#maybe after i've finished the fic. just so i can clarify things

[thawthebeez]

HAIKYUU ESSAY TIME YAYAYAYA

today's essay idea was brought upon me in the midst of my post-athletics recovery and WILL be my most batshit insane one yet. less facts more feelings. this essay is HEAVILY CENTERED around kghn so it'll only be, like, 15% factually accurate, 85% insane. because there are definitely other non-relationship focused nuances in what i'm about to show you that i shall be choosing to ignore- i'm just clarifying that i DO know they're there, i'm just crazy.

Let us begin.

to provide context, i'll be speaking about Season 1 Episode 23. this is the first official Seijoh match, which they're tied with Karasuno 1-all. this is the final set and the tension is to typical dramatized Haikyuu standard.

Kageyama has just set the ball to Asahi, of which he successfully pulled off a pipe attack, earning Karasuno yet another point. we now proceed to take a look into Kageyama's thoughts post-point:

i'd say this is pretty standard for Kageyama. his game sense when it comes to volleyball is off the charts. dude could probably perfectly play a game in his SLEEP if he really wanted to. knowing where the best attacks will come from, how he'll set the ball- all of that is second nature to him.

and that, my friends, is what makes this line all the more interesting:

because, yes, Hinata did call for the ball, but based on what Kageyama just mentioned, tossing the ball to Hinata should have been ruled out entirely by this point. hell, Kageyama wasn't even FACING Hinata when he called for the ball. Kageyama was literally in the perfect position, perfect timing, perfect EVERYTHING to give it to Asahi.

Yet he nearly gave it to Hinata.

and the fact that he nearly gave it to Hinata is insane enough on its own, but the way Kageyama puts it here: "He nearly took the set away from me." emphasis on the "took [it] away"

Hinata, just by calling out "send it my way," was enough to take the instincts that Kageyama has had and been fostering for his entire lifetime and just throw them all away. Hinata has taken all the game sense Kageyama has built up just by calling for the ball. THAT'S THE KIND OF IMPACT HE HAS ON KAGEYAMA.

(additionally: this kind of impact is almost expected considering the fact that Hinata has established himself as someone that Kageyama can always fall on, having promised to hit any toss he sends his way regardless of how fast or shitty it is.)

one call. one "send it my way." one jump from a place that Kageyama can only see out of the very corner of his eye. that's all it takes.

to paraphrase insanely: with respect to Hinata, all it takes to completely bend Kageyama- an absolute PRODIGY of a player- to your will is to simply call for the ball. that's it. everything could be perfect to send it left, but if Hinata's going right and he wants it, all he has to do is call for it and there's a chance Kageyama will send it to the right. one call. no need to argue.

and then we also get this absolute BLESSING of a frame. absolutely stunning, beautiful, amazing. i eat it up every time.

(the nuance that normal people would see here is essentially: Hinata is such a great decoy that he can even lure his own teammates. which. like. yeah, that also happens. Kageyama is definitely being lured in. i've just decided to take the less normal route and fixate on a completely arbitrary yet still very important aspect of the show- aka Kageyama and Hinata's relationship.)

this scene in particular also ties in nicely to that one bit in season 3 where Oikawa goes to watch the Shiratorizawa vs. Karasuno match and says "Hinata's got Tobio wrapped around his finger" OUGH that one always gets me.

anyways: this is basically one of the five occasions (that i can think of off the top of my head) in which the show points out that Hinata is the one calling the shots here. like, it's never been "Kageyama tosses and Hinata spikes," it's always been "Hinata spikes wherever the fuck he wants to, Kageyama just has to get the ball to him" WHICH IS ABSOLUTELY WILD IF YOU ASK ME

idk. they just. yeah :) they're so cool :)

[apprenticestanheight]

Good News - Chainshipping

Ooooookay!! This was born of an idea I had m o n t h s ago but then I tried to write it (I feel like it's one of the chainshipping fics I have here but I can't remember) and it went in a different direction and, as I usually tend to do, I gave it as close to a happy ending as I was willing and able.

This, however? nah. I haven't cried for a serious reason (this is very serious to me!!) in a good bit so. here we have this. To the anon who sent in a req for heavy chainshipping angst, the concept of this fic was brought back around into the handy dandy mental space because of you and I hope you like it!

Title was riffed from the song Good News by Julien Baker, by which this fic is not directly inspired (I listened to it while writing this fic,, at least the start) but might have a similar vibe to.

Fic type - this is straight out angst with maybe a cathartic and kind of hopeful end?? idk but I know that it's all angst until the last scene and even then, the angst is still present there.

Warnings - mentions of drugs and drug use (morphine is mentioned once in a hospital setting and weed is mentioned a lot), addiction is referenced (both in Gabrielas case and also in Adam talking about being borderline addicted to his pain meds and his weed dependency not being a dependency but more an addiction), and this is fairly time-jumpy bc every scene takes place at a slightly different time than the last, which is clarified! The second half is probably not that great in terms of proofreading and editing, this one is hot off the press (I finished it, went to type up the authors note, and rushed to post bc I want this out of my brain) and might not be super good bc I don't doubt that I've missed a few things.

The first thing that Adam registers when he wakes up is a white-hot, raging pain that starts in his shoulder and manages to radiate down his arm til it reaches the nerve endings in his fingers. The second thing he registers is the feeling of someones hand, holding tightly onto one of his own--not the one that's in pain, thank fuck--and the sound of their breathing, somehow both quick and laboured at the same time.

The third thing he registers is a tube shoved down his throat. The second he registers that, the anxiety sets in. He forces his hand out of the grasp of the person who's holding onto it and tries to grab at the tube like his life depends on it, because for a second, he feels like it does.

"Adam," a voice whispers. He blinks his eyes open, turns in the direction of the voice, but it takes a few seconds for the image to blur into focus. "Adam--it's a breathing tube, keeping your lungs from collapsing. Relax, honey."

He stills when he realizes who it is. It's his mother, who he hasn't seen in almost a decade.

He glares at her for a second, but then he hears the resoundingly soft click! of a button, and five minutes later, a glorious-adjacent high sets in. Adam figures out as the haze takes him over that a morphine button is somewhere near his bed, is grateful for it despite the lingering confusion.

"Rest up," she says. "I'll be here until you fall asleep, okay? And I promise not to bug you after. I just heard you'd been found and I needed to see that for myself."

Adam lets sleep take him over--he's pretty much confined to his bed, and while he hates it, he knows he has no other choice, really, and the exhaustion creeps up on him before he can even register it.

--

A few long weeks go by, and by the time he's discharged from the hospital and complete with the necessary physical therapy to rehabilitate his arm and make sure his shoulder is working right, it's the very beginning of December.

Part of him wonders where Lawrence is--did he make it out? Was cutting his foot off worth it in the end? They're things he wonders about late at night, when the insomnia takes over and he resists the urge to climb out onto his fire escape and smoke as many joints as he can in order to sleep without fucking up his liver.

He doesn't go to therapy right out the gate, doesn't even think to do it for those first few weeks, when his doctor is checking in on him every single morning when their shift starts and every evening when it ends, when a psychiatrist comes in once every few days and tries to help him process the memories that he'd taken to vehemently avoiding.

But then, on the walk home from one of Scotts concerts, he sees an ad posting for a Jigsaw support group. It's the next day, runs from seven to nine, and the church basement it's held in is only five minutes down the road from his apartment.

He decides he'll go, part of him gunning for the mere thought of seeing Lawrence--a Jigsaw support group would be exactly the kind of place Lawrence would go after experiencing something so traumatic as the goings on of that bathroom. It's the one surefire spot Adam is betting on, but he tries to stop himself.

He doesn't know what's happened to Lawrence, not really. Lawrence hasn't reached out and Adam has made no effort to do the same for fear of rejection. He figures he could ask around at the support group, holds onto the off chance that someone there knows him or at least knows what happened, somehow.

As he gets undressed, opting to wear a pair of sweatpants and a basic black shirt, he knows that he, realistically, has no valid reason to speculate on the state of Lawrences well being, if there even is a well being upon which to speculate. If he wants to hear from Lawrence--which he does, more than anything--then he can do either of two things. He can wait for Lawrence to reach out, or he can try to do it himself.

He goes to sleep, telling himself he'll look through the phone book before he goes to work tomorrow.

--

Looking through the phone book doesn't yield much--it yields a number with a voicemail that hasn't been updated since the mid-nineties, at least, which is enough to make him laugh depressedly because mid-nineties Lawrence is not the Lawrence he knew, but the one that had existed about five years beforehand.

The support group meeting is, surprisingly, decent. He sits, for two hours, in a room full of people who understand what he's gone through. He shares his own story for the first time, breathes himself through the roughened edges and the sharp points that threaten to stab him in the chest when he thinks about it.

Talking about it, he realizes, is good for him, like the psychiatrist had said it might turn out to be. He goes home feeling the full weight of that day, which is something that he hates more than he hates himself, but he also feels a little vindicated.

The next two meetings go like that as well--Adam talks, warms up a bit slower than butter left on the counter to thaw after having spent many-a-week at the bottom of a large-capacity freezer.

At the end of December, the day after Christmas, it's the groups last meeting of the year and the first with a newcomer since Adam came along at the beginning of the month.

The newbie sits next to him, and he doesn't really bother to notice them, figures he'll pay more attention when they speak a little bit and focuses instead on sipping his coffee, focuses loosely on the delight he feels at the thought of the support groups carrot muffins that they bring out for people to eat at around 8:30, at which point the group kind of disperses to talk amongst themselves.

The instructor is a guy named Paul, and he's 35 and balding. He claims to be one of Jigsaws first survivors, having been tested around '99. Adam doesn't really believe it--Jigsaws first recorded victim would've been around early 2000, if a little bit later into that year, but he digresses. If someone or multiple someones want to pretend to be his victims, Jigsaw and his followers will take matters into their own hands eventually, be it in the name of revenge or some twisted kind of retribution.

He notices the newbie, and like he did when Adam was new, he singles her out in a way that she probably won't realize was him doing so until later, just like Adam had that first meeting.

"My name is Gabriela," she says. "I'm from Mexico. I came to New Jersey to get away from my life there--I couldn't take it."

The admission makes Paul smile softly, nod like he understands even though Adam knows, from his New Yorkian accent, that it's the farthest he's travelled between there and Jersey.

"And we're all here to support you through your troubles," he says. "Why were you tested?"

"I'd rather not--" Gabriela pauses. Adam looks at her, studies her, and sees a few scars lining her face. "I was cruel to him. I was part of the Pederson project and struggled with an addiction. He tested me and my friends at the beginning of October. Most of them died."

"The Pederson project?" Paul asks. "Whats that?"

"Something--" tears well up in her eyes, and Adam, on impulse, reaches a hand out and grabs hers. She looks at him then, stark brown eyes meeting his own. Adam has a thought that she looks like a deer in headlights. "I--I was desperate for money. I did what I thought I had to do, and then he made me pay the price."

"I lost someone too, I think," Adam laughs. "My trap mate. His name was Lawrence, and I can't figure out if he's alive or not. I watched him cut off his foot."

Gabriela smiles. Adam glances at Paul, briefly, and shrugs.

"Maybe she won't be as quick to open up as I was," he says. "Give her time."

Paul nods once, and their interactions end. Gabriela keeps a hold on Adams hand and Adam lets her, remembering what it was like in those first couple of weeks after--hell, he's still technically in that rough spot, but it's at least a little better than it was, even if it's still shit.

Yeah, Adam can't really take showers or baths yet, and yeah, that means he's had to use strawberry scented make up wipes to keep himself smelling not-rancid, and dry shampoo to keep his hair from being a greasy mop on his head, but it's better.

His shoulder hurts all the time, but it's not the pain he woke up with that first day. Every nightmare is worse than the last, but at least he's getting two hours of sleep a night now instead of a maximum of 30 minutes. He has to go against himself, go against his natural sense of pessimism and he has to choose optimism or he won't be able to keep going.

Optimism, taking the wins where he can, is what has kept him going for the past ten weeks. It kept him sane when he was trapped in the dark, and it's kept him sane ever since.

When the meeting ends, Gabriela stays close, which is something she's trying to be covert about but Adam notices. He doesn't let it irritate him as he gets more coffee, as he eats his carrot muffin and talks to Amanda Young, a girl who'd been in a trap only a few weeks before he had. He stays behind to help Paul and the others stack up their chairs and sweep the floor just in case, and Gabriela winds up staying.

She finally gets the nerve to talk to him about two seconds after he's left the church basement, has gone to sit in the pews that are empty of anyone. He hates churches, normally, but this one is oddly comforting when it's either nearly or totally empty. It's quiet in the same way the world is after snow has fallen, which is a quiet Adam has long appreciated.

"How do you deal with it?" she asks. She's sitting in the pew behind him, her hood tucked over her head to cover her hair. "I've been trying to since the start of October, when it happened, and I just--I don't know how."

"Well, first off, Jersey was about the worst place you could've wound up in," Adam laughs a little. "Most of his crimes take place in and around the general area of Jersey, but he's not the type to test people twice, as far as I know, so don't let my assholery get to you too much about that. Secondly, I'd probably argue I'm not much better than you. I was addicted to nicotine when I went in, and I've come out with something a bit worse for my liver and my lungs both."

It makes Gabriela laugh. "I'm at the hospital a lot for skin grafts," she says. "I got insurance, somehow, so I'm not drowning in debt, but I had to tell them I couldn't have any pain medication for after. I even thought anaesthesia was risky for some time."

"I had to call and get my medical bills reduced to a point where I could pay them off," Adam says. "I work in a bookstore now, and I have insurance from them as of the new year. It'll cover my meds, which I'm grateful for. We got some pretty short sticks in the game of life, but we didn't get the shortest ones."

