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theonceoverthinker · 4 years

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A Good Night’s Sleeping Snag (Fair Game Week Day 2)

Summary: Clover and Qrow are sent off on a mission that pits them against both ferocious Grimm and the very worst of the elements that Atlas has to offer. When the latter of Qrow’s battles is compromised, he and Clover decide to work together to stay safe through some rather...intimate means.

AO3

A/N: So, apparently this is happening now. I’m making fics out of some of my favorite HC’s, and this was my first pick! I’ll admit that it doesn’t connect to today’s theme that tightly, but I’d argue that as Huntsmen, a mission like this can be kind of normal, and thus does hold some inherent domesticity, so there you go! (...I also realized I had to justify that more to myself than anyone because I am pedantic with no one more than myself! XD ) Also, tagging @fair-game-week !

Before we begin, I want to give a big ole’ thanks to my beta @whipped4qrow. Toko, I’ve been fortunate to have some great betas in the past, and enjoy the pun, but TOKO-ing out all of our thoughts on this fic has provided me with some of my favorite times working with one ever. Your advice and pickups were too helpful for words, and I can’t thank you enough!

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Grimm are the easiest part of Qrow’s incredibly complicated life and at the same time, the most annoying pests this side of Remnant.

The trouble is, despite his and his fellow Huntsmen’s best efforts, they’re always around.

Of all the things to stick around across humanity’s two lifespans...why did it have to be them?

Well, at least their existence means a living for him.

Less than an hour after Qrow’s first cup of coffee, a report comes in. There’s a small pack of Grimm making their way towards the communication’s tower. They’re as ferocious as Grimm tend to come, but it’s apparently not a job that will require more than two skilled Huntsmen to get it done.

That’s where he and Clover come in, according to Ironwood’s soldiers.

This mission has probably the most pre-departure preparation he’s ever received before a Grimm fight. He’s even given a large backpack of camping essentials to work with. Clover tells him the reason for that. Apparently, the part of the tundra these Grimm are making their way through is prone to strong wind storms and blizzards alike. These conditions are said to be too severe for a transport to get all the way through, and despite the dangers posed by letting even trained Huntsmen whether them, it’s still better to take the Grimm out now than to wait for them to get any closer to the tower -- something about the tower’s wiring.

Clover says that their mission is expected to run into the next day, and Qrow’s uncertain how he feels about that.

Qrow’s done overnight missions before, tons of them.

But he’s never done one with Clover before.

Sleep is...it’s personal in a way most things aren’t. He can control how he acts when he’s awake and what he divulges to the world. When he sleeps, who knows what can be told about him? Even to have someone sort of near him while he’s sleeping makes Qrow feel far too vulnerable for comfort.

And now, he and Clover are going to be sleeping in the same vicinity.

It bothers Qrow, both because of that sense of vulnerability, but also because even that threat of subconscious vulnerability doesn’t scare him where Clover is concerned.

Clover’s odd, but he’s someone Qrow likes having around. He makes missions interesting, if nothing else, and he even finds himself opening up to Clover every now and then, too.

Qrow guesses that just makes them both oddballs. Go figure.

But being oddballs along with someone else has proven to not always be a bad thing.

So really, who knows what this mission will bring?

They depart early the next day. Qrow’s decked out in a long thick-ish, black winter coat, and he can barely believe his eyes when he sees Clover enter the transport wearing the exact same thing.

Who knew Clover Ebi would ever be caught dead wearing something with actual sleeves?

Clover’s clearly aware of how much the change of clothes sticks out, shooting Qrow a not-too-serious, yet all the same present warning look while entering the transport, as if daring him to laugh.

Qrow laughs.

He laughs a lot.

He’s in stitches, though he’s certain the look Clover’s giving him is more to blame for that than anything.

It’s not that Clover looks bad in it -- quite the opposite, really. The coat fits him well, and while Qrow likes it about as much as he likes Clover in his standard uniform -- if not, a little less -- the different clothes are a nice change of pace all the same.

And Qrow -- never a monster -- doesn’t rag on him too much for it, even going so far as to compliment it after he’s gotten a good couple of quips in. Clover’s frown dissolves into a grateful smirk, and their usual banter proceeds as it always has as the transport takes off.

Still, gratefulness for the compliment aside, it’s apparently not enough to stop Clover from hastily removing the coat as soon as the automated transport gets far enough away from their other coworkers at the base to do so without scolding, prompting even more laughter from Qrow.

The trip between the base and the dropoff point is three hours. Clover tells Qrow they should sleep before they begin their trek, and Qrow honestly tries to, but he finds that he just can’t.

So Clover stays up with him. Qrow tells him he doesn’t have to, but he quickly learns that Clover Ebi may as well have his picture glued next to the dictionary’s definition of ‘persistence.’

If it wasn’t one of the kindest things done for him in recent memory, if not, ever, Qrow might be tempted to gag from the corniness of it all.

They fill the time with cards, exchanging interests and stories, and rifling through their camping bags. The Atlas military clearly likes to be prepared. They each have a few rations of disgusting-looking food, a steel canteen, an emergency flare, a flashlight, matches, some kindling for a small fire, and a sleeping bag, all adorned with the symbol of Atlas. Qrow teases Clover about it, but with a smirk, he just attributes the abundance of symbols to pride in their country.

Loud clunks grow in frequency and volume, signaling that they’re closing in on their location. Their transport isn’t equipped with a window, so all the two of them have to go off of to get any idea of what’s outside of it are Clover’s past experiences of the relentless frigid air and snow.

Those experiences turn out to be rather accurate. A harsh gust of wind that nearly blows an unprepared Qrow to the back of the transport greets the two of them once the doors separating them between themselves and the tundra open.

Qrow revises his stance and footing as to best handle the new expectations of his body. He puts more of his weight onto his feet, stepping harshly. Clover does the same, and within five minutes, they’re well off on their journey into the tundra.

()()()()()()()()()

Hours pass, but unlike previously, they’re impossible to fill with each other’s company. It’s all Qrow’s efforts to safely move step-by-step, and he knows while Clover would never admit it -- and to be fair, he wouldn’t either -- it’s the case for him too. It would be too much to focus on talking while keeping the snow out of their mouths as well, so silence rules them.

Even still though, there’s something at least a bit reassuring that Clover’s there, even if only his physical presence serves as an indicator of it. Maybe Clover feels the same way about him. He wouldn’t be surprised.

In fact, scratch that -- he wouldn’t even doubt it for a second.

The sky grows dark as they come upon a small cave that forms a half dome over the tiny piece of the landscape that it covers. They approach, but just as they near the entrance, Qrow feels the ground shake. Then, as if only to stop the question of whether or not that movement was just in Qrow’s head before it is even asked, howl after howl pierces through the winds.

Looks like they’ve finally found those Grimm.

Qrow grabs Harbinger, and he hears Kingfisher’s string whip as Clover pulls it out.

They take two slow steps towards the Grimm.

The Grimm take three quick steps towards them.

And then the battle begins.

Clover attaches Kingfisher to the top of the cave, swinging into one of the Grimm with a powerful kick. Just like that, it goes down.

Wasn’t this supposed to be hard?

But before Qrow can celebrate Clover’s victory, he’s forced to deal with a battle of his own.

Harbinger becomes a scythe and slashes two Grimm’s faces with the first swing alone. The second one does both of them in with a transparent slice.

It’s only as they disappear into nothingness that Qrow realizes that there’s one more left.

He turns and halts his scythe’s momentum mid-swing, but while he does get the Grimm, the Grimm gets its revenge just before it leaves the mortal coil.

Instantly, Qrow feels himself dropping weight by the pounds.

The only thing is though that he’s not injured.

With his free hand, Qrow feels for his backpack, only to find torn fabric and air instead. He turns in the opposite direction just in time to see the contents of his backpack flow in the tundra just before disappearing from sight.

Qrow looks behind him, and upon seeing no more Grimm, immediately takes off his backpack, which is now about as light as air.

Almost everything is gone. His canteen and a single ration remain, only bound to the pieces of fabric on his backpack still left intact by pure chance.

But everything else?

The flare, his matches, his flashlight...his sleeping bag?

They’re not just gone -- they may as well not even exist now for all the chance Qrow has of getting them back.

Just his luck.

And speaking of…

Clover approaches, telling him that the Grimm are gone. He gives Qrow a puzzling look upon seeing him standing so forlornly, but it only seems to take a moment for him to connect the dots. His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, but he doesn’t say anything, simply signaling that they should enter the cave. Despite his frustration, Qrow appreciates it. What honestly could he say? Clover’s the problem solving type, but some problems don’t have solutions.

Most of his bag is gone now, and unless there’s a crazy twist of fate that not even Clover’s luck could manage, none of it is coming back. There really isn’t much to say there, much less solve.

