#don’t get caught writing fanfiction by director challenge

[queerfortress2]

Medic x reader headcannons????

MINE MINE MINE MINE — mod medic

READER X MEDIC

if you were looking for a extremely romantic and sappy lover, than you are in the WRONG CATEGORY BUDDY, BECAUSE WOOO HES IS NOT.

he does try, really, but in a very unorthodox fashion. like yeah it has a romantic intention when he gave you a beating heart of the enemy soldier saying it’s for you, but you did react quite badly to it.

definitely had to be coached on how to be Normal in a relationship because otherwise he would NOT get it. turns out!! people don’t like organs and guts and murder like he does. it’s just a him thing.

he does delve deeper into your interests but more importantly— your health! dating an ex-doctor has its benefits! he still remember going to medical school and residency so he can still (illegally) perform on you. of course, you deny this advance, assuming you are sane my dear friends, but it’s the thought that counts.

slowly but surely the organs and medication are replaced with flowers and chocolates, it just took awhile to get there. he really is struggling but with a— albeit creepy— smile like that, how could you be mad at him?

his love language is most likely acts of service, which means he does the little things for you. said little things being anaesthesia but details details… you’re doing better off than his subjects teammates, so can you really complain?

and let’s be honest, being a mercenary pays well, you will NOT be going hungry bestie. with this advantage no matter who you are and what your stance is on paying for dinner, he is PAYING FOR DINNER, you cannot take that away from him. good luck trying

i think he uses you as an excuse to get out of things as well. new project coming up in 2fort? that’s too damn bad he actually needs to teach you the complicated anatomy of your central nervous system. it’s a very important thing, engineer! he has to waste.

also heavy hears about you so often he probably knows more about you than you do by the time he finally meets you face to face. i mean the whole shebang, full name, likes, dislikes, little fidgets, that thing you did last week to mess with medic, social security number…/j

he can’t help it, in his eyes you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread! maybe even the greatest thing since hemlock leaves in surgery prep!

…if you even knew what that meant when he said it to you.

all in all, god speed to you medic lovers because you will not get a DAY of rest with this man, he’s either working, causing something extraordinary or reeking havoc in teufort without many precautionary measures. we all saw expiration date. beware and tread carefully you fools (me included).

[lexpressobean]

The thing about writing fanfiction for me is that once I start a multi-chapter fic (tho I've only ever posted a grand total of 2 ever lol both still unfinished rip OTL) I apparently never brainstorm enough. Or too much! 'Cause by nature I live for "what ifs" and it's wrecking me lol, I can't move on...! But this is a Modern AU setting and now I can't stop developing Shibi and Shino in a general sense (and Shibi's involvement is very minor compared to other characters too like I need to chill??) But I guess this goes for my Modern AU in general, so here's are some thoughts no one asked for!

One big HC I have is that Shibi is a well renowned musician, and Shino also has a lot of talent in music as well. This is because in my head, though Aburame and their hive can communicate to some degree, they're also known to be affected by their respective Aburame's emotions. And they audibly buzz and get excited by it all and I seemed to unfailingly liken all that to vibrations, like of musical sounds, and then it kinda leads up to that fidgeting a person might do when they get very emotional or passionate but can't voice it because they need to stay quiet or simply don't know how to talk about something. In general I think both Shibi and Shino are decent enough communicators when it matters, but they ARE pretty quiet people. And I feel like one of the best ways to release and express otherwise pent up emotional tension and energy is by straight up blasting music to drown out everything else. And it feels even MORE satisfying by the end of it when you're the one who was actually putting out the notes!! Anyone can make noise, but truly inspired music is such a trip! Every single note accounted for (even the "rest" notes!!) symbolizes 1 kikaichu and so just the idea of being able to read and produce music and bringing it all to life just makes complete sense to me and fills me with serotonin when I think about Father/Son jamming sessions between them...!!!

