn on the back of the head and no particular hairstyle is required for it to be securely worn on the bride’s hair.

While Milana explained, Merrin already knew what to do with your hair on the wedding day. Milana also provided a selection of shoes for you, admitting that you were used to boots for most of your life, you decided to play it safe and chose the cream-colored heels that were only two inches high.

You couldn’t thank the young designer enough, you insisted paying a little extra for her help and she had no other choice but to accept—although she did it with great gratitude and bade well wishes to you for your wedding.

—–

Today’s the day.

You wake up with a rapid heartbeat and clammy palms.

The wedding happens in the afternoon, Cal had found the perfect spot where the ceremony will be held. It was customary that bride and groom don’t meet on the day itself, thus, both of you slept in separate rooms—you slept in the same bunker as Merrin and Cere last night while Cal remained in the original quarters.

For the rest of the day, Merrin and Cere delivered food and drink to you and would allow you to go around the ship—granted that Cal was absent in the Mantis—and this went on until three hours prior to the ceremony.

“How are you feeling, [y/n]?” Cere asked, placing her hand on your shoulder.

“Nervous,” you awkwardly chuckled.

Cal had already got himself cleaned, his red hair slicked back while his growing stubble remained undisturbed, and donned his crisp black ensemble piece by piece: starting off with a long-sleeved tunic over a short, black leather vest, and finishing it off with black pants and boots.

“How do I look, BD?”

“Beee! Trill, chirp!”

“Yeah? Thanks, buddy,” he chuckled. “Well, here goes.”

He marched out of his quarters, passing by the bathroom door and heard the water running, he heard you humming and giggling in between the song. He smiled to himself and imagined what you’d look like when you come marching towards him.

You finished washing yourself, returned to the shared room and Merrin delivered your entire outfit. The Nightsister assisted you once again in fitting the dress, only now did you realize that the dressed emphasized your curves, you put the shoes on while seated and she began working on your hair. Merrin’s slender fingers created an elaborate braid that crowned the back of your head, she secretly used a little bit of her magick to make sultry waves on the remaining length of your hair, and for the finishing touch, the crown of silver leaves nestled above the braid. You also splurged on some makeup for this day: you drew winged lines on your eyelids, painted your lips to a soft pink, and brushed your cheeks with powder and blush.

“There, you’re ready,” Cere cooed, examining you from head to toe and resting her fingers underneath your chin.

Merrin stood by Cere’s side to take a look at you as well, she smiled, triumphant and proud of her masterpiece on the bride.

“You’re so beautiful, [y/n], the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen,” the Nightsister fawned.

"Thank you so much," you squeaked, grateful of the help you've received from the two ladies.

“We’ll see you there, okay?”

“Okay, Cere,” you breathed.

They embraced you and kissed your cheek one by one before leaving the room. Five minutes later, you finally walk out of the ship. Your bouquet of flowers rested on the lounge table. The entry ramp was left open and you take the deepest breath you’ve ever taken in your life.

“Here it goes, [y/n],”

You take the first step out of the ship, you were so nervous at the moment that you could feel your footing unstable—even though you practiced walking on the ramp with the shoes on for a whole day—but you managed to get to flat ground. You were surprised to find one of the male partisans back in Kashyyyk. It was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one. He was to deliver you to the aisle, to your husband-to-be.

“Cere said it was a surprise,” the partisan added.

You gripped your bouquet and continued your march with the partisan guiding you, following the path showered with flower petals of all colors.

Cal stood by the lake, awaiting for your entrance; Merrin, BD-1, Greez, and the rest of the witnesses stood at the side of the path waiting for you as well. When a splash of white caught Cal’s eye, and you appeared in the arch that the trees formed, he almost stopped breathing. His heart leapt at the sight of you—dressed like a demure goddess, the length of your hair spilled over your shoulders, and your face naturally glowed with the sunset as you smiled while walking the aisle.

“Wow…” he gasped.

Cal found you more beautiful than the sunset behind him. Your eyes spanned across the lake’s clearing and found some familiar faces like Mari Kosan and a few partisans you’ve personally befriended. In the gradually shrinking distance, you and Cal traded shy smiles. It felt like your legs were moving on their own, but you didn’t resist them. You knew that you were walking into a newfound life to share with the man you love.

His tears instantly welled up and he had little to no time to fight them back, and then his heart pounded faster and faster for every step you took. You finally stood a mere inch away from him. He bit his lip as he smiled, you caressed his cheek and then a single teardrop escaped his eye.

“Darling…” you whispered, running your thumb across his cheek to wipe away the tear.

He offered you his arm and you linked it with yours. The both of you turned to face Cere who presided the ceremony.

“Here I stand before two individuals, whose bond was forged, grown, and then strengthened by time and by the Force. They have willed to nurture that bond through this ceremony of marriage and for the times to come,”

Cal couldn’t help but steal a glance at you, the gesture was returned when you turned to smile back at him as Cere stated her opening remarks.

“May the words of their vows express their unbreakable connection that run as deep as the Force itself.” She cued.

The bride and groom faced each other.

Cal reached for your hand and you willingly took it as he recited his vows.

“Lo, behold my Maiden, for she will cast away my fears that reside in the Dark. She is my torch that will lead me away from the shadows of doubt, to whom I will forever hold on to. To you, [y/n], my beloved wife, I commend my heart, life, and soul—all this as the Force wills it.”

Next, you reached for his free hand to which he gladly took as you said your vows.

“Lo, behold my Knight, for he will combat the haunts of the Dark. My shield to conceal me from the evils, to whom I will always find shelter in thy arms. To you, Cal, my husband, I commend my life, heart, and my soul—all this as the Force wills it.”

Finally, Cere took a step back and ignited what used to be Trilla’s lightsaber—instead of a bright red beam, a blade as white as bleach emerged from the hilt—and she instructed both of you to kneel.