So they go inside the cave, just as the darkness of the cloud-filled night grows deeper.

Clover uses the matches and kindling in his own bag to light a fire, and he and Qrow sit across from each other.

Qrow wraps his arms around himself, feeling tatters in his jacket and feathers flying off into the tundra, just as most of his supplies did.

Grimm really are the worst pests this hellhole they call Remnant have to offer.

Crap. He’s freezing, and the night’s only getting darker and colder.

Though Qrow takes pride in his strength and endurance, a night in freezing temperatures like this would give anyone a case of frostbite they’d never forget.

For God’s sake! Even Clover’s unashamedly clinging to his own jacket!

If that isn’t telling of the direness of their situation, nothing is.

Qrow knows Clover’s going to offer him his sleeping bag, but he’s not comfortable at all with taking it. It likely wouldn’t even keep him warm enough, and there’d be no point in both of them freezing to death out here.

Speaking of, his sleeping blanket is the next thing Clover pulls out of his bag. It’s large and when it’s removed from his bag, it deflates like a balloon.

Clover begins to unravel the sleeping bag from its bindings, and Qrow can tell he’s just about to offer it to him, but as he unravels it, it begins to show that it’s far larger than expected. Surprised, Qrow and Clover look at it in disbelief, then at each other, and then back to the sleeping bag.

Now, out of room to safely spread it out, Clover drags the sleeping bag further from the fire and continues opening it. When it’s finally fully unraveled, they see that it is indeed rather large.

In fact, it might even be large enough to fit two people in it.

They’re both housing the same thought, and Qrow silently nods at the proposal Clover gives him with only his eyes.

There’s no room for debate – the cave provides shelter, but it’s minimal. If Qrow isn’t given more protection against the winds, who knows what will happen to him?

Qrow’s got too much to live for to refuse whatever will keep him alive.

Maybe one of those things is the very man he’ll be sharing a sleeping bag with tonight.

It doesn’t make the idea of sharing one feel any less awkward than it is.

But neither speak of that very awkwardness that this arrangement brings, least of all Clover. He’s as casual about it as he ever is about anything. Qrow’s sure Clover knows by now how much of a comfort that is for him. He can’t state enough how much he appreciates Clover for not making a big deal out of it.

There’s not much of a preamble before it’s time to get in the sleeping bag. They share a quick meal, consisting of one of the rations they have each and a few swigs of the water in their canteens. The entire time, Qrow feels his head practically buzzing, but pushes back against the sensation -- just enough to keep it at bay, at least.

When it’s finally time to get into the bag, with a wave of his hand, Clover offers Qrow the chance to enter first and get settled in. Qrow nods and crawls inside. Instantly, two feelings hit him: warmth and disappointment in the lack of warmth relative to his expectations. It’s fine, but he imagined the sleeping bag would make him feel just a bit toastier.

Of course, there’s no doubt they’ll both survive the night in its confines, but he has to wonder just how much of the chill will make its way through the flimsier-than-he-hoped bag.

But any further questions Qrow has about their resistance to the elements dies in his throat as Clover makes his way into the sleeping bag beside him.

Fuck, he’s warm.

He’s so, so warm.

It’s literally the difference between night and day, as if Clover’s sheer presence teleports them from the frigid hellhole that is Atlas to the sweltering heat of Vacuo.

And now, rather than worrying about freezing solid, Qrow’s more worried about melting into the ground, because if Clover Ebi provides him with so much as another degree of heat, he gives himself about a 50% chance of turning into magma.

Because of the strength of the winds and still-piling snow, the weather all but dictates for them to face each other as they sleep. Though there’s some space between their bodies, Clover’s arms can’t help but make casual contact with his own as they settle into their position. Clover tries to apologize for this, but Qrow casually dismisses the concerns.

How Qrow manages to do that would impress no one who has ever known him more than it does himself.

The distance between them, or rather, lack thereof, deprives Qrow of breath for a good ten seconds.

Physically speaking, they’re closer than they’ve ever been before. If they were to both push back as far as they could, they would probably have nearly a foot between them.

But neither of them do this, so they’re at most six inches away from each other.

There’s no hyperbole in saying that it takes each and every survival instinct Qrow has to will his blush away and resume normal breathing.

Qrow thanks Clover for sharing the sleeping bag, space for him or not. To this, Clover grins and drops a charming line like he always does, a line that prompts Qrow to give one of his own. For the next few minutes, they repeat the process, banter flowing between them like it has dozens of times by now.

It’s nice.

Eventually, their quips relax and they wish each other a ‘good night.’ Not long after that, Clover falls asleep.

Qrow’s anxious. He’s almost too anxious for words.

He supposes that’s a good thing, since he can’t say any of them with Clover so close to him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Qrow was just barely getting used to the idea of sleeping in the same close vicinity as Clover.

And now they’re sharing a sleeping bag.

How does someone who barely feels like he can sleep in the same room as another person now do so while sharing a sleeping bag with one?

For God’s sake, Qrow can feel Clover’s hot breath on his even hotter face.

Everything feels intense. It’s like everything he imagined he was going to feel has been accentuated, but new emotions are now added to the pile. It’s not just worrying over what vulnerabilities he can unintentionally reveal to Clover in his sleep, it’s a more profound fear over how Clover will receive those vulnerabilities now that they’ll be literally shoved in his face, and how their relationship will change as a result of that, for worse...or possibly for better...

That fear releases an acknowledgement of blossoming feelings of every kind that Qrow’s not sure he’s ready to confront, not just yet.

But it doesn’t change the fact that they’re there nonetheless.

Why can’t this just go slow?

And why does part of him not want it to?

Damnit, he’s overthinking things, clearly an effect of his exhaustion.

Qrow forces himself to calm down. He hasn’t slept since before they departed, and he needs to start now. Otherwise, their return to the transport tomorrow will be impossible, no matter what he does in his sleep.

Slow, deep breaths paint Qrow’s nose with Clover’s scent -- strong, hot, largely composed of sweat but still uniquely Clover-smelling, and omnipresent due to their circumstances.

All the same, it’s good.

It shouldn’t be good.

It utterly bewilders Qrow that it’s good.

But it is, in fact, good, good enough that it helps Qrow settle down so that he can at last start to welcome sleep to his tired, tired eyes.

And what little Clover’s scent can’t accomplish in sending him off to sleep, Clover’s body heat wraps up with a neat little bow. Laying beside Clover, even in the tundra, is like laying beside a fireplace. If not for the now scarcely present view of the snow he still has, Qrow could imagine that they were anywhere while in this sleeping bag together.

So, lulled by the symphonic mixture of the harsh, abrasive winds and Clover’s loud, yet gentle snores, Qrow at last falls asleep.

()()()()()()()()

While quite a few sounds sing Qrow to sleep, neither are present as his crimson eyes make contact with daybreak.

Qrow doesn’t know how long he slept for when he wakes up, but it was clearly quite a long amount of time. A bright yellow hue from the sun sparkles against the snowy walls of the cave and any smoke from last night’s fire is long gone.

Clover’s awake. Without even turning to look at his sleepmate, Qrow knows this to be true. There’s a tension Qrow feels in Clover’s back that’s indicative of his regular posture.

He’s about to tilt his head and talk to Clover, but is stopped in his tracks.

How is he able to feel muscles in Clover’s back?

A stark realization hits Qrow. He hasn’t paid mind to his hands nor arms yet since waking up, but he has a worryingly strong suspicion as to where they are.

With all the lightness of a feather as to not clue Clover into what he’s doing, Qrow softly wiggles a finger on his left hand and a finger on his right.

Both touch a very familiar piece of fabric, one Qrow knows he’s also currently wearing on his person.

But unlike his coat, the coat his fingers feel is in an untarnished state, still just that little bit poofy.

He can feel his elbows and palms form gentle curves around places that make a lot of sense to form curves around.

His arms are folded atop Clover’s backside and his hands are perched upon the upper edges of his torso.

And now that Qrow notices this, he also notices that Clover’s belly and his own are ever-so-gently pressed together.

Oh Gods...

He’s holding Clover.

Screw holding Clover -- he’s full-on cuddling Clover.

Even from within the shock of sharing a sleeping bag with Clover, Qrow developed some semblance of expectations last night. Vulnerabilities and bad habits are hard to mask when one can’t control their actions. Qrow was mentally preparing for that. Maybe he’d accidentally whack Clover in the event of the nightmares he more often than not had. Maybe he’d toss and turn a lot in his sleep. Hell, he’s been told by his nieces and former teammates that he has a tendency to drool from time to time, so that wasn’t entirely off the table.

But of all the things he was willing to anticipate he’d do, at the very bottom of that list of expectations was to cuddle up to Clover.