more specific nonsense under the cut because idk how to shut up lol

And! And despite this being a Modern AU HC thing, it looks like Shino's actually been shown to semi(?)canonly play an electric guitar, and I've become fond of the idea of Shibi's first instrument being a bass guitar too~

Of course if that's the case, OBVIOUSLY Shibi would be a multi-instrumentalist. Obviously. And what I've been thinking is that by the time Shino is an adult. Shibi'd be a seasoned Film Score Composer. I feel like unless you're quite the music or movie fan, or work in the business, you probably aren't gonna be super into the composers in comparison to the actors and directors that work on the same movie lol So to the general public, Shibi Aburame isn't a name that brings out stars in anyone's eyes. But if you know, you know, and boy does Shibi have his work cut out for him. He's in demand for lots of those box office hits.

Also YES Shibi can sing, and he knows it, the man isn't the least bit shy to acknowledge it! But he never committed singing as a major part of his career as much as playing because that's just the kind of guy he is. These days he won't sing unless it serves a purpose in brainstorming for his next project or if he's in the privacy of his car/home, but even then it's more just soft but super accurate harmonizing on his part to a radio or stereo or whatever. But if Shino ever needed comforting, especially as a small child, he'd never hesitate to lull Shino back into calm with songs that he either liked or maybe made up together if the situation was appropriate. And ocassionally he'll start to sings at Shino as a means to annoy his son because why talk when you can sing to get your point across?? He's not always a serious guy, sometimes he can get soft too...!

Shino? Can also sing and play well without much effort at all. Though Shino didn't take it up as a career like Shibi did, and not as many instruments, Shino is definitely his father's son and is just as musically inclined. He could've if he wanted to but found he a had a strong preference to percussion and string specifically, and even then prefered plucking and strumming versus bowing strings, but his favorite bowed string is a cello! And being part of the newer generation, he might mess around with a laptop software/button pad/launchpad if he's feeling particularly inspired or wants to challenge himself a little more. But his bestest baby is the first electric guitar he bought on his own ;o;

Shino is more likely to sing at any given time in comparison to Shibi, but he's still usually alone, whether wiping off the board after class, doing chores, or maybe grading papers. Kiba and Hinata have both caught him doing so since they first met him, and Hinata compliments his talent when she does, but Kiba starts to dis his choice of music when he realizes Shino sings a lot older or obscure music "like a fucking hipster!" Shino doesn't dis Kiba's personal taste in music as much as disses Kiba for his lack of open mindedness and it makes Kiba rethink everything when Shino is able to play the melody of every song Kiba throws at him the first time he comes over to his house. Shino is very eclectic in his taste of music, but some of Shino's favorite genres for singing are indie pop, blues (especially older ones), and the occasional toned down but no less accurate musical number or power ballad just imagine him whisper singing fcking "Jukebox Hero" while he's scribbling notes vvvvrrmm.

Unlike Shibi or Shino, Torune isn't so big on making music as he is listening and writing poetry/lyrics DON'T TELL ANYONE SHHHH FCKIN SH. It's not that he doesn't have talent, he can also sing rather well and owns karaoke night, he is karaoke king! It not quite a discipline problem as it is a drive thing as he never seriously touched more than two instruments. He can manage about 4 chords on guitar, just enough to impress, but oddly enough he was drawn to and became terribly enamored with Shibi's vibraphone. He studied that thing profusely and whenever he comes back to visit from college and after, he always comes back to it and plays it as if he never skipped a day of practice. Will probably own his own vibraphone at some point for sure! So scratch that, it's simply a Family Jam Session I guess!

Idk, I'm ranting again lol

[frumfrumfroo]

"#also american franchises based on ya novels need some seriously enticing incentives for me to give them a chance" If you don't mind talking about it, I'd love to hear this explained more! I'm really curious about why this is and what about American YA franchise novels puts you off...? Also more generally, what makes these types of stories cowardly and how writers can avoid being cowards/making cowardly choices/examples of when they do? Like what is a cowardly choice and what is a brave one?

