#Expect me to be writing the fanfics about it

[changeling-droneco]

This is a bit of a controversial take, but I think a big problem is writers seem to be given a lot less but also expected to do a lot more. A bit of a double standards. Like fanfiction needs to be held to some higher standards to be worth existing. Like obviously there’s bullying and double standards and discourse for every version of fancreating but it feels like fanfic gets a lot shit for just, existing. It’s the butt of the joke, it’s complained about, people get really picky and really fighty over it.

People constantly complain about fanfics not being finished, or talking about how they refuse to read fanfic unless it’s completed. People complain if it’s over tagged, people complain if it’s under tagged, fanfic is constantly stolen for ai startups or apps trying to otherwise monetize it. Hell, If any kind of money crosses any hands even if it’s buying directly from the author people get up in arms about it being the death of fandom and yelling at people for being a part of it, even when every single fandom Etsy seller gets a pass for like, selling undertale stickers. I promise you me writing a thousand words of mcyter fanfic for like 15 bucks and my copy of a somewhat dark mlp fanfic I bought from the creator did not and could not do that. People constantly talk about “why don’t you just write original fiction if you’re going to make such a detailed fantasy au?” People get super picky about fanfic and get so weird about unfinished fanfic or refuse to engage with it at all. I see a lot more hate or ire or mean spirited jokes pointed at authors more then I see appreciation or care. I know every form of fan creation gets this, but it just feels like crap at how much people seem to take potshots at writers or treat them as inherently more deserving of scrutiny or as inherently more dangerous to fandom because anne rice might rise from her grave and idk delete wattpad. How fic sites get more negative attention about being evil and problematic then any more art based sites.

It’s hard to put into words ironically, but it feels like at times a good portion of fandom just, kinda hates fanfic writers? I know it’s like a small slice, but damn if they don’t get vocal at times. Though even beyond that it feels like fanfic is often seen as like, lower class of art, like it’s just inherently less serious and worthwhile then other forms of art? Fanfic being good or poignant is seen more often then not as a surprise, and then even sometimes derided for being wasted on “mere fanfiction” or mocking some like classical book or story as “just fanfiction” as a way to devalue it, as if fanfiction is unworthy of being respected as an art form and therefor anything resembling it (insert discussion about how fanfic is often seen as a more feminine thing and associated with writers often being female and how that plays into it being seen as more frivolous here)

Plus people really have no sense of boundaries with it at times. I can’t count the amount of times some YouTuber has just casually read their fanfiction for a video and derided it as weird and cringy and accidentally send a wave of people to bully the writer for being cringy. (The only time I’ve ever really seen this done well is Danny Motta because dammit if you’re gonna do it at least cosplay the anime boy you’re being shipped with, and even then he probably should have still been more solid or clear about getting permission)

I don’t have a solution either but just, stop treating authors like they are somehow more cringy or sad or lesser or dangerous then artists? Give us at least a bit of respect and acknowledgement of us being equals in creativity and innovation to other creators. Don’t be a dick about a fic set in first person or that’s formatted unusually. Especially stop bullying people over fanfic you think is bad or weird, we’ve had enough literal kids who wrote creepypasta-esque fanfic of like, dream, get bullied off the internet or worse. Someone writing grimdark fanfiction is not lesser then someone drawing a fluff comic, and vice versa.

feedback and fic in fandom (3 f's of our own)

This conversation about feedback on fic says everything I’ve been wanting to say better than I could say it. But I’ll go ahead and try anyway.

Over the last five years or so there have been some great discussions around the rise of commodification of fanworks and decline of fandom community. This commodification looks a bit like enshittification of the internet: a cool site exists; its popularity makes someone realize they can get money from it; it has more and more ads; the site adds features to drive engagement, including The Algorithm; the things that made the site cool start to fall away. The site exists now as a vehicle purely to get clicks, and the people on it are on it solely to get clicks—to make money, to be successful, for some kind of social cachet.

AO3 doesn’t have advertisements. It’s not making money. But what is happening to fandom is proof of concept that enshittification changes the way we as humans engage. A cool website in 2004 was often a community space where you could meet people, have conversations, find cool things, and make cool things. A cool website in 2024 is either a content farm that will continually feed you enough content to hold your attention, or a social media site where your participation will come with stats to show you whether you are holding the attention of others.

AO3 wasn’t built to be a community space. It doesn’t have great functions for meeting people and having conversations. The idea was that, because fandom community spaces already existed, AO3 would serve the part of that community where you can find the cool things and store the cool things you made. It was meant to be a library in a city, not the whole city itself.

But it was also never meant to be a website in 2024, a content farm constantly generating content solely for your clicks and eyeballs and ad revenue, or a social media site where the content creators themselves vie for your clicks and eyeballs.

The most common talking point when people discuss the enshittification of fandom is the folks out there who are treating AO3 as that first kind of enshittified website: the content farm. This discussion is about how people treat fanfic as a product for consumption.

The post that kicked off the discussion on @sitp-recs’s blog was about someone who wasn’t getting very many kudos or comments on their fic, and was feeling pretty demoralized about it, then joined a discord server and found an entire channel dedicated to people loving their fic. But those on that server had never come to share that love with the author, which the author found really discouraging.

There are more and more stories like this. Someone on tiktok pulls a quote from a fic on AO3 and makes a 10-second video with them staring at a wall, the quote pasted at the bottom, music playing over it. It has 100,000 hearts, and 100 comments with people gushing over the fic, which has 80 kudos on AO3. Overall, people notice more and more hits on their fics, but fewer and fewer comments or even kudos. Fewer and fewer people seem to feel the need to interact with the author, instead treating the fic like a product to be used and discarded—which the enshittified internet (a stunning feature of late-stage capitalism!) encourages. The fandom community is dying, these stories conclude.

I agree. 100%. Both of the stories above have happened to me—viral tiktoks about my fic, secret discord channels to follow and discuss my fic—and let me tell you, it fucking sucks.

But from these observations about fandom enshittification, the discussion continues in a very odd direction. The solution to the death of fandom community is our favorite enshittification buzzword: engagement. We should engage the authors. They’re producing these products for free. We consume them at no cost. We must demonstrate our gratitude by paying them back.

It’s as though the capitalist consumption that the enshittified web encourages is so ingrained within us that we must think in terms of payment, in terms of exchange, transaction. Or as though, by forgoing payment, authors are some kind of martyrs defying capitalism, and the only way to honor their great sacrifice is comments and kudos.

Indeed, the discourse around this sometimes does veer away from capitalist rhetoric into something that smells almost religious in desperation. Authors are gods who bestow us mere mortals with the fruits of their labor benevolently, through love; the least we can do is worship them. Meanwhile the authors adopt the groveling sentiment of starving artists: I produce great art; I only humbly ask that you feed me in return.

These kinds of entreaties make my skin crawl for a number of reasons. I’m not a god. I’m not writing because I love you. I don’t expect your worship or even your praise.

I think the thing that disturbs me the most about it is that it suggests that authors (or, if the OP is feeling generous fan work creators) are the most important people in fandom. I’ve even seen posts stating that without creators, fandom wouldn’t exist—as though readers aren’t just as important. As though conversations where people discuss characterizations and plot points and randomly spin out interpretations and ideas and thoughts related to canon are meaningless. I’ve even seen people scramble to include folks having these discussions as “creators,” as though realizing that these people are necessary and integral to fandom communities but unable to drop the idea that the producers are the ones who are important. As though that person who just lurks can never count.

Is this what community is? When you join the queer community, are you expected to produce a product of your queerness? If not, must you actively participate and give back to the queer community in order to be considered a part of it? Or is it enough that you are queer, that you exist as a queer person and want to be around others who are queer, you want to be a part of something? What is community, anyway?

The problem with people raising the authors above everyone else in the community and demanding that tribute be paid is that they are decrying the “content farm” style of 2024 website out of one side of their mouth, but out of the other side are instead demanding that AO3 become a 2024-style social media website. Authors are influencers. “Engagement” and clicks are the things that really matter. They are in fact suggesting that the way to solve the commodification of fanfic is by “paying authors back” with stats.

Before anyone comes at me with the idea that comments aren’t just “stats,” I will clarify what I mean. There are literally hundreds of posts on tumblr alone claiming that any comment “helps” the author. Someone replies that they are shy to comment. Someone else replies that incoherent keyboard smashes, a single emoji, or the comment “kudos” are all that is required to satisfy the author, all that is required as tribute—all that is required as payment to keep this economy healthy.

I’m not condemning the comments that are keyboard smashes or emojis or a single kind word. I receive them. They make me happy. If anyone wants to leave such a comment on my fics, I’m really grateful for it. But this is not community-building. This is a transaction. In @yiiiiiiiikes25’s excellent response in the post linked at the beginning, they point out that “you have a cool hat” is something that is “perfectly nice” to hear from someone—and it is! We all want to be told we have a cool hat! But as they go on to say, what builds community is interactions that are deep and specific, interactions that are rich in quality, not in quantity. A kudos or a comment that says only ❤️are lovely things to receive, but they don’t build community.

My reaction, when I see people begging for kudos and comments as the only means by which to keep fandom community alive, is very close to @eleadore's. I want to say, “No. Readers do not need to comment or kudos. Believe not these hucksters who claim to know the appropriate method of fandom participation. Participate as you feel able, or not at all; nothing is required of you.”

I’ve been told before (several times) that I’m not qualified to participate in such discussions because I am an established author who has some fics with very high stats. It doesn’t matter that I have also been a new writer with almost no one reading my fics. It doesn’t matter that I still write in new fandoms where no one in that fandom knows me. It doesn’t matter that I, like any human being, still care about receiving recognition and attention and praise.

And maybe that’s correct. I personally don’t think that billionaires have a place in deciding the direction of the economy, and--if we're really going to consider fandom an economy--in fandom terms, if I’m not a billionaire, or even a millionaire, I’m definitely in the infamous “one percent.” So, just as no one wants to hear Elon Musk say “money isn’t everything,” maybe it’s not my place to say “kudos isn’t required, actually.”

That said, I’m not the only one who has a problem with the stats-based discourse around fandom community. However, the main counter-response to this discussion I see goes something like this: you shouldn’t be writing fic for validation. If you’re writing for attention, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. Authors should write fic because they love it without any expectation of return.

This is, in my opinion, missing the point of what is meant by fandom community.

I wrote fanfic before I knew that fanfic, as a concept, existed. I read books; I wanted them to be different; I wrote little stories for myself with new endings, with self-inserts, with cross-overs, with alternate universes. I did it for myself in the 90s. It never occurred to me that anyone else would do this, much less that people would share.

As @faiell points out—creating and sharing are two different things. I created fics for myself, but I decided to share them in the early 2000s because other people might like them, too. And of course, I wanted to hear whether other people liked them. How could I not? I might decorate my home just for me and not for anyone else’s preferences, but when people come over and say my house is nice, how can I not enjoy that? And if a lot of people think my house is nice, which encourages me to post pictures of it online, isn’t it understandable I might do so with the hope that more people will say my house is nice? And, honestly, if no one is appreciating my pictures, I probably won’t continue to go through the trouble of taking them and posting them. I’ll just enjoy my house that I decorated without sharing, the end.

When I found out there were whole fannish communities where people discussed canon and tossed ideas around about it, made theories and prompts and insights into the characters, fics they had written and recs for other fics and analyses of fics and art based on fics and fics based on art—I wanted to be a part of that, too. Now, sometimes, I write fic not out of an internal need to do so but out of a desire to participate in that community.

The idea that we write fic only for the love of it, then post it only because we possess it, is a process entirely centered on the self. It’s fandom in a vacuum. The idea that we share this thing, that we feel pleasure if someone likes it but feel nothing at all if no one says anything about it, that it’s completely okay to be ignored and unseen—that’s not what a community is either. That’s some weird sort of self-aggrandizement through self-effacement—because yes, there is often a weird kind of virtue-signaling in this kind of discourse.

I say this as someone who has virtue-signaled in that way: “some people write for stats, but I write for myself.” It’s bullshit. Sure, I write for myself, but why post it on the internet? Honestly, said virtue has a whiff of the capitalist machine, which would like you to produce for the sake of production, work for the sake of work. The noblest among us expect no recompense for that which they give!

The reason that I’m bringing this back around to capitalism is that capitalism actively works to dismantle community. The reason that folks are out here pleading for “engagement” in order to “pay back” authors for the products they give us “for free” is because people no longer even have the language to discuss how to participate in meaningful community. And frankly, how to build back fandom community, in the face of enshittification, is getting harder and harder to see.

But I do think that if we value fanfic and the fanfic community, it’s really, really not constructive to judge whether someone’s reasons for writing fanfic are valid. It’s also weird to me that it would be considered wrong that someone’s reason for sharing fanfic is because they would like to receive some recognition for it, when in fact that seems to be the most natural reason in the world for sharing something so private and vulnerable with the world.

Let’s go back to that idea of how hurtful it is to find out your fanfic is trending on tiktok without anyone from tiktok saying anything to you about your fic, or how it can be painful to find out there’s a secret discord channel dedicated to your fic. The people who respond to that with, “Ah, but you shouldn’t be writing to get attention!” are missing the point. The fic did get attention. It got lots. Attention obviously wasn't why the writer was writing--they were writing to participate, and they didn't get to. At all.

However, if your conclusion is that the author was upset because these particular stats were not accruing under this author’s profile, thereby preventing them from achieving the vaunted status of BNF and influencer—I don’t know, maybe you’re right. But I don’t think that’s why I, personally, have been hurt by these things, and I doubt it’s what hurt the people in these posts either. They’re hurt because they want to participate, and they have been systematically excluded by the very people they thought were part of the community they thought they could participate in.

Sure, if those folks from tiktok and the discord server all came and showered the author with kudos and comments that said “kudos,” the author might have felt satisfied enough with the quantity of this recognition that they would continue writing. But in the end, this still does nothing to address the problem of fandom community, in which the deep, meaningful recognition, interactions, and relationships in fandom are getting harder and harder to have and to build, as a result of how people now expect to engage in online spaces.

So, how to address the problem of fandom community? You probably read this long, long post hoping that I had an answer, and for that I must apologize. I don’t have solutions. My intent was to be descriptive, rather than prescriptive. I wished to outline the problems that I’m seeing in what was hopefully a slightly new or at least thought-provoking way, rather than offer solutions.

But, now that I’m talking about being prescriptive, maybe I can offer one suggestion, which is—maybe the solution to this isn’t about prescribing behavior. I do understand the irony in writing a prescription saying we shouldn’t prescribe people, but I’m going to write it anyway:

Maybe we shouldn’t be telling anyone the appropriate reasons for writing fanfic or for sharing it. Maybe we shouldn’t be telling readers they need to kudos or need to comment. If we’re going to go pointing fingers, we should be pointing at the institutions of capitalism that have made the internet what it is today—but I don’t think that’s going to solve the problem either.

But I do think that describing this problem, understanding what it actually is, not blaming readers for it and not blaming authors for it—I do think that helps. The discussion I linked at the beginning of this post is what I think of as the fandom I miss, the fandom that's now harder and harder to access, the fandom that is dying. That fandom was a social space where people had opinions and disagreed and went back and forth and gazed at their navels and then talked about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

In the words of @yiiiiiiiikes25, it was a fuckin’ discussion about hats. And we’re hungry for it.

