#but at the same time white isn’t a good enough descriptor when it comes to how i was raised

[drowningbydegrees]

Something Ordinary - Part 1

This is my Novigrad Exchange gift for @aalizazareth who asked for fluff, road trip, or hurt/comfort, and I figured how about all of them? I hope this delivers! 

A huge thank you to @goodheavensgwen​ for betaing, but also for all the brainstorming and cheerleading along the way. This fic is so much better for having your input. <3

It’s in the same verse as Noonwraiths and Other Woodland Forest Creatures, but it’s not necessary to read that to understand this one. Not, this is largely fluffy and ridiculous, but there’s some canon typical mention of blood and injury.

Read on AO3

Ordinary people don’t… date witchers. Granted, Geralt has been coming to the diner where Jaskier works for the last year and a half, just about. Twenty-one months, but who’s counting? It isn’t a precisely educational experience, but between the pancakes and mediocre coffee he’s come to realize that Jaskier is anything but ordinary.

Geralt had never meant to do anything with that information. If he sometimes goes out of his way to stop in between contracts, it’s no one’s business but his own. It’s just nice to have one place he can go where someone is genuinely happy to see him. And alright, Jaskier is more alluring than he has any right to be. And perhaps Geralt spends his visits wordlessly nursing a cup of coffee just to have an excuse to listen to Jaskier chatter on about nothing in particular a while longer.

Well, he did, anyway. Things are different in the months since they exchanged numbers after Geralt stumbled in half dead after a contract. Jaskier’s conversation demands more participation, his smiles are more intentional. And though Geralt would like to think he put up at least a token resistance over these last few months (in which he has received what he’s sure are more text messages than his entire life before), somehow Jaskier has pulled Geralt right along with him.

The point is, Geralt doesn’t do this. He doesn’t let himself get attached to people. He doesn’t give himself a reason to maybe stay in one place a little more. He definitely doesn’t go for coffee shop dates. The fact that their current circumstances started with an attempt to do exactly that is completely coincidental.

Wednesday

2:15 p.m.

Like many things in Geralt’s life, things go sideways before they even start. They don’t even make it inside the coffee shop before his phone rings, and given the only person who calls him for frivolous reasons is right next to him, it’s probably important. All of which is why Geralt had to cancel and is pulling into the gas station before a six hour trip to Oreton.

He’s still not sure how Jaskier got here, though. It’s a bewildering leap from a coffee date to committing to hours in an enclosed space together, but by the time Geralt wraps his head around that Jaskier is already in the passenger seat.

“I’ll get snacks,” Jaskier offers, already opening the car door. “Do you want anything?”

Geralt motions to a box in the back seat. “I’m good.”

“Are those granola bars?” Jaskier makes a comically disapproving noise, sliding out of his seat. He leans over enough to poke his head back in. “Do you know who thinks granola bars count as road trip snacks? My grandma.”

“What’s wrong with…” Geralt starts, but Jaskier is already gone.

To Jaskier’s credit, he’s emerging from the gas station once more by the time the gas tank is full. Well, Jaskier along with a bag of what looks like more candy than someone could eat in a week and the two cups he’s juggling.

“I promised you coffee! I can’t guarantee it’s good coffee, mind you, but it is coffee,” Jaskier explains before Geralt can ask, circling the car to press a cup into the witcher’s hands.

He doesn’t do this, and supposes he could be mistaken, but Geralt is pretty certain the coffee isn’t actually the operant word in ‘coffee date.’ Still, it’s… it’s something he doesn’t quite know what to do with. Jaskier has always been friendly, but he’s taken up doing all sorts of things as of late that can’t be chalked up to it being his job, and they never seem to leave Geralt any less unmoored than he feels right now, staring at the paper cup aggressively warming the palms of his hands.

“It’s for drinking,” Jaskier prompts, and as silly as it is, the whole thing only gets more absurd. Because the glare Geralt responds with is normally enough to make people shy away, but Jaskier doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to be alarmed. He laughs, soft and lilting in a way Geralt never wants to let go of, like there’s nothing strange about any of this. Like the two of them are made for these ordinary things Geralt has never given himself the space to want.

But Jaskier has never been ordinary.

3:07 p.m.

He’s made a terrible miscalculation in this plan, Jaskier privately acknowledges about thirty miles from home. This plan. The one that was definitely an actual plan and not just an impulsive desire to go on an adventure and see Geralt in action. Does it count as a plan if he invents a purpose? Maybe he’ll write a song about it. The subject matter is a little niche, but that’s half the appeal.

The other half of the appeal is the man sitting in the driver’s seat, silently watching the nearly empty highway stretch out in front of them. He’s always pretty, but working third shift Jaskier has never really gotten to see Geralt like this, drenched in sunlight that softens his features and mutes the slight frown that seems to own permanent real estate on his face. It’s haunting, the way it lights up Geralt’s silvery white hair, like some particularly attractive ghost.

Therein lies the miscalculation, because the thing is, Geralt is no different than any other time Jaskier has been around him, which is about as talkative as the pet rock he had when he was six. Normally, that’s fine. Geralt tolerates Jaskier’s chatter at the diner. And since it’s Jaskier’s job, he usually only wanders to Geralt’s table for minutes at a time. But there are no places to wander off to in the passenger seat of Geralt’s car, and he’s barely gotten three words out of the witcher since the gas station.

“So, what are we hunting?” he tries, because it’s the one topic he’s seen loosen Geralt’s tongue. A lot, actually. He doesn’t remember even half of what Geralt tells him, but it’s terribly endearing all the same. Even if it leaves him longing to know more about what else Geralt cares about.

“I am hunting a leshen. You are staying in the car,” Geralt replies without so much as a glance his way. If he notices Jaskier’s exasperated sigh, he gives no indication.

“I… remember you mentioning those, I think,” Jaskier focuses on the leshen because it was very definitely on the list of things Geralt told him about the first night he successfully got the witcher to have anything resembling a conversation. He resolutely ignores all the words Geralt just said around that. If he doesn’t lie and say he’ll stay put, then he won’t be lying when he inevitably does not do that. Sheepishly, he ducks his head. “In my defense, there was kind of a lot going on that night. Maybe tell me again?”

That earns Jaskier a smile, however small and brief it is. It’s a win as far as Jaskier is concerned. Now if he could just wrangle a conversation.

“Tall. Sort of humanoid. Covered in branches.” Geralt says nothing else until Jaskier clears his throat, trying to prompt the witcher to give him something at least. “They have antlers.”

“Very informative,” Jaskier chides, shaking his head. He supposes he should have known better than to assume this would work. “Anything else?”

“They live in the forest.” Jaskier is so surprised to actually get an answer, he almost misses the way the corner of Geralt’s mouth twitches upward. “You know, like noonwraiths.”

Jaskier gasps, holding a hand up to his chest as if in shock. “Was that… I’m sorry. Was that a joke I just heard?”

It’s been a ridiculous joke between them for a while now, but it hits differently this time. It’s always silly, but for the first time it sinks in that it’s theirs. They have A Thing, and it leaves Jaskier all but vibrating to realize because that’s… well, that’s significant. It feels significant at any rate.

“You were serious about the woods though, right?” Jaskier asks once he remembers they were in the middle of a conversation.

“I was serious about the woods.”

Jaskier cocks his head to the side, trying to make sense of that. “Then, how is it an emergency?”

“This one was in someone’s yard,” Geralt clarifies. As much as Jaskier would like to be annoyed by the brevity, he has to admit that that actually more or less clears it up.

Jaskier tries to imagine this tree branch antler person… thing creeping over the fence of some poor, unsuspecting homeowner like a nosy neighbor. It’s a mistake, because Jaskier doesn’t know the shape in which those descriptors fit together, so it’s much more comical than frightening. He tries and fails to stifle an amused huff of laughter, but of course that would be the thing that finally gets Geralt to look at him for a second.

“Sorry, I…” Jaskier pauses, not sure he can actually explain why that’s funny since Geralt has the benefit of knowing how all his sparse descriptors fit together. “So, what are you going to do? Bribe it to go home?”

“Not this time. They’re intelligent, but you can’t reason with them. Most creatures kill because they feel threatened or to survive. Leshens are hostile. Always.” The explanation makes sense. It doesn’t sound like there’s any way around killing the creature, but Jaskier knows he isn’t imagining the sadness clouding Geralt’s features.

He has no idea how someone could possibly meet Geralt, who never takes a life if he can save it, who spends his existence keeping people safe, who has so much compassion for even the most unlovable of things, and think witchers are anything but good. Underneath the caustic disposition he shields himself with, Geralt is kinder than most humans. It makes Jaskier yearn to coax the world into seeing what he does.

Maybe he can. There’s the beginning of an idea, but before Jaskier can follow that thread, he’s distracted by Geralt. More specifically, he’s distracted by Geralt being distracted, something finally luring the witcher’s eyes briefly from the road. So, of course Jaskier turns his head to see what could possibly be so interesting.

“Horses?” Jaskier winces when he realizes he’s asked the question out loud. It’s not really even a question. They were definitely horses, one chestnut and one gray, happily grazing along the fence containing them.

“Witchers used to travel that way,” Geralt murmurs, before Jaskier even asks a question. It’s a good tactic, giving one piece of information to steer away from Jaskier’s pursuit of another. Or it would be if Jaskier wasn’t onto him.

“Yeah. Witchers and everyone else. It’d be pretty inconvenient now though, what with all the… highways and stuff. So, I’m not sure I’m following the significance.” Jaskier watches carefully, but Geralt’s expression betrays nothing. “Unless this is the part where you’re gonna tell me you’re three hundred years old or something.”

Geralt is conspicuously silent. Jaskier has never met someone who can express so much with the various ways he chooses to express nothing. It’s an exasperating quality, but impressive.

“Wait. You’re not actually, are you? I mean, not that that’s a problem, per se. Just that—” Jaskier pauses in the midst of his babbling when he catches Geralt turning his head away just the tiniest bit. It’s not fast enough to hide that Geralt seems to be biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

3:34 p.m.

There’s a lot of farmland out this way, miles of cornfields, sure, but animals too. Jaskier briefly entertains the notion that maybe Geralt grew up on a farm and is homesick or something. He’s a storyteller by nature, after all, and Geralt is such an enigma, surely he can’t be blamed for trying to fill in the gaps. Jaskier curiously watches Geralt when they lapse back into silence. They’re surrounded on both sides by… actually, Jaskier has no idea what those fields are. The only crop he actually recognizes is corn. But whatever it is, if Geralt has any attachment to it, his expression betrays nothing.

Jaskier is about to write his previous observation off as him reading too much into something ultimately unimportant when crops give way to a green, open meadow. It’s the kind of place Jaskier thinks looks about perfect for a picnic or laying out to watch the clouds drift by, or something. It’s also the kind of place where someone keeps a rather striking-looking horse, its coat a shade of gold just a touch warmer than Geralt’s eyes. “I’ve never seen one like that.”

“It’s a palomino,” Geralt replies, though Jaskier doesn’t think he’s actually looked that way. Either Geralt is even more subtle than Jaskier gives him credit for, or something about that merits remembering.

“The breed?” Jaskier presses. This is even more fascinating than coaxing Geralt into talking about monsters. It’s not a subject Jaskier knows a damned thing about either, but it’s an unexpected thing Geralt seems to be interested in, and that all by itself makes it worth pursuing.

“It’s not a breed.” Maybe ‘talking about’ is a little too charitable a description for the handful of words Jaskier gets Geralt to part with at any one time. That’s a puzzle too. Jaskier hasn’t quite sussed out whether Geralt actually doesn’t like talking or if it’s a side effect of the way humans tend to respond to witchers. It’s a shame either way. Jaskier quite likes listening to him.

“Okay…?” Jaskier prods. It’s only afterwards that it occurs to him that if Geralt truly isn’t interested in talking, maybe when the witcher is stuck a foot away from Jaskier and can’t extricate himself from the situation is not the right time to push the matter.

“It’s a color.” After a slight pause, Geralt adds, “Gold coat. White mane and tail.”

There’s more after, not that Jaskier can keep up with most of it. Often, even when Jaskier is actively trying to engage, all he gets from Geralt is a wordless hum or a raised eyebrow. So, the fact that there are a number of words in a row is noteworthy already. That Geralt is continuing to speak without being prompted is nothing short of a miracle. Maybe pushing wasn’t the problem so much as finding the right subject matter.

And thus, a new game is born. Whether out of some sense of dignity or something else, Geralt doesn’t actually mention when they pass by horses. It’s the very slight shift in Geralt’s body language, something Jaskier would probably say was him perking up if it were more explicit, that clues Jaskier in if he doesn’t see them himself. But the minute Jaskier mentions them, Geralt appears all too happy to talk about the precise measurement that differentiates horses and ponies (14.2 hands or less, which then becomes an extended conversation about why horses are measured in hands), the Lippizaner stallion troupe (which Jaskier will admit he would really like to see if they’re even half as impressive as Geralt suggests), and that one breed of wild horses that are maybe possibly completely divergent from domestic horses (Jaskier immediately forgets how to pronounce their name, but he does remember they sort of look like especially stocky donkeys).

“How do you know all this, anyway? I’m starting to think you should have gone to work in a stable or something instead of being a witcher,” Jaskier teases after a particularly emphatic explanation about what an utter failure Redania’s wild horse adoption program is. “I mean, it would definitely be my loss, but…”

He trails off, teasing smile immediately fading as he happens to look over at Geralt. Even when he’s happy, Geralt’s expressions tend to be a bit muted, but there’s no trace of anything like happiness now. His head is subtly bowed, like he’s ashamed of something, and that just won’t do at all. There’s nothing shameful about the details that make up a person. Before Jaskier can ask what exactly dampened the mood, Geralt softly replies, “I was going to.”

“You were?” It might be a mistake. This was meant to be fun. It’s just that Geralt so rarely gives Jaskier anything about himself, and Jaskier so desperately wants to know him. He rationalizes that if he drops the matter, Geralt will think he doesn’t care and won’t ever try again. “What happened?”

“Not important.” The words are clipped, but Jaskier has at least known Geralt long enough to differentiate between the witcher being actually irritated and any of the multitude of other emotions that make him sound irritated. This is definitely one of the latter.

“Of course it’s important if it makes you look like that.” Impulsively, Jaskier reaches out to lay a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. The way Geralt nearly jumps out of his skin is a stark reminder that he’s not quite so instinctively tactile as Jaskier is. Geralt doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t answer either, so Jaskier only lingers briefly before pulling his hand back into his lap.

“I thought everyone was exaggerating about how things would change when they made me into this,” Geralt explains, so quiet that Jaskier has to listen carefully over the engine. It’s an aching, vulnerable thing, as human a confession as Jaskier has ever heard before Geralt’s expression abruptly shutters.

“I’m so sorry… Wait, made you?” Jaskier realizes, not for the first time, that he knows nothing about witchers. Nothing true at any rate.

But whatever strange magic had coaxed Geralt into speaking has passed, and the witcher doesn’t even acknowledge Jaskier has said anything. He longs to know more, to soothe whatever it is that hurts so much, but Jaskier has at least enough sense to realize that if he presses now, Geralt will think twice about telling him anything later. The minutes stretch out between them like taffy, the silence deafening until Jaskier absolutely cannot take it. He impulsively reaches for the radio, turning the dial until the static of a station that’s long since out of range is coming through the speakers. “So… music!”

Geralt’s lips purse in… actually Jaskier isn’t all that familiar with this particular expression yet. His default state is so grumpy, it’s hard to tell this time if he’s annoyed or uncomfortable. Neither one is what he’s going for, so he pointedly does not ask what that station is, immediately setting about adjusting until a melody cuts clearly through the hissing noise. Fic Masterpost

[putseraphinaonthaphone]

Groupchat pt. I

CW// recreational drug use, group sex, poly dynamics, virgin reader, queer reader who uses she/her pronouns and feminine descriptors, intoxicated sex

It was an interesting group of friends that you had. Well, 'friends' was a stretch, but you had a groupchat. The name was simply 'fuckers' because for some reason Bakugou was allowed to name the chat. You had the same group of stoners you ended up partying with every weekend, getting high off the strongest shit you could buy and letting loose to work off the stress of the week. It was cliche but true, you blew off steam getting high and dancing like a slut-- self care. Somehow it had evolved to more of a four person party that wasn't really a party, but you played music, smoked, and the boys watched you dance while devouring the healthy but tasty food you prepared because when you're high everything tastes 100 times better and you'd been on a restricted diet because of your chronic health issues since you were a teenager. When you'd explained this in the group chat, the most concise response you got was "so you'll cook for us?" Stoners were just your people honestly. Or maybe it was these stoners.

Bakugou mellowed out considerably after a few blunts, and he offered to blow up whoever made you cry the first time you met coming out of a party to smoke after you had a call with your best friend from back home. He'd told you that your dynamic as friends only worked if he was single. You didn't know if you'd ever have another friend like him. And there was Bakugou, offering you a blunt and violence that seemed like just the kind of friendship you craved in that moment.

Shinsou was one of the few people who came to the party simply to find people to smoke with. He rarely talked, but he was really good company you thought. He always brought indica strains-- your personal favorite as well as his you found out. Sometimes you guys talked about how it was cruel to have so many dreams but so little energy to pursue them. Sometimes you guys went back to his place and smoked yourself into a sleepy haze that always ended up in the warmest cuddles you've ever experienced.

Dabi had a viper's tongue and an even worse attitude than Bakugou. But he was cool, you bumped into him at a party when you were looking for another smoker to borrow a light from. You were feeling caustic after a phone call from home. "You got a lighter bro?" He seemed a bit amused by your masculine energy wrapped in a lush femme presenting form, like he was relieved to finally seeing someone interesting. "You look like you got all sorts of daddy issues, why haven't we met before?" His tone was both flirtatious and condescending at the time. "Whatever gave it away?" You snorted as you lit up your blunt, white grape game wrappers. But your tone was flirtatous as well as you handed your blunt to him, "We're meeting now. To shitty dads who deserve to sleep in the bed they made."

Shoto was the anomaly. You saw him around your department, guessing he was an upperclassman in your major. And one day he was at Dabi's place when you all got together to celebrate finally getting an off campus hangout spot. Apparently Dabi was an old friend, kind of like an older brother to Shoto. They definitely had a thing going on, but thinking about it too long made your face burn. His preppy appearance was shattered when he wore a short sleeve shirt instead of his usual button downs, and you saw the traditional japanese tattoos that made a full sleeve in white ink. You also noticed his silver gauges that were almost hidden by his white hair and when he pushed his hair back you saw more piercings on his ears. But when he smoked you under the table you decided you were almost in love.

If you happened to hope that one day at least one of the hot but dumb fuckers you smoked with took the hint of your many personal dance shows and fucked you, that was no one's business but your own.

You worked through the week, bullshitting assignments- but well because you were a fucking genius in your field, and on friday you decided to just wear a bra, shorts and an over shirt to the party with a beanie on your shaved head to complete the look. The pregame was at Shoto and Dabi's place this time, a short walk if you thought about the liquor and weed waiting for you. You weren't prepared for the brisk wind to meet you when you stepped out of your dorm.