Well, it’s basically a pile up of red flags for me. First, that I don’t like YA. By which I mean the American publishing industry standard that constitutes the ‘genre’, not the concept of stories for young adults.

There’s an (enforced?) house style of basic, utilitarian prose I find extremely boring to read and YA novels are overall simplistic even when they engage with nuanced ideas. Obviously that’s by design because they’re meant to be really accessible, but for me it’s frustrating and unsatisfying. It’s possible to be simple and accessible while still offering a lot of thematic richness and subtext, but you don’t often get that. It’s possible to write beautiful prose for even small children, so there’s no excuse for how dry and beige and lacking colour the writing tends to be. 

I’ve made repeated exceptions because of an exciting premise or someone’s rec and it’s just... never been worth it. I prefer to read something unconstrained by those standards, both stylistically and regarding the content. I like complex prose and complex (or at least deeply resonant) characters. If I’m going to read something that’s pure formula or where I might have to look past weak prose, I’d rather read fanfiction and have it star characters I already care about.

And I’m just tired of the American cultural death cult and the attitudes to storytelling that go with it, so I’d rather have less of that in my life. There’s some writers/directors/actors I really like and will continue to follow, but I want to mostly take a break from US media. The relentless propaganda in their mainstream entertainment is also very... wearying.

I was kinda being facetious about writers being cowards, but I just mean doing a cautionary tale about a girl who stays with her NiceGuy childhood friend who’s afraid of her agency and gives up her power because actualising into an adult hero is scary and dangerous and sexual desire is scary and dangerous and making a human connection with the woobie villain is Bad... like, that’s a ‘safe’ choice that was passé for women’s fiction in the nineteenth century. It’s like Romanticism didn’t even happen for some people.

Courageous storytelling to me is actually challenging either your protagonist or your current cultural milieu. Interrogating the received wisdom you and your audience probably take for granted. Coming of age stories need to ask what adulthood actually means and whether the ‘expected’ choices are really the right ones; they have to show the person who is growing up wrestle with the discovery that their authority figures and foundational assumptions are fallible. That doesn’t mean you have to decide it was all wrong, maybe you reaffirm your original beliefs, but they should still be questioned and an adult understanding of them should be more nuanced. If your protagonist ends up back where they started, your story better have been about resolving why they weren’t content with that at the beginning and how it was their perspective that needed to change rather than their circumstances. Otherwise your message is just ‘give up and don’t hope for something better’.

So many stories now are ‘cowardly’ to me because they’re entirely unchallenging, even at the most basic level, and are about protagonists who never struggle or fail. Or they’re simply credulously cynical and complacent, which is just lazy imo. Standing for something, saying something, takes courage. Saying ‘pfft, it’s whatever, nothing matters’ as if a thin veneer of pseudo-nihilism makes you intelligent is juvenile. We’ve seen how often hacks will dismiss the entire concept of art as having meaning in order to deflect criticism (’themes are for eighth grade book reports’, ‘I don’t like to think about the meaning of anything I write’, etc.), as if only a pretentious snob could possibly care about this most essentially human activity of interpersonal communion through storytelling and searching for purpose. The truth is that these people are embarrassed by their incompetence and the fact that they’ve been caught totally uncritically regurgitating a shitty reactionary narrative without a hint of self-awareness so they pretend they ~weren’t even trying~ and never wanted to tell a real story in the first place.

[archiveofidentityconstellations]

writing through the ages...

I basically wanted to share my writing and how it's progressed. It's a two-way challenge 1) Try to see if you can get through it 2) Try to see if you want to share your own version of your evolving writing. 