"You don't seem like an optimistic person," Gabriela says. "You don't look like one, I mean."

"I'm not, usually," Adam says. "But until I hear that my trap mate is dead, I'm gonna choose to be optimistic because he would want me to be, dead or alive. Until I have proof that he's gone, I'm going to keep my optimism lined up with the idea that he's alive at the forefront of it's existence."

"What if he's not?" Gabriela asks. "What after that?"

"Then--fuck, I don't know. I become pessimistic and nihilistic, I guess? Jigsaw tests me again, maybe, if it gets that bad. I think, if he does, I'll fail on purpose that time. He'd better make damn sure that it's fucking fair that time around, though--no leaving the key to my chained up foot in the full fucking bathtub again, or I'll survive it just to spite the bastard."

Gabriela laughs again. Adam gets up and walks home, back to his sad little apartment.

He has to roll and smoke two over-the-top joints just to not spiral, conks right the fuck out at 9:45 on the dot.

--

It's the middle of January when Adam gets something in his mailbox. He grabs it along with the newspaper and doesn't really check the labelling on either, too caught up in the idea of checking his voicemails after remembering he has a landline that he hasn't used in five months, since he'd gotten a cheap Motorola and used that to make most of his calls.

So, he drops the mail on his kitchen counter top, grabs the landline and checks his voicemails.

The first couple are from his mother, one of which was back around when he was in the trap--sent a few days before, one he could halfheartedly remember giving a listen to before he was taken. His mother telling him his father wasn't angry anymore, like that would even begin to make up for a decades worth of anger from Adams childhood up until when he left.

It's the most recent one that gets his attention whip-quick. "Hi, Adam," it's Lawrences voice--not mid-nineties Lawrence, either. Lawrence from that day or at least a week or two after, the one Adam knows.

"I don't know if you were expecting this call, or if you'll even pay any mind to this voicemail, but I found your name in the phone book, and I heard you'd been rescued, and I just--I needed to call, okay? You don't have to understand, that's fine, but I just wanted to make sure you understood how sorry I am. I'm sorry to have left you to die like that, and I can't even begin to think about all of the ways you've been affected in the aftermath without getting anxious palpitations. I should've found a way to save you, and I'll regret not having done so for the rest of my life, okay? I just wanted to make sure you knew that I regretted it, and to make sure you understand that if I could go back and do it differently, I would do so in a millisecond without a moments hesitation."

Adam is so relieved to hear his voice that he almost cries--Lawrences voice is rough on the edges, ooey-gooey and warm at the centre, and it almost does him in completely.

"In another universe, I go ahead and visit you instead of leaving you a voicemail like a damn coward, but that's not this universe, and I'm sorry for it. You don't need to call me back, all right? I just needed to call and make sure I said my peace."

The voicemail beeps and ends and Adam hangs up the phone, fights the urge to lose his mind a little but keeps himself in check just long enough to check his mail, read the letter addressed to him.

It, shockingly, is from Alison, Lawrences wife.

I had a PI locate your address, it reads. He's in the hospital--his leg got infected and it spread like wildfire. I'd come and see him before the month was out if I were you, but if I'm being honest, I really don't think he'll make it more than another week. Come as soon as you can, to give him some peace of mind. He's staying at Saint Mercy-East, and the receptionist has been told to let you in when you come around.

Alison Baker (formerly Gordon)

Adam gives in. He lets himself cry until he can't, knows that he'll have to call into work just to see Lawrence. He has to do it. Lawrence is alive, if just barely, and he needs to see him in person one last time before the only rendition of Lawrence that he can see is a headstone.

--

Witnessing a person in palliative care is a lot more nerve-wracking than Adam first expects. Lawrence is barely awake, occasionally shifting in his hospital bed, and his skin looks grey and sullen. His breathing is laboured and a little loud, and when Adam looks at him, he feels himself cracking just a little. Adams heart breaks as he sits in the plastic chair to Lawrences left, grabs his hand and holds onto it as tightly as he thinks he can handle without breaking down.

"Hey," he whispers. "I just wanted to come down--Allison told me where you were staying, what had happened with your leg, and I figured I'd come and see you for at least half an hour."

Lawrence stills.

"I'm just gonna talk for a bit, okay?" Adam laughs at himself. "I've never done anything like this before, so I don't really know what to do."

Lawrence looks at him. His blue eyes are dull and gray and so sorrowful that it damn near kills Adam from the inside out. He realizes that Lawrence probably knows he's not got long left, if his infection has left him that lucid. Lawrence Gordon, someone who used to be sarcastic and quippy and so full of life, Adam heartbreakingly realizes, very likely knows he's dying.

"You seemed to want me to be okay in the voicemail you left," Adam says. "I just--I want you to know that I am. I'm on meds because of chronic shoulder pain and I deal with my earned amount of PTSD stuff, but I'm okay. I work in that cute little bookstore across the way from the Aldi near the heart of the city, the one that looks real small on the outside but inside is actually kind of huge? It's called Romeros, and I've got insurance and PTO and all of that shit."

Lawrence smiles gently. Adam keeps going.

"I take photos of stray cats pretty much exclusively now," he says. "And I go to a support group to help me deal with the PTSD stuff. If you've been worried, you don't need to be anymore. I'm on the path to learning how to be okay, and it was just really important to me for you to know that. I don't want to lose you when it feels like I've just gotten you back, but this is probably gonna be the only time I visit. I love you, dude."

Adam squeezes Lawrences hand just a bit tighter.

He stays with Lawrence from the beginning of visiting hours til Lawrences heart gives out near their end. Adam watches, in a panic, as the doctors go about protocol for a DNR.

In the end, Adam is still in the room when a nurse says the unthinkable.

"Time of death: 18:04 PM, January 15th."

And then, just like that, Adam has to face a reality he's spent the last several months not wanting to confront, hating the very idea of.

Lawrence Gordon is dead. He's gone, and there's nothing Adam can do about it.

--

Adam can't pull himself together enough to go to the funeral. He receives an invite in the mail initially, then a copy of Lawrences obituary and the address to where he's been buried a few weeks later.

Grief, he finds, is an ugly little thing. It makes him a bit more dependent on the weed than normal, closes him off at the support group and makes him volatile on his worst nights because he hates it. He hates that he has to grieve at all, really.

Lawrence had managed to survive that bathroom. He'd mustered up the strength to cut his own foot off, and God repaid him with an infection of what remained of that leg spreading through his body and killing him? He'd survived cutting off his own foot just to die four months later? That feels like bullshit to Adam, and he hates it.

Eventually, when the anger isn't all consuming, he leaves his apartment. He stops and buys a few flowers from a convenience store, and then he goes and visits Lawrences grave.

LAWRENCE GORDON

LOVING HUSBAND, FATHER, AND SON

He sets the flowers down, reads the lettering engraved on the stone.

"I've been dealing with a lot since you passed," Adam says. He sits down in front of the head stone, careful in the motions. He runs his hands over a newly buzzed head, the hair having grown out past it's due and the cheapest option having been to take a pair of clippers to it instead of getting it cut. "Uh--I just kind of wanted to stop by for a second. I don't know if I'll ever do this again, but I kind of thought I owed it to you a little bit."

Jersey is riding out the coattails of winter now, the grass dotted with snow, but Adam doesn't really care. It's sunny out and there's an icy breeze to go with it, but it's a nice day, everything else considered.

"I've been closed off from it all--I hate thinking about you right now because your death feels like bullshit," Adam laughs. "You survived everything from that day, just as well as I did, and yet you're dead from an infection in your stump that'd radiated through the rest of your body before you could stop it, and I'm still alive. You're dead and in the ground and I'm alive and borderline addicted to the pain meds I use for my shoulder and so dependent on weed that it's long teetered past a dependency. It feels unfair."

If anyone, Lawrence should be the one who got to stay alive.

"Up until you died, after the support group was done, I'd leave the church basement and go into the church itself. I'd always sit in an empty pew and just watch," he says. "They had a candle vigil at the front, and sometimes survivors who'd gone to the support group would light candles for their trap mates who hadn't made it. I have a friend, Gabriela, who lights candles after every meeting. She whispers their names, too. Valentina. Mateo. She even lights one for the only other not-jackass survivor, named Diego."

He feels really dumb. Like--the dumbest he's ever felt dumb, but he just keeps talking.

"I don't know if I'll ever do it, but I think someday I might. Alison hates you, even though she was kind to you in your last days, and both of your parents are gone, so it kind of feels like I'm the only person who knew you that can remember you without feeling disdain. If I light one of those stupid little tea candles, you'd better show me a fuckin' sign, even though I don't believe in that shit. I love you, Lawrence, but I'm not going to risk burning my finger on a Dollar Tree match if you don't make it worth it."

He laughs at himself, shakes his head. "I'm going to go to a meeting," he says as he gets up. "Maybe open up a little bit. Have fun doing whatever it is your doing on the other side of this God awful, relentless mortal coil."

--

Adam doesn't open up in support group that day--the wounds are still too fresh to bear, and he doesn't think he'll be able to talk about Lawrence for another very long while, but at least he admits it to himself.

He follows Gabriela to the vigil that night, though. She has an arm around his waist, holds onto him like she's scared he's going to fall apart. He's a bit scared of falling apart, too, if he's honest, so he just lets her.

She lights a match, goes about lighting the candles one by one. Valentina. Mateo. Diego.

She blows the match out, passes Adam the matchbox.

He takes it, strikes the match alight with the sandpaper on the side, and picks the candle closest to his right.

"Lawrence," he says gently as he lights it.

It doesn't feel like closure--not exactly, anyway--and he's sure nothing ever will. He knows that he'll feel pain every time he thinks of Lawrence for the next while, at least, but he has to learn to be okay with that or the pain will never go away.

That match, that candle? He knows they're just the first steps and that he has a long way to go, but he's fine with that. His grief and everything that's come of it can take as long as they need, he decides. He'll give himself a little bit of grace and allow at least that.

[mercurygray]

Fic writer interview

Thank you to @hesbuckcompton-baby for the tag!!

How many works do you have on AO3? 102, but I only started posting there in 2014. There is more fic dating back much farther on my ff.net account.

What’s your total AO3 word count? 1,035,887

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? The Darkening Sky - Band of Brothers She dealt her pretty words like blades - Little Women (2019) Waited for and Wanted - House of the Dragon More than a Team - Band of Brothers At Home, Alone - Prodigal Son

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I do! The way I figure, you've taken the time to write me something (and not everyone does) and the least I can do is say thank you, and maybe weigh in with some extra piece of lore or process.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? I never finished writing this ending, but one of my TURN fics, La Fille du Regiment, was going to end with my character Margaret Frances running away from the character who was in love with her. They met in the middle of a war, and he was married, and she just wasn't convinced that it was ever going to work in her favor. So she ran away, and quickly married someone else who'd expressed interest earlier in the story. (There was also the small matter of her getting pregnant, which changed the time-table some.) Margaret was going to meet her love interest again some thirty years later and have him realize that the man with her is, in fact, his son, whom he'd never known about.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? A Rose Among the Briars is my big LOTR fic and I think really does have the happiest ending - Boromir doesn't die, gets married to a lovely woman, has kids, and lives happily ever after.

Do you write crossovers? I am a multi-verse madwoman. I love crossovers.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? YES. A Rose Among the Briars got some fun comments back in the day, including one particularly memorable comment from a woman who lambasted me for writing an OC who was younger than Boromir because 'he wouldn't go for that'.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? When the mood strikes me! I've written a lot of M/F smut and a tiny taster of M/M/F throuple things.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I'm aware of?

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes, I have! A Rose Among the Briars was translated into French (at least partially) by someone who just loved the story.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? I have! I used to do a lot of tag-team writing via instant messenger with several friends - they'd write a line, and you'd write a line back. It was a really, really interesting way to write and it sent scenes in very different and fun directions. Stopping to clarify things, or ask where they wanted something to go was really instructive.

What’s your all-time favorite ship? I think in terms of the volume of fic I wrote for them, my favorite ship has to be Emma Green and Henry Hopkins, from Mercy Street. I just really liked their character dynamic - he was the chaplain at a military hospital, trying to wrestle with past mistakes and what his role was in a war where he wasn't carrying a gun, and she was the privledged daughter of a wealthy slaveholder trying to find her place in a world that was changing all around her. Both of them had these really meaty moral storylines and there was just a lot of opportunity for poetry and scripture and longing glances and forbidden love and it was just really, really good.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? I have this throuple thing I started writing for MOTA that will probably never see the light of day.

What are your writing strengths? People have told me recently that they really like my dialogue, and my ability to really capture canon character voices as true to form. I was also told I have an uncanny ability to introduce people and immediately make you care about them, which I'm pretty proud of.

What are your writing weaknesses? Keeping things short.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I actually kind of like it! I speak a little bit of French, and some Italian, but I always try to check with a native speaker if I'm adding whole lines in a different language.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? Lord of the Rings. And that fic is still on ff.net if you want to go read it. I keep it there to keep me humble.

What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to? I honestly can't think of one! Because I do so much shorter format stuff here on my tumblr, if I have an idea it usually ends up getting written!

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written? I am the most proud of The Darkening Sky. It was a three and a half year labor of love and far and away the most 'successful' thing I've ever written, but I gained so many new friends and people who just really loved the characters I created and I actually finished it! I'm notorious for not finishing big projects.

Tagging @mads-weasley, @latibvles, @basilone, @softguarnere, @softspeirs, @noneedtoamputate and anyone else who's writing fic for Masters of the Air right now!

