#fic: sense and a total lack thereof

[wotzka]

WIP Folder Ask Game

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it!

tagged by @buttsonthebeach - thank you for getting me to actually open my WIP folder!

some of these are pretty old, but since i'm working on something new, i thought i'd throw the ancient texts in there three chapters from a new Emmrook Emma / Veilguard project, which i'll just call VS for now:

VS-1 VS-2 VS-3

and then a couple of older ones that i have not updated in a long ass time:

SenseNew - a DA2 / Sense & Sensibility crossover A Christmas Carol - Chapter 4 - @empresstress13 and my Solavellan / Christmas Carol crossover Collected Good Place Notes - a Hawke/Cullen Inquisition / Good Place crossover Meeting Note - i have no memory of this one, but i like what's here and it appears to be a UGR AU that i might use to stitch together the Emma project and the Persuasion project! RB Misc & Darlings - a UGR modern fake dating AU

not adding the Persuasion project on here yet because i want to line up some details in Emma first to make my world state make sense (to me, at least. i am realizing that i might be getting a little too meta / self-referential and that i should make Emma easier to read, buuut that's a bridge i will refuse to cross when i get to it!)

can ya tell i like crossovers??? 🙃

Tagging @cedarmoons @50cal-fullauto-astarion @smutnug @ellstersmash - no pressure at all, not sure if anyone's working on anything! 💕

[imagines--galore]

Hey, hope you're well! I was hoping you could write a Will Tuner × fem!reader fic? Maybe where Will is overprotective over the reader?

Thanks!

Summary: Hitting a pirate over the head to make him drop Will turned into an all out brawl. But then again those were the norm in taverns frequented by pirates. Will, however, only saw them as an event where you could get hurt in a hundred different ways. Pairing: Will Turner x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. A little fight scene but nothing too graphic. A/N: I don't know. There is just something about tavern fights that get me laughing. I mean you just turn to the first person you see and throw a punch. Even though you've never even seen them before. Like wth?! Also I TOTALLY used this gif because.........well..... :3

You were downing only your second drink when you felt someone sidle up to you. Glancing at the pirate who was smiling at you in a way that had you curling your lip in disgust, you turned your attention back to your drink. Or rather your lack thereof.

"Another one for the lady!" The pirate called out in a gruff voice. You rolled your eyes. "No need. I'm done." Dropping a few coins on the counter you moved to jump down from your seat, only to have your elbow rather roughly grabbed by the pirate.

"Awww, whats the rush love? Its not polite to leave when a gentleman offers a drink." The drink had indeed arrived, but you were too busy holding back your laughter to notice. "A gentleman? Really? The only title befitting you is that of a pig." With a harsh yank that would surely leave a bruise, you freed your arm from his grip and stepped back still glaring at him.

Sensing that perhaps he was not in control of the situation, the other pirate rose to his feet, scowling down at you. He was impressively tall, you would give him that, but there was no way you were backing off. Never show weakness to another pirate, especially if they were men.

You were so busy glaring daggers at the pig that you didn't notice when your companion arrived.

"Is there a problem here?"

At the sound of his voice, your eyes shifted to the man standing just behind the filthy pig. Will stood looking between the two of you in what you could only describe as a quizzical way. It looked so adorably out of place in the seedy tavern that the corner of your mouth lifted in a shadow of a smile. The pirate seemed to get even more annoyed at the sight of Will. Barely giving the much shorter man a glance he simply growled.

"Get lost boy. This is between me and the harlot."

You saw red, and you were sure Will did as well. Given that his arm snapped out to grab the man by the shoulder to make him turn around and face him. "She happens to be my fiancee." He declared in a voice so firm and strong that for a second even you believed him. Your surprise must've shown on your face because he glanced at you and with that single look you understood what he meant.

'Play along.'

You rolled your eyes, though not wanting to hear him berate you later simply decided to go along with it. "What he said." You commented in such a flippant and uncaring manner that had Will glaring at you. The pirate, not wanting to wait any longer, turned his attention to Will, seeing him as the bigger target.

Which did make you angry since you were supposed to be protecting Will and not the other way around.

"Well I bet she would prefer to have a man take her rather then a boy." The pirate chuckled, reached out to push Will's hand from his shoulder, almost as if he were flicking at a fly.

Well that would surely be a stroke to his ego, you mused to yourself. And you were right. Will looked ready to tear off the pirate's head, and given how peace loving he was, you were impressed at how he was facing the much larger pirate.

If you hadn't made a promise to not bed the one man who could be the key to saving all of piratekind, you would surely have pulled Will into a dark corner by now.

Shaking your head to get rid of the daydream that was about to take form, you turned your attention back to Will. "And I bet she would prefer to be in the company of someone other then a filthy ape such as yourself." You made a face at his insult. He really needed to work on those.

But then maybe it wasn't so bad. It did seem to work because the pirate didn't take kindly to being compared to a monkey because he suddenly had Will by the throat. He wasn't squeezing hard, but you knew it was only a matter of time.

Panic shot through your body, propelling you to jump on top of the tavern and pick up the tankard of mead the pirate had ordered for you. With a swing you brought it down on top of his head.

And while the hit was hard enough for him to drop Will and clutch his head, it was also hard enough to bounce off his thick skull and go flying into the air where it hit another pirate. Quickly jumping down from the counter, you crouched next to Will, tilting his head back to inspect his neck.

"I had it handled." He spoke, a scowl on his forehead, probably annoyed that you had stepped in. "Having your throat squeezed is not what I call having it handled." You simply muttered to him. Will looked like he was about to say something more, but then his eyes widened and he wrapped his arms around your waist.

A split second later the two of you were rolling out of the way of the now enraged pirate who went careening along the very spot you and Will had occupied moments ago. The pirate underestimated his speed and size at the starting point.

Which was why he ran straight into a nearby table of pirates who were none to pleased at being disturbed. That was probably the match that lit the fuse because not a few moments later the entire tavern was in an uproar.

The sound of guns being fired echoed in the air as pirates called insults, shrieked and yelled as they began to pummel one another. It didn't matter if they were friends or foe. In a tavern fight, all relations went out the window. Already furniture was flying through the air, and cutlasses had been drawn from their resting places as the shouts and screams grew to a crescendo.

And through it all, you and Will took refuge under a table. Luckily it was fixed to the floor, so there was no chance of it flying through the air.

Well, refuge wouldn't be the word for it.

When he had rolled you both away from being crushed, he hadn't stopped until his back had hit the legs of the table. Somehow he had managed to drag you under it and now here you were.

Lying underneath him, with him hovering over you.

Your bodies pressed together in the most sinful of ways.

And your eyes locked in a way that if anyone had looked upon you, they would've looked away out of fear that they were intruding upon an intimate moment between two lovers.

The sound of pirates fighting barely registered in your ears as you stared up at Will. You chest rose and fell with every breath you took, slightly out of breath. Then again he was no better, his warm breath fanning your features, as if he had just outrun a host of cannibals. His hands were resting on either side of your head, supporting some of his weight though still allowing your bodies to touch. Your own arms were looped around his waist and though you would never admit it to yourself, they tightened slightly, as if to keep him in place.

His gaze was warm as his eyes flickered over your features, dipping down to your slightly parted lips, the way your nose curved, how your hair fanned out behind your head in a halo. He also noticed how the front of your shirt had dipped down during your little tumble. Though not as indecent as the women he had seen at Tortuga, the placement of the shirt left him imagining more then he should have.

You were no better. Your eyes roamed over his face in an almost lazy manner. You had taken the time to observe him long ago, but this would be the first time you would observe him properly awake and alert. Not to mention you took your time just admiring his eyes and how expressive they were.

Calypso! You were turning into one of those pathetic damsels who needed to be saved all the time.

Slowly, almost agonizingly so, he began to lean down. And as the distance between you grew smaller, you eyes fluttered shut and for once you allowed your body rather then your mind to take the lead.

However just as quickly as the spell had been cast it was broken by the sound of a gun going off right next to your heads.

Instantly Will's hands wrapped around your head, pulling you into his chest as if he were trying to shield you. Luckily the gun had only nicked the leg of the table.

Still the situation would get even more out of hand soon, so it would be best if the both of you left.

"We need to get out of here." You stated once you had pulled away from his protective embrace, though not before allowing yourself one last moment of selfishness by returning the embrace. Unwinding the bandana that was always around your wrist, you made quick work of pulling your hair back from your face to keep it out of the way.

You were about to step out into the heat of things when you felt Will grip your hand. "We should stay here till things calm down." He stated as he crouched next to you. You shook your head. "This could go on for hours and will only get uglier. Its best we leave before that happens."

Glancing down where his hand held yours, you quickly flipped your hand over, allowing your fingers to intertwine. Ignoring the startled yet pleased look on his face, and wishing desperately that you weren't blushing too much.

                                          ————————–

All you had to do was keep to the wall and keep low. It wasn't your first tavern fight and certainly not your last. And while you wanted nothing more then to start swinging your pistols and cutlass, you had to make sure Will was safe.

It didn't take long for the both of you to emerge from the tavern unscathed. And since the fighting had taken to the streets, it was a good while before the both of you had a chance to speak properly to one another.

"Well we needed a good fight to cool tempers." You stated casually, glancing around from the corner of the building where you and Will had taken respite. You barely had the chance to assess the situation when you were yanked back by Will who scowled at you. "Do you want to be hit by a stray bullet?!" He asked, sounding incredulous, though his expression was anything but.

You shrugged. "I have quick reflexes." You reasoned, though your response only had Will rolling his eyes at you. Finally dropping your hand, he pushed up the sleeve of your shirt to reveal the bare skin of your forearm.

In the dim light of a nearby street lamp you could see where the pirate had grabbed you. Already there was a large bruise forming, making you wince. "Hope it doesn't last too long." You muttered, inspecting the bruise by gently poking it with a finger.

"He shouldn't have grabbed you in the first place." Glancing up you were surprised to see Will looking almost stricken at the sight of your bruise. Once again you shrugged. "It comes with being a female pirate. I learned to protect myself years ago."

"Well it shouldn't be like that." You blinked at him. His voice was one of fury and distress. And when he lifted his gaze to look at you, his eyes carried the same emotions. "You shouldn't have to protect yourself all the time."

Not at all liking the way Will was looking at you, it made your heart ache seeing him like that, you gave him a playful grin. "What? You offering to be my protector Turner?"

It was said in jest, but the look that passed over his features had you shaking your head and pointing a finger at him. "Oh no, don't you go getting any stupid ideas Will Turner." You warned him. He only grinned at you. "What? Having me as a protector would be that bad for you?" He asked, though there was a slight tease in his tone when he spoke.

You couldn't help but mirror the grin. "Well you've already taken up the role of fiancee so better to leave some options for other employees." At the reminder, Will couldn't help the small yet soft smile that played across his face. "And did I do my part justice?" He asked, reaching up to brush back a loose tendril of hair from my face.

A small laugh echoed in the alleyway as you finally allowed your eyes to meet his, finally allowed yourself to acknowledge just how close he stood. "Almost." You spoke softly, raising a hand to rest on his chest just as he leaned over you, one arm placed above your head to keep his balance. "Oh? And what could I have done to improve on my role?" He asked, raising an eyebrow even as he let his fingers brush against the softness of your cheek.

With a smile that was as mischievous as it was sinful, you grasped the lapels of the jacket he wore. "How about I show you Turner?" With that, you pulled him into the darkest corner of the alley where he eagerly followed.

                                          ————————–

A/N: I'm a tease aren't I? :3

[skimmingmilk]

In Sharing Is Caring But We Never Learned How, I really loved how you wrote Vector Espio and Charmy. Even though they weren't the focus of the fic I wanted to ask if you had any ideas about them and their dynamic!

You know, I was wondering if anyone was curious about them! I'm so happy you asked! :D

I like to imagine that Vector and Espio met while they were both in the foster care system. They're so young to be running a business and raising a small child, I figure it makes sense that they felt like they were on their own pretty early on. They ended up in the same residential treatment program when Vector was about 16 and Espio was 12 and hit it off surprisingly well, to the point that when Vector aged out of the system two years later, he took Espio with him (I need to amend Espio's age in Sharing is Caring btw, I meant to make him 15 since his ages have mostly skewed older than Sonic over the years, but I totally forgot since I wrote that note like two years ago xD).

Even though Vector's older, and technically the one responsible over both Espio and Charmy, he treats Espio as more of a partner with equal footing in terms of responsibilities, rather than as a son or younger brother. Espio definitely doesn't see Vector as any sort of authority figure beyond potential "boss" and that's mostly because he's more front-facing with clients and handles the finances, lol. And also Espio can’t legally be listed on any of the business' official paperwork until he’s 16 xD They do consider one another family, but since they weren't really raised from childhood together, their bond is hard for them to describe. It's why Vector's so keen to just call Espio and Charmy "his boys." It encompasses everything anyone needs to know about them both, lol. They're his boys!