Age 12 (Tokyo Mew Mew crack fanfiction)

"Would you two shut-up!? You two are always arguing that nobody can enjoy working here anymore! I mean, COME ON!" Silence. Mint nodded, satisfied. Then it started back up again! Mint was about to scream when she had an idea. A gorgeous idea that would make everything alright again. A great idea! A glorious idea! And maybe a little evil… "Pudding," she whispered and gestured the others to come. She told them her little plan. They smirked. Pudding crept up to Ichigo and Ryou. With a yodel she pulled out some handcuffs and placed them around Ryou and Ichigo's hands. "PUDDING! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO!?" they screamed in unison. Pudding tapped her foot and glared. "We are all sick of you yelling and screaming that we decided to take action. You two have to stay chained together for a day. That's our punishment to you!" "Are you serious?" "YES!" exclaimed everyone that it nearly made an earthquake. Ryou and Ichigo shrunk back. Looks like they were stuck doing this…

At school…

Ryou looked over Ichigo's math problem. He sighed. Ichigo turned to look at him. "What's the problem?" "I never realized you were this dumb, baka strawberry." "Shut-up! If you'reso smart than do it youself!" "I'm not falling for that old trick. Your work, you do it!" "It would help if you weren't contradicting me at every move I make!" Ryou looked away and Ichigo went back to her problem. He chuckled. "You are doing it all wrong, baka!" "SHUT-UP!" Everyone turned to look at Ichigo, who blushed. "Momomiya! Is something wrong!" reprimanded the teacher. "Yes, can I go to the school nurse?"

With the nurse…

"It seems like nothing is wrong with you," the nurse told the couple. "But why are you stuck together?" "Our therapist thinks we have anger problems!" exclaimed Ichigo. "Yeah, and she's only eleven!" Ryou screamed, referring about Pudding. "Which we don't!" "That's right!" The nurse seemed a bit dizzy, then replied, "Maybe she thought you were a bit emotional and needed to understand each other." "Why would we would need to do that!?" "We both understand that we hate each other!" The nurse smiled. "See, you're already understanding each other!" "ARRGGHHHHH!" they cried. The nurse looked a puffed and frazzled. When she got a hold of herself she urged, "Well, if there is anything I can do please tell me." "Absolutely nothing at all," Ryou brushed her away. Ichigo turned to go but stopped. "Actually," she turned. "Yes?" The poor nurse asked. "Do you have a saw?"

-

"Be careful," cautioned Ryou. "I'm being as careful as I can!" Ichigo snapped. "What if you chop my hand off?" "Oh, that's all right! Now quit complaining!" "Look, why don't I use the saw? I'm stronger than you." "Then YOU will chop MY hand off!" Ichigo had a saw in one hand, trying to break the chain. Ryou was trying to grasp it, when she dropped it on the road. ZOOM! A car whizzed by. CRACK! The saw broke. Both of their mouths opened into a perfect O. "You baka! This all your fault!" Ryou moaned. "MY fault!? If you didn't lock me in the closet we wouldn't be in this mess!" They continued to argue, then Ryou made up his mind to do something. He dragged Ichigo while she exclaimed, "Where are you going?!" "To the café. We're going to tell them to take this off and we won't take 'no' for an answer!"

Age 14 (original abandoned story)

I walked down the hall, scuffing my feet on the floor. Squeak, squeak. The tip of my shoes squealed in protest. I can never decide if I like the squeaking sound or not. In a way, it's so obnoxious, squeaking when it should be silent. But on the other hand, it's comforting. Letting me know that it's there for me. Even when it should be silent. I gave a half-hearted spin and sighed. It has been a three months since Terra had left for the desert-survival task. We, Jett and Kyle and I, hadn't heard from her. No messages. No communication. Zip. Squeak, squeak. Not that we expected much. Her current living conditions were barren desert land. But she was Terra. Terra could do anything, even when things seemed impossible. She had aced every exam, beat every trainer, fooled all the pig-headed directors. All with a raise of one eyebrow. I stopped walking, momentarily pondering over this. Everyone knew Cawlwig had hacked her name into the list. She was too young--twelve--to even go on a survival task. It should have been illegal. Not that, I realized, that had ever stopped the Academy before. Main object, Cawlwig was her enemy. Cawlwig wanted her broken. Wanted her dead. I started walking again, trying not to think of death as a possibility. Squeak, squeak. Why? I don't know why. Terra had made an enemy of a pompous, yet powerful man. How had she done it? My best guess is that she knew his secrets. And she could plan his downfall. Squeak, squeak. Squeak, squeak. Squeak, squ-- A hand reached out and grabbed me. Before I could react, an object (bat or leg) hit me hard in the back of my knees, decapitating me of defense. Collapsing, I was dragged into a dark room, door slamming away the sunlight. Darn. My squeaky shoes betrayed me.