[reyanfia]

— oblivious — ronal x tonowari

setting: awa'atlu village, back to when these two loveys were teens. i don't know their ages, so not quite sure of the year, but for the story, we'll say that they're both the same age, 16.

pairing: ronal x tonowari !young

warnings: there's not much on this, maybe a little bit of sad. not really tho!

summary: ronal is oblivious, tonowari is frustrated.

a/n: this is my first ever tumblr fic. i've written before, but not where so many people can see it. okay maybe i lied, i write on quotev too. i got an idea to write this bc a friend mentioned how tonowari and ronal would be like as teens and it's been in my head for some time now. this is just a little headcannon thingy, so I'm not saying this was how they actually were. this may be the only part but i'm willing to write more if asked.

plot inspired by the trope: he fell first, but she fell harder.

"look at him, he must be in love."

ziranya's words temporarily stun her. still chewing the fruit in her hand, she looked towards where her mate was sitting.

his eyes dart away once her's met them, continuing to tend to the fishing nets and harvests.

swirya slightly nudged her shoulder. "are you sure about what you said? no strings attached?" the other girls stifled a laugh, ronal then rolling her eyes at her remark.

ronal went into thought after hearing her question. she was sure they both weren't into each other, even asking him about it a few months ago on the day they were to be together, to become a pair that will one day lead the metkayina people. it was mutual, they were both together for only convenience.

however, recent weeks have been revealing things, and ronal wasn't so sure anymore.

ronal glanced from her supposed lover back to the fruit in her hand, only to find it consumed entirely, and what was left was its seeds. ronal took this as an opportunity to get away, needing a break.

she stood up suddenly, scaring the other girls. "i'll be off to make yovo paste." she revealed the black seeds in her hands to further clarify herself. "with these seeds." she then stomped through the sand and up to the woven path that connected all the maruis.

however, she could still hear the girls' teasing from behind her, knowing she wasn't actually going to make any paste. yet. "oh, how diligent our tsakarem is," ax'aley called out, her high-pitched voice laced with playful sarcasm. "you'll be such a good tsahìk!" ziranya continued.

she shook her head in amusement, already entering her marui.

she tossed the yovo seeds into a bowl, hanging just by her sleeping hammock. she then laid there, catching a glimpse of her friends diving into the sea water through the small opening of the marui beside her.

ronal picked up a scripture written for ascending tsakarems, reading and memorizing different chants, prayers, and types of plants and materials often used for healing. she eventually came across the uses of the yovo tree and the significant uses of each part of the tree. her eyes drifted over to the use of its seeds. she had to use them before they dry out and become unable to grow.

everything outside seemed to be quieter when ronal was in her own world. learning about medicine was often how she spent her time and found peace. everything about it piqued her interest. if she wasn't doing anything related to what she had read and learnt, she'd probably be sleeping.

eclipse settled in not long after, the glittering stars speckled in the sky not doing much to help her see the writings on the paper. it's the time where the clan would finish their daily work and return home to their family maruis and loved ones, sharing a warm night.

however, she wouldn't consider the person who'd just entered the marui her "loved one".

he was more of an... acquaintance?

tonowari lifted the marui entrance, then tying it shut to prevent the cold night's breeze from blasting through.

ronal acknowledged his return. "you're back. how was hunting?" she asked, doing the "oel ngati kameie" gesture, which he returned. "it was as usual. we collected a lot more than last month since it's hunting season." he replied, untying his hair.

she hummed and sat up, rolling up her scriptures back into a scroll and dropping them onto the floor.

she leaned back and watched as he moved around, getting a little more relaxed for the night. they were in comfortable silence, used to having not much to say to the other.

people often described them both as quiet. however, their usual moods were slightly different, with ronal being the "fierce and bold" type of quiet, and tonowari being the "caring and observant" kind. it was no doubt they both balanced each other out.

and both of them like to think the opposite, but their hearts say otherwise.

— ☄. . ⋆✧ .

tonowari was, to say the least, stupefied.

he was 14 when he grew to be more conscious about his skills. and the reason was none other than the leaders' daughter, ronal.

he can't remember how it started. maybe it was when he saw her watching him train from her parents marui. or the time when his friends would tell him about the subtle glances ronal would throw his way from afar when he wasn't looking.

because of her, he started to work twice as hard, subconsciously. the thought of her really start to flood his brain everytime he was out training. it didn't stop for months. he eventually turned 15, the age of adulthood for most. the pressure still didn't run down.

"quiet mouth, loud mind." that's what the tsahìk sensed. "a pure soul, that boy. matches well with ronal's."

tonowari is known to be the best warrior and hunter among the metkayina boys, trained exceptionally well that he could fight the elder warriors with ease. and not only that, his silent confidence captured the eyes of many girls in the clan. but he never seemed to boast about it, or notice. it's why the current olo'eyktan and tsahìk chose him to be ronal's partner.

on the week he found out he was selected, the thought that he will one day hold such a high position ate at him.

"but the other boys are better, aren't they? zaxtyin? he's pretty good. seems to like leading more than I do. aery'an? he's impressive and good at multiple things. she'd enjoy his company more than mine."

he would think about it, all day and all night, barely saying a word since then.

when he moved into his new marui where he would be staying with ronal, he went a lot more quieter than before.

he was stunned. why? you guessed it, ronal.

his head was always piled up, and it's all because of her. so much nothing else was worth thinking or talking about.

now that they were practically living together, he'd see her usual routines. he picked up her habits, observed her movements, with no intention of doing so. not an hour passes by without her suddenly floating into his mind.

even while hunting underwater, he'd think about the kinds of fish ronal usually liked to eat.

when he sees the plants that the healers always use, he'd think about how on some nights he'd find her awake, experimenting and trying out the mixtures and medicines she made. somedays, she'd try it on him. and eywa, was it frustrating.

it was only after that when he realised, how much he had grown fond of her.

he wants to hate it. he has to.

because she won't feel the same. because of her.

it's always her.

©ronalsgirl

— that's it, i guess! :) so if anybody likes it, thank you <33

alr im going to bed (pls dm me if you see any errors! :] )

[absolutebloodychaos]

Can you write fic about the band appreciating Nace? Can be poly slash or gen, I am fine with both, but I'd love to read about the guys realizing how much Nace means to them, how much he contributes to them etc. Also maybe them simping a little for him? Because damn those tats, that gorg face and the hair?? That man is a dream, paired with his amazing personality??? Give my man some attention guys! Also thank you in advance, I am sure you'll do great, I love reading your writings <33

Sorry anon that this took so long, I've been suffering from vertigo and quite bad asthma for a few days and so had not very much motivation to write:(

I have finished it now though and I loved the prompt, thank you so much! I haven't yet written a Nace centred fic so this was an interesting challenge. I hope you like it:)

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

Nace Jordan had joined Joker Out almost a year ago. And that almost a year had probably been one of the best almost years he had ever had.

At first when he joined the band there was some hesitancy from the other guys, they were still sore over the fact that Martin had left and were wary of the new member of the band.

But as time went on they soon warmed up to the new bassist and came to appreciate and love him as the sixth member of the band.

You would think that because he was the newest member of the band that there would be some friction and hostility but he was genuinely loved and cherished by all the other members.

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

If you asked Bojan what he first thought of Nace he would have answered “not much” as he was mostly intensely mourning Martin leaving the band. 

He would then clarify that his first impression didn’t mean shit, that what followed was what really mattered. 

Throughout the months since Nace had joined the band Bojan had grown to love the other man dearly, as much as he loved all the other members of the band.

The man fit right in with the group, when he joined it was like a puzzle piece falling into place. Bojan couldn’t have wished for a better bass player or a better friend.

After a time though, those feelings of friendship grew into something more.

Bojan started noticing more things about the other man, things like his tattoos, and his earrings, and his smile. Oh how Bojan loved that smile.

He loved the way that Nace smiled; with the gap between his teeth showing, and the fact that when he laughed, it was the most joyful noise he had ever heard.

He loved that although the other man was responsible a lot of the time, mostly because of being the oldest member of the group, he still let loose and had so much happiness and love in his heart for his friends.

It had gotten to a point where whenever Bojan found himself on the receiving end of that smile he found himself blushing uncontrollably, having to look away or play it off as the heaters being on too high.

Bojan was not the only member of the group who got flustered when around the bassist though. 

He started to notice the mesmerised looks Jan would always send Nace’s way whenever they were in the same room, or the way that Jure took special time to make Nace gluten free meals when they went on holiday together, or how Kris would shamelessly flirt with the other man on stage.

There had always been looks and touches between the members of the band, dating back to it’s formation when they were all teenagers, messing around with each other and exploring their sexualities, and all the members loved each other dearly; but no one had taken the first step yet.

Things changed when Nace joined the group though. It’s like his presence made them all feel like they could finally be free together, like they could finally let their feelings be known and love each other more than ever before.

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

The first person to confess their feelings was Jure, finding the bassist alone in the studio one night. 

The drummer had been there to see if a package had been dropped off and Nace had just been finishing off practising a possible new bassline for a new song; seeing the chance to talk to the taller man alone, Jure decided to take it.

Jure confessed all of his feelings, how he loved the bass player, yes for his personality, his looks, but also for the feeling of love which surrounded the other man at all times.

This of course made the older man cry tears of joy and when the other members of the band came in the next morning, they found the drummer and bass player curled up together on the couch, looking the very picture of a storybook couple.

And they were, for the next week at least, until Jan caved and confessed that he too had been in love with Nace since he had first laid eyes on the other man.

What followed was about three days of Jan, Jure and Nace being together and trying to work out their relationship before Bojan and Kris decided together that they should stop putting off the inevitable, and before too long the members of Joker Out were a fully fledged quintuple.

It turned out that all it took was Nace joining the band to bring everyone together and make the other four men confess the feelings which they had obviously been harbouring for each other for years. 

The sheer love felt for that man had united a whole band, or at least that’s what the other members loved to tell him on every anniversary, birthday, holiday, or just any time that they were able to.

And it was true, Bojan, Kris, Jan and Jure probably wouldn’t have acknowledged their feeling for another few years, if Nace hadn’t have come along and united the band over the fact that they were all weak for tall bass players with tattoo sleeves, cute gaps in their front teeth, hair that used to fall lazily over their forehead but now looks sexy pushed back, and gluten intolerances.

[rimetin]

I've never had a comment like this, and I won't say I would hate it or anything, but... As input from someone who only very recently got into doing multiparts at all (chapters or series) the impact of feedback throughout the process has been incredible?

Like i get people who only wanna read completed works, i used to be that way myself. (Very glad i stopped that because the first time i experienced receiving a scheduled fic update for weeks ghat i could look forward to was nothing short of religious, but that's a separate issue really.) And i respect it, both as a writer and reader - my only take re: my own fics is that I can't promise you'll ever see the ending, i may not know it myself, but the journey itself and the writing done so far has value too. It's there if you wanna partake and maybe you'll be that experience richer, but its no sweat.

I never would have started posting my first multipart (or the subsequent ones really) without the reader feedback. That one was supposed to be a one-shot i speculated i might have more ideas for, and the response i received was so encouraging i picked those ideas up and went from there.

I post one part at a time, finishing what I have before I move on. I haven't tried the other way - aside from having an idea of the direction im going for, but not much concrete text - and I'm not sure I will, either. The reader feeback is so so important to me. What parts do people really like? Is there a thread they're not interested in, or even bothers them? What kind of expectations do they have? Im not obligated to offer payoff for any of those if i didnt intend them, but theyre a goldmine of ideas.

I'll also be able to see if people understand some parts differently, and if i need to clarify myself later on. (This was a big point in one chapter actually - i had a commenter, well, argue with me about a relationship and a character's motivations, so I expanded a little on those in the next chapter. And i think the text is better for it!) Or if my interpretation of something is wildly different from the majority. I feel like my own viewpoint can be very limiting in that way and the imput from readers is valuable in gauging how well im actually conveying the things i want to. (that is... the most neurodivergent thing ive said in a while i feel orz)

But like i said, writing always has value, whether finished polished published manuscript, or just brainstormed half-baked ideas. I can definitely see - and given the correct mood probably feel the same myself - how someone commenting they'll read later could feel like dismissing your hard work.

(Exception for multichapters or just other long-time readers, I've commented before on a new chapter before i read it just to kinda announce that im still there, and left a more detailed comment after. The response to that has been positive and i know i would appreciate it myself if it's someone i see almost always without fail.)

Just. My two cents.

//edit to add; someone said use bookmarks for this, and i def recommend this as well! I often go see a fics bookmarks and find some "to read" or "unfinished" or similar tags, and those definitely spark mostly positive feelings - like wow, someone liked it enough to make a note to return to it! sweet!

I've got a question about the general feelings? etiquette? of commenting on in-progress fics with "so excited to read this when its completed" or something along those lines. Because I personally like them, and thought they were generally well recieved and encouraging, aka I've seen authors replied positively. But then the one time I tried to leave a similar comment, the author basically went "I don't know why you comment if you hadn't read it." So, whats the general feeling?

Oof. This is one of those things that's kind of a crap shoot anon. Some authors will take it as a compliment, others will absolutely hate it. It all comes down to how that author feels about readers who don't read works in progress.

Some authors don't post their works until after they've finished writing them - or at least not until they have enough chapters finished that they have a buffer built up and then they can post on a schedule. Other authors post each chapter as they write it.

In either case (but maybe more so for the latter group), authors rely on getting feedback as they post a work in order to know that the work is being received well by its intended readers. If there's silence (a lack of kudos or comments), the author might decide to stop posting the work. They'll assume no one wants to read it and therefore they shouldn't bother to post it.

For a writer in that mindset, someone saying they won't read it until the work is complete feels... bad. Like that person doesn't want to support you during the hard part (writing and posting) and is only going to show up when the work is done.

