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fairyniceyeah · 4 months

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💎Day 14: "What were you thinking?"

Surrender/Human Shield/Outmatched

@juneofdoom

Day 13: "Wait!"

Summary: As SEVENTEEN are mobbed at the airport Seokmin is helpless to watch his members get hurt.

CW: mentions of panic, mobs, blood, injuries, emeto

Whumpee: Whole group

Caretaker: Whole group

Seokmin felt his skin crawl as they stepped out of the plane into a private area of the Incheon Airport. It was supposed to be a happy return, a celebration of a successful Japan schedule. Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling.

“That’s a lot of fans”, Vernon whispered next to him, nervously looking through the glass wall that separated them from the rest of the airport. While it was supposed to be a private area, the airport did benefit more from the see-through wall with fans milling about in hopes of catching glimpses of their favorite idols and basically keeping the airport afloat just with their expenses in food and drinks. The youngest rapper had never been a fan of crowds, easily feeling overwhelmed and claustrophobic.

Jihoon hummed in agreement, subconsciously sticking closer to Mingyu as he always did in these situations. It was his height, Seokmin supposed, that made him feel vulnerable as he - unlike their tallest - could barely see over the heads of the fans if that.

As Seokmin turned around to search for the 95 liners to alert them to the distressed members he found them already deep in conversation. Seungcheol looked worried but had a comforting hand on Jeonghan’s arm. Joshua was frowning, gesturing. Seeing they were preoccupied with something, Seokmin decided to stick close to Vernon himself, seeing that Mingyu was with Jihoon.

The leader of the hired bodyguards gave the signal to move and that was when Seokmin realized what had the hyungs so concerned. There was only one bodyguard for two members, if that. All their managers were there, too, of course and they all trusted them but their job was not necessarily crowd control or bodily force.

“Hold up”, Seungcheol called quietly from the back and they all turned to stop to look at him. “Since the bodyguard and member ratio is reduced today due to illness, I want us to keep close. Everybody, walk together with another member, build rows of two. Watch out for your partner and if anything is amiss, let us know immediately. Jeonghan and Joshua will go in the front. I’ll stay in the back.”

The members did as Seungcheol suggested and the bodyguards seemed to appreciate his intervention, nodding at the leader. Jeonghan and Joshua passed the group to stand at the front. Seokmin offered his own hand to Vernon who - very grateful for it - pressed it tightly.

Somehow the two of them ended up at the back of the group, just before Seungcheol standing alone. From there they could see the other pairs Joshua and Jeonghan, Hoshi and Seungkwan, Dino and Wonwoo, Mingyu and (likely, they couldn’t see) Woozi, Jun and Minghao.

“Who will look out for you, hyung?”, Seokmin asked, mustering Seungcheol.

“Don’t worry about me, Min-ah”, the leader said in what sounded like it was supposed to be a reassuring voice. It didn’t help calm Seokmin’s bad feeling at all.

Deafening screams greeted them as soon as they walked out of the private area. Vernon had been right. It was a lot of fans. Much more than they had expected and were usual. Way too many for the area and especially with so few guards. They were easily outmatched.

“Hyung”, Vernon whispered, pressing himself tighter to Seokmin.

“It’s okay”, Seokmin tried to set his mind at rest. He might have succeeded more if he hadn’t doubted his own words.

“Don’t worry, you two”, Seungcheol said from behind them, his hand coming to rest on Vernon’s back for a brief second. “Hyung won’t let any harm come to you.”

They made it maybe halfway to the safety of the cars when all hell broke loose. It had been a tense atmosphere and Seokmin had never before been so bothered by the flashes and clicks of phones so close to his face. The bodyguards and their managers did their best to keep the fans away. But the area was just too small.

Every fan just wanting to get a glimpse of their idol, was pushed back into the crowd as the front guards made them part like the red sea. But that pushing turned into more pushing from fans behind. And more pushing from the fans further behind.

Seokmin wanted to do something, be able to beam them to the cars already, when out of a sudden Vernon’s hand was violently pulled out of his grip. Both of them yelled - Seokmin in shock and Vernon in absolute terror. A fan had grabbed onto him, having found an opening between the barrier and using the opportunity to pull the idol into the maelstrom of panicked crowd. A crowd that suddenly had the opportunity to touch and be close to a SEVENTEEN member.

All Seokmin could do was scream again as Vernon was dragged into the hungry sea and a manager wrapped his arms around the vocalist’s middle to stop him from following. The last thing he saw before the crowd close into itself, more interested in vulnerable rapper than the protected members, was Seungcheol diving behind the terrified maknae-line member.

“Let me go”, Seokmin yelled at the manager, fighting against him with all his strength, scratching and kicking as hard as he could, “let me go to him.” The manager just held him tighter, pressing onwards to the VIP entrance area and away from his brothers.

“Seokmin-ah, Seokmin-ah”, somebody called. Joshua. The manager pushed him into the arms of the third oldest before gripping onto the hands of the other managers building a protective circle around the members and pushing them further into the VIP entrance area.

“Hyung”, Seokmin cried, clutching at the older, “Hansol-ah and Cheollie-hyung…”

“They will be fine”, Joshua said, his voice trembling and betraying his own fears even as he pulled Seokmin along further.

It took a few more overwhelming minutes before they were huddled together in the VIP section, separated from the fans. In that time Seokmin hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of the other members, his face buried in Joshua’s chest but now he stepped back. They had ended up at the far right of the group.

Behind him and Joshua, Jeonghan was yelling at a manager, arguing, and trying to push back into the crowd to their missing members.

On their left Mingyu was holding back a totally distraught Seungkwan, crying for his best friend and their leader. It was clear as day that both of them were terrified but the older rapper held the vocalist tight so he had no chance to run back into the fray.

Jun was whispering to a crying Minghao, trying to calm him down amidst his own fear.

Hoshi, while crying like there was no tomorrow himself, was guiding a shaking and ashen gray Jihoon through breathing exercises.

Then his heart stopped. Counting the members in his head, Seokmin realized that even - including Vernon and Seungcheol - he only got to eleven.

Dino was missing. So was Wonwoo

“Hyung”, he called to Jeonghan, “where are Dino-yah and Won…?”

He interrupted himself as two managers parted from their defense line and … Dino and Wonwoo came stumbling through, collapsing on the ground together. Dino had his arms wrapped around his hyung, acting more like the protector than the protegée. Curious, Wonwoo was seriously whipped for their maknae, his biggest protector, and he never lost his cool as long as no blood was involved.

As Seungkwan and Mingyu threw themselves at the new arrivals, crying and checking them over, Seokmin realized the issue.

Wonwoo’s glasses were missing, likely knocked off in the crowd. He didn’t want to imagine how the rapper must have felt - probably terrified, surrounded by panicked people and unable to see. Chan, now that he understood they were safe, burst into panicked tears as he clutched at Seungkwan’s shirt. He seemed otherwise uninjured - unlike Wonwoo who now pointed Mingyu’s hands that were hovering over him, and unsure if he was allowed to touch, to his ankle. He probably had tripped.

Jeonghan gave up the discussion with the manager and fell to his knees beside the two maknaes sorely missing their third and held onto them tightly.

“Move to the cars”, a manager ordered. A few members - like Hoshi and Woozi and Joshua - seemed relieved to get out of the sight of the crowd, while others - Jeonghan, Dino and Seungkwan - protested loudly, wanting to wait for the missing members.

“Seokmin, get them up”, Jun called and nodded at the others. Seokmin was confused for a moment why he was burdened with such a task - he was a maknae line member himself and the hyungs did their best to leave them out of stuff like this. But then he understood - he wasn’t crying or shaking or injured. He was just numb, now that the crowd had no hold over him anymore, well enough to help the incapacitated members.

While Jun helped Minghao to his feet and guided out a limping Wonwoo with Mingyu’s help, Seokmin knelt down by the terrified trio. “Hannie-hyung. Kwan-ah. Dino-yah”, he called to them, “we need to go.”

“Not without Cheollie-hyung and Hansol-ah”, Seungkwan yelled, causing Seokmin to flinch. But he pressed on.

“Seungcheol and Vernon would want us to be safe”, he said, not realizing how awful, how final those words sounded. Seungkwan whimpered but Jeonghan nodded, understanding that Seokmin was at his wits end.

“Let’s go”, he said and together they walked out, leaving without being thirteen.

Outside of the airport it was a totally different atmosphere. The air was crisp and fresh, no bodies around them fighting. There was so much space. Seokmin helped usher the others into the cars. They had three vans booked, all eight-seaters so members and staff could comfortably be transported. A few body guards stood around, watching the area.

“Come on, get in”, Seokmin said gently and pushed the three into the van already containing Minghao. “Try to breathe.”

When he checked the other vans, he found the second one empty and only Joshua, Wonwoo and Mingyu in the third. Joshua had Wonwoo’s ankle in his lap, looking at the swollen appendage with worry. Mingyu was wiping away the steady tears dripping from Wonwoo’s lashes, occasionally pressing the tissue to his own eyes. Seokmin smiled tightly at them and then turned around to look for the missing members.

Jun, Hoshi and Woozi stood a little further away, likely trying to find some place to breathe easier and understand they were safe for now. Seokmin was about to approach them, coax them into the cars too, when Jihoon suddenly bent forward, retching into a gutter below him. Despite his own distaste for vomit and his usual need to stay far, far away, today he couldn’t be bothered to care. Instead he approached them, watching as Hoshi gently held Jihoon’s hair at the base of his neck and soothed him. In his backpack, he surprisingly hadn’t lost, Seokmin found a water bottle which he handed over to Jun. The chinese member nodded at him in thanks but shooed him away, likely not wanting to deal with the moment Seokmin’s brain caught up to his usual fear.

