#sincerely someone who started writing a fic back in 2017 and is just now figuring out where to go with it nearly seven years later

[thelegendofmrrager]

Let YOURSELF cook. Don't rush the process. Let that WIP simmer like the 45 year old soup. Come back every once in awhile, add some ingredients, skim the top, let it simmer some more. That shit will be chef's kiss when it's ready I prommy you

[sincerelynamkook]

Sincerely, Namjoon

Namjoon x Reader First POV

Genre: Soft/Fluff/Romance Word Count: 1989

Playlist: “Brown Eyed Blues” by Adrian Hood

On a tiresome evening and day 1000000 of missing Joon, you receive an unexpected letter...

[P.S. This is the first fic in a series I’m working on called “Bangtan Love Letters.” Hope you like it!]

6:05 PM.

 He hasn't called me or texted me. He usually calls during my lunch break because he knows how much I miss him and that his soothing voice is the only thing that gets me through my hectic work day. The fact that I haven’t heard from him all day is worrisome. I know he was still in NY today since they just finished their US leg of the tour so why the fuck hasn’t he called me?

I’m in the backseat of my Uber, stuck in traffic, contemplating whether or not to call him even though I know it’s highly unlikely he’ll answer due to their hectic schedule. I even contemplate texting Seokjin but he’ll probably just bring up the fact that I owe him homemade cookies since I lost our bet about whether Jungkook would cry at the last US show or not and I’m really not up for his mocking tone right now.

“Ma’am, we’re at your destination.” I hear my Uber driver say, bringing me out of my muddled thoughts. I quickly exit the car and walk up the steps to my apartment building, stopping at my mailbox to grab my mail and packages. That lavender oil and chamomile lotion I ordered for Joon the other day should’ve arrived. I take the elevator to the eighth floor, checking my phone every five seconds in case I missed a call or text. Nothing.

I enter my apartment and immediately charge my phone. My stress is at an all time high. I swear I’m going to kick his ass when I hear from him. I can’t live like this!

I take off my shoes, walk over to my floor to ceiling windows and open the blinds. I need some sunshine in my life at the moment. I grab my mail and packages and sit on my loveseat.

“Alexa play ‘Brown Eyed Blues’ by Adrian Hood.” I’m in the mood to feel even sadder I guess.

I decide to open my mail first and open up a few bills, ads, but then I come across a simple white letter envelope with no return address. My name and address are written in small dainty script. With a curious mind I open it carefully.

In it, is a handwritten letter. I bring it closer to me and I instantly get a whiff of his scent. My eyes get teary as I begin to read…

“My most precious sweets,

By now you’re probably wondering why I haven’t called or texted you. You’re probably sitting on your couch listening to ‘Brown Eyed Blues’ with your windows open. I wrote this letter 3 days ago knowing it would arrive today and that you’d be opening it around 6:45pm.” He knows me so well. My tears have begun to fall down my face.

“I wrote this letter as soon as we got off the phone because I instantly missed you. I’ve been gone for 3 months and it never gets easier being away from you. I was thinking back to the day we first met. It was back in 2017 right before the AMAs here in the states. You were prancing around Han River, drunk I might add, at 3 o’clock IN THE MORNING. Who in their right mind is out in Seoul at that time? Especially someone who was just visiting for a week? Now that I think about it, do you know how dangerous that is? Please don’t ever do that again baby. I’m so glad I’m the one that found you and not some creep.” I quietly laugh because at the time I did think he was a creep.

“But you looked so carefree and happy and so fucking beautiful. The moon was shining brightly on you and I could see the softness of your hair flowing in the wind as you twirled around and sang ‘Brown Eyed Blues.’ I know you don’t believe me when I tell you how beautiful your voice is but baby, that day I thought you were an angel that had come down from the heavens to explore this world. And then you messed up the lyrics, giggled loudly and almost tripped on the branches laying around and that was my chance to get close to you and be your knight in shining armor…until I also tripped and we came tumbling down on the ground. You laughed even louder thus making me laugh. But I knew, at 3:17 AM, when your face got close to mine, felt your soft breath on my neck and felt my heartstrings being pulled, I knew you were meant to be mine.” I am in full blown tears now, I get up to grab my box of tissues from my bedroom and hurry back to the couch to continue reading his letter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but that day, at 3:17 AM, I fell in love with you. When you realized we were both still laying on the ground and that you were still in my arms, you looked up at me with those big brown eyes of yours and the world stopped for a few minutes. You slowly got up and gathered yourself, apologizing to me as if you were a burden bestowed upon me when in fact you were the greatest gift.”

I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. He has to know that was the moment I fell in love with him too. When I calmed down from my high, and sobered up a bit from all the laughter that day, I looked up at him to find him smiling down at me with that dimple on full display. His hair, although it was mostly hidden by the big hoodie he had on, was that greyish/light brown hair I love so much and the wind was making it fall over his smiling eyes. I could feel his strength as he still held me tight in his arms. I don't know what it was, but I also felt my heartstrings being pulled. As if he was my red thread, the one I’ve been following all my life until it led me to him. 

“You stood up and held out your hand to help me up. The moment I touched your skin I felt goose bumps crawl all over me. I held your hand tightly and stood up. You looked so shy, tucking your hair behind your ears and quietly thanked me. I remember stifling my laughter because you still looked so drunk but you were trying hard to sober up, which is why I asked you out for some coffee. I was afraid you’d reject my offer seeing as I was this complete stranger but when I saw your lips form the word yes my heart burst with joy. We walked side by side along Han river until we reached a small empty café that was still open. You ordered your complicated latte but when you said no whip cream I secretly smiled knowing that you’re the type of girl that likes to be extra but yet are still simple when you get to the core. I remember talking for hours and hours until the sun rose and you finally  asked for my name. At this point I had already figured out your name but I was waiting to see if you had recognized me or not. When I told you my name, Namjoon, you rested your chin on your hand, squinted your eyes and said, ‘Namjoon? Like Kim Namjoon from BTS?’ I lifted my cup of coffee to my lips, smiled, and winked. From the few hours that we had known each other I learned you weren’t going to freak out like some crazy fangirl, but I also didn't expect your reaction of full on amazement.” I smile, remembering how speechless I was at finding out the guy who saved me from falling on my face was THE Kim Namjoon. I’m so glad I wasn't sober enough to actually freak out like the crazy fangirl I am.

“Your eyes got so big and you just said ‘wow.’ I laughed, thinking you were so adorable. When I asked you for your number, you were hesitant, but babe I’m glad you finally gave in and gave it to me. I can’t imagine what my life would be like if you weren’t in it these past two years. I know we don’t spend enough time together since I have such a hectic schedule but you never once complain about it and instead of being mad you have given me and my brothers so much love and support. I know they love you as much as I do.

You have brought so much love and happiness to my life. You are my muse. Every time I’m in the studio, you are the first thing that pops into my head when I’m writing lyrics. Every thing around me is centered around you and only you. I don’t ever want that to change.

By now, you’re probably sobbing like the big baby you are (even though you like to put up a front and act all tough).” I giggle knowing he’s right.

“I want to end with this; know that wherever I am, I am always thinking of you. I fall asleep with the image of you in my mind and I wake up ecstatic knowing you’re mine. Not a day goes by that I’m not hoping to be next to you, holding you in my arms, and breathing the same air as you. And even if I see you, I miss you. You’ve probably played ‘Brown Eyed Blues’ 15 times…but tell your Alexa to stop, and listen closely.”

 Wait what?

I tell Alexa to stop playing music. I tilt my head, wondering if I’m crazy for doing what he asked me to do via a letter. After a few seconds I don't hear anything besides the birds chirping outside my window so I finish reading the letter.

What I find in the last paragraph are the lyrics to “Brown Eyed Blues” and I faintly hear the beat of the song outside my door but I pay it no mind thinking it’s Alexa still softly playing the song.

“She’s got those eyes, those eyes,

That’ll see right through you

When she leaves,

I wanna leave with her too

And she’s on, my mind

Like all, all the time

When we touch I go weak

And I can hardly speak

And I hope she thinks about me

Cause I’m always thinking of her”

I hear someone softly singing outside my door. My heart starts to beat rapidly. I walk slowly towards it, not ready to see who's on the other side. I hold the letter close to my heart as I reach the door knob.

I slowly open the door and find him standing there with his hands inside his pants pockets. His silver hair is styled neatly. He’s wearing his Katazurizome Yukata jacket that I love so much even though I give him shit all the time about how expensive it is.

My tears don't stop falling down my face. He takes a step closer, then another one, until he’s right in front of me softly wiping my tears away. His soothing voice is still singing our song… 

“I just wanna hold her hand, be her man…” He grabs my free hand with his left and brings it to his chest, pulling me even closer to him. I let out a sob. 

“I wanna know if she’d take a chance, Cause I’m still not revealing, Cause I still get the feeling, That loving her is a game I’ll always lose, I got the brown eyed blues”

He hugs me tight, I rest my head on his shoulder freely crying like a big baby.

“I missed you. And even when I see you, I still miss you” He softly whispers in my ear.

[ryukoishida]

Arslan Senki Fic: In which Arslan is Estelle’s Secret Santa. [idol/musician AU]

Title: Secret Codes and Paper Stars Author: ryukoishida Fandom: Arslan Senki | The Heroic Legend of Arslan Genre: Fluff, romance Rating: PG Character(s)/Pairing(s): Arslan/Estelle; featuring Isfan/Gieve For: @chatmant A/N: Remember that self-indulgent idol/musician AU? Yeah, it’s back. Sorry. Song that inspired this fic will be in reblog. It also looks like this will be the last fic I’m posting in 2017 (also I was looking at AO3 and apparently the last thing I posted in 2016 is also this AU lol), so I’ll wish everyone a Happy New Year!