[sansaorgana]

— CHRYSALIS (II)

PART ONE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!half-Vala/half-Elf!Reader (Morgoth's Daughter)

SUMMARY — Mairon is scheming to take over the armies of Morgoth. With his old master's daughter by his side he considers his claims to be legitimised, although he has to admit that her mood swings scare him sometimes. Well, one thing is certain – his wife keeps him on his toes. And their enemies are many, even amongst their own Lieutenants.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It's been some time since part one but I needed a short break and I'm not going to lie but I have been distracted... Those of you who follow me, know already that I have a massive crush on Jack Lowden now... ���� It is honestly funny to me because I've known about this guy for years (he was even in one of my favourite TV shows ever aka War & Peace) but it was this one scene of the loser Sauron that pushed me into having a crush??? Seriously?! Anyway, yeah... I've been watching movies with him and at the moment I am in the middle of Slow Horses. Just saying because I have a feeling it is going to end up with a fanfic... 💀 Big shoutout and thanks to @olchr-1 because their comments under my fics about Mairon and Morgoth always inspire me! 💚

WARNINGS — toxic relationship (they're mutually toxic to each other), mentions of Morgoth's abuse towards Sauron, Reader is kinda unhinged (she is Morgoth's daughter, ok? what did you expect?), murder (as in – she murders [an Orc] AND she gets murdered), she's some sort of a ghost in the end (idk if it's a trigger but I'm writing it down in case it is...)

WORD COUNT — 6,140

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

CHRYSALIS (II)

“I do. I can see inside your mind.”

Mairon felt a shiver travelling down his spine at those words. (Y/N) had a sweet smile on her face but it still felt somehow sinister and embarrassing after realising she could have felt all his scheming regarding her.

“Do not be scared!” She whined and giggled as she brushed his ginger hair to put it behind his pointy ear. “I like you the way you are.”

Mairon cracked a smile at her and put his hands on her waist to pull her closer and join their lips together. The kiss started softly but it quickly turned into a heated one. (Y/N) moaned into his mouth and he groaned, pushing aside all the things on the table behind her to pick her up and sit her up on top of it.

Her fingers tangled in his hair and he could hear her heartbeat fastening as his shaky hands travelled to her back where he started to tug onto the lacing of her gown.

But at that, (Y/N) flinched and Mairon broke the kiss, taking a step back and looking at her with a raised eyebrow. She refused to meet his gaze and looked over his shoulder at the still unfinished item behind him.

“I think you still have work to finish, my husband,” she pointed out sweetly and how could he ever be angry at her when she addressed him so beautifully?

Mairon nodded at her and leaned in to steal one more kiss from her but this time it was only a peck on the lips.

He walked away from her to go back to reforging her father’s crown to fit him and she took off her leather apron and folded it neatly before putting it on the desk and leaving the forge without a word.

Mairon wondered quietly what was the reason for her sudden shyness when it came to being physical. How much had she witnessed about her parents’ relationship? And what had it been like?

Or perhaps (Y/N) was simply shy because she had been sheltered for her whole life.

Either way, she had agreed to share her life with him and that was enough for him. To have her close, to show her off as his – Melkor’s daughter, the heiress of darkness. She had chosen him – Mairon – to be her husband. There was no better legitimation for his coronation than this.

He finished his work and the sun was slowly setting in the sky although it was barely visible in their land of snow and cold either way. Mairon took off his apron and fixed his hair before taking the newly reforged crown and taking it to his chambers because he would never leave it unsupervised. Proud of his creation, he walked past (Y/N)’s chambers but he did not bother to check on her. She clearly needed her space now and he decided to give it to her.

After entering his chambers, though, Mairon froze at the sight of (Y/N) laying in his bed and smiling at him gently. She was wearing nothing but a beautiful nightgown made out of a sheer fabric that left very little to his imagination. Mairon swallowed a lump in his throat at the sight.

“I… I have finished,” he told her and placed the crown on top of a dresser, scared of her opinion as he usually was when it came to his craft.

“I can see. It is beautiful, you are very talented with your hands, my Sauron,” she whispered, surprisingly sweet, and Mairon smiled nervously at the praise before turning around to face her.

“Where did you get a nightgown like this?” He asked. After all, all her clothes had been gifts from him and he would never dare to give her such a thing before.

“So… You like it?” She giggled and Mairon’s heart skipped a beat. She had no idea how much he did. Or maybe she did – after all, she could get inside his head. “I know you do, my husband,” she sighed, “but I would like you to say it.”

“I… I do,” Mairon nodded and cleared his throat before sitting on the edge of his bed and carefully reaching his hand out to caress her cheek. “I like it. Very much,” he assured her. 

Oh, how the tables turned. Who was shy now?

When Mairon’s hand lowered and briefly touched (Y/N)’s nightgown, it suddenly disappeared completely, dissolved into air and there she was, naked for him. He looked into her eyes and she chuckled.

“So, it worked,” she whispered, proud of herself. “I learnt from you how to do it,” she confessed and sat up to cling to him and join their lips together in a kiss but this time it was him who was mostly sitting there, petrified to witness her being like that. “I’m sorry, am I doing something wrong?” (Y/N) furrowed her brow and moved away a little, shyly, visibly feeling embarrassed of herself.

And when she was like this, he felt way more confident. Mairon straightened his back and shook his head gently.

“No, my love, not at all. It’s just that I…” He took a deep breath in.

“That you��re a Maia, you were born to serve and not to experience such carnal desires,” she nodded and he closed his mouth. “And yet you do and you are confused but I know the answer.”

“You do?” Mairon inquired.

“I need you,” she breathed out and once more she moved closer to him to kiss the corner of his mouth as her hands caressed his neck with her fingertips. “And you love me. You serve me, Sauron. Therefore, when I need you, your flesh answers to my calling.”

And now it was him flinching at her words and she moved back once more, looking at him with confusion written all over her terrifyingly beautiful features.

“I’m sorry, I…” He fixed his hair with trembling hands as he looked away.

How could he tell her that when she was like this she reminded him of her father and it was not in the way he wanted to remember him? How could he tell her that it nearly scared him and it surely was not helping his desire? 

Melkor had reforged him the same way Mairon reforged his crown – his old self had been melted and twisted in the most wicked ways. But admitting it to her now would be humiliating.

When she was a shy, innocent maiden – he felt confident enough to give in to his desires and to devour her. But when she was showing confidence and was becoming needy herself – greedy for him and his service like his master once had been… He was simply shutting down.

“I would never hurt you, Sauron,” she whispered and he turned his head around to look at her, a little frustrated with the fact that she had been inside his head again – especially at a moment like that. “I would never hurt you first, that is,” she added. “And you have no reason to be embarrassed in front of me. I am your wife and your Queen,” she added.

“I want to be worthy of you but I do not think I ever will be…” He confessed, finally voicing out the fear he had been having for centuries now – from the moment he had seen her for the first time.

“Oh, but my sweet Sauron, do you not know…?” (Y/N) chuckled lovingly and moved closer to him once more but very slowly and carefully this time. She cupped his face and caressed his cheeks with her thumbs before leaning in to rub her nose with his. “I know you will never be and I still like you,” she smiled, probably thinking her words cheered him up but they only broke his heart.

Because what was her love then? Did she love him because he was a good pet? The most loyal servant? Was her love as wicked as her father’s?

“I am my mother’s daughter, too,” she reminded him and kissed his forehead. “I can be sweet and gentle with you, kiss every part of your flesh, every part my father hurt and twisted… Let me heal it,” she breathed out.

He would certainly let her try.

The fortress was the most quiet during the day because the Orcs mostly slept at that time. Mairon and (Y/N) laid in his bed for hours now, facing each other with their limbs tangled and noses brushing as they exchanged sweet kisses and her fingers caressed his hair.

“You are the most extraordinary creature I have ever laid my eyes on,” he breathed out.

“I know,” she smirked. “When will we leave here? I want to see the world,” her eyes sparkled.

“Do you really want to see it or perhaps you can’t wait for the world to fall on its knees at the sight of you?” Mairon wondered teasingly and she chuckled.

“I am aware the realms you will take me to are far from perfect but I will shape them to fit my will and vision,” she said. “And for that, they will build me altars.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then you will certainly make sure they do,” she smirked sweetly but her eyes filled with mischief.

Mairon moved his head up slightly to kiss her on the mouth instead of making a promise with his words. Then, he laid down on the pillow and sighed at the sight of the reforged crown of Morgoth on top of his dresser.

“I will forge you a crown, too. I have an idea for its design already,” he promised. “And then, we will coronate ourselves and marshal our legions out of here.”

“I am shutting myself out of your mind then,” (Y/N) giggled. “I want the design to be a surprise,” she explained and kissed his cheek.

He couldn’t help the feeling that he indeed was her pet but perhaps she would be a much kinder owner than her father had been.

Tasarë woke up and leaned on the barren, dry tree as she sighed at the sight of the huge fortress in the horizon. They would arrive there in the afternoon on that day but she had not seen it last night due to the darkness. Now, in the hazy morning she was able to see what was awaiting her – the dreadful place and even more dreadful master within its walls. 

“Why me?” She asked Mairon while he was watching her with a mix of pity and relief that his task would be done soon.

“He saw you in my memories,” he confessed. She deserved to know the truth now, at the very end of their road together.

“You were that huge werewolf watching me in the forest,” Tasarë chuckled and shook her head. “I sensed your eyes on me.”

“And that was your demise. You know what they say – curiosity killed the cat,” Mairon crossed his arms and stood by her side, looking at the fortress ahead of them with pride.

“Why were you staring at me?” Tasarë inquired and Mairon shrugged his arms. He truly did not know.

“Something drew me in. Perhaps it was your fate,” he explained cruelly.

Cruelly, because what could this young and innocent maiden possibly have done to deserve such punishment?

“Please,” she took off her humble ring with a ruby stone on it, “take it,” she offered it to him as her eyes filled with tears.

“What is the meaning behind this gesture?” Mairon raised his eyebrows, a little mockingly staring at the ring in her trembling hand.

“I want you to keep it, a memory of me,” she explained. “A memory of who I am now, before your master bends me to his will,” she added and Mairon swallowed thickly at her words. “Please,” she begged and he finally took the ring from her hand and caressed it with his fingers.

“Why are you giving this to me? It was me who brought this down upon you and it was me delivering you to him,” Mairon asked, confused.

“Who am I supposed to give it to?” She asked and laughed through the tears as she looked around. No one else was there. Then, her face became serious again. “I can still feel the light of Valinor deep within you,” she whispered, her voice nearly inaudible and a shiver went down his spine at her words. “You are a Maia. An emissary of the Valar.”

“I serve only one of them,” he explained.

“Whatever. You just do what you were made for – you serve,” she nodded and turned her head around, leaving his head a mess.

Her words were an explanation why she couldn’t hate him completely. But they also were an insulting reminder that he was nothing compared to his master – he was replaceable and meaningless.

“We should go,” he muttered and hid the ring inside one of his pockets.

Mairon played with Tasarë’s ring between his fingers for one last time before breaking it apart in his forge to extract the red ruby stone and put it in (Y/N)’s crown. Made of her father’s iron and decorated with her mother’s stone, it was pretty humble and smaller than Mairon’s but he made sure it looked as intimidating as his own.

He did not mean to insult his wife with its design – quite the contrary. Her power was of the raw kind and she did not need any further decorations. Unlike him, humbly Maia who was constantly trying to hide the fact he still felt like a nobody. And he knew he would not have to explain it to her because she would know – she could read his mind, after all.

When the crown was forged, he took it carefully into his hands and carried it back to the chambers he was sharing now with her. (Y/N) was standing by the window and staring outside, sighing at the only sight she had ever known – endless snow and cold.

“When will we leave here, Sauron?” She asked with a whine.

“Soon, my darling. Very soon. Look what I have for you,” she smiled gently and could feel his cheeks burning.

This, so far, was the most significant gift he had ever given her. Perhaps even while proposing to her he had not been so nervous.

She turned around and he held his breath, waiting for her opinion and he knew that she was a cruel judge of his presents and craft.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened and she froze for a moment before approaching him to take a better look.

“It surely holds lots of power,” she nodded as her fingertips caressed the ruby of the crown. She smiled to herself, sensing her mother as she looked at her husband’s face, finding his eyes. She searched his mind to look for the explanation and then she nodded at him. “Did you love my mother?” She asked, suddenly.

Mairon’s heart skipped a beat.

“She was not mine to love,” he only answered.

“And I am?” (Y/N)’s eyes sparkled cruelly. She could have promised him hundreds of times she would never hurt him but sometimes her father’s nature would overtake her in those little moments, keeping him on his toes. He did not believe her promises at all.

In fact, he was quite scared of his own wife. But that was the price he had to pay for binding himself to such a powerful creature just to be able to bask in her light and to use her power to increase his own influence.

“I understand that you do not like the crown,” he admitted his defeat, looking down.

“On the contrary. It is splendid. Your finest work so far, husband,” she explained and took the item gently from his hands as he laid his eyes on her once more – his needy, yearning gaze, desperate for her praise. “It is simple and humble and yet so powerful, detailed and exquisite. It takes real talent of the greatest craftsman to forge such a beauty,” she admitted and put it onto her head before turning around to look at herself in the mirror. She was smiling and Mairon took a deep breath out of relief.

“I shall inform Adar to gather his armies for our coronation,” Mairon bowed his head slightly.

“Do we need an official coronation? In front of these… creatures?” (Y/N) winced. “We can do whatever we want, can we not?”

“Yes, of course we can,” Mairon cleared his throat. What he really meant was that she could do whatever she wanted. But even that was not entirely true because her lack of experience would soon overshadow her natural inheritance. “It will just send a message to all the right people and look more significant in their eyes if we go through with the whole ceremony.”

“We did not have any ceremony for our wedding,” she pointed out. “You truly show your priorities now, dear husband.”

“Marriage is a sacred and intimate union, I do not care for the audience when it comes to it. My love and devotion are only for you to see,” he answered.

“I understand,” she nodded and turned her head around to look directly into his eyes instead of reading his face from the mirror’s reflection. “But on the next day after our coronation we are leaving this place. And we are never coming back here.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Mairon nodded.

“In fact, I have a perfect usage for the North,” she shrugged her arms and looked back into the mirror to adjust the crown on her head and admire herself.

“And that is…?” Mairon furrowed his brows, a little scared of her answer.

“It will be a perfect prison for our enemies, it is going to be where we will send those who refuse to follow us,” she smiled.

“Why would we not simply kill them?” Mairon wondered out loud. That seemed like a waste of resources.

“And where is the fun in that?” She huffed, reminding him of her father once more.

And then, she reminded him of Melkor even more because she added the line his old master had often been repeating:

“You are too stiff. One of the best things about holding power is that we set the rules and we can make them as enjoyable as we wish.”

They completed each other. His robes were red and heavily decorated with golden elements and details such as chains and embroidered words in black speech. Her robes were the same, only golden with red thread and red decorations. Together they presented themselves very regal but it was very clear which one of them held more power even though she was standing behind him with her hands clasped behind her back.