That doesn’t change the truth though -- he did cuddle him all the same, and he still is.

Neither he nor Clover have consciously engaged with each other yet. Qrow begins to calculate how he can use that to his advantage.

With a fake yawn and a “reflexive” stretch, he could free Clover from his grasp without inviting any further awkwardness.

That’s what Qrow hopes, in any event, and it makes enough sense to be worth a try.

Qrow begins to shift a little in preparation of his plan, but is stopped in his tracks by something pressed up against his back -- two very muscular, and very familiar arms.

It only takes him half a beat to realize they and the hands attached to them are holding Qrow the same way Qrow is presently holding him.

Clover’s cuddling him too.

That realization is at once both a relief and a terror.

The discomfort he sought to escape with his plan is now simultaneously warded off and stronger than ever as his plan lies in ruins, and feelings he elected to ignore last night are just a little bit more insistent in their presence now.

Qrow quickly decides he’s only one man, and thus can only directly take on one of these Remnant-shattering revelations at a time.

As the fact remains that he and Clover are awake, and neither have addressed the other about this yet, he elects to at last do so.

Whether it’s the right choice or not, especially when he and Clover have each other to themselves in such a way, is a topic to be handled another day.

But all the same, Qrow swallows his shocked features and turns to face Clover directly, finally crossing the threshold of avoidance between them.

Clover looks shocked to see him make the first move, but upon studying Qrow’s relaxed expression for a moment, however artificial it is, relaxes himself as well.

There’s a certain sense of breathlessness between them in the seconds that follow, as if they’d both just climbed a mountain and not just woken up from an, all things considered, decent sleep. It all feels contradictory -- exhausting, and yet exuberant, calming, and yet vigilant. Mostly though, it all feels a bit awkward, and yet a bit comfortable too because they both feel that same awkwardness.

And within those contradictions, there’s something nice, something Qrow can’t explain. Maybe, like those feelings that now massage his brain, he doesn’t want to explain it -- not today, anyways -- but he’s content enough just living and relaxing in whatever it is that he and Clover are sharing.

After all, his worst case scenario just played out, and nothing bad happened between them.

It could be nice just to kick back and enjoy things for the little time they have right now.

A long moment passes before their wordless exchange is finally given voice, but it does happen. They do have a tundra to traverse today, after all, and they’ll get no closer to the transport home just lazing around.

Qrow would be lying if he said that he found prospect to be one all that awful.

But all the same, they greet each other for the new day, and he can tell that there’s just a twinge of reluctance in each of their eyes as they leave the sleeping bag. The chill from last night returns in the absence of Clover’s body heat, albeit less harshly now that the previous night’s storm has dispersed.

Looking ahead at today’s challenge, Qrow sees that the outskirts of the cave are bright with a blanket of shimmering snow that stretches as far as the eye can see. It’s beautiful, though the songs the winds sing expose the dangers hidden within that beauty.

It’s going to be a long day.

Still, he’s not alone with Clover by his side, and somehow, that fact makes all the difference.

After years of never even considering such a sentiment, it now permeates Qrow’s every step as he and Clover walk through the snow.

He could get used to a partnership like this.

#fair game #fairgameweek2020 #qrow branwen #clover ebi #rwby

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thedeviljudges · 4 years

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so i wrote a ziam story and posted it about 6 years ago based on my BDD. as corny and as dumb as it was, i needed a fic like it out there to express what BDD is like, what it does, and the emotional scarring you get from being fat.

today i got one of the most incredible comments on that fic. a fic i hadn’t forgotten about, but hadn’t thought about in years. a comment letting me know the impact it had on them and thanking me for writing it because it moved them so much.

6 years, y’all. to know a fic has resonated with someone for that long, about a topic that makes me emotional, is incredibly overwhelming. and i’ve just spent the past 30 min crying about it cuz i can’t even fathom.

i highly doubt they’ve found me here, but i just want to say thank you to whoever left that message. it’s hands down one of the most beautiful comments i’ve ever received on a fic, and it means the world. especially for that one. the one fic closest to my heart bc i just wanted people to understand how it feels to be fat, to be ugly, and to live your life with people directly telling you that you’re too ugly to date, and you don’t deserve love in the way that others do.

i’ve never really purposefully wrote a fic to make an impact. it’s always about the entertainment value, but yeah, that hit deep as hell, and i’m so grateful.

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comradesummers · 5 years

Note

I’m curious about 1. Top 5 TV shows, 11. Top 5 female characters and 20. Top 5 overrated characters

Hi, thanks for asking!

Top 5 TV shows

(This list is based on my current mood, and will probably change tomorrow)

1. Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Yeah, I know, what a shocker. It may be flawed, and old, and a little corny, but well, there’s a reason I dedicated a blog to it. No show means more to me than Buffy, and no show probably ever will.

2. Legends of Tomorrow

You know what, more shows need to be as batshit fucking crazy as Legends of Tomorrow is. More shows need to save the day via our main characters joining together to create a giant stuffed animal that hugs the bad guy to death. More shows need to give us killer unicorns, and sentient nipples, and hot girls with weapons who make out with each other.

Fuck the golden age of television, fuck everyone taking everything so goddamn seriously. Give me a pure, unadulterated, chaotic, drug-addled (I can only assume), queer, joyful, wonderful mess, and I will love and treasure it forever.

3. Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

Look, it’s just really good. I don’t really have much to say, beyond just like, it’s great, and it has great songs, and great comedy, and great drama, and great acting, and great writing, etc. It’s not perfect, because nothing is, but I do genuinely believe that it’s one of the best uses of the medium of television that I’ve ever seen. If any show could make me buy into the golden age of television bullshit, it’s probably Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.

4. One Day at a Time

So there’s this interview with Gloria Calderón Kellett and Mike Royce, where they talk about how the basic structure of any episode of the show, is that there is a topic at hand, whatever it may be, and then we hear the conservative argument (Lydia), the progressive argument (Elena), and the mediator (Penelope). And like, yeah, that’s it, that’s the show. In that sense it’s super reminiscent of Norman Lear’s work in the 70′s - All in the Family was also basically just one big argument.

So, in addition to everything that’s obviously incredible about the show (funny, well written, loving, the representation, Rita Moreno’s very existence being a gift to us all, etc.), there’s just something so brilliant about the simplicity of the basic premise, the argument about traditionalism vs. progress, which is made far more poignant and interesting because the characters are Cuban American. Lydia isn’t Archie Bunker, because her desire to preserve her traditions isn’t rooted in bigotry, it’s rooted in the culture that she was forced to leave behind. And Elena, as admirable as her quest for progress is, often fails to see the importance of preserving that culture (illustrated most obviously by the fact that she doesn’t speak Spanish). And although Penelope represents the middle ground, she isn’t always right either.

Everyone has a point, and that’s what makes each new conflict so fun to watch.

5. Queer Eye

Queer Eye makes me happy. It really is as simple as that. It has perfected the formula of bringing joy to the world, and I think that is a truly impressive feat.

Top 5 female characters

(I’m going to keep it to one character per show, because otherwise I'd be here all day. Also, again, this list is based on my current mood. It could change tomorrow.)

1. Buffy Summers

Again, what a shocker. I don’t think I need to explain this one.

2. Elena Alvarez

I really had to struggle to choose between Lydia, Penelope, and Elena, because I love all three of them so so much. But I went with Elena because she’s the person I aspire to be. She’s awkward, and weird, and struggles socially, and she’s not always right, but she also fights for what she believes in, actively. It’s not just about arguing with her grandmother, it’s about taking action, even if that action can be a little awkward and Elena-y. And well, seeing a character like her, who isn’t just the regular armchair activist young person that’s so common on TV, is really important and inspiring and I love her.

3. Rebecca Bunch

She’s just kind of one of those characters that was iconic right out of the gate. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a character like Rebecca before, ever. And I haven’t seen any since honestly. It’s small stuff, like the fact that a character with Rachel Bloom’s body type is allowed to be aggressively sexual without being seen as disgusting or villainous for it. And it’s big stuff, like the portrayal of her mental illness, the fact that she was never written to be “likable” or whatever the fuck that means, but we loved her so much anyway. The show may have occasionally faltered, but Rebecca Bunch was always its center and its greatest achievement, and I will forever be grateful for her.

4. Regina Mills and Santana Lopez

Yeah, I’m cheating, this one’s a tie. My justification for the cheating is that these two are in the same category for me, in terms of characters that I love, but I’m kind of ashamed of choosing because of their garbage source material. So yeah, it would probably be more accurate to say that I’ve chosen the fanfiction versions of both of these characters, but in my defense, the fics are a lot better than the shows they’re based on. Also, kudos to both of these actresses for somehow making these characters interesting in spite of the writing they had to work with.