Now Charmy is absolutely Vector's son xD Espio is usually more of an older brother figure to Charmy, but there are times where he's also better at disciplining Charmy than Vector is, lol. Of course, Espio will often take the “I told you so” route whenever Vector fails to rein Charmy in instead of actually helping. But there are times – moreso when they’re older – that Espio feels somewhat of a parental responsibility for Charmy. The lines of their little family unit are exceptionally blurred, but they don't really care. It works for them!

Espio is stern, but overall more patient with Charmy, while Vector tries to play "good cop" to Espio's "bad cop," but will lose his temper a lot quicker, leading to physical hijinks like grabbing at Charmy or sitting on him, but Charmy just thinks of it as a game. Pushing Vector and Espio’s buttons, to see how much he can get away with, is all part of the fun! Especially because he knows Vector is actually a huge softy at heart and would let Charmy get away with murder no matter how much he annoys him xD Overall, Charmy sees Vector as more of his dad than he does Espio, but he looks up to them both and will imitate certain traits of theirs that he admires. Usually it’s Vector’s business-savvy (or lack thereof, lol) and Espio’s ninja skills.

I want Vector and Espio to have met Charmy while on their first official case, I’m just not sure what that looks like just yet. But they found him when he was very young – only a year or two old – and couldn’t just leave the little guy on his own. Since Vector would’ve already been a licensed foster parent to have Espio with him, he’d be all set to take Charmy in, too.

There’s still more to their background and dynamic that I haven’t fully explored yet, but that’s the basis of what I have for them so far! Thanks for asking!

[lostsyren]

wait i was just watching a rafia edit & realized that the scene where he’s watching her sleep - after the turtles on the beach incident - she’s sleeping on his couch, not in his bed like she has in the past. and also the deleted scene pic where it looks like they argued, i think sofia was prob mad at him and slept on the couch and that’s why he looks all sad and guilty when he’s watching her sleep :,) ughhh i wish we got more of their scenes literally their storyline would make sm more sense. like clearly sofia stood her ground and left his bed and then the next day rafe apologized because he realized he hurt her!! like she’s making him realize that his actions/or lack thereof is hurting people (like sarah) and making him feel remorse. she’s so good for him!!! but yeah i just wanted to point that little detail out lol

THANK YOU FOR THISSS😓🙏I didn’t even clock that, it helped me sm with the fic I just posted, you’re a lifesaver lovely!!!! UGH YOUR MINDDDD

And you’re totally right, that makes sm sense, without the deleted scenes it makes their relationship and arc lack sm depth, idk why they deleted them :(((

I love rafesofia fans, you’re all such good detectives🫶 <3

[zoloteh-volossya]

I think I know exactly what post you’re referring too and blocked that user (as well as all the people who liked the post) immediately after their string of posts that are horrifically inaccurate readings of both Orin and Minthara, but also joking about Minthara being forced to interact with her rapist for the rest of her life. I’m personally not a fan of the Orinthara ship because it is innately noncon and there is no way to argue that it isn’t, and I despise it being called toxic yuri. The only people I trust with the ship are Minthara fans because they are the only ones who understand the full dynamic between the two. There are some people, like the poster you’re referring too, who have total hate boners for her and only ship Orinthara as a means of punishing her in their heads. And it becomes so obvious that their desire to ship Orinthara is out of complete malice when they only have negative and violent opinions about Minthara and are using “toxic yuri” as a cover.

I can’t even imagine hating a character that much, but still thinking about them all the time. If there is a character I hate, I don’t spend any time thinking about them. At all. They choose to let Minthara live in their heads rent free and it bothers them for some reason, lol.

Yeah. I think that the differentiating factor is care.

To illustrate using a nonsexual, non-BG3 example, in one of my previous fandoms two writers both wrote fics in which the antagonist had a conversation with the protagonist about her crimes. In one fic, the protagonist talked down to the antagonist, listing out all the things she had done wrong while she ranted and raved and screamed. Then she died. Victory!

In the other, even as the antagonist grappled with the magnitude of her failures and the consequences thereof, the author kept her perspective in mind. They used flashbacks to her past to put the audience in her shoes and let her argue her case. And they did it so effectively that I have never felt more sympathetic to this antagonist than I did when reading that scene. She was still wrong. She still died. But the scene landed so much better. The character felt respected by the narrative, her death lacked the almost voyeuristic authorial glee that made the similar scene in the other fic honestly a bit uncomfortable to read.

In a similar vein, lots of Minthara fans write about Orin doing absolutely horrible things to Minthara. But because they care about Minthara (and often also about Orin, who is doing all this for understandable reasons given the absolute shitfuck of a situation that she's coming from) there's a level of respect for the character by the narrative even as she suffers. It's the energy of "I'm going to put my blorbo in situations," it's the phenomenon of taking your favorite and making them bleed because you care about their emotions. Because the point of tragedy is that even if it all ended poorly, it still mattered.

I've seen fic about Orin impregnating Minthara during her time as a slave to the Absolute done, and some of it was done very well. (Orin cut the fetus out of Minthara and killed it, because she's Orin and was actually written in character.) But it worked because the author cared about Minthara, about the horror of the situation, in a way those flippant comments that sparked this conversation did not.

In contrast, if a person who hates a character is talking about them suffering there's this general vibe of, "look at this bitch getting what she deserves", that hangs over the entire conversation like a haze. And because "toxic yuri" encompasses both scenarios but has progressive implications (ooh, look at me paying attention to female characters!) it can easily be used as a shield against criticism for that vibe.

The question, ultimately, both with this Orinthara situation and with the author I discussed above, is whether a person extends the same grace, the same sense of interiority and assumption of an inner life, to the female characters as they do their male faves. And the answer, very often, is "no."

[andreafmn]

So I am OBSESSED with your Carlisle fics.

I was hoping I would request an imagine with a female reader who is asexual and afraid Carlisle won't want her, but of course, he is totally loving and accepting of her.

Thank you and I hope you're well.

Word Count: 2.7K

Paring: Carlisle Cullen x Female!Reader

Story Description: Rejection after rejection was the way (Y/N) went through life because of her sexuality, or rather lack thereof. But when she meets Carlisle Cullen, as in love with him as she is, she can't help but let the fear of her past keep her from telling him that she is asexual.

A/N: Loved writing this request and I hope I did it justice. 😊😊 My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing or buy me a coffee

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As You Are

Delving into a relationship is no easy task. It’s allowing someone to know every part of you, every moment and secret that has made you who you are, and hoping they accept it without an exception. It’s one of the most vulnerable and exposed anyone could be. 

But there was a rather daunting sense of defenselessness that came from admiring your sexuality. Especially to a world that might not understand. The same world that valued love in the same standing as intercourse. 

(Y/N) had always felt like maybe there was something wrong with the way she loved. That whatever it was she was missing from the checklist society had written for her would be completed by the next person she fell for. Because maybe, just maybe, someone else had what she needed. 

But, as time went by, and partners came and went, nothing magically sparked inside her. And she feared that it never would. 

Until she met Clara. Well, @clara1986x on an internet blog site. 

(Y/N) needed to understand what she was feeling –not feeling. She did what any teenager with an avid curiosity, a life-changing question, and no answers would do. She turned to the internet. For hours she sat in front of a blank search bar, scared of what lived behind the screen. There were no expectations, but there was that underlying fear that there was something wrong with her.  

But, pushing it off wouldn’t change whatever results would pop up. With shaking hands, she typed slowly as she took deep breaths to calm her racing heart. It pitter-pattered against her chest as it hammered in her ears. There was no turning back once she hit the enter key. 

I do not feel sexually attracted to anyone… is there something wrong with me?

The first thing that popped up on the results page made her eyes fill with tears. There is nothing wrong with you, the page was titled. Could it be true? That whatever she was feeling was normal?  

She clicked on the webpage and a personal blog loaded on her screen. 

There Is Nothing Wrong With You

If this page showed up in your results there’s a huge chance you may think that you’re lacking something in your romantic life. News flash! There isn’t. 

Let me guess, you think if you’re not sexually attracted to your partner then it means you don’t really love them. Well, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. There are many ways to love and be in love with someone without adding sex to the mix — it also never has to be added for some. 

Have you ever heard of the term asexual? “The word asexual combines the prefix a-, meaning “not” or “without,” and sexual, referring to sex. Asexual is first recorded in the late 1700s, originally used in biology to refer to organisms, especially plants, that had no sex organs.” [That’s from the dictionary]

In the simple (and broadest) of terms, an asexual person is someone that doesn’t feel sexual attraction toward others or low to no desire for sexual relations. But since we know that sexuality is a spectrum [even if so many people don’t want to agree] this might mean something different to everyone that reads this. 

So, why am I focusing only on the most basic form of asexuality if there is such a big spectrum? 

Because I used to think there was something wrong with me. I used to search in partners for something I was lacking and no one could tell me why I didn’t feel like most people did. I didn’t want to have sex, with guys or girls. I never felt the need to establish a relationship with sex to admit I loved that person. And before you ask, yes, I have tried sex before; no, I don’t need to find the right person for it; and no, I’m not missing out. 

Being asexual doesn’t mean I don’t want to fall in love, or have a partner, or be with someone for the rest of my life. It simply means that I don’t need sex to “seal the deal.” I want the romance and the giddiness, I want the hand-holding and the kisses, I want everything that comes with being in love, I just don’t want sex.

Hi, I’m Claudia and I am asexual.

“Hi, Claudia,” (Y/N) cried as she finished reading the post, a smile spreading across her face. “I’m (Y/N), and I think that so am I.” 

It was the first time in her life that she had heard of the term, let alone found someone that felt exactly the same way she did. For the longest time, she thought she had been an anomaly in the population. That something had been wired differently inside her and she needed to be fixed. 

There was nothing wrong with what she didn’t want. Love had never had to equal sex, and she could be in love with someone without adding it to the equation. She did not need it to feel complete.

But that didn’t mean that everyone else understood what it meant. 

As she left high school and entered college, her dating pool expanded. But their mentality did not. It seemed she was stuck in a vicious cycle that she simply could not break. (Y/N) would meet someone new, they would go out on a few wonderful dates, and form a connection. Yet, when the time came to speak about the dreaded s-word, they all seemed to be taken aback. With some it was a quick rejection, sex was too much of a deal breaker to not have. With others, it was a slowly dying fire that, at the end of the day, always died out.

Whether it was that they didn’t want a relationship without sex or they didn’t want her without the promise of sex, she had not met someone that could accept her as she was and all that she would not offer. 

Until Carlisle Cullen.

After an unlucky slip on ice on her way to visit her mom’s new home, (Y/N) found herself in Forks Community Hospital with a twisted ankle. Thankfully, her condition wasn’t dire and her head could focus on the Adonis-like statue that had been caring for her that afternoon. 

She had heard of the handsome doctor from her mother a few too many times. No one in town understood why an accomplished doctor like him could end up in a small town like Forks. Much less the fact that he was a single man with adopted teenage kids. There was a peculiarity to that family that no one got but rarely questioned out loud.  

No comment from her mother could have ever prepared her for the man that stood before her. A man carved out of perfection by the very hands of whatever god was real. A vision of blonde hair and unnatural amber eyes. 

“Well, Miss (Y/L/N), I think as long as you stay clear of any slush in the street, you’ll be good,” he smiled. “Just make sure to ice that ankle every couple of hours and you should be okay.”

“I’m just staying the rest of the month in Forks. I’ve got a job lined up in Seattle, but my mom recently moved here,” she said. “So, hopefully, no more mishaps.”

“That’s a shame,” he responded. A grin so mischievous on his face she could not help the flutter in her chest. “That it wasn’t you that moved here, that is.” 

“And why is that?” Her curiosity peaked. Was the doctor flirting with her?

“If you were new in town I could offer to show you around under the guise of it being a date,” he started. “I could take you out to dinner, show you how beautiful the woods are during winter –when you’re not falling on ice–, maybe end the night with a kiss.” 

“Do you usually hit on your patients like this, Dr. Cullen?” (Y/N) played along, a sense of confidence overtaking her senses. “I’m pretty sure there’s a rule against that.” 

“That would only apply if you were my patient after you left through those doors,” he smirked. “But that could only happen if you were staying. What a pity.”

“Nothing’s stopping you from doing it for the time being,” she teased. “Better than to always wonder what if.” 

“You make quite a valid point.” 

“Then, do it,” she smirked. “Pretend I just moved here and ask to show me around. I might just say yes.”

