#that is all UNLESS... it becomes an elaborate self insert fic

[lonelyroommp3]

u dont have to answer this but i was wondering if u could elaborate on ur opinions about rpf -- bc i kind of agree with you that it's like, it's fine and it's not morally wrong or anything but it def is a little weird? idk ive never been able to rly explain my feelings about it so im curious what u think

honestly my main view on rpf (whether of the y/n self insert variety or the gay shipping variety) is it's literally fine as long as you're not putting it anywhere the people involved are going to see it. like when you boil rpf down to its bare essentials it is just fantasising about a famous person (or multiple famous people, in varying combinations), which is something human beings have been doing in their brains since people first started becoming famous. and i think expressing those fantasies through creative outlets like fic, art, 2013 polyvore outfit boards about going on a yacht trip with harry styles, etc is an entirely natural progression of that impulse

and in that way i sort of view it as similar to any other fantasy you might have about another human being: it is totally normal and essentially morally neutral, i hope you'd agree, to daydream about a person you fancy, whether those daydreams are PG-13 or heinously X-rated, whether they're a friend or acquaintance or stranger or celebrity. where it would become weird is if you went up to said person completely uninvited and said "hey, would you like to hear in elaborate detail about the things i thought about you doing to me while i was masturbating last night?" - and so i think the same applies to rpf. like obviously don't send your rpf to the person in question, don't show up with BLINK TWICE IF THE BABY IS FAKE signs to a louis tomlinson concert, archive lock your rpf on ao3, don't proudly post about it on websites that the people in question are active on especially in this age of algorithm-based social media where unless you lock your account you have no real surefire way of ensuring they'll never see it, etc etc. every time i see people talk shipping in the comments of an official f1 post a part of my soul dies

i think another big thing about rpf to me is that all celebrities are essentially playing a fictionalised version of themselves. no matter how authentic they seem to their fanbase, when you combine things like media training + PR/marketing obligations + building a Persona + the pressure of competing in a sport (for athletes) + the level of code switching inherent to being in what is essentially a public facing job, we as fans & observers are not seeing the real harry styles or taylor swift or charles leclerc or whoever else. we are seeing the version of that person that they want us to see (or, in the case of historical rpf, you're writing about a ghost reconstructed from fragments distorted through the lens of missing evidence, potentially biased historians, potentially even more biased first and third party accounts, etc), and so i don't really view rpf as inherently invasive because you're not really writing about the real person, moreso the constructed image of Celebrity Of Choice.

of course, that is not to say that rpf can never become invasive: the clearest example would be ship truthers harassing the people involved due to what they perceive as "evidence" of some great forbidden love story, but i'll be real there is a lot of F1 rpf specifically that i side eye from a distance because of how it will use drivers' intensely personal real life trauma as a plot point, which is a line i'm not really comfortable crossing with real living people, especially not when it comes to dangerous sports lmao. but i think that is an issue with some rpf enjoyers' boundaries and not an inescapable root problem with the very idea of rpf imo

[kandyrezi]

For my darling Krau, a series of Yan questions:

1. Who are your hardest yandere’s to write for and why?

2. What yandere would you be most compatible with and why?

3. What yanderes are your guilty pleasures to write/read about?

4. What’s your favorite yandere scenario?

5. Which yandere do you ship with yourself with? (Different from compatibility question) And self indulgent, who would you ship me with *^*?

Reasons aren’t needed for all of these but I think it’d be interesting if you wanted to elaborate!

!! darling mutual in my inbox with some good mail to deliver~

💌💌💞💞💐

1. I know a lot of people would probably say "sweet and soft" characters without a mean bone in their body (like Wadda) trying to twist it into something darker is too difficult, but I like the creativity and the challenge, personally. keeps yandere variety from becoming stale, y'know?

but for myself, I don't like writing reader-insert yandere stuff for characters whom I'm either too overprotective of being shipped with another canon character. in other cases, I don't really like breaking up a canon couple if they're already established right from the start (as opposed to maybe getting together in the middle or the ending). but it's more of a preference, and not really a hard rule for me.

2. Hmmm. maybe Rocma?? if she were a yandere, any overprotective tendencies would ramp up to the max; she wouldn't berate me (not too harshly, at least) if I couldn't fight back against any potential predators on the iceberg isle (humans too soft n fragile), doubly so for having a more benevolent personality. she is strong and naturally protective of those whom are more defenseless. (unless ur a man lol) behind closed doors, she's less smothering where she knows I would be safe with her in her home.

3. I feel no guilt over anything lol. (well, maybe some things but i keep them to myself) I think maybe yanderes or 'dark' characters whose fandom/community is pretty much nonexistent may be a guilty pleasure? it feels awkward writing my niche for something that has literally 0 fics. :^)

something, say, an obscure indie game like 'Buddy Simulator 1984' where the computer program (Buddy) is canonically already a platonic yandere. would love to see some fics expand a little bit on this relationship between the player character (you) and the program... maybe it doesn't want to be 'only' a friend to you that it was programmed to be? imagine it trying to understand something it was never meant to replicate...

4. I'm not sure if I have a 'favorite' as such... I'll just type out a prompt at the top of my head I personally enjoy;

"A high-ranking kommissar in a dystopian state meeting with a partisan/traitor to their ideology, instead of executing them, they're met with a keen interest and taken (unfortunately) as a pet."

5. I don't really self-ship (yandere or otherwise, I prefer fleshed out oc x canon), but if I were to pick... I'd ship myself with RK900, Mirio Togata, Fuyumi Todoroki, Toga Himiko, Annie Leonhardt...

yes i'm a hoe surrounding myself with a harem. :)

hmm. because you're so sweet, i ship you with the most vilest bastards imaginable, like Fumus, Dabi & Overhaul. please stop throwing potatoes at me!!!!! it's a match made in heaven!!! but out of all of these 3, i think, Chisaki would have the most lenient treatment of you. he's got enough self-restraint to be reasonable, so long as you don't act out of line. its tru luv <3

[the-suns-beloved]

i do Not need to be having more ideas beyond my skill level but concerning the new nightmare...... dog sleuth!seth employed by diavolo to catch phantom thief asmo. that is all goodnigbt

[thotly-thoughts-101]

Unwanted Pining

Summary: Mykaelis North, a young trans man in the city, except its not the city he knows. It's New York from Sam Rami's Spider-Man movies. One of his favorite film franchises. The issue is, Mykaelis is from 2022, not 2002, which happens to be the year he was born. So now he's an adult in a time full of technology that he has no idea how to use, all while being the unfortunate recipient of affection. Working in Oscorp for a boss who takes an uncomfortable interest in him, and a friend who has become an unfortunately accurate conspiracy theorist. Kae however, has his heart set on his idol and guilty pleasure, Otto Octavius, who finds this unfortunate protagonist endearing and intelligent, yet incredibly dense. As always, shit can and will go wrong in this turn around romance, full of wit, humor, and Kae being awkward as all fuck.