5. Petra Solano

Look, if it wasn’t already evident that I like type A control freaks, bonus points if they’re super fucked up, and extra bonus points if they’re into women, well it should be clear now. Petra in particular manages to walk the fine line of being easily the most tragic character of the show, and also easily one of the funniest, while also having one of the best redemption arcs I’ve ever seen. Idk how Grobglas and the writers managed to do all that, but it was really incredible to behold.

(I would like to extend my sincerest apologies to Veronica Mars, Amy Santiago, Rosa Diaz, Sara Lance, Zari Tomaz, and a bunch of other characters who have probably slipped my mind, all of whom would have made the list if I was in a different mood, or was currently obsessed with them. I love them all.)

Top 5 overrated characters

1. Wesley Wyndam Pryce

So, full disclosure, I’m just really not a fan of broody men who’s character development involves them being violent towards women and then brooding about it.

Wesley in particular, I get why people like him, he is a very well written and well acted example of this kind of character. But I’ve seen multiple people suggest that he’s the best character in the Buffyverse, and that drives me a little crazy. Like, no. Wesley becoming a broody asshole doesn’t make him a better character than Buffy or Willow or Cordelia or Gunn or Faith or anyone else, and I am so sick of that kind of broody man story being prioritized over every other kind of story.

2. Logan Echolls (please don’t kill me)

I actually like Logan, I think he’s a good character. I just wish the show, and subsequently the fandom, hadn’t prioritized his character over pretty much everyone else not named Veronica. But I do like him, to be clear.

3. Illyria (I’m so sorry)

Like really, I wish I liked her more. I guess it’s just because I was pissed they had to kill off Fred for Illyria, and she spent all of her time with Wesley, which didn’t do much to endear me to her. I guess maybe if she’d spent time with anyone else, I’d get why people like her, beyond Amy Acker being really good at her job. But she didn’t, and I just don’t get it.

I couldn’t think of a fourth and fifth one. As it turns out, I’m not a fan of the concept of something being overrated. All of the characters I named just aren’t necessarily my cup of tea, but that doesn’t mean I think they’re bad, they’re just not for me. And I don’t really like saying that people are wrong to like things. Plus, I just really couldn’t come up with anybody, and I really tried, I’m sorry.

#btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #legends of tomorrow #crazy ex girlfriend #one day at a time #odaat #queer eye #buffy summers #elena alvarez #rebecca bunch #regina mills #santana lopez #petra solano

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artificialqueens · 6 years

Text

Extra Credit: Part 5 (Shalaska) – Rosie

A/N: Guess who’s back in the house! Here’s the next chapter of Extra Credit, thank you all for waiting so patiently! Since posting the last chapter, I’ve sat down and put all my ideas onto one page and created a proper, meaty storyline that’s bigger (and more emotional) than I initially expected it to be when I started this fic. I’m so excited for where it’s heading, so I hope you are too!

Story Summary: University professor Sharon Needles hooks up with a slamming hot blonde at a bar who may or may not be one of her students.

Chapter Summary: Following their dinner date from the previous night, Sharon delves into her past over a croissant, while Alaska opens up about her family.

Catch Up on Extra Credit: One, Two, Three, Four

Alaska stirred awake, sleepily opening her eyes before the morning light flooding through the thin curtains caused her to squeeze them back shut. She rolled to her side, only to abruptly stop when she felt herself dipping into the weight of the other woman in the bed. She smiled, her heart skipping a beat as she remembered she had fallen asleep in Sharon’s arms after spending another night with her. It sounded corny, but their dinner date last night had been magical, and Alaska couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face as she confirmed it all wasn’t just a wonderful dream.

Her let herself shamelessly study Sharon’s face as she slept peacefully, her gaze tracing the features she was falling more and more in love with. She noticed the laugh lines extending faintly from the outer corners of her eyes, and the few strands of grey hair merging with her blonde locks. Adorably, Alaska also noticed the faint smattering of freckles that decorated Sharon’s nose, cheeks, and collarbone, which were only visible from such close proximity. Her skin tone was practically porcelain, but it warmed Alaska’s heart to see little constellations of evidence of Sharon’s time in the sun.

Inhaling deeply, Sharon stirred awake, her eyelids fluttering open before a dreamy smile tugged at her lips at the sight of the younger girl. She rolled closer to Alaska, stretching her limbs in the process before she pulled her into her arms, hugging her close. Intertwining herself with Sharon, Alaska hitched her leg up over the other blonde’s hip before Sharon settled her thigh between her legs. Sharon moaned quietly as she closed her eyes, ready to fall back to sleep in the other woman’s embrace – but Alaska had other ideas.

She ever so slightly moved her hips, grinding herself against Sharon’s thigh. Repeating the action, she slowly picked up her pace, biting her lip seductively as Sharon caught her gaze, a glint in her eyes.

Running a hand up Alaska’s back, Sharon traced over her shoulder before reaching her jaw, gently pulling them into a kiss. She lightly pressed her lips to Alaska’s as her hand trailed down her breasts, over her stomach and between her parted thighs before finally cupping her warmth. Alaska’s breath hitched softly at the contact as Sharon massaged her folds, the tips of her fingers gently trailing her seam before circling her throbbing bud. Alaska’s hips jerked, moaning into Sharon as the intensity of their kiss matched the growing pressure of the older woman’s touch.

Dipping her fingers between her folds, Sharon gasped softly at how wet Alaska already was, her digits edging seamlessly into her entrance. Alaska hitched her thigh higher up onto Sharon’s side, moving it from her hip to her waist as she spread herself out further, desperate for more. In tandem, Sharon slid her middle finger into Alaska, the other girl’s walls grasping around her length. Alaska nipped at Sharon’s pouty bottom lip, dragging her teeth against the soft flesh before capturing her lips in a kiss. Sharon whined at the sensation, and the sound went straight to Alaska’s core.

Slipping another finger into her warmth, Sharon spread her touch, gently stretching Alaska as her thumb circled her throbbing bundle of nerves. Sharon moved herself on top, rolling their bodies slightly and pressing Alaska into the soft bedding beneath them as a third finger joined the others. Alaska gasped, her stomach hollowing out before she arched her back, their new position allowing her to feel Sharon’s touch deeper than before. Leaning down, Sharon showered her cheeks and neck with kisses as she worked her fingers, her movements becoming rapid and hot.

Saliva gathered behind Sharon’s teeth at the sight of the blonde unraveling beneath her at her touch. Toes curled and fists found themselves clutching white sheets as Alaska’s lips parted into a perfect ‘o’ shape as Sharon’s embrace seeped into every inch of her body. She kept going, repetitively thrusting into Alaska and driving her to her limit.

Heat built in Alaska’s abdomen as her desperate, breathy moans echoed throughout the bedroom, mixing with the repetitive, slick sound of Sharon’s touch. They both sensed her climax, so Sharon pushed her over the edge. Three words tumbled out of her mouth, low and soft, but clear as day to Alaska, who was clinging onto her every breath.

“Come for me.”

Jerking beneath Sharon, Alaska’s walls clenched around the other woman’s fingers as her climax overwhelmed her. She writhed against the sheets, her thighs shaking and her core pulsing as pleasure coursed through her veins.

Without dulling her touch, Sharon gasped as she watched Alaska, the beauty of her fanned out lashes against her flushed cheeks and her parted pink lips never losing their effect on her.

Cupping the nape of Sharon’s neck, Alaska brought their mouths together, their tongues lapping against each other as the occasional twitch sparked through her thighs.

Sharon relaxed and settled on top of her, the weight of her body anchoring Alaska’s post orgasm buzz.

“Good morning,” Sharon said sweetly.

“Good fucking morning indeed,” Alaska sighed, panting as her breathing stabilised.

Nestling her face into Alaska’s neck, Sharon moaned softly as Alaska blissfully ran her fingers through her hair to lightly scratch her head.

Suddenly, Sharon’s body stiffened. She looked up at her bedside clock reading 8:39am before her eyes darted to Alaska.

“We don’t have a morning class, do we?” she asked, her eyes wide in alarm.

Alaska had to think for a moment, realising that the world kept turning even though her universe felt like it stopped whenever she was in the older woman’s arms.

“No, today’s Tuesday. I do have an afternoon lecture though.”

“Yeah, that’s mine,” Sharon smiled before returning to nuzzle Alaska’s neck.

Alaska couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. So far, when they were together, they barely mentioned university as they surprisingly had so many other interests in common. But the concept of freely acknowledging the fact that Sharon was her professor while they lied wrapped up in each other’s naked limbs after getting off was incredibly attractive.

Alaska felt herself throb, and she looked down at herself with wide eyes, not believing that after their marathon last night and this morning’s session that she could be horny again.

Sharon looked up at her, a flurry of silvery blonde hair framing her blue eyes and pouty pink lips, which were turned up into a sleepy smile.