A hearty chuckle left Carlisle’s throat, his eyes glittering with the fluorescent light of the hospital room. “Alright then, Miss (Y/L/N),” he smiled. “Since you’re new here, it would be an honor to show you around town. Would that be something you would like to do?”

“That sounds perfect, Doctor Cullen.”

And the rest was history. 

Weeks turned into months, her office job turned into a local administrative assistant in the hospital, and her apartment turned into a room at her mom’s house. It wasn’t anything like what she expected her life to turn like, but something about Carlisle told her he was worth the change. 

Yet, as perfect as their relationship seemed, there was always something lingering in the darkness. To (Y/N), everything felt too good to be true, but she had yearned for so long for a relationship that felt right. She carried with her every rejection, every disappearance, every weird look. She didn’t want things with Carlisle to end because of what they would never have. 

Not even when he confessed to himself and his family being vampires did the pressure of speaking about her sexuality –or lack thereof- alleviate. It felt easier for her to accept the fact that supernatural beings roamed the earth than for her partner to understand that she did not feel sexual attraction. 

It was a backward way of thinking, she knew that. But she couldn’t help and remember all the times she trusted someone enough to tell them about being asexual. Every repudiation toward her because of her sexuality had left an irrevocable mark on her heart, a pain that remained quietly festering deep within her soul. 

But Carlisle could tell there was something wrong. He always could. As someone that was used to harboring big secrets, it was an easy task to know that (Y/N) had a big one weighing on her heart. 

He didn’t want to push her. Her secrets were hers to tell and he had never wanted her to reveal anything she did not feel comfortable saying. It did hurt, he could not lie. Carlisle had tried his best to let her know he was a person she could trust, that nothing she could have said, done, or felt would ever be able to push him away. 

The worst part, he knew Edward knew what her secret was, and so did Alice. But they had both said it was something that only (Y/N) could tell him, on her own time. The only thing they could say to appease his mind was that it was not a bad confession, but it was hard for her to talk about. 

Still, even if he had agreed to allow (Y/N) to speak her truths on her own time, it pained him to know the worry she carried with her whenever she was around. She deserved to feel calm and loved when they were together, and that was what he wanted the most. 

“How’re you feeling, darling?” Carlisle asked one day. “I brought you a blanket.”

(Y/N) was standing on the back deck of his home, staring at the setting sun on the horizon. Her hair was slightly drenched from the rain that had fallen, but she did not seem bothered by it. She allowed the man to drape the blanket over her shoulders, sighing as the warm fabric embraced her body. 

“I’m okay,” she smiled softly. “Just thinking.” 

“What about?” 

She took a deep breath, knowing she had put off the conversation for too long. There was no reason to keep hiding it. He had trusted her with the biggest secret he had, and she needed to trust him enough to share hers. Whatever happened after was something she could not control. She just had to be brave enough to face whichever outcome happened. 

“There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she started before leading him to join her on the white couch. “It’s not anything bad, but it’s something that’s very important. And I’m just scared of how you will react.”  

“Darling, you can tell me anything,” he smiled, taking her hands in his. “There’s nothing you could say that would ever push me away from you. I hope you know that.”

“I know you’re a different man, a completely different person than anyone from my past. But I can’t help being scared to talk about this when everyone I’ve told this before left once I told them this,” she sniffled. “There’s been this festering fear inside me for the longest time because I’m scared that it’ll make you look at me differently and reject me. I don’t know if I could take another one.” 

“(Y/N), you know I love you and you can trust me with anything.” 

“I know that, Carlisle, and I love you too. And that’s the reason why I’ve been so afraid to tell you this, because I really don’t want to lose you.” 

“You will never lose me, (Y/N). But, please, tell me what it is. I don’t want you to have to keep carrying this in your heart.”

(Y/N) knew the moment had come. Regardless of all her fears and concerns, they had gotten to the point where she couldn’t hold back anymore. 

“Carlisle, I’m asexual,” she breathed. “Which means I don’t feel sexual attraction to anyone and I have no desire to engage in any type of sexual activity. It doesn’t mean that I’m not in love with you or that I don’t want to have any type of intimacy. It’s just that I want everything that comes with being in love and in a relationship just not the sex part.” 

Carlisle took her in his arms, embracing her tightly as she cried onto his chest. He brushed her hair softly, kissing the top of her head comfortingly. All he felt at that moment was how much he loved her. 

“Thank you for telling me, darling,” he spoke softly, his hands caressing her cheeks as he stared into her eyes. “I know how hard it must have been for you to tell me that and I’m so grateful that you trusted me enough to tell me. And I want you to know that I love you completely and utterly as you are. I don’t need physical intimacy to know that I want forever with you.

You are more than just a body, (Y/N). I love you because you are a smart, caring, kind, and wonderful woman. You accepted me —my family— as I am, supernatural being and all. I’ve gone centuries without sex and I can go centuries more without it as long as you are by my side.” 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear those words,” she cried happily. “I wish I hadn’t been so afraid to tell you sooner, but I’m just so glad that I did. I love you, Carlisle, and I want forever with you. Just as you are.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. Even as Carlisle kissed her tenderly, it never faltered. 

She had gone her whole life searching for the person that would accept her for who she was without the expectation that her sexuality would change. It had made every rejection, every broken heart worth it because they had brought her to him. 

Twilight Taglist: @winter-soldier-101@zheezs14 @a-sifu-hotman @sunflowerleii @DyslexicCatterpillar @Blackbluerose666 @slutforsainz @kortniec696 @xcastawayherosx@minhaimaginacao @bluebirbnamedJay @sirenheadenby@andreiaafaria@bluetreecloud20 @valejewel @nogitsune-the @user0ur0mom@skyesthebomb @swidkid @avis15 @honeylovemoon@wonieeee @edwardssugarmommy @nyenye@sugajar @lovel-blog @witchofhawkins @Six-Call @then-worship-at-my-altar@ems-alexandra @blueshoelacess @Nyctophilia710 @rosalie-whitlock @nocturnalherb16 @this-is-a-bad-idea@esposadomd @locokoca@volturiwolf@spookyqueen@gh0stgirl33@catgirlpwr @nolaxox @klf1999@krazyk99@ilikepunsbeth@adaydreamaway08@cinffy23 @paodemorangol1l1 @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel@toomanythoughts33@jrosefangirl@queereddie @Missvicious @sugasthreedollarkookie @laylaskywalker @fandomonetwo@fruitylilfuck @a-slut-for-Loki-Bucky @honeywxter  @haroldpotterson @justamessandahalf @come-on-darling-honey @dove-chan32931 @kaita11 @gangstalicious06 @iincandescenttt @demonchick1 @uwunuggetchan @elijahssuit @multifandomreader73 @shara-ne@nngkay@blackloveangel13 @Mar @the-faceless-bride @holywolfsstuff @abs-2020 @lunajay33 @hpboysslut2707 @lisacarolined @TheCollectorOfWords @euphoria1992 @yuki255 @gabi-princesada1d @lowkeysaurus @zealouscookierebeltrash @laylasbunbunny @sleepilysworld @quartzzzzzz @merakiaes @Rycbar22 @treatiseofselena @pinkdragonfandream-blog @attlas567 @american-sataness @magical-spit @t-stark35 @thirstybunzy

[beatriceeagle]

@tevyaa sent an ask with a snippet from "something just broke" for DVD commentary. Unfortunately due to the nature of the fic, even a very short snippet takes up a massive amount of space (and the formatting limitations of the ask box make it very difficult to parse) so I'm making a separate post for it.

Commentary under the cut. (Since this fic heavily includes diegetic bolded text, my commentary will be indented.) Tragically, it doesn't seem possible to right-align text on Tumblr, so apologies for any confusion about who's speaking.

Given the subject matter of the fic, be advised that there's a whole lot of discussion of sexual assault below.

"unstoppable mofos in masks" group chat

Donna I have a question I'd like to throw to the chat

Would you be comfortable with male survivors in here?

There was a version of this fic that dug into the gendered experience of sexual assault a lot more, but I ended up mostly cutting that thread for being a) not totally relevant to the broader point I was making, b) very difficult to untangle the Watsonian and Doyleist implications of, and as a result c) something that I wasn't totally sure what I wanted to say about. Some of that material ended up in "this year's love." Some of it is still floating around in my brain.

I left this particular conversation less because I had something to say with it, and more because it felt like something these particular characters would bring up.

Mia are they unstoppable mofos in masks? because if not could be a problem

Firenza I assume this is someone you know and trust not to fuck up too badly?

I'm really proud of "Firenza Hale" as a secret identity name for a fire-based superhero.

Donna I do

Barbara I'll vouch for him too.

I hope everyone appreciates that Barbara and Bruce are the only characters in the fic who end every sentence with a period.

Firenza Then I'm okay with it

Donna Mia, I’m assuming you were trying to say you don’t mind?

Mia 👍

Donna And Kory already said she’s okay

Okay, I’ll add him

Donna Troy added Dick Grayson

Mia no fucking way

oh wow that was super not okay sorry

I have read some of Mia's run in Green Arrow, but not nearly as much as I have of many of the other characters, so although I have a sense of her personality, I was very worried that I might have totally missed the mark with her. My general sense from the reaction I've gotten is that I did not at the very least TOTALLY miss it, which is a great relief. I bring that up mostly because, for obvious reasons, this is the moment that I worried most about. It did very much feel like a moment that needed to be acknowledged, though, and Mia seemed like the right choice of person to do so.

Dick Hey Mia 😎

I assume you’re the one who named the chat?

Mia like it?

Dick It’s amazing

-----

"unstoppable mofos in masks" group chat

Here's the level of picky that I get about writing: In this fic, I tried not to have the same characters/medium twice in a row, so for instance I tried not to have a newspaper article followed immediately by another newspaper article, or a Donna conversation followed by another Donna conversation. And TO THIS DAY it bugs me that I didn't find something to go in between these two group chat snippets.

Firenza Hey, does anyone know anything about Lois Lane?

She approached me to talk to her for an article about the JLA's response or lack thereof

Her work seems good, but I wanted to be thorough

Barbara Lois is on the up-and-up

Missed a period here. I should probably go back and fix that.

Donna She is JLA-adjacent, which is probably technically a conflict, but you know how that goes

The journalistic ethics of the superhero world fascinate me to no end.

Firenza She actually told me that

Donna Well I think she's a great reporter who's interested in the truth

Dick This is a pro-Lois Lane household

Apartment

Whatever

Firenza Okay, that's all very reassuring

Btw I know she's looking for other vigilantes to talk to, anonymously or otherwise

-----

Texts between Barbara Gordon and Stephanie Brown

So, have you decided about Bruce?

nope

stuck in unending indecisive hell

Steph and Mia have similar texting styles because they're modeled after the younger Gen Z texters I know. Steph uses slightly more punctuation than Mia because I tried to make everyone's personal style slightly different. (I also tried to think about how different social circles would affect each other's styles. The OG Titans grew up together and stay in frequent contact, so they write similarly! And so on!)

I may have a compromise option for you. Or at least, something that you could do to test how you feel.

??

Lois Lane is doing a story on the JLA's general culture and response to abuse and assault. You could talk to her about your general feelings—and you could do it anonymously.

She probably wouldn't print specific accusations without more evidence, but you're not sure you want to do that anyway.

So it could be a way of saying *something* without having to decide whether you want to say *everything* yet.

I thought the Steph subplot was important to include because this is fundamentally a fic about the SYSTEMS that allow sexual assault to flourish, and systems that allow sexual assault will also allow other kinds of abuse. I also knew that I wanted the fic to end with everything not totally tied up and neatly resolved, and this was an obvious choice for a loose thread to remain.

that's… an idea

i'll think about it

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

It's been some weeks but here I am now to respond to your response lol. So first of all, I'm definitely leaning towards nocorro but tbh I have like a few versions of this au in my head, all of which lead Spider down different paths depending on his love interest (or lack thereof) because I feel like each one would bring out something different in his ikran ambitions:

Spider/Neteyam - he fulfills his dream of becoming a racer.

Spider/Lo'ak - he eventually travels all over Pandora to learn everything he can about ikrans, becoming an expert in caring for, training, and riding them.

Spider/Kiri - he becomes an amazing ikran caretaker, focusing his energy on the health and well-being of them.

Spider/Rotxo - he realizes that the na'vi avoid riding the forest ikrans (which I imagine are what would dominate the forests of the Metkayina's islands) because of their size but he is just the right size. This leads to him being the first to utilize the smaller island ikrans with an interesting twist.

Spider/Ao'nung - he actually creates ilu racing in this one lol, it's all part of this storyline in my head where he manages to use his knowledge of both ikran training and human animal training methods to adapt to an ilu style and bond/train an ilu into helping him escape Quaritch. I'll tell you more info in another ask if you want it's a whole thing.

