#i am not 100% satisfied with this so i'm very nervous to post it

[the-mad-closet]

Okay, listen, I know you sent me this same thing, but uh... List 2 for our Crystal Polycule please <3

I love this very muchly. You say this like I'm gonna have an issue with it. Who do you think I am? /playful /teasing

Crystal Force Polycule Includes: Kenzie Holling-Carver, Nyx Moran, Cherry Rocca, Abbie Carson, Aspen Grover, and Nick Jones

As per previous conversations and posts, Kenzie is asexual and will not be an active participant in this post.

~

A - Aftercare

All the aftercare. There's five of these guys, that's a lot of adrenaline and a lot of crashing and they turn it into a group project.

~

B - Breeding

Honestly, Cherry gives me those vibes. Maybe Aspen, too.

~

C - Condom

While they're Active Rangers, out there saving the day, yes. Afterward, there's no need kinda (except sometimes with Abbie). Like, Nyx is on birth control anyway, until she feels she's ready to have a kid.

~

D - Dreams

~

Nyx once had a dream of getting fucked while in chains and not allowed out of the chains until she'd satisfied her partners. Nick made that an immediate reality.

E - Experimenting

In a way, for them, it's necessary to experiment. Again, there's five of them, so they have to learn each other's limits and where the lines are on their boundaries. Plus, having sex with different kinks is great!

~

F - First Time

Nyx is half of a whole, they like to say, but sex is the one thing they and Kenzie don't agree on. So, when the time came for their first time with the group, Nyx was very nervous. Luckily, they've got four partners 100% willing to take things at Nyx's pace until they're comfortable enough to speed up.

~

G - Games

Nick and Cherry play fight for who's gonna be in control on a given night. Otherwise, no

~

H - Humor

Nyx makes jokes when they're nervous, and the others just kinda run with it. They try not to take themselves too seriously unless the scene is pretty serious

~

I - Infidelity

Uhhh, no. No one's ever cheated. Communication is everything in a poly relationship, plus Nyx (and Kenzie) insist on using their words.

~

J - Jewelry

Nyx is interested in getting her clavicle pierced. Otherwise, it's mostly the toys

~

K - Kissing

Kisses are important in any relationship. Nyx has a habit of kissing their partners hello and goodbye.

~

L - Lingerie

Nyx loves lingerie. They have all kinds. If it's fluttery and soft, they wanna wear it. Their favorite is a light blue slip on with lace along the hems. Aspen might be convinced to wear lingerie, Abbie has a few pieces, but Cherry and Nick don't really wear it

~

M - Masturbation

Nyx can, but prefers not to. They'd much rather get their partner off. Also, maybe has a chastity kink, which the others are happy to take advantage of

~

N - Nudes

I want to say yes. Explicitly because they're all pretty young and a lot of them are pretty horny.

~

O - O'clock

Usually at night, but I all reality, if they have a few minutes, they're probably fucking. It's literally in their nature.

~

P - Public

Nyx hasn't, it makes them uncomfortable. I wanna say Nick would? Probably Abbie too

~

Q - Questions

Not really. They're pretty open with the communication.

~

R - Recording

Yes, often. They love recording their scenes especially. It's easier to keep track of things that way.

~

S - Spanking

Not really? For Nyx, at least, they get beat up a lot on the battlefield and they really don't want to turn to pain in their sex lives as well

~

~

T - Turn ons and offs

Nyx likes praise, being tied up, and just a little bit of degradation. Not a lot, just a little. They also like being a brat, it's kind of like a little game for them. Also chastity kink.

Aspen, like I said earlier, has a breeding kink, Cherry as well.

Abbie, I feel like is a little bit less wild and more vanilla, but still likes being tied up.

With Nick, I feel like he gets off on pleasing his partners. If they're happy, he's happy.

No scat or urine.

~

U - Unusual

The kitchen, probably. Specifically in Nyx's kitchen with Casey studying in the other room

~

V - Video Call

Happen frequently enough. With Abbie's powers and abilities, it's hard for her to touch the others. Nyx fantasizes about one day having a video call in her classroom (no kids, of course)

~

W - Walk of Shame

Ironically, the walk of shame is usually done around Kenzie. She finds it hilarious.

~

X - X-Rated

I wanna say yes because those can be good way to get ideas, but also Nyx probably wouldn't unless asked to

~

Y - Yucky

Mostly just bathroom stuff. Urine, scat, and the like

~

Z - Zones

Nyx, in particular, is extremely reactive to touches on her neck. It makes hickeys fun in particular.

Thank you! @estel-eruantien

[tryingtimi]

From the prompts! ❝ would you just stop treating me like something you’re trying to fix?❞, ❝ you brought me along because i can do things you can’t handle. so just let me do my part then, yeah?❞, and ❝oh god, don’t look at me like that. i’d rather you just be angry than do the whole disappointed face.❞ ---- Not necessarily in the same drabble, but just so you have stuff to work with. GOD SPEED, HOMIE.

When He Snaps

LOVE YOU TO BITS! Thank you for the prompts! Since there are more, I'll do them in separate posts when I get them written. Prompts from this list.

WOULD YOU JUST STOP TREATING ME LIKE SOMETHING YOU'RE TRYING TO FIX? | DANE AND AUVA | ANGST | HURT/COMFORT | WC 1,125

Dane massaged his forehead, trying so hard to smooth out the wrinkles of worry. Windows blackened, eyes shut, he made sure to clear his head easily, but the bitter taste of failure towards the effort only nourished the soil of a growing headache. His skin burned where his fingers rubbed it back and forth. It might have helped him erase the waves from his face, the endlessly repeating scene in his mind, however, did not fade with it. The hologram figure sitting in the chair, back facing Dane, his every word loud and clear, while the other’s just stared at him in the meeting hall, sitting behind the large desk. He’ve planned this from the beginning.