(Y/N) could feel Adar’s eyes on her, eyeing her up and down constantly but as much as she tried to get inside his mind, he was pushing her away. It was nearly embarrassing that she could not get through but there were things her husband did not know of – for example that her power was not as vast as he thought. 

With proper training, perhaps one day she could live up to the image he had of her inside his mind but the real reason why she could search through him so easily was because she shared a special bond with Mairon. Her father had left the door open within his servant’s broken and twisted mind and it was easy for her to sneak in now, especially when he was not really fighting her abilities back – trained like a good dog by Melkor to obey such infiltrating requests and just allow it to happen.

Adar was shaped by Melkor, too, but he was different. He held no love in his heart for his former master. And… simply – nearly embarrassingly simply – (Y/N) did not love him.

But she loved Mairon and he loved her. That was making the whole deal of reading his mind much easier.

She could only guess what Adar was thinking but she could sense some odd mix of pity and resentment upon his face whenever he looked at her. 

When the right time came, he nodded at her and she took a step ahead to touch her husband’s arm and squeeze it. He turned his head to glance at her with a soft smile.

“We can start now,” she whispered and he nodded.

“Are you sure you do not want to do this with me?” He asked.

“No, better not… I am not yet prepared to give speeches,” she took a few steps back again to hide a little in the shadows, as if it was possible while wearing such robes.

Mairon licked his lips and took a deep breath in before addressing the filthy creatures staring at him with widened eyes, curiously waiting for his words.

He nearly felt embarrassed that they were the army he was offering to his wife. She deserved real, powerful battalions. And she would have them very soon once they’d conquer more lands.

“Always, after a defeat… the shadow takes another shape and grows again,” he began, watching two Orcs carrying two crowns on black, velvet cushions. Once more, he winced a little at the realisation how humiliating it had to be for his wife to have her crown being carried to her by such a filthy creature. “Morgoth is gone,” he continued, “leaving us alone and disgraced. But today, a new age begins,” he added and fidgeted with his fingers, nervously. “Under me and my wife. Your new masters. Sauron and Lady (Y/N),” he introduced the woman the Orcs were the most curious about as he reached out his arm and she sighed, taking it and walking up to him to show herself although she had just asked him not to put her on display.

“What they say is true. My wife is a daughter of Morgoth,” Mairon announced, proudly and with a big grin on his face.

“And my husband – his most faithful and powerful Lieutenant,” (Y/N) announced, trying to legitimise his claims in the eyes of their army.

Perhaps she deserved it all more than him but the truth was that without his support she would not go far. He was far more experienced than her and he had been taking part in real battles for her father. 

“And with a new age, we bring you a new vision. A path to unconditional conquest,” Mairon promised, addressing the Orcs but squeezing his wife’s hand and she squeezed his back, sensing his nervousness. “For we seek a new kind of power,” he let go of her hand and raised his own as he spoke as if he was giving them all a lesson. (Y/N) clasped her hands on her abdomen, nearly humbly, but she remained right by his side this time without retreating to the shadows. “Not of the flesh, but over flesh. A power of the unseen world. One we shall use to enslave the peoples of Middle-earth to our very will,” Mairon explained.

The Orcs looked at each other and hummed to themselves, quite satisfied with such a promise. (Y/N) cracked a smile at her husband and he smiled back but his face went very serious again.

“Many Orcs will die,” he added and the atmosphere inside the room shifted immediately as the Orcs changed their humming into growling.

“But out of the chaos, we will forge a new and perfect order. No longer will we be hunted as the demons who broke Middle-earth, but rather worshipped as the saviours who finally healed it,” Mairon tried to show some excitement while explaining his plan to the Orcs, hoping they would share his enthusiasm. After all, they were not very intelligent beings. “By bringing its peoples together, to rule them all as one!” He raised his hands but the Orcs were not calmed down at all.

Malicious whispers in Black Speech echoed through the room – “Sauron lies”.

(Y/N) moved uncomfortably and glanced at her husband but he was too embarrassed to lay his eyes upon her as well. He was slowly starting to feel humiliated and to be humbled in front of her was nearly as dreadful as death. He was desperate to prove his worth to her, to make her see that he was truly a worthy successor of her father. But whatever he was proving now was the fact he was nothing but still his pathetic servant. A shadow of Melkor.

“Doubt me at your peril,” he continued but his voice slightly trembled out of nervousness and he clasped his hands in the same manner as his wife had clasped hers. However, he managed to lower his voice once more and make it sound dark again. “You have nowhere else to turn. The Valar will never forgive you. Elves will never accept you,” he pointed out. “Men… Men will never look upon you with anything but horror and disgust,” he added with a hint of satisfaction and contempt.

The Orcs’ growling did not stop. In fact it had gotten worse.

“A corrupted and ignoble race, worthy only to be haunted and slaughtered,” Mairon ignored their unhappy reaction as he went on.

From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) spotted one of the Orcs standing nearby – chosen to be one of their personal guards – shifting slightly and she spotted a dagger in his hands.

“Watch out!” She gasped at her husband and took a step back, watching him turn around quite elegantly and slitting the Orc’s throat swiftly in self-defence.

The audience went completely quiet and (Y/N) blinked a few times at the sight. She had never witnessed her husband like that and if he cared so much about proving his worth – perhaps at this very moment he just had.

The Orc fell down to his knees, choking on his own blood. (Y/N) approached Mairon, feeling Adar’s intense gaze on her back. Her husband pulled the Orc even closer to himself and watched the life leaving his victim with fascination and resentment. (Y/N) tilted her head and watched, too.

And after a while, she reached for her own dagger and finished the assassin off with a few systematic and rough thrusts. After the last one, the Orc’s body fell down lifeless and bleeding. (Y/N) looked up into her husband’s eyes. She could sense he was surprised and impressed but he chose not to show it.

Mairon turned around to run his hands through his ginger hair that had gotten ruffled in the fight. He wanted to always present himself neatly in front of his followers, therefore he smoothed them in a nonchalant manner that also betrayed his nervousness.

(Y/N) did not bother to fix anything about her appearance while she hid her blade away without even wiping it. Her anger rose as she looked at the filthy army of the Orcs below them.

“We are your only future and our path is your only path!” She yelled at them, feeling her face swelling up with thick, black blood she inherited from her father’s cursed flesh he had been bound to. Another long silence occurred at her outburst and she felt herself calming down a little at the sight of the Orcs tilting their heads. Perhaps only now they had truly realised whose daughter she really was and that it was not wise to raise her anger. “Who among you dare say otherwise?” She asked, calmly.

No one dared to say anything, therefore she stood by Adar’s side and he took Mairon’s crown from one of the velvet cushions. Her husband was supposed to be crowned first and she cracked a smile at him once he was kneeling down, presenting himself nearly humbly as he waited for Morgoth’s reforged crown to be put onto his head.

The Orcs were growling and snarling when Adar raised the crown to show it to them but now, when (Y/N) had tasted their blood, she was not afraid to taste more. She would fight each one of them if she had to. It was her right. Her father had created them and they had no right to question her or her husband.

She had chosen Mairon to be her companion. Perhaps he had been manipulating her into this choice but, in the end, it had been entirely her decision to choose him despite everything. The only person in the whole world who had any right to question him was she. Nobody else.

She was about to become the Queen of Middle-earth and only the Queen could question her King Consort. The one she had chosen for herself.

She got a little dreamy thinking all these thoughts and spotted Mairon looking up to meet her gaze. He was so uncertain at the moment, so humiliated and so humble… Her heart clenched inside her chest as she sent him an encouraging and loving smile. It visibly soothed him and he looked down once more.

Perhaps he would never be truly worthy of her but still – out of all the men in Middle-earth – he was the most worthy one.

“All Hail, Lord Sauron and Lady (Y/N)!” Adar exclaimed in the Black Speech. “The New Dark Lord and The Dark Queen.”

A shiver of anticipation travelled down her body. Perhaps her husband would never be truly worthy of her but the truth was – she would not have been there if it was not for him. He made it all possible. He was the one to take her back from her father’s cold realm created to protect her. Because, genuinely, she was not sure if she had been able to get out of there alone.

She owed him everything just like he owed everything to her.

“All hail!” The Orcs chanted hesitantly and Adar walked up to Mairon.

(Y/N) watched Adar carefully – something was not right about him, something was very off-putting and very worrying. She furrowed her brows and then she realised what he was about to do after raising the crown up and turning it around in a swift movement, directing the iron spikes at Mairon.

“No!” She yelled and jumped into the front but a sharp pain in the abdomen stopped her from continuing.

“No!” It was Mairon’s turn to scream now as she looked down and saw the spikes of her father’s crown buried deep into her stomach. She raised her eyes and furrowed her brows at Adar – her assassin. There was satisfaction written all over his face.

“I pitied you… But you are just like him,” he whispered before taking the spikes out of her body and turning around to attack Mairon with them now. (Y/N) reached her hands out weakly but she fell to her knees and grabbed her hurt stomach.

She should not die easily – after all she was half a Vala. But she was also half an Elf and the Vala who was her father had been bound to his flesh. Therefore, an item so powerful was able to defeat her – or at least to destroy her flesh.

She choked at the blurred sight of her husband being pierced through with Morgoth’s crown and then a bunch of Orcs came at him. He was trying to fight them back bravely and get to her, shouting her name but it was all for nothing. There were too many of the Orcs keeping them apart and tearing him to pieces.

(Y/N) sobbed and Adar crouched down next to her, holding her chin up so her dying eyes could still see her husband’s torment.

“The legacy of your father is gone now,” Adar whispered right before she lost consciousness.

When (Y/N) came back to reality, she felt her own presence but there was no shape nor flesh around it. She existed as a spirit and she found herself inside the very same hall she had been slain in but it was empty now. There were dark shadows where her body and her husband’s body had laid in the puddles of thick, black blood as anger filled her whole presence at the memory of betrayal.

She felt the cold wind coming inside through the doors and she was on her way outside, already trying to come up with what her next flesh would look like. She had lost the one she was given by birth – the one which actually looked like a mix of her mother and the body her father had been bound to. But now she would forge a new flesh for herself and she had to admit that was quite exciting. Perhaps without pointy ears this time – to blend in with the crowd.

Her plan was to leave the North and to go South. To join the humans and the Elves and all the other creatures living there – to meet them, to see how they lived, to learn their patterns and about the world she was supposed to rule one day.

Finally she would leave the land of the endless snow. Where once her father and then her husband had kept her as if she was their prisoner.

But as she moved closer and closer to the door, she felt a tugging presence within the walls of the abandoned fortress. Sauron.

He was still alive somehow – in a way – just like she was but much weaker and not as aware of his own self as she was. It was no surprise, after all he was only a Maia.

And if she left him now, perhaps he would never survive on his own.

(Y/N) froze right in front of the doors leading outside. She wanted to go, she really did. She had craved to see the world ever since she had been a little girl…

But she could not leave him. She could not leave Sauron. Her husband. 

She remembered his nervous smile, his fidgeting fingers, his ginger hair, his blushing cheeks. How he would steal delicate kisses from her, how they would lay in each other’s arms under the covers and whisper sweet things. How his eyelashes would brush the skin of her cheeks in the most intimate moments.

She could not leave him. He needed her.

Even though she was not sure if he would do the same thing for her.

And just like that, she retreated and went down to the dark, cold and damp corridors under the fortress. And even though she was capable of forging herself a new flesh much quicker than he was, she delayed it because she allowed his weak and pathetic form to feed off of her energy to keep him strong and alive. She was giving herself away to him – piece by piece, which was slowing down her own progress of forging new body but it was increasing the speed of his. And she nearly felt chained with her own devotion instead of the real chains – just like her mother remained chained to her father in some foreign realm where Melkor was being punished.

“You can heal, too,” Mairon assured (Y/N) and reached out to help the dying butterfly. “Look,” he focused on giving away some of his energy to make the butterfly regain its strength and the young woman’s eyes sparkled as she laughed.

“You fed him with your own spirit,” (Y/N) noticed. “Why do you think I would let any parasite feed off of me? Who would be ever worthy of sharing my power?” She asked and Mairon’s mouth opened slightly.

This conversation had taken place when they had first met. Apparently, she found out the answer to her question – who would ever be worthy of sharing her power? He was.

(Y/N) was half-Elf and Elves were mortal creatures in a way they could be slain or fatally injured. When Adar had killed her, he had killed the elven part of her. The light was gone from her body now and it was no longer a question of whether she would tilt into the light or the darkness. Oh, no… The decision was made.

“Once we get out of here, once we forge ourselves new flesh, my darling,” she cooed to the black, slimy creature that remained all left of her husband at the moment, “we will have our revenge. And do not even try to stop me from destroying anything or anyone,” she threatened as the black, weakly breathing substance whined. “You are right, my sweet, the world needs to be healed. But it is far too rotten. We have to start over. We have to rebuild it once more, from the ashes of the current one. The Dark Queen and her Dark Lord.”

She had been nothing but a chrysalis so far but – soon – she would bloom into a beautifully terrifying butterfly.

Into her father’s daughter.

MASTERLIST

[n1-lance-defender]

How has the dehumanization of celebrities/athletes has affected the perception people have of Lance, and it has caused so much harm over the years. A rant/ threat/analysis.

Yes, I have seen so many (3) of these post over the last few days, and I think it is my turn to speak about my views regarding Lance and what I find most upsetting about his situation. Then I proceeded to wander and explain how it also connects to other drivers, and it’s one of the weird phenomenons of the digital era.

Btw I care a lot about this topic, but this is probably (aside from school) the most I have written in English, because this is my second language. So if something doesn't make much sense, just tell me so I can correct/improve the explanation.

During the last decade we have seen the rise of social media, and with it, the fanaticism of sports started showing characteristics we associate with fandoms and literacy. For example, even thought it doesn't seem that way, fan fiction has existed for at least 50 years, being more notorious with the Spock x James (Star Trek) whose fan fiction goes back till 1966. On the other hand, the oldest fanfic we have evidence of, in F1, was written in November 2009, almost 2010. This has made, over the last decade, the perception we have of drivers shift to a more personal matter and increase the importance of having an attractive internet image.

I do not condemn RPF, I enjoy reading about it and probably, like most of us, won't stop doing it. However, I think it is beneficial to talk about similar behavior has had an impact over mainstream media and social media (influencers in particular) and it has been the cause of irrational hatred us, lance supporters, are so used to seeing.

I used to believe it was extremely weird how in random TikToks or YouTube analysis there were being made jokes of lance. Some that stood out to me were “then we have the C4 tires that, except for Stroll's car, will make them go faster” or “we are about to see 19 drivers and Stroll race in the great circuit of X”. Before and after these comments were made, I was just watching videos on tire degradation and race lines of a circuit analysis, respectively. It didn't add anything to the video, it wasn't even a video that was made to be funny. That is when I started thinking about it, and realized, mainstream media has done the same as us, they have turned him into a character.