An even bigger factor, and one that could be in play no matter how the author goes about writing their story, is that comments are kind of a big deal to most writers. They're few and far between and each one is precious because it's a signal that someone is reading and they care and they're telling you that they're reading and they care. But your message explicitly says that you're not reading (yet) - which some authors may take to mean that you don't care, but which either way means that they saw that wonderful comment notification only for it to be "check back later".

Obviously not every author is going to feel this way about things, but I hope that by explaining why some might you can understand it a bit better? Some suggestions for other comments that might be more universally appreciated:

this is just the kind of fic I love!

this one's going in the bookmarks!

this is such a great premise!

All of which you might mean, but they leave out the part where you won't be reading the fic itself for weeks and/or months.

I will caution, however, that if you leave a comment like this when they post chapter one and you don't come back again within a couple of chapters, a certain percentage of authors (and it's not a small percentage) will assume that you loved chapter one and hated chapter two and that's why you didn't come back to comment again.

[busdriver-55]

Featuring Disability

I know, it's been a while. I've been going through something personal and didn’t have the energy to post, but I'm back. To clarify, I do not personally have any of the disabilities featured on the fics mentioned on this list and do not want to discuss anything I *do* have because its too personal for me to share (maybe one day in the future I will). But I whilst compiling this list I talked to friends who are disabled that vouched the fics on here. These fics are either own voices or written by writers who conducted extensive research and had them sensitivity proof read. Despite this I recommend checking the tags as some of the fics on here feature internalised ableism, ableism from other characters and slurs. All of the fics on here are also simply beautiful and something I would recommend if you're just here for the recommendations, and don't care about diversity. Hope you all enjoy. 🥰💗

here grow the roses by neonheartbeat: Ms. Rey Palpatine, poet and youngest-ever recipient of the T.S. Eliot Prize, leaves London for a holiday to finish writing her third book at her family's estate, which she has inherited upon the death of her grandfather, outside Marlborough. The caretaker of the estate, a man called only Ben, does not speak to her. She embarks on a journey of discovering herself, her past, and the secrets the estate holds in its very stones and earth. (Selective Mutism)

follow in your form by violethoure666: Ben Solo wakes up paralyzed and angry about it. A story about dealing with change, holding onto hope, and finding love. (Paralysis)

My Heart and Eye by luna_plath: After spending her whole life in rural foster care, Rey develops a visual disability and receives a new foster placement with Luke Skywalker, a special education teacher in an affluent suburb. Rey is introduced to Luke's nephew - Ben Solo, former basketball MVP turned problem student--and forced to deal with his intensity and increasing fascination with her. (Blindness)

All These Things That I've Done by MissCoppelia: Rey knows Ben from high school. They meet again as adults. (hearing disability)

The Sounds of Silence by MyJediLife: A car accident robbed former Marine turned Librarian Ben Solo of his hearing... and after meeting Rey Sands, the only thing he wants to do is hear her voice. (Deafness)

Eyes Shut (and other metaphors) by anopendoor: Rey volunteers at a rehabilitation facility to read to the blind. She’s loved reading and books for longer than she can remember. She finds that she loves reading to others even more so. However, she’s suddenly thrown into the headspace of trauma patient Ben Solo, who has a knack for upending everything she thinks she knows about books and the power of the written word…as well as a few other things. (Blindness)

to live and to love by blessedreylo: a Me Before You inspired Reylo AU (with a promised happy ending). Young and quirky Rey Niima moves from one job to the next to help her family make ends meet. Her cheerful attitude is put to the test when she becomes a caregiver for Ben Solo, a wealthy young man left paralyzed from an accident two years earlier. Ben's cynical outlook starts to change when Rey shows him that life is worth living. As their bond deepens, their lives and hearts change in ways neither one could have imagined. NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

Next time, next time, next time by antlersantlers: Rey couldn’t decide what was worse: getting ready for a terrible date, the terrible date, or whatever happened after a terrible date. She had joined all the usual dating apps and never hid that she used a cane, but somehow or other it always became A Thing. Yes, ideally she would like to date someone amazing who appreciated her. Maybe this date would be different! She doubted it, but you never know.

[stobotnik-forever]

Soulmate AU Prologue

Little side note here:

This part is pretty much just background info to kick start the more interesting parts that will be in the next chapters(but if you don't read this, there will be some serious confusion in later chapters). And remember how I said Robotnik wouldn't be working for the government yet? Well I rewrote some things and now he is. Stone is still 18 and you'll still get to see his family life, etc. This 1st chapter doesn't really talk much about Soulmates yet but the next chapters will talk about it more, I promise! Oh and feel free to send a comment on what you think of this fic(whether you love it and wanna see more or have some constructive criticism for me)or maybe just send a like, whatever works, anyway I hope you enjoy reading this<333

"You're being stationed where," his mom asked.

"Afghanistan," his father repeated with the same hard military tone he used whenever he spoke.

"But that's overseas," his mom cried in outrage.

"I'm aware but this is the first mission I've been assigned since...," father trailed off, looking down at his right arm that stopped just before the elbow. Aban remembered that day well, the look of sheer horror and heartbreak that nearly tore his mom's soul in half when she got the call, the way she went over 100 miles an hour all the way to the hospital, and the hours of crying and endless whispers of 'I'm so glad you're okay, thank god you're okay' as she squeezed herself into the hospital bed beside the injured man and wouldn't stop hugging his father....

Stone zoned back in when hearing his father bark out a sharp, 'I cannot refuse this mission!'

"But what if you get-Nothing's going to happen, Annabelle," father cut in. "I'm not-the taller man sighed, staring at his arm again-I'm not even going to be on the front lines," he finished, seemingly disheartened that he wouldn't be at the center of the bloodshed.

"So then what will you be doing," the 18 year old asked after a growing moment of silence.

His father's fist clenched, a scowl on his face, "I'm playing babysitter for some government quack." Aban and his mother shared the same confused look before staring back at the other man, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm going to be the bodyguard to some mad man who gets off on playing with his fancy tin cans," his father said begrudgingly.

"Tin cans," Stone echoed with slight confusion.

"Robots, the sick fucker makes killer death machines for a living," his father clarified. Well this guy certainly didn't sound very nice but he knew his father could handle this mission and he could already see this taking some of his mom's worries away, knowing her soulmate wouldn't be risking his neck out on the front lines.

"Anyway we'll be leaving this week so start packing," father said, gruffly before storming out.

-------

Meanwhile overseas...Ivo was pissed, pissed they keep sending government lapdogs to his lab, pissed they already had another picked out, pissed he has to stay in this god forsaken country for who the fuck knows how long, and pissed he has to waste his precious time and brain power to create machines for braindead military men who don't treat his babies with even half the respect they deserve!!!

A good long scream accompanied by a storm of cusses, a few mysteriously broken objects, and one dance break later Robotnik calmed down. Immediately reading through the musclehead's file. Sebastian Stone. He's 41, his wife is 39, and his son turned 18 just a few months ago. The only blemish on this man's seemingly perfect track record is a recent mission in Turkey that left him temporarily out of action. The load of medals backing him combined with his so-called exceptional leading skills(and ass kissing skills no doubt)must be why they kept this lapdog in particular. Not like it mattered, he'd have this one out of here in a week.

[imtryingmybeskar]

So I'm sure we have all seen Pedro in the overalls today and my beautiful friend suggested a farmboy fic and I couldn't rest until I made it a reality.

*Disclaimers* I know nothing about farming, nor am I from the US. I imagined him as having a softer version of the Whiskey accent.

18+ only! You know the drill. 3.9k words.

The first time you saw him he was striding along the dusty road to your farmhouse, the sun at his back, his shadow stretching long ahead of him. Only someone looking for work and out of luck with it would be approaching at this late hour. From your perch at your bedroom window, you could look down and see the fatigue in the set of his shoulders, the dejection in the bow of his head. As he neared he stopped and dropped his pack to the ground before attempting to make himself presentable - raking his hand through his dark hair before setting his cap back on, dusting the legs of his overalls free of as much of the dirt of the road as he could, and finally straightening his back, righting his posture to make himself look strong, tall, not as hard up as he was. His rap at the door came as you were nearly at the bottom of the stairs and your dog, who had been peacefully sleeping at his approach finally woke and defended in a storm of paws and tail and barking.

"Hey! No!" you told her, and she quietened down and stayed where you told her to, in the line of sight from the doorway but no immediate threat to anyone on the other side. Opening the door you were greeted by the sight of a not-so-young-anymore man. Despite his efforts to clean himself up, his arms were streaked with grime and sweat and you could see the stains of his exertion under his arms and at his neck. His head remained bowed as he began to speak and you got the feeling he had replayed this spiel many times recently.

"Ma'am, I'm very sorry to trouble you. I'm here to see if you are lookin' to take on anyone at the farm at this time?" His voice was deep and rich with an enticing southern twang, sweet as honey whiskey.

"What kind of work can you do?" His eyes raised to your face and the hope you saw in their soft, dark depths almost melted you. As if he hadn't even gotten this far along with anyone for a very long time.

"Just about anything," he answered. "I can drive - harvesters, tractors. I can take care of all kinds of animals, muck 'em out, feed 'em. I've helped birth 'em too, though I know that time is passed for this year. I can sow and harvest by hand too if that's needed. And I can mend things, fences, roofs, you name it." Looking at him appraisingly, your curiosity got the better of you.

"Why are you on foot? Must have travelled an awful long way to get all the way out here." He looked down again, presenting you with the brim of his cap to look at instead and shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"I uh...I lost my own farm. Not too long ago. Sold everything I had to try and keep it afloat. Even my car."

"So, if I were to take you on-" his head snapped up eagerly again. "IF" you emphasised, "Would you be needing a place to stay as well?"

"If you had anywhere that could accommodate me, I would be most grateful for that, yes Ma'am."

"I want you to know that I've been out here on my own for a time. I know how to take care of myself. And I'm sure you heard and can see Tank behind me there." He was nodding as you spoke.

"I don't want no trouble. Just a job and a roof over my head." You eyed him for a few seconds more before stepping back from the door to let him in. He entered gingerly, staring around wide eyed as if he hadn't been inside a house for a long time.

"You hungry?"

"No...I mean, I don't wanna impose-"

"No imposition. If you're gonna work for me, you need feeding. Come with me." The dog whined a little as you approached, and you stroked her head. "Come!" you commanded the dog and she raced away ahead of you. Checking to see the man was following, you led him past the stairs and through the living area to the back. Here you had a small extension set up, with a bathroom and shower and a small room with a sofa which opened out into a bed, ostensibly for guests, though you hadn't had any for years. "You can get yourself cleaned up here. Any clothes you want to wash, you can do in the morning. There's no door to this room, so the only privacy you'll get is in the bathroom I'm afraid."

"This is...fantastic," he said in a low tone. "I've slept outside for a week or more, so this is just...Thank you ma'am," he finished, humbly. You left him to it and went to prepare him a plate of leftovers. When he finally emerged, scrubbed and fresh half an hour later, you bid him sit at the table and presented him with it. Without all that dirt streaking him and without his cap on you could finally see how good he looked and you had to tear your eyes away from the fullness of his lips before you went too far down that rabbit hole. The man was clearly desperate, hanging on to the shreds of the dignity of his old life by his fingertips. There was no way you were going to make him feel like he owed you anything by taking him in. You left him be until you heard him hum with satiated pleasure about ten minutes later.

"Better?" you asked.

"Better," he smiled.

"I see you've made a friend," you said wryly, gesturing to the large hairy head currently resting on one of his feet. You trusted your gut about this man, you didn't imagine him to be anything than he had said he was. But you had to be cautious for obvious reasons. The dog, however, had proved to be a truly excellent judge of character in the past and it warmed you to see her take to him so readily.

"I think I may have bribed my way into her affections. Chicken," he clarified.

"That'll do it," you smiled. He insisted on washing his own plate and then there was an awkward silence between you for a time as he stood in your living room, not really knowing what to do with himself. "Hey, you can sit and watch TV with me, or you can hit your bed if you want. I won't be offended either way."

"I...I think I will go to bed. I'm kinda lookin' forward to it."

"I can understand that," you said as you handed him pillows, blankets and fresh sheets to make it up with. "Just so you know, the dog sleeps down here too. She shouldn't wake you. And help yourself to water in the night, coffee in the morning. Whatever you want."

"Thank you," he said again, his eyes catching yours and looking happier than you had seen them thus far. "Goodnight."

The man worked like a machine. Having lived this life for many years, you were accustomed to being up before dawn, but he beat you to it the next morning, greeting you with a soft "Good morning," and handing you a cup of coffee that he had prepared. He kept up a pace all day, and you moved around each other around the farm, lifting your hands or voices in greeting when you passed. You couldn't help but notice how the soft cotton of his shirt creaked at the seams when he moved his broad shoulders, nor how deft his hands were at every task he set them to. The dog had begun to follow him everywhere and you found yourself liking that too, despite the mild sting of betrayal. He came in to help with lunch and after he washed up, set to chopping salad and buttering bread.

"This is gonna sound weird, but erm...your dog...she ain't partly deaf or anything is she?"

"No, why?"

"Its just, she comes when I whistle, but not when I call."

"Ohhh," you said, realisation hitting you like a wave. "Yeah, well, last night I might not have told you her proper name. I er...I wanted to make her seem a little more intimidating than she is. Just in case, you know. Hence Tank. Though she ruined that when she drooled all over your shoes." He gave a small chuckle, his eyes sparkling.

"So what is her name?"

"Cookie." At this, you heard the tell tale sound of Cookie's claws on the kitchen tiles. "Good girl," you threw over your shoulder at her.