“By the will of the Force, I dub thee, [y/n] Kestis—wife of Cal Kestis.” She hovered the saber above your shoulders and then concluded her dubbing by hovering the blade over your head.

She then repeats the gesture when it was Cal’s turn, “By the will of the Force, I dub thee, Cal Kestis—husband of [y/n] Kestis. All this as the Force wills it, and so shall it be for your joined days until the end.”

After her oration, you and your husband stood up.

“You may kiss the bride.” Cere declared.

Cal cupped your cheeks, pulled you in for the sweetest, most tender kiss of your life, his stubble tickled your face but you didn’t care; you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against him as you smiled in between kisses, and applause and cheers filled the forest. When he pulled away, your new husband snuck another kiss on the tip of your nose, warranting a tiny chuckle from you.

“I love you,” he whispered to you.

“I love you too,”

The wedding was immediately followed by a banquet celebration courtesy of Greez. The Lateron really cooked up a storm when he served the slow-cooked Nerf roast to the table, a Jogan berry cheesecake, and Phillak steaks. Pouring two glasses of wine, the newlyweds linked arms with glasses in their hands.

“Bottoms up!” you and Cal said in unison as you drank the wine from each other’s glasses, chugging down the slightly strong liquor and fighting off the bitter taste.

Your guests laughed and applauded once both of you finished your wine. Evening had washed over Cerinda, the moonlight’s reflection rippled in the lake and fireflies dotted the space like starlight while you and Cal perform your first dance as husband and wife.

“To the newlyweds!” Mari Kosan proposed a toast, raising her glass and everyone followed suit.

They lightly tapped their glasses, urging the two of you to kiss, Cal was the first to cave in. When he spun you in his hand, he pulled you in closer to him so that his lips meet yours once more. Applause filled your ears once again, both of you could feel each other smiling in the middle of the kiss.

Your fingers raked his hair and then your hand trailed to his jaw, the prickly hairs of his stubble brushed roughly against your nails.

“This is the best day of my life,” Cal cooed.

“Here’s to forever?”

“Forever and ever, my wife, until the galaxy ends.”

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gaberoothekangaroo · 3 years

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i see so much ao3 discord on my dash and its ridiculous. its getting to the point where im going to start blocking posts cause its miles long arguments about how theres better archives or theres other sites for fanfic and how those sites are run by negative term x, y, z.

what many, if not most, are failing to grasp is that it is an archive. i work in archives. i know what an archive is and what an archive isnt. i know what grassroot and community archives are. and are not. i know how sometimes what an archive collects is sometimes open to interpretation. however. the main point and goal of an archive is to keep and maintain items for future use in that community. they also act as a way to keep and log the history of a community.

for example, the national archives in america. that is an institution that collects specific items and records that pertain to the nation such as government records, founding documents, government correspondence, laws and literature, indigenous records and documentation, etc. it doesnt have everything. and the process to get an item accepted is typically multi step because there is a verification process. say you have a letter supposedly written by abraham lincoln to someone and that letter has been kept and passed down or kept and sold, etc; the person that now owns the letter wants to donate it to the national archive, but the national archive first has to verify the letter and compare it against other letters in the collection, the handwriting, the age of the paper, etc, etc., all before it can be accepted. if its ‘valuable’ enough, itll be placed in storage with potentially a copy that the public can handle and request, or it may be digitized, or both. at some point, 100 years from now lets say, the person in charge of the collection may look to weed out items that havent been requested in a while, arent popular, are no longer relevant, etc.; this letter may not have been checked out for the past 10 years, which gives the archivist reason to find it a new home at some other archive and weed it from the national archives.

circling back to ao3, it is a community archive centered on the topic of fanfiction. ive heard complaints that ao3 is us-centric; yes, it ends in a .org, it is owned and operated within the us, the servers are within the us, many of the original volunteers may have started in the us. ive heard complaints that they just let any ol fic in there, no matter how gross or wrong or bad or ‘not pure’ it is; yes, archives dictate what they will and will not accept, and when you are collecting a history of a community you tend to collect the good, bad, and indifferent--you wouldnt expect a black community archive to only collect positive instances of their history, youd most likely expect to see som sort of narrative about slavery and other historical injustices.

ao3 does host fic and allow users to upload fic but that is not its sole intended purpose. there are many other sites and blogs on the internet for uploading fic and hosting fics. ao3s prime directive is to collect fanworks and record it for future use and historical significance. that means when you willingly access ao3, it is comparable to you going into a museum, the national archives, or some sort of gallery dedicated to a single artist. its like going to the library to do research or going to your university/college to look at the old books they have for an assignment.

please understand that ao3 is an archive, on par with the national archives or a museum. people typically make use of an archive to do research on a particular topic thats highly specialized and specific. its great that any user can tag and upload a fic, as well as read a fic, but just know that that is an added benefit to how the archive is run.

#godddddd am i tired of seeing bad things about ao3. so much #heres library and archive info you didnt know you woo.

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jaxsteamblog · 4 years

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Enemies

Click here to read the full fic on AO3

The palace was as grand as she thought. Architecture wasn’t anything she ever showed any interest in, but there were certain buildings that she just knew were designed well. The ice palace of the North Pole was a fortress but still kept all the swirling, arching beauty of ocean swells. The Earth Kingdoms had strong bases with any number of geometric patterns stacked in a mighty display.

The Fire Nation had some of the oldest, man made buildings in the world.

On the palace grounds, Katara was amazed by the dark wooden floors, the massive pillars, and the ornate scrollwork all along the beams. With the palace at the top of the mountain, and the land below being mostly prairie, she wondered at the perseverance to drag all that timber up this high.

“It’s pretty, right?” Sokka asked as they got out of the car.

“Incredibly so.” Katara replied.