Brief statement. Every one makes “characters” out from people. We have wide imaginations in which we think how others will behave with some evidence we have, not just in social media. We daydream for example about our crushes and things we think they will say, we idolize them in our heads. The same thing happens here in social media, we decide which driver is which fruit, animal, or teddy bear. Because we do it positively, there are no impacts, and it is more than likely that this information will never reach the driver himself. However, means of communication whom do have access to them are also doing this, but not with the right intentions.

There are stereotypical characters in movies/series, we have all see that at some point. Most times we agree that their writing is put in a way that makes them very one dimensional and not relatable at all. Sometimes they write characters whose only purpose in the series will be to act as comic relief, so then the scene doesn't feel heavy or boring. They become the internal joke of the show.

That is what it is happening to Lance, his internet image has being corrupted enough, so then people have no problem using him as a comic relief, because they are so convinced that is what his “character” was written for, to ease up tension. It seems like it has been normalized making fun of him to a point where it is expected you are into the “joke”, and there is absolutely no shame in making fun of him while talking about f1.

He is not a character. He does not fall into a common stereotype made by poor written movies. Because he is an actual person, with layers and self-awareness of the things said about him. The fact that this is how we treat people is terrible and extremely harmful, cause 90% of F1 fans do not have the time or care about little things that happen to them or mind their personality to deeper levels. They take the first input they get from social media, use that to make an opinion and move on with the other important thing in their live.

Example of this, my dad. He loves F1, he is the one that made me love it as much as I do. He has his F1tv subscriptions and talks with me about it all the time, watches all practices, qualys and races. He wants to take me some day to see a race, there is no denying he is an F1 fan. But that man does not have Instagram, does not have TikTok. I have tried to explain to him what an edit is multiple times and still he doesn't get it, so I won't even try to explain what are fan works. So when I told him “OMG MAX IS HAVING A BABY” his reaction was “oh, with his current girlfriend? cool” that man pretended some interest because I was excited. He couldn't care less about the personal life of anyone.

So then the image he has of the drivers is the little description over the Facebook posts of sky sports and danz. So when that description only reflects a character they themselves created, that is what gets in the mind of their readers. That is what their personality is to the rest of the world. That is why now more than ever, drivers care so much about their perception. There isn't enough time to get to know them, so it is usually that headline they get what makes the opinion of the public over them.

Lando is seem as childish. Charles is seem as pretty. Yuki is seem as angry. Franco is seem as flirty. George is seem as girly. Lance is seem as useless. Try asking someone older, their opinion over these drivers, and they will say something between these stereotypes. We could debate it is better or worst to not get one of these labels, because the problem of always flying under the radar (which is now almost impossible) is that nobody is sad when they leave, there is no recognition, goodbye, appreciation, or thank you, which to me, it is beyond sad.

We have gotten into a point where media training and curating social media is part of the rookies' preparation, being popular has become a requirement to be a successful f1 driver. I am just left to wander, what is the best approached we can take about it? We can't stop the dehumanization of drivers and then let them put them into stereotypes. That is just a sad truth and problematic of the internet. So I guess what we have left is to defend, create narratives against the hatred they receive and hope eventually media will become more empathic and joke around just because they can.

Who knows, people are becoming more critical of stereotypical characters and are less willing to believe one dimension personalities. Hopefully with new generation this marketing strategy will become useless and media portrayed would change.

[deariemay]

I agree and I think positive representation of homosexuality is really important. Sex that is not reproductive is still a genuine form of intimacy

As a lesbian I have enjoyed reading some ABO because it is cathartic to watch men experience fictional sex-based oppression. Fear of pregnancy, stereotypes surrounding biology, etc. I would absolutely love if these stories were about women instead, and didn’t feature a (usually abusive) ‘alpha male’ they eventually fall in love with, but some of them have been striking and emotional, and women have been overlooked in publishing and literature for so long, I’m sometimes just glad to have them express themselves as artists.

(Low Tide in Twilight had a genuinely fantastic protagonist, it was heartbreaking. I hated the love interest though)

Sometimes it’s for the best that women aren’t featured. I believe the women who write ABO would — if they were told to no longer write heterosexual gender roles in yaoi — instead write ‘dark romance’ along the lines of Colleen Hoover. I really don’t think we need more of that. Some women writing ABO are projecting the misogyny they experience onto dolls and creating a separation to deconstruct it. I don’t think if a woman or teenage girl who has grown up her whole life being told her purpose is to get married and have children, projects those expectations onto a male, that is inherently wrong.

As for the ABO f/f inundation, I have never met a biological woman who has wrote that. It has all been men or TIMs. We can’t even get men to stop raping women on camera, so I honestly don’t even try to stop these freaks cause they don’t care.

ABO doesn’t accurately depict homosexuality because it is usually for straight women. Erotic literature that exists only for straight women is important because they need a safe space to express themselves sexually that men don’t access. Yaoi keeps straight men away, whereas f/m has men infesting the comment section. Seeing as most fanfic writers are teens, predation is a huge concern. However, fanfic has led to a huge spike in girls ‘transitioning’ into men, because they want yaoi relationships, not realizing gay men are *nothing* like the way straight women write them. If we clarify this, I believe ABO can have a place in the world

I would love love love having more female characters. I want women to stop writing from men’s perspective. A lot of ABO is bad and just poorly written, but some isn’t and I value female artistic creation and expression of misogynistic structures. I read ABO before I realized I was gay because I was attracted to the female characteristics of the ‘omegas’ but hated het erotica. Some women struggle with internalized homophobia and coming to terms with their attraction to female anatomy and ABO can be a place to explore that

Outside of fan fiction, gay men just have so many spaces in the way lesbians don’t. Every single corner in my city has a gay bar but there are no lesbian bars. As a lesbian woman, when I go to these places they side-eye me like I’m colonizing. They are so much more visible (RuPaul, Q**** Eye etc.) and there’s lots of incredibly successful gay men all across history. I will always support gay men, but I think there are plenty of places for them to define what their sexuality means to them. I have never met a gay man who reads ABO. It just exists outside of their sphere of influence. It’s usually for women, and with how much women are dehumanized in het erotica, I’m hesitant to tell them they should be writing het instead.

As someone who has been very deep in fandom stuff and has gotten out of the disgusting aspects of it, I wanted to make an overview of the most obvious aspects that are problematic with ABO dynamics, because I only ever see being against ABO treated as a "preference" issue within fandom, when I think it is a political/societal issue. People only ever want to hear the most comfortable point of view on a subject, no one likes looking too deeply into fandom because it is often people's escape from reality. I too use fandom as escapism, but there are lines that shouldn't be crossed, there is a limit after which fandom can become unhealthy, and instill unhealthy ideas within already vulnerable people.

To anyone outside of my followers who might read this, I want to clarify that this analysis comes from the perspective of a lesbian who's tired of misogyny and homophobia in fandom.

So getting down to a basic view of it, a lot of ABO is set in m/m ships, in order to add either mpreg to the mix, or create a heterosexual-adjacent parallel within a same sex ship. It also uses alpha/omega dynamics as an equivalent to top/bottom, and by extension equates top/bottom to dom/sub, as the alphas are always burly, sometimes even mean, evil, dark, and the omegas are pathetic waifs, who only ever bottom, who only ever serve. This is homophobic. This is normalizing the idea that all homosexual relationships are devious or fetishistic.

My main qualms with the mpreg aspect... Mpreg is used to basically remove any need for women in fandom, and it truly shows how fandom just sees women as breeding machines/wives/mothers, so unnecessary they even take away the ability to reproduce from them, giving it over to men, so they don't have to bother writing female characters at all. These men have fully functional male anatomy, but also somehow a working uterus somewhere in the mix, which is just fantastical, but still, these are fully male characters. (Pointing it out because it will be relevant later on).

Both of these examples (mpreg and using alpha/omega as both top/bottom and dom/sub) tie into what I mentioned about the need to fit same sex relationships into heterosexual roles. You know what couples can reproduce? Male and female couples. Aka heterosexual/opposite sex attracted couples. When you take a gay ship, with same sex attracted individuals, and push them into "able to impregnate" and "able to be impregnated" boxes, you are trying to assimilate a homosexual couple into a heterosexual one, and that normalizes that only couples who can reproduce are worthy of telling stories about.

I've talked about m/m ships because they are the overall prevalent ships in most fandoms, and definitely the most common in ABO dynamics alternative universe fanfiction. However, when ABO is applied to f/f ships, something even more perverse can be observed: often, the alpha female characters are granted a penis. At this point there is no hiding that basically ABO f/f fanfiction is actually f/m fanfiction, wherein one of the characters (the alpha) is actually male, with breasts to go along with a fetishistic, unrealistic view of supposedly f/f relationships. This leads to plenty of heterosexual sex flooding the f/f tags. This leads to the idea that lesbians enjoy penis. It leads to the idea that they need penis in order to have fulfilling relationships, with "breeding" kinks, with pregnancy. Like in m/m fanfic, the alpha character has fully functioning male genitalia, even if they might present breasts.

I don't think it needs to be said that fandom often fetishizes and oversexualizes gay ships. That's already fucked up obviously, but at least outside of ABO, usually the fanfiction is actually homosexual. Through ABO fanfiction homosexual relationships are assimilated into heterosexual ones, and we're supposed to let it slide because of... Why?

The alpha/omega stuff translates into fucker and fucked, one must be the one who "wears the pants" in the relationship, one must be submissive, quiet, subservient.... Aka basic heterosexist bullshit.

This particular fanfiction trope teaches young impressionable gay people that the correct way for them to be is actually heterosexual, and it teaches heterosexual people reading fanfic that actually gay people are totally interested in opposite sex genitalia which is just... Not true. It also teaches women we are unimportant, replaceable. It takes pregnancy, this aspect of womanhood which has historically been used to oppress us, keep us down, keep us quiet and subservient... And normalizes that men could go through that too. It coopts our struggles. So you get a barrage of abortion fics, of teen pregnancy fics, of dangerous pregnancy situation fics... And they're all about men. Not a single woman with a speaking role in sight. Maybe they'll have a daughter, though, so the alpha gets to be overprotective, and they get to be seen as soft dads, and she gets to have no autonomy or personality... Bc what woman ever does?

TLDR; ABO is both homophobic and misogynistic/sexist. Drop that gross shit.

[multiwreckedmess]

[12:39AM]

Remember when i said i'd write some mean yunho? for @yunlazia​

Pairing: cheater!yunho x cheater!fem!reader WC: ~3k Summary: A lowkey continuation of my Kinktober - Intercrural fic. You and Yunho have too many friends in common to avoid each other. So what if you don't? Standard disclaimer, this is meant for 18+ and my blog is 18+ please do not interact if you are not 18+ because I AM OLD. You don't WANT to interact with me just as much as I don't want to interact with YOU.

This fanfic is, as the genre defines it, FICTIONAL. It is in no way a representation of Yunho or any Ateez member.

TW/CW: Cheating. If you aren't down with a fictional cheating fic, just back out now. Also it is consented but not really? Extended below the cut.

TW/CW: Unrealistic, time-jumpy, not proofread. PIV sex, unprotected sex, cumming inside. Big cock Yunho. Minor hand kink. Fingering (fem receiving). Rough. Reader doesn't say yes but also is given very clear direction that if she says no, Yunho will stop. Reader called Princess a fair amount.

 It would’ve been more understandable if you were blackout drunk. Or even just more than half a watered down drink into the night. This, this you couldn’t blame on anything but your own weak will.  “I need some air,” Yunho tugged at your elbow, more lightly than you’d care to admit for how easily you followed him. A bad idea. “Be back soon,” he volleys a wink at the pretty thing he’s been chatting up for the last fifteen minutes. Dickhead.

 Yunho’s strides are long, his legs extending much farther than you remembered, as you practically trot alongside him to keep up. “Where the fuck are you taking me in such a fucking hurry?”  He stops and blinks. “I’m getting a pack of smokes.”  “Why the fuck do you need me?”  “I don’t.” He resumes his strides as you follow, indignantly half stomping when you’re able to catch him.  “Then why did you pull me along?!”  Yunho shrugs, “I tapped your elbow. I didn’t expect you to follow me. You could always turn around and head back to the party.”  You groan. Mostly upset with yourself for falling so easily back into his stupid games. “You’d leave a lady alone in the middle of the dark?”  “No, I wouldn’t leave a lady alone,” his gate slows as he eyes you up and down meaningfully. A smirk tickles his cheeks. “Yeah, I wouldn’t leave a lady, would I?” He resumes his brisk pace with you in tow.  “What the fuck are you implying?”  Yunho turns quickly on his toes, letting you smack full velocity into his chest. One hand holding you by the base of your spine to him. “A lady,” he sneers, “wouldn’t let a man cum in her panties while her boyfriend waits for her in the adjoining room, would she? If I can remember correctly your tight little cunt was practically begging for it. So no, I wouldn’t leave a lady in the dark, but you, I’d do a lot of things to you I wouldn’t do to a lady.”

 His hand burns in its place miraculously through your layers of coat and sweater. His leg slotted between yours just subtly enough to make it feel unintentional, natural, like he’d never left. As if the flames of hell themselves had come from the ground to lick the side of your face you can feel arousal creeping up from your core and catching in your gut. It’s not until he releases you to start briskly walking towards the light of the gas station that you realize you hadn’t breathed since he caught you. You follow after him, jaw tense and tongue tied. If you could prove him wrong you would, but you can’t, so you stew.

 Yunho stays exactly one pace ahead of you. Just fast enough that to keep up with him you’d need to swap to a slow jog instead of a quick walk. The bright lights burn cold overhead. Nasty lighting. It turns the white propane tanks dingy and grey below it.  “I hate it when you smoke.” The words hit him as his hand presses into the metal push bar of the door.  “So why did you keep following me?”  “I don’t feel right about that-- what we--you--no, we. What we did.”  Yunho smirks over his shoulder, “first time?” The door swings open as he continues through, leaving you staring aghast at his sheer audacity momentarily before following after him. “It was fun though, right? Exciting?” His eyes scan the shelves of snacks, not seeming to really look for anything.  “Immoral.”  “But that doesn’t preclude being a good time. In fact-” he turns suddenly to you, arm reaching just over your shoulder, as if you weren’t even there “-it can make it even more erotic. Found them.” Yunho winks down at you, pulling a bag of chips off the shelf as if the position hadn’t stopped your heart.  A thin stream of air escapes as you deflate. “We shouldn’t have, regardless. Regardless it was wrong and- Yunho- can you listen to me? What about that…her…that girl I keep seeing you with?”  Passing the chips over the counter and asking for a fresh pack, Yunho shrugs at you. “As replaceable as what’s his nuts- your beau.”  “I thought you were friends!

