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kimyoonmiauthor · 2 years ago

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The Bad Week on Twitter in publishing and possible SOLUTIONS to the problems discussed.

"I’m sorry, not sorry ’bout what I said Don't lose your head" --Anne Boleyn, Six, the Musical

Twitter updated their software back end to handle more images, so I added the full text and images into this post.

I’m aware of the fact by doing this post someone is going to say: “You hate all agents, the entire industry, you hate me, and you know nothing. I’m black balling you.” simply for doing this post or try to find solidarity, but I’m begging with a bunch of other writers that we work together on a problem I know we all collectively see. I’m doing cold reporting as well as trying to find a way through to bring us together. And this isn’t the first time I’ve tried to do this.

My personal dream is end to end diversity in the bookstore/Library without question. Indie and Barnes and Nobles alike. I was highly affected by the lack of diversity in my childhood, and it’s a gap I want to fill/be filled. I’m hoping you dream it too and are willing to work with us to achieve better numbers and better faith. I want uplift, not only for myself, but others in my position. This has sections, I’m going to be the tdlr; first. The sections are:

tldr; get the point already

Me and previous activism so you have some faith I'm not here to yell and you know that I have some clue about the publishing industry. I'm just the messenger don't shoot me. I'm solutions-oriented.

History of the Diversity Movement (as I know it)

Statistics

This Bad Week in Publishing on Twitter

Tangible Solutions to reach our goals.

To be clear, I'm here to report, but also use my anthropology degree in systems to try to improve the system and show everyone what we see on our end, so that hopefully the whole industry coordinates so it's not authors/writers v. agents/publishers (the people)/publicists/booksellers/editors. From talking to other authors pinning their hopes on trad publishing, we, too, ache for cooperation. And what we are hoping is that industry professionals will help us with that so we can achieve and fight for it together by extending empathy and cooperation.

I, personally, understand how asking for change feels like it might be hating you, personally, but I think the point is us coordinating together to better serve the readership. Shouldn't we focus on that?

The rest of the post is here because tumblr wouldn’t allow me to post all of the relevant images:

Too long, didn't read, get to the point already

Authors/writers are confused because what we see on our end are these statistics from Pew Research center:

Since 1980's cishet male readership has slid to lower and lower with a lot of articles speculating why, but publishers try harder to bring them back. The last numbers sliding to as much as ~80% women ~20% men readership with as much as ~90% women as serial readers.

And Black College-educated women being the now principal readers. We unfortunately don't have disabled readership numbers, but I speculate those numbers are high.

It's what sells, but we aren't given numbers on your end, so from our end, we're trying to fill a market you won't sell to, so we feel frustration. Wait, aren't we selling to a demographic that really loves diversity?

What we want is numbers from your end so we can UNDERSTAND WHY. It would also help us generally with comps, etc. We're willing to do the groundswell work to ask bookstores and readership to also pitch in. Just come and talk to us and show us what money is generally being put into a diversity book, and also give us the freedom to prove to you we can put out our most creative and sell it. We're not asking for laziness on our end and you do all the work. We're asking for cooperation and transparency.

Some background on me because clicking the profile is so hard:

I've been studying publishing since I was 13 years old. One of the first bits of advice I ever got from Writer's Digest was: Writers need to know contracts and the industry too, to protect themselves. So, I've done my best to keep up.

I've worked as a production assistant at a publishing company--though for translated works, which included editing and compiling Product Bibles. I got in by contacting the head of the company with editing mistakes (I was young and I didn't think much by doing this--I wouldn't recommend it usually. The young are brave and occasionally a bit thickheaded). I also bothered to write a rejection for someone as well.

I know the process and have listened to hours of writers telling me how it works and read blogs back in the day religiously. I can give you a history of publishing from the roots of China all the way to present day in staggeringly geekish details. You don't want to try me because it's a book.

I've read books and watched movies *just* to understand why that piece of media was hated or loved, watched countless reaction videos to books, movies, pop culture from around the world, so I can keep tabs on not just the US market, but the world market. I've collected tidbits about how other markets work and why. I wouldn't have done that without a really deep love for this industry. No one else really would care exactly how publishing is changing in Japan under the pressures of the internet in the US except industry professonals.

I've also tried over the years to find solutions to social justice problems:

I used to make every year for Nanowrimo lists of resources to write diversity until the moderators got upset one year and locked all the threads. I put my neck on the line for that. This was, BTW, long before "We Need Diverse Books" was a thing. I got a lot of hate for simply compiling the list of resources. (That was all I did and people breathed on me for it.)