Spider/Tsireya - he paves the way for a new ikran sport: a mash between equestrian trick riding/vaulting, with quite a bit of acrobatics included.

Spider & the Sullies - he becomes their personal trainer, bonding with each individual family member and their ikrans and helping them to make their own marks on the ikran rider community all while helping to heal the distance within the family (among Jake and the boys specifically). I like to think that in this one he bonds with a forest ikran and carves out a place in ikran racing all his own.

And these are all very much active in my mind. I've always loved the idea that just one choice, one source of influence, could change your fate. I like the idea that there's a universe where Spider and Neteyam fall in love and become an ikran racing power couple and I like the idea that there's another universe where Kiri beat Neteyam to the punch and instead Spider focuses on all he can do to care for these amazing creatures, etc.. You can see what parts of him each path brings out.

On another note, some of your hc's will definitely be making an appearance because there were a few that I loved and thought fit so perfectly with what I pictured. I look forward to you seeing which ones stuck with me lol. And I love that others have their own interpretations that they want to write about! It'd be so fun to see what others come up with! Fun fact: I never intended for Spider to become a racer himself, I was vibing with the concept of him being this amazing ikran whisperer who brings a different perspective to the bond between person and animal, but because of the reaction that you and others have had I've added that into my thoughts!

Anyways, I know I work slowly but trust and believe I can't wait to get the next installment out so hang in there! Oh, and I can't believe I forgot to send you a link to my newest fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48596428

You totally don't have to read it, I'm still not even 100% sure if I like it myself, but idk I've sent you a link before so it'd just feel rude if I didn't now that I've started to? Does that make sense? Another update is that I will in fact be adding on to Follow Me Down to the Peach Tree, which I figured is something you might look forward to :)

~ CherryApollo

Hello icon CherryApollo. I'm so sorry this ask has taken me SO long to respond to, I wanted to read back on our old chats to refresh my memory but just like the nocorro accidentally mated post that an anon asked me to find the other day, I cannot find the posts even though I know it's tagged properly. I don't know if maybe it doesn't show up unless the tag is in the first few tags of the post? Someone send help.

BUT ANYWAYS, we will have to just focus on this. I agree that every Spider love interest just brings out a different side of Spider, which would result in different Spider ikran racing ambitions all around. I find it interesting that he travels in the locorro one, because I've always associated it with Kiri and Spiri. The yearning to explore more of Eywa's creations and to connect with her in different ways, and to meet more Na'vi and to see where and how they live. It's so Kiri to me, just wanting to be more a part of Pandora and see more of Pandora. I don't hate it for Lo'ak though, he's so restless and he is such a fast and adaptive learner when he's invested.

I am OBSESSED with the idea of Spider and a forest ikran, and I'm shocked no one has done it yet. They are! Spider sized!!! It's so perfect! He can fit into smaller spaces and make tighter and faster maneuvers and turns, and I bet him and Neytiri could spend hours seeing how traditional ikran racing could translate to this slightly different creature and style.

OBVIOUSLY I want more info on Spider escaping Quaritch via ilu bonding?? That's amazing, it shakes up the whole story! Would he find Awa'atlu right away or would he end up at a different village first? I have been drawn lately to the Spider escaping and finding the Sully's fic's I've seen around, although I've never seen one get past a few chapters. It's such an interesting concept!

I absolutely adore always when people are inspired by my thoughts, and I think it will be so so fun to see what sticks and what you liked and what you change!!! Please don't worry about working slow, I've been answering slow lately.

AND I SAW YOUR NEWEST FIC, I am so behind on my fic reading but I checked yours out before I posted this. I commented :) and please, it's not rude at all to send me a fic, sometimes I miss them in the shuffle so I appreciate it!

I ALSO HAVE BEEN SO OBSESSED WITH THAT FIC, I'M SO EXCITED THEY'LL BE AN UPDATE. I'll tell you, I have been so stuck on the idea of writing something original in its world. Loosely in its world, I guess, but just a soulmate world where if your soulmate is dead you can see their ghost, but also all the ghosts can all see each other as well. I've been stuck on this idea of a person whose soulmate is a ghost and as a result they're kind of an unattached loner. They are a private investigator who uses their ghost soulmate talking to other ghosts to help solve crimes. I'm thinking that they'll end up with another person whose soulmate is dead that they meet, a sort of vibe where they aren't the others supposed person but maybe things worked out the way it was supposed to in a fucked up way. It's just a weird concept I haven't been able to get rid of that I figured I'd let you know you inspired, lol.

[olderthannetfic]

Yeah I mean I’m a big fan of con culture and buying art prints there but I see the legal issues in fandom online being a problem if people are selling physical merch that’s definitely iffy. But out of curiosity, what about when people just draw fan art and post it online completely for free and people just donate to them completely separately not paying for anything just donating to someone they like kinda like throwing a 5 in a guitar case for a musical artist or those people who do character art on the street? Is that a legally dubious area? I don’t feel like that’s a copyright thing?

Also it is strange that art prints are okay but printing a fic and selling copies at cons isn’t okay? In America I mean cuz I actually bought a Japanese doujin once and it was just a fic I couldn’t read lol.

I’m not trying to make a living or anything because I do independent comic work but supplementing with tips is nice. Plus I just like drawing comics.

--

I doubt anyone's going to see legal trouble for accepting tips unless they get a hell of a lot and don't report them on their taxes or something. Most of the objections or lack thereof are going to be about social dynamics.

I don't have a tip jar on here because I think that would add to a vibe like I'm an influencer and everyone else is the audience rather than a more Livejournal vibe where you happen to be seeing the discussion by coming to visit me, but it's more of a community interacting. It's a vibes thing.

People used to sell zines at cons all the time. I think the difference is the desirability of the product (which makes even supposedly hard-line moral stances on fan-made stuff go out the window) and the perception of how necessary it is, how much the price is to cover costs, etc.

If you just print out a bunch of fic in a bad format and try to sell it, most people today will be wondering why you don't just put it online and let people who want to print it do it themselves. There's no sense that this printed version is necessary or special or deserves to be financially supported.

If you make a nice zine, some people will be totally fine with you selling it, including in the US. If you make one hand-bound copy but need your friend to cover the materials fee, pretty much everyone will be fine with it.

[krysmcscience]

Get ready for Amogus Spam!!!

Characters belong to @crinklytinfoil - I just came up with the designs and outfits~ All appearance details are taken directly from either the fics themselves (which, as always, approach with caution and MIND THE TAGS) or the comments sections of said fics, though I have also relentlessly poked Crinkle IRL for additional details, such as each character's name and individual fashion sense...or lack thereof (Finnegan) XD

(If you want to read the fics, keep in mind that you will need to be signed in to an Ao3 account first! And again - MIND THE TAGS! Shit gets dark FAST.)

The Skeld bois! The fucked up crew that started it all~ Only like five actual decent human beings on this crew, and all but one of them fukken DIED, lmao. (Congrats on surviving, Devon, you used to be Kind Of An Asshole but you got better. XD) Clark is such an Obvious Dad - it's why he had to die first, he was the only thing keeping shit together, True Facts, sorry you had to find out this way. <:/ Adam is so Fishing, I bet he fantasizes about having a trout boyfriend girlfriend in his spare time. :) Brown is Babby (stabby-babby), but we all knew that already. And then there's wannabe High Class Fuckboi Purple and his emo "boyfriend", yaaaay, can't wait to find out how Purple dies or anything like that, noooo... All that aside, White's outfit makes me want to die inside, why would anyone want to mix hippie and ouji lolita aesthetics??? White, please, no, even your fashion sense is torturous! D:>

(Full-size here, in case tumblr fucks it up)

Corpatch babbies! Everyone on this crew is certified Babby. (Yes, even you, Skylar. Sorry I had to separate you from Pink in the final image, it was too wide and I hated it, please I'm sorry, put the wrench away-) Love that I got to mostly copy-pasta Devon, made my life so much easier after the artistic nightmare that was Stacy's outfit. Fun Fact: That dress is one of over a hundred jellyfish-themed lolita dresses I've designed! This one has a box jellyfish on it, along with other pretty deadly sea creatures, and is called 'Killer Cuties'~ Wilhelm gets to have some matchies with his platonic girlfriend as a treat, also (Fun Fact: he absolutely wears those novelty glasses to Serious Events). Skye's outfit upsets me personally but it's not as bad as fucking Finnegan's so they get a pass. Pink is, of course, The Best One, and let it be known that the little leaf pin is a reference to Bay~

(Full-size here, in case tumblr fucks it up)

Doncaster folks! Such a long image...I blame Vance. Because I always blame things on Vance for some reason. It's just fun, okay? And also I'm bitter about how long it took to draw his damn Bobblehead mech. Him and Aurora both took what felt like a million years to finish, so now Vance has given me additional Drawing Wires trauma, and Aurora somehow seems Too Expensive for me to afford looking at her. Obviously the best part of all of this was everyone's favorite polycule of Brown, Green, and Red (I dare you to suggest they are not Precious), but I also enjoyed trying to come up with an outfit for Umber that screamed 'I think I'm the main character'. XD (If anyone can guess what's supposed to be on Black's shirt, meanwhile, they get a Gold Star!)

(Full-size here, in case tumblr fucks it up)

And, as a bonus, a goofy scribble comic of the Doncaster AU, which I threw at Crinkle after initially requesting (read: attempting to commission) a What If Scenario where Brown never got brought along with White to the Corpatch, and so never met Pink, thus ensuring Brown remained Terrified of impostors. Because my brain wouldn't stop going hog wild over the concept for some reason. 8|

Finally, a WIP of the Parmenides bastards- uh, I mean, Totally Normal Crew of Fine Individuals who are Not At All Terrible. (Apologies to Danni, Marek, and Ashley for getting mixed up in all this, y'all deserved better.) Bet no one was expecting Johnny to be a certified Gamer Catboi, huh? But I bet everyone was expecting Kyle to look like a Born Republican, and possibly Mitch McConnell's estranged half-brother - cuz that's just how the guy is. So Delightful. Also I was totally not salty about having to look at Purple's stupid smug face again while modifying the copypasta of it, No Sir, why would that ever be the case? He's just so great and not the most hateable character ever or anything. (eyerolling intensifies) In other news, Kage's head is way too small and it's driving me crazy but I'll have to fix it later for the finished full-body chibi+bust piece and I'm D Y I N G. Anyway, no icon spoilers for this one - the fic itself is meant to make the readers wonder who the impostors are, so I'm not going to reveal anything on that front.

(Full-size here, in case tumblr fucks it up)

THAT IS ALL

[alethiometry]

what's this aco himym fic huh!!

kate i don't know how much you know about ac odyssey from whatever the hell i or anyone else you follow has posted about the game in the last however long it's been since it came out, so i am very very sorry if none of this makes any goddamn sense.

OKAY FIRST OF ALL i need to say that i have literally never in my life watched a single episode of himym and i do not intend to and i know nothing about it except i'm aware that people have Opinions on how it ended. it has barely fuckall to do with this fic, except that i just cannot think of a fitting title.

the short summary is that this is a kassidas fic where for some reason (have yet to figure this out) brasidas ends up with custody of elpidios and tells him all about how he and kassandra met, how their relationship developed, and how they came to be where they are now (hence the filename).

the long summary is i got WAYYYYY too ambitious with this fic and it mutated from being like a cutesy little wish-fulfillment love story to a full-blown fix-it fic where i want to address most if not all of my most vexing plotholes in ac odyssey, ranging from plot points that make no sense, to character interactions or lack thereof that had zero closure, to a complete rewrite of the very bad no good comphet dlc. and although i hated how the game handled the forced romance between kassandra and natakas, i do think there is/want to see if i can find a way to make their relationship more complex and messy and interesting by removing the romance of it but just making him a more fleshed-out character. part of my worry is that the dlc is so reviled (with good reason) across the fandom that this premise is dead on arrival anyway and no one will like it, not even myself. but at the same time, i still want the endgame of this fic to be kassidas-focused, because they are my everything and to me there is no ac odyssey without them*, and so i have to figure out a way to write some kind of weird love/parental triangle between the three of them even though i fucking hate triangles**

i waver back and forth between the himym-ness of it being due to the fact that for whatever reason kassandra is no longer in elpidios' life (thus bringing it closer to official game canon), or just waving a gigantic middle finger to ubisoft and letting kassandra actually be a mother to her son whom she loves so so much and barely got to spend any time with, but she's understandably pretty tight-lipped about her past because she's aware of the heaps and heaps of generational trauma that's plagued her family and wants to break that cycle, so it's up to brasidas to spill the tea.

another layer of complexity/difficulty in writing all of this is that i imagine elpidios to be around 7 when the story starts, because that's the same age kass was when she lost her family, so then that age becomes sort of symbolic as a milestone. which means there's also the issue of not a whole lot of ac odyssey being appropriate for a kid of that age. like, graphic violence and dark themes aside... i can't really have it be like "yeah and after decapitating korinth's biggest meanest crime lord your mother flipped me over and pegged me six ways to [whatever the ancient greek equivalent of sunday is]" and just... yeah. i don't know. i still think about what i want to do with this fic often, but i think there's a very good reason why i have barely even opened it in almost 2 years.