“You know this is a dormant volcano?” He questioned. Katara jumped and Sokka laughed.

“There’s magma way down in the earth. Nothing to worry about.” Zuko said as he approached. Katara didn’t relax and scowled at him as he walked up.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure I’m going to enjoy every minute of this now.” Katara said and rolled her eyes. Zuko hugged her and kissed the top of her head.

Sokka blanched loudly.

“I cannot believe you two are dating, dating now.” He lamented.

“We can’t officially. There’d be a scandal.” Katara replied with mock admonishment.

“I can only hope that day never comes.” Sokka muttered and started off toward the palace.

“You and Suki are affectionate all the time!” Katara shouted after him.

“Come on, let me show you to your room.” Zuko said.

They walked inside and Katara gasped at the interior. There was so much wood, it felt like she was a doll being kept in an ornate chest. The electric lights and air vents seemed anachronistic against the lacquer and ancient wooden beams, but it was still a sight to behold.

“We haven’t had so many guests all at once in a long time, so hopefully everything is ready.” Zuko said as they walked. “I didn’t get a chance to check.”

Housekeepers were still in Katara’s room as they came to it, startling them.

“Oh, your highness. I’m sorry, we’re not quite done.” A woman said, bowing while in the doorway.

“It’s fine. Is it possible to at least put her things away?” Zuko asked. The woman looked nervous but stood aside.

As Zuko and Katara entered the room, she wondered where the woman’s dread originated.

The room was done up like a movie set. Piles of furs were laid on the bed while torches were being shoved into ancient holders. It smelled like grease oil and pellet fire. Rough, woven blankets were partially tacked up in the doorways and there was, impossibly, a pair of snowshoes and hunting spear propped up against the wall.

“What is the meaning of this?” Zuko demanded as Katara looked around with her mouth open.

“Sir, we haven’t been able to find everything that was requested.” A man on a ladder said as he awkwardly held up a blanket.

“That’s not-” Zuko pressed his fingers to his forehead.

“I only wanted to make our guest feel more at home.” Another woman’s voice, high and lilting, came from the hall. Both Zuko and Katara turned to see Azula leaning in the doorframe.

“Azula, this is at best a horrible caricature and I know there was nothing good about your intentions here.” Zuko seethed.

Azula’s mouth went down as her eyebrows went up, pulling her face into smooth incomprehension. She stood and raised her hands.

“Zuzu, you wound me. You know I’d never think to have someone feel unwelcome in our home.” She replied.

“Azula-” Zuko stopped as Katara held his hand. Looking down at her, Zuko was confused by her smile.

“Did you guys just have this stuff lying around?” She asked and then faced Azula. “Or did you really go to all this trouble to try and make me upset?”

Katara then turned and walked purposefully to the snowshoes. “Because these are genuine South Pole snowshoes and I don’t think I’ve seen a pair outside of a museum.”

Zuko sighed and turned to the housekeepers.

“It’ll be too warm for the furs. Please pack all of this up and have the room set like normal.” He said.

“Yes your highness!” They all said in unison, bowing deeply.

Katara and Zuko walked out of the room, pushing past Azula as they went.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, princess.” Katara whispered sharply. Azula narrowed her eyes and watched them go silently.

Azula did certainly try. Katara was given a sour imitation of seaprune stew for lunch. Speaking politely, Katara requested a regular plate and offered to give Azula an authentic recipe. Later, her clothes here found out in a pond, but Katara could easily remedy that. Finally, when Katara’s toiletry bag went missing, she finally had enough.

For most of the day, it had only been the younger members of the group. Thuy, Toph, and Rohan had gotten delayed by the same storm but from further away and only arrived in the evening. The heads of states - Ozai, Hakoda, Arnook, Tenzin, and Kuei - were in meetings pertaining to the festival that would take place that night.

So it wasn’t until dinner that they were all together.

Katara sighed as the server placed a whole fish down in front of her.

“Is the food not to your liking?” Azula asked immediately.

“No, Azula, it’s not.” Katara replied. “If you’re going to serve fish, you should at least make sure a fish fork is out.”

Then, turning to the server - who looked incredibly fearful - Katara smiled. “May I please have the regular plate?”

“Of course, my apologies.” He said and bowed, taking her plate as he backed away.

“What is your problem Azula?” Zuko questioned and the rest of the table went quiet. The Fire Lord, sitting at the head of the table, steepled his fingers and watched his children. Tenzin, being the oldest person at the table, leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes.

“We have guests, Zuko. Do you really think this is the time for your petty squabbling?” Ozai asked.

“I think, father, that we should be addressing Azula’s petty behavior toward our guests.” Zuko answered evenly.

“Is there something we should know?” Arnook questioned and ice filled Katara’s heart. Literally every major leader sat at the Fire Lord’s dining table. This had never happened, and now there was the chance of something terrible happening.

“Azula must be held accountable for her disrespect.” Zuko stated and Katara took in a hissing breath.

“You have caused your sister to lose face in front of our esteemed guests. That is the utmost disrespect.” Ozai growled.

“Sounds like a stupid fight to me.” Thuy interjected. Everyone turned to the Avatar, who shrugged.

“I have a bratty little sister too.” She added. Azula spluttered while Zuko laughed.

“I believe the Avatar is reminding us that we are all human.” King Kuei said and Katara relaxed a bit.

“I don’t see why you have such a problem with Katara anyway.” Thuy said and smiled over at Katara. “I think she’s really nice.”

“You would, since you’re both cut from the same cloth.” Azula remarked snidely and jumped when Ozai slammed his hand on the table.

“You will not speak to the Avatar in such a manner.” He said.

“I’m to be her teacher, am I not? She should be showing me more respect.” Azula retorted.

“I think as I’m the Avatar, you should be the one showing some respect. Plus,” Thuy sat up straighter in her seat, glaring at Azula. “You shouldn’t treat a Queen so poorly.”

