#hopefully the reused prompts helps with that :] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seiwas · 9 months ago

Text

FICS FOR GAZA — SPONSOR A WIP

hello!! this is my lil contribution to the wonderful fundraising initiative started by @ficsforgaza!! i've added a list of my wips that i'd love to work on in exchange for your donations to a vetted fundraiser!! most of them are relatively short to assure that i can work on them faster and hopefully post them as soon as possible!! i hope they appeal to you and enjoin you to donate!

RATE: $1 per 100 words

INSTRUCTIONS: please donate to a vetted fundraiser and send me an ask with a screenshot of your proof of donation (please private your information) + the wip you'd like to sponsor! — example: sel! i'd love to sponsor your wip, 'grow on me like a dog loved fondly'! here's my proof of donation for [chosen fundraiser], thank you so much! [attached photo of proof] *i'll be sending the screenshots to @ficsforgaza for transparency and tracking + to ensure that proofs are not reused for other wips!

other additional information/faqs will be added at the end of this post, but i'd like to thank you in advance for supporting this initiative and choosing to donate! 🥹 there is absolutely no pressure to! even just a simple reblog can help spread the word 🥹 please do check out @ficsforgaza for more updates and a more extensive list of writers (sponsor wips writers) (request writers) who are also joining in on this initiative 🥹

DATE UPDATED: OCTOBER 31, 2024

— WIPS

📍 TOTAL DONATIONS: 154.20 USD

JUJUTSU KAISEN

ಇ. grow on me like a dog loved fondly - kamo choso x reader ⚬ ongoing series. prologue / +++. ⌗ f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader, non-curse!au, animal shelter employee!choso x flower shop owner!reader, slowburn, hurt/comfort + fluff.

summary: your regular to the flower shop is more than what he seems.

current wc: 1,014 / 15,000+ donated (goal) wc: 2,045 / 5,000 progress tracker: 0 / 5,000

ಇ. i'll stay on this drive for as long as you'd like - fushiguro megumi x reader [FULLY SPONSORED; COMPLETE & POSTED] ⚬ event. mini series: by your passenger seat. part 1 / part 2. *this will be the 3rd part of the mini-series. ⌗ f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader, non-curse!au, college!au, established relationship, hurt/comfort.

summary: megumi knows you a lot better than you think. prompt: acting like it's okay when you know it's too much.

completed wc: 3,229

ಇ. do you know what love is like? - gojo satoru x reader ⚬ ongoing mini series: do you know what love is like?. happens before the ongoing main series: conversations on love. part 020 / part 021 / +++. *i have 6 parts planned for this, but i didn't write them linearly, so only part 021 is posted so far. the numbers represent the ages reader and gojo are during the events of the fic. ⌗ f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader, canon-adjacent (reader is also a sorcerer), slowburn, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort + fluff.

summary: a series of almost's when you and gojo nearly get together, but don't.

current wc: 2,120 / 15,000+ donated (goal) wc: 0 / 5,000 progress tracker: 0 / 5,000

BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA

ಇ. can i get your number? (your bpm, i mean) - kirishima eijirou x reader [FULLY SPONSORED] ⚬ event. ⌗ f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader, non-canon!au, gym fic, kind of meet cute, crushes and confessions, strangers to ???, fluff.

summary: being clumsy does have its perks; how else could you have found yourself falling into the arms of the cute, beefy guy who quite literally smiles like sunshine? prompt: going to the gym for yourself (and totally not for that cute guy who sometimes says hi).

current wc: 0 / 3,215 ❣️ donated (goal) wc: 3,215 / 3,215 ❣️ progress tracker: 0 / 3,215

ಇ. three-part honesty - todoroki shouto x reader [FULLY SPONSORED; COMPLETE & POSTED] ⚬ sequel to two-part something. ⌗ f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader, post-canon, aged-up pro-hero!shouto and assistant!reader, workplace romance, development of feelings, confessions, boss/assistant dynamics, co-workers to lovers (ish), fluff.

summary: honesty, you've realized, is shouto’s most cunning trait—a quality that's endeared you over the years now rendering you into a stuttering, fumbling mess like never before.

completed wc: 16,365

ಇ. found you in my dreams (only to wake up next to home) - bakugo katsuki x reader [FULLY SPONSORED] ⚬ event. ⌗ f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader, post-canon, aged-up pro-hero!bakugo, vulnerabilities, falling in love (and deserving it), established relationship, hurt/comfort + fluff.

summary: bakugo finds love seeping into the hours of his day. prompt: falling in love as part of your everyday routine.

current wc: 235 / 4,000+ ❣️ donated (goal) wc: 2,500 / 2,500 ❣️ progress tracker: 0 / 2,500

HAIKYUU!

ಇ. AITA (25M) FOR BEING TWO-FACED WITH MY GIRLFRIEND (24F)? I KNOW IT SOUNDS WRONG, BUT LET ME EXPLAIN MYSELF. - iwaizumi hajime x reader ⚬ was supposed to be for a collab event by tallulah, who has now deactivated. i wasn't able to post it on time but am still very interested in writing the idea! ⌗ f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader, canon-adjacent, sexual themes, teasing, iwaizumi is a bit mean (mean = leaving you wanting), established relationship, fluff + suggestive.

summary: you haven't been giving iwaizumi much attention lately; is it wrong for him to want payback?

current wc: 29 / 4,500+ donated (goal) wc: 0 / 2,500 progress tracker: 0 / 2,500

ಇ. this stays ‘till tomorrow - oikawa tooru x reader ⚬ event. ⌗ f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader, canon-adjacent, long distance relationship, vignettes, a few arguments, established relationship, hurt/comfort.

summary: you cling onto phone calls, hoping they'll one day be enough. prompt: falling in love as part of your everyday routine.

current wc: 0 / 4,000+ donated (goal) wc: 542 / 2,500 progress tracker: 0 / 2,500

ಇ. you’re the reason (i got a weakness) - miya atsumu x reader [FULLY SPONSORED; COMPLETE & POSTED] ⚬ event. ⌗ f!reader, canon-adjacent, misunderstanding/arguments, atsumu and you are fighting (but you're still the prettiest he's ever seen), established relationship, hurt/comfort + fluff.

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you 'baby'. prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you).

completed wc: 2,954

OTHER NOTES

i will not be publishing the ask you send me with the proof of donation, but i will be sending you an ask to confirm the receipt of the donation and to let you know that i'll be crediting your sponsorship!

i gave 3 wips each for each fandom, for variety! this is my first time doing something like this, so i'm also still learning as i go! please be kind!!

if you want to know more about a wip, you can ask me about it! a lot of these are low in current word count because i heavily outline fics before writing them, so these fics already have plot and dialogue points down, just not in full writing yet.

update schedule: every 3 days! i'll try to update as soon as i can (within a day) but if you notice that i haven't acknowledged your donation after 3 days, please send me a message about it again!

the progress tracker for each fic will track how many words have been written from the donated amount. i added a donation goal per fic to make tracking more organised! this is also so it doesn't feel as overwhelming to donate, especially for the bigger word counts.

writing schedule: i will write based off the order the fic is sponsored. i will honour the donated words regardless of whether the fic is fully sponsored or not. when i finish writing the donated amount, i'll update it in the progress tracker!

posting schedule: to manage expectations, i work full-time and have a few side hustles too, so i may take a while to finish writing fics 🥺 i also tend to exceed word counts, which may also affect how fast i finish writing! but, i am doing my best to write at least 500 words a day to keep myself accountable, and to hopefully get the fics up as soon as possible. i will only post the finished fics once they are fully sponsored!

boosts are appreciated!!

if you have any other questions, please let me know!

#fics for gaza #ref #boosts are appreciated!

329 notes · View notes

summerwritesfics · 6 months ago

Text

🗺️I’m Just A Teenage Dirtbag, Baby, Like You

Pairing: Hanzo Hasashi/Kuai Liang Length: 2575 Words Rating: Mature Warnings: High School AU, Detention, Teenager!Hanzo Hasashi, Teenager!Kuai Liang, Teacher!Raiden, Past Character Death, Grief Mourning, Unfair Treatment, Straight A Student and School Delinquent Find An Understanding, First Meetings (Sorta? They’re both aware of the others existence, they’ve just never talked before.) AU-Gust 2024 Day 27: Younger/De-Aged

AU-Gust 2024 Masterlist

Notes: I don’t do high school AU’s too much. I had a horrible time in high school and I’m 10+ years away from that bullshit at this point. Butttt… Idk. Something about this prompt made me do one lol. Also, I’ll be honest, this is heavily based on a really old (and frankly badly written) fic I wrote for a fandom I’m no longer in. I kinda liked the general idea, so decided I wouldn’t waste it ;) Remember to reuse and recycle~ Title is from Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus.

Hanzo looked at the door, nervously eyeing up the word ‘detention’ embossed into the silver sign. He’d never been to detention in his life. Usually he was an A+ model student, well behaved, punctual and all the teachers loved him. Yet here he was. He knew he deserved this in some way, he’d let his temper get the best of him, and he had no one to blame for his actions but himself. There wasn’t much he could do now except accept his punishment with dignity.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The teacher sitting at the desk inside was one he recognised very well. Mr. Raiden Narukami was the English Literature teacher, and one of the most beloved in the school. Mr. Narukami raised an eyebrow at Hanzo, obviously surprised to see someone usually so well behaved inside the room.

“Hanzo Hasashi. Well, I will admit I am quite surprised.” He held out a hand, and Hanzo realised he was expecting to receive the detention slip that Hanzo had been provided. Hanzo passed it over, and Mr. Narukami read through the slip, sighing and nodding along as he did. “Ah. Well, that is disappointing to read.” Hanzo didn’t reply, he just lowered his head. “Mr. Hasashi, I am awfully sorry for what you have been through lately, but you and I both know that is no excuse for that sort of behaviour.”

“I know,” Hanzo agreed, because he did know. Him not coping well with his current life events was no reason for him to do what he did. “My father will be getting me therapy as soon as possible, we’re just on the waiting list.”

Mr. Narukami sighed, “yes, I’m sadly aware how bad mental health services are right now. Hopefully it won’t be too long, and you can get the help you need, yes?”

“Yes Sir.” He was starting to lose hope on that, but maybe he shouldn’t.

“Either way, please take a seat Mr. Hasashi.”

Hanzo nodded and moved to sit down on a random seat. He was the only person in the room, and all his thoughts wandered to how his Father would react when he got home. Of course, he was already aware this had happened, they’d called his father in straight away. It was the only reason his punishment was as light as it was, the other kid’s parents agreeing on account of Hanzo’s current circumstances, even if it had taken far too much to persuade them to do so.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel like his Father would be disappointed in him, and that thought hurt. Even worse, if his Mother were here, what would she say?

He jumped out of his skin, broken from his thoughts as the door slammed open suddenly. Another boy walked into the room, short black hair with a large scar over one side of his face and lots of piercings all over. Hanzo recognised him as Song Kuai Liang, who was in the same year as him but they ran very different circles.

In fact, Kuai Liang didn’t really have a circle at all.

Kuai Liang was more or less everything Hanzo wasn’t. He didn’t do his work on time, he didn’t join clubs, he didn’t socialise and he tended to get terrible grades. While it wasn’t too surprising he was in detention, given he tended to get into trouble whenever possible, Hanzo still couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated by his presence.

“Hi Raiden, did you miss me?” Kuai Liang said with a massive grin on his face. Mr. Narukami looked exhausted for a second, but finally his lips curled into a fond smile.

“Of course I have. This room isn’t the same without you. So, what did you do this time?” He held out his hand like he had done to Hanzo, and Kuai Liang placed a rather scrappy looking detention note into it. Mr. Narukami looked at the piece of paper, looking utterly perplexed. “You… Ate an apple in class?” He questioned, watching as Kuai nodded. “Well. I have to admit, this is extremely tame for you. I’d say you’re losing your touch, Kuai Liang.”

“Well there’s nothing in the handbook that says we can’t eat in class,” Kuai Liang explained as he shrugged. “I need to keep my blood sugars up somehow. Not my fault the teacher took it as a challenge to her authority.”

Mr. Narukami stared flatly for a few seconds, before finally letting out a soft chuckle. “At this point, they’re just throwing you in here for every little thing, hm?”

“Or I’m finding reasons for them to send me here,” Kuai claimed, wearing a small grin. “You are my best friend, after all, Raiden.”

“Yes, all these years we’ve spent together, it is hard to not grow fond of someone,” he replied with a genuine affection in his voice. Huh, it seemed Mr. Narukami genuinely did like Kuai Liang for some reason. That explained why he got away with calling him Raiden as well. “You know the drill by now, go take a seat, Kuai Liang.”

Kuai Liang turned to approach the seats. Hanzo hoped that he’d choose any of the empty seats that weren’t beside him. His hopes were rudely squashed when Kuai Liang sat himself down at the desk right next to him. Hanzo cursed in his head, he didn’t really want to have to interact with him. Kuai Liang looked Hanzo up and down, wearing a confused look on his face.

“I don’t recognise you,” he muttered, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Is it your first time down here?”

“Yes,” Hanzo reluctantly replied, not really liking being the centre of attention.

“Mr. Hasashi is actually a well behaved student, unlike some people we can mention,” Mr. Narukami replied. It surprised Hanzo a fair bit, he didn’t think student’s were supposed to speak during detention, but Mr. Narukami didn’t seem that bothered.

“Hasashi?” Kuai Liang looked like he was thinking. “Wait, shit, aren’t you on your way to being valedictorian? What the fuck are youdoing here?”

“Language Kuai Liang,” Mr. Narukami warned, and Hanzo once again didn’t understand why he was allowing this.

“Sorry Raiden,” Kuai Liang called, waving lazily in his direction. “But, really. How does someone like you end up in detention?”

“I… I punched another student,” Hanzo admitted, looking in the opposite direction. He really didn’t want to talk about this, but it seemed Kuai Liang wasn’t going to let him be silent.

“Whoa, really? That’s so cool.” Of course the kid who got into trouble so often he was on a first name basis with the teacher who ran detention would think punching someone was cool. “Was it hard? Did you knock the guy out? Was there blood?”

“Kuai Liang,” Mr. Narukami interrupted, sounding exacerbated. “I’m sure Mr. Hasashi doesn’t want to answer all those questions. Not everyone is as thirsty for blood and violence as you are.”

“I’m not thirsty for blood and violence,” Kuai mumbled, sounding almost offended by it. “I just like knowing the details of the fights that happen around here.” Kuai Liang turned back to Hanzo and commented “at least it’s only for today, right?”

“Actually I’ll be here all week,” Hanzo muttered under his breath and he heard a small gasp from Kuai Liang.

“Did you straight up fucking kill the guy or something?”

“Language,” Mr. Narukami reminded him yet again, although this time he didn’t even bother looking up from the paperwork he was doing. Hanzo could only assume this was all such a common occurrence that he’d given up actually trying to punish Kuai Liang.

“No, but I mean, I’ve punched a lot of people,” Kuai claimed, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’ve only gotten a day at most each time. What did you do to them?”

“I don’t know, it wasn’t that… bad,” Hanzo tried to justify, although Kuai Liang’s claim made him feel strange. How was it he was being punished harsher than a guy who claimed to have punched a lot of people? Hanzo supposed maybe it was that this was a compromised punishment, as the other kid’s parents had wanted him suspended at first.

“Well, either way, guess we’re detention buddies for the week.” Kuai Liang slouched back in his chair, stretching and yawning, before putting his feet up on the desk. “How’s it feel to know what you did is equally as bad as eating an apple?” He shook his head dramatically and scoffed. “The school rules are really just bullshit sometimes. Once I got in here because I disagreed with a teacher on something.”

“You’re missing out the part of the story where you dramatically ranted in precise detail about why he was wrong,” Mr. Narukami chimed up. “And you did call him some rather choice words.” He put his pen down and looked at Kuai with an amused smile. “I will grant that you had a point, but did you really have to call him a filthy bastard?”

“I only called him that because he called me stupid.” Kuai Liang pouted. “I know I’m a difficult kid, but I’m not stupid.”

“I know,” Mr Narukami softly assured him, smiling kindly at him. He looked like he was about to say something else, but before he could, there was a knock on the door and another teacher stepped inside, signalling for Mr. Narukami to follow him. “I’ll be back in a second. No talking.” He winked at them as he said that, positioned in a way the other teacher couldn’t see.

