#just say you don’t give a shit about writers but want to enjoy their books and go

[sirnotappearinginthisblog]

the number of people I see publicly supporting piracy (particularly of books) and shoplifting on here is wild tbh

like who do you think you’re hurting when you refuse to pay for books? It sure as shit ain’t the CEO of any big publisher, just like you’re not hurting the Walmart CEO when you shoplift from their stores

the people who suffer financially are always the ones on the bottom, and believe it or not in publishing that’s the authors themselves

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy For The Devil ~ Donaka Mark x fem!Reader

please allow me to introduce myself, i am a man of wealth & taste... -the Rolling Stones

Summary/ Warnings. Um… Donaka Mark is a scary rich asshole–with a soft spot for you. If you’re squeamish [or righteous] you’re not gonna want to read this. Voyeurism. Predatory behavior, manipulation. Power IMBALANCE. Eventual NSFW. Eventual line between dubcon and noncon is gonna be microscopic, y’all, this man plays gAmes… Reader is shy, but tough, in her way.  Also, when I say Reader is small, I’m more implying just compared to Donaka. I kind of assume most of us would be, no matter your body type. 🥵

Big Fat Author’s note: This is a Donaka Mark x fem!Housekeeper!Reader fic based on the brilliant @discoscoob ‘s bot, which is SO fun to play with and I really recommend it. I fell into a rabbit hole for daaaaays. I’m in CAI Anonymous now. Seriously it was a problem. 

I guess you could call this a little experimental hybrid fic written with AI. I was curious. And after working on this for weeks I don’t think the writer’s union really needs to worry about AI coming for their jobs. The bot’s writing is shamelessly fun but clunky, you delete more than you keep, it’s a lot of work to edit, and you really have to lead it by the hand for anything to actually HAPPEN. 

THAT SAID it is sO entertaining, and once in a while he’d do something i wouldn’t have ever thought of, I felt like the lab rat hitting the button for the treat over and over again, LOL. Disco really knew what she was doing when she programmed the personality of the bot!  It was also helpful in keeping a character on track. I think AI could be a useful tool generating ideas, breaking writers block, or something to bounce ideas off of, but not for the grunt work of actually writing a story that has any soul in it. Isn’t that a relief? I made an outline and basically ran the scenes through like a simulator to see what the bot came up with. And when I didn’t like it I made it do it again, LOL, the Donaka bot probably thinks i’m a bossy c*nt.🤣

So….I hope you enjoy, and a HUGE THANKS to Disco for giving me permission to even do this, you’re the sweetest my dear, and the Queen of the Bot Creators in my book!!

And and…it’s been a LONG ass time since I’ve been to Hong Kong. I did some research to refresh my memory but please bear with me. All mistakes are my own. Why do we say that? Who the fuck else’s would they be? 🤣 Obv. this is set c 2013, when Man of Tai Chi came out, before the crackdown in 2020. Oh, and, I have no real idea about work visas, i made that shit up... just roll with it. 🙃😘

One. 一

The first time you meet your new employer, Donaka Mark, you aren’t really even paying attention.

It’s because you have on headphones, and you’re intently focused on sweeping the floor while listening to your upbeat girl power rock mix–so you don’t hear him yelling at someone over the phone threateningly, and you don’t notice when his gaze locks on to you like a tiger who has just spied a tasty little deer.

You are oblivious, as he comes up behind you, appraising your figure with narrowed eyes. You seem small, next to him, but most women do. He decides he approves of his assistant’s choice in hiring you. You’re a sight he won’t tire of for a long time.

Donaka leans on the door frame, his dark eyes fixated on you, taking in your every minute detail, the way the muscles in your arms move, the shape of your face, the curve of your hips and your little feet. His expression is stoic but behind it are a million thoughts running through his mind, he can’t take his eyes off you and after a few moments he finally speaks, his dark tone cutting through the music. “You’re new.”

Your music wasn't so loud that you were unaware of outside sounds. Standing up straight, you sweep off your headphones to face the commanding voice. "Yes, sir?"

Donaka notices he towers over you, and he likes that. His dark eyes shamelessly take in your innocent eyes, your lips, your  curves. His gaze lingers almost long enough to make it uncomfortable, but not quite.

“Have you been informed of all of your duties?” Donaka asks, his tone and gaze both demanding and intense, making you feel small.

"Yes, Mr. Mark."

Donaka smiles at his name on your lips, the way you say it, the way you look up at him with your wide eyes. He likes it more than he’d like to admit, but he knows how to mask his emotions well. Even though his expression is still stony, there’s a hint of excitement in his breast as he leans off the door frame and takes a few steps closer, but still maintains a respectable distance. “And you can handle them?”

"Yes, Sir."

Donaka nods, his dark eyes slowly and shamelessly trailing over your figure again. “Good.” Donaka murmurs, his dark and intense tone making his next sentence more of a demand. “I need to be able to depend on you. I like things just so.”

You tilt your head, feeling like you’re missing some subtext, or that you’re the butt of an unspoken joke. "Your house will be clean, Sir.” Between you and the two other girls on the household staff, surely you could manage.

Donaka smirks at your naïve reply, his dark eyes still fixated on your face as he takes another step closer to you, almost like a predator stalking its prey. “I trust that it will…” Donaka purrs, his voice low and smooth, his dark stare intense and demanding. “Let me show you the rest of the house…”

You’d already received a walk-through with his assistant, but you are more than intrigued to receive a personal tour from the big man himself. There is something captivating about him. It's not just his good looks. His presence commands your attention.

Donaka can feel you watching him as you follow him down the hallway, the way you’re intrigued by him, the way you’re staring. It fills him with satisfaction, like you’re a new prize he’s added to the shelf of his collection.

He’s aware of the effect he has on people. Men fear him, women want him. Yet you don’t look at him with the same blatant hunger he’s used to from the opposite sex. You’re curious, but not ready to fall down on your knees yet. 

He would see how long it takes to change that. He glances over his shoulder at you as he leads you through the house, his dark eyes looking you up and down again. You follow close, taking two steps for every one of his, his legs are so long.

He can’t help but feel somewhat amused, enjoying the way you have to scurry to keep up with him. He can’t help but think how easy it would be, to pick you up, and to pin you down…

Donaka Mark’s home is an achievement of luxury architecture, dark, modern, yet filled with Chinese elements of style. Ceiling-high tinted windows afford a breathtaking view of the bay. His living room is like a museum filled with priceless artifacts. Antique carved ivory elephant tusks, beautiful Ming vases and exquisite stone Elder statues, silk scrolls and bladed weapons. All of it you will be expected to keep tidy with a painstaking hand. You think it’s possible your practically useless degree in art history and former employment in a gallery may have given you an edge in his assistant’s selection of hiring you.

He seems to genuinely enjoy your interest in these things, telling you about them at length. There is a large Qing dynasty vase in cobalt blue and gold enamel designs of clouds, cranes, and bats you cannot tear your eyes from. It looks…familiar, and in person, utterly enchanting.

“You like that one?”

“I like bats,” you admit, shoving your hands in your apron pockets so that you do not forget yourself and touch it with your bare fingers. You will be wearing gloves, when you detail these items. 

He lifts an eyebrow at that, seemingly amused. “Oh?”

“They’re cute. And…they’re good luck.” In Chinese culture, at least. 

“Most women I’ve met find them sinister.” 

“I think…they’re just misunderstood.” You can’t help looking up at this intimidating man through your eyelashes at that. You swear you didn’t mean to start double talking with your new boss–it just falls out of your stupid mouth, and you feel his attention upon you sharpen.  

He’s used to women looking at him in a certain way, women staring up at him with lustful hunger. The way you look at him feels different –like you truly see him–he’s not sure what to make of it yet, and that is certainly new for Donaka Mark. “Misunderstood?” he repeats, his dark gaze intense, looking down at you from his lofty elevation.

"Sure. They have a reputation for being scary, but really they eat mosquitoes and pollinate plants. Without them whole ecosystems would collapse."

Donaka hums at your words, finding it surprisingly endearing. He’s usually used to women fawning over him or at least trying to seduce him, but you’re here lecturing him about bats. His smirk remains on his face as he watches you fidget nervously, his dark eyes fixed on you. You look back to the vase, and then it dawns on you. “Oh my god…is this the piece that sold at Christies last year for like…1.5 million dollars?” You take another cautious step backwards, as though you might shatter it if you breathe wrong. You saw it in an article–the gold enamel had been so distinctive against the blue. Sacrifice blue, the same as in the Temple of Heaven in Beijing.

Only after the question falls from your mouth do you realize how gauche it is to ask, your hands flying to your lips. “Forgive me, it’s none of my business.”

Mark, however, just continues to look at you interestedly. “You follow auction results?”

“I follow…art news,” you confess.

He nods, his intense gaze starting to become uncomfortable. “Actually, it was 1.8 million. You think I overpaid?”

You feel like this is a test–or a trap. It was a nice job, for the day it lasted…

“Well…it doesn’t seem you bankrupted yourself?”

He snorts in answer, shaking his head. 

“Does it make you happy?”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, as though the thought hadn't even occurred to him. “It made me happy to outbid a Sheikh’s son and a Mainlander plastics tycoon for it,” he admits.

Ah, so he was invested in the thrill of acquisition–not appreciation for the object itself. You shouldn’t be surprised.

“I see.”

“I’ve disappointed you.” It’s not phrased as a question.

You shake your head, though maybe it does a little. Looking around his home, you’d thought Mark had exquisite taste–but he probably has an art buyer like every other obscenely rich businessman needing to acquire items for the sake of cachet. 

“Does it make you happy?” he asks, and there is an unexpected hint of playfulness in the question–delivered on a knife’s edge.

“Yes,” you admit. Frankly you’re stunned you get to see it like this, without a glass barrier or sensors or alarms. It’s usually the only way people like you get to enjoy art like this.

He smirks at you. “Then it was worth every penny.” He’s being sarcastic, of course, but there is a glitter of something in his dark eyes. It’s there and gone, like ripples in a pool–it makes your heart skip in your chest.

“Let me show you the rest of the house,” he invites, before placing a hand on your lower back, his fingers large and strong against your soft skin as he gently guides you away from the vase and to the next room.

His light touch makes you aware of every nerve in your body. It's not quite improper enough to complain about--you’re sure he’s well aware of that. 

And…there's the fact, deep down, that you like it. 

The span of his big hand on your spine makes you feel impossibly small, and protected, and that is insane, of course, because you are just the maid. 

He shows you the library, filled with built-in bookcases that make you drool, his office with his huge carved ebony desk that makes you think impure thoughts…and then, his bedroom.

He isn’t oblivious to the way your reaction changes as you enter the room where he sleeps.

He can see the way your eyes roam and your expression changes, the way you look at the massive bed against the far wall, the way your eyes widen when you look at the expensive rosewood furniture and the stunning view out the wall of windows that can be brightened or obscured with a dimmer switch. He watches you intently as he takes in your every reaction.

He's all business on the surface, specifying clean sheets every other day, laundry, and daily detailing of the bathroom. But it's hard not to keep looking over at the bed, even out the corner of your eye.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, but he doesn’t push it, staying just this side of the line. You don't linger, and he shows you a more private lounging area filled with a long leather couch, additional chairs, and monitors, all black at the moment. There's something almost sinister about all the screens, and you wonder what all he's watching.

“You must really like movies?” you ask hopefully, and he senses the wariness in you. Your intuitiveness gives him a small thrill–he likes it, that you’re smart enough to be afraid. 

“I like to watch all kinds of things,” he tells you, almost like a dare for you to guess what that means. “But mostly…I use these for business. I run a security company, I assume you’re aware?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Donaka decides he loves hearing the submission in your tone when you call him Sir. It’s almost like a promise to keep him happy, to do exactly as he says.

He asks you to keep all the screens clean, and to dust the cords and routers and be careful not to unplug anything. 

Then your attention turns to a meditation area, a massive sand sculpture on the wall and the floor, flanked by natural stacked stone. “Wow, been a while since someone vacuumed here,” you crack, earning a reluctant huff of laughter from the man behind you. 

“Maybe…leave that alone, for now,” he requests, then his hand is on your back again, guiding you out. 

Though it’s not going to be your area of responsibility, he shows you the garden next. It's a beautiful, manicured space. Two Rottweilers patrol the grounds. They look fierce, but one immediately comes up, sniffing you and leaning on your leg for a pet.

Donaka blinks as his reputably ferocious and staggeringly expensive pure-bred guard animals roll over at your feet for a belly rub.  Delighted, you pet them both, speaking to them sweetly. They grin up at you, their dagger-like canines glinting in the sun. 

He is never one to be moved by anything sentimental, but something about the sight of you like this inspires a warm twinge in his chest–heartburn, he reasons.

“Let me guess,” he says acerbically. “They’re just misunderstood?”

You press your lips, trying to suppress a smile, and failing. "Animals tend to like me?" 

He can honestly admit, as he watches you crouch down to administer a belly rub, that he’s never been jealous of a dog before. 

Sensing that maybe you’re not doing the dogs or yourself any favors with this severe man, you try to shoo them off. "Ok, babies. Go back to being fierce again. Shoo."

Donaka snorts with amusement as he watches you attempt to gently shoo these dogs that are nearly as big as you are. Suddenly he whistles sharply, administering a sharp command in Cantonese. That is when the dogs jerk to attention, and trot off to patrol the grounds again. He turns his attention back to you, taking in your slight expression of surprise, clearly caught off guard. "That was impressive,” you admit. “What did you say?” 

“I told them to get back to work,” says Donaka with a smirk.

“Ah. I guess I better learn that one.” 

“Will I be needing to reprimand you too, Miss y/n?” 

You’re not sure why his dark stare calls up a boiling heat inside you at that moment. You press your thighs beneath your dress, under the guise of standing up straight. You’re afraid…he knows all too well. 

“I…certainly hope not.” You’re pretty sure that you’d pee yourself if this intimidating man raised his voice to you. 

“Have you learned much Chinese since you’ve been here?” he asks conversationally, just as you assumed it was time for you to get back to work. 

“I can count to ten, and say thank you,” you admit, a little embarrassed. Obviously, you intend to learn more. “The essentials for international travel.” You’d originally come to Hong Kong to teach English, but when you saw the pay attached to this job listing you couldn’t resist the opportunity. Teaching was ok, but you hadn’t anticipated how expensive this city would be. You’d only made enough to cover your basic expenses month to month, with no room to save or do any fun activities or side trips to the mainland. This position paid three times as much–and you were beginning to understand why. 

“Hmm. Have you traveled much?” He seems skeptical, and you don’t really blame him. 

“I’ve…been all over the world,” you admit, albeit it was on a shoestring. “I wanted to be a travel writer.” 

“Wanted to be?” He is a man who picks up on subtlety immediately. 

It’s a dream you’ve all but given up on, after publishing a few articles, but all in all it was more slog than triumph. You’re not cut out for the grind of periodical work, the stress and the deadlines. It sucks all the joy out of writing for you. You shrug with a little sigh. 

“I hope you will remember the NDA you signed to work here?” he asks, his dark eyes roaming your face, taking in your every micro-expression. You would really hate trying to lie to this man. Good thing you’re not a corporate spy. He’d probably…string you up, and do something unmentionable to you. 

Why the thought titillates you more than scares you, you have no idea. 

“Of course, Sir.” He seems satisfied with this. So why do you have to add, “I won’t tell anyone your guard dogs are suckers for a belly scratch.” 

He frowns down at you, stepping in close so that you have to crane your neck to look up at him. It’s intimidating as hell, and you know he knows it too. You admit that you are shaking in your shoes under that look, until a smirk breaks his intense expression, and the relief you feel is palpable. 

“I would appreciate that, Miss y/n.”