Maybe it wasn’t so unbelievable after all.

“I’m craving a croissant,” Sharon declared, her face still nuzzled into Alaska’s neck as they lounged in bed for a little while longer. “My favourite café is down the road, but I can’t be bothered leaving.”

Alaska mentally bookmarked the café for future reference, already imagining surprising Sharon on her birthday with breakfast in bed.

“Do they have Uber Eats?” Alaska joked.

Sharon was silent for a moment before she cocked her head to the side.

“What’s that?”

Alaska stifled a laugh, Sharon’s technological inabilities striking again.

“It’s like Uber…” Alaska explained, “but they bring you food. It’ll change your life. Here, give me their name and I’ll check if they’re on the app.”

“That’s incredible,” Sharon breathed, already knowing how much damage she’d do in the future.

Alaska reached for her phone on the bedside table, Sharon left to stare in awe as her fingers flew across her screen. Before they knew it, they were browsing the menu and adding much more than just Sharon’s croissant to their cart.

“Here’s my card,” Sharon said, Alaska left to happily tap in her details.

“It’ll be here in 15 minutes,” Alaska said, locking her phone and placing it back on the bedside table before facing Sharon. “I love that you didn’t know what– oh! You’re so cute!”

Sharon looked up at her, unaware of what had given Alaska such a reaction, before she realised – it was her glasses she had just put on. Sharon blushed, bashfully looking down as she adjusted her wide, tortoise shell frames. She raised her left hand, pushing the centre of the wide glasses up the bridge of her nose with the tip of her middle finger.

“Oh, yeah, these,” Sharon stumbled, her cheeks growing pink as she fought a smile. They were just glasses, and Sharon was a little self conscious of wearing them, but Alaska’s reaction was so flattering.

“I didn’t know you wore them,” Alaska commented, her heart growing bigger at the sight of a bespectacled Sharon.

“I’m literally so blind, and it’s just getting worse with age,” Sharon sighed.

“Well, you make deteriorating eyesight so cute,” Alaska drawled, and Sharon beamed at how Alaska could turn what she used to consider a flaw into a positive.

“Come on, let’s get ready for brekkie.”

The app didn’t lie, and exactly 15 minutes later a man was buzzing their apartment, their delivery in hand.

“This is the coolest thing!” Sharon exclaimed after she shut the door, her face alight with excitement at the concept of home delivery from her favourite eating spot.

“You’ll have to download the app, it’s the best,” Alaska replied as she finished setting up their kitchen table. “Don’t worry, I’ll download it for you.”

Sharon shot her a grateful smile as she pulled items from the bag, thankful at the fact that they were already so in sync.

She placed a pot of freshly brewed coffee down next to a jug of low sugar orange juice and before they knew it, their extravagant brunch was ready. Covering the table was Sharon’s desired croissant that started it all, a vegetarian breakfast omelet to share and a stack of chocolate chip pancakes with a side of two hash browns for Alaska.

“Bone app the teeth,” Alaska joked as she took a seat, before gesturing to a perplexed Sharon to forget about her meme reference. Her professor had learnt enough for one morning.

“Coffee?” Sharon offered, pouring some into her mug.

“Of course, thank you,” Alaska replied, adjusting the sleeves of her jumper. Actually, it was Sharon’s. They had rolled out of bed, and Sharon had slipped a black silk nightie over her naked body, while letting Alaska wear anything from her closet. She picked a thin burgundy sweater up from Sharon’s chair, and from the moment she put it on, she never wanted to take it off. It was a size or two too big, and it’s soft fabric held Sharon’s warm, almost smokey scent.

Sharon’s heart had surged a little when Alaska had emerged from the bedroom wearing her sweater and just underwear, and her arms constantly found themselves around her as they got ready in the kitchen.

By the time Sharon had finished her croissant, Alaska had already demolished her stack of pancakes and her side of hash browns, all of which wouldn’t hang around on her slim figure for long.

“Ah, to have the metabolism of my early twenties again,” Sharon sighed, fake crying into her cup of coffee.

Alaska laughed and raised her foot under the table, brushing it against Sharon’s calf, who smiled at her gesture.

Towards the end of their breakfast they both read through the news, Sharon with the actual paper beside her on the table and the digital version quickly being scrolled through on Alaska’s phone as she hopped between apps.

Things felt so domestic and normal, and they both silently pictured this being their reality. Alaska snuck a few glances at Sharon, and she couldn’t help admire her effortless beauty.

From the way her hair fell after she had slept on it, to the way the strap of her black silk nightie itched to slip off her smooth shoulder, to the way her pale fingers delicately stirred her silver spoon in her coffee.

“How are you still single?” Alaska thought, a warmth spreading in her chest that was definitely caused by affection and not coffee.

“Mmh?” Sharon asked, moving her attention from the paper to Alaska, not hearing what she said.

Alaska wanted to cover for herself, ask a different question, ignore the fact that she had just muttered her thoughts out loud. But she had said it, and it was something she wondered whenever she was with Sharon, and whenever she saw her lecturing at the university, the attention of everyone in the room in the palm of her hand.

“I was just wondering… like, how are you still single?” she asked tentatively.

Sharon’s face broke into a smile, Alaska’s nervousness at offending her making her look adorable.

“I ask myself the same thing every night,” Sharon joked, “I’m beautiful and smart, what gives?”

They both laughed, and Alaska exhaled in relief.

“Okay, for real,” Sharon started, preparing herself to just rip the band-aid off, “ah, I was actually engaged once.”

Alaska’s eyebrows jumped slightly as she nodded, a drop of harmless jealousy rippling through her mind as she thought of Sharon being with other women. On second thought, that was quite an attractive thought.

“Oh, wow,” she replied, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Yeah, to a guy,” Sharon continued, bursting into laughter when Alaska’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Don’t worry, my reaction’s the same whenever I think about it.”

Alaska finally swallowed her mouthful of coffee she had almost laughed out, and Sharon closed her paper, ready to delve into her past.

“How’d you get yourself into that conundrum?”

“The more interesting story is how I got out of it, and the answer is through the engagement party’s bathroom window, but we’ll start from the top.”

Alaska cackled, thankful Sharon could find the humour in the situation. This didn’t feel awkward either, and Alaska relaxed into her chair, grateful that they both felt comfortable to discuss things like this.

“I don’t know how I come across right now, but it took me a really, and I mean a really, long time to get where I am today,” Sharon started, running her hands through her hair as she recalled her younger years. “And by that I mean, happy and confident and, I don’t know, unapologetically me.”

Alaska nodded, encouraging her.

“Growing up… I always knew I was a lesbian. But, I guess I was so determined to get out of my little hometown and make something of myself through studying, that I didn’t realise it was, I guess a ‘problem’, until I finally made it to university.

“Basically, I walked into my first lecture and realised straight away that marketing was such a man’s world, and still is, but back then it felt so much worse. Not only was I one of the only girl’s, but because there were so many networking events, I had guys coming up to me all the time asking me out. That was so weird, and new.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Alaska smiled.

“Alaska, growing up I was knobby kneed and as thin as a broomstick with a gap between my teeth and bleached blonde hair that I foolishly cut myself. People were not falling over each other to ask me out.”

“You need to show me a picture one day,” Alaska laughed, trying to piece together this bizarre image of a teenage Sharon.

“Sure, one day,” Sharon smiled coyly, mockingly rolling her eyes, already knowing Alaska wouldn’t let her forget.

“Anyway, I met this guy at uni, and we actually got along. We became great friends, and ended up going to all these events together. It’s so stupid and political, but you looked better when you were a couple.”

“Especially a straight couple,” Alaska added, a feeling of helplessness already stirring in her stomach.

“Exactly. So, eventually, he asks me out for real. And I say yes.”

Sharon grimaced, suddenly struggling to continue. She hadn’t thought about this part of her life for years. She didn’t even feel like she was remembering her own life, but someone else’s, or even a character from a movie. Surely this wasn’t her.

“I kind of… forced myself to not be… me, for a little bit.”

Sharon dropped her eyes, her voice cracking ever so slightly. Alaska immediately reached for her hand, squeezing it gently and giving her time. She couldn’t imagine the confident, intelligent, gorgeous woman in front of her forcing herself to be anything other than what she was, so she couldn’t begin to imagine how Sharon herself was feeling.

“So, I go along with it… because, I don’t know. It was a different time… and I felt trapped, but it also felt like the right thing to do? I knew this wasn’t who I was. But I was so career minded that I was prepared to be someone else to get where I wanted to go.”

Alaska felt her eyes prickle and she quickly blinked the tears away before they could properly form. She only realised now how close they had become while Sharon had spoken, the two of them leaning towards each other across the table.