It didn’t take long for him to disappear, leaving Hanzo and Kuai Liang alone.

“You’re lucky to get Raiden for your first time in detention,” Kuai Liang stated almost as soon as the door had closed. “He’s pretty chill compared to others. I think he realises that people tend to get sent here for really dumb shit.” He turned back to look at Hanzo, pursing his lips. “But really, how hard did you hit that kid? Your punishment seems disproportionate to your crime.”

“It wasn’t even that hard,” Hanzo grumbled, because fucking hell, it really hadn’t been that bad. The kid didn’t even have a bruise, but he’d cried like Hanzo had broken his skull in half. “I just didn’t realise when I hit him, that his parents happen to contribute a lot to the school financially, so he basically gets away with murder.”

“Oh, yikes, that’d do it.” Kuai grimaced at him, baring his teeth slightly. “You’d have done better punching someone like me, to be fair.” He brushed his hair from his face as he said “actually, next time you feel like punching someone, I give you permission to find me and deck me. You probably won’t even get detention because they’ll put the blame on me.”

“I would rather there not be a next time… But I will keep that offer in mind, thank you.” It was one of the most bizarre things anyone had ever said to him, yet coming from Kuai Liang it was almost sweet.

“So, what did the guy do to make you punch him?” Kuai Liang asked, adjusting himself so his feet were back on the floor, and he was leaning forward onto the desk. “Because I can’t imagine someone like you would go straight to punching for no reason.”

“I just…” Hanzo stopped himself, grunting in frustration. He’d spent so long repressing his feelings, but obviously that wasn’t working. He hadn’t told his friends how he’d been feeling all these months, why would he tell a stranger like Kuai Liang? Even so, he sighed and admitted “over summer vacation, my mother passed away. The guy I punched was making fun of her death.”

“What a fucking bastard,” Kuai bluntly exclaimed and Hanzo couldn’t help a bit of a spluttering laugh. Kuai sounded so angry on his behalf. Strange, how even the kid who was known for getting into trouble seemed to understand that was a line to not be crossed. “I’m sorry to hear about your mom though. My Mama passed away when I was little, so I know how you feel.”

“You do?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“No need to sound so surprised. I’m an asshole, but I have feelings, y’know?” Kuai laughed slightly, but did look solemnly. “People don’t get it until it happens to them. It’s like a source of warmth is extinguished, and all that’s left is cold.”

Huh. It does feel a bit like that, doesn’t it?

“You have quite the way with words,” Hanzo commented, because given Kuai Liang’s grades, it wasn’t something he’d expected.

Kuai snorted and said “yeah, despite my fearsome reputation, I actually kind of like reading.”

“Huh.” He remembered the previous conversation with Mr. Narukami, and when Kuai claimed he didn’t like being called stupid. Maybe his grades weren’t an indication of his intelligence. There was clearly, at the very least, an emotional intelligence most of their peers did not possess. “How come you’re always here anyway? Kind of feels like if you put your mind to it, you could be valedictorian yourself.”

“I’m the kid of a crime boss,” he casually replied, shrugging like that was a completely normal thing to say. “I was already being treated like I was trouble even when I was behaving. So what’s the point of seeking validation that’s never going to come?”

Hanzo wasn’t sure about the first bit, that sort of thing seemed far fetched and would only happen in the movies. The second bit however? How sad he sounded when he said it? That was definitely the truth. It actually made Hanzo feel bad for judging him harshly himself.

“I mean for fucks sake, I have detention for a week for eating an apple,” Kuai half exclaimed in a mix of a laugh and a sob. “But kids like the one you punched can get away with being the actual devil all because mommy and daddy can pay their way out of trouble.”

“You have a point, about the school rules being bullshit,” Hanzo agreed, because now that he thought about it. Yeah. This all seemed disproportionate. The kid he punched had been bullying him, surely, and yet the system protected him.

It all just seems… Unfair.

“Welcome to my world,” Kuai said sadly. “At least Raiden seems to know this is all bullshit.”

Before Hanzo could say any more, the door flung open and Mr. Narukami walked back in, looking perplexed by something. He stood at the front of the room, staring down at his hands.

“Kuai Liang, can I ask you a question?” Mr. Narukami asked.

“Uh, depends what it is?” Kuai’s expression relaxed, and it just made how sad he’d been previously seem so much more obvious.

“Do I speak in riddles?” Mr. Narukami tilted his head to one side. “Because apparently there’s been complaints.”

“Eh, there is a reason you have been nicknamed ‘the sphinx’ I suppose.” That wasn’t true, and Hanzo could tell from the grin on his face that Kuai Liang was just teasing.

“What? No! I haven't? Have I?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard that too,” Hanzo innocently added, feeling a flutter in his chest at the delighted smile Kuai Liang gave him.

Maybe this was going to be a long week, but he felt a little better knowing he had an ally for it at least.

#mortal kombat #subscorp #sub zero #kuai liang #scorpion #hanzo hasashi #🗺️au gust 2024

6 notes · View notes

ladylolalilly · 2 years ago

Text

Yay, they’re here! Time to match them up to their killers!

So, first pass to get rid of all the obvious ones: Chise is wearing the same school uniform as Akio so that’s an obvious match, Satsuki is definitely Asahi’s mom, Yue’s the only white-haired boy in the group so he must be Riku’s childhood friend, Tao is the only one young enough to be Naomi’s victim, and Neiro is the only 15-year-old making him Reina’s baby brother victim.

So, that leaves Aimi, Shun, Kei, Eiko and Yurika’s victims, plus a spare that could be any of the above’s victims minus Eiko. (Sidebar: all the above are in their early to mid-twenties, which is… strange. You’d expect all of Aimi’s victims to have been her classmates, but evidently that’s not the case. If Aimi’s entire motive was problems with her classmates, why’d she kill somebody outside of her class?)

You mentioned you were going to reuse a specific beta prisoner’s appearance for one of the final prisoner’s victims, and comparing the pictures that’s pretty clearly Kae. Considering Asahi, Riku and Reina all have different victims, that leaves Kae to be Yurika’s victim. You also mentioned in the same post that one of the final prisoner’s victims were a pair of siblings, and since none of the other prisoners really resemble her I think we can assume Yurika’s other victim isn’t in this group.

From here, it’s pretty vibes-based, but I think Hina and Misao are Shun’s victims, Karin is Kei’s, Takeru is Eiko’s and Rion is Aimi’s. Not a lot of reasoning here, I just have a very strong feeling about Takeru, Misao and Hina, and I’m still kind of attached to the theory that the women Kei photographed at the start of his MV were his victims, which leaves Rion to be Aimi’s victim. (Still so weird Aimi killed a grown man. I desperately want context on that. Hopefully Trial 2 will give us some?)

Oh yeah, and last word analysis:

Hina: “JUST WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!” Honestly, my bet is that Shun knew her from his job: maybe she was a regular at the fast food place he worked at? Anyways, Hina obviously didn’t know him very well, so finding out this random dude thought she was his girlfriend and was willing to kill over it was… probably a shock, to say the least. (Poor woman.)

Takeru: “IT WASN’T EVEN A BIG DEAL!” …I honestly think this dude was less “master manipulator” and more just a regular kind-of-scummy college-age dude who got in way over his head when he tried to catfish what turned out to be a very dangerous woman. Can’t help but feel bad for him: sure, catfishing and stringing somebody along are bad, but he didn’t deserve to get DISMEMBERED over it. Seriously, Eiko should have just keyed his car or something.

Chise: “I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY, I’VE NEVER WANTED ALL OF THIS TO HAPPEN! PLEASE, FORGIVE ME! JUST GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE, PLEASE, JUST LET ME GO-“ …POOR DUDE, holy shit. Chise did literally nothing wrong and he died HORRIBLY for it. He literally spent the last few seconds of his life BEGGING FOR MERCY. Jesus CHRIST. (…Akio must have gotten a kick out of it though. Hearing your “rival” begging and pleading for mercy must have been satisfying for him.)

Kae: “Hey… Isn’t this a bit… too much?” …No clue what this one is about, to be honest.

Satsuki Yano: “I… To be honest, I’m not feeling so well, haha… I’m sorry, honey, I promise we’ll go to see that movie tomorrow-” I guess this is what she was saying during that one part in the MV? That cutoff in the end is probably from when she collapsed. The nervous laughter is interesting - sounds like Mrs. Yano was a little afraid of Asahi, probably because of his behaviour. Even Frankenstein feared his own monster, I guess!

Karin: “You… you really are insane…” …Nothing to say here except poor girl, and I wonder what prompted that reaction.

Yue: “But you will join me, right~?” This is actually really interesting! I’ve been trying to piece together how exactly this boy died, and knowing his last words were him making plans, presumably with Riku? That narrows it down SIGNIFICANTLY. Like, I think I might actually have a theory now, instead of a confused muddle.

Misao: “Hm? …Wait, what are you doing-” …Looks like Misao didn’t see that knife coming. Poor dude, literally all he did was date a perfectly nice girl, and then he gets murdered by a random nutcase.

Tao: “Shut up! I know you don’t care what happens to me! So stop acting like you’re worried about me…!” *sigh* “I’ll be home soon.” …Jeez, if Tao’s parents were even slightly better, I’d say that must have killed them, knowing their last conversation was a fight and an unfulfilled promise to come home. And yep, the Asahi vibes are still strong with this one! Of course he’s a 10-year-old with a phone, he’s the exact type of kid whose parents would have bought him the latest iPhone. I bet he gets a new one every year or something. (…For context, I’m pretty sure Tao was an unloved rich kid.)

Rion: “Okay, let’s just calm down, let’s take a deep breath and-” Sounds like Rion spent the last few seconds of his life trying to deescalate the situation. Good on him for trying! (To be fair, if his killer really was Aimi, I don’t know what else you’d do when faced with a clearly unstable 16-year-old who’s probably wielding a knife.)

Neiro Himura: “JUST LEAVE HER ALONE!” Sounds like Neiro might have tried to stop Reina’s friends from attacking somebody, and they switched to attacking him instead? At least the girl got away.

[ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚜' 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜 + 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 ]

they are finally here! so, as i've said before, the victims will be shown in a random order and their last names and personalities won't be revealed for now. their numbers are completely random and they're not connected to their murderers at all, same goes for their image colors, those are just their own personal image colors. it's possible that these guys will appear more often and maybe they will even get their own tags after their last names and official numbers are revealed.

(i feel like it's gonna be pretty easy to guess who their murderers were, if you just check their age or simply look at them and guess who they were related to, haha)

[ Victim 001: Hina ]

Name: Hina (暖) (her name means "warm, gentle")

Age: 21 y/o

Gender: Female

Birth date: August 28th (Virgo)

Height: 162 cm

Blood type: A

Occupation: University student and a part-time babysitter

Last words: "JUST WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

[ Victim 002: Takeru ]

Name: Takeru (暁輝) (his name means "dawn" and "radiance, brilliance")

Age: 22 y/o

Gender: Male

Birth date: May 2nd (Taurus)

Height: 177 cm

Blood type: AB

Occupation: Cashier

Last words: "IT WASN'T EVEN A BIG DEAL!"

[ Victim 003: Chise ]

Name: Chise (智世) (his name means "wisdom, knowledge" and "society, generation")

Age: 16 y/o

Gender: Male

Birth date: September 24th (Libra)

Height: 169 cm

Blood type: A

Occupation: High school student

Last words: "I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY, I'VE NEVER WANTED ALL OF THIS TO HAPPEN! PLEASE, FORGIVE ME! JUST GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE, PLEASE, JUST LET ME GO-"

[ Victim 004: Kae ]

Name: Kae (佳笑) (her name means "excellent, beautiful" and "laugh, smile")

Age: 24 y/o

Gender: Female

Birth date: January 21st (Aquarius)

Height: 164 cm

Blood type: B

Occupation: Nail artist

Last words: "Hey.. Isn't this a bit.. too much?"

[ Victim 005: Satsuki ]

Name: Satsuki (咲秋) (her name means "blossom, bloom" and "autumn, fall")

Age: 35 y/o

Gender: Female

Birth date: June 30th (Cancer)

Height: 171 cm

Blood type: A

Occupation: Singer

Last words: "I.. To be honest, I'm not feeling so well, haha.. I'm sorry, honey, I promise we'll go to see that movie tomorrow-"

[ Victim 006: Karin ]

Name: Karin (佳倫) (her name means "excellent, beautiful" and "ethics, morals")

Age: 20 y/o

Gender: Female

Birth date: October 15th (Libra)

Height: 160 cm

Blood type: B

Occupation: University student + Blogger

Last words: "You.. you really are insane.."

[ Victim 007: Yue ]

Name: Yue (友恵) (his name means "friend" and "blessing, grace")

Age: 18 y/o

Gender: Male

Birth date: October 31st (Scorpio)

Height: 178 cm

Blood type: O

Occupation: High school student

Last words: "But you will join me, right?~"

[ Victim 008: Misao ]

Name: Misao (操) (his name means "to control, to manipulate")

Age: 20 y/o

Gender: Male

Birth date: May 27th (Gemini)

Height: 182 cm

Blood type: O

Occupation: University student

Last words: "Hm?.. Wait, what are you doing-"

[ Victim 009: Tao ]

Name: Tao (大凰) (his name means "big" and "phoenix")

Age: 10 y/o

Gender: Male

Birth date: March 26th (Aries)

Height: 137 cm

Blood type: O

Occupation: Elementary school student

Last words: "Shut up! I know you don't care what happens to me! So stop acting like you're worried about me!.." *sighs* "I'll be home soon."

[ Victim 010: Rion ]

Name: Rion (偉恩) (his name means "great, distinguished" and "kindness, favor")

Age: 24 y/o

Gender: Male

Birth date: December 3rd (Sagittarius)

Height: 185 cm

Blood type: B

Occupation: Journalist

Last words: "Okay, let's just calm down, let's take a deep breath and-"

[ Victim 011: Neiro ]

Name: Neiro (音色) (his name means "sound, noise" and "color")

Age: 15 y/o

Gender: Male

Birth date: January 18th (Capricorn)

Height: 155 cm

Blood type: A

Occupation: Middle school student

Last words: "JUST LEAVE HER ALONE!"

#long post

7 notes · View notes

gumnut-logic · 2 years ago

Text

Sweetapple (Part 4 and The End)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 - Bit 1, Bit 2, Bit 3 | Part 4

Still @flyboytracy ‘s fault. ::hugs you silly again:: Thank you so much for your ask.

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for reading and all her onderful support.

And also thank you so much for all your comments and likes and reblogs on this fic. I always get so excited when I actually finish a fic. I hope you find it worth it and thank you for your patience.

I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

Gordon watched as the man’s eyes bugged out and couldn’t help but smile just a little.

This had to be Alexander Sweetapple. A shock of dishevelled pale blond hair, dark brown eyes and as much a beanpole of Johnny, the man looked like Brains on a bender.

But then considering he was an engineer, it was probably a thing they all had in common.

One hand held a disposable cup of coffee and the other some unidentified pastry.

“I am so sorry, Mr Tracy.” Was that terror in the man’s eyes?

Gordon snorted. “Not the first time I’ve touched things I’m not supposed to.”

That sent those dark eyes darting over Gordon’s current mode of transport.

He swallowed. “My present state of undress not included.”

The man actually jumped and flushed.

Gordon sighed and relented. “C’mon, Alex, sit down and tell me how this miracle stuff of yours can help save lives.”

It worked, mostly. Gordon had to admit that he had some extensive experience in corralling the nervous scientist type. Brains, early on, had a tendency to get flustered. Hell, even John and Virgil had their moments. The best way to settle their crazy brains was to get them talking about their stuff.

There was no way Gordon was going to admit he had his own babbling moments and various members of his family had been subject to sudden downloads on various marine topics.

Alex put down his coffee and, was that a bagel? And pulled up a seat beside Gordon.

“I didn’t know you were coming today.”

Gordon shrugged. “Neither did I. Got kicked off the Island.”

That prompted another stare.

There was no way he was going to discuss how stir crazy he was at the moment. Virgil had virtually kidnapped him and dragged him here simply because of some random mention of the possibilities of Siliwrap. Apparently, ANY kind of distraction was the way to go.

Alex was still staring at him.

“So, you reckon this can work underwater?”