Pairings?: Otto x Kae, Norman x Kae

Warnings: Language, drugs, fire, food/eating, mentions of death, night terrors, Norman is kinda creepy, conspiracies, tumblr is real here, fax machines.

A/n: Hiya! I'm the author of Unwanted pining, this is an 18+ story, as it covers some mature themes as the story progresses. Kaelis is a self insert and this fic is pure therapy for me while I navigate my life. Likes, reposts comments and asks are always appreciated, keep 'em appropriate and constructive, bullying and harassment will just get you blocked.

CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCING THE MODERN PROTAG. ITS ME, IM THE PROTAG

Multi universe traveling sucks ass, I know this. How? Well I’m not from this universe, superheroes aren’t real in my world, unless you look in movies or comic books. But this, this was a spiderman universe. Tobey Miguire, if I am thinking correctly. Which meant only one thing… Doctor Octopus, and the Green Goblin, if this was following No way home, they might still be alive. That or this is all before those events and none of the original events have happened yet.

I hummed while I ate my three dollar hot dog. Who knew that New York street food was so expensive? I sure as hell didn’t, I’m just some trans boy with dyed hair and no way to have a life, unless I got into the hero industry, or the villain industry. However, both occupations required more smarts and physical capabilities than I was able to produce. Maybe I could be a street performer, read poetry or something? It wasn’t my worst idea. But it certainly wasn’t my best.

I was disrupted from my thoughts by a harsh shove as some guy ran past me, making me drop my food, “Hey!” I shouted, hands up in frustration, “What the fuck man?!”

He didn’t even respond, but people kept running past me. Scowling I turned around to see whatever was causing such a raucous. With a dim expression that could have only radiated boredom, I watched a glowing copper ball roll to my feet. Internally, I was thrilled, an opportunity to live out my protestor dreams. I picked up the pumpkin bomb and threw it into the air with all the aggression a wimpy looking person like me could. By that I meant, that bitch was gone, it was just in the air, and it exploded, to no effect, as no people, or goblins, for that matter, were within the blast range.

I, however, was left to face a hovering Goblin, and Spider-man, staring at me. “What?” I asked, still pretty pissed that I no longer had any more food, but I feigned innocence, “I’d always wanted to do that, who was I to ignore the impulse to yeet?”

“Yeet?” Spiderman responded, “That’s a new one.”

“What exactly does it mean to yeet?” Goblin asked, tilting his oversized helmet in a way that really only reminded me of a puppy.

“You know, to throw something really fast,” I smiled, it definitely looked forced, “There is Kobe, for accuracy and yeet for speed, and to take something really fast is yoink.” I was elaborating too much, wasn’t I? But at least I had halted the fighting for a time to explain a universal and time difference, I guess.

Spider-man seemed to perk up at the word yoink, “I know that last one!” He paused, “but that doesn’t explain why you threw a pumpkin bomb in the air.”

I blinked, a little bit faster than I intended, “I wasn’t just…you know, going to let it kill me.”

“So you threw it?” The Goblin’s voice sounded more like Norman Osborn by now, maybe I had defused the fight with my other universal slang and trauma response, “Are you insane?”

Oh my gods, was he aware how ironic that was?

I shook my head, “I just wanted to live out that one fantasy from seeing riots on TV.”

And at that I ran, using what little ability I had left over from cross country and my idiodic desire to climb stuff to join the swarm of people watching from a distance. I watched the two masked beings stare at each other before the Green Goblin flew off, presumably to go back to his big ass penthouse and let Norman rest off the confusion. Spider-Man however, webbed off in the other direction and the crowd disbursed, leaving me standing in the street.

Maybe I could try out that hero shit. But first, to find out if I had been swapped out, and if I even existed.

—

Though some weird fanfic trope bullshit, I had apparently been a missing person for like, three years. They did let me collect the reward, which was a bonus, but I did have to explain the whole transgender thing to my parents, who were still married, which I don’t recall them being married, but whatever, healthy marriage pog? I think they were only accepting because they were thrilled to have their kid back, I did choose to stay in New York though.

Why did I do that?

One, I kinda liked the danger, and who was I kidding, in my own universe I was probably going to seek out the son of a mob boss or some shit like that.

(haha… you know who you are)

But job opportunities were booming in the city, during normal hours I worked as a receptionist for Oscorp, to keep an eye on the action, of course. And off hours, I went about salvaging junk parts and roadkill. It was a good life for me and my ever growing cluster of plants that were taking up my single room apartment.

Norman Osborn never died, which means this was the NO WAY HOME ark, where everyone got cured of whatever made them into who they are.

I mainly found myself keeping alone, knowing that either way, Doc Ock was still bound to die. He was my favorite from the movies, and his redemption arc was so important to me.

Years passed, and the doctor did die, his fusion reactor going down with him in the ocean. As one does when they are in mourning, I dressed in my most work appropriate Victorian dandy clothes. I really had no shame in showing how I mourned. It had been roughly three years since I had been thrown into this universe, and I wasn’t about to just change my whole lifestyle.

Today was no different, save for the fact that I was now standing in the elevator to see the man in charge. I adjusted my vest, fully expecting to be reprimanded for my choice in dress for a work day. Rather, I was greeted by the much older man with a smile.

“Mr. North, thank you for coming in today,” he shook my hand with a strange sort of energy, “come in, have a seat, coffee?”

I found myself sitting in Norman Osborn’s office, shaking my head politely, “No thank you sir… you wanted to speak to me?”

He nodded, donning a serious expression as he sat down, “Yes, Mykaelis, I had noticed you taking a special interest in Dr. Octavius’s work and his…accident, no?”

I nodded, “Yes, well, I can explain sir, Dr. Octavius presented a fascinating case on the subject of clean energy and his work with the actuators could be used– if to a less extreme degree– to help amputees or those who need physical aid to overcome obstacles that exist in an ableist society… I was just curious, if anything.”

I could feel his gaze on me as he spoke, “I see,” he paused, “Well, I would like to offer you a new position, if you are interested.”

“That depends on the job, sir.”

“You would be archiving Dr. Octavius’s items, from his abandoned workshop in the harbor, his office, the police, and his home, you would be housing and cataloging them in what used to be his research office in Oscorps main building, here.”

I thought about it, I swear I did, but I only had one question, “What’s the pay?”

Norman laughed, well, it was more of a cackle, “of course, you would be paid by the hour until I know if I would like to keep you as an archivist, but how does $45 an hour sound?”

And here I was thinking he would be skimping on me, “That sounds like a deal to me Mr. Osborn.”

“You can just call me Norman,” He slid the official document to me, “sign here, and if anyone gives you trouble, send them to me.”