He felt a wild yanking on his neck, when his tensed vein tightened even more from the faint sound of sliding doors.

The refined, quiet clicks of heels caused him to sigh. He did not change position, nor opened his eyes. The sounds of ghostly footsteps died out very soon, and Dane could feel her presence on the other end of the table. If others could walk into his office in the same casual way, he could still recognise her steps. And the silence that always followed.

“I’m not suitable for questions today.” Dane’s statement remained plain while his burning fingertips finally detached from his skin. He intertwined his fingers, and rested his forehead on them.

Auva haven’t picked up on the hint.

“You’re troubled. I assume the meeting did not go as you’ve expected.”

“It really isn’t the time, Auva,” Dane replied. He felt his fingers losing their colour as he squeezed them together. He needed all his strength to hold himself back before he’d snap at her.

The weight of the previous meeting buried him under frustration. He was not ready to talk to Auva. Darkness and depth, he was barely ready to get up from his chair without the urge to kick the thing out through the window.

“It needs to be. We don’t have too much anyway. You also need to calm down, here, I’ve ordered you that strange looking juice from the terranan market.”

A twitch of his eyes forced Dane to flutter them open. He slowly looked up at her, putting the liquid container onto his desk, then stepping back calmly. So blood-boilingly calmly.

“They just told me that I’ll be transfered up here. They also made sure I understand, this is not a suggestion. How exactly would you want me to calm down after that, hm?” He did not wait for answer, even though Auva opened her mouth to speak. “I am a goddamn delegate of people underneath, Auva! I know what happens there, I live there, I am one of them! The only thing that currently holds Terrana together is the fact that I am terranan. And they don’t even know about the real threat! So don’t tell me to calm down, when all the Council does is trying to keep everything favorable for themselves!”

She cocked her head.

“You should transfer here.”

Heavy silence conquered the dimly lit room. He needed a moment.

“What?”

“You should transfer here,“ repeated Auva, face undisturbed.

And with that, something snapped in Dane.

Unable to speak, he jumped up from his seat, ready to get out of the room immediately. However, the next violent step he took resulted in falling to the ground, hard. His headache spiked, but it didn’t even come close to the pain that surged through his body, starting from his left thigh.

Ah. That damned prosthetic. His weakly attached ankles needed to give up right at this moment!

Dane felt trembling bubbling up in his muscles. He pulled his right leg up to put his elbow onto it, then ran his fingers through his hair, pulling on each lock. He needed pain. Pain that he could make it go away, if he wanted to. Pain that he could control.

He saw from the side of his eyes as Auva walked a little closer, then came down to his level.

“A change of environment could help you go forward.”

Dane hissed as Mr.Astin’s voice echoed in his ears. People want to see that they can reach what you did, son. That’s gonna give them real hope, not some bacteria in a test tube. You’re gonna become a more competent man for them here, we’ll see to that, yes?

He looked at Auva and their eyes met. His words came out through clenched teeth.

“Would you just stop treating me like something you’re trying to fix?”

“Aren’t your kind always strives to be perfected?” A faint smile tugged at her lips, however, when Dane breathed in sharply instead of smiling, Auva’s face fall back to her default, unreadable state. She held his gaze. “No. I won’t. You’re human, which means we have doomed you, Dane, as much as we’ve doomed everyone else. I am here to fix the mistake we’ve made as long as it’s still reversible. This includes helping you. You wanted to get to know the Council members, so you can find their weaknesses and convince them. Transfering here can help you do that.”

Slowly, word by word, Dane’s tension eased up. It did not go away, no, it will never leave him completely. But reason finally found him again. She was right. His head cleared, and the heavy weight started to lift from his chest.

“Helping out and trying to fix someone isn’t the same. You confuse things again and make them easily misunderstandable,” he said eventually.

“I don’t see the difference, but if it bothers your sentimentality, then I will note not to use this wording again.”

Right. Auva was not what she seemed to be. In theory. Well, now that this realization struck Dane, he also noticed that ghost of a smile finding her lips again and something else that he could not grasp it fully. Relief – that was the closest term to describe what he saw on her face. Strange, this woman. Or, well, being.

“Why don’t you just ask what’s the difference? It wasn’t a problem before.” He straightened himself, still sitting on the floor. He looked over his ankle for a second; it was still twisted in an unnatural way, probably damaged by the fitting, while his thigh still throbbed with pain. He should detach it for now.

Auva followed his gaze, then knelt beside him, watching her skirt to stay in place. “You said you’re not suitable for questions today.” She reached for his mechanical leg and held it in her hands. Her fingers ran through the lines where the pieces were attached to each other, her eyes fixated it like a predator its prey. She was always hungry to understand everything.

[jimlingss]

can i request a yoongi chef au? i feel like yoongi's culinary skills are underrated, and I'm just a slut for chef aus in general

Anonymous said: Hi I saw ur request open posts for the new year!!! Could u write more yoongi stories🥺?!?! Your stories are so fantastic and i’m thirsty for more yoongi lolol🤪(hopefully u get enough votes to do more of him haha)

I feel like Jin’s the one who’s usually written as the chef, prob because he’s the better known chef in BTS, but you’re right! There’s gotta be more chef Yoongi!AUs, so here you go!!!

↳ Buttering Up

2.2k || 100% Fluff & Flirtation || Min Yoongi || Chef!AU

He clearly doesn’t know who you are.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

You hum, arms crossed as you eye him up and down. His black hair is practically a bowl cut, bangs covering his forehead. He’s in casual clothes — a taupe trench and black pants — looking like he’s ready for a trip to the grocery store rather than to cook. You wonder where this child crawled out from.

“You’re Yoongi?”

“That I am.” He approaches the door of the restaurant before plunging his hands inside his trench coat pockets. He fishes out the key and unlocks it, ushering you inside. “Hope you don’t mind that the restaurant’s closed down.”