Writing Commissions | Translation & Editing Services

-

“What have you got there, Arslan?”

Gieve, one of the top-selling pop artists in the country and known for his flirtatious ways in the industry circle — casually slips into the hideous plastic orange chair adjacent to the young idol who’s so focused on his task — pen tip tapping against the smooth surface of a card scrawled with neat handwriting and brows knitted in a deep frown — that he doesn’t notice the presence of the other man until Gieve clears his throat again.

“Oh, Gieve!” Arslan exclaims with a weak smile, the bruised shadows under his eyes much more prominent even with a layer of make-up on under the white fluorescent light of the television network station’s dressing room. He places his pen down at last and takes a tentative sip of his coffee, but winces when the lukewarm bitterness spreads across his tongue. He quickly pushes the mug away, narrowly missing the make-up kit set on the side of the counter.

“Working on a new song?” Gieve asks, an eyebrow quirked up in curiosity.

Arslan rarely drinks caffeine because he knows it’d wreck his voice, so for the young man to be consuming coffee willingly is a rare sight in and of itself.

“This?” Arslan glances down at the paper set on the table with a helpless little laugh, “No, it’s for the Secret Santa tomorrow.”

Gieve gives an exaggerated gasp. “Do you mean to tell me that you still haven’t gotten your Secret Santa partner a gift yet?”

“I have! But I thought it’d be nice to add a greeting card as well…” Arslan lowers his head, cheeks tinted a light blush before he continues in an uncertain tone, “… don’t you think?”

Before Gieve can give him any advice — for when would be the best time to help out a fellow idol if not now? — the door swings open and a staff calls for the younger singer, “Arslan, please head over to Studio B for stand-by. They’ll be ready for you soon.”

“Thanks,” Arslan nods with a quiet smile that has the power to cause thousands of female fans all over the country to coo and swear to protect him at all costs. Facing Gieve once more, he says with a more relaxed grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the gathering, then.”

“Sure,” Gieve waves goodbye with his usual charming smile and watches the silver-haired musician leave the room.

Tucking a piece of bright purple hair behind the curve of his ear, Gieve’s gaze rests again on the greeting card that Arslan has been grueling over for what seems to be a long while. From Arslan’s reaction just a few minutes ago, Gieve has a fairly good guess of who the recipient of the card is, and because he’s always been a curious person who knows no fear or bounds, he delicately picks up the card and reads the content inside.

“Oh, Arslan you precious boy,” Gieve sighs, resting his chin in the cradle of his palm as his eyes roam over the genuine nature of Arslan’s words, “how do you expect her to understand your affections if you don’t make it more obvious? Women need to be praised and worshipped, and this simply will not do.”

With a determined gleam to his eyes, Gieve picks up the pen that Arslan had been using just minutes ago and begins to write.    

“There you are, Gieve! Farangis has been looking all over for you!” Isfan pauses when he sees the envelope in his boyfriend’s hand and the guilty shift of his eyes. “What is that?”

“Hello darling, good to see you too,” Gieve greets him, eyes half-lidded to accentuate the kohl eyeliner and the bright turquoise of his irises while his lips, tinted slightly with lip-gloss, curved up into a playful grin.

“Don’t give me that look…” Isfan groans as he walks over, “that’s your ‘I did something bad and I’m trying to get out of trouble by seducing you’-look; it won’t work on me, not this time.”

“Oh, is that right?” Gieve saunters up to his lover, hips swaying purposefully as he places his arm on Isfan’s shoulder and head tilted just so that the slender line of his neck is displayed directly in Isfan’s view.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing with that envelope, you better put it down before you cause some serious damage,” Isfan warns, taking a step back and peels Gieve’s arm off of his shoulder.  

“But don’t you want to help Arslan get the girl of his dreams?” Gieve pouts, but obeys regardless, putting the card back down on the table.

“Is that what this is about? Gieve, you know better than to poke your nose into other people’s business — especially when it involves someone’s romantic affairs.”

“You’re heartless, Isfan, simply heartless.”

“Come on, you little demon, Farangis will have your head if you’re late for your interview.”

-

“Estelle, congratulations again on your success with the single ‘I Only Have Feelings for You’,” the host grins with bright enthusiasm at the youngest member of the all-girls unit, L.E.A.P., “it sounds like the track will have a big chance to win Parsian Music Award’s Best Duet of the Year.”

“Thank you,” Estelle nods with a stiff but polite smile, blond curls resting over her shoulder in a simple yet elegant side-ponytail. It looks like the host is waiting for her to elaborate, but if the host has done any preparation at all before the interview, he’d have known that out of the four members of L.E.A.P., Estelle is the quietest and most reserved, and it will take more than just the normal amount of prompting to get the girl talking.

The host continues after a slight pause. “You were collaborating with the up-and-coming idol Arslan on this single, and there were rumors while you two were recording in the studio as well as filming the music video. How did you like working with Arslan? Did you two hit it off right away?”

The polite smile Estelle has been trained to work on and almost perfected is turning shaky at this moment, and sitting beside her quietly, Parizad, the eldest of the four women and leader of the unit, quickly squeezes Estelle’s hand, half in warning and half in support.

“We had different stances regarding the direction of the song we wanted to take at first,” Estelle starts after exhaling slowly, her topaz eyes sharp and unforgiving, “but Arslan is a pleasant and respectable artist to work with, and I hope everyone will focus on the song we’ve worked so hard on instead of unfounded rumors about something that doesn’t exist in the first place.”

“Alfreed, can you please turn that off? It’s bad enough that I had to sit through that bullshit of an interview. I really don’t need to watch myself being disgraced on national television.” With an exhausted sigh, Estelle pleads with her teammate as she finishes the final touches of wrapping up her gift for the Secret Santa event.  

“I don’t get what you’re so upset about,” Layla chirps from the other side of the living-room as she adjusts her dress in front of the full-length mirror near the front door of their shared apartment unit. “Rumors are just more opportunities for you to advertise your song, isn’t it?”

“Estelle, it’s wonderful that you always speak so honestly — it’s part of your charm and fans love it when you put that part of yourself into your music — but in this industry, you’ll need to learn how to carefully handle questions like the ones you got asked in that interview,” Parizad finishes the last drags of her tea, and on her way to the kitchen to put the mug away, she affectionately pats Estelle on the head like an older sister would to her younger sibling. “We all hate those kinds of nosy questions, and it’ll take time to get used to the fact that as public figures, we have very little privacy, but it’s an issue we have to get accustomed to.”  

“I know I still have tons to improve on,” Estelle mumbles, lowering her head.

“Your socializing skills, especially,” Alfreed teases, and narrowly misses the cushion thrown at her direction.

“You’re already doing so well, Estelle,” Parizad shoots Alfreed a look before she sends Estelle a kind smile, “don’t put too much pressure on yourself, all right? We’re all in this together.”

Estelle nods, her heart swelling at Parizad’s sincere words.

“Girls, it’s almost time. We should head out.”

-

The Secret Santa is a success, Gieve applauds himself inwardly. As the organizer of the event, he’s proud to see his friends and acquaintances gather in the penthouse that he and Isfan share, laughing and chatting while nursing drinks in their hands.

Isfan’s two Kugsha dogs, Bahram and Kayvan, are strutting around the unit, earning friendly pets and occasionally food scraps from the guests who can’t resist the fluffy canines.

Making friends for Gieve is as easy as bewitching his fans with his sultry looks and attractive voice, but there are few he considers close acquaintances. Among those who have been invited to his holiday gathering, many of them have become his intimate friends over the years he spent in the entertainment industry: Arslan, his overly-protective manager Daryun, and the young idol’s talented make-up artist best friend Elam are talking quietly in the corner of the living-room; Nasrin and Kishward, who are managers of Ecbatana’s rising talents L.E.A.P. and the Knights of Survival, respectively, are talking to Narsus, who is infamous for his outrageous yet popular costume designs; the members of L.E.A.P. are chatting with the sister trio, Patna, Kura, and Yulin; and the men of the pop-rock band, the Knights of Survival, are drinking merrily and noisily discussing ideas for their upcoming live concert.  

“Okay, okay, who’s next?” Someone’s shouting excitedly over the chatter.

Most of the gifts have been distributed and opened; a lot of them are joke gifts that either make the recipients choke in laughter or roll their eyes, but there are a few thoughtful presents thrown in as well.  

Gieve retrieves a random gift from the cardboard box placed beneath the Christmas tree, and reading the tag, he announces with a smirk, “Estelle, this one’s for you!”

A series of cheering and clapping explode as Estelle makes her way to the center of the circle and receive her gift.

Estelle puts the card aside, and then carefully unwraps the paper, revealing an elegant, tall glass bottle filled with paper stars in shades of dark harvest gold to light champagne gold. There must be at least 200 tiny stars in the bottle; the colours are reminiscent of the hues of Estelle’s eyes, and she can’t help but think that the person who folded the stars must have kept this in mind.

Or it could have just been a coincidence, Estelle shakes her head slightly to clear her thoughts.

“Wow, whoever gave you this must have spent hours folding those stars,” Layla whistles from the side, pulling Estelle out of her trance. “Does the card say who it’s from?”

There had been no specific rules set about revealing the identity of the Secret Santa, so some of them have chosen to write their names on cards while others have to venture guesses after they’ve received their presents.

With shivering fingers, Estelle tears the envelop open with less grace than she has with the gift-wrap. The front of the card contains typical holiday greetings with a pleasant watercolour painting of a winter scene — nothing special or offensive — yet as her eyes follow the trail of words written inside the card, the colour of her cheeks grows more and more red with each second passing.