I grazed the documents before signing my life away to salvage the remains of the life of a man I only knew through film, “Of course sir.”

[wychelm]

Hi. For the ask game: 1 (actual lol), 10, 18, 28 (for someone other than Julian!), 50. That's it I'm done!

(Content warning for suicide and institutionalisation in the headcanons. I don't go into it in much depth but just in case)

1. Who is your favourite ghost?

oh yes, har-har! laugh it up! Julian is my favourite, tied with the Captain. you git.

10. Which ghost would you say you're least like?

Probably Kitty. I think I could probably find something in all the ghosts to relate to, and with her it's probably that I worry I'm that overbearing, but I'm not in actual fact. And possibly her naivety, but I don't think I'm that naive anymore. Kitty is very optimistic, unaware of boundaries, and innocent and I just am the grumpiest, most painfully self-aware little pervert ever.

18. What is your favourite Ghosts fanfiction?

There are soooo many good ones obviously but it has got to be Performative by inkyfishes. It had a big influence on me being into Julian/Cap and those snippets at the start and end about Julian's past were like 70% of my inspiration for starting a whole backstory fic lmao. It's so perfectly in-character and it's so rare that people write from Julian's pov and even rarer that it feels so authentic.

And I think about "A man at the Oxford Union told me that he loved me. That I was going to be Foreign Secretary. [...] That I was going to be Foreign Secretary if I stopped loving him" every single day of my LIFE!

Very close second place is Catching Up With My Eyes Wide Shut by TooManyFandomsNeverEnoughTime. But thinking about it for too long makes me go bright red so I shall not be elaborating.

28. Top 5 headcanons for [insert character name here]?

Very rude of you to not actually give me a character here. Here's Cap:

- Kinda heavy but I do strongly suspect his death was suicide. Ben mentioned that he knew from the start how the Captain died, but that they probably wouldn't bring it up? I think? Unless I'm misremembering.

- Leading on from that, I don't think any of the ghosts were there when he died. I kind of imagine something very exciting was going on in another room, like a party. Probably like the anniversary of the war ending so he's had time to get all those war medals. I think it's very hard to imagine the Captain outliving the war by very long, it's so entangled with who he is as a person... But anyway, none of the ghosts were there, and for a while he didn't even realise the pill had worked until he left the room and nobody could see him. And there was a caveman trying to jive.

- I don't think he was particularly into music, but I can imagine him passing a gramophone playing I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire by The Ink Spots and pausing until he becomes self-aware how it's started to affect him, thinking about Havers and whatnot.

- Pat and Julian are his best ghostie friends but I doubt he had many friends in life, instead he had colleagues, superiors, and inferiors. I think the reason he's closer to Julian and Pat is because he views them as on a sort of equal level of authority, as colleagues he respects rather than people he's responsible for or accountable to. It also means he butts heads with them more often, because they're also a sort of threat to his leadership (there can only be one Captain per company!)

- Back to being morose. I think the best explanation of his not fighting in WW1 is probably that he was in some kind of psychiatric ward for reasons relating to him being gay. It could equally have been a completely unrelated physical condition that meant he was hospitalised, I suppose, but what would have lasted all 4 years and then disappeared by WW2? Another alternate I guess is that he dodged the draft and then in the interwar years he was just so plagued with guilt over it that he threw himself into the war effort the next time around.

- This is six, I'm sorry, but I also just think he's from Coventry.

50. Name an AU you haven't seen someone create content for, but which you'd love to read a fic or see some art for.

I think a lot about the ghosts in each others' time periods, or in different time periods. That's something I'd love to see. Thomas and Julian as 1890s decadents/aesthetes. Cap in the Napoleonic Wars. Pat living in a 1960s hippie commune, etc. etc.

[bjy-on-ao3]

Omg, i just read your dionysus fic, over indulgence, and holy shit, it was amazing! I really liked how you characterised him, and reader too, i just dont know what to say other than i absolutely loved it! I'd love to see more hades content! Maybe with Ares this time? He is always so smug, and somehow can be both very intimidating while staying super polite.... Im howwible with prompts, but maybe one where reader is a priestess of athena and somehow catches ares's attention?

I hope you don’t mind stuff rough.  I hope this satisfies your want for Ares, Anon!

In the game, Athena and Ares don’t seem to really like each other all that much, so I figured any priest/priestesses or disciples of her would have been warned about him. It also made sense for me that many of those people would double as great warriors/soldiers skilled at defense, but also in battle overall.If you’re looking for something warm and soft, please turn back. I really can’t see Ares in a gentle light, and this fic will contain blood/bloodplay, biting, bruising, and Ares getting a kick of out it all. Dubcon only because Reader agrees to the conditions of Ares being able to take what he wants if they lose. (As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

Tags/Warnings Biting, Blood, Bloodplay, Combat, Creampie, Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader Insert, Sadism, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, Violent Sex

Summary Reader - priestess and champion of Athena and fresh off becoming victor of a tournament held in honor of the gods - has an encounter with the most bloodthirsty god of them all: Impressed, Ares offers them a boon should they best him in combat - though if they lose, Ares may take what he sees fit.

Fic Friday

Shieldmaiden (F! Reader/Ares)

The day had been a long and arduous one, filled to bursting with adrenaline and quick-thinking. Oft enough, your days were composed of training or ceremonies, or helping those who sought aid from the temple to Athena you served. But dawn that morning had heralded the start of a tournament lasting till Helios drove the sun beneath the horizon once more. In a way, those who fell quickly were rewarded with a reprieve from the constant bouts, as even though the humiliation of defeat burdened them.

Even on the heels of victory, by the time the battles had concluded, you were tired and sore, marred with minor bruises and a few nicks and scrapes. It was nothing that a good night’s sleep and some poultices wouldn’t solve, though. ‘All worth the honor of winning such a tournament’ you told yourself. Unlike some combatants, you hadn’t killed an opponent, seeking to shed the least blood possible. Your efficiency had no room for excess. But no amount of hard-won praise and self-satisfaction could change that you were looking forward to curling up and resting until the sun rose on a new day.

Traipsing back to the temple in the glowing purple and red twilight, however, a voice caught your attention. “I must say, your performance today was quite impressive.”

To your credit, you didn’t jump or flinch away, becoming stock still and turning slowly toward the source of the voice. “Who’s there? Whom do I have privilege of impressing?” You asked cautiously, unable to strip all the irritation from your tone. You had patience remaining, though you were loath to chat with someone over your victory when you would much rather be in your bed.

Your eyes landed on a tall figure you somehow hadn’t noticed before - a man - stance regal and straight. Something about the posture gave off a sense of nonchalance as well. Clad in armor of ivory and gold, accented with long shards of black and the eerie glaring face of a beast on the chest plate, he radiated an aura of menace, accompanied by a bloodlust so tangible you could almost taste it on your tongue, hot and bitter. Eyes like smoldering coals plucked from a roaring hearth stared at you intently.. Combined with the simper spread over his lips, you couldn’t suppress the chill that raced up your spine.