You mind much more that he left you waiting on the cold city street for over ten minutes. You still can’t believe he was late. The audacity.

“I would’ve liked to see how you and your staff do your dinner service.”

“Unfortunately, we’re booked full for the next two months.”

You scoff — how doesn’t he know who you are? You’re a food critic who’s brought highly regarded restaurants to their knees through a review of five sentences. Your words alone has had rippled effects in the industry. Even the most talented chefs hold their breaths when you taste-test.

You make Gordon Ramsey look like Mother Teresa.

This Yoongi character is much too arrogant to not respect you. His new and upcoming restaurant might have raving reviews, but you’ll see what’s really going on.

“Sit wherever you’d like.”

There are no waiters in fancy garb, no hand sewn tablecloths made of silk. He doesn’t even pull out the chair for you. Instead, he’s off flickering on the lights of the restaurant while you choose a wooden table and chair right in front of his open kitchen — which is a horrible mistake in itself.

Open kitchens have always been a concept that has fallen short in your eyes. It’s much too noisy during dinner service and it gets smelly fast. Who actually wants to leave smelling like butter and oil?

It’s something you note as you get settled. 

Your coat drapes at the back of the chair and then you watch him. Yoongi’s taken off his trench as well, revealing a white long sleeve that he’s beginning to roll up to his elbows. He’s lean and his build is small, but somehow, he’s far from being scrawny. You gawk at the veins running up his forearm until he casually asks—

“Do you have a preference for wine?”

“I’m fine with any.”

He hums and comes over from the glass cabinet with a bottle of chardonnay and a wine glass. Yoongi pops the bottle easily and pours into the pristine glass with a mere tilt of his wrist. You watch the stream fill the glass a quarter way full.

“Is there a menu?”

“You don’t need one.”

Your brows raise. “Excuse me?” 

“If I were you, I’d put myself in the chef’s hands entirely and go with their recommendation.” He strides away, placing the wine bottle on the other table and then he turns with a glint in his eye and his mouth slightly crooked upwards. “Unless, of course, you don’t trust your chef.”

Oh. He’s confident. 

You can’t wait for his ego to blow up in his face.

“Fine then.” Your head tilts upwards. “What’s your recommendation then?”

He rounds his way to go into the kitchen that’s only a few meters away from where you sit. “Risotto with grilled chicken breast, topped off with caramelized onions, mushroom, grilled zucchini and sautéed tomatoes.”

You roll your eyes. What a basic dish. Isn’t it just rice? And with chicken breast?! Ew. It's guaranteed to be bland.

“Alright then.” You give a smile that might be more mocking than intended. “We’ll see how it tastes.”

Yoongi starts and while sipping the chardonnay, you take a good look at the restaurant from your spot. The place is rustic with a hint of contemporary. There’s exposed brick, wooden tables and chairs, and low, yellow lighting. There’s nothing particularly impressive about the place.

Soon, the sound of rapid, rhythmic chopping fills the space and then sizzling. You watch him intently. And you’re appalled. This Yoongi guy commits the worst cooking sins — his pan is cold when he starts throwing on ingredients. He cooks with olive oil. He overcrowds the pan. And he doesn’t even taste test once as he cooks.

What the actual fuck. 

There’s a line between arrogance and insanity, and he was crossing it.

You cringe when he starts using his metallic spatula on the non-stick skillet.

Is he even qualified to run a restaurant?!

Or maybe your assistant sent you information about the wrong restaurant? Or maybe this was not the guy you were supposed to be eating from. What if he poisons you or kills off all of your taste buds?! Your career would be ruined.

“Everything going okay?” you pipe up.

He glances up at you for the first time, eyes peering past his bangs. “Yep. Should be done in five.”

Food is simple. It either tastes good or it doesn’t. But the higher up you go and the fancier it gets, the more convoluted the food tastes with bland flakes of gold and the same old truffle shavings. That or it’s entirely boring and unoriginal. 

Or in this case, it might kill you. Which would be the first. And you’re not happy about it.

You feel unsettled when he plops the dish in front of you.

“Chef’s recommendation.”

“Thanks.”

You feel unsettled because it actually smells good. The aroma that fills your senses is flavoursome and buttery, and the thyme on top adds a fresh hint. You’re also unsettled because the plating isn’t actually bad. It’s been presented in a pasta bowl with wavy designs and the chicken breast is thinly and neatly sliced on top. It’s clean. It’s bright. It’s colourful.

But the most lethal poisons are the appetizing ones.

“Are you going to wait until it gets cold?”

You look up, brows raising at how he’s gotten comfortable in the chair across from you. Usually the chefs and waiters or waitresses like to skedaddle off and leave you to your own thoughts, too afraid to stand in your intense scrutiny. But Min Yoongi twists off the cap of his water bottle and casually downs it in front of you.

“I’m just looking at the presentation.”

“Tastes better than it looks,” he exhales after swallowing his water. 

Your expression becomes skeptical. But you take the silver spoon beside you anyhow and decide not to waste any more time.

The spoonful goes into your mouth. He watches you. You chew.

Instantly, you halt. 

The flavour hits your tongue. Creamy. Thick. But each individual grain of rice still has some firmness with a discernible texture. It’s been done al dente. There’s sweetness from the caramelized onions. An earthy flavour from the mushrooms. A zesty touch from the thyme. The chicken breast is somehow still juicy and the tomatoes burst on your palate. 

Suddenly, you’re thrusted back into your childhood. Those summer days spent in the cottage. Sun-kissed cheeks, dirtied knees, cotton dresses. You can hear your late grandmother in the kitchen. The way she calls out that it’s lunchtime. You can feel the comfort of family and love.

It feels like you’ve become the food critic in the ratatouille movie. 

You almost cry.

“What do you think?”