That did it. Those dark eyes literally lit up, Alex’s mouth opened, and Gordon received a full-on run down on the possible applications of Siliwrap in a marine environment.

Okay, so maybe Virg was right. The applications were pretty awesome. Alex was currently looking at delivery systems that could work under the high pressures of the deep sea.

Alan and John would be happy with the space bits, but Gordon managed to third degree the poor man and actually found himself excited. This substance could be a game changer.

If he was understanding correctly, he could fire the Siliwrap capsule from Thunderbird Four, targeting, say, an underwater habitat. It would deploy a web of material strong enough to prevent further collapse and provide an air tight seal. Hell, those nano-polymer strands had enough strength to physically hold a structure upright long enough for a rescue.

“What about ecological effects?”

“Uh, it’s not perfect. We are looking at some microplastic contamination, but I’m looking to develop a recovery system that can gather the material and hopefully we’ll be able to recycle for reuse.” Alex sighed. “It is all still very much a work-in-progress.”

“Looks like you have some great stuff here. No wonder Virgil was impressed.”

That prompted another stare. “Virgil?”

“Uh, yeah, he and Scott met with you a few months back? Green lighted the project faster than Scott could sign the financials. Been babbling about it since.”

As if called by name, Virgil chose that moment to walk into the room with his mandatory morning coffee. His brother didn’t look much better than Alex if Gordon was honest. This was not Virgil’s time of the morning, hence the coffee…or more than one coffee apparently, as he had several in his gloved hands.

Gordon did feel guilty, but it was Virgil’s fault, really.

He’d look at that logic later.

A small whimper beside him and he turned to find Alex as pale as a ghost, eyes wide, and staring at Virgil.

-o-o-o-

Alex’s head was spinning. Not only was he talking to the Great Gordon Tracy, the man understood what he was saying. That was rare in Alex’s experience, beyond work colleagues.

He supposed that technically Mr Tracy was a work colleague, just somewhere at the top of the hierarchy. Omigod, he was talking to Gordon Tracy!

But Gordon seemed to be a pretty down to earth guy. Obviously injured by whatever had happened out there. Rumours had it that the Chaos Crew was responsible.

Watching Gordon move stiffly in his hoverchair was enough for Alex to want to throw out the purple dart board and start hunting down purple-dressed stains on humanity.

Why would anyone want to hurt the Tracys? They gave everything they had to help people.

Alex may have been feeling a little irrational. Likely due to the lack of his morning coffee which sat on the bench slowly going cold. That and the Tracy sitting next to him with such interest in his work.

It was a little dizzying.

But then Gordon mentioned Virgil and several facts clicked into place.

One, that kind man had not been Scott’s PA.

Two, he had stolen Virgil Tracy’s coffee.

And before he could recover from that realisation and its accompanying horror, Virgil Tracy himself walked through the door.

Alex’s eyes creaked in their sockets as they widened.

Mr Tracy was dressed in his International Rescue uniform, his Thunderbird Two patch prominent on his well-muscled arm. A green baldric, blue fabric, and awfully familiar dark eyes and hair.

Alex gripped the table behind him.

But most of all, his senses were suddenly assailed by the scent of THAT coffee. The fabled coffee, the holy grail of coffee, the coffee that couldn’t be named, mostly because he hadn’t been able to find it anywhere.

So instead of something intelligent, all that fell out of Alex’s mouth the moment he finally met Virgil Tracy was, “You brought coffee?”

The man grinned and handed over a precious cup. Alex couldn’t help but take it, couldn’t help but gulp most of it down, despite the burning of his mouth and oesophagus.

Did Indiana Jones drink from the Holy Grail? He couldn’t remember, but this must be what it felt like.

Warmth, flavour, and the much-vaunted caffeine filled his bloodstream.

Unfortunately, along with sanity came the realisation of exactly what he had done.

Again.

Oh, god.

He peered over the rim of his coffee cup.

Both Gordon and Virgil were grinning at him.

He couldn’t help but notice how much that grin was lighting up Virgil’s face. He looked tired, but for this moment, he was more amused than anything else.

Alex caved. “I am sooo sorry!”

That prompted a full and deep belly laugh from the man.

Alex couldn’t help but blush.

Gordon snorted. “I wouldn’t worry. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

He turned to the aquanaut and had to resist grabbing him and demanding information. “Where? Where does he get that coffee from? I’ve been hunting for it everywhere.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “You two are going to get on just fine. Virg, has an industrial strength coffee machine on Thunderbird Two. It has saved my life on many an occasion. The man is a bear without his addiction juice.”

“Hey.”

“I say it as I see it, Virg, you know that.”

“That’s up for debate. Besides, you’ve availed yourself of my ‘addiction juice’ often enough.”

“In moderation, bro, not by the gallon.”

“Now you’re just exaggerating.”

Gordon held up a finger. “Hey, Brains monitors that thing. Scott demanded it after the incident with the polar bear. No exaggeration required.”

“That wasn’t my fault-“

“Alan disagrees.”

“Gordon-“

Alex just stared as the two brothers argued in front of him.

He watched Virgil mostly. There was a glint in the man’s eyes, as if this ‘argument’ was a good thing.

Alex took another sip of his blessed coffee and tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him look like the idiot he was.

“Virgil, drink your juice and become human, I’m begging you.”

Eyebrows glared at the injured man. “I’m fine, Gordon. These are for Alex. He obviously appreciates my coffee.”

Alex suddenly had three more genuine Thunderbird Two coffees shoved into his hand.

“Really?”

“Sure. You obviously appreciate a fine brew, unlike Fishhead here.” He thumbed in Gordon’s direction.

Alex couldn’t argue with that. Well, except maybe with the fishhead thing, but he had more of THAT coffee in his hands. The realisation that Thunderbird Two was the source was a little disheartening as it wasn’t as if he could put in an order. Because, you know, Thunderbird?

He wondered if Virgil made them himself. Maybe he could get tips.

“Virg, I think you broke him.” Gordon’s voice interrupted the mess in Alex’s head. “You do realise he hasn’t finished his work yet? He has some cool stuff happening with this Siliwrap of his, I want in.”

“Thought you might.”

Alex looked up from the coffee cups in his hands and finally managed to open his mouth and say something that didn’t threaten his career. “Thank you.”

Virgil smiled at him. “Not a problem. I can recognise a fellow connoisseur.” Another glare at his brother. “Unlike some.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Okay, enough about the addiction juice. Virgil, you were right. There, I admit it. Alex’s work is totally cool. When do I get a working prototype?”

“When you stop terrorising my engineers.” He turned to Alex. “Your progress has been exceptional. And my apologies for us dropping by unannounced.” Yet another glare at Gordon. “But Gordon was very interested in your results.”

“Um, it’s okay. I, um, am glad he’s interested.”

“Hey, Virg is a bit of an engineer-“ That prompted a glare from said engineer and a smirk from Gordon. “-maybe he can help with that temperature issue you were having with the projectile launcher.”

“Uh, sure?” Virgil appeared at least politely interested.

Alex grabbed his notebook with all his hand-scribbled notes, but then shoved it aside and activated the holoprojector instead. He explained the issue to a very interested pair of dark eyes.

There really was something to be admired regarding the man’s eyebrows. They were just-

Focus.

He ended his explanation and then - he really shouldn’t have been surprised because this was Virgil Tracy - Virgil started speaking the language of engineering. Questions, possible solutions to investigate, they had an amazing discussion, swapping ideas. Virgil seemed to relax into the topic, all weariness fleeing and being replaced by inspired energy. Alex couldn’t help but get excited himself. So rare was it to be able to discuss his ideas with anyone.

At some point, Gordon excused himself, smirking about who knew what, but Alex didn’t really pay him much attention. Virgil offered some great leads. A few experiments were needed, but the concepts looked promising.

At one point Erica bounded into the room, took one look at Alex and the still fully uniformed International Rescue operative, minus the gloves he had discarded at some point earlier, both hunched over the scribbled diagrams in the back of Alex’s notebook.

She squeaked something about Thunderbird Two and backed out of the room hurriedly.

Their conversation eventually drifted off Siliwrap and into some of the mechanics of particular rescue situations. Virgil didn’t give Alex enough information to identify the actual incidents, but discussed an array of the problems he had encountered.

Alex was in his element. Virgil so clearly spoke his language, and Alex was quite excited when he was able to return the favour of a few possible leads for some of Virgil’s projects.

They weren’t much, but Virgil seemed to take them on board quite happily.

Until the IR insignia on Virgil’s baldric lit up.

The operative froze for a split second, and then straightened, his stance switching from relaxed to alert. A quick conversation with someone Alex couldn’t hear and Virgil signed off.

“Sorry, play time is up.” An apologetic smile.

Play time?

Virgil yanked his gloves on. “We should do this again. What do you say?”

Uh? “Sure.”

Another smile in Alex’s direction, this time a little lopsided. “I’m sorry. This happens a lot.” He reached out and touched Alex’s shoulder. “Keep up the great work.”

And then the man was moving…fast.

Alex hurried to follow as he ran out the door and down the corridor, outside, and Alex was confronted by the fact Thunderbird Two was winding up to a roar on the landing field beside the facility.

Virgil Tracy ran across the grass, Gordon and his hoverchair appearing from somewhere, trailing several staff members as his ‘chair moved faster than was probably legal.

People were standing around like stunned seagulls.

Virgil and Gordon reached the Thunderbird and clambered onto a platform under its nose.

Both turned and waved as it sucked them inside.

A moment later, the thunder part of Thunderbird made itself known as VTOL rockets unfolded beneath its undercarriage and lit up, filling the air with sound.

A graceful leap into the air, the Thunderbird banked over the complex, and tore off to the north.

Then it was gone.

The sudden silence was a vacuum.

“Wow.”

He turned to find Erica standing next to him, staring up at the sky.

“You can say that again.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

A moment of silence…and realisation.

“He brought me coffee.”

He felt Erica’s incredulous eyes on him, but didn’t respond.

Virgil Tracy had brought him amazing coffee and amazing conversation.

He might just survive on that fact for the rest of his life.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #alexander sweetapple #nuttyfic #flyboytracy's fault

34 notes · View notes

ddwcaph-game · 3 years ago

Note

If you have the time and would like to talk about it, could you please talk more about changing / switching from choice script to making it a vn? I just really like hearing you talk about it, maybe you could talk more about how it's going? What you're planning? Why? Etc? Don't feel pressured to do this, regardless thank you ^^

Hiii! Omg, it's nice to see someone interested in the VN development. 😊 This turned out to be kinda long, but it's your fault, hehe. Just a reminder: I will still update the Dashingdon demo for Mr. Time Being.

The conversion process isn't actually bad since coding in Ren'Py has quite a few similarities to ChoiceScript (find and replace works really well), and I'm very happy I found something similar to the multireplace feature by using custom tags (it's something I abuse a lot).

I haven't tried coding the stat subroutines yet, but the problem there is actually how to display the locket notifications (and all the UI stuff in general). I'm not sure how I want to do this (I'm thinking your locket will briefly appear on the right side with all the stat/relationship changes), but I'll cross the GUI bridge once I've moved the existing stuff over.

As for stuff I'm planning, all the text boxes and stuff will definitely change when you go from world to world! So the text box (and maybe choices?) will probably look something like lined paper at the start, and then become futuristic looking when we go to Lily's story world, for example.

I'll share how things look like once I've started making them, but don't expect anything anytime soon.

Oh, and since MC's Twin is going to need a sprite, this means your MC will have one too! (They'll probably share the same assets.) This will be the most painful part for me to draw and code, but I've looked into some tutorials and examples and it looks doable, so... let's hope my coding powers will be able to handle it. 😛

...

The customization screen will appear when you first open your locket, and it's something I'm definitely excited for (and hopefully you are too)! I'm probably not gonna draw baby MC and Twin, so your locket will have the 9-year-old picture too if you kept the picture with Maggie.

The other thing I'm concerned about is the backgrounds. I'm going to need A LOT of them, especially because there's very few ones I'll be able to reuse. This is a problem for future me though, since I imagine it's one of the last things I'll be working on (if I don't get any help by then).

I'm still undecided about the title change, but if I actually go through with it, it's probably the best time to do so once I release the VN demo. I've also discovered the amare tag recently, so I'll start using that since I think it fits my story quite nicely.

Speaking of VNs, I checked out Our Life: Beginnings & Always last month for some "research". I played as Roselyna (she's my goto character along with Wayne), and I gotta say... her situation with Cove has quite a few similarities with Wayne. 😅 I love it so much.

I'd say that I'm looking for recommendations, but even that took me a while to finish (I'm kinda finifugal too). I'll definitely check out more once I'm working on the VN demo full-time.

Anyway, I haven't really done much yet since I'm also working on Chapter 3. It's uh... going very slowly right now since I'm drained of energy and motivation, but this ask really brightened my day, so thank you! 😊

And since we're on the topic... I really really wouldn't mind answering more questions or doing some prompts. My inbox is very lonely, and they really do help a lot with the development, as well as making me feel like people actually care about my project. It's a terrible feeling to say the least.

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #amare #amare game #amaredev #ddwcaph development #dear diary asks

9 notes · View notes

dreamcatcherfication · 5 years ago

Text

Caught in a Lie

I know this fic was meant to be angsty, but I didn’t mean for it to get this angsty.

Hello and welcome! Today’s fic is based off a request you can find here, or you can just read on and be surprised. I realized that I write most of my Cathy/Kat interactions as them fighting or being really emotional, so please ignore me reusing that dynamic. I didn’t really get to edit this, so please ignore any incoherency, I’ll try to go back soon and fix everything. I don’t have much else to say except watch out for the trigger warnings this time around and please enjoy the fic! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, my nuerological processing unit is broken.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Blunt talk of sexual abuse, mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of assisting sexual abuse, just a lot of talk about sexual abuse

Ever since starting their show and appearing in public, the queens had become used to historians’ obsessions with them. Most wanted to know how they came back and if there would be others. A good amount were more interested in the truth of what happened during their first lives. But a few of them were intent on tearing the queens apart. Many historians were confused as to why the queens got along, and they didn’t like it. How could it make sense that the six widows of the same man would become their own family?

For almost a year now, Cathy Parr had been keeping a secret from her predecessor. It wasn’t meant to be anything notable, simply an action she was taking to ensure Kat’s safety. The same historians who picked and prodded for any piece of information they could get would come after the survivor for her knowledge. How did she get along so well with Kat when she allowed Elizabeth to be sexually abused? How did the queens think so highly of her when she was anything but perfect? Why did Kat act the way she did around the other queens?

They weren’t questions Cathy should be answering, but she also didn’t want the historians to move on and start asking Kat. So she answered the questions as vaguely as possible while also making sure Kat learned nothing about what was going on. The teen wouldn’t be able to handle it, Cathy knew, so she made her decision to keep things a secret.

That’s how things went for a long time, and there was nothing remarkable about it. Cathy lied to Kat to keep her safe, and Kat went about living her life. The world was in a perfect balance, and each queen was living her life the best she could.

But these things were not built to last, and it was Kat who would learn that the hard way. She hadn’t been expecting it, much less prepared for it, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. It started with a message on her social media that attracted her attention. Kat should’ve known to ignore it, but she couldn’t help her curiosity as to why someone was messaging her what looked like an entire essay.

Skimming the essay, Kat missed some of the padding from the person who wrote it - a historian, Kat deduced - and skipped right to the point of their message. We’ve been talking with Katheryn Parr, Kat noticed how they used the old spelling of her name, about your past with sexual abusers. Kat’s breath hitched, but she moved forward, ignoring the pit of dread settling in her stomach.

It seemed so implausible that you two could hold a strong relationship after her marriage with Thomas Seymour and assistance with his abuse of Queen Elizabeth. It’s even stranger her friendship with Anne Boleyn, but both of them have confirmed that the past has been resolved. Kat adjusted her grip on her phone and kept scrolling. Miss Parr has told us multiple times that you know about the questions we ask her, but you do not wish to speak with us. I don’t quite believe a woman like her, so I’m reaching out to you directly so that you, Miss Howard, are fully informed on the events going down. Katheryn Parr is claiming that you are uncomfortable speaking to us about your past, but I would like to fact check that with you Miss Howard. Please respond to me -

The message went on, but Kat had lost interest in what the historian had to say. Cathy had been talking to historians about her? Kat hadn’t heard anything from Cathy… “It’s probably just a misunderstanding,” Kat mumbled to herself, tucking her phone in her pocket. She’d go clear it up right then with Cathy, who was in the room next to hers.