The crowd hushes until all they can hear is the fine clinking of glass against wood as someone places their drink on the table.

“Estelle… Estelle, what’s wrong?” Parizad is the first to notice something strange about the young idol’s reaction.

“Arslan,” Estelle’s eyes turn sharply to meet the man’s startled, midnight blue gaze.

“Y-Yes?” Despite the eerily cold tone of her voice, Arslan seems impeccably calm.

“Come with me.” Estelle stomps over to where Arslan is standing, the glass bottle of stars and card still in one hand, and briskly grabs hold of Arslan’s wrist, pulling him away from the crowd who has begun to make teasing comments and catcalling sounds.

They ignore the jeering, push through the crowd, and manage to find some privacy on the massive balcony that acts as an outdoor playground for the dogs after slamming the sliding glass door shut behind them, to the disappointment of the on-looking audience.

“Now, now, just let those lovebirds be,” Gieve consoles his friends and cleverly avoids the pointed glare that Isfan is giving him.

Even in the depth of winter, the city’s temperature rarely drops below 18 degrees Celsius, but in the evening with moisture heavy in the air, the breeze is chilling to the bone. It’s hard for Estelle to pretend otherwise, for the black cocktail dress she’s chosen to wear tonight is a sleeveless one that reaches just above her knees, the pale gold bow tied around her neck is almost suffocating when she realizes that Arslan, bewildered as he is, is still staring at her, waiting patiently for her to speak.  

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” Estelle waves the card in front of Arslan’s face, her voice shaking in a mixture of anger and bewilderment. “Is this a joke to you?”

“W-what do you mean?” He asks, utterly confused. Sure, he’s written the card and has hastily stuffed it in the envelop yesterday without double-checking for mistakes. Had he made some sort of grammatical or spelling errors so unforgiveable that Estelle is getting mad at him?

“Read it yourself!” Estelle, cheeks still tinted with heat despite the cold, thrusts the card into Arslan’s hands.

Five words into the poem that is obviously not written in his own handwriting, Arslan immediately understands why Estelle is acting this way. His only explanation: “Gieve…”

“What does this have to do with Gieve?”

“I think he was trying to help me out,” Arslan chuckles, closing the card and tucking it into his back pocket, “but as usual, the more he tries to extinguish the fire, the more likely he triggers a flood instead.”

“Excuse me?”

“It looks like Gieve rewrote the contents of my card to help me convey my feelings across to you, and he’s done so in a rather… non-subtle way. But he’s got one thing right in that poem,” Arslan laughs, the sound echoing like shimmering sunlight around them, warm and heady.

“If you can even call that poetry,” Estelle smirks, her shoulders much more relaxed now that she knows what’s going on.

“When I was folding those stars,” Arslan nods at the bottle in Estelle’s hand, the paper inside gleaming slightly under the moonlight, “I was thinking about how the colour of your eyes is also quite similar, only yours shifts depending on the light of the day and your mood.”  

“What… are you saying?” Estelle can feel herself stiffening up again when Arslan walks closer, her back rod-straight, but Arslan merely shrugs off his suit jacket and gently lays it over her shoulders to shield her from the night’s chilling breeze.

“I’m sorry,” Arslan apologizes, laughter low and smoky and his eyes are dark and endless when Estelle glances up to face him properly. “I should make my intentions clearer to avoid any more misunderstandings, shouldn’t I?”

He lightly pries the bottle of stars out of Estelle’s hand and places it on the floor, and then holding her hands tenderly in his, Arslan smiles softly and asks, “Estelle, will you do me the honor of going out with me?”

---

Extra Notes:

L.E.A.P. (Manager: Nasrin) - Estelle (was a Gospel singer before she was recruited; joined unit because she needed the money for her family) - Alfreed (Merlane is a bassist in a successful band, and she wants to exceed him with her own talent) - Parizad (dancer; charismatic leader) - Layla (all-rounder; can easily befriend anyone she talks to)

The Knights of Survival (Manager: Kishward) [Do you see the irony in the name? Please forgive me.] - Jimsa (guitar, vocals) - Jaswant (keyboard) - Merlane (bass) - Zaravant (guitar) - Tus (drums)

[rorykillmore]

okay here is a (late) christmas present for @saintvivec!! he left the prompt up to me and i thought about various rp dynamics for awhile and then decided to do something... special to honor the fact that we’ve been in lost hell for the past few months. i was too intimidated to try to write locke so the idea was “sawyer comes to denny and interacts with some of my roster” so here is. sawyer encountering several dc girls and generally going to hell. it’s sawyer after all!

eps, you’re one of my oldest online friends and i’m very grateful to have had that endured for so long. i know things haven’t always been easy for you but i am genuinely proud of the progress you’ve made and the strides you’ve taken to be more comfortable and confident in yourself. even when shit’s rough for you you’re always willing to engage me and try to make me smile and check to make sure i’m okay too, and i really do appreciate that. thanks for always being there and for always having the ability to make me laugh. i’m really glad we’ve found a new thing to share and enjoy together and hopefully this fic is a good tribute to that!!

“You know, if you went ahead and let me die,” Sawyer tries, not even sure whether it’s meant to be taunting or sincere. “I wouldn’t tell.”

“Son of a --” He groans, rolling over where he was unceremoniously dropped, not quite making sense of his surroundings. It’s cold. It shouldn’t be cold. He’s living on a goddamn tropical island -- the least they can give him is nice weather, when it’s not fucking pouring.

“Sir?” An unfamiliar voice gets his attention.  “...Are you okay?”

Sawyer opens his eyes. Standing over him is --

-- He snorts.

Some chick in a Superman get-up.

“What is it, Halloween already?” He makes the quip almost automatically, and then remembers himself and freezes.  He doesn’t know her face. She wasn’t on the plane. That means -- 

“Whoa! Hey, relax,” the woman protests as Sawyer scrambles to sit up. “Looks like you just got here. I can help you.”

Just got here. Then it clicks.  The snow on the ground. The distinct sound of nearby traffic. The buildings towering around him.

He’s not on the island anymore.

He wracks his brain, trying to think of the last thing he can remember. What he should be feeling - what any normal person would be feeling, in this situation - is relief. He just got out of hell -- so to speak. He’s free. 

Except, assuming he’s back on the mainland, there’s nothing for him out here any more than there ever was. Nothing but a vendetta he’s clung to for most of his life, one he’s not even sure it’s possible to pursue anymore.

He thinks of the poor fuck he shot in cold blood back in Australia, and grimaces.

He isn’t free. Never was.

“Where the hell am I?” he growls, still eyeing Cape and Skirt dubiously.

She tilts her head.  “New York City. 2017 -- if that matters.”

It does matter, ‘cause last Sawyer heard it was 2004.  He pulls himself to his feet gruffly. “You pullin’ my leg, Captain America?” Either that or he’s dealing with time travel, which is a possibility he’s just not prepared to face.

“Uh. No.” Her brow furrows for a moment. “And it’s -- Supergirl.”

Sawyer snorts again. “Of course it is.”

He doesn’t ask her anything else - partly because he’s afraid of the answers, and partly because he’d rather find them himself - before he starts walking away. 

“Wait,” Super-whatsherface calls after him. “I should probably explain a few things --”

“Save it,” Sawyer insists without slowing or turning around. 

“But -- where are you even going to go?”

The truth is, he doesn’t really have an answer to that question, but it’s not like he cares what happens to him anyways. He’ll figure something out, one way or another. He always does.

Readjusting to constant luxuries like electricity and running water and no food shortages whatsoever is harder than he would’ve expected. Sawyer supposes he might strike most people as the type who likes to live in luxury, but island life had suited him in a strange sort of way. The ever-changing status quo (which he’d gotten pretty good at working in his favor), the frequent opportunities for excitement (risking his life) -- not to mention all the spare time he’d had to read on the beach.

Here in this... other world (why the hell not), it’s back to business. He supposes that means back to conning, because that’s what he does best by now, however much he might hate himself for becoming the mirror image of the man he’s always hated. He goes out often, especially visiting that meeting place in New York to scan his prospects.

Also, because it takes his mind off things. People. 

Sawyer isn’t used to having people to miss. Not that that’s what’s happening, it’s just -- he keeps catching himself thinking about them. Kate, Jack, Jin, Michael -- he guesses he spent the most time with them, so it makes sense.

But he even wonders about other things, like how Claire and her baby are doing, or whether anyone’s bothering to keep an eye on Hurley now that Libby’s gone.

He just has to get used to being alone again, he tells himself (he’s not sure when he stopped being that -- alone. It feels dangerous).

But it’s a problem that can be solved at least temporarily by hitting up a bar, so that’s what he does. He just doesn’t expect to nearly trip over something on his way in the door.

-- Something? Someone?

“Watch where the hell you’re going,” the whatever-it-is snaps at him, and Sawyer just kind of stares at it for a moment.

It’s a raccoon.

"Did you just talk?” he grunts, not even sure why he’s so surprised at this point.

“Blind and deaf,” the raccoon sneers. “Well in that case, I guess I’ll have to excuse your stupidity.”

Sawyer wonders whether he can get away with kicking this asshole across the bar. “Keep walking, Jesse.”

This actually brings the raccoon up short. His ears twitch in a nonplussed sort of way. “Jesse?”

He hates it when people don’t get his references, and then actually have the nerve to comment on it anyway. “Jesse Coon,” he tries. Still nothing. “The raccoon? -- It’s from a book.”

“He’s not a raccoon,” a voice from behind them cuts in. Sawyer glances over to see an edgy looking brunette in her mid-twenties staring at him.  

“What are you, his girlfriend?” he retorts.

“Ha.” The not-raccoon snorts. “Drinking buddy, more like.”