You clear your throat. You have to be honest. There’s no way you can lie about something like this. “It’s good. I think...this is the best risotto I’ve ever had. You cooked it perfectly and the toppings you chose were absolutely immaculate with this dish—”

You look up at him. Min Yoongi has an enormous, cocky smirk plastered across his stupid face.

It’s entirely off-putting. 

“But of course,” you quickly add, “there are many ways you could improve on it. You could add cilantro—”

“That would unnecessarily drown out the notes of thyme you taste,” he rebukes without a single beat and you scoff. 

“I noticed you didn’t add any pepper to it which could deepen the flavour.”

“Except this dish doesn’t need it,” Yoongi deadpans. “You don’t need to help me make any adjustments. I think I know what I’m doing better than you are. Just do your job and I’ll do mine.”

You suck in your cheek and narrow your eyes on him before you take another bite of the risotto while it’s still hot. “The food is delicious, but I must say, the company really spoils it.”

Yoongi’s slumped with one cheek resting in his hand, elbow on the table. He lazily stares at you with that smirk of his. “Really? Because if I didn’t know any better, you look nervous rather than annoyed.”

You scoff for the second time. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Maybe you didn’t expect the food to taste as good as it does and that makes me unexpectedly attractive,” he states plainly. You almost choke. You hit your chest as you sputter. “Or maybe you’re intimidated by me. I’ve gotten both before.”

You wipe your mouth with the napkin. “I’m afraid you’re not very perceptive, Min Yoongi.”

“Really? I think I am.” He smiles, the corners of his mouth quirked. “I’ve read your reviews before.”

You’re unamused. “Have you now? So you must know how difficult I am to satisfy.”

His smirk is sly and it’s jarring against his softer, more tender features. He’s smaller than the men you’re used to being around, but somehow it feels like he’s taken up the entire space of the restaurant. His focus on you is sweat-inducing. Even if you don’t want to admit it. 

“I don’t think so. You’ve just been eating shit food,” he says bluntly and your brow cocks. “You just need someone good you can trust. Someone who can take care of you properly.”

You’re not sure if the double entendre is purposeful. You wouldn’t put it past him.

“And is this someone you?”

Yoongi shrugs and sits back. “It could be.”

You grab your glass of chardonnay and gulp the rest in an effort to stop the conversation before it completely derails into a different direction. Yet, Yoongi’s half-lidded and darkened eyes stay on yours with each swallow. He’s unfazed. Unbothered. And that bothers you even more — bothered in a way that makes your face hot.

There’s a clack as you put the wine glass down and gasp. 

“I’m a professional.” You won’t be swayed so easily. “I can’t be bribed.”

“Of course.” He blinks as if he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. You glare at him and he gestures to the dish. “Please. Keep eating.” 

You finish the plate.

“Do you want any seconds?” he asks as he gets up.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi lingers, all too brazen and fearless. “If you don’t get any more now, you might have to come back for more.”

This time, you don’t try to hide the roll of your eyes. “That’s a presumptuous assumption.”

Yoongi smirks and his voice is husky. “After getting a taste from me, everyone comes back for more.

You scoff.

Min’s Restaurant Review

Three nights ago, I ate at Min’s Restaurant and met the main man in the kitchen. Unfortunately, he is a difficult person to interact with. I hope no one has the disservice of having to speak to the chef behind the dishes. Doing so may as well ruin the experience. Furthermore, his cooking methods are unconventional and unorthodox. It was completely shocking to watch.

However, and what I would consider most important, the food at Min’s Restaurant is spectacular. What Min’s Restaurant lacks in likeable personnel, they make up in the served cuisine. The meal that was prepared for me not only subverted my initial expectations, but overcomes, what I consider, what the food industry is lacking in this modern age exactly. Without unnecessary garnishes and ingredients, the flavours of Min’s Restaurant are both light and deep. It was an undeniable delight to consume and for the first time, I licked my plate clean. 

It is undoubted that the man behind Min’s Restaurant has the hands of god.

You should have pride.

But you’ve always loved good food. It’s your Achilles heel. It’s the one thing you’ve been passionate about since you were a kid. The reason why you love your job.

Even after writing such a review, you find yourself booking another reservation. But as a customer instead of a critic.

Of course, they were booked full for the next six months, largely thanks to your review, and they swiftly refused you with numerous apologies. But they called back not ten minutes later. You have a feeling that your name finally sunk into them — that he had something to do with it. 

That theory is confirmed when you arrive. The person in question is next to the seemingly nervous hostess as the noisy kitchen echoes throughout the busy restaurant. 

In the low lighting, Min Yoongi stands there with a relaxed smirk. As if he was expecting you. As if he knew you’d come crawling back to him to eat out of the palm of his hand, literally and figuratively.

You hate that he’s right.

“Welcome back.”

[hms-no-fun]

so about the scene near the end of 8.3.1, when j and vriska are like "we dont share a head anymore, we're real!". essentially it has me worried for some implications that could come across as really not great depending on how it plays out. i don't think it will be because you've done an excellent job so far i am just a bit nervous and wanted to let you know that it could be concerning if handled poorly and to ask about how you do intend to handle it if you are at liberty to say.

there's a couple things i want to say in response to this, and they will probably come across as harsh, so first of all i just want it stated for the record that i 100% understand your concern here. this is a sensitive, personal subject that would be very easy to fuck up, and i know a lot of folks are really invested in this story and don't want to see it turn into another thing they resent for getting it wrong in some way. i've watched this happen countless times to art that i was really invested in. i've felt that disappointment and i want nothing more than to avoid that in the case of godfeels.