I worked on the rehoming situation for the boy that was in Ohio. I sent a bunch of people to pressure the governor and sheriff's department about his welfare. And we got a result; China is going to quit adopting children out to social influencers. Holt also reconsidered their policies because I got adoptive parents, adoptees and the general public to cooperate on a single goal. Up to that point social influencers were using his situation to get money and comment on it, but not do any actions to solve it. BTW, the boy also ended up in a better situation as police followed up and made sure.

I tried to work on the communication problems with adoption in Korea.

I was the one that asked that PoC Agents and Associate PoC agents get credit on the agency listings so they could move up the world for more transparency. This caused a ground swell and now it's standard practice, with more PoC agents getting promoted as a result. I was sure I was going to get hated for that too.

I also questioned the whole "PoC/diversity fad" thing, though I'm not sure if it was completely from me, but I was one of the voices that asked is this really necessary after mass trauma? What should mswls look like for diversity?

I had a thread on why your book would be banned in support of ALA's Banned Book week to get people thinking in a fun way about the impact of banned books and if it is possible to ever write a book that won't get banned (and the answer is no.)

I also did a few loose surveys on number of rejections before being published and a general writer survey on Nanowrimo to get a sense of the demographics (The long questions list was so writers could practice interview questions and help those who had school projects on Nanowrimo.) I learned a lot from running those surveys, such as how to respect other writers and if identity correlated to how likely someone was going to get published.

I've also tried to help authors/graphic design artists, etc with reading contracts on occasion too.

My activism has been minor because I have limited wavelength for drama, but I've done my best to contribute something *positive* rather than merely pile on. I also backtracked claims (Fact checking is something I do frequently) and tried to posit solutions to problems with cooperation. I did a post on what writers would love agents to have as policies by working together with an agent and writers and talking it through. I *love* cooperation.

Full disclosure: I've been through a lot of trauma, and I'm drama phobic, but it's also made me very focused on less accusations and more solutions. This is 100% what I'm looking to do. Bring groups together to attack a singular problem. BTW, I'm not saying my solutions are perfect. But can we talk about it and work on it together?

History of the Diversity Movement (as I know it)

Agents

According to On Writing by Stephen King, it rose in the 1970's -1980's... so it's a relatively new profession. He was deadset against agents, saying that hiring a contract lawyer was more effective. But as I'll cover, there were solid arguments for the need for this profession.

Before 2009

So after the 19th century, a bunch of white men pretty much locked out a bunch of women and diversity voices by saying their writing was inferior in a variety of ways (lol I'm working on a nonfiction book about this--well a chapter). This caused issues pretty early in the rise of the publishing industry as the tech to reach the general public got better. A lot of the fiction for (white) women was relegated to being either "trash" or "Literary" (which is the fate of a lot of PoC written for PoC books.) TT I don't have stats for Diversity books.

However, the internet hit and people that were previously disconnected found out that other people thought the same thing, and the industry shifted significantly as self-publishing became more viable than before. An industry also rose to try to meet the demand, but this left traditional publishing in a lurch.

But on the diversity side people could finally ask questions about representation and connect to other authors like them.

2009

There was a groundswell after The Mammoth Book of Mindblowing SF had a controversy, where the authors were all white cis male. This controversy hit Nanowrimo and then exploded from there. NK Jemisin said that she probably wouldn't have had her books published without it. <3 (She helped me as I helped her, but I'm not saying how I know that.)

There was adult books being published as well as YA of different backgrounds. We got Saladin Ahmed from that... and then...

We Need Diverse Books

came out. And then all of the diversity was stuffed over time into YA. Part of it was their fault as they gave up on Adult demographics books, and part of it got heat for chasing only authors. Authors felt like they were getting chased out of YA. Some of the reporting was terrible (I'm looking at you Publisher's Weekly. You know what you did, which is why you needed to call for a PoC editor after my call out).

Some people in the We Need Diverse Books movement are mad at me because I asked them to represent Black people and adults, and do better with adoption presentation... and questioned why they chased after only writers, not publishers and the industry as a whole. (As I said, my jam is cooperation as a whole)

There were also general quibbles from writers about how they were doing this, and trying to do upfront censorship, limiting things, but that's a whole mess to explain.