 Yunho lights his little half-sober ill-advised treat. Even though he’d told everyone who cared that he’d quit, even though he didn’t take breaks at work anymore, even though he knew each consumed cancer stick took from his life, he couldn’t help himself when his judgement was loosened. His nose is red with the cold. Ears too. “Did you want anything?” He mumbles, cigarette tucked between his lips.  You sulk, leaning into the cold cement slab wall. “No.”  He cranes his neck up and to the side, blowing smoke away from you. There’s something alluring about his neck. His jawline is perfect, especially in this strange harsh light.  “I’m cold,” you complain to get him to hurry up. There’s no sign of movement as he takes another slow, steady drag. Yunho unbuttons his peacoat with one hand, tapping inside slightly with one brow raised.  “Cuddle up, buttercup. Or freeze. I’m not moving.” He smirks as you begrudgingly shuffle in front of him, leaning in to fold yourself into his embrace. Cold face pressing to his cozy sweater, a warm sigh reveals your true feelings.  “You’re such a shit.”  “You doth protest too much, methinks.”  Yunho smells like sweet smoke and cedar, cozy and inviting. He’s easy to get sucked into, easy to let yourself relax against. It feels like a home that you’d never left. The world spins when you close your eyes. Maybe you’re more drunk than you give yourself credit for. Maybe you’re just more tired than you realized. Maintaining appearances, spinning the plates just so, making excuses where needed. Slowly without you completely realizing it, your arms snake around his waist. Blame it on muscle memory or maybe you just wanted to warm your hands. All excuses. His back feels strong as ever, long lean muscle from top to bottom. Good for wrapping your legs around.  Yunho crushes his half finished cigarette against the wall. A better treat easily in his grasp. His newly freed hand roams south of your waist, testing to see if you retaliate. Instead he feels your face press harder into him, trying to hide your guilty expression. Suddenly he fully gropes your ass, fingers digging into the flesh through your skirt and stockings, peeling your cheeks apart slightly.  “Yunho!” Your head jerks away to blink up at him.  “Princess,” he responds with a purr.  “Your…whatever she is!”  He leans over and kisses your indignant mouth, half expecting a slap. Instead you seem to yield into it, still holding onto his waist, your hips bumping up against him. “I’m not too worried,” he barely breathes, eyes fluttered shut. He kisses you again just to make sure. Just to test his fate. To be positive you weren’t just stunned.  Yunho’s mouth tastes like the ashes of a burnt marshmallow. Kissing him leaves you thirsty, mouth dry, getting high off the nicotine remnants that cling to his lips. A disappointed moan pulls from your lungs as his lips leave yours. Your weight falling into his chest fully, he takes the opportunity to turn your back into the wall, caging you with his body. Still as hard as he presses to you you pull him in. Breathless and stunned your eyes study his face, both of your mouths panting, sharing clouds of condensation between you.  “I have to pee,” you manage to squeak out as a lame excuse.  “I have the code on my receipt.”  “Code. Right.” You make no move to escape despite your brain practically screaming at you to do something. Anything to make some plausible deniability. You cannot be complicit in this as fully as your heart is. Instinctively you reach into his front pants pocket, fishing for the slip of paper.  Yunho chuckles, loosing a tense exhale into the air. “Careful there princess, a man might get the wrong idea.”  “Shut up and give me the code.”  “Paying customers only,” he winks, hand dipping under your skirt. Your eyes roll back as his fingerings worm their way between your thighs, sliding along your slicked tights. He presses more instantly as you shudder. “Only one of us has paid babe. How bad do you want it?”  Your hips betray you, canting up towards him. “Yunho-,” your voice warbles as you try to sound stern and commanding.  “How badly? Do you? Want? It?”  “Please.”  Yunho smirks, suddenly pushing himself off the wall, pulling his hand from between your legs swiftly. Popping his damp fingers between his lips he tilts his head towards the building. Looking at the ground you scuttle behind him. The kid at the counter barely looks up from his phone as the two of you make your way to the back, down the service hallway lined with overstock, and to the unisex bathroom door. A few swift presses and the door chimes an alert that its successfully unlocked, Yunho ushering you under his arm inside. It’s all so fast you barely notice him slipping in behind you and shutting the door. Every move is so slick, you know he’s done it before.  “Yunho! I really-” your gasp breaks your sentence early, Yunho pulling you to him, pressing his fingers to your pussy once more.  “We both know how dumb of an excuse that was,” he hisses. “I can feel how much you want this, or are you going to lie again?”  “Yunho, we can’t-” “You keep saying we can’t. So tell me no. Tell me stop. Lie and tell me you don’t want to fuck your propper little pussy in this nasty bathroom. Do it and I’ll leave.”  You whimper and grind back against him. You can’t do any of it. You were never good at denying yourself of what you really wanted, even if you knew it was bad for you. Chocolate ice cream during a cold, caffeine past 6pm, stalking his profile on social media, all things you couldn’t help but indulge in. His fingers grip either side of the seam of your tights, ripping them down the middle with such force you topple forward through his arms, bracing yourself on the sink. You can just see your eyes in the lower portion of the dingy mirror, Yunho's full face in view until he leans over you. His long fingers push your panties aside, slicking himself up with your release before sliding two digits between your warm walls. Your breath hitches, leg kicking up as your knees tremble.  “Can’t ever say what you really want can you,” Yunho muses. His lips rest between the shell of your ear and your hairline, speaking with an intense hushed whisper. “Can’t even admit how wet you are for me. Feels good being bad, right?”  “Yunho,” his name is a wet shaky word drizzling out like water from a leaky pipe.  “You can’t even say yes, can you?” His fingers beckon inside you, rubbing along that front wall, stroking that small gummy spot that most hadn’t taken the time to find but he knew so well. “Can you tell me, do his fingers feel as good as mine do? Does he push your buttons like I do?”  “No,” you sob an honest response as Yunho abuses the spot faster, making the knot in your core twist and tighten into a ball of ecstasy. His cock pokes the meat of your ass, a promise of what’s in store for the two of you.  “Does he know how hard you cry when you cum?” You gulp back another heaved half sob half reply. Of course your boyfriend didn’t. Only Yunho could take you apart like this. The sweat slicked porcelain sink slips beneath your grasp. He catches you just barely with his other arm wrapping up over your chest, his fingers resting at the base of your throat.  “You going to cum for me princess?” He taunts you.  You nod, biting your lips shut between your teeth. “Yunho-” his name leaks out of the corners of your mouth.  “Let go, I’ve gotchu,” his hand fully eclipses your mouth, clamping firmly to muffle your wail. Your entire body tenses as you peak, coating his fingers in your essence. His arms hold your stiffened body before you collapse into boneless bliss. “Hold onto the sink, princess. It’ll only be a second.”  You whine as his fingers leave you empty, wobbling like a newborn giraffe. The telltale zip and shuffle is all you need to know of what's going on behind you. The blunt tip of his heavy cock prods your greedy cunt.  “I’d love to savor this moment but if we take too long that kid will get suspicious and come looking.” Your hips rock against him subconsciously.  “You know how much I love taking what isn’t mine.” He barely buries the tip inside of you, relishing in the way your walls attempt to draw him deeper, the way your body trembles on the edge of anticipation. “Just the tip right? If it’s just the tip it doesn’t count. That’s what I’ve heard.”  “Fucking jackass,” you seethe.  “You don’t want to be a cheater, right? You’re a good girl.”  You stomp your heels, you can’t be the one to break. It has to be him. It’s your last vestige of deniability. Your last claim to him being the tempter, the actor, the one in charge and at fault for all of this.  Yunho fucks his tip in and out maddeningly slowly, chuckling as he watches your hole flutter and clench. Teasing as he stretches you around his thick length. “Oh you poor thing, big mean Yuyu dragged you away to get smokes and wouldn’t let you go so you just had to fuck. Right? That’s how this happened, right? You never said yes so really…it was all him. Mean ol’ Yunho. You didn’t want it at all.”  Except you did. You did want it. You wanted him to fuck you so badly the anger was seeping out of your pores. You needed him to push himself as deep as you knew he could go, deeper than your boyfriend ever had. Mold your walls to him again. “Yunho- please-”  “Please what?”  “Yunho! You know I can’t say it! Please!”  His fingers tighten at your hips.  “Please what?” He asks again, cruelly thrusting just a bit deeper, angling just enough to skim your spot.  “Just do it already, just do it. Please, god, fuck, Yunho. Please. I can’t- I can’t-” you repeat until your breath runs out, arm reaching behind for something to pull him closer, fingers waggling as they search for fabric to grab.

 He pulls your hips flush to his suddenly, the glide easy but the stretch sinfully tight. Both of you groan deeply as the wind leaves your lungs by force. Yunho doesn’t waste time, setting a grueling pace as his hips snap against your ass. Rough and claiming as he curls over you. His pants and subvocalizations clear in your ear as you fight to stay standing. Your skirt is more a belt around your waist as he uses the band as leverage to maneuver your hips back against him. His lips settle concerningly close to the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his favorite place to nuzzle, and to bite.  “No marks,” you plead. “Yuyu, no marks. I just can’t have any marks.”  “Yeah, got it,” he growls, tilting his head down between your shoulderblades. “Cock’s going to leave an imprint.”  “Fuck, I hope.”  “Going to go home and have him fuck my cum deeper into you? Going to pretend you’re just that wet for him? Bet he wouldn’t know the difference.” His pace slows and stutters, close to his climax. The thought excites him too much, gets him just too close to the edge. Stilling completely his hand finds your clit, tracing quick circles around it, attempting to pull another orgasm from you.  “Shit, Yunho, I can’t- I can’t- I really have to pee- Yunho-” your voice shakes as fear grips your chest.  “It’s fine- you won’t- just let go-” he bounces your hips just slightly, jostling against that spot inside you with his length. Your gut flips and turns, eyes rolling back.  “Yunho-” you whine pitifully once more, trying to warn him.  “Cum for me princess, you know you can, cum on my cock.”  His fingers press against your clit harder as your eyelids flutter, vision going dark as you gush over him. Your walls work him, clamping hard down, trying to pull him deeper. His hips snap, a couple resounding hits before you feel him paint your walls in return. His cock pulses as your cunt milks him. Traitor.

 “Now go fuck that clumsy bastard with your eyes closed and try to pretend he’s me,” Yunho doesn’t mince words as he pulls from you, yanking your skirt over your rear. “Go put together your perfect pollyanna life. I’ll be here. Waiting.”

hopefully that fits the mean yuyu bill!

[twilightarc-gm]

ao3 Wrapped 2024 - twilightarc

Instead of an ask game I decided to just answer the questions on the sourced post that I can answer for my own benefit and fun.

How many words have you written this year? Ao3 Published: 310,834

How many works did you publish this year? 7 Complete / 13 Total

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? Always 'mainfic' i.e. This River Runs Beyond Heaven and Earth [江流天地外] I put so much work into it for fanfic. Why? I got mental health issues, I guess.

What work of yours has the most hits? I Long For You (相思) Hits: 5,311

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? Damn your love, damn your lies. Everyone is VERY VOCAL (affectionate) about Jiang Cheng being in a loveless marriage and needing a divorce pronto. 🥰

Favorite title you used Again, mainfic's title taken from a poem and has a wealth of description to it that really sets the tone for the entire story. Never gonna top that.

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? "damn your love, damn your lies" is the only song title and it's from Fleetwood Mac - The Chain

Pairing you wrote the most for this year? CHENGXIAN to no one's surprise...

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year? Obviously this is also ChengXian but only because I haven't actually got to Jiang Cheng/Hu Touxiang(OC) this year.

What work was the quickest to write? To Endeavor is to Endure (4,331 words) This was a prompt fill, I did it in like two days ish.

What work took you the longest to write? Of the complete works: The BigBang2024 entry I ended up doing as a series with my co-author Specs. It took 6 months to write. YM3 Gen fic with MSY worldbuilding 🤲 Reprieve and a New Start and The Turning Point

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year? 19!

What’s your longest work of the year? My most viewed work this year! I Long For You @ (45,781 words)

What’s your shortest work of the year? The prompt one-shot which is my 'quickest' (4,331 words)

What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag? Not counting the "structural tags" of my "flavor" tags it's: Protective Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian (3) 🥰

Your favorite character to write this year? Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin (9)!!

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? 😣 LWJ in divorce fic. I hate writing him. It was really hard to convey his own issues and insecurities while not making him say too much or explain himself too readily.

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? Jiang Cheng/Hu Touxiang!!! No more posting WIPs for me in 2025 I need to buckle down to get mainfic really going!

Which work of yours have you reread the most? 😅 If not mainfic then Red Tin of Heresy because I dunno what's going on with the vibes on that one but I keep rereading hoping I'll learn something from the demon that possessed me.

How many kudos in total did you get this year? Kudos: 1,050 !! And that's with works locked down which is really nice for me because I got more kudos the year I only posted 5 works when I left things unlocked.

Which work has the most comments?

Did you do any collaborative works this year? Yes! For BigBang 2024 with my friend Specs😘 and the divorce fic with/for @spriteofmushrooms. Oh! and CX Zine 2024 fic with @kabybaali who came up with the idea and wonderful art!

Did you write any gifts this year? Three!!

Did you receive any gifts this year? Five! From @groundwiremantaray Mission: Survive the Date (T rated chengxian SpyxFamily AU, very cute!) and from Specs Still Sparkling in the Night (T rated chengxian with Chinese Mythology!). Also a beautiful art gift scaly sweetheart by sugar_shoal and @notluceo fanart of Cheng-lang and Ya-Xian!! AND a beautiful gifset from @add1ctedt0you for one of my first one-shots Of Summer and Smiles

What’s your most common category? M/M (5)

What do you listen to while writing? Usually something wordless like industrial techno on loop.

Favorite work you wrote this year? Of the complete stuff: I Long For You, I really enjoyed writing the sex scene in that one because it was a lot of ebb and flow and from top!JC's pov.

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Biggest surprise while writing this year?

Not doing the last two because of recency bias 🤣 like hell I can remember something like that to compare over an entire year!

[idiaandazulstan]

GUYS WAHT IF NOAH MEETS MIKU (random ahh idea i came up w/) Miku was rushed btw i CARE ABOUT NOAH MORE THAN MIKU 👹

Stoopy oneshot!!: (the slanted and orange text is Noah btw, this is my first time at doin oneshots!! Idk)

The Chris McLean building!!(workplace)

Noah was doing the host's orders like normal, getting diabolical sugary coffee for his boss, making sure the interns are NOT slacking off, testing the challenges for the next gen campers(victims), feeding the exotic animals(dangerous), all the hard stuff!!

BUT what the brainiac didn't expect was getting his phone CRACKED just because he accidentally slipped!? AND meeting a rando that emerged from his phone, color pallete looking like cotton candy?!?(Including her whole figure seeming transparent as well, is he going cuckcoo like Izzy now?)

"WHAT THE FUCK WHO ARE YOU?!!" He scrambled to stand up, getting his pen from his pockets to point at the random girl, while she just waved at him like they were friends. "Who does she think she is??"

He calmed down after a few minutes, putting the pen back in his pocket, then looking at his cracked phone on the ground, sighed, "At least it still looks functional..." Noah grabbed his phone, pocketed it, then looked at the girl, "Hey, what's your name. You clearly aren't an employee here."

She smiled and introduced herself bubbly, "My Name is Hatsune Miku! And-" Then started giving information about herself too much, that just drains Noah's social battery. He rolled his eyes, then grabbed her arm leading her to the exit, while Miku just kept on rambling about herself.

Noah then thought to himself while leading her to the doors."Can she just stop her spewing... Though, it's alright i guess, since Owen influenced me to just listen. Plus they kind of both have the same extrovert-ness." His mind drifted to his best friend, wondering if he's probably eating or busy with Izzy and Eva.