Walking to Cathy’s door, Kat prepared her words. She wasn’t going to believe a historian over her friend, but she wouldn’t let herself be surprised by anything. Slowly pushing the door open, Kat peeked her head inside. Cathy was on her bed, sorting through a mess of papers. “Hello Kat,” she greeted amiably and returned to her sorting.

“Can I talk to you about something?” Kat started, making her way inside the room.

“Sure,” Cathy shrugged. She took a break in sorting her papers and looked up. “What’s the problem?”

Sitting down on the bed, Kat made eye contact with Cathy, watching her. “A historian messaged me on Instagram today.”

Cathy groaned, “That’s a tactic they haven’t tried before.”

“Yeah,” Kat muttered. “They were saying a lot of weird stuff. That you were speaking in my place during interviews and saying that I didn’t want to talk about my past. Weird, right?” Kat asked hopefully. She saw the hesitation in Cathy’s eyes and her heart dropped. “Right?”

Opening her mouth, Cathy sat silently for a couple seconds. “Kat - I.” She went silent again. “It was for your own good.” She reached her hand out, but Kat pulled back.

“What do you mean, ‘for my own good?’” Kat scrunched her nose.

Taking the hint, Cathy leaned away from Kat. “They were asking invasive questions. How could you stand being around me after… what happened in your childhood,” the writer explained.

“I was sexually abused,” Kat stated bluntly, “You can say it out loud.”

Cathy awkwardly laughed without humor. “I know, I just thought you would prefer -”

“I don’t,” Kat stood up. “Our show is about telling our stories, if I didn’t want to tell it, I wouldn’t be on stage every night. Please don’t make decisions for me Cathy.”

Looking down, Cathy sighed. “It’s for the best Kat. They weren’t nice people, they would’ve hurt you.”

“Then they would’ve hurt me,” Kat shot back defiantly. “It’s not up to you to decide whether or not I face these people. I’ve been hurt before, and I’m still here.”

Still, there was a cloudiness in Cathy’s eyes that told Kat she simply didn’t believe her. “I know you’re strong, I do Kat, but you have to understand I was only doing it to make things easier for you.”

Holding herself back from stomping her foot, Kat felt her nostrils flair. “Nothing is ever easy for me. But you know what Cathy? I learned to live with it. So don’t control my life just because you think it’s the right thing to do.”

“I’m only -” “No.” Kat turned away from Cathy. “You’ve been lying to me. I believed you over that historian, but it turns out they were right.”

Letting her eyes drop, Cathy murmured, “I wanted to help you.”

Spinning around, Kat glared at Cathy. “You help me by talking to me, not by lying to me.”

Kat waited, her eyes boring into Cathy’s skull until the other queen looked up and their eyes connected. There was hurt in Cathy’s eyes, but she was trying to hide it. Kat couldn’t find any pity in herself for her fellow queen. “I’m sorry Kat. I won’t do it again.”

“You won’t be coming anywhere near my life any time soon,” Kat spit, turning heel.

“What?” Cathy jumped out of her bed and followed Kat to the door.

Stepping into the hallway, Kat faced Cathy one last time. “You’ve been lying to me long enough. I’m not giving you the opportunity to do that again.” She was about to leave before pausing, eyes settling on Cathy’s face, growing more pale by the second. “And for the record, I would have told them it was because I trusted you.”

With that, Kat was gone, out of the hallway and disappearing to her own room. Frozen in her doorway, Cathy’s hands slowly fell to her side. She wanted to give Kat another apology, but it wouldn’t come out of her mouth. She should’ve seen it from the start. She was just trying to help her friend. And now she had ruined everything.

Pacing in her room, Kat had to dig her fingernails in her palms in order to restrain her urge to lash out. It wasn’t common for her to get angry, but this was an exception. Kat hated being coddled, treated like a little kid. She was more than that, and she could handle herself.

Stopping her pacing, Kat’s gaze drifted to her phone, still lying on her bedside table. Approaching it, Kat picked up the dark screen and turned it on. Going back to her social media, she reread the message. It only made the rage in her chest burn brighter, a reminder that some random historian was more honest with her than one of her closest friends.

In a moment of anger, Kat pulled up a note and started furiously typing.

For years I have had to live with what people have done to be. I was sexually abused as a child and people like to avoid talking about it. They use filler words, thinking it will make me feel better. It doesn’t. It only makes you feel better. I experienced it, I lived it, and a few pretty words aren’t going to protect me.

I learned recently that people have been trying to reach out to me in order to understand my feelings on what happened. Obviously I don’t like talking about my abuse, but it’s still a reality I lived through. Historians had been blocked from reaching me by Catherine Parr, who took it upon herself to protect me.

I have been lied to for longer than I know, and it’s because of Catherine Parr. She thought that she could make decisions for me and that I would be okay with it. Out of the goodness of her heart, she betrayed my trust and completely ignored the point of our show. I tell my story every night on stage. But when someone wants to approach me personally, she believes it’s her duty to make sure I won’t get hurt. Catherine? I’ve already been hurt. You can’t do anything to change that, so stop acting like you’re allowed to be the angel who saved me from everything bad. You’re not. You’re a liar.

Everyone knows about what happened with Thomas Seymour and Elizabeth. You watched on silently as he sexually abused her. And despite all the pain that came with confronting that, Anne and I forgave you. I would think you learned that this isn’t your story to tell. You did nothing then, and you think doing something now will make up for it. It won’t, and I don’t want it to. I wanted to move on from everything, but clearly you aren’t ready.

So fine. If that’s how it’ll be, then fine. Catherine Parr, I don’t want to see you or hear from you. If any interviewer wants to talk to me, they come to me and not Catherine Parr. She holds no say in my life, and I’d like to keep it that way. Because Catherine Parr is a liar. And I’m sick of people lying to me.

Setting her phone down, Kat let out a sigh of relief. She didn’t intend on publishing the rant, but she needed to get it out. Her words were harsh and came from somewhere deep within her, but she didn’t want anyone to see them. She was going to keep playing the role of the charming girl with the bad past, not the young woman who was done with being coddled.

Collapsing onto the bed, Kat closed her eyes. She was about to let the tension leave her body when a short smacking sound caught her attention. Sitting up, Kat looked around until she spotted her phone on the floor. Picking it up, Kat went to turn it off when she noticed a small mark on the corner of her note. Posted, it read in small italics.

Hands starting to shake, Kat dropped her phone on the bed. What had she done? What had she done? The post was online, and people were going to see it. No one was meant to see it, but now it would be online forever. Even if she figured out how to delete the post, people were probably taking screenshots the second it appeared.

Curling into a ball, Kat hid her face. This was a mistake, a big, big mistake that was going to cause so many problems. If Cathy had lost her trust, then all the queens would lose trust in Kat. In one moment, Kat had managed to tear them apart unknowingly.

On cue there was a shout from the queens’ living room. “Katherine Howard, explain this right now!”

Gulping, Kat glanced down at her phone. Kat closed her eyes, and for the first time in 500 years, she prayed.

---------------------------------------------

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thenicestnonbinary @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone @sixqueendom @frogs-in-clogs @timetoriseabove

#six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #sixfic #please check out the trigger warnings #they apply pretty heavily to the fic #requests #katherine howard #catherine parr #i ruined their friendship #sorry guys that one's on me #if you know what the title is a reference to #please tell me #because i will be so happy #that at least one person gets it #i never give any of you satisfying endings #that's also on me

57 notes · View notes

radabom · 4 years ago

Text

Arctober Day 5- Fight

This particular story involves a concept of magic I’ve always enjoyed using for myself: the concept of a being called the Elemental. For future prompts I’ll be adding in some more details about it (especially on the day for the mc’s magic, since that’ll literally just be the entirety of what the Elemental is), but for now this story has a few details about it. Hopefully you’ll be just as confused about it’s nature as the characters in this short story.

That being said, if you don’t wanna wait to learn more about it, I’m more than happy to talk more about it’s concept, how the Elemental works and what it is. Just send an ask, or reply to this post or somethin’.

This story involves Asra, Nadia, and an unnamed GN!MC. There’s no talk of romance or fluff, it’s essentially a training fight so there isn’t really any angst either.

"Keep on trying, I'm sure you'll get it. Just focus on that feeling from before, and hopefully it'll come back to you." The voice of my friend Asra told me. He and Nadia have both been trying to help me get my powers to resurface, spending a good portion of the morning with me in an empty field right behind the palace walls. A few days ago, we had been traveling and walked into an ambush of five people that got the better of us all. My powers, the minuscule little echoes of it that Asra had sensed before, came in full force when we were all threatened with our lives. It wasn't really magic, not like how Asra or Muriel or Nadia could do; it apparently wasn't normal magic at all. According to Asra, it was a similar energy to an Arcana, but not one he had ever known. After he contacted some friends from previous travels, he came to the conclusion that it was some being called "the Elemental". Unfortunately for me, not much is known about it.

"Maybe if you remembered what the presence of this 'Elemental' felt like?" Nadia's voice added in from the sidelines where both her and Asra were watching. She had on her riding uniform and Asra was wearing his everyday clothing, sash and all.

"I can't remember very clearly. The bandits came, got the jump on us, I was terrified we'd all die, and this rush of power came through me right before I blacked out. I don't remember anything else until I woke up with you guy's carrying me back to Vesuvia..." I recounted, flexing my hands in hope that something would happen. "Are you sure there's nothing written about this... thing that apparently took over my body?" I added on dejectedly, turning towards them fully.

"The only knowledge I have on it are from the few rumors I've heard from other magicians. Granted, I'm sure not all of them are true, but from the few things I've heard from trusted sources, I can say that the only person who could teach you about it is yourself, or the Elemental themself." Asra answered, him and Nadia both walking up to me after my failed attempts at trying to reuse the powers I felt before. "The elemental only resides within one person, so there's never two people with the same powers who would be able to learn from each other." He added on, giving me a supportive hand on my shoulder as I stared at the ground in contemplation.

"Do you think if I were in a fight, feeling threatened and all that, it might resurface?" I questioned, looking up at both of them for their opinions. Nadia and Asra seemed to glance at each other for a moment, hesitation palpable in their held breaths, before Nadia turned back to me.

"I suppose that might help, considering how the apparent threat is what spurred the release. But who would you even fight?" She inquired, worry lightly showing on her face.

"Well, you guys both have magic, right? Just throw whatever at me and we can see if it works!" I added on the last part enthusiastically, hoping my energy would put them at ease with the idea. To me, at least, it seemed as good an idea as any. Nadia and Asra both seemed apprehensive at best.

Asra held his breath for a moment, closing his eyes briefly in contemplation before releasing his breath and focusing back on me. "Are you sure you want to do that? We can limit our attacks to prevent any serious injuries, but if the powers don't surface you'll most likely get hurt." His tone was worried, but I knew this would probably give us the best chance. What else could I do anyways, aside from pick a fight with a stranger?

"I don't mind if I get hurt, it's at least worth the risk if it means being able to figure out these weird powers," I nodded my head in affirmation to both of them, hands on my hips before adding on, "if I'm the only one who can figure out how to use these powers, I gotta be willing to take risks to learn more about it."

So with that, Asra and Nadia moved a few paces away from me, giving us all the space for their attacks.

"Ready?" Nadia called out. I crouched down as if I was ready to catch a heavy object, and nodded.

Asra's hands began to glow at the tips, his mouth moving in a chant while Nadia watched and waited for her turn. A small ball of ice formed between Asra's palms, the ball then shifting into a bunch of mildly-pointy spikes. I suppose if they were thrown hard enough they might draw blood...

"Fuck!" I screamed as the spikes were launched at me, moving so fast I couldn't even tell where they hit me until I felt a few tiny cuts on my shoulders and thighs. I didn't even make a move to get out of the way, nor did I even have the time to focus on trying to stop the spikes.

"Are you okay?" Asra's concerned voice shouted to me. I gave a thumbs up, taking a deep breath for the next attack to focus on.

This time, Nadia's hand began to glow with flame as a tiny ball of fire flickered in one of her palms, each moving lick of flame growing in size until it was almost as big as her hand. I knew she had magical capabilities, I just never knew she could produce flames. Maybe Asra had taught her that? I questioned to myself, trying to focus on the fireball before it even got hurdled to me. Even when Nadia launched it high in the sky to fall down on me, probably to give me extra time to focus on it, I couldn't sense any telltale signs of the powers returning. I hoped, maybe, if the fireball just got a little bit closer...

The fireball came down and smacked me right in the upper chest, sending me down and away from the other two as it felt like a kick from a horse, all oxygen forced out of my lungs. "Ow..." I muttered quietly on the ground, trying to get my head to stop hurting from smacking down. I began to get up, but noticed another source of pain that was growing quite rapidly. "Ow, owowow!!" I stood up and began flailing wildly as my shirt caught on fire, burning at my flesh. I didn't even notice it when Asra sent a massive torrent of water at me, subsequently snuffing out the fire while also blasting me so far back my body slammed against the walls of the palace, my heading bashing against it's hard surface. Falling to the ground, I could already see spots floating around my vision and I couldn't comprehend whatever exclamations Asra and Nadia were shouting as I vaguely saw them make a mad dash to me. All I could focus on was the creeping darkness, the blotchy vision, and a small tickle of energy welling up within me before I passed out.

"I knew I shouldn't have put so much force in it, but I didn't think it would make them fly like that!" Asra exclaimed, crouching at the body of my partner in an attempt to examine them. I think he might have realized I was surfacing, though, as he and Nadia's eyes both grew wide and they backed away from their friend. The body that I began taking over was still slumped against the wall, but I was kept my energy into it as their eyelids flickered open to reveal two glowing spheres of white, the telltale sign that I was in charge of our shared physical body. Feeling out the rest of the body and fully taking it over, I got up stiffly and simply stared at the two. I could tell how unsettled they were, but hopefully they knew I wouldn't harm them.

"I do not see how this fighting would help the mage with using my powers. At most, it will just trigger my takeover." I stated simply deepened voice rumbling in the air close to me as I walked past the two and looking at the field with singed grass, chunks of ice, and flooded spots of water. With a wave of one hand, the grass regrew over it's burnt ends, the ice melted to join the rest of the water, and the pools of water then floated up into bubbles suspended in the air before evaporating into the sky. I used my other hand to wave over the tiny cuts on the arms and legs of this body, feeling them close back up. I removed the tiny specks of bloodstains from the shirt, and one last wave of my hand made the singed areas of the shirt good as new.

"How is our friend supposed to use your powers, then? You're the only one who would know, right? Since you're the Elemental?" Asra asked, taking a few steps to approach me.

I didn't turn around to acknowledge them, only crossing my hands behind my back as I stared up at the sky. "Play fights between trusted friends will do nothing. If the mage wishes to learn, they must find another way. It's been different for each elemental mage, so I cannot say what will work for this one," after a moment of silence in wait of a response, I added on, "I do not harm those that the mage does not wish me to harm. Ultimately they control me, even when I'm in control of their body. Their subconscious still directs my actions and I obey it always, without fail." With that direct statement, I simply let out a breath and relinquished control over the body, letting it fall limp and unconscious to the ground once more. The two friends made their way to watch over the body and bring it somewhere comfortable, waiting for their friend to wake up once more.

#arctober #the arcana #my writing #asra #nadia #nadia satrinava #prompt

9 notes · View notes

bidnezz · 5 years ago

Text

11:45

Here on Ao3.

Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood

Rating: T (for language really). Workplace AU, Coworkers, Lunch Thief, Silly, Apology notes, Simon is adorable imo

Summary:

Alec’s body is still, his hand tucked into the crumpled bag before him, body heavy and cold with the realization that his pasta is gone.

He digs, quick and rushed, unforgiving to the bag he won’t be able to reuse tomorrow but that’s the least of his worries right now. His fucking pasta is missing. He removes what’s left of his lunch, staring desolately at the tupperware of mixed fruit and bag of crackers, something purple and foreign stuck beneath them.

He grabs it, a piece of paper that’s been neatly folded into fourths, opens it up with shaky fingers that he’s sure is from the lack of food in his system and not at all from the completely valid and necessary outrage he’s filled with.

Sorry! I’ll pay you back!