*this made me giggle as i typed it out bc actual historical spartan general brasidas has like 15 minutes total of screentime in a 100+ hour game. but it's also not a joke because despite all that (and also getting fucking killed at the battle of amphipolis) he still had more chemistry with kassandra than any of the other like 15 actually-romanceable characters in the game.

**another tongue-in-cheek joke/double entendre because it's revealed in the game that pythagoras who did all that triangle math equation stuff is kassandra's biological father and an absentee, deadbeat one at that. fuck that guy fr

[alifeasvivid]

fic writer questions

tagged by @fireandiceland :D

1.) How many works do you have on AO3

19... it was 39 but I had a major self-loathing moment

2.) What’s your total AO3 count?

word count? 166,516

3.) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

if you mean currently on AO3? just Hetalia. If you mean only on AO3 ever: Kuroshitsuji, Hyouteki no Finder, BotW, and Hetalia

In total through my whole life uhhh >.> a few more than that

4.) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Thief of Spades Season One

Thief of Spades Season Two

Trust

If It's You

Desperate Measures

5.) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

It's gonna be between Last Hurrah and Payback probably... Payback probably wins just because it is incredibly bleak

6.) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Uhhhh hmmm I mean I'd say everything else that's finished they're all about equally happy. I write most fics with the intention of reaching a happy ending that feels earned. From most contrast between the rest of the fic and the ending, I'd say An Impossible Situation

7.) Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Nah, I'm not interested in crossovers.

8.) Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh yeah. What else is there? XD I hope I write *good* smut. After Kuro, I think was really uptight about it and trying to be "clean," but I've loosened up on that a lot and I think it has greatly improved the quality of the smut I write.

I think I have a slight reputation for adding BDSM elements and of course there's my super hardcore kink of writing scenarios where everything is consensual and all parties involved care about and respect each other. It's pretty intense, pretty niche, not a lot of people are into it. LOL As for gender/sexuality >.> who really cares about that kind of thing nowadays?

I also primarily write UKUS, which many people find extremely offensive. 🤣 IT'S A JOKE!

9.) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I used to forget, but I try to do so consistently now because it shows my appreciation because I really like getting comments.

10.) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

EEEEEEYUP.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! :D I consider it to be quite an honor ^-^

13.) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes. A long time ago.

14.) What’s your all time favorite ship?

USUK/UKUS. Nothing else even comes close.

15.) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but you don’t think you ever will?

T_T so many, but mainly Technicolor Heart. I just really like the concept, but that fic would have been soooooooo angsty..... also I don't wanna get ... fuckin.... run off of tumblr.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

Pacing. I know I just have a sense of how a story should progress so that everything feels earned but there's minimal to no dragging. I get told people like my characterizations a lot which is nice ^-^ also my prose is pretty nuanced, but I don't count that as a strength because I think most people don't even notice.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

>.> speed. or lack thereof. I can't write action scenes, which dramatically altered the direction of Thief of Spades in particular. I don't have a beta so there's always typos I'm catching months after posting P: I struggle with description/creating atmosphere using sensory info.

18.) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic?

I agree with Riva that salutations or endearments are fine, but writing whole scenes that way comes across as pretentious and annoying. Not to mention it can just be really confusing. Write in the language of your audience, it's basically just that simple.

19.) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Pffff. As if I'd say it in public smh. I'll spare 11/12 y/o me the indignity

20.) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Uhhhh hmmm

I mean the Thief of Spades series is always going to have a very special place in my heart but writing something that long with that much plot over such a long time, there's a lot of things about it I wish I could change.

In terms of canonverse type stuff, I love The Shape of Modern Imperialism. For shameless self-indulgence I think Three-Part Harmony is best. But I actually worked really hard on Precious Thing and I'm still quite proud of it.

tagging whoever wants to be.

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

Hits are not the people who read.

This is very important.

What is a hit?Hits are a counter of how many times a work has been accessed. A hit is registered every time a visitor navigates to a work's page, with the following exceptions:

If two visits in a row come from the same IP address, only the first one is registered.

Moving between chapters in a work will only register one hit in total, not one hit per chapter.

If you're logged in, hits are not counted when you visit your own works.

I've been seeing a lot of people being disheartened by the lack of ratio hit/comments but a hit isn't someone who read. It's someone who opened the page of your fic. Maybe they saw the blurb and thought, nah. Maybe they opened 53919381 works and then narrowed down. It's entirely possible that out of the "hits" you get, only a small, small, baby portion actually reads your fic.

Which isn't like, "good news" for you but it DOES mean that your perception is skewed.

I strongly recommend, for your own peace of mind, if that kind of data matters to you, that you focus on the people who are kudoing.

A kudo is most likely someone who DID read your fic.

And you can be sad that your work got 186 kudos and only 3 people left comments, but it's a lot less crazy in terms of stats than 1800 people reading your fic and 3 people leaving comments.

If I make sense.

Your feeling is 100% valid but you can't focus on the hits as a reference number my dear, it's going to crush you.

And I'm going to go further than this but this is all my own personal opinion and I realise not everyone thinks the way I do, so take it with a grain of salt.

Rare are the hobbies that get you interaction at all.

I never get kudos for finishing a puzzle. For bookbinding a project. For doing anything that I consider a hobby.

But I do get kudos for writing a thing and posting it on the internet, which is kind of wild. And by my estimate, the reward I get from writing it is enough. And finding people who write things that I like. And sometimes making friends with them.

AO3 isn't a website meant for validation. It's great when it happens but that's not its first purpose. It's *becoming* that because people are now deciding that AO3 is a social media website, which it isn't.

I'm actually so saddened that people are comparing hits and kudos and comments to others and I realise that it's the human condition (and when I'm weak, I do it too, I'm not better than anyone) but it's such a harsh thing to impose on yourself.

Writing is one of these mediums where you CANNOT COMPARE. Here's why.

Writing is a common hobby.

As a hobby, it has to remain a pleasure, a challenge, something exciting. And that can't be measured by how much people love your work. It has to be measured by how much YOU LOVE YOUR OWN WORK.

The trap of comparison is real, especially in creative fields like writing. But every writer's journey is unique, and no metric can quantify their value.

The moment creativity becomes a competition (even with yourself), the whole thing implodes.

The moment we start weighing our worth by the number of hits, kudos, or comments, we lose sight of why we started writing in the first place.

Feedback is fantastic, but it shouldn't be the sole reason you write.

Not everyone who appreciates your work will leave a kudo or a comment. Some might not know what to say, and some will simply move on, touched by your work but quiet about it. Their silence doesn't diminish the impact your writing might have had.

So, write because you love to write. Appreciate the kudos & the comments but don't let the lack thereof discourage you.

Your worth as a writer isn't determined by public validation. It's determined by the amount of joy you get from it.

not to be That Person but when people are like “why isn’t there a big fandom culture anymore?” umm…

maybe this is why???? That an author can spend hours (if not days or weeks or months) on something, have 1,800 people read it, and only have THREE people willing to take a few extra seconds out of their day to comment. Not even something as simple as “thanks for sharing” or “second kudos” or “❤️”

I’m not the internet police. You decide what you do with your time. Just don’t be surprised if the result is that creators leave your fandoms. I’m not writing to scream into the void. If that’s what I wanted, I wouldn’t bother posting. Fandom is a community. It’s an exchange of enthusiasm over this thing we all love. And who’s gonna keep showing up at your house with a goodie basket if all you do is take the basket, slam the door, and leave them outside to watch through the window while you eat?

[fimproda]

I wanted to ask you something different regarding the last asks, what do you think of authors that write things without proper research? Do you think is needed the same research on a fic than a book? For example if a fic author totally misinterpreted someone’s culture and excused themselves by saying it’s just a fic

I’m asking as in Acotar I have found fics with very wrong basic facts related to this, for example mixing cultural elements when describing a court inspired in a culture of our world

Hello again! Sorry for the delay in replying to your ask, but unfortunately, I've been commuting to and from Naples almost every day and I don't have as much free time as I used to.

I don't necessarily believe authors — and I mean it in the general sense — have to justify everything they write in their stories, as long as they're honest about it and their inconsistencies make sense in the context.

Let me explain with an example. Say that an author is writing about a scary-smart scientist who is supposed to be the best at their job, and say that the story deals with scientific themes and delves into the technicalities of it all. In this case, I think it's the author's solemn duty to be as accurate as possible, with little to no room for error.

(If we want to name names, Ali Hazelwood does a shit job of this.)

But say that this character is only a scientist because, I don't know, they needed a job and the author felt it was the right profession for them, and the story has nothing to do with science and the like. In this case, I can excuse inaccuracies, as long as they're not blatantly wrong and impossible things like oil and water being able to mix in a non-agitated system with no emulsifying agents.

Speaking of what you said, I should see those authors' fics for myself and form an educated opinion. If these authors, for instance, used traditionally Japanese elements to describe their version of the Dawn Court that by their own admission is based on Chinese culture, then they didn't do their research, but they could've also decided to go the "pan-Asian" route. I did the latter myself, and I've also taken care to specify (and will continue to do it) that I almost exclusively did it on an aesthetic level, since I don't have the life experience and sensibilities to go deeper than that. On the other hand, for my Day Court, I can do more or less whatever I want, since it's my own culture and my own people's history that I would be appropriating.

In short, as for many things, it depends. But I would say that there's no difference between a fic and a book in this sense; the only things that matter are the author's intentions and how the author's research (or lack thereof) impacts the story.

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 06 | Overheating | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 6.7K ish (I’m doing smaller chapters going forward)

Last time on SR05: Tension is at an all-time high, a side effect from crossing some lines and flirting indiscriminately. It complicates your newfound friendship with Jungkook. Things are definitely more blurry since you woke up alone in his bed.

CW & Other Tags: slow burn, fuckboy Jungkook, pining, sexual tension, grinding, daydreaming about that sweet sweet fantasy baby

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (6/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Six in the morning. Six in the morning on Monday. Whose idea was this?

You’re on your final lunge and you feel your stance wobble once again as you begin to sink down. Fuck past you for suggesting this. This is terrible. You hate everything.

“Slowly,” Jungkook is quick to remind you. “You got this.”

Despite his optimistic tone, his voice is an unavoidable irritant. Formality hasn’t been in question, no that’s not the problem here. He’s been a total professional: no wandering hands or eyes, just a firm encouraging tone with a laundry list of tasks, all of which seemed designed to drain you of all energy before the day has even begun.

You’ve been at this for a while on your own, but obviously lenient with intensity. Of course you’ve ignored bodyweight exercises. You’re at the gym. If you wanted to just do push-ups and lunges, you’d be at home not doing them. He’s the one with the muscles, so maybe he’s right as much as you hate to admit it. Maybe personal trainers are certified for a reason. As you struggle to maintain your balance and nearly topple over, you surmise the reason being they need everyone to know they basically have a degree in sadism.

With a quickness that shows your guilty need to be done with this activity, you bring yourself upright far too fast for his liking. He frowns, arms crossed as he watches your form, or lack thereof.

“Hold on. One more time.”

DEMON.

“Slowly come up. Like this.” He demonstrates again, eyes focused ahead. You watch as the exposed thickly carved muscles of his calf tense, awe overtakes envy in a rush to your brain. He pauses, his knee hovering above the floor before looking at you and gesturing towards his leg as he rises at a careful pace. “It’s about control.”

Pfft. I hate control. Look at my life. You think I have any of that?

“One more,” he says again. “Just one.”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you do it like he demonstrated, albeit less stable.

“Nice work.” He holds his hand up for a high-five, which you tap if only to signify an end to this session. “Now we stretch.”

He’s already taking a mat out for you before you can protest. If he senses your irritability, he doesn’t let on. The difficulty you’re having keeping your energy up is a contributing factor, but the source remains your own emotional attachment to the man himself. Sunday morning you woke up alone with the foggy memory of trying to seduce him. There’s enough shame swirling around your body to steep and brew into a giant pot of dumb-bitch juice. The more you focus on the memories you can’t change, the more you start to panic.

All this dumb bitch juice makes it hard to focus... But isn’t it made from concentrate?