“And who is a Que-” Azula started cocky but stopped abruptly. Turning in her seat, she stared at Katara. “You?”

Katara nodded with a grin. “Me.”

Azula then whirled about, staring at Zuko. “You’re dating the Queen of the Water Tribes?”

“WHAT?” Came multiple voices, all at once.

Thuy laughed to herself, clapping her hands. “Yay! I had hoped so.”

---

Katara sat on a couch, her head in her hands.

“You cannot be romantically involved with the crown prince of the Fire Nation.” Arnook said.

Lifting her head, Katara flattened her hands in supplication. “Why not?”

“There’s inheritance to think of. If Zuko gives up his throne-” Hakoda said but Katara interrupted him.

“Why would Zuko give up his throne?” She asked.

“If you marry-” Arnook began.

“We just started dating!” Katara interjected.

“You can’t think in the short term Katara!” Hakoda bellowed. “This is serious!”

Katara stood up, her hand at her throat, gripping her mother’s necklace.

“Do you know what I’ve gone through for you?” She screamed. Hakoda took a step back and Sokka, previously standing in the corner, walked forward.

“Do you know how many people I killed before I turned eighteen? Do you know what it was like to fight, alone? Do you have any idea how it felt to hold mom’s body and being able to do nothing about it?” Katara yelled.

Sokka pushed past Hakoda and went to Katara. She shoved him away, turning her back on the others in the room.

“I am soul bound to the ocean, I saved the North Pole from destruction, I drowned the Fire Nation fleet.” Katara said, her voice rising as she spoke. She whirled around then, ice shards forming around her from the moisture in the air.

“I will be Queen, not because I want to be, but because it was ordered of me. And so, with all the rage and power of the ocean, I will do as I please with it.” She said. Her breath curled in the cold air, causing even more slivers of ice to glint in the light. In her fury, she sparkled.

“Katara-” Hakoda reached out and Katara pulled a wall of ice in front of her.

“I did all of this for you.” She said, tears rising and falling from her eyes. She touched her mother’s necklace again, lightly this time. “But I will love as I want, for mom.”

Sokka touched the ice wall and it parted for him; fractals shifting to let him through. He hugged Katara and she sniffled, burying her face into his shoulder.

“Come on.” He said softly and Katara nodded. He turned her and they walked out of the room.

“Are you okay?” Sokka asked once they started down the hall.

“When was the last time I was okay?” She responded. Sokka chuckled and held her hand.

Hearing running footsteps, they paused and looked around. Coming toward them was Zuko.

“Katara!” He shouted. Sokka released her hand and stepped aside. When Zuko ran up to them, he embraced Katara, picking her up and swinging her around.

“Are you okay?” Zuko asked as he set her down.

“I’ll be fine.” Katara said with a breathy laugh.

“Wonderful. I was worried because a pipe burst in the main hallway.” He said.

“What?” Sokka burst out laughing and Katara felt her face flush.

“I just got a little angry!” She said.

“Then I certainly don’t want to see you very angry.” Zuko replied.

“Hey Katara!” Thuy shouted from the end of the hall. “Did you break the pipes?”

Katara covered her face and groaned.

“Don’t worry, Sifu’s got it!” Thuy yelled.

“Get over here Wet Wipe and help with the water!” Toph bellowed.

“Yes, Sifu!”

Still groaning, Katara turned into Zuko’s arms, pressing her face against his chest.

They still had to get through the festival.

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#zutara #fanfiction #jax writes #modern au #zutara month 2020 #the fic that prompts built

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miracle-sham · 5 years

Text

When Sitting on the Roof, We are but Coffee Sleuths.

| {Sequel to Death is the Stage, My Art is Your Grave.} |

| {Repost due to original post disappearing from tags.} |

| Triggers/Warnings: Mentions of drugs/drug ring (in regards to a case), Mild language. |

| After a long day of boring casework, there's nothing better than getting a new commission, and then drinking coffee and having a chat on top of a roof with a certain bat. |

| Word Count: 3051 |

==–==

| A/N: First of all, I'd like to quickly thank everyone for all the positive response and support the original oneshot got on both Tumblr and Ao3! It really motivated and inspired me to continue with this Au (expect at least another sequel, maybe more if I get more inspo but even if I don't there's definitely gonna be one sequel minimum to this). I'd also like to mention, that this took a lot longer to write as I got a cold halfway through writing it and also it's romance based fluff (which is not my forté), but thanks to those who've waited for this! And finally, for reasons that I'll explain in a separate post later, it might be a "little" while before I can start work on the sequel to this one but it will get written at some point. |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then send me a DM or an ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

==–==

It's been a month since Marinette got kidnapped, kissed Red Robin, and solved the Elemental Park Serial Killer case. For three weeks she's been held off active duty to make sure her bruised ribs heal but now that she's able to be on active duty again, all the available cases are those that are paperwork heavy. A small part of her misses the immediate healing of the Miraculous Cure but she's not Ladybug anymore and even if she was, it would raise too many flags for her to even use it anyway. But logic doesn't stop her from missing the days when she could literally and metaphorically magic away her aches and pains.

Marinette groans and slumps into her chair, it's been a surprisingly slow day at the GCPD, so when her phone beeps rapidly for a few seconds, she thinks, please be something interesting, and can't help but take a quick glance to see what new notifications she has. The screen reads: '3 new messages from Red'. So she taps the notification and reads through each message.

>RedRob: Hey, found some new evidence on our case, want to meet up for coffee to discuss it?

>RedRob: Rooftop coffee after dark, of course.

>RedRob: I mean I could waltz into a coffee shop during the day in my suit but that might get too much attention for case talk.

Marinette snickers to herself as she reads the messages over a second time. She quickly taps out her response.

