#and i get that not everybody seek out the same thing from a fanfic and i actually like that there is a spectrum of fanfic to go off of

[vicontheinternet]

Not to fanfic shame anyone but I lowkey wanna know why you would connect magneto to the mcu let it be known that Erik was holocaust survivor and say that his children were apart of a neo-nazi organization only to have him be team iron man and have the fic be anti cap when Tony was the reason his children joined the org in the first place and cap was the one defending his children and helping his daughter.

[lovingrosewho]

Framed

Hello there! It’s been a while since I’ve written anything but I recently began watching Criminal Minds again and fell in love with Aaron Hotchner all over again as well, so I just had to write this, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it :) This is my first Criminal Minds (published) fanfic, and the first Hotch x Reader I’ve written ever! (also the first nsfw)

ONE SHOT (but who knows, it may even have a part 2 on a future maybe not-so-near but not-so-far-away either)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Cis!fem!reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 3467

Summary: reader has been accused of murdering her older, rich ex-fiancé (of course I took my inspo for this piece of fanfiction from Brooke Whyndam, of the movie “Legally blonde”, also, the line “then show them a picture of his dick” is from that movie).

Warnings: NSFW content (innuendo, sex, curse words, age gap - reader is in her mid twenties, Hotch is in his early/mid forties)

“I didn’t do it!” you scream one last time slamming your fist on the table, on the edge of tears.

It had passed around 8 hours already with you in custody, accused of the murder of your ex-fiancé, a (quite older) man, CEO of a big company in town, and as if that wasn’t enough, the best friend of the sheriff.

SSA Aaron Hotchner rubs his face, tired, after observing Prentiss and Morgan’s attempts to get you to confess. It’s almost 3am.

“Sheriff, with all due respect, I think she’s telling the truth” he tells him with a soft voice after a deep sigh.

“And with all due respect, you profiled that the suspect would be a female in her mid twenties, who we’d have to get the information out of her”.

“And we also profiled she’d be seeking for attention and validation which we don’t see it happening do we?” Aaron retorts rolling his eyes discreetly.

The sheriff gives SSA Aaron Hotchner one last glance before grabbing the doorknob of the interrogation room and storming in, Hotch follows close behind, seeing how the sheriff turns off the videocamera recording what happens inside the interrogation room, knowing no good can come from asking the same questions over and over again when everybody is also tired and fed up with trying to get a false confession out of you, which, from your behavior, Hotch knows it’s impossible.

“That’s it!” the sheriff yells “You killed my best friend! Either you confess or I’ll let you rot in here the rest of the 72 hours we can have you legally detained!”

“For the last time, I. Didn’t. Do it!” you yell back.

The BAU team exchanges glances between each other.

“What judge is going to believe you huh? You were engaged to a successful man in his mid fifties! And then he goes and marries someone even younger than you!”

“That was over two years ago!” you talk back.

“You had motive and opportunity, no judge nor jury is going to understand any other reason for you to be with him that is not for the money”.

“Then show them a picture of his dick! That might clear a few things up” you finally bark at him. The sheriff looks at you in astonishment. Morgan disguises a snicker as a cough, Prentiss bites down her lower lip to suppress a laugh, and Hotchner… Hotchner just stands impassive at you.

The sheriff leaves the room enraged, and everyone else follows, not before giving you an apologetic look. Hotchner is the last one to stay. You see the slightest doubt on his eyes and the subtle twist his lips make. You know he’s thinking about letting you go, but he then lowers his stare and gets out of the room, just like everybody else.

You sigh, drained out of energy after all the interrogations. This can’t be happening to you.

You knew since the moment you met John, that just his pure acquaintance could ruin your life. He had many enemies, and even more groupies who belonged to social circles that if you hadn’t met him, you would have never even imagined they existed, but what you had never imagined either, was that after all the heartbreak, loss and pain of what you thought in that moment to be the love of your life, you’d be reliving all those feelings, cause of some stupid cop negligence.

You lay your head slowly on the table, feeling the coldness of the metal surface on your cheek, and close your eyes for just a couple of minutes. You can’t sleep, not until this nightmare is all over, but at least, you get to have a few moments of peace and quiet before some other agent enters the room and begins yet another interrogation, demanding new information. Information you don’t have.

Outside the gray room, where you can’t hear nor see anything, the BAU team argues with the sheriff about your freedom.

“We’ve gotten out of her everything we’re going to get, I’m telling you, she didn’t do it” Morgan tries to reason with him.

“An unsub who planned a homicide this calculated would be equally calculated both on his answers and his behavior, this girl was in shock when we started showing her the case photos and couldn’t get a single cohesive phrase out. You can’t pin this murder on her” Emily backs up Morgan.

The sheriff looks at both of them, puffs a sigh and places his hands on his hips before discussing.

“Look, I get it, you profilers or whatever think you’re better than all of us, but this is still my county, and while I can have her in custody, I will. Who knows? She might even give up a confession or at least some new information. Goodnight gentlemen. And lady” he starts to walk to the exit without giving any of them any chance to convince him “I suggest you too get some rest. It’s been a long day and there’s one even longer ahead of us. Lock up when you get out”.

With that last statement, the sheriff ends the discussion and exits the precinct. Morgan and Prentiss move their heads in disagreement, proceeding to look back at Hotch, who is frowning at the door the sheriff just left through.

“What now?” both the BAU members look at the unit chief.

“Sheriff is right in one thing: you should get some rest. I’ll stay here with (Y/N), keep her company and see if there’s something we missed” he declares “Call Reid, Rossi and JJ, head back to the hotel, I’ll catch up with you in a few hours”.

“Hotch she’s not our unsub” Morgan defends you again “I mean we could, let her go right?”

“I’m afraid not. If we step ahead of the local officers, we might make things worse by getting ourselves kicked out of the investigation. It’ll be of more use the sooner we find something, anything, that might help (Y/N) clear her name and get her out of here” Hotch answers, he’s looking at Morgan but directs his orders to both of them, he knows his team too well to not know for a fact that Emily is the one who’s more inclined to let you go. They both nod silently.

“All right” Emily surrenders, not just because she’s too tired to continue arguing, but because she also knows that perhaps getting back to the hotel and going over some of the facts and scenes with Reid or JJ, might be more useful “Do you want me to stay with you? I mean the precinct is completely empty. You’ll be here all by yourself”.

“It’s okay. You and Morgan. Hotel. Rest. We’ll gather first thing in the morning and go through everything we have so far” he assures and doesn’t wait for a reply, beginning to walk back to the interrogation room, hearing the exit door of the precinct close behind him and the key turning.

When he enters again, he finds you on the same position you were trying to rest, your cheek against the now warm table, your hair falling on it and covering parts of your face.

“I’m not asleep” you mutter softly “I just needed to clear my head, breath and relax for a bit”.

Hotch lets out an almost imperceptible sigh, but everything is so quiet, that you get to hear it.

“(Y/N) I know you didn’t do it” he pronounces just as softly as you.

“Really?” you frown and shift your position, sitting back on the chair, looking at him “Then… can I go?”

He presses his lips into a straight line, and lets out a firm, but still tender “no”. A single tear escapes your right eye and you wipe it off quickly, not quite giving in to the emotions just yet. Hotch notices and comes to stand right next to you, laying on the edge of the table.

“If I’d let you go, the local authorities would not let us continue the investigation and they’d pin that murder on you. Trust me, the best we can do right now is wait a few hours until everyone has cooled down and come back with fresh eyes” he guarantees you, his features relaxing as he tells you this “Everything’s gonna be fine”.

“Everything’s gonna be fine” you repeat his words slowly, then look up at him. Damn it. He’s handsome. It’s no secret to anyone you have a thing for older men, but did that trait really have to emerge right now? You can’t help but to laugh out loud at the thought, it’s absurd to you that you could be thinking of that when you’re being accused of murder.

“What’s so funny?” he asks confused, and distances himself ever so slightly from you, without leaving his place on the table.

“Nothing, just…” you start, in an attempt to explain yourself and don’t end up looking crazy “God, if I had met you under any other circumstances, I’d probably be all over you right now”.

SSA Aaron Hotchner does not move, nor his face changes towards you, but you can see the most subtle blush on his cheeks, and his fists tightening. His lips finally crack up a light smile, finding the situation absurd as well, he quickly remembers the videocamera is off.

“You do realize you could be facing murder charges, right?” he asks playfully, kinda mocking you, keeping the volume of his voice down.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry” you apologize “It’s just so late, I’m tired, and well, you’re smoking hot” you confess with an apologetic, but also mischievous, look. Hotch finally lets out a laugh. Get a hold of yourself, Hotchner, he thinks to himself, takes a deep breath and goes back to his serious stare.

“(Y/N), I understand it’s been a long day in which you’ve been under a lot of pressure, but for me to keep up this game would be not only unprofessional, but also unethical. Your mind is probably just making up this crush for you to pass the time and distract yourself from what is happening. You’ll get over me” he explains sweetly.

“I wish I could get under you instead…” your witty retort catches him off guard, he swallows hard and starts coughing. He’s not used to women flirting with him anymore, not for a long time, let alone women almost half his age.

“I’ll see you in a few hours” he says standing up and reaching towards the door, not really uncomfortable by your approaches, but more by his increasing boner.

“No, okay I’m sorry, please stay with me” you beg him, standing up as well “I was just joking. Well, not really, but just… please keep me company, stay?”

He turns back at you not realizing how close you are, less than a couple steps behind him and he almost crashes into you, but he prevents the two of you from tripping by stabilizing himself grabbing your hips, but his hands can’t get to let go afterwards. You breath heavily, feeling the arousal and heat from the proximity suffocating you.

“Please fuck me” you half ask, half beg, admitting to yourself that what you need right now is precisely what agent Hotchner said: relieving some stress and distraction.

SSA Aaron Hotchner can’t help himself.

Ugh, fuck it, he thinks. It’s the sheriff’s fault for turning off the videocamera in an attempt to scare you and try and trick you into making a confession.

Without any further notice, he grabs your ass and the highest part of the back of your thighs to lift you. Your legs instinctively wrap around his back and your arms around his neck, not breaking eye contact as you let him carry you to the table. He places you on the table with tenderness, caressing your back as he does so. You bring your dominant hand to grab his tie and pull him in for a long, wet, controlled kiss, running your other hand along his arm and chest, ending the trace on his cheek, allowing your thumb to move back and forth on his skin.

Quite to be honest, Aaron doesn’t know how well he’ll be able to perform. It’s been a while since he’s last had sex, and his mind is always either on his job, or his family. He’ll probably won’t last more than a few minutes. But he can try and make it up to you.

He begins to deviate his trace of wet kisses from your mouth, to you jaw, your neck, and slowly your chest, discovering little by little the skin under your clothes, while his hands drop by the side of your waist, hips and legs, exploring you under the midi skirt you’re wearing. His right hand finds the slit between your legs, covered by your panties, and starts caressing it through the fabric. He listens to you moan and brings his other hand to cover your mouth with endearment, letting you know you’ve got to keep quiet.

He moves your panties to the side and traces one finger along your slick, inserting it inside of you. You have to suppress an even louder moan. He moves that one finger up and down, hitting your G spot, inserting another finger when you’re ready.

“Please” you beg once again. Aaron chuckles, grabbing you and getting you closer to the edge of the table, proceeding to get down on his knees and sucking all your juices without any type of heads up. You can’t but let out a loud moan. He looks up at you, and even though his eyes demand silence, you can tell there’s the slightest grin on his lips, before he continues sucking and licking your folds and clit. Your back drops to the table, unable to keep yourself steady so you can watch him. You’re trembling with desire and lust “Agent Hotchner, please” you beg once again. Hearing you call him ‘agent Hotchner’ does something to him. He stands up, wiping a little bit of your juices off his mouth and kissing you afterwards, his hands resting on either side of you on the table, one of them coming to grab each of your nipples one at a time.

“How much do you want this?” he asks softly.

“I need you” you answer “Please, fill me”.

His eyes meet yours and he nods slowly. His mouth comes to encircle one of your nipples as he pulls down your underwear and hides it in his suit pocket, and undoes his belt and trousers, without taking any clothes off. You come up from your laying position to support yourself with your elbows on the table, not wanting to miss how the special agent from the FBI takes his cock out to give it to you.

When he’s got it out and ready for you, he pumps it up and down a couple of times before lifting entirely your skirt and positioning himself in your entrance. He enters slowly, letting you take him all in, allowing you to accustom to his size, and for the love of him, he feels like he could explode any second. He breathes deeply and clears his mind, his ego not letting him end up looking like a teenager having his first time.

“Let me ride you” you ask after a few slow thrusts, needing more of him. He looks at you and nods.

God, what is he doing? At least you’re innocent. Are you? Right? You’ve gotta be. The profile doesn’t fit. But they’ve been wrong before haven’t they?

You exchange positions so he’s laying on the table, you get on top of him and guide his cock back into you again. You part your lips in a moan when you come down on him and begin moving your hips, his hands moving alongside them. You lower yourself without stopping so you can kiss him, rubbing your whole torso on his, your sweat making your skin slip on his skin. He grabs your breasts so he can bring them to his mouth, nibbling them.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if this might just be another trick for you to let your guard down. But what could you say that might incriminate you? You know you’re innocent. What if he’s not even a real agent?

You’re so close that you can’t give yourself permission to sink into those thoughts, instead, you start riding Hotch faster and stronger, your clit rubbing against his pelvis as you do so.

“Aaron, Aaron…” you moan lowly. You don’t know if it’s okay that you’re on a first name basis already, but it just seems weird to you if you call him ‘Hotch’ like his colleagues.

It seems like he’s perfectly fine with it, as he digs his fingertips on your hips, encouraging you to keep going, feeling how your walls tense around him as your orgasm hits you.

You moan uncontrollably as you come, not being able to keep those in, digging your nails in Aaron’s shoulder suit sleeves. Afterwards, you lay slowly on his chest, until you start feeling like he’s pulling himself out.

“Wait” you gather and pull yourself up again, with him still inside of you “What are you doing? Don’t you wanna finish too?”

He looks at you in disbelief.

“Well I thought you may wanna rest or…” he begins explaining. You laugh and look fondly at him, lowering yourself again to murmur “don’t stop” in his ear.

Of course, he remembers. Twenties.

That’s everything he needs to start thrusting into you with everything he’s got left.

“(Y/N) I’m not-“ he tries to phrase “I’m not going to last longer, I’m- is it okay if I…?”

“Come inside me” you order “It’s okay, don’t worry, I’m on contraceptives”.

He decides to believe you, for his sake, and fastens his pace until it becomes sloppy, spilling inside of you just like you asked for, his cum filling you and showing between your folds as he brings himself out.

“Oh my god” he breathes out as he brings you down to his chest, securing his arms around your back, bringing you even closer to him “I’ll put you in handcuffs myself if it turns out you’re not innocent”.

You chuckle, tracing circles on his chest through the fabric of his shirt.

“I am. But still, you can put me in handcuffs any time you want”. He laughs alongside you, still feeling a bit like a teenager. A teenager who just did something very very wrong and that nobody should find out about. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a few seconds before his cellphone starts ringing, he answers almost immediately.

“Hotchner” he says calmly “Yes I’m still here. No, everything’s fine, she’s�� behaved. Prints don’t match? Well of course they don’t, was García able to tell whose are they then? Right. Well, tell her to keep digging. I’ll see you in a bit”.

After he hangs up he turns to you with a playful look.

“You never touched the gun that was in your purse, did you?” you shake your head.

“Guns and, weapons of any type really, give me the creeps, I just left it there thinking it was someone’s idea of pranking me or something”.

“Well that may have just made your case. You’re free to go. Whoever was trying to frame you did a lousy job not guessing you weren��t going to grab the gun” he tells you arching his brows at you. You stare perplexed at him.

“You’re serious? Oh my god Aaron! Thank you!” you exclaim kissing him.

“Yes, and we should get dressed and get out of here before anything else happens” he affirms gently, helping you stand up so you both can fix your clothes.

“Well, agent Hotchner, it’s been a pleasure. Truly” you tell him when the two of you are walking out of the interrogation room towards the exit.

“Pleasure is all mine, (Y/N)” he says, winking an eye at you “I’d like you to know… I don’t usually do this. I don’t…”

“Aaron” you interrupt sweetly, one of your hands coming to grab his forearm to stop him “I know. I can tell. It’s okay. I know that if I hadn’t initiated it or followed up you would have never even considered it, I get it… but now, can we please do it again?”

He chuckles.