Donaka savors the satisfaction he feels in flustering you, enjoying the way you swallow, watching the muscles in your throat. He imagines what his hand would look like there, on your delicate skin, your pulse fluttering against his strong fingers. He would literally hold your life in his hands…and the moment you surrendered to him, he would so enjoy rewarding you for it…

He finds himself caught up in this little daydream, while you stand before him, practically hypnotized like a mouse before a hungry snake. “Y/n?”

“Sir?” you answer quietly, and he revels in your deference. This was going to be fun. 

He speaks Cantonese again, softly this time, the language beautiful and whispery on his tongue. You find yourself staring at his lush, pink, lips, and it takes you several moments to realize he’d said the same thing he’d told the dogs: get back to work. 

Flooded with embarrassment, your face on fire, you stutter, “Yes, Sir.” 

With a dark chuckle and his hands in the pockets of his designer suit, he watches as you practically flee back to the house. 

The Smithsonian article about this vase...

Aesthetic post about Donaka's house...

Part 2 -->

[silverystrings]

whether for good or ill

i think that there is so much tension and hatred towards house of the dragon and has been since the beginning, that hating on the writers and everyone involved has become too much. i just don’t think that sara and ryan are d&d. d&d and everyone involved in game of thrones were arrogants and misogynists and thought that they were better. i mean by the end they didn’t give a fuck that much.

but with ryan and sara, i think they aren’t those arrogants and misogynists despite the contrary beliefs. i think they geniunely enjoy the world and they tried a different approach. they are the not like the other girls. jk jk unless..

no but this particular history was difficult to do either way. we are talking about the targaryens; the incest made them mad blood purist “perception” of the audience//general/local audience. and they do start with “they are their own enemy/downfall”. so i don’t think they have forgotten that. they have “themes”. and yes they have tried to do a character arc for everyone in big and small ways. and yes hbo crossing two other episodes probably damaged this second season a lot. i mean season 1 was also like this until the last two episodes where shit it’s at its peak. and the second season probably could have ended up too in that way.

as some reactor said, it felt like in this finale everyone kind of found themselves, even more setting up to do for season three.

daemon in the finale of season 1 wasn’t really loyal to rhaenyra in the complete sense. the way he was looking at her at visenya’s funeral, the clashing in the council, the choking, the way he said “dreams didn’t make us kings, dragons did” ????????? and the scene in the second season with rhaenyra, the way she says my throne, and he throws it in her face what he thought all along, that viserys chose her because of daemon.. and then he goes to harrenhal alone, tries to be a king, gets haunted by all these “dreams” and finally understands and supports Rhaenyra fully, that she is the rightful queen, and the part they play in the greater story. we know that season 3 and potentially 4 are just deaths after deaths. and as a lot have predicted, they probably will be estranged again. but it won’t be for the throne, for the heir, for this thing that has been between them since the beginning of the show. it will be because of his daughters. (laena;have you looked after our girls)

alicent—i don’t think the writers did nothing with her. i mean they love liv and what she brings to the table and alicent. they never wouldn’t have a plan for her character. she is a character that is the only one who survives and dies the last. as i said i don’t define her character as her being a mother. in fact that’s why ryan and sara are better at bringing something different. constantly in game of thrones we have all the women or the contraversial ones like cersei or catelyn but especially cersei: have being a mother define her character. “your love for your children is the only redeeming quality. if it wasn’t for my kids i would have thrown myself off the red keep a long time ago.” there are so many scenes and quotes about cersei and her loving her children and doing everything for her children. and yes that’s great. but in the books, she wants to rule for herself because her time has come, and she doesn’t want tommen to rule or learn or anything. yes she cares deeply and is constantly concerned for their well being. but still in the show it was very exaggerated. because they loved cersei but the audience didn’t. so her one quality was her motherhood. and that’s great. but as i said sara and ryan don’t make motherhood their only quality. alicent is a child bride and she has a veeeery complicated relationship with her kids. and her crowning aegon is definitely moreso because her and otto truly believed in keeping the peace of the realm. having a female heir, war was gonna follow. so that’s why alicent did it. yes the viserys part it’s oopsies but i mean dreams and tragedy are a targaryen thing and not far fetched. so she did that. and she completely lost. and by the end she sees that this isn’t “right” and wanting war to end. she is at last herself. she did what she was supposed to do, the mission of her life, and now she is free. i am so curious to how her arc is gonna go from now. is she gonna go and meet up with daeron? maybe she will try to put him on the throne when the people turn against rhaenyra and she thinks he is the best of them?!?! i know people think her story was over in s1. i think those are very misogynistic fans. alicent isn’t a villain and it’s not gonna be one. the writers have said this since the beginning. and i for one love that. she is the most normal character in the whole show. i said what i said. otto for making her be a child bride was the worst. the targaryens and rhaenyra and daemon were always gonna be a problem for her. and she making male heirs was always gonna be a problem for them. she is free. is she gonna be like arya? idk.

rhaenyra— ooof. i think this season was her finally getting assurance that she is the “chosen” one for the prophecy and that she is the heir, not because viserys spurns daemon. and i think as daemon finally understands the dreams importance, rhaenyra also understands the dragons’s importance. i mean they completely turn the tide for her in this season. and i know how much criticized rhaenyra’s and alicent’s relationship is. but alicent coming to her at last and essentially confirming and wanting her to take the throne it’s like the last thing to come full circle. her father truly believed on her and not because of daemon, daemon finally accepts that she is the heir too and is firmly done with the “pursuit” of it. and alicent, her best friend, the mother of viserys’s other kids, her enemy, her best friend, finally “supports her”. it was a rollercoaster it’s true. but she came on top. and i think now she will not be stoping herself in blooding her hands or doing necessary things for keeping herself on that throne. i think others have done thinkpieces on how she was like sacrificing the people to claim the dragons. all those scenes. and how she will truly believe that she is that one for the prophecy and will do anything now. i think dragons dying is gonna be her weakness just as how she started to feeling powerful with the dragons. i have seen theories of fisherman lucerys. and this is exactly the type of thing that sara and ryan could do. we won’t even know what started the war in the first place. luke dying is sad, but not defining. i know it sounds crazy. but even if he died or not, the war was always gonna get ugly.

i think these are the big characters of the show. and others are all also in personal journeys. rhaena finally having a dragon and being “useful”, criston accepting his faults (i mean alicent’s brother questioned him in front of everyone, pissing in his honour as a knight, the thing he was obsessed with, almost killed himself over, killed joffrey over, is now accepting his faults and accepting his death, he fought in wars before but wanted something more for his name, and he lost all of it to the dragons. he is defeated in every sense. his only arc is fighting as he was before the kingsguard. we have helaena who again isn’t defined only by a tragedy as sick as b&cheese. she still touches jahaera after. she is a dragon dreamer. and i don’t want her to just kill herself because of sadness. i know that we criticize the show for the grief and how quickly it’s over. i do agree too. but again i m not gonna define them by it. helaena speaking to daemon and aemond knowing how their fates are intertwined or rather their deaths. why did they do this? i guess helaena never being heard for her dreams and she now herself reaches out at the end to speak her “wisdom” and is actually listened and believed by both of them. it’s some sort of progress. but doesn’t she see herself is the question? possibly the same day too?!? hmm. aegon and aemond. i think everyone has said a lot abt them. tragedy is always gonna be present in this show. shakespearean tragedy. and also everyone is grey. we see the tragedy of both of them bc they never were suited for the throne. and that power.. absolute power as otto says.. especially in this family period and in this war.. it was gonna be poisonous..

idk i get all the complaints.. but as i said i could never treat them as d&d. especially for the female characters. they are actual characters. and yes i was mad too, at the “women peace and men bad bc war”.. but that is present in the book too. it’s the women who bind the wounds. and i did want to see mother playing this game for her son, rhaenyra wanting the throne for herself and being vengeful. and i think we will see that. but in different ways. not in obvious ways, in caricature like ways. and men did want war and were thirsting for war. so much peace that the last “war” was with maegor. so everyone jumped at the chance to write songs for them without knowing the cost of war especially with dragons. this isn’t a theme only in hotd but in asoiaf too.

i think they and the adaptation has flaws.. but i can’t call all of it shit or soulless. it was always gonna be a hard story to do. especially in the pov of the targaryens. they are their own downfall and so are the dragons. that’s how it’s gonna end hotd and same with every adaptation.

i m almost excited for a knight of the seven kingdoms, but man not for aegon the conqueror one. i genuinely think we don’t need it. and everything post dance is so much more interesting so i won’t be mad at those adaptations. but again grrm is never finishing those books. and so sometimes the question does arise of what’s even the point of these adaptations. i guess we just can enjoy them but even that is a crime. however picking the story where all the dragons die isn’t a bad idea for a show. especially with the events of asoiaf and game of thrones. it’s just that the “heroes” are not obviously targaryens and so it’s kind of hard and depressive to enjoy them. idk idk idk and just thinking abt the years its gonna take to make these other seasons it’s insane. insane for the fandoms and not normal people obviously 😭

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Come Go With Me

A Michael Gavey fic.

EDIT: Now with art! (just a sketch tho)

Summary: It's the spring of 2007 and Michael Gavey has so far kept to the vow he made to never socialize again after Oliver ditched him. Then he meets a cute girl at a coffee shop. Will the vow stand strong or immediately go down the drain?

Word Count: 3986

Rating: T (plenty of swearing, instances of misogyny, objectification of the female body, atrociously incorrect bagel eating, New York City slander, etc.)

Author's Note: yes, the title is the song by Expose. Also, I'm a corny writer.

Divider by @cafekitsune

“I don’t know or care what Oliver Quick is doing this summer,” Michael said, continuing to type on his laptop, not even making eye contact with whoever asked the question.  The guy who asked left without saying anything further.

Some random guy in the library asked Michael if it was true that Oliver was going to be spending the summer with Felix on his family’s estate.  It was more about prying into Felix’s business than him wanting to know anything about Oliver, Michael thought.  Oliver was not on the same level of being interesting (in the eyes of the general student populace) that the Cattons were.  

Michael didn’t give a shit that Oliver was going to fancy fucking Saltburn with his new, snobby, loser, nepo baby friends for the summer.  Really, he didn’t.  When Oliver humiliated him at the bar, he made the decision then to swear off any further socializing at the university.  It was the best thing he ever did.

Already, he felt less anxious.  He had more time to focus on his coursework.  More time to read new books, attend off campus lectures.  Walks in the park by himself were quite relaxing when he didn’t have to think about topics to keep a stilted, dying conversation going.  He even went so far as to set aside time to play video games again.  Every weekend, for one hour and a half, he lost himself in Fable on his Xbox.  

Michael still felt the sting of the bar betrayal from time to time, as he thought he had finally found a true friend in Oliver (or at least, the potential for him to become one).  The new, lone path taken had helped him realize that he was not the problem.  Oliver was just an asshole, like the majority of those who went to Oxford.  

Sometimes Michael wondered why people didn’t like him.  Must be how smart he was.   There was nothing weird about being good at math.  What was so awful about being good at math, anyway?  He guessed that most peoples’ biggest issue with his smarts was that it reminded them they were stupid. Oh well!  Plenty of time for activities by himself now.

One of those activities was fast became his favorite, after only his fourth visit.  Visiting a little coffee shop he had discovered near the river, he was able to “mingle” among people without having to talk to anyone. No one would bother him here and he would still get his dose of human contact which, after all, was vital to the psychological constitution of a person.  As rigid as he intended on being with his new No Socializing At Oxford vows, Michael did not intend on becoming a psychopath.  Besides, the baristas never got his order wrong. They never talked to him beyond the perfunctory taking of his order but after the third time, when he walked in, instead of asking what he would like the person at the register had asked “The usual?” and Michael would just say yes, thank you, and then pay.

Michael packed up his laptop, shoving it and the charger into his reusable Tescoe bag along with his notebooks. He stood and adjusted his sweater, checked all his pant pockets were buttoned up and zipped closed.  He kept his visits only to every other day so as to not have the monotony grate on his nerves. The coffee shop made fresh bagels every day, however, and he had been looking forward to enjoying one all morning (his favorite was blueberry).  He liked to eat his a certain way, scooping out the insides of each slice before finally eating the hollowed out crusts.  Someone at school would surely have an opinion about his bagel-eating method (not that he cared) but at the coffee shop, Michael was left in peace.

 Walking briskly through the library doors and outside in the crisp spring air, he didn’t even look in direction of Oliver walking up the steps into the library with Felix.  They were laughing about something but Michael didn’t even breathe in their direction.

—---------

The delicious smell of bread baking hit him in a wave as he stepped into the coffee shop.  It looked like a rush had just hit, the baristas busy cleaning and restocking various items.  

“Hi! I’ll take your order right over here.” came the chipper voice.  Michael turned.

Oh god, a new hire. An American one (he was pretty sure the accent he heard was American) Maybe he wasn’t entitled to feel irritated about changes in the store, it's not like he owned the damn thing, but Michael felt irritated just the same.  This was HIS spot and someone new had just invaded it.

The new girl had long hair parted in the middle, tied back in a bun.  The hair was turquoise. A very bright turquoise, almost neon, he would say.  It pissed him off even more. Dyed hair was so fucking tacky.

He trudged to the register, hating every second of anticipating having to deal with someone new, someone chatty, even for something as impersonal as coffee.  

The girl was almost as tall as he was, eye-level to him, smiling the fakest fucking smile he had ever seen.  I mean, it had to be fake.  Who looked this happy to be taking a stranger’s order? He didn’t even bother attempting to smile back.  Whatever.  Get my coffee, bitch Michael though.

“I’ll have a large vanilla coffee, sugar free, with a blueberry bagel.” 

“Ah, so just cutting back on the sugar but can’t quite quit it altogether, eh?” the girl said with a wink and another smile, totally unperturbed by his attitude.

Michael pursed his lips and said nothing.  The girl, still unbothered, looked down and clacked away on the touch screen.  He quickly looked over her in the few seconds she imputed his order.  

She had long, acrylic nails, painted a pastel kind of purple.  Her name tag said Cat, which he guessed was short for Catherine.  Maybe.  Also her boobs were big.  Not normal big, but stripper big.  Not that he would know, but still.  Too big for the word “boobs”, for sure.  Tits seemed like a more appropriate word.  If he had ever been to a strip club he was pretty damn sure stripper tits would look exactly like hers.  And she had tattoos covering the entirety of her left arm.  Classy, he thought condescendingly. No wonder she was working here instead of somewhere like a bank.

Michael wondered if she had tattoos on her chest as well…he was so sure he could avert his gaze before she noticed but suddenly her fingers snapped and her head lowered into his line of vision, a smug look on her face.  Small wisps of hair hung in front of her ears, he noticed.

“You lose something. buddy?” she asked.  

“I didn’t mean-I was just looking at your name tag.” he sputtered, fidgeting with a cuff of his sweater.  

“Look, it's fine. They’re tits.” 

Michael flinched slightly at her casual use of the word.  It was one thing to talk like that with other guys, but girls? What was she trying to prove?  Tits tits tits. He made a point to stare straight into her eyes and not look away while she continued to speak. “Its not a big deal, I promise,” she said, finishing up his order on the register and offering her hand to take payment. 

Choosing not to respond, Michael set his Tesco bag on the counter so he could unzip one of his pockets to get at his credit card.  The pocket it was in was hard to open and the zipper always caught, so two hands were needed.  

“You can look, you know,  just don’t be creepy about it.” she continued, as he struggled slightly with the pocket.  

Michael did not look at her as he handed over the card. 

Being branded a “creep” was the last thing Michael needed.  He was already the Lonely Nerd at university, he really did not want to become the Creepy Lonely Nerd (that ogles stranger’s tits).  Not that he would give a shit what people thought, but one less socially crippling label was better than one more.

“I mean, it’s not like I can leave them at home, right?  I don’t mind a little look here and there!” she said with a laugh, handing back his card. Unbelievable.  She was still talking about her tits! 