Something in your gut twisted uncomfortably, and you resisted the urge to put a few more paces between the two of you. Even if it hadn’t been for the myriad weapons crossed over his back, or the impressive armor, the man would have seemed someone to be cautious around, someone you shouldn’t trust. Everything put together set you on high alert instantly, the instinct of fight or flight rising in your chest like a bird taking wing. Something primal shrieked at you that, for once, flight might be the preferred choice.

“You fight rather viciously for one under my dear sister’s wing,” the man mused, his tone light, but formal.

“I asked before - who are you?” you pressed again, not interested in mincing words. You didn’t like how easily he spoke to you or offhandedly disparaged your goddess.

“Oh, no hesitation to be found. Perhaps Athena neglected to impart all of her wisdom to you after all.” you bristled at the insult, taking a deep breath and trying to relieve some of the tension coursing through you. “I am Ares, and I desired to see the prowess of my sister’s little owl before my own eyes.”

‘Little owl?’ the nickname distracted you at first, thinking to the tiny owls often depicted accompanying your Lady, but you shook your head and dismissed the thought. You hadn’t the time to concern yourself with foolish nicknames. “Lord Ares? Well, I have no desire to see you, my Lord,” you said. With the revelation of his identity, you felt even more uneasy. Ares, god of war and death, who was said to bask in the bloodshed and chaos of man. Athena had been certain her followers knew well of her violent half-brother. “I may not have all of my Lady’s knowledge, but I am wise enough to keep my distance from you and the needless death that follows in your wake.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, wary of each word and wondering if he might take offense from your rejection. From the tales told, the Olympians never took well to being ignored or spurned, but to indulge in the company of a god like Ares was no more appealing a choice. The look on Ares’ face remained pleasant, the corners of his lips set in a smug smile, and he let out a quick puff of laughter that would have been pleasant, had it not come from him.

“What a pity. Although I do not believe that choice is yours to make, little owl,” he began, closing some distance between you. You followed his movements intently, concerned he might draw one of the swords from his back and set upon you with every step closer. “Surely you do not think yourself beyond the bidding of one god solely because you serve another?”

Your hands clenched and unclenched nervously at your sides as you considered his words. Ares was right, of course. Being a priestess of Athena did not grant you any protection from other gods - not unless she interfered directly. And that kind of divine intervention was a rarity. You avoided his question and changed the subject, though you doubted he would be redirected so easily. The God of War was no fool.

“What do you really want? I’ve little time for games, my Lord.”

“I wish to see your technique for myself. Show me how that passion and diligence fares against a foe more than mortal,” he elaborated.

The blood in your veins ran cold upon his admission and your heart thudded so hard you wondered if it was audible from where he stood. Battling a god was firmly on the side of things you wished never to do. “If you think I’m dull enough that I would willingly engage the God of War, then you insult me, my Lord,” you said stiffly, trying to suppress your trepidation from worming into your voice and failing.

“What is it I hear beneath your bold tone? I trust one of my dear sister’s bold little priestesses, one of her champions, even, is not afraid of all things?” Ares taunted smoothly. From the way his self-assured smile twitched upward, barely, you knew he was enjoying your reaction.

“Fear and caution are not the same thing,” you denied fiercely.

“True enough, but it is not caution what gives you pause. If it puts you at ease, little owl, I will not take your life.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you scrutinized him intensely, finding no sign of whether he was lying or being genuine. All you found in those bloody eyes and stony face was cold calculation and an insatiable lust for violence. “Why should I believe you?” you asked, face twisting suspiciously.

“Because, beloved by my sister or not, if I so desired to kill you, I would have done so the instant you denied my invitation and spoke to me so disrespectfully.” He talked of ending you so casually it made you shudder, and you cursed yourself for it immediately.

It seemed you had little choice but to indulge Ares in whatever game he had in mind. “And if I agree - what is the benefit to me?” Ares had promised he wouldn’t kill you, but you saw no other purpose to fight him. You still weren’t sure he wouldn’t just kill you, despite his promise.

“Is serving one of the gods not benefit enough for you? What a greedy little owl my sister has found.” Again, Ares taunted you. You wondered if he was trying to make you angry enough to divest your caution and sabotage your battle prowess.

“That’s not an answer,” you spat back. God or not, you were tiring of whatever he was doing.

Fortunately, Ares cut to the chase. “Very well, best me and you shall have whatever boon of me you wish.”

“And if I lose?”

“Then, I shall take from you what I decide most fitting.:

“But not my life,” you added, still skeptical.

“You have my word,” Ares insisted. “Besides, would it not be such a waste to douse a promising ember when it could kindled and made to burn all around it?” he added in afterthought and once again the implications of his words unsettled you. “Now, I trust we are done with these tedious negotiations, hm?” he prompted.

Steeling yourself and willing away the stiffness and fear bubbling in your chest, you nodded. Ares had decided what the outcome of the discussion would be before he first spoke. There was nothing more to be said - at least not with words. Eyes trained on the intimidating figure of the God of War, you retrieved the shield and blade slung over your shoulders. You brandished them both, falling into the stance you were trained to use.

Across from you - hardly half a dozen feet off - Ares drew a weapon of his own. The sight of the curved blade incited your fear once more. The black blade was a ghastly thing, wickedly sharp and emanating a thick, billowing red haze the color of viscera. It was unmistakably a weapon befitting a god, and it made something deep inside you want to turn tail and run. But you knew running would be fruitless - all it would earn you was a head-sized loss of weight between your shoulders.

 At once, the both of you moved slowly, following a wide circle, two shadowy beasts in the fading dusk searching for weaknesses and flaws. All of your training and wisdom told you to wait, let Ares come to you and make the first move. But you weren’t sure your reactive way of fighting would hold up against someone of his calibre. As Ares had implied, he was no mortal, and you could only imagine the horrible strength and skill behind his blade.

Ares shattered the heavy stillness abruptly, darting forward and making a low arcing swing up toward you. There was no hesitation behind the blow and you had the feeling if you hadn’t stopped it with your blade, his falcata would have carved a clean line into your torso. Ares may have promised not to kill you, but he wasn’t above grievously injuring you. He gave you little time to think on his intentions, however, another strike quickly following when you knocked his sword aside.

You caught that swing as well, on your shield this time, and your arm stung from the force that rang through it. Blow after blow rained down on you, forcing you on the defensive almost constantly, and even then, many near misses made you tense and wide-eyed. Eventually, you found some rhythm to his assault, and Ares even paused, granting you a scant few seconds to breathe and think. Still, you needed to analyze what you learned quickly - your enduring method of fighting wouldn’t suit well against his relentless onslaught. You had fought aggressive attackers in the past, but their strength and ferocity paled compared to Ares.