Was looking for some inspiration and saw a tumblr post with the prompt:

who keeps stealing my lunch and leaving apology notes?

Tuesday 11:43am

Alec stares at the digits in the bottom right corner of his computer screen, swears he can hear the ticking of a clock in his head. He wills it to go faster, knows it won’t, but tries anyways.

Two minutes is all he needs, honestly.

He thinks of his bag in the fridge. Boring, brown, and crumpled from re-use the day before. It’s the treasure it holds that has his stomach responding, begging the gods that preside over this particular section of pixels to somehow speed up time.

He’s starving, hungers for the leftover chicken pasta that graced his and Izzy’s dinner table last night. If he thinks really hard he can even taste the hint of cream on the back of his tongue, heavy and savory. Maybe that’s just his saliva. Maybe he’s died from hunger and has gone insane.

His eyes are drawn back to the screen when the numbers change with sloth-like speed and the mantra of food food food in his mind bring him to his feet, his chair protesting at the sudden movement.

Nobody notices, nobody cares but him that he’s going to lunch 15 minutes early, and he likes it that way. He prefers the company of his grumbling stomach and beeping of the microwave before the only sounds in the room are scrapes of his utensils against the tupperware and content sighs of happiness. It’s his favorite part of the day, the 15 minutes he gets to himself before he prepares for the drama and insipid tales of parties he has no interest in ever attending that his coworkers like to push on him.

His coworkers aren’t bad, if he’s honest. They’re normal for the most part, and he’s done his best to stay in the relatively good graces of almost everyone. Everyone near him, at least.

Alec doesn’t venture very far in terms of cubicles, choosing to stay contained and focused on his work. But sometimes when he’s been away from Izzy for too long he’ll feel the creepings of loneliness and a need for human interaction and he’ll drag himself down two-to-the- right- one-up until he’s peering over the edge of Simon’s desk, patient and waiting until the bespectacled boy offers him a story about his band’s gig the previous week, or wistful stories about his best friend that’s just a friend, and he’s totally not in love with her, shut up Alec why are you laughing?

So things could be worse, he thinks to himself as he reaches into the refrigerator for the paper bag and settles himself into his favorite chair with his back against the wall. He could have coworkers that are raucous and annoying, who squawk and screech when they talk. Or he could—

Thief!

Alec’s body is still, his hand tucked into the crumpled bag before him, body heavy and cold with the realization that his pasta is gone.

Sorry! I’ll pay you back!

The loopy scrawl looks elegant but does nothing to quell his rising blood pressure or satisfy the ache in his stomach. He crumples the paper, tosses it into the trash bin across the room where it belongs, and snaps his tupperware lid open to stab at his fruit with a fork that really doesn’t deserve the harsh treatment.

He’s going to find out who did this, and he’s going to…

Well, Alec is too hungry to think of what he’s going to do to them, but he knows it’s going to be bad. Very bad.

--–

11:34 Wednesday

The low hum of keyboards and the occasional mouse clicking that he’s used to doesn’t calm Alec’s racing thoughts like it normally does, doesn’t try to lull him into the dream-like trance of his peers. Most days it does, but today is not most days.

Today is the day Alec has begun to see his coworkers for what they really are. He doesn’t care if Lydia—who sits in the adjoining cubicle to his left—is pristine in her work and mannerisms and polite to a fault. Doesn’t care that she’s always polished and perfect in the coworker handbook, which doesn’t exist but really should because who steals people’s lunch? What he does care about is that he knows for a fact Lydia still has a stack of post-it notes she asked to borrow last week, a pack that has been almost completely used up to leave reminders and notes around her desk. She still hasn’t given them back, or offered him a new pack, and Alec pushes back the errant reminder in the back of his head that she offered and he refused.

Because now she’s a suspect and he trusts no one.

He stands, slowly as not to arouse suspicion, and when he passes her desk he does a quick glance around to see if he notices anything else that belongs to him on the dark wood.

As hard as he tries, Lydia is perceptive and offers Alec the same picturesque smile she always does, teeth white and blinding in the fluorescence, and Alec does his best to hold in his guilt at his mental accusation.

He’s early to the break room, earlier than usual, and he hopes that he’s rewarded with the mouthwatering teriyaki chicken and rice he prepared for today. It’s one of his favorites, and he feels his mouth flood with just the thought.

He grabs at the crisp paper bag, sets himself down in his usual chair and reaches in to find—

Money?

There’s a note with it, red paper embellished with little gold swirls that trap the $20 bill.

Sorry again mon pétit chef !

Hopefully this covers whatever I’ve stolen

I promise I’m not a bad person, just hungry!

Your food is the best. ♡

He’s infuriated. This monster is mocking him now, taking the time to doodle on apologetic notes while he savors every last bite of Alec’s carefully cooked meal. They have the time for jokes and notes, surely they have the time to bring their own damn lunch.

The only thing left in his bag is the empty, but thankfully washed, tupperware he had packed this morning. Damn it, he thinks as he shoves his fingers through his hair and heads over to the vending machine, angrily forcing the crisp bill through the slot and punching in his choices. Chips and cookies, highly nutritious and sure to get Alec through the day in a wonderful mood.

He jabs at the coin return button a few times with no response, and when he glances down he can’t help the strangled noise that leaves his throat and the anger that forms a prickle at the corners of his eyes.

Machine does not give change.

He’s never used the vending machine before, not in his one and a half years has he ever needed to. But now…

Now, he’s forced to sit at his table with a defeated sigh and $20 worth of snacks.

--–

Thursday, Alec comes prepared.

In the morning he comes in wary with his lunch held close to his chest, and he sets it down in the same spot as always. Only this time, there’s a note taped to the front of his bag, a yellow post-it note that he hopes gives Lydia a hint, whether she’s the culprit or not. “Stop eating my lunch” it reads, big bold and to the point. Just like Alec.

The day passes uneventfully, and though he’s confident nobody will be touching the cut up steak, potatoes and veggies in his bag this time, he’s still suspicious of everyone.

Simon comes over to pass him a flyer for his show tonight, bright orange and the art is drawn by my best friend Clary, she’s so amazing isn’t she? I mean it, it’s amazing artwork. You know in a few years time this will probably be worth a lot of money, like a collector’s edition or--

Alec’s ambiguous stare unsettles Simon and he adds a weirded out “Dude are you, like, okay?” before he shrugs and heads back to his own cubicle, Alec’s undecided eyes following his every movement with a sharpness he’s never needed to hone until now.

Perhaps he’s covering up, trying to extend an olive branch beyond the monetary.

Alec won’t accept, though. Won’t forgive and forget until he knows for certain that it’s Simon, and has a confession straight from the source. Why doesn’t Simon just admit that he’s been taking Alec’s lunch and apologize? Why does he have to do it in a roundabout way now that he’s been called out? Be a man, Simon Lewis. Admit your defeat, and stop eating my lunch.

At 11:45 Alec’s visit to the refrigerator is prompt and purposeful, renewed with vigor because he has no reason to believe his lunch has been stolen again. Not until he’s sat on his chair with another empty container and note, livid.

Or what?

I’ve repaid you for my trespasses.

Sorry again, mon pétit chef!

Today was especially tasty.

Fuck.

--–

Friday’s plan is foolproof, Alec smiles to himself, whistling as he steps up to his chair and sets his thermos and rustled paper bag on his desk. It’s unseemly, looking out of place and cluttered, but it’s a precaution he has been forced to take now, because he’s figured out how to get out of this predicament he’s been caught in all week.

Gone are the days he comes home, starving to the point of exhaustion because Alec really does rely on his lunch to get him through the days. It’s hard to concentrate on numbers that begin to jumble together on a flickering screen that only agitates the pounding in his temples.

So he’s decided that he’ll bring a lunch that wont spoil on his desk, something that will still be edible after 4 hours of room temperature climate. He’s testing it with his favorite soup, chicken noodle with extra chicken and veggies, his broth rich and hot filled with all the flavors that make his mouth water.

Perhaps having his food in such close proximity to him all day is not the best idea. He eyes the thermos, then shakes his head because he’s being ridiculous now. He’ll survive, and at 11:45 when it’s time for lunch his soup will still be warmed and tasty and completely untouched by him or any conspiring coworkers.

Only by the time lunch rolls around his thermos is only half-full and he’s already got cracker crumbs on his shirt because self-control is severely underrated and Alec is literally hungry all day long. So he savors what’s left of his lukewarm soup, tips his head back to drink the leftover vegetable bits and pieces that have settled at the bottom of his thermos with a grimace. It’s not the worst lunch, but it’s not satisfying and the high hopes he had set himself on this morning are shattered like the last cracker he crunches in his mouth.

At 12:40 he’s about to head back to his desk when curiosity strikes him.

Slowly, as if he wasn’t sure what would be on the other side of the door, he pulls open the refrigerator. His stomach twists bizarrely when he sees the carefully tented green paper in the spot he normally leaves his lunch. It looks oddly fitting, he thinks for a moment, like it belongs there instead of the unsightly brown paper bag he always leaves. He reaches for it, turning it over and feeling the weightlessness of it on his palm, despite how heavy it feels in his chest.

Mon pétit chef -

I’m sorry if I’ve scared you off.

Here’s to hoping Monday brings new gifts.

Enjoy your weekend.

xo ,

M.B.

Alec feels his face heat up, warmer than he’s ever felt in the confines of his kitchen with the fire high and wrapped in the air. The irritation sparks up again, and Alec doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so embarrassed and intrigued, but he knows it’s all too much to take in right now so he stuffs the note in his pocket and stomps to his desk.

He scans the room before he sits down, most people are in the break room enjoying their lunch before the hour is up. Most people except Catarina Loss, three-to-the-right-two-down, who meets his eyes with a patient smile. Alec pauses, for the briefest moment he wonders if this is his thief, M.B., but then she looks away, returns back to her work as quiet and unnoticed as always.

He doesn’t know much about her, and he makes a mental note to get whatever information he can out of Simon later without being obvious.

--–

Monday brings Alec in with hesitant, unsure steps, and he feels as if he’s walking into a bad idea.

He sets his bag down on his desk, pulls out two brown paper bags, and stares.

He would probably look insane if anyone walked by, watching these two lunch bags with such intensity he’s surprised they don’t burst into flames, but he’s early and Raj who sits behind him is the only one around at this time. Alec doesn’t care about Raj, nobody likes Raj. He’s an ass and if he wants to look at his lunch bags for 5 minutes then Raj can screw off.

Chill, Alec, he can hear Jace’s words repeated in his mind. He sort of had a panic attack at Jace’s house Sunday afternoon when he realized he had no idea what he was going to do about Monday’s lunch.

Jace knows about Alec’s lunch dilemma. Knows a little, at least. Enough for Alec’s freak out to seem a little less random and crazy.

But still a freak out nonetheless, and now Jace isn’t here to calm him down, but he’s got his affirmation in his head that it’s really not a big deal, it’s just lunch.

He snatches the offending bags, taking quick steps to the refrigerator where he sets them down side by side, one lightly rumpled bag next to an unblemished bag with the simple letters M.B. on them.

What the hell is he doing? He must be losing it. All these numbers and long hours in a stuffy office all day long are turning his brain to mush and now he’s making lunch for his thief—not his thief. A thief. A lunch thief.

Damn it!

This shouldn’t be complicated at all, this shouldn’t even be a thing for heaven’s sake. It’s just lunch, it’s not a date and he doesn’t even know who’s on the other side of these notes. He’s acting like a teenager with these silly games.

His fingers twitch, ready to reach out and snatch the bag to toss it in the rubbish along with any other stupid ideas he might have come up with, but he leaves it alone. Whatever this is, he’s being dumb about it, because it’s just food and maybe his mom would be proud or something, because Alec is feeding the less fortunate.

With a nod, Alec regains his composure and heads back to his desk, feigning the confidence he sure as hell doesn’t feel, and when he slumps in his chair it’s definitely not because of a stupid lunch bag.

--–

11:45 comes so slow Alec is surprised he isn’t bald from ripping his hair out with each passing minute that feels like an hour.

He stands, an attempt that was intended to be slow and purposeful but comes off as awkward and causes him to sway with misstep. Nobody sees, but he feels stupid regardless.

While nobody notices him in his cubicle, he sees the usual smile from Lydia as he passes her, but this time Catarina is watching him and they make eye contact on his trip to the break room. Her expression is calculated, studying his movements and he hopes to god he doesn’t trip and embarrass himself.

When he opens the refrigerator he’s disappointed to see the brown bag with the initials back in place, looking as though it hasn’t been touched. He grabs it to toss it away so he doesn’t have to take home the shame of his failed attempts at—

Alec pauses, because he doesn’t even know what he would call this. Friendship? Peace offering?

Whatever it is, he’s done with it for good.

When he lifts the bag, though, it’s light and the food inside has clearly been consumed.

He grabs his own bag and hurriedly makes his way to his seat, reaching in unceremoniously to retrieve the folded note he’s hoping is in there. He’s victorious, and he knows he looks bonkers with the huge grin on his face but he doesn’t care because he’s alone for now, and he’ll smile if he wants to. He sets the note down on the table, his eyes tracing over every letter slowly, admiring the swooping penmanship that he wants to rewrite with his fingertips.

Mon pétit chef -

Today’s gift was from the Angels themselves .

I feel very special, so I’ll answer your request.

Looking forward to tomorrow.

xo,

Magnus

He picks at his food, for the next 15 minutes, rolling the name he’s asked for over in his head, tastes it on his lips like the sweetest word he’s ever said. Magnus.

It’s impossible to get back to work after lunch, but Alec does his best, honestly tries so hard to focus on the numbers in front of him but it eludes him. So he welcomes the distraction when Simon pops into Alec’s space, typing away at his phone and half-attentive to his own story that he’s regaling Alec with.

“—and then Maureen was like ‘Oh, Simon, you’re so smart you should be the one running this place!’ and guess who walks past the office?”

Alec gives a noncommittal grunt, and that’s enough for Simon because he continues.

“Mr. Bane!” His voice is grave and he stops plucking at his phone to watch Alec’s reaction, deflates when the only response is a raised eyebrow. “C’mon Alec, work with me here. Mr. Bane,” he repeats as though that will get the point across.

Alec shrugs. Simon rolls his eyes.

“Mr. Bane is the guy who runs this place. He’s like the Sam Walton of Walmart.”

“Sam Walton Bane is a weird name,” Alec responds, his fingers tapping quickly at the keypad to his right. He’s good at multi-tasking.

Simon groans and smacks his palm to his forehead in an over-dramatic show of frustration. Simon has always been a bit over the top, but Alec supposes he has to be since he sort of owns a band. “No, Sam Walton is the guy that invented Walmart or whatever, you know the big chain? Magnus Bane is the guy that invented this place,” he supplies, though his voice comes out dejected because he’s sure Alec isn’t even interested anymore, if he ever was.

But Alec’s brain halts suddenly, his fingers ceasing all function at the mention of the name he’s been repeating all day to himself.

“Wh-What?”

“Dude, if you’re not gonna listen I’m gonna go talk to Maureen,” Simon sigh and steps away from Alec’s desk where he was leaning against it. He’s ready to leave, takes the first few steps out of the cubicle before Alec seizes his arm, tugging harshly to bring Simon back. “Ow! The hell?”

“Who did you say invented this place?” The words sound stupid coming out of his mouth, he knows that’s not the proper way to say it, it’s Simon-speak, but he doesn’t care. His brain is on auto-pilot as it tries to catch up.

“Magnus Bane,” Simon repeats slowly, as though Alec is a child.

Magnus Bane.

M.B.

Fuck.

--–

Alec calls out sick Tuesday, his head pounding with the stampede of a million questions that will never receive an answer if he doesn’t go back to work. But curling up in his bed and burying himself in all the blankets he owns seems like a better idea, and Izzy is gone at work all day so really who’s to stop him?

Wednesday follows in the same fashion, only now he can’t stop googling pictures of Magnus, and good god, the man is literally perfect. He’s so gorgeous it makes his heart feel tender with loneliness because he knows Magnus is way out of his league. Magnus works 2 floors above him—well, Alec uses the term work loosely, because when you’re the head bitch in charge, what do you even do?

Oh god, he’s just called Magnus a bitch.

Magnus doesn’t know, can’t possibly know, but Alec still feels sheepish, and he ducks his head under his pillow to suffocate his shame.