"Hoes don't get cold." You chanted under your breath as you started walking. Your construction boots kept your feet warm, but the black booty shorts that were frayed at the edges left your lush thighs and your entire legs exposed to the cold wind. But after a few more minutes of walking you gave up- you weren't a good enough hoe, and you were cold. So you bit the bullet and put into the group chat:

smokerdeepthroat 11:19pm

Someone come pick me up, I'm freezing my literal ass off.

blueflamer 11:22pm

Walk bitch.

boomboi 11:24

Cash gas or ass, you know the drill.

smokerdeepthroat 11:25

Y'all can run a train on my ass if someone just picks me up before I freeze to death.

sleepystoner, icyhot, boomboi, blueflamer | read

Shit. You hadn't actually meant to send that. And of course the one time Shinsou checks the chat had to be now. "Fuckers," you grumbled under your breath. At this point it was almost like calling them your boys in a fond tone, and that thought had you almost puking onto the concrete. The fact that you were blushing was completely irrelevant.

Before you could freak out too much- internally of course, you were not going to be caught simping with one of them on the way to pick you up- you heard the familiar roar of Bakugou's car coming down the street. The bass of his emo ass rock music shook the street and you were climbing into the car before he could yell at you to get your ass inside.

You might have moaned at the heated seats, rubbing your hands over your freezing thighs. "Thanks Bakubro. It's cold as fuck and I was too excited to pregame to bring a jacket."

"A jacket isn't the problem. Your ass is hanging out." His words as usual were followed by a plume of smoke. His crimson eyes trailed over your body and a heated smirk curved his lips. "But that just means easier access for us."

"Y'all dusty ass hoes know I was joking-" You tried to bluff, tried to deflect with bravado as you took the blunt from him. But your hands shook, and Bakugou met your gaze with a quiet intensity that was somehow worse than his explosions.

"You dance like you need a dick in you. And only for us. We waited for you to make your choice, but this is less complicated." Damn it, he was smoking the horny weed. But if you were honest all weed was horny weed to your squad. There was an eroticism in the craving just one more hit. Just one more epic high. Just one more shudder of pleasure, as touching yourself to the thought of the boy's eyes on you when you got back to your dorm was as much a part of your friday night ritual as the weed.

Whenever you started smoking you felt yourself happily descending into hedonism. Bakugou's voice certainly wasn't helping. Your throat was impossibly dry- from the smoke, from desire- as you admitted quietly,

"I'm a virgin." You weren't going to apologize, compromise or argue. It was a statement and he could take it or leave it.

Bakugou wasn't an idiot. But he also was a possessive bastard in a way that made you wet even though you rolled your eyes at it.

"I'll make it good for you when I pop your cherry. I met you first, I'll take you first. I got you." It wasn't a promise, it was confident statement you knew he would stop at nothing to make a reality. His relentlessness was something that drew you to him in the first place if you told yourself the truth. He shifted gears smoothly and rested his warm hand on your bare thigh as he drove you back to the off campus house. You smoked half the blunt listening to his music and getting wet from his hands wandering higher and higher up your thigh.

You walked in to the house and realized how much you'd underestimated how serious Bakugou's words were. It seemed like it was a long time coming when you walked into Dabi's low lit living room to find him with his hand on Shoto's dick, Shoto's hand on his, and Shinsou lazily palming himself.

"It's about time you got here, you can't just drop shit like that in the chat when you're not here to bend over for us." Shoto's white and red hair was a mess, and given that it looked like the two of them were edging each other (sadists), his fucked out face made sense.

"She's a virgin, Icy Hot, you're gonna have to wait. I gotta open her up first." You in the mean time were going to start the music while smoking a bit hurriedly, hoping you were well and truly high before they actually started to run a train on you.

"Play the dick down playlist." Shinsou rasped from the couch and you wanted to cry at the head assery you had to put up with from these morons. (/s) But they're your morons, some lonely part of you whispered.

"It actually better have good music on it." You griped, but yeah, you were feeling the impact of whatever Bakugou had given you to smoke because your words weren't as harsh as you meant them to be.

"I call dibs on her ass cherry." Dabi's low voice cut throat the soft grunts from Shoto.

"Next time." Bakugou muttered watching the way you started to dance, having shed your overshirt to simply dance in your shorts and bra. None of the boys danced with you, a rule you'd had to put in place when they literally started fighting like children over who's turn it was to dance with you. Somehow it hadn't gotten better, these jealous bitches would sulk if you didn't give them all equal attention during your provocative performance. You solved this by closing your eyes and not looking at any of them while you let your body follow the nasty beat of the playlist. Sometimes you murmured lyrics if you remembered them and all four men were enraptured by the sight of you surrounded by smoke and dancing like a ancient goddess that could command them all in an instant.

It was moments like these that made you think maybe you were all a little more than friends by now. More than just groupchat contacts. But friends. Maybe more?

The blunt you finished yourself, until you were light headed and craving more. More music, more bass to move your hips too, maybe something to move your hips against. You didn't hesitate when Bakugou patted his thighs.

In fact, the weed in your system convinced you it only made sense to take your shorts off before straddling him. Better that than having to stop just when you're finally getting what you want right? You forgot you were just wearing some lace boyshorts with pale pink roses framing your luscious curves and dusky skin until you heard;

"Slutty girl." It was a groan as Shoto's grip on Dabi's cock tightened from the view of your fat ass sitting on Bakugou's lap.

"Nah, not yet. She's just needy." Katsuki smirked when you blushed from his words, even as you started grinding down on him in revenge. The choked moan that escaped him and the cocky glare you turned on all of them made all of them crave you that much more.

"You're needy to fuck me too, you all are. Don't forget that, explosion bitch."

"Point made. But watch it, little girl. It's gonna be a long night." His words were low and raspy from smoke, and even thought it should have been a threat your pussy gushed and soaked your panties anyway.

Four pairs of eyes watched your every move, drinking in the sight of you half naked, boldly staking your claim on all of them-- which only made them want to return the favor. Claiming you over and over until you wouldn't deny you belonged to them.

A long night, huh?

To be continued.....

[pixelatedrose]

Sleepy Bois Wing!Au Masterpost

The master post for the Sleepy Bois in my Wing!Au! Under the cut will be links to their art as well as long descriptors of their relationship to one another, the way they feel about their own/others wings, and how they interact with each other on a daily basis!

Full Masterpost

Tubbo: Tubbo loves his wings, and quite enjoys how they feel and look, he loves having bug wings! But seeing Tommy so unhappy with having Moth wings makes him feel almost guilty for loving his own so much. He's not ashamed of his wings, and never has been, but he sees how angry Tommy is at the world for giving him such flimsy wings and often begins to feel upset. Tubbo can very often be found wrapped up in Phil or Techno's wings or with his head on Wilbur's shoulder when he feels this way as he vents out his frustrations to them, the old men always telling him the same things: you shouldn’t worry yourself with Tommy too much. I know you’re worried about him, but feeling bad about something you can’t change won’t help anyone- least of all Tommy. And he tries to take it to heart. And while he may not know the reasons behind it, he can always tell when his friends are upset, and he takes it upon himself to try and make them smile. They always do. But the worst part about it is that Tubbo knows when those smiles are fake only for his sake.

Tommy: Before Tommy's wings grew in, he had always imagined he'd have strong wings. Something big or at least a little bulky- it would match his personality after all. So when he found that he was not going to have bird wings or bat wings- but bug wings- needless to say he was upset. Tommy was already a little late to get his wings when he did, and Tubbo had tried to console him. Easy for Tubbo to say- he had gotten the most perfect wings in the world for him. And Tommy was getting moth wings. They looked and felt like a thick piece of paper- but paper is paper, and paper is NOT strong. To make matters worse, whenever he meets someone new they always call his wings butterfly wings. And that, made him furious. He wasn't happy with what he got but he'd be damned if he let anyone think they were anything but moth wings. They may shit wings, but they were his shit wings. More than a few times Tommy would find himself upset about his wings for one reason or another- too delicate to do something, not strong enough for another, they didn't look right- and would somehow find himself in the comfort of one of his friend's wings or arms. He never spoke about it and neither did they, but he appreciated those moments.

Wilbur: Wilbur is proud of his wings and he likes to show it. He isn’t as blatantly obvious as some people, but he takes pride in his wings. He isn’t good with aerial tricks like Phil or Techno, but instead is very expressive with his wings, flapping them about when he gets excited and such. Some people are jealous of the fact that he's able to do such things, seeing as how short his wings actually are, but Wilbur just sees this as a bonus. The only times he's not smug about his luckiness is around Phil (who scolds him for being narcissistic) and Tommy, for obvious reasons. He knows Tommy is especially jealous of his wings, and if given the chance, probably would trade with the boy. He may love his wings, but he loves Tommy more and knows how important it is for the boy- much more important than nearly anyone else Wil had met- and so the decision is obvious for him. He also ends up trying to help Techno when he feels overwhelmed- the shorter man stress cleaning his wings till feathers come out- but that's an even touchier subject. So he'll clean up his friend's room or make him his favorite meal, anything he can to show Techno that he's got people who love him.

Techno: Techno is a little more indifferent about his wings than most people, especially considering the the wings he has. Most people who first meet Techno will ask him about his wings or compliment them endlessly, seeing as having large, white bird wings are considered one of the most beautiful kinds of wings to have- something to do with angels and such- not that Techno cares at all, he just cares that they're useful. And they are. But they're also not, sometimes. He consistently trips over them or they end up knocking things (or children) over by mistake. Their white color also means when they get dirty it's VERY noticeable, and while Techno wouldn't usually care, he once showed up to a formal event with blood in his feathers, and was so mortified he that fell into the habit of stress cleaning his wings- now to the point of feathers falling out. Wilbur and Phil have tried to help, but its been a slow-going process. It was years and years ago that the event happened, so long ago that Techno hardly remembers the it, and now it's just a stress habit, so whenever he gets overwhelmed he ends up leaving to go clean his wings. The floor of his room is littered in pretty white feathers and he hates it, but doesn't have the heart to clean it up. But sometimes he'll come home and find that all the feathers are gone, and maybe he'll notice Wil or Phil give him a kind glance or sweet smile. He appreciates it, even if he doesn't say so. He's well aware of how Tommy feels about his wings, and while he may not be the best or first person you'd go to for comfort, sometimes he'll sit down next to the kid and wrap his wing around him, not sure if it was the right thing to do until Tommy sighs and rests his head on his shoulder. They never speak about these things. And maybe they never will...

Phil: Phil finds that his wings serve him perfectly. They're a wonderful length and strong, they do what they need to do and have yet to fail Phil. The real conflict begins when it comes to his friends. He knows how each of them feel or act. Wilbur wants to help others as much as he can, but doesn't know how and ends up stressing needlessly over things he has no control over. Techno is a perfectionist with less than savory habits that only end up harming himself. Tommy has fallen hard into a growing hole of self-hatred and is quickly becoming blind to what he has. And Tubbo is well aware of the fact that people fake when he tries to cheer everyone up on a bad day. And so Phil spends the bad days helping his friends in whatever way is best for them- cleaning Techno's room for him- Singing a song with Wil to help him relax- Sitting and chatting quietly with Tommy- Helping Tubbo with chores and giving genuine smiles. He cares for his friends and wouldn't trade them for anything the world had to offer him. Sure he overworks himself sometimes, but what does it matter if everyone ends up better of it?

[quentinbecks]

stillness in woe

Summary: Charlie left Hope County years ago hoping never to come back. But when she learns of her parents involvement with the local doomsday cult, she finds herself heading back to a life she thought she left behind. (Begins two years before the reaping/events of the game)

Pairing: Eventual John Seed x Non Dep OFC

Word Count: 1.9 k

Warnings: mentions of death and vomiting

A/N: I was a little nervous that introducing Charlie’s descent into the cult in the second chapter would be too soon, so I made a little filler chapter. Not the best, but the real meat of the story begins in the next chapter.

Chapter 2: Family Reunion

She hears footsteps coming up behind her. She pauses, thinking it’s only a figment of her overtired imagination. The noises don’t stop. Instead, they only increase in proximity. She’s barely turned around when she notices the red and white camo that signals Jacob’s hunters. The sight alone sends her into a panicked frenzy. Both the hunter and its prey raise their weapons at the same time. Luckily for Charlie she shoots first. Stomping over to the body she rips the red ski mask of their face. This time it’s not the usual boyish face that greets her; it’s her own.

“Charlie!”

The young woman awakens with a start. For a second she’s confused about her whereabouts, not used to sunlight first thing in the morning. After realizing that she’s in Mary May’s apartment she quickly relaxes, but that doesn’t last very long. Her nightmare combined with her current hangover causes bile to rise up in her throat. Charlie bolts upright and runs towards the bathroom, Mary May following right behind her.

She can only make it as far as the sink before her body retches into it. She feels Mary May rubbing circles on her back as she trembles, clutching the porcelain.

“You okay?”

“No” Charlie sniffs, wiping away the tears pooling down her face.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Charlie shakes her head no. She doesn’t need her friend knowing about what she was doing up in the Whitetails. She knows Mary May said things were bad in the valley, but she doubts John Seed is as much of a monster as his brother is. At least not yet. Instead of worrying her, Charlie chooses to tell a white lie.

“It’s nothing. I’m just worried about going to Joseph’s service. Can’t shake the feeling I’ll be held hostage at his compound.” It’s not completely untrue. Charlie is worried about losing herself to the Seeds. She’s heard and seen too much to not have that weigh heavy on her mind.

“Hey” Mary May says, forcing her friend to look at her. “I’m not gonna let him take you. Not when we just got you back.”

Good luck with that she thinks to herself

“My hero” Charlie says with a smile, choosing to forgo voicing her doubts. “I should shower and at least make an attempt to look decent. I wouldn’t want to show up to a Sunday service looking like a sewer rat.”

“Clearly you haven’t seen many peggies.”

In the shower she tries to wash away all of her fears, but the image of Mary May’s scar keeps flashing through her mind. How many other people in the county have been scarred by the youngest Seed? His handiwork looks painful and she doubts anyone would choose to have it done willingly. She wonders what sin will be chosen for her when the time comes. With her luck her whole body would adorned with all seven.

Charlie leaves the apartment to find Mary May helping Casey Fixman open up the bar. She gives a twirl as she hits the ground floor. “You think daddy Seed will like me in this dress?”

Mary May crinkles her nose in slight disgust. She had been gracious in Miami her friend a dress her, recently deceased, brother Drew had bought her for her graduation. On Charlie’s newly slimmed down body the white dress hangs a bit loose, the straps barely clinging to her shoulders.

“I’m sure Joseph will like a lot of things about you if you call him daddy.”

The blonde studies her friend’s appearance closely. The two of them know the importance of appearance to the cult. Due to the release of the documentary ousting the behavior of Eden’s Gate, the group has become more serious in trying to root out those that come with ill intent. And given by the knife holster strapped to Charlie’s thigh, the woman isn’t going in with good will.

“Come here” Mary May pulls on her pony tail once she’s close enough, letting her waves cascade over her shoulders. “There, see, now you look docile and sweet. Just the way the cult likes.”

Charlie wants to remind her friend no one has called her docile or sweet, not even when she was a child, but she can see something is bothering the younger woman. “You do know Nolan will there, right?” Mary May inquires before she can even ask what was wrong.

“No. No I didn’t fucking know that. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s involved with something illegal, but I am.”

“Your ex husband is basically a glorified drug dealer. He’s helping turn the people in the Henbane into angels” Casey calls out from the kitchen.

“Angels? You know? No. I don’t want to know what that means.”

“Hey” Mary May calls out, bringing her hands to rest on Charlie’s shoulders. “Don’t think about him. Focus on what really matters. Like getting your family out of a cult.”

Charlie nods. She knows Mary May is right, but she can’t help how she feels. It’s been five years since they divorced and she left Hope County, but the wound still feels so fresh.

After promising to check in after the service, she decides to head out to the church. The warm, late summer sun and some classic rock helps Charlie relax on the ride over. Makes her realize there are bigger problems in the world than cheating exes.

The woman is shocked to see the throngs of cultists loitering around and inside the compound, making it almost impossible to find a spot to park her car.

After ditching her car at the end of the drive and doing a few sets of breathing exercises, Charlie makes her way inside. Before she can make her way past the gate she’s stopped by burly, bearded middle aged man.

“Sorry, ma’am I’m afraid I can’t let you past without searching you for any weapons.”

Choices quickly flood Charlie’s mind. She can run past this guard, try to hide amongst the crowd; the crowd wearing mostly uniformed clothing. Or, she can try her hand at improvisation; pretend she really is innocent and sweet. She chooses the latter option.

“I’m sorry” she says, lifting her dress a little to show the knife strapped to her thigh. “You can never be too safe as a woman.”

Charlie pulls the weapon out of its scabbard, holding it out to the man. “If you do me a small favor you can keep this.”

The cultist eyes her warily; unsure of whether she’s worthy of his trust or not. But, to her surprise, her charms worked on him. “What do you want?”

“Well,” Charlie bites her lip before getting as close as she can “I was just wondering if you could introduce me to John Seed. My mom works for him and I just wanted to meet the man she speaks so highly of.”

“I don’t know…” he trails off, looking back at the Seeds and the flock congregating around them.

“Please?” Charlie looks up at the man through her lashes. The man has a rancid odor to him and she wishes she had chosen to duck and run into the compound instead of flirting. “You don’t know how much it would mean to me.”

“Fine. But don’t try anything once you’re inside.”

Pathetic

Charlie flashes him a smile. “Thank you so much.”

The man leads her up the gravel path and through the crowds up to the front of the church. There stood three men and one young woman that everyone seems to gravitate towards.

The Seeds

Charlie’s blood runs cold at the realization that she’s finally in their presence. It dawns on her too late that they may know she was the one responsible for the death of the young chosen. Fortunately she doesn’t have time to dwell too long on that thought as the man pulls her gently towards John Seed.

“Brother John?”

The young man looks up and she’s struck by the fact that he’s actually handsome. He’s well dressed and equally well groomed with a lordly posture. She recognizes immediately that she can’t manipulate him with her feminine wiles, he’s clearly too worldly for that. The older man pushes past two young women who were waiting in line to speak to the herald.

“This lost soul has been looking for you.” Charlie tries not to roll her eyes at the descriptor, but she knows she can act the part if it brings her closer to her parents.

“Is that so?”

“Yes” Charlie answers for the cultist, a sudden surge of bravery overtaking her as she steps around him. “I haven’t heard from my family in years. I heard they were here and I wanted to see if they were okay. A wellness check, if you will.”

“That’s not what you…” John cuts the man off before he can continue on.

“Did you not recognize her?” he asks as his eyes light up with recognition. Charlie freezes.

How? He can’t possibly know.

“She’s clearly our accountant’s daughter” he says lightly spinning her around.

The other man studies her face for a moment. “Huh. You really do look exactly like Christine.”

“You know, there’s really nothing to worry about. Your family is doing well here, but, if you want to do your little ‘wellness check’, you best follow me, sweetheart” John suggests over her shoulder.

Charlie fights the urge to make a snarky retort, choosing to cast a smile over her shoulder instead. “Of course. After you.”

They head inside and Charlie is flanked on all sides by peggies. Two to her side, one behind her, and John in front of her. If she’s being honest she doesn’t understand why they need to guard a tiny, unarmed woman. Besides, who goes to reunite with their family just to attack them?

All of that goes out the window when she sees her mother. She barely registers John calling out to her mother before she’s shoving past him.

“Mama?”

Christine steps forward, her hands cupping her daughter’s cheeks. “Charlene? Baby, what are you doing here?”