The 'shining' exit doors was now in his peripheral vision, so he stopped dragging her, "There. Now shoo, this environment is dangerous." He pushed her to the door, turning around to do his one remaining order from the maniac(Chris McLean).

But she grabbed his arm "Wait!! Can you come to my concert? I promise it'll be worth it!" She rambled to him on why it would 'be worth it' to come to her concert, while he just rolled his eyes(for the nth time) "seems that running her mouth is apart of one of her talents."

_______________________

Tbh that was kinda eh, also might be some spellin mistakes, but like i don't rlly know how to write that well tho, i have this dum SWEET NO DEATH (game by Arcadekitten /i forgor) fanfic on Wattpad called Hypnosis it's a au, u can check it out if ya want!!! 😋 BAAIIIIIIII‼️‼️

[kingofbodyrolls]

—kingofbodyrolls wrapped: 2024

Thank you so much @btsgotjams27 for tagging me <3

This year has been an emotional rollercoaster for me; mental health issues, discovering secrets about my family… yeah. Writing has been my outlet, which is why I’ve managed to write so much, while I was on sick leave. 2025 will be very different for me, as I’ll gradually be going back to work in the beginning of January, which means less reading and writing from me, but I’ll still be here with you all just not as much as I’ve been before. So! Here’s to “thank fuck 2024 is over” and I hope 2025 will bring healing, joy and so much laughter my tummy will hurt 💖

MOST POPULAR FIC OF 2024 ✨ Say I Do ~ jjk | 1,176 notes | february 17th 2024

LAST FIC OF 2024 ✨ Songs of the Heart chapter 3 ~ pjm | 26 notes* | december 29th 2024 *wondering why I won’t write fanfics anymore? That’s WHY! I'm not angry, I'm just really, really sad😭

LONGEST FIC OF 2024 ✨ My Heart’s Home (series; completed) ~ pjm | 450+ notes* | march 4th 2024 *I didn’t want to count each chapter so…

PERSONAL FAVORITE FIC OF 2024 ✨ Perfect Strangers ~ jhs | 462 notes | december 9th 2024 

FIC RECS OF 2024 You guys know that I read a lot, and I have a whole library dedicated to my recs… So I’ll name my top five best reads of this year 💕

✨ How to Train Your Human ~ knj @rapmonjoon94 ✨ Cherry Blossoms ~ pjm @chateautae ✨ Sit. Stay. ~ ksj @daechwitatamic ✨ Holiday Inn ~ jhs @bangtanintotheroom  ✨ Castaways ~ knj @rmnamjoons

TOP STATS OF 2024 ✨ Total notes: 39,791 notes  ✨ Total posts counted: 349 (original) / 2379 (2,030 reblogs) | check stats [here] ✨ Total words written: 529,481k (holy fuck do not expect that next year and I'm clearly insane!!!!) ✨ Top muses: Jimin and Namjoon

TOP TEN TRACKS OF 2024 ✨ Closer Than This ~ Jimin ✨ Neva Play (feat RM of BTS) ~ Megan Thee Stallion ✨ Run BTS ~ BTS ✨ D-Day ~ Agust D ✨ WOKE UP ~ XG ✨ LITTLE DO YOU KNOW (piano diaries) ~ Toby Gad, Aloe Blancc, Keke Palmer ✨ Groin ~ RM ✨ Black Swan ~ BTS ✨ Delusion:ALL ~ ONE OK ROCK ✨ Who ~ Jimin

GOALS FOR 2025 ✨ Write and hopefully finish my novel/book series ✨ Heal from my past trauma; accept and let go ✨ Read more books ✨ Return to work → hopefully find a healthy workplace and job ✨ Spend time with my family and friends

TAGGING (please don’t feel obligated! It’s just for fun, and if you aren’t tag but wish to participate, just say I tagged you 😜): @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere @ktownshizzle @writtenwhalien @orchidyoonkook @back2bluesidex @jeonsweetpea @hoseoksluna @ctrlhope @yoonia @oddinary4bts

[stickyspeckledlight]

𝒲𝐻𝒪𝒟ℛ𝒜𝒩𝒦𝐼𝒯? KFC‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚: A Shitpost Of the Whodrankit? DEMO by @brynn-lear

Content warnings: Shitpost :3

DOWNLOAD THE GAME HERE (Available on PC, Linux, & Mac!)

Unfortunately for you, thanks to the shenanigans of eminent domain, you have been left without a house. However, luckily for you, local bourgeois Senator Sunday has offered you his home. Seeing little choice in the matter, you take up his offer...

However, in the corner of your eye, a Colonel stands, and you can't help but wonder what he wants from you...

What is this?

This is a mod/fangame of HSR fangame Whodrankit? demo by @brynn-lear! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE go play it first!!! And after that THEN you can come play this one!

No I mean what is this specifically you know

This mod is a shitpost hypothetical of a scenario where you can agree to Sunday's offer. Included is: 2 endings (Depending if you are nice to customer service people or not lol) ~30k words 7 (joke) endings Bad jokes Bad and disappointing story because I felt obligated to make some sort of plot even though none of it really works but hey I put in all of the jokes I wanted so there's a silver lining at least

How is this connected to the OG WDI? demo?

This is mostly its own thing; the only things that are referenced from WDI itself in this game is the general plot (minus the mystery, bc Idk what any of that shit's about) and well, the assets and stuff. This has absolutely no connection to WDI itself and is NOT canon---Brynn, the OG dev, had no real involvement in the development of this mod beyond making the base game which provided the base assets and original premise this mod is derived from.

Was this the other big project/sunday fic you were talking about

Yes! I started work on this in late June and worked on it on and off for a few months.

why

I wanted to punch Whodrankit?! Sunday and then made this

I come to your for yandere fanfic not shitposts

L bozo

What are the credits?

Credits are in the Readme doc attached to the game zip file; and also follow all of the credits from the OG Whodrankit? plus some more stuff. I acknowledge this game is violating all manner of copyright but I'm already writing fanfic and this'll probably only get 60 notes or something so I'm sure it'll be fine. Pls don't D**A me random big company.

ADDITIONAL NOTES

Like the OG WDI? Demo, a HTML version that can be played on browser will be added. However, this will be done later sometime after 1/1/2025. Please refer to my #speckled updates tags for updates on that. I do not plan on making a new WDI? mod; this mod it of itself just spiraled out of control. Though, if there's enough interest, I might release updates for the KFC mod if there is enough interest. Maybe as a Follower Milestone thing or if this gets a decent amount of interaction lol. Still, please do not expect updates or new WDI? mods from me, or request any whatsoever. New WDI? KFC! content will be entirely at my own discretion unless I state otherwise (as mentioned earlier if I choose to make WDI? KFC! related content a follower milestone, for example.

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and Footballers - ONE-SHOTS

Jae: In November 2023, I started writing. In January 2024, I created my first online community for WOSO lovers. I’m now out of that and onto my second one, Lumos by Jae, however it’s impacted me more than I could have ever imagined, and in the best kind of way!

I’ve met some extraordinary people and created relationships that will stay with me for a lifetime. It’s something I’d never even thought of before!

I appreciate everyone I meet and communicate with online. It’s crazy how one decision to start writing has brought special people into my life from all around the world!

This BONUS chapter within the S&F universe is a little nod to that, by way of creating a cute little romantic story based around two people meeting on an online forum.

I hope you all enjoy the story of Rosie and Mari!

Discord Lovers (3.7k)

ROSIE POV

She posted a Lumos photo onto the server and, as expected, the comments flooded in. ‘Her fucking arms. Exactly what I needed to see on a down day.’

‘Future wife.’

‘I need to know her lifting routine for this immediately.’

‘The things I’d do for her.’

‘On my knees.’

She chuckled and wondered just how strange Ona would find it if she made her way onto the thirsty WOSO and fanfics side of their fandom. Pushing that humiliating thought aside, she sent a text and immediately her phone buzzed.

Mari: You’re having a down day, my girl?

Rosie: Just one of those days where everyone expects everything from me. I’m okay, love.

Mari: Promise?

Rosie: Promise. Did you see that photo of Ona before I posted it?

Mari: I sent you $20 to get yourself Starbucks, love. Get some rest today, please. Yes, I did see!

Rosie: You’re amazing.. *big eyes emoji* I don’t deserve you. You were there today?

Mari: You know I’m always there.

Rosie: God, she’s incredible.

Mari: I’m fully aware that Ona Batlle is the biggest competition I have when it comes to you.

Rosie chuckled at her phone. It had been months now that she’d been involved in the online WOSO fan server, and only slightly less time talking to the person who’d quickly become the most important person in her life. Never before had she imagined meeting someone over the internet, let alone touching herself over the phone to them. Messaging them every day. Needing them there just to be able to sleep. Mari had become that for her, in such intimate ways that she never knew were possible online.

Rosie: You know full well that you’re the only one I want. *red heart emoji* *eye roll emoji*

Mari: Let me just screenshot that for future evidence…

Rosie: Wooooow.

Mari: *laughing emoji* Speaking of us… did you book your tickets?

Rosie: Are you almost done with work..? We can talk about it over the phone if you want.

Mari: I’m just at the stadium for the night. Is that a yes? I said I’d pay for them!

Rosie: They were cheaper so close to the date! And you’re doing enough by offering your place for accommodation while I’m there. Working?

Mari worked with for Lumos and her primary focus for content were the Barcelona team. She always sent unseen photos into the group and to her because she was the one taking them. And although she was jealous of Rosie’s love for Ona, she did encourage it by sending photos. But Rosie knew she only did that to make her happy.

Mari: Out with my friend for the game, remember? Of course you can stay with me, silly girl. You’re mine.

Rosie almost slapped her own head. How could she forget?!

Rosie: Oh that’s right! Sorry baby, I completely blanked. Mmn – I can’t wait..

Mari: Pictures of her tend to do that to you, huh?

Rosie: Mapi’s recently were also hot *hot emoji* I told you her friend said I’m exactly her type, right?

Mari: The tattoo artist? Only about 10 times. Lucky you’re so cute.

Rosie: You don’t know that. You haven’t seen all of me yet!

It was true, the pair had met online and were in somewhat of a relationship beyond friendship, yet not far enough in to call it a partnership, and they’d both been waiting to meet each other in person for the first time to make it special. Because they were special. And they both knew it.

Mari: I have to go, my friend is waiting. So, just to confirm, you did book your tickets?

Rosie: Yes… but I’d like to talk to you about it over the phone after the game..? Don’t worry about messaging me during, just spend time with him!

Mari: *excited GIF* I’m so excited. One more week! *red heart emoji* I’ll message you after the game. I miss you already..

Rosie: One more week. *red heart emoji* I miss you too.

In one week, Rosie would be flying over to Barcelona for the first time in years. In one week, she’d met the person she’d fallen in love with over the internet. Her person.

Mari: My bed is calling your name. I can’t wait to hold you at last. I have to go now, driving to my friends house, but I’ll be sure to stop by the players café after to see if I can spot a few of them and get photos for you!

Rosie: Where have you been all my life?

Mari: Spain baby, Spain.

Rosie: One week.

Mari: One week…

She put her phone down, grinning like an idiot. If she’d told any of her friends, they’d say she was crazy for meeting someone when she’d only seen bits of her. Her hands. Her shoes. Her neck. Honestly, she would be just as sceptical in their position. She’d scream bloody murder that they were being catfished, but there was something about her that was just so fucking authentic.

They’d laughed and cried over the phone. Watched movies. Vented to each other. Fucked over the phone. The sound of her noises in her ears drove her crazy. Jesus.

They had the same communication style and morals. The same idea of family and prioritisation of values. She thanked her lucky stars every day for bringing Mari into her life.

Somehow, she’d followed a fanfic writer into an online server to meet friends. And somehow, she found her comfort person. She was just hoping that when she got there, everything would fall into place and be as natural as it was over the phone. Because they were special. Beyond special.

Rosie went about her day as she usually did, always busy with work and her social life. She tried to not look at her phone too much, missing Mari but knowing that space was good. They’d had those conversations before and hence, they both would tend to not message the other while working or with friends. They didn’t want to become too dependent, especially when they hadn’t met in person.

She jumped in and out of the server throughout the day, responding to images people posted from the game and such. Most were average shots of players from a distance, though Lumos posted the best shots to Instagram, and always so quickly! Photos of Alexia, Mapi, Aitana, Ona. God, they were all so attractive.

Ona wasn’t her usual type, but it was simply crazy to her how attracted to her she was. Mari, though, had always been a fan of Alexia and her partner, a businesswoman named Ridley. They’d become the it couple of the WOSO world alongside Lucy and the Director of Lumos, YFN. And even more strange, was that YFN and Ridley grew up together! Sisters or something similar. That knowledge had sent the WOSO world into a rabbit hole investigation and conspiracy. She’d photographed Lucy less since she’d left to go play for Chelsea and be closer to YFN, which was understandable. Chelsea though? Not so understandable.

Alexia and Ridley though.. those photos paid a hell of a lot of money with Lumos. It’s why Mari was always at training. Ridley tended to show up and support her at games and training often. Alexia had never used to be one who was publicly affectionate, but she was genuinely the opposite with Ridley to the point where Rosie didn’t even think Alexia knew how touchy and sappy she was being.

It was… a dream. A goal. An aim. The love they had, the way they looked at each other was exactly what Rosie wanted in life. Until that point, she’d never gotten there. She’d just been a sort of ‘stepping stone’ in relationships. She never felt like she was good enough, pretty enough, funny enough. She’d obsessed over the gym and created an unhealthy relationship with food. She was working on it all, though. She was getting better. Mari had helped out with all of it a lot. She was… healthy for her.

Even when Rosie had sent her a picture of her body in the mirror, minus her face, she’d been met with nothing but support and genuine obsession. Mari made her feel so confident about herself that it encouraged her to send more and to think about it less, because each time, she knew she’d be met with genuine enthusiasm and adoration.

Never in a million years could she put into words how she felt for that woman. She found herself checking her phone too many times, waiting for her name to pop up in her messages or the server. Waiting to see her photos posted by Lumos.

She always tried to distract herself from the obsession that was Mari and focus on life instead. Sometimes it didn’t work. Today though, with the amount of things she had to do, it did. She’d missed the Barca game, instead flooded with work and then by friends.

By the time she got home, she saw Mari’s messages. Unreleased photos of Ona and the team from her Lumos co-workers. Photos of Ona signing autographs and taking selfies in the crowd. Mapi and Ingrid embracing. Alexia climbing into the stands to wrap her arms around Ridley who was sat with the Putellas family.

Everything was right in the world of WOSO.

And then she sent another picture. It was after the game… Ona in her favourite café just around the corner from the stadium.

Mari: Ona made a pit stop… no other players, sorry!

Rosie: How did you get that photo without her seeing you?!

Mari: I can be sneaky *wink emoji*

Rosie: Can we make a deal?

Mari: Anything. Tell me.

Rosie: When I come to Barcelona… I want to meet you for the first time in that café.

Mari was silent, for almost too long until, well into the night. She climbed into bed early, wanting to sleep to get out of her own head, but couldn’t seem to put her phone down. Around 9pm her time, Mari’s name glowed onto the screen and she answered it far, far too quickly.