Because of college I had to step out for a while... so I don't have the nuanced beats from about 2017-early 2019. However, what I do know is that as writing moved to Twitter, writers didn't like how it was focused all on writers doing better and the numbers not changing on who got published. At the same time I was watching librarians cry over the fact they were not getting the books they wanted. Sure, for children, but where are the rest of them? Book covers, after prominent figures stepped up improved greatly (because I do a self report every year since I was 13 because I super take this seriously.)

2020, pandemic

So after a bunch of academic learning about systems, I took a look around and decided to challenge a few in minor ways. I'm sure it got me blackballed for asking that PoC agents get listed, but I thought it was small systemic change that was manageable.

I missed the whole conversion to comps thing, which I probably would have challenged earlier had it come up. (Anyone have the tea, give it to me... ‘cause I really want to know...)

So here we are in 2023, and asking questions such as, 2009, 10+ years, the numbers haven't changed.

Statistics

https://nces.ed.gov/naal/lit_history.asp

This source said it was roughly the same in the 1980's, but male readership significantly has been declining since. I checked numbers in the early 2000's and at the time, the writer population matched the reader population at about 60-40. (Nanowrimo surveys of the time) Pew research center suggested similar numbers in early 2000.

Editors proudly reported in the same time period they did a 50/50 split on male to female. TT Did you not check the market numbers?

By 2021, this had slid significantly to an ~80-20 spread and ~90% of women being the serial readers. (NBs not included)

https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2021/09/21/who-doesnt-read-books-in-america/

This was so significant that the Atlantic reported: https://www.theatlantic.com/culture/archive/2014/01/most-likely-person-read-book-college-educated-black-woman/357091/

Since 2009, there have been health of the industry reports on mainly LGBTQIA and PoC, though occasionally on ND and disability (We need better stats for that, just saying it would be useful to know).

Here are some of the ones I know:

https://reachoutandreadmn.org/news/blog/diverse-childrens-books.html

https://www.booknetcanada.ca/blog/2019/7/18/who-are-the-characters-in-your-picture-books-diversebooks

https://www.slj.com/story/an-updated-look-at-diversity-in-childrens-books

I've also seen general statistics, but those are harder to dig up, which has reported that nothing has changed, except, look, the really needy group who can't read gets representation, animals. While Librarians were BEGGING the industry to fix it, the industry took it as a sign to back away from race-related issues. That's what it looks like on our end. The ALA has our backs because every year they do a report on banned books and why they were banned highly discouraging it.

Women as readers, especially liberal (and more recently Black ones) are more likely to like diversity issues. Women make up mothers trying to change the next generation of boys so they don't end up as toxic men, they also fought for civil rights. And Black women were at the head of the LGBTQIA movement, several civil rights movements, etc.

So if authors/writers see these statistics plus Twitter's Publishing paid me, it feels like on our end, that trad publishing doesn't really care what readers want nor what writers want. They want to publish white straight abled books or bust despite the statistics, and agents are willing to cooperate with such notions by closing ranks and telling us, "That's what sells." But since the rise of the Self-publishing industry, the self-publishing industry is saying that's not true, so we, who pinned our hopes on distribution and help with international markets feel a disconnect. What's going on in traditional publishing that you're ignoring the market? And thus, this brings us to...

This Bad Week in Publishing

First, I have to state, if you take these names and try to harass, doxx, or otherwise do nasty things to them, I personally, will not condone it, and in general, it makes you a terrible, terrible human being when the focus is on the future and trying to make concentrated change rather than blame.

People hate change. Our job is to convince them we can do better.

I'll state this over and over again, the opening tweet wasn't about manuscript wishlists.

https://twitter.com/JayMoneWrites/status/1655351493724188673

The original tweet was asking agents to back off telling writers how to write stories:

For example (mine, not Jay's), you HAVE to use the 3-act conflict narrative or it's a BAD story. Wait, I've been doing studies on that and that's not true. Inciting incident is from a Jew (cries as a Jew) who seemingly is super racist. I'm sure the agent doesn't know that, and some PoC story structures are older in history (also the agent likely doesn't know that.) But this is problematic as it comes off accidentally racist and formulaic.

But then there was this bad take, which might be confusing the subthreads, but should have taken from the subthreads:

https://twitter.com/chronicles_of_n/status/1655562727417323525

The subthreads talked about mswls:

https://twitter.com/Stpolishook/status/1655583477885018120

I own I'm in this subthread, trying to argue that agents aren't "Helpless"

Subthreads also lamented agents asking for shorter and shorter page counts and more specific story structures:

https://twitter.com/MorganSloan215/status/165561094842891469

Also a subthread on comps and setting trends:

I know agents could take this in 2 ways:

That's fair. I could see how this feels like a personal attack with the questions arising and no solutions presented. But no one paused to ask how much industry/knowledge experience any of these people have.