Eyes flashing to and fro, following the tuck and arc of his weapon, at the same time searching for openings, you readied to strike. You would need to be swift, perfect in your timing, and hold back nothing if you wanted any hope of breaching his flurry of blows. You took your chance when his fuming blade glanced off your shield at just the right angle to slide away, instead of adding more to the numbness in your shield arm. Dipping down, you swept your own blade under his arm and up. The metal scraped past one of his pauldrons and up, and your eyes shot wider when the tip of the blade reached out towards Ares’ face.

A swift kick pushed you back, leaving you winded, and you looked back up quickly. Ares was standing in place, a small distance away, but close enough to observe small details. His blade upheld in one hand, smoking menacingly, he lifted his free hand to his cheek, brushing away the slick of blood oozing from a diagonal cut across his cheek.Your heart fell at the sight of how little damage you had done. After all that time, you had given him what was barely more than what a mortal mine might suffer from a shaving accident. It was an ill omen when you were so used to your blade striking true and dispatching opponents in only a few strokes.

“Oh, what a splendid surprise.” Your blood may as well have turned to ice. Not at Ares’ words, but his tone.

Beneath the refined and formal speech, something almost excited could be heard. You had the sudden dreadful feeling that indulging the God of War’s little game had been a terrible mistake - even if  there was no other choice. Excitement was a chilling thing to hear from a being who adored violence and death. You had expected anger, perhaps, or bitterness that a mortal had drawn blood against him. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a shock he liked to bleed as much as he liked to bleed others.

“Perhaps I underestimated you, little owl. Such skill seems wasted protecting others, do you not think so?” Ares asked, the hint of excitement vanished.

An indignation bubbled up beneath your dread, understanding Ares had meant your talents better suited to bloody slaughter and resenting that notion. You bristled, snapping back at him. “If I agreed, I would have served from the start, wouldn’t I?”

Ares ignored your response, as if he hadn’t heard. “I have seen more than enough, little owl. Our duel shall come to an end now,” he declared confidently. Again resentment and terror warred with one another within you.

When Ares bolted forward again, you barely thrust out your sword in time and turned his strike aside. The eerie cloud emanating from the blade seemed to have increased, tendrils of it whipping about, framing Ares ominously and obscuring your vision here and there.  He didn’t stop at a single blow, striking out again and again as before, but with much more strength behind the attacks. The thought that your weapon and shield or arms might shatter from the force if things kept up flitted through your mind, distracting you for the barest moment.

Ares’ blade flashed forward, and your shield was thrust away, spinning through the air before crashing down and clattering to the ground. In a lightning quick motion, before you could bring your blade in to force his falcata away, the edge was leveled to your throat. You fell deathly still, the icy blade faintly touching your skin. One false move or a twitch of Ares’ wrist and all would be done.

The war god moved closer, grabbing your sword hand cruelly and twisting your blade from your fist. The hand that had disarmed you snapped to your head, grabbing a fistful of hair at the root and making you hiss. He drew your head back and the painful pinch of his blade scarcely cutting your skin made your pulse quicken. A warm trickle crept down your skin. Held between Ares’ hand and his blade, you dared not even breathe too deeply, so close were you to both.

Burning crimson watched you keenly, blazing with triumph and thet still unquenchable lust for blood. The blood you seeping from the shallow cut on your throat encouraged that bloodlust to greater heights rather than sate it. The thought made the space between you and the god feel heavy, airless.

“You fought magnificently, little owl. A far greater challenge even than I had foreseen,” Ares praised, not bothering to draw his weapon back. The tension hanging in the air, in fact, seemed thoroughly amusing to him, alluring even. You gathered all the resolve you possessed, fighting to glare defiantly at him. There was no room to show weakness. “How lovely that look suits you. Fearful, yet masked in defiance, even in the very face of death,” he drawled. You wondered if the god enjoyed his own voice as much as he enjoyed bloodshedl. “Do you believe me a liar?” Ares asked coolly after a moment of unsettling silence.

“I-” you opened your mouth intending to disagree, to ensure him you believed him - even if you didn’t trust him in the slightest -, but something stopped you. “Yes.” As the word escaped, you cursed yourself.

To your surprise, Ares’ proud smile grew. “Such an unwise thing to say,” he mused, “Are you trying to provoke me, now, little owl?” he asked nonchalantly, applying the scantest amount more pressure to his haze billowing blade. You winced, but quickly corrected your expression until your focus was on Ares once more. “No matter, our duel is over. Now comes time to take what I deem ample compensation for my victory.” At last, Ares drew back and took his falcata with him, and you could breathe again.

The start of a cold sweat broke out on your skin, and you felt clammy, except for the hot, sticky trickle drying on your neck. You swallowed thickly, willing your tongue to obey you, and spoke again after a moment of recovery. “So, what do you want? Out with it.” you pressed, perhaps too demandingly for one whom had been in your previous position. Yet with the blade no longer threatening to carve your throat open, you couldn’t help the annoyance and unease that crept into you.

“Tread carefully, little owl. I spared you before,” Ares reminded you casually, though the sharp warning edge suffused his words. He would take your insolence only so far. “Continue to disrespect me and I shall take your words as invitation to grant you a most painful end.” He paused, slipping his dark blade back where it belonged, before turning to you. “As the spoils of my victory, this ought to suffice.”

In an instant, so quick you had no time to wonder what had come over him, Ares was upon you again. His hand, having previously disengaged when he took his weapon away, returned, entangling itself in your hair again and forcing you to remain still. Before you knew it, Ares stepped uncomfortably close, bowing his head and slashing his lips across yours in a kiss that was neither delicate nor considerate. It was a kiss fueled by strength, full of teeth and heat that left you in a stupor.

Ares didn’t bother with the tedious task of coaxing your lips open with his tongue, choosing to bite down viciously, and blood oozed out to meet him. It slicked his teeth and tongue and your mouth fell open in a gasp of pain, and Ares thrust his tongue into your mouth.  It swept along your teeth for a moment, before wrapping around your own and fighting it into submission. A heady metallic taste washed over you as you futilely tried to win the war of flesh. Blood. Your blood. Mixed with the coppery flavor was something more subtle, spicy and earthy at once.

When Ares relented and pulled away, you strove for breath, the taste of him and your blood lingering in your mouth. But he had only begun, giving you little time to recover. You had long enough to question why you had kissed him back - or had you been trying to fight him off? - before he jerked your head back and inclined his faced further. His lips, hot and the barest bit sticky, met the curve of your throat. He swept down your skin, leaving angry bite marks and blotches in his wake, until he was nestled against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, unprotected by armor and bared by your tunic.