“Can I get that to go?” Michael answered more than asked.  

“Sure thing. Uh, what’s your name?”

“I’m Michael.” He was not staying here. He was not going to stay and become the Creepy Tit Guy.  Given her outgoing nature, Cat would probably have something to say about the way he ate his bagel, too, he was sure of it.  He would become Creepy Tit And Weirdo Bagel Eating Method Guy if he stayed. Maybe dealing with this at university would have been easier but this was supposed to be his relaxation spot. The coffee shop was ruined for him now, he would never come back.  Ever.  Fuck this place and fuck her.

“Alrighty, dude. Be right back!” 

“My name is not…dude..” Michael stepped away from the register, his voice fading away to nothing as Cat got his order ready, unable to hear him.  There was no one else coming in right now, it seemed he came during a lull. The other employees were still cleaning and restocking. 

“Here you go!” Cat said with a smile, handing him his bagel in a paper wrap and his coffee. 

Still not looking at her, he took his bagel and his coffee and got the fuck out of there, practically powerwalking away. 

 It was only until he made it to a nearby park bench that he finally saw what Cat had written on the other side of his bagel wrapper.  A whole paragraph, practically.  Michael, sorry for making you feel uncomfortable. I was just trying to be funny, I swear.  Enjoy your coffee.  Hope you come back! 

Michael felt relief for a moment, before loudly groaning and spilling some of his coffee as he made to slap his forehead with that same hand.  He had left his fucking Tescoe bag at the coffee shop.  His bag that had his computer, his notebooks, his finished papers for a couple of classes. 

He had to go back.  Fuck.

“Yeah, sorry, but she said she knew you.”

Michael swore. The cashier informed him that Cat had just left, her shift was over.  She had taken the bag with her to the Oxford library.  Apparently, she was a student there?  Who fucking knew!?

“You need me to call the police?”

“No, that’s all right, I do know her.”  Michael lied.  “I told her earlier I’d be headed to the library later.  She probably figures she can catch me there.”  Without a single, civil ‘thank you’, Michael practically fled the shop.

He didn’t care how dumb it looked that he was frantically looking everywhere in the library for the familiar, turquoise hair.  People always looked at him funny.  It’s not like he could go to each of them individually and ask them hey could you please stop snidely whispering every time you look in my direction? Old Michael would go back to his dorm, have a cry, wonder why no one liked him and then quickly finish his homework in his dungeon of a bedroom before crying some more and then going to sleep.

New Michael didn’t give a shit.  New Michael was focused 100 percent on his academics and self-care, and right now his academics were in jeopardy because that Tesco bag held papers he had yet to type (Michael liked to hand write his work first, he felt it was more thorough). Also, maybe New Michael should better remember to not forget his shit at random shops.  Old Michael wouldn’t have forgotten. Whatever. 

After scanning the entire first floor of the library, he stomped to the second floor.  If she was a student here, how had he never seen her?  The hair would have been hard to miss.  Of course, it's not like he made it a habit to people watch anymore, especially in the library. 

Suddenly, he saw her.  Way in the corner, at a table right under a huge window, he saw her returning with her nose in a book from the shelves.  On the table, his bag.  

“Give it here.” Michael said, approaching the table.  Cat looked up from her book.

God, she was pretty.  He felt like a troll next to her.  It was so fucking unfair. More importantly though…why was he telling her to hand the bag back?  It was HIS.  He should just take it and go, without a word.  She had basically stolen it.  The girl was a thief and took it to give him a hard time because she was a bitch, like every other pretty girl he had ever interacted with and been cut down by. Maybe he could like her if he gave it a try…but the days of trying to get people to think he was cool or amazing were over.  She was a bitch and he knew it.

Mmm not what the note on your bagel showed, an annoying voice in his head began. That note could only have been written if she liked you because who would write that for a random customer?  You should talk to her an-  

Oh, fucking christ.  Old Michael.  Desperate-to-be-liked-by-someone-ANYONE Michael.  Shut the fuck up, Old Michael. You are dead.

“Yeah, no problem, I mean it is your bag!” Cat said cheerfully, closing her book and holding the bag out to him. “Sorry you had to run all this way to get it, Michael.”

“Um, it’s ok.  I run fast.” Michael said, immediately regretting it. God, that sounded so fucking stupid. He reached out for his bag.

Oh, so we’re no longer on that socializing ban, huh, Mr. Comedian?  I mean, what was THAT?!  Old Michael thought slyly. Shut up shut up shut up shut up!!!!! And, look!  She remembers your name! SHUT UP.

“-couldn’t just leave it there, you know?” Cat had finished saying.

Michael froze. “Huh?” 

What had she been talking about?  Shit. “Uh, why not?” Please let that be the right response.  Please let that be relevant to what she was fucking saying, Michael thought desperately. 

Cat rolled her eyes, but still sounded…not like a bitch?  “The laptop would definitely have been long gone if I hadn’t taken the bag.  I couldn’t just leave it there.”

Oh.  That was it.  That had been all she had said. Michael nodded and mumbled his thanks, ready to go…except Cat still held onto the bag. And stopped him with her next words.

“You play Fable a lot?”she asked.

It’s a trap.  She is going to make fun of you, he thought to himself.  Just get your shit and go. His hand was also still on HIS bag.  That she was not letting go of, for some reason.

“Yeah, I like it a lot.” 

Oh, how riveting.  That will make her swoon! Old Michael chimed in. 

“Really?” Cat responded.  Her tone wasn’t mocking.  It was…interested?  “I like it too but it feels unfinished, somehow.  I wish they would release Fallout 3 for these new consoles already, I bet it would be 1000 times better than this crap that Lionhead put out.”

Michael nodded.  She liked Fallout? She was impatient for the release?? Ask her to go with you to the midnight release next year!!! Ask her ask her ask her ask- No.  Shut up.  Be normal, for once in your life, be normal and chill about something. 

“-able doesn’t feel like it’s TRULY a good rpg, where you can do whatever you want, you know?  You can only go in one direction and can’t put off the main quest at all.”

She was still talking about Fable.  She was still talking about video games, something they both liked, something they had in common.

This is your chance, you know. Old Michael piped in.  Did any of those other people ever show even the slightest interest in the stuff you were into?  Ever? Ask her out!

“Ok,” Michael began. “I see your point, but the mechanics of the game aren’t the star so much as the incredible story and character designs-” 

While he continued to go on a tangent of Fable’s good qualities to Cat, trying his best not to sound too rant-y, Michael frantically gave the idea of asking her out some thought…

What if she said no? Hm what if she says yes? 

It’s stupid. The release for Fallout 3 is next year.  No, not even.  It’s October of that year, so…over a year away!  Almost two fucking years! What kind of weirdo would ask someone on a date almost two years from now?! Plus, she isn’t even into me.  She just likes video games, like any other person.  

Why is she still holding onto your bag, then? Old Michael thought smugly.  Why did she write that little note on your bagel? Why did she remember your name? Why-

All right, all right.  

“Right, so…want to come? To the midnight release for it?  For Fallout 3?” Michael asked, throwing all caution to the wind and swallowing his preemptive rejection rage that already was bubbling up.

“For Fallout?” Cat said, still holding onto the bag. “Which store you going to?” 

“Target.” Please say yes.  I don’t even know you and I know it’s weird to ask you somewhere practically two years from now but PLEASE SAy YES, Michael thought.

“Mm, nah.” Cat, said, letting go of the bag to dig in her bookbag.

Shit. 

Michael’s chest began to hurt, the hand holding his bag falling limply to his side.  He could feel his eyes begin to water.  She was just like the rest of them. Pathetic.  So pathe-

“You should come with me to Game on Queen Street, they always price cut!” Cat said, whipping out her blackberry. “Whatever price we show them for the game, they’ll shave 5 off it!  I mean, it’s not much but I’ll take what I can get! Here, put your number in.”

On sheer autopilot, Michael put his number in.  He felt ashamed the entire time, having choked back a scathing insult at the last minute before Cat had shoved her phone at him.

“Are you ok?” Cat took her phone back, eyeing him with a concerned look.

“I’m fine! It’s just-probably something I caught the other day, I can already feel the sniffles coming on and whatnot.  It’s nothing!” Michael babbled.

It cannot be this easy, Michael thought.  It’s been this easy the entire time?  Hanging out with a girl?  Talking to her?  Making plans?  Why did Oliver never like him when they had so much in common?

Holy shit, forget about fucking Oliver! You have a date with your future wife! Old Michael practically screeched. Jesus fucking Christ, you are desperate. Shut the fuck up!! Be Normal!

“You wanna go back to the shop and get another bagel?” Cat asked, putting her books away and sliding on her bookbag. “ We could use my discount, that way-”

“Yeah, let's go.” Michael cut in.  Grabbing her wrist and not waiting for her answer, he turned and began to swiftly move through the library.  He tried not to get excited as Cat uttered a quick ‘cool’ and kept pace with him.  

He also tried not to think about how awkwardly he was holding her hand. Everyone in the library was staring, he saw it in his peripheral.   It had looked so cool in his brain but now everyone could see how his stupid hand around her wrist slightly resembled him holding his limp-no no no no noooo shut up shut up SHUT UP. 

“Blueberry runs out quick.” Michael said, as they both briskly walked.   “I went one time at around this hour instead of my usual time and I had to settle for onion, which is gross as shit.” You’re rambling, Old Michael chided.  She fucking works there, she doesn’t need a play-by-play of bagel supply issues. Let her say something, idiot!  The reason he never noticed her before, it turned out, was that she hadn’t dyed her hair yet.  Cat also began to tell him about her history degree.  Something about the American Gilded age and how she was deep into research of the British Astors or something.  Michael surprisingly found himself not bored.  Were her eyes fucking green?  Oh, fuck, they were green!

They finally saw the shop in the distance.  Right after his anti-onion bagel tirade and her talk of her studies, he set straight into a long-winded verbal onslaught on the statistics of how rare green eyes were.  Micheal thought his heart would fall out of his asshole when Cat adjusted their hands so her fingers were laced with his.  About halfway through the distance, he had cut in when she mentioned her favorite bagel flavor (pineapple) and talked her ear off the rest of the way about his bagel eating method, insisting on its practicality but really prepping her so that she wouldn’t be horrified when she saw him do it and ditch him like fucking Oliver.  She laughed. 

“That’s so L.A. of you.  New York would hate your fucking guts, though.” she said, with a grin.   “Good thing I’m a California girl!  I’d rather deal with horrible traffic and scooped bagels than having to fight rats for sidewalk space.”

Right before they got to the doors, Michael went for it.  “I’m telling people that you’re my girlfriend.”, he said seriously.  She hadn’t run off when he had taken her hand (wrist).  She had noticed the Fable stickers on his computer.  She had remembered his name after one interaction. The American thing was a slight issue but hey, no one was perfect! 

“Cool, because I already told the staff that you were my boyfriend when I took your bag!” Cat responded. “I told them you like to pretend you don’t know me when you get mad and I just play along to pacify you.  It was the only way they were comfortable letting me take your bag!”

Be cool!  Do not fucking freak out! Act fucking normal! Do NOT scare her away! Say something a fucking weirdo would never in a million years say! Old Michael reminded him.

“Let’s go back to my place after and study some calculus.  Your grades in that sound horrendous.” Fucccccck.  You just got yourself a girlfriend and this is the shit you respond with?! Old Michael panicked. 

Cat smirked. “Only if you promise to fuck me into your mattress after.”

Michael stared at her, almost daring her to say she was kidding.  When she didn’t and her gaze briefly dropped to his lips, he abandoned any doubts he had and turned to walk away from the shop, practically dragging Cat with him.  

Cat giggled and adjusted herself to clutch at his arm with both hands, her legs and his in perfect sync as they made their way to Michael’s room.

—------------

“What the fuck?” Felix said to Oliver, pointing. Both were sitting on a bench, relaxing a bit before their next class.

 “Didn’t he go fucking mental at you the first day? Not to be a dick or anything but is she safe with that guy?”  

Oliver followed Felix’s finger and froze.  

He gaped at what he saw:

Michael fucking Gavey, math genius slash freak of nature, walking happily with the pretty American girl who had said no to their bar hopping invite just last week.  It was definitely surprising, but Oliver was now more determined than ever.  If a fucking social reject like Gavey could get what he was after, then someone like himself was sure to have the same luck if he continued to put in the effort.

THE END

[mitziholder]

I find your thoughts on fandom interesting, and in general, I'm really glad to see more discussion of the bad shit fandom can/is doing to young women in radblr spaces. But I mean this as an honest question: Why do you consider fandom not challenging writers/readers such a problem? These aren't professional writing spaces, and the vast majority of fanfic writers don't intend to go into them. Does an artistic hobby *need* to challenge its participants to be worthwhile? I mean this all really genuinely, especially as someone who *does* work in the arts and *does* actively want work that challenges me, and has traditionally prided herself on it -- are these inherent moral goods? Am I a reasonable standard to expect of other people? Is engaging with boundary-pushing art a requirement of healthy maturity? Why? Is, say, a human rights lawyer who spends her free time watching trashy reality shows blighted, somehow, by that fact? What about a cashier who watches the same stuff because she's genuinely not interested in anything else? And, given the vast majority of readers of actual books basically read the way fanfic-only readers read -- the same genres, which use well-worn tropes -- do we think fandom is actually keeping its participants from more worthwhile experiences? (I suspect you might argue this is dumbing down the publishing industry, which I would really disagree with, as someone in publishing -- I know we can all point to Ali Hazelwood or a million YA books that advertise with tropes, but I really can't emphasize enough that this has been the case since modern publishing began, and I think pinning "so-so prose that's The Same Old Shit" on the current young female writer cohort borders on sexism, tbh.) I've been thinking about these questions a lot lately, and I just don't know the answers. My gut wants to say yes, it's good to present challenging work to people, especially women, because art is a key part of the human experience, and can effect all sorts of societal things. But also ... I know very little about the environment, including my immediate natural environment, and if I'm honest, I'm not really inclined to learn. I'm sure learning about it would effect all sorts of change in my life and concept of self. But I'm probably not going to do it because I have a limited amount of time and I'd rather give it to other things. Is that better or worse than engaging with challenging art? Is it better or worse to be me than the woman reading the same old tropey fanfic in her free time? I think what I WOULD argue is that, specifically, fandom as it is reinforces patriarchy and induces a lot self-destruction and alienation in young women, with particularly vile effects on young lesbians, autistic women, etc. But if it didn't do that....would I still have a problem with it? I don't know. But it's interesting as hell to think about, and I'd love your thoughts on it.

hello nona :-) many interesting points, much to consider

>Does an artistic hobby need to challenge its participants to be worthwhile?

no. I’m sure there are plenty of people who enjoy crochet or knitting or something like that for the sake of it or to de-stress. I’m sure there are also plenty of people who write and draw for the sake of it with little interest in grinding for improvement. that’s fine. the problem is when you have people who replace reading and personal edification with endless fluff + pointless indulgence.

reading... things... that are above your level, that actually make you think, is how you increase your vocabulary, your linguistic competence, your critical thinking skills, your ability to express yourself. difficult and complex texts present you with opportunities to broaden your perspective. they stimulate your mind, present you with new ideas; they can help you grow as a person in ways that the Same Old Shit simply won’t/can’t. it would be like benching the bar every day for 10 years straight and expecting to get stronger... I presume. I don’t lift weights.

as I said previously, I don’t think fanfic is going to destroy your brain, but if you read nothing but fanfic, that is on the same level as (or maybe worse than) reading nothing at all. of course I’m going to be critical of a community of people who humblebrag about how they can’t bring themselves to read 25 pages of literature in an academic (non yaoitastic) context.

ya ya it’s a joke they’re joking very funny, but do you see people of other creative pursuits or hobbies joking about how they can’t bring themselves to focus on a piece of actual literature or nonfiction? how they have zero interest in anything outside of anime boys kissing each other? it’s a sign of intellectual stagnation (and eventual regression imo).