Not 5 minutes later, he’s got his nose pressed to his phone as he takes in the glorious sight of Magnus Bane on the cover of some trite magazine. He looks exactly like his notes would paint him to be, Alec thinks, sighing as he scrolls to the next photo. That’s how Izzy finds him hours later, cheeks flushed and jittery, thoughts and images of a man so unattainable Alec wants to cry.

–--

Thursday is sluggish and slow for Alec, his body genuinely retaliating against him for forcing house-arrest on it, depriving it of the essential vitamins and exercise it’s used to. He blames his inability to concentrate on this fact, and when he tosses two lunch bags into the refrigerator in the morning, he holds tight to this excuse. He’s too out of it to think straight, to really deduce why he still brought an extra lunch for Magnus.

Why is he bringing Magnus lunch in the first place? The man has enough money to quit his company and live lavishly until he dies. Not that Alec wants to think about Magnus dying.

Mr. Bane, he should be saying instead. Because he really doesn’t know Magnus enough to be on a first name basis with his boss.

Little lunch-time notes from a stranger are one thing, but now that he’s wholly aware of the situation, this has to be the last of it. There has to be something against feeding your boss delicious food every day and getting flirty little notes in return, he’s sure of it.

Something stirs in his peripheral on his way back, and he sees Catarina frowning at him, though she remains silent.

He’s so lost, he doesn’t know what’s going on in this place anymore. His boss is stealing his food and flirting with him via notes like a kid, his coworkers are watching his every move, and on top of it all he hasn’t told anyone Magnus’ identity so he’s all alone in this.

By the time 11:45 comes around Alec isn’t even hungry, his mouth is satisfied with the nervous energy it’s consuming because he’s got plenty of it right now.

He opens the refrigerator to see his two bags unmoved, checks Magnus’ to make sure, and sits back in his seat dejectedly when it’s true.

There’s a noise at the door to the break room, followed by a soft click, but Alec is too preoccupied in his thoughts to notice.

He’s pushing around forkfuls of his spaghetti, jabbing his fork rather forcefully into one meatball in particular, but it does nothing to settle his nerves. He hears noise to his side, the soft tap of expensive shoes on tile, the door to the refrigerator squeaking open, the rustle of a brown paper bag with the initials M.B., and his heart races a few beats faster than normal.

“Is this seat taken?” the melodic voice questions, and Alec feels his jaw lock up, his body tense around the tupperware in front of him.

“N-Not at all,” Alec stutters. Dear lord, have mercy on his soul.

Beside him, hand grasped on the back of the only other chair at Alec’s table, is Magnus Bane, asking to sit next to him. Him, of all people.

Alec’s eyes travel first to the fingers curled around the plastic of the chair as he pulls it out, to the slender arm that connects to an equally slender but toned body and how does he even fucking know that? How can he tell what’s underneath the suit and tie Magnus is wearing?

Surely the hundreds of google images don’t factor in. No.

Alec gulps, and he finally meets the hesitant but curious gaze before him and jesus christ this man is beautiful.

“Thank you, Alexander,” he speaks, his words pouring out of him like warm honey. And Alec chokes. He chokes, on what he has no idea, but he chokes in front of Magnus Bane.

“H-How… My name?”

It sounds stupid, he sounds like he can barely string a sentence together, and Magnus watches him. He can see he’s trying not to laugh, of course he knows Alec’s name, he’s probably done his own research on his employees, and he’s obviously caught on that Alec knows exactly who he is and he wonders if maybe google ratted him out to Magnus about his search history, because the smug look is awfully suspicious.

“Would you prefer I call you mon pétit chef?”

The magical laugh makes the teasing almost worth it, but Alec is beyond mortified now, because what does someone say to that?

Magnus reaches across the table, his fingers graceful and soft as they brush along Alec’s chin to tilt it back into place. And Alec doesn’t say anything, won’t ever mention the way Magnus lets his fingers linger on Alec’s skin to anyone, or the way he feels electric in all the spots Magnus touches.

“N-No. No thank you,” he murmurs, not sure why he’s being so polite when this is clearly not a formal setting, but rationalizing it to the fact that Magnus is his boss and also so insanely gorgeous and Alec is just so average that there’s no way he can form coherent thoughts in his presence.

“Your cooking really is quite heavenly,” Magnus manages, popping open the lid to his tupperware, Alec’s tupperware, that looks so dingy and dirty in Magnus’ polished hands. It all feels so very domestic, despite Alec having never sat across from anyone so brilliant and extraordinary in his life.

Staring at him now, face-to-face, Alec thinks that the photographs and magazine covers don’t do him the justice he deserves, don’t quite capture the immortality and timelessness of his face.

“I’m glad you like it,” Alec says softly, his gaze everywhere but Magnus, because even though they’re drawn to him like moths to flame, it’s too much to bear for a prolonged period of time.

But there’s time, he hears the whisper of the words in his head, feels them stretch across his consciousness with the promise of the future.

He’s only just met Magnus, only started his silly correspondence a little over a week ago, but he feels a connection he didn’t know he was missing.

Suddenly, a questions pops into his head and passes through the filter of his mouth before he can stop it, a question he’s been mulling over for days now since he found out who Magnus was.

“Why did you steal my lunch?”

Magnus laughs, loud and genuine and Alec basks in the sound, feels it warm the shakiness in his sweaty palms still.

“Catarina is one of my oldest friends,” he begins, his eyes twinkling. “I came to visit her one afternoon for lunch and I saw you sitting in here alone, in that very seat.” Alec feels the heat rise to his face and he shifts uncomfortably at how predictable and boring he is. “I thought to myself, ‘what is this gorgeous man doing here all alone?’ And then you took a bite of your food, closed your eyes and looked so peaceful that I decided then and there I needed to try this amazing food.”

Alec balks, his mouth threatening to fall open again, but he attempts to keep his composure. Magnus looks pleased with himself.

“You could have just asked me to make you something,” he whispers, more of a thought to himself than to Magnus, but he hears it anyways and gives a low hum.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Where indeed, Alec thinks, and he takes a bite of his lunch he’s made for them today, peering up at Magnus through his lashes, watching his response as he takes his first bite of the dish. And maybe Alec’s in the wrong profession because the soft moan and euphoric look on Magnus’ face makes Alec feel more accomplished than a day filled with numbers and data entry.

The humor that their first meal together being pasta is not lost on Alec, and he smiles across at his lunch thief, wondering if he’s going to steal more than just his food.

He kinda hopes he will.

#malec #malec fanfic #malec prompts #malec fanfiction #magnus x alec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #workplace au #bidness

29 notes · View notes

louiserandom · 5 years ago

Note

hiii!!! i love ur writing so so much i could forget myself reading your fics and the way u portray madara and tobirama!! so good! so i was wondering if you had any tips? bc i would love to write as beautifully as you some day!

.......YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO HIT ME WITH THIS UNEXPECTED AFFECTION ANON😭💜😭💜😭💜😭💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 ahhhhhh you’re too kind🙈🙈🙈

Okay, first of all, I’d love to see your writing, if you’ve posted any! Feel free to hmu in dms any time :3

And second, about writing tips... ahhhh difficult, but I’ll give it a try x)

1. Practice, practice, practice, but I guess you already know this :D Kill writer’s block with random prompt generators, distract yourself with other stuff if one particular story is going slow, and make sure to spice up your vocabulary + general prose (synonyms, descriptive “show” paragraphs instead of “telling” exposition; if your writing is description-heavy and you have trouble with dialogue, challenge yourself with dialogue-heavy stories and dialogue prompts, and vice versa)

2. Learn from the masters, now, there are AMAZING fanfic writers out there, and don’t hesitate to learn from them obviously, but I mostly take writing inspiration from my favorite published authors and kind of emulate their style :D This IN NO WAY implies copying their style or stealing plot points, conversations, quotes that aren’t explicit references, etc. But if you absolutely adore the works of a particular writer, reread their works from a more critical, analytical view and find the exact things you love about their prose, be it witty dialogue, descriptions, characterization and simply keep those in mind when you’re writing your stories.

For example, my chief inspirations are (AWESOME book recs alert😃):

Roger Zelazny (The Lord of Light, The Chronicles of Amber) (Zelazny is like... god.... almighty and everlasting... the dialogue? Heavenly. His characters? I can literally SEE them as I read. The worlds, the ideas? Some of the most original I’ve seen in fantasy, sci-fi)

Steven Brust (The Vlad Taltos Chronicles) (the world-building, the DIALOGUE AAAAAAA IT CRACKS ME UP EVERY TIME it’s just too freakin good. Also, he’s got a knack for surprising, non-linear storytelling that’s constantly engaging with it’s unpredictability)

T.J. Klune (The Lightning-Struck Heart) (MY GOD the HUMOR. THE ABSOLUTE DISASTER GAYS I’M LOVE. AAAAA MY TJKLUNE-STRUCK HEART💜💜💜💜)

I love their: witty dialogue, humor, descriptive world-building, character interactions, and so I kind of just write my stories and alternate between “What would _ write here?” or “How would _ edit this?” Helps a lot to make sure my writing isn’t just a dry recounting of facts that happened and an actual (hopefully engaging) story in the specific mix of styles I want.

3. THE STORY CIRCLE. The Story Circle. T h E st OR Y CIrc l e ! ! ! ⭕📖⭕ I HAVE NO IDEA WHY THIS IS THE THIRD POINT EVEN THO IT’S THE MOST IMPORTANT ASDFGHJK

If you’re unfamiliar, this is what I’m talking about:

This shit is the most important and helpful thing HANDS DOWN. Forget the stigma around the word “formulaic”, this is, more or less, any consistent story that resonates with, basically, everyone, and DOES NOT preclude creativity and original ideas. That’s relevant to plot-planning, while this is solely the structure of the story, it’s bare bones, so to speak. And adhering to these guidelines is really, REALLY convenient for plot development, character arc-building and deciding on the ending. Credit goes to the amazing Dan Harmon (examples of how the Story Circle works from his TV show, Rick and Morty, also on other works here and here) who, in turn, got inspired by Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey (The Hero With a Thousand Faces is massive but well worth a read).

My leap from, like, REALLY-BAD-AWKWARD-REUSE-SENTENCES-AND-PHRASES-WTF-ARE-WORDS-author to wherever I am now came solely because of the Story Circle and how MASSIVELY it helps to see patterns and add method to the madness that is writing.

Hope all of this helps you💜 And again, would love to see your writing :3 Meow

p.s. feel free to hit me with an ask or dm with a sketch request or something, i need to take revenge for your kindness😤

p.p.s. another tip: KILL all the adverbs you possibly can. Kill them WITH FIRE😂😂

#asks #anonymous #anon you're too kind #thank you💙💙💙#writing advice #lou talks #meow

9 notes · View notes

sapphirewolf1122 · 5 years ago

Text

What should I do next...

Hilo...

I’ve officially finished all of my longstanding projects, fic or otherwise, so yay. One hasn’t been posted quite yet but it is done. But now wondering what to work on next. I’ve had a couple ideas in mind for a while but never really dug into them. So maybe some of you can help me? Here’s what I got:

Requests:

Part 3 of True Nature; one suggestion was one where Reader gets pregnant. Almost did a prelude to that for Baku’s bday but I thought of it too late...

Part 2 of Fat Gum/Vigilante Reader; where they develop a student/teacher relationship. Romantic version by my sister is still pending.

Ideas:

Reader with quirk where she can bring drawings to life temporarily; covered in tattoos. Vigilante; hero husband/boyfriend (possibly one of main characters) dies in battle and Reader decided to hunt the villain down themselves. Imagine Bakugo as the supportive friend who is trying to help them through the grief but is also one of the heroes trying to stop them.

Quirk that allows person to show their worse fears

Persuasion Quirk

Want to possibly reuse quirk from Just Talk; where person can take on a person’s pain, even heal

Multi-verse; sort-of Villain au where OC is on a mission involving a villain who has a quirk to open portals into other dimensions and she falls through to find herself in the villain au. And out comes her alternate self. Was thinking about using persuasion quirk here. Maybe a Shinsou/OC or Reader. One of my more panned out ideas on this list.

Fantasy au is a video game in regular universe

If you guys would like to see any of these and/or have any requests/suggestions for how they could go, please let me know. Or even just other general requests. I don’t have any other Demon Slayer ideas right now but I’m willing to consider all requests. Y’all are the ones who keep me writing, as slow as I am. In the meantime, might be using prompts from other pages to help me write in-between fics or when I have a lack of motivation for them. Those will be posted on my primary blog. Hoping to eventually start working on my non-fic ideas.

Thank you all for reading my stuff; I know I’m not the best writer around but hopefully getting some practice in will help me improve.

5 notes · View notes

fanfic-collection · 5 years ago

Text

Loki x Reader - Whumptober 7 Isolation

7 Isolation

I will probably reuse these 2 for another prompt, at least I hope to. I want to know what happens.

The car sputtered and creaked to a halt. You cursed and smacked the palm of your hand against the steering wheel, begging and cursing at it, pleading for the car to spring to life. The headlights flickered on a few times, illuminating the road ahead of you, allowing you enough life to pull off the road and onto the shoulder but not much else. Finally you sighed and conceded that really the car hadn't been road worthy and you really shouldn't have attempted driving it such a distance.

Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, you groaned, resting your forehead on the wheel and allowed a few pity tears. This was not how the day was supposed to go. Another string of curses slipped from your mouth and you slapped the steering wheel again. The trees on either side of the road seemed to loom over your car in the gloom of the evening, so dark and foreboding. Even a faint fog drifted over the road ominously, rolling in as the evening came fast. You knew it was twilight, checking the time on your phone – no signal of course. In the gloom of the forest, it was hard to tell exactly where the sun was in the sky and with the changing seasons... you shook your head, no sense looking for the sun, might as well take advantage of what light you could and start walking.

Wiping off the last of your tears, you straightened up. There had been a house a half mile back, you recalled, a large manor. Perhaps you could ask there for a jump.

As you stepped out of your car, shutting the door and locking it, you considered the potential foolishness of your actions. The complete isolation you were otherwise in. How many miles in either direction would you have to walk before hopefully flagging down some sort of help. Grimacing internally, this sounded worse and worse. Perhaps you would be fortunate and come across a car filled with a family and could ask them to contact someone for you, that seemed to be your best case scenario.

As you walked, you berated yourself, trees whipping about overhead, not a bird to be heard. Branches snapped and creaked around you and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end but still you pressed on. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, huddling against the wind.

The road snaked and wound, limping along like a wounded animal, and though your car ate the distance quickly, it seemed to stretch on for eternity.

Slowly the sky grew darker, eventually turning a deep purple and you pulled out your phone's flashlight, using it to light your path, hoping if any cars might come that you could stop them and get their assistance. Though you were still loathe to ask for any strange driver's help, not that a strange manor owner's was more appealing. Part of you hoped that if you saw the manor owner, you could gauge their trustworthiness and make a decision on whether to ask for help before telling them of your plight.

Angling your phone upwards, the light caught the edge of the manor's lawns. You exhaled a sigh of relief, your legs tired from the walk after being seated from so long a drive.

Cutting across the unkempt lawn, you made your way towards the front porch and up to the massive door with its old brass knocker. You looked around, not having realized as you sped along that the lawn was so overgrown and wild. Biting your lip, you did appreciate the Victorian Gothic exterior, it was beautifully done, but even that seemed a bit run down. You wondered what it looked during the day, even in a decrepit and rundown state, you knew it would look gorgeous. As you grasped the knocker and proceeded to bang on the door, you couldn't help but hope whoever might live here kept the place in well enough condition.

A few long moments dragged by and a sudden sinking thought occurred to you: what if no one lived here? What if the reason for the decaying state abandonment? Perhaps you should have stayed with your car as you had heard was the proper thing to do? What if someone had driven by your car and seen it abandoned and not realized you needed help?

Worry started to build in your chest like bile, you felt panic rising and growing. Your breaths started to grow in short bursts...

The door opened abruptly.

A man stood there, staring down at you imperiously. His long black hair billowed in the breeze. He wore a green vest over a white frock coat, and long black trousers, but despite his peculiar garb it was his face that caught your attention.

The man's eyes stared at you with such intensity, they were such a piercing green, but seemed to have a tinge of red in them that utterly perplexed you. His long black hair, combed back from his high arching forehead and perfectly plucked brows.