>MariBlue: Will we need to worry about one of the other Gotham vigilantes crashing our coffee not-date?

Almost instantly she receives a response.

>RedRob: I'll bribe Oracle or Batgirl, maybe even Black Bat, into keeping the others away.

She sends a heart emoji back, then returns to sorting out her boring paperwork.

Detective Grayson raises an eyebrow at her from over the desk, clearly having caught her looking at her phone. “Red Robin again?”

She flashes him a sheepish grin. “How'd you guess.”

He gives her a deadpan stare. “He's the only person you respond to when working.”

Marinette bites her lip. “Whoops, that obvious?”

“Yes.” Detective Grayson hesitates for a second, he leans in closer—and like a teenage girl at a sleepover in a cheesy teen drama, asks, “So are you dating yet?”

She shrugs. “Well neither of us have asked the other so not really.”

“But you guys are perfect for each other!” He exclaims, gesturing towards her with an outstretched arm—very narrowly avoiding knocking anything off the desk.

It's Marinette's turn to raise an eyebrow. “We literally have only seen or talked to each other when working…”

“So? What do you call you quote unquote "not-dates"” He huffs, making air quotes as he speaks.

She huffs and shakes her head. “There's a reason they're called "not-dates" and that's because we discuss work at them. And anyway it's too early to rush our relationship.”

“Fair.” Detective Grayson stills, frowns and then almost hesitantly, he asks, “Is it because if the mask? The whole not knowing his real identity?”

Marinette rolls her eyes and shakes her head again. “Nope, I couldn't care less about finding out his real identity—at least not without his consent that is.”

He hums, a pensive look on his face. “So you're not curious?”

She shrugs. “Not particularly, why?”

Detective Grayson shrugs back. “Just wondering,” he leans back on his chair and for a split second, Marinette fears he might topple over but somehow he seems unaffected by gravity, “I think you're the first person I've met, who doesn't want to know who's behind a vigilante's mask.”

A smile tugs at Marinette's lips. “I think it's kinda dumb that so many people are obsessed with the people behind the masks because if they're doing good, unmasking them will only deter them from continuing fighting the good fight and all that, y'know.”

He nods slowly, “huh, that's one way of putting it I guess but I agree, the vigilantes do more for this city than people think they do.” Detective Grayson then tilts his head towards the Commissioner's office. “Anyway back to work, don't want to get in more trouble with the Commish than we are already!”

Marinette huffs in amusement and rolls her eyes but complies nonetheless. Wouldn't do to get in trouble so soon after getting back onto active duty!

==–==

It isn't until gone seven pm, that Marinette finally gets home. She slips through the door, locking it behind her. Now that she's in, the first thing she does, as she does every day, is check her online portfolio and commission site.

Marinette plops herself down in her wheely chair and logs onto to her computer, going through all the verification and security Max had kindly added. A new commission notification grabs her attention. With three clicks, she brings up the new commission's details. She scrolls down to the name of the commissioner: one Mr 'T. Drake-Wayne'.

Curious as to why the name sounds vaguely familiar, Marinette opens up a tab on Google with a hum and types in the name. Upon reading the top results, she half chokes in shock and thinks to herself, Are you kidding me? She blinks and breathes in, a small part of her very glad she wasn't drinking anything otherwise she definitely would've fully choked on that or spat it all up from the shock. I know a bunch of well-known celebrities have all commissioned me many times before, but still why the heck is a fortune 500 CEO commissioning me? I'm not Audrey Bourgeois, Gabriel Agreste, or even Valen-hecking-tino. I do celebrities, not fortune 500. The heck. What. The. Actual. Heck.

Eyes wide and gobsmacked, Marinette shakes her head and clicks back to her latest commission's details page to read through the actual commission. After reading the first line, she scrambles for her sketchbook and begins jotting down notes and scribbling down ideas.

Half an hour in, Marinette takes a break to sort out and eat dinner, no point designing on an empty stomach but once she's done eating and washed up, she goes straight back to designing.

Even at a quarter past midnight, she's still at it—surprisingly only three drafts in and so thoroughly lost in her own head in designing, Marinette nearly misses the knocking against her window facing the fire escape.

The rapid rap-tap-tap spooks her so much that she falls out of her chair with an “Eep!”

Marinette, face flushing bright red, scrambles up and scurries over to the window in question. Shoving her blinds out the way, she stares through the window and is greeted with the absolutely glorious sight of a beaming and uninjured Red Robin holding two takeaway coffee cups on the fire escape. He waves at her with one hand and gestures for her to join him on the fire escape.

She can't help but grin back at him and deftly opens the window and slinks out onto the fire escape. He hands a coffee cup towards her and instead of taking it, Marinette gives him a good ol' bearhug—smooshing pressing her face into his Kevlar armoured chest. Which is unsurprisingly, very uncomfortable. She shifts her head to stare up at him (as he's at least whole head taller than her) “Hey,” she greets.

Awkwardly hugging her back, as to not spill either of the coffees in the process, “hey yourself,” Red Robin responds, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

Marinette pulls back from the hug and nabs the coffee cup that had been offered to her before their hug. “Thank you~!”

“No problem.” He then gestures towards the fire escape stairs leading to the roof, “after you.”

“So which of our cases did you manage to get a lead for?” She asks, making her way up to the roof.

“The one pertaining to the new drug ring in the fashion district. I've narrowed down where they're storing the drugs to potentially three warehouses near Miller Harbour.” Red Robin answers, following after her.

Reaching the roof, Marinette sits down on the half wall around the roof edge. She glances over at Red Robin as he joins her on the improvised seat. “That's the drug ring dealing Miraclo right?”

“Yeah, that's the one.” He pauses to take a sip of his coffee, “I got the intel from an old friend of Catwoman's called Mackey lives in an apartment that overlooks the Harbour and saw a shipment of the drug arrive at the warehouses.”