“Let’s go”, a loud voice called, “everybody to the cars now.”

As he whirled around, Seokmin saw the most beautiful sight in his life. There was Seungcheol, limping badly and his face bruised and in his arms he carried Hansol, who was clutching his hyung so tightly that even from the distance Seokmin could see that he was conscious, body tense in a way it wouldn’t be if he wasn’t.

Seungcheol ignored the worried calls coming from the cars, just walking on like a man on a mission.

“I want every member that needs to be in the hospital in the van Wonwoo is already in”, a manager called. “Who needs to go beside him, Seungcheol and Vernon?”

“Jihoon-hyung, I think”, Seokmin said, looking back over his shoulder to where Jihoon was still hyperventilating and obviously nauseous. “I don’t know if he got injured but he’s been panicking and was just sick. Dino-yah maybe too.”

“I don’t need to go”, Dino called, “I didn’t get hurt.”

“Alright, Mingyu, please go to one of the other vans, so we have some space”, the manager said. Seokmin frowned. Between Joshua, Mingyu and Wonwoo, there were four spaces left. Enough for Seungcheol, Vernon, Jihoon and a manager, not including the driver.

“Hyung?”, Seokimn asked, frowning. Maybe he had miscounted? Or did he want Hoshi or Jun to go with Jihoon?

“You’re going too, Min-ah”, the manager replied. Before Seokmin could tell him he was fine - how had he even come to such a conclusion - his vision swam and he felt his knees buckle.

“That’s why”, the manager said as he caught him against his chest and lifted him to his chest, “you’re hurt, even if you haven’t noticed yet. I bet you don’t even feel the bruises on your face or your split lip?”

Bruises? But as the manager said the words, Seokmin did become aware of how much his head was throbbing and he could taste the blood on his teeth now.

“Oh”, he whispered.

Hours later, all thirteen of them - after much begging on the members side and then much begging on the managers side to convince the hospital staff - were they all gathered in the hospital room Wonwoo, Seungcheol and Vernon shared.

Wonwoo was to be released in the evening, after the swelling in his foot came down and they were able to wrap the ankle in bandages. Mingyu had even remembered to bring his back-up pair of glasses with him. The tallest member was sitting on the bed next to Wonwoo, the older leaning sideways onto him.

Seungcheol with his face bruised and scratched, as well as having a hairline fracture in his cheekbones and a broken toe was to stay the night for observation. The leader hadn’t protested and they all could tell how much the day had drained him. He kept falling asleep on Jeonghan’s shoulder, Joshua asleep on Jeonghan’s lap in turn.

Vernon, by far, was the worst off. He’d been stepped on, his whole abdomen a littering of bruises, a grotesque painting. Even his face hadn’t been spared scratched by a high-heel. He had a slight concussion and was very, very high on pain meds - on one hand - and anti-anxiety medication -on the other. So far, as soon as the dose was starting to wear off did he slip into panic again, just like when Seungkwan left his side. He’d done that exactly once to use the bathroom and the panic it had caused had not been pretty. So he had stayed sitting up on the bed, Vernon’s head in his lap and running lazy fingers through his hair. Chan was sitting beside them and Jun and Minghao had somehow also curled up on the bed, not having let go of one another since they had arrived.

Woozi was curled up on a chair by the window, a breathing mask still over his face. He had started to hyperventilate on and off - every time somebody came too close to him - so to be safe he was still hooked up to the machine. He hadn’t gotten sick since the airport, unlike Dino - who had after it had finally really hit him what happened - rushed off multiple times to throw up, Jun or Joshua hot on his heels to comfort him.

Hoshi was sitting on a small table in the corner, close to Jihoon but also far away enough to give him the space he had requested, looking exhausted and also half-asleep.

Seokmin himself had been declared fine by the doctors - the feared concussion had not been proven by an MRI. His eye was slightly swollen shut from where he apparently had received an elbow to the face and his lip had been stitched but he was also high on pain meds, so he didn’t care much.

The TV was on, volume low enough for members to sleep but loud enough for other members to distract themselves with it. Seokmin lazily looked up from his seat at Mingyu’s feet as the news started.

Maybe they should have realized that it wasn’t the smartest idea.

“After arriving from an overseas schedule the K-Pop group Seventeen has been mobbed at the Incheon Airport”, the reporter said in a monotone voice. A shaky video was blended in, obviously taken by smartphones. By fans, Seokmin realized with horror. People had filmed while they were so terrified for one another.

His heart stuttered in his chest as he saw the scenes he hadn’t been able to see earlier. The fan must have stood on the second floor and had zoomed in on the video, able to overview the crowd.

There Seungcheol was, standing protectively over a curled up figure - Vernon - helplessly on the ground. His face was littered with the same injuries that had been treated but even on the video, even knowing he was fine, it looked terrifying. He never wanted to imagine how Seungcheol felt at that moment - literally the only shield, a very human shield between his member and a mob of scared, panicked fans. His mind circled back to the same question over and over again: What were you thinking, hyung?

He knew that Seungcheol would always do his best to protect his members but this visible sign that he’d rather get hurt than let his members come to harm, it shook Seokmin to the core. He’d never seen anything like that before, such a raw promise. You really love us with all your heart, don’t you, hyung?

The vocalist hadn’t even noticed how hard he was shaking nor had he noticed Seungcheol waking up until the husky voice of the leader called: “It’s alright, Seokmin-ah. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine. It’s in the past.”

Tears in his eyes and whine in his throat, Seokmin threw himself over to the other bed, careful not to jostle Wonwoo’s foot or hit an injured part of Seungcheol, and fell into his leader’s arms.

“I was so scared, hyung”, he whispered as Seungcheol held him tightly, rocking them side to side with the leader’s shoulder lightly touching Jeonghan’s every time he moved to the left.

“I know, baby”, Seungcheol said, “but we’re safe now. Everything is fine.”

It wasn’t not yet, with so many of them injured and scared. Meetings for safety briefings laid before them and Seokmin felt terrible for wherever would have to face Seungcheol’s wrath for not sending enough guards. But as thirteen together? They were fine.

ATEEZ’s perspective: Day 3: "Please don’t leave me" - Alternate

Day 15: "Get me out of here!"

Masterlist link: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's June of Doom 2024

Notes: Wow, this turned out longer than expected. I have never been to Incheon Airport so this is my own creativity.

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lvlystars · 1 year

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not your usual saturday night — x.mh

pairing. xu minghao x fem!reader

genre. fluff(?)

summary. when saturday rolls around, minghao expects to be sitting in his apartment, all wrapped up in his blankets with a steaming cup of tea beside him. he certainly did not expect to find himself at a damn frat party, holding a can of beer while a girl's breasts are being pushed up in front of him (on accident, of course). never in a million years did he imagine that. but here we are.

warnings. frat party activities mentioned. alcohol consumption.

wc. 1.6k (FUCK IT UP LESGOO)

minghao huffs out in boredom as he rolls his eyes, unable to tolerate the amount of sweaty bodies around him, yelling and whooping at two people who were grinding up against one another in the living room of the house. to the left of him, he spotted a guy—not any older than minghao is—handing a bag of some kind of white powder (probably drugs) to a younger looking kid, a sophomore at most. along the stairs, he sees two guys making out, their intoxicated smiles and giggles muffled by the blaring music that would probably get the cops here in the next few hours.

so to put it short: not his usual saturday night.

minghao makes a beeline to the kitchen, getting himself a drink from the fridge. he eyes a couple of beers and hard seltzers, and a large bottle of vodka at the bottom. sighing out, he opts for the beer, reaching out for the blue can before he feels a hand on his shoulder. turning his head around, he’s met with the captain of the varsity football team, otherwise known as kim mingyu. but people really prefer to just call him “the tall guy”—not to his face, of course, but who can blame them? the man is literally 6’2.

“minghao? didn’t really take you for a college-frat-parties kinda guy.” mingyu teases, flashing his canine smile at the chinese boy, making the latter just smile and laugh a little. “yeah, i’m really not. seokmin dragged me here.” minghao scratches the back of his head, closing the fridge behind him as he faces mingyu.

“of course he did.” mingyu laughs, patting his back. “alright, i’m gonna join the others in the living room. wanna come?” minghao shakes his head. “no, it’s fine. i’ll just be hanging around here for a bit. it feels really stuffy in there.” mingyu visibly deflates at minghao’s rejection, but he just shrugs, smiling again. “it’s alright. i get what you mean. well, if you wanna join us, we’ll just be chilling there all night.” mingyu says before walking off towards the living room.

“fuck you, seokmin.” minghao curses, cracking open his can of beer before taking a swig of it.

“but it’s my girlfriend’s best friend’s birthday!” seokmin—minghao’s best friend since high school—yells. minghao rolls his eyes at the korean boy’s attempt at getting him to come to just another random party.

“and why do i have to come?” minghao asks, raising his eyebrow.

“i heard the birthday girl is single…” minghao groans as seokmin wiggles his eyebrows at him.

“look, seokmin. i appreciate you being the living version of tinder for me, but i’m not interested in dating, more or less getting involved with anyone at the moment.”