Your internal joke brings a small smile to your lips. It pushes the panic into the past where it can’t hurt you now. Humorous deflection is a coping skill right? As you finally drag yourself over to where he’s waiting, you notice Jungkook smiles like a big puppy. Your insides churn. He probably thought you were smiling at him. You purse your lips and follow his lead into performing cooldown stretches.

It's not until you're down on your back with your ankle on your knee that you allow yourself to glance at his face. He’s focused on his own stretching, which gives you a heartbreakingly beautiful view of his profile. Instead of using this time to deepen your own stretch, you study his features. Beads of sweat behind his ear, the loop and stud embedded at the base of his earlobe, and the several empty holes above them and you quickly count them. Does he really have six? The sharp outline of his jaw leads your eyes to his chin, where they quickly follow the slope of his deep-pink parted lips up the flat tip of his nose and the large curve above it.

“Alright. Last stretch.”

There’s no time to think about the implications of such a shape because Jungkook hops to his feet. You sit up, eager to block his view from such a vulnerable double-chin position as he rounds the mat you’re on.

“Ah, no. Lay on your back. You’re gonna raise your leg,” he coaches.

You tick your jaw and lean back on your elbows, not allowing yourself to fall completely on your back when he’s standing right there. Slowly your bent leg rises in a half-assed attempt to please him. He grabs the bottom of your pitifully hovering sneaker.

“Straighten,” he says, guiding your leg up with a hand on your knee to keep it in line. “Like that.”

The burn travels up your hamstring. Skepticism erodes as your muscles relax and you lay flat against the mat. He’s been professional this whole time. It’s just your own stress and confusion getting the better of you. It’s not his fault your mind is in the gutter. Everything is fine.

“Feel okay?” he asks, leaning forward to meet your gaze.

Strands of hair fall out from behind his ear as he looks down at you. Suddenly everything is not fine. Your cheeks burn and you forget how to articulate your thoughts as lurid fantasies begin to creep into your brain. So this is how he’d look, huh? Great. Way to give your inner crush some fuel for that fire. You might as well be back in his room, sucking on his fingers.

If he leaned over he’d look like— He’d sound like— Oh fuck. He knows. Stop thinking about it. Stoppit.

“More? Less?” he guesses aloud while gently pressing your leg further towards your chest and then letting up. “We’re trying to find the sweet spot.”

Is he fucking with you? He must be.

“Shouldn’t be painful,” he continues, lightly testing the tension in your leg. “Just a satisfying stretch.”

Every word makes your face hotter and the blood rushing through your ears even louder. He knows how this sounds right? He has to know.

Your silence causes his big brown eyes to regard you with curiosity. “Is it uncomfortable?”

“It’s good,” you say, all too quickly for it to be genuine but it seems to satisfy his concerns.

Finally he lowers your leg and motions for you to lift the other. One of his hands clasps around the back of your ankle while the other supports your knee. He starts to carefully press your leg towards your chest but lessens the pressure the moment you inhale sharply through your nose.

“Bodies aren’t symmetrical. Sometimes stuff works differently on each side and that’s okay. It’s about finding the spot that works for you. If it’s tighter on this side that’s okay. Is here good?”

“Little more,” you mumble, trying your best to ignore the fire in your face. When he adjusts the position, you feel that sweet perfect stretch he’s been talking about. “Oh, right there.”

His fingers tighten over your knee and dig into the soft flesh of your thigh for a brief moment. It’s gone before you can guess if you imagined it or perhaps it was some sort of spasm in your own muscle.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

He’s said that line a lot to clients over the years during sessions, but for the first time he’s speaking to himself. Immediately you release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding and it serves to cover his own exhale. There’s a complicated tension between the pair of you and there has been for a while. This certainly isn’t helping assuage it right now, but he’s hopeful with time it will get easier to navigate.

“Alright, that’s it. Nice work. You made it through.”

He offers his hand and you clasp your own in it with a smile. Although it seems effortless, his biceps bulge as he swiftly brings you to your feet. It takes active brainpower to immediately release his hand instead of holding on for comfort. The way you snap your hand away while emanating such a warm smile is a perfect example of the dichotomy wrestling your psyche. If he notices, he says nothing. The water bottle nearby doesn’t seem to be enough to quench your thirst. Unsurprising, considering the way your mind wanders.

“So, what do you think? Same time tomorrow?” He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet when you look back; it’s hard to draw the line between enthusiasm and anxiety. Maybe he notices more than you think. Maybe you’re reading into his fidgety nature far too much.

“Sure.” You pop the lid closed on your bottle and flash him a half-smile. “I’ll text you later?”

He gives you a nod and the warmth of his smile lights his face. “Looking forward to it.”

“Thanks, Jungkook.”

There’s an awkward pause as you consider going in for a hug. Then you mull over the possibility of a handshake, high-five, or a fist-bump. Instead you land on a delayed, dorky wax-on wax-off “wave.” Cool. Gonna be thinking about that awkward karate kid exchange all day. Can the floor please melt your legs down to stumpy bones so you’d have something else to think about? That’d be great.

He crosses his arms with a sense of pride as he watches you hurriedly make your way towards the lockers. That could have gone much worse. You didn’t even ask for your sweater. Good. He didn’t bring it.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You look down at your hands and knock your gloves together, trying to make sure your fingers are positioned correctly within. It’s hard to get used to the cumbersome coverings. They weigh your hands down and draw attention to the lack of strength in your wrists. Even though you know the basic motion, the multiple warnings you’d received about damaging your wrist are all you can think about. You decide it’s best not to practice the motion until you can watch someone else do it first.

The class is bigger than expected, which only adds to the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. For some reason the lack of shoes makes you feel more exposed. You don’t need strangers looking at your feet. Thankfully there are a lot of bags for you to choose from and the back corner of the room seems relatively secluded. You awkwardly let your water bottle roll away from your armpit and trap it between your gloves to set it on the floor nearby. Taking a deep breath, you focus on the mirror at the front of the room and wait for the instructor to arrive.

Ignoring the chatter of other attendees’ conversations, you do your best to tell yourself no one is looking at you and no one’s talking about you. You’re not interesting enough to talk about. You repeatedly chant this to yourself, but still you feel like the subject of every conversation surrounding you. Why couldn’t Jennie or Namjoon just come to the one class with you? It seemed so doable after work, especially with how good you feel after this morning’s first session with Jungkook. But now you’re not so sure you should be here.

Confidence, you remind yourself. You’re doing this to instill confidence. Embracing change and exploring the unknown has never been your forte. It’s unsettling to try something new by yourself. All your life you’ve felt like an outsider when performing any physical activity. No matter the sport, you always seem to feel like you’re doing it wrong. A combination of grade school bullies and unempathetic PE teachers steered you towards a different path in life, a nerdier, less physically active life.

Any time you start to veer back in this direction, your body has a very visceral reaction. You get defensive in your discomfort, burdened by memories too embarrassing and upsetting to properly process. It’s no wonder that even as a full grown woman you still feel like that girl who’d cry in a bathroom stall after gym class. Your pulse quickens, your face heats up and tears threaten to spill from behind glassy eyes. Why did you make yourself do something sport-related? Morning training is one thing, but is this really something you think you can just do by yourself?

Taking a deep breath, you begin to count the bags in the room; it’s all you can do to keep yourself from bolting before the class even starts. Punching things is probably just what you need to deal with these feelings. Just as your eyes reach the bag nearest the door, a familiar face walks past the threshold.

Jungkook is clad in a black muscle shirt and basketball shorts to match, and his hair is tied back into the world's tiniest, pristine ponytail. While he grins and greets the other students in the room, you slink behind the hanging bag you’ve chosen to be your partner for the night, hoping it will block you from his sight. He doesn’t teach kickboxing; you checked. Attempts will be made to combust on the spot if he announces he’s covering for the instructor.

There’s an unmistakably Jungkook cackle. You peek around the bag just in time to watch a girl punch him in the arm. He feigns being hurt, whining that he needs an ice pack for the pain. She feels up his arm and gives his bicep a squeeze, calling him out for faking. He grins that stupid grin you hate so much: the one where he shows off his teeth and his nose is outlined by wrinkled skin.

She offers to make it up to him with dinner and you tune out the rest with a sigh, feeling irritated that everywhere he goes women seem to throw themselves at him. You’re mad at yourself for letting it bother you. It’s not her fault he’s so attractive. It’s not her fault he didn’t fuck you this weekend. It’s all so complicated with him, and it’s not her fault, but still. You’re jealous.

There has to be a way forward, a way you can let this go. Let him go. He was never yours anyway. Another deep breath escapes your mouth. At least your rooted anxiety over the newness of this class seems to be replaced with a comfortable irritation. Maybe you can channel that energy into this activity.

People are already starting to warm up, delivering soft punches and kicks to their bags. You awkwardly stand behind yours without a clue as to what you should be doing other than waiting. Much to your dismay Jungkook crosses the room, the pads of his bare feet silent until he stops two bags in front of you. He sets his water bottle down, a focused look on his face as he begins to wrap his hands in a pretty black and red band. He expertly covers his hand, entrancing you with the circular motion.

He paces as he wraps, sparing a quick glance towards the back of the room. He does a double take, frozen in place as he stares at you. For a second you think he’s imitating a statue, but then he blinks and a cloyingly sweet smile graces his lips. It makes you wish you’d walked out when you had the chance.

“Princess!” His exclamation draws far too many eyes to your corner. “Surprised you’re here after this morning.”

You don’t dare look around the room to see if flirty girl is giving you the stink eye. It’s enough just to feel the gaze of others heating your face like a million laser pointers.

“What are you doing here?” you grumble, hiding behind the bag.

He laughs, holding his unwrapped hand up as if to proclaim his innocence. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’ve been coming to this class for the last two years. You’re the newbie here.”

You purse your lips, feeling foolish. Of course Jungkook takes advantage of the training programs offered here. He has his own schedule that has nothing to do with you. Still…

You stiffen as you watch his eyes rake over your attire. He hums thoughtfully.

“W-What?” Insecurity clings to you in all the places your clothing does too.

“Mm. Nothing.”

“What.” You make sure to enunciate the word for maximum transparency of your irritability.

“Didn’t peg you as a boxer. First time?” he asks while flexing his fingers to test the fit.

You fold your arm across your chest and hug your elbow with your giant glove, offering a small nod. He briefly pokes his tongue into his cheek. Is that a sore spot? He got a small taste of your confidence level regarding exercise this morning, or lack thereof. Maybe that’s something he can help you with.

“Don’t worry. It’s really fun. Addicting.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you and his smile puts you at ease.

The instructor walks in and introduces herself, sparing you from having to say more. She turns on some high energy music and has you all doing burpees as a warm up. You already want to die. Apparently you’re not the only newbie here today so she teaches the class how to stand while performing the three main techniques for throwing a punch: jab, cross, and hook.

You make yourself as unassuming as possible as you try to get the hang of each technique. Ten minutes in, you’re out of breath and sweating buckets. The instructor, Dara, watches you a couple times and fixes your weak elbows, asks you to use more force on the bag, and tells you “don’t forget to breathe,” like you’re not out here gasping for air.

When it’s time for a water break, Jungkook turns to look back at you. He looks every bit as sweaty as you feel.

“Doing okay?” He picks up his water bottle and puts his whole mouth over the wide opening to drink.

You nod between heavy pants and free one of your sweaty hands from the confines of the glove. “Yeah… Fine… You...?”

You focus on your own bottle. It’s like you can’t get the liquid into your mouth fast enough. You try to breathe it in like oxygen and subsequently choke out a couple wet coughs. He looks up from his shirt, which he’s folded up to wipe the sweat from his face. The set of heavy glistening creases lining his stomach claim your attention. You choke again for another reason entirely.

“You sure?” he asks, concerned with your apparent inability to breathe like a normal human.

“Just tried to inhale my water. It’s fine,” you joke, walking around your bag until you can no longer see any part of the sculpted perfection that is his body.

“Ah, I’m tired,” he groans. He circles his bag, smoothing unruly wisps of damp black hair from his forehead. “Halfway there though.”

“Hah, only half?” Despite your best attempt to sound confident, your breathlessness betrays your tone. Thank fuck he pulled his shirt back down.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna give up,” he teases, reaching across to poke your sweaty arm.

“No!” You’re quick to put your glove back on just as the instructor starts the music again.

“Good. You’re doing really well.” He makes sure you can see his smile and wink before he turns back to his bag and starts running through the combos again.

Your anxiety heightens when the instructor tells everyone to find a partner to practice kicks. You’ve been circling the bag to get the hang of moving while hitting, so you look over your shoulder and purse your lips. Jungkook’s eyes are as big as they are nervous when you find them. Being that he’s the only person you know, he seems the logical choice. You don’t want to talk to a stranger. Plus, if you’re being honest you’d rather pair with him before flirty girl can snatch him up.