Taking a sip of her own coffee, Marinette raises an eyebrow. “And will Detective Grayson and I will be able to get that intel as witness statement?”

Red Robin nods. “Yep, Catwoman's vouching for you both.”

She jerks back in surprise, nearly toppling off the half wall but managing to cling to the edge in time to keep her from falling. Miraculously somehow managing to avoid dropping or spilling her coffee. Oof, if it wasn't for my stint in Spandex I definitely would've made a fool of myself in front of Red Robin. And here I thought that part of my life had since passed. Marinette thinks to herself, wincing at the newly gained superficial graze across her palms. She clears her throat and attempts to look like she didn't just nearly fall off a half wall. “Catwoman's vouching for us? Since when? I've literally never encountered her before.”

Red Robin, the traitor, snorts at her predicament. “You are the epitome of elegance. And Detective Grayson's bumped into her a few times on the job.”

“Thanks.” She responds drily, layering on the sarcasm thickly. She shakes her head and sighs. “So do you know what the addresses are for the warehouses and this Mackey's apartment?”

He takes an excruciatingly slow sip of his coffee before speaking. “Of course I can, what kind of vigilante do you take me for?” He then proceeds to rattle off the addresses.

Which Marinette jots down on the napkin that came with her coffee, and puts it into a pocket for safekeeping. “Thank you.” With it written down, she pauses then starts kicking her legs in the air. She sniffs. “And I take you for the kind that flirts with innocent police officers.”

Red Robin grins at her as he gently elbows her in the ribs. “I don't hear you complaining.”

Marinette scoffs and slaps her hand to her chest in an overly dramatic mock of shock. “Unfair! If I complained I wouldn't get any hugs or kisses from you!”

Humming he wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to her temple. “That's true, what a shame it would be for you to miss out on all those hugs.”

She hums back and the two ease into a comfortable silence; leaning against each other and sipping their coffees whilst staring at the night sky.

Once Marinette gets halfway through her coffee, she glances at Red Robin and hesitates, her earlier conversation with Detective Grayson springing to mind. “Communication is key in healthy relationships,” she prefaces, “so are you okay with our current relationship? Y'know the flirting, the not-dates, the whole me not knowing your identity?”

Red Robin laughs, sounding slightly bitter. “Of course I'm fine with the flirting and not-dates but I'm not going to lie and say I don't have any worries over you not knowing my identity. It's one of the reasons a relationship I had with a fellow mask didn't work out.” Rubbing at his jaw, he tilts his face away from her slightly, as though reminiscing about something. He then shakes his head and turns back to her. “Really, I ought to be asking you that. So what about you, are you okay with how our relationship is?”

Marinette hums. “This isn't the first time relationship I've had with a masked hero.” Then takes a calm sip of her coffee.

“So you've got a thing for masks then huh? Lucky me I guess.” He responds, smirking mischievously, and whilst she can't see the rest of his face thanks to the cowl, Marinette just knows that he's wiggling his eyebrows at her from underneath that cowl.

His comment nearly sends her tumbling off the half wall—again. She coughs and splutters in laughter as she nearly spits up her sip of coffee. It takes her a full thirty seconds to recover and mock gripes, “remind me why I love you again.”

Red Robin cocks his head to the side and grins. “Because I bring you coffee?”

She huffs, “good point.”

“So back to the mask thing, can I ask what happened with your masked hero relationship?” He asks, tone hesitant. He stares at her, ready to back off the topic at the slightest sign of discomfort from her.

Marinette hisses through her teeth and states, “I can trust you.”

His stare conveys an 'I would hope so' whilst he bobs his head a little in a 'yes you can' and a 'please continue' gesture.

She takes a deep breath before speaking, “I used to be a hero, back when I lived in Paris.”

“Oh?” Red Robin freezes, thrown off guard by her admission.

Nodding, Marinette continues. “It was difficult. We started when we were barely teens and had no training and no support except for temporary heroes we could bring in when the battles got too hard for just me and my partner to handle. When we started, we were repeatedly told to never, under any circumstances, let anyone find out our identities. My partner and I, neither of us knew who the other was beneath the mask. And we only knew the identities of the temporary heroes because we gave them the ability to become superheroes. But even then we didn't always know their real identities and they certainly never knew ours.”

“Yikes.” Is all he can respond with, mind racing with questions. “That can't have been good, at least I had Batman and Nightwing when I was starting out, but you had no one to talk to about being a mask, outside the mask.”

She flashes him a watery smile and sighs. “No, I did have someone. Tikki. But we're uh, not in contact any more. Since I retired.”

Still, Red Robin makes a noise of concern at that.

“Anyway, one thing led to another led to another, and my partner found out my identity.” Marinette puts her coffee down then tips her head back and closes her eyes. “We started dating not long after that. But once we defeated the BBEG terrorising Paris and some… concerning things came to light, our—we,” She shakes her head, “we realised that because of that, neither of us were emotionally able to continue our relationship in a romantic way. So we decided to stay friends and I—uh, I retired and moved to Gotham.”

He puts his coffee down as well, and pulls her into a tight hug, although making sure it wasn't too constricting as to not make her uncomfortable. “I'm sorry.”

She leans into the hug, rests her head on his shoulder, and delicately wraps her arms around him in return. “What? Why? It's not your fault.”

Red Robin frowns, not that she can see in their current position, “I know but no one should be forced into becoming a hero at such a young age with no support network.”

Huffing, Marinette buries her face in his shoulder, somewhat muffling her voice but not enough to make her unintelligible, “what about Spoiler? She became a hero around that age and had no support network.”

He sighs. “Spoiler chose to become a vigilante, she wasn't forced. And anyway, she had Robin and the rest of the bats to support her once they realised what she was doing.”

“Hmm… fair.” Marinette pulls back from the hug and pauses. “On a lighter note, I got a commission on my fashion site from Tim Drake-Wayne!”