I watch a lot of shitty youtube videos, but I acknowledge that they are basically a waste of my time. meanwhile you have post after post singing the praises of how culturally important and worthy of respect Our Beloved Fic Writers are in spite of the fact that their work is, by and large, completely self-indulgent shit! there’s just so much potential that isn’t being tapped into & so much complacency... it’s very frustrating to me. I find it dishonest. red white and royal blue is not going to change the world... lol

for the record, yes, you are right, lots of Real book-readers also read mostly self-indulgent shit. genre fiction is far more popular than anything else... and I don’t care for booktok either. in fairness, literary fiction isn’t always good, and I’m sure there were many women who read nothing but terrible pulp novels 70 years ago too. that doesn’t make fandom any better! not to say this is all women’s fault - I just have zero frame of reference for how “cultured” men may or may not be, and I don’t really care either way. I focus on fandom girlies because they’re what I know, & I want women to be... better, or at least more interesting. this is, of course, sexist by definition. I hold myself and other women to higher standards. I will admit to that. I’ll also admit to the fact that I do not care about men or what they are writing or reading and would not give a shit if they all became illiterate thoughtless slugs. it is what it is.

truthfully, I have no interest in moralizing any of this. I just find it depressing! it’s resulting in more and more women who cannot relate to and have zero interest in anything outside of the narrowly defined fanfic bubble - so, more and more women who can’t relate to me or what I care about. I’m selfish, and I think it’s unfortunate that there are so many young female writers clearly capable of writing something interesting who nevertheless restrict themselves to lowest common denominator coombrained garbage because it’s what’s easy and popular.

do we have a responsibility to pester random strangers about their amateur fanfic? naw. who has the time? all I know is that conversations I’ve had with my female friends about our original works or other women’s writing have been vastly more substantial and enlightening than any argument about who tops or bottoms in supernatural... imo. in my opinion

re: the environment and social responsibility, I also have no interest in debating what matters are the most important and whether you have a personal, moral obligation to educate yourself about them. I recognize that we all have a limited amount of time and energy to dedicate to something which is admittedly fairly peripheral to most people’s everyday concerns (such as... paying the bills). then again, so is almost everything.

at the end of the day, I just think it is an awful shame that some women would - and they freely admit this - rather turn their brains off and do nothing, think about nothing, read the same shit over and over, watch the same shows over and over, draw and write the same things and dynamics over and over... than do anything else. anything different or thought-provoking or uncomfortable. it is a loss for the breadth and the depth of women’s contributions to culture as well as their empathy and intellectual curiosity.

obligatory food analogy: a little bit of junk food won’t kill you, but if that’s all you’re eating, you are probably not... doing... well

and that’s not even getting into the social contagion present within fandom re:mogai, relationships, and gender identity shit (which I would say probably has a lot to do with the underdeveloped critical thinking skills and worldviews of girls who read nothing but fanfiction). I would love to come back to that at some point, but I think this post is long enough, so I’ll just put a pin in it. there’s honestly an insane amount that I have to say about common talking points regarding the value of yaoi/fanfic (in terms of how they portray Marginalized Identities and Relationships and how it supposedly helps women navigate their own trauma through a proxy or some shit like that) oh god this is a horrible run-on .... that’s all for now! send post!

[lemonyko0]

Test Dummy - jjk

college gives you the perfect fresh start, far, far away from your brother and any of his cock-blocking friends. or so, you thought.

» genre: fluff! best friends brother 👀 college au, little steamy and mentions of s3x.

» word count: 4.1k

Test Dummy - jjk

We’ve all heard about “forbidden love”. We’ve seen all the movies, read all the books, watched all of the predictable tv shows. I mean, what did you think was going to happen, they weren’t going to get together?

And yet, we continue to eat it up, every time, without fail.

“What is your beef with romance? Would you rather it be easy and straight to the point or do you think writers should end every romance in tragedy?” Mina scoffs and laughs at the foot of the bed as she proof-reads my essay. “I just don’t understand your point, y/n.”

I snatch the laptop away from her, “If you’re going to start making comments before you even finish reading it, I’m not going to let you read it at all!”

She laughs and rolls onto her back on my bed, “Fine, whatever, you probably don’t need anyone else to read it anyway, I’m sure it’s great.”

I nod, “You’re right, I don’t, you asked, remember?”

She grins, “Did I?”

I roll my eyes, “Shoo, leave my house.” Her boyfriend had texted her fifteen minutes ago saying he was on his way from her parents house, “why didn’t you invite your new boyfriend again?” I ask, referring to the cellphone in her hand as she slings her coat on and grabs her purse.

Her brows raise and she thinks about her words before speaking, something I most definitely never do, and she reminds me all the time. “Honestly? I knew your brother and his heathens would be back too, and the last thing I want him around is more testosterone.”

She laughs, having previously mentioned this one is the jealous type (which is apparently, something she’s into) and she was correct in assuming my house would look the same it did in high school, Seokjin and his friends all running around the house, being loud, eating all the food, and bothering any other life-forms in the house.

“Yeah you’re right, this place is still a sausage fest. However, I think today only four of seven losers are here. Not sure though, they’ve been quiet the last hour.”

She nods, “Must be eating.”

I shake my head as well, “Food! Oh god I’m totally gonna go crash their party, I’ll walk you out.”

I bid Mina goodbye and sigh in relief as I close the door. Not that I didn’t enjoy Mina’s presence, we’ve been friends for years and despite going to different schools after graduating, we’ve still kept in touch, but entertaining people for that long, is always taxing on my social battery.

Just as Mina and I make a habit out of reuniting during school breaks and holidays, as does Seokjin and his annoying group of friends.

I stroll around the downstairs area of my family home, parents gone somewhere I’m sure they mentioned but I’m sure I ignored, and no boys to be found. “Must be in his room or something.” I mumble to myself, opening the fridge and bending down to grab a soda.

“Actually we’re in the basement dusting off the pool table, hand me one?” I practically jump out of my skin at the sound of another voice in the room, let alone directly behind me. He grins widely, “Hi, pretty.”

I smack his shoulder and shove a drink in his hand before walking past him, “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, and furthermore,” I lower my voice and turn to face him, now separated by the kitchen bar, “why the hell are you talking to me like that here? That is beyond off-limits!”

He’s still sporting a shit-eating grin, “You were actually being serious about not telling your family?” I widen my eyes and gesture around us, he scoffs, “Y/N, seriously?”

I sigh, “Jungkook, this is just,” I pause, “too weird to deal with right now.”

He circles the table coolly, still leaving a respectable distance between us, “I vividly remember you saying something different a few months ago, probably when we were in my bed, but oh! Maybe it was yours?” He laughs, as if what he was saying was actually funny, “Sorry, after so many times I just get confused.”

I scan the room again, my face dark red and my hair falling from behind my ears as I aggressively point my finger, “We already talked about this and you promised me Jungkook! Now drop it.”

He takes steps closer until his chest is brushing against my finger and I drop my hand in defiance, “I didn’t agree to be your sneaky-link, I want to be your boyfriend.”

“No.” I state simply, turning to leave the room.

Jungkook quickly grabs onto my arm, “Come on Y/N, just rip the bandaid off, and tell them you’re seeing someone! Better yet, he’s right god damn here to support you! Aren’t you exhausted from this constant tug and pull thing you’ve got going on?”

I pull away from him and very theatrically tell him, “NO.” He sighs dramatically and I scoff, “What on earth do I have to tell anyone? Not only are we not together, but you are also Seokjin’s best friend.”

He throws his head back in annoyance, “I don’t understand-”

“And I will be more than glad to talk you through it, after break.” I stop him right there, tired from repeating the same argument over, and over again.

Before leaving for university, the thought of ever being with one of my brothers delinquent friends sounded appalling. I had to listen to their male nonsense my entire life, being dragged around and made fun of and simultaneously, extremely cock-blocked. Not a single date-night, crush, date to dances, anything. If I wanted one, he’d be scrutinized and scared off. It was impossible, and incredibly annoying.

So imagine my delight, leaving for school knowing I had successfully avoided both my brother, and every single one of his associates.

That is until Jungkook transfers his second year, and didn’t tell anyone where-to until it was too late.

Which I figured, whatever. The likely chance we’ll ever cross paths is slim to none, no problem!

Except he latched onto me like an actual parasite. It had taken him long enough to find the overlap in our schedules, my study time coincided with his! Oh and his gym-time too! And he liked getting coffee around the same time as me as well! Oh and he doesn’t like the treadmills at the gym anymore, and would much rather run at the same time as me, on the same path, and at the same pace.

I questioned his motives from the start, and eventually gave up on pushing him away. I could have worse company, I suppose. And compared to the rest of his and Seokjin’s friend’s, I did know him the best, and disliked him the least.

We actually grew close in a short amount of time and I found myself enjoying his company, although I still struggle to admit it. I tried so hard to clear my life of my brother's shadow looming over me but Jungkook never mentioned it. He actually seemed to pick up on my avoidance, and what I was trying to do by going to a big school and one I knew no one else was attending. He was perfect in the sense that I never had to tell Jungkook what I was thinking, he just, knew. He also knew what to do, and just what I needed.

As one should have expected, you can’t just fling yourself into the dating world head-first and expect everything to work out how you imagined it would. I had no experience! No precursor, no context clues, no cues, and absolutely zero clue that the rules and expectations of college-dating was completely different to those you read about.

I was on the third failed date when Jungkook decided it was time to ask, even though I knew he was hesitant.

It was autumn, the leaves turning cool to warm-tones and trees shedding, I remembered the extra crunch during my morning run with Jungkook. He sat against my bed with a textbook in front of him and a notebook in his lap when he looks up at me on my bed, “How did your date go?”

I hum, looking at him questioningly, knowing damn-well I had never mentioned my dating life to Jungkook. “You know, you won’t shrivel up and die if you ask people for help.”

I begrudgingly chuckle at his comment, “I don’t need to ask for help. Men are just stupid and horny.”

He nods, “I don’t deny that, but, perhaps you’re fishing in the wrong pool.”

I sigh, “I’ve fished from different pools! I did the ‘helpful guy in my maths class’ and the ‘cute guy always in the library’ and even dating apps! And one would think if you just wanted to have sex, you would NOT put ‘looking for a relationship’ in your bio, but I suppose some people just aren’t that logically-inclined?”

He grins and leans his head back against my bed, “actual dating isn’t what half of the guys your age are looking for right now. Sorry to say it, but unless flings are what you’re looking for, first-year guys aren’t going to offer more.” He speaks easily, almost tentatively, as if he was breaking hard news to me. “At least, not this early in the year. But I get your enthusiasm, it’s not like you got out much in school.”

I raise my eyebrows to that, “That’s for damn sure.” We both chuckle, and I sigh annoyed, “It’s just upsetting, like everyone is at a completely different place in their lives than me, I mean, fuck I’ve never so much as made out with someone!” I laugh and he hesitantly laughs after me, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t register at the time, but I continued, because he was listening, and for once I felt comfortable enough to tell someone other than Mina, and I needed that. She wasn’t here anymore, and doing things on my own wasn’t working. “I just, feel so detached and angry.”

He nods, leaving a few moments of silence to ensure I was done before speaking, “I mean, if it bothers you that much and you think it’d help, I will certainly volunteer to be your test dummy.”

I smile before his words really sink in and I look down to him with brows furrowed, he’s grinning with a pained expression, “what do you mean by that Jungkook?”

His eyes widen and he raises his hands in surrender, “I-I strictly mean it in a if-it-would-help sense, just, trying to offer solutions! Sorry, that was weird and wrong.”

He slouches back down and buries himself in his work, and it’s not spoken of again.

Two weeks later, and my morning runs with Jungkook have become a given, and as the leaves turn redder and begin to brown and fall off, I find his presence more and more comforting. I’m not sure exactly when the lines blurred. I wish I could say I was on something. I wasn’t sober, I was lonely, I was just being stupid. But none of it was true. Well, that last bit is partly true, I was stupid, for not seeing what was going on until it was right in front of me.

“Why not you?” I speak aloud, almost as if my thoughts had slipped past the gates in my brain and right out of my mouth.

It catches Jungkook off-guard, my out of context bambling. He was just stretching against a nearby tree after our run, and asked me what coffee shop I was in the mood for. “Why not me, what?”

I stare at him, mouth agape, and I’m sure it takes me much longer than it should have to conjure up a response. I ran through my options, lie, surely. It’s not supposed to go like this.

Or, just tell him. Jungkook had been a more than good friend to me up until then, why not? “Why not you?” I repeat. He doesn’t speak, leaving me to fill in more of the blanks. I catch my breath finally, “You, Jungkook.” I say, he nods, slowly, almost like he was worried or scared. “Why not go on a date, with you?”

He stares at me. Emotionless. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t so much as move the stray hair falling into his eyes from underneath his hoodie. I laugh, “Nevermind, that was stupid of me.”

He stills, before shaking out of it then shaking his head profusely, “No no no no, not stupid.” I raise my brows and he looks me in the eyes, “I mean, are you being serious?”

I nod slowly, “Well, yeah, it makes perfect sense, and you even brought it up, a while ago.”

He hums, “Yeah, I’m sure I did, but, when?”

He asks for a reminder, “When you told me you volunteered to be my ‘test dummy’ for relationships. So why not, show me what it’s like.”

Something told me his reaction was disingenuous, “Oh, yeah, sure.”

He smiled anyway, picking up his bag and water, “Well, in that case, let our first date be a coffee date, on me.” He animatedly looped his arm around mine and walked away from our running trail and towards the nearby shop.

Jungkook was, as expected, a perfect gentleman. And I thought, that was what he was supposed to be. We were doing this whole thing so I could get some experience under my belt with less hassle and pressure, it was perfect.

There was always something, though. A little voice screaming at me that something is wrong and needed to be addressed. But neither of us did. Not when he walked me to my ‘doorstep’ (the front of my building) on our third date and told me, “this is when any good man would likely try to kiss you.” He looked at me, I looked at him and nodded, “the third date?” He nodded, “Yep, of course, only if you’re showing signs you’re interested, and even better if he explicitly asks.”

I nod and smile up at him, both of our hands shoved into our pockets, the wind making the nighttime much chillier. He bites at his bottom lip and shifts his weight from his toes, to his heels, and back and forth, until I say, “so, are you going to ask?”

This stops him, “ask… what?”

I laugh, thinking how stupid of a question, “To kiss me?”

His eyes widen, and then he leans back, shaking his head with a grin, “No no, this isn’t-”

“What, did I do something wrong?”

He quickly shakes his head, “No, nothing, you’re perfect.”

I ignore the way my cheeks flush despite the cold, “Okay then.” I lead on, he looks at his feet. He never tried to leave, he never told me goodnight, offered to kiss me on the cheek, he just did, nothing.

And I simply wasn’t having that.

I leaned up on my toes and pulled my warm hands from my pockets and placed them tentatively on his face, and I kissed him.

It was quick, I had kissed someone before, albeit years ago, and I was not confident at all in my skills. But I was confident in myself. I knew he wanted to kiss me but didn’t think it was right.

I bid him goodbye that night, and life went on just as it always did. From that line crossed, every line there on after became more and more blurred. When exactly “trial dating” became real dating, I’m unsure.

It gave me a perfect excuse as to why I was spending so much time with Jungkook, and why I was enjoying it, until I tried wine for the first time. We both had a decent amount, and I had sex for the first time.

That, still, is one of my largest regrets. I mostly wish we could go back, and do it differently. Or had at least weighed the outcomes of putting me, the guy I liked, and a bottle of wine and zero reference of a tolerance in a romantically-set up room.