He held up his billowy sleeved arm as you held your phone up to look at him, he seemed to be shielding his face from the bright light. Only then did you realize there were no lights from within.

'Oh sorry.' You quickly stammered, lowering your phone light so it was back on his feet and weirdly old styled trousers, almost like a costume piece.

The man squinted, staring down at you, the light illuminating his buckled shoes as you continued to gaze in awe at his sculpted face. He was so pale, his skin seeming to be made of porcelain, almost as if you were to touch it it would shatter and fall apart.

You glanced at his hand holding the door open, long slender fingers, equally pale and lithe with sharp nail that reminded you of claws.

Finally the man spoke, in a deep voice that sent your heart aflutter, trembling like a bird desperate to be free. 'What are you doing here?'

'Sorry?'

'I asked you a question.'

'Oh right. My car broke down.' Well that secret was out of the bag, you had meant to avoid telling him the truth until later but as you gazed at his beautiful eyes, you felt compelled to tell the truth.

The man looked at you confused, 'Yes, but why here?'

'I saw this place as I was driving and I was hoping whoever lived here could help me.'

The man seemed taken aback as he looked around, 'What is your name?'

You told him honestly, wondering where the need to tell him with such honesty came from, though a sense of unease steadily grew as you talked to him.

The man nodded, rubbing his long forefinger along his lower lip. For a moment you thought you saw signs of sharp canines but you were sure it had been a trick of the light, it was really quite dark. 'What year is it?' This question seemed to be asked of no one, but you felt compelled to answer honestly anyways and you told him. He blinked in surprise when you answered and he nodded vaguely, 'Right yes.' Suddenly he stepped aside and opened the door further, 'I think I'll have you for dinner, this isolation has been dreadful, do come in.'

'You what now?' All the same, you felt yourself listening to him, following him inside.

The man grinned at you, smiling as you walked in, stepping to the side, 'Welcome, welcome, oh I'm Loki, it will be such a pleasure to have you.'

Everything went black.

#Loki x reader #whumptober #oneshot

25 notes · View notes

incorrect-marauders · 6 years ago

Photo

THE OWLS ARE IN! IT’S TIME FOR THE SURVEY RESULTS!

So, as many of our followers are probably aware, we recently did a survey to get a feel of what people thought of our blog. We got a total of 57 results and we are grateful to each and every one of you for taking the time to let us know your thoughts. Now, we’re here to share the general consensus of what people thought and how we will accommodate these opinions.

We’ll definitely have some changes to the blog, so read on to see what those changes are!

Before we begin, we have a few things to briefly mention.

The results are pretty scattered. We didn’t want to restrict anyone, so most were free response or included “Other”. In hindsight, there were a few questions that could have easily been multiple choice without really restricting anyone. (Side eyes the first question.) Therefore, most of these will just summarize the results we got. Occasionally drop the graph for the multiple choice questions.

Because of the large amount of responses we got, not every answer will be listed here. We highlighted the things that were either most commonly mentioned or had us thinking the most.

If anyone would like to see the full results for some reason (par the names, to keep anonymity), feel free to email us at [email protected] and we’ll send it over!

And yes, we are making changes to accommodate these results! That’s what this survey was all about!

We’ll be opening applications for new mods within the next couple days as well.

We’ll have a tiny hiatus as all of this is going on.

Now, we begin...

How long have you been following incorrect-marauders?

The most popular answer seemed to be around 2 months or 10 months. A lot of people filling out this survey seemed to either be relatively new or here since the beginning. Kudos to you incorrect-marauders veterans, and welcome newer followers!

How did you find incorrect-marauders?

Somewhat as we expected. Keep reblogging us, lovely people!

What do you love MOST about incorrect-marauders?

"It's funny.” (x50)

No really, we got 50 variations of “It’s funny,” “It’s hilarious,” “The humour,” “The funny text posts.”

Thanks, we appreciate it!

“How weirdly in character the quotes always are.”

(Similar variations include, “How actually accurate your post are,” “That not every post is as funny, imho, but that they do keep true to the characters,” “How much they fit the characters.”)

“They offer new content to the Marauders 'franchise' as it were because some stuff within the fandom is constantly being reused.”

“How correct it actually is if Joanne made it canon.”

“McGonagall with the marauders and that the sources are listed.”

“Accurate representation, variety of ships and relationships, isnt toxic.”

“Very funny and can be great art/writing prompts.”

“The taste.”

“EVERYTHING.”

These are all very nice, thank you all. Glad we hit where we were aiming.

What do you love LEAST about incorrect-marauders?

The most common response was, “Nothing,” or a variation thereof, but that’s no fun for this question, so here are some of the legitimate criticisms we received!

“Quote sources, I think, occasionally aren't there.”

Our original quotes often don’t have sources. But if there’s one where a mod forgot to credit a source, please just message us and one of the admins will fix that!

“There isn't a particularly nice aesthetic to the blog, e.g. a matching layout and profile picture or quote.”

Yeah, we’re working to fix that. I like pretty blogs too.

“Could be updated a little more.”

(”Not much posting in my opinion,” “Long time between posts.”)

Strangely enough, we got this a few times but our later poll about how often to post were contradicting this. So, unfortunately, we will not be adjusting this.

“I mean I would say that Peter is on it, but can’t really get rid of him...”

(Got a few of these, like, ”Peter being seen as a good person.”)

Sorry!

“Some are a bit too small.”

“I don’t like the long quotes.”

Well, then.

“Seeing my #notp but that isnt rly a minus?? Its called diversity so im not gonna hate or anything.”

Thank you for appreciating the diversity. We get occasional hate over it, but we also get hate over not posting some of the other ships. I suppose that’s what happens when you have lots of different followers of different opinions.

“If I send you a text post you credit the source in # but i'd like you to include a link to my tumblr in the post itself so people would actually find my tumblr. I doent send you text posts anymore, cause it doesn't really profit me and it feels like you get credit for my work.”

We’re sorry you feel that way. We always put it in the tags, just in front of the source. We are more of a mod-based blog rather than a submission-based blog. Anyone is welcome to submit, but about 98% of our posts are created by our mods.

“Sometimes I feel like the wrong characters were chosen or not well thought out.”

We can assure you our mods put a lot of thought into what characters to use, but you are welcome to message us with your own suggestion! (But please note that we are a Marauders blog; we got a few comments about how we don’t post enough Hinny or Romione, but that’s not what our blog is about.)

What makes incorrect-marauders stand out?

Once again, we got a lot about how funny we are, so we’ll skip over those and highlight the more unique answers!

"They don't use things from other people without credit.”

“The love and attention put in to everything.”

“Don't think there are any other blogs about marauders in this style.”

(We got this a few times. ”Like the type of blog and incorrect-marauders was the first one Harry potter themed I found,” also, “Its really funny and pretty much the only blog that just does this kind of post and i LOVE it.” But alternatively... “There are a lot of textpost blogs like it, but it is one of the only ones that I have found that consistently keeps characters in character in the posts and appeals to my sense of humor.”)

“I feel the quotes are in character and from multiple sources which Is cool.“

“How open it is.”

“The continuous content.”

“The posts arent so often that my dash is spammed like other blogs of the same nature.”

“Not sure but I like you.”

Not much to comment on these except we’re happy to see people think this about us!

How satisfied are you with the blog and the posts, in all?

So, you’re telling me, we opened a public, anonymous survey and not a single hater filled it out? Am I impressed or disappointed?

Please explain your response to the previous question.

“I just love the whole blog.”

“It's not my favourite blog ever ever which is why it's not a 10 but i still love it.”

“You guys are just so awesome! But it'd also be cool to have a little, meet the creator(s).”

“Its good but I don't have or want notifications on.”

“It’s the #qualitycontent i signed up for.”

"Always room for improvement, and also there's no 9 3/4 option.”

Awesome! We definitely agree that we can always improve, which is what this survey is for!

How often should we post?

We got a lot of variety here. Some say once a day (which is how often we currently post) was ideal. Others put stuff like...

“I wouldnt mind my entire blog just being filled with your posts.”

While Once A Day is the most voted for, the rest of the options put together, which we’ll name Two or More Times a Day, do win overall. Since we have one new post followed by a reblog, we’ll compromise by posting two times a day, but with one new post a day (the second being a reblog).

In UTC, what times do you prefer us posting?

As expected, not many people cared. But two people felt very strongly and voted for 12am, 1am, and 6pm UTC. So, we’ll consider that.

What characters, relationships, universes, etc. would you like to see more represented in our posts?

We got a lot of responses here, primarily being more Wolfstar, Jily, and BFFs James and Sirius. We also got a lot saying we should post about Hinny, Romione, next gen, FBAWTFT, etc. in which I remind you that this is a Marauders blog.

We also got the hilarious response that said we should maybe post about the “merauders”. Well, we can certainly promise you that.

We also got a lot of people saying more McGonagall. That’s something we can definitely do.

Would you like to see more original quotes from us?

For the longest time, the option 50/50 was at exactly 50%. Kind of disappointed that is no longer, but the 25% option is at 25%, so that’s something. Anyway, we’ll aim for 50/50.

What else would you like to see us post?

This was one of the results that will make the biggest change to the blog. People seem to really love these ideas. So expect...

Marauder Mondays! Every Monday we’ll have Marauder Monday, where we’ll answer asks, reblog posts, and have a party! Probably when we’ll post the “extra” posts, like our GIFs, graphics, aesthetics, videos, etc.

How would you feel if we did sponsored posts?

Combined, it seems like ~75% of those who took the survey are good with sponsored posts.

These results honestly surprised us. We’ve gotten a lot of offers of sponsorships in the past but have always denied them because we didn’t know how our followers would feel. We probably won’t do this in the near future, but it’s an option.

What kind of projects would you like to see us host?

We got so many people suggesting merch. Shirts, stickers, pins, other merch... So we’ll keep that in mind! We’d love some Marauders shirts ourselves.

“Projects that other blogs can get involved with to help other accounts grow.”

Noted!

“An art challenge maybe? like, 30 day challenge where you have to draw them as characters from movies/tv shows? like, friends, clueless, avengers, dc characters etc.“

Definitely interesting. Art challenges would be a lot of fun. Hopefully there’s an interest for this!

Which of our other accounts do you follow/would like to follow?

We’ll look into bringing on people to regularly post on other sites.

What device do you use to browse our blog most often (whether through Tumblr or our site)?

Why are we bothering with a redesign again? Oh, right. Personal vain.

How often do you visit the blogsite?

Those numbers are higher than expected...

What kind of things would you like to find on our blogsite?

“Character aesthetics.”

“Fanfiction links.”

“Marauders fan art would be cool.“

We’ll be working on this! Thank you for the suggestions!

More meet the creator(s) (if not comfortable with should, maybe just telling a funny story)

We got a lot of people saying they’d like to know more about us. We are anonymous, but this particular comment had us thinking. We’ll be implementing something in the near future. We will still remain anonymous, but we will have “blog identifies”, I suppose you could say. More info to come!

Other than show, character, and ship lists, what would you like to see in our navigation?

We didn’t get many new suggestions for this, except for fanart, aesthetics, etc. which we will add as more people join the blog!

Do you have any additional suggestions for us?

"Maybe find a blog that could do fan art, but only if you’re comfortable with it. Also, you’re blog is already so amazing, and any redesign would just make it more awesome!!! Don’t let anyone get you down espically if some one puts something negative on the survey because it is so so great already.”

We got no negative feedback (just constructive criticism), but thank you for your concern!

“um. keep doing this. i like it. it helps fill the gaping void in my soul“

Mood.

“Thanks for making the survey, caring about our feedback, and being awesome overall :)”

Of course! This is not just our blog, this is the Marauders fandom blog. Your feedback means everything to us and we hope you will like the changes we’ll make in response to it.

And that covers all of it! Cookies to anyone who read all of that! Keep an eye out for those new mod applications if you’re interested in joining our team!

We’ll be taking a tiny little hiatus as we’re figuring some stuff out.

#admin #survey #survey results #updates

64 notes · View notes

alexafaie-asd · 6 years ago

Photo

I’m attempting to be a functioning human, so here’s my first attempt at creating a prompt sheet (this is just a screenshot). So far it just has images as clear prompts and then task breakdowns to the right hand side, then a blank square to tick (I will be laminating this and then I can use whiteboard pens to tick off as I go, then erase them to reuse the next day). I have got as far as doing morning routine stuff - i.e. Get out of be, go to the toilet, brush hair, get dressed, have breakfast, take vitamins, have a drink and then take my bowl back to the kitchen.

Next I need to create prompts for other stuff but I’m not sure how to organise them yet. I don’t really have a daily routine so I’m probably going to settle for more complex task breakdowns instead like washing clothes, tidying & hoovering a room, preparing a meal and so on so that when I have to do that task, I can actually conceptualise what it is going to involve without having to write it all out each and every time.

Everything is in greyscale because we currently only have a black and white printer so there was no point making it in colour. I can always add colour later by hand if I’m really fussed. I decided to create my own because versions I found online were generally using quite childlike images which I felt was a bit condescending, or at least the kind that I would have found condescending even as a child! So I just did some google searches and then changed the colours to greyscale and changed the opacity of some to make them all even-ish in tone (some were black & white, others colour, so the colour ones ended up grey, but the black ones were then too dark looking so...). I’m pretty sure all of the images were free to use, but I’m not selling this at all, its just to help me function a bit better than I do so hopefully its ok usage.

Here’s hoping this is going to help me. I will be creating the rest tomorrow provided I remember.

#actually autistic #executive dysfunction #maybe ADHD

20 notes · View notes

everlarkchristmasgifts · 6 years ago

Text

Thanks to all the mods putting this Holiday prompt page together! Thank you for all your hard work and contributions to the Tumblr everlark family now and in the past.

A/N: This is part one of a hasty, four-day attempt to multi-part a drabble set for @everlarkchristmasgifts ‘s prompts. It may not get done on time, but they say it’s good to believe in miracles at Christmas, lol.

This part rated G

Thanks to @alliswell21 for giving it a beta read on quick notice.

And… *deep inhale, because why on earth am I trying to butcher one of my favorite stand alone drabbles with a sequel???**… this follows on the events of Pasty White Raisin.

________________________________________________

“Shopping…”

It was twelve days to Christmas. They’d missed Christmas last year. It could’ve been their first Christmas, but Peeta had been too stubborn to let a woman “waste her life” on a washed-up baker twelve years older than her.

She’d won, by the end of the Winter thaw. He’d already been in love, but he’d finally let himself love, and everything that had seemed to mean to him.

Well, everything within the parameters of being a gentleman.

He’d insisted on her making him work for her good favor, and at first it had been a funny game, his insistence that he court her, a delicious, slow romance of soft kisses and interwoven fingers and getting to know each other over conversations, dinners, or during walks. But the game had given him time to reconsider what he might be getting in to.

Which was robbing her of a future she deserved.

So ultimately, he’d come to use the game as a way to buy time to fortify the barriers so strongly she’d be forced to admit she should cut her losses.

And when she’d still refused, he’d cut her losses for her, before the summer heat had waned, with an “I’m sorry, Katniss, this isn’t working for me,” followed instantly by firing her from doing the bakery’s books, which she’d been doing part-time for the low cost wage of a half-dozen cheese buns a week, and refusing to respond to her texts or voicemails.

At Thanksgiving, she’d shown up at his door, asking if they could spend the evening together, talk. Consider reconsidering.

He’d shaken his head and closed the door on her, but not before his face had presented a few moments of unmasked regret and longing.

She’d almost gone to a hardware store for an ax to chop his door off its hinges.

When she’d called her uncle Haymitch in tears from her car, still sitting in the bakery’s parking lot, he’d agreed chopping down Peeta’s door was an acceptable strategy, except there wouldn’t be a hardware store open on Thanksgiving Day.

So this Christmas season— the Christmas that could have been their second Christmas, or at least their first— just a year after she’d chosen him, the rejection had left its mark on her. She couldn’t face flying out west to spend Christmas with her sister and mother. Would not be able to muster the emotional energy necessary to pretend she was okay for a whole evening spent with her friends, despite their invites.

No, she and Haymitch were going to spend it getting drunk on vodka, eating crock-pot roast and microwaved mashed potatoes, and watching either a marathon of The Profit, or Rocky, depending on which one of them won the coin toss.

So with twelve days to Christmas, Katniss Everdeen decided it was time to say goodbye once and for all.