Red Robin raises an eyebrow and with poorly concealed amusement, responds, “Oh? And what's so special about him”

She rolls her eyes at him. “He's the youngest fortune five hundred CEO, founded the Neon Knights among other charities, and often donates to various charities around Gotham! Plus Wayne Enterprises is one of, if not the most ethical company in the fortune five hundred bracket. Employees get living stipends, and training and higher education paid by the company. They get healthcare and dental insurance. They get flexible work hours, paid breaks, and receive above minimum wage pay!”

He laughs. “I guess he is a pretty decent sounding guy then.”

“Mhmm.”

“So what's the commission then? Or is it a secret?” He teases, leaning towards her.

Marinette dramatically places her hand over her heart. “I guess I can spare you the details this one time.”

“Wooh!”

She bites her lip before launching into a long ramble about the commission, gushing over what design and colour palette she's thinking of going with, what bots and bobs and patterns to add, what stitch to use and how to make sure it fits his style, etc.

Red Robin spends the entire time listening attentively, despite not really understanding half the fashion terms, and staring at her like a love-struck puppy.

“Damn, I love you!” He exclaims once she finishes speaking, then leans in to kiss her on the lips.

Marinette bursts into giggles and kisses him back. Her giggles are seemingly infectious, as once they part from the kiss, both are giggling and flushed red.

A bright flash of white followed by a camera shutter sound immediately distracts them both. They just manage to catch sight of Nightwing swinging away.

She gives him a look, which is somewhat less effective as she's still smiling from the kiss. “What happened to bribing Oracle, Black Bat, or Batgirl?”

Red Robin groans and drops his face into his hands. “Clearly Nightwing was able to one-up my bribe. Probably in the form of giving them copies of the photos both he and Detective Grayson have taken.”

“You mean to tell me those two are working together? No wonder Detective Grayson was asking about our relationship earlier today at work!” Marinette gasps, sounding mildly horrified and betrayed.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Red Robin asks, lifting his head up and grinning deviously at her.

She smirks back, “Revenge?”

He nods—the sagely kind of nod. “Revenge.”

==–==

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

@casual-darkness

#Miraculous Ladybug #ML x DC #DC x MLB #Maribat #Timinette #MariTim #Timari #Marinette x Tim #Tim x Marinette #Death is the Stage My Art is Your Grave #DitSMAiYG #DitSMAiYG Sequel #When Sitting on the Roof We are but Coffee Sleuths #WSotRWabCS #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

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romolite · 4 years

Text

*Important FAQ*

Aka questions that pertain to what I usually post about or stuff I don’t like getting asks about but continue to get asks about regardless.

[Insert any invasive question about my ethnicity/race]

I’m Ghanaian American. My parents were born in Ghana and I was born here in the US. I’ve seen it more on twitter and tumblr, but Black Africans don’t like me because I’m American, and black Americans don’t like me because I’m African. So I’m stuck in the middle lmao. I’m what you’d consider a First-Generation African, my parents are Continental Africans, and if I have children, they will be considered Generational African Americans.

First Generation African: A black person born in the US to parents who were born in Africa

Generational African American: A black person born in the US to US-born black parent(s)

Continental African: A black person born in Africa to parents who were also born in Africa

Non is just a prefix, black people don’t have a monopoly on the term! I suppose you think nonbinary people are racist huh?

Yeah sure it wasnt coined by black people but the context it’s currently used as was predominantly used by black people. ALL people who are not black benefit from and contribute to antiblackness, even if they are marginalized themselves. That kind of dynamic doesnt exist in other contexts (unless we’re talking about transfem + transmisogyny, but that’s something you’d have to talk to someone who is transfem about. Plus they have their own word for “non-transfem”). Using it in contexts outside of antiblackness is appropriative (Yall are annoying as fuck with the “non-aspec” “non-lesbian”(this term also has anti-bi roots btw) “non-bi” shit etc, stop it. You also can’t complain about the “replacement terms” lumping yall with oppressors when “non-x” does the exact same thing you’re so worried about. “Cis” puts cis gays with cis hets, cis disabled people with cis abled people, cis white people with cis poc, I could go on.)

Plus we’re talking about marginalized groups here. Black people are a marginalized group. Binary people as a whole are not so the term nonbinary isn’t appropriate at all. I dont take issue with terms like “nonamerican” or “nonwhite” because (obviously) whites + americans as a whole aren’t oppressed for being white or american.

Basically using "non-x” in contexts to talk about oppression bad, everything else good.

Follow up: If we can’t use non-[marginalized group], what can we use instead?

There are other words to describe the people you’re talking about

non-transfem- TME

non-LGBT- cishet, or people who aren’t LGBT

non-trans - cis

Black people don’t have a monopoly on the acronym nb! I’ll call myself nb if I want to!

At this point I dont really care, go on your antiblack crusade elsewhere and out of my inbox, I’m always gonna mean nonblack when I use the acronym nb.

And yes, you’re antiblack as fuck if you think black people telling you “nb” stands for “nonblack” is the same as exclusionists claiming “aspec” is for autistic people.

Is x AAVE?

I have a tag dedicated to what is and is not aave and how harmful it is for nonblacks to use aave given its history. I know some things overlap with southern culture but others are specifically for black people. A lot of “stan twitter” language/slang is just repackaged AAVE. No, I can’t tell you how to stop using AAVE. Don’t tell me you’re going to try to stop using AAVE, I don’t want to hear it.

Why don’t you like the n-word being compared to LGBT slurs?

Race and Sexuality/Gender aren’t comparable topics because each deals with a different history of oppression. I don’t care about slur discourse that much because I don’t even use/reclaim any myself except the n-word.

I have a problem with nonblack LGBT people co-opting black culture and struggle(like they always do), especially for trivial online discourse.