“So, basically his therapist,” the woman adds, and the not-raccoon proceeds to flip her off.

Sawyer snorts, hoping it veils his wariness. Upon first impression, these people strike him as -- well, sort of like him. Which means they’re probably not the type he’s gonna get along with.  “I take it that’s what you’re here for,” he gripes, talking about the drinking, not the therapy.

“Well, we ain’t here to square dance.” Ranger Rick still sounds annoyed, but maybe that’s just his general state of being.

His lady friend glances over at the stage, currently empty of any live entertainment. “Not for some people’s lack of trying.”

They’re regulars, then, he’s guessing. But the prospect of alcohol is enough to make them worth tolerating for a few minutes at least, so he takes a seat and order his drink. 

Dorothy and Toto aren’t far behind him, though for a few minutes they keep to themselves as they knock back a couple of shots. That suits Sawyer just fine.

And then the woman suddenly decides he’s worth engaging. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Name’s Sawyer, sweetheart,” he gives her a non-sarcastic answer reluctantly, if only because she looks mildly annoyed at being called ‘sweetheart’. “What about you and your furry friend?”

“Rocket,” the latter says as disdainfully as possible.

His ‘drinking buddy’ gives Sawyer a sharp sort of smile. “Silver Banshee.”

She looks mildly put out when Sawyer’s only response is, “What?”

“It’s just the name she puts on the business cards.” Rocket rolls his eyes. “Metaphorically speaking.”

This piques Sawyer’s interest a little, but he makes sure not to look it, taking a slow sip of his drink before he says anything else.  “And what kinda ‘business’ are you two in?”

“We’re bounty hunters,”  Silver-fucking-Banshee tells him as matter of factly as anything else. “Don’t suppose you know anyone who needs tracking down?”

“Or roughed up a little, free of charge?” Rocket adds flippantly.

Sawyer’s expression twists into a kind of grim smile. Hell. If only they knew.

“Sorry, kiddos. Not in this world.” He pauses then. He’s not sure why he does, but this... there’s something about these two assholes. Or maybe not about them, specifically, but -- hunting people. He’s gotten awfully hooked on that.

“You hiring?” he asks, half-joking, not even sure he means it.

Then he realizes he’s a little too interested in the answer.

Working every now and again with Rocket and Siobhan, it doesn’t take Sawyer very long to get caught in the line of fire... and, well, he’d have been lying to himself if he’d said that wasn’t part of what he was after, on the very fringes of his thoughts

Han and Chewie drag him to a metahuman doctor --

( “I ain’t a goddamn metahuman,” Sawyer protests. “Whatever that means.”

“Neither am I, technically.” Siobhan shrugs. “The important thing is, you don’t need medical insurance.

Which, alright, fair.)

-- and Sawyer does his best to look at least remotely invested until they’re out of earshot.

Then he tells Dr. Caitlin Snow, “Look. Don’t bother.”

Her brow furrows.  “Excuse me?”

“I don’t need nobody fussin’ over me. I’ll take my chances.”

“You were shot in the shoulder,” Dr. Snow tells him, so frank and deadpan and ‘are you some kind of goddamn idiot’ that Sawyer almost has to smile. “You’re bleeding out.”

“And your bedside manner is impeccable. Five stars!” Maybe if he’s obnoxious enough, she won’t feel much like saving his life.

Dr. Snow proceeds to drench his shoulder in alcohol, and Sawyer can’t tell if it’s in direct retaliation or if she’s just ignoring him and proceeding with her treatment. It stings like hell, though, and he hisses loudly.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Hold still.” Without missing a beat, she starts dressing the wound.

There’s not much point in protesting now, so Sawyer does.  “Why’re you even helping me?” he can’t help pushing regardless. “You don’t seem to like me very much.”

Dr. Snow meets his eyes for a brief moment.  “I just don’t trust your friends very much.”

“Then why are you helping them?”

“Hippocratic oath?”

Right. That. Her and Jack would probably get along.

“You know, if you went ahead and let me die,” Sawyer tries, not even sure whether it’s meant to be taunting or sincere. “I wouldn’t tell.”

She blinks, and Sawyer actually fancies she looks shocked for a moment.

“I’m gonna go ahead and stitch you up.” 

Well, she has resolve, he’ll give her that. He watches her with a frown.  “What, no anesthetic?” 

In a simple movement, Dr. Snow presses her hand to his shoulder, and Sawyer braces himself for pain -- but all that comes is a sudden sensation of controlled cold, just enough to make the ache from the bullet wound feel numbed.

Of course, he thinks, trying not to feel even remotely grateful. No one in this goddamn place is normal.

It’s the simple things that keep him entertained while he’s recovering.

Like when he’s sitting in a coffee shop, minding his own business (well, so to speak, he’s got a cheap knock-off of a diamond ring on hand and is ready to use it) when some pretty blonde walks past dressed in clothes that look expensive, if surprisingly vintage. Sawyer sizes her up for a couple of moments and decides she’ll work just fine. 

He plants the ring on the ground - not too far from his table and in her line of sight - as she’s getting her coffee. It looks real enough to fool an every day admirer (Sawyer knows how to choose his fakes), but it’s worth maybe thirty or forty dollars at most.

Thankfully, it catches her eye as she turns -- this always works better when he doesn’t have to point anything out to the mark. He doesn’t watch her bend to pick it up, busying himself in his newspaper.

“Excuse me,” she says, turning to him. “You didn’t drop this, did you?”

Sawyer lowers the paper, glances at the ring, and gives her a brief smirk. “Well, I’m flattered you think I’m the fancy jewelry type.”

“I’m gonna take that as a no.”

Leaning a little closer regardless, he considers the ring as if he’s never seen it before. “Damn, though,” he comments. “Rock looks expensive. May I?”

She watches him with an unreadable expression. “I thought you just implied you weren’t the fancy jewelry type.”

“I implied I was flattered you assumed as much while I’m sittin’ here drinkin’ ninety-nine cent coffee.” He eases a little rogueish charm into the conversation, just to see if she’ll respond. She smiles at him, just a little, and hands over the ring. Sawyer takes his time looking it over, and then, when the moment’s right, idly lets out a low whistle.

“You some kind of appraiser?” she asks, still watching him. 

“Can’t take much credit for that. I have a friend who works over at Greenwich, on Trinity. Shame this fell out of someone’s pocket.” He shakes his head slowly. “Or finger. It’s a beautiful ring.”

The woman leans against his table. “How much?”

Well, there’s the golden question, and a lot quicker than Sawyer expected it. “How much is it worth?” He tries to sound a little dubious, because it takes an interesting kind of person to leap right to wanting to make a profit - usually marks need a little subtle coaxing towards that - but hell, he’s not gonna argue with her.

“By your rough estimate.”

Sawyer regards the ring again. Then he shrugs. “Couldn’t say for sure without taking it in, but -- couple thousand, maybe. At least.”

“Really?”

“Well, like I said --”

The woman laughs, and Sawyer pauses.

“So you were gonna swindle me out of at least a thousand dollars,” she nods to the ring, casual as anything. “For that.”

It’s not that nobody’s ever caught on before, but she’s awfully damn direct. Still, she has no proof that he planted the ring, so he plays dumb. “Swindle you --”

“I mean, you must think I’m an idiot. A pigeon drop? Really?”

She even knows the name of the goddamn con, so the game’s pretty much up. Still, Sawyer’s never been one not to go down swinging.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells her, insolent and not even trying for convincing.

She laughs again, and Sawyer isn’t sure whether he should feel annoyed or not. It’s probably better than her trying to turn him in, as far as immediate reactions go.

“Glad I could entertain you,” he snarks at her dryly. What is he, some kinda street magician?

“Yeah. You really made my day.”

“Well, I guess that’s a better scenario than the one where I piss off some superhero with x-ray vision.”

The woman considers that for a moment with a look in her eyes that Sawyer doesn’t quite appreciate.  “So hard to find anyone normal around here, isn’t it?” She holds out a hand. “Sara. Thanks for trying to rob my blind.”

“Sawyer,” he tells her, shaking her hand as sarcastically as possible. “Thanks for being an asshole about it.”

“No problem. You seemed like you could use a taste of your own medicine.”

Well, that’s fair enough. 

“You sure know your basic cons.” Sawyer can’t help but me mildly interested. “Where’d you pick that up?”

He doesn’t expect a straight answer (it’s no good for banter, for one thing), and sure enough, Sara just shrugs. “Here and there.” 

“Well, if you ain’t too busy bein’ mysterious, I could buy you a coffee. Make up for almost scamming the hell out of you.” It’s not exactly an offer made out of the kindness of his heart, but he figures she’s worth scoping out in case he ever has to work a two-man con.

Sara’s lips twitch. “I have somewhere to be, but... maybe some other time.” She glances at the door and back. “Us normal people have to stick together, after all.”

He probably should be suspicious, because all of this still seems a little too funny to her, but he gives her a sarcastic smirk back. “Yeah. See you around.”

She leaves, and he’s left sipping his coffee. Old habits die hard, he supposes -- or never at all. He could spend ten years in this world, he bets, and it still wouldn’t be enough to change a person like him.

Even though -- well, damn. He’d gone without thinking about the island for almost fifteen minutes.

At least this place has no shortage of distractions. He’s thinking it’s about time he made use of that.

[chelociraptor]

Zutara Week 2017, Day 7: Starlight

@zutaraweek 2017, Day 7: Starlight

This morphed into something more angsty than the original version of this idea...If I have time, I might write a happier starlight-themed thing, but for now, have a serving of pain, if you please. There are hints of Kataang and Maiko in here because it’s meant to be set in the “canon” universe, but I decided not to tag the other two ships...especially because I know it’s Kataang Week right now too, and I want to be respectful.