(this is a long post so i'm gonna put a break here, some spoilers follow for godfeels 3 part 1 chapter 8 act 3 [1/2] lmao)

i'll agree that J and vriska saying "we're real" upon having physical bodies is maybe weirdly mixed messaging compared against J's personal realization of "i'm real." this is something i stared at on the page for a while, because i knew the implications, but i couldn't really come up with a better way to phrase it that didn't involve a much lengthier conversation that felt totally out of place given the circumstances. to my mind, it makes perfect sense that there would be two separate colloquial uses of the term "real" here. when J says "i'm real," it's a statement of personal agency and an affirmation that they do exist as an independent entity. when J and vriska on the beach say "we're real," they're speaking to the fact that they have physical bodies and are separate from one another in a way they've never been before. having them say, instead, "we have bodies" maybe would be clearer for the reader, but it just didn't feel in character to me. maybe it could have been "we're real! i mean, real real!" but i think if anything that would just make your fears even worse. i elected to keep the text as it was published because i felt the context of the rest of the chapter resolved these questions in a much more satisfying way than a simple conversation ever could.

this is, to an extent, why i originally wanted to release chapters 8.3.1 and 8.3.2 within a couple days of each other, because despite its length 8.3.1 is still functionally the middle of J and vriska's arcs. there are a lot of unresolved questions on the table right now and i recognize it's probably a lot harder to appreciate what 8.3.1 is doing when there is this big cliffhanger that we've been stuck on for nearly 60,000 words. it's just unfortunately true that real-life circumstances made it impossible for me to get the last part of this chapter finished in the timeframe i wanted to, and i knew it would be difficult for folks to be left with SO MUCH uncertainty after all the dread i've been invoking for a solid three weeks now. so i can only imagine how all of that could make this uneasy feeling about J and vriska being physically "real" that much worse. and i have sympathy for that! i really do.

but also, i can't say i super appreciate being questioned on my intentions like this. because essentially what you're asking me is "are you planning on doing good representation?" and i just don't believe that there's a way for me to answer this question that will satisfy you. the work will speak for itself when it's done. but i have said multiple times in multiple places that i am looking at this as a plural story, and i've reiterated multiple times in multiple places that i've very explicitly considered these concerns long before this chapter was released. i don't know how many different ways i can vaguely assuage your fears before it feels like what you really want is for me to just tell you what happens, as if you have a right to that information on the basis of anxiety alone.

i know this story means a lot to you, i know you just want it to be the best it can possibly be, and i know you want to make sure i don't wind up tripping over myself in the execution. but the thing is that i am not accountable to your concerns. i never have been, and i never will be. i certainly, 100% take those concerns into account, because i don't want to tell a story that inflicts harm accidentally. but i am not aiming to tell a prototypical narrative in any way. the model of transness i showed in gf2 was not meant to be THE model of transness, just my perspective on it. in the same way, the model of plurality i'm showing in gf3 is not meant to be THE model of plurality, just my perspective on it. chapter 8.3.1 was not 40,000 words because i wanted to appease my plural readers. it was 40,000 words because i was reckoning very directly with the psychological reality of my own headmates, and the damage we knowingly/unknowingly inflicted upon each other over the years before i/we recognized our plurality for what it was. which is a thing i feel like i shouldn't have to say!! i really hate toting out the "actually i've suffered so it's okay for me to make challenging queer art" excuse. the work should speak for itself. i'm willing to talk about the art forever, as should be BOUNTIFULLY obvious at this point, but this kind of thing? i don't like talking about my own plurality in public, but i feel like doing so is the only way i can convey the seriousness with which i am treating this story. and that fucking sucks!!! i really just don't appreciate the extra pressure to "get it right." i already knew the pressure was there. you aren't telling me something i don't know by asking this question.

if anything, it feels like a threat. and i know that's not how you intend it, anon. but i have been on this roundabout more than enough times to know where this line of reasoning leads. what happens if i do disappoint you? what happens if you feel utterly betrayed by this work that has helped to define some brilliant piece of you? do i then become the next enemy, the next andrew hussie, the next queer traitor whose name is hissed in hushed tones with derisive vitriol? "she came so close, and then she fucked it all up..."

this exact pressure, from this exact fandom, has literally derailed the lives of several of my closest friends for years. i have watched AND personally endured harassment campaigns both for homestuck fanworks and for discussions around the text of homestuck itself. i almost abandoned godfeels outright last year because i was convinced the joy i felt in telling this story could never be outweighed by the sheer possessive monstrosity with which vocal sections of this fandom treat anyone who tries to do something different. especially if that "something different" involves messy queerness.

to put it as frankly as i can: i do not care about good representation, and i never have. if i cared about good representation, i would have made june exactly the bubbly best-case-scenario post-transition gal that a lot of fanart depicts. if i cared about good representation, i would just have june be plural and immediately start using plural terms and go about it in a very safe and conventional way (insofar as any depiction of plurality can be called "conventional" at this point).

the only thing i, as an artist, have ever cared about is whether my art is telling the truth. if it's not, then it's worthless. if it is, then i believe that accusations of "good representation" will naturally follow, because on the whole i think most readers (especially queer ones) know when you're lying to them. this story has always been rough, traumatic, and challenging, entirely because it is an expression of my own rough, traumatic, and challenging experiences both as a trans woman and now as a plural trans woman. what i care about is making sure that this story is and remains undeniably itself.

and i just don't think that is possible in an environment where i'm also being pressured -even in a well-intentioned way!- to tick the right representational boxes in order to satisfactorily avoid criticism of x y z depiction.

and look. if the last part of this chapter comes out and utterly beefs it, we can talk. i've deliberately not educated myself on a lot of existing plural models because i wanted this to be something that was mine, but it's entirely possible that in the process of that i will end up stumbling over some harmful trope that i didn't know anything about. but fundamentally, my decision to put plurality on the center stage in this narrative was not a "oh i have a lot of plural readers so i should pander to them" situation. i decided to put plurality on the center stage in this narrative because i realized it was always on the center stage, and i was just in denial about it. i would not introduce anything to the universe of this story out of a sense of obligation or fanservice or whatever else. i did this because i believe in it, because i believe it is an honest part of this story that expands and enhances the palette of what already exists in beautiful and unexpected ways. i don't take that lightly. i don't take the responsibility i feel as someone who has, in a very real sense, stumbled ass-backwards into being the steward of what i guess i have to acknowledge at this point is, in some sense, "an important work of plural fiction" lightly.

i know, maybe better than most people, what's at stake here. reminding me of what's at stake only makes me more nervous, thus making my job (which isn't even a job since i literally can't get paid for godfeels) that much harder. so please, just have patience and let me finish this corner of the narrative, and when it's done you can judge it for what it is.