“Hola..” she whispered.

‘Hi baby,’ came the response in Spanish.

“You’ve been busy.”

‘I have.. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with some last minute work things that came in.’

“Is this about Ona and Alexia being mobbed outside the restaurant?”

‘Yes, love. Ona and Alexia’s agents planned paparazzi shots went south. Other paparazzi showed up and started pushing and shoving. We had to put our cameras down and help get them out of there.’

It was quite usual for Lumos and the players to organise for photos to be taken when they were interacting with fans to encourage their public image and female footballers in general. Lumos tended to be quite respectful with it all. They were there for the players.

“But you weren’t supposed to be working tonight?”

‘Bella’s daughter got sick, and I had to cover last minute.’

“And you had to intervene?! Are you okay? What happened?!”

‘We called Lumos head office and let them know there were others there. They started getting violent while we were on the phone and YFN told us to put the cameras down and protect the players. That’s their main concern first and foremost.’

Lumos were well known for their good relationships with players. Mari adored working there, and all of them did have crowd-control and security training to ensure the workers and players were always safe.

They’d spoken before about the possibility of Rosie moving over to live there, as it had always been her dream to live in Barca, and Mari was 100% positive that Lumos would hire her. And even better, she could work on the Barca team, with travel opportunities following the players!

The first time they’d talked about it, she’d never been so excited. But her first thought was always Mari. They were so sappy for each other that they wanted the first time they saw each other to be in person. They also needed to meet and interact to see if they worked together well in person. And God, did she want her.

Mari sent the photos she had of Ona and Alexia, and then there was random footage from one of the workers for legal purposes, videoing the Lumos workers trying to protect the famous Barcelona players, getting them safely to their car. Ridley pulled up, brakes slamming on and running out to manhandle most people away, protecting Alexia and Ona like they were her clients. She’d picked Alexia up, practically carrying her to the car and grabbing Ona to shove her in just behind. In the video, she noticed one of the Lumos workers wrestling a larger paparazzi guy in the background and her stomach filled with butterflies. It was the most she’d ever seen of her before… and although she couldn’t see her face, she still felt giddy. One more week.

“You promise you’re okay?”

‘I promise… I’m just sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. We had a few meetings with Lumos and Barca management after that.’

“All thanking you, I hope.”

‘Of course.’

“I was just about to head to bed..”

‘I assumed so baby, it’s getting late. Would you like me to stay here while you sleep?’

“Is that even a question?”

‘Mmn.’ Her voice was so deep that she knew she was getting tired also. She loved it when it did that. ‘Sleep, baby. I’m here.’

“Will you fall asleep with me..?”

‘I’m just getting into bed now.. put your phone down now please. I’ll be here when you wake, love.’

It was rare that their schedules matched up to allow them to sleep together. It must have been after midnight there, but she wasn’t surprised after the night she’d had.

It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep to her sleepy noises on the other end, knowing that in 6 days, she’d be right there next to her.

The next week went by excitedly and far, far too slowly. Mari sent her photos from the games and work. There was even a point where she’d been at a Lumos event and put YFN on the phone. The Director! And she was so lovely. Mari and Rosie always spoke in Spanish, so it was cute to hear her accent as she spoke English with YFN, though it was loud. She was also so softly spoken in English and YFN was patient, suggesting words to her whenever she faltered. Rosie used English in her everyday life, so it wasn’t an issue for her at all.

Come the end of the week, she was shaking with nerves. Her friends kept her entertained while she packed her suitcase and carry on, and then they drove her down to the closest airport with a direct flight to Barcelona. She was on the phone with Mari at the airport as she waited for her flight. A dragging 9 hours later, and she touched down in Barcelona. The first thing she did when she stepped outside of the airport was tilt her face towards that warm, friendly sun, wondering if this was the place she’d spend the rest of her life.

She freshened up in the shower at the airport, getting dressed and making sure her hair and makeup was perfect. Now, she was more nervous than she’d expected. Her hands were shaking applying the lipstick, and she tried to ignore it.

Her phone’s esim finally activated and buzzed numerous times. Her friends and family checking on her. The WOSO server talking about the latest WOSO news and upcoming games. And Mari…

Mari: Hi love, I see your flight landed safely. Welcome to Barcelona! Welcome to my home.. I know I’ve asked a few times but are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up from the airport?

Rosie smiled down at that and replied.

Rosie: Your home is beautiful. So much so, that I can see myself living here one day perhaps… It’s okay, we have a plan, yes?

Mari: If you find me pretty, that is. And yes, we do..

Rosie: *eye roll emoji* I know you. Regardless of how you look. You’re my person. I’ll see you soon..

Mari: I live just around the corner so message me when you’re there.

Rosie: Okay, love. What do you think the chances are that I’ll see one of the players?

It was the most popular café for the Barcelona players to be spotted. Ridley and Alexia were there just a few days ago on a double date with Mapi and Ingrid. Even Lucy and YFN had been spotted there!

Mari: I dare say your chances are good, love.

Rosie: Don’t get jealous now, you know the only person I want is you.

Mari: I can’t wait to see you. To hold you. I’ll be the one with red bracelet on that you sent me…

Rosie: And I’ll be the one in the blue one you sent me…

Mari: Culers for life, we are.

Rosie smiled at her phone like an idiot. She finished up and left the airport, jumping into a taxi that she knew would be far too expensive.

She was here. Shit. It was happening. Fuck. She was about to meet her. Double fuck. In the very best kind of way.

She tried to distract herself by responding to her family and friends, letting them know she’d arrived safely. She turned on her location so they could follow, just as they’d insisted, and promised to keep them updated. You could never be too safe!

The taxi pulled outside of the café 15 minutes later and she paid, thanking him in Spanish, and realising just how different her accent was to the locals. She snapped a photo of the café from the outside, trying to enjoy the moment for what it was.

She was here.

Looking around, she tried to spot Mari to no avail. She knew she wouldn’t. She’d give her space until she was ready. Rosie knew that.

She wandered inside and found a free booth, parking her luggage and ordering a drink. Only when it arrived, and she’d had a drink to calm her nerves, did she message Mari.

Rosie: I’m at the café.

Mari: Okay baby, are you ready?

God, that woman. She knew just what she needed.

Rosie: I think so..

Mari: On my way. Message me if you want me to wait at all... it’s okay.

Rosie: I want my hug.

Mari: Mmn. *smiling hearts emoji*

She knew that Mari lived around about a 7-minute walk from the café, so she had time to control herself. She played with her phone for a bit. Put it down. Smiled at the friendly locals coming and going in and out. Fidgeted. Forced herself to stop. Took a sip. Looked at the menu.

A few minutes felt like half an hour, and while she was looking at the menu, she heard the door to the café open again. It was too soon to be Mari, so she didn't bother looking at first, until she decided to distract herself by checking.

Holy shit.

It was Ona.

Ona Batlle. Not 3 metres away from her. Fuck, she was stunning. A petite thing, but so goddamned beautiful, her long hair down and sharp jaw exposed. She wasn’t paying attention to her at all, just on her phone texting and looking at the menu. She ordered but the café was too loud for her to hear what she’d ordered. If it wasn’t too busy, Rosie would have offered to pay for it. But it was bustling. She was lucky to even get a table!

Rosie: Baby, Ona is here.

Mari: Are you going to say hello?

Rosie: I don’t want to be one of those fangirls. I’m so much more than that. I respect her so much more than that.

Mari: I know… it’s why I love you.

Ona collected her drink and left, walking outside and making a phone call. She looked agitated, almost. Rosie wondered if she should have offered her table, though it would have been far too loud for her to make her phone call.

Rosie: Are you close?

She watched as Ona paced up and down, talking on the phone and wondered if Mari would run into her. A few more minutes passed and there was no response. Had she backed out? Did Mari need time?

Luckily, Ona was distracting her from her thoughts. She hung up and took a sip of her drink, but instead of walking away, she wandered back inside, her eyes immediately finding her own.

Rosie looked down at her menu, her face flushing bright red. Had she seen her watching? Fuck. Where was Mari?

She skimmed down the menu, not necessarily reading it, when a body slid into the booth opposite her. Before she looked, she could smell the perfume Mari had sent her on a Batlle Barca jersey she’d sent her. Fuck.

Rosie took a breath and looked up, startling as she’d realised it wasn’t Mari. Instead, she fell into the comforting chocolate brown eyes of Ona Batlle. Fuck. Was she frustrated on the phone because she was meeting friends and the café was busy? Did she want the booth Rosie was taking up by herself?

Ona didn’t say anything, her expression instead softening. The longer they sat there, the more Rosie grew confused. Ona’s expression changed from soft to comforting, as if she knew something Rosie didn’t.

What the fuck was happening?

Was this a present from Mari? Working for Lumos, Mari had met all of the players multiple times, and it wasn’t unlike her to go out of her way to organise her meeting the one person she loved most in the WOSO world.

“I… I.. d..did Mari send you?” she managed to whisper.

Ona hesitated and then slowly nodded.

“She said she’d be here soon..”

Ona didn’t say anything else. Her facial expression slowly fell into a softer, and almost guilty face. Until that’s all it was. Guilt. Comfort. Apologies.

Rosie looked down on her wrist and saw a red bracelet.

Fuck.

A tear fell down one of her cheeks. Ona’s bottom lip trembled and she reached out, offering her hand to take. She couldn’t move just yet.

Fuck.

Mari-Ona.

The person she’d fallen in love with, was Ona.

[yardikins]

I hope if when Din returns to the covert, he adopts Ragnar as his own foundling now that Paz is gone. Paz was Din’s vod, his brother, and regardless of the many fights they had, they still cared for each other.

Plus, Paz died to help keep Grogu safe, I feel like Din would feel like he owes it to his vod to protect his son after his passing

[erinwantstowrite]

Speaking of your new and improved canon: what is the story behind Tony being somewhat chill with Bucky? Is he actually?

started writing LoF when i was being nostalgic for 2012 where the Avengers Tower fics were at its height of writing so in my world there is no divorce arc. I have no idea how to elaborate on that other than Tony having Peter around changed shit up because having a kid changes your world perspective a lot

[wickjump]

im gonna start posting fanfic recs btw whenever i find good ones. both here and my (awfully barren) 18+ account. because there are so many good fics out there with so few hits and fewer kudos and sometimes no comments period and it SUCKS because i REALLY LIKE THEM A LOT.. and i hope that by linking them here and yelling at everyone to COMMENT DAMMIT they might actually do it

seriously though any comment means a lot. most people who read a fic don’t even give a kudos. even if the fic wasn’t top tier, if you didn’t dislike it, hand over some kudos!! and if you liked it, comment!!!! even if the comment is one singular heart emoji it will be appreciated. if the comment just says “great fic!” the author will be happy. your comment doesn’t have to be this long winded gushing or analysis.

so many authors quit writing or lose motivation because the comments are few and far in between or just sometimes nonexistent. trust me when i say authors don’t care about how long or cool or smart sounding your comment is i promise!!!

i hope that mmmaybe recommending fics and telling people to comment might help fics i really like get more support maybe. and i, points at you reading this, hope that you will listen!!!at least a little….at least sum kudos….

[epicfirestormer]

[1pcii]

my fave alabasta shipping dynamics is pre-established zolu playing matchmaker (how successful they are? eehhhh) for pining namivivi

[reds-skull]

Bringer of Demise - Chapter 2

[FIRST PART] [AO3]

I'll be honest, I wasn't that confident with the first chapter (probably because it's been a while since I sat down to write something) but I like this one much more. The angst is definitely helping lol

Here's chapter 2: Like a House Fire

“Simon-” Soap jumps as the door slams behind him. Ghost grunts, walking further into his room to sit at the desk, reports now laying forgotten. Not that they need them anymore, with Novikov’s arrival.

Soap takes a sit in front of him, the bed creaking when he leans forward to look in Ghost’s dark eyes. “Talk to me, mo chridhe.”

Ghost slides the mask off his face, and throws it on the desk with so much force some papers fly and land behind it. Soap waits as he stares at the wall for a minute or two, lost in whatever dreadful memory the Doctor brought forward.

“Novikov was the one that tested me. When they brought me back from Mexico.” he starts, voice carefully monotone. “Went through regular shit at first. How long I can use Limbo before I have to stop. What happens if someone shoots at it from the outside. See if sound travels, if comms work.”

Soap holds his tongue, ignores the questions that float to his mind about the process. It’s more important for him to listen to Simon.

“Didn’t really have a problem with those. Expected them, really.” Simon shakes his head, bitterness bleeding into his voice, “it started going wrong when Shepherd came into the picture.”

At the mention of that name, Soap’s jaw clenches. General fucking Shepherd, the man behind Graves’ leash. Ran like a coward after his dog died, still off grid even after Laswell got the go-ahead from CIA to start a search for him. Soap remembers the few meetings he was in, how Shepherd would address Ghost. Spoke to him as if Limbo wasn’t tearing itself apart because of his orders.

Ghost never told him much about the bawbag, Soap never asking. Felt wrong, with how little he willingly gives Ghost about his own past.

“What did he do?” he asks, a little hesitant to hear the answer.

“Novikov wasn’t pushing me hard enough, according to him. Because he was afraid of what my powers would do to me or to others, or for a different reason, I didn’t bother finding out. Don’t know if the Doc tried to resist. It doesn’t matter.” Simon lets out a mirthless laugh, “you know the rest.”

Soap nods. “Ye think… he will do it again? Push ye to…”

“I’m not worried about me, Johnny.” He leans closer to Soap, and it dawns on him that Simon’s not as angry as he is terrified, “there’s nothing new Novikov can tell me to use Limbo on that would break it like last time. But you… they never found your limits, have they?”

“... You know they didn’t need to.”

“I don’t think that ever satisfied Novikov, or the higher-ups.” Soap frowns, Simon’s voice lowering to an almost whisper, “I think they were just as tied up in red tape as you.”

He doesn’t respond to that. He doesn’t think he needs to, they both know Simon is right.

Soap’s memories of that time period are… muddy at best. And it wasn’t because of the shot he received to the head, the day he died.

In the weeks following it, Soap felt like everyone that knew what happened there was walking on eggshells around him. Not many knew, they tried to sweep it under the rug immediately to avoid an international incident, but those that did…

When Soap refused to use his powers on field, his Captain was irritated. Said he’d go to the higher-ups, get him written for insubordination.

The very next day, the Captain took him to the side and asked him to tell him. Fuck the higher-ups when it comes to his own personal curiosity, eh?

Soap refused, obviously. The Captain let it go, eventually, but Soap always wondered if he was trying to send him into impossible situations to see just how much destruction he can survive.

“I’m not going to let him do anything to you, love.” Simon’s voice makes him refocus on the present, “Novikov tells you to jump, you ask me how high.”

Soap scoffs fondly, the anger that has bubbled up in his chest subsiding, “they’re gonna write ye up, LT.”

“Don’t care. They won’t boot me out anyway.” he answers smugly, scarred lips quirking up in a way that makes Soap want to explode the rest of the world, if only to keep him safe.

He returns the smile, “sound awfully certain of yerself. Should I ask Price if the power went to yer head?”