Age 19 -- I had stopped writing for a long while, but took it up again when I turned 19 (same original abandoned story)

The mud oozed through his shoes. Jett fleetingly thought of his time in Ireland, pushing the large, inky-green leaves away from his head. They were in a forest such as the one he inhabited now (though considerably less humid) and had gotten lost. After a considerable amount of boredom and walking, they had given up on and played Fly and Web. Jett slapped his neck at a mosquito, wiping his fingers against his wet pants to clear away the blood. All was well until Mirage had a turn as Fly and fell into a stream. He grinned. The sound of her scream would be remembered for eternity. In truth, it was the mud that had her near tears. She stammered about bacteria and parasites and overall uncleanliness while he and Kyle laughed hysterically at the stream’s ridge. Terra took one look at her and the next moment was against a tree in silent snickers. He shouldered some low-hanging branches out of the way. Those times spent with his team were good. They were home to him. His lips frowned on their own accord while his chest tightened. Home. Where he’d be if he wasn’t in the forsaken Amazon rainforest, trying to make his way to a communication station with a group of equally forsaken Miners. His hands twisted around his belt holster. It’d been a while. To be honest, Jett hadn’t been counting the days since the attack. There had been a close-calls from then until now, but the lot of them had been able to stay safe for a the time being. In fact, one could even say that it had been… His eyes narrowed. The forest was quiet. Too quiet. His feet stopped. The Miners behind him noticed and stilled, reaching for their guns with one hand and clicking on their siwatch on the other. They were Spyders. They knew the danger of a single misspent second. The Wardens, on the other hand… “Commander,” Jett whispered hoarsely. The man paid him no heed, crashing through the underbrush with his second in command, Eskil. “Commander,” Jett said louder, tone imperative. Boucher turned around, face drawn in stern lines. He spat, “What is it, forty-sev–” BOOM! Gun fire blasted across the forest, sparks alighting like fireflies. A snarl of animal-might shook the ground. Vines gave way to life, twirling like snakes. Shouts of agony replaced the gunfire as more and more Miners went down. “Take cover!” Jett pushed the retreat, yanking Claude away from a vine. A laugh echoed throughout the forest, deep as the shadows between the trees. “Come out,” the voice purred. Dacia’s breath caught in her throat. Jett caught her wide eyes and shook his head. “Don’t do anything,” he mouthed. The voice became more insistent. “Come out.” They lay against the mud, heads perched behind a fallen log, still as death without so much as a heaving breath. Their fallen comrades lay in the wooded meadow beyond, sun flickering over their skin like lace. “Come out.” Silence. “I won’t ask again.” They inhaled. THUMP. Dacia’s hands fisted the dirt. A shudder ran through them all. Boucher rolled over onto his stomach, cocking his gun. “Stand up,” he ordered them gruffly. No one moved. THUMP. “Stand up,” he ordered again. Xing drew closer to the ground, shakily twisting his Radiors. He met Jett’s eyes; Jett shook his head. “Stand up.” Lilka drew her head unto Ghazi’s shoulder, tears getting caught on her pale eyelashes. THUMP. “Stand up!” “You stand up,” Juan hissed, dark eyes gleaming like molten lava. Boucher cocked his gun. “Stand up,” he commanded, jaw tight and voice lethal, “or I’ll shoot you.” Silence. THUMP. The atmosphere muffled. Dacia shook beside him. Claude went rigid. THUMP. Jett’s eyes never left the gun. Boucher leveled it at each of them individually, finally resting on the Elder boy. THUMP. Jett didn’t hesitate. “Go ahead.” Boucher’s eyes narrowed. An inhuman roar rippled throughout the air. The log rose and splintered, a weapon that plunged into the slow ones. Lilka screamed. Xing stood, throwing his helios at the figure charging at them. Taur. They almost missed, but clipped Taur in the shoulder. He growled and knocked Xing to the ground. “RUN!” Xing instructed them breathlessly. A snap sounded and he went still. Jett wasted no time. “To the river!” he shouted. The remaining Miners rushed forth, throwing their packs behind. The vines withered and whipped around, slithering around necks and thrusting into limbs. Eskil was caught in a web of vines, struggling like an insect. Zinara crawled down the branches, tendrils of red hair contrasting against green. She shook her head, eyes displaying a racing storm of anger. “I told you,” she thundered as she cracked vines on and through Eskil. “I told you!” The poor man bubbled with gasps of pain. Boucher turned, paused for a moment. “Eskil,” he breathed. Juan shoved him forward, shouting, “No time!” Taur plowed behind the group like a cannon. Jett could feel the Jabber’s hot breath on his neck. His lungs burned. He couldn’t give up. He had to return. He had to return to Diana. Diana. Taur snorted, hand encompassing Jett’s shoulder. “Jett!” He turned, quick as a flash and blasted electricity into the man’s left eye. Taur screamed, hand working to aid his visual appendage. He screamed again as the electricity struck his hand and worked up his arm. “Taur!” Zinara gasped, leaving Eskil behind. The plant Talent hesitated; aid her partner, or go after the perpetrator? Jett didn’t wait to find out.