[justiceraffles]

"Hey, what if MK was a horribly written telenovela with a poorly conceived mystery storyline that's tied together in the most precarious of ways with nonsensical plotpoints and was also endgame Hakukai" So here's the start to my Hakukai longfic! I have a lot of things to say about this story so I'll just ramble about it at length beneath the cut if anyone's interested in my nonsense notes. Otherwise,

Read Here

I've been working on this thing on and off for a year and a half now, it lives rent free in my head every day and has been editted, restructured, and rewritten a lot. I've been very apprehensive about sharing it. ...To be honest, I still am! It's a chaotic story where I just allowed myself to write the most self-indulgent thing I could muster. This entire plot is an amalmagation of random things and ideas I like. It feels like a niche concept that is very messy and ???¿¿¿¿??? why did I make this

But, I guess that also makes it a very "me" story, so having fun with it and writing something that just brought me joy is what matters most, ultimately.

(aaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

I'm very thankful to everyone who has read the outline and concept for it or just listened to me ramble about the incoherent plot and characters or cheering me on when I've been kinda anxious about it— it's thanks to that support despite this being such a specific and ¿¿¿ idea that I've found the courage to actually share it. I'm very grateful and I hope you guys can enjoy something in it o)-(

So, about the fic,

It's a story about Hakuba! I think we are all well aware that jokes about his long absences and infrequent appearances are very commonplace (where in the world is hakuba saguru??? TT) and it unfortunately leads to him being forgotten and overlooked often. The initial concept that inspired this fic was "Hey, what if Hakuba stopped showing up for real?" and explore the implications this would have on the MK storyline (and Kaito, by extension). I wanted to make a plot where he was allowed to be the protagonist of his own story, highlight his worth as a detective, his role in the main narrative, and the depth of his relationship with Kaito. It's a Hakuba Saguru Appreciation fic, first and foremost!

So, the romance itself is very slow burn. There is a lot of plot, because I have a lot of fun with ridiculous, contrived stories haha. It takes a while for the story to be fully set up, and Kaito doesn't make a proper, official appearance until the end of Chapter 2.

Chapter 1 is rather lengthy and sets the context and plot from Hakuba's POV, Chapter 2 focuses on establishing where his relationship with Kaito (as well as Aoko and Akako) stands at the moment, and Chapter 3 onward starts seeing the first proper developments in the relationship.

It's a bit rocky at first and they have a lot of ups and downs but I promise they work it out (I promise!!! I swear!!!) I tried my best to maintain a balance between the fluffy and angsty moments, but I have to admit it's quite dramatic at parts lol I enjoy stupid, trashy drama a lot sometimes— this is the reason I'm calling it a bad telenovela.

Despite the fact that this is very plotty, their feelings for each other are the guiding force behind the storyline, and their relationship does take center stage later on. The romance is in no way secondary, it just takes a long while to fully develop. They most definitely get a happy ending, but you can expect this to be 95% pining.

The story starts out some years after the current events in the MK manga. Pandora hasn't been found yet, and KID is still active. On the other hand, the DC canon is used very loosely; the conflict has long since been resolved. The BO was taken down years before the start of this story.

The two plots aren't too deeply intertwined here, they just intercept at parts. References to DC events appear here and there and some elements and character interactions overlap, but they tend to be minor for the most part. This is primarily a MK story and I wasn't too worried about completely integrating both plotlines (or staying 100% accurate to the DC plot, for that matter).

Of course, because this is MK-centric, Aoko and Akako are involved with the overarching story and have major roles to play.

In terms of DC characters, Masumi, Shiho, Heiji and Shinichi play semi-prominent roles in the story. I've tagged Masumi from the getgo because she appears in the first chapter, but I'll add the others when I get to the little arcs they show up in. Save for some specific contributions they have, they aren't too deeply involved with the overall plot progression, but the interactions Hakuba has with them are important for his character development and his better understanding of his relationship with Kaito. Basically each of these characters gets some sort of little story arc in which they interact with/help Hakuba in some way. I arbitrarily chose who I wanted him to interact with, lol.

Speaking of arbitrary decisions— Miss Masumi!!!! She's the first character that shows up in this and interacts with Hakuba. I understand this is probably a strange choice. Because I really wanted to flesh out Hakuba's detective methods and life in London a little more, I decided to use the very what if headcanon of Hakuba's maternal family and the Sera family being acquainted with each other. Like I said before, I didn't really want to connect DC and MK plots thoroughly, so the Akai family plotline isn't at all relevant here beyond a couple of passing mentions. I was mostly interested in Hakuba having an MI6 connection without the need of using another OC and I just wanted to imagine what a hypothetical dynamic between him and Masumi would be like.

And then, OCs. There's a couple of OCs with pretty major roles here as well. Really major— probably in equal measure to Aoko and Akako. I apologise in advance! I really needed them to properly build the detective/mystery aspect of the plot, and the more I wrote, the more they became involved with the story and relationship progression TT I really enjoyed writing them a lot, and I'm satisfied with how they turned out here. I understand OCs with prominent roles aren't everyone's cup of tea, though. Even though I enjoyed writing them, I'm a little self-conscious about how relevant they ended up being when they were originally just going to be there as a plot device to kickstart things ;;; Hopefully someone can find enjoyment in them nonetheless. They are most heavily involved with the story after the midpoint, but they appear all throughout.