“You know where we’re staying and the number of my hotel room, sweetheart. And I also recall reading on some case file that you’re from Virginia and were just visiting your home town?”

You smile widely at him as you nod, pulling him in from his tie for one last kiss. Or who knows, it might not even be the last one.

MASTERLIST

[traceytries]

I don't know what made you think that everybody in fandom has to worship you now. You used to be someone I look up to but meanwhile it's only annoying to watch you whoring for attention and literally making everything about you and only you. Yes, your INAP fic was successful. Many people used to love it, me included. But the last 2 chapters were so bad, the quality deteriorated drastically. Same with your new fics. A mere one shot posted in 5 million tiny parts? PLEASE! You wonder why nobody really gives a shit about those fics? Well, it's because the writing just ain't it. You think you can just write anything, just sneeze onto the paper, and people will worship you. You think you deserve praise and admiration for works that most people think just suck because they are neither well written nor well thought-out with all those plot holes and things that don't make sense. You ask for people's opinion on something, making polls, only to do what you prefer yourself anyway. What's the point of asking then? You ask people for recommendations but if they don't say that your stuff is the best, you ignore it. You go on other people's posts only to make things about yourself. You CONSTANTLY ask for feedback, begging for comments on your fanfics, yet you don't even reply to them. You are not the least bit thankful. You are just a huge bitch who craves attention and it's high time you need to learn how to humble yourself. Go outside and touch some grass. You take a shit in the toilet just like the rest of us. But you act like you're a celebrity, saying you will answer the comments on the last chapter as if that's such a generous graceful thing for you to do. FUCK OFF! Other authors are always happy to engage with their readers and fans, yet you act like some queen who's above us peasants and sooo much better than everyone else. You constantly yap and bitch about not receiving as much attention as you think you deserve, yet you never even support other writers. Never leaving comments yourself, hardly reblogging anything - no. This is a one-woman show. The Tracey-show. Where everything else is insignificant. And then you have your 3 clowns who always come to your aid when you cry about lack of attention again, spouting ridiculous nonsense like 'you hold the fandom together' while there are literally hundreds of others, posting fanarts and fanfics daily. What a joke. You and your 3 devoted cult-followers insult the whole fandom by acting like you are the only one contributing. And then you have the audacity to post these fake anon-asks, just as a way to get attention from your followers again, hoping to gain pity and that everyone will tell you how amazing you are. Well, here is a real one. I wonder if you dare to post it. But you probably will, since this will be the perfect chance for you to play the victim-card again.

What the fuck man. This is the meanest message I have ever received, are you the same anon as before? I don't know what to say to this, you obviously have been wanting to say this to me for some time. I'm sorry if maybe I've hurt you somehow?

I'll try to get through everything.

Yes, you're right, I guess I am a bit shameless in promoting my work. But I think I yap about my fics as much as the next writer. I'm proud of what I've made/am making and I want to talk about it. I sometimes tag #tianshan when talking about my fics, but oftentimes it's just #inap or #ddd because I don't want to bombard the tianshan tag with my silly posts.

And what sucks is what you're seeing as attention-seeking is half true (everyone makes posts to get attention, that's neutral fact), the other part of it is: I'm trying to make a connection. The way I wish someone would just DM me and talk to me directly about tianshan, or the latest ox chapters or hell, my fics - that would make me so happy!! Not many people do, and so I continue making posts about tianshan, making polls, asking for engagement from the fandom because bruh I've been into tianshan for practically a decade - I want to talk about them!

That bit about replying to every comment on the last chapter of inap is a weird thing to criticise. Over the years, I've struggled with replying to comments, and though I know it's not a requirement to do so, I've always felt bad about that. But by leaving that end note, I was holding myself accountable, making sure that I appreciate everyone who got to the end of my fic and left a lovely message for me. That's all man. There wasn't some superior mindset behind it. Someone leaves a message, I'm going to say thank you!

I answered that previous anon message because I know it's true, I'm not a good writer. I get stuck describing scenes very literally, I'm not good at metaphors or romantic wording, and I use italized words as a crutch to illustrate internal thoughts. When I was replying to the anon I was agreeing with them, to like idk, take the wind out of their sails?

I suppose I should've just deleted the message but idk, I didn't think much of it. And just so you realise, I didn't tag anything in that other message, so the only people that should see it are people that follow me? Unless Tumblr put it in like your For You tab or something? That'd suck, I hope Tumblr doesn't do that.

Also I do comment on fics wtf? When I love a fic, I make sure to leave comments. Especially because I know how good they feel to receive them. And I do reblog and promote other people's fics and fanart too! Go back to my teanshan blog and search the #fanart #fanfic #fic #toread tags! Also do you guys remember when I literally commissioned powerandpathos a few times?? They're the best! And everyone knows it!

I have never said I'm 'holding the fandom together', and I don't think anyone has ever told me that either. I just post about tianshan dude.

With your last lines of your message, you're putting me in a shitty position. Either I don't post this and you're leaving me to feel shitty by myself. Or I post it to respond to your accusations and you make me feel like I'm only doing it for attention! Well, I think this message is really fucking shitty and I need to tell you that this sucks. I hope you work on yourself in 2025.

I've turned off 'reblog control' so no one can reblog and defend me. I'm not sure about replies tho. I'll just say no one has to reply to this either. I don't need defending. I'm going to ignore future anon hate. and I'm going to carry on making posts about tianshan, talking about my fics, self-reblogging my work, and engaging in the fandom as I normally fucking do.

[kittyball23]

Hooked (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: With Branch and Poppy engaged, the brothers decide to get another pair in the love game

A/N: Serves as a follow-up to my oneshot “The Proposal,” with slight tweaks

__________________________________________

There were a lot of Trolls cheering, but, if Clay had to take a guess, Viva was probably the one who was cheering the loudest of them all. Everybody was very excited over Queen Poppy’s engagement, and it made perfect sense why her sister would be one of the ones in the crowd who was making the most noise. Why, she even sounded louder than him, John Dory, Spruce, and Floyd combined, who were trying to make sure that they cheered extra loud for their youngest bro Branch, who was also the one getting engaged, too!

Clay beamed and continued to clap, his youngest brother not quite finished with his sudden kissing spree with the Pop Queen. He was surprised to hear that Branch had not yet kissed his girlfriend – the one he’d been goo-goo eyed for nearly the entire trip – and if he were being honest, he felt a tad bit envious of the youngest BroZone member… and it was not because of the kingly status that he was to obtain. No, he felt the envy for how confident Branch was, expressing his love for his now-fiancé, soon to be wife. Clay wished he had some of that same confidence when it came to expressing his own feelings for a certain other pink princess, who just so happened to be related to Poppy. He peeked over at her, feeling his cheeks get warm and his focus zero in. How in the world did Branch get himself out of the friendzone? Clay wondered, wishing he could ask his brother right there and then, but aware that he probably had a lot of other things on his mind. And 99% of things were probably about Queen Poppy.

Luckily, though, he had three other brothers, and they seemed to catch his vibe right away.

“Alrighty, Clay, we got Branch hooked. Now it’s your turn,” Spruce said, putting an arm around him.

The lime-green-haired Troll gave him an astonished look. “What?”

“Dude, you know what he’s talking about!” John Dory piped up, making a non-discrete gesture over at Viva. Then he made a shooing motion at Clay. “Go on, go get ‘er!”

“Um, excuse me?” Clay said, trying to prevent a full blush from coating his cheeks. He frowned slightly and glanced at Spruce. “Bro, haven’t you played cupid enough for one day?”

The purple-haired Troll chuckled. “You can’t ignore the sting of the lovebug, my brother. When it happens, it happens, and you gotta just go with the flow, you know what I’m saying?” Before Clay could even answer, Spruce continued. “So here’s the for real deal: all you gotta do is ask if she’ll go with you to the wedding.”

Clay crossed his arms. “This isn’t the prom, yo.”

“It’s still an op!”

Clay rolled his eyes. “I don’t think so.”

“Dude, you scared or something?” JD asked.

Clay looked startled. Was his brother really that dense? Of course this was petrifying! He would’ve told him so if his mouth hadn’t decided to start stuttering instead of giving a firm reply.

“W-well… uh… you see, it’s, um… I…”

Thankfully for him, Floyd spoke up, not as pushy as the elder two brothers. “Clay, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’m sure there’s still some other chances that will come up, you know.”

Clay could breathe a sigh of relief to hear that. And he probably would’ve left it at that, seeking some other time to make his move on Viva. But then he really thought about it, and completely disagreed with the idea. He’d had his secret pining for the Putt Putt Queen for years, telling himself that he would put it off and off until the right time came. And so far, nothing had progressed from their friendship status.

“Actually,” Clay began, tentatively, “I think JD and Spruce are right. I think I’ve kinda gotta do this,” he said to Floyd, shooting the magenta Troll an apologetic look. Floyd took it in stride though, offering a little smile in support of Clay’s decision.

But now came the tough part. The actual execution.

__________________________________________

“My sister is getting married! My sister is getting married!” Viva sang out loud, over and over, hopping up and down on the spot and unable to contain her excitement. Viva had a lot of happy days, but this was one of the happiest by far! She couldn’t be prouder of Poppy and the future she had in store with the one she loved. She was so caught up in the frenzy of the moment, that she hardly noticed she was being called, at least until she bumped right into the said person in one of her twirls.

“Hey, um, VivaaAAH!” the newcomer yelped when her weight knocked against him.

Viva was quick to apologize. “OH! Oh, I’m so sorry! I totally didn’t mean that!”

“Oh, it’s all cool,” he said, and Viva could now see that it was her good friend Clay. He avoided eye contact for a second, brushing off his cardigan, and then cleared his throat. “So, um… congrats on your sis, for um, y’know, the engagement and all.”

Viva beamed. “Awww, well thank you, Clay! Congratulations on your brother for the engagement, too! You must be so happy!”

Clay chuckled, and nodded. “Yeah, I am… It’s kinda weird seeing the ‘baby’ of the group all grown up and stuff, gettin’ hitched and all. But weird in a good way!”

Viva giggled. “I’m sure!”

“Yeah…” Clay rubbed his arm and took a breath, swallowing before he continued speaking. “So, um, Viva... I was wonderin’, you know, if you wanted to, uhhh… come with me to the wedding?” He cringed a little, like he wasn’t sure what she was going to say.

“Oh, well that’s a great idea!” Viva exclaimed cheerfully. “You, me and your brothers can all meet up and get seats closest to the altar. Actually, Poppy and Branch might even let us stand by them at the altar! I really hope Poppy’ll pick me as a bridesmaid. But, huh, I wonder – can there be best men? I always thought there was usually one best man, but how can Branch pick one of you guys? I mean, you’re all like his pals, right? Just like Poppy and me! Anyway, I’m sure it’ll work itself out, I’m just so excited!!”

“Oh…” Clay said, after Viva had finished her excitable rambling. He looked startled, and then spoke slowly. “Um, right, Viva, but, heheh… that’s umm, not exactly what I meant,” he mumbled.

“Huh?” Viva cocked her head, noticing now that Clay seemed to have a slightly nervous expression on his face. He was shuffling his weight from foot to foot, and his fingers were twitching against each other. Still, he looked her straight in the eyes and spoke.

“Viva, what I mean is, do you wanna come with me, as a… y’know… as a d-date?”

Viva blinked. And then she gasped. Clay wanted to ask her to be his date? Plenty of folks came to weddings with a partner, adding on to the lovey-dovey mood that made up the grand festivity. To be asked took her aback.

“And if you say yes,” Clay hurriedly continued, putting his hands out, “maybe we could, um, go on an actual date or something sometime afterwards, and be a – a little more than friends?”

By this point, Viva could feel herself bubbling with joy. “You mean like a boyfriend-and-girlfriend sort of thing??” she asked, barely able to breathe. “Like, we could hold hands, and take long walks on the beach by the sunset, and have moonlight dinners, and share a milkshake with two straws, and you can think of ways to make me laugh, and I can think of ways to make you laugh, and we can play with each other’s hair, and rub our noses against each other’s, and we can give each other flowers, and hug each other all the time, and you can tell me all about how much you love me, and I can tell you all about how much I love you?!”

Clay was speechless for a moment. “Uhhh… sure!”

Viva giggled. “Clay, I think you’re so sweet and wonderful… and I’d really love for us to do ALL of that together!” She giggled again, and then leapt at him, engulfing him a huge embrace. Clay was wide-eyed and disbelieving about what had just happened, but ever grateful and happy. He hugged Viva back with just as much fervor, even lifting her up off the ground for a little twirl that made her squeal. They looked each other in the eyes afterwards, and then Viva continued her cheering for Poppy, this time, if it were even possible, even more energetic than before.

Clay took the opportunity to scamper back to John Dory, Spruce, and Floyd, who all had knowing looks on their faces.

“Way to go with the flow, Ro-me-o!” JD sang out, busting out a rhyme. Spruce gave him a small smirk and a thumbs up, while Floyd gave Clay’s arm a small squeeze of congrats.

Clay would’ve made some kinda snarky comment, or cracked a joke, but for now, he just blushed and playfully punched his older brother’s arm. Him and Viva were hooked – and that was no joke!

__________________________________________

A/N: In case it wasn’t implied enough in the Meeting Viva and Clay chapter, I have hopped aboard the Clay x Viva ship

My initial train of thought when it came to theorizing which brother Viva would end up with, if any, was Spruce, since he was described in the BroZone website to be the flirty heartthrob of the group. I guess it never crossed my mind that he would already be married with kids! I’ve also shifted more into Clay x Viva mode since they would seem to know each other already (given that they both live in Putt Putt Village) and the fact that Clay is described as now being serious, and Viva is described as “Poppy 1000x” – a kind of similar dynamic to our Broppy ship we have now. Who knows, maybe we'll get a little tease towards their relationship at the end :)

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

related to that other post i made about reading speed, whenever people are like "you shouldn't just read easy fiction books, you need to Challenge Yourself and Broaden Your Mind and Do Analysis" it annoys me because i am the kind of person who does enjoy close readings and analysis (uh, have you seen my blog), but also i have two brain-heavy analysis-focused jobs that challenge me plenty and that my brain is not just broadened but actively melted by trying to juggle them on a daily basis. so a lot of the time i read as a means of relaxation and a way of giving my brain a break, and i have no interest in making that particular hobby Harder and More Challenging for myself

i want to read easy books! i want to read books that feel like a hug! i want to reread the same romance novel five times! i want to read pacy genre fiction that i can understand on a first read! i struggle to get through 800-page classics that require constant consultation of a dictionary or a companion volume and as such i don't tend to read those for fun! and... i also have multiple degrees in literature, because the things i read academically and the things i read purely for pleasure fulfil very different functions in my life, and i do not think equating one with the other is actually of benefit to anyone

because honestly, "literary analysis" and "reading for pleasure" are not wholly separate concepts but they are a venn diagram not a circle and the stuff that's only in the reading for pleasure half is just as valuable and worth doing as the stuff in the middle or, if that's your jam, only in the analysis half (though personally i don't make a habit of doing things i get zero pleasure out of unless i have to). and the overlap is smaller for some people than for others, and some people don't get pleasure from close-reading, and frankly that's fine too?

and if you have very boring repetitive jobs which do not stretch your mind in the least (as i have had in the past) then Challenging Books play a more significant role in not letting your brain atrophy, i get it, i've been there, i've had some incredibly boring jobs and i did find myself seeking out intellectual stimulation from other aspects of my life. but not everybody has those jobs. some people are in fact having to grapple with and analyse vast amounts of information on a daily basis and are just trying to chill in their downtime and that isn't like. some kind of moral failing, omg. yes, even if that means only reading fanfic

so. basically. stop telling other people what to read, stop making assumptions about other people's analytical skills or intelligence based on how they approach their hobby, stop making out analysis as some kind of Moral Duty for anyone who wants to read books. and sure people have bad and misinformed opinions about or readings of books, but i can guarantee you the people who are approaching reading as a personal challenge and an ethical duty are having just as many bad and misinformed opinions about them as those who are just vibing, tbh

[chaotic-hypnotic-erotic]

Mesmero Misunderstood (AO3)

Author rant on.

They're much-maligned, it would seem, at least in my fanfics on AO3, but there is a reason why I put so much love into my version of Mesmero.

A long time ago, I read a book, The Magician by W Somerset Maugham, about a character called Oliver Haddo. I thank Nick Edwards, one of a few friends of mine from college days who's still with us, for getting me a copy of that book.

Haddo was a thinly-veiled parody of Aleister Crowley.