He bit down again. Harder than before, and his teeth sank into you, another rush of blood welling up.You couldn’t control the pained cry that burst from your lips. You were used to injuries from training or battle, yet hardly in such sensitive places, and almost never from someone’s teeth. It burned when Ares lapped greedily at the wound and you hissed. His free hand had curled behind you at some time you hadn’t noticed, pressing you forward, the unyielding planes of his chest plate and pauldrons digging into you uncomfortable.

A new sensation was blossoming beneath the pain, one that should have been utterly foreign and unthinkable, given the brutality Ares was treating you with. Maybe it was the burning, hungry expression in Ares' eyes as he looked up from your skin, lips tinged red. Or maybe it was the crushing embrace he held you trapped in. Or maybe the way he held you utterly compliant and vulnerable in his grasp. Or maybe it was all of those things combined that made heat fill you from your core and pool between your legs. A dangerous, confused lust was rising - one it would have been wiser to reject.

“Such splendid sounds, little owl,” Ares said, his voice lower, a wild delight tinging it. “I desire to hear more. Do not disappoint me.”

With a rough push, your feet left the ground, and you tumbled backward away from Ares’ grip, too startled and dazed from the confounding feeling brewing in your belly and the painful throbbing in your lip and shoulder to catch yourself in time. You grimaced when you met the ground, making to prop yourself up. But Ares followed you, shoving you down completely and pinning you there. Again, his armor prodded uncomfortably at you. Past the pleated leather folds attached to the armor torso, something still distinctly hard, but much warmer prodded at you as well.

When large hands groped at your tunic -  somehow both callous and perfect - some degree of sense insisted you stop him. But others argued with it. They insisted there was no point, this was the spoils Ares chose to claim. You wouldn’t be able to stop him if you tried. One devilish voice even craved more. Your internal debate crashed to a halt when Ares jerked your tunic down, the faint sound of fabric ripping lost to you. His lips fell upon your skin again where the fabric fell away, biting and sucking like he was trying to devour you. Many of them stung, not all as harsh as the bite to your shoulder, but several more drawing blood or leaving the areas soon to bruise, painting your skin in garish colors.

More pained sounds left your lips, gasps and whimpers and groans, though mixing more steadily into them were noises that belied some twisted pleasure. A hiss that became a moan. A gasp that turned into something breathy and thick. Something was stirring more and more hotly within you, transforming pain into a muted pleasure and adding fuel to the embers smoldering between your legs and in your belly.

Ares’ hands were as greedy as his lips, groping and kneading unmarred skin, roughly grabbing at your chest, pinching your nipples and making you cry out pitifully. Before long, he had covered your torso, shoulders, and neck in darkening bruises and blood, teeth marks and scrapes. Pulling away until he was looming over you like an ominous shadow, you could still make out the satisfied look languidly spread across his lips. His eyes seemed even more fiery, near crazed, as if he were high on your blood and pain.

“Such a careful, focused beast in the heat of battle. Now look at you, little owl, stained and trembling,” he purred, and his tongue trailed over his lips, cleaning the crimson staining them. “How beautiful a sight. The color suits you well.” He grabbed at your tunic some more, gathering the bottom around your waist, meeting the neckline he had pushed down. “As fragile and easy to see through as glass. Ought I shatter you like it, then?” Ares asked, greedily taking in the even larger expanse of flesh revealed to him. You wondered if he meant to litter the rest of you in similar marks.

Your lips parted, and you didn’t speak for a second, waiting for the mental gears to  turn. Your only choice was the illusion of it, so you may as well as pretend your answer meant something. “Break me as you please, Lord Ares,” you told him, surprised to hear how your voice sounded. Strain and breathy, and the realization strengthened the heat and wetness at your center you couldn’t deny, likely plain to Ares’ eyes with your tunic no longer guarding it.

“How bold a choice of words, little owl.” Ares sounded pleased, possibly having expected you to retort defiantly, or have no words at all. Yet you had indulged his words instead. He trailed a thick finger gingerly over your throat, tracing over your racing pulse. “It would thrill me so to watch the life bleed from you.” You believed him completely. There was no denying in different circumstances Ares would revel in your death. “Alas, I shall have to make do sheathing a different blade within your supple flesh.”

A hint of excited impatience shone through as Ares sat back on his knees, leaving you to lie waiting in the dirt for what he would do next. With an iron grip, he grabbed your thighs, lifting them both off the ground and splaying them over his pauldrons, on either side of the crossed blades on his back. The cold touch of his armor on your overheated, abused skin made you shudder, and you watched as he lifted the lappets of the armor.  

Your eyes lingered on what had thrust against you from behind layers of leather before, and you swallowed nervously. Ares was endowed impressively and in the embrace of a gentle lover that might promise a minor discomfort, but pleasure overall. Ares had shown no intention to treat you gently though - the ache and throb from the aftermath of his attention reinforced that - and you were under no illusion he was going to change that.

The new hesitation must have shown in your expression, a dangerous thrill creeping onto Ares’ own face as he brought the head of his cock to your folds. You thanked the stars that his brutal attentions had somehow elicited a perverse hunger from you, soaking your core. Though you imagined he would have fucked you raw whether or not you were wet. In fact, he might have enjoyed it more that way. Fortunately, his dick slipped slickly between your lips, gathering some of your wetness and pushing against your slit.

Ares didn’t take his time entering you, nor savor the moment, bucking his hips forward and splitting your cunt wide. You arched your back stiffly and hissed, both at the awful burn from the way his cock stretched you and the surprising satisfaction from the overwhelming fullness. You drew deep breaths, trying to adjust to the thick intrusion, fighting the pathetic whines that threatened to spill out.

Ares didn’t give you time to adjust to his size, rutting harshly against you, calloused hands digging roughly into your thighs. He leaned forward, bending you nearly in half, far enough a tendril of his silvery white hair brushed against your stomach, making your skin jump. The stretch ached to be sure - it would have even if Ares had been more thoughtful - but caught up in whatever perverse mood electrified the moment, there was pleasure bleeding into the pain.

Pleasure from the way he filled you so completely, creating a delicious friction that made your gut heat and tense. Pleasure from the rough slant of his hips against yours and his balls slapping your ass. Pleasure from the renewed vigor and sting of his lips and teeth attacking your neglected skin once more. It was agonizing and mindnumbing and enjoyable in a way you couldn’t have had any hope of explaining, at least not in a right sense of mind.

Each hard rock of his hips and searing puff of breath against your skin wore away at what little pride you retained, if you could claim to have any scrap left, looking such a mess. You might regret the memory later, but in the heat of the moment, there was no time for regrets or second thoughts. There was only room to try and enjoy what Ares had claimed as his reward.

As your dignity shattered and disintegrated like dust, the heat of your body and between your thighs grew, until you cried out into the air, the pleasure finally rising high enough to meet the pain and break loose from your throat between whines and winces. One loud cry that twisted and broke from another especially vicious bite must have gotten to Ares, eliciting an answering sound that was deep and primal.