And this is what I see. People are asking a lot of whys, how does it impact the market, make us understand the market. Is what you're posting really driven by the market?

Agents took it the first way, not the second way, unfortunately.

This is a general, not specific answer to the questions inherent above. Is it backed by marketing or not? How much do agents know?

It's saying "it's someone else's fault, not mine. I'm not going to help you with your quest."

Authors disliked this take because it seems like agents are as clueless as authors and we asked shop questions.

Also kinda feels like mswls are personal wishlists because the question wasn't answered: are you taking it from marketing info or not?

Another Agent said if you don't like trad publishing, self-publish:

https://twitter.com/ChelseaBigBang/status/1656069239168434184

I get there were hurt feelings. "And you all hate us, and you don't understand." But the very fact from our POV is we're trying to understand the justifications for it. So the people who want to trad publish, or were entertaining it, especially the diversity writers felt like the people in the list who liked the post were against us. Because the majority of the writers are from diverse backgrounds where "cookie cutter" plot arcs won't work to describe what we're trying to achieve.

Hurt feelings continued when an editor said this:

And writers asked for the same courtesy from agents that ghosted them, and agents vilified the writers. The frustration was reaching a boiling point, because the initial questions weren't being answered at all. Agents wanted something they weren't willing to give back.

Then this tweet happened:

https://twitter.com/SBLitAgent/status/1656429611645906945

This made people really mad and I think some of the anger was unjustified because it was misdirected, but if you have a really important series of questions about the market you want a career in, you want to understand, and someone says, "Well, I make a living from it and you don't. I could be rich doing this, and I really don't care about books. and we know better than you and we're not sharing our information. Live with it." How would you feel? But you asked a valid series of questions about how decisions are made in the industry and you want to innovate diversity stories on top of it. Are they justifying it with market numbers or not?

And really, agents closed ranks, rather than saying that's not cool, which sent writers into another tailspin. Do they not care about us anymore? Why won't they call out this bad behavior and say they will protect us? Why not disavow this agent who says we're just a paycheck? I thought we were in this together. We get you have to work together, but do you really want to close ranks for an agency that says:"if it's too difficult for grown-ups, write for children" https://ktliterary.com/

(Which isn't a call out, it's more like why support this agency saying this about authors?)

Bigolas Dickloas

https://www.insider.com/bigolas-dickolas-wolfwood-trigun-interview-time-war-2023-5

proved some of the adages and the writer's asks as true from our PoV. We can't sell the books on our own. We need other people to support us to get there. And that it's not the length of the beginning pages, as asserted, or the structure, but readers enjoying books and recommending them.

Bigolas Dickolas is a what? Anime fan. And a lot of anime is what? Kishotenketsu. Do agents know that?

So there was celebration that this could be done. At the same time frustration because look, huge fan of anime, and you won't let us have the freedom to tap into the different like anime.

The cover thing...

The cover debacle.

From a pure writer's perspective: So you don't want even spent money to make copyrightable covers anymore? Why are we going for traditional publishing?

I should note that most writers have no hand in their covers. Don't chase down, discuss, think about it.

There is nothing more delightful to a new author than showing off their unique cover that shows what their characters looks like and all foriegn iterations. Many authors are also artists. And we, too, dream of crying, literally tears down or faces at seeing the achingly beautiful covers of our books. And supporting our fellow artists. Because solidarity all the way.

From a personal graphic designer's perspective, we work so hard to make covers and images for you. I used to cry in utter delight at Michael Whelan covers. And daydream about having a cover by him. There's other covers that you can hate the book for, but can't imagine a different cover for it and spend hours admiring the graphics design. As a graphic designer, I'd want that for authors. I'd want them to cry and slowly understand why a cover is the way it is--I mean I made a whole post about covers.

So imagine our disappointment at seeing this is a thing. And you realize you can't copyright an AI image, which puts the cover into a precarious position.

What writers see about Agents

Early in the internet, there were blogs, such as Miss Snark, and others which helped with contracts, how to send a query letter, what's good and Bad, Janet Reid, and agents talking about the business side--that really helped writers and there were long threads about how to approach publishing after Nanowrimo and on other forums, such as Absolute Write.But we don't see that... writers are clueless on how to read contracts, and agents are leaving us high and dry sometimes. Because that's useful info for writers to know. Are there particular weasel clauses we should think about these days? Match this dearth with the attitude above where you're supposed to care about us for more than a paycheck, and how do you think we feel? We pin our hopes and dreams on publishing because we love it, we struggle to try to understand the business to make ourselves attractive, but the backstab is deep when you won't talk about the industry and numbers with us. There's a disconnect.