I remember a scene where Haddo wandered into a salon, and basically everybody there - who, just a moment ago, had been trying to outpose one another - started telling him to read the room and yelling at him that he wasn't welcome there.

They ridiculed his ambition to be a magician. They cast aspersions about his drug use, his bisexuality (which was illegal in the UK at the time), and his beliefs (which came from Buddhism, Taoism, and Hinduism, unheard-of in Western societies at the time).

The author was writing about Haddo, but he was screaming out his vitriol towards Crowley on the page.

Maugham wasn't the only one to take the piss out of Crowley. Aleister was "Mocata" in Dennis Wheatley's The Devil Rides Out (don't bother reading it - the racism just stinks), and "Karswell" in M R James' Casting The Runes which got turned into Night Of The Demon, a 1957 British horror film.

Oh, and the great poet W B Yeats commemorated Crowley with a scathing sonnet. Nah, just kidding, he threw Crowley down a set of stairs. How erudite.

That Maugham salon scene stuck in my head, a lot.

Which is where Mesmero came in, as a character.

The first Marvel Rare Pair challenge in 2022 invited me to write about pairings of Marvel characters whom nobody had yet paired before. The creation of my AU version of the X-Men:Evolution character Mesmero seemed the perfect opportunity to explore some truly rare pairings. But what was more, it gave me the opportunity to do something else.

I wanted to explore what it was like to be a mutant, shunned by other mutants.

I wanted to hold up a mirror to the general mutant community: you can't call yourselves the victim of hate if you yourselves hate others.

And inside the frail, diminutive body of this fictional Mesmero, I inserted myself.

The Mesmero you have been reading about in my AO3 stories are all elements of my personality. If Mesmero seems to have a thing for tall blondes, it could well be that that is something in me speaking. I'm apparently 155 cm tall, which makes me shorter than Wolverine - thus Mesmero is exactly the same height as me.

I've received some comments to my AO3 fic about Mesmero, and they have actually been hurtful. And they have come from people who support Loki. As in "God of Mischief" Loki.

This one comment stung so fucking hard.

Hopefully for Mesmero's sake, they stick to their garden and helping the people who go to them asking for help instead of seeking it out and "convincing" others they need their "help" when they haven't.

How "GO HOME TO WHERE YOU FUCKING CAME FROM" is that?

Anyway, I have a multi-part Mesmero story brewing. But you know what, I think I'll stay off AO3 altogether for a while. I don't really care much for comments like that, so I'm tempted to gather all my Mesmero stories and delete them from AO3, put them into a novel, post them to Substack or Bluesky, and stop writing Marvel and MCU stuff. Concentrate on my original characters, my fave settings, and maybe start up a Blogger blog to put them onto, also.

Don't tell my characters to go home. Don't tell them to stay in the garden or else. Don't tell my characters that they take without consent.

Don't project onto Mesmero. You've been hurting me.

[kendrixtermina]

Harmonic Triads and Average Base Mood

I hadn’t put these on tumblr & it occurred to me that I probably should  

Theory or possible insight that came to me between some of the recent discussions here.

eg. the positive types would typically jump out of bed with a positive base mood -

unless they have some psyhiatric condition, are under substantial stress or had some major tragic backstory happen to them.

"9s whose parents didnt suck" seemed to be the happiest group overall in the recent"typical moods thread".

Though of course when negative stuff/ tough situations do happen, they do each have characteristic negative corners that they can slip into (For 9s often is this sort of 'why bother with anything?' depressed state, for 7s a pervasive restlessness or understimulation void, and for 2s more of a wet, active pain - "no one likes me or appreciates me, i want to cry and also smash things") Being wedged in between two reactives perhaps reflects how the 7s require ore input to maintain the sunshine & sparkles.

Whereas the competency types would tend to have a more neutral baseline, with the 3s generally reporting this most often. (kinda makes sense, with them being placed between one positive & one negative wing)

You'd think that, if your feelings are mostly reactions to things that happen, there is no reason to have a reaction when nothing recently happened, but apparently not.

This recent psychology book I read a while ago detailed that ppl most often do have some slight low-level mood going on with actual neutrality being somewhat unsual, which tracks with the competency types generally being outnumbered, since theres not as many 3s as 6s or 9s, for example. Even 7 isn't that infrequent, so the positives are probably the greatest majority.

Hence the common adage that "Doesn't everybody want to be happy?" Statistically speaking, most ppl do.

Which leaves the question of how to characterize the reactives.

4s and 6s certainly report higher rates of subjectively experienced negative states (if you give them a big 5/OCEAN questionaire, for example) but this isn't really the case for 8s, whose negative moments are more individual points if something just blew up in their face.

Though they tend to interpret things that others would read negatively as stress, anxiety, anger etc. as positive excitment & "aliveness".

One thing one immediately notes is that reactive types, well, react a lot, and quickly, often going to a lot of reactions in a short time. So maybe there isn't a fixed baseline or center or gravity to the same degree

8s and 4s are both somewhat intensity seeking; The 6s are the most stability-loving out of the bunch but you even hear some of them saying that they do best with a moderate level of challenge, like having something to work against. Some of the cp ones can even be outright thrill-seeking. A cynic might remark that the phobic 6s are so good at making stress for themselves that they dont need any extra stress from the outside. though one might say the same about 4s and drama and in that case we come close to glass houses territory, i can always find something to sulk about if so desired, though for me of course that then goes straight to the intellectualized level. Actually getting to the point of having a physical reaction & crying would not be so pleasant or common for me, which would likely be different for a core 4.

So perhaps ideal state for reactives is some mild "positive stress" though the preferred level and type thereof differs greatly between the individual types. A phobic 6 doesn't per se want to do the same risk-filled jobs & hobbies as an 8. But you do hear even from phobic 6s that there can be a tendency to "always look for something to fix" in a relationship so that they can reaffirm that they & their partner are still on the same team.

This might be where the idea comes from that "a good relationship should have some arguments". That was probably invented by a 6 - cue legions of teenage fanfic writers clumsily inserting a "first argument" scene into their ship fics regardless of whether it made sense for the characters or situation.

I personally wouldn't miss them if there is no need for them, for all that im all for confronting problems when they come up rather than brushing them under the rug

In my experience with a two competency types relationship, there were pretty much zero fights for the first 3 years that it was going good, and not cause grievances were being ignored, either, we'd just, like, discuss improvement suggestions.

Probably one of the main reasons that you often do see competency types pairing up in the first place. "Ah, finally someone whos not clingy & wont mind it if I work alot. What a pleasant absence of drama"

Though, on the rare occasion that an argument does need to happen, one possible pitfall can be to fall into the unspoken convention that the first person to flinch has automatically lost the argument. If you don't like it when ppl draw attention to such involuntary reactions as you didn't manage to keep under wraps, you might wanna extend the same courtesy to your partner...

- im obviously looking to hear you guyses thoughts to further refine this.

[autisticandroids]

Post about the fanfic you just read when you come back

thank you for the reminder. anyway ok so i just reread this fic i really like called 25¢ pocket guardian angels by hopelessheathen (well, actually, i listened to the podfic by gravelly, which is very good and lovingly made).

and it's like, it's an au fic. it's not really a comment on canon except insofar as it's a pretty interesting spin on/not exactly deconstruction of but.... complex engagement with? the born sexy yesterday trope, which could kind of be useful as a source of comparison since born sexy yesterday is... pretty unavoidable? with deancas fic? like the fic absolutely participates in the trope but also like, plays with it a lot. not in ways that necessarily make it less icky, if anything it's arguably more icky, but it's really interesting and fun.

BUT! it also stands on its own as like... a really fascinating little scifi story or fairytale? i say scifi because narratively parts of it are very in line with the scifi short story conventions of like... hey what if this thing happened? ok bye. even though the story is very much fantasy.

but the thing that most intrigues me about it is actually the worldbuilding. i'm gonna put this under a cut because it spoils the fic, and imo this is like, worth reading unspoiled. it's only like 15k, and there's a good podfic that's a little more than an hour. just check it out.

anyway. the thing i'm obsessed with is like. the LIFECYCLE. of the angel creatures. like, ecologically speaking.

so like

they start as eggs in a gumball machine, and they telepathically scan passersby until they sense someone with a caretaking (and anxious/guilt-prone?) personality who will see them and immediately freak out and disrupt their own life + cause a huge scene by spending half an hour pumping quarters into the machine

they then induce this person to raise them to maturity

once they have matured, they mate with that person. this isn't explicitly stated to be the inevitable result, maybe cas is just weird, but the implication of the ending is i think that there will be eventual charlieanna, because 1) it's given the same sort of easter eggy treatment that background femslash get in slashfics, and 2) charlie was the person who found anna, and charlie's main canonical personality treat is "likes women." so i take that to mean that generally speaking once it has matured the angel mates with its caretaker

it lays eggs in a new gumball machine and abandons them to be raised by a suitable human (the abandonment may not be universal but given the fact that the eggs seek out humans to parent them the way that they do, it seems like it's the usual method)

like these creatures are half cuckoo, half succubus. they're not exactly brood parasites because they eventually mate with their caretakers (although cas offering to leave implies that that doesn't always happen, sometimes they leave their caretakers and take other mates. in that case they are definitely brood parasites). and they certainly take advantage of human parenting instincts to propagate themselves. like they're a parasite on humans as a species which is like. i'm obsessed with the concept.

plus i'm constantly wondering like... how long these creatures have existed. the first gumball machine was patented in 1907, and they need those to lay eggs, so that gives us a hard limit, but also like... dean finds nothing about the angels online. and he isn't exactly secretive about where cas came from, he has PICTURES. he tells EVERYBODY. so like, was cas the first? or maybe was his parent the first? i just. i think about it a lot.

[prepare4trouble]

Vikings fanfic - Displaced (24/24)

The masterpost is here, if you need to catch up (and considering how long it’s been, you might need to!)

Synopsis: When Ivar and Sigurd wake up to find that they have switched bodies, they need to work together to resolve the situation. If, of course, it is even possible…

The final part of this story. Can you believe that back when I first started writing this, I thought I would be posting the last part in December? Well, eight months later, over a year since I first started writing it, and here it finally is.

I honestly don't know what I'm going to do with myself now it's done!

Thank you to the people who have stuck with me while I very very slowly wrote this thing. I hope you feel like this was worth the wait!

Displaced tags:  @lisinfleur @thefightingdragon @youbloodymadgenius @dini73 @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @adrille88 @purplehairedbitchh

Sigurd found himself hesitating outside the closed door of Ivar’s room. A moment ago, he had been confident in his intention. Now that he was there, he was suddenly less sure that he was doing the right thing.

It occurred to him that he had never visited his brother in his own room before. While they had inhabited each other’s bodies, they had switched bedrooms, partly to make things easier for Sigurd, partly to avoid having to explain to everybody, every night, why they were sleeping in the wrong beds. Before that, he did not remember a single time that he had wanted to speak to Ivar badly enough to seek him out.

How different he felt now.

He raised his hand to knock, but didn’t. Things were different now they were themselves again. Allowances had needed to be made while they were still at the cabin, but now they were home again, it occurred to him that Ivar may not want him there.

It had been a day since they had returned home from their trip to the hunting cabin, and two days since he had finally woken up in his own body. It still felt strange. He had imagined that if the gods ever allowed him to be himself again, he would slip back into his own body easily, and find it as comfortable as an old pair of boots that had moulded themselves to the shape of his feet.

He had been wrong about that.

Two whole days later, he was still getting used to it again. Not only that, but he was still… processing… what had happened; still going over things time and again in his own mind. There had been no privacy at the cabin; nowhere for he and Ivar to talk, or even for him to sit and think by himself without interruption from Hvitserk or Ubbe.

He glanced down at his feet, planted side by side outside the closed door, and couldn’t help but feel a mixture of disbelief and amazement. Relief, too. Even in the house, he found himself marvelling at how much easier it was to walk from room to room than to have to crawl. As he moved, he still found himself wincing in anticipation of pain that he later realised was not going to come.

He couldn’t help but wonder, was Ivar having the same thoughts, only in reverse?

He probably was. After all, how could he not be? And Sigurd surprised himself by feeling guilty about that. It wasn’t his fault, and he knew that. He still couldn’t help it.

He hadn’t seen Ivar since they had returned. His brother had claimed exhaustion, and taken himself off to his room the moment that Ubbe had unstrapped his legs and helped him down from the horse that had carried him home. If Ivar had left his room at all since they had returned, it had not been while Sigurd was around.

Which only made Sigurd more certain that his brother would not want to see him. Of course, Sigurd had spent more time alone than he usually would have as well, and Ivar wasn’t exactly the most sociable of the brothers, so maybe it wasn’t that strange at all. What was strange though, at least to Sigurd, was how much he had missed his younger brother’s company. He wanted to make sure that he was okay. Not that he would ever be stupid enough to admit that to Ivar.

He took a deep breath, raised his hand and knocked gently on the door. “Ivar?” he said. His voice came out far more quietly than he had intended.

There was no immediate answer. Sigurd waited, but nothing. It occurred to him that perhaps Ivar wasn’t even there. Maybe he had slipped out when Sigurd hadn’t been around to notice, in which case he could be anywhere in Kattegat, and Sigurd could be knocking on the door of an empty room.

He waited a moment longer, then tried again, three raps on the door, slightly louder this time. “Ivar, are you in there?” he tried.

Again, silence from the other side of the door. If his brother was in there, maybe he didn’t want to talk to him.

With a sigh, he allowed his hand to drop to his side, and turned to leave. Before he could move away from the door, he heard a reply. “What do you want, Sigurd?”

He turned back, then hesitated again. Was that an invitation? Should he open the door and walk in, or should he reply from outside in the hall. Just a few days earlier he wouldn’t have even thought about it, but things were different now, he was in unfamiliar waters. Before the swap, he would never have visited Ivar like this. During, he had done it several times, but that had been his own room, not to mention he had also been visiting his own body. He had felt as though he had the right to drop in.

Now though, he didn’t know. He found himself uncertain of how to move forward; should they go back to the way things had been before -- perhaps not the hostility, but the distance between the two of them -- or should things remain as they had been recently? Or should they find some kind of middle ground between the two?

He pushed open the door, just far enough for him to see inside the room, but kept his feet firmly planted on the outside.

Ivar was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs hanging over the side, no boots yet, but otherwise dressed and ready to face the day. Sigurd folded his arms and leaned against the frame of the door. “Hey,” he said.

Ivar looked at him, then frowned in apparent confusion at Sigurd’s presence. “Hello,” he said in response.

Sigurd remained where he was for a moment, standing still, arms still folded, unsure what to say next. He had wanted to check on his brother -- to make sure that he was okay -- but now he was here, with Ivar frowning at him as though he thought that Sigurd standing outside his room was the strangest thing that had ever happened to him, he was starting to feel a little silly.

Ivar almost looked wary of him. He watched him through narrowed eyes as though he was waiting for Sigurd to do or say something cruel; as though he thought that Sigurd might have learned nothing at all from the events of the past two weeks.

Maybe it had been a mistake coming here. After all, why wouldn’t Ivar be okay? He had wanted to be himself again just as much as Sigurd had. Or at least he had said that was what he wanted. He had never, not even once, hinted that he might have been okay with things staying as they were. Even when Sigurd had been concentrating all of his mental energy on pretending to be okay, Ivar had railed against the idea.

So then, why did Sigurd feel guilty; like he had taken something away from his little brother?

“Did you want something?” Ivar asked him.

Sigurd folded his arms a little tighter, and slipped inside the room. He heard the three silver coins in his pocket rub together as he leaned against the wall. He shrugged. “Not really,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Ivar’s frown grew more wary still. “Why?” he asked again.

“Because…” Sigurd began, then hesitated. A horrible thought occurred to him. What if, to Ivar, his being there was every bit as strange and confusing as he appeared to be finding it. He had wondered, after all, if what had happened to them had been some kind of lesson or punishment, devised by the gods and aimed at him. At Sigurd. If that was true, it had never made sense that they were putting Ivar through the same ordeal.

What if, in the same way that they had altered the memories of everybody around them, the gods had taken the memory of their switch from Ivar, leaving Sigurd completely alone in his understanding of what it was like to live somebody else’s life?

Would they really be that cruel?

Yes. Of course they would. The whole thing had been cruel, after all. So why would they not decide to make it even worse?

He looked searchingly at Ivar, hoping for a sign that he remembered, but it was impossible to know for sure. “You… do remember, don’t you?” He asked hesitantly.

For a second, he thought that he saw something like relief in Ivar’s expression, before it was replaced once again with wary uncertainty. “That depends,” he said. “Remember what, exactly?”