I'm really nervous about the choices to have Masumi and major OCs in this story...I understand it is likely these things will make this story a little too niche. But!!!!!!!!! Again!!!!!!!!!!!!! Having fun with it is what matters most Raffles!!!!!!!!!!!!! Get that through your thick skull!!!!!!!! GRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Also, please expect the most convoluted explanation to Pandora. There is a lot of made up lore I had a blast writing but it's all probably needlessly complicated.

In summary, it's a detective story starring Hakuba that somehow ended up reading like a dramatic post-breakup/getting back together soap opera.

A significant portion of this has been prewritten, so my (ideal) plan is to have weekly or biweekly updates (but hmmmm let's see how long that lasts until I decide to scrap and rewrite everything out of embarrassment— this is very likely, I second-guess myself a lot)

I keep dragging it through the mud, but I've actually had a blast writing it, even though there's A Lot going on and I'm not very confident in it being decent enough to share.

With all that, I hope someone else can maybe find some enjoyment reading it.

[vegancas]

today was so busy i have not had a day that busy, like at all since i started at this new store. and i definitely messed someone's order up yesterday?? idk how i did it but it was definitely me because i picked it and gave it to them, it was all 100% done by me, where did their chocolate go??? so many phone calls today, had someone else complaining about how slow it was for their order to be brought out in the morning and that whoever brought it out didn't apologise or even talk to them? i'm fairly certain i know who it was but like idk i'm not gonna say anything about it to anyone i guess??? i already feel awkward with them,,, but at least i satisfied the customer with the info that my store will be doing online again fairly soon. anyway none of this matters i just am still turning it all over in my head i guess. idk too much happened today, like also idk maybe someone got fired? i'm not sure i was told they ~weren't right~ but they're really lovely and have been really friendly to me and i hope they're okay! (further context being that management may not have been happy with their work?) and now i have to think about driving to my next post-op appointment tomorrow, which i am very nervous about doing. i haven't been on a long drive since at least before surgery? ugh i just want to sit at home and make this gifset i've been thinking about

[sibilantly]

hi, sib. i just read your fic persistence, and it was so beautifully done that i wanted to drop you a note. your writing has seriously been such an influence on mine, but lately i've been having so much trouble because of my ocd. now i can't read anything without nitpicking the grammar, much less write. it's been this way for months now and i feel like i'm losing my mind. all i ever wanted was to write something good but... well, at least i still get to read something by you. i shall be content.

I’m sorry for the delay in replying, anon. Your message was so thoughtful, but also struck this… almost painfully bittersweet, personal note with me, and I had to take a couple days to reflect.

I’m so happy you enjoyed Persistence - it was a lil 500 word labour of love, but it’s somewhat different from my usual body of work, and I was a bit nervous putting it out there. So I’m delighted you enjoyed it. And it’s quite flattering to hear I’m an influence on your writing, since I feel I’m still learning the craft of writing, in many, many ways. Thank you!

Now, as for the latter half of your message…

Oh, anon.

Nonny non anon, I feel you. I’ve been… well, perhaps not right in your shoes, as I have never had OCD. But I’ve been in the same vicinity, most definitely.

Up until half a year ago, or thereabouts, my writing process was: write out a few paragraphs (if that - sometimes it was barely a paragraph) and then rework them. I would rework them over and over and over, until I felt they were just right. Only then did I feel I could move on. I felt like I was laying the foundations for a house, you know? If I didn’t get the first things laid down just right, then everything that came after would be on shaky ground, might even come tumbling down.

Thing is, writing is more like sculpting. You dig up some clay (your discovery draft or your outline, whatever), you mould it (your first draft), and then you carve and add little bits, over and over (editing. and more editing. and more. fucking editing >.>)

Anyway.

Eventually, I started slowing down, and the threshold of what I could stand before I needed to edit got smaller. It became ‘write a few lines. stop. edit those lines over and over’. And then it became ‘write one line. stop. edit that line over and over’. Rinse, repeat.

It got to the point where I stopped writing completely, for almost half a year, because everything I wrote down was so far from what I envisioned in my head, it was crushing. I had the exact same despairing thought you did: ‘All I want is to write something good’. And if I didn’t write it down, if I kept it in my head, it was good. It was perfect, in fact. Surely that was better (I thought to myself).

I feel you, I feel you, I do.

I wish there was some magic bullet that I could use to erase all those thoughts from you, to divide writing from editing in your mind, because they’re two very different processes. I would… well, I would use it on myself first, because I am human and selfish, but then I would turn it on you, and everyone else who is plagued by this period ;)

But the horrid thing (which I was very, very displeased to realise), is that if you want to write, the only thing you can do in this period is just… push… through it.

D:

It’s the worst fucking epiphany ever. If I got that in a fortune cookie, I’d be fucking pissed. But it’s seriously all there is.

There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to write, if you ultimately decide it’s not for you.

BUT.

If you do want to write, or if there comes a time when you’re not content with reading, and… y'know, you’re willing to indulge me, random fanfic lady on the internet, I want you to do this:

Pick up the pen (or put your fingers to the keyboard, but if you can, I recommend pen because you can’t backspace pen and paper) and eke out some words every day.

It doesn’t have to be a lot. It might just be a sentence.

Whiskyrunner, who we all generally acknowledge to be amazeballs, went through a period where her goal was 10 words a day because she knew she could achieve that.

That’s important. Pick a word count that you know you can achieve, not one you have to push yourself to achieve, because if you fail, you will self-flagellate. Trust me, I have been there. I hated every son of a bitch who recommended ‘write every day’, because for every day I failed to write a page, I’d hate myself a little more, and the joy I found in writing would shrink. (And they’d always recommend a page, or pages, and I’d be like, ‘What, motherfucker? There are some days when I can’t summon up the energy to get out of bed, and you want me to write a page? Pages?’ There should be some script that edits ‘write every day’ to ‘write an amount that’s achievable for you every day, even if it’s one sentence’, I think.)