“OH COME ON! please?! give it just ONE chance! if it doesn’t work out, i promise i won’t help your sad, single butt anymore!”

bless his heart for not saying ‘ass’.

and that’s how he ended up in a frat house party with almost half the arts department population in it.

he walks off into the house, trying to find any empty rooms, but in almost every room he looks into, there are people getting high, getting dicked down, or people just hanging out with their friends. finally, he finds a room that’s just occupied by a girl sitting at a desk, the room illuminated by her study lamp.

“hello?” minghao asks as he closes the door, looking around. “hi?” she says back, looking up from her laptop screen. the girl didn’t seem out of place at all. in fact, she was wearing a sparkly green dress that fell off her shoulders, and had a deep neckline. the orange light of the lamp beside her gave the girl a warm glow as she blinked at minghao, who just stood there, before he realises that he’s just been blatantly eyeing down some random girl who was probably trying to get work done.

“oh! uh, i’m sorry, it was just a bit too much out there, so…y’know.” minghao smiles, gesturing towards the room.

“yeah i get it.” the girl says, smiling back at him.

minghao couldn’t help but notice how sober the girl sounded, and maybe also how her voice sounded pretty husky and attractive when it’s resounding off such an empty study room, only filled with a desk, small couch, and empty shelves where textbooks and novels should be.

“you wanna maybe sit down? there should be a couch over there. or i can move to the couch and you can-“

“no! it’s…it’s fine. i’m fine with the couch. thanks.” minghao turns down her offer and goes to sit on the couch.

the two college kids just continue to sit in silence, minghao pulling out his phone and just mindlessly scrolling through his instagram page as the girl continues to work on whatever she was typing away at on her laptop, until she decides to break the silence.

“i’m sorry, it’s probably so awkward. what’s your name?”

“minghao. you?”

“y/n.”

“what major?” minghao asks, putting away his phone as he showed more interest in the conversation than the dog freaking out over a balloon on his phone.

“psych.”

“okay now i’m scared of you.” minghao chuckles, making y/n laugh out loud, shutting her laptop before she leans back.

“i get that a LOT. i just don’t understand why you hate us?!” y/n whines, crossing her arms as her breasts push up, the action making minghao flustered as he looks away.

“i-it’s just that…you guys can like…read our minds! that’s creepy, dude! like if i’m doing a certain action, y’all know what’s going on in our minds and like you know what to do!” minghao throws his arms in the air, accidentally slamming one of them on the shelf behind him. he hisses in pain as he brings down his arm, noticing that he had hit his hand on the sharp edge of the shelf.

“oh shit are you okay?” y/n immediately gets up, rushing over to minghao to hold his arm, turning on the light to get a better look at any damage.

as y/n hovered over him, minghao blushes as he tries to distract himself from the view in front of him: y/n’s chest just being pushed up in front of his face. although hers weren’t as large as some others minghao had seen, he couldn’t lie that they still were just as distracting.

“i-i think i’m okay, y/n.” minghao lowly mutters, making the girl notice their position. she immediately pulls away, pulling up her bodycon dress over her chest as she looks down, mumbling an apology.

instead of saying anything, minghao pats the empty spot beside him on the couch, the two once again sitting in silence before speaking out his thoughts.

“you know what, this party is kinda boring. you wanna like, go over to my place, or we can hang out at yours?” minghao speaks up, looking at y/n, to which she looks stunned.

“i’m sorry, what?”

“i…i just asked…if you wanna…go to my…place…’cause this party is…boring.” minghao just quietly trails off as the girl stares back at him, a dejected yet amused look in her eyes.

“this is…this is my birthday party.” y/n says, making minghao’s eyes go wide.

“oh. OH. OH I AM SO SORRY-“

“it’s fine, my best friend planned the entire thing. i guess she used my birthday as an excuse to party, to be honest. she’s probably making out with her suckass boyfriend. what’s his name again? seok…what? seokjin?”

“it’s seokmin.”

“that’s the one!”

“...he’s my friend.”

“oh…oh shit i’m so sorry, i didn’t–” minghao shakes his head as he laughs softly, his eyes forming into crescents as the ends crinkle. “no, no you’re good. he really does suck up to her like no tomorrow. it’s so sickening sometimes.” minghao brushes it off, making the girl soften at his nature.

“i guess we’re both even on accidentally insulting the wrong party.” minghao starts giggling, his laugh sounding more like a pretty twinkle in her ears, and y/n finds herself being entranced by the way minghao’s eyes form crescents when he smiles widely, and the way his teeth look so perfect and cute as he beams. the way–

y/n snaps out of her little trance when minghao snaps his fingers in front of her, making her blink twice before apologising, flustered at how she was just caught staring at probably one of the prettiest guys she’s ever seen since she stepped foot into campus.

“i was just saying that those two—seokmin and your friend—are just like each other.” minghao gestures towards the door behind y/n, making her chuckle as she nods in agreement.

“they really are, it’s crazy.” she agrees, laughing at herself as she distracts herself by playing with her fingers, trying to ignore the heat creeping into her cheeks. “funny enough, seokmin was trying to set me up with you, playing all cupid or whatever.” minghao chuckles, making the girl’s eyes widen.

“no way! hyejin was going to set me up with you too! saying that you would be just my type and shit!” y/n gasps, throwing her arm onto minghao’s shoulder, making the poor guy freeze and hyperfixate on the way her touch made him shiver (in a good way, of course). clearing his throat, minghao speaks up.

“i’m your type?” he wiggles his eyebrows, making the girl bashfully look away as she retreats her hand, smiling to herself. before she can say anything, minghao grabs a hold of her hand again, grasping it firmly. “if i’m your type, then do you want to go on a date with me? because you seem like my type too, y/n.” minghao smiles with reassurance, squeezing her hand for comfort.

the silence prolongs before y/n smiles again.

“yes, i would love that, minghao.”

tags 🏷️ —

@wqnwoos @etherealyoungk @amxlia-stars @seuonji @spicyseonghwas @jaehunnyy @kyeomyun @leo-seonghwa @star1117-archives

networks 🔗 —

@preciousillusions-net @cacaokpop-fics @caratsland @k-labels

SVT WORKS

send an ask or drop a comment if you want to be added to my general taglist!

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penaltyboxboxbox · 4 months

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dave…mclaren’s latest insta post. zaklando off the charts

wow anon i cant believe you compelled me to unblock them to go see this post

the caption and everything.........admin thinks theyre me.......

#i really should write a post miami fic of them 🚬🐸 cest la vie i need to find something positive out of it #zaklando #ask

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possibilistfanfiction · 2 years

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conservationist au already!? you write so fast dang (what are your secrets) (also it's okay if you want to keep them secret) (mostly i am excite for frog)

here she is! frog au! lol [ao3]

to see us blossom (while the green spreads like wings)

only our feet have been here, that i'm aware of. it's wild and remote and beautiful as can be. i just want to be quiet and love it. let it sink in. i'll be leaving the planet, sometime. and i'll miss it.

— dr. bruce means

'dr. silva,' diego bursts into your office, his hair fluffed and messy, 'i found someone for the expedition!'

'did you... run here?'

'yeah, from the lab.' he gulps a breath. 'i got excited.'

it's fucking awesome that diego, your favorite grad student, is coming on this expedition, but it's becoming a huge pain in the ass to plan — you try your hardest not to feel guilty about why, but it is mostly because of you — and is starting to feel more and more impossible by the day. you don't want to get your hopes up: you don't have that much funding, and it's starting to seem a little bit impossible logistically, even with dr. superion's help. but you'll humor him: 'so who are we taking with us?'

he waits a breath, practically bursting at the seams. 'beatrice zhang.'

'the photographer?'

'she's an experienced climber! you follow her on instagram, right?'

you have gratuitously followed beatrice zhang on instagram for the last four years — for her photography, because it is some of the most beautiful and thoughtful you've ever seen, regardless of the subject matter, but also for the occasional photo of herself, surfing or climbing or behind the camera, particularly delightful if it features her arms in a tank — but diego doesn't need to know that part. 'yes, her work is wonderful for lots of conservationist efforts.' diplomatic, you think, mentally patting yourself on the back.

'and she's hot.'

'i didn't say that.'

diego rolls his eyes.

'anyway, how would we even get her to come with us?'

diego grins. 'i emailed her.'

'what?'

he takes out his phone and shows you her instagram, which, indeed, does have an ‘email’ button, which, obviously, you've never paid attention to before. 'she hasn't responded yet, or her team or whatever, i guess, but i only sent it ten minutes ago. and it went to a legit address and hasn't bounced back, so, i just figured, why not?'

even though, last year, you had had a successful time in guyana, finding and recording a few new species, there are a lot of why not's, really: your GA probably shouldn’t be making these choices without consulting you first, but you don’t really care about that so much as your mobility is more limited than ever lately. the weather probably won't hold so who the fuck knows if it'll even be possible to reach to spot at all. and, plus, it's for a frog. one tiny frog, that may or may not exist — (you're sure it does) — in the middle of a jungle on the top of a tepui that's never been climbed. it's... a little crazy, when you think through it now, way crazier than it had seemed when you wrote the grant for funding last year. most people, even world renowned war-turned-wildlife photographers with insane biceps — especially them, probably — aren't interested in a project like this.