Simon huffs, “just the facts, Johnny. Not only I’m legally dead, they wouldn’t want someone like me strolling around civvies in case I go off and send a couple hundred to Limbo.”

“Sometimes I forget just how much off yer heid you are, Simon Riley.”

“Takes one to know one, and all that.” Simon moves to get up, when something pulls at his leg.

A few dark hands started petting at their boots, so gently they didn’t notice. Soap smiles, leaning down to return the favor with his left hand.

“Look, we made yer friends worried.” the hands wrap around his fingers, chasing the little white flames.

Simon shakes his boot, loosening the residents of the void’s hands, “you know that’s not how that works.”

“Well, they react to our emotions, you never know!” he turns back to the hands, “don’t listen to him, he’s just grouchy ‘cause I’m not holdin’ his hand.”

He’s happy to continue playing with Simon’s “friends” until a shrill sound cuts through the air. Soap watches Simon grab his phone from his pocket.

“It’s Rudy.” he taps his phone and sits down next to Soap, “Rodolfo?”

“Fantasma. Is Soap with you?” Rudy greets, voice hurried.

Soap takes Simon’s wrist and brings the phone closer, “aye, what’s wrong?”

“All of our revenants were woken up by our Reapers, I… I assume it happened to yours as well.”

Christ, must be later than midnight in Mexico right now. Getting dragged into your Reaper’s realm in the middle of sleeping… can’t be fun.

“Affirm.” Ghost says, “I assume yours asked about Fate and Lumity?”

“Yes.” there’s someone talking in the background, and Soap realizes it’s Alejandro, giving out orders, “some of our revenants chose Fate. We’re in the process of reprimanding them, but… It’s more important that I tell you what we gathered.”

Simon and Soap share a look. Anything would be helpful at this point.

Rudy continues, “the ones that chose Fate didn’t give us much. Apparently their Reaper just left, only saying they chose right. It is mine that explained the most.”

“You did say your Reaper was chatty…” Simon mutters.

“It is.” Rudy sighs, “my Reaper didn’t get mad when I chose you. It said it was expecting it.”

Rudy’s Reaper… Reaper of Matter… is on Lumity’s side?

“The Reapers are… in a state of disorder.” he pauses, mulling over the words. “... My Reaper said this hasn’t happened since before the age of revenants.”

“Did it say what’s Fate’s goal in all this?” Simon asks.

“No. I don’t think it knows.” Rudy begins talking in Spanish to someone on the other side, far too fast for Soap to understand. “-Jabón y Fantasma?”

They can hear some rustling before Alejandro’s voice comes through, “Hermanos! You landed us in a real shitshow this time around, eh?”

Soap smiles sheepishly, “good teh hear ye, Ale. Sorry about the mess.”

“All good. Well- for now.” Alejandro hums, “I have a feeling that is due to change at any point.”

“Ye said it…”

Rudy turns the phone back to him, as he says, “whatever it is, you can call us. We’ll continue to update you.”

“Appreciated, hermano,” Ghost answers, “same goes for us.”

“Don’t be strangers. We’ll talk later.” Ghost and Soap say their goodbyes as Rudy hangs up.

So the Reapers themselves don’t quite know what Fate is planning… he didn’t think it was possible, but Soap is even more unsettled. Reapers are volatile as it is, though before they could’ve trusted them to not meddle in their “boring human affairs”.

A Reaper even Reapers can’t foresee… how can they prepare against something like that?

Soap eventually returned to his own barrack, long after daylight faded. Sleep evaded him for most of the night, burning moths fluttering around his cot as he tosses and turns, flames occasionally charring his blanket.

When morning finally comes, he finds himself in the revenant training grounds along with Ghost. Anxiousness drips down his spine as they wait for the Doctor and his assistants.

Ghost knocks their boots together, and Soap calms. He’s not going through this alone, unlike any other revenant.

He begins to hope Novikov has simply forgotten about them when the man is late. Unfortunately, he doesn’t. Almost 20 minutes after the tests were supposed to start, the man comes hurrying down the training grounds, the papers in his hands miraculously not flying away in the gentle breeze.

“Sergeant! Lieutenant! I apologize for the delay.” Novikov calls when he gets close enough, somewhat out of breath, “yesterday’s incident had us sifting through reports all night, as you can imagine.”

The Doctor pauses to take another deep breath, and flips through the folder he brought, “as I’m sure you understand, this will not be a standard revenant test. I will not be redoing your basic tests, Lieutenant. As for you, Sergeant…”

Novikov turns his bespectacled grey eyes to him, and gives him a small smile, “I understand that I will not be able to test your limits here, but the records of the Verdansk incident are enough.”

Soap’s back straightens, and he can’t help but growl, “ye know about it?!”

He can count on two hands the amount of living people that know the whole truth behind his Reaping, and about half of them are in the 141.

“Laswell has allowed me access to the files. I’ve known about the incident beforehand, of course, theorized Konchar had-”

“Don’t ye dare say that fuckin’ name.” he snarls, flames flickering within his clenched fists. It doesn’t stop the stream of blurry memories, of melting skin beneath his fingertips-

Soap forcibly exhales, coercing his flames to die down.

Novikov doesn’t seem offended by the interruption. On the contrary, he looks… intrigued.

“I’d like to test the difference between your hands, to start. I have only been made aware of the changes in flame color, and the markings, of course.”

Soap glances at Ghost, who gives him a nod.

“What do ye need me to do, Doctor?”

“This is most intriguing… the flesh of your left hand is cooler than your right, but the flames are considerably warmer…”

Soap feels the ground between his fingers crumble to ash. So far, The tests are quite… boring, if he’s honest.

He’s had his own morbid fascination with his own powers, for a while. Wondering how it compares to other explosive compounds, trying to run the numbers to find the closest approximate. He thought, if he could find an equation, he could control his powers better.

Soap gave up on it soon after. Didn’t have enough data to work with, and generating more meant using his powers, and well…

Novikov lifts his pen, “very good, Sergeant.” steamin’ Jesus, he’s not 5, is he gonna give him a sticker next? “Now, Lieutenant, remove any clothing on your right arm, if you will.”

Ghost, who up until now stood motionless in his best imitation of a statue, stares at Novikov for a long moment, before slowly removing his glove and tucking it into his belt. He steps closer to Soap, rolling his sleeve to reveal pale, scarred skin.

“Now, with your left arm of course, I want you to attempt to explode the Lieutenant’s arm.”

Soap notices the assistant with the heat-sensitive camera aim it at Ghost, “it’s not gonna do anything to him, Doc.”

“Then there shouldn’t be any problem demonstrating it.” Novikov doesn’t look up from his papers. Bawbag.

Ghost offers him his arm silently. Soap knows it won’t do anything to him, they bear marks to prove it.

Soap takes the arm. White flames wrap harmlessly around it. He focuses his powers to his left hand, the air around them distorting.

It feels fundamentally wrong to try and hurt Simon. His breathing picks up, fingers twitching as the flames climb higher and higher.

“-it’s as if they’re trying to reach equilibrium. The flesh cools the flames, the flames heat it in return-”

Ghost doesn’t react, not that Soap can see with his vision tunneling on their joined limbs. The fire burns, searing, scorching, mutilating-

“-You may stop now, Sergeant-”

He can’t hurt him, how could he ever dare hurt him? Why isn’t anyone stopping this?

Like a bystander watching a house fire, Soap is helpless in front of the flames. He can almost smell the bubbling flesh from here, the melting of everything in the face of unending ruin-

“-ohnny. Enough.”

Soap jumps, the world rushing back to his senses. He turns his head shakily, to see Novikov’s gaze boring into him.

“Ah’m not- I can’t-” he mumbles, words barely forming on his lips, “Ghost-”

“You’re alright, Johnny.” Ghost’s smooth voice is steady as ever, but his eyes betray him, “it’s over.”

Novikov affirms, “We got all we needed, Sergeant.”

Ghost lifts his hand towards him, and Soap barely suppresses a flinch as it trails down his bicep. “You’re alright.” he repeats.

Soap nods, feeling like a bampot all at once. Of course Ghost is fine. They already knew this, he told Novikov as much not 10 minutes ago.

Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid. Soap grits his teeth, “what’s next, Doctor?”

Novikov takes a while to answer, and Soap avoids Ghost’s perceptive gaze as they wait, “I have received approval for Limbo, Lieutenant. I’d like to see the changes it went through first-hand.”

“... Understood. We will need to put some distance between us.” Ghost grunts.

The Doctor waves his hand, “naturally. You’re familiar with your limits, I’ll leave it to your judgement.”

Soap feels Ghost urge him to move, and they begin walking.

“Johnny-”

“Aye.” Soap huffs, “sorry, LT.”

“What for?” Ghost hums, “you did nothing wrong.”

He doesn’t answer to that. If Ghost didn’t see his fuck-up, he’d rather not bring it up.

“If you need to stop at any point-”

Maybe he’s easier to read than he thought, “Ah’m solid, Simon.”

“You froze there. Don’t think you can hide it.” or maybe Ghost knows him too well by now.

They come to a stop, facing one another. Soap bites the inside of his cheek, “I’m- I’ll be fine as long as Ah don’t have to repeat that.”

“You won’t.” Ghost assures him, “ready for Limbo?”

If there’s a place to find peace of mind, it’s the void, “aye. Been a while since we paid our friends a visit, hm?”

Ghost chuckles, “only you’d call them that.” He raises his voice, shouting to Novikov, “Limbo out in five!”

The Doctor gives them a thumbs-up, so Ghost closes his eyes.

Entering Limbo never got less jarring. Soap gets used to it faster if he expects it, but the shift from the colorful, lively world to the still void is an odd one.

Still, once he gets accustomed to it, he can’t help but smile. As weird as it is to say, he missed this place.

Limbo’s victims are docile, chasing after bright moths with no sense of urgency. Like shooting stars, they paint the dark skies of Limbo with radiant yellows and oranges.

This might be the only good thing Soap’s powers have ever done.

He catches Ghost staring at him, his eyes a glowing white, “what?” he asks with a small grin.

“Better?”

“Aye.”

“Sergeant!” Novikov shouts, though it sounds muffled as it enters Limbo from the other side, “try to explode something!”

Soap frowns, “is he talkin’ about yer friends?”

Ghost mutters, clearly unhappy with the disturbance, “don’t know.”

“What do you want ‘im to test it on?!” Ghost shouts back.

“Any material will do! I assume you’re standing on something, correct?”

Soap looks down, at the solid black ground. “What is this made of, anyway?”

The way Ghost hums back tells him ‘fuck if I know’. He crouches down, placing both hands on it. The texture is almost like a glass pane, except his fingers can’t get a grip on it no matter how much he tries.

Before he can hesitate, Soap flexes his fingers.

Nothing happens.

“Huh.” he tilts his head, “suppose it makes sense.”

“How so?” Ghost kneels beside him, sliding a finger over the undamaged surface.

“My powers have to come into contact with a material to explode.” Soap shrugs, getting back on his feet, “void’s made of nothing, no?”

“Hm.” Ghost casts another look around Limbo, and blinks.

Soap catches himself before his knees buckle from the rush of color and noise back into the world. Ghost hooks an arm under his shoulder as a precaution, but he assures him he’s stable.

“Absolutely outstanding! This is the first time you couldn’t explode something, is that correct, Sergeant?” Novikov half-jogs to them.

“Uh… Aye?”

The Doctor’s eyes gleam with wonder, “Incredible! If only there were more Revenants of Destruction in this base, I would be able to test if this is a result of a relation between your Reapers, or a consequence of your powers mixing… Alas, this is not the purpose of my visit.” 

Novikov’s assistants are absorbed with the testing equipment they brought, some looking like set pieces of a low budget sci-fi movie to Soap. He’d love to nick one to take apart, but the shite’s probably so delicate even his fingertips would burn and destroy them.

“Now, for the next test, I’d like you to-” a shrill noise cuts Novikov off, and Ghost pulls out his phone.

Soap pouts when Ghost answers. Why does no one ever call him?

“Affirm. We’ll be there in fifteen.” Ghost ends the call, “we need to go to a meeting with Laswell.”

Novikov’s eyes dim, “ah, I see… I suppose we can continue this afterwards.”

“You’re invited too, Doctor.” Ghost grunts, making both Soap and Novikov swing around in surprise.

When Laswell finally shows up on screen, she seems different from what Soap remembered.

Dark eye bags, pale, hair more grey in some places. He almost didn’t recognize her, and looking around the room tells him the rest of the team thinks the same.

The rest, except Price, “how are you, Kate?”

Laswell sighs, more hair falling off her tight bun. “Let’s get to work, John.”

As she brings up several images on screen, Price reports in their mind, “someone attacked Laswell and her wife in their home two months ago. She got off with minor injuries, but her wife… her concussion was severe enough that she barely talks most days.”

“Did they catch the fucker that did it?” Soap thinks back. If they didn’t, he’d gladly volunteer to put the bastard six feet under. He owes Laswell that much.

Price stops him from continuing to plan a revenge, “Kate killed him, son. She’s trained for field work, an everyday burglar doesn’t stand a chance against her. Now focus up.”

Soap huffs, “yes sir.”

“-we found signs of Shepherd’s work around Urzikstan. Supposedly, he’s working with one of the resistance groups there.” blurry satellite images pop up on screen, convoys and remote buildings hidden between green hills.

Gaz frowns, “either he suddenly grew a moral compass, or there’s a catch.”

Laswell nods, “it’s possible it’s a false lead, but with recent clashes between Urzik forces and the Russians, I’d like you to personally investigate it.”

“We’ll get it done, Laswell.” Price says, his authoritative voice on full blast.

“No one I trust more than you.” Laswell smiles, in a way Soap has never seen. “Now, obviously as you all are grounded, I wouldn’t just send you on what could potentially lead to nothing…”

She begins talking to Novikov, “we’re working on tracking the missing revenants Graves and Shepherd trafficked.”

The Doctor nods, adjusting the frankly huge glasses on his nose bridge, “many of them belong to rarer kinds of Reapers. If they were to fall into the wrong hands…”

“We can’t allow that to happen.” Ghost finishes sternly.

“Commander Karim has been working to find them, but there’s so much she can do while also fending off Russians.” the screen switches to a compilation of names and passport photos, each listing both a date of birth and Reaping. “This is your official reason to be sent to Urzikstan, boys. Whatever intel Graves has left behind him regarding the revenants’ location, we need it.”

“When are we up?” Price asks.

“1600.”

Gaz whistles, “brass’ knickers are all twisted up, huh.”

“Miss Laswell, if I may.” Novikov pipes up, “I have yet to finish the renewed revenant test of Sergeant MacTavish and Lieutenant Ghost. I will not be able to give you an accurate recommendation before that.”

The fuck’s he talking about?

“I understand, Doctor, but it’s out of my control.” Laswell exhales, “this is why I invited you to this meeting. Based on what you do know, what is your verdict?”

The entire room swivels to stare at the Doctor. Novikov scrambles to flip through the papers in his hands, before speaking with an air of defeat.

“Considering my current understanding of Lumity, and the state of Sergeant MacTavish and Lieutenant Ghost… I recommend that until further testing, they should be separated as much as possible on field, if their powers are to be used.”

… What?