"Well, that suits her a lot better'n Tank. She's so friendly."

"Only to the good ones. You should have seen her with the last man that came in here. She knew he was a wrong 'un. Took me a while to catch on, but I get there in the end." You turned your head to find him looking at you with sympathy and a touch of anger. "Like I said, I can take care of myself," you added and moved on with your day. In his first week staying with you he managed to do most of the little jobs that had been irritating, but not bad enough to address. The tap in the kitchen no longer dripped. All of the fencing was entirely without holes for the first time in forever. The roof of the chicken coop was renewed. You decided to celebrate by breaking out some beers in the evening and sat with him on your porch, watching the sky slowly turn from gold to apricot to scarlet. Once he had started to feel less awkward around you, you found him to be good company - intelligent and curious and with a good sense of humour and even your silences were now companionable, especially a few beers in.

"Need to plant some more things in the garden," he grunted, slurring a little. "Maybe some beets and some radishes?"

"That sounds good," you agreed, "but for tonight, just switch off a bit. Enjoy the beer and the view. You've more than earned it."

"Oh, I'm enjoyin' the view alright," he said. There was something low and sinful in his voice that made you turn your head to him in astonishment and definite interest, but as you did, his eyes grew wide and he started to splutter. "Oh God, I apologise. I haven't had a beer in months and I guess my tolerance ain't what it was. I...I didn't mean to offend. I didn't mean to say that."

"Didn't you?"

"No, I-I'm sorry." Putting your beer down, you came to stand in front of him, placing your hands on his knees and running them up his thighs.

"Are you sure you didn't mean it?" And suddenly the realisation of your own drunkenness came crashing around you. What were you thinking? You couldn't take advantage of him like this. He had nowhere else to go and he had said he wasn't interested. You straightened abruptly. "No, I'm sorry. This is wrong. I'm...I'm going to bed." And you did so, walking swiftly away before he could see the redness of your face.

The next morning, your coffee lay on the counter and you could see him outside the house pottering around. Berating yourself for an idiot for ruining the good feelings you had built up between you, you went about your own tasks in a crotchety mood. He didn't come in for lunch either, and you began to get a little worried about him. Deciding to tackle the problem head on, you brought him out a Tupperware with some food and some water. Eventually you found him in the barn, measuring some of the beams. He hadn't noticed you come in and you stood and openly stared for a moment at the sight of him with no shirt on under his overalls. It was pretty warm in here - you were starting to feel the effects yourself. His back was broad and muscular and his shoulder muscles rolled as you watched him reach up to measure something above him.

"Er...hi," you ventured, a little shyly. He whirled to face you, looking as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. "I'm sorry to bother you, I just thought you might want some lunch." You deposited it on the hay bale closest to you and carried on, keeping your voice light, "And to say that I'm sorry about yesterday. You said no and I shouldn't have pushed it. I don't want you thinking you have to do anything like that to stay here!"

"Thank you," he said softly as he made his way over to you. "But..I said no because we had both been drinkin' and because I didn't wanna take advantage of anythin' I wasn't bein' offered freely and honestly." His eyes raked over your face, black and piercing in the half light inside the barn. He was so close to you, you could smell the lemon scent of his soap and the musky smell of him underneath. There was a sheen of sweat across his chest and before you could stop yourself or think too deeply about what you were doing, your hands were upon him, feeling the taut, strong muscles of his pectorals. You bit your lip a little as you raised your eyes to his.

"You're not taking advantage," you whispered. "I want this." That was all the invitation he needed to crash his lips upon yours with a fervent desire. His big hands circled your waist and roved your back as his tongue begged entrance at your mouth. Your own hand moved down his overalls to where he was starting to bulge, massaging his length and making him moan into your mouth.

"Christ, I...I've not been with anyone for so long. That feels so good, don't stop." You heeded him, but also brought one of his hands from around your back to your breast where he began to knead it intensely and he groaned again, in between peppering your mouth and neck with kisses. "Fuck, you're so pretty. I thought so from th' first moment I saw you. I didn't know how to say..." For someone usually so reticent, he was on a roll now he had your tit in his hand and you were palming him through his overalls.

You snaked your hands up his body again and undid his overalls, letting them fall and pool around his feet where they landed. His body was gorgeous, broad and muscular with a little fuzz over his chest and running down his stomach. You ran your hands all over it, feeling the slickness of the sweat beading through his hair under your hands and feeling your own body begin to heat and respond in earnest, your clit throbbing a little between your legs. He kicked off his boots, and took off his socks and overalls in one swoop before taking you back in his arms and kissing you ardently again. His hand slid up your shirt and hiked it up, the sweat at your back making it stick to you a little. You broke the kiss to hurl it from your head and away, closely followed by your bra.

"Oh fuck baby, your tits are so beautiful. Lemmie taste you." He got on his knees in front of you and did just that, taking your nipple in his mouth and sucking on it harshly whilst rubbing your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Exhaling a moan of pleasure, you tangled your fingers into his dark waves and pulled him even closer, feeling his smile against your chest as his free hand undid the buttons on your jeans. You could feel the wetness in your underwear now, the telltale stripe of moisture under your cunt as he coaxed that sweet feeling all through your veins with his tongue and fingers on your nipple.

"I want you to fuck me," you gasped. "Need you to fuck me hard."

"Oh don't you worry, baby, I'm gonna take good care of you," he murmured against your skin as he pulled the material down your legs. "Fuck, you're so wet already. I can see it on your panties. I wanna taste you there too. Can I?" His big dark eyes looked up at you with pleading and what you would have called innocence had he not already been flicking his tongue back over your nipple, making you squirm and huff with the pleasurable tickle of it. In reply you pulled the rest of your clothes away from you, but before he could reach his prize you took his jaw in your hand and brought his head up to look at you. He was instantly attentive and alert, looking slightly worried, as If you might have changed your mind in the few seconds it had taken for you to remove your clothes.

"You can taste me, if I can taste you afterwards," you offered.

"Hell yeah you can," he muttered appreciatively as he got to his feet and lifted you on to a haybale. The straw poked you roughly and mercilessly, but you forgot about that when he leaned over you and kissed you deeply again. "Gonna make you feel real good, honey," he promised again before kissing a path downward. He hooked your legs over his biceps and ran his forearms up to your breasts, teasing your nipples again before diving right in to lick warm, wide stripes from your cunt to your clit. It had been so long since anyone had been intimate with you, your head felt dizzy and overwhelmed, but he took it to another level with the enthusiasm he brought to the task. He lapped at you and what you were leaking as if he were a man starved, pushing his face into you, so you could feel his patchy stubble rub against your inner thighs, and sucking gently on your clit. It took an embarrassingly short time before your breaths came stunted and your voice rose in a wail of pleasure as he drove you to your peak, the red hot lava of it flowing from your core throughout your body. He ripped a second from you when he pushed two thick fingers inside and curled them wonderfully to strike against that part inside you that you yourself could never reach. His eyes glittered with lust as you came down from your high and you swore you could come again just from the look he was giving you from between your legs. He kissed your inner thighs and wiped his mouth as he came in for another kiss, your taste all over his tongue and lips.

"Your turn." you announced breathlessly, as you got down from the bale on shaky legs. Not breaking eye contact, you knelt in front of him, the straw on the floor not much of a cushion for your knees. He moaned loudly as you raked your nails down his side, catching them on the waistband of his underwear and pulling them down, allowing his cock to spring free and bob up toward his stomach. You had felt that he was well endowed, but seeing him was something else entirely and you couldn't help the hum of appreciation that escaped you before you leaned forward kissed the reddened tip, his precum brushing over your lips. You looked up at him as you licked it off and could see his breaths coming heavy and wild, his shoulders and chest heaving in anticipation. His hands came around to tangle in your hair as you licked a swirl over his tip before taking it in your mouth and sucking gently whilst moving down his shaft.

"Fuck, baby. You're so good. C-can I move?" You brought your hands around to the firmness of his ass and moved him forward a little to give him permission and saw his head roll back in pleasure. He seemed to not want to hurt you and fucked your mouth much more gently than you thought he would. Your head bobbed further and further down his shaft until he was striking the back of it, making you gag a little. Raising yourself back off, you pumped him with your hand while swirling your tongue over his tender head. When you brought your other hand to cradle his balls he trembled a little under your touch. "Honey, I do not want you to stop, but if you don't I won't be able to fuck you before I come." You removed your mouth from him slowly, hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard as you progressed.

He helped you to your feet and reached down to stroke your clit again while he kissed your lips, the taste of you both mingling in your mouths. Turning your back to him you bent over the hay bale, presenting yourself to him and you heard a guttural sound of arousal behind you before the head of his cock was notching at your entrance and pushing in all at once, stretching you and making you whimper as he bent over your back and kissed your shoulder. "Are you ok, baby?" he muttered. "Does this feel good?"

"Yes," you whispered. "Now fuck me hard."

He bit down a little on the meat of your shoulder and whispered a low "Yes, Ma'am," before standing fully and beginning to piston his hips into you with forceful, firm strokes, his cock pushing further within you each time. It was overwhelming and even more so when he pushed down on your back further so that he was fucking down into you and sliding over your spot with each thrust. The change in pitch of your gasping moans and the wetness that you could suddenly feel around the tops of your thighs encouraged him to fuck you even harder, his cock swelling as he got close to his release and filling you up beautifully. "Like that, honey? Right there?" he grunted as you started to feel yourself lose control around him.

"Yes, there, please, don't stop, please," you begged. He captured your arms and pulled you further back toward him, and suddenly he was striking something white hot and golden inside and you were gone, your cunt pulsating around him and flooding him with you. Your head was so dizzied that you only noticed he had pulled you flush against his sweat-sticky chest when his arms were around you, grasping greedily at your breasts and the hot breath of his rich, deep voice was beside your ear.

"Where-"

"inside." He drove into you half a dozen more times before he cried your name aloud and you felt him pulsate strongly within you, jettisoning his spend into you with groans muffled against your shoulder. As he withdrew, he held you up gently before turning you and lying you on the bale he had just taken you over, coming to lie down beside you with his big eyes searching your face and his big calloused hands stroking the soft skin of your belly. The sweet summer sun was slanting over his face, turning his black eyes amber in its glow and you felt a welcome twinge in your heart as you took his face in your hand and kissed him.

[zutaraplatter]

Avatar: The Last Airbender Critique

There are already a million of posts like this one, and I might be saying things that’ve already been said a million times but I’ve recently become reheated about the ATLA ending and wanted to let it out -_- No one asked, this is true, and this may or may not be a way to stall from this final project I still have to complete, but here’s 10 things I didn't like and/or would change about the show that likely shouldn’t need changing because they should have been done in the first place.

1. Katara should have apologized to Sokka after TSR

It should have happened and it didn't. In my canon-avoiding mind, Katara and Sokka have a heartfelt conversation where she apologizes for the awful things she said, Sokka says he forgives her and he's sorry if he wasn't as there for her as much as he should have been, which he follows up with "but I'm happy you listened to Aang and took his advice," leading into my next point

2. Katara should have said that not killing Yon Rha was her choice

And thats why it was the right one. Not because Aang already said it was wrong. No no. It was the right choice because that's what she chose. I love my mom to death and can't imagine losing her in any way, let alone the way Katara did. And I can't say for sure that if I was in her shoes that I know what I would have done f that yes I do I would have killed that motherfucker. But I also know that if Katara decided not to kill him, then that was one of two correct choices because they were Katara's choices to make. Not Aang's or anyone else's and this should have been clarified. I know it's a kids show but I said what I said. Next point.

3. Katara should have said more after telling Aang she was unsure at the Ember Island Players

Katara hasn't had any trouble saying how she feels, especially when it comes to helping others and making them feel better, whether she was right or wrong. But she holds back or overly softens blows and seems to even shrivel up at times when it comes to Aang. And me no likey. I had a boyfriend who I adored and admired and just genuinely looked up to. I'm also a shy and anxious person who hates confrontation, but because I loved him, I never refrained from telling him when he was wrong. I might have been a little shaky about it but I did it tho because when you want to be with someone you walk through the grass and stomp through the mud. And I personally feel like either in that moment or later on in an added scene that Katara should have voiced to Aang how unheard and disrespected she felt about his words before TSR and his actions on the balcony. I hate being uncomfortable and my secondhand embarrassment is toxic but I would love to see a scene of this. I always imagined Katara saying stuff like "But I'm not you Aang, and I'm not an Air Nomad," or "Zuko could understand why I needed to go, and I'd hoped you would too," or...I'm out of ideas but you get the idea. And you know what, I know I'm a hard Zutara shipper, but them having this conversation would honestly make me respect their relationship a whole lot more should it be believably written to end on a good note (I don't see how it could be but hey I'm an open minded person and I did think they were cute together once upon a time). Basically, all I'm saying is that Katara is no small voice and she should have been written that way when with Aang. Boyfriends can make you shy but should never make you weak. Period. Next point.

4. No rock! ONLY GROWTH!!!!!!!!!!!

I still squint my eyes whenever I remember that rock that unblocked Aang's chakra. What even was that? The laziest writing possible in my opinion. That's what. And Aang deserved better. What should have happened should have been that Aang started to lose to Ozai. And then as Ozai's about to deliver the finishing blow, Aang has flashbacks of everyone he's trying to save and honor, ending with a very prominent flashback of Katara with the guru's disembodied voice reminding Aang to let go of his attachments to become all he needs to be...then BOOM! Baby boy is back on his feet, chakra unblocked, he kicks Ozai's ass, I'm crying hysterically on the floor, as are the rest of us, and he wins. Then at the end of the series, instead of a kiss, he gives Katara an apology. She accepts, everyone else comes to join them on the balcony, cinematic group hug, camera pan into the sun. I don't know lol. Basically what I'm saying is that Aang did not deserve some deus ex machina. He deserved to grow and become his best self like everyone else got to.