Charlie blinks back the tears she can feel tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “You haven’t returned any of my calls in almost three years. I was scared” she whispers, hoping none of the cultists can hear.

Unfortunately for her the youngest Seed does hear. “I told you there was nothing to worry about” he says, clasping both Berger women’s shoulders. “Your family is doing well here, even better, they’re thriving.”

Her mother nods and smiles at John. Charlie can tell her happiness is real and it pains her to see it. If it weren’t for the armed militia around the compound she would punch the smug look off of his face.

“Sweetheart, now that you’re back in Hope County; now that you’re home, why don’t you move back in with your dad and I?”

It sounds like a terrible idea. The last thing she wants is to be stuck in a house with two people who only want to talk about Eden’s Gate. She goes to protest when she realizes she hasn’t even seen her father yet.

“Oh, no I really couldn’t... Wait, where is daddy?”

Before her mother can explain a deep voice from behind her interrupts, stopping everyone in their tracks “Who’s this?”

Charlie turns around to see who intruded on their conversation. She recognizes Joseph almost immediately, his man bun and glasses giving him

Shit

[ikemenfics]

Chocolate Kisses

Kennyo: You’re going to hell, you know that right?

Me: ...hashtag worthit

2521 written pieces of evidence that I shouldn’t be writing. later...

For: uh....Kennyo.  @daeva-agas​ Help me.

Up in the mountains, shrouded by trees, a lone figure sat atop a rock, meditating.  His features were deep set with the pains of a man who had seen painful years.  A deep scar bisected his face, a lone witness to the tragedies that had befallen him.  

Though his eyes were closed and there was no sound, he felt something shift.  Like those instincts animals have before an earthquake.  He had prepared for this moment.  Reports of strange happenings in both Azuchi and Kasugayama had put him on high alert, though he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.  Opening his eyes, Kennyo watched as a blade pierced his reality, slicing a clean line through the air, as if ripping through an invisible screen.

A figure stepped out.  He was clearly not Japanese.  His features reminded Kennyo of the traders seen around Nobunaga’s ilk, but his clothing marked him as being not one of the Portuguese.  Kennyo had seen few of the foreigners who had recently taken to Japan, but he knew none wore such blinding fabrics.  There was an air of elegance from the man, from his flashy clothing to his poised stance.  Clearly, this was a man of rich living and rigorous training.

“Greetings,” the man said, bowing with a flourish, sheathing his rapier in a fluid motion that bespoke a lifetime of practice, “My name is Edgar and I have been commanded to give you this.”  With a sweep of his arm, Edgar produced an item, tossing it to Kennyo.  Instinct bade Kennyo catch the bag, though he did not give it any further attention.

“Why?  The Devil King now sending foreigners to do his dirty deeds?”  Midnight eyes met with emerald in challenge.  He didn’t get up, but Kennyo eyed the newcomer, assessing what fight this Edgar might bring.

“Devil King?”  Edgar grinned, an expression that left a cold spot in Kennyo’s soul.  The man’s eyes sparkled with amusement, to be sure and his face looked the part of a jovial man.  But something…deep in those glittering depths, that smile took an edge that recognized that title not of a separate man…but the kind of recognition that only comes with ownership.  This one clearly thought he be the devil of this world.  “My good man, I am not here to commit a ‘dirty deed’,” even the way that was worded made Kennyo well aware that this man was well versed in deeds.  “I merely come to bring you joy to spread on this day.  For today must be quite special, indeed.”

“And if I do not desire this…joy of yours?”

“That is not my jurisdiction.  I simply was sent to deliver.  And now, I bid you good day.”

The figure in white stepped back into the void he’d created and unsheathed his sword, using the thin tip, resealing the world from the bottom up.

Kennyo finally looked down at the thing the strange figure had tossed to him.  The pouch itself was clear, shiny oddly shaped pieces of silver something inside.  There were odd markings on the bag itself and it crinkled as Kennyo moved it about in his examination.

“Joy…” he muttered, dropping the item, “Such a thing does not suit a demon such as myself.”  After a moment’s hesitation, he plucked the thing from the ground, opting to carry it versus littering the pristine environment that was kind enough to hide him and his men during these war-torn times.  Another moment, he inhaled, moving to finish his morning’s meditation.  After all, he had new things to think about now.

Meanwhile, a group of figures sat at a table, sharing in a game of cards.  Edgar entered, leaning down towards one of the figures.  “Apologies…”

The figure nodded and stood, grabbing his scarlet cloak as he did.  “Don’t tell the doctor,” the man said, placing a cap upon his head before leaving.

“Are you sure you got this, old friend?”

“That is none of your concern.”

His eyes were still closed, but yet again, there was that feeling.  Like almost nausea, but from outside his body, however that was supposed to work.  Kennyo opened his eyes again, but rather than a slicing into the world, there was a flash and Kennyo found himself staring into ruby orbs that, to Kennyo’s amazement, shifted into a deep blue.  (Another demon…).  If Edgar was flashy, this one was just simply gaudy.  Same blinding white uniform, but now a flash of scarlet that Kennyo could still see even when he blinked.  

“I was not aware I needed more joy…” Kennyo muttered.

“You were told to spread joy,” the man said, his voice cold as ice and as distant as the moon, “to refuse the King of Hearts will lead to ruin.”

“I am already ruined.  I am simply a transient demon here to enact retribution before I fade away.”

Azure flashed to crimson again, “So be it.”  The world became so bright, Kennyo had to block his eyes, fearing they would burn away…

Back at the card game, the caped figure returned, dressing down to resume in the game. 

“You look tired..” a concerned voice

“That one is stubborn.”

That moment, two more heads perked, listening to unheard orders.  They stood, one plucking a black hat from the table. 

“It seems more reinforcements are needed.”  One said, nodding to the other.

“An unknown difficulty has arisen.  Let’s not be late.”

In Kasugayama, Shingen sat, the cold air tightening his chest.  It was a relief from his never-ending battle with his inner temperature, but the chill air was not kind to his lungs.  Still, it was nice to finally not feel uncomfortable inside his clothing, though any excuse to be natural with a partner was never unwelcome.

There was a strange glimmer in his view, then the appearance of a pale man.  Shingen examined him.  Pale was an appropriate descriptor, as this person made Kenshin’s icy appearance seem vibrant.  Even the man’s hair was pale as moonlight.  Shingnen stayed put, sudden understanding dawning on him.

“If you take our weapons again, be advised there’s apparently backups now,” he stated.

The man chuckled, his pink eyes dancing with amusement, “Then I’m quite glad I won’t be needing to take them.” 

Shingen laughed as well, “I must ask what brings you by, then.  Not that I mind company.”

“Oh?”  The man smiled, giving the warlord a look, “Though, sadly, there isn’t enough time for genial company.  I bear news that you might be interested in hearing…”

Across a distance in Azuchi, you were walking the halls when the world warped.  (OH NO!  NOT AGAIN!) You backpedaled, having little to no intention of repeating the incident featuring six hot guys and one almost faint you again.

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t be so quick to run,” a voice said, a hand grabbing the back of your kimono.  Another hand reached, tearing a swift opening in reality, “I’m just an innocent, harmless person with a message for you, dear lady!”  He stepped into the world, flicking aqua hair over his shoulder, before clapping.  “But oh my, your robe!  It is quite decorative.  I think I would like one when I return to cradle.  Though,” he looked almost aghast, “should you be wearing it out here?  In this weather?”

“It’s ah…a kimono.  Traditional clothing for this place.”  The man nodded, taking it all in, “A robe to wear outside.  Brilliant.  And the color.  Oh but I shall have to postpone girl time for later.  I have news of one Kennyo that I think you should hear..”

He entered his camp, his men approaching with worried expressions.  He waved his hand to them, “I am fine.  My meditations took longer than I thought they would.  Have you all had your midday meal?”  They nodded and Kennyo returned the gesture, “Good.  We need our strength if we’re to keep with our plans.  Any news from our spies?”  Kennyo shifted, hearing a strange crunching.  He glanced down, seeing a spot of a clearish item catching the light.  He pulled out the pouch, eyeing the shining things inside.  Something tugged at his memory, but he couldn’t identify the noisy bag, nor its contents.  Call it instinct, though, but he was sure they were somehow important.  “Where did these come from…” he muttered to no one.

“Did you say something, Kennyo-sama?”

“Ah, no.  I will attend the lake for some fresh water.  Apologies that I did not help with the meal.”  Kennyo took the package, eyeing it on and off as he went.  The small things inside glinted and caught the light, but also held folds and imperfections that Kennyo couldn’t quite come to terms with.  If this was metal, it was rather damaged metal.  What use could these possibly have?  And yet, that nagging feeling just simply wouldn’t leave.

He could smell gunpowder and knew he was no longer alone.  [That strange ninja is here, again.  He better not be scaring off the wildlife again.]  The pop of a firecracker let Kennyo know where the location of the nuisance was.  He approached, Sasuke darting up a tree before Kennyo came too close.

Kennyo stared up at the man, “How many times must I tell you not to practice your tricks here?”

“Apologies.”

“Why do you keep coming back?”

“It’s out of the way of everyone.”

“Obviously not everyone.”

“Ah, but you aren’t in your camp.”

The bag in Kennyo’s hand crinkled, drawing Sasuke’s attention.

“Oh dear…”

“You know what these are, then?”

Sasuke hesitated, remembering his own adventure with the confections, “They’re called kisses.”

“Absurd.”

“It’s true.  They’re a candy from my village.”

Kennyo looked nonplussed, “You eat poor metal.”

“You remove the foil.”

What a strange man, a strange item, and just a strange day.  Kennyo shook his head.  Turning, he left the ninja and gathered his water, muttering about the lunacy of wanting to name food after kisses.

Later, Kennyo and his men descended from their hideout, moving into the plains.  The plan was simple, disguised as soldiers from The Devil and the Dragon’s armies, the townspeople will be more against the warlords and side with Kennyo, bolstering his numbers.  He himself remained as the monk that would provide the balm for the injured souls of the people.  

His men separated, leaving Kennyo to walk alone.  It wasn’t long, though before Kennyo realized something was very very wrong.  For one, the town seemed entirely peaceful.  Too peaceful.  There should have been a sign of struggle by now.  

He clicked his tongue, intending to check on his men, but found riders coming towards him.  The standard let him know that Oda Nobunaga was racing towards him.  Alone and beyond outnumbered, Kennyo grimaced and fled.  The men didn’t seem to follow, allowing Kennyo to slip into the trees, tracing his way to the town, change, and hide in one of the tea houses.

“The dainty man was right.  I’m impressed.”

“I have no desire to converse with you.”  Kennyo passed Shingen, intending to hide himself away in a corner.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend.”  Shingen followed Kennyo, leaving the man unable to move again, lest he draw attention.

“What do you want?”

Shingen tapped the table as if pointing to some unseen object, “In exchange for an exquisite item known as a ‘cupcake’ I am here to help you with those.”

“And ‘those’ would be?”

“With the kisses.  That’s what these are.”

Shingen shifted slightly, pointing to the pouch that didn’t quite fit right in Kennyo’s robes.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you would know of such strange things.”

“Well…” Shingen smirked, “it would be remiss of me to not offer myself to my friend as the first to receive such a gift.”

Kennyo eyed Shingen, “I’m not going to kiss you.”

“No love for your friend and brother.  I’m hurt.”

A low growl rumbled from the monk.

“I could see if one of the Oda army would be willing-”

Kennyo had grabbed the bag, shoving it almost violently to Shingen, “Fine.”

Shingen’s lips remained upturned as he opened the bag of chocolates.  “I remember when Sasuke brought these.  Delightful little things,” he said as he plucked one out, unwrapping it, and placing it in his mouth, giving a lewd sound as it melted on his tongue. 

He glanced to Kennyo, who looked somewhat ill, “Promiscuous lech.”

Shingen  and stood, leaning to kiss Kennyo atop his head, “Don’t forget to spread the kisses.  Last time someone defied the kiss gods, Kenshin lost his weapon.  Quite tragic.” 

Kennyo stared as Shingen left.  Spread?  To who?  He huffed, grabbing the chocolates, giving one to the old man that had served him.  “Give a kiss to your wife.  With blessings of the Buddha.”  It sounded weird to say, but Kennyo didn’t seem to know what else to make of it all.

As he moved through the town, he gave a piece to each he’d seen, directing them to kiss their spouses or lovers in exchange for the blessing.  If Buddha was going to make him spread kisses, he might as well spread them to any and all.  [This is penance, isn’t it?  The demon having to give the people blessings before he’s sent to hell]

“Kennyo-san…” He knew the voice.  He turned, finding you.  You held out your hand, expectantly.  Kennyo plunked a chocolate into your hand, “Blessings of the Buddha.”

You shook your head, “That’s not how you give a kiss.”  You stood on your toes, bringing your height to his face, planting a small kiss on his cheek, “I was told by someone that’s a correct kiss.  Thank you, Kennyo-san.”  You took your treat, unwrapped it, and ate your gift.  You bowed, pointing towards a path, “By the way, I was told that was your safest bet to not get caught.”

Kennyo sighed, shaking his head, “Your his woman and giving me help out of town.  Will wonders never cease.”  You smiled, bowing again, and moved past the man, leaving Kennyo to his escape.

He slipped into the forest, up the mountain, and to his camp, finding his men relatively unharmed, though rattled.  Someone had ratted your plan to the Oda AND Uesugi armies.  Luckily, the men had seen the forces and doubled back to wait orders from their leader.  Kennyo praised his men, assuring them there would be a next time.  For now, though, he was tired and was sure they were too, so rest was needed more.

He went to his little shack, settling himself on the floor contemplating the day’s events.  Small nails tapping let Kennyo know a guest arrived.  He picked the tiny creature and placed it in his lap.  He took out his final piece of Hershey’s, unwrapping it as he’d seen you and Shingen do, giving it to the small weasel.  “Here, Hozuki.  Blessings of the Buddha.”  Recalling what you and Shingen had done, Kennyo leaned down, giving Hozuki a kiss, the critter giving a squeak in response, taking the chocolate with gusto.  “Glad you like it.  Hope this completes this joy.  I don’t think I can tolerate more.”

Writer… Yes?

Are you SURE it’s just soda?

Cherry coke, why?

Is it original recipe coke?

Ha..ha..no

Kennyo has a new stamp Uh...yeah

Are there other new stamps

Uh…

Writer?

OH HEY LOOK, IT’S EDGAR

“The writer does sure love their strange humor”

[jebazzled]

Level Up! Beginner/Intermediate/Advanced RP and You

Hello there! Coming to you again with tips & tricks for a top-notch roleplay experience! Today we're going to talk about writing levels and what they mean for your roleplay experience. We'll cover what these levels mean, how to gauge where you're at, and how you can improve your roleplay writing specifically!

WRITING LEVELS

"Writing levels" are often a descriptor sites will use in their advertising and site buzzes. They might be "semi-literate," "intermediate," "literate," "advanced," or any other sort of buzzword. The key here is that these descriptors are used by site staff both to advertise what type of writing is most common on their site and what type of writing they want to see on their site.

What writing levels are not is a value indicator. There's nothing wrong with being an intermediate writer or a beginner writer; advanced sites are not inherently better than intermediate ones, beginner sites are nothing to be ashamed of! Think of writing levels as an umbrella within the rp community. The same way a forum rp-er might narrow their search to jcink sites, a writer might narrow their search to sites which cater to their style of writing.

That said, it is good to define what each of these levels look like so you can figure out where your writing might fit.

BEGINNER Beginner writing is often very short and direct, without much in the way of literary flourish. Characters might be fairly undeveloped (or developed around one trait, for example, "goth" or "prep") and there's usually more discussion of their appearance than you see in advanced writing.

Examples:

Susie was short and very skinny, with big eyes and long mermaid-wavy hair dyed blue at the ends. She was sitting outside Firefly High in blue skinny jeans, silver Converse, and a black t-shirt. "I hope someone can give me a ride home," she said.

Raven sneered at Susie. She didn't like blue because she liked black, because she was a goth. "Are you listening to popular music? What a phony."

Bramblepaw sat down in the clearing. "Hello" he meowed.

Some guides will also give an example like 

patty threw a pom pom at susie! "take that u nerd!"

But I am choosing to believe that you're past that if you're deep enough in this hobby to be seeking out resources - I certainly never had that self-awareness until I was more in intermediate territory!

Beginner-level writing gets the job done, and can certainly move a story along. But if you've been writing a while, you might be ready to build more multifaceted characters, and to invest more effort in your writing.

INTERMEDIATE/SEMI-LITERATE WRITING Intermediate writing tends to be longer than beginner writing, with more variety in sentence structure and with more advanced word choices. There are likely more "beats" per post, by which I mean that instead of just answering a question or getting on the bus or etc, a character will likely do more actions in each turn writing. Characters are less likely to be a stereotype (see: Raven the goth who only wears black, Patty the popular cheerleader who is blonde and brainless, etc) but applications likely reveal one-dimensional characters. Common application styles I see from intermediate writers are "interviews" and "journals," as well as listicles (10 Things Raven Likes, 9 People Raven Hates, etc); this likely means a character is told rather than shown.

(Wondering what's so intermediate about interviews and journals? See my guides to interviews and journals!)

Examples:

Susie was born on March 20, 2003 in Farmville, Iowa. She didn't like how similar her classmates all were - they all listened to the same music, read the same books (none!) and had the most fun when drinking on a tractor. Susie was more deep, and liked to write poetry and sketch the animals that lived on her family's farm. Today she was sitting outside Firefly High, twirling the ends of her blue-dyed hair and waiting for a ride home. 

Raven wasn't like most girls. She didn't like horses or rabbits, but only liked goats, because they represented the devil. Raven also wasn't like most girls, at least in Farmville, because she worshipped the devil. She wore a lot of black to represent this, and when she saw Susie, she sneered. Blue! Susie must be a normie. "Are you listening to popular music?" She asked. "What a phony."

Bramblepaw had spent all morning hunting and was feeling lonely. All he wanted was to share a squirrel with a friend, and maybe have someone groom the tricky spot behind his ears. He padded from the apprentice den to the warriors', to the elders and no one was home. He sat forlorn in the middle of the clearing. "Hello?" He meowed.

Another common trait of both beginner and intermediate writing is that posts might not leave much for a partner to reply to. The whole point of this weird hobby is to collaborate with a partner - if you're finding that it is hard to keep writing partners, you might take a look at my guide for writing posts that beg a response.

Intermediate writing is stronger than beginner writing, but still sometimes falls flat when it comes to collaboration with a partner, and is almost never beautiful to read. Intermediate writing is when advanced writing is just over the next hill - and that hill comes with a fair amount of work.

ADVANCED/LITERATE WRITING Advanced writing can be long or short, but the writing in either case packs a punch. Advanced writers use a variety of sentence structures, words, and literary devices. They might have specific imagery they use for specific characters, specific literary constructions for different characters, and there is a strong character voice in each post. Advanced writers write multifaceted characters with genuine flaws and fears, and advanced writers produce writing that is enjoyable to read, elegant and emotive. Applications will usually be anecdotal - will demonstrate key moments in a character's life, allowing the writer to show them in action rather than tell the reader what they are like. (A guide to anecdotal freestyle applications is available here.

Examples:

Everything felt the same in Farmville: identical rows of corn stretching endlessly over the horizon, pockmarked by the occasional farmhouse, white clapboard and falling shutters. Every person felt the same - Susie and Mary and Sarah and Joseph, strong peasant names living strong peasant lives, and never straying more than twenty miles from the town in which they were born.