From then on, Jungkook and I have argued over what we are, what to do, what we were doing, at all. I had made a bubble. A perfectly constructed, safe space. No one holding me back, judging me, or shadows looming. I was comfortable in my bubble.

That was until break came, and my bubble literally, popped.

I told Jungkook, (I’ll admit, rather coldly) that from the moment we were back in our hometown, none of this had ever happened. “If they ask, we kept up with each other on campus as friends, but that was it.”

He did not take well to this, but what was I supposed to do? Re-introduce one of my brother's closest friends as “my friend I go on dates with and kiss and sleep with every so often but he’s not really my boyfriend I don’t know we haven’t figured it out yet.” ???? Absolutely not. It is too complicated, too fast, too much for my brain to deal with all at once. It is bad enough returning home, and even worse knowing my problems were following me and harassing me in my own kitchen.

Jungkook sighs, having relented, “I don’t know what else to do, y/n.”

I pause for a moment, then shrug, “I’ve told you, i-it’s a hard situation. And any normal guy in your position would most definitely not be invited to my home during holiday, let alone bonding with my entire family and even join us for freaking christmas dinner if he wanted.”

His eyes look past me before nodding solemnly, “I get that, really, I-I’ve kept my distance! I’ve done what you asked, but you’re not even meeting me halfway.”

I put my hands out in front of him, “There is no half-way Jungkook.” I look to the basement door when I hear a voice and the steps creaking, “As of right now, there is nothing to talk about.”

He opens his mouth to complain and I loudly hush him, “Ah! Stop talking.”

He tries speaking again, no doubt further complaints about how unfair I’m being, and thankfully he notices Seokjin seconds before he slings his arm around him with a grin, “Wondered what was taking you so long to grab my coke.”

He laughs it off and Seokjin crosses the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge, and I turn to leave before he calls out to me, “Yeah?”

“There’s still pizza down there, and we found the missing 4 striped ball.” He points at the basement door with the drink in his hand and chuckles, “Which if I remember correctly, you lost when you practically threw it at me.”

I roll my eyes, “I did not throw it at you, you hid it from me so I couldn’t win, I was beating you so bad you had to cheat.”

He chortles, “Yeah, that may be, but I’m nowhere near the best player anymore, you could easily win even if I cheated.”

I nod, “Yeah I’m sure-”

“Actually, Jungkook beat me twice and Taehyung forfeited, that's why we sent him up here, so we could have our own losers match.” He makes himself laugh even harder, walking back over to Jungkook, “We’re gonna go play mario kart in my old bedroom, you can join us or see if y/n is still the best at pool.” He speaks to Jungkook, but looks at me.

I shake my head, “It’s not that deep-”

“Of course! We have to.” Jungkook says quickly. I narrow my eyes towards him and he grins cockily, “unless you know you’ll already lose.”

I roll my eyes, “Comedic, you’ve always been a sore loser, I refuse for the sake of your ego.”

He scoffs, “Nope. Liar. You know you’re no good anymore and you’ll lose.”

I shake my head, “You’ll say anything to get me to play.”

He leans against the table, “Just one round. And I’ll even offer best of three, when you lose.” He grins cockily and I mock him.

“Whatever. ONE round, that’s it.”

Seokjin claps, “Perfect! Winner can run their victory lap around the house and boasting rights until next year, and loser pays our dinner later.” He pats our backs excitedly before jogging up to his room, Taehyung not far behind him.

Jungkook and I enter the basement, setting up the game and talking shit, as one does. “Who’s breaking?”

He smiles, holding his chosen pool cue, “Ladies first.”

I nod, “Such a gentleman.”

He laughs, “Yeah, that’s what got me into your pants.”

I mess up my shot and berate him. “I have half the mind to come over there and use this forcefully.” I lift up my pool cue and he pretends to be scared.

“Oh no! Please don’t!” I walk over to him, slap his chest and I only get one good (albeit, wimpy, compared to his strength) hit in before he grabs both of my hands and backs me into the pool table. He leans into me, our bodies touching leaving absolutely no room, and he kisses me.

I’m able to forget my surroundings and lose all rationality when he kisses me. He licks at my lips and I let his tongue slide past, soon enough his hands drop the cue, mine long forgotten as his hands slide down my body and he lifts me onto the table.

My hands are split, one tangling his hair and the other feeling his chest. He continues to kiss me fervently, hungrily, like he was touch-starved and in dire need of attention. He pulls me close and rubs against me, showing me how bad he wants me and it takes all the strength I have left to pull away, calling out to him. He ignores me the first time, kissing me in response to his name. I pull away again, “Jungkook.” he hums, busying himself with kissing and biting my neck, “Jungkook, w-we can’t.”

My pleas fall on deaf ears. “Jungkook, please,” my hands tug on his arms that are wrapped around me, “not here.”

He buries his face in my neck and leans into me with an annoyed groan. I let him rest like that for a while, waiting until he lifted his head and looked at me. “I don’t actually want to play pool.”

I chuckle, “Me neither.”

He takes a deep breath and nods, “Okay so let's use this table for a much better purpose.” He leans back into kiss me and I turn away, laughing at his desperate attempt.

“Jungkook, it’s bad enough, what we’re doing, let alone to do it in my house, where Seokjin is literally in, right now.”

He whines, “I don’t care! I will go up there right now and tell him-”

“Tell him what?!” Jungkook stops in his tracks. “Tell him what, Jungkook?” He doesn’t respond. “Exactly. We don’t have a label. I’m not ready to figure this out yet, there’s nothing to tell them now.”

His gaze softens and he steps towards me, his hands resting on my thighs as he draws circles on them, “But we’ll tell them eventually? It won’t be like this, much longer?”

I sigh, scratching his head and looking him in the eyes, “if we become official, if we really work out, then yes, of course. We’ll tell them.”

He kisses me again, barely parting our lips, “Okay, I’ll stop.”

I kiss him back and laugh, “Really? That’s all it took?” He furrows his brows. “Jungkook, I’ve been saying that since the beginning. Albeit, quite meaner.”

He nods, “You were being a megabitch, but I really like you so I didn’t mind.” He presses our noses together and smiles. I push his chest offendedly and he doesn’t move an inch, “You were stressed, worried, and confused, I don’t blame you. I should've been more sympathetic.” I kiss him again and thank him, followed by my own apology for mistreating him. “But there is still something different this time.”

I hum, “Yeah? What.”

He grins, “You acknowledged us being together.”

I roll my eyes, knowing I couldn’t hide the way my cheeks heat while trapped in his arms, “Whatever, stop talking.”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚

heyyy thanks for reading! if u liked it check out my masterlist for more :) also!! i am (tentatively) accepting requests! send them in via dm or askbox! hope u have a gorgeous day! - ara <3

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[writingwhimsey]

Hiii I saw the following celebrationn so i just had to ask for ikesen Mitsuhide only one bed and smut (i am over 18) honestly would live it if it’s their first time so like cute feelings but ofc you are the writer 😁

Sorry it has taken me so long to get to this ask. I've had a shit ton of stuff going on irl. I still have a few more to get to in this celebration, but I want to thank you all for your support for hanging in there with me during all of these crazy ups and downs.

Here we are Mitsuhide and one bed smut...with a modern AU twist. Hope you enjoy!

18+ content, female reader, PIV, fingering, oral female receiving

A Business Trip turns Personal

I sighed as I arrived at the hotel with my business partner, Mitsuhide Akechi. We had been traveling for work and were due to head home when a sudden storm hit. So we had no choice but to pull into the first hotel we could find and hope we could wait out the storm for the night.

“We are gonna get soaked, even if we had umbrellas.” I said as we sat in the car. “The weatherman said we were supposed to have clear skies.”

“It seems they get wrong more often than they get right.” Mitsuhide replied. “We’ll just have to make a run for it. I’ve parked as close as we can.”

I nodded. “Alright.”

We got out of the car, making a mad dash for the front door. I was surprised when Mitsuhide caught up to me, taking his coat off and holding it over the both of us to try and provide some level of protection against the hard rain. Though this did require us to be rather close together… which had my heart racing. I’d be lying if I were to say that I didn’t find Mitsuhide attractive.

Once we made it inside the hotel lobby, Mitsuhide was bringing his jacket down. We were both still rather soaked, but at least our heads were mostly dry. A sweet old lady was sitting behind the front desk. “Oh you poor dears.” She greeted us. “Got caught in the storm.”

“Yes, we were on our way home from a business trip.” Mitsuhide explained.

“I see. Well you are in luck. We have one last room available.” The woman replied, grabbing her book and the key for us.

“Only one room?” I asked.

“That won’t be a problem, will it dearest?” Mitsuhide said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

I was stunned as I looked up at him. “M-Mitsuhide…”

He winked at me as he signed the guest book and took the key. The old lady behind the desk smiled and winked at me. “You two are so cute. Enjoy your stay.”

We were then heading away from the front desk and down the hall, Mitsuhide leading me to the room indicated by the number on the key. “Mitsuhide, w-what…”

“She said they only had one room.” Mitsuhide replied with a shrug. “And she seemed to be mistaken. It seemed easier to go along with it than to worry about anything.”

I just hope there’s two beds. I thought. Being close to Mitsuhide like this was bad enough on my heart. I had always thought Mitsuhide was attractive…every woman in our department did… and they were all jealous of me when I got put on this project with Mitsuhide.

But of course, just like the plot of some romance novel, when we arrived at the room, there was only one bed. Okay all the girls at the office are gonna kill me if this ever gets out.

“Oh look at that only one bed.” Mitsuhide said, his voice sounding rather sly.

I looked up at him. “There’s a couch there, I can sleep on that…”

“Nonsense.” Mitsuhide replied. “What kind of man would make a woman sleep on the couch. I can take it.”

“That wouldn’t be fair to you, though.” I replied.  I then let out a sigh. “Well, we are both adults. It’s no different than if I were on a roadtrip with one of my girlfriends.”

“See, we can work through this.” Mitsuhide said, giving me a cheshire grin.

Something about that smile made my heart flutter. “Well….uh I think I’m going to go grab a shower and change in the bathroom real quick.” 

“Good idea.” Mitsuhide said. “You don’t want to catch a cold.”

Well, if you keep looking at me like that I’m going to need a cold shower. I thought before heading into the bathroom. Even though I was the one who said we could share the bed… this was so completely different from being on a road trip with one of my girlfriends.

I ended up taking a rather cool shower, trying to calm my racing heart. I changed into a t-shirt and clean underwear before heading back into the room. Mitsuhide had dried off and changed into some casual clothes…looked like a t-shirt and boxers…was I really seeing him in his underwear? To be fair…I mean I was in just a t-shirt and my underwear too.

“Ah, did you enjoy your shower?” Mitsuhide asked.

“Uh…yeah.” I replied, suddenly self conscious about my pajamas. We’d been traveling and staying in hotels for so long now…but we’d each had our own rooms.

Mitsuhide sat down on the bed and patted the space next to him. “Come, we should probably be getting some rest.”

“Right.” I replied as I made my way over to the bed. I mechanically sat down on the bed, my back to Mitsuhide. 

“You are not going to get much sleep if you don’t lay down.” Mitsuhide said.

“I…uh…”

“Nor if you cannot relax.” Mitsuhide said. I could hear him moving on the bed behind me and then his lips were at my ear. “Perhaps I should help you.”

I shivered and shot up. “Mitsuhide…what…”

Mitsuhide smiled at me. “I was merely thinking I could give you a massage.” He said, his voice far too innocent yet not at all. “I do know my way around the human body. Allow my hands to work magic for you.”

“I mean…a massage might…be nice.” I said. “But…I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Mitsuhide said, his long graceful fingers grasping mine and gently pulling until I was sitting back on the bed. He was sitting behind me and then his hands were on my shoulders, gently kneading my muscles.

“This…does feel nice.” I admitted.

“See, I knew I could make you feel good.” Mitsuhide said, his tone rather suggestive as his breath washed over the nape of my neck.

My breath hitched and my heart rate picked up. “Uhm…Mitsuhide…”

Mitsuhide was leaning in, his nose was running along the side of my neck. “Yes…” He replied, his voice husky.

“W-what…what are you doing? I mean…this isn’t…exactly relaxing…me…”

“Hmm, then perhaps you would like this?” Mitsuhide asked as his lips began to kiss along the side of my neck.

I felt electric thrills running through my body from his touch. “I…I think…I am… feeling quite… the opposite…a little…worked up…”

“Then that means my plan is working.”

I turned my head and was face to face with Mitsuhide’s gorgeous amber eyes, which were holding a barely concealed desire. “I…”

Mitsuhide’s slender fingers were beneath my chin, tilting my head ever so slightly and then his lips were on mine. My body responded of its own accord, my lips molding to his as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

When we broke the kiss, I was breathless. “Mitsuhide…”

He smiled at me as he lowered me back on the mattress and hovered over me. “I had been hoping that we could get this lucky to be alone like this.”

“You…have?” I asked.

“Yes, I was rather pleased when we were paired for this project. I have been attracted to you for a long time.”

Before I could respond his lips were on mine once again. My lips parted of their own accord as his tongue slipped inside to caress my own. Mitsuhide just admitted to having wanted me and we were really here…and he was really kissing me.

Mitsuhide broke the kiss again, looking at me with an achingly tender smile. “If you do not want this just say so and we’ll end the night here.”

“I…I do want it.” I said. “I want you.”

Mitsuhide kissed me again, his hand sliding up under the hem of my shirt and teasing over my bare flesh. Our kiss quickly became passionate as Mitsuhide began to remove my clothes. His eyes drank in my form in the most gratifying of ways.

“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.” He told me, his long graceful fingers stroking my skin.

“You’ve…imagined?”

Mitsuhide grinned at me. “You are a beautiful woman. I would be insane to not notice you or not think of you or imagine what this moment would be like…and it’s not as if you haven’t had similar thoughts about me?” He added this last part with a teasing smile before taking his shirt off.

He was then reaching for my hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss my fingertips before resting my hand on his chest. “Feel free to touch me as much as you like.”

I ran my hands over his body, feeling every line and muscle as I did. Mitsuhide shivered deliciously under my touch. He was leaning back down to cover me in kisses as I continued to run my hands over his body. I let out a moan when Mitsuhide’s lips enclosed one of my nipples, sucking even as he flicked the peak with his tongue.

“M-Mitsu…hide…” I moaned.

His hands were moving over my curves, fingertips tracing delicately over my most sensitive places. I gasped when his wandering hands found their way between my thighs, fingers stroking my sensitive bud before sliding back and slipping between my folds.

“You’re so wet already…” Mitsuhide cooed as he came back over me, his fingers still working me.

“I…ngh…Mitsuhide…” I moaned as the waves of pleasure washed over me. 

“The sight of you writhing in pleasure beneath me…you’re simply irresistible.” 

I moaned and arched my back as his long fingers continued to work me. Just as I was about to fall over the edge, Mitsuhide withdrew his fingers. I let out a whimper at the sudden loss of stimulation.

“Mitsuhide…why…” I pouted up at him.

He grinned at me. “Don’t worry, I intend to take care of you.” He told me before moving once again. The next thing I knew, my thighs were resting on his shoulders and Mitsuhide’s head was between my legs. His lips descended upon my heat, tongue snaking out to flick my bud.

“Ah…ngh…” I moaned as the pleasure washed over me once more.

I could feel the coil winding tighter in my lower belly as Mitsuhide performed gymnastics with his tongue. Stroke after stroke, twisting and teasing…the coil winding ever tighter. My back arched and my thighs began to tremble as a powerful orgasm washed over me, Mitsuhide remained between my thighs, his tongue drawing out my release.

I was still trembling and sensitive as I began to descend from my high. Mitsuhide was kissing up the front of my body. “You taste…delicious.” He told me as he was now directly over me once again.