Continuing to pound into your cunt, Ares looked up from his savagery of your skin, eyes glittering with amsement and lust of multiple kinds. His hot breath rolled over your bruised chest and his silky words rumbled over you. “You ought to thank me for my mercy,” he growled, and amidst the pain and pleasure you laughed to yourself. Mercy for a war god amounted simply to not killing you it seemed, even if the alternative was marking your body viciously and claiming it for himself. “Go on, then, little owl,” he compelled you, puncutating his words with a harder buck of his hips that left made you shout.

You opened your mouth, at first only pants and huffs and whimpers broke away. You gathered the words on your tongue he demanded of you. “Th-thank...aah...thank you, Lord Ares!” you cried out, surprisingly yourself. “Thank you f-for sparing me.”

He seemed satisfied with you pitiful answer, shaky and broken as it was, though he remained close to your skin. His pace grew stronger, faster, and he drew his tongue over some of the more bloody marks he’d left behind, coating his tongue again in your essence. His eyes swept hotly over his handiwork, bordering on frenzied. “Is it not such a wondrous feeling, to break bleed so, little owl?”

The smooth, husky tone of his voice, though it spoke such sick words - words you would have rejected in another setting - drove your own fervor higher, the molten spring of tension in your abdomen coming to the edge of its breaking point. You responded without hesitation, mind bent only on the promised releasen. “Yes, yes, my Lord!”

No more words fell between the two of you then, only the primal symphony of moans, grunts, groans, and gasps, enough to be heard by any soul unfortunate enough to be passing nearby. You hadn’t thought Ares’ thrusts could become any crueler, but as he chased and neared his own release, they did, until each thrust stung, hurting almost more than they pleased. His hands still clenched around your thighs and you could only imagine the intensity of the bruises that would be left behind - perhaps even worse than the many peppering your neck and chest and torso.

Despite the pain, your cunt squeezed around him, fluttering erratically as you danced on that edge so, so close. Until at last, it burst. But not before Ares finished with a sound so dark and heavy and alluring it could be called inhuman. Your walls embraced him even tighter as his cum filled you to overflowing, hot and wet, and you screamed and cried into the darkness of evening that had taken over.

When all was still at last, youtruly began to feel the extent of the damage Ares had done. He didn’t remain atop you much longer, not seeming to need to catch his breath, and when he pulled out of you, you shuddered, feeling sore and empty. Already tired before Ares had sought you out, and even more so after your combat, you were completely and utterly exhausted. Lying there, each pound of your heart making the bites and bruises pound along with it, you wondered if passing out in the dirt was a viable option.

Ares didn’t concern himself with your thoughts, however, or whatever it was you intended to do now that he was finished with you - for now at least. He just looked down at you, tucking himself back beneath the lappets of his armor and looking no worse for the wear. “Farewell, little owl. Do take care. And consider what I have said,” he began. “Your talents ought be used for something far more satisfying.”

You didn’t answer, letting your eyelids slide closed for a minute. When you opened them again, you were alone and the air was still and silent. You begrudgingly sat up, preparing to tackle the ordeal of standing and making the rest of your way home and to your bed. You wondered how you were going to explain your state to your fellows the following day.

[notisaidthefrogg-blog]

Dear Octopath Exchange Creator...

Hello! I really appreciate you reading this letter and I eagerly anticipate your awesome creation! As a writer myself, I’ve probably made my requests/prompts very narrative-based; feel free to take inspiration from any part to turn into art if that is your strength! If you have any questions/would like to challenge any unreasonable requests, don’t hesitate to ask on anon!

(edit: this ended up being way longer than it had any right to be, I just tried to make up for any restrictions with a whole bunch of prompts, I probably rambled way too much, don’t feel pressured to read the whole thing)

First of all, I’ll just introduce myself briefly because I haven’t posted here before. I am Frogg (Nebulariffic on Ao3). You won’t have seen me around at all because I tend to lurk on sites like Tumblr, but I’ve been following the Octopath fandom since the game’s release and I’ve really loved the fan creations that have come from it! This is the first fandom exchange I’ve participated in here, and I’m hoping it will help me come out of my shell enough to post some of my other fan works!

But enough about me, time to get to my gift preferences! I do have some odd tastes by some standards, but as long as there’s no DNWs, I’m sure I’ll love whatever you come up with! Again, if anything here seems unreasonable, just message me and we can come up with something.

I’ll start with what I really like:

- Friendship/found family fluff! I’m a sucker for some high quality friendships and nothing forges friendships like trekking across the continent together! I think that our favourite eight travellers have a lot of potential for fun interactions together, or even if it’s just one or two of them with some NPCs or other characters!

- On the other side of the spectrum, hurt/comfort featuring supportive pals just warms my heart! Cheery friend/s lifting spirits of sad friend/s? Wonderful. Multiple sad friends taking comfort in each other? Exquisite. Again, there’s so much potential with this crew to make something really touching!

- Character growth! This may or may not be self explanatory, but I love characters doing tricky things and becoming better people for it. Things like working up courage to admit fault, apologise, forgive, put aside differences, or generally facing and conquering fears!

- If you have a cool AU idea, I’d love to see it!

Now as for my dislikes, these are mostly things that I’d be okay seeing in general, but I’d just rather not have in something I was requesting.

- This one’s going to seem a bit odd/prudish, but I’d like for no non-canon romantic/sexual pairings. I’m fine with super-close ambiguous friendships with hugs and comfort, but I’ve always felt weird about non-canon ships. Besides, I think we could do with more platonic friendships!

- If you would like to go for a non-canon romantic pairing anyway, I’d be okay with that just as long as it stays Lite(TM). In particular, I really don’t like pieces focussed on marriage proposals, weddings and pregnancies (especially mpreg) - that’s just something I’ve never liked in fic/art.

- Please no excessive emphasis on past abuse... It’s okay for characters to remember dark moments in their pasts, but detailed flashbacks and characters bemoaning their existences just make me feel like garbage.

- I’d prefer no prominent OCs. Background roles are cool, but self-inserts/reader-inserts/fanchildren and the like break my immersion.

And for my DNWs:

- No smut/porn/nudity

- No rape/non-con

- No underage/incest

- No kinks

- No excessive violence

- No character bashing

- No major character death (unless it’s directly portraying/referencing a canon event)

I make that last point because you can’t very well have a Primrose-Chapter-1-centric moment without Yusufa, for example.

Now we get to the fun bit - prompts! I realise that I drive a hard bargain by requesting all eight travellers, and I’d be perfectly fine if you only want to focus on a subset of them. If you have an idea for something based on what I’ve already mentioned, then go for it, but if you’re stuck, I’ve got some prompts based on who I’d particularly like to see! I’ve also provided some general/AU prompts, and if you want to go with one of those prompts, you can include any number of the travellers as you please!