Even Susie knew she had her place in the sameness: the once-every-generation girl who fancies herself to be more, as though her sketches of the sheep and pigs are any better than her grandmother's before her. As though dying her hair blue were enough to make her different when she knew she belonged here as sure as the hogs in the barn.

The only difference between Susie and her classmates was that she didn't have a car to get her to her evening job at the Road Ranger gas station, and her bike had disassembled itself after she'd pedaled it into a gopher hole, so here she was, sitting pathetically outside Firefly High, waiting for a ride. She'd almost rather be fired than beg for one. 

It’s the principle of the thing, Raven had told her mother that morning. Yes, it was 90 degrees and 90 percent humidity; yes, there was not a cloud in the sky and the fields absorbed heat like a winter sweater; yes, she was aware that her white makeup and Wet n' Wild eyeliner was falling off her face like The Scream. But it was the principle of the thing, wearing the long-sleeved black shirt with the hand-cut thumbholes, a long dark skirt; her only concession to the heat, a pair of thin gray flip-flops instead of her beloved Docs. She listens to Death Wish; she doesn't have one.

But nothing makes a Satantic rebel feel more a phony than feeling it drip off of them in the rural Iowa heat, and Raven wanted to take it out on someone. Fair? No, but life isn't fair; she's got that on a sticker on the electric guitar she saved up her Hy-Vee salary for and never learned to play. Maybe pretending to be an asshole has turned Raven into one.

She has no real problem with Susie - Susie Q., from math, or Susie C., from human geo; who knows, they're all the same - but she scoffs at her anyway, loud enough to catch Susie's attention. "What top-40 garbage are you listening to?"

Hunting is something they do together, or they're supposed to. But in the whole time he'd been out in the woods, Bramblepaw hadn't seen a single other cat - not playing at the stream, not waiting in a tree for the finches to return, not sitting along the RiverClan border to taunt their neighbors. If he'd been a Loner, just passing through, he would have thought the entire territory abandoned.

It was unsettling, and when he returned to the Camp, it was more of the same: everyone gone, without a trace; had he imagined them being here at all? Was it all in his head?

His mew sounded small and pitiful to even him, the mewl of a lost kitten. "Hello?"

Advanced writing makes more time for descriptions, scene-setting, and other narration. It doesn't feel "cringey," by which I mean if you read it 10 years from now you're probably not going to want to drown yourself. Please do not ask me about the 2005 Proboards forum I adminned and referenced for this tutorial.

So now that we can recognize what writing our level might be at - how do we shop for a site?

FINDING YOUR FIT

Now that you have a sense of where your writing sits, it's time to use that data point in searching for a new site to call home. Some sites make it easy for you by self-identifying as beginner, intermediate, or advanced; some sites may use "semi-literate" and "literate," but I know I stray from those labels because it feels like a value judgment, and as I said before:

there is nothing wrong with being part of a beginner or intermediate community, if that is what makes the most sense for your writing and for what you aim to get out of your roleplay experience!

Before applying to a new site, you should do a little bit of digging around to see if it's a good fit for you: 

Look at accepted character applications. How do these compare to your own writing?

Skim some threads from top posters. How does this community write and structure their threads? Could you see yourself regularly keeping up with their speed, length, literary quality?

To the above point - does it seem like the community has a tendency towards your personal writing pet peeves? (For example, I personally cannot stand purple prose, and if the site community is prone to it, I am OUT.)

This is in addition to all standard due-diligence site-hunting routines, e.g. not diving into the world of Southern Gothic supernatural if you're looking for, say, urban fantasy.

It's also worth thinking about how the community behaves on the server, if you join it:

Is there a thread shoutout/compliments/etc channel? What passages are members calling out in there as exceptional writing?

Do the members strike you as open-minded and friendly or as more of a closed group? If you choose to shoot for a level above your standard writing as a growth exercise, this will be easier to achieve with an open-minded and friendly group than with a group of snobs.

Do you enjoy the vibe? Something frequently overlooked, I think. If you don't like the energy of the community, just don't join the site - that is going to be much more productive for everyone than you joining and then trying to get the staff to fully re-engineer their community.

Be honest with yourself! Regardless of how much you like a site's plot, lore, and community, joining a site that sits above your writing proficiency is challenging. You might find your characters routinely pended for lacking the development of other characters onsite. Other members may not be enthusiastic to write with you - not necessarily out of snobbishness or elitism, but because it's not fun to feel like you're not getting equal effort or quality from a writing partner. And you might find yourself feeling insecure about how your writing stacks up to others (I've been writing on advanced sites for 10 years and I feel insecure about my own writing sometimes!) which might sap your muse.

If you are looking for a minimal-effort, minimal-stress rp experience, stick to sites that are at or below your writing level. Writing with people of similar skillset will help take the edge off any insecurity, and because writing will be lower-pressure and lower-effort, you will be better positioned to juggle multiple characters and more big plots. "Lower effort" doesn't mean "lazy" - it just means that you free up headspace that otherwise you might spend on the mechanics of writing versus the excitement of plotting.

If you are an intermediate writer seeking to write on an advanced site, you need to take a much more deliberate approach.

One thing I see often is intermediate writers applying multiple characters to an advanced site at once. This is a losing proposition. While staff might be willing to pend an app and work with you on revisions, if they see you submitting multiple applications that require major revisions and overhauls, they see a pattern. While staff might be willing to help you develop one character to their site's standard, if they anticipate you needing that level of coaching on every character, they will question your ability to keep up with their members in threads. Staff cannot be expected to assist members on writing each thread post - at that point, it becomes easier to decline all of the intermediate writer's applications.

If you are an intermediate writer seeking to write on an advanced site, you need to treat this as a "quality, not quantity" project.

When I was 13 I was writing very much at a beginner and intermediate level, just little Neopets rps with my friends. Then I joined a horse rp - an advanced rp - with a 1000 word minimum per post. While I am beyond thankful ridiculous word count minimums aren't common anymore, I can credit this rp with much of my growth as a writer.

I wrote one (1) character. And I only plotted her with a couple of others. I was very active in the OOC community, and was eventually made a mod - but when it came to IC activity, I focused all my energy on one character and just a couple of plots, because I spent hours on each post, making sure that I was matching my writing partners as best I could. It was much more work than the beginner & intermediate forums I was on with my friends, and much more work for much less action. But stretching like that is what made advanced writing get easier and easier - until I could balance two characters on an advanced site, then four, until now, when I write 12 characters on multiple advanced sites with relative ease. The real challenge is in keeping up with threads - not in matching quality anymore.

If you are an intermediate writer seeking to improve your writing, joining an advanced site is a great option for growth, but you need to adjust your expectations.

Here are my best tips for intermediate writers looking to make the jump to advanced - or, for that matter, for beginners to make the jump to intermediate: 

Focus, focus, focus. Choose one (1) character to write - no matter how tempted you are by want ads, no matter how many other ideas you get, no matter what your muse is throwing at you. Use all those on sites at your current level. For your reach site, pick one character.

Be receptive. Your one (1) character might take a revision or two to get out of a pend. Remember that staff don't pend apps to be assholes - they do it because they believe in you and think you have it in you to do the necessary revisions! If they thought you were a lost cause they wouldn't have wasted their own time with a pend. Be open to the idea that they know what works and is expected in their community. After all, if your character and your writing aren't appealing to the site community... you're not going to have anyone to write with!

Focus, focus, focus, part 2. You should not choose this character based on the volume of plots they can attract. Choose a character who has one or two very close plots for you to focus on. You might consider identifying a particularly kind member of the community and filling one of their want ads, so that this close plot is ready-made for you, and so this person can be a friendly face on your writing journey.

Be realistic. You might think: well, if I focus on one character for a few weeks, then I'll be ready to take on another, right? You might be or you might not. Don't rush it. This entire journey is about deliberation and intentionality. Don't take on a second character on an advanced site until writing the first to the same standard is noticeably easier.

Be kind to yourself. This is a lot of work! If you have the time for it, you might consider also staying active on a site that is at your writing level, so you have a place for easy writing, indulging your plot bunnies, etc.

I hope this tutorial has been a helpful resource to you, both in identifying how to find the right rp for you and in figuring out how to improve your writing, if you so choose. Happy writing!

[good-omens-classic]

Hi Good Omens fans, ever since making this blog, and trawling through the archives for old art, I have been thinking again about trends from before the TV-show, and the way people draw Aziraphale and Crowley.  I wanted to make this post addressing it but this is not “discourse” or to start a fight, in fact I would be perfectly content if all I did was make people think critically about what I am about to say and not even interact with this post at all, but I feel like I need to say it.

Talking about any racist undertones to the way people draw our two favorite boys usually makes people dig their heels in pretty fast.  This is not a callout post for any artist in particular, this is not me trying to be overly critical of artists especially since they have more talent and skill than I do, and I’m going to address some common counterpoints that I frankly find unsatisfactory.  Let’s just take a moment to set aside our defensiveness and think objectively about these trends.  It took me a while to unlearn my dismissive attitude about these concerns so maybe I can help others get over that hurdle a little faster.  Now let’s begin.

I’ve been kicking around the Good Omens fandom since maybe 2015 and for art based in book canon, whether it was made before the TV show came out, or because the artist is consciously drawing different, original designs, I’m going to estimate that a decent 75% of all fanart looks like this

Aziraphale is white and blonde and blue-eyed while Crowley is the typical “racially ambiguous” brown skin tone it’s become so popular to draw podcast characters as nowadays.

And the question is why?  With the obvious answer being “it’s racist,” but let’s delve a little deeper than that.

A common thing I hear is that people get appearance headcanons fixed in their mind because the coverart of the book pictures the characters a certain way.  My first point is this only shifts the question to why the illustrators drew them that way, when there aren’t many physical descriptions in the book.  My second point is that while there definitely are cover arts that picture Aziraphale as cherubic, blonde, and white and Crowley as swarthy, dark-skinned, and racially ambiguous...

(side note: why is Crowley’s hand so tiny?  what the hell is going on in this cover?)

It’s much more common for the covers to simplified, stylized, and without any particular unambiguous skin tones

I don’t know about the UK but the most popular version in the United States is the dual black and white matching covers

And while you could make an argument that the shading on Crowley’s face could suggest a darker skintone, it seems obvious to me that lacking any color these are not supposed to suggest any particular race for either of these two, and the contrasting colors are a stylistic choice to emphasize how they are on opposite sides.  If anything, to me it suggests they are both white.

In short I simply do not buy the argument that people are drawing Aziraphale and Crowley this way because that’s how they were represented on the cover art of the book.  If you draw them the way they are on the cover then whatever, I don’t care, but I don’t believe that’s what’s driving this trend.

The second thing people will say is that Good Omens is a work of satire, and it’s based in Christian mythology which has this trend of depicting angels as white, and it is embodying the trope of a “white, cherubic angel” paired with a dark-skinned demon for the explicit purpose of subverting the trope of “white angel is good, dark demon is bad” since Aziraphale is not an unambiguous hero and Crowley is not a villain.  “It’s not actually like that because Crowley isn’t a bad demon, and Aziraphale isn’t actually a perfect angel” is the argument.  This has a certain logic to it and allows some nuance to the topic, but to this I say:

Uncritically reproducing a trope, even in the context of a satire novel, is not enough to subvert it.  Good Omens is not criticising the racist history of the church, and while the book does have some pointed jabs at white British culture (such as Madam Tracy conning gullible Brits with an unbelievably ignorant stereotype of a Native American) it is not being critical of the conception of angels as white and blonde or the literal demonization of non-white people.  That’s just not what the book is about.  So making the angel white and the demon dark-skinned, playing directly into harmful tropes and stereotypes, is not somehow subversive or counter-cultural when doing so doesn’t say anything about anything.

Please consider fully the ramifications of the conception of white and blonde people as innocent and cherubic and dark-skinned people as infernal and mischievous, especially in modern contexts...

Black people are more likely to be viewed as violent, angry, and dangerous.  Priming with a dark-skinned face makes people more likely to mistake a tool for a gun.  Black people are viewed as experiencing pain less intensely by medical professionals.  Black men are viewed as physically larger and more imposing than they actually are.  The subconscious racial bias favoring light skin is so ingrained it’s measurable by objective scientific studies, on top of the anecdotal evidence of things like news stories choosing flattering, “cherubic” pictures of white and blond criminals while using unflattering mugshots for non-white offenders.

This is why I say that if you’re going to invoke the “whites are angelic” trope, you better have a damn good subversion of it to justify it, because this idea causes real harm to real people in the real world.  And Aziraphale being a bit of a bastard despite being an angel, I just don’t see that as sufficient.  I am especially cautious of when it’s my fellow white fans that make this argument, not because I believe they do this out of any sort of malice or hatred of people with dark skin, but because I know first-hand it stems from a dismissiveness rooted in not wanting to think about it for too long because it makes us uncomfortable.  Non-white people do not have the luxury of not thinking about it, because it’s part of their life.

Now the strongest textual evidence people use, in the absence of much real descriptor, is this:

"Many people, meeting Aziraphale for the first time, formed three impressions: that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide. Two of these were wrong; Heaven is not in England, whatever certain poets may have thought, and angels are sexless unless they really want to make an effort" 

This piece of art has circulated in the fandom for so long I don’t know the original artist and it’s been used for everything from fancovers to perfume.  This is where I found it and it’s one of the first things that come up when you google this quote about Aziraphale.  

Doesn’t it just feel like this is the man that’s describing, some blonde effeminate gay man?  Well guess what, there’s the “blonde as innocence” trope rearing its ugly head again, because the stereotype of gay men and effeminacy as being a white and blonde thing is--ding ding ding you guessed it--racism.  And why would intelligent suggest a white and blonde person, except if the stereotype of a dark-skinned person is less intelligent?

Now the point of “people assume Aziraphale is British” is another sticking point people will often use, claiming that the stereotype of a British person is white and blonde.  I guess this has some merit, since the British empire was one of the biggest forces behind white colonial expansion, and it seems disingenuous to assign “British” as “nonwhite” as soon as we’re being satirical, in the same way I found it distasteful that the TV show made God female when so many of the criticisms of the church are about its misogyny and lose their teeth as soon as God is no longer male.

However consider that 1.4 million Indian people live in the UK.  I heard a man say aloud once that the concept of a black person having a British accent was a little funny, as though Doctor Who doesn’t exist and have black people on it.  And I’m not overly familiar with the social landscape of the UK, but I understand they’re experiencing a xenophobia boom and non-white Brits aren’t considered “really British.”  The stereotype of non-white people not being British only exists because of reinforcement in media.  If you really want to be subversive, drawing Aziraphale as Indian goes way further than drawing him as white IMO.

Now let’s talk about Crowley.  He is almost always drawn with a darker skin tone than Aziraphale, even when they are both white, and while I’ve outlined above how this is problematic on terms of linking light skin with innocence, I think it does have an extra layer.  I think it also has to do with the exotification and fetishization of brown skin and non-white people.

This artist’s tumblr is gone now but their art is still on dA and while it’s definitely beautiful and well-done, I think this is a very good example of what I’m talking about.

Crowley and Aziraphale necessarily contrast each other, so describing Aziraphale as “British” might suggest that Crowley is “foreign-looking.”  I also know *ahem* that the fandom generally thirsts over Crowley to hell and back, so making him a swarthy, tall dark and handsome is not necessarily surprising.

An interesting thing happened when the TV show came out, and everyone started drawing Michael Sheen!Aziraphale and David Tennant!Crowley more and more often:  It’s not ubiquitous, but it does happen that sometimes artists will draw David Tennant’s skin darker than it actually is.  The subconscious urge to see Crowley with dark skin is for some reason that strong for many people.  And I really encourage people doing this to think about why.  Not naming any names but I’ve working with fanartists before for collabs who I had to ask to lighten “bad guy” demon’s skin tones because it looked like they were making the skin darker on purpose to make them look scarier.  This person is a perfectly pleasant person who tries not to be racist!  And we both still fell into it accidentally, and it took me a while to notice and point it out, because the ingrained stigmatization of darker skin is pervasive yet often goes unnoticed.

What is the solution?  I don’t know, and as a white person I’m not really qualified to make that call.  Do we draw them both with the exact same skin tone?  Is it better to make them both white?  Should we make both of them non-white?  Should we only make Aziraphale non-white?  I am consciously aware of the fact that the Good Omens fandom is mostly white people, so most of the art we make is being both made by and consumed by white people, so I don’t feel comfortable saying “draw these characters of color specifically” because that can also veer into fetishization territory very quickly.  This is not specific to good omens but I think we should pay attention to what fans of color say in all fandom spaces and weigh our choices even if they seem insignificant.  And it’s important to realize that fans of color will not be a monolith in their opinion either, and it’s our responsibility to recognize that everyone can be affected by racism and social issues differently, the same way all women are affected by misogyny differently so just because one woman says such as such is misogynistic and another says it’s not.  I’m sure there are non-white fans who think it’s perfectly fine to draw Aziraphale as white and Crowley as ambiguously non-white.  I’m not saying they’re wrong.  And I’m not saying you can’t reblog this kind of art, or that people who make or made it should feel bad about themselves.  But so often this sort of thing goes unaddressed just because people don’t like thinking about it, and well, avoiding hard questions never really goes well I think.

[ollifree]

1. What are things they both find funny?

Pet antics. They share a morbid sense of humor about the plague that anyone else who lived in Vesuvia at the time would find abhorrent. They have different limits on it and know where each other’s is.

2. If they could each describe each other in one sentence, what would it be?

You’re gonna limit Lucio to one sentence? Lucio? He’s gotta talk about how smart Skylar is, how good he looks, his talent in magic, his thoughtfulness. Lucio’s favorite words for Skylar are, in order, “Pretty, precious, perfect.”

I’m taking Skylar’s from a prompt from last year.

“Should I start with his eccentricities or…? He’s loud, brash. More cunning than people give him credit for. He’ll have an absolute meltdown if he can’t get his makeup right and have himself convinced two seconds later he always gets it perfect. He wears white because he’s always covered in dog hair. He makes sure everyone knows what his opinion on something is, and will do everything within his power to fix something he deems wrong.”

3. If they complimented each other, what would they say?

Lucio makes a point of complimenting however Skylar looks, but it’s a rare day Lucio doesn’t praise Skylar’s intellect and dedication to his work.

Skylar’s go-to descriptor for Lucio is “handsome”. His favorite (non-extensive) list of things to compliment Lucio on are: how hard he tries, how brave he is, his confidence, how passionate he is when it comes to the things he cares about.

They each compliment each other’s ass at least ten times per day.

4. What would be their ship name?

Either "grind against your bones until our marrows mix", or "the awful edges where you end and i begin", both of which are lyrics from Ludo's The Horror of Our Love.

5. What activities do they enjoy together?

Favorite activities are lounging on each other, doting on the pets, and people watching. Skylar gets coaxed into doing magic (however mundane) so Lucio can compliment him. In modern verse they binge watch bad reality tv. Lucio will put up with being outside when it snows only because Skylar likes outdoor winter activities and only because Lucio knows he’s gonna get some hardcore snuggle time at the end of it.

6. What is/are their love language(s)?

Lucio’s are gift giving (showing) and words of affirmation (receiving). Skylar’s is quality time. Physical touch is mandatory for both of them.

7. Write a ~300 word love scene for them.

This question is arophobic.