“The, uh…” Sigurd unfolded his arms to raise both of his hands, then moved them back and forth past each other in an attempt to somehow mime without actually saying, the act of switching places.

Ivar instantly and visibly relaxed. He breathed out as though in a sigh of relief, and half-laughed as the tension left his body. “I thought the gods had made you forget!” he said.

“Me?” Sigurd shook his head. “I thought you had forgotten! Why would the gods want me to forget?”

“Because I think that they were trying to teach me something,” Ivar told him. “And it would make no sense to put you through what they did in order to do it. I thought they might have made you forget so that to you, it never happened.”

“I wish I could forget,” Sigurd said, then instantly shook his head. That was a lie. “No, that isn’t true,” he admitted. Now that it was over, a part of him was strangely glad that it had happened. Besides, he didn’t like the idea of anybody, not even the gods, messing with his memory.

“Really?” Ivar asked him.

Sigurd shrugged. “Of course really. I mean, you taught me to be pretty good at tafl that day we spent playing. If I forgot, I would have lost that.”

Of course, he would also have lost the memory of the pain and the helplessness that he had felt that day, but also the memory of the kindness his brother had shown him when he knew that he had done nothing to deserve it. Yes, he decided, they were memories that he was glad he had, and if the gods wanted to take them from him, they would have a fight on their hands.

He smiled. “Really,” he said again.

Ivar frowned, then smiled back at him, and Sigurd relaxed slightly.

“So, are you okay?” Sigurd tried again.

His brother gave him another look that implied he was making no sense. “Of course I am. Why would I not be?”

He knew why. Didn’t he? He must know why. Because Sigurd had suddenly found himself able to walk again, and it was the most wonderful thing that he had ever experienced, precisely because he remembered how difficult it had been to lose that. Because Ivar had just lost that, and even though he was used to it, and even though he had wanted to be himself again, there had to be some part of him that was finding it difficult to adjust.

And if there wasn’t, there should be.

But he couldn’t say that, so instead Sigurd shook his head. “No real reason,” he said. “It’s just that you didn’t come to dinner last night. We had the venison from the deer you shot.”

“You shot it,” Ivar told him. “Or that’s what everyone thinks, anyway.”

That was true. It was also true that Sigurd hadn’t bothered to protest, or even to downplay the achievement, when his brothers had sung his praises as they had tucked into their meal the night before. When his mother had smiled at him, he had almost been able to fool himself into believing that she was proud of him. Now, though, he felt a little guilty. He wondered whether Ivar had been listening from his room.

“I did have some, anyway,” Ivar added. “Mother had Margarethe bring a plate to my room. I didn’t feel like coming to dinner because I was tired. I am not sure exactly what you were doing while you were in my body, but it appears not to have been resting.”

Sigurd rolled his eyes. “Because of course you always get a full night’s sleep,” he retorted defensively. “Well, apart from your midnight excursions out to the hall to dream about being king, of course.”

Ivar allowed another small smile, and Sigurd decided to take it as an invitation, or at least an indication that his brother was willing to tolerate his presence there. He took a step forward, and sat down on the bed next to Ivar. He noticed as he did, that his brother’s legs did not wear the leather strap they usually did, to tether them together for ease of movement. It was almost midday, and he appeared to have only just dressed for the day.

Maybe he really was just tired.

Ivar caught his eye, and Sigurd realised that he had been staring. He instantly looked away, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Ivar shook his head dismissively, as though he didn’t care. “What do you want, Sigurd?”

“I told you, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

An exasperated roll of the eyes. “Pass me that,” Ivar demanded, and pointed at a three-buckled leather strap that appeared to have fallen onto the floor just below his feet. Sigurd reached down for it, and handed it to his brother, who took it, then used his hands to pull himself backward onto the bed so that his legs lay in front of him. He carefully slid the strap underneath them and fastened the first buckle with practised speed. “I promise you, I am fine,” he assured Sigurd. “Better than fine, actually; I am myself again.”

Sigurd nodded slowly, and wondered whether that was true. Was Ivar really himself? He was himself again too, or at least he should be, but he felt different now. He wasn’t sure whether he would ever be exactly the same person that he used to be.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to be.

“And what about you, hm?” Ivar asked, almost as though he had heard his brother’s thoughts. He fastened the third and final buckle, then slid himself forward again, allowing his legs to hang over the side of the bed. “I know you had decided you were happy with the situation. It must have been a big disappointment for you when you found yourself back in your own body again.”

Sigurd frowned. He had thought they were past that argument. “You know I never said that, Ivar,” he told him. “I never wanted to be you. All I said was that…”

“That you needed to assume it was forever to keep yourself sane. Yes, I know what you said,” Ivar said. “I still think that you liked being me, just a little bit. You might as well admit it.”

He had hated it. He had hated Ivar’s pain, and his physical limitations, and he had hated how both had made him feel; how helpless and small. But there had been things that he hadn’t hated; having a mother that actually wanted to spend time with him hadn’t been so bad. He even thought that Ubbe and Hvitserk had seemed friendlier with him too, but that might have been his imagination.

“I didn’t like it, but maybe I didn’t hate all of it,” Sigurd admitted reluctantly.

Ivar’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “I was only joking,” he said. “I didn’t think you were actually going to admit that.”

Oh. Sigurd quickly shook his head, trying to think of some way to backtrack without being too obvious. “I hated most of it,” he said. “I don’t want to be you, Ivar. I really don’t.” He raised his voice slightly as he spoke. If the gods were listening, he wanted to be sure that they heard him.

“I believe you,” Ivar assured him. “I have no desire to be you, either, but as we are being honest, I suppose I should tell you that I didn’t hate everything about it either. Again, most of it, but not all. Your hair, for example.”

“Is that an example of something you hated, or didn’t hate?”

Ivar shrugged. “It seems to take an unnecessary amount of effort,” he said.

Sigurd raised a hand to his head self-consciously. He had washed and re-braided it on their return from the cabin, and it hadn’t been a problem at all. He had been taking care of it for as long as he could remember, and maybe it wasn’t as easy as Ivar’s short locks, but it was easy enough, because he knew how. “The trick is not to let it get into the state that you did,” he said. “Maybe you should have tried dragging a comb through it once in a while.”

“I will bear that in mind,” Ivar told him. “When mine is longer.”

“Yours? You’re finally going to grow your hair?”

Ivar looked thoughtful. “I think so. I have been considering it. One thing I did enjoy was not being the baby of the family, and I think it might make me look older.”

What wouldn’t make him look older though, was crawling around on the floor, like a baby. Sigurd smirked at the thought, and immediately turned away to hide the expression. Once, he might have voiced the cruel comment, purely with the intention of wounding his brother’s pride. Not today. Not anymore. Now, he regretted even having thought it. It hadn’t been deliberate. He glanced back at Ivar, hoping that he wouldn’t somehow recognise unspoken cruelty.

“What?” Ivar asked.

Sigurd shook his head. “Nothing. When it gets long enough, if you need any help braiding it or anything…” he paused, then grinned. “You can always ask Hvitserk.”

Ivar rolled his eyes, then reached across to punch Sigurd hard on the shoulder. “I definitely will,” he assured him. “I trust him much more than you.”

Sigurd laughed and stood up, out of his brother’s reach. “Do you remember what you said the other night?”

Ivar frowned in obvious puzzlement, and Sigurd realised how silly a thing that had been to say. There had been many nights, and they had both said many things, and Ivar had no way of knowing what he was talking about.

“The night you made me sit in father’s throne,” Sigurd clarified.

“I did not make you.”

Sigurd shrugged. That was true, actually. He really hadn’t. He had suggested it, and Sigurd had decided to go along with the suggestion, knowing that it may be to only chance he ever got to sit there. “What you said about your legs,” he continued. “You told me you thought you would be able to walk if you could strap iron to them.”

Ivar nodded. “Of course I remember that. Why?”

Sigurd wrapped his arms nervously around himself, suddenly feeling far too tall as he stood next to Ivar. He wondered how tall his brother would appear, if he were able to stand. He wondered what it might be like to walk next to him, side by side.

He put his back to the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, then looked up at the bed where Ivar still sat. “Did you mean it?” he asked.

Ivar didn’t reply immediately. He stared down at Sigurd with a thoughtful, but vaguely mistrustful expression in his eye, as though trying to figure out why he was asking. There was suspicion in his gaze, and Sigurd found that he hated seeing it there. He deserved it, of course he did, for all the times that he had done and said things deliberately to hurt his brother, but that wasn’t what he was doing here. That wasn’t something that he wanted to do anymore.

After a moment, Ivar either decided that Sigurd wasn’t going to use the information against him, or his curiosity overrode his instinct for self-preservation. Either way, he nodded. “Yes,” he said.

Sigurd felt himself wince at the imagined pain as, against his will, his mind instinctively forced him to imagine pulling himself to his feet while inside Ivar’s body. He imagined his legs held straight and strong only by the iron braces strapped tightly to the outsides of them, straps biting into the flesh as they tried to hold his weight. He thought of the pain that his brother already dealt with every day, and then imagined it made so much worse by the strain of forcing his body to do something that it should not be able to do.

“Are you sure it would be worth it?” he asked.

Ivar hesitated again, his suspicion now turning to curiosity. “Why?” he asked.

“I just…” Sigurd shrugged. “I want to know.”

Ivar took hold of his legs and moved them until his feet rested over the edge of the bed, then shuffled forward until they touched the floor. For one ridiculous moment, Sigurd thought that his brother was going to stand up. Instead, he continued to slide forward until he slipped slowly off the side of the bed and came to rest on the floor, eye to eye with Sigurd. He leaned forward slightly.

“Why?” he asked again.

Sigurd shook his head. “Because I don’t think I would do it. If I were you, I mean.” He frowned; it felt wrong to say that. Only two days earlier, he had been Ivar. He wondered whether he would ever be able to use that particular phrase again without it sounding strange.

Ivar looked at him once again as though he were trying to figure out his motives. After a moment, he shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “I am not sure. I know it will hurt, and I know that if I fall I might break my bones. There is a chance as well that it would cause me other injuries that I have not even considered yet. Maybe it will be worth it, maybe it will not. But until I have tried, I will not know. And so, I do intend to try.”

But the same night that Ivar had mentioned this idea, he had also spoken about how unimportant walking was, and how he only cared because it seemed to mean something to other people. Sigurd suspected that he was not being entirely truthful about that. He knew the toll it would take on his body, and it must mean something to him, or he would not be willing to put himself through it.

“You know,” Sigurd said slowly. He reached a hand into his pocket as he spoke until his fingers brushed the three silver coins that he had put there before he left his room. He pulled one of them out and showed it to Ivar. “I have some money.”

Ivar looked at the coin, jealousy in his eyes but seemingly without comprehension. “Okay,” he said. “How nice for you. Where did you get it, did you steal it, or earn it by selling your ass to other men?”

Sigurd flinched. He closed his fingers around the coin, hiding it from Ivar’s view and suddenly feeling very stupid. He should have known that this was a bad idea. He should have known that the moment they were themselves again, things would go back to the way they had been before. He had been foolish to hope that things might change.

He shook his head, and started to get up to leave. “Forget it,” he said.

“Wait.”

Sigurd paused halfway to his feet. He locked eyes with his brother.

“I’m sorry,” Ivar told him. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

Sigurd hesitated, surprised to hear his brother apologise and not sure how he should react. He hadn’t meant to say it? It was hardly the kind of thing someone could say by accident. He narrowed his eyes, and waited.

“Really, I didn’t mean to,” Ivar repeated. “It’s… a bad habit, I suppose, to say things like that to you. I am having a bad day, and that always ruins my mood.”

Sigurd felt his eyes drawn to Ivar’s legs. He had a good idea of what his brother meant by a ‘bad day’. He also knew how hard it must have been for Ivar to admit something like that to him. Ivar didn’t talk about things like that. Not, as far as Sigurd knew, with anybody. But maybe now, maybe with Sigurd, it would be different. After all, Sigurd understood. He wasn’t sure whether that would make it easier for Ivar, or the opposite.

Anyway, he had only just had to bite back a cruel comment of his own. Maybe they were both trying their best. Maybe if Sigurd had been in pain and probably still tired from the trip. Maybe his self control would have slipped too.

He gave a single nod of the head, accepting the apology but not going out out of his way to forgive. He sat back down again. “Anything I can do? A few hundred games of hnefatafl, maybe?

The corners of Ivar’s lips curved into a small smile, and he shook his head. “Maybe another time.”

Sigurd nodded. He released the coin from his fist again. Gripping the edges of it between his thumb and forefinger, he tilted it back and forth, admiring the way it glinted as the light hit it. “I don’t think anybody would pay me for that anyway,” He added. “Not that I would want them to, you understand. But I think that somebody paying for it would want to buy someone with a little more experience. I have only ever been with Margarethe, and then only once.

Ivar’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“So far,” Sigurd clarified. “Now that I am myself again, there will be many, many more times.”

Ivar was still staring at him as though he didn’t know what to do with that information. Or maybe just in surprise that Sigurd had shared it with him. “I’m sure,” he said.

Sigurd cleared his throat and tried to ignore the fact that it suddenly felt far too warm in the room. He ran a hand across his brow and then down his face, and willed Ivar to forget what he had just heard. He wouldn’t, of course. Ivar never forgot anything. “Music,” Sigurd blurted.

Ivar frowned.

“That’s where I got the coins. Sometimes, people pay me silver to write songs for them.”

Ivar’s eyes widened further. “I didn’t know that,” he said.

“No, of course you didn’t. I didn’t tell anybody about it, but especially not you. You would have laughed at me, and probably got Ubbe and Hvitserk to laugh at me too. You would probably have dragged months-worth of insults out of those two pieces of information.”

“And yet, you have just handed them to me,” Ivar pointed out.

He was right. But while Sigurd was a little apprehensive about what he had just shared, something told him that it would be okay. He had learned a lot about Ivar during their switch, and a lot of it information that he would be able to use against him, if he chose to do so, but he no longer had any desire to do that.

It seemed fair, in a way, that he should give Ivar something in return. He hoped that Ivar, too, would no longer want to use the weapon that he had been handed. If he did… well, there were worse things. He shrugged. “I did, but I notice you haven’t tried to use them yet.”

“Give me time,” Ivar told him. “And maybe an audience.” But his smile and the teasing amusement in his eyes told Sigurd that he was not entirely serious.

Sigurd rolled his eyes. It felt good not to be on edge around his brother; not to resent him, or to expect violence at any moment. He sighed. “I wasn’t the best brother to you when we were growing up, Ivar,” he said, and I’m sorry for that. But you have to admit, you were never all that kind to me, either.”

“Of course I wasn’t,” Ivar told him. “You would have taken it as a sign of weakness and doubled down on your efforts to be cruel to me.”

“What?” Sigurd shook his head. “Of course I w…” he stopped. Maybe Ivar was right. Maybe that was exactly what he would have done. There was no way to know now whether one of them deciding to change the way they behaved would have made a difference. But in the future, perhaps they could both try a little harder. This was Sigurd’s attempt to do just that. “Fine,” he admitted. “Maybe you’re right. But I won’t do that anymore.”

Ivar looked at him as though he were measuring him up, trying to decide whether he could believe him. After a moment, he nodded. “You take silver to write songs about other people’s great deeds instead of doing things worthy of songs and stories yourself. You have to admit, that is a little funny. If I had chosen to laugh about it, I think it would have been justified.”

Sigurd shrugged. Ivar might just be testing the waters, seeing what he could get away with, but if that was going to be the extent of his response, it wasn’t half as bad as Sigurd had been expecting. Ivar was wrong, anyway. He did have stories of his own. Maybe one day, he would write about two brothers who were forced to live each other’s lives. Maybe one day, he would have tales of adventure to tell too; he had no intention of remaining in Kattegat for the rest of his life.

“Actually,” he said, “I don’t write about that. Most people want love songs. Anyway, what ‘great deeds’ have you done recently?”

“None,” Ivar admitted. “But I will, one day.”

Sigurd didn’t doubt it. “Well, when you do, maybe I will write songs about them for you,” he suggested. “Then maybe you would be glad of your skald of a brother, hm?”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “And I suppose you would want me to pay you for these songs?”

“Of course. But because you are my brother, I will give you the first one for free.”

Ivar shook his head and let out a small chuckle. “I suppose that is fair,” he admitted. He sighed, pushed the palms of his hands into the ground, and adjusted his position on the floor slightly. Sigurd recognised the movement; he was taking the pressure off one part of his legs and shifting it elsewhere for a while. When he was done, he glanced quickly at Sigurd, and then away again. “I am already glad of you,” he added quietly. “I don’t need you to write songs for that.”