Write until you hit your word goal or until you’re satisfied, whichever you have the mental energy and fortitude for that day. If there’s a day where you do the latter, don’t fall into the trap of thinking you have to match that the next day. Don’t move the goal posts. Your goal is still (X) words. Everything beyond that is like the stretch goal on a Kickstarter. Nice, but not the main aim.

Next (and this is the hard part - or, at least, it was for me: do nothing.

Don’t tweak them. Don’t delete them. Don’t touch them.

The second you hit your goal, close the doc, close your notebook - whatever you write in. You did it, you achieved the goal, which is ‘(X) number of words’.

Do whatever you need to do to remind yourself of that.

Your goal is not '100 (or 50 or 25 or 10) good words a day’. Your goal is words.

Just words.

To paraphrase Bane: now is not the time for qualitative judgement, only quantitative. Right now, you’re at the 'digging up the clay’ stage of the writing process. You’re just trying to get enough clay to sculpt into some lumpy-looking motherfucker which you will eventually carve down into your nice sculpture.

(Don’t think about the sculpture right now. Think about (X) number of words, and digging up clay.)

There was a point where I did all sorts of objectively bizarre things to remind myself of this, and to outfox my anxiety-ridden brain and its need to edit, including, but not limited to:

- writing on a fresh page each day, even if it meant 90% of the preceding page was still blank

- opening new docs each day to write my daily goal (which I would then have to piece together later, haha)

- using that program - ilys? - that only lets you see the last letter of what you typed

- muttering to myself ‘the goal is (X) words. the goal is (X) words. the goal is (X) words. only the number of words matters. only the number.’

If you’re anything like me (and, hey, I felt your message on a deep level, so I think we’re at least a little alike), you will hate every word you write with this process. You will hate this process, period. You will want to go back and retool the words because holy fuck, what if someone, somehow, gets access to your notes and sees this mess you just eked out? What if you die, and all that’s left to show of yourself as a writer is this half-written piece of shit?

(Okay, maybe that last fear is just me.)

Still. This is normal.

But how you feel about your writing immediately after writing it is not an objective, accurate measure of how good it is. You’ll be tired, you’ll be stressed, you’ll be comparing it to the image you have in your head and thinking about how far apart they are and despairing.

Stop there.

Close the doc (or the notepad, or the notebook, or turn over the post-it note (I did that at one stage, too - writing on post-it notes, haha)). You did it, you wrote the words. You dug up some clay. No one will see them but you, and whoever you choose to show them to. You can edit them later. You can make them better, or throw out whole paragraphs or whole pages if you need to. But later. Only after you finish the draft, however many new pages or new docs (or post-it notes) it takes.

Try to be kind to yourself. It’s so damn hard, I know it is, but try to remind yourself that what you wrote for the day does not define you as a writer. Even the finished, edited work does not define you. It just shows what you were capable of writing in that moment, on that day, at that point in time.

I can’t guarantee this will work for you. But there is something to be said for habit, for retraining one’s brain (to a certain extent). If you do want to try writing again, and you try this, anon, know that I’ll be proud of you, and I’ll salute you for the very act of trying.

Much love,

Sib

(P.S.: Here, I recovered a partial copy of the very first draft I wrote of Persistence. I don’t know where the rest is (on paper, probably), but hopefully it’s enough for you to see the difference between draft and finished work, and to… idk, have a good chuckle, maybe, but hopefully feel reassured, too ;). We all write shitty first drafts. They’re the clay that you mould into something better.)

They’re two levels down, in a sunny, light-filled build meant to evoke the mark’s childhood home and favourite holiday spot, when the windows and the door and the fucking walls blow in, and a SWAT team swarms in like a tide of gun-toting ants.

(DUST, STUFF FLYING EVERYWHERE. YELLING. CHUNK OF PLASTER GOES FLYING TOWARDS EAMES.)

Eames ducks, which means the chunk of plaster misses him, but, unfortunately, takes out Cixin, their extractor, with a wet crunch. They’ll have to work on Cixin’s spatial awareness later, Eames thinks.

The SWAT team levels their guns at the remainder of Eames’ team. Even a few years ago, Eames might’ve considered running. Now, he just raises his hands, gets down on the ground when ordered to.

Everyone else runs.

There’s sporadic gunfire, the sound of running footsteps, truncated screams and cut off swearing as Eames’ team is violently kicked out, one by one.

Eames stays where he is until silence reigns.

(FOOTSTEPS, A GUN MUZZLE AGAINST EAMES’ BACK, BUT NO SHOT COMES.)

Eames peeks upward, just in time to see the leader of the SWAT team yanks his mask off, revealing Arthur’s exasperated, sweaty face.

“I can’t believe you’re working today, of all days,” Arthur says. “I should probably shoot you just for that.”

“But you won’t.” Eames rolls over onto his back, smiles his most charming smile as he gets to his feet. “And you have to admit it’s somewhat fitting, me working today.”

Arthur smiles fondly, diluting the exasperation. “Maybe.” He looks Eames up and down. “You look good.”

“You’re lying, but thank you,” Eames says. He nods at Arthur’s outfit. “That looks good on you.”

Arthur is inspecting his outfit. “You know, this wouldn’t be a bad disguise, if you were working on an opposing team. Make the other team think you’re the mark’s militarisation–”

“Stop right there.”

“What?” Arthur says. “Worried you’ll be tempted away from the side of the angels?”

“Worried I’ll be tempted away from my regular paycheck, anyway,” Eames says, sniffing.

Arthur chuckles, then nods upward. “Are they going to give you the kick soon?”

“Not just yet. They’re probably debating whether or not I’ve gotten to the safe or not.”

“You need to get on top of that,” Arthur says. “You can’t have your team hesitating over what to do next on live jobs.”