“I knew we were doomed from the start. But I also knew if it looked like I had it all, I knew I would get hired – and I did. Both of us got jobs straight out of university from rubbing shoulders at all these events.

“One thing led to another, and before I knew it, he was proposing, and I was saying yes, because I didn’t think I was brave enough to say no.”

Sharon’s bottom lip trembled and her eyes shined, but she abruptly pulled herself together and out of her trance, her somber expression gone with a blink. Her millisecond of being on the verge of tears left so quickly it was like it never happened. Alaska realised Sharon had a lot of practice holding it together.

“Fuck, sorry for bringing the mood down,” she joked, blinking fast as she adjusted her glasses.

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” Alaska said softly, her throat tight with emotion. She felt honoured that Sharon trusted her enough to talk so openly and honestly.

“I did stop pretending at one point. I got my shit together and got out of that… mess. Albiet through the bathroom window, I still got out. But not before it got worse. I spiralled. I really lost my way. And he couldn’t figure out why, but I knew.”

Alaska squeezed her hand, brushing her thumb across Sharon’s.

“And then I got into cocaine, but that’s a story for another morning.”

“Oh my god!” Alaska exclaimed at Sharon’s causal topic change, causing the both of them to break out in laughter.

“Where was I?” Sharon asked as she composed herself, topping up her mug and Alaska’s with her free hand. “Oh yeah, so I’m passed my addiction and I’m finally out of that relationship, much to the disappointment of everyone except me.

“As soon as we ended things, I felt different. I felt like myself again, but I also didn’t properly know who I was. Cut to me spending the rest of my twenties catching up on all my missed encounters and nights out.”

Alaska smiled, a weight rolling off her shoulders as Sharon’s face visibly lit up as she reminisced the better part of her past.

“I had a bunch of flings, nothing really long term. Then I dated this woman for around two years, and besides that engagement, she’s been my only serious relationship. She was lovely, Russian heritage, loved gymnastics. She’s actually an astrology professor now, isn’t that such a cool field? But yeah, we just didn’t work out.

“For a while I thought the engagement had rattled me and put me off commitment, but…” Sharon trailed off, looking Alaska in the eyes, knowing her following words held so much meaning, “I know that’s not the case.”

Alaska’s lips parted, fully knowing Sharon was hinting about her, about them. And Alaska wanted a them. Were they already a them?

Bringing Sharon’s hand to her lips, Alaska kissed it before squeezing it.

“That’s so inspiring,” Alaska breathed, Sharon’s past touching her more than she anticipated. “I’m so proud of you, for being you, because…”

Because I love you, Alaska wanted to add, but she couldn’t say that. But love flickered up through her centre. She’d never told anyone she loved them before in a romantic sense, but she had never been more sure of it in her life.

“… because you’re wonderful,” she said instead, the words still just as true.

Sharon smiled genuinely, playing with Alaska’s fingers.

“Sometimes I wish I grew up now,” Sharon confessed. “I’ve been thinking about it for the past few years, and things are so much different now compared to, what, 20 something years ago? Things seem easier, people seem so much more accepting.”

Alaska knew Sharon meant well, but she couldn’t stop the small scoff that bubbled out of her.

“Sorry,” Sharon said softly, realising things probably weren’t all that rosy for the younger generation.

“No, you’re right,” Alaska agreed honestly. “Things are better. I was still in high school when marriage equality passed. And people are more accepting… it’s just, those people aren’t my parents.”

Alaska looked down, sharply inhaling, and now it was Sharon’s turn to squeeze her hand and listen.

“I’m so sorry,” Sharon said comfortingly, a protective feeling of anger stirring inside of her, ready to wake up and stretch its legs.

“It’s okay, they’re… trying, I guess,” Alaska started, her brows knitting into a frown. Even she was unsure on where her parent’s stood. “I kind of fucked up my coming out.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yeah,” Alaska continued. “I was feeling brave, and I got into an argument with my mom and it just kind of spilled out. Mind you, I was drunk and emotional. I told her I wasn’t straight, fully thinking they wouldn’t care. But mom just hit the roof.”

Alaska’s breath hitched. She was so close with her mom, but in recent years they had drifted, and she knew why. It wasn’t just because she moved away from home for university. Sharon pulled her hands out from Alaska’s and stood up, only to come and sit in the chair next to her. She wrapped her arms around the younger woman, and Alaska almost burst into tears at her comforting touch.

“It’s okay, it’s okay” Sharon repeated softly, rubbing her back as Alaska’s breathing got deeper and heavier in a bid to stop herself crying. It worked, and after a few moments, Alaska’s throat didn’t feel so constricted.

“I freaked out, because they were freaking out. So I back peddled and said I was bisexual and that it could just be a phase. I told them what they wanted to hear…”

A single tear bubbled over her lash line and sprinted down her cheek before dropping onto Sharon’s sweater.

“I’m just so annoyed,” Alaska hiccupped, dabbing her eyes with the tissue Sharon handed her, “because I was so happy when I finally told them the truth. I fucking love who I am and I know who I am, but it only lasted seconds and then I was reduced to this… this spineless baby who couldn’t hold her ground.”

Alaska let herself break down as Sharon wrapped her in her arms, burrowing herself into her neck as she gasped for air. Sharon fought back tears as she gently rocked Alaska, rubbing her back and running her fingers through her hair.

“You don’t know how proud I am of you, Alaska,” Sharon whispered. Alaska pulled out of Sharon’s embrace, shocked to see her cheeks wet with tears. “I could only dream of having that much courage at your age to be who I am, to say what I felt. Yes, you freaked out, but you pushed yourself to take those steps. And those steps are so hard,” Sharon’s voice cracked, and Alaska wiped her tears from her cheeks.

“You’re the inspiring one,” Sharon said, repeating the words Alaska had said earlier.

A shaky breath found its way out of Alaska’s lungs as she let herself accept that someone was proud of her for just being her. She owed it to herself. No words came to kind that would match Sharon’s, so she settled for wrapping her arms around her.

When they finally parted, Sharon cupped Alaska’s cheeks, wiping the dampness there away with her thumb as she spoke, her words holding not an once of uncertainty.

“I wanna be with you, Alaska,” Sharon said, looking her in the eyes. “I’m serious about you, and I’m serious about what we want. I know what this means, but I’m ready. I want to be with you. I wanna be yours.”

Alaska’s heart surged, and it felt like her entire chest was expanding. She was almost speechless at Sharon’s declaration, but she understood and felt every word. She wanted exactly the same thing.

“God, yes, please,” Alaska whispered, almost leaning off her chair to straddle Sharon in an attempt for them to be closer. “I wanna be yours too. I want to be with you. I, I don’t even know what to say,” Alaska laughed as she was overwhelmed with emotions.

“I’ll make it easier,” Sharon smiled, biting her lip and pulling Alaska into her lap, almost reading her mind. “Alaska, will you be my girlfriend?”

Breaking into a smile that wouldn’t be wiped off for days, Alaska replied.

“Of course.”

#rosie #extra credit #lesbian au #Smut #au #tw vague mentions of homophobia #tw vague mentions of drug use #angst #hurt/comfort #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #rpdr fanfiction #college au #student/teacher

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throwaway-key · 6 years

Note

22. two miserable people meeting at a wedding au” jonjon or tommyjon (or anyone really, but grumpy Lovett is iconic)

honestly my first thoughts were of THESE FICS from pod save the wedding era, which I love dearly and reread often but:

Wedding season in DC is the most prime example of how incestuous the city really is. When your life is in a dome of homogenous people and faces, it’s only natural to invite that lobbyist you drink with, those people you work with every day, that republican staffer that you argue with all the time yet you like more than your cousin and you had to invite them so might as well. It ends in banquet halls and empty fields filled with faces that are either familiar because you’ve seen them every day, occupying the same space and nightlife, or familiar because they’re from the midwest and everyone from there looks kinda like someone you know anyway.

Breaking up a relationship and an engagement that Tommy saw his future in sucked for a lot of reasons, destroyed him in ways he’s still not quite sure he even understands, but grimley he wishes they could have postponed the split and separated later, at least for a couple of months so that other people still have the thought that it was too soon to invite him to their weddings. He could beg out of corny DJs and pretending to be happy for the couple that could succeed where he had failed so spectacularly. He hated the pity in people’s faces, but he would rather look at performative commiserating quirks of eyebrows then spend a whole night trying to ignore the jealousy festering in his gut, the feeling that still aches no matter how logically he tries to look at it- no matter how hard he tries to disconnect himself.