I shivered as I looked into his eyes, burning with desire, lips still glistening with the proof of my release. “I…I wouldn’t know…” I replied.

Mitsuhide grinned. “Well you should…” He was then capturing my lips with his, his tongue diving into my mouth, allowing me to taste my own desire.

I moaned into the kiss as I wrapped my arms around him and pressed myself close. Mitsuhide’s hands moved over my curves once again, pinching and fondling my breasts before tracing patterns over my lower belly.

He was grinning as he broke the kiss. “I hope you know…I am just getting started with you, my dear little mouse.”

I didn’t even know when he had slid his boxers off, but they were gone and the next thing I knew, he was sliding inside of me, causing me to gasp and moan. I wrapped my arms and my legs around Mitsuhide, drawing him in for a kiss. I was in for the longest and most pleasurable evening of my life.

[swampstew]

Hiii I hope you know your one of the greatest unappreciated writers I’ve ever seen and your very nice 😊

I’m kind of shy so I’ll make this quick since I’m not the best at this if you want to write for yandere luffy maybe you could write this you don’t have too platonic/romantic fluffy headcanons of yandere luffy having a shy timid soft s/o who’s nerdy and smart? But they try to match his energy in a cute way? Like being cheerful and not so fearful? And hug him more because they want to make him feel loved? Feel free to take your time or ignore have fun!

Hi anon ~ that's so sweet and kind of you to say <3 Sorry I took some time on this but this is now the kick off on my Yandere Content Week! Thank you for your request, I gave it my best shot below and hope you like it👉👈

WC: 661 CW: SFW; not-gender specific reader; Yandere Luffy; kidnapping reader; maybe stockholm? sorry if it's awful or too OOC or not Yandere enough I am just a little lady trying my best!

Bless both your souls. You thought he was just really friendly, and you’re not wrong he is – just uhhh he doesn’t really take no for an answer and he reeeeeallllyy wants you to join his crew. What does he have to do to convince you to go with him? Job or education? No need when you’re a pirate! A resume is more important than a diploma (no offense Robin). Worried about your safety? Don’t! What else are you saying? He can’t hear you over the sound of the whistling air as he yeets you from your island on to his ship. Why would he do that? Well cause if you had it your way, he’d have to fight every person you cared about to keep them from holding you back from him. Man, woman, child, he does not give a shit, square up!

The ship is already in motion so you’re stuck with the Straw Hat crew. The others seem mildly surprised, something about Luffy not hyper focusing on any one person so long that he resorts to kidnapping (often) but stranger things have happened – moving on. You’re lucky, all things considering. Luffy is literally the best pirate from the Worst Generation to be snatched by. He’s goofy by nature and generally kind. But oh boy is he selfish. Well, you would know now wouldn’t you?

Luffy can be selfish but he would never want you to be unhappy so he’ll do anything to make sure you’re having a good time. Want to fish with him? Catch bugs with him? Explore a thick jungle and see what wild creatures you’ll come across? You find yourself running after him, he is pretty fun and honestly, reckless, and constantly needs your help getting unstuck from wherever he ended up wedged in. When you’re travelling on the sea for weeks on end, Luffy keeps you company as you read Robin’s books, or as you watch and ask Franky questions about himself and his robotics, he doesn’t care – he just likes spending time with you. Especially since you’ve started coming out of your shell lately.

Luffy was afraid at first that you hated and resented him for taking you. And you did but even you had to admit that being around the rubber man wasn’t as bad as you initially thought. Just, your consent would have been cool first, that’s all. Nevertheless, Luffy brought out the best in you – without him, you wouldn’t have known how exciting life could be, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to be so in sync with you. It’s like he always knew what you needed before you did. Or maybe it was the crew pitching in and giving him an edge but all you knew is that you’ve never been treated as kindly or as well before. Luffy gives you all his attention, he listens with enthusiasm as you share the things you enjoy or the new things you discover. He goes the extra mile to make sure you get whatever you want. In return you also reciprocate the enthusiasm and attention.

Luffy’s content with the relationship never getting physical or even romantic, it does not really matter to him all he wants is you, on his crew but specifically with him, and for no one else to ever have you. That works perfectly for you, your feelings on him are still mixed. Over the course of several months, your personality transforms from a shy, self-proclaimed nerdy person to a more confident version of yourself. Luffy teaches and instills you with empowerment, assertiveness, even cockiness! You went from being stiff and awkward around him to sneaking him hugs from behind, letting him intertwine his fingers with yours, and more often than not, sneaking pokes to each other’s side to elicit maniacal laughter and sharp cries of protest. Neither of you show mercy during these tickle wars, just another trait he rubbed off on you.

[mermaidsirennikita]

People are ridiculously entitled and it’s genuinely so disheartening. Books are someone’s ART. You don’t just get to alter a name in someone else’s creative work. (I’m appalled people out there think this is remotely acceptable - writers are not court jesters nor do they exist to please everyone - no human being nor their creative work does, in fact!) Thanks for putting your various responses out there! Here’s hoping people learn to respect and appreciate artists and creators once again

Quoth Nora Roberts:

I am not here to be a slave to certain reader’s wants, needs, whims. Again, I write what I write, and these are MY characters, in my books. Not yours. They are yours to enjoy or not, but they belong to me, they come from me...

You don’t have to agree, but I’m not writing for your particular point of view. Again, I’ve explained my reasons for this. I won’t do so again. My characters, my books, my decision. If you want something else, read something else.

And yes, I said that, too. Blast away, it changes nothing. I am not obliged to meet an individual’s demands.

So.

First off:

If you're really super chill about the idea of being able to change what writers write just because you didn't like a detail you think is small and irrelevant, I would sincerely encourage you to read La Nora's full thoughts on similar issues... and yeah, I'm gonna equate something as "small" as a name with what Nora's talking about here. Because it is ALL the author's domain. I've never personally subscribed to the idea that a work "isn't yours anymore" once it's out in the world. The way people interpret and interact with it isn't yours, sure. But it's still your creation, and you should be the only person with control over the content.

... and sometimes, I, as a reader, don't like what authors do with their content. I get it. I don't like that Lisa Kleypas edited her work years after publishing it, because I'm big on the "own what you wrote originally even if it's uncomfy" train... (for the most part--editing the fetishization of Cam and Kev would've made sense to me). And I don't think there's anything wrong with readers pointing out problematic shit in a writer's work, offering critique in an open forum, as Smart Bitches, Trashy books did when reading Hello, Stranger, which I speculate may have prompted some of Lisa's edits.

But! I can't say that it would ever be my right as a reader to, say, use future technology to tell my reading device "edit out the times Cam says shit that reads super fetishized". It's just kind of repellent to me to imagine rewriting someone's work in any way without their permission. Fuck, I don't even like the idea of estates releasing sequels or revised versions of books unless the author indicated that such was in their wishes in their will. (See: the TWO official Gone with the Wind sequels/prequels/whatever authorized by Margaret Mitchell's estate.)

We, as readers, have our lanes. The writers have theirs. And sometimes, as writers, they do tiny things or BIG things in their lanes that we dislike. (I love Tiffany Reisz's Original Sinners series, for the most part. I really, REALLY hate the most recent book in the series. HATE. IT. But the only thing I can do about that shit is just pretend that book never happened, which I actually can fairly efficiently because I do in fact control what my brain does. Or, seek out books that give me what that series didn't with that most recent book. Sierra Simone's do a bangin' job.) But you know... Not only do I not think it is safe for me to merge into their lane... I don't want writers to feel like they have to submit to demand and give away pieces of their work in order to keep selling.

(And honestly? For the vast majority, I don't think it would make enough of a difference anyway--writers are often sold bills of goods with new strategies or tech. "This will change the way you sell books". Most writers won't ever be able to write full time anyway, and I find the way that this fantasy that you'll be able to do otherwise with THIS TECH optimizing your writing time, or THIS SUBSCRIPTION increasing the eyeballs that will see your book... Scammy. Not all of it's bad! But the selling strategy that you'll make more money... If you're selling on KU, if five extra people buy your book you're still making pennies, so it's gotta be more than one thing that converges to create the sale, and a lot of that, I gotta say, is word of mouth and people just LIKING YOUR SHIT. And I'd argue that they're more likely to like your shit if you're invested as a writer.)

Second:

No need to thank me! I honestly think that the majority of readers do appreciate what writers do (or don't feel either way about it and just read like people have always read lol) but I don't know. I can't really tell what it is--the sort of "fandom" that's been created around books (and like, author fan clubs and such have always existed, but obviously the accessibility is so different), new tech developing very rapidly when for centuries books were relatively stagnant technologically speaking, the fanficification of EVERY type of media it feels like... But the sense of entitlement that certain readers feel does seem to have grown. Or maybe it's simply become more visible. I mean, Nora Roberts has from the dawn of her writing career taken off had fans that can communicate with her, and I'm sure many have written letters like "Go give these characters a baby :(".

My biggest thing is always going to be this: some books ain't gonna be for you. There are books that sound so Caroline. I read them, and for whatever reason--writing style, one character choice, something ephemeral I can't name--they aren't. Everyone else loves these books. I'd love to love these books. I'd love to discuss these books. I'm not in the party. And that's FINE. Not every party is going to be a party I'm down for! One of my best friends loooooves Tessa Bailey and Tessa-like contemporaries. Tessa, by and large, doesn't work for me. So my friend and I can't discuss a lot of books in depth. Do I wish historicals worked for her so that I could nerd out with her? Sure! But I can't make something that doesn't work for her work for her, and I can't make Tessa's books work for me.

And I know that people will be like "it's just a name bitch", but... it's a slippery slope to me, just like ALL of AI and AI-related tech has been a slippery slope. Like, y'all said AI wasn't gonna be a big deal and would just make things easier, and people are now selling AI-written books under their names. Everyone said that authors would have control over how AI interacted with their books, and books are being scraped for AI on the daily.

I do not want anyone to have final control over what is and isn't in a book but the person who wrote the book. I do not want writers to feel like they need to cede any amount of control over the copy in that book over to readers in order to succeed.

And I honestly think it would be a lot healthier for everyone involved if we as readers (viewers, general audiences) just accepted that we don't get everything we want, and creatives are not here to dance to our tune. They are people, and they want to tell the stories they want to tell. Your power? Is in your dollar. If you don't like that shit, don't buy it. If you don't want to support it... don't! Fuck, if you want to talk shit on the internet about how the most recent book in the series was absolutely not for you, that's your right, too.

I don't want you fucking with a single word on the page, though. Feel free to go write your own shit--prosper! But that part of what Nora said that rings true to me most is "they come from me". These books come from writers. You have them because of those writers. So, I don't know, dude. Just take what's there, and if you dislike it, spit it out and move on to the thing you will like. Authors aren't churn factories to produce what you want, and ROMANCE as a genre, however commercial it is and however much it does have that One Rule that defines it as a genre... Is still something that writers should be allowed to experiment with. That's the work writers put in. The work readers put in? Finding shit that works for us. And I'm telling you... With a little practice, it ain't hard. How do y'all think I have all these books to recommend? Lmao

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

Re: discussing fan works publicly.

As a writer, I imagine coming across a post on my dash at random, of people openly criticising a fic I’ve written and the thought makes me feel ill. I think it would genuinely stop me from posting my work, maybe not permanently but for a long time.

As a reader, I’m so grateful people post fics at all. I’d be mortified if I saw people shitting on a fic I love on social media.

I think if a work is problematic and you’ve already commented to ask the author to tag appropriately or make changes and it’s gotten you no where, and you’re posting a PSA to warn people in the fandom who will be affected by the work to tread carefully, then yeah I can see how that would be necessary.

But I personally think it’s unnecessary to make a post mentioning a fic or author with comments like “yeah this fic needed to be beta read” or “this author writes this character soooo OOC” or “this character would NOT do that” or “look at this fic why would anyone ship this lmao”.

Feels like this really could just be in the DMs or a group chat or discord server where the author won’t come across it. Obviously yeah, people can post whatever they want on their blogs, but do people want to be the reason a fanfic author decides to never write again?

I’m like you. If I don’t like a fic, I just tap out. I don’t even complain about it in DMs because what if the other person enjoys it? I’m not taking that away. Just because it’s not my cup of tea doesn’t give me the right to stop someone else drinking it. The most I’ll ever do is block or mute an author on AO3 so I don’t accidentally read their works again.

These aren’t published books people are writing where public criticism is expected and encouraged. This is fanfiction written completely unpaid, usually unedited, specifically to share with a very selective fandom space.

There’s a level of vulnerability to all writing, but fanfic writers in particular, I would say most (if not all of us) choose to share our fics online because we trust fandom to be kind.

If people wanna post about their “honest thoughts” of a fic on social media, writers can’t stop them, but, god I hope y’all are being kind.

Hey ship! Thanks for weighing in on this! I appreciate your point about people being afraid to post if they hear negative criticism. Sorry for my delay, it's been a busy week. Yeah I think it's definitely a hard balance. We don't want to discourage people from writing, for sure. Writing is a gift! No one's being paid to write fanfiction.

From what I've heard from other people this week after my question was that it seems like there's a balance in terms of criticism on a specific fic. If you have a pairing that is very common, then if you write vaguely about not liking a pairing/fic it doesn't usually cause stress because it's not clear who's it is and it could be anyone. In general, it sounds like if someone wants to talk about something in a fic that bothers them, it is fine as long as they're not tagging the author/fic-- but generally just don't be a dick about it. Where it sounds like some wrinkles come in is if a pairing doesn't have a lot of fics attached to it. Then if a pairing is mentioned, it's much easier to deduce which fic it is, and then the writers may feel bad and it may seem more like a passive aggressive move. I think where it gets even more hairy is if we're not even talking about fics, we're talking just about pairings. Like I really love discussing the implications of specific pairings because I find it very useful to understand why someone might find it endearing. I'll be hard pressed to ever be pulled from my OTP but sometimes discussing pairings can help me to like a pairing I didn't like before, or just understand where people are coming from. (That's how I feel basically about all conversation, I like listening and learning from people, even if I don't necessarily agree by the end of it, being able to understand other people's perspectives help me to grow as a person, so I do think it's important to talk about things). Again though, where it seems like some of the struggle with that is if you've got a pairing (I'm going to crack ship Jackie and Buttons for this example) that isn't very common, again, it could seem like you're coming off as criticizing a fic when you may just be criticizing a pairing in general. It seems like there's a delicate balance-- because yeah I absolutely never wanna make anyone feel bad about their writing-- and like you said, writers trust that their fellow fans are going to be kind (and I never wanna betray that trust!). If they ask for feedback/ constructive criticism I'm happy to dm about it if it will help, but I don't want to make someone feel bad about their writing in general. We are all just having fun here. It does also seem like there are a lot of different perspectives when it comes to what is allowed feedback wise in fandoms, and so it seems like airing on the side of caution is a good way to go. All that being said-- if anyone ever wants to talk about things and they arent sure if what they say will be hurtful please feel free to dm me! I might be slow to respond depending on my capacity at home at the moment but i"m happy to talk it through. Also-- if I ever commit a faux pax or make someone feel bad please let me know! I never want to make people feel bad (and I try my best not to!), but I understand I'm an imperfect being like the rest of us so feedback is something I appreciate too. We all come from different levels of trauma... experience...neurodiversity, sometimes we won't say the right things from a place of ignorance, and one of the things I've appreciated over the years is when people were kind enough to give me constructive feedback about that. Anyway, thank you so much again for weighing in ship! Hope you're hanging in and have a lovely long weekend coming up! (if you're in the US, idk if the rest of the weekend is getting a day off)

[tworegimesof]

hi, dear author! i hope you're doing well. i just wanted to say that i love your satoshoko and reading your stories always feels like time well-spent. you're an excellent writer which ig would only stand to reason you're probably a reader as well haha. anyway, ive been itching for more of them so I was wondering if you could pretty please w a cherry on top give me book recs in the vein of (your) satoshoko? doesn't even have to hit the same tropes as stsk, just their general vibe, and/or your writing style for their stories. thank you in advance if you answer ♡

Hi! Thank you for your kind comments about my writing. I have a weird relationship with my own stories, so it’s nice to hear that they are a) being read and b) liked by readers. I do read a lot, guilty as charged. I don’t, however, read a ton of romance, so a lot of my suggestions are more along the vibes of dealing with alienation that I think haunts the SatoShoko ship. 