Sigurd frowned.

“I am sorry,” Ivar told him. He shifted his position again, just slightly this time, then looked Sigurd directly in the eyes without hesitation. “You are right, I was not kind to you. I told myself it was because of the way you treated me, and sometimes it was, but not always. I was not a good brother to you either, Sigurd, and I would like for that to change.”

Sigurd stared back at Ivar for a moment, temporarily unable to think of a single thing to say. He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. After a moment, he forced himself to nod his head. “I would like that too,” he said. “For me to do the same, I mean.” In fact, that was the very reason that he had come here today, until the conversation had been pulled in another direction.

“Good,” Ivar told him. “Then maybe you can start by telling me why you came here to show off your silver.”

Sigurd looked at his hand. The coin was still there, still gripped between his thumb and forefinger. He loosened his grip and let it fall back into his palm. “I wasn’t showing off,” he said. “I know the blacksmith charges a lot for his work, especially if you want good quality.”

“Planning on having a sword made?” Ivar asked him. “Why? What is the point if you plan to be a skald?”

“No,” Sigurd told him, then frowned. “I do intend to be viking as well, you know. I’m not going to let you have all the fun. And it would be better if I see all those things you’re going to do before I write about them. But no, I already have a sword.”

Ivar shrugged. “Then what?”

Sigurd hesitated. When this thought had first occurred to him, it had seemed like a good one. Now that it came time to share it, he was suddenly not so sure. Maybe Ivar would be insulted by the idea. Or maybe he would accept, but it would turn out that Sigurd’s meagre hoard was not enough to pay. Maybe it just wouldn’t work, and Ivar would blame him for the failure.

He took a deep breath. Nervously, he turned the coin over in his palm, and licked his lips. “I just thought,” he began. “It is up to you, of course, but if you are serious about walking, I just thought that perhaps this might be enough to pay for the ironwork.”

Ivar froze. It was subtle, he had not been moving much anyway, but a sudden stillness came over him. For a moment, even his breathing appeared to still. The only part of him that appeared alive was his eyes. They stared searchingly at Sigurd, suspicious, as though trying to decide whether he could trust him. “Why?” he asked after a moment.

It was a fair question. He was not rich, but with the few coins that he had, Sigurd could choose to buy many things. He could arm himself with a fine weapon, or purchase a new instrument at the market, or perhaps even both. He could buy new clothing or leathers, or a good, strong pair of boots that would last him for many years. He could pay for a helmet to protect himself in battle, or the thin, strong steel rods that he knew some men placed inside their boots to protect against an unexpected low sweep of a sword. There were many things that he could have used the money for. He could even have just chosen to hide it away, to keep it for a time when he needed it, or to take it with him to Valhalla when his time came.

But yet here he was, offering to give it away. Maybe Ivar had been right all along. Maybe he really had lost his mind.

Ivar was still looking at him with uncertainty in his eyes, perhaps trying to work out what ulterior motive was driving Sigurd, or perhaps wondering whether his brother was planning to withdraw the offer the moment it was accepted. “And what do you want in return?” he asked.

“I don’t want anything,” Sigurd assured him. That wasn’t totally true, but there was no thing that he wanted his brother to give him. What he wanted was not to be at war anymore. That, and he wanted to see his little brother stand straight and tall on his own two feet. He wanted to be able to see the look on Ivar’s face the first time that he did. But of course he couldn’t say any of that, and even if he could, he doubted that Ivar would appreciate it.

Ivar frowned, looking more thoughtful now than mistrustful. “I intended to pay for it myself.”

“No you didn’t,” Sigurd told him. “You already told me that you were going to ask mother to give you the money,”

“And I will.”

“And then she will try to talk you out of it,” Sigurd told him

“What are you talking about? Why would she do that?”

If Ivar really didn’t know, that would make him an idiot, and Ivar was no idiot. In fact, Sigurd suspected that knowing she would convince him not to try, or just outright deny him the silver, was the main reason why he had not asked her already. “Because if you do this, it will hurt you,” Sigurd told him. “And she will not like to think of her precious little Ivar being hurt.” He felt his lip curl in disgust as he said that, and made a conscious effort to stop it. “Besides, the moment you can get up and walk on your own two feet, you can get up and walk away from her, and she will not like that either.”

Ivar’s frown deepened slightly, and for a moment he looked almost impressed at Sigurd’s reasoning. He nodded. “But you don’t care if it hurts me,” he said.

“What? No. Of course I c…” Sigurd stopped, and sighed. This was turning into far too much work, and if Ivar persisted in turning him down and changing the subject like this, he was going to get up and leave, and spend the coins on something else. “I don’t want to see you in pain, Ivar,” he said. “I never wanted that. Not even before.” He reached into his pocket for the other two coins, then offered all three to Ivar. “What I want, is to see you walk.”

Ivar still hesitated. Sigurd saw the fingers of his brother’s hand twitch as though he wanted to take the coins, but something held him back. “I do not need your pity,” Ivar told him.

“Good, because you don’t have it,” Sigurd promised. His frustration though, that was a very different matter.

Ivar’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Sigurd, staring directly into his eyes. The whites of Ivar’s eyes were tinged just slightly with blue, but not enough that he was in any real danger. Whatever it was that he was looking for, he appeared to find it, because finally, he reached out and took the coins from Sigurd’s hand.

He opened his hand and looked down at the three silver pieces resting in his palm. He touched each one of them with the forefinger of the other hand, running the tip of his finger over each one in turn. Finally, he looked back up at Sigurd, the mistrust and defensiveness that had been in his expression earlier had gone, but the uncertainty remained.

“What if it doesn’t work?” he asked, and his voice cracked just slightly.

For a moment, for the first time in a very long time, it really felt as though Ivar was the child that in many ways he still was, still seeking reassurance from his older brother. Unfortunately, as much as he wished that he did, Sigurd had none to give. Ivar had seemed confident when he had spoken of the idea, and although it had sounded painful and unpleasant, Sigurd had no reason to doubt his little brother.

Still, he couldn’t promise that it would work. He would never be able to look Ivar in the eye again, if it turned out that he was wrong.

Floki would know what to say, he was sure of that. It was too bad that the boatbuilder was so far away, down by his boatyard. Sigurd sighed; he was just going to have to come up with some pearls of wisdom for himself, and he didn’t know whether he was up to the task. “If it doesn’t work, you will be in exactly the same position that you are now,” he said. “You won’t lose anything. And you will know that it doesn’t work, which means you will be able to think about other ideas that might work instead.”

Ivar glanced down at the coins again thoughtfully. He turned them over in his palm, then nodded slowly. “Are you sure you want to give me these?”

“I already did,” Sigurd reminded him. “Anyway, I can always get more silver.” He spoke with a confidence that he didn’t feel. The truth was, he had no idea whether he could get more, or how long it might be before he did. “There is always somebody willing to pay for a good song, and I write very good songs.”

Ivar took a deep breath, as though preparing himself for some difficult task, then gave a single, determined-looking nod. “Okay then,” he agreed. “I will go and speak to the blacksmith about my ideas. Do you want to come along?”

“You’re going right now?” Sigurd asked.

“Right now,” Ivar confirmed with another nod. “Before I talk myself out of it.” He put his hand into his pocket and dropped the three coins inside. When he pulled his hand out again, he was holding the small wooden carving that Floki had given to Sigurd. He looked at it, turning it over in to examine the details on all sides. “Floki’s work,” he said. “Is it yours.”

Sigurd nodded. “He gave it to me to remind me to keep the gods close. He was so sure they had done us a favour by switching us like they did. He really didn’t seem to understand why I wasn’t thankful for it.”

Ivar offered the carving back to Sigurd, who accepted it. “He did understand,” Ivar assured him. Floki is not an idiot, he knows why you would not want to be me, and I had already explained to him exactly why I did not want to be you. He just did not care. Floki trusts the gods implicitly. When I spoke to him, he insisted that it was a good thing. Even if we hated it, he thought they knew what they were doing.”

That was true; the boatbuilder had said the same thing to him. Sigurd ran his fingers gently over the representation of Odin, then slipped it carefully into his own pocket.

“I didn’t agree with him,” Ivar added. “But now that we are ourselves again and I can look at it from a more impartial perspective, I am beginning to think that he may have been right.”

Sigurd nodded. The experience had certainly brought the two of them closer, if that had been the gods’ intention. He felt, for the first time in a very long time, as though he had a younger brother instead of an enemy who lived in the same house as him. For the first time since he had been a very young child looking down at a baby in a crib, he found that he actually wanted to be around Ivar. Their forced time together, the time when they only had each other because nobody else would believe them, had been difficult, but now that it was over he found that he did not want to go back to the way things had been before. He would miss Ivar if they did.

“Anyway, you are the one who decided to ‘embrace’ what had happened,” Ivar reminded him. “So I suppose you decided to take Floki’s advice after all.”

The truth was, he had been trying to make the best of a bad situation, and he had been trying to prepare himself in case it turned out that the gods had decided to change them permanently. He had been trying to convince himself that it would be okay, and he had almost succeed. His fingers tightened around the carving in his pocket, and he nodded. “It was good advice,” he said. “And I’m glad it’s over, but I also think I am glad that it happened.”

Ivar frowned, furrowing his brow as he stared searchingly at Sigurd as though trying to decide whether he genuinely meant what he said. After a moment, he appeared to make a decision. He leaned back slightly, and nodded. “I think I am too,” he said. “But now that I am myself, again, there are things that I am going to miss.”

Of course there were. Sigurd didn’t bother to ask Ivar what those things were; he already knew. They would be the same things that Sigurd had missed during his time in Ivar’s body. Sigurd shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to say. He hadn’t actively taken those things away from Ivar, but still, his brother’s loss had been his gain. Ivar had admitted to him his fear of getting used to Sigurd’s body and the things that he could do, but of course it was inevitable that it would happen, no matter how much he tried not to let it.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Ivar shook his head. “Unless you are about to tell me that you are responsible for the whole thing, I don’t think it is likely to be your fault. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I have been a cripple my whole life, and now I am again. I am fine with that. In fact, I happen to think it is something that I am very good at.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s fair though, does it?”

Ivar looked at him. Slowly he shrugged his shoulders, then shook his head. “No, it doesn’t,” he admitted. “But it is more fair than it would have been to leave us as we were. Where would have been the justice in that?”

Sigurd hesitated before replying. The fact was, he could see many ways that such an outcome might have been considered justice, and he was certain that Ivar probably could too. He might even have accepted that judgement, if it had come. But it had not, and the truth was, he was relieved. Of course, he had no intention of telling Ivar that. Not now, anyway. Probably not ever. He didn’t think it was something that Ivar needed to know.

“I’m still sorry,” he said instead, because it was the only thing he could think of to say. “But you’re right; you are good at it. Better than I was, anyway.”

Ivar rolled his eyes at that. “I should hope so,” he told him. “Although, you didn’t do too badly. At least not compared to how I thought you would do.” He suppressed a laugh and shook his head. “Remember those first moments, in the woods? When you couldn’t even figure out how to move?”

Sigurd did remember. Vividly. It was a memory that was going to be with him for the rest of his life. He felt himself wince, partly in remembered helplessness, partly in embarrassment. “You weren’t much better,” he snapped back. “Lurching through the woods as though you couldn’t figure out how to put one foot in front of the other.”

“I couldn’t,” Ivar told him. “Balancing is much harder than you all make it look.”

So was crawling. And getting up from the ground into a chair. And getting dressed and forcing himself to move around on the days when every movement was agony. And holding his head up high when almost everybody around him saw him as less than them. Sigurd took a breath. “I meant what I said the other night, you know,” he told him.

“Oh? And what was it that you said?” Ivar asked. “You have said a lot of things recently.”

“I said that things might have been better if we had stayed as we were.”

Ivar shook his head. “They wouldn’t,” he said. “I don’t want to be you, Sigurd. I told you. But you were so busy trying to convince yourself that you wanted to be me, that you never seemed to fully grasp that, did you?”

Honestly, no. He never had. No matter how many times Ivar had told him, Sigurd had never been quite able to make himself believe that there wasn’t some small part of Ivar that had wanted things to remain as they were. Even now, as sincere as his brother sounded, Sigurd wondered whether he was only saying it to try to convince himself.

“I do not want to be you, Sigurd,” Ivar told him, looking Sigurd directly in the eye, speaking slowly and enunciating each word clearly, as though he wanted to make absolutely certain that Sigurd did not misunderstand him.

“I know,” Sigurd assured him.

Ivar shook his head. “No, I don’t think you do. I do not want to be anybody but myself. Now, don’t misunderstand; if the gods had chosen to heal my legs and stop my bones from breaking, but left me in my own body, that would have been a very different matter. I want to walk, and I want to do all those other things that you and everybody else just takes for granted, but I want to do those things. Do you understand? I want to do them as myself.”

Well, maybe Ivar was right and he had taken those things for granted before, but that was something he doubted he would ever be able to do again. He didn’t bother to argue the point though; it wouldn’t have been helpful. Instead, he nodded. “Okay, Ivar,” he said. “I understand. I get it.” 

Ivar looked at him for a moment, then nodded, apparently satisfied. “Good,” he said.

“Anyway, if this works, then you will be able to do some of those things as yourself,” Sigurd added.

Frowning, Ivar’s hand moved to touch the outside of his pocket where he had placed the coins. He nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Yes,” he mused. “Maybe I shall.”

He didn’t sound particularly confident. Sigurd hesitated for a moment, caught between the urge to assure him that of course he would, and the more practical, perhaps more cynical, side of him that whispered that maybe it wouldn’t work at all, and that Ivar was right not to trust it.

“There is one main thing that I will miss,” Ivar added, unexpectedly.

“About being me?”

Ivar frowned thoughtfully, then shook his head. “No, not exactly. I will miss having someone to talk to; somebody who understood.” He glanced away, down at the ground, looking almost embarrassed suddenly. He folded his arms tightly across his body, and shrugged. “I liked that a lot more than I expected to.”

Sigurd understood. The whole experience had been very isolating, having nobody else but Ivar to talk to who understood what had happened, or who would believe him. He could imagine that his brother’s whole life felt that way sometimes, and even those he had that did understand didn’t, Not really. Not like Sigurd did. He wondered whether for Ivar, being able to talk to Sigurd about the things he had not felt able to share before had actually felt less isolating, not more. And now it was over, perhaps he thought that he had lost that.

He hadn’t. It was still there, if he still wanted it. But not before Sigurd had the chance for a little bit of fun at his brother’s expense. “Oh, I see,” he told him, with a small smile and an eye roll to indicate that he was not entirely serious. “So what you will miss is not being me, but me being you. You liked that I was a cripple. Wonderful. Thank you.”

“No,” Ivar insisted. “That is not what I meant!”

Sigurd smiled. In a way, it was exactly what Ivar had meant, but he was surprised to find that he didn’t mind. “It’s okay,” he assured him. “I know what you meant. We will still be able to talk to each other you know.”

Ivar shrugged. “I know, but it won’t be the same.”

No, of course it wouldn’t, because Ivar would no longer be helping and talking Sigurd through how to deal with the more difficult aspects of his life. But that didn’t mean that Sigurd had forgotten everything he had learned, or that they needed to go back to the way things had used to be. “No, it won’t be,” he agreed. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but good.”

Ivar let out a small laugh. “I suppose that is fair,” he told him.

Sigurd sighed to himself as he started to climb up to his feet. “Come on then,” he told his brother. “Let’s go and see the blacksmith.”

Ivar hesitated for a moment before he nodded. He leaned himself to one side and walked himself around on his hands until he was facing forwards, then headed for the door. Sigurd opened it before Ivar moved through, and the two of them made their way out of the house and across town, side by side.

~end~

[ganymedesclock]

I wanted to ask you a voltron question, cause i know you used to be really into the show. But you don't have to, if you've moved onto other interests. But if you're willing to answer, how do you think the show handled the topic of trauma, especially when it comes to war and near-death experiences? The heroes tended to act like they were fine most of the time, as if they weren't in a really stressful, terrifying situation for a very long time.

I'm going to answer this in a way that's more general rather than specific to Voltron, but I think it is relevant.

I think two things are simultaneously true:

1. there are many action shows, VLD among them, which do not focus exhaustively on War Trauma.

2. there are many instances in fandom, VLD's among them, which somewhat obsessively over-focus on the idea of characters in trauma.