5. Aang should have heard differently in The Storm

Katara is a very fate-minded person and this is when I saw potential for her to become a toxic character in regards to Aang. When he admits that he ran away from home 100 years ago, Katara tells him that that was basically a good thing because he was meant to be here and now. Like...no? What Aang did, though understandable for someone so young, was still wrong. Yes he would have maybe been killed but I'm like 10000000% sure they had a plan to protect and evacuate the literal avatar. And what was technically "meant to be" was a new avatar. But hey, what's done is done and kicking Aang while he's down is a no-no in this household. But that doesn't change the fact that Aang needed and deserved honesty. Maybe the fisherman could have said this, I don't know, but I feel like Aang should have been told by someone that although running away was wrong, it's a blessing he and Appa were able to survive and be able to help save the world now with his amazing friends found-family. Maybe this is too harsh, and maybe even outright wrong, but I felt like Aang deserved a truer answer here to support and comfort him.

6. MAILEE!!!!

Do I even need to go into detail?

7. Spiritual sigh*

Don't make me go into detail -_- I will say though that although Aang and Katara are both amazing individuals capable of earth shattering things, they were not a healthy fit for one another. This is evident in the original series and especially in their children from LOK. They both deserved the best but better than one another.

8. ZUTARAAAAAAA

This is a Zutara blog you KNEW this was coming, as it should. There's just too much. There's too damn much. I would give a real paragraph to this too, but, I mean, there's already so much proving that this was the pair. Fics, metas, rants, this site. Scroll through my blog or any of the ATLA related blogs I follow and...dude. These two were meant to be together and I'll mourn the narrative brilliance WASTED for no good reason every day for the rest of my life. No reason these two shouldn't be married with three kids. sob. I will take this part to say thank you to the amazing fic writers that gave Katara, Zuko, Mai, and Aang what they deserved that the writers didn't have the guts to give them themselves. Next point tho.

9. AANG AND ONJI

Good God almighty. Why not this? WHY NOT THIS? I'm putting on my bullet proof vest and I'm going to say this; Aanji is cuter than Zutara. Now before you scorn me or whatever, let me explain. Zutara for me is like steak. No. Chicken parmesan. I like chicken parmesan better. The point though is that Zutara is savory. You know? I don't see them as cute, I see them as Obviously. Aanji on the other hand is like a bag of my favorite candy. They are like a brownie. A cookie. Girl Scout Samoas!...I don't know what words are anymore. This post got way out of hand. I guess what I'm saying is that for Zutara, I scream, but for Aanji, I squeal. I hope that makes sense. But here's the main point I want to make. Onji never knew who Aang really was. And Aang was always, at his core, himself. She very obviously had a crush on Aang for his personality and that was crazy cute and frankly preferable to Katara's "I...guess he is." (you know exactly what I'm talking about) Anyway, I kept wanting more of them together. I wish all the time that we'd gotten to see her again, with a more fleshed out character and all. And in the way that I imagine the show should have gone, she could have been the perfect love interest for Aang, during this episode or way later, even in the comics! Another WASTED opportunity for greatness and I will, again, never recover T-T

10. Iroh get your ass back here

Maybe this is a misguided critique but I hated that Iroh just left Zuko alone in the fire nation at the end of the series. Baby was in trouble in every sense of the word and Iroh was just like "See ya! You got this nephew." I'm expected to believe that? I'm expected to accept that? No no no. He should have at least stayed for a few years to help Zuko stay upright and, you know, alive. And by "upright" I don't mean "good." I just mean been there to support him because Lord knows he needed it, at least in the beginning of his reign. It was cute that Iroh was able to settle down with his own teashop after all those years of violence and mourning and running and this and that. I was more than happy for him for being able to have that peace finally. But I still think it could have waited a little while longer so he could support Zuko.

That's it I guess. I know not everything I've said makes the most sense in one way or another, but I enjoyed putting it together all the same. Thank you for reading and have a great day. I'll go finish my final now.

(Edited for a typo)

[dumblydork]

Summer

Hello! I am SO sorry for having gone MIA all of a sudden on Tumblr and Ao3, but life caught up once exams ended and I was in a deep, dark place for sometime. But not to worry, because I'm definitely better now, and finally got over my writer's block/unmotivation (if that's a word) and what better way to start off writing again if not with a Hinny fic?

As usual, I hope you enjoy this sort of non-magic alternate universe, maybe a modern meet-cute of sorts? From the one and only Ginny Weasley's perspective, of course.

Again, you can find my Ao3 right here where I post quite fluffy Wolfstar one shots!

----

The summer was harsh in Cornwall, which was where Ginny's family home was situated. She went up to university in London, just having recently finished her second year in Drama. Last summer, she was on a long trip with her best friend Luna, and hadn't been able to make it down to be with her family. But this year, she fully intended to spend as much time as possible with them, even if her older twin brothers were being annoying arses.

"Fred, George, just wipe the bloody tables already!" She screamed, exasperated, even though the twins were not even 20 feet away. The only unique cafe-by-day/restaurant-by-night was owned by Ginny's family. It was a quaint place, serving the best coffee to tourists and locals alike, along with not such a sharply contrasted cosy restaurant theme the place adopted when the sun went down.

And currently, the cafe was a few hours away from opening as a restaurant, and was left in the care of Ginny and her older twin brothers. She had another older brother after the twins, but he was off with his university friends (being an year older) and had even MORE older brothers ranked above the twins. Her oldest brother Bill, worked as a vet in New York, also where the second brother Charlie worked as an art curator. The third brother Percy was currently obtaining his PhD in some sort of Math which Ginny was too 'humanities' to understand (in Percy's own words, that subject bigot). The brothers after Percy, twins Fred and George were as stated, being annoying prats but worked in some sort of prank shop, much to their mother and Percy's chagrin (Between us and her, Ginny never understood why Percy felt a need to voice this opinion, because if Ginny also opened her mouth to provide an opinion on every single thing under the sun, working in a prank shop was perfectly acceptable).

Finally the last brother Ron went to university in Devon, having recently finished his degree in Astronomy combined with Philosophy, and that was it. Growing up with 6 older brothers, Ginny was significantly hot tempered, a trait often made fun of because of her (and her whole family's) flaming red hair.

"Oh for God's sake the two of you, just shut up if you don't want to do any work!" She finally snapped, causing two identical pairs of brownish eyes to look at her.

"Okay!" They smirked, before actually rushing away to the back of the cafe. Ginny sighed, wondering for the tenth time that afternoon why she bothered to come down here in summer. The twins, despite being her favourite, were useless gits-

"Ginny! Where are Fred and George?" Her mother's voice flew out from the front of the store, removing Ginny from her trail of thoughts, where Molly stood with hands laden with grocery bags. Her father, Arthur, she saw outside from the huge floor to ceiling windows, was unloading the boot of their car of more paper bags.

"They ran away after being absolutely useless gits." She muttered angrily, almost aggressively wiping a glass and placing it on the shelves behind her.

Her mother let out a long suffering sigh, but nevertheless joined Ginny in tidying up the cafe. "They're quite irresponsible." Molly sighed, wiping down tables at a superhuman speed.

"Mum if it's okay, can I join Ron and his friends at the party happening down at the beach?" Ginny asked apprehensively. The question had been burning at the back of her mind since the morning when Ron actually invited her to the beach party being thrown by one of the local boys. He had brought his uni friends and girlfriend down from Devon, and Ginny had already met Hermione, Ron's soulmate, if their behaviour was anything to go by.

Being in an all girls school, Ginny practically grew up with her girlfriends gushing about boys and celebrities, often almost swooning like some Victorian women when boys from the neighbouring school passed by their grounds.

However, Ginny was smart- if having six brothers had taught her anything, it was that boys were annoying, and only a few handful of them were actually decent. But now, looking at how close Ron and Hermione were, Ginny was starting to long for her own sort of romance. It had been over a year since she broke up with her first and only boyfriend Dean. She was convinced the breakup had solidified her stance on relationships, which was that relationships were okay but there was no need to actively look for one. Ron and Hermione's lovey dovey-ness was revolting, but uncharacteristically had Ginny pining away for her love story as well. Not that she'd ever admit it, of course.

"Well there's nothing really to do, and if it's busy there's a lot of pairs of hands to help. So sure, go on." Molly finally said and Ginny could almost fist pump, if it wasn't for the wet rag she was holding.

The evening rolled around quicker than Ginny anticipated, and before she knew it, her and Hermione stood in Ginny's small attic bedroom, getting ready for the party. "So, tell me, how was Dean?" Hermione asked, looking behind at Ginny through the mirror, where the younger girl stood blinking away extra mascara.

"Oh well, he was alright. Nothing like fireworks or sparkle." Ginny flushed slightly as she processed her own words. Oh, how she sounded like a lovestruck 12 year old.

However, Hermione didn't seem to mind. She simply grinned. "I'm sure with the right person it's more than just sparkles and fireworks." Hermione winked, and Ginny wondered if there was more to the statement than she understood. However, Hermione was already done with the topic, now going on about her course and what plans Ginny had for after university.

They walked downstairs, finding Ron standing at the door, his eyes glued to Hermione as she walked down the stairs. To be fair, Hermione definitely looked stunning- even if it was for a casual beach party. Ginny noted slightly bitterly to herself how the simplest pair of jeans and top could make one gorgeous to the right eyes. She breathed deeply as Ron wrapped an arm around his girlfriend, the girlfriend in question smirking back at Ginny as she followed them. Okay, very confusing.

The walk to the beach from the cafe was short, and there was already a bonfire going in the distance, with some upbeat song playing from someone's phone. "So, where is Harry and everyone else?" Hermione asked, looking around. Ron still had a hand in Hermione's as the two of them looked around for who had to be Ron's friends. "Neville!" Ron suddenly yelled good naturedly, as a tall guy walked towards the three of them with a big grin on his face.

"Ron! Hermione!" Neville hugged each of them in turn, smiling broadly at Ginny.

"Neville, this is my younger sister Ginny. Ginny, that's one of our friends from uni, Neville." Ron introduced. Ginny waved, which was returned by Neville.

"Is your girlfriend here as well?" Hermione asked, to which Ron added, "Oh, do we finally get to meet the elusive To-Be-Mrs. Longbottom?"

Perhaps having noticed Ginny's confusion, Neville clarified. "These two here haven't had the chance to meet my girlfriend- well, fiance as of a week, yet. In answer to your question Ron, no, she unfortunately couldn't make it. But she's been inviting the two of you over for dinner since ages." He turned to Ron.

"Actually yeah, we should definitely go. Anybody seen Harry?" Ron asked, looking around the small crowd of people. Ginny moved away from the couple to sit next to the fire, and grab a cold beer in the process.

She had just made herself comfortable slightly away from the warm fire when a figure sat down next to her, causing shivers to go up her left side. "Hi, you must be Ginny." The figure spoke and Ginny looked to the source of the voice, to be met by the unruliest mop of black hair she had ever seen on a human, and twinkling green eyes. In the soft light from the fire, they glowed slightly amber.

"I am. But I don't think I've met you?"

Ginny didn't get an answer because Ron's voice interrupted them. "Harry, you came!" He shouted, the figure (Harry) getting up to tackle Ron in a hug.

"Of course I did, getting sloshed at your best mate's beach party is always infinitely better than home." Harry grinned, and Ginny started to feel her heart race.

"I see you've met Ginny." Ron said, sitting down in between her and Harry.

"I just did, yeah." Harry smiled mischievously. They had moved closer to the fire, and in the brighter light, Harry's face was more distinct. And boy was he fit. The hair, even though messy, was not unattractive (quite the opposite), and his face was slightly round, made rounder by the permanent grin which seemed to reside there. And his eyes were covered by round glasses, reflecting off the orange from the fire.

"Well anyway, Gin, this is Harry, my best mate from university. He just made it down here to Cornwall." Ron said, and suddenly got up to fetch more drinks, but Ginny didn't miss the glares Hermione was shooting Ron from across the fire.

"Do you reckon we go a bit further away?" Ginny, being so busy interpreting the look Hermione was giving Ron, hadn't noticed the boy had shifted closer to her.

"Uh, sure." She found herself slightly tongue tied, staring into green amber.

"Brilliant, Let's go?" Harry got up, and lent Ginny a hand. She took it, and a slight warmth, probably not from the fire, ran down her spine when their hands remained connected.

They walked away from the party, not too far that a search team would be required, but just far enough to hold a conversation in peace. The music slightly played in the background, a slower guitar theme, and Ginny turned around to see Ron and Hermione swaying around the fire, the brightest smile settled on both their faces. Ginny simply let out a happy sigh, attention darting down to entwined hands.

"So, Ron tells me you're in drama?" He asked, as they sat down near the water with their legs bent, just that the waves touched their toes and washed back.

"Yes, I am, final year now. Although I haven't heard a lot about you?" Ginny teased. Harry simply chuckled, a sound she realised she found much more attractive than she should have.

"Well it's a shame since I am his best mate but, Harry Potter, third year medic, at your service." He lightly bowed his head, eliciting a giggle out of the girl.

"Medicine huh, that definitely sounds hectic." She commented, as her fingers drew an absent minded pattern in the sand separating their sitting figures.

"I also captain the football team." He replied, eyes shining with humor. Ginny looked up, wondering if it was a coincidence that the man she found extremely fit also checked off all her criterion of 'boyfriend'.