'well, the least that will happen is she doesn't respond,' you figure; you don't believe in any religion and life had dealt you quite the shitty hand for a long time, so if there's any balancing it out, maybe this will be a strike in the good column for you. so, 'yeah, you're right. why not?'

it's two days later when your phone vibrates about seven times; you roll over in... some girl's bed? okay, solid night, then, and when you look over at her, she's beautiful and fast asleep. you remember your fifth shot of tequila and vaguely how great riding her dick had been; you find your phone graciously plugged into a charger on the nightstand on your side of the bed, and when you go to the bathroom you see condoms in the small trash can — so, all in all, a success. your back is sore but not terrible and you groan when you see it's only six am, but there's texts from diego and you have a policy not to ignore those, no matter how stupid they occasionally can be.

these are unequivocally not stupid, though, because they start with dr. silva! and then ava!!!!! ava! and devolve into some emojis and then omg oh my god and finally check your email, which is really the only helpful part of that — but they're not stupid because when you do check your email, you see a forwarded message from diego first. it's a cordial reply to the email he had sent to beatrice zhang, from her, it seems, asking politely to be put in touch with the lead biologist on the expedition if possible. which, you remember with the tiniest bit of a happy jolt, is you. you open the newest email, which is, in fact, connecting you and beatrice. she’s already responded, and it’s kind of wild because, from the three short sentences asking if you could set up a video chat to talk more about the expedition or, if she happened to be close to where you were in the world, even meet near your office or lab for coffee, she sounds, well, at least interested. you don't think someone like her — someone who has photographed war, and famine, and wildfires, and, miraculously last year, a snow leopard and her cub — would even respond to something she didn't care at all about.

holy shit, you text diego. you need a cup of coffee, or, like, maybe three cups of coffee, and a breakfast sandwich before you can respond to that email, so you decide to get a move on. plus, it feels unhinged to respond to it from your phone, so you need to go home anyway. you should also maybe definitely shower, you think, as you look at yourself in the mirror: your makeup is a little smudged and your hair is an unrepentant mess. still hot though, you think when you quietly find your clothes and put your bra on, a deep teal that makes your boobs look awesome. thankfully, you were just in high-waisted, loose jeans and a cropped sweater last night, so after you wash your face and get dressed, it's not really giving walk of shame — walk of pride, thank you very much.

you google maps where you are and, thankfully, it's a nice enough morning and a short enough distance that you can walk to your favorite cafe and then to your apartment without having to call an uber. you grab your cane from where you'd left it propped up by the wall near the bed, and then, because you're definitely not an asshole, gently shake your, well, one night stand's shoulder. her eyes are green, and you do remember that much.

'i gotta go do some work, sorry.'

she nods. 'right. doctor.'

well, maybe you're a little bit of an asshole, but it's not your fault that people think you're a very important neurosurgeon or something. you are very important in cataloguing biodiversity, so you just roll with it. 'thanks for a great time.'

she nods with a soft smile, and it's nice to kiss her, gently, goodbye.

'wait, you're meeting with her? here?'

'yes,' you say, mostly annoyed at camila's vaguely unhinged energy. 'she's close by train, so it's better to meet in person.'

'oh my god,' camila says. she's one of your best friends and probably the smartest, most tech-savvy person you know. when you figured out how helpful it would be to have someone operate drones for you on this expedition, you hadn't even bothered to ask anyone else.

'don't you know her?'

'well, sure,' camila confirms. 'i did some drone work for her a few months ago in the bahamas when she was photographing sharks. but, like, she's amazing, ava.'

'well, hopefully she'll say yes.'

'you'll have to charm her.'

'i'm very good at charming hot women.'

camila rolls her eyes.

'i'm also very good at charming people to go find frogs with me.'

she waits for a beat and then relents. 'well, i suppose that's true.'

'come on,' you say, 'help me make a slide deck. i feel like she'd think that's sexy or something.'

'you're ridiculous.'

'it'll work, i'm telling you.'

beatrice zhang in soft wool pants and closed-toed birkenstocks and a crewneck sweater sitting ramrod straight at the decent cafe just off campus near your office is, quite honestly, not a sight you'd ever expected to see, but it is kind of a miracle. or, at least that's what it had felt like, when she had emailed that she was, actually, a few hours away by train and wouldn't mind a day trip to meet in person. you're glad that you wore your best professor outfit today, flared navy slacks that make your ass look divine, and a crisp white button up that you tucked in tight and rolled up at the sleeves, a camel peacoat and expensive loafers that dr. salvius had gotten you when you passed your dissertation two years ago. you usually wear... well, not this — you reserve this for conferences and presentations — but, if looking professional helps beatrice sign onto this project, so be it.

and, well, maybe it's not strictly professional to undo another button as you had walked to the cafe, and, like, you don't actually know if beatrice is gay or not, but you spot her and smile and wave and her eyes get big for a moment, and you’re afraid you’ve got it all wrong: you’re small and young and pretty and, sometimes, people think that disqualifies you from being smart. but then her eyes rake over you and linger, for just a moment, on your chest, so you're probably right. if this helps too, so be it.

you wave and she stands very formally; she clearly recognizes you, which makes you feel a small thrill of satisfaction. 'hey, glad you found it okay.'

'i've had much more difficult locations to navigate before, although the freshman can be a bit scary.'

it's deadpan, so it takes you a split second, but then you laugh and offer your hand. 'i'm dr. silva.' you want to roll your eyes at your title, which you normally feel quite proud of, all of a sudden. 'ava, any pronouns.'

'dr. silva,' she says anyway, and shakes your hand firmly. 'it's a pleasure. i'm beatrice, she/her.'

only after do you sit, a little sprawled, and prop your cane up on the table, does she sit too, and then looks down at the menu. 'do you recommend anything? i haven't had lunch yet.'

'well, if you're like, uh... —' falling prey to diet culture, you think, but you don't know beatrice at all, so — 'wanting a vegetable forward option, their salads and quinoa bowls are okay.'

she wrinkles her nose. you hide a smile in the collar of your coat.

'but their kimchi fried chicken sandwich is my favorite.'

'and the slaw?'

'well, i'm a fries girl.'

she smiles over the top of her menu, just slightly.

'but my friend likes the slaw, and i trust her.'

she nods and sets her menu down, her wrists resting on the edge of the table, her hands clasped. a practical smart watch, no wedding band. her full attention is on you and it makes you feel a little breathless.

you're saved from saying something incredibly dumb — you're very, very smart, and you're actually very good at flirting, but beatrice zhang is hot as hell and a certified badass and you also really want her to be, like, your colleague — when your server comes to your table. you both order, and you get the fried chicken sandwich too, even though you already ate lunch an hour ago — diego's always happy to eat your leftovers out of the fridge in the lab anyway.

you're not saved from saying something marginally dumb, though, because beatrice kindly thanks your server and hands over her menu and then looks at you again, fully focused.

'i like your hair,’ you say, instead of, well, anything else. you want to groan and slam your head down into the table, or something, because beatrice's brows knit together and she brings one hand to run through her floppy middle part, short in the back and on the sides, pushing it out of her eyes.

'oh,' she says, softly and definitely confused. 'thank you.'

you're sure you're blushing. 'sorry, i just, like, the last time you posted — you had long hair.'

it's mortifying, the moment you say it, because you can mentally calculate the last time beatrice posted a picture of herself on her instagram, and it was definitely over a year ago.

she also seems to realize this, because her confusion turns to a smug little smile that could probably eat you alive. you'd definitely let it.

'i read about the last species of frog you discovered, when the article came out.'

that was also over a year ago, and you laugh, tension releasing from your shoulders. 'so that’s how you knew what i looked like.’

‘sure.’

to be fair, the article did include a picture of you, muddy and sweaty and overjoyed, holding a tiny frog in the palm of your hand, but, ‘did you google me?’

‘i only take on projects, at this point, that i find interesting.’

‘so you think i’m interesting.’

she raises a brow, a scar that also wasn’t there over a year ago running an inch above it and then straight through, cleanly healed but not faded yet, stopping right on the top of her cheek — thankfully your brain didn't comment on that, even though it's kind of hot too. ‘i think that fact that you've already identified six new species of frog two years into an assistant professorship is interesting.’

'so that's a yes.' you grin. ‘want me to tell you about the project, then?'

she thanks your server when he brings her water and your lemonade of the day, and a coffee, and then leans forward in her seat. ‘yes,' she says. 'i do.’

you tell her about it as coherently as you can: you're sure there's a brand new species of frog — maybe more than one, if you're lucky — on the top of a land mass deep in the forest in guyana. you've secured enough funding to make it happen; bare bones, but still. you have diego and yasmine, your grad students, and michael, another assistant professor in your apartment who's helped you on expeditions before, mostly by carrying a bunch of shit. you've gotten camila — who beatrice is also very excited to work with again — to sign on to do tech work for you. dr. superion and dr. salvius are helping from here.

'so, anyway, i need you to climb the tepui.'

beatrice sits back when you're done, flicks through a few slides on your laptop that you'd handed to her with pictures of the jungle, the cliff face, the budget outlines and logistics and equipment you anticipate you'll need.

'do you know a lot about climbing?'

it's kind — to not assume that you don't; to not expect you to either. you shake your head no.

'i'm an alpinist, for the most part,' she says, 'which means that i climb, well —' she pauses.

'no need to be modest for me.'

she offers a small smile. 'i've climbed eight of the ten tallest mountains in the world.'

hot, you think, but you take a deep breath instead and say, 'that's impressive.' nailed it.

'yes, well.' she blushes. 'thank you. but this kind of climbing is traditional climbing — big wall climbing.'

'oh.' you frown. 'so, you can't do it?'

'i can,' she says, 'and i'd like to. i think i know enough of biology to be marginally helpful, and i can certainly photograph the expedition.'

your heart soars, warming your whole body, and you take a bite of your lukewarm sandwich to hide your smile.