8. What were their first impressions of each other?

I’m always down for some self-fic plugging [link].

Skylar couldn’t have had a better introduction to Lucio: Julian had brought Skylar to Vesuvia for the menagerie, and Skylar and Lucio immediately clicked over their shared love of animals. Lucio truly has a unique personality and Skylar was excited to meet a new kind of person. Add on Julian’s endorsement of the Count and it’s no small wonder Skylar wound up staying in Vesuvia long past when he would have left anywhere else.

9. Have they made each other cry?

Yes. Mostly via mutual vulnerability and happiness. Then the plague happened.

10. Write a ~300 word argument scene for them.

This is a direct call out for me not writing my fic yet.

11. What causes them to fight?

Lucio’s Lucio-isms getting out of hand, or Salsa destroying something of Lucio’s. He can’t get mad at his fur babies so Skylar gets to take the brunt of it. Their biggest arguments happened over the coliseum and how to deal with the outbreak of the plague.

12. Do they have differing political opinions?

Before Lucio’s death Skylar didn’t invest himself enough in Vesuvian politics to give a concrete answer in that area. Insofar as Lucio’s views of being in a position of power? Yes they absolutely have different opinions.

13. Name something they would never do for the other person.

I was originally going to say “nothing”, then I remembered Lucio has one. So Skylar’s currently sitting at a “nothing” with an asterisk of “unless I remember something”.

Lucio’s is being around Skylar when Skylar’s sick. Lucio has a phobia of catching whatever’s going around after the plague and has to nope out of situations where he’s around illness. That being said he is hyper aware of Skylar’s health, as after leaving Vesuvia Skylar becomes more prone to colds and flues.

14. What would be a dealbreaker?

Skylar's dealbreaker almost happened, which is someone's wants getting in the way of / actively opposing another's needs. Lucio's would be unfaithfulness.

15. What are traits they dislike in one another?

Nothing they outright dislike, but they do recognize the faults the other perceives in themselves and help them improve in that regard. For Skylar it’s his non-confrontational nature getting his needs and wants ignored. For Lucio it’s empathizing with others and taking responsibility for, and dealing with, the consequences of his actions.

16. If they broke up, what would be their opinions of each other?

How dare you.

17. What senses (sights, smells, feelings, etc). remind them of each other?

Never in anyone’s life would Lucio have expected to get an attachment to the smell of books yet here he is. The same goes for hot chocolate. Skylar walks into the makeup department and it’s just like walking past Lucio’s collection.

18. What would be their love motto?

19. If they could each write a single line in their marriage vows, what would they be?

This isn’t in the marriage vows because they have the awareness to go “if we say half the things we feel in front of anybody, concerns we are not equipped to address in an acceptable way will be raised.” After the ceremony, when they’re on their own, this exchange happens:

Lucio: “Love me. Until we’ve been dead so long our bones are dust.” Skylar: “Not good enough. It’ll have to be until the world is ash.”

20. What is a promise they have made to each other?

Similar ones to what’s above. Trauma-induced codependency reinforced by magic ritual body trading meta sure is something.

21. How have they changed each other for the better/for the worse?

For the better: by helping one another with the issues listed in question fifteen. For the worse: they gain a lot of codependence for stated meta reasons, along with a very deep-seated fear of losing each other again.

In the end they do leave Vesuvia. Ultimately they are going the route of “this is a very important lesson we’ve learned about responsibility and the consequences of our actions. Now let’s get the fuck out of the city we’re responsible for and one of us nearly ruined with his actions.” They acknowledge the hypocrisy of this, and while in the end they’re better off outside Vesuvia it is there.

22. If their lives were what was originally intended at birth, would they have still fallen in love?

Because I’m a sucker for them the answer’s yes. They only hit the love stage to begin with because Lucio was able to put the work into unlearning and breaking the cycle of the worst parts of his tribe’s culture. I will say though that Lucio staying with the tribe would make it vastly more difficult for them to meet. Skylar still does his traveling, as his parents didn’t have any major expectations beyond “well-functioning adult” when raising him, but considering how infamous the warring tribes of the south are I don’t see travel into the steppes being easy or recommended.

23. Write a ~300 scene between them with no dialogue, only body language.

I honestly may come back to these but 300 words is a lot for my amount of spoons rn.

24. What is something they have each had to forgive the other for?

“Skylar has never done anything wrong in his life.” - Lucio Arcanagame

Salsa’s definitely destroyed a few things Lucio’s particular towards, and as it’s impossible for Lucio to be mad at any of his fur babies Skylar gets the brunt of it.

Along with Lucio getting snippy with him for Salsa mauling his good shirts, Skylar’s had to forgive Lucio for a lot. Mostly it’s Lucio-isms that make things get blown out of proportion. Then there’s the Coliseum. And Lucio’s deals. And the plague.

25. What moves do they know work on the other?

“Want to have sex?” / “Yes.”

If all else fails, Lucio knows he can get Skylar out of a book and back to real life by smoochin’ behind Skylar’s ears.

26. What are their favorite parts about physical affection/sex?

Sex is a cathartic extension of their shared love language, physical affection. The orgasms are an added bonus.

27. Do they have any kinks/fetishes that they share?

All of them. Like I say it as a joke but it’s just easier writing-wise to have them on the same level. Realistically it’s like 80-90%. Both of them want to please their partner and have a good time doing so. Their communication on that front is solid.

28. Write a ~300 fantasy one of them has about the other.

This question is acephobic.

29. What are each of their signature foreplay moves?

“Want to have sex?” / “Yes.”

30. Write a short exchange of dirty talk between them.

What up I’m Olli I’m almost 27 and I still haven’t learned how to write porn.

Lucio:

“Does puppy want me to fill him up?” “So precious…” “Look. Look at what I’m doing to you.” “Beg for it.” “Not yet. You piss when I tell you to.” “Do you like the taste of your cum that much?” “Good boy.”

Skylar:

“How you feeling, handsome?” “Are you ready to behave?” “What a mess you are.” “Fuck me so full I can’t move.” “You want to be good, don’t you?” “Master.” “Fuck fuck fuck fuck! Fuck me, fuck me.”

31. What do they love to do after sex?

Shared baths.

32. Do they enjoy morning or night sex?

Why are we limiting when the sex happens? The time of day doesn’t affect their enjoyment of it. They’re exhibitionists with impunity there is literally no limit on when the sex can happen.

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy 14 Writing Challenge Day Nine: Fascination

Day Eight -- Masterpost -- Day Ten

Artemis put her hands flat against each other and pointed them towards Hythlodaeus. “We really need to have a talk with our mutual friend about his obsession.”

He didn’t even bother looking up from the abstracted concept that he held between his hands--a leftover from his work at the Bureau of the Architect, no doubt. Ever since Hades took up the seat of Emet-Selch and the twins had secretly started sharing the role of Azem, Hythlodaeus had been optimizing his time spent with his friends by also working on more complicated projects around them. Talking with any of the three of them helped him relax, he claimed, and his slouched seating position of the comfortable chair he sat in added support to that claim. “I’ll tell you what I told your twin when he came to me about the Emassary’s idolization of you two and the rest of the Convocation: it’s just a phase. Once he grows a little more he’ll be tall enough that the pedestal he put you on won’t be nearly that high anymore. And then you’ll come back to me complaining about how you missed it when he was a scamp.”

She let the silence sit for several seconds while she tried to figure out if Hythlodaeus was messing with her. Then Artemis realized that the answer was always yes and she went over to smack him lightly on the arm. “Very funny. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“Do I? You were the one that decided to go with the phrase ‘mutual friend’ instead of something more accurate.” His tone was neutral, but the slowly growing grin on his face gave him away. “You could be talking about any number of people we both so happen to know.” 

“I should drag you to the Convocation and demand that they put you in charge of the Halls of Rhetoric. Your stupid arguments are wasted here in the Bureau of the Architect.”

“And completely ruin your game of sharing the role of Azem? That’s quite the sacrifice you’re willing to make for me, I’m honored.”

“Stop making remarks like that when I can’t properly thump you.”

“The concept is my insurance against such a thumping. It reacts with quite a lot of volatility when jostled.” 

“Drat.” Artemis snapped her fingers as lazily as she could. Then she put a hand on her hip and gave Hythlodaeus’ shoulder a poke. “Going back to the start of this ridiculously tangential conversation: Hades is getting too invested in the goings-on of the musician Orpheus.”

Now he paused in his examination and turned his white mask towards her own. He tilted his head quizzically. “The one that’s the subject of all of that gossip, yes?”

“The very same musician that gossip keeps talking about and also the provider of a full 30% of the music played on the city’s public stations. I should know, because Hades won’t stop talking about details like that.” She let her annoyance be known by slouching further against the chair that Hythlodaeus was sitting in. Despite his hints that the concept he was looking at was unstable, he still took a moment to pat at the top of Artemis’ head sympathetically. 

“That is quite a lot of his music being played to the public. Hades is right to be impressed, although I’m sure he would describe himself as being fascinated with the musician. Obsession seems to be a little too harsh a descriptor.”

“But what else describes how Hades brings him up all the time?” She whined. “It’d be one thing if it was just him playing the music, but at every opportunity it’s ‘Azem, have you heard Orpheus’ newest song? It’s clearly about his latest breakup with Eurydice’ or ‘Orpheus is collaborating with this other artist and I want to know your opinion about them’ or ‘I hope that the trend of fixing one’s broken mask with gold isn’t going to catch on just because Orpheus did it first’ or--”

“That’s more than enough evidence as to why you called it an obsession,” Hythlodaeus interrupted.

“So now you know it’s the most accurate word for the situation. Even Apollo’s everlasting patience is wearing thin, though you and I are both well aware that he wouldn’t dare say anything about it.” She took a couple of steps away from the chair and turned, putting her palms flat against each other again. This time she kept her thumbs against her chest as she looked at him. With the most pleading expression she could reasonably give while wearing her mask, Artemis begged, “Please help me get him out of this obsession so that we can talk to him about literally anything else.”

He turned the concept in his hands over twice more before stowing it away and declaring magnanimously, “Well I suppose since it will give peace of mind to the two of you, I’ll take the blame and his ire.” Artemis was just about to go to her knees and thank him profusely when he held a hand up to stop her. “However, there’s one thing you must promise me should I not return.”

“Anything, Hythlodaeus,” She responded automatically. It was a running joke between him and the twins that anyone going to see their dear friend alone was liable to not come back. As such, they often made “final requests” of each other in case of such an eventuality. 

“Secure spots in the audience for one of Orpheus’ concerts so we can all see for ourselves just how good he is at music.” 

Artemis flinched. “That’s supposed to be a final request! You can’t just rig it so that you’d get to go regardless of whether or not you live!”

“It would be a posthumous seat.” 

She groaned and ran a hand down her mask and down the side of her face. “I’ll think about it.” Her tone spoke of giving into the request even if her words didn’t match. 

Hythlodaeus grinned and took a bow. “You have my deepest thanks, Azem.”

“Apollo is Azem today.” Artemis huffed. He laughed as he started to leave. “And you need to tell me how it was you hadn’t noticed before now!”

He turned around and gave an exaggerated shrug. “I’ve been busy! Some of us have duties that aren’t being shared by a sibling, you know.”

“You just weren’t paying attention, were you?”

Instead of answering, Hythlodaeus exited.

Soon after, the four friends were able to see Orpheus in concert for the first and last time together.

[whiterosebrian]

Second Open Letter to MovieBob

MovieBob,

Over four years ago I wrote an open letter to you in hopes of reaching you. I don’t know if it ever did. I don’t know if this one will either. I still felt a need to try to reach you. You are an online personality with a substantial following. You influence a decent-sized number of people. Back then, I was Catholic. About two years later, I felt a need to abandon Catholicism after so many years of struggling with it as convert—it was a difficult decision. The Catholic Right made me question what “Authentic Catholicism” (in the words of so many self-styled Cristeros) looks like in the real world, as did uncensored history. It’s likely no accident that I stepped away from Catholicism during the Trump administration, which many Catholic hierarchs and apologists promoted, whether subtly or overtly, all the way to the brutal and ugly end. I’ll start talking about my new spiritual path soon enough.

Indeed, I share your anger towards the whole Christian Right which has long been the main driver in mainstreaming faith-based nationalist authoritarianism in the USA and, increasingly, elsewhere. As I’ve browsed your social-media postings, I’ve seen more justified lamentations over the damage that the Christian Right has caused. However, I also see bitterness towards ordinary people who shouldn’t all be dismissed as mindless fascist robots.

It’s true that wide support for Christian fascism needs to be opposed. At the same time, people are people. People are complicated. It’s true that, in many cases, labels are necessary descriptors. The problem is when people are reduced to simple labels. It’s true that plenty of people are hardened ideologues. I even accept that such people need to be somehow restrained for the good of the whole populace. It’s not always easy, though, to tell who is whom. People tend to do what they think is right or justifiable—that is, to use a slightly hackneyed idiom, Human Nature 101. People’s fears can be misdirected and, yes, their socially inherited prejudices can be inflamed. People can be horribly misled. When we oppose even the most hardened ideologues, though, we need to keep their humanity in mind.

There are no easy answers to the mainstreaming of neo-fascism among our neighbors. Nonetheless, our neighbors remain our neighbors. When you paint with broad good-or-bad, thinkers-or-believers, obsolete-or-advanced brushes, you risk contributing to polarization. Your approach is dangerously close to what the Catholic Right does—it brands everyone who diverges from their ideology as insane, selfish, God-hating, baby-killing, barely-human demons. One reason for writing this letter is to warn you again about becoming a mirror image of what you rightly oppose.

I myself sometimes feel my own resentment flare up and I need to resist the temptation. I’ve thought about setting up a new account on Twitter for the express purpose of trolling Catholic fundamentalists—but how effective would that be, given how they smugly proclaim themselves to be truth-telling martyrs? More importantly, how would that actually benefit vulnerable people?

Now it’s time to talk about my new spiritual path, as I telegraphed before. I started learning of alternate spiritualities after I left Catholicism, though I knew that I would essentially commit to one of them. For multiple reasons far outside this letter’s scope, I committed to Germanic neopaganism. Yes, the neopagan revival has issues from its very beginning.

Shortly before I started typing this letter, people on the internet voiced suspicions over a stage within a major right-wing conference, one seemingly designed in the shape of a specific variant—one associated with Himmler’s henchmen—of the Odal rune. You also might recall one thug within the attempted coup on Capitol Hill wearing Germanic pagan symbols as tattoos (along with a mock-Lakota headdress). Many of today’s neo-pagans are beginning to seriously grapple with those issues, primarily by forcefully distancing themselves from Folkism (which is basically a white-nationalist caricature of pre-Christian spirituality) and expressing solidarity with marginalized people. Many of today’s neo-pagans also place an emphasis on researching the histories associated with their faith and practices, searching for the highest quality scholarship and summaries thereof possible. One thing that the most thoughtful neo-pagans stress is animism.

You seem to do much research into all sorts of things, as you demonstrate in tweets and videos, so giving a definition of animism might simply waste your time. I still want to discuss it in some depth, as it leads into what I believe is my main justification for writing a second open letter to you. Animism isn’t just a belief in ghosts and goblins everywhere. It’s also a relationship with all things seen and unseen, including the natural world. You rightly speak of safeguarding the environment to keep it inhabitable for future generations, but therein lies the rub—it shouldn’t just be about what you have called the “Superior Future”.

Reactionary ideology is indeed foolish at best and dangerous at worst. I’ve become convinced, though, that there is a fundamental truth that fascists grotesquely distort. I’ve become convinced that the modern world is broken. There is a very serious disconnect with ancestors and with nature. Ancestors aren’t always right, but they have good ideas. Nature isn’t always directly beneficial humans, but it has many precious treasures.

I follow a number of Native American activists and spiritualists on Instagram. You should know that in colonizing various lands Christian Europeans decimated indigenous people and nearly annihilated their ancestral cultures. Many indigenous people are reclaiming their heritages. A major part of that is bonding with their lands and befriending the spirits whom they once freely befriended. I’ve seen you talk about “thunder-cowering sub-mentals” and “superstitious” people inventing gods and spirits to overcome their fears of death or feebly explain their world. I offer this rhetorical question: Do you dare to say such things to indigenous peoples trying to revive their cultures?

I’ve seen you talk about pop-culture heroes as some kind of substitute for gods in culture. You are entitled to your skepticism towards all things mystical, but I feel a need to point out something. Works of fiction—especially commercial entertainments promoted by corporations such as the increasingly notorious Disney—are very different from myths. Works of fiction may certainly have trappings of mythology which help them resonate with audiences. They may even tap directly into classical archetypes that have long influenced humanity. Mythology, however, is often linked to serious historical spiritual paths, even when retold and written by Christian antiquarians in Iceland or Ireland. Mythology also reaches even more deeply into the human spirit, arguably carrying mystical truths deep within. I won’t pretend to be a scholar, much less expert, on mythology—I simply want to point out the differences between fiction and mythology. They don’t serve the same functions. I do aspire to write works of serious fiction that explore philosophy, humanity, and spirituality, but even those are distinct from mythology that has been passed down over centuries in whatever forms.

A statistic spreading on the internet tells us that, if I recall correctly, indigenous peoples make up a very small percentage of the world’s population but safeguard the vast majority of the world’s biodiversity. What informs their protection of their lands? The cultures that they work to preserve are tied to their lands—not in the horrible “blood and soil” sense, but in the sense of being family with the animals, waters, plants, stones, and hills that surround them. Many of them explicitly see spiritual beings within the earth, ones who also want to dwell with us. In short, they point us to an entire web of life. They tell us that their ancestral wisdom is what will save the lands that they want to share peacefully with settlers and, ultimately, the whole world. I’m now convinced that they are right.

Such relationship with nature and spirit is also present in pre-Christian spiritualities and their revivals. At some point, an ideology of colonization and separation arose within the Christianized Europe. I leave discussions of its exact origins to philosophers, historians, and other scholars who are far more knowledgeable than I. I’ll still talk about the ideology of the conquest of nature, which led to environmental problems that we have now. Though you speak of necessary advances in technology to resolve climate change, those need to be approached thoughtfully so that people don’t become exploited for the privileged few. Furthermore, a focus on the “Superior Future” and fixation on genetic engineering, super-intelligent robotics, and ever-expanding mega-cities misses the point of fully human flourishing. Even as a pagan, I feel comfortable repeating my earlier paraphrasing of a line within the Gospels: Civilization was made for man, not man for civilization. The myopic focus on high-tech civilization has contributed to so many problems for people’s lives. A number of people are now coming to understand that there’s a limit to how much prosperity actually benefits people’s lives.

Many indigenous writers and activists are pointing to alternate ways of living, however vaguely or tentatively in terms of how exactly we would bring them into today’s world. They don’t talk about erasing electricity or medical science by any means! Rather, they ask us to reconsider where we focus our building up of human lifestyles and human society. Marching mindlessly into the “Superior Future” isn’t the way to bring happiness and peace to humanity. I’m convinced that the proper way to do so is learning from ancestors how to rebuild better bonds with each other, our nonhuman friends, and our souls—and then applying the best parts of timeless wisdom to our lives and our social projects.