Favs had kept trying to get him to meet people, but after a late night of drinking that Tommy doesn’t really remember, he must have broken and said something about how it makes his chest feel tight in worst way, how he wasn’t even ready to look at other people, let alone talk to them, and he’d backed off. He’d been giving him sympathetic looks all day and Tommy loves him so much, would probably hide a body for him, but if he turned his big consoling bambi eyes on him one more time, Tommy might actually punch him (which Favs would take with an understanding stoicism, and would return the blow until it resulted in a scuffle of bro-solidarity and kinship, which would only make Tommy feel worse).

After about the tenth sappy love song that grates on Tommy’s nerves, he gives up any pretence of socializing among his assigned table and parks himself at the open bar. The only bourbon they have is some brand he’s never even heard of, so he ends up drinking it with coke and trying to block out the Beyonce song that’s come on over the loudspeakers.

He disappears into his fugue state for a bit until a demanding voice asks the bartender, “What is your strongest beer, and how fancy is it?” which is just… an absurd question.

It’s Jon’s new speechwriter, Lov*tt, the one who comes in on the scooter and makes Jon smile while his eyebrows contort themselves into a quizzical quirk when he’s relaying his day to Tommy, like he doesn’t quite know if he’s amused by him, or concerned. Lov*tt’s mouth is in such an exaggerated and cartoonish frown that Tommy almost thinks it’s mocking him, until he realizes that the guy hasn’t even looked Tommy’s way, doesn’t even seem to register he’s there at all.

Tommy feels hopeful that, maybe, there’s someone else who wants to be here even less then he does.

“You’re the scooter guy.” he says. He means it good-naturedly, but he feels it comes out wry and maybe a little judgey.

Lov*tt looks over, shooting a withering glance at him that seems both unsuiting but comfortable on a face so incredibly sweet and young. He knows the guy used to work for Clinton, but looking at him for himself, up close and personal, all he sees is a bad haircut and an ill-fitting light suit on a small frame that looks at tense and wired as Tommy feels. He looks like a mouse that just got turned into a human because of some fairy godmother and is pissed about it. Tommy could relate.

“You’re the guy sleeping on Favreau’s couch.” he bites back, not even looking at him anymore, and Tommy feels himself genuinely smile for the first time that evening. “Too bad you’re a dick, I have an extra room I need to fill.”

“Well let’s not be rash.” Tommy tries, “If you need a roommate then you should know I’m hardly ever home. I’m a perfect candidate that way.”

“I’m looking more for someone who won’t try and play friends.” Lov*tt replies, he tilts hs head consideringly. “Or complain about how much Diet Coke is in the fridge.”

Tommy doesn’t know about that second one, but… “I swear,” he takes another drink, not even knowing if he’s playing along with a bit or actually finding a place to stay that isn’t on his friend’s couch, “We could live together for years and still be complete strangers. You won’t even know anything about me.”

#persuna #🙋‍♂️🗣#✍️#✉️

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taesthetes · 6 years

Note

Hello! I reread tuou today after a while... and I don’t think there r words to explain how I felt once again. Just a wave of emotions every time I read it... and it’s just incredible how 21k words and a superb ability to write can make a person feel. I wish I could convey how I feel to u bc I feel like u truly deserve so much recognition and love beyond being a writer on tumblr. But on a different note, when u write, do u feel the emotions that ur readers do? I’ve never written something (1/?)

and felt like sad or happy bc of the story… sry if my question is confusing. Like if u write angst, do u also feel the heart wrench or r u just like nah whatever I expected it? Thank I for always being so kind when answering all of ur asks. I’ve seen some pretty talented yet rude writers out there, but u seem to genuinely adore every compliment and ask u get. I always feel comfortable talking to u :) Oh yeah, and one more question. What writing platform do u use to write? I’ve always (2/3)

(I forgot what I wrote previously) I always use docs , but it feels too much like a school assignment when I do that. What I’m writing on and the visual aspect matter a lot to me, so just thought I’d ask u about it bc ur my favorite writer on here. Sry the ask is all over the place! Again, thank u for being kind and inspiring me w ur stories. I hope u have the most amazing rest of the day, pick up a twenty dollar bill, get 10 hours of sleep, meet an old friend, and take care of urself !!

hello, honey bee! you are truly making my night with this, oh my gosh, thank you for reading my fic! i’m so so grateful that you read it already but then you decided to read it again? you are incredible, and i don’t deserve such a lovely reader 💗💗 aslkdjfhlasdj it’s my goal to be able to actually make people feel something with my writing, so hearing this from you means the absolute world to me. also, “superb ability to write” and here i am, being a crying and blubbering mess all over again :’) i’m going to put the rest of my answer under the cut because it got long oops

ah, can you believe that nearly a year ago from today, i was writing tuou? it all started because of some silly dreams i had and me wanting to procrastinate on studying for my final exams, even up until the last hour before my exams started. and now, it’s almost one year old!! but also, this message is more than enough, and honestly, i wish i knew how to convey to you just how thankful i am to receive such thoughtful and kind words 💞 my heart is bursting with so much happiness right now 💓💓

as for your first question, there are scenes that when i write, i’m like, “oh my god, that’s so corny….. let’s keep it.” other than that, i don’t really feel much when i’m writing, unless i’m writing for tae. with tae, i get really upset when i have to write him with a sad scene or something where he isn’t happy. on the other hand, i am unaffected when i’m writing about other members. i don’t feel the heart wrench when i write angst because yep, i’m just like “nah whatever i expected it.” unless, of course, it’s for tae, and i was completely torn over this fic i wrote called saudade. i wanted to scrap it because the entire angst plot comes to life because of taehyung’s death (wow, the irony in this sentence).

with tuou, after writing it halfway through, i realized it seemed like the oc was cheating on tae with jungkook, so i was about to trash it or change taehyung’s character to jimin. but in the end, my friends convinced me to continue writing and keep it the way it is because they thought taehyung fitted it best. (this is also why taehyung gets the happier ending at the end because i can’t stand to see him sad)

and no worries, your question isn’t confusing at all! and omg you write stories, too? what kind of stories do you write? what’s your favorite genre? :D and thank you for thinking so 💝 i love every ask i receive because it’s so wonderful to know that someone thought of me and my blog and actually took some time out of their busy day to tell me so. and it’s only fair that i dedicate my own time too and fully show my appreciation!! ah, i think some writers might be more introverted than i am. i understand that there are people who just aren’t comfortable with showing their emotions and have a harder time expressing themselves, so their responses may seem a bit off putting? nevertheless, i’m very happy that you feel comfortable talking to me!! 💞💞

in response to your second question, i feel the same way as you do about docs! i only use google docs for group projects or partner work for school. i did use google docs for the collabs i did though since it’s so much easier than emailing back and forth all the scenes and parts. but primarily, i like using microsoft word for writing! but i often find myself writing at 3 am in bed or when i’m walking to and from class, and i type it all out on my phone in a saved email draft. it’s so much easier for me to transfer my writing onto my laptop that way because i just need to log into my email on my laptop and then copy and paste the email draft into microsoft word. what writing platform do you like to use? :D

paeyfaiushdflas you really just shot cupid’s arrow through my heart because favorite writer on here??? i must be on cloud nine, thank you so much 💘💘 and you don’t have to apologize!! your ask was perfectly cohesive and easy to understand :D thank you for sending me in the loveliest messages ever, and it’s an honor to give you inspiration omg!!! and thank you for your well wishes :’)

it was an amazing rest of the day because i was free after taking a final today (well, free until my next three finals next week) and i didn’t find $20 but i did find a dime and caught and leveled up a bunch of my pokemon ahah and i’ll be getting ten hours of sleep tonight!!! and finally, i have a break over the weekend from pulling allnighters to cram study for finals. and i actually met an old friend a few days ago askjdfhlas anyway, i hope you have an amazing day/night, sweetpea, and please take care of yourself, too! i hope you’ll have a good weekend / are having a good weekend! 🌷🌷

#replies #anonymous #flowers #fic: the universe of us

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aikainkauna · 7 years

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I still can't reply to replies because of Tumblr's new interface, so I have to respond to this very good point by @acitymadeofsong this way.

And yes. This is a big problem, because it seems like many writing gurus and teachers and BOFQs seem to treat it as an either/or thing: either you write sparse, sober prose *or* turgid, purple prose; there's *nothing* in between. Now, I know that especially in the zine era, there were mountains of azure orbs and limpid pools around. So that led into an attitude where every bit of poetry and every metaphor resulted in a kneejerky "that's badfic!" reaction from the critic and the readers and the writers themselves. And that deprived us of a lot of really good poetry, I feel. Hell, *I* have a superbly honed sense for romance cliches myself by now--and don't get me wrong, this puritanism did, in fact, help me as a writer in a "know the rules before you start rolling up the rulebook and smoking it" kind of way--but this terror of the dread demon of purpleness has got me to a point where I have to *constantly* slap myself upside the head to remind myself that it's not only ok, but *in character* for me to put poetic thoughts and lines into my characters' heads and mouths when I'm writing Thief of Bagdad fic.