I think VLD doesn't shy away from, gloss over, or ignore, the difficulties of war. If anything, it is rather effective in being a war show, considering that it's also an action show for kids. A huge amount of Shiro's character (especially his clone self from s3-onward, who is retraumatized) depicts his relationship with trauma and how he handles this unhealthily by trying to be there for everybody to the point it takes him a painfully long time to start asking for help in s5- long after it's obvious something is incredibly wrong. There are also more subtle transitions in the story- you can tell that while Lance remains a character who loves attention and the spotlight, he rapidly shifts in how he views heroism. Early on he is characterized as a person who makes bad decisions simply because they are more glamorous (crashing the shuttle by not listening to Hunk or Pidge; taking Nyma for a ride)- by s2 he has settled into a more precise and intense sniper mentality.

I think to a degree the VLD fandom doesn't give the paladins enough credit- yes they're young, maybe a bit improbably young to people not in the target demographic- but they were all basically either students at or graduates of military school, with the exception of Allura who also clearly had combat training. These guys weren't fighting in life or death situations, but of them, Pidge is the one who is probably the most shocked to find the going getting hard, and her bitterness, frustration, and ultimately resolve also factor in here.

We see in canon that whenever someone's in the healing pod, the entire rest of the team camps around them until they wake up. This is framed as a happy, reassuring moment, but it also shows us these guys are pulling closer in the face of grief and loss. They lash out at each other. They get angry. Stresses are afoot here.

But also, it's very clear their happier behavior has a point- s2e5, Eye Of The Storm, says this about as plainly as it possibly can: the entire team is exhausted and run ragged and everybody starts wandering off to do various pastimes, more or less successfully. The point isn't that they're unfazed by what's happening- it's that they're coping.

People have extremely complicated and varied ways of dealing with stress, and, developmentally speaking, we're generally designed to put out whatever efforts we can to make things work. And I think it's ultimately a matter of personal taste if you think VLD doesn't dig into it enough, but I think that it's also the nature of fanfic, both for better and for worse, to dig way more into characters' emotional states (to the point that there are many fics- including some very beautiful fics, that I have greatly enjoyed- where the entire point is just a psychological deep-trawl of what this person is feeling at this point)

And to a certain flatly utilitarian degree, I mean, what's the alternative? We aren't turning on a colorful action cartoon looking for a long period of introspection, anxiety, and despair as our likable heroes break down under the millstone of what they're doing. That's just plain not what this show was built for. If we hunger for that, it's something we should look elsewhere for- or accept that it's not canon's flavor and make a fanwork pivoting it in that direction. As-is, canon- and things seeking to emulate canon's take on these characters- can explore more the things rattling under the surface and problems that might need to be unraveled in years to come after the series ends, while still depicting that ultimately, these guys kept going.

It's a complex dance the human psyche plays with grueling, overwhelming contexts like war. And while it may be naive to suggest you can just step lively enough to come out fine- or that any of these characters ended the story the same way they started... I've never really felt that's what VLD was going for, narratively? Their conflict is not depicted as just a fun jaunt through space. It's hard on them. But they pull together, and they grow and change, and they come out mostly okay, because it is a largely optimistic work.

[nikibogwater]

Bogwater’s Guide to Writing Platonic Relationships

Have a seat, dears, pour yourself a mug of cocoa, and let’s talk about writing for a bit. Specifically, writing emotionally intense, compelling relationships that are completely devoid of any romantic tension.

“Niki, those don’t exist! The only relationships that are truly intense and compelling are the romantic ones! Everybody knows that!”

*gently bonks you on the head with my magic scepter* NO. This is a common misconception that is perpetuated by media and especially fandom culture. And it stems from this bizarre idea that emotional intimacy must always equate with romantic intimacy. I have no idea where this idea got its start, but if you ask literally anybody who has experienced real, genuine friendship in their life, they will tell you it’s absolute nonsense. Just because you’re not doing the kissy-kiss with someone, that doesn’t mean you’re not emotionally intimate with them.

“But I don’t want any emotional intimacy without the kissy-kiss! It’s boring!” 

Yeah, so, there’s a reason platonic relationships in modern media often feel less interesting than romantic ones, and it’s precisely because of what I said above. Media producers and many fic authors are skittish about showing platonic love with the same level of depth and emotional intensity as romantic, so it often ends up being somewhat watered down and simplified, to the point that it becomes a less interesting relationship. The only thing this does is perpetuate the idea that any and all emotional intimacy immediately implies romantic attraction (it does not) while also devaluing the very real importance of genuine friendship/familial bonds. 

“Okay, but what if I just like romance better?”

That’s your personal preference, and that’s okay! Everybody has their favorite genres and tropes that resonate with them more than others. My personal favorite is Family, Found or otherwise (with a healthy dose of Hurt/Comfort on the side), but I can totally understand if romance speaks to you more. HOWEVER. This does not excuse writers and other content producers from low-key asserting that romantic relationships are objectively “better” than platonic ones. Hard fact of life: Nobody needs to experience romance, and even those who do experience it do so in different ways. But everybody does need to have emotional connections with other people through the bonds of friendship and family. Believe it or not, romantic love is not a universal experience. Platonic though? Everybody knows that one, and everybody needs it to be happy. To devalue it as a whole is to impose a toxic mindset that forces people to experience relationships in a very narrow and restrictive way.

Okay--*steps off my soap box and kicks it to the side*--now that we’ve established that friendship is important and should be given the same value that society gives to romance, let’s talk about a few ways to write intense and compelling platonic relationships!

Emotional Intimacy:

I’ve talked about this a lot already, but just in case some of you are confused, emotional intimacy is just when two people have a very deep familiarity and understanding of each other. They understand how the other’s mind works, and feel comfortable opening up to each other about their own stuff. Obviously, this is very important for any relationship, platonic or romantic, but writers will often limit such familiarity between characters to the romantic relationships. The first step to writing an interesting friendship is to not do that. Show that your platonic soulmates understand each other and are vulnerable with each other. Here are some easy ways to do that:

Character A knows all of Character B’s personal preferences--likes and dislikes, including small things like food, flowers, music, etc. 

A can finish B’s sentences for them. 

A is willing to talk about their feelings when B asks if they’re okay.

A and B trust each other and know the other always has their back

A and B will occasionally reference events in their shared history and even have inside jokes

A will seek B out for comfort when they are upset.

A and B almost never miscommunicate--they know what the other means when they say something, and will immediately notice if the other is acting strange.

A and B can communicate with each other silently, via subtle looks, eye movements, or gestures.

Selflessness:

To quote a grossly over-marketed Disney franchise, “Love is putting someone else’s needs before yours.” This is the simplest and also most accurate definition of love I’ve come across, and it is universal to all kinds of relationships. So in order to make your platonic relationship compelling, you need to show that the characters are willing to make sacrifices for each other--even big ones. Make sure this is a mutual exchange between both characters, because otherwise you risk making the relationship look a bit toxic. Here are a few of my favorite examples of selflessness between friends/family:

Character A willingly puts themselves in harm’s way in order to protect Character B.

A is always ready to drop what they’re doing and come to B’s assistance. 

A and B regularly do small favors for each other without being asked. 

A is always mindful of B’s needs and makes sure they’re taken care of.

A and B always do their best not to hurt each other, either physically or emotionally. 

A is openly very worried whenever B is in danger and stops at nothing to help them.

Affection:

This is the part where most writers balk when writing platonic relationships. “They can’t touch each other!!! That’s sexy and weird!!!” No, it’s not. This idea that any and all signs of affection are exclusive to romantic relationships is toxic, and we need to wipe it from existence. Obviously there are different levels of physical intimacy, and some absolutely are exclusive to romantic relationships. Here’s a list of No-Gos if you want to keep a relationship completely platonic:

Kissing on the lips/mouth/neck.

Gazing deeply and silently into each other’s eyes for long periods of time for no other reason than to simply Gaze.

Doing the Do or otherwise touching each other in an explicitly sexual way (I feel like this one should be pretty obvious. Also wth guys, that stuff is grooooosssssssss 🤢)

Honestly those are the only ones that I can think of that are always exclusively romantic. Everything else requires pre-established context in order to be taken as such. So here’s a list of affectionate gestures that are totally safe for established platonic relationships!

Little forehead/cheek kisses.

Hugs--yes, even prolonged ones. Sometimes friends/family just want to hold each other for a while, and not in a sexy way. 

Holding hands.

Leaning on each other.

Playing with each other’s hair or gently petting it in order to offer comfort.

Sleeping next to each other when circumstances require it (and neither of them makes any fuss over it)

Saying “I love you.” STOP MAKING THIS AN EXCLUSIVELY ROMANTIC THING, PLEASE, FOR THE SAKE OF ALL THAT IS PURE IN THIS WORLD!

Touching foreheads (my personal favorite of the lot!)

Maintaining prolonged eye-contact during moments of sincerity and communication, especially if Character A is trying to tell B something important.

Sweet little smiles, or other such soft looks of fondness

And many other gestures that I don’t have time to go over in this list.

Tip the First: When writing platonic affection, be sure to bear in mind your characters’ personalities and physical differences. For example, if Character A is significantly bigger and heavier than Character B, they probably wouldn’t be tackle-hugging B, because that would risk seriously injuring B. Different personalities also have different levels of comfort when it comes to physical affection. If you’re writing fanfic, it helps to revisit the source material and observe how the two characters interact with each other. And remember: just because two characters aren’t physically affectionate with each other, it does NOT mean they don’t have a deep and meaningful friendship. Also bear in mind that many people have different dynamics with different friends simply due to the way their personalities fit together. Not all of my friendships look the same, and it’s not because of insincerity on my part--I just have different interactions with different people.

Tip the Second: If you want the gestures of affection to really pack a punch, use them sparingly. Save your long, warm embraces for when the two characters finally reunite after a long separation. Have Character A take B’s hand only when they can sense that B is frightened and in need of reassurance. A “First Platonic Hug” scene can be just as sweet and feelsy as a “First Kiss” scene if you do it right! Also, don’t be afraid to talk at length about how a gesture of affection makes a character feel. Describe the warm fuzzies that bubble up in their chest when their friend/family member gives them a hug, wax poetic about how grateful they are to have said friend/family member in their life. Taking time to explore and dwell on a certain feeling should never be strictly reserved for the ones associated with romance. 

And when in doubt:

Observe the professionals. Here are some fantastic platonic relationships from various pieces of media that I take tons of inspiration from:

Frodo and Sam from Lord of the Rings (especially in the books)

Jim and Toby from Dreamworks’ Tales of Arcadia series

Din and Cara from Star Wars: The Mandalorian

Lilo and Nani from Disney’s Lilo and Stitch

So in conclusion:

Listen, I get it. Romance is exciting and cute and sexy and very important in its own right, and society likes to beat us over the head with it these days. But I cannot impress on you enough just how vital platonic relationships are to living a good and fulfilling life. I am who I am today because of the family and friends who have helped me grow. Please don’t disregard it, whether in your writing or in your own life. Cherish friendship. Acknowledge the depth of your platonic feelings for someone. And writers, please don’t be afraid to express those feelings in your work. If we let friendship and family die, I can assure you, any potential for healthy romantic relationships will quickly follow suit. 

[suknas]

First Line Tag Game II

Tagged by @ruluxe (who dared to say that I have fanfics that I'm "holdin out on us" -- it is true tho lol)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening lines then tag 10 of your favorite authors.

Tagging: Everyone who wants to do this! (I'm not sure which authors are still active here ;-;)

Now we all know how inconsistent I am. But I do like starting with what's going on with the characters/where they are... Don't I? Well I decided to start with the most recent published ones, descending to the first ones published (skipping some), and finally some of my WIP/"One day I will finish" fanfics.

Quick fun fact: I didn't remember writing most of those fanfics lol

So here we go!!!! (it's gonna be a bumpy ride)

1. Into the Storm [GrimmIchi]: The lightning and thundering's brightness and strong noises were slicing the dark-blue sky of a lonely and sleepless night. A storm was coming. The heavy rain and gusts of wind were not the only thing rapidly creeping through the night. Kurosaki Ichigo could sense something else approaching along with the dark clouds and the pouring rain that now was hitting his window. [2021 (but the draft was from 2017 maybe), Bleach]

2. Ascension [AoKaga]: Light appeared in the darkness and soon darkness became insignificant before the beauty and immensity of the bright light surrounding a tall and masculine figure. He walked calmly through the uncertain route that many others once also stepped into it. He had a goal. The time to seek the one whom he had once shared many memories with, good and bad. The one person whom he had loved immensely but had never gotten to experience that feeling truly and at its fullest. The time had finally come. [2021 (again the draft was probably from 2016), Kuroko no Basket]

3. The One Where Prompto Does Not Want To Be In The Middle [Gladios x Prompto x Noctis x Ignis]: Sleeping in the camping tent was always a challenge in Prompto’s opinion. It is not as if he does not like camping, it was pretty nice being able to sit under the stars and gaze them, it was relaxing. Sometimes Noctis would sit behind him, embracing him in a warm hug. They would spend a long time chatting and exchanging affectionate touches until both of them felt like sleeping. Other times Gladio would join him, and the shield would let the blond lay his head on his lap. More often than not Prompto ended up sleeping while feeling his hair being played by dexterous and caring fingers. And whenever Ignis had time to spare, he would also join him after cleaning the mess they did during dinner. [2020 (again the draft was maybe from 2017), Final Fantasy XV]

4. The Owl Who Got Caught [KuroTsuki + Bokuto]: The third day of the training camp was finally over. Soon, everybody was running to the school cafeteria to grab something to eat. In the meantime, while nobody was looking, Kuroo took the opportunity to take Tsukishima’s hand, guiding him to the room that the Nekoma team was sharing; closing the door right after they entered. Nekoma and Karasuno’s middle blockers became closer ever since their first practice game, now they were spending more time together, and their relationship had an unexpected development. [2020 (draft probably from 2017), Haikyuu]

5. A Boyfriend Text [KuroTsuki]: Laying in his bed with a smile on the lips Kuroo was texting his sweet strawberry shortcake boyfriend. Eyes rapt, staring at the bright screen in the dark room; he was feeling anxious if his stupid smile and trembling fingers were any indicator.

TETSUROU: Wanna come over this weekend?