This is another one I have vague ideas to turn into an actual full AU divergence fic one day, but for now, just a one-shot.

Summary: Katara comforts Zuko after the death of Iroh.

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11647131

Dimness had fallen over the courtyard, the deep night sky casting blue light against the warm glow of torches and shimmering across the surface of the turtleduck pond. Katara could see him sitting at the edge -- the Fire Lord, still and silent and staring at something she could not see. Zuko.

“You’ve been out here for hours…” she started, he voice gentle and prodding. (Are you okay? goes the line, the natural course, but Zuko was not okay -- words weren’t necessary to figure that out.)

No response came. No response was needed.

The grass was soft as her knees hit the ground beside him, one hand tentatively resting on his back. She could feel the knotted tension in his muscles and the way their strain gave way to her touch in silent acceptance, though his eyes never left the rippling surface of the pond. Katara watched as the starlight stretched and twisted around the turtleducks, shimmering and settling and swirling again.

So many years had passed between them, so much had changed, yet the pull of loss was heavy between them. Their faces were now lined with decades left behind, but as her eyes lifted to his nightlit face, she saw the same boy who made her heart flutter treacherously in the crystal catacombs, the one who gave her the closure she so desperately needed when facing her mother’s killer. He had once been the face of the enemy, but now his face represented the greatest leap of positive reform in his nation’s history, reaching across borders to clasp hands with a world his family had nearly burnt to ash.

His uncle had been with him through it all, but that evening, Iroh had been laid to rest, body bathed in flames as those who knew him best were left feeling cold. Katara could feel the pain radiating, almost tangible in the air, and no matter how full Iroh’s life had been, she felt a hole in her own heart at his absence -- could only imagine the gaping chasm in Zuko’s.

Words danced at the tip of her tongue, platitudes about how proud Iroh had been of his nephew, how deep that love had gone, but they fell back in her throat, silenced by the cool stillness of the courtyard, however sincere.

Instead her fingers brushed up to rest between his shoulderblades, tangling loosely in the silk-soft hair falling over his shoulders and down his back. Each touch was tentative, almost self-conscious and all too aware of the thin line they tread, the lives they led. She could not betray Aang -- neither of them could -- nor would honor permit him to betray his own wife, yet her buzzing mind betrayed her still, even now. The age of raging hormones had long-since passed, and she had assumed that rush would pass with it -- yet now, well into middle age, she wasn’t sure if she hated the feeling or hated the fact that she could help relishing that quiet closeness.

He turned his face to hers, expression unreadable, but as her other hand reached to cup the scar on his face, something in his amber eyes seemed to crack, and as his eyes closed, the subtle flickers on his face broke her heart. Her thumb traced the line of his scar, fingers near-trembling as she withdrew them again. All she wanted was to ease the ache, to carry even a little of the weight on his shoulders. With a wave of abandon, she shifted back and threw her arms around his neck, form flush against his back with her face burying in the crook of his neck. She felt him startle, settle, slump back into the hug, and she held tighter.

I love you. “He loved you so much. The road was rocky, but you are a remarkable leader, and he was prouder than anyone.”

“I didn’t deserve him.” For a moment, Zuko sounded so much younger, strained and lost, shaken and far more vulnerable than she had seen him in years.

“That isn’t true, and you know it,” she said, her voice gentle and stern as she unhooked her arms from his neck. “Now come here, you.” Tugging at his shoulders, she leaned in for another hug, this time pulling him to his knees for a proper hug as her arms snaked around his chest this time.

“I miss him.” His breath was warm as it crept down her neck, leaving little goosebumps in its wake.

“I know.”

“I’m a grown man. I feel so pathetic right now.”

“Having feelings about your uncle’s passing isn’t pathetic,” she objected into his shoulder, hugging a little tighter. “Feelings are a beautiful and wonderful thing.”

Zuko was silent for a beat, his face lifting just enough to rest against her temple, nose brushing her hair. “...I know...I know they are. I don’t know, I just…”

“It’s okay,” she said when he had fallen quiet again, the sad hint of a smile flickering at the edge of her lips. “You don’t have to know right now.”

Closing her eyes, she felt the press of his nose as he nodded, and although the embrace was passing the point of social appropriateness, she couldn’t will her arms to unlock. Pressed to his chest, she could feel the soft pattering of his heart, a little quicker than normal and falling in time with her own. She wasn’t sure how long they had been kneeling like that, frozen in time beneath the starlit sky, but as she felt him stir subtly, it was like pulling back from a warm, pleasant haze -- a feeling that pooled guiltily as he started to say something against her temple.

Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to find out tonight.

“Zuko!”

The spell was wholly broken, each of them jerking slightly as their arms retracted to an appropriate distance, face flushing a little more brightly than either would have liked. It was a hug, she reminded herself, trying to drain that growing feeling of guilt, but her eyes found his mouth, and all she could think about was the way they had brushed against her temple just seconds before.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she let loose a mental lashing. Stupid, stupid, you are not some ridiculous teenager, stop acting like it. Just stop. When again her eyes opened, she saw Mai more clearly, standing with her arms crossed loosely across her chest. Katara thought it might be a scowl on the other woman’s face, but even after all these years, she had trouble reading the subtleties of Mai’s expressions. When their eyes met, Katara was pretty sure that flickering switch in demeanor was a scowl, but the ambiguity returned as Mai returned her attention to Zuko. She rested a hand on his back -- he was standing, now -- as if to nudge him back the way she had come.

“Have you been out here this whole time?” Katara heard the other woman say, her words drifting back to the pond, though Katara knew they were not meant for her. There was an edge of annoyance that made Katara cringe, biting back the urge to object, to remind Mai that it was Iroh’s funeral -- but if anything, she thought her words might make it worse. “Izumi wanted to see you before she went to bed. She was waiting for you.”

Whatever exchange the couple went on to have, Katara didn’t know -- their voices quieted and began to fade sooner than their forms did, but as they reached the pillars, Zuko glanced back for a fleeting moment to meet her eyes, gracing a small smile that seemed to say ‘thank you’ before turning forward again, soon to disappear through the arching doorway.

A small smile of her own had etched itself on her face, but the ache in her chest twisted so tightly she could scarcely breathe, and when she lifted her eyes to the sky, the stars had splayed out into blurry splotches, dotted all across her vision. Clenching her eyes closed, she felt the salty burn as tears trickled down each cheek to her chin, from her chin to land on her loosely folded hands. Sucking in a surprised breath, she hastily wiped the treacherous evidence from her face, measuring each inhale and exhale until she had steadied.

“I love my husband,” she whispered to herself, and it wasn’t a lie, but every fiber in her being yearned to rewind back to that frozen moment, the raw feeling of connection, of being needed without reserve. Without distraction.

Once again, the stars were scattered with pinprick precision, sharp against the ink-black sky, and she let out a soft sigh as her fingers brushed along the surface of the pond, breaking those reflected stars into gentle ripples. They had seen, and they knew.

She loved her husband, but she was in love with someone she could never have.

[yoyoplisetsky]

I was sick for like half of this week which probably explains why this list is so long? Unfortunately didn’t write much, bc a lot of what i’m doing is behind the scenes stuff with no visible results rn (working on my shitbang fic, working on a few things that I haven’t finished yet). However, I read like 20+ super amazing fics??? As always, pls rec me any you’ve written/enjoyed, because I want to read them so much!! 

What I Read This Week (7/9-7/16)

I Don’t Know ‘Bout Me but I Know About You - ouroboros - @ouroborosbites - Set at the GPF a year-ish pre-canon. JJ, having a sexuality crisis, propositions Victor, who, having not found his direction through Yuuri yet, is enough of a mess to accept. (My review: JJ/Viktor? And I enjoyed it? No, seriously, surprisingly good!!)

Let Me Sail Across the Sea for there is Never One Who Loved You More Than Me - tothebatcave53 - @tothebatcave53 - Victor has always loved the ocean, he is drawn to it's beauty and it's power. He sets out, a simple day in a simple boat with a simple desire to just exist in peace out in the ocean. When Victor wakes it is to the turmoil of the waves, desperate to sink him and his tiny boat into it's murky depths. It is only the most beautiful hallucination that keeps Victor sane in what he assumes are his last moments. (My review: AHHHH guys i always need mermaid aus i’m fricken screaming this one is so a+ everyone read it)

i’m someone you maybe might love - xylophones - @xyloophones -  Viktor sighs. “It’s nothing. It’s just––you never look at me like this.” / “How am I looking at you?” / “Like I’m someone special. Like I’m someone you might love.” / Yuuri frowns. “You are someone I love.” / Viktor shakes his head and laughs, just on this side of bitter. “Not like that, Yuuri.” / (Or: Viktor is not as observant as he thinks he is.) (My review: this is a super precious high school au that i would suggest to everyone because it’s so many amazing tropes wrapped up in one fic)

come with me and escape - La_Temperanza - @teekettle - Viktor meets a hypnotizing stranger dancing in the club and, well, things just naturally progress from there. (My review: hooooo boy nsfw viktuuri week is a Treat. yes. i love this. this is a good trope)