So anyways, the books I have selected are about loneliness, and the strange humor that is found within sadness. I hope you haven’t read at least some of them, nor see them on the list and think less of me. I am obviously not even a shadow of these writers, so I suspect that you will find them way more entertaining to read. As always, some of these stories could have triggering content so if there is anything you are hoping to avoid, look them up on Goodreads or Storygraph first. 

Normal People by Sally Rooney is a literary romance for sad people, and the man isn’t completely toxic, so it has to go at the top of the list. 

“The depressed person” is a short story from David Foster Wallace that is in his collection Brief Interviews with Hideous Men. It’s my favorite of his books and is full of great stories but is also the one that repulses me the most. The short story itself is about a woman coping with depression, and was the vibe I was going for in the story “Displacement.” 

The reason it took me some time to answer this message is because I had to reread at least two of the stories in Eleven Kind of Loneliness by Richard Yates. Each story is in plain prose, and focuses on the different ways that people deceive themselves. I had to reread it just to re-check the vibes, but it’s great and I really enjoyed it. Hopefully the rest of it checks out! I guess I'll find out as I continue my reread lol.

My last recommendation is a book I just finished. Life Ceremony by Sayaka Murata is a collection of stories that are a little surreal, pretty strange, and are all about connection in some way or another. I feel like SatoShoko probably watch and read weird shit all the time, so that’s my pretence for including it, but I actually just think that it’s a really great collection of short stories. 

Now, if you’re looking for SatoShoko stories, I know that there are several collections and bookmarks featuring different writers. My writer pal bby_rabbit wrote me a good SatoShoko, “heartbreak soldiers, disappointment junkies” (NSFW, M). It’s a great story, and to be frank, there would be no antioedipus without bby_rabbit (or Bawgdan, as she was going by when we met). 

Happy reading, and let me know if you need anything else! 

[yesloulou]

Ill be honest. Idk if I am making sense here but I find Daniel’s attitude and overall lack of comprehension toward the intended - subtle or not - misogyny that he’s around a MAJOR ICK!

I’m thinking of the European 🐱comment, this book etc. Daniel doesn’t come out with anything but a laugh and stunned silence instead of “hey look, let’s not objectify women” or “ah it’s a bit of fun isn’t it? For me, it’s weird, but let’s not shame the person who has written it”. In private he can laugh at as many 🐱 jokes as he wants too, he can talk all day long about how f*cking weird fanfics about him are BUT when it’s in the public eye and he has hundreds of thousands of female fans, it’s pretty gross and feels like he doesn’t care about female fans at all. (Idk if this makes sense in the way I’ve written it)

We all know he doesn’t keep up with the news (he’s said so himself) but he comes across as tone deaf sometimes. You can get away with that at 22,23 but he’s in his 30s with a girlfriend. Come on! It’s not exactly giving “I have a girlfriend and a sister and would hate for my girlfriend and sister to be spoken about like that so let’s chill with the sexist, double standard comments.”

Don’t get me wrong, he’s not the only one (Pierre is a major eyeroll) but he’s not 25, he’s old enough to know better. If this Dax book thing isn’t cut and the drug addict continues to push Daniel to talk about it then shame on Daniel for not saying no - from both his side in it being weird and for ripping apart a female who was just doing something she enjoyed

Just my take. I’ll probably get shit for this

this ask is from a week ago.. sorry about the late response 😳 also the podcast incident has been discussed many many times in the past so i really hope me answering this ask won't reopen the discourse.

pretty sure this was related to the other ask about daniel's non-confrontational personality so im just gonna go from there. if daniel were a confrontational person and he chooses to not address the host's misogynistic remarks, then i think it'd be worth discussing whether he lacks the comprehension. but he's not. in fact he resolves conflicts in the most non-confrontational way possible. and im not saying this just to make a point. when i say 'the most' i really mean non-confrontational in like an almost pathological way.

example:

this was after z*k brown fired him in the most public and disrespectful way possible, including assuring him he still has a seat when they'd already given his seat to oscar. mysterious italian man said to him 'told you not to trust zak' and he just. smiled like this.

another example:

here max can be seen getting more and more annoyed for daniel by the second. meanwhile daniel smiled bigger and bigger. and when max interrupted to defend him daniel was NOT SURPRISED AT ALL even though he had appeared totally ok with Crofty’s question up until that point

idk why he is the way he is, but to me it's very obvious he's not a confrontational person. he's like the opposite of confrontational (would literally smile bigger when he's uncomfortable/offended) idek if they have a word for that. "hey look let's not" is just not something he would say.

i do find it disappointing that he didn't call out the host for the p*ssy comment. imo a moment like that is where he (anybody) should've spoken up regardless. but i'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt and trust that he didn't react simply for the same reason he doesn't react to offensiveness/hostility in general. to me it doesn't necessarily mean he lacks the sensitivity or comprehension.

(the book thing was a whole different story tho. that book was literally erotica written about him. for him it's personal. imo he doesn't need to worry about how the writer feels at all)

[arkhamsrevenge]

Dent’s Daughter

Pt. 2

(Authors Note: Sorry it’s taken so long for me to write a part 2! I have horrible writers block each time I write something. I never seem to know where to start pt2! Also, I imagine Gotham Knights Jason, Dick and Tim for part 1 &2)

“Here.” Red Hood handed me another ice pack. My throat had bruised over about 2 weeks into hiding. Red insisted on hiding me the moment we left the building. I didn’t remember most of our journey to the safe house, still trying to wrap my head around what had happened. Harvey...no Two-Face almost killed me. Red sat down next to me as I placed the ice pack on my throat, the cold dulled the ach a little bit. Out of the 2 weeks we have been here Robin hadn't come to see me. Red said his guilt is eating him up. He blames himself for what happened. I didn’t blame him at all. It was going to happen one way or another, I knew I'd have to confront that fear eventually. I just hoped Harvey would have been the one I spoke with.  “Is there anything else I can do?” Red whispered. I shook my head, still not able to speak. Some words were making their way out to my mouth but often my throat started to pulsate if I used it for too long. “Ok. I’ll be...outside.” He said getting up and walking out of the room. Red insisted on guarding the safe house himself, making sure Two Face’s goons weren’t lurking around. I closed my eyes and laid down on the couch.  

When I woke again, it was light out. The ice pack was gone but water and some eggs were waiting for me on the coffee table along with the Jane Austin book I was reading. “I was wondering where that went.” I sat up and turned to Red. “I must’ve put it in your pile of books when I got them.” My eyebrows furrowed.  

“Y-you re-read?” I strained. Red nodded.  

“I read a lot and do some knitting.” I felt a soft smile appear on my face.  

“I..cro-chet.” I croaked. “Easier.” Red chuckled, his voice boomed throughout the room. I felt my cheeks get hot. Over the 2 weeks we’ve been together, oddly Red and I became close. I enjoyed his company and he seemed to like mine.  

“Really? I thought knitting was easier for me. Do you like the book?” I nodded. “Good. Glad someone else has a good taste in books.” Red then took two long strides to sit next to me. The couch creaked as his weight was added. “Eat.” My eyes broke away from the white lenses, picked up the eggs and started to eat. The eggs were soft and didn’t need much effort to get down. As I ate, I reached for the remote to turn on the TV.  

“This is Vicky Vale with the morning news.” Oh fantastic. “Two Face has been behind bars for days now. His hearing begins tomorrow so he may answer for his crimes.” Red reached for the remote, but I held it out of reach giving him a “I’m not a baby” look. He then retracted and held his hands up surrendering. “However, Gotham citizens are still wondering where his adapted daughter is. Many guess she is in hiding, now we all hold our breath to see if she will testify again-” I turned the TV off. Testify? Are they nuts? I can’t even speak right now? “Shit.” Red mumbled. I turned to him, he was starting at the turned off TV.  

“How?” I asked in my raspy voice. Red finally turned to me. I could almost see the clogs turning in his head as he thought of what to say next.  

“You don’t have to.” He boomed. “You wanna stay and hide, I’ll make sure no one will interfere with that.” We sat in silence for a beat. “I’m going to contact Wing and Robin...I’m also gonna call Batgirl. She might be nice company to have around.” I nodded and swallowed roughly. “Hey. No one is gonna force you to do anything.” Red said putting a hand on my thigh. I was too scared to even get nervous of how close he was. All I could do was give him a small sad smile before he got up and left to call the others. Once I heard the door close, tears started to stream down my cheeks. Not wanting to be seen, I ran to the bathroom before covering my mouth to hide the sobs. I slid down the door and let myself fall apart. My heart broke from the attack from Two Face, and the loss of Harvey as a father.  Fear crept in, would I have to testify again Two Face or worse Harvey.  It looks my legs turning numb to bring myself back to reality. I rubbed them to get the blood flowing again before I stood up and cleaned off my face. I stayed in the bathroom for a little while longer to calm down before I opened the door. Before I walked out, I caught myself in the mirror. I had been avoiding them since the attack but this still I turned to see what I looked like. I look like shit. My throat was bruised yes but Red forgot to mention that the bruises took the form of Two Face’s hands.  

“It’s really not that bad.” I jumped when a deep voice came through, I turned to see who was not recognizing the voice. I was met with a shadow, a HUGE shadow.  

“Red?” I asked. I still sound like I smoke 9 packs of cigarettes a day.  

“Yeah sorry, should have warned you.” I swallowed, hoping he didn’t see my cheeks turning red. Without the mask muffling his voice, he sounded deeper and handsome. “It doesn’t look as bad as you think, and it’ll heal.” I nodded and looked back in the mirror.  

“You might wanna put your mask on.” I croaked. “Or else I’ll tell Two Face who you really are.” I heard a deep grumble emerge. He was laughing.  

“The mask is for you not me.” Red chuckled.  I gave him a small smile.

“How so?”  

“Can’t have you fainting at the sight of me. You might hit your head.” I snorted.  

“Ah. To handsome for the human eye?” There was silence between us.  

“Not exactly.” He grumbled. “Handsome isn’t how I’d describe my face.” I then understood, he was uncomfortable with the look of his face. He didn’t want to be seen by me. “Might scare you.”  

“I don’t think you can scare more than Two Face did.” I whispered. “But I’m not gonna force you to do something you're not comfortable with. I’m ok with little to know lights.” Red hummed.  

“Thanks.” I nodded and exited the bathroom. I was then met with Nightwing and Robin, who took one look at me and looked like he was gonna burst into tears. Guilt radiated off of him.  

“Let me guess. I need to testify.” I croaked.

“Hey, your voice is coming back!” Nightwing cheered. Robin’s eyes dropped. I started to get annoyed, he could at least look at me.

“Dude. It’s not your fault. It happened. Are you concussed?” Robin’s eyes shot at me and widened.  

“Am..I ok?” He asked. I nodded. “I’m good.” The tension seemed to ease. “You’re not gonna testify.” And here it comes again. I swallowed roughly.  

“How come?”  

“DO YOU WANNA TESTIFY?” Nightwing shouted. I blinked.  

“Would it help Harvey get better?” Everyone’s eyes were on me. I felt a creep up my spine.  

“Damn, you were right Red Hood. She’s got hella balls.” A female voice entered. I turned around to see Batgirl. Holy shit. “Hi, I’m-” “Yeah, I know. Batgirl. Big fan actually.”  

“That hurt.” Robin mumbled.  

“Just prove she’s got great taste. Right again Red. Oh. Are we showing her?” I took a step back.  

“Show me what?”  

“Who we are of course.” Batgirl said like it was nothing.  

“Why the hell would you show me who all of you are. I’m Two Face’s daughter.” I was in shock. What the hell is wrong with these vigilantes. The purpose of a secret identity is for it to be a SECRET.

“No. Your Harvey Dent’s daughter.” Batgirl said softly.

“Why does that matter?” I whispered.  

“Because your adapted father and ours were close. Very close.” I furrowed my brow. Batgirl then stepped forward and took off her cowl.  

“Hey. I’m Barbra.”  

“Oh. The Commissioner’s kid. Ok yeah, that makes sense.” I thought for a moment. Who did The Commissioner talk to the most. Bruce Wayne. I smiled and turned to look at Nightwing. “Dick Grayson, Tim Drake and,” I turned to the towering shadow who had been silent. “Jason Todd.”

After a very long pause we were all sitting around the small safe house sharing stories about our mentors.  Jason had been silent for most of it. I felt his eyes burning into the side of my head, like he was confused or something. I caught Dick elbow him to which Jason grunted.  

“Well, it was nice to finally meet you. But we all have...a case to build. Two Face may have more allies than we thought.” Barbra finally said as she stood up and stretched. I nodded.  

“I can help. I know most of the people Harvey put away. Maybe Two Face made friends with them.” Barbra’s face lit up.  

“That would be wonderful! Can you write them down tonight? Jason can send it over to me.” Barbra asked, getting ready to leave through the window with Dick and Tim. I realized that Jason was staying behind, hopefully he’ll talk to me instead of staring and grumbling.  

“Yeah.” I answered before they all disappeared. My stomach growled at me, guess it’s time for dinner. I turned to Jason who had his head down. “Hey you hungry?” He didn’t respond. By now I’ve picked up what was wrong, why he was so apprehensive about showing his face. There's a giant scar on the side of his head. I didn’t mind it, thought it made him look cool but I’m sure he doesn’t like it because it holds as a painful reminder of trauma long ago. “I’ll make something for you anyway. You’ll defiantly eat it,” I turned to see Jason looming over me, his eyes still down. “later.”  His huge form boxed me in against the kitchen sink. “Dude. Are you ok?” I asked genuinely.  

“Are you scared of me?” Jason asked.  

“Uh, no? But the way you're looming over me doesn’t exactly scream harmless Michael Myers.” Jason moved back slightly. “What’s really bothering you?”  

“You.” He answered. I blinked not knowing why I was the one bothering him when he’s been all dark and bruiting for the past hour. “You look at me like my face isn’t scary.”  

“It’s not.”  

“Don’t lie.” I took a step forward.  

“I’m not. Your face isn’t scary Red. Quit the opposite.” I waited for his response. Jason finally raised his head, his blue eyes met mine. He seemed to be studying me to see if I was really telling the truth. His eyes changed when he confirmed I was indeed truthful with him. Jason’s hands slowly made their way to my arms; they traveled upward till he stopped at my throat. His fingers brushed up against the bruises lightly not wanting to disturb them causing pain.  My hands reached up to hold his wrists. We stayed in our position for minutes or hours I’m not really sure.  My body felt tingly and calm. I knew he wouldn't hurt me; it didn’t even cross my mind. I waited for him to say something. Finally, his arms dropped.    

“Sorry. I just-” Jason started.  

“It’s ok. I trust you.” I said, walking around him, still confused about what the hell just happened. “Do you want-” I was interrupted by Jason pulling me back. His lips were on mine. One arm had pulled me to him while the other cupped under my jaw. I closed my eyes after a second to process what was happening and kissed back. Jason suddenly jumped back, breaking the kiss.  

“Sorry I shouldn't of force you to-” This time I pulled him back to me to kiss him again. It’s been a bit since I’ve trusted anyone like this. I smiled to myself as I felt him relax into the kiss.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” I whispered letting go of him. Jason shifted on his feet.