It had been some weeks since they had the opportunity to meet; school and volleyball practice were mostly the reason for their inevitable long separation. Week after week something "magically" came up in their agendas, but Kuroo was hopeful, however, that maybe this time their schedules would finally allow them to meet. [2020, Haikyuu]

6. Domestic Bliss [KiriBaku]: Sitting comfortably on the couch, Kirishima and Bakugou were finally spending some time together after a rough week. It was one of those rare days where both could enjoy a peaceful and uneventful afternoon. To say that both men were lazily on the couch doing absolutely nothing productive was not very accurate. Bakugou was doing something with his spear time, he was reading a book. By his focused attention on the pages, anyone could tell that he was enjoying his reading and only someone stupid would dare to bother him. [2017, Boku no Hero Academia]

7. Getting Together [KiriBaku]: “Let’s grab something to eat!” The blonde shouted after stretching his arms above his head. Bakugou’s red eyes fixed on the figure of Kirishima, who was sitting comfortably in bed with his back against the headboard.The redhead’s own red eyes snapped at the figure on the chair, eyeing him from head to toe; he spaced out in no second. Kirishima wanted to touch those damn nice muscled arms, which were slowly lowered down while his hands were placed on his toned thighs. Kirishima couldn’t help himself and started to imagine Bakugou’s whole body underneath him wrapping his body with those strong legs and arms. [2017, Boku no Hero Academia]

8. AoKaga short stories collection [AoKaga]: The atmosphere of the place was hot and heavy. However, because of that, the two teens lying down on the bed were more connected than ever. Their bare bodies were united white skin with dark skin. Their breaths were out of rhythm and their hands slid skillfully on each other’s bodies. The movements were synchronized and intense. The pleasurable moans and whispers echoed in the dark room, making the place even more delightful for both of them. [2017 - Short Story #4, Kuroko no Basket]

9. It's Picture Time! [Pomptis]: In the Regalia, Prompto and Ignis were heading to the nearest outpost from their camping spot to get some supplies for the night. The sun on the horizon was almost hiding behind the tree path by Prompto’s right side, the scenery formed by dim light and shadowy dark spots caught Prompto’s eyes.“Wow! Look at the light, it’s amazing!” the blond shouted, “Can’t we stop just for a bit?” Prompto was thrilled by the idea of adding more photos to his portfolio. [2017, Final Fantasy XV]

10. That Side of You [MiSawa]: Miyuki was laying in the bed on his back, eyes glassy, hands shaking and skin hot. The body above his was driving him to a place where it was absolute bliss and pleasure. Hips moved together, swinging with movements that were making Miyuki moans the pitcher’s name in a short and breathless tone.“Sa-wamura– Aah! Do that again,” his voice low and hoarse made the order sound weak, and his usual snarky tone was lost a long time ago in some part of his foggy mind. [2016, Diamond no Ace]

11. Runaround [Sterek]: Everything was set neatly on the kitchen table. Stiles was going to be there soon, so Derek had already prepared every single book and even snacks that they may need for their studying.It wasn't new that both of them were hanging out for studying matters. Actually, Derek had come up with the idea first, mainly because he was having some issues involving fast heartbeats and some inconvenient hard-ons whenever Stiles was around. He had a ridiculous crush on his friend. However, the smart geek boy didn't have to know about that. [2016, Teen Wolf]

12. Eavesdropping [MiSawa]: Sawamura’s suspicions must be right for his sake. Otherwise, Miyuki would make sure his so careless kouhai would pay a high price for being so noisy about Kuramochi and Ryou-senpai making out when no one was seeing. The closed and almost claustrophobic locker didn’t have enough space to move around, but he and Sawamura managed to fit in somehow. So what? They were eavesdropping, and he still couldn’t say that he was regretting this. [2016, Diamond no Ace]

13. Sterek Short Stories Collection [Sterek]: Stiles had broken up with his last boyfriend a couple of months ago. Or it was what he usually says to Scott when his best friend asks him why he isn’t over his past relationship. Because according to Scott, it’s been a year and a half since Stiles had parted ways with, at the time, his other half. And right now it was one of those times.“You should move on. I haven't seen you with no one since then. What about Danny? Last night I saw him flirting with you, and when I looked again you were nowhere to be found, but Danny was still there drinking alone. And let not forget your grumpy humor because your sex life sucks. It's getting old bro.” [2015 - Short Story #3, Teen Wolf]

14. Urge [AoKaga]: The small public bathroom stall in that bar hadn't been made for sure to accommodate two giants, dumbasses, and impulsive basketball players. Nevertheless, this fact wasn’t that important for the Too player neither to the Seirin player. Kagami was already pressing his body against Aomine’s, who was stuck between the wall and Kagami while his mouth was being devoured by the other’s tongue. Both were fighting into that kiss as if there was no tomorrow. Their hands were traveling quickly by each other’s body, and quickly they were undoing their pants’ zippers and buttons. Their shirts were all messy, as well as their hair. Their breaths were heavy, and the kisses now were directed to their necks, sucking and biting the skin exposed. Soft moans could be heard, but not loud enough to echo in the bathroom. [2013, Kuroko no Basket]

15. After Dancing Lessons [AoKaga]: The music was set up, and his hips started to move, his steps were guiding him to where a dark skinned guy was sat on a chair. The dancer's eyes were fixed in front of him. The watcher's eyes sparkled with excitement when the other sat on his lap, one leg on each side of his body, and kissed his cheeks along to his lips and chin, returning the same way till his ear, biting there slightly. The dancer felt the other hands trying to take his clothes off and immediately stood up, preventing to have those hands on his body so easily. [2013, Kuroko no Basket]

16. Sleep Well [ZoSan]: The night was agitated on board of the Sunny and lots of dirty dishes were pilled up on a corner of the sink. Sanji didn't have this time someone to help him to clean everything up. 'Those lazy bastards!' He frowned, 'all right! Let’s put all these things in their right place!' And with that thought, Sanji started the tiring process of doing all the dishes. On the bright side, if he was the one doing it everything would be spot on in no time. [2013, One Piece]

17. Possessive Lover [KidLaw / LawLu]: The bell indicating the change of periods rang and the students gradually began to leave one room to proceed to another. In the middle of changing classrooms, some students went to a quick trip to the bathroom, which was where that a spiky redhead boy was heading to. He had a dangerous gaze gleaming in his golden eyes; he had quite a threatening presence, and his looks did not lie about his fiery and explosive personality. Any sane person would prefer to avoid crossing paths with him or to even look the boy in the eyes. [2012, One Piece]

18. English Lesson [WIP, AoKaga]: The room was a mess. There were a lot of magazines, books, sheets, some snacks, three soda bottles, two hoodies and two pairs of sneakers all thrown on the floor. Sitting side by side, in front of the center table with notebooks and pens in hands were Kagami and Aomine. They had that idea of starting to study at each other’s places every Thursday night after their club activities. It was not like they liked to take a book, read it and think about the subject, the matter here was way bigger than just casual study. Their grades were in the red mark, which meant that they needed to rise them at least not to get scolded and taken off the basketball team. This time around Kagami was helping Aomine with his English study. The redhead was doing his best to try to explain, but he wasn’t that good at teaching those so detailed grammatical things… [unknown year - present, Kuroko no Basket]

19. High heels [WIP, KuroTsuki]: Tsukishima walked all proud on a black suit, white button-up shirt, grey tie and black stilettos in the room. Kuroo was watching his slow movements with a fierce look from the bed, where he was sat with his hands tied to the headboard by a soft cloth. Tsukishima stopped at the bed foot, looking straight at Kuroo. Ever so slowly, Tsukishima’s hands loosened the tie around his neck, the button-up shirt was having his buttons calmly undone, soon the shirt was wide open reviling Tsukishima's snow-white skin for Kuroo’s delight. [unknown year - present, Haikyuu]

20. Christmas thing / The untitled fanfic [WIP, AoKaga]: It was Christmas the snow was falling outside, many sparkle lights, so many decorations everywhere, people receiving and giving presents, eating together and singing songs. A day to celebrate and stay with family and friends. A day full of joy and happiness.At Kagami's house every single tradition was made. Kagami invited the Seirin basketball team to celebrate, but it ended up with some unexpected guests, the self-invited guests were some of Touou basketball team. And of course, Aomine Daiki was there. The redhead didn't even want to know how Aomine had found out about his little party. He'd bet that Kuroko had told something to Momoi and she kindly invited Aomine and the rest of the troupe. [unknown year - present, Kuroko no Basket]

[sleepyowlwrites]

find the word tag CLVI

and we’re back to @zmlorenz where it all begins and ends. or something. I dunno. I’ve written two prose poetry pieces (ooh, alliteration) in the space of like two hours and both of them are about the house that is a box that contains my feelings and state of being and how I am so deep in adhd right now I might start crying. so let’s move on.

list (anxiety story -1)

"I think we should go somewhere."

Aiden looked up from his position on the couch, sprawled out with one arm dangling off the edge.

Ree paused in the middle of writing her grocery list, pencil hovering in the air. Wes swiped it to write something in the notebook he always seemed to have on him. His own writing implement was missing a tip. Ree grabbed at it and missed, still looking at Theo. "Go where?"

leave (youth story)

Daniel smiled, any residual irritation winking out of existence. “I forgive you. You’re not allowed back in my kitchen for a while, but you don’t have to leave my house, okay?”

Suyin had lost all her fight and looked like she was about to drop into a puddle of sad bunny. Daniel and Nyks sighed at the same time, reaching out to wrap her up in them. She went willingly. It had been a long day, after all. Nyks supposed that she could only prickly for so long before her scales came off and all she had left was a soft underbelly.

limp (fanfic!)

"It's a very noticeable limp," Sage said finally, forcing the words out. Maturity was harder with people who matched it for some reason. "Everybody thinks I could fall over at any moment."

"You could," Bellamy commented, without spite.

"Obviously, yes." Sage acknowledged it while staring at the sky. "But I can stand and I can walk and I can't just sit around doing nothing."

"You haven't been," Bellamy said.

"Obviously, yes," Sage repeated, glancing at him irritably.

lean (anxiety story 1)

Aiden couldn't believe the nice sort of fluttering in his heart, but he welcomed it over the earlier rush of uncertainty and fear, and he leaned forward just a little, encouraging her hand to continue. Ree smiled again, so fondly and soft that Aiden wanted to feel it. When Ree's hand traced his cheekbone and stroked through his hair, he thought he did.

space (youth story)

“Sometimes I wonder how big my house was,” Nyks said thoughtfully. He stretched backwards until his head and shoulders fell off the edge of Daniel’s bed. “I don’t think it was particularly large. I think all the rooms had just enough space for living in, and the walls had painting and shelves and things along them. The floors had rugs instead of carpeting and there were a lot of windows.”

sigh (youth story)

Daniel grimaced slightly, one side of his mouth pulling to the side in a poor imitation of a crooked grin. “Can’t we just say that I was delirious from too much espresso and forget about it?”

“Hmm.” Nyks ate another macaron while he pretended to think. Daniel slumped in his seat next to him, a quiet sigh escaping his friend. “Maybe. But you have to take a nap with me.”

“I’m still wired, Nyks.”

“So alter your perception, Lucas.”

Daniel groaned and flopped onto him. “Fine! Just leave my first name out of it!”

sign (the crossover fic that is my main source of creativity atm)

Haknyeon runs a hand through his hair once, twice. He didn’t sign up for this. “Yes,” he says finally.

“I had a bad feeling,” Jacob’s voice sounds out from behind him. “Was I right?”

“Depends on what you mean by bad,” Jisung says.

shout (glow)

Mama teaches me to read and I find the letters written on everything, seeking them out with eager eyes. I shout exultantly when Papa tells me I did a good job, when Mama holds me extra tight after I read out her birthday card.

slip (anxiety story -1)

"Aiden." Ree tapped his nose to get his attention. "You didn't answer me. Try to focus on a question asked before you slip into retrospection, remember?"

Aiden flushed, unable to keep a little smile off his face to match Ree's. "Sorry. Um, of course I would like to see Theo."

"That's what I thought." Ree sat back and pulled out her phone. "I'll tell him you're looking forward to seeing him."

TXT’s freeze album is living in my brain rent free but especially 0x1=lovesong and it keeps making me want to cry. but I’m not mad about it? as we say over here in sleepyland: eep. @writingamongther0ses @shellyscribbles @wisteria-eventide @cianawrites OR ANYBODY: repeat, reuse, remember, rely, reevaluate.

[absentcaryatid]

Date with a Princess

An ATEEZ fanfic with Mingi, Yunho, and the reader in a mutual romantic reationship, by AbsentCaryatid

This takes place in the JC Saga world sometime between chapter twelve and the epilogue, 2.9K words, light innuendo and the word naked but SFW I think

Content note- Agender reader using she/her pronouns, polyamory, brief unintentional misgendering, mention of future children, relationship talk, plenty of feelings

~

Moving into the same building as the ATEEZ dorms had been a great idea. The apartment had been difficult to find a tenant for due to their frequent noise from the floor above but it was not something you minded. The proximity allowed you to occasionally join their commute to KQ Entertainment, your uncle’s company where you worked too. More importantly it led to regular meals with your friends, particularly the two you were closest to.

On this day you had your boyfriend Mingi to yourself. After a leisurely breakfast he unexpectedly brought up an emotional topic that had been on his mind. Seated beside you on the couch he took your hand into his lap then began. “You never complain but I want to make sure you know you are enough for me even though you are asexual and we do not have sex. Despite your comfort with polyamory I am not seeking out any other partners. Yunho is a special case.”

“He is for me too. As much as I enjoy hugging and hanging on our friends he is the only one other than you getting naked snuggling from me and I don’t ever see that changing.” It was well known among the three of you that Yunho had the eventual goal of children with a partner but until that person came along it was unknown if he would then choose to limit his romantic affection. Having no role models for what a polyamorous family life would look like he was concerned it would be too confusing for his children.

At least in the present, Mingi’s heart was at ease to know this was still working out for everybody in the relationship. “You know, if we had a home of our own it would make things a little more convenient to be together, and more private than when you visit the dorm. Think about it, would you?”

“My place is not close enough for you? We can always be alone there.” Your laughter subsided. Turning serious you added, “I’d like a home with you eventually, not yet though, but soon. Living together is a certain thing to me, just like knowing you will be my husband one day, when we feel ready. In the meantime, you know you both are welcome at my apartment anytime, even overnight. Also, when I am not there should you two want some time with each other.”

San poked his head out of his doorway to the room shared with Yunho. “That offer good for me too? I could not help but overhear as my door was open and I was intentionally listening.” He flashed a dimpled grin that worked on all but one person. You.

“I don’t want your body, San,” you called back down the hall just as your other boyfriend got back from an early trip to the gym. Yunho was resigned to the chaos of dorm life with his members. Often it was the bewildering conversations he was dropped into midway, like today. Planting a kiss on your head in greeting he then settled on the other side of Mingi to enjoy the show.

San mocked you back, “Everybody else wants my body except the two guys you have entranced with your femin… um, agender wiles!”

“Right, San. I am an ace siren,” you deadpanned. Knowing full well what he was asking and with whom he would be accompanied you added, “Of course you and your whoever of the day are welcome. I’ll text you my door code and you already know the address. Just give out a warning, like Shiber hanging in the bag on a door handle or something like that, okay? Oh, and you better change the sheets afterward!”

“You got it. Thanks, sincerely.” San appreciated your words preserved the fiction of his playboy ways even though everyone close to the members knew he was partnered just as firmly as Yunho, you, and Mingi were. “That settled, I am off to the hairdressers. Be sure to compliment me on my return!”

Chuckling at his roommate and grasping the situation as best as he could, Yunho also expressed gratitude. “Thank you for letting them use your place. When Yeosang is with Betty overnight they can use Wooyoung’s room but other days I have been asked to stay out of my own bedroom. The walls are thin enough as it is and with your apartment directly under my room I do not know if their location will make much of a difference. The floors don’t block enough either.”

You nodded in understanding. “As much as you love each other it must be rough living with your coworkers at times. I’ll ask my uncle what he can do to make it easier until the improved dorms are completed. You have been overdue bigger quarters for years as ATEEZ has racked up the hits. No wonder some of you have developed a preference for socializing in your soundproof studios. In the meantime, have you considered trading roommates around and moving in with each other?”

“We talk about it,” Mingi said looking to Yunho. “But I would really miss Jongho.”

Yunho knew Mingi just was not ready for that step. Accepting that, he never pressed the issue with his boyfriend. “You know,” he laughed, “you would have the same problem if you moved in with our girl.”

“We could always move somewhere with room for Jongho too,” you hinted with a gleam in your eye.

Recalling you found a lot to like about their youngest teammate, Yunho carefully glanced over and confirmed by your face you were indeed teasing. That was a relief. Sometimes he worried your relationship with Mingi that predated his own romantic partnership was all his two loves really needed. Now he recognized with a twinge of fear that he could also be replaced. You caught concern on his face and reached across Mingi to hold Yunho’s hands as well.

“Living without Jongho is a worry for another day,” Mingi reflected. “For now my mind is on our plans for today. After our celebratory lunch I have a date with one of my biggest fans. I was just about to leave her the morning message. She loves waking up to something from one of us.”

Yunho knew exactly who Mingi was talking about, your niece. “I know just how she feels,” he added with a smirk.

A shy smile broke out on Mingi’s face. “Would you like to join me when I pick her up from preschool? Her teacher this year is an ATEEZ fan and I think you are one of her favorites. Wanna make her day?”

“Sure, I’m up for that. Should be fun.”

“Okay.” Mingi dialed your brother’s number and waited for the recording to begin. “Hey Princess, this is Uncle Mingi. Your dads said I could come over to play today. Uncle Yunho and I will walk you home from school and he hopes you have a tiara that will fit him so he can come to one of your tea parties.”

Listening along, Yunho gave Mingi a big double thumbs up and his trademark grin.

“Have a great day at preschool and we will see you later, cuddle bug. I love you!”

These guys of yours. Did they know how attractive they were? Even though through mutual preference you and Mingi were not going to have kids it still worked on you the respect he had for even the youngest child. Kids felt like important people around him and that went straight to your heart as did Yunho demonstrating the same skill. He was going to be an amazing father when the time came.

Afternoon activity settled, talk returned to the plans for your midday meal together. Mingi had promised something impressive in the kitchen for lunch, to which Yunho had asked “Is it just going to be you naked?”

“I had not planned that but it could be,” Mingi teased back with a wink and a blush.  

“So perfect,” Yunho marveled. “How did I not know you could cook?”

“I learned recently. Wooyoung taught me a few things.”

“I bet he could,” Yunho offered with a sly look.

“It was only recipes!”

“Sure, handsome. How could Wooyoung ever keep his hands off you?”