He’s frozen. He’s used to pairing with the teacher: the teacher that can easily bench twice her bodyweight. You’re giving him those deer-in-the-headlights eyes and it’s hard to look away. He’s never been more terrified of hurting someone.

“Jungkook, do you wanna…?” The uncertainty in your voice makes your own ears flush with the same heat radiating from your cheeks.

Everyone else is already kicking away. He looks uncomfortable even as he nods and forces a smile. He holds the bag steady for you as you practice, though his eyes look vacant. You practice for a few minutes but the exertion has taken a lot out of you. Aren’t you supposed to trade off?

“Kook.” You sigh when he doesn’t respond, delivering your combo to the bag without a care in the world regarding your form.

Bap-bap-bap.

“Jungkook.” Again you practice the combo, this time clumsily adding the two kicks at the end.

Bap-bap-bap… Bap... Bap.

The chains linking the bag to the ceiling rattle but the bag itself barely sways with the way he’s holding it. Why is this so hard? Wiping the sweat from your brow, you tap his arm.

“Hey.”

He snaps out of his daze but continues to stare blankly at you. “Hmm?”

“Can we switch off?” you ask, fighting through your wheezing.

He nods, wetting his lips and moving around the bag. He looks pissed when his fist makes contact. Part of you shudders at the intensity of the motion, the other part fixates on his face as you’re pushed back by the force. Luckily the instructor swoops in at the last minute to keep the bag from smashing you in the face.

Jungkook seems to visibly relax at her intervention. After showing you how to hold, she lets you take the bag back on your own. He starts delivering heavier blows that cause the bag to sway slightly, but you're determined to keep it as steady as possible. You can take it. You want him to know you can absolutely take it.

By the end of class you're on the floor pretending to stretch but in reality you want an excuse to lay down and never get up again. As the rest of the students file out one by one, you're left staring at the flood lights above with a thigh crossed over your knee. Your chest is on fire and it feels like your ribs are going to crack open, chest-burster style. You think you're alone until Jungkook's voice calls out to you.

"You should sit up." His face blocks out the light as he peers down at you, strands of his hair. He offers a hand but you wave him off.

"Just let me die here,” you wheeze. “How can my chest be so sore? My arms should be sore, right?"

"You're not breathing when you hit."

You furrow your brow and turn your head as he walks away. “What?”

"Every time you hit you have to exhale. Like this." He takes a moment to demonstrate.

You hadn't heard them with the loud music and other sounds of practice filling the room, but now they're clear as day. Each time his fists make contact with the bag, he releases a tiny exhale that almost sounds like a breathy, restrained groan. Each one feels like an impact to your own gut.

"It's why some people yell when they hit. You were holding in every breath, every sound. I could tell. You gotta let it out."

"Why didn't you say anything?" you mumble, slowly sitting up and scooting back against the wall.

"Dara told you to breathe but you weren't getting it. I made the same mistake when I started. After that first session, I never made it again. You won’t either, right?”

You raise your eyebrows and nod in thoughtful agreement. Breathing is way too difficult to be an automatic thing right now so you force the air through your lungs and watch him take a few more powerful swings at the bag.

“You know, the reason I've stuck with this class for so long is because it makes me feel free. Weightless. There’s so much that used to make me feel weak and now it’s like…” He hums thoughtfully and presses an open palm to the bag. “I don’t carry it with me every day. It all spills out so I don’t have to.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” you say, legs outstretched.

“I’m not some character with a tragic backstory,” he says with a laugh, softly tapping against the bag a couple times. “Waiting to be revealed.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine. I just mean there’s no real secret,” he interrupts your fumbling words. “I used to be really timid and shy.”

You scoff and bring yourself to your feet. “Yeah right.”

“For real.” He pauses to let you take a few swings at the bag and notes your form. “Try to relax your stance, though.” He performs the motion slowly to demonstrate. “Confidence only came when I started considering who I am, who I want to be, and merging them together.”

“And you figured all that out?” you question, trying to mimic his posture. “Sounds fake.”

He shakes his head, rounding the bag to stand beside you. “Not at all. It’s something I’m still working on. Like you and that left hook combo.”

Self-consciousness sinks in with him so close, and you show off what little you’ve gleaned from watching him. You push past the clunky unnatural feeling in your limbs to force them into a fluid motion.

He cocks his head to the side. “Slow it down a bit and show me again?”

Swallowing down your pride, you go through the process again, this time painfully slow. “Ah, right there. Try to drop your shoulders a little, and keep this up.” He lifts the tip of your elbow with the pad of his finger.

“Like this?” you demonstrate the motion with uncertainty.

He hums a pleased sound. “Better.”

You fall into a pattern of sharing jabs at the bag.

“So, how did you go from shy guy to…”

“To...?” he wonders, landing a soft combo against the firm surface while quirking a brow at you.

“To someone who makes bets,” you pause to release a couple blows of your own, “about getting into girls’ pants.”

A loud sound forces its way through the ring his lips make. “Long story short? I grew up and girls paid more attention to me. I got used to it.”

There has to be more to it so you take your turn and ask the burning question on your mind. “Can I hear the short story long?"

His elbow drops a bit as he lightly taps the bag, clearly caught off guard. You reach out for his arm just as he’s retracting it.

“Slow down and show me again?” you interject before he can find the words to begin.

When he extends his arm again you press your finger against his elbow similar to his earlier motion. As soon as his eyes are on yours, his face relaxes into a warm smile.

“Helping me keep it up?”

Licking your lips in response is unintentional, but it undoubtedly makes no difference in his perception. “Just returning the favor.”

He sweeps the back of his wrist over his forehead and sighs, mumbling something indiscernible under his breath.

“What?” you ask, truly wondering.

He looks from the bag to you and shakes his head. It’s a dangerous line to walk yet you’re both sprinting toward some imaginary goal anyway. He doesn’t even know what that goal might be, but it seems you’re both eager to reach it first.

Maybe you want to push him over the edge, maybe he’s hoping the same from you. It doesn’t matter. He knows this is the part where he’s supposed to answer and reveal whatever kind of tragedy you think might be lurking amongst his past. The problem is it doesn’t exist.

Still. He flirts, and you flirt back. Normally he’d know how to take it from here, but there are rules in this case. He’d break every one of them if it meant relief from this tension. If he could indulge in you tonight and say fuck tomorrow without consequence, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Future Jungkook’s problems tend to have a lasting effect on present Jungkook so he reasons there’s benefits to reap from abstaining from impulsivity. Keep walking those fine lines.

“I was just curious. You don’t need to tell me,” you offer, trying out another hook against the bag. Still feels weird. Weirder than this dance with Jungkook.

“Shoulders and hips should be down,” he mumbles again, instinctively reaching out to fix your form. “Like this.”

His palms perch on your shoulders and gently press down. When your back stiffens, so does he, an apology already at his lips for invading your space. Before he can step back you stop him.

“No, it’s fine. Show me.” You lift his hand in yours and aim towards the bag. “Guide me?”

Lines. What are lines? How does he feed them? How does he not cross them? You don’t seem to have a problem. So why does he? Perhaps he could defuse the bomb of his frustration with a heartfelt story, or distract with some kind of history you might find relatable. Instead he finds himself considering how best to blow it all to hell.

Sweat-drenched clothes be damned. He slides his hand over your shoulder and taps the back of your calf with his big toe. “Move this forward a little.”

Your foot inches towards the bag while his arm leads yours in a slow swing.

“Like...”

Bap.

“...this.”

His fist makes contact with the bag with yours secured beneath. His other hand slips over the sheen of your knuckles, directing another slow hit to the bag. The effortless glide of his wet skin against yours should feel disgusting. The heat should feel unbearable. You’re so tired, so overheated, so out of breath, and sore, and sickeningly slick in more ways than one. Your body should be telling you to rest, yet it’s taking everything you have to not give in to the instinct to rub yourself against him like some kind of horny slug.

The weight of his hot, sticky chest clings to your back. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks. “See the angle of your wrist? You turn it like this. Strong elbows, strong wrists, relaxed shoulders.”

It’s hard to tell if your legs wobble because of the unfamiliar stance, a lingering weakness from the intense workout, or just your lingering weakness for him. You don’t deny yourself the pleasure countering the weight of his chest with your back. He doesn’t pull away. You don’t pull away. It feels so… intimate.

“Is that all there is to it?” you wonder with a not so subtle wiggle of your ass.

Wetting his lips, he drops his chin down and lowers the tone of his voice.

“There’s also … relaxed hips,” he whispers, dropping his hands to your waist.

The statement is pocked with grit, reminiscent of a sleepy morning in bed. Avoiding the sun. Rolling over. Curling up beneath the warmth of sheets. The weekend comes rushing back in an instant. His arms around you, leg propped up over yours, clinging to your form like he'd never let you go. His fingers in your mouth, bobbing ever so slowly while you suck on them. The shaky breath at your ear, wishing he'd fuck you like that. Nice and slow.

He thumbs your shirt and drums his fingertips over your hips. He slots a thigh between your legs and all but dares you to rest your cunt there. “Strong legs.”

“How strong?” you ask, a slight waver in your tone.

Everything is jelly. You might as well give in to your inner slug. The bulging muscles above his knee welcome the heat of your cunt. The entire room feels like a thousand degrees. Can he tell the difference between your sweat and arousal? While you can’t be sure of the ratio at this point, the urge to feel him beats any embarrassment into submission. It feels good. It feels so good.

“Very.” His fingers dig into your sides and press your hips down to better connect with his thigh.

He can feel you. Hot. Sweaty. Breathless. There’s no time to think or dwell on the best way forward. His dick is hard and you’re here. You’re so fucking hot like this. He rocks his hips in time with yours and watches with satisfaction as your lips part like you’re about to make noise. All he wants to do is spin you around so he can fuck you against the bag. That’s crossing the line though, isn’t it? Not the time. Not the place. If it was…

He drags his nose along your neck with a deep inhale. “I can show you.”

You whimper his name so quietly, so needy, and fuck he’s hard. It would be so easy to take you to his car and give you what you both want. Suddenly he knows he’s in trouble. Where’s the line? Where’s the fucking line? He doesn’t want to stop, but that probably means he should.

“We should go.” He half-groans, half-sighs as he steps back.

The embarrassment hit is immediate. As he shifts, you compose yourself into a publicly appropriate stance. Where does your self-control go when it comes to him? It’s like he’s magnetic. You know better, but you’re drawn to him. You want him. Surely he can’t hurt you twice, especially now, right?

“It seems like you got it now,” he says quietly.

You clear your throat as though it might cleanse the heat from your face. You regain your footing well enough to spin around and assess the situation. Jungkook is already facing away but you can tell he’s adjusting the waistband to his shorts. Proof. Your stomach soars like you’re on a rollercoaster. There’s a certain power you only feel when you know for a fact you’ve caused a boner.

“Don’t want to get locked in after dark,” he jokes, gathering his things.

Don’t you? It’s a thought you share, but refuse to say aloud.

“Um…”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “That was…”

“Fun,” you finish at the same time he says “dumb.”

His eyes widen and he looks down at the floor, a coy smile curling the edges of his mouth.

“Dumb,” you attempt to cover. “I said dumb. No, I—Same. Bad. Hormone. Dumb things. We— Y’know… Let’s just… forget about it. Cool?”

“Cool,” he says, desperately trying to not burst into laughter. You’re so endearingly awkward and cute and wonderful. Listening to you speak after you get embarrassed is becoming his new favorite hobby. It’s adorable.

You kneel beside your bag, awkwardly putting on your shoes at a weird angle. No way you’re sitting with your legs spread open right now. “I’ll keep practicing.”

“Practice is good. Just…” he pauses thoughtfully, “remember to breathe. This is one of the few places where you can make as much noise as you want. Take up space. Let out whatever is bothering you and leave it at the bag. Stop worrying someone is judging you. Just let it out. We all need this for different reasons. We're all focused on relieving our own stress. And this works. You’re welcome here. This is your space. Claim it."

Blinking a few times, you’re nearly awestruck into silence. A nervous weak laugh escapes you. “That sounded almost wise. Where did Jungkook go?”

He wipes down his slick face with the inside of his shirt with a laugh. It doesn't really help this time since it too is covered in sweat. If you didn’t know better you might guess he’d just climbed out of a pool. Yet the proof is in the tiny puddle of sweat surrounding the bag the pair of you shared moments ago. Your eyes instinctively dart to his waistband. Are you disappointed or relieved to find nothing but a thin line of hair trailing down from his navel?

"Ugh, I need a shower," he mumbles while stretching his feet out in front of him. He looks over at you suddenly and wiggles his eyebrows. "Wanna join me?"