Whenever I type articles such as this for my social media pages, I often ask for pardon if I’ve rambled. I trust that I genuinely try to genuinely say as much as possible. That is the reason for this letter being the way that it is. Again, you are entitled to your skepticism towards all things mystical, but I maintain that you’re not entitled to completely dismiss them as idiotic primitivism. I actually started feeling a need to sit down and type this letter while practicing mediation at my altar. Did the goddess Freya influence me to try again to reach you, or did a simple thought of mine simply become stronger? I can’t quite answer that—especially at this point, when I’m beginning to learn to connect with the other side, that the old gods speak to me so clearly.

The ultimate point is that I ask you to not only tread carefully when publicly opposing Christian fascism but also reconsider your “Superior Future”, evidently influenced by science fiction—which in turn is possibly influenced by the ideology of the conquest of nature. I can’t presume to know how convincing you will find my letter, but I still wanted make another attempt to speak to you—and to the many people whom you influence as an online personality. I simply want to be a part of building a genuinely better future for human beings and the entire web of life.

With the utmost sincerity,

Brian Solomon Whiterose

[airlock]

so! Fire Emblem: Three Houses is a game that delves deep, although not very deep, in the complexities of politics and administration... and so, people get to talk about how these things happen, both in Fódlan and, as a token of comparison, in the real world!

which is why I, some college student with no background in polisci whatsoever, have decided to write this whole post on the realistic reasons why people should not want a meritocracy, whether it’s being brought about their favorite white-haired girl in a fictional world or being promised by a politician in real life who is probably swindling you

sounds like a bit of a trip, right? meritocracy is a compelling idea on paper -- eliminate entrenched privileges, give everything to the people who deserve it. we especially find such ideas inspirational when we live in times of ridged inequalities, where some people are born with everything and others with nothing, and the former continue to take everything even as they repeatedly prove their failings, while the latter toil no matter what qualities they might have. nonetheless, it’s just not that simple, and the meritocratic ideal is even one of the things that got us into this mess to begin with!

let’s go blow by blow, shall we?

merit is subjective

as it turns out, meritocracy is a very fancy way of saying “I want the people who are in charge to be good people” -- which is what we’d all be supporting if it were just that simple! you might have noticed the snag, though, in that it looks a lot more ridiculous when you replace “meritorious”, “accomplished”, “competent”, etc. with “good”, despite those being equally vague descriptors of value.

I’ll get to the point: what is merit? who decides what is merit? who decides what is meritorious?

you might quickly find out that these questions have haunted not only governments but every form of administration for millenia now -- schools, companies, recreational competitions, the artistic world... and no one, no one, ever arrives on a one answer that always works.

since Edelgard never puts forth ideas of a system through which merit might be determined -- like, say, exams, which have their own failings -- the assumption is that she’s intending to handpick whoever she might want in charge, which is a common way of implementing meritocracy. and also a terrible one! now, your position in society is dictated by the extent to which you can impress the emperor -- who, however discering, isn’t perfect, or capable of giving everyone the clinical eye. if a system of “impress the person in charge to get in” were capable of living up to the meritocratic ideal, most of us would be having far less trouble with jobs.

although not all of us, anyway, since so many of us are neurodivergent -- and oh yes, those of us who are should know from a mile away that meritocracies have this particular problem...

the meritocratic ideal is ableist

callout post for the- ahem

have you perchance seen Edelgard and Linhardt’s support conversations? the one where he repeatedly frustrates Edelgard by being too neurodivergent to put his gifts to the efficient streamlined methodology that she favours? the one where he makes it clear that he can’t thrive in a result-oriented environment, so Edelgard busts her rump to figure out some way to give him a job that makes use of his talents?

well, he was lucky that he got to personally befriend the emperor and weasel her into some distincitvely unmeritocratic policy, because anyone else who cannot thrive in a result-oriented environment will have no such luck. and that’s precisely what a meritocratic society is: a result-oriented environment of society itself.

hell, you could even take a moment to notice that a lot of the insults that are routinely hurled at disabled people are also the criticisms that people make of those they wish to eliminate through meritocracy. y’know, “lazy”, “weak”, “moocher”, the works.

now, would this be any better if our Supreme Arbitrer of Merit were exceptionally woke and able to mitigate this, be it through assistance or by implementing metrics of merit that better suit the neurodivergent? perhaps. but as we think through these utopias, we ram a separate problem...

meritocracies cannot be implemented in a vacuum

the meritocratic narrative has us constantly thinking of the incompetent privileged vs. the competent underprivleged, but those simply aren’t the only types of people who exist in society. in fact, we’d have to expect that privilege would mostly make people more competent -- this doesn’t sound great until you realize that the alternative is to claim that poverty is good because it builds character and other similar kinds of nonsense we very much know to be untrue.

when it comes down to it, anyone can sit on the throne and say “I declare meritocracy to be happenning right now”, but saying that doesn’t erase the inequalities previously existing in the system. if I decided to make the whole world participate in a race a month from now, everyone starting from the same starting line and running the same course to the end, who do you think would win -- someone who eats well everyday and has as much leisure time as they want to practice running, or someone who has to continue working three jobs? sure, every now and then you’d have an exceptional runner out of the unexpected end, and you’d also have lots of privileged people who just don’t feel like runnin’, but systematically speaking, most of the winners would still probably be the ones who can throw more resources at winning.

and that’s to say nothing of the fact that pre-existing privileges also make it a lot easier to perform merit. I’ve mentioned both schools and exams so far in this post about meritocracy, right? there’s something in that topic that my mind keeps coming back to, actually -- entry exams for universities in my country.

right now, my country is experiencing an elusive demographical phenomenon where the majority of the population is college-aged; in a good country, this would mean college-level education would be thriving, but in this country, it means that each university has become far more selective with who gets to enroll. thus, all the universities with any sort of prestige above the level of “pay to get your Instant Diploma (Just Add Water) here” run yearly entry exams and enroll the people who get the best scores. sounds meritocratic, right? except now, there’s also a rash of cram schools dedicated to training people to do well on these exams, and with the high demand, they tend to be somewhat costly. in other words, if you’re born into money, you’ll have an opportunity to be taught the rotes necessary to pass the verification of merit.

people haven’t yet figured out a way to prevent meritocracies from just completely corroding under the weight of that problem, given enough time. whatever the metric you set for merit -- even if it is, in fact, the metric of “impress the emperor” -- someone will start selling better prospects for fitting that metric, and the ones buying will be the already privileged ones.

but even if it weren’t for all that...

meritocracy is discrimination

so far, I’ve mostly exponded on the issues with “merit”; however, the real gaping one actually lies in “kratos”, power.

“everything to the people who have earned it” sounds like good mote, if you don’t think too much about the converse -- “nothing to the people who have not earned it”. however successfully you might address all the other problems I’ve brought up so far, the fact is that meritocracies, inherently through their design, build societies of haves and have-nots.

and the thing is, there’s no turning back once you do that. eventually, a generation will pass, and the haves and have-nots will have passed the torch to their children; whose children will be best prepared to perform merit? and besides, giving power to the meritorious means they get to make decisions, set policies, write laws -- what’s stopping them from decreeing, blatantly or subtly, that society should favour their own and disfavour their enemies?

in other words, meritocracies can’t create societies with more equal opportunities, because they are inherently unequal themselves. in fact, basically all the notable unequal systems we’ve experienced historically were born as meritocracies of some sort. you know the nobility system that edelgard hates so much? in real-life Europe, the nobles were mostly the far-flung descendants of the most meritorious roman generals. and as for us, living under the boots of the 1% who can do whatever they want? once upon a time, these people had all the same rights as a peasant. and when the day comes when we finally topple these buffoons in the name of not just a better society but also an extant planet, the only way we can break the cycle is by not buying into the idea that meritocracies are a good thing -- be it in fiction or in real life.

[cto10121]

R&J vs. RetJ

so with several retj productions inserting and incorporating shakespeare’s text and characterizations, sometimes willy-nilly, sometimes purposefully, it got me thinking to what extent presgurvic’s musical (original french for simplicity’s sake) differs from the original shakespeare play. so here is a non-exhaustive list of changes, both major and minor:

first the biggest change: in the musical, everyone knows about retj’s love affair, although the extent of the families’ knowledge differs depending on the adaptation. in some the capulets and montagues are well-informed, in some it is only a nasty rumor. the change serves not only to jump-start act two with immediate conflict, but to bring the feud to the forefront. the tension between the communal and the individual also accentuates retj’s love further—their love means more when they defend it against their friends and families, and the tension only fuels their passion. the knowledge can also work as a bit of subtext to demain. it’s a really great change/addition, and one i suspect even shakespeare would be a little impressed with, even if he would personally never do it for his play—it’d just open up too many plot holes for it to be doable

tybalt’s love for juliette. really unorthodox and controversial, for obvious reasons, but i fall on the side of liking the change. psychologically it makes sense as it’s part-and-parcel with tybalt’s madonna-whore misogyny (he even says retj’s love is “the rotten marriage of vice and virtue”) and his frustration and ambivalence with his role in the feud, as well as his insistence (except for the production that must not be named and the two japanese) that juliet would never know his love. thematically, it establishes not just the theme of the power of love, but also the ways it can lead you astray

the deletion of rosaline in most productions of the musical. (there is a rosaline analogue of the girl dancer in love with romeo, also with the same name. in the hungarian rosa is merely romeo’s ex). in shakespeare’s play, rosaline was romeo’s unrequited love infatuation; the primary reason for rosaline is shakespeare’s brief but pointed parallel between infatuation/lust (rosaline) and actual love/attraction (juliet). it is a critique of the petrarchian beauty praised endlessly, but never seen. but as people no longer write clichéd sonnets about a girl hottie (we just have pop love songs that are just “baby” repeated a million times instead), and as there is no way a 2 1/2 hour musical will have time for romeo’s blank verse thirst about how rosaline won’t give him the treasure of her lap (yep, this is almost VERBATIM), rosaline becomes by and large superfluous in the musical, so away she goes

this also ties into romeo’s playboyness (gigolo? manwhore? my kingdom for a neutral descriptor) in the musical, a compression of the whole rosaline plotline. (also lbr here, presgurvic took one look at damien sargue and said, “hahahaha nope no way this romeo would have trouble with any girl” and just wrote as is. #canon)

lady capulet’s infidelity, chronic or otherwise, in the musical, which echoes the coldness and distance of shakespeare’s lady capulet; it isn’t a big stretch to extrapolate that as arising from a loveless marriage, and tu dois te marier does one better by actually drawing a bit of a neat parallel to retj’s romance. also a good addition and again one shakespeare would probably be ok with

the nurse’s advice to juliet when she is forced to marry paris is telling. in the shakespeare, she gives two main reasons: 1) paris is so much better than romeo lookswise, 2) can’t enjoy your husband when he is exiled, so why not love the one you’re with? interestingly enough, she fails to give the most important reason as she does in the presgurvic: that is, romeo killed tybalt. whereas shakespeare’s nurse focused on personal qualities and practicalities, retj’s nurse brings up the most immediate objection. this serves to bring the feud to starker relief compared to the play.

benvolio being the one to tell romeo about juliet’s “death.” not something at all possible in the play, i know, but in the musical it works so beautifully what with everyone knowing about retj’s romance and now i have dust in my eye

death as a dancer in white. despite the other productions cutting the character completely, death serves quite a few functions in the musical: as epic foreshadowing, an embodiment of retj’s fate and mercutio’s and tybalt’s, an embodiment of the destructiveness of the feud, and the embodiment of the erotic tension of forbidden love (fittingly eroticized here), and a quasi-love interest for romeo as a kind of parallel to tybalt’s own love for juliette. the connection to the play is much subtler here: the play, while very grounded in psychological realism, has instances of...not quite magical realism, but cosmic mysticism and even myth, as heavily suggested by the “two households, both alike in dignity” prologue. fate is definitely key to the play: r&j’s love is doomed, not only because their love is forbidden, but because the power and intensity of it cannot be sustained in such a brief time - it might as well be fate that condemns it. in the end, all of that eros belongs to death, is inherently tied to it. hence you get the thirsty supernatural bitch we all know and love to love and hate 

mercutio being a montague instead of an escalus (restored in later productions); benvolio as a cousin to romeo also comes and goes. i think both work: mercutio being an escalus brings in this third element, tying him more with paris and the prince and overall contributing to the worldbuilding. on the other hand, mercutio’s death needs to be felt as a real, genuine loss for the montagues as well. it makes the feud much more starker, too, in its absolutes in a you-are-either-team-montague-or-team-capulet sort of way

lord montague is deleted from most productions, making lady montague a widow and head of house. not at possible in the play, but in the musical, which has one foot firmly in the modern world, it’s a good call. i for one can’t stand to see the other productions bring him back for no good reason

in sum, the musical is very faithful overall to the play in terms of plot structure and themes, which probably makes it a big temptation for other retj productions to retain the shakespeare blank verse, but there are key differences and shifts in characterization and plot that set it very much apart. overall, the biggest difference between the two is that the feud and verona’s world in general are much better developed in the musical than in the play, which makes the popular conception of r&j as a play about hate destroying love (nope) and critiques about how retj is fluffy glittery kitsch about love (double nope) deeply ironic.

there is also a thematic shift in that shakespeare’s play was focused almost entirely on romeo and juliet’s love and its development whereas the musical extends this theme to the other characters: the nurse, capulet, tybalt, benvolio, who are connected to the central figures. there is also the theme of communal vs. individual/adults vs. youth as exemplified in les rois du monde, on dit dans la rue, and in tybalt’s c’est pas ma faute lament (i am not who they want me to be, etc.) in the musical that is just not present in the play. i suppose that if i can sum of the theme of this musical, it’d be this: love is beautiful and powerful, but it can lead people astray and even to death (or just make them act like assholes, sometimes it happens). don’t underestimate it just because you think your honor/feud/power struggles is more important. l’amour, il y a ça qui compte (“love counts”).

[saikagerights]

A New Possession- Entry #11

THIS JOURNAL LIVES!

After nearly 3 weeks, I finally have a new entry just for you! And it's a juicy one. I kind of went all over the place with this one, but on the bright side, it's over 1k words. Perfect for my comeback.

Work has been kicking my ass lately, and so has my inspiration from the Newlyweds one shot. Unfortunately for this fic, there may be another time where I switch gears to work on something else, so it's not as if I don't want to continue this fic, it's just that other ideas overtake this one.

But do not fear, because I plan on prioritizing this fic in the near future. Thanks for the support as always

LONG LIVE THE JOURNAL!

Also available on AO3

February 14

It’s Valentine’s day.

I find myself kilometers away from the village on another search assignment from the Rokudaime. Lately the highest ranked missions available are to lead search groups for the ranks that were discovered missing after the war’s end.

There were multiple scenarios to describe these cases. There were some that went rogue like the shinobi that were amassed by Gengo in the land of Silence, but that was a small minority of the ones that disappeared. Many of these search groups had discovered that the supposedly “rogue” targets had simply wandered away from the village without notice as some sort of backwards resignation just to conceal themselves in smaller villages outside of Konoha.

Regardless of the intent, it was our responsibility to return them to the village for interrogation out of suspicion for not following standard resignation protocol.

Although I disagree with their actions, I do understand their motive. Many shinobi had resigned as soon as they could. Both the young and inexperienced, as well as the old and hardened had reached their threshold of tolerance for combat.

Resignations are still very common 2 years later, as more and more realize the sudden decline in available work due to the  truth that is peace. While I’ve also seen a decrease in my work load, I couldn’t ever see myself being anything other than a shinobi; It’s the only thing I know… I don’t know if I could even adjust to doing something different.

It’s not that I find any specific enjoyment in my work. Work is work, but I can’t help but find a specific fulfillment when I complete a task. I guess that’s just a result of my training. Naruto is usually quite enthusiastic when a job has been “well done” but I mostly assume that’s because he is working towards a higher position. Shikamaru’s demeanor suggests indifference,however he has revealed to me that his main determination lies in supporting Naruto’s rise to the level of Hokage.

In contrast, Sakura and Ino have only found more work after peace fell upon Konoha. It could arguably be the most important work of all; Healing and revitalizing the village.

Meanwhile, here I am leading search missions rather than the assassination missions I was executing less than 2 years prior.

The Choujuu Giga itself was a very essential tool that was best utilized for communication and reconnaissance, but all ROOT agents were highly skilled in assasination. As long as the target was disposed of in an efficient manner, it was enough to fulfill the will of Danzo-sama. And while Konoha’s will of fire has engulfed his will, Danzo-sama’s influence still leaves its remnants in the village’s deep underground networks and we are still far from finished in uprooting that.

For some reason however, the Rokudaime has placed me in charge of this mission instead of allowing me to chase a new lead. And I’m missing Valentine’s day on top of that.

I find Valentine’s day to be a strange, yet rather enjoyable holiday. The idea of girls giving me chocolates is a strange concept to me, but getting gifts from friends isn’t inherently a bad thing, right?

However, there have been occurrences that now require me to be extra vigilant when celebrating.

Sakura has always been incredibly um… generous? She never fails to hand deliver her own chocolates to Naruto and I every year since becoming teammates. And while I am flattered by the gesture, I can only accept the gift with a smile and a thank you before swiftly tossing them out.

Despite her good intentions, she has had quite the history of poisoning me and Naruto with her generosity. One year, I expressed my concerns, and what I received in return was a quick dose of lethal retribution for my honesty

“I cannot accept this. The last time you offered something like this I ended up ill for days.”

I was expecting some kind of rage to come from Sakura, but instead she seemed calm and collected as she slowly stepped towards me. I turned my head to see Naruto back away, his hands raised in surrender.

“Sakura-chan…”

“Naruto, I need your support on thi-”

My plea was cut off by a punch. In my attempt to dodge, a powerful strike landed onto my trachea, completely cutting off my ability to breathe. It was immensely painful, my hands clutching my neck with strained wheezing breaths and dry coughs. Sakura swiftly yanked me by the collar to apply her healing hands to my throat.

“Geez, stop moving around so much and next time I won’t accidentally hit something vital.”

Naruto didn’t laugh for once, but he also never backed me up on my statement. Probably because he didn’t want to get punched. And despite Sakura’s numerous apologies over the incident,I’ve humbly accepted the gift with a thank you to avoid a repeat.

I don’t fear for my life every Valentine’s day, however. Ino had given me a much different gift for three years now. She had even been kind enough to ask me what I preferred.

“I do this for my boys every year.”

I remember that she didn’t meet my eyes when she said that.

“Shikamaru is a weirdo who likes white chocolate,and while Choji would eat anything I gave him, he prefers his chocolate with nuts…”

She trailed off, perhaps realizing the awkwardness of the situation. I know for certain I hardly had anything to say to respond to that.

“But I wanted to know what you like…”

I responded in the only way I knew how at the time, with utter honesty

“I don’t like the taste of chocolate. It’s too sweet for me.”

I was too used to the bland and flavorless meals and food pills to have a sense of taste like anyone else of the group. Naruto has set out to “broaden my flavor horizons” by taking me out to various eating establishments around the village with the rest of the guys. I was delightfully surprised how little ramen had fit into his plans, but I know that the others probably have some say in where we go. I have yet to have a bad experience with these outings, but I still prefer tofu above all else and tend to stray away from sweets.

But my statement never would deter Ino.

“There is such a thing as bittersweet chocolate…”

She said this more to herself, but determination set into her eyes as I could now clearly see the fire in them

You’d be willing to try that if I gave it to you, right?”

At the time, it seemed like she had disregarded what I said, but soon after, I realized that she was actually trying to include me in the tradition. I had no other choice but to accept this condition.