“Yunho, his hands are full enough already as you well know.” Mingi’s face softened. “I wanted to do something special for our ‘one year since the first time we kissed’ anniversary. We are working tonight so I decided to make it a lunch.”

“You are so good to me,” Yunho praised as he made a bow of the apron strings at his boyfriend’s back.

“I heard all that, even though I did not want to.” Seonghwa came into view, hands over his ears and head held downward.  “I am coming into the kitchen to get snacks for Hongjoong while he is holed up in his studio. Please don’t be naked!”

“It is safe.” Just to make trouble Mingi added, “For now.” With a brief kiss to the lips of his boyfriend, he then opened several cupboards before rattling though the pans while Yunho retreated to the living room and your company. Mingi worked happily and his memories drifted over the past year and all the changes it had brought. Already having one secure romantic attachment with you made him far more capable of pursuing another. He wished he had had this newfound level of confidence years ago.

It was nice to get some time alone with Yunho for conversation. Like Mingi, your mind also was wandering back to earlier times with your friends. “Wooyoung was right years ago, he said I would know when I was ready for a romance, if ever. Did you know he helped me stop trying to talk myself into dating you? I felt so bad turning you down at the time. I was not drawn to a relationship with anybody then, but once I realized you liked me I just wanted to make you happy if I could.”

“That was not a good plan. Wooyoung has been a good friend to all of us. He saved us both some pain, though it hurt like hell at the time when you did not want me the way I wanted you.”

You leaned into him, giving comfort to each other. “Thankfully, it worked out okay for us in the long run.” Your loving gaze went straight to his heart. “I am so much more like Mingi than I ever knew, so often flailing about when it comes to love.”

“It is your big hearts,” Yunho offered after a thoughtful sip of his water bottle. “That’s why I love you both. You seem to have stabilized since then though, must be my good influence.”

“You have been that to me, and so much more than I ever suspected.”

Grinning, Yunho put his arm around you. “Good thing you listened to Wooyoung. If you had forced yourself to date me then we probably would not have gotten together later. You were worth the wait.” He echoed the sentiment with a gentle kiss to the forehead.

You nestled further into his side. Sometimes things were easier to say without looking at each other. “Yunho? You seemed distressed earlier. Do we need to talk?”

“Another day.” Recognizing the need to head off any worrying of your own he added, “I am having a bout of my own insecurities. I love you both as much as I ever have and that is not in danger of changing.”

You took his hands hoping to ease his mind. “After Mingi’s break from performing we have tended to keep an eye out for his well-being. I need to remember it is not a matter of one of you being the strong one and the other the delicate one. You are pretty tender on the inside too. Whatever you need from me, whenever, you shall have it. Defending your privacy from work as an idol has always been important to you but I would hold a press conference to tell the world how much I adore you if that is what you wanted.”

Wrapping your arms around each other in a tight embrace you heard a sniffle emerge from Yunho. Pulling back you could see tears in his eyes. As you wiped away the one that slipped down his cheek he was pleased to report they were caused by happiness. “How did I get so lucky twice over?”    

“Just by being yourself,” you praised. “Now how about we get you cleaned up from your workout?” Popping into the kitchen to let Mingi know Yunho was headed down to shower together at your apartment earned a nod of approval, an ETA on the food, and a promise to join in next time.

An hour later your little family was together again upstairs. The lunch Mingi had prepared was truly delicious and so filing it led to a recuperative cuddle pile nap in your apartment’s larger bed. Afterward your two loves headed out to meet your niece while you got some extra work in on your laptop.

The preschool teacher was indeed a Yunho fan but held herself together pretty well as she looked up at their arrival while reading to the class. Mingi motioned to Yunho to sit on the rug at the back of the group of kids as he had been encouraged to do on previous pickups. When it was time for the students to get their backpacks for dismissal the two men were given a personalized tour of the room at the teacher’s prompting.

“And here is a picture I did of my family,” Mingi’s niece in all but name announced while pulling the men proudly to the wall display. “Here’s Daddy and Papa, Ladybug and me, Uncle Mingi and Auntie.” She spoke while pointing everyone out though they were pretty good likenesses and identifiable. Certainly the purple coat with an orange liner made one person easy to recognize, as did his widely drawn smile.

Mingi already knew he was popular with your niece but her self-portrait holding hands with both the pet fish and him confirmed it. Looking the paper over she paused and declared someone was missing. “Sit still Uncle Yunho, I have to draw you. Auntie says you are family too.”

Yunho reeled for a moment, hand to mouth covering his surprised smile. He was deeply touched by her action and your own. This was the very reassurance he had needed that he was just as much your partner as Mingi was. While all the ATEEZ members had been granted the honorific Uncle, it was something very different to be given the same standing as her real aunt and partner Mingi in this work. Perhaps with help future children could understand poly relationships, at their own level of course, and he would not have to give up his current partners when his own kids came along. This new way of thinking pleased him immensely.

“Yes,” he proudly admitted, “I am part of the family.” Taking one of the nearby tiny chairs he sat down and posed as seriously as he would for any professional photo shoot. Mingi was quick to bring out his phone and get a video clip of the artist at work seriously finding just the right light blue marker to match the current shade of Yunho’s hair as she added him to the family lineup.

Sure there were only four hairs on his head, inadvertently matching her age, and everyone including the goldfish looked like a potato with limbs, but Yunho thought the artwork could not be improved upon as he watched his plentifully fingered hand depicted holding yours. He hoped to ask about keeping it for himself once it came home from school. In the meantime it became his lockscreen with permission from the artist.

With the rest of the children matched to their caregivers and families the teacher was now free to come over and watch. “My wife is never going to believe this. She is the one who got me hooked on ATEEZ. She is jealous enough I get to see Mingi in my classroom from time to time but to have met you too now is an additional treat. Your whole group would be welcome of course, but you two are favorites in our household,” she gushed. “You know, Jongho’s bear song is popular with the students and Yeosang would be a hit if he ever wanted to do a science demonstration for the class. The kids love his educational videos.”

The group’s chatter continued but all too soon the drawing was complete and the men said their goodbyes. Yunho mentioned their live television performance scheduled for that night. “If you do watch….”

“Oh we will be,” the teacher promised.

“When you see a finger heart from me tonight on stage know that I will be thinking of you.”

She literally swooned because well, who wouldn’t getting buttered up by Yunho at close range? He knew how to work an audience and loved these unexpected little fan-service opportunities to make someone’s day, or year. With a wink he headed out, Mingi’s niece holding hands with both of her Uncles chatting animatedly about the pretend cakes with extra sprinkles she would serve Ladybug and them at her princess tea party.

~

Masterlist

[yellowocaballero]

ugh what you said about jon just helplessly missing deisha and despite being able to connect, still ultimately grieves alone forced me to think about this one book that said something like “grief is a room you enter alone” and I just ;_; something I love about your metas so much is that you rlly pick apart how it can be true that multiple things can be happening at once - he’s being understood, but he can’t be understood, he’s monstrous, but he’s human etc. basically I adore these essays and just reading how you build and present flaws in characters I think is genuinely making me a better writer

THANK YOU...I think we all grieve alone, just a little bit. With people, and maybe especially with more intangible things - when we move to another city or country, when we live alienated from our home cultures, when our bodies fail us, or when relationships fail. It’s inherently such a solitary thing.

And yeah, so often in life we’re feeling so many contradictory things!! Maybe even ALL THE TIME! I’ve loved and hated simultaneously, I’ve never wanted to see someone again and found myself constantly seeking out contact. You ever never want someone to text you, but you’re sad that they don’t text? I want to go back to my workplace but also I want to keep working from home forever. So it’s a real, legitimate feeling, I think.

But that’s also not why I write it that way. Stories inherently kind of have to work on both a literal and symbolic/metaphorical level. You said that you were interested in the writing bits, so I’ll get specific - I determine what happens in layers. Some things are the most essential aspects of the story, and everything else has to warp around that. Hope Etc is a very weird and bad example because a) I put no thought in this story and b) the nature of daemons is that they literalize the metaphorical. So basically every physical thing that Jon does is metaphorical for something. 

So what a story is ‘about’ is the most important thing, and this can change and shift throughout the story as you realize what keeps cropping up time again and again (which is kind of oxymoronic). I use monster vs human a lot for this specific fandom, because monsters can have whatever metaphorical significance you fucking want them to, but other stories such as hope vs desolation, optimism vs pessimism, wanting to die vs choosing to live, etc, work too. The second thing is tone - which determines the message of the story dramatically. What a story is ‘about’ can’t be pessimism when you have a light-hearted and comedic tone. Unless you’re getting REALLY creative. You can add a lot of additional themes to that, but a bunch of themes together make is what something is about. Also very important is that for me what something is ‘about’ includes genre. 

Then what’s kind of wrapped around that is the metaphor. Literal things happen, which have metaphorical meaning, which advance what a story is ‘about’. Not everything that happens is metaphorical - sometimes things have to happen to advance the plot - but things that happen need to advance something. Either plot, or a character arc, or they need to have metaphorical significance. In my opinion the most deft writing is when everything that happens has all three. 

I think over metaphor is character arc and character. When something happens in a story it has to advance the plot and advance the character’s arc. The character’s arc forms a trajectory that spells out the theme. A character arc for me frequently means the relationship between two characters, which often really really work to highlight theme. I think people push each other to change and grow a lot. If it’s a romantic relationship I push that ‘growth instigated by the other’ hard. Also, foils. I think the best romantic relationships are foils. I love foils. I always write foils. Just adore them, they’re so easy to write. Just make someone the opposite of someone else but give them the same theme. It’s great. This is also why I’m always saying that I don’t really sit down and ‘make characters’, characters just happen based on what needs to happen. I don’t decide anything about a character when I start out besides “haha exact opposite of canon character” or “haha amnesiac PI” or “haha roleswap”. And that’s coming from someone who rarely uses canon characterizations and who writes everybody as a thinly veiled OC...and maybe that’s why everybody kind of ends up a thinly veiled OC...

Over that is plot. Plot is what has to happen to make all of these other things happen. I can’t plot. I think I can’t plot because I’m too worried about these other things and I forget ‘oh yeah, Things Have To Happen’. Maybe there’s other people who plot first and then figure out these other things based on what happens in the plot? ....why...

So I kind of made that a gumball, layered thing, because that’s how I build the story. And I shouldn’t have, because these things all feed each other. What a story is ‘about’ is highly dictated by what you’ve decided the character arc to be - highly - and it creates a feedback loop as both of these things get changed and twisted and tangled during writing. A story never ends how I intended, because different things crop up. But there is a ‘priority list’ for me, and that’s kind of the layers - these characters have to act in X way because that’s one of the cornerstones I need to hit for the genre, so I have to have their character arcs match this. Characters can’t act in a certain way just because the plot makes them - granted, sometimes they do, but that means that you have to go back and tweak their character arc to match. You cannot have something metaphorically happen that goes completely against the theme, unless that has repercussions. Plot isn’t the story for me, the about is the story. None of this is hard and fast, and there is nothing that you can’t do, you just really have to view all of these things in a complex interplay that constantly affect each other.

I think of it like gears? They all work together and churn together to make the story work. But if you twist one gear, the others move too. You first imagine it this one way, but then you keep on tweaking and tweaking and tweaking, and then everything else has to change too, so then you’re like why did I even bother to outline, outlining is stupid, and also I have this funny joke so I have to go back and change everything, and...

Wow, maybe that’s why I’m so bad at planning shit..

My...goal? Is to make it so that Everything works on every level. You should be able to read a story completely literally and completely miss the metaphorical meaning and still vibe. But unfortunately the way it turns out for me sometimes is that the symbolism outweighs the literal. When I write absurdist/surrealist stuff it’s just me being lazy and not having to have things be literal, lol. What you get when something only works on a symbolic level and not on a literal level at all is Utena. And I’m writing trashy fanfic so I can’t do that. What normally happens in practice is that things happen literally for a bit, and then I’m like ‘oh I’m Sensing a Theme’ and then I start playing into the theme, and then things happen because it’s thematic. Plot is...plot should be more important to me...

And then of course there’s grounding all of this in human emotion and making sure there’s a climax (me, shaking hope etc: THERE’S NO FUCKING CLIMAX), and dealing with all of that stuff that makes it actually emotional and impactful instead of just abstract and dumb. 

I chose not to use examples for all of that because I wanted it to just be broad writing advice? I can kind of point out there examples of that line of thinking in my writing, and I probably can for Hope, Etc, but it would be a bad example - both because the NATURE of that story is that the literal is INHERENTLY a metaphor so you really cannot view anything in that story as literal, nothing in it is literal - also because I put no thought into it. 

Of course that’s not my process. That’s not my process at all. I don’t sit down and figure this shit out. I didn’t read any of that anywhere, it’s just me bullshitting, that entire thing was just me bullshitting relentlessly I am so fucking sorry. My process is that I joke about ideas with friends, I sit down at a computer and I kind of thump a keyboard for a few hours, I live my life and daydream stuff and kinda make little movies in my heads, I go home and slam the keyboard some more, halfway through I walk up to my beta and go “hey what’s the plot of this?” she helps me figure it out by giving me very bad ideas, I kind of slam my keyboard some more, and then it’s done. And then I kinda edit it a little maybe whatever and then I post it. 

There’s not a lot of thought involved. I really can’t stress enough how I don’t think about all of this when I write. I’m really brain empty. When I do these analyses what I’m doing is that I’m looking back over my story and then I’m like...Oh That’s What I Was Doing! Huh! Neat!

Haha that got long. I’m not a good writer. Thanks for the ask!

[elbiotipo]

whenever I explain this no one really gets it but I insist because it matters to me I guess

I believe the reason people are desperate to turn any creative ideas they have into fanfiction is because of preestablished fandoms surrounding media that will applaud or seek out these people's content, only if it's in any way related to the media

for example, if I wrote about my original idea about an evil empire terrorising space, not many people would hear about it, but if I call my protagonist Luke Skywalker (even if his personality is nothing like the original Luke and he saves the universe in a different way) and I post that under the label "fanfiction" there's a preestablished public for it already seeking to find similar stuff to Star Wars.

you can argue that's dumb, or you could argue that there's a market for copycat fiction and that it doesn't need to be fanfiction, but in my opinion it still branches off the same core idea, it's just people getting a little bolder about their own inspired-on/similar-to-something original work and it still feeds off a preestablished public surrounding a piece of media like it's a safety net because we all actually see stuff like 50 shades or kylo ren rip offs nivels and go "wow that's just fanfic but with different names lol"

Yes I understand, everybody wants their fiction to be read (well not everybody but you know) but I think you're sacrifying something about it when you do something real original and you make it fanfiction I simply can't understand why would you do that.

I mean I sort of understand writing wild fanfics or crossovers because we've all been there... but as long as it's fanfiction, as in, something written about a fandom... I don't know how to explain it, but there's a difference between something wild like "the characters of Avatar, but they run a teashop in the 60s!" or "the characters of Supernatural, but in a fantasy world!" and "the characters of Supernatural but they're in a fantasy world with entirely different worldbuilding and their characterization and backstories aren't the same and actually the only thing that is still the same are the names"

For example, one of the settings I'm working on sort of started on some ideas I had about Star Wars, WH40k, and other space operas (the METAL setting if you're interested) and so it shares many, many similarities with them. But once the worldbuilding got deep and the characters got way different from something that could be in those settings, I inmediatly went "wait, there's something original here" and started to write it as its own setting, instead of just keeping it tethered to other copyrighted materials that just hold it down. I mean, why would I submit myself to other people's work, when I can do my own?

By the way, most fiction shares tropes; space knights, post-apocalyptic worlds, etc. are common ones in this case. Same with romance tropes, action tropes, etc. It's what you make with them what makes it original and fresh.

On the other hand, when I write fanfics, I try my best to be as faithful to the characters, their backstories, their quirks, etc. because I'm writing about these characters I love so much, not about Some Guys... Even if I change the setting entirely (making them, say, in Argentina...) I try to be faithful to the characters in that new context because otherwise...

...If I change their personalities and backstories and setting and EVERYTHING, what's the point? It's not good fanfic in my opinion! I, personally, don't like to read fanfics that have nothing in common with the original characters and setting but the name (OOC is my least favorite tag, but at least some people have the decency to tag it). If you're writing new fiction that's good! But there's no need to hold it chained to a fandom anymore.

Writing original fiction from scratch has very unique challenges like I said in other post, it's way different from writing fanfic. But there are some writers around who have written hundreds of thousands of words of original fiction, except with the names of other people's characters. By then, I would tell them: embrace your talent and persistance, and make it something original you can be proud of.