Well, twelve times, for all.

Twelve ways to say she loved him.

Twelve ways to say goodbye.

Twelve ways to say both at the same time.

Twelve days, twelve gifts.

And it was going to start with a Thursday, lunch hour shopping trip.

“Kat, where you going?”

Odair was the afternoon manager for the restaurant side of the brewery operation where she was a bookeeper. He’d stepped so quickly in her way she almost couldn’t stop before walking into him.

His hands here clasped behind his back and he was grinning. His up-to-something look.

“Lunch,” she said, guarded.

“Right. It’s treason to buy lunch from somewhere other than here. And anyway, you eat lunch from a brown bag. Every day. You’re so frugal, you probably even reuse the same bag until it’s toast. No, Katniss Everdeen looks like a woman on a mission.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Then it would make sense to get out of my way.”

He studied her as though he could read her secrets if he looked hard enough.

“You off to see that baker guy of yours? Because I would love one of his everything bagels, and Annie likes the peanut butter chip cookies.”

Katniss swallowed and fought off a wave of pain.

“No, I’m going to the mall to do some Christmas shopping.”

“Oh, perfect then,” like magic, his hand was suddenly in front of her face, waving a hundred dollar bill, as though he already knew where she was heading and was just enjoying teasing her about the other, “I need something pretty for Annie. I was thinking a necklace.”

Katniss felt an urge to punch him, but started to step around him instead. He stepped in her way again, grin back on his face.

“Come on, help a guy out. The last time I picked out jewelry for her, it was a total flop, and you remember it.”

“Finnick, the only reason it flopped, was because you thought it’d be funny to give her a used pendant with someone else’s initials on it.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. That thing was an antique. And it was beautiful, and I knew the emeralds would set off her eyes. And anyway, the first initial matched.”

Katniss just shook her head; his problems were his, thankfully.

“Have to go, bye.”

He snagged her hand, yanking her momentum to a stop and then slapping the bill into her palm.

“Just in case something jumps out at you.”

“You realize how terrible it is to ask another woman to shop for your girlfriend.”

Finnick shrugged. “You’re not another woman, you’re basically family. And anyway, I already have her other gifts bought. I just want a wildcard.”

Katniss scowled.

“Fine, but I’m taking two hours for lunch, without losing the extra hour of pay, and you have to cover in case someone needs a bank run.”

Odair winked, then walked off with a, “Thanks, Katniss. You’re the second-best.”

Katniss shoved the bill into her jean’s pocket, so it could help her debit card burn a hole into the denim.

___

She knew what the first gift for Peeta would be, so she parked near the entrance closest to the woolen shop. Unfortunately, that entrance was the least used, and its parking more like the back forty. With Winter being stubborn about providing snow for Christmas, and the mall neglecting to plow that section, by the time she was inside, her feet were wet and freezing from slogging through patches of standing slush. There was a small hunting shop just inside the entrance, one of her favorite stores, and the moment she saw a pair of boots she’d been drooling over for six months on sale for forty percent off, she decided that if she was going to loosen up on the financial reigns enough that week to buy herself a sense of closure about Peeta, she might as well give herself that one treat.

Fifteen minutes later, she was stalking to the sweater shop in knee-high, front lace brown leather boots with reinforced heels and toes, all weather tread, and Gortex lined. And to make it better, her toes were swaddled in thick, high-tech, sweat-wicking winter socks.

She was even smiling by the time she got to her intended destination.

But then as soon as she was inside, her heart sank.

Peeta’s first present was a sweater she’d been eying for him for almost a month, folded on a center display table just inside the entrance. Imported from Ireland, it was a heavy, rough-finish wool sweater, that had a faded quality to its blue. The first time she’d seen it, she’d wanted him in it. Wanted to see how it contrasted with his light hair, complimented his blue eyes, hugged his shoulders, and layered over the waist of his jeans. Back then, she had still be holding hope he’d snap out of it, that maybe Christmas morning they’d be opening presents together and she’d get to see him in it, run her hands along down his arms to sense the feel of it, rest her palms against the scratchy texture of the wool, but feel the warmth and firmness of his shoulders and chest beneath.

But now, she wouldn’t get that pleasure. He would have the sweater. Hopefully, he would wear it. But regardless, she’d never get to see it.

If things went according to plan, someone else would.

She looked through the stack, finding his size and then laying it out, unfolded, over the rest. Her fingers stroked along the back and inside of the collar, where a beautiful, muted orange line of silky fabric had been sewn in to help prevent the roughness of the wool from rubbing against the sensitive flesh of his neck. It was even almost Peeta’s favorite shade of orange.

A friendly young clerk came up, asking if she could be of help. Her bubbling mood was a knife-stab to Katniss’ heart, so Katniss told her she had other shopping to do and was in a hurry. The girl agreed to wrap it and have it waiting for Katniss to pay for and pick up on her way back out of the mall.

The next stop was Eddie Bauer, where she had a clerk box a wheat-colored Henley on a bed of black tissue, hand it over long enough for Katniss to finger press a dog ear into the collar where the top button would normally be, and then finish with the full-on Christmas wrapping treatment. Her first hour was almost up.

Neiman Marcus covered two more gifts, six depending on how one counted, and fortune favored her in a special find that saved her a side trip to Hot Topic. Plus, the clerks there were fast wrappers. She had thirty minutes left for this trip, and, for this trip, only two more items to go.

The most expensive.

A boutique, ultra-high end men’s store cost her savings account exactly eight hundred, forty-seven dollars and sixteen cents. The gift wrapping took absolutely forever. But everything about the work, from the paper, to the simple ribbon, to the ridiculously expensive, and large, carry out bag, was immaculate. It almost made her cry.

It did make her cry, actually. Because signing her name to a payment slip that size made it crystal clear just what she had committed herself to do, and that she would not be the one to see the end result.

But she made a quick stop at Zales, saw what she instantly knew was the right call. It was just shy of two hundred and fifty after tax, but today was her day to spend on others, and Annie and Finnick were good friends, so she pocketed the hundred for her piggy bank, and paid for it out of her checking.

_____

“You’re late. Nice boots.”

“What?”

Finnick rooted around in the Zales bag she handed him for the necklace box.

“You’re late. You said two hours. It’s been a hundred and twenty-seven minutes. Did you stop at the bakery and bring us the bagels?”

“I didn’t have time.” Thankfully.

“Then I’m docking you the seven minutes,” he said without missing a beat, and when he finally got the red velvet box open, his teasing fell away into a look of confusion, and then a threat of real emotion. “Katniss, how did you…” He shook his head and the red headed prankster looked like he might actually hug her.

“Call it fate,” she said, and then started walking back to her office. “And if you dock me those seven minutes, our next limited run is going to be called Odair Pale, ‘cause that’ll be the vat you’d drown in.”

_____

Katniss was out the brewery doors at 5:00pm sharp. She managed to stop by the barber shop and the youth initiative before they closed by six, and that left only one purchase to go.

First, a stop at the bank.

Then, her final stop at the pawn shop.

The old man who owned the shop had held the item for her, and all that remained was for her to bring in the cash for it.

He was sitting at the counter like he was waiting for her— a sale like that, she was probably the one single person he was waiting for that day— and produced the item immediately, including the silky box that went with it, dull and stained by time. She carefully counted out the money, and he carefully wrote her out a receipt in his shaky handwriting.

Pawn shops didn’t gift wrap, but since it was raining, he found a used plastic bag from the back and gave her that to carry it away in.

It felt heavy, the plastic in her fingers as she walked back to her car.

Heavy like an ending.

Heavy like time moving on without her.

_____

By seven, the drizzle was threatening to turn to sleet with the evening’s cooling temperature. Katniss shivered a little, trying to shrink further into her jacket, and was even more glad for her new boots, because the slush in the alley behind the bakery was even worse than it had been at the mall. The windows above her, on the bakery’s second floor were lit; Peeta was at home, no surprise. He’d be watching television, maybe. Or even finishing dinner. Within an hour, he’d start thinking about bed.

For the six or seven months he’d let her into his life, she’d learned his habits fast. They’d never shared a bed and never spent a night together, because he wouldn’t allow it— because he was going to ‘do things right’— but they’d spent plenty of time together. By the Summer, they’d been seeing each other every day. And she’d found so much joy in the not rushing it. It had given them time to fully appreciate the excitement of almost innocent kisses and the silly, mutual attempts to find opportunities for them to be less than strictly innocent, the almost stolen thrill of sitting just close enough knees might touch, or arms might press. The silences and times where they were just around each other, without having to feel pressure that being out on a date, or on a walk, or going to the bookstore together was somehow really only posturing for a race they were supposed to complete by end of the day.

She knew his hours.

Knew not to text him after seven thirty.

Knew he didn’t actually like texting at all, and preferred a phone call, if a personal visit wasn’t possible.

Knew which corner of his couch he liked to lean into when watching television. Knew where his mugs were, and his glasses. Knew which drawer had the silverware, which hall closet had the extra hand towels for the bathroom. Knew he recycled cans, but often forgot to recycle plastic. Knew which episodes of Big Bang Theory were his favorites.

Each step up the steel-grate steps up to Peeta’s second-floor entry, brought another ‘knew’ to her mind, digging the knife a little deeper.

But she kept going, careful to duck a little near the top in case he happened to be at the kitchen sink window, and then leaning the box with the wool sweater against his door, with a note taped to it.

—Don’t open until six on Christmas Eve—

Just as carefully, she crept back down and then took up a position in the blackness behind the dumpster. A pocketful of little garden stones served as her ammunition, and she chucked three at his door with perfect aim.

From the shadows, she watched Peeta’s face appear at the window, and then a moment later, light came flooding out from his doorway. He saw the present right away, but looked around first to see who was there.

He called her name out and for a second she thought maybe he was able to see her after all, but after a few seconds of him leaning out over the rail and looking both ways down the alley, it was clear he didn’t. He came back to the present, gave it a look over, and then went back inside.

She didn’t know whether to feel honored or sad that after a gift appeared for him, the only person he thought to call out in question to was her.

#everlark #everlarkchristmasgifts #day one: christmas shopping #by dandeliononfire #fan fic #2018 #submission

80 notes · View notes

siobhanleachman · 6 years ago

Text

Thoughts on BHL and Wikidata.

I volunteer for the Biodiversity Heritage Library (BHL) as well as Wikidata. I also research women scientific illustrators I come across while working with BHL books and journals. When I discover these illustrators, and can find references to support my request, I ask BHL to add these illustrators to their database and give them a creator identifier.

Illustration by Harriet Anne Hooker Thiselton-Dyer

These requests prompted a member of BHL to ask what BHL can do to make the linking of this data easier for me. She was also curious about the authority control identifiers found in Wikipedia articles and wanted to know why the BHL creator identifier wasn’t listed there. She wanted to know how BHL fits within my dream of a linked network of biodiversity knowledge.

What follows is a response I wrote to this query.

I explained the creators I want to be added to BHL tend to be women illustrators who have not been listed as the illustrator in the actual work itself. During my research I had managed to find citations or references stating that they contributed to the work and so requested BHL to add them as a co-creator and mint a BHL creator identifier for them.

The reason I’m asking BHL for this is that BHL is one of the few organisations, along with Wikidata and Wikipedia, likely to respond to such requests. My motivation for asking is that although I’ve tracked down references, I have been unable to find any official identifier for some of these women. Wikidata has a notability criteria that, although lower than Wikipedia, still must be met. If I can show that BHL has given these women an identifier I’ve got an argument that this notability requirement has been met and can at least get these women in to Wikidata. This enables others to find them and hopefully build on what is known about them.

I went on to explain that the BHL creator identifier is not included in the authority control list of identifiers on Wikipedia biographies. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Template:Authority_control#Wikidata for more information on the authority control markup used in Wikipedia biography articles.

Example of authority control box from a Wikipedia article.

I explained that even if we were able I’m unsure whether it would be appropriate for the BHL creator identifier to be listed in the authority control template. This can be requested, but I believe editors might have an objection to the BHL creator identifier being displayed as multiple BHL creator identifiers can exist for each creator. I also agreed that as BHL doesn’t maintain these creator identifiers itself BHL isn’t really an authority.

I concurred that Scholia is a fabulous tool. It relies on Wikidata to present bibliographic information and scholarly profiles of authors and institutions. However at present much historic scientific literature and almost all books are not yet in Wikidata. This was one of the points I was raising at the recent WikiCite 2018 conference and was attempting to urge the Wikidata community to solve.

Certainly one of the easiest ways to help with the ingestion of historic biodiversity literature is to ensure it has a DOI (Digital Object Identifier) or some other unique identifier. Without a DOI it is very difficult to ingest articles in bulk into Wikidata.

The book issue is more complex than the journal article issue as Wikidata is still grappling with details on how it wants to model the data. I’m hopeful that eventually consensus will be reached on all the possible permutations of documents can be classified as books. For information on the model being used in Wikidata see https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Wikidata:WikiProject_Books.

One of the conversations that took place at the recent WikiCite conference was what the DOI or unique identifier should apply to. Some folk want the DOI to apply to the article itself. But others apply unique identifiers to the taxonomic treatments themselves. It may be that both happen and are used in the future.

Another complicating factor is that each language Wikipedia has its own approach to how it uses Wikidata. To my frustration currently English Wikipedia has some editors reluctant to take advantage of Wikidata. However I believe the English Wikipedia community is gradually coming around to Wikidata and the uses it can be put to. However certain other language Wikipedias make more use of Wikidata than the English language.

Image via Wikimedia Foundation Mix’n’match tool CC BY SA 4.0.

Once biodiversity literature metadata is in Wikidata there will hopefully be a link to the BHL bibliographic identifier. A specific work item will also link to its creator’s Wikidata item and these should hopefully contain the BHL creator identifier. Eventually I believe Wikidata will be used more frequently in English Wikipedia to automate links and to generate content in line with data in Wikidata. But remember we don’t just want to limit BHL’s impact to English speakers. The great thing about Wikidata is that all 300 odd language Wikipedias use it (although presently some more than others).

What I’m trying to emphasise here is that if BHL wants to really "dominate the dojo” it needs to get (or assist others to get) its article and book metadata into Wikidata. Once the links are there, the various language Wikipedias will use them. Also Wikidata is already being used by multiple commercial operations such as Google and Apple as part of their knowledge base for products like the Google search engine and Siri. I firmly believe that if BHL wants not just scientists but everyone to use BHL content it really needs to be in or linked to in Wikidata.

However please be aware I’m only looking at this issue through a “Wiki" lens. There will be many other organisations who will also be using BHL identifiers if they exist, are persistent and easy to use.

So in answer to your question about what BHL can do for me:

1. Allow me and others to request the addition of creator identifiers for overlooked creators to help correct the historic bias in the current metadata provided by libraries.

2. Take practical steps to enable the ease of ingestion of bibliographic and creator metadata into Wikidata. One of these steps will be addressing the difficult and complex issue of DOI generation. If BHL doesn’t do it others will. Getting in on the almost "ground floor” now will pay big dividends in the future for folk finding and accessing BHL content.

Image by Dario Taraborelli via Wikicommons CC BY SA 4.0.

Another of these practical steps that I would highly recommend is to send a BHL representative to the WikiCite conference EVERY year. It is not just Wikidata folk who attend this conference. The organisers deliberately reach out to external organisations that they believe have an important contribution to make. That the organisers saved a space for BHL indicates how highly they regard BHL.

I worry that BHL might not have an appreciation of how sought after attendance to this conference is and how powerful an effect BHL can have by having folk in the room. Having a BHL person attend has the advantage of adding their perspective on the difficulties and possible solutions on what is needed. It would also have the benefit of up-skilling those who work with BHL metadata on how important Wikidata is and is going to be.

3. I’d highly recommend that BHL make as many improvements it can to the usability of its API. This will have definite flow on effects in enabling everyone to reuse BHL data and content.

In summary I believe we NEED to get historic biodiversity literature metadata in to Wikidata so it can be easily found and used by anybody. The “easy” jobs are being done now in huge quantities - that is the ingestion of literature with DOI’s and creators with ORCID identifiers. The more effortless BHL makes the “harder” job of ingesting metadata relating to historic literature and their creators, the more likely BHL will be the resource that will be linked to, and the more discoverable BHL content will become.

#wikidata #bhl #womenillustrators #biodiversity

2 notes · View notes