For Your Eyes Only - opalish - tumblr unknown (pls tell me if you know?) - Yuuri once told Victor that Phichit was the only foreign skater he considered a friend. Yuuri lied. He's been Seung-gil's dirty little secret for well over a year. (My review: O H MY GOD so that art of seunggil and yuuri being friends is one of my favorites so i’m ??? so glad someone acted on it)

black box (Ch. 1) - SKnight - @sephknight​ - The entire world is thrown into madness when all the best actors team up for a new TV show about... skating? Doesn't matter, all the fans know is that this means roughly 273.15% more ice cube jokes, the potential resurrection of some dead memes, and 9999% more Victuuri to scream about and die from. The fans have been thirsty for more Katsuki-Nikiforov co-starred content since 2011, and this oncoming show about ice could just be the thing to quench that thirst. ...Oh god, the bad jokes are already starting. (My review: look we all know i have a Thing for fics with fake social media and this one is ALL fake social media so i’m pumped to see more)

third time lucky - katsukiy - @yuriplisetsk​ - This year, for Tanabata, Viktor decided to wish for something a little different. (My review: not even double but Triple yuuri!!! oh god we all know here that i have a Thing for multiples, but this is so good)

Dinner For Two - Yuripaws - @yuripaws​  - Viktor dreams of two delicious bowls of katsudon only to find that he isn't invited to dinner. But he is invited to the show. (My review: MORE. DOUBLE. YUURI. guys i’ll never be sick of this trope and this one is so a+ with our desperate viktor mmm yes)

love’s not a competition (but i’m winning) (Ch. 1) - LittleLostStar, spookyfoot - @iwritevictuuri​, @katsukiyuuristrophyhusband​ - Victor Nikiforov is the leader of the best burlesque revue in the city, and well on his way to achieving his dream goal of a Upper-Level Lesser Kardashian-level stardom, complete with his own reality TV show. So when rival burlesque dancer Yuuri Katsuki scoops Victor's theme night and refuses to back down (or fire those hips that will not quit), it doesn't take long before war is declared—a tense and glittery battle featuring anarchic stagehands, orange light gels, fake eyelashes...and some occasional hate-sex that may not be hate-sex at all. (My review: give me more glitter or give me death! you can expect nothing else from spooky and star than just the absolute best and that’s this.)

Here Comes The Sun - henrywinter (bakkhant) - @bakkhanalia​ - Written for YOI Catfish Prompt Party 2017, for the prompt ‘apocalypse au with it being their last day on earth!’. This...probably isn't what you wanted. (My review: ahh such a cool au!! i love the take on the prompt they had and it was so well written :))

Partner, Let Me Upgrade You (Series - Parts 1-4, Ch. 1-6 (Part 1), Ch. 1-2 (Part 3) - cuttlemefish - @cuttlemefishwrites​ - Z’s Popstar AU (My review: z, i was going to rec all of these individually but then my rec list would hvae gone on for like 50 years. but asfkl; i finally got around to reading it and i’m dying for my Extra sons)

Baby, I’m Preying on You Tonight (Ch. 8) - cuttlemefish - @cuttlemefishwrites​ - Yuuri and Phichit registered and named the pet shop when they were drunk. They didn’t exactly expect it to become the most popular pet shop in Seattle. (It was only supposed to be a front to fund Phichit’s (undercover) animal rescue missions.) Enter Viktor Nikiforov, the man with the pink Cadillac and the giant brown poodle (that's stolen Yuuri's heart), and Yuuri might have lost his mind, because apparently he keeps flirting with a client – and he never even notices. (My review: the jjs will never cease to slay me. viktor and chris especially cute in this chapter)

patellofemoral pain syndrome (Ch. 3) - seventhstar - @pencilwalla​ - It’s just…does Viktor not get bored with doing it the same way every night? Doesn’t he want to spice things up? Is Yuuri being unreasonable? He’s pretty sure that if Viktor told him his performance in bed was unsatisfying his soul would flee his body for a more merciful plane of existence, but…Viktor is thicker-skinned than he is. And so here they are. Viktor’s bed is wide and soft, and Yuuri is lying there with wet hair and ratty boxers while Viktor absently trails kisses over his shoulder. It’s nice. It’s soft. It’s good. Viktor’s headboard is enormous and Yuuri keeps thinking about Viktor’s wrists bound to it, black rope over white skin. Fuck. He should say something. (My review: mmm arthritis porn except nuri didn’t give me porn this chapter)

conjecture - seventhstar - @pencilwalla​ - The first is that he and his new husband are now alone, and will continue to be alone until they reach Yu-topia. Yuuri has never been gregarious, and finds it difficult to make prolonged conversation with strangers at parties; he dreads having to speak to Viktor for so many hours. If his aunt’s description of him is accurate, the only thing they have in common is a love for money, and that is hardly wedding night conversation. The second is that when Yuuri finally looks at Viktor, rather than looking anywhere but directly at him as he has been, he realizes that Viktor is… (My review: have i mentioned that i love this series? i have, but.... it’s just,,, so good.)

By Anointment Only - La_Temperanza - @teekettle​ - He starts with the feet.It makes the most sense. After all, a figure skater’s greatest commodity is often their feet, taking the brunt of the damage required to hone their craft. He knows whatever tender loving care he gives now isn't enough to erase years of self-inflicted abuse, not in a single session. But it doesn't mean he's not going to at least try.So, Viktor starts with the feet. But the thing is, he rarely gets much further than that. (My review: FOOT FETISH i hate feet and this story was still a+)

The Katsulanont Guide to Surviving College (Rice Cooker Required) - xylophones - @xyloophones - It’s Phichit’s fault. It’s always Phichit’s fault. (Or: A friendship told through three hamsters, a rice cooker, and the resurrected trade-and-barter system.) (My review: i think i laughed like 3/4 of this story it’s just,,, so in character for them and ridiculous)

Colored Pencils and Markers - RainyTea - @rainyteawrites - Viktor finds Yuuri’s poster collection, but there’s another surprise in there too. (My review: yuuri’s poster collection with a twist ;) ;) loved it)

Wanted: Skating Lessons - slightlied - @forovnix​ - Wanted: Skating Lessons / Hi. I am Victor and I need to learn how to skate before Saturday. My parents have been paying for me to get skating lessons every week for the last fifteen years but I never actually attended any of the lessons and I spent the money on marble busts instead. Now they want me to perform to ‘Stammi Vicino’ at their wedding anniversary on Saturday. / If you can teach me, be here at Ice Castle tomorrow at 7:27am with an extra pair of skates. I am a fast learner (well, at least my dog Makkachin is–it took me only two weeks to teach him how to roll over) so I am pretty sure I will pick it up quickly. In return, I can teach you how to say some pick-up lines in Russian or tell you some facts about my love life. Whichever you prefer. Not both, though. / Yours sincerely,  / Victor / PS. I’m a size 8 --- Or, Yuuri answers an ad he sees on Ice Castle's community board. (My review: THIS WAS PRECIOUS asdfjkl i loved it so much and i know it’s been around for a while but i just found it and like,,, i’m glad i did)

Meet Your Idol! - RoseusJaeger - @roseus-jaeger​ - Ryuugazaki Rei has been a fan of Katsuki Yuuri since he was in grade school, admiring his beauty and grace on the ice. It's Katsuki's last season on the ice before his marriage to Victor Nikiforov and Rei would do anything for an autograph before his official retirement... or at least he thought until his boyfriend, Nagisa Hazuki, actually plots to get him an autograph at the NHK Cup. (My review: what you probably sort of know about me is that i love free! so this was a great read and roseus did so well with all of the character and i loved it)

(Let’s Get Married) At First Sight - cuttlemefish - @cuttlemefishwrites​ - Yuuri is just your average medical resident trying to survive an emergency room rotation at a large, city hospital, when a perfectly gorgeous stranger interrupts his after-work coffee break with the assumption that Yuuri is his blind date. What’s Yuuri to do? – Pretend he’s definitely on a blind date, too! Or, the "I know you're on a blind date and I'm not the right guy, but it's been a while and now I don't know how to tell you that you sat at the wrong table. Call me?" AU. (My review: this is so super precious asfdsljlk i love that yuuri just went for it instead of correcting him)

He Just Up and Ran Away (So I’m Never Going Back) (Ch. 1-2) - cuttlemefish - @cuttlemefishwrites - The back of the silver card reads Fantasies by Lilia, and Viktor lets his thumb brush over it with intense scrutiny. The name on the front winks at him with the glint of danger: Alex. “Oh, Yuuri, are you cheating on me?” Viktor whispers to himself, crumbling on the bed with the onslaught of a panic attack. Yuuri is Viktor’s everything; the first boyfriend he’s had in almost a decade, after years spent too busy lost between circuitry and code. But then he notices that there’s a stack of similar looking cards that read Celeste, Adrian, Robert, Michael, and Yuuri. All of them read Fantasies by Lilia. Or, welcome to the story in which Viktor discovers his boyfriend Yuuri is a high-class escort who takes on different identities and lives for different clients, including Viktor, who thought he was saving a stripper by putting a ring on his finger. (My review: i hvae read like maybe 1 escort au in this fandom bc i’m always very,,, eh about it but i’ll try anything z does nad it’s??? so good)

Katsuki’s Pet Needs (Ch. 1) - nerdlife4eva - @n3rdlif343va - Yuuri Katsuki owns a small pet store in a little town on the coast. He loves running his own business, and especially loves Sundays when his best friend, Phichit, runs adoption events for his animal rescue organization in his store. Victor Nikiforov has always wanted a dog, excitedly attending the scheduled pet adoption hoping to find his first furever friend. Another universe where these two find each other, this time with a little help from the brown fluff of Makkachin herself. (My review: THIS IS VERY PRECIOUS. if you want shameless fluff, read this!!)