The movie itself is a really great example of beautiful, poetic language that does hold together well even now, despite there always being some whiny, cynical asshats in the audience who think they're tough by moaning about its "corniness"--and I always think that they are doing themselves--hell, even their very own humanity--a disservice. "Were you never an innocent, dreaming child?" I think. "Are you *happy* in having thrown your dreams of romantic adventure and beauty onto the pyre of postmodern nihilism?" Because of course, those people aren't--the whole point of that film was to allow people to escape (especially since WWII broke out during filming), and it's *explicit* about the value and power of the mind of an innocent child. It's the last, defiant dying cry of Romanticism before the war crushed it. Its dialogue and storytelling were unabashedly Romantic even for the time, a loud cry in favour of the fairytale without a *shred* of cynicism, thanks to which the film is so incredibly pure--and thus refreshing, a merciful respite, a balm. So it was serving that same urge that I am defending here, really; therefore, I would be committing a crime against it were I not faithful to that same spirit of hope and passion that ran through it.

Where was I? Oh yeah, the whole sparse prose mafia thing. I think that this is also heavily cultural. I keep seeing posts on here from American kids complaining about their teachers wanting to make everyone write like Hemingway. Ah, Papa Hemingway. Now, he's a particularly painful example in that you can see the guy *did* feel, and did have even crazily romantic emotions, but his work reads like a classic process of machismo crushing all that, suffocating that, and him just not having been given any tools for handling those emotions because society robs men of that. If anything, it should be analysed as a warning example of how the culture of masculinity fucks guys over.

But in other countries, it's crazily different--I knew a Spanish girl who was an aspiring academic, and even at her university, the teachers pressured everyone to write academic text in this really old-fashioned, formal, conversational style. As in, "we should be grateful for the way the ancients..." and "the old truth of X has been aptly demonstrated by the brilliant Y here..." and all these other near-Victorian turns of phrase that are nowhere near a neutral, impersonal scientific POV. And then you've got the extreme politeness and formality in highly-educated Indian correspondence, and conversely txt spk being universal among even grown-up Middle Eastern and South Asian folks on the internet (I always wonder if this is because of having to switch between different writing systems, some of which skip many vowels), etc. So the cultural expectations of what's good language use is hugely varied.

But, yeah, poesy is being weeded out more and more as somehow embarrassing and naive (and always with that unconscious feel of its emotion being "feminine"=weaker, lesser, thus less strong and valuable--even the word "sentimental" is an insult when it just fucking means "something with feeling!"), all over the world. Yet, just like love and passion and intense emotion and awe at the grandness of grand things (the definition of Romanticism, obvs) cannot be killed because it's such an inherent part of human nature, poetry has found ways to survive through song lyrics--and a lot of bad writing that doesn't know what bad writing and cliches are. People still go for it, just like they still do ritual and devotional and spiritual things in a seemingly secularised Western world, because that kind of thing is how the human psyche works. (And there's a gender divide there as well, sadly--why is it that the rantiest, angriest atheists and puritan fundamentalists are angry men aiming to strip weaknesses and frills from human behaviour in favour of bleak brutality, and then it's either ditzy hippie chicks who are into all the fluffy superstitious New Age stuff or superintelligent academic women setting out to construct feminist witchcraft? Oh, wait, candles and incense and yoga and being kind to yourself and others are *girly.* Reason and strict rules and punishments are upright and manly!) Why are humans like this and can't just seek a balance from the best bits of both reason and compassion... *sigh*

So, yeah, that crazy polarisation is just lame, in everything ever, because... variety and diversity, please. I digressed hugely again, but one has to point this out because people really don't seem to see how stupidly b/w--and gendered--it all is. We've been lured into this idea that just because in society, the default for "human" is male/masculine and therefore, pursuing that leads to equality somehow, whereas it's just rubbish--and not just because of the poisons of modern ideas of masculinity, but because just like all gender bullshit, ideas of what's manly have varied like crazy from place to place and from era to era. Looking at history, you've got beautiful and emotionally complex poetry and Romanticism from guys, but now we're all supposed to just suffocate that and be bland and dead. To serve what purpose (if we're not aiming to become emotionless killing machines, the only reason a culture of sparseness/emotional coldness was ever developed for), I don't know. What if Bob wants to be as wild as a Dionysian devotee and compose wildly florid songs in praise of the moonlit meadows of Arcadia--where does he turn to hone his craft; who listens to him sing? What if Anne wants to be swept up in the arms of a wild romance and make her prose shine and glisten like the dew on that moonlit grass, without slipping into a limpid pool on the way? Where's the cave in which XYZ could hone hir poetry to soar like that of Inanna's dragtastic priests in fervent, orgiastic abandon?

My only answer to that would be to just... well.

Read tons of old shit.

Write tons of new shit.

And then *interact* about it, be *supportive* about it, *discuss it.*

Because, just like you said, we don't have enough of that right now.

But even then, I would just say, even to poetic writers whose work I might find bad, *keep fucking going.* Because if you are dedicated and exercise a constant, honest self-awareness about your flaws, you'll keep getting better. Even if you are writing in a vacuum, or think you're writing in a vacuum (because fuck knows it feels like it in today's "too scared to comment" culture), KEEP WRITING. You owe it to yourself and your soul, as an act of fierce honesty towards what you really are.

Besides, and most people don't seem to realise this, writing poetic language is *hard.* Even if you're not writing rhyming couplets, just constructing a sentence is more difficult if you want to evoke really specific images and emotions; the word order itself gets more difficult when you step outside the "see Spot run" style. That's why Twilight is so bad: because the sentence construction is clunky and godawful, and because the thoughts are really vague and drifty and not definite. When saying a bitch fancies a guy, saying "She also thought of other things" is horridly opaque, especially when it's not even meant to be mysterious: if you want to be mysterious, you have to signal that better. So you'd be better off saying "other thoughts also entered her mind, thoughts she was unable to understand or process; therefore she pushed them into the deepest peripheries of her mind, out of sight." Because that shows to us a hint of why these thoughts are vague and unprocessed; the *prose* can't be vague even if the heroine's experience is. That draws the reader in and helps her understand what's going on; the vague "other things" just leaves one hanging and WTFing.

But... yeah. That's the kind of thing I mean. I still stubbornly believe you can get away with anything if you just work hard enough on the suspension of disbelief part, work hard enough on the characters to make their actions seem like they were the sorts that character would commit, if pushed.

I can't remember if I actually made a post at any point talking about Romantic/poetic writing and how to make it work? Probably on LJ, or then I am thinking of fic comments? Because, really, if there *is* need for such, I could throw something like that together. But I don't really feel like I'm some kind of authority on the matter, that's the problem. For all I know, most people consider my stuff too purple, and there's no telling how objective that is--whether it's just a matter of taste, or some (however ephemeral and subjective) standard one either achieves or falls short of. So I don't want to become like one of those conceited people who get really puffed up if they've been published once, and actually write fairly mediocre fiction, and then suddenly start behaving like they're gurus.

(Plus, I've had so much shit for creative word choices in DW and B7 fic that I fear it'd just look like I was defending overt poetry where it doesn't work. I'm *fully* aware these days of how fandom-specific it is, and that's why I've burrowed myself firmly into ToB, so I will never have to come out into sparse-prose writing ever again. I still remember groaning at a fic that randomly described Romana's inner labia as "petals," whereas with Jaffar looking at Yassamin's bits? For a guy who describes her eyes as "Babylonian," "Petals" is par for the course and wouldn't even stand out.)

Anyway. I just hope these rants and discussions will shake up and/or encourage at least some people who have had their poetry suffocated. I will go and have a look at my notes and old LJ posts to see if I have, indeed, written anything that'd come close to the sort of poetry-encouraging writing guide you describe. Because I do feel like I *have* written about getting away with it at some point. I'm sure it all boils down to a) "learn the rules and *then* bend them," b) "avoid the most *obvious* cliches," c) "describe the poetic stuff in a new, original way or aim for a perfect pastiche," and d) "choose a poetic world and stay there," but I'll have a look anyway!

Also, JFC, this became long! But it really is a matter worth talking about. I want a whole fucking literary salon dedicated to getting Romantic/poetic writing right, and celebrating the style without shame. Who's with me?

#meta #writing #romanticism #romance #i may sound like a big scary bofq but truth be told #honestly?#i'm always worried about how crap my writing might be #but that's also the sign of someone who's not completely bad tbh #and by this point i'm sure i'm seen as the queen of purple run-on shit but #idgaf any longer #there's an audience for it even if it's just five people #and there isn't enough of that kind of thing #EMBRACE YOUR PURPLENESS #romantics of the world unite

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