Age 21 (original vignette) 

Crreeeaakk. “You can’t even imagine how much I hate you right now.” The eyelashes don’t flutter. There is no sharp gulp. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?” Stumbling legs, curses, laughter, and one broken stool. “What are you doing?” “I don’t want you to vomit.” “Hah.” Shrugging off the sweater. “You would like that, wouldn’t you.” The brow doesn’t furrow. Gentle hands simply fold the sweater and set it on the nearby dresser. “You should drink some water before you go to bed.” “I’m fine.” “You might get a headache–” “Stop.” Whipcrack. “Just…stop.” The bed groans with the added weight. “I hate you so much, you know.” No reply. “You’re so…good. Why are you so good? Why couldn’t you have left some room for the rest of us? Why did you have to stand up on that pedestal with your shiny halo and look down on us filthy nothings?” Car lights illuminate the room through the front window. They are quiet, for a time. A cleared throat. “Your neighbor is heading to work?” “Carol works night shift. Just getting back.” The mumble is dry, like sandpaper and yes, water is needed and wanted but damn that sentiment. A nod. “You could have…the least you could have done was stayed. That way I could have yelled at you and seen you for all that you were. That way I wouldn’t be stuck with memories of you being so good and perfect and not here.” The clear stare, neither condemning nor pitying. “I mean, damn.” Cold hands fisted in hair. “That’s the least you could have done.” The sky is lightening, and the birds are beginning to chirp in that sort of way that promise new beginnings, but you know that those beginnings are not for you. Never for you. Whatever. Dusk is preferred anyway. The sun starts to shine, filtered between sleepy lids and eyelashes. A soft breath. “You should get some sleep.” A half nod, head buried into knees. “Hey.” “Yeah?” “I love you.” Sometimes, smiles can be felt. “I love you too.” The pillows feel soft instead of grating. A deep breath. Blinking. One last look before the pull of the unconscious. No one in the room. A snort as the eyelids close. “The least you could have done.”

So yeah. I wanted to share because I thought it was a good idea to show people how you always keep moving, even when it doesn't feel like it. 

If anybody else wants to try this challenge, please do! ^.^