'but i'll need a team. i'm confident that i'll be able to get up the wall, but i'm not experienced enough at this kind of climbing to lead on all of these passes.'

'we might not have the funds to pay much, if you bring on more people.'

she shakes her head. 'i have access to plenty of discretionary funds, so that shouldn't be a problem.'

'that's hot.' well, you tried.

she laughs, thank god. 'i just wanted to make sure that you and your team are okay with me bringing other people on.'

'as long as they aren't, like, shitty, you know. racist, homophobic, ableist. all that stuff.'

she nods, very seriously. 'i can assure you that, while one of my climbing partners is inclined to be an asshole, it's always done with respect toward important identities. she's more annoying than anything. and my other partner is the best person i know.'

'well, other than me, now.'

you can tell beatrice is torn between smiling and rolling her eyes; she does a bit of both. 'and, as far as logistics go, i could easily provide a helicopter to get us in as far as possible. less of a hike.'

it's impossible that beatrice didn't see your cane. 'i have adaptive equipment for myself. i can do the hike.'

but her brows knit together. 'yes, i assumed so: you're leading the expedition. i just meant, for my team at least, the fewer miles we have to bring photography and climbing gear in a jungle, the better. it's heavy, and then we have to do a major climb.'

'oh.' you bite your bottom lip. 'that makes sense. sorry, people suck sometimes.'

'i imagine so.' she looks at you very sincerely. 'i'm sorry.'

you wave her off. 'thanks. it is what it is, though.'

beatrice doesn't try to argue, although you can tell that maybe she wants to. 'anyway, whatever you think will help your team, and whatever will help mine, that falls outside of your grant funds, i can cover.'

'that's — are you sure?'

she nods. 'quite.'

'where did you get these discretionary funds?' you can't help asking.

'a bad man,' she says, leaning forward and whispering dramatically. it makes you laugh.

'ooh, did you kill him? warlord?'

'alas, no. my father, and he's already dead.'

'ah.' you snap your fingers. 'well, if another opportunity comes up, you just let me know. i have tons of lethal neurotoxins in my lab. i'm always down to... you know — murder —' you whisper — 'a billionaire. long haul ethics, you know?'

she nods very solemnly, fighting a smile. 'i'll keep that under advisement.'

you fight the urge to ask her for a drink, and you definitely stare at her mouth a little too long, but then you get it together and offer your hand. 'well, partners?'

she shakes it, hers strong and rough with callouses. the thought sends a little shiver up your spine, but you valiantly ignore it. 'partners.'

beatrice invites you, after a few days of emailing back and forth to create an updated budget and logistics plan, to meet at a climbing gym. it's to meet her other two team members first. before you all get together with your main crew for dinner afterward. she'd given you their names, headshots, and very formal bios, which you had kind of loved: lilith, who, according to beatrice's bio, will be the lead climber. when you google her, you find out that she's, like, a world champion big wall climber, so that bodes well. and then mary, another photographer and world class marksman — I know this isn't particularly relevant, beatrice had included as a footnote, but it is quite impressive — and avid climber too.

you're hopeful about it all, and you're hopeful that tonight maybe she just wants to see you alone, and to have you watch her climb. there's, like, a two percent chance you'll physically be able to climb, really, but that's fine. she'd texted you about it, far less formal than her perfectly punctuated emails, so that's a good sign. and she'd posted a recent picture someone took of her — a candid, petting the trunk of an elephant peacefully — on her instagram too. maybe that was scheduled — beatrice seems like the kind of person who would schedule instagram posts — but a girl can hope, you know? you liked it one hour and fourteen minutes after she posted, from the lab's social media account and not your personal one, so you figure you've handled this all perfectly. you're great, beatrice is a colleague, and you've got this.

you're stressed about what to wear to a climbing gym and then to get dinner afterward, although there's probably a locker room or something, but it's fine. you're hot in anything. (or nothing. not that the night is going to go there.) you settle on tight leggings you wear to the gym and a sports bra, a cropped jacket on over. it's, like, cute and femme, but also practical. you brush on some mascara and put part of your hair into a little bun so it won't fall into your eyes, and you pack a spare change of clothes in a canvas tote — slacks and a nice bra and a t-shirt that hugs your body perfectly along with a pair of platform converse and an army-green overshirt — in case everyone else changes before going to dinner.

you grab your cane and head out the door.

if you fall to your death, it's definitely not going to be because of your back or legs. it's going to be because beatrice is in loose pants that seem comfortable for climbing and a tight racerback tank, and when you walk in, she's hanging by one arm on a short wall, just chilling out there, before she seems to decide what she wants to do. she brings her legs up to find footholds and then she's almost upside down, holding onto the wall with both hands calmly and moving so fluidly — a leg stretching out, her chalked fingers grasping onto a tiny hold. there's a delicate tattoo along her right forearm, all linework, and there are scars all over her left shoulder, running down to her elbow from what you can see: some are jagged and some are clean, neat, like surgical incisions. they don't seem to be limiting her progress at all, because she moves over the outhanging ledge easily and then to the top before just letting go and calmly rolling to her feet after she lands without a sound.

the — very hot — woman, lilith, you know from the headshot, sitting on the floor next to the wall, legs outstretched, leaning back on her palms set flat on the ground behind, and looking impossibly graceful while doing it, groans.

'getting stuck that long on a soft V8? come on, beatrice.'

beatrice, to her credit, just shrugs.

'shoulder?' the other woman asks.

'it's fine,' beatrice says. 'just getting back into the groove of your tiny walls.'

'oh, ha ha.'

'8091 meters will really change your perspective. you should try it sometime.'

'no thanks, i'll stick to my world records, thank you very much.'

they seem like they might physically fight, but then they both start laughing. weird, but you fuck with it.

beatrice turns, her hands on her hips, and, like, whew, god fucking bless, and then waves with a smile when she sees you. she walks over. 'hello ava.'

'hey,' you say, suddenly feeling a little awkward: you have not a single idea what you're doing. 'that was pretty impressive.'

'it was not,' the lilith says.

beatrice heads toward her anyway, and you follow. 'you can ignore her most of the time,' she says. 'dr. silva, this is lilith. lilith, dr. silva.'

'just ava.' you look at beatrice with a raised brow. 'please.'

lilith lazily salutes. 'ava, then. our illustrious leader, i hear. beatrice is making me lead a 1000 foot first ascent for a frog?'

'i'm not making you do anything,' beatrice says, and lilith grumbles like a teenager. it's funny, and you decide that you like her then and there, even if she scares you a little. she scares you a little more when she gracefully gets to her feet. she's tall and imposing, with a sharp face and long hair braided back, more wiry than beatrice's bigger muscles, but — you're sure — just as strong.

she offers her hand, which you shake. 'in my defense,' you say, 'it is a very cool frog. we can even name it after you, if you want.'

this seems to amuse her, because there's a hint of a smile on her face. 'i do like first ascents anyway.'

'see,' you say, 'that's the spirit.'

'ava,' beatrice says, 'no pressure, but i thought you might find it fun to try climbing. only if you'd like.'

'i'm, uh —' you gesture a little clumsily with your cane, the tips of your ears turning red. 'not sure that i can?'

'mary is an adaptive climbing instructor,' beatrice says, gesturing over to the taller wall with ropes connected through pulleys at the top, where a strong Black woman with perfectly neat braids and a dark outfit on is sorting through a few harnesses on the ground. 'but if you'd rather not climb, lilith and i are just finishing up. we can show you a few things we've been practicing in anticipation for the route, and then change and go to dinner.'

beatrice doesn't say either choice with any more or less merit, or worth, or importance: they're choices, and they're yours, and they won't affect how much she trusts you or believes in the expedition. lilith is checking her phone, uninterested at this point, and you decide, as you always have, to try.

'yeah, sure. i have no idea what adaptive climbing is, though.'

beatrice smiles and lilith stays on her phone, texting. 'that's fine. i have no idea about ninety percent of what you study.'

'i find that hard to believe. you're a wildlife photographer.'

she hums, softly touching your elbow and then walking toward mary. 'conservationist photography, sure. but i'm not a biologist.'

you make a note that beatrice doesn't really like wildlife photographer as a job title, although she was polite enough to not outright tell you so. 'well, i'm not a climber, so, quid pro quo?'

'ah, but you will be after tonight,' mary says, standing with a smile and offering her hand. 'dr. silva, right?'

'just ava,' you tell her, endeared by the fact that beatrice had probably been very formally saying dr. silva to her team this entire time. you shake mary's hand as firmly as you can and feel immediately a little more relaxed with the confident, easy way she holds her shoulders, her kind smile, her bright eyes.

'beatrice and i go way back,' she says. 'this project of yours sounds amazing. i was excited when she asked if i wanted in.'

'of course i'd ask,' beatrice says, bumping mary in the shoulder, who rolls her eyes fondly.

'well, beatrice said you were promised an adaptive climbing lesson.'

'if you're still in,' beatrice says, 'mary can show you the ropes.' she laughs at herself. 'literally.'

mary groans, but you're delighted. 'well, don't leave me hanging.'

'no. not another bad pun aficionado. please.'

beatrice grins and you sling an arm over her slightly sweaty and delightfully strong shoulders. she stiffens a little, and mary looks to her for a moment, and you're worried you've overstepped, and fast. but then beatrice relaxes.

you step back and gesture between the two of you happily. 'is this our thing now?'

'if trading terrible puns is wrong, then i don't want to be right.'

mary groans. 'not sure why i agreed to this trip after all.'