"Oh- well I don't know how you found the time to be here, what with studying and football." Ginny smiled. Harry looked back at her, eyes boring into her brown ones. "Only because I was told someone stunning was going to be here." He said in a lower voice. Ginny flushed under the stare.

"I'm sure having those feelings for your best mate's girlfriend is not a good idea." She teased, feeling some confidence seeping into her. Harry scooted closer, placing a hand on Ginny's.

"And what if I said they weren't for the girlfriend, but for the sister?" His eyes darted down to her lips, her own pulse quickening. Then continuing with her sudden confidence, she unconsciously leaned in, her lips just millimeters away from Harry's. "The sister would definitely like that because she thinks you're extremely fit too." Ginny whispered, her lips just brushing against Harry's before he closed the distance completely.

The two of them sat there, away from the party, lips moving in slow sync as if they were doing the communicating. Getting to know each other in silent movements, a dance of attraction and dominance. Thee music faded in the background, as behind her closed eyes Ginny saw stars, and faintly made out the sound of fireworks exploding behind them. Not that she'd admit it to anyone, of course.

But in that moment, it was just her, Harry and the cool water playing with their feet. And when they finally pulled apart, Ginny secretly swore that she saw her reflection in green pools glow and sparkle.

Not that she'd ever admit it, obviously.

----

TAGLIST: @amy-herondale-chase // @purplepygmypuffskein // @ginnypxtter // @alwaysmagica1 // @norakelly // @her-blazing-look //

----

Okay, I hope you guys enjoyed that! I wrote that when I was half asleep, so I'm not even sure if most of it makes sense haha.

As usual, if you want to join the taglist and be notified whenever I write a new Hinny story (which will be much more frequently now), please interact with the pinned TAGLIST post on my account!

Thank you for reading, and please interact with the post! Reblogs are always appreciated but likes and comments are just as amazing! Loads of virtual hugs xxx

[magalidragon]

making music | a Jonerys AU | fic tease

a/n: Bêcha thought I forgot this one? LOL Nope, just working on it here and there. It will be longer than I thought of course. So here’s a tease to part 1 up soon!

Once again, turning the corner, she almost stepped straight into a busker only this time a trumpet player, and when she knelt down to pick up the coins that had fallen out of a flatcap set on the cobblestone, she heard a low chuckle, and a heavy Northern accent, her blood going cold.

"You just can't help yourself can you?"

"I'm sorry I..." She whipped up, glaring. She shouted. "YOU!"

Jon chuckled, leaning against the brick wall, a foot propped up behind him, his other stretched out, and a trumpet loose in his fingers. "Me." He rolled his eyes, but still smiled. "You want a piece of my gig here or what? That why you keep stepping into my payment?"

She glanced at the cap, noting there were only a few stags; he had way more as a guitar player. She smirked up and straightened. "Maybe you should stick to strings then Mr..."

"Snow," Jon said, lifting the trumpet up. He blew into it, fingers fast on the keys, the tune upbeat, jazzy. Someone walking by tossed in a dragon coin. He finished the snippet of a song she thought she might have recognized as a twist on a famous Essosi opera aria, and had gathered a few other admirers, including, she noted, some young women who giggled behind their hands and ducked their heads coquettishly, trying to catch his attention.

It was the music that held her attraction-- although he did look good standing there in his all black attire, hair pulled from his face, his strong forearms on display. She spied some tattoos peeking out from under the rolled cuffs and one on his inner wrist, a series of musical notes on a scale. She frowned, wishing she could see it closer, wondering what song held such importance to him he wanted it inked to his skin permanetly. Or maybe, was in his mind during a drunken moment and now was inked permanently. Could be anything.

He finished the song, the crowd gathered applauding. He swept the trumpet aside and bowed, moving towards the case while people dropped coins and other things into the flatcap. Several of the women dropped phone numbers. Dany remained standing, waiting for them to disperse and Jon to collect the money. "Do they not pay you enough?" she asked.

He chuckled, unfolding the bills and darting a glance upwards through his dark curls. "They do. This is for something else." He pocketed the money and shoved the cap into the side of the padded trumpet case. He quickly cleaned out the trumpet, wiping down the gleaming brass, dragging the cloth through the valves to dry it, and set it into the velvet lining.

Dany waited and caught his attention when he stood, slinging the case over his shoulder. "Are you first cello?" she asked, wanting more information. He was the only one she knew now from the sympthony, she wanted to get as much information as possible. Especially if they were to play together.

He nodded. "Aye."

"But you also play guitar and trumpet?"

"I play a lot of instruments."

"Yeah so does everyone," she scoffed. They all said that. Viola players claimed they could play violin and vice versa. Guitar players claimed they were also proficient in banjo and ukelele sometimes. Anything for the résumé. She rolled her eyes. "There's a difference in maybe playing something and being proficient in it."

Jon eyed her sideways, chuckling. "Alright, I'm proficient in a lot of instruments. And you?"

"Four."

"Let me guess."

She grinned. "Go ahead." He'd never guess.

Jon ticked off his fingers. "Violin."

"Duh."

"Guitar."

She wrinked her nose. "Yes."

They turned a corner; she had no idea where he was going, somehow she was stuck to him like a magnet, unable to tear away. He patted his pockets, searching for somethng, and removed a pack of cigarettes. He smiled sheepishly. "Bad habit."

"Terrible habit, especially for someone who plays a brass or woodwind instrument," she chided.

He lit the cigarette, pocketing the lighter with a flick of his fingers. She spied a wolf etched into the side of the silver Zippo. He paused at a corner, studying her a moment. She shifted, oddly uncomfortable with the x-ray-like gaze. His irises were gray, a peculiar color. They shimmered, reminding her of the ash on the cigarette or else storm clouds. He blew a stream of smoke out to the side, gesturing with the cigarette. "Piano."

She grit her teeth. Eyebrow quirked, she shrugged. "Alright. Yes."

"I've got three. How many more guesses do I get?"

"One more, I told you I play four."

Jon kept his gaze on her, once again giving her the x-ray once over. He narrowed his eyes and smiled wide. "Harp."

Her mouth dropped. What...how...WHAT!? "You cheated!" she exclaimed, at the same time he burst out laughing. He dodged the fist she flung out to smack at his shoulder, this perfect stranger, but she was positive he deserved it. First for chastising her when she completely accidentally stepped into him, then for his comments after her incredbile audition, and now well, for whatever was happening with this. She glared at him, simultaneously impressed he got them right and also annoyed.

Now he laughed. "How did I cheat? I didn't know you until like three hours ago."

"But you did," she realized. He knew her real name. Could have been a good guess, but she tried vrey hard to keep the lives separate. So how did he know?

They were still walking. She realized they were approaching a nondescript old building, stone and worn, with moss growing on the side from the healthy amount of humidity King's Landing endured. There was a large olive tree out front, providing shade over a fountain of a series of wolves chasing each other. They stopped near the entrance to the small courtyard, his fingers idly running down the strap of his trumpet case, his cigarette almost worn down to the filter.

He flicked off some ash, drew in a last pull of it, and stubbed it out, tossing it into a trash can. He smiled again, but it didn't meet his eyes. He tapped her case. "Violin, easy." He gestured to her fingers. "You have piano hands, calluses on your wrists, your black and white outfit, probably what, teacher too?" She scowled, refusing to acknowledge he was right. He carried on. "Guitar because that was actually just a guess."

"And harp? How'd you guess that?" she demanded.

Jon blinked, shrugging. "You're a Targaryen."

Her jaw set. "Yes," she ground out. She arched her brows, silver bouncing up to her hairline. "Which I would kindly request you keep to yourself."

"You should probably hide your eye color then."

"I could just be Lyseni or Valyrian otherwise."

"You have your mother's face," he said. He continued, her shoulders drawing back at that, surprised. He smiled again. "And Rhaegar Targaryen was one of my first music teachers. I know a Targaryen and I know he has a little sister and well, Targaryens are the only harp players that actually make it a worthy instrument to learn." He grinned wider. "I'll give you a hint. One of the instruments I do not know how to play is harp."

Rhaegar's student? Her mother? Harp? What? There were questions swirling around in her mind, before she could ask him to clarify. He walked by her and to the fountain, dropping some of the coins in it and then depositing his earnings into a box near the entrance to the building. He tipped his fingers to his temple, saluting her. "See you around Daenerys Targaryen. Or Dany Storm. Which do you want me to call you?"

"Dany," she whispered, unsure what to make of him.

He nodded, smiling. "Dany." He turned, walking off and reached into his pocket, removing a harmonica, lifting it to his lips and humming off on it as he wandered away, out of sight.

[thorniest-rose]

BROOKE I SAW DUNE

Lemme just clarify some things from my ao3 comment:

I alas don't read fanfic while cycling - though now I'm like hmmm they do sell those lil handlebar holders for phones, it probably wouldn't be THAT ba- but I have an hour-long bus journey during which I read fanfic, followed by a fifteen-minute cycle. So lots of fic processing time (aka, my atreidaho cackles)

And I'd read the book!! So I was always a bit "what???" when I heard of the pairing but when you posted a fic I was like ok.... i trust Brooke, ok, and I was RIGHT to do so

But watching the movie!! The hugeness of Jason Momoa compared to the Edward Scissorhands physique of Timothee Chalamet!! The softness and the picking up and the scene in the dormitory with all the soldiers I was like 👀👀👀

I definitely thought about a fic where Duncan is all battlethirsty after the Sardaukar invasion and Paul stumbles on him by accident while bloods are hot... leading to regular ol' thirst and lots of happy-to-be-alive BANGING

Anyway, loved the movie and loved your fic!!

omg hello!!! I'm so happy you've finally seen it! I didn't realise it was still at the cinemas... I wonder if I can see it for a third time... I hope you liked it, I personally loved it, it's been on my mind so much these past few weeks. I've been reading the book recently, which I like, but I actually think the film is better, maybe because it feels more edgy and modern?

Ohhh okay that makes much more sense about reading it while on a bus!!!! I had this picture of you in my head cycling and swerving madly while trying to read my fic on your phone!! Which would be flattering but also dangerous! Though the image of it did make me giggle, I won't lie dhdhs

Oh my gosh, I know, the physical contrast between Jason Momoa and Timothee Chalamet is so delicious. Like Duncan is this big, muscular, broad man and Paul is this long, willowy boy with a kind of ethereal look, with his dark hair and pale skin. I loved all their interactions, how playful and protective Duncan was, and how much Paul loved being around him. I needed so many more scenes of them together!

God I have so many fic ideas too. I'm hoping to write a follow-up to this fic and I also have an idea for a separate fic that I might write over Christmas while I'm off work. The fandom is really small, and I don't think even exists on tumblr that much, but I've had such a lovely response on ao3 and it's given me lots of inspiration so I want to write more!

Anyway thank you for leaving such a funny and sweet comment on the fic, I love that you liked it, and I hope you read my next Duncan/Paul fic when it's finished!! <3

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

so I've been thinking about making/writing a big ol/ P5 AU (aka a fix-it fic because P5 infuriates me) and I was wondering; what are some changes you say would have to be made in order to improve P5?

Can do my dude, under the cut for length. 8U

So ngl I’m personally trying to do one myself too, I can give you a few ideas. I should tell you, I personally am just......trashing a lot of what happened in P5, and just using it’s setting to explore other ideas. I’m 1) choosing topics that weren’t in the original that I think would fit well, and 2) expanding on some things they talked about, and revolving my plot and characters in a way that the story can work with those two things (rather than......trying to force a square into a circle, I’m just going to shave off the sides to make it a circle and make it work). Doesn’t mean my fix it AU fic is what should’ve happened tho, just.....it’s made in a way that I want to work with things so I have to change a lot. Which makes it very AU than fix it but elkasfjls;jfad yeah 

But I’m not one to judge on how much you wanna change, just that if you wanna change a lot, this is coming from someone who is changing....A LOT! XD

First thing I think you should always consider is tackling the Metaverse’s ground rules, REALLY establish them (that’s what I’m doing, I’m not changing/taking away a whole lot but I’m clarifying what can and can’t happen and tbh just adding to it). These rule are up to you, but make them clear, and establish them. P5 really suffers from pretending to establish rules but then........breaking said rules without a care or explanation. Like this is probably it’s BIGGEST problem P5 has because it’s story HINGES on these rules for it’s plot to work. Here’s three examples of things that were broken constantly or just....aren’t explained well:

Boss Wakaba not changing nor disappearing once Futaba realizes her mom was good (thus no need for the boss). Even tho we saw, in real time, Madarame’s cognition changing over a gd door. So explain how cognition worksAccidentally pulling people in, we dunno what causes some to be pulled in instead of other’s (other than plot convenience).If a Persona can be touched/ridden on/ridden in.....utilize that, or make it so that they CAN’T utilize that. A lot of P5′s puzzles/road blocks could be bypassed with just “hey lemme try something-oh cool that works.” (Yusuke/Makoto, and probably Futaba wouldn’t have joined the team if they just did that, Haru is needed for a bio scan, but hey they could at least TRY ramming their Personas into the door 8U)Heart changing, explain how it really changes a person, why is Futaba considered having her heart stolen despite IT NOT BEING GD STOLEN, or how (like that 5 hour vid suggested) why Yuuki and Sae kinda act like they had a change of heart and how come one still has their palace despite that possible change of heart.... (if you go that route, you can maybe explain the difference in behavior of those two vs actual people having their desires ripped away). 

(side rant, one thing that still bugs me is that Sae has an alarm meter, but like.....She’s like a P4 shadow, she KNOWS you’re their, she even MEETS YOU at times! So like??????? Why have the meter?! She’s screwing you over all the damn time!!!! And she can only do that if she’s aware you’re there and know where you are! ANd she does! JUst????? I dunno make sense of that, maybe just explain there’s no meter?)