Hunter of Eros (Ch. 4-5) - LalodyBear - @lalody - Lord Eros is perhaps the oldest of all living vampires and a legend among hunters. For thousands of years no-one has been able to slay him and stop his evil reign. Victor Nikiforov is the greatest hunter to have ever lived. ~ After seemingly endless sightings of newborn vampires appearing across Japan, Yakov's hunters are sent to put a stop to it. During a hunt, Victor Nikiforov has his first ever innocent witness to a slaying - Yuuri Katsuki, an utterly adorable local. After being cornered into staying with the group of Russian hunters, Yuuri just prays Victor doesn't find out his secret and slay him in his sleep. (My review: ahh it’s been so long since this updated, and i’m so glad i’m patient because i love this au so much. i don’t even care it took so long like ?? take that long always if you’re gonna give me quality content like that (which i’m sure you will))

What I Wrote This Week (7/9-7/16) (nothing on ao3, only tumblr this week)

the latin fic (I’m a shameless classics major)

the headcanon posts (Cary’s excuse to write crack fics while disguising them as headcanons)

the gum fic (#MoreExtraThanExtra)

[juniper-and-lamplight]

Recent Reads--April 30, 2017

I’ve recently realized that it has been SIX MONTHS since I made a rec list, which is just…not on. So here’s a collection of fic I’ve consumed in those six months. You’ll notice it skews even more strongly than usual towards Johnlock–the blame for this rests squarely on Moffat and Gatiss for messing up Sherlock season 4 SO SEVERELY that I required excessive amounts of fic in order to recover. (J/k, I’ll never recover!) However, there ARE a few other fandoms and ships in here, so please have a little scroll-through, read what appeals you, and be sure to leave some love for the authors & podficcers <3</p>

His Name Is John Watson - ampersand_ch, translated by SwissMiss - 19k, Explicit, Holmes/Watson “A summer’s idyll in Sussex. Holmes and Watson seek some peace and quiet. But that’s not as simple as they imagine.” A gorgeous casefic in which Holmes and Watson confront the depth and intensity of their connection.

Speaker for the Bees - antietamfalls - 14k, Mature, John/Sherlock, AU “It isn’t always easy assisting a deaf detective. Luckily for John, they make a pretty good team.” After reading a completely different romance with a Deaf protagonist, I got curious and read a whole bunch of deaf Sherlock fic, and this one emerged as my favorite.

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea - @discordantwords - 40k, Mature, John/Sherlock “Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.” I saw this fic recced all over Tumblr for weeks before I finally got over my fear of in-depth post-season-4 fic and read it myself, thus verifying that HOLY WOW YES the hype was deserved. The way the author captures Sherlock’s internal voice in this fic feels SO TRUE–his shattered hubris, his desperate resistance to vulnerability, and the believable way he and John finally get through it all is spot-on. This fic repaired some of the damage that season 4 inflicted on my heart.

look west from London - @fahye - 4k, Teen and up, John/Sherlock but only in the background, AU “There are almost no lies in the way that Molly presents herself, only omissions.” A wonderfully uneasy and darkish character study of Molly, and how she might have actually helped Sherlock fake his death.

The Price We Pay for Wings - Frayach, read by raitala - 13k, 80min, Mature (Harry/Draco, HP) “Scorpius Draconis Eltanin Malfoy read the first book in the Alford Ocamy series over Christmas hols when he was eleven. Well, he didn’t so much “read” it as he devoured it.” I CRIED ACTUAL LITERAL TEARS LISTENING TO THIS. Raitala’s podfic performance makes this already intense and moving story feel that much more vivid. 10/10 would be devastated by again.

Who I Want To Be - @hubblegleeflower - 3k, General Audiences, John/Sherlock “What happens when your author writes you wrong? When someone else has the power to decide who you really are? Does it matter?” Sort of AU, shades of RPF, definitely metafiction, and quite satisfying as a rebuke to the writers who made such a hash of season 4.

Intersection - celeste9 - 5k, Explicit, Finn/Poe, AU “Finn had managed to get seated beside a gorgeous, sweet, funny ex-military gay pilot… and he was one more rough patch of sky away from barfing all over his feet. Or, worse yet, all over Poe’s feet. It figured. It really fucking figured.” Am I sucker for a social worker AU? You bet I am.

One Week - JaneTurenne - 42k, Explicit, Holmes/Watson “An average week in the life of Our Heroes becomes a battle of wills when the boys make a wager.” A beloved trope executed beautifully.

Minor Interludes for the Solo Violin - Katie Forsythe, read by general_jinjur - 27k, 3hr, Explicit, Holmes/Watson “Wounded and traumatized by the Afghan War, John Watson falls in love with a detective who is also a remarkable violinist. Connected pieces of emotion and movement.” This podfic of a classic H/W is immersive and excellent, and the download link includes the sequel, Hallowed Be Thy Name, which is also excellent, though significantly darker and more difficult for the characters.

There’s Only One Sure Thing That I Know - leah k (blinkiesays), read by exmanhater - 20k, 2hrs, Explicit, Dean/Castiel “Dean doesn’t even get halfway through explaining before Bobby starts laughing. When he lets himself think about it for more than five seconds, Dean can almost see Bobby’s point: he’s faced down demons, witches, vampires, werewolves, ghosts, angels, and Satan himself and now he’s been defeated by the God damn Midwest.” A well-paced and gently humorous podfic in which an unexpected sojourn in Ohio forces Dean to confront love, honesty, and his fucked-up self esteem.

What He’s Like - magikspell - 3k, Explicit, John/Sherlock “‘I’m so in love with you,’ John says, a statement of fact. 'I will never not be in love with you.’ Realistic first time. They love each other so much.” FEEEEELS.

et faisons la grasse matinée - mazily (@ylizam​) - 1k, Mature, Phryne/Mac, Phryne/Jack (Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries) “'I do love you,’ Mac says. She’s not fond of saying it.” This one is short and has a slightly hazy, hungover feel (appropriate) that I adore. The only problem with Mac/Phryne fic is that there’s not enough of it, so extra blessings upon those who write it!

Time on my hands - Mildredandbobbin - 7k, Explicit, John/Sherlock “Virginity’s a construct, a concept—what does losing one’s virginity entail for a gay man anyway? Sherlock wants to fill that particular gap in his knowledge but John won’t, can’t, never will assist and there’s only so much desperately unspoken pining even Sherlock can take.” Despite the description, this one is more about practical sexual exploration than “virginity” or loss of same, which makes it a lot more interesting IMHO.

Sentiment to Paper - @mistyzeo​, read by RickyPulsifer - 7k, 57min, Explicit, Holmes/Watson “No fewer than three times by the winter of 1883 had I heard Sherlock Holmes disparage the ways of lovers and their irrational tendencies toward writing letters. With this often and loudly-expressed opinion in mind, I was very surprised indeed to find a stack of unsent, unsealed letters in a drawer in his desk.” Here you will find a convincing Watson POV (complete with “damn my leg” in-joke), a secretly sentimental Holmes, and juuuuust enough miscommunication and tension to make the romantic (and hot) resolution feel very satisfying indeed. Additionally, RickyPulsifer’s podfic is a quiet wonder of smooth pacing, emotive delivery, and thoughtful production.

Splendid Creature - mistyzeo, read by RickyPulsifer and the_dragongirl - 2k, 20min, Explicit, Holmes/Watson "Holmes has tired himself out on a case and wants to go straight to sleep. After an orgasm or two. Watson is more than happy to help.” A sleepy, steamy PWP podfic featuring a trans Holmes. Really, you should just listen to all of Ricky Pulsifer’s ACD Holmes podfic recordings.

Grazed Knees - montparnasse (@montpahrnah​) - 5k, Teen and up, Luna/Ginny “The war is over, except that it isn’t, and Ginny is done fighting, except that she’s not.” A wonderfully atmospheric coming-of-age postwar fic. I think I need more Linny in my life.

Hearth and Home - @mycapeisplaid​ - 5k, Teen and up, John/Sherlock “Sixteen years after the east wind came and went, two men embrace their future.” A post-season 4 fic set well into the future, including a teenage Rosie Watson who knows her two dads better than they know themselves.

The Truth of the Musgrave Ritual - @mydwynter​ - 13k, Explicit, Holmes/Watson “It is my custom, you may have noticed, to save those little cases which we have solved until such time as danger to those involved has passed, or until Holmes otherwise suggests I may write about them.The happenings at Hurlstone Hall, however, received a very different treatment indeed.” I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you just can’t go wrong with mydwynter’s canon fic.

Shoreline - @penknife​ - 2k, Mature, Remus/Sirius  “Sometimes it takes being someone else to sort out who you are.” A short, angsty-yet-sweet character study of  one Remus Lupin, teen werewolf and aspiring cool loner.

Take My Breath Away - Quesarasara (@itsnotgonnareaditselfpeople) - 14k, Explicit, John/Sherlock “Sherlock opens his eyes and looks at his friend—his best friend—and slowly tips his chin down until his forehead rests softly against John’s. They stay that way for a long moment, lips just a whisper apart, warm puffs of air mingling as each of them struggles to breathe. It’s no wonder they ended up here, really, locked in this breathless moment balanced on the cusp of something new. They’ve spent years taking each other’s breath away…” Honestly, the “got your breath back?” thing is a brilliant way to organize a series of vignettes, and the sexy bit at the end is achingly sincere.

All Life is Yours to Miss - Saras_Girl, read by originally reads (@originally) - 114k, Mature, Harry/Draco “Professor Malfoy’s world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.” I have to admit that if had read this instead of listened to it, I might have noped out–mostly because it’s long, I’m impatient, and as Draco character studies go it’s much sweeter than my usual taste. Yet the podfic was well-performed, and the slower listening process made the resolution feel even more satisfying.

Revolutions - @scullyseviltwin - 3k, Explicit, John/Sherlock “Things got in the way, yeah, a whole fuckload of things.” It feels like cheating to call this a PWP, becuase even though it’s mostly sex, it’s the kind of sex that reveals things about the characters and their changing relationship.