You scoff. "And there he is."

The longer you sit, the more the adrenaline slows for your body to remind you of its exhaustion. The floor is starting to look like a good place to nap and your arm feels like it might not keep you upright much longer if you stay.

He jumps to his feet with a light chuckle and offers you a hand. "Kidding. You know I’m kidding. Come on. You're gonna need some sleep if you're gonna make our 5am sesh tomorrow."

You roll your eyes and grasp his hand with both of yours. "Ew. Don't call it a sesh."

He brings you up faster than anticipated. Your form collides with his, legs definitely more jell-o than flesh and bone right now, knees threatening to immediately buckle when he starts to let go. His laugh gets caught in his throat. Sore muscles flex tighter, warming his chest with a new shot of adrenaline.

One hand is still firmly clasped around yours, trapped between your bodies. His other hand gropes your sweat soaked shirt, long fingers digging into the small of your back. Your legs threaten to stay formless blobs the longer you remain so close. Even covered in sweat he looks so good. He smells so good. Why does his gross sweat smell so good? Pheromones be damned. That’s just not fair.

"… You good?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.

His hand remains at your back and you let it. Swallowing down a wave of butterflies that threaten to spring from your throat, you hum a weak sound of affirmation. His thumb kneads against the fabric of your shirt, massaging gentle circles into the flesh beneath. The butterflies gladly change course and head straight down to your cunt.

Goosebumps erupt across your body. Can he tell? An uneven breath struggles past your lips. The circles stop abruptly and the weight of his meaty palm meets your back. He doesn’t pull you closer, but god you wish he would at least once more tonight.

"This is a good shirt," he mumbles, his breath close enough to mingle with yours. "It's soft."

"Thanks. It was six dollars."

Why is that the only thing you can say? Lightheaded and anxious once again, you reach for his shoulder but your hand falls short, resting flat against his chest. His shirt is soaked through with sweat and you can feel the taut muscles beneath. It’s disgusting. It’s wonderful.

He laughs through his nose. ”Feeling mine now?”

Kiss him. Do it. Get it over with. Maybe this feeling will stop if you just—

"Gross. You should shower," you blurt, using his pecs to propel yourself backward with a push. Gelatin legs or no, you need to extricate yourself from this now. You’ve already done enough tonight.

"Wow," he scoffs, then laughs. “That’s true.”

“I mean I should shower too. Oof—” Chains rattle as you knock into one of the bags. You briefly regard it like you’re about to apologize, but quickly focus back on him. "We should shower.” You reach out to steady the bag so the chains aren’t so loud. “I mean. Not-Not together. Obviously. Like, separately. We both. I..."

“Yeah?”

He watches with raised eyebrows, bottom lip trapped beneath his teeth as he tries to hold back his smug grin. “Oh, go ahead. Finish your thought,” he encourages, allowing his grin to spread.

"I’m good. Good-Oh!” You back into another bag and reach to stop it from shaking as you scurry past it. “Night.”

"See you tomorrow!" he brightly calls after you.

How the fuck are you so cute?

Working out is a high in itself, but the one he feels right now is different. He almost feels invincible. Almost feels like it’s the right thing to do to chase after you. Almost like nothing can go wrong if he just gives in. Catching a glimpse of a dopey smile in the mirror gives him pause. It looks like trouble wearing his face.

He pokes his tongue into his cheek and pulls out his phone, searching for that dating app he downloaded. His chest may be light and buoyant, keeping him afloat in a sea of endorphins, but his legs are heavy with the weight of reality’s anchors. Distractions seem like a better option than mistakes.

[nevermindirah]

Do you have any thoughts on the use of AAVE for Nile (or lack thereof) in TOG fanfiction? I've been reading some Book of Nile fic and some writers seem to write her as a Millennial™ (using words like "fave" and "woke") but never acknowledge her Blackness in her patterns of speech. I know we don't see her use as much AAVE in the films, but I would argue she's in situations where code-switching would be valued (first in a "professional" environment in the army, then around a group of non-Black strangers).

Hi anon! I have many thoughts on this and I'm honored you asked me! But I should start by saying I'm white and any thoughts Black fans and especially Black American fans have on this that they want to share would be beyond lovely. (I'm not gonna tag anybody bc that feels rude but please add onto this post if any of y'all see this and want to!)

The main reason I personally avoid AAVE for Nile in my own fics is because I'm not Black. But Nile-centric fics by Black writers tend to avoid using much of it too, at least from what I've noticed/understood, and my guess is it's largely for the reason you mention, that she's in situations that encourage code-switching.

In movie canon Nile is highly competent at tailoring her language to each situation she finds herself in. This fantastic linguistics analysis meta shows how skillfully Nile chooses her vocabulary and grammar to meet her goals with different conversation partners in different contexts. In comics canon Nile had a bunch of different civilian jobs before joining the Marines, so she would've had experience code-switching in the ways that made sense for all those different contexts as well as the Marines and her family and high school and wherever else she spent her time before we met her. And now she's spending her time with a handful of immortals none of whom are native English speakers and a fellow Black American but one with a Queen's English UK accent whose professional experience is in the CIA where high-status code-switching is often an absolute must for success or even survival.

Fics featuring Nile are charged with extrapolating from that to how it might show up in her use of language that she's coping with a traumatic separation from her family and her career and pretty much everything she's ever known and now she needs to be able to make herself understood to people who seem to care about her and each other but are super duper in crisis, three (soon to be four) of whom predate Modern English entirely and the only one who's anywhere near her contemporary she's not supposed to talk to for a century. All of these people are telling her that pretty much any contact with any mortals poses an existential threat to her and the rest of the group. How the FUCK is she supposed to cope with that, like, generally? And would it be a more effective way for her to cope if she talked to Andy Joe and Nicky using the speech patterns that she used to use with her mom and brother, to at least retain that part of her identity even if it means having to do a lot of explaining, or would it meet her needs better to prioritize Andy Joe and Nicky understanding what she means with her words over using the particular words and grammar forms she used with her family?

I've seen several fics, both Nile-centric / BoN and otherwise, explore this a little bit in how/whether Nile uses Millennial™ speak. It's often a theme in Nile texting Booker despite the exile because of the popular headcanon that he as The Tech Guy is the only other immortal who understands memes. But Nile's much-younger-than-Booker mom probably uses Boomer and/or Gen X memes and Andy has been adapting to new communication styles for forever as evidenced by her canon high level of fluency with standard-American-accented English.

Which brings us back to people avoiding AAVE because they're not Black and they don't want to make mistakes (or they're not Black and they don't want to get yelled at for making mistakes, though I think many people overestimate how much they'll get yelled at while underestimating how much these mistakes can hurt). I can imagine some Black fans hold back from using much AAVE in fic because they don't want to share in-group stuff with white people who are likely to then adopt and ruin it, as white people so often do with Black cultural stuff. Some links about this including a great Khadija Mbowe video. I'm saying this gently, anon, because you might not know: woke, an example you cited as Millennial™ speak, is AAVE, and that's gotten erased by so many white people appropriating it and using it incorrectly online.

And also there's the part where fandom is a hobby and you never know when you're reading a fic that's the very first thing someone's ever written outside of a school assignment. This cultural considerations of language shit takes a level of effort and skill that not everybody puts into every fic, or even could if they wanted to because they haven't had time to build their skills yet. It's definitely easier for non-Black fans to project our millennial feels onto Nile than to do the layers of research and self-reflection it requires to depict what Blackness might mean to Nile, and it's not surprising that often people sharing their hobby creations on the internet have gone the easier route. There's not even necessarily shame in doing what's easier. It's just frustrating and often hurtful when structural white supremacy means that 3-dimensional Black characters are rare in media and thoughtful explorations of them in fandom are seen by the majority of fans as not-easy to make and therefore Nile Freeman, the main character in The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood, has the least fic and meta and art made about her of our 5 main immortals.

I've been active in different fandoms off and on for twenty years and I barely managed to write 5,000 words about Sam Wilson across multiple different fics in the 7 years since I fell in love with him. There's an alchemy to which characters we connect with, and on top of that which characters we connect with in a way that causes us to create stuff about them. Something about Nile Freeman finally tipped me over the edge from a voracious reader to a voracious writer. It's not for me to judge which characters speak to other individuals to the level of creating content about them, but I do think it's important for us to notice, and then work to fight, the pattern where across this fandom as a whole Nile gets way less content, and way less depth in so much of the content that's in theory about her, than any of these other characters.

Anyway, back to language. My two long fics feature Nile with several Black friends — Copley and OCs and cameos from other media — but all of those characters except Alec Hardison from Leverage aren't American. It's very possible I'm guilty of stereotyping Black British speech patterns in I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore. I watched hours and hours of Black haircare YouTube videos in the research for that fic and I modeled my OCs' speech patterns on what I heard from some of those YouTubers as well as what I've heard people like John Boyega and Idris Elba saying in interviews, but the thing about doing your best is you still might fuck up.

I'm slowly making progress on my WIP where Nile and Sam Wilson are cousins, and what ways of talking with a family member might be authentic for Nile is a major question I need to figure out. For that, I'm largely modeling my writing choices on how I hear my Black friends and colleagues talking to each other. I haven't overheard colleagues talking in an office in a long-ass time, but back when that was a thing, I remember seeing a ton of nuance in the different ways many of my Black colleagues would talk to each other. Different people have different personalities! And backgrounds! And priorities! A few jobs ago my department was about 1/3 Black and we worked closely with Obama administration staff many of whom were Black and there was SO MUCH VARIETY in how Black people talked to each other, about work and workplace-appropriate personal stuff, where I and other white coworkers could hear. There are a few work friends in particular who I have in my head when I'm trying to imagine how Sam and Nile might talk to each other. From the outside looking in, God DAMN is shit complicated, intellectually and interpersonally and spiritually, for Black people who are devoting their professional lives to public service in the United States.

One more aspect of this that I have big thoughts on but I need to take extra care in talking about is the idea of acknowledging Nile's Blackness in her patterns of speech. There's no one right way to be Black, and Nile's a fictional character created by a white dude but there are plenty of real-life Black Americans who don't use much or even any AAVE, for reasons that are complicated because of white supremacy. (Highly highly recommend this video by Shanspeare on the harms of the Oreo stereotype.)

Something that's not the same but has enough similarity that I think it's worth talking about is my personal experience with authenticity and American Jewish speech patterns. My Jewish family members don't talk like they're in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and I've known lots of people who do talk that way (or the millennial version of it), some of whom have questioned my Jewishness because I don't talk that way. That hurts me. Sometimes when another Jew tells me some shit like "I've never heard a Jew say y'all'd've," I can respond with "well now you have asshole, bless your Yankee-ass heart," because the myth of Dixie is a racist lie but I will totally call white Northerners Yankees when they're being shitty to me for being Southern, and this particular Jew fucking revels in using "bless your heart" with maximum polite aggression, especially with said Yankees. But sometimes I don't have it in me to say anything and it just quietly hurts having an important part of me disbelieved by someone who shares that important part of me. The sting isn't quite the same when non-Jews disbelieve or discount my Jewishness, but that hurts too.

Who counts as authentically Jewish is a messy in-group conversation and it doesn't really make sense to explain it all here. Who counts as authentically Jewish is a matter of legal status for immigration, citizenship, and civil rights in Israel, and it's my number 2 reason after horrific treatment of Palestinians that I'm antizionist. But outside that extremely high-stakes legal situation, it can just feel really shitty to not be recognized as One Of Us, especially by your own people.

It can also feel really shitty to be The Only One of Your Kind in a group, even if that group is an immortal chosen family who all loves each other dearly. Sometimes especially in a situation like that where you know those people love you but there are certain things they don't get about you and will never quite be able to. I'm definitely projecting at least a little bit of my "lonely Jew who will be alone again for yet another Jewish holiday" stuff onto Nile when at the end of I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore she's thinking about being the only Black immortal and moving away from the community she'd built with a mostly-Black group of mortals in that fic. Maybe that tracks, or maybe that's fucked up of me.

Basically, this got very long but it's complicated, writing about experiences that aren't your own takes skill which in turn takes time and practice to build, writing about experiences not your own that our society maligns can cause a lot of harm if done badly, it can also cause a lot of harm when a large enough portion of a fandom just decides to nope out of something that's difficult and risky because then there's just not much content about a character who deserves just a shit ton of loving and nuanced content, people are individuals and two people who come from the exact same cultural context might show that influence in all kinds of different ways, identity is complicated, language is complicated, writing is hard, and empathy and humility and doing our best aren't a guarantee of avoiding harm but they do go a long way in helping people create thoughtful content about a character as awesome and powerful and kind and messy and scared and curious and WORTHY as Nile Freeman.