'we can name a frog after you, if you want,' you offer.

mary perks up. 'really?'

'yeah,' you say, 'sure. i've already named one after myself and given five others the dumbest, gayest names i could think of.'

'i'm back in, then.'

you laugh. 'well, let's rock and try not to roll.'

mary sighs, but beatrice's muffled laugh into your shoulder is way worth it.

Hi Ava, I'll be in town today to get some equipment squared away. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to have dinner if you're free. No shop talk, unless you want

you read and reread the text. you'd gone over shitty — expected, but still shitty — test results from an mri at your neurologist's earlier today, and, even though your team seemed to gel the other night, and all of your logistics are much less daunting now that beatrice has covered some of them financially, you had planned to stay home in your favorite boxers and most comfortable hoodie and wallow with a mediocre bottle of wine and good pizza and great reality tv.

but — hey, that sounds sweet. any places in mind?

beatrice texts back almost immediately. I don't know the area too well. You can pick, if you'd like

like, you're colleagues. you're about to be in one of the most remote parts of the world together in five days, with just a handful of other people, for weeks, maybe longer. you're the leader of the expedition but beatrice is, in important ways, a leader too. she's smart and beautiful and handsome and focused. if it's a date, incredible; if it's not, you still want to know her, you still want to spend time in her gentle warmth.

any food allergies/hatred?

she responds, No, I'm pretty adventurous

still, no clarity, but you set a place and time — one of your favorite tapas restaurants with a great little bar and, if it gets late enough, a good dance floor — and then set about getting ready. you eat a banana and take ibuprofen, which hopefully will help you be able to dance without much pain, and then get as pretty as you deem not desperate for a normal dinner with a colleague to be. which, it's you, so you're still very, very pretty, including one of your very best cleavage tanks. you finish your eyeliner perfectly and blow yourself a little kiss in the mirror. for good luck, or whatever. it's science.

'i got tired of it,' beatrice says. 'war photography is...' she pauses, and shakes her head, like she doesn't quite know what to tell you. you're totally sure she's not telling the truth, not really, but you know not to push, to spook her away. 'i could leave,' she settles on. 'as much as i hate the west, as much as i hate american and european, especially british, foreign policy, and its destruction of the world — i got to take pictures, and leave. at first, i thought it was something important i could do, to record the truth. political inherently, anti-imperialist, without being in politics. but, i was in occupied palestine, and, then, after —' she clears her throat, brings her fingers up to ghost over the scar through her brow — 'after. i couldn't do it. they're wars because of my history — our collective history — but they weren't my wars. they aren’t my wars. i can’t photograph them, at least right now. because i got to leave.'

you're horrified that she might start to cry — which isn't horrifying, not at all, you cry all the time, but you're supposed to be having a nice meal with your colleague and you had asked what you thought was an innocuous question about how she got into her more recent conservationist work, but clearly, not innocuous. you're starting to think, with a kind of clarity you very rarely have about anyone, that nothing about beatrice herself is innocuous. even her collarless button down and loose pants cuffed at the ankles — and the way all of her clothes, ever practical, drape with a tailored casualness on her small, strong frame — her easy hair that’s always actually perfectly trimmed and styled, the pattern of callouses on her hands: everything about her is intentioned. she means what she says. she means what she does. she means who she is.

'i started studying frogs with my mom,' you offer. it's true, and you mean who you are too.

she takes a sip of her water and nods in what you can tell is a quiet relief.

'my family is from manaus. my mom wasn't a scientist or anything, she was a bank teller, but when i was little, we'd go out often. she loved the rainforest, so, you know, i loved the rainforest.'

beatrice smiles gently. 'that sounds beautiful.'

you stare down at a croqueta and tear a small piece of it off, let the old ache fill your chest. 'she died, when i was seven.'

'oh,' beatrice says, 'i —'

'— it was a long time ago,' you say.

'sometimes that doesn't make it hurt any less.'

it's permission, to feel how you need to. most people accept when you tell them that and move on in relief, unwilling or unable to give you the space. but beatrice sits steadily. 'i broke my back, during the car accident we were in; we were visiting spain and, well. i had to relearn to walk. it took a really long time, and the orphanage i grew up in wasn't big on good physical therapy or really any care, so i taught myself what i could outside of school, got into university, got good medical care for the first time, like, ever. and i started studying biology. i went back to the rainforest as soon as i could, as a research assistant, and guyana was ... it's mind-blowing, bea.'

she weighs it all in contemplative silence for a moment, trying to decide what you need; what relief she can give. ‘i can't wait to see. i've always wanted to go.'

it is relief, what you feel, to be so immediately seen and understood. 'well, it's not just anyone i'd want to bring to the rainforest. my mom's favorites were always frogs, so —' you shrug, suddenly a little at a loss.

'so here we are, about to go find another.'

you pop the croqueta into your mouth, feel the dull pain in your chest dissipate when you realize you're close enough to beatrice's face to see her freckles. 'i have spinal stenosis, from the accident. it's progressing pretty fast, even with the best medical team, tech, surgeries, all that.'

she nods, like she understands what you mean without making you have to say it. it's a gift, bigger than she probably knows.

'i really want to find that fucking frog.'

'well,' she says, and lifts her glass, 'to finding our frog.'

'you know, it's bad luck to toast with water.'

she frowns. 'i don't usually drink.'

'you're very... controlled.'

she waits a beat and then grins. 'okay, one beer.'

'fuck yeah!'

'one, ava.'

'mhm. whatever you say, bea.'

'i have to take the train back,' beatrice argues — or, at least, tries to argue, because her eyes drift down to your boobs when you take your sweater off. success.

'you can just stay at my place. i have a mediocre ikea couch.'

'i can't let you sleep on your own couch.'

you laugh. 'oh, you definitely get the couch. i need all the good mattress support i can get before i sleep in a tent for a month.'

she smiles, gently and a little sad, but then the moment passes, a kind of grace. 'fine.'

'really?'

the set of her shoulders is looser but still sure, still so, so certain. 'yes.'

'hell yeah!' she laughs. 'shots?'

beatrice pulls a face but you order lemon drops anyway, mostly because vodka seems neutral and they're a good shot for people who don't drink often, sweet and tangy and fun. beatrice sniffs hers first — bold move, big mistake most of the time — but then nods in approval.

'to our frog,' you say, and she clinks her glass with yours. you touch it to the bartop and she follows suit, and then take it as smoothly as you can. it's an easy drink, so you don't have any problems, and she swallows without too much of a grimace. 'okay?'

'it's not bad,' she says, and your whole body hums, probably because of the two margaritas you had with dinner and this shot now, but also because there are freckles stretching across her cheeks and gold flecks in her brown eyes and if you let yourself look closely a tiny split on her lip, probably from the dry, cool air recently.

you shake yourself out of... whatever that was, and you order two more shots; she takes hers without hesitation this time, laughing when you spill a little down your cheek. she reaches a hand and wipes with her strong hand, tender, over the corner of your mouth, down to your jaw, and then clears her throat, takes her hand back quickly, although you want to ask for her to stay. but instead, 'come on, bea,' you say, 'let's dance!'

she only groans in a show of protest for posterity, you're sure, because she's very strong and you're very small and when you tug on her wrists she follows you easily.

you love to dance; you have always loved to dance: what little you remember of your mom is full of green, the rainforest and the wall of your living room. she would push back all the furniture to the edges, just the two of you in a small apartment, where you slept in the same bed and ate fruit from the trees outside. she would put on britney spears and jump around with you; she would put on stevie nicks and hold you in her arms, swaying around. she was full of light, from what you remember, always ready to read to you, in portugese and in english; to help you with your math and your handwriting. she cut your food for you and bought you new shoes when yours wore through the soles. she had been a good mom in the way good moms are: happy to hold your hand, to rub her nose against yours, to let you eat the batter off the spoon. you don't remember much, not before the accident, but it had been easy, and beautiful — the mist and orchids and green, all around.

beatrice is a little stiff until you start jumping around, fully out of time with the music, just to make her laugh. and she does, a smile lighting up her whole face. her body is graceful like this too, like it's always somehow known exactly how to move. you wonder, fleetingly between songs, what she was like as a child, if she was as sure and smart and kind as she is now. someone crowds into her space from behind and then you're not thinking of anything other than the tickle of her hair against your cheek as she presses into you, the lilt of her laugh into your ear, the hard muscles of her shoulders and the soft, small swell of her hips when you bring your palms to rest there. you're drunk and she's beautiful, and you've kissed lots of beautiful people when you've been drunk. but she closes her eyes and sways to the beat and it's like the rest of the world falls away. it's like there's only you and beatrice and the cloud forest, above anything else that has harmed and will harm again. there's her gold skin and scars and tattoos hidden under her shirt, the healed slices down your spine, the air between your bodies: sweaty, sticky with spilled drinks, thumping bass, everyone else in this bar. there's only the two of you, and it's a little like you've been punched in the gut: you're falling in love with her. it's easy, right now, to put a name to it all, when you can look at her jaw without reproach.

she opens her eyes and looks at you, a smile on her face, and leans in your direction. it's easy, to bring your hand to touch where you had been staring, to say, 'bea,' as she laughs into your neck, says, 'this is so fun, thank you.' it's hard to not kiss her, but she's ... extraordinary, and you don't want your first kiss to be in the middle of a mid-at-best dance floor after a few shots. you want it to be somewhere beautiful. somewhere you already know; somewhere you're certain she'll love.