Two Weeks - @shiftylinguini - 21k, Explicit, Harry/Draco “If Harry had to guess which out of he or his Auror Partner, and tentative new friend, Draco Malfoy, would turn out to have Veela ancestry, his answer would be: neither, because that is ridiculous. Finding out the answer is actually him, and that his Veela heritage is wreaking havoc on his ability to work, sleep, and above all be in the same room as Malfoy, is a surprise to say the least. But this is fine. Harry’s been through worse, and he can just sit this one out, regardless of how much his body is screaming for the one person he doesn’t want to ask for help. Can’t he?” I mean, that description tells you what you need to know. Delicious, delicious TENSION.

Diversionary Tactics - @shinysherlock, read by @fffinnagain - 2k, 16min, Explicit, Molly/Irene (BBC Sherlock AU) “Oh. This could be interesting. Irene’s fingers moved to the third button of the dress and paused. 'Shall I just … check the rest of you, then? Make sure you’re quite all right?’” A brief, hot, historical PWP, Mollrene style. UNF. Finnagain’s podfic performance is very…impassioned–maybe don’t listen in public ;)

His Almost Lover - @writcraft - 9k, Explicit, John/Sherlock “John grieves for Sherlock, dreams offering his only escape but no real satisfaction. When Sherlock finally confronts him, alive and well, John has to learn to love all over again.” A surreal, dreamy beginning leads into a very real post-Reichenbach coming-to-terms.

For further recs, check out my Fic Bookmarks or Fic Recs Masterpost; I hope to add some of these fics to my various faves lists sometime in the next few weeks.

[theconservativebrief]

The first-ever threepeat of the Hugo Awards — the prestigious, long-running fantasy awards handed out annually at WorldCon — just issued a giant rejection of right-wing gatekeeping in the struggle to diversify the world of science fiction and fantasy writing.

N.K. Jemisin’s groundbreaking fantasy series the Broken Earth trilogy has won critical acclaim, been optioned for development as a TV series, and received numerous accolades from the sci-fi and fantasy community. And on August 19, it achieved yet another milestone when Jemisin became the first author in the Hugos’ 65-year history to win back-to-back awards for every book in a trilogy. Jemisin won the award for Best Novel three years in a row, starting with The Fifth Season in 2016, The Obelisk Gate in 2017, and now The Stone Sky in 2018.

In an acceptance speech that’s being hailed as one of the best ever made at the Hugos, Jemisin defiantly raised a “rocket-shaped finger” (a reference to the rocket-ship design of the massive Hugo statue) to the racist rhetoric that positions the recognition of her work as being about identity politics rather than her own talent.

“It’s been a hard year, hasn’t it,” she began. “A hard few years, a hard century. For some of us, things have always been hard. I wrote the Broken Earth trilogy to speak to that struggle, and what it takes to live, let alone thrive, in a world that seems determined to break you — a world of people who constantly question your competence, your relevance, your very existence.”

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Jemisin knows all too well of what she speaks. Her Hugo threepeat isn’t just a win for her writing and for fans of her work — it’s a decisive statement made by the community in response to ongoing efforts to silence writers like Jemisin.

The Hugos are voted on by WorldCon members rather than by committee, and thus they’re generally seen as a barometer of changing trends and evolving conversations within sci-fi/fantasy (SFF) culture. By voting for Jemisin’s trilogy three years running, the speculative fiction community has effectively repudiated a years-long campaign, mounted by an alt-right subculture within its midst, to combat the recent rise to prominence of women and other marginalized voices in the SFF space.

To understand how we got here, we need to travel back in time to 2009, when a yearlong series of conversations within the SFF community, known as Racefail, created a broader understanding of white colonialism’s overwhelming dominance within sci-fi/fantasy narratives. Occurring mainly online, but continued offline throughout various conventions (and arguably still ongoing today), the conversations around Racefail resulted in an emerging awareness of the need to not only embrace the writing of women and people of color, but also to make the community a safer space for all writers.

Jemisin’s debut novel, A Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, was published the following year in 2010. Jemisin credited Racefail and “the increased awareness of the SFF zeitgeist re race issues” both for her book’s enthusiastic reception, and for making her feel more comfortable as a minority voice within the community.

Ever since Racefail, the push to diversify the speculative fiction genre has been loud and growing. Specific diversity initiatives within the community have led to everything from the anthology magazine series Destroy Science Fiction to the rise of new publishers expressly dedicated to diversity, like the popular publishing branch of the Book Smugglers blog.

This trend toward progressive narratives and diverse representation isn’t exclusive to SFF culture, of course; in conjunction with the rise of progressive voices on social media, geek communities including sci-fi, comics, and gaming have seen broad pushes over the last decade to end gatekeeping and be more welcoming to fans and creators of all kinds.

But as we’ve also seen, these pushes for social change have led to backlash tinged with racism and misogyny — most notably through Gamergate, the unfortunate 2014 movement that essentially underpinned the rise of the alt-right, codified harassment campaigns against women and people of color for years, and helped give rise to the ideological polarization of the internet.

And within the world of SFF specifically, this backlash amplified two disruptive subgroups who’ve been attempting to game the Hugo Awards for years.

Diversifying the pool of established SFF authors hasn’t been smooth sailing. In 2013, a writer named Theodore Beale, a.k.a. “Vox Day,” was banned from the professional Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Association (SFWA) after making posts referring to Jemisin as a “half-savage.” That same year, a writer named Larry Correia made a blog post in which he complained that his “unabashed pulp action that isn’t heavy handed message fic” wasn’t getting any Hugo nominations, and suggested that his audience game the awards by nominating him en masse.

Also in 2013, ongoing controversy broke out over what was widely perceived within the community to be repeated instances of sexism from the official magazine of the SFWA. The controversy led to the resignation of an SFWA editor, and was quickly followed in early 2014 by complaints from men in the community who weren’t happy with the changing cultural standards — in essence, less pandering to the straight male gaze, and more politically oriented fiction — due to the sudden rise to prominence of women and marginalized writers around them.

In one such thread of complaints under the topic heading “Culture Wars,” a publishing professional named Sean Fodera stated, “I think there’s a battle worth fighting.”

Fodera’s words would go on to be prophetic. Emboldened by Gamergate’s methods, the disgruntled Correia created a set of disruptive collectives known as the “Sad Puppies,” who began fomenting discord within the SFF community in 2015. They were quickly joined by the even more extremist “Rabid Puppies,” led by Vox Day, who has become an acknowledged figure within the alt-right movement since his SFWA banning.

Their targets? The Hugos.

The Hugo awards are voted on by WorldCon members, and anyone can become a WorldCon member, which effectively makes Hugos voting crowdsourced. This meant that the Puppy contingent saw the Hugos as capable of being gamed — and they were right.

Beginning in 2015, both the Sad Puppies and the Rabid Puppies mounted regressive “traditional” voting blocs among Hugo members. The idea was to unite conservative voters in voting for single Puppy-approved authors, against the profusion of diverse names on the expanded Hugo nominees lists. The first year they attempted the voting bloc, the Sad Puppies and the Rabid Puppies nominated a combined total of 127 nominees, and landed 107 of them on the initial Hugo ballot. The blocs got a boost from being supported by the conservative news site Breitbart, which praised the Puppy movement — sometimes referred to as Puppygate — as a blow against “political correctness.”

In part, the voting blocs were created out of a sincere wish to honor good writers who were perceived as being conservative-leaning, and who were seen by the Puppies as being in danger of losing deserved critical acclaim due to the push to diversify the awards.

But, paradoxically, they were also created in part to make the Hugo awards look like a joke.

As part of this latter goal, in 2016 the Rabid Puppies successfully nominated erotic fantasy author Chuck Tingle to its voting bloc of recommended authors for his short novella Space Raptor Butt Invasion. The joke, if you can’t tell from the title, is that Tingle’s work is notoriously mystifying, verging somewhere between absurdist surrealism and stream-of-consciousness badfic; it’s anthropomorphic porn as if written by someone with disjointed, half-formed thoughts and limited powers of expression.

The joke backfired, however, when Tingle turned out to be completely savvy in gaming the Puppies right back: he made a website celebrating his Hugo nomination by directing audiences to several of the women writers the Puppies intended to take down, and even joined forces with Gamergate enemy No. 1, game developer Zoe Quinn, who agreed to accept the award on his behalf if he won.

Tingle didn’t win, but his approach to sabotaging the Puppies’ game has proved to be the main method of combating the Puppies over the last four years. The harder they pushed to nominate “traditional” writers, the more the community responded by supporting minority voices. At times, this has even included authors the Puppies attempted to boost: Multiple writers, horrified at being lauded by the Puppies, chose to withdraw their names from nomination in response. In 2015, in response to some categories where the Puppies had managed to commandeer every nominee, Hugo voters by overwhelming majority simply selected “No Award” instead.

In succeeding years, the Puppies continued to generate bad press, but they gained even less traction over the awards themselves. This year, the most prominent awards all went to women. And Jemisin, the same author subjected to racist mudslinging by Rabid Puppy leader Vox Day, took the prize for Best Novel every year she came up for eligibility during the Puppies’ period of agitation.

“I look to science fiction and fantasy as the aspirational drive of the zeitgeist,” Jemisin said in her acceptance speech. “We creators are the engineers of possibility. And as this genre finally, however grudgingly, acknowledges that the dreams of the marginalized matter and that all of us have a future, so will go the world. (Soon, I hope.)”

For now, at least, it appears that the SFF world has firmly positioned itself on the side of the marginalized, and against a vocal minority attempting to silence them — and their much-needed visions for the future of science fiction and fantasy.

Original Source -> The Hugo Awards just made history, and defied alt-right extremists in the process

via The Conservative Brief