‘I’m not...right. And this is new for me, so I don’t-”

“Woah. Woah there. It was a kiss Jason, not a marriage proposal.” I chuckled. Jason actually smiled. “It’s ok. We’ll just...for now.”  

“I’ve got a lot of baggage.” Jason mumbled.  

“Me too.”  

“I’ve got a lot of trust issues.”

“I was strangled by the one person who promised never to hurt me.”

“Fair enough.” I laughed at that. Well not fully laughed more like wheezed. “I’ll make dinner. You don’t use enough spices.” I rolled my eyes.

“Excuse me for being unseasoned.” That made Jason laugh.  

“It’s been four days since Two Face broke out of Arkham. How is she doing?” I heard Babs whisper. Currently, I’m “asleep” in my bed.

“She’s fine. She knows nothing is gonna get past me.” Jason whispered back in a low tone. I smiled. Yes I do.  

“Damn it Killer. Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.” My breath caught in my throat. I turned around to face the monster that had attacked me weeks ago.

“H-Harvey? How?”

Harvey’s eyes widened as they looked at my throat, tears started to well up in his eyes.  

“They-they wouldn’t tell me what I did. They only said it was bad and I need to get better before I see you.” I heard the heart break in his voice. The realization of what he had done was finally hitting him. Harvey stepped closer; I backed up in reaction. “Hey....Killer come on you know me. I’d never-not on purpose.” The tears were falling now.  

“Harvey you gotta get back to the doctors. They can help.” My voice shook as I kept a good distance between us.  

“I know but I was worried about you. Just come with me back to the doctors, I just wanted to know you were ok.” I knew it was a bad idea, but I wanted to believe him so badly. He looked, talked and acted like Harvey but my flight or fight response wanted me to fly out of the parking lot. We are literally in the parking lot of Gotham PD. I agreed to testify for Harvey, I was going to take the stand and tell our story, how Harvey took me in, how he cared for me.  

“I can’t go with you.” My heart was pounding in my chest, worried it was going to explode. I slowly started to walk backwards. Harvey started to advance towards me until he stopped short. I felt a gloved hand around my waist. I knew who it was. Red Hood. I let him push me behind him, shielding me from Harvey.  

“You’re sick Harv. You hurt her bad, do right by her now. Turn yourself in.”  

[mklegends-smokescreen]

Mortal Kombat Legends: Blood Bound

Chapter 16: Next To You

We now turn our attention back to Nico in the Special Forces base, listening to some music while chilling on the floor at sunset. As he’s enjoying himself, Johnny Cage walks in without knocking. 

JOHNNY: Hey, you got a minute?

ROBIN: Yeah, what’s up?

JOHNNY: Just wondering, you got any plans for tonight?

ROBIN: Well, kind of. I got a date with–

JOHNNY: Oh, a date? What’re they like? Is it a guy? I don’t judge.

Nico, interrupted, puts his hand out to Johnny.

ROBIN: Can you stop? Firstly, I’m not gay. Secondly, that’s not your concern, I'm afraid. 

JOHNNY: Does Sonya know about this? 

ROBIN: Nope, and she won’t. 

He said, taking a note and putting it on the bed.

JOHNNY: How’s that?

Nico would put his mask, daggers and cape into a backpack.

ROBIN: Easy. I left a note. See ya, All Star.

Nico would walk outside. Cage looked at the note, which read “I’m sleeping, no need to check.” Nico then walks off and takes a taxi to the same street we saw him last time. While he’s getting out, he pulls out his phone, playing some music to relax before making it to the building he last saw his crush. He took a deep breath and breathed out.

ROBIN: Okay. C’mon. You can do this. You’re a man. Don’t be a lil’ bitch.

He pressed the doorbell with the last name Wilson, and for the first time in weeks, he hears her voice.

MELISA: Yeah? Who is it?

Nico stutters for a second, usure what to say, but then pulls his shit together.

ROBIN: Hey, uh, it’s me, Nico. From a few chapters ago?

MELISA: Well, come on in.

She opens the door, and he enters the building with running noises going down the stairs, with Melisa almost slipping on the last stair.

ROBIN: Well that was an entrance.

MELISA: Liability issues. Also sorry, I didn’t tell you which floor I live on.

She then took him to her room in this hotel, walking up the stairs so as to not upset the neighbors. She welcomes him into the level, and from a first glance, you’d think a room of a 3-star hotel would be pretty shitty but, no, it’s quite a nice room, almost 5-star level.

ROBIN: Well, I’ll give you this, I didn’t expect it to be this…

MELISA: Fancy? Yeah, most people don't. Now, what can I do for you? You said it was something important? Or did you just miss me?

He chuckled, his cheeks turning red, as his mouth began to form a smile, and he looked away a little bit.

ROBIN: Well, a little bit of both. Mostly because I wanted to show you some of my stuff from the place I grew up in.

He said, taking his backpack and putting it on the table, taking out the cape, daggers and the mask. 

MELISA: some knifes, a broken mask and a feathered cape? What is this fanfic-level shit? Are you a cosplayer? No, wait, you're from England? Do you do reenactment stuff, like, historical events or something? It'd explain why you have this crap.

She would say, picking up a dagger and tossing it to him. He stop it while it's flying in  the air, and he would put it down slowly. Melisa is shocked, getting up and backing up a little.

MELISA: Okay, I'm officially saying, that was fucking awesome, what else can you do? But also, what the actual shit, how did you do that? 

Nico is unsure where to start, but goes on for like 5 minutes explaining the lore of these three books to her.

ROBIN: And that's why I'm able to do that. Any questions?

MELISA: Other than "what the fuck is this writer on"? No, not really. Let me see the mask though...

He would take the mask and give it to her, as she inspects it a little bit.

MELISA: How is it that you can look through this? It's clearly some kind of metal... Can I keep this? 

Nico cared about that mask and was a little scared it might break. He chuckled a bit. 

ROBIN: Can I please have it back, now? 

MELISA: No, fuck off, I wanna see... 

she held him away, so she could try it on.

MELISA: What kind of metal is this? It looks like chrome, but it works like a one way mirror... 

ROBIN: Alright, alright, calm down. Now can I please have it back?

MELISA: Fine, here ya go, ya big baby.

She said, giving the mask back. He puts it back in his bag, and looks at her with a neutral expression. Melisa is intrigued by this mask, and wonders how it was made.

MELISA: How'd you make the mask?

ROBIN: Oh, well uh, I made it with a rare metal from Outworld. I guess by molding it correctly, I can make it do that. I don't know how it works, and like you said when we first met, Doesn't seem like the writer notices, or cares.

Melisa chuckles, and leans back on the couch pillows. Nico scoots over and sits next to her. She would turn to him, the two look each other in the eye. 

MELISA: Are- are we about to kiss?

ROBIN: Maybe. That's on the writer to decide.

He says, as he leans in closer with open arms, in the position to hug the blue haired girl. She turned to him and hugged him back. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack, and the last thing he'd hear would be a pounding in his chest.

ROBIN: I Think I’m in love... Wait, shit, fuck. Uh... 

She laughs, patting his back. She then checked her wrist watch, seeing it’s nine-fifty nine.

MELISA: Hey uh… when do you have to go?

ROBIN: Why? Do you have any important business to do, so you need absolute silence? 

MELISA: I’m not trying to be an a-hole, but it’s like ten PM and– 

ROBIN: Say what?

He asked, standing up and looking at his phone.

ROBIN: Oh shit! I’m gonna be late!

He quickly grabs his things and puts on his shoes before running out the door. Then he walks back to see her again.

ROBIN: Before I go, if I get kicked out because of this, can I move here?

The designer would look at him with joy in her eyes and a giggle on her face.

MELISA: Of course.

ROBIN: Thanks, Milly.

He says waving goodbye as he runs down the stairs as quietly as possible as to not wake up the other neighbours. He got to the bike and went off as fast as humanly possible. After an hour, he got to the place, he parked the bike, walked to one of the windows, and crawled through. Tip-toeing to his room, right as he touched the handle, a flashlight would shine on him. He knew exactly who it was, as he turned, squinting his eyes because of the light. The general turned the flashlight off, leaning on the wall.

SONYA: I saw the note. Not cospicuous at all.

The caped clusterfuck rubbed his eyes, muffling his voice slightly.

ROBIN: Did Johnny tell you about this…?

SONYA: If he didn’t, I wouldn’t have been worrying about you. I’m doing this because I don’t want you to drown.

ROBIN: Well, it’s not working… at this point, you’re pushing my head down in the kiddie pool and not letting me out, forcing me to fight for my life.

She sighs.

SONYA: If you weren’t so good at doing your job, i would have left you jobless the second you snuck out. 

Nico was already getting tired of this same cycle and argument.

ROBIN: It feels like we’ve had this conversation like five times already. Listen, general, I joined your merry crew because I wanted to belong to someone, or something at least. I now realized that maybe that was a mistake. Because in all my time here, that may have been like… seven or so months, I maybe got a total of twenty four hours of time that I’ve actually genuinely enjoyed. The most fun I’ve had here is when you told me to leave to go on my o– 

Sonya would stare at him with a mighty rage, her eyes gleemed with horrific intent. Nico would stop, seeing the fire in her eyes he walks back while sweat runs down his neck and absolute fear is seen in his eyes. She approached him, putting a finger to his chest.

SONYA: You open your mouth and talk this shit to me again, I’ll make sure you don’t have any working bones in your left arm. Understood?

ROBIN: Yes, ma’am.

SONYA: Good. Now sleep. And no more sneeking out. Or else...

He walked into his room, feeling like he just Jumped over a Raging Demon. Relieved he survived, but covered in sweat. Sitting on his bed, he gets strange feelings in his gut, a feeling of fear and regret, not letting him sleep for a solid two hours.

[okamirayne]

Hi Rayne!

I’m a longtime fan (I read BtB when you were releasing OtC).

I just wanted to pop by as I’m doing my regular reread of the series, which is a habit I reserve for my most favourite books, and say hi and check in on you.

How are you? And (no pressure at all) how are you getting on with your original works? I look forward to the day I can read more of your wonderful writing. I’ve seen your updates on burnout and I don’t think this will help much but I want you to know you have a loyal fan in me who would enjoy and applaud anything that you write. I hope you have a wonderful rest of the year and festive season if you celebrate!

Hello, my dear Anon!💜

I’m a longtime fan (I read BtB when you were releasing OtC).

Oh wow! That's just so awesome. Thank you so much for the love you've shown the series. I'm so ridiculously touched that you return to enjoy the BtB madness and that it ranks among the stories you revisit. So, so happy and insanely chuffed to hear this. 💜💜💜

[..] say hi and check in on you.

How are you? And (no pressure at all) how are you getting on with your original works?

...there is a picture somewhere (a meme) of what looks like a hedgehog losing it's shit...*searches for it*

This, presently, is me. I am this spiky little ball of hot ballistic head injury waiting to happen.

Slightly more realistic representation:

Not sure whether that answers your question, my luv. 😅

My idiocy aside, it's so very sweet of you to check in. Thank you 🙏🏼 💗💜 I'm sadly still muscling my way through the shitshow that is creative burnout and trying to put out a few personal dumpster fires. My recent return to the BtB series has been an attempt to reconnect myself to my creativity...

I've been eyeing HHU for a few weeks now...

I’m considering flexing the atrophied muscle of my writer's brain by working a little on this BtB instalment, just to see if it gets the vital life-giving creative blood flowing again...

My original works remain preserved in a freeze-frame -- not abandoned, just locked behind a bloody glass wall (hence 'holding the wall and screaming'). My poor OCs are a collective entity, sitting with their chins in hand, eyeing me from beneath heavy lids, eyebrows cocked, waiting for me to come alive again.

And messages like yours?

They're a life-giving shot. Hugely nourishing to that deeply sad and starved part of me.

Thank you. 💕💜💕

Seriously. My earlier humour aside, your message has found me grasping another life-line of hope, and another reminder why I will not give this up - Screaming Hedgehog will prevail.

I’ve seen your updates on burnout and I don’t think this will help much [...]

Oh my dear, sweet, humble, beautifully kind, Anon -- how profoundly wrong you are about that, my friend. 🥹 You could not be further from the truth.

[...] but I want you to know you have a loyal fan in me who would enjoy and applaud anything that you write.

*hears her own heart break -- in the best way* 💔💔❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

Anon...This message from you impacts me in ways that, as usual, I fail to be able to communicate in words. I might be able to choreograph it in some dynamic form of hug/glomp/undying-embrace, from which you might not be able to extricate yourself without a tasergun (or tea, I'll take the carrot over the stick). But please, PLEASE, know that by reaching out to leave me this message, what you've done does WAY more than help. It heals. It hits. Hard. Right in the heart. And I clearly need that.

🤔 I recognise that doesn't make much sense, but it helps to remember why it hurts so damned badly not to be writing, otherwise I numb out, and that's devastingly worse than feeling the bottomless sadness. Your message lets me access that, which then lets me access the deep joy, gratitude, and encouragement which comes from hearing that my particular strain of storytelling madness is still wanted, still desired, even after so much time has passed since I last wrote...

I never assume this.

Christ, it's a fear that haunts me at every turn, so to have some of that demonically painful terror exorcised by your beautiful message goes waaaaay WAAAAY beyond helpful. Please don't ever doubt the power your words have had or how deep they reach. I'm talking deep deep roots here. My appreciation is boundless.

Thank you. 💕💜💕

I wish you a generously blessed rest of the year, Anon, however you do your wintering, festive or not, I hope it's fun and fulfilling🌟. Thank you also for your warm wishes! Yes, I usually celebrate, though this year will be a more subdued time due to a personal loss; that said, I will embrace all good tidings for the season of giving -- starting with this beautiful message from you. 💕

[aclosetfan]

I'm working on a long fic (particularly, one that's gonna cover a lot of heavy and dark themes) and as somebody who doesn't have much experience with writing but wants to get this idea out there, I'm honestly a bit scared of my writing being seen as bad and coming off as an edgelord. I do all the research I can when covering heavier topics but other than that I'm afraid of coming off as a bad/annoying writer. Should I just... go for it?

Okay, I have a few anons that I have to catch up on that I won’t until next week (I’m moving rn), but I got this one and wanted to answer right away!

Go for it! :)

Not to sound cliche, but who cares? truly, who cares if you come off as an edge lord?? You’re writing it for you not for anyone else and if you want to explore darker themes do it!! No one else’s opinion should matter.

Besides, the only way you get better at writing is if you actually write ♥️ even if it’s “bad,” which btw it won’t be!! you’ve done something a lot of people aren’t willing to do, and that’s putting yourself out there and trying something new. Ppl who don’t write, or even ppl who don’t post their fics, can’t say jack shit because ur braver then them

you also don’t even have to do a shit ton of research! Sometimes too much research takes away the ✨whimsy✨ ppl like to read fanfic to escape, not get unsolicited therapeutic advice, so if you don’t 100% nail a topic, the only people who are going to be mad are the ppl with too much time

Also, srsly, it’s fanfic. You’re not going to get paid for this, there isn’t any grades, u probably aren’t going to get a book deal out of it, so even if it sucks, what’s it going to cost you??? That’s not saying it’s all for nothing, but if you have fun and enjoy why you’re writing, then boom! It’s worth it

People cry and bitch and moan about writing rules 🙄 “oh if you post to ao3 you HAVE to do this!” Or “I won’t read anything unless it has this!” Forget those idiots, there’s literally no rules when it comes to writing! If anyone gives you shit, ur work wasn’t for them in the first place!!

The people who are interested in the type of story ur writing are going to read it no matter what. Everything written resonates with someone from hundreds to a handful, so don’t be shy, throw ur whole amateur self into it.

Write it! Write it! Write it! Write it! Write it! Write it!

Besides I’ll read anything I’m asked, so hey, you’ve already got one reader :)