'let's go home,' you say, because you had done another round somewhere between songs and she's slightly unsteady on her feet. she nods into your neck and you take her hand.

you walk back to your apartment with her, one arm looped through hers — 'very gallant,' you'd said when she'd offered, and even in the dim light from the moon and streetlamps you had seen her blush — and your other hand using your cane. she had found it for you, tucked behind where you had been sitting at the bar; she hadn't asked anything about why you didn't use it when you were dancing, or why you need it now. you know so many good people and you organize a lot with some of your other friends who work with the disability center at the university, but there is some kind of a revelation about being seen so wholly.

but maybe you're also just a little drunk, because she sways a bit as you walk and her accent is lilting, tender, her hair messy in her eyes. it's probably as soft as it looks; you had lost your hair tie somewhere between shots two and three and you tuck yours behind your ear. you have so many questions you want to ask her but you hold them in because she looks up at the moon and the stars and it's enough, to be here with her. to know her laugh, now, and the way she has hurt too.

it's enough to just walk.

it hadn't actually taken too much convincing — after you unlocked the door and gave her some choices in pajamas, soft sleep shorts and a big cotton crew her eventual choices, and gotten her a glass of water and a few cheddar crackers — to get her to agree to sleep in your bed with you. perhaps it had been because your couch is ... an unknown number of years old — 'listen, bea, phd students make, like, no money, and it was twenty bucks on craigslist three years go' — or maybe, maybe, it's because she just wants to.

you settle in first, listen to her brush her teeth with a spare toothbrush you'd given her, and wash her face with your facewash — that she had frowned at, accidentally rude but pretty funny and, like, fair, you got it from the drug store on the corner and you're sure she has a whole understated fancy little routine when she's not out in the field — and then wash her hands after going to the bathroom. you love sex, so you sleep with people often. you've had a boyfriend before, that you cared about deeply, so there's some parts of intimacy that are familiar to you, of course. but this, beatrice carefully climbing into bed next to you, with her freckles and her eyelashes and the pink of her lips, is different: you're not going to kiss her, not right now. you're not going to reach out and put your palm on her jaw like you want to, or feel the warm skin of her ribs, the goosebumps that would inevitably rise there if you raked your nails across the ridges. you're not going to because, you know, somewhere elemental in you, that you want to know her, and love her, for a long time. you want to take her to the rainforest.

'where's your favorite place in the world?' you ask instead, whisper it into the dark, the soft outline of her face.

she's turned toward you, her hands tucked carefully under her chin; it makes her look younger. 'tibet. the himalayas.'

'makes sense. you and your big mountains.'

'what's the last mountain you... summited?'

'annapurna. it's the tenth tallest in the world.' she pauses, considering. 'are we playing twenty questions?'

her eyelids are drooping. 'i don't think you're going to be awake for twenty questions.'

she laughs softly. 'i want to ask you one, though.'

'hmm. sure. two to four questions, then.'

'do you... uh, well, okay. do you like women?'

it's so awkward, so out of place for someone so sure, that you have to fight the urge to burst out in laughter. but it's also soft, and nervous, her eyes wide. it makes you feel sixteen again, full of possibility. 'yeah, bea. i'm bi. i love women.'

she nods, tucks her hands even tighter under her chin, lets a big relieved breath out. 'cool.'

'yeah?'

'mhm. i'm a lesbian, if you didn't know.'

you want to say you're the gayest looking person i've ever met but you refrain. for the romance of it all. 'good to know.'

she tries hard to wink and fails miserably. you let yourself, just once, just for a moment, reach out and run your hand through her hair. she leans into your touch, relaxes under it, before you fold yourself back onto your side of the bed. 'you have one more question.'

'so do you.'

'okay. hmm. favorite ice cream flavor?'

she laughs. 'that's what you want to know.'

you nod. 'it's very important information.'

'okay.' she thinks hard about it, genuinely. 'mint chocolate chip?'

'that's so boring, jeez.'

'oh, i'm sorry. simple combinations of dynamic tastes is probably too sophisticated for you to understand.'

'okay, ratatouille.'

she tries, a valiant effort, to not crack a smile, but she eventually does. 'okay, my turn. favorite color?'

you let your eyes fall closed and imagine it all, the sharp thorns and the torrential rain and the chirp of the neon blue frog you'd found last time. you think about taking her there. 'green, of course,' you tell her, a promise, a future in the clouds. 'green.'

#conservationist au #conservationist au 🐸#ft butch bea but we gotta have different tags lol but she's here #just ch1 but ch2 is the expedition!#avatrice #avatrice fic #wn #wn fic #frog au #i guess bc y’all love that lol

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chuluoyi · 2 months

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Chu chu I just sent my friend a link to your Sylus fic and she hasn't even read it yet but she's going feral. She said she's going to marry you. Beware.

-🐸

ANWHSJAH frog nonnie thank you :’) honestly now, “strictly unprofessional” is my most favorite fic to write so far 🥹

#—chu’s mailbox 📬#💌: 🐸#i have this brainrot of a fluffier fic with sylus too…#i’ll write it as soon as i’m done with zayne’s fic🙂‍↕️

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renecdote · 2 years

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'it's their anniversary on sunday' + buddie 💗 ily

It’s their anniversary on Sunday. Two more days and they will have been married for a year—a whole 366 days—and it has gone by so quickly that it feels like no time at all.

In the grand scheme of things, it is no time at all. Not enough, certainly, although Eddie isn’t sure that’s much of a quantifier since forever wouldn’t feel like enough time with Buck. Which is... It’s funny, really, because forever was a concept he didn’t really believe in before Buck, but now it feels like the bare minimum, anything else impossible to imagine.

He’s trying not to do that now: imagine. Where he went wrong, what he could have done better, the conversation he’s going to need to have with their kids when he goes home.

“Eddie,” Bobby says quietly from behind him.

Eddie shakes his head. He knows what Bobby is going to say. He knows what the look on his captain’s face is going to be if he turns around.

Bobby comes closer, hand finding Eddie’s shoulder, his voice sure when he says, “It’s not your fault.”

Except—

”She’s going to fall.”

“And what if you fall?” snappy with adrenaline, with fear, the building trembling around them.

Buck’s gaze steady, steady, always trusting. “You’ll catch me.”

And Eddie didn’t.

He was meant to catch Buck—was meant to have Buck’s back, always and forever, til death do them part and then some—and he failed. So it doesn’t matter what Bobby says, doesn’t matter how sure he sounds, it doesn’t even matter if Buck wakes up from surgery and doesn’t blame him either. Eddie will always blame himself.

“It’s our anniversary on Sunday,” he says, and his voice sounds numb and distant to his own ears.

“I know,” Bobby says, squeezing his shoulder. “Have you already got Buck a gift?”

“Socks,” Eddie replies, which sounds stupid and insignificant when he says it out loud, but. “His feet are always cold, he complains about it all the time, and they’ve got little fire emojis on them.”

They also say “hot stuff” on the soles, but Bobby doesn’t need to know that.

“He’ll love them,” Bobby says, smiling.

Buck will love them, Eddie knows that. He’s just not sure he’ll get the chance to see that familiar, delighted grin light up his husband’s face.

Eddie presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. He’s vaguely aware that he’s shaking, but he can’t work out whether it’s cold, or shock, or something else.

“Okay,” Bobby murmurs, and then he’s sitting sideways on the bench and pulling Eddie against his chest, arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. “Okay, I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”

Is it?

What if it isn’t?

“I can’t—” Eddie starts, but he can’t even bear to finish the thought.

The thing about grief is that it doesn’t get easier with practice. Eddie has lost more people than he can count, but none of it has come close to preparing him for the possibility of losing Buck.

“You can,” Bobby says, his voice steady.

Eddie knows he isn’t the only one who has been beaten down by grief before. He’s not the only one who has shied away from helping hands even as they dragged him out of the darkness. He’s not the only one whose heart will crumble, maybe fall apart completely, if Buck doesn’t make it through this.

He brings a hand up, holding tight to the arm Bobby has wrapped around his chest. He feels so old and unbelievably young when he whispers, “He’s going to be okay, right? Tell me he’s going to be okay, Bobby.”

“Eddie, you know I can’t tell you that.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. He does know that, but. “Please.”

Bobby squeezes him, his voice rumbling through his chest and into Eddie’s bones when he answers: “Buck is going to be okay. I promise.”

#coming back to finish this so many months later akdkkd #hi meg ily angst as requested <3 #asked and answered #Meg 🐸#fic

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jestersrq · 9 months

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what if i 😳 wrote transid fanfic 😳😳 and i posted in on ao3 😳😳😳 ahaha jk jk 😋 unless 😳

anyways read my fic!!!!!! /nf

#i got a fucking vision from god (/nsrs) about transgerman klavier gavin and couldnt NOT write it hello #🎲 original post #🐸 kris #🖊 writing #and NOW what if i maintagged this on tumblr #ace attorney fic #too late 🤭#pro transid #transid #transid please interact #pro radqueer #radqueer #radqueer please interact #rqc🌈🍓#rq fic

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hyunsvngs · 4 months

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okokok help istg i cant find this fic anywhere so im coming to u for help- its like this fic with reader and minho and they're in this cutesy little friendshp situation or smth. y/n or mc or whatever has a WET dream about lee know and she wakes up and hes all like 'nightmare?'. and then y/n is like yeah but u were my knight in shining armour then it gets all 🔥.

also could i be 🐸 anon (if its not taken)?