And nearly 3 years later I still look forward to her figuratively “sweet” gesture. Looking back on it reminds me that she can be pretty cute when she’s embarrassed like that. But I think it’s the sheer force of her will that makes her truly beautiful…

I don’t know if I’m using those descriptors well, but I have decided to use them in the manner I did.

Upon more thought and observation, I’ve concluded that I am able to find points of attraction in women, or at least in Ino I can.

When I look into her bright eyes, all I am reminded of is how they were the only things I could focus on when I drew her. Or how her immense kindness had shone through them when she saved my life. Not to mention the sheer determination that flows through her when up against a daunting task. I guess that’s in her blood as an interrogator, but it seems like it is all hers to take control of.

The same could be said about her smile.

I’ve analyzed many smiles over the past few years, tirelessly trying to find what gives them life and meaning so I could someday replicate them, but all I can muster is a poor imitation. In Ino’s smile, I can see so much emotion emanating from it, outlined by cherry red lips. And I like that.

I like that quite a bit, actually.

I should probably stop thinking about this while I’m on a mission. My team is already trying to get my attention about a new lead.

I guess now I have something to look forward to when I get home.

Bittersweet chocolate coming from a beautiful girl.

_________________________________________________________

God I'm getting really sappy with my writing. Newlyweds was full of it, but now that energy is seeping into this fic. It might not be a bad thing though.

I also found enjoyment in writing Sai getting throat punched

I mentioned work kicking my ass, but next week I will be away visiting my sister out of state. I am kind of worried about the second wave of Rona slamming the country, but I gotta be as careful as I can while traveling. I hope to get some writing done while I'm away.

Anyway, comments and critiques are always appreciated. See you next time!

-Saikage

[dreamgvrls]

“when the dreamer dies, what happens to the dream?”

CHARACTER NAME: Klara Vaughn (née Reyes)  FACECLAIM: Lisa Tebeneva AGE: 22 GENDER & PRONOUNS: Female - She/Her SKELETON: Alice

(tw: drug use, prostitution) 

one

two

— 

floating, darkness surrounds you, stretching to fit you in its mouth—it is soft and smooth like skin, cold like earth. tongue flat on your back, tasting before devouring. floating, linen light. floating, heavy hands sink into you as you rise. what are they digging for? you are long gone—an ancient thing, dormant in the wreckage—bones soft and heart a lost relic. it’s only natural for someone like you: a heart so heavy is bound to separate from the body. ambiguous, linen-light, linen-light, linen-light.

floating

your mouth is dry but your lips are wet and it feels like butterflies drink from your sweet mouth, spit-shine. it’s only natural for someone like you: left to ripen too long. it is far too easy now, fingers press through your skin, bursting, dripping. 

tears, that’s all they are. easily patched, small imperfections. mendable, at least. 

but nothing can ever be whole again after—that’s right, after… after?

—

clear

—

a girl learns to dream before she learns to love.

a girl learns to swallow before she learns to see.

—

dear diary, 

we had a wonderful time! i didn’t know how wonderful he could be, did you know men could be so gentle, so soft? i always thought they were big and hard and rough like in the movies but he is almost incorrigibly sweet. we rode one of those horse-drawn carriages in the park and the moon was out, it was lovely, that, and the way he held my hand and stroked my hair. i felt like an absolute kitten.

of course daddy had one of his men follow along but it was alright. the night was beautiful anyways. 

love? why i hadn’t thought of that but it must be, mustn’t it? 

—

clear

—

five lessons for a lady:

always anticipate the needs of those around you and tend to them before they arise amongst company. this is how you will earn your keep.

keep your thoughts to yourself. speak when spoken to or only in moderation. mystique is your lure, as are your looks, not your mind. 

defer to those around you but especially those above you.

certain topics should only be spoken of in the company of other ladies, keep this well in mind. men do not want to hear about your needs or wants, only to be tended to. 

dreams are not for you, they never were, of this you must be very aware.

—

you only exist by night. by soft, red glow and the creaking of bed frames. you collect your quarry with a delicate touch that betrays that you are elsewhere, your eyes someplace far away. for more romance, you drape a scrap of pink fabric over the bedside lamp, the light gentle across the open pill-bottle, their contents little stars for you to pluck from the sky and swallow open-mouthed. for more romance, you buy day-old flowers and scatter them in the bath, letting the petals stick to your hair and skin so that you are adorned as you walk—your own flower girl, petal white secrets hidden amongst your crevices—feather-light, poured out, towards the bed, body laid out for the taking, tender and easy to tear into. you are alive, thinking about him as you prepare your offering, fingers opening yourself up just like you were taught.

there is no window here but if there were you would dream of the sky. of the moon. of the wind whistling through the tall grass, the croak of frogs during a balmy summer night.

floating—dreaming half-dreams, whispering half-truths, pretending to sleep in arms that are similar but not exactly the same. a girl learns to not look so close, to let the edges blur together until all you see is the same face wherever you look. his face, his arms, his body, a familiar shadow in the night. the differences are vast but with enough, enough, enough, enough it can all be the same. 

—

you leave lipstick kisses on his collar, you wear white each time, a wedding night on infinite repeat. spritzing perfume on your neck, you let your fingertips carry the scent down to your chest bone only to dip lower to your navel. you are barely covered just as he likes it, which is exactly what he says, mouth following the trail you’ve laid down. 

(darling, don’t say anything, you know what to use your mouth for.) 

—

clear

—

actually, you don’t know if you're floating—it’s not a good descriptor. you very well could be sinking if only you knew which way was up.

—

dear diary,

he’s gotten me a bracelet with the most beautiful, shimmering diamond heart. i think mommy would call it tacky, but i love it and it fits me perfectly. it’s not even my birthday, can you imagine? i only ever used to get presents on my birthday.

i woke up to it on my bedside but i must’ve slept so late, the sun was already well on its way across the sky. he’s gone to work as usual and won’t be home until late. he’s been working so hard recently and sounded so sad when he asked me if i could help—obviously i couldn’t ask daddy but there’s still some money left—so honestly how couldn’t i? 

i love him and he loves me, it’s all very simple. he’s just a little puppy, don’t you know? 

—

“please—kiss me.”

“isn’t that not allowed?”

“s’okay, i won’t tell anyone. don’t you want to? i promise, i’m so very soft.”

—

he strokes your hair late one night after arriving home, waking you from dreams of rosebuds and gentle rain.

or perhaps, this is your dream, you wonder as you are unadorned. you are made to be opened, completely unprotected as palms search across your skin, pressing into you where there are obvious weaknesses, leaving you sighing and moaning something like a prayer, your hair a halo about you. brilliant, tousled, a flushed little cherub at his very own beck and call. your mouth around his fingers says just about as much.

but there is something else about you: the way you are small and unassuming, your devotion absolute, always curled so tightly around him while you slept. everything goes on longer than intended because of it, though even if they asked you now, this is your today, tomorrow, and yesterday—nothing ever really ending.

—

clear

—

over time, there is less and less. he comes home later every night only to feast on your bones. your own mother has stopped returning your payphone calls long ago and your father has officially had all his wills rewritten and notarized, which he deigns to notify you of. 

(you don’t pay attention to the money—what is it worth anyways when there is love?) 

until one day, you come home and your keys no longer work. you are calm until you’ve turned the key in the lock enough that its edges have rubbed your skin into an ugly red raw. love, yes, it is here somewhere—reaching into your bag you swallow one of your stars, dissolving on the back of your tongue; you eat nebulas, you toy with comets between your teeth. sated, floating. turning the corner you peer through the curtains—sheer and shifting in sunbeams—and into your own home which is now but an empty house. 

(strangers look at you, stopping in the street, not knowing that you are a stranger too.)

—

blue is for dreams but so are the white ones. the clear capsules smooth the edges down, like pressing creases, everything muted and dull against your skin, you unreachable. that’s right—floating. floating. the other white ones are for pain, the ones with the notches in the center, they are also easy to split into two. they make the bruises—all purple-brown, murky-watered—hurt less even if they still look the same. the pale yellow ones, the ones that remind you of buttercups, of grassy knolls, those give you the best dreams you’ve found but really you’re quite undiscerning. you’ll take whatever you’re given for your dreams are always filled with love anyways. 

—

dear diary,

he must be looking for me but that must be hard given how things are now. i wonder how long it will be? i love him despite it though he must have his reasons for it taking so long. 

at least in my dreams, everything is the same, just like before. a home full of light, all my favorite things. sometimes, if you can believe it, they are even better than what i can remember—yesterday, for example, mommy and daddy were there too, how nice it was to see them at my wedding… even if it was a small affair. i think mommy would approve of the flowers. everything is so perfect, i could cry, don’t tell them but i really could! 

tonight, i’ll dream again too, hopefully another beautiful dream.

—

clear

—

character history/about (not-so-tldr but still slightly less): 

klara is your resident alice, dream/baby girl and overall hopeless romantic-idiot who is the only daughter of a prominent business mogul in wonderland. her parents raised her within the family’s sphere of influence, making sure she never strayed too far. she was always accompanied. a pampered, and ultimately naive, little girl who never had a want or need in the world - which is to say, spoiled and kept like a living doll. she was raised to be docile. a beautiful bride, a wife without questions or demands and that’s how she turned out. she dreamt of love, that’s all she’s ever been told to want or need. a man’s protection and influence. father’s idea was to marry her off into another prominent family. they loved her and were protective of her despite the end goal. 

she ends up falling in love with a man nearly a decade older than her who doted on her, endlessly, though he is not exactly what her father is looking for in terms of potential suitors for his daughter and prize possession. this man, while well-to-do in his own right, is just pencil-pusher probably over at the bank. despite this, klara’s father allows his daughter to continue this relationship for the meantime, supervised by one of his guards whenever they left the premises of their expansive over-land manse. 

lo and behold, klara—ever the romantic—goes off and elopes with him (no pre-nup ofc) taking his last name and moving in with him and ofc daddy is Mad. they have a small wedding which neither of her parents attend and soon after she is disowned by her family, though it takes a few months to have her written out of all wills and other formal documents declaring her their sole heir. 

she believes it is a loving marriage for a year or two and it is for her. meanwhile, her husband is slowly defrauding her and having all legal paperwork updated to have all their assets listed solely under his name and having her sign off on loans and lending out whatever money she has left. at this point, she doesn’t have much left in her own name anyways though she was never taught to consider the financial aspects of things and so this all slips by her.

this continues, her husband returns later and later each night until they are barely occupying the home together at a certain point—she is lonely, her family has abandoned her and her husband is never around, no children, nothing to distract her, she begins taking pills, a functional lotus-eater, sleeping, dreaming of the beautiful life she thought she would have until it becomes her life, consuming her. 

eventually her husband disappears, their home packed up and empty one day, leaving her behind with nothing. she never formally divorces him, continues to love him, keeping his last name, and believes that he is looking for her, having to leave for some unknown reason. but of course without anywhere to go—unable to return home to her mother and father—she soon finds herself at the door of the dollhouse, barely awake herself as she looks for a place where she can be held, a place for her to lay her gentle little bird brain. 

she is a gentle soul with perma-rose-colored lenses glued to her face tbh. denial, pills, dreams, romance, and illusions are her bread and butter. she recreates her memories every night, a gentle creature of routine and ritual who is looking for a daddy to take care of her tbh 

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Hell is For Children: Animorphs as Children’s Lit

[Guest post from Cates!]

So a couple of months ago Bug asked me to write a post about why Animorphs is Middle Grade/Children’s Fiction, not Young Adult. Since she asked, I’ve read several wonderful posts from other people questioning or explaining what the difference is between Middle Grade and Young Adult, where Animorphs fits, and why it matters. Here’s my two cents as a children’s literature scholar.

To start, Animorphs’ 20,000-30,000 word count per book is a big hint it’s not YA fiction. Obviously, a book with a low word count is not automatically a children’s book, and a book with a high word count is not automatically a book for adults. But if Animorphs was aimed at teens, Applegate would likely have been expected to make the books longer. While there are a lot of great YA novels that are as short as or shorter than your average Animorphs book (check out BookRiot’s list of 100 YA novels under 250 pages,) most YA series, and especially fantasy or scifi YA series, are expected to top 100,000 words. (The three books in the Diviners series by Libba Bray have a total wordcount of 520,000 words; Laini Taylor’s Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy tops 400,000 words, for example.)

Animorphs’ word count isn’t enough on its own to exclude the series from YA classification, but Animorphs’ short word count also fits the trend of children’s—not YA—series fiction in the 1990s. In order to understand this trend, and why it produced books specifically for children, not teens, we need to jump back in time to WWII. Because so many American men were drafted into the military, women took over jobs that had been almost exclusively done by men, like mechanics, sales, electricians, etc. When WWII ended, thousands of men returned home, but women didn’t leave the workforce. Realizing they had an excess of young men and not enough jobs, the US government created the GI Bill, allowing soldiers to attend college for free or at a steeply reduced cost, thus stemming the influx of workers and giving the economy and industry room to grow.

At the same time, families were having children (and those children were surviving) at an unprecedented rate. Thanks to the GI Bill, college was no longer something reserved for wealthy white men, but something available to the middle and even lower class. A college education offered social and economic mobility, and the Baby Boomers, children of the GI Bill recipients, became the first generation to grow up with the idea that college was something that could and should be pursued by all.

Then, the Baby Boomers began having children in the late 1970s through early 1990s, meaning a large chunk of those children (including Bug and I) were in elementary school in mid 1990s to early 2000s. Thanks to their parents, a higher percentage of American adults than ever before had attended college. Thanks to advancements in women’s medicine, psychology, sociology, and education, among other fields, people understood as never before the importance of instilling a love of reading in children at a young age. The huge middle class was willing to invest lots of time and money in their children’s educations, because at this point not having a college education was seen as a barrier to success.

I’m sure you can see where this is going. (Kidding).

Children’s publishing exploded in the 1990s because children—or, more accurately, their parents—were seen as a huge, untapped market. Previously, children’s publishing didn’t receive as much money or attention because, the logic went, children did not have money and therefore couldn’t buy books. But then the publishing industry realized that there were literally millions of parents willing to spend money on their children’s education, and publishers like Scholastic, Dutton, Dial, Penguin, Random House, and others rushed to take advantage of this new customer demographic.

Of the ten books featured on this Scholastic bookfair poster from 2000, seven are series fiction.

Serialized fiction—ie, stories that took place over the course of several books about the same characters and/or in the same setting—was the perfect way for publishing houses to capitalize on this new market. And hoo boy was it successful. From 1993 to 1995, Goosebumps books were being sold at a rate of approximately 4 million books a month. That means roughly 130,000 books were sold every day.

Here’s a few names to bring you back: Bailey School Kids, The Magic Treehouse, Babysitter’s Club, Junie B. Jones, Encyclopedia Brown, Cam Jansen, Horrible Harry, Secrets of Droon, The Magic Attic Club, A Series of Unfortunate Events, Bunnicula, The Boxcar Children, The American Girls, Amelia’s Notebook, Dear America, Wayside School, Choose Your Own Adventure…we could keep going for days. All of those series have two things in common: one, they were either published between 1985 and 2005 and/or experienced a huge resurgence in the 90s, and two, they’re all middle grade novels. Some are aimed at younger children, like Junie B. Jones and The Magic Treehouse, and some are aimed at older children, like the Dear America series and A Series of Unfortunate Events.

The point is, Animorphs is so clearly a product of its time (and not just because of the Hansen Brothers references,) it slots perfectly into the trend of series fiction for children. If you want to claim Animorphs is YA, you also need to claim all of the series I just listed above.

Now, let’s talk about the main argument I see in favor Animorphs being YA: the dark content.

This is my personal wheelhouse. I’m planning on someday doing my PhD dissertation on trauma, violence, war, and trauma recovery in Middle Grade—not YA—fiction. I always find it funny when people use descriptors like cute, sweet, innocent, silly, light, and simple to describe children’s books. While there are certainly plenty of children’s books that are one or more of those things, there are also dozens that are the polar opposite—dark, complex, serious, violent, and deep. I once read a review of The Golden Compass which said “it’s not like other children’s books with a clear cut good guy and bad guy and a simple message.” I don’t know how many children’s books the author of the article had read, but I’m guessing not a lot. Let’s just do a blunt reality check with a few of my favorites—including some picture books which are typically for an even younger audience than Middle Grade. Spoilers for all of the books I’m about to mention.

Baseball Saved Us by Ken Mochizuki This book follows a little boy who is sent to a Japanese interment camp during WWII. He and his family deal with abuse, starvation, and sickness. Suggested reading age*? Kindergarten and up.

*(For this and all subsequent books I used reviews from Kirkus, the Horn Book, and School Library Journal to determine suggested reading age.)

Check out this picture of Shorty playing baseball while an armed soldier watches him from a guard tower. Isn’t it cute, sweet, and innocent?

Pink and Say by Patricia Polacco Pink and Say are 15-year-old boys serving as Union Soldiers during the Civil War. Confederate Soldiers kill Pink’s mother, Pink and Say become POWs, and Pink is hanged because he is African American. Suggested reading age? First grade and up.

Fox by Margaret Wild This book starts grim and just gets grimmer. Dog and Magpie have been burned in a wildfire. Dog loses an eye, Magpie a wing. Magpie rides on Dog’s head—she is his eyes, he is her wings. Fox comes and convinces Magpie to leave Dog and come with him. There are definite sexual undertones. The book ends with the possibility that Dog and Magpie will be reunited, but no certainty. Suggested reading age? Six and up.

[The text says “He stops, scarcely panting./ There is silence between them/ Neither moves, neither speaks./ Then Fox shakes Magpie off his back/ as he would a flea,/ and pads away./ He turns and looks at Magpie, and he says,/ ‘Now you and Dog will know what it is like/ to be truly alone.’/ Then he is gone./ In the stillness, Magpie hears a faraway scream./ She cannot tell if it is a scream of triumph/ or despair.”]

Tell me this isn’t a total punch in the gut.

The Rabbits by Shaun Tan The introduction of rabbits to Australia is used as an allegory for European colonization and the casual destruction of the Aboriginals’ lives and cultures. Suggested reading age? Six and up.

The Scarlet Stockings Spy by Trinka Hakes Noble A girl spies on the British during the Revolutionary War while her brother fights. He’s killed and there’s actually a description of her finding the “bloodstained hole” in his coat where the bullet struck him. How cute and silly! Suggested reading age? Second grade and up.

Meet Addy: An American Girl by Connie Rose Porter I think this works as a nice comparison to Animorphs because it’s another long-running, popular series aimed at kids just starting to read chapter books. Among other incidents, there’s a graphic description of Addy watching her brother get whipped by an overseer and a passage where another overseer forces Addy to eat worms. I actually give American Girls a lot of points for not shying away from the uglier parts of history. They don’t always get it right (*cough* Kaya *cough*) but those books are more complex than I think most people realize. Suggested reading age? Second grade and up.

My Teacher Flunked the Planet by Bruce Coville From the sight of a child starving to death to homeless children freezing in the streets, Coville certainly doesn’t avoid the darker side of human nature. Pretty sure most adults only noticed the funny green alien on the cover. Suggested reading age? Fourth grade and up.

“That was the day we crept, invisible, into a prison where men and women were being tortured for disagreeing with their government. What had already been done to those people was so ugly I cannot bring myself to describe it, even though the memory of it remains like a scar burned into my brain with a hot iron.