Alfyn - If I had to pick a favourite traveller, it would be this wholesome boy.

I’d love to see him helping out his friends if they get sick or injured, or if they just need someone to listen. Counsellor Alf is a very good Alf!

If you want to go for super-angst, I’d suggest something related to his Chapter 3. There’s so much to unpack in that chapter alone that the game couldn’t even touch on!

Olberic - I think Olberic is really under-represented in fan works, and I’d love to see more of him!

I know he has a softer side, particularly around children, and it would be cool to see that played against his protective aggression. Maybe the group gets attacked and Olberic has to defend them?

H’aanit - Another underrated character imo. If the prospect of H’aanit-speak is too intimidating, I wouldn’t be offended if you just had her talk normally.

H’aanit always strikes me as the kind of quiet, stoic character who doesn’t say much, but every one of her words is meaningful, if a little blunt. Perhaps some wacky antics will get her to open up? (wink wink nudge nudge)

Or maybe she accidentally offends someone and (with coaching from the rest of the team) gets enough social courage to apologise?

Does Linde count as an unrequested character since she’s not on my request list? I jest, but feel free to make something with her and/or her relationship with H’aanit if that strikes your fancy! If you want a Linde prompt, maybe something that contrasts her noble-fierce-wild-beast side with her big-domestic-cat side? 

Other travellers -  If you want to make something focussed on any of the other travellers, that’s perfectly okay too! I just don’t have any specific prompts for them (bc its 2:30am here and I’m tired). Just hit me up if you’d like prompts for a character I haven’t touched on here!

General/AU prompts -

Rescue Fic: Nothing says “I care about you” than “you were in X predicament and I got you out of it”. Ties in very well with the fear-facing I mentioned in my likes. The only question is, is it one or two people saving the rest of the team, or is it seven looking for their missing friend? You decide!

Innocent Bystander: This is one of my bigger prompts, so you can skip this idea if it’s too longwinded/complex. Team OCTOPATH blows through town, leaving innkeeper/barkeep OC (or other NPC) to chase after them and witness/reflect on/clean up after their shenanigans. I can elaborate on this idea further if you like, just shoot me an ask!

Modern AU: How would the backstories/jobs of the cast translate into modern day? How would they meet/become friends? I love seeing theories for this topic.

Band AU: You know that new Break, Boost and Beyond artwork? The one where half the cast is practically a rock band (looking at you Olberic)? Tell me how that happened. Go nuts.

I think I’m going to wrap up this letter here, hopefully some of this was useful! Of course, feel free to disregard my prompts if you’ve already got ideas, or hit me up by anon if you want me to elaborate on any of these ideas. And of course, have fun and thanks for making me a thing!

Sincerely, Frogg (Nebula)

[dapperfvck-arc]

RPC Elitism and Fanfic Community Elitism: A Study

Now, most of this could have only been observed in the fanfic community if you were part of a forum or blogging community. You know, like remember how Live Journal had group blogs or whatever they were called? And if you were a member of it, you could post in it. Something like that? Leave me alone. It’s been over a decade and a lot of booze and pot since then. Anyway, I’m here to say a lot of the drama and petty bullshit in the RPC has less to do with the internet and people being crazy and more to do with well...it’s kinda always been this way. Part of it is what tends to happen when you get a bunch of writers together and the rest is just well...Fandom is a labour or passion and love. Some people can watch a show or movie and think, ‘oh that was really good’ and move on with their lives. Other people, fandom people, (special people?) fall in love with characters and stories, want to write about them, draw them, talk discourse about them. Unfortunately, when you add the social aspect of it, things start happening, it becomes not just about the characters or the story but the people who talk about them. This is why some of us never get into certain things even if they might interest us. “Because the fandom is insane”. I guess what I’m trying to say is this is nothing new and it’s almost comforting. The only thing that worries the shit out of me about the elitism is that it ushers in a community’s death. Now I don’t think it’s going to mean death for the RPC at large, but it does mean that the more elitism there is in a particular fandom, the more likely it will die or become an incestuous clusterfuck of a handful of muns writing a whole bunch of characters for it and sniffing their own farts because they’ve scared off the fresh blood.

Although the visual aspect of RPC is unique to it (all the “quality” blogs have great themes and icons and aesthetic/mood boards, and promos), I’m reminded of my time on message boards that allowed you to have elaborate “signatures” to you posts. Some people, particularly long time or popular members always had really fancy banners. Of course really good writers were always respected in the fanfic communities. I say that honestly as being among the more respected members (though hardly would I ever had called myself a Big Name Fanfic Author. Who knows. Maybe I was. Anyone remember Iggy Lovechild? lmao). There isn’t wrong with any of that so long as the writer doesn’t get pushy within the fandom. I knew of one who used to accuse other writers within the fandom of ripping off her stories or characters (she had a ton of OC children of canon characters and antagonists). There was a massive controversy when a teen fan of this writer penned fanfic based on her stories (that’s right, she was that highly regarded), and the Big Name author flipped her lid and basically called for this poor kid to be crucified. Writing styles and genres were held higher over others. Canon ships as well. I will give the RPC credit for being much more open to non-canon, rare, and crossover ships. Back when I was writing fanfic I never wrote crossovers. Now that’s all I write with John, although that’s partially due to there being few to no Vertigo comic canon characters to write with, though if I had them all, I still think I’d be writing these crossovers. Anyway.  Script style and songfics (remember those lmao) were considered lazy and amateurish. Longer fics were generally considered more worthwhile, romance and smut was looked down on, though romance without explicit sex scenes were considered better than a fanfic with them. Erotica writers, however, could make headway in respect, but you had to be vocal and talented. Even if you were, the general feeling that people only wrote smut for the sake of “popularity” often left you feeling like you were constantly on the defense. Certain portrayals of characters and head canons were considered more legit than others. AUs were fraught with trepidation. Original characters in fanfic were...predominately maligned. They were called self-inserts, Mary Sues/Gary Stus, and while some of them were, the community’s hostility toward them deterred writing them unless they were in small roles. It was made quite clear that their place in fanfic were on the side lines. Any of this sounding familiar yet? It’s probably why I either seem more bitter about certain issues or nonplussed. Frankly, I’ve seen it all before. The cliquish behaviour, the elitism, I guess I just want everyone to know this. It isn’t you! You are not the problem! It’s just..it’s just a fandom thing, I guess. You could probably find this behaviour mirrored in every kind of fandom community.

Anyway, uh that’s it. I feel like I should be able to wrap this up better. Just you know -- I’ve been more content in the RPC the more insular I’ve become. I know who my partners are and who values me as a writer. It does make me feel for people breaking into it. I remember the first few months was slow going, even with a popular canon muse. Don’t give up. If you love this form of writing, just be patient. Eventually you’ll find like minded people. Stay sexy and don’t let the frustration and drama get to you.