(have a nice day!!!!!! or night. or like- u get my point-)

UGH FUCK i'm sure i know this fic but i can't remember it. does anyone know ?

ALSO froogie is not taken which im surprised about but i now dub thee froogie

#juno’s asks ♡#🐸 anon 💌#fic finding! <3

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killerandhealerqueen · 4 months

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Asks time, let's go

Ask game for fic writers- 1, 3, 5, 16, 24, 28, 30, 37, 39, 44, 58, 72

Ask game for fic writers #2- 10, 15, 16, 30, 32, 38, 44

Fun meta asks - 3, 4, 7, 9, 15, 16, 18, 20, 21, 23, 25

Took, my beloved!! Alright y'all, buckle the fuck up, this shit gone be long

1. do you know how you want the story to end when you start, or are you just stumbling through the figurative wilderness hoping to find a road?

For some fics, yes, I do know how they're going to end when they start, but most times we're just kinda...figuring it out as we go. And sometimes that's the fun part because when just writing, you can sometimes come up with shit better than when you outlined/planned it

3. on a scale of 1-10 how much do you enjoy incorporating romance into the average story?

I enjoy it. So like...an 8-9? Most of my stories are romance anyways so it's not that hard for me

5. have you ever made a playlist about something you were writing as an elaborate means to procrastinate when you could have been actually writing and if yes drop a link, son

Nope. I don't make playlists for my fics

16. where is your favorite place to write?

Well, I write anywhere, but my bed is always a good place. Things just tend to flow there

24. on average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

Depends on the fic. Sometimes I can get pages done, sometimes nothing. But on average, I'd say...1.5-2k? Sometimes more? Like I said, just depends

28. handwritten notes or typed notes?

Typed. My hands cramp after writing for too long. And it's just easier to type if there's a lot of information

30. most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you.

"You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you know" ~ A.A Milne

My parents say it to me a lot whenever I have imposter syndrome/am doubting myself. It helps a lot

37. when creating characters, what comes first: appearance, backstory, motivation, personality, something else?

Now, I don't create OC's, but personality, I think would come first for me. I always like characters who have personalities that don't match their appearance (and personalities are more interesting to work with anyways because they're shaped by backstory, motivation, etc.)

39. are you an avid reader?

I am! When I'm not reading fanfiction and I want to get away from the computer, I'll pick up a book. Sometimes if I'm really into one, I can crush one in a day/couple of hours. I've always been a voracious reader

44. any writing advice you want to share?

Just write what you enjoy. You're not writing to please anyone else but yourself (and maybe a few loyal readers). So like...don't write what's trendy or popular, write what makes you happy. It makes the fic much more enjoyable for you and for your readers

58. what is the last thing that a fic made you google when you were writing it?

Hmm...I think for my fic The Tiger is Out, I had to google/duckduckgo the name of the poem the fic was inspired by because I couldn't remember it

72. what do you do if a scene gets too serious?

Oh boy, take a break. There are a lot of scenes in the Killer and Healer rewrite that make me cry/make my heart hurt so I have to take a break from writing it/do something else for a little bit to get a breather. I mean, I can push through (which I've done before) but you feel a little empty afterwards. Or I'll go talk with my discord chat and tell them what just happened to get my mind off the scene

ask game for fanfic writers | send me asks

10. How do you stay motivated to finish what you’ve started?

Ooo, great question. Most times, if a story has gripped me by the throat, I'll keep working on it till it's completed. As for multi-chapters, sometimes I fall outta hyperfixation with them and I don't wanna work on them anymore, but then I also don't wanna leave them unfinished indefinitely (which is fine, of course but not for me) so I finish them (and I tend to feel better after I finish them, sometimes because I'm genuinely happy it's finished or sometimes I've relieved that it's over)

15. OCs or no OCs?

For me, no OCs, just because I don't need them in my stories. But more the merrier for others, y'all have fun creating your little guys

16. Do you use sentence starters, writing prompts and/or fandom headcanons for your fanfics?

Most of my fics started out as writing prompts, tbh. My Killer and Healer fics now are mostly my own ideas/aus...unless i'm feeling really uninspired. But I do still use sentence starters or other ideas to kind of spark something, if again, my brain can't figure out what it wants to write

30. What writing software do you use?

I use Microsoft Word and it's the only writing software I will ever use

32. Past or present tense?

Past, for the most part. Sometimes my headcanons will be in present but my fics are mainly in past

38. Do you partake in any fanfic/writing events? (Big bangs, zines, NaNoWriMo, etc?)

I do not, actually. I did NaNoWriMo in like...8th grade but nothing since

44. Does fanart of your fanfic exist?

It does! For my fic Violence Is Never the Answer...Except When It Is, @a-single-log-bridge drew Chen Yuzhi with a katana! You can see the fanart here! (With this I am giving y'all permission to draw my fics, please god, draw my fics, I beg)

ask game for fanfic writers! ⌨️🖊📓📝 | send me asks

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Honestly, have no idea

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Gonna copy my scene from my other ask that I got about this question, hang on

From my fic My One and Only (Killer and Healer mignon/vampire au)

“Jiang Yuelou” he breathed before he quickly knelt before him and cupped his face in his hands. “Jiang Yuelou” he whispered. Jiang Yuelou, however, didn’t answer, causing Chen Yuzhi to whimper before he reached out and carefully pulled him into his arms, hugging him gently but tightly. “I’m sorry. Jiang Yuelou, I’m so sorry. I lied…everything that I said was a lie. I’m sorry. I love you. I really, really love you. So please…please don’t leave me” he begged as he clung to him and buried his face in his neck. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me” he pleaded. Jiang Yuelou, however, didn’t answer again, causing Chen Yuzhi to let out another whimper before he hugged him tighter. “Please” he whispered, just as two strong, but gentle, arms came around him and hugged him back. “I won’t” a weak voice whispered, causing Chen Yuzhi to gasp and lift his head out of Jiang Yuelou’s neck as he looked at him with wide eyes. “Jiang Yuelou” he breathed as Jiang Yuelou slowly lifted his head and smiled at him. “Chen Yuzhi” he replied, causing Chen Yuzhi to let out a sob before he buried his face in his shoulder and hugged him tightly, making him smile weakly as he gave him a tight squeeze in return. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere” he whispered.

I just really like this scene because while Chen Yuzhi does like Jiang Yuelou throughout the fic, he's never like...expressed/reciprocated his feelings to Jiang Yuelou, who has. And now in this moment, when he's afraid Jiang Yuelou is going to die, he confesses that he loves him. And who doesn't love that trope, huh?

7. What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

Um...someone's always gonna get whumped, I know that much. Also, descriptions/dialogue...I've always been told I'm good at those...as well as staying in character/characters feel like how they do in canon, no matter the au. So I guess that? Idk (I'm never good about answering questions about my personal writing style because I don't pay attention to that sort of thing)

9. Are you more of a drabble or a longfic kind of writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?

Longfic. Always longfic, especially when it comes to Killer and Healer. I mean, look at my fucking word count on ao3. Do I look like a drabble writer to you? (No offense to anyone who does drabbles, just could not be me)

Most times, I am a pantser. I've learned that plotting kind of stifles my creativity. The only time "plotting" has worked for me is figuring out what's going to happen in each chapter of my fic The Demon and the Angel.

And no, I do not. I like writing my long fics and I like figuring stuff out on the go. That's what makes writing fun to me

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

They're each hard in their own way, but I guess personally titles. Summaries for me are easy because I just take like a line/passage out of my fic and use that as the summary. Tags can be tricky too because I wanna make sure I tag everything that I think is in my fic but sometimes I can't tag everything (though I do try)

16. Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?)

At some point, I'm going to try a sci-fi fic, which I've never done before, so that'll be interesting. It's inspired by the Netflix Movie Rebel Moon and I think it'll be fun once I get around to it...and my brain stops plaguing me with other au ideas

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

My fic Monster Like Me had a completely different version before I decided I liked the current version better....but even getting to that version it took 3 rewrites, one complete deletion of the fic and original outline and a whole new rewrite to get to what it is today. And I have to say I like this version so much better than what it was originally. Did you know this fic took me almost a fucking month to write? That's the longest a oneshot has ever taken me. Ever

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Oh...I don't really have a lot of meta, at least not with the fic I'm currently working on. But with my Rebel Moon au, the idea actually came to me on my 7 hour plane ride home from Hawaii. I couldn't sleep at all nor did I play on my computer nor did I watch any movies...I just listened to music the entire time. And for most of the time, I listened to

on repeat. If you wanna read the rest of the story, I actually answered about the au over here

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)

Well, I write most of my stories like they're a movie/drama, so movie/drama would work, because I see my writing (or any writing for that matter) like it's a movie playing in my head

23. What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

A Killer and Healer Howl's Moving Castle au. I've always loved Howl's Moving Castle and I think it would work great as a K&H au, but I just don't know a) which couple to use because it could work both ways and b) when I'm ever going to have time to write it (because I am plagued with other au ideas all the damn time)

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Oh man, talking about fic ideas with your friends. Just gushing about how scenes would work/play out, who characters would be (if I'm inspiring a fic off of a drama/anime/movie/manga), what certain scenes will entail...stuff like that. That shit is fun. I mean, writing is fun too because you're taking what's in your brain and putting it on paper, but like...just brainstorming with your friends is fun

Fun meta asks for writers | send me asks

#sass answers #took 🐸#ask game for fanfic writers #ask game for fanfic writers! ⌨️🖊📓📝#fun meta asks for fic writers

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