“Even worse was the moment when it was about to start again. When I saw what the uniformed man was going to do to the woman strapped to the table, I pressed myself against the wall and closed my eyes. But even with my hands clamped over my ears I couldn’t shut out her scream.”

Inside Out and Back Again by Thanhha Lai The Vietnam War, migrants drowning in the ocean, refugee camps, racism…this book is a bit like Animorphs in that it’s got a surprisingly dry sense of humor even as awful events take place. Suggested reading age? Fourth grade and up.

The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Patterson A pretty harsh look at the realities of America’s foster care system as told by a girl who could give Rachel Berenson a run for her money. It’s not afraid to show that parents aren’t automatically good people. Suggested reading age? Third grade and up.

Stepping on the Cracks and Wait Til Helen Comes by Mary Downing Hahn If WWII, bullying, dead siblings, draft dodging, and parental abuse are too light and fluffy for you, you can always read about a child consumed with survivor’s guilt because she started the fire that killed her mother. Suggested reading age? Fifth grade and up.

“‘How do you think Jimmy would feel if he knew his own sister was helping a deserter while he lay dying in Belgium?’

‘It wasn’t like that!’ I said, stung by the unfairness of her question. ‘Stuart was sick, he needed me! I wish Jimmy had been down there in the woods, too! Then he’d be alive, not dead!’

Mother slapped me then, hard as she could, right in the face. ‘Never say anything like that again!’ she cried. ‘Never!’”

I could go on (and on and on and on) about trauma narratives for children, but suffice to say while I think Animorphs is probably the most brilliant one I’ve ever read, it’s far from the only one. Kids’ books can be dark, which is good, because if we only tell stories about white, able-bodied children living in big houses with two loving parents then we’re excluding the majority of real children’s lived experiences from our narratives.

There’s one more point I’d like to address: without sounding overly accusatory, I think a lot of the compulsion to consider Animorphs YA instead of children’s fiction is born of the adult bias against children. I’ve mentioned this before on the podcast, but Children’s Literature scholar Maria Nikolajeva created the term aetonormativity to describe society’s tendency to value the adult over the child. Like I discussed above, we have this idea that children’s books are somehow sweet and innocent, while YA fiction is darker and grittier because it addresses so-called ‘adult’ topics like sex, drugs, suicide, violence, and death.

As I hope I’ve established above, just because a book addresses these topics that doesn’t automatically mean it’s for teens. Books about heavy subjects can, are, and should be written for children. I think most of us are fans of Animorphs because it’s a series that sticks with us long after we close the neon-cloud covers. It’s a series that strongly disputes the notion of a clear right and wrong, and doesn’t shy away from the atrocities of war. And it was written for children. It was sold to children. It was read by children.

Some of us adults are just cool enough to read children’s books that treat child readers with the respect they deserve.

— Cates

[bangtanxm]

Bookclub; February Highlight

February is the month of love and as we all know, love doesn’t happen over night. Whether it is angst, sexual tension or pining we all love to be on the edge of our seat hoping and begging that they would finally get together. So, naturally this month theme was “Slow Burn” and these are our our monthly fanfic recommendations from our bangtanxm; bookclub!

In the following you find a list of fics we recommend and reviewed this month. Please support these amazing authors! With every monthly recommendation, there is also a drabble game that everyone can participate in. You’ll find the masterlist at the end of the reviews. Happy Reading!

BOOKCLUB; recommendations

TIDES WILL BRING ME BACK TO YOU by @sujigguk​ [aka @ftyoonmin​]

— Summary; Fate is a funny thing. Humble fisherman, Yoongi, learns this when one evening, it's not a fish that sits at the end of his hook, but a bottle, containing a note claiming that a creature of the sea by the name of Jeongguk has been left stranded on land and is soon to draw his last breath.

bookclub; review

“This story immediately pulls you in with the amazing story-telling. Lou has a way of writing so beautifully detailed that it makes you imagine the amazing scenes in your head vividly. On top of that, it is a really heart wrenching love story, mixed with a wonderful fantasy theme of siren Jungkook and his fishermen Yoongi.” [@softjeon​]

“Wow. So, Tides Will Bring Me Back to You has been on my to read list for quite a while. I regret my choices in not reading it until now. This fic was an absolute work of art. The singular amazing thing I want to point out is the attention to detail. So, we as readers expect fics to be good, especially AUs. Like we want some world building and detail so that we can visualize the setting and location and what is going on with the characters that are being put into this new world. This fic was able to do that but MORE. The attention to the setting detail was unbelievable. There was so much in terms of vivid descriptors and explanations that painted this super vivid and pretty image in my mind. I’m scared of the ocean to be honest, so I have never gone out on a ship beyond like, a lake. And have only ever seen the ocean from the safe confines of the beach. But because of the detail in this fic, I was able to visualize it so perfectly and vividly, it felt like I was really there.I really enjoyed Jungkook as well. Obviously he’s a gorgeous young man in real life, right? Which is why I liked this fic because it wasn’t this stunning perfect man from the waist up, you know? He had the scaly back, the webbed fingers, the sharp and kinda creepy teeth, etc. I think that this made it more “realistic”, as realistic as a mermaid fic can get of course, but like… I don’t know, it felt more real and added a layer of uniqueness to the fic that a lot of supernatural AUs tend to lack in fanfic terms. Also, the ending. Some might struggle with this because it was so ambiguous (no spoilers of course) but I really liked it. Though I’m sure the author had like a set “this is how it is” ending or explainer, I like that it’s this sort of grey area for readers to think on and figure out.” [anon]

“Omg, I really loved this fic. It's a bit longer than I normally read because work sort of keeps me away from reading more than writing haha but I really loved how Yoongi had this NEED to help a stranger he had no idea existed or not. Then to watch their love blossom that way and Yoongi protect Jungkook. It's also cute that Jungkook calls Yoongi 'My Yoongi' and Yoongi first thought it was a mispronunciation of his name. I do love mercreatures too, so that also drew me to this one. I loved the details and the tidbits of background we get from Yoongi and his love for the sea/sea creatures. Sorry, this is just all over the place.” [anon]

BABY BLUE by @chimknj​

— Summary; Jimin is blue. He’s loyal to his customers and confident in everything he does. Namjoon is white. He’s pristine and maintains a perfect balance in life. When the two come together, they create baby blue, a color of freshness and something new. It’s new for both of them, but not all new things are bad.

bookclub; review

“What an amazing story! Even though Minjoon is basically already "together", although Namjoon is just paying Jimin to be there, it is just heartbreaking to read about how Jimin tries to get to know the other more, trying to get him out of his shell and falling in love while he is doing it. All while Namjoon tries to stick to his rules making it so much harder for Jimin, himself and the reader....cause damn!!! I could have screamed the characters sometimes and it literally hurt my hurt so much each time Namjoon pushed Jimin away ;; I can't.... I wanna cry just thinking about it again.” [@softjeon​]

“...beautifully written plot, where you just want to punch Namjoon in the face until he finally reveals his true feelings.” [anon]

“I didn’t mean to consume over 70,000 words in one sitting. I honestly didn’t. Over a few days, over a week. Space it. But I knew I was lost at the end of chapter one, the same way Namjoon knew he was lost the second Jimin’s cute hands started unbuttoning his shirt after date night.Honestly. This fic had everything. I laughed a lot, I cried way more than I’d like to admit to, I had the urge to take a cold shower more than once, I wanted to take Joon by his perfectly ironed lapels and shake the ever-loving crap out of him. Honestly though, it felt like a full-length novel. I mean it was, by length, but also by content. The world that was created was beautifully devised and detailed, and everything from the various business names to the design of the apartments was so easy to visualize due to the richness of the descriptors. Personally, I appreciate that. It adds to the ‘movie playing in my head’ way that I like to read.The smut was unbelievably well written. It was sexy without feeling too unrealistically “porn film fantasy” if that makes sense. Like the progression felt natural and easy rather than being rushed or faked like some fics tend to do. It was clear the author did the required research in terms of D/s and wrote what felt very accurately.I loved the involvement of the other members, I think they all played really great, vital roles as side characters. And honestly, they were so rich in their own right that I would love spin offs about their own arrangements with their respective partners!The ending was absolutely sweet and perfect too. I spent the whole fic praying it’d end in a way that was satisfactory to my wrenching heart and I feel like it gave me every single thing I wanted and more.” [anon]

EVERYGREEN by @softjeon​ & @cassiavioletblue​

— Summary; Yoongi felt that something was wrong the moment he had stepped foot into the garden. He hated that this sense of foreboding could mean anything and he had seen enough to have a very vivid imagination of what could wait in the bushes for him. His grip was tight and ruthless but when he felt he weight of something heavier he startled. In front of him on the grass, bloody and shaking was a deer hybrid; a boy, obviously younger than himself and apparently in a lot of pain.

bookclub; review

“Whuff. There's hybrid fics. And then there's THIS hybrid fic. I know that hybrid fics are one of those things you either love em or hate em, I honestly couldn't find a thing to dislike about this fic even if I tried. Firstly Yoongi as the grumpy on the outside (but squishy on the inside) raccoon is perfection. Imagining his markings and those growls and grumbles -- it's so endearing. And then there's JK who, a deer? Oh come on, I'm soft. Imagining him with the broken little antler and those soft, cute markings V_V It's tooth rotting, I swear. But for all the fluff and sweetness, there's this layer of angst and hesitation that makes this feel like such a deep, melancholy slowburn. The will they - won't they, the pull of each and push back, the "I can't" and "I want" -- GUH. Really, it's just so sweet and perfect.” [@kimlinebiased​]

“I read Evergreen as it came out. It seemed like such a cute take on a trope that’s pretty common in our fandom, but one I’m less comfortable with, so I was really eager to see these authors’ take on it, since I knew I love their work already. The story opened up with action that sucked you in almost immediately, but it really balanced that with some slower, almost peaceful moments. I think that’s a really big draw of this story, really these authors overall, but this one in particular. They have a handle on the ebb and flow of the story. What I mean is, things happen and it’s exciting and oh god cliffhanger, but then things slow down and give the reader a second to breathe (but not too long, because then it would get boring). The balance between breathing space and action can be really hard to balance and I think these two do it really well.  For this particular story, I think my favorite character is actually Namjoon. Sure, he doesn’t have a huge part, but I think he’s super well written and quite in character to the canonical person. (All of them are in their own way, but he sticks out to me). He’s so supportive but not afraid to tell Yoongi the truth even if it’ll sting. Further, he isn’t perfect. He lets his heart get in the way of his head sometimes (like with Jimin) and it makes him really endearing and realistic in a refreshing way. I think that he’s one of those absolutely indispensable characters in this particular world. Like sometimes, it’s easy to switch members, have x play y’s part, y play b’s part, etcetera. But I think that Namjoon’s part was written so perfectly, it fits him like a glove and made it really enjoyable when he was on the page. The plot has some things that the reader can “call” so to speak – like you might read and know there’s gonna be trouble for JK, he’s gonna get tangled up in the mess in some way, but even thinking you know, it’s still done in a way that it doesn’t take away from the enjoyment and “oh no” factor when the big climax does finally get rolling. Just like you know pretty sure, it’ll end happy, I still found myself worried about ‘well what if it doesn’t’. And I think that’s a testament to the authors, really. They are able to take these fanfic tropes and make them feel fresh and new, so even if you feel like you might know what will happen, the way that they weave the story together makes those emotions still hit in a really palpable way.I’d also like to discuss the overall setting of the story. There’s only a few locations that the readers really get a feel for, but particularly the cabin. I think that the descriptions of the cabin and forest and general development of the backstory and setting was really well done. Things like hybrid or other non-human AU’s can be really tricky to keep interesting but still give the right amount of backstory and description so that they aren’t confusing. We as readers need to know the rules, but not have a history textbook, and I think this fic really accomplished that as well.Overall, I just really enjoyed the feeling and emotions that this fic caused. I think that it was able to really convey some important messages while still being woven into a sweet, unique love story. [anon]

THE JUSTITIA PUGNATORES by ShoshinLaurels [AO3]

— Summary; When stable boy Park Jimin's best friend, crowned Prince Kim Taehyung finds himself under threat in his own palace, his guards dropping like flies, the only option left is to call on the Justitia Pugnatores, the 'Justice Fighters.'Three men boasting incredible skill and legendary pasts come barrelling through the heart of the palace, shaking everything in their wake.As the dilemma of the princes impending chances of murder only escalates, Jimin finds himself wrapped up in a mess of secrets, heartache and suspiscion.If only Min Yoongi didn't complicate things. 

bookclub; review

“It's been a while since I read this, but I would happily read it in one sitting all over again. I'm a sucker for royal settings and I absolutely ADORED the dynamics of this one. It's just the right amount of angsty and fluffy, and keeps you hooked throughout.” [@sujigguk​]

“Damn these apples! I really loved this fic out of various of reasons, the relationship between the characters are amazingly written, the setting and overall plot is so well thought out and it just has the perfect mixture between angst, fluff and comedy… i mean, just the first chapter had me laughing so much.” @softjeon​

THE WAY GUCCI LOOKS ON YOU by @joonsrack​

— Summary; “Funny how even in this ridiculously absurd situation, life had made Taehyung a third-wheel. Or a sixth.If Bangtan Dry Cleaning was his fairy godmother, Jimin his little mouse, the jacket his magic dress and the club scene his ball, where the fuck was his prince charming?A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts.”

bookclub; review

“So, this fic is really is so cute. I started in on it just casually, but found myself entirely sucked in and couldn't put it down until I'd read all that was written on it. Taehyung specifically is such an interesting character - his thought processes and sass are just perfect. I adore Jimin as well. And then there's Jungkook, who is so -INSUFFERABLY ARROGANT- but not in a way that makes you dislike him. He's still so endearing and you WANT these guys to just get off their high horses and kiss or something, but you also kinda want Tae to pour water into his lap because he's such a rich boy. I love it so much. I can't wait for the next part.” [@kimlinebiased​]

“A story that could very well fit a movie! It’s everything you need on a sunday night! You laugh, you want to throw something at their rich faces and scream at the boys to just kiss already. A perfect Slow Burn!” [@softjeon​]

“The way that Gucci look on you (amazing) is such an adorable and absurd (in the best way) slow burn. It’s a wip now, and I honestly cannot wait until the author updates. The case of mistaken identity is such a good trope that honestly, I feel, isn’t done enough. Especially not in such a cute and fun way. Of all the ways for Tae to get outed as not who he said he was – this one was epic. Of course, it’s a slowburn, so you expect the endgame ship to you know, not be huge fans of one another, but the tension here is so palpable, it is awesome. Taehyung cannot stand that cocky little JK and JK’s arrogance is both hilarious and infuriating. But there’s very clearly something deeper to him, and I really like that the author is able to make that clear through hints and clues, rather than just outright saying it. It adds a depth to JK’s character that often gets missed in fics, especially because we know these guys so well, so to speak. Having those sort of subtle nuances really adds to the overall enjoyability of the fic. I think Jimin is such a great supporting character too. He’s the perfect mix of Jiminy Cricket and devil in your ear, so to speak, and his personality comes off as so honest to who he is canonically. It makes him so fun to read. (And the YoonMinSeok trio is helpful as well, what can I say, soft spot for poly even in side pairings). All in all, it’s just an absolutely stunning fic so far and I can’t wait for the author to continue it.” [anon]

UKIYO by Sharleena [AO3]

— Summary; A story of tender tides and unmoving hummingbirds.

bookclub; review

“I'm almost halfway into this story but I really have to rec it cause wow...if you like mafia and urban fantasy themes then this is THAT fic for you listen succbus jimin, mafia leader yoongi, a damn deeply laced mystery that I can't EVEN FREAKING FIGURE OUT I usually can connect a few dots in mystery stories sometimes bUT THIS STORY IS KILLING ME there is someone yoongi is looking for that's destroying his gang and he like DOESN'T FREAKING EXIST and I know once I reach the end I'll be like IT WAS RIGHT FREAKING THERE IN MY FACE lmao but seriously the authors' worldbuilding skills is freaking legendary and I'm always hoe for mixing different themes together and the mix of urban fantasy and mafia just ugh freaking beautiful. The Slow Burn is real in his fic, yoonmins' dynamics are annoying and frustrating as heck but can be really sweet sometimes because they're both very broken individuals and they're trying to find comfort in one another. The themes are obviously very dark so carefully read the tags and also author notes in the beginning so you know what to expect but seriously it's so damn worth it and I will be personally putting a long feedback directly on their Ao3 as well when I'm done because i know I'm going to have lots more to say. BUT SERIOUSLY THIS IS THE SHIIIITTTT SO FAR SO GOOD SO DAMN GOOD I FEEL FED EVERYTIME I READ IT GIVE IT A READ WHEN YOU CAN!!” [@flowerwrites06​]

FAKE SUGAR by minverse [AO3]

— Summary; "I guess," Jungkook pauses momentarily to inhale a deep, bracing breath, "I would just want you to come to my work events and laugh at my jokes and don't correct people if they imply that we're doing it.""Having sex, you mean," Jin clarifies gently, and Jungkook chokes on air. If his face was any redder, Jin would insist on taking him to the hospital. Jungkook clears his throat, obviously trying to play off the strangled, choked sound as a casual cough."Yes. Doing... sex."

bookclub; review

“I love a good concept for fic, and a face sugar dating  au sign me up!!! honestly this is one of my all-time favourite fics, cos its not only funny and entertaining but it has so much heart!!! like i just love the vibe of the fic, and i wish i could keep reading it forever. Plus the characters are so like-able and feel so human. Also jinkook holds a special place in my heart, and jk being all shy in the beginning and jins confidence is an unmatched pairing!!! EVERYONE JUST READ IT, ITS SO FUCKING GOOD, okay im done now sorry…" [@tinysweetscrown​]

“I read this a while ago, and also everything else by minverse... Everything they write is gold, the character construction, the dialogue, the relationship/chemistry, the humour, the plots...just everything. Fake Sugar kept me up at night with its brilliance and originality, i couldn't get enough of jin and jungkook's relationship, but also all the other members' interaction and storyline. It's expertly written and i sincerely think everyone should read it, if they have not already.” [anon]

“Aaaaaah i love this so much!!! I absolutely love the characterisation of jin!!! I find it very refreshing! In some ways it’s completely /jin/ yet in others it’s such a nee and fun way of describing him (the fact that hes a competition eater absolutely sends me its just. So! Jin!) i also love jungkook!!! Tiny gay babie kook having to impress ppl he doesnt want to impress and getting competitive over that dindjdjd once again i could genuienly see it happening! And oh boy oh boy am i excited to see how this story pans out! The little appearances by the rest of bangtan as well i love it! It all flows very naturally and none of the cameos feel forced or anything. AND JIMIN UDJDJDJD I LOVE HIM. the fact that hes just a chaotic brat having dumpster sex and causing trouble oh my god im still crying jsbsjsnjs.” [anon]

The Drabble-Game; MASTERLIST

— prompt; “Romantic attraction is literal: characters feel a pull like gravity to people they’re attracted to. The bigger the attraction, the harder the pull.”

Thank you to everyone who participated! Stay tuned for the next theme of the month to participate!

NUMINOUS written by @softjeon​ & @cassiavioletblue​

— Summary; “You’re fucking kidding me, are you?” He looked up at the ceiling and made an annoyed face. “You really want me to suffer do you? Stupid universe.”

— Join the Bookclub here! — official post — faq