And to be honest it goes deeper than slur discourse. Every other day someone is weaponizing the oppression of black trans women, or comparing “cishet aces/aros” in the LGBT community to white/nonblack people invading black spaces (you know, something that ACTUALLY takes resources away from the people who need it, see the cultural appropriation of Black African and Blac American culture in literally any nonblack community while black people get demonized for said culture), or tokenizing their black friends to get away with something blatantly racist. And that’s not even getting into how a lot of gay slang/stan culture is just repurposed AAVE/black culture.

And I’m not gonna lie, I’ve seen this more with exclusionist accounts than inclus accounts, but it’s still not excusable for inclus to do that either. We get erased as black gay/trans/queer/aspec people up until it’s time for discourse accounts to bring us up to one-up each other

Can you give me advice on x?

Most likely not, because I’m not an expert or an advice blog. I’ll try, but don't take my word for it. I’m also tme, able-bodied, not Jewish, singlet, etc, so I’m not able to accurately answer questions about transmisogyny, (physical?) ableism, antisemitism, “sycourse”, etc.

I might be able to give advice on school-related stuff since I just graduated high school, but remember that students are not a monolith, and what worked for me may not work for someone else.

Can I follow if I’m nonblack/a minor/cishet?

Nonblack and/or cishet can follow but watch your step, minors blacklist the #minors dni tag before following

Why do you hate Ao3?

*long sigh*

I don't, I have a problem with the fact that it allows racist and (frankly voyeuristic) pedophilic/abusive/incestuous content to exist on its platform. It’s a good concept overall, but the devs are complicit in allowing “underage” and “noncon/dubcon” fics on their platform.

And there's the fact that they somehow need donations every year despite exceeding their goal several times over each year?

What’s wrong with Hazbin Hotel/The Ships/Vivziepop?

[WIP, as I have to go into extensive detail about this and I currently don’t have the energy for it]

TLDR: Viv made a half-assed apology for supporting racists (one of whom did blackface [yes the mask was used to do blackface shut up] to mock black activist) and drawing gross content. Her current projects including Hazbin Hotel are full of anti-gay/trans/aspec (Angel Dust, Vaggie, Alastor), antisemetic (Mimzy), and racist (Vaggie again, that yellow cyclops character that I’ve forgotten the name of) content under the guise of humor. If you’re into that shit, whatever, just don’t follow me and don’t whine when I make posts criticizing it.

What’s wrong with Hamilton?

Aside from the fact that it’s very obviously glorifying slave owners and made people worldwide believe the founding fathers were good people, LMM, the creator, is nonblack. This isn't his story to tell at all.

Can you tag x?

I have a list of things I usually tag because they come upon this blog a lot. I cannot do catch all tags, as I have way too many followers for that. The closest thing to that is the “ask to tag” tag when there’s something potentially triggering but I’m not sure what it is. Everything is tagged as “x tw”. If something is extremely triggering, I’ll tag it as “major tw”

Do you tag slurs?

I tag slurs I’m not able to reclaim at all (i.e., d slur, f slur, t slur) or slurs I can reclaim but are being used as a slurs. I don’t tag the n-word, as I reclaim that one. I always tag the r slur

Can I message you about something/someone?

Unless you’re a mutual, most likely no. My DMs are only open to mutuals.

Do you want to be mutuals?

I don’t usually follow back people who follow me, especially if you’re under 16 or post things I’m not interested in.

Why is it important to have byf or about?

1) So I know gross people aren’t following me. This is not up for discussion

2) So I know someone’s not speaking out of their lane, which tends to happen a lot. (i.e, someone refusing to disclose that they are tme when discussing transmisogyny, someone not having their race listed when discussing racism)

3) Some people don’t want to interact with people under 18 or over like 30 or something.

Yeah, yeah, people aren’t entitled to personal information and all that crap but I have a serious problem with people speaking on topics from a place of privilege. Not to say they can’t talk about those things, just perhaps add a disclaimer that you’re privileged when talking about these things and be open to criticism, and NOT blocking people of the said marginalized group when they tell you something you’ve said was problematic.

I also have a problem with people who are intentionally vague about their age. There’s a difference between interacting with someone who’s 20 and someone who’s 29. I don’t want to say it’s the opposite for minors but at the same time there’s a difference for saying something racist at 13 and doing so at 17, and keeping your age vague makes it harder to determine how to deal with something like that. (Not that 13-year-olds shouldn’t know better, it’s just I don’t feel whole ass callout posts and receipt blogs are necessary for someone of that age).

Also anyone under 16, I can't stop you from following, but keep your interaction limited, please. This isnt an 18+ blog but I do rb suggestive jokes from time to time

I sent you an ask and you never answered it!

It’s likely that

I never got it

You were blocked

I’ve already answered this or it’s been answered in my faq

It’s a random positivity ask (which I appreciate but not sure how to respond to those)

You were rude in your ask and I didn’t feel like answering

I forgot until it was too late, which happens when my inbox gets a lot of asks at a time.

You sent it to the wrong blog (I.e, sending asks about my ocs to this blog instead of @ochood )

Hey, the op is [insert post] is [someone on my dni]! I usually double-check myself, just to be sure.

Have you heard about [someone who is mutuals with someone I’m loosely connected with]?

Most likely, no. And unless they’re an immediate danger to someone or they’ve got my name in their mouth, I don’t care.

Do you know who [x person/group/thing] is?Most likely no. Not to sound like a hipster but I don't usually keep up to date with trends. If I do hear about something, it’s most likely from twitter or Instagram.

Why am I blocked? Check here.

Why do you continuously move mains/change URLs/update themes?

I’m inconsistent. And sometimes there are posts on my blog that I no longer stand by.

Can I tag you in posts I think I’d like?Of course!

#lite.txt #long post #faq

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