The next big issue is character consistency (first world building consistency, now Character consistency, tbh plot consistency is pretty bad too.....consistency is not in P5′s dictionary tbh). Everyone’s acting OOC everywhere, Anne’s biggest asset is somehow a flaw in her own CoOp (aka can read people and is very attuned to not saying the wrong thing), Ryuji isn’t a perv in HIS CoOp nor the first dungeon and is pretty level headed but after that???? nope, Futaba constantly talks about how it’s the TEAM that helped her and still help her but in her CoOp she only talks about how the MC is who helped her and can only do things cause of him and leave the house cause of him (despite the fact after she said that Yusuke went to her house the next day and got in in the main story >.>). Make the characters consistent, give them more flaws too tbh but as long as everything is the same and is foreshadowed well.

So those are the two biggest flaws in P5 that you might want to focus on fixing, how you do it is up to you! I’d also keep in mind to make sure that if the team needs to change cognition, make sure it’s for a good reason. Madarame’s door is a good reason, until you realize the stupid place has open windows and they can easily get to said open windows. Or Sae’s dungeon, her blockade is REALLY FREAKING STUPID cause it’s a public place and should already be open and JFSDKLJFLK;JASFD  JUST ANYTHING ELSE! Have the team work smarter not harder, if they are doing the opposite it can be....frustrating. 

Now the next stuff is up to you. Personally the first thing I do next is cut the team down to size (once Mako/Futaba/Haru were announced I started sweating and really felt like they should’ve kept it to 5ish). Too many characters to juggle on the team, who you choose is up to you if you want to do that. Think Yuki, Hifumi, or Sae should’ve been a thief? YOU DO THAT! Personally my fix-it one I’m doing MC/Anne/Ryu/Mona/Haru, but that’s because the story is based around their strengths and weaknesses (Yusuke and Futaba are important side characters/Coops tho, Makoto is a secret), there’s not need for a “smart person” because they all just work as a team, there’s no need for Yusuke’s art skills, and hacking isn’t going to appear in my fic (you can still do it, but my god the way P5 does it is horrible and OP and just.....why bother doing anything if Futaba can just wave her hacking wand? so unless you have a way to nerf it then go for it....but you’ll probs have to explain her “hacking cognition” bs cause.....why? just....why?). I tend to stick with the OG4 because they are solid and can fill a useful role that’s seen in other Phantom thief works (and can fit into P5, again I don’t think Yusuke’s artist eye is....useful), I chose Haru for reasons I won’t go into (but her personality is going to be different, this isn’t the reason, but I did need a personality change). 

But like I said, it can be anyone you want! Don’t like Anne or Ryuji or Mona (well you might need Mona, but you can re-write him!), then kick them! Or keep everyone doesn’t matter to me akldfjs;lajf XD 

If you want to keep all the characters.......I dunno. I don’t know where to start with Futaba, you can probably go a few different ways, but if you want to be more realistic, she’d probs still have issues for a few months (you don’t just get better after like a week XP) but that could make it hard for her to do anything for the team. Yusuke you’d have to make more relevant, you can make him the more level headed one (and you can remove Makoto via doing that). Makoto.....give her humility? I dunno, I wrote something on how to fix her arc (you can use it cause I’m not) but flksdafafafan I’d just boot her too personally XP (I guess character wise I’d actually make her smart, not point out obvious stuff in an attempt to appear smart, and ACTUALLY BE AN ACTION GIRL cause she ain’t shit when it comes to that either) I’d add more faults to Anne and Haru (love my girls, but first thing I did was add more issue to them), Ryuji make him consistent first then figure out what you want (I’d say keep him and Mona fighting the same, but make it more organic, with a good make up at the end). I’d also have Haru show up.

I’d also personally change Anne’s CoOp. I remember researching on Hafus well before P5 came out, and iirc I remember one hafu model lamenting on how everyone thinks they are pretty this and that and then talking bad behind their back, and then also how Hafus are kind of a commodity in Japan (aka they model and people think they are pretty, but then they also trash them for being “other”, think of it kinda like how everyone loves black culture in America but will trash black people for being black). Just the hypocrisy of “oh this is so awesome!!! BUT ALSO YOU SUCK!” kinda thing. It’s been awhile (I found it like a year or so before P5′s release), but it always stuck with me. And it made sense why Anne was a model but.....the way she’s....shamed for treating her PART TIME JOB/HOBBY as JUST THAT..... And then shaming her for her own natural beauty....it just reminded me of the interviews I read and it felt icky. I have an idea, it’s in the similar vein as modeling, but I think changing the writing so that it just treats her like a person instead of a hafu is one way to do it (after I finish writing it you can use it if you want/if you like it, it’s roughly similar to what we have but just tweaking it, I’m gonna use an aspect of that in my own fic but it won’t play beat by beat like it does in P5). 

I’m not sure about Kasumi, I personally started planning before Kasumi was announced. Do whatever with her tbh kflsjdf;asj

As for Goro.....listen I don’t like who we got, it felt like Atlus gave us like.......a few different characterizations they could’ve taken Goro and shoved them all into him despite these characterizations conflicting and not melding at all. They just contradict. He’s someone I think SHOULD be in the story (if not him, then give someone else the role of the “shadow archetype” but there needs to be one because that’s a staple for Persona, tho I mean if you want to reinvent the wheel and not have one then I say go for it! It’d def something new/different). But if you have Goro, you NEED to smooth him out. I’ll give you a few ideas.

Want him to be a puppet? Make sure it makes sense (by which I mean, due to his powers as we have it now, and how much he hated Shido prior to said powers, it doesn’t make sense for him to be Shido’s puppet when he can easily monitor Shido with said powers, and it doesn’t make sense for him to not monitor him nor be Shido’s puppet. It makes sense for him to pretend to be Shido’s puppet, and then turn around and be the REAL puppet master). A good way to make him a puppet is for him not to be related to Shido (or he and Shido are unknowing to that fact if you want), and Goro is just moved by this politician he sees one day and just stans the shit outta him, despite not knowing he’s a puppet to Shido (if this is the case, I don’t think think Shido planning on killing Goro would make sense, but proving he only thinks of Goro as a tool would def shake Goro’s world, since in this case he is unshakingly DEVOTED to Shido, hence why he’d never go into Shido’s mind). Sympathetic, and similar to Sho, has the best chance of being helped. 

Want him to basically be an extreme lawful person/Light Yagami? His way or the highway (also couples well with him being the real mastermind with Shido being the puppet). Well intention, but the ways he is doing it is horrible? Sympathetic? Not Sympathetic, your choice!

(closest rewrite you can get to keep it like the original P5 without the BS puppet thing) Guy that wants to just get revenge on Shido and Society, and is the real mastermind (much to everyone’s shock, due to thinking the red herring Shido was the real mastermind), who has Shido under his thumb. Sympathetic, but he’s willing to hurt whoever for his revenge. Might not be able to be helped, unless you count jail time. 

Personally I’m all for changing the god too but that’s just me. 8U

I know I didn’t touch on the bad guys, personally I’m keeping some the same, adding more to some other’s (tho changing their sin), and then just creating like some original bad guys to replace the one’s I’m not using (aka like.........Madarame is going to be a Mementos boss in my fic, I’m replacing him with someone else, and if you looked at my Haru link earlier Okumura is obvie going to be 2nd dungeon instead). You can do whatever with them imo, depends on how much you wanna change. All I can say is just make them deeper/more well rounded characters/no shallow Saturday Cartoon villains (aka give them nuance 8U). And don’t just....have a throw away line about this or that, incorporate it more into the dungeons (imo I’d take a page or two out of P4′s book, have their internal dialogue blasting a lot, maybe even have a memory play that we see). 

And that’s as much as I can word vomit atm (I’m very tired ;w;), I feel like I might’ve missed something but.....I’m not gonna worry about it. Sorry it’s in very big strokes, but you have a lot of wiggle room imo. I don’t think there’s a “perfect” way of fixing P5, so as long as you have a vision you want to execute I think you’re good. Like I said, my fix it fic is just retooling a lot of P5 in a way I can make certain ideas work, it’s not supposed to be “this is how P5 is supposed to be” but a “this is how I think a tighter version of P5 could’ve gone down.” 

[cyber-flow]

You know, I've been thinking about some stuff lately.

Since I joined the BatIM fandom I've discovered some awesome AUs that awesome people made, and since BatIM has been my latest obsession, I wanted to see them all!!

I absolutely loved how some of them have a place for many people to experiment and suddenly there were hundreds if not thousands of unique OCs everywhere! There were new askblogs that are still going strong, original storylines within those universes, comics, interactions. It all seemed so magical and a thing I really wanted to be a part of.

But after some time has passed, I realize it's not really my thing. Don't get me wrong, I still think all this is wonderful and people have made many friends through these interactions! It's nothing short of amazing! But...

See, I wanted to make my own OCs, I have crafted their backstories, their personalities, their goals. But problem is, I'm not a very consistent creator. Maybe I can finish three complete shaded drawings plus a 4000+ words fic in week and a half, but then I won't do a thing during the next four months. (And I wouldn't call it burnout, it's just this thing with me), but knowing that, I often lost all impulse once I managed to get the main design done. I knew I wouldn't be able to ever handle an ask blog or anything like that, but I at least wanted to develop them a bit more. I wanted to join the community, and discord servers with over 200 people all talking in different channels, but I think that's just not me. I often have nothing to say, or joining in the discussion at hand can be difficult for me. I tried to stay for a while, but some time later I tired of just lurking and I took a step back.

But that's ok. I guess that is my point with all of this. And I guess it should be obvious, but maybe it's because it's practically the first time I've ever followed a "trend" (Not in any negative connotation, I want to clarify).

Like, it's so natural that when you see people making so much stuff for something you love and having fun and making friends that you want to join in. But the dedication of effort and time is greater than you can or want to give, and you find yourself falling behind. And that's fine.

It's fine to just be an spectator, the public to which all these creations are directed. If you created 20 OCs in the rush of things, but now you don't know what to do with them/don't have the motivation to work on them... then don't. You don't need to. Write their concept somewhere so that if you want to rework them into something of your own, you'll have the basics already!

I'm just going to stick to personal projects. My own fanfics, and headcanons and comics. And I'll still watch and follow those AUs. Because they're still going strong, and they're still so so amazing in what they do. I still made some good friends and I appreciate every single one of them! And I rather it be that way, haha! I'm not exactly a social butterfly, so having small groups to talk to is such a nice thing. Big groups of 50+ people can get really overwhelming for me, and while they are probably wonderful people there's no way I have enough energy to talk to them all.

So yeah! Be happy and don't feel guilty if you don't create as much as other people or anything at all. Even if you thought it's what you wanted. This is for fun, so if it's your thing, sit back, chill, like and reblog the content you love!

[georgianadarcies]

First of all, congrats on finishing the first drafts of your new fic I CAN’T WAIT TO READ IT!!!

I was wondering about your writing process, hope you don’t mind me asking!

I wrote my first fic with multiple chapters this year and I had the drafts for every chapter before I started posting but now I completely hate what I wrote for the last two chapters and I don’t know what I’m going to do! Lmao, nothing seems good and I feel so frustrated because I really enjoyed writing it, I wanted to give it the best ending and now I just know these last chapters will suck! Have you ever felt this way? :{

That wasn’t my question though, haha sorry!

I wanted to know how long does it take for you to write each chapter, if you edit a lot, and if you know where your fic will go since the first drafts or if it changes when you’re editing!

Wishing you inspiration and creativity always, I love your writing!!! XXX 💗

thank you so much!! I'm really excited to share this fic with you guys – I've still got a ways to go and there's a whole second fic in the plan, but progress is being made!! and I don't mind you asking it all, it's fun to talk about writing, and it almost makes me feel like an actual writer lol. but I don't mind at all!

anon. my love. I feel that way all the time. it took me forever to get started on this fic because I just hated everything I wrote and kept scrapping all of it. sometimes the writing is actually bad, but most of the time, it's usable. it's different for every writer, but it helps me to step away from it for a bit and then go back and edit. I was hating my first few chapters but after a day of not writing, I went back and looked over them and they really weren't bad at all! they definitely need editing, but I'll do that later and clean it up. and with it being the ending specifically, I was definitely in a similar boat with my last fic. I think that if you step away and come back and still hate it, assess your plan and make any changes you think are necessary, then try writing them again. that way you remember the big things you want to include, but you can redo the actual writing and hopefully make it the way you want it. unfortunately, I haven't found a magic fix, but as you keep writing and messing around with it, you'll find different strategies that help!

for how long it takes me to write each chapter, it honestly really depends. I know that's an annoying answer, but there are a lot of things that factor into the time, like: length of the chapter, how much of each scene I have outlined, how much energy I have, how much inspiration I have, etc etc etc. my strategies have also changed over the past few fics, but recently it's been taking me maybe a day and a half on average? maybe two days? and I don't finish them like by day, I usually finish the last part on one day and start working on the next one that I won't finish for another day or so. it really, really helps me to outline it all first. I plan out all the big events, beginning to end, and then plan scenes by chapter. things do change – like I'll cut certain scenes or I'll end up writing something that's a little different from my outline, but I have the framework to go off of. editing for me is just fixing up phrasing and that sort of thing, focusing on the mechanics rather than the content. I try to do a good amount of editing, but not too much – I'll just keep messing with it and I won't get anything ready to publish. but my major takeaway here is that outlines really help me be more productive and write something that I actually like.

I hope this mess of an answer helps, and if you have any other questions or there's anything you want me to clarify, feel free to send more asks! thank you for the lovely message and I wish you luck!!