Miss Snark used to say, hit me with your most creative, no matter what and I'll do my best. She liked to say, "Knock my socks off."

She also said, (between her poodle) that her colleagues would get on her case for doing it, and share how hard it was being an agent, because she'd have to read manuscripts on the way to work. We see your struggles, too, but with the above tweets, the question was, do you understand ours? How much are you willing to help us to the finish line? We know how it works.

Some internet troll is going to misconstrue this as a way to hunt down agents... but she's a fictional agent and retired, so...

We want you to sell and sell hard, but also sho off your selling prowess and innovate the industry. Our books don't have a market. We know that, that's why we're asking you to be our partners--agents editors, and publishers to help us prove we can innovate it. You don't have to be alone.

Demographics of writers

For diversity writers what we were promised from the age we thought, "Hey, I'd like to be published" is, "Ah, this will be an industry that doesn't judge me for things I can't control and we can create empathy for people like me together." And then there is a big shiny sign that says, "Hey, kid, I believe this too. Let's work on this together."

This is the greatest power of books that we were promised from a young age. If we grew up around "We Need Diverse books" then we pinned our deepest hopes on this. We could revolutionize the industry if we understood it deeply enough and worked hard enough to become better writers.

We were told to red everything and consume as wide as ossible, over and over again, but we don't know and can't put our faith in that industry pros are doing the same. I know this sounds like an accusation--it isn't. We just want to talk about what you do and don't know so we can share the info and help each other out.

The writer demographics match the reader demographics by and large, and as avid readers, we also want to reach the same market as the industry pros. We also know the market and are trying to reach it. It's not only, OMG, hobby, let's publish. Some of us try to keep faith while the industry says they hate us. Because we dream of social change towards us and people like us.

The reader demographics tend to match the writer demographics: I ran the survey for 5 years and cross referenced it with Pew research center in my time I'm struggling to find their older studies). So there is more frustration when there are more and more diversity writers around, from our PoV (taking out the internet self-selecting), and still no change in books.

So imagine people like that hearing that too bad, we're not going to share marketing information with you? How would you feel?

Yes, angry, disappointed, but I thought you were on our side~ Why can't you answer our questions? And to be told too bad, you're whining... we make the rules... what does it look like? Can we move forward or not?

By and large, the majority of PoC and diversity writers are POOR and need the support of big publishing to cover the upfront costs. The people who have the spare cash to do self-publishing--pay for editors, reviewers, covers, ISBNs, etc. And we see the market for our books, but trad publishing is still chasing after that elusive white cishet abled NT male.

The FAQ writers have:

- Marketing numbers to back up the requests from agents/editors.

Can we also see them? Why close ranks and say they are industry secrets?

- Is the 10 page count justified by statistics? If so can we see them? Or if it is convenience?

Convenience for the agent or are there market forces at work?

- "It's what sells," what are the numbers to back this up?

- Can we have a conversation about innovating the market, making trends and comps? And if we can go back to elevator pitches?

- Why often pitches and asks for them in public don't result in the agent getting back to us.

- Are there marketing numbers to back mswls, and specific requests? Can we SEE them? Are they whims, or really backed by the market? Can you back it up and SHOW us why you think so? Or was it because it occurred to you over morning coffee and you want to read the book, but not write it? Was it an editor? Writers are hungry to learn about the industry too. Contract help, for example.

- But sometimes the hyper specific mswls and saying and declaring "Trauma doesn't sell" when it was a specific request doesn't feel like it's coming from marketing advice since we have Encanto, Everything Everywhere all at Once, and Turning Red. (I'd mention authors, but I don't want to give them heat.)

- Can you also post more about contracts, loosely. Agents used to boast about particular weasel clauses and how they got a 5% boost on a sale because of X thing. We like that. We love that.

- You know that the paper catalogue back in the day just said genre, send it. Because you have about 30 words to cram into it. But now there are thousands of ways you want to send the manuscript with no clear set rules and it drives even the most neurotypical person into a panic attack as they try to look for the nearest crystal ball. It used to be uniform. Can we get set guidelines similar to what I posted and TALK about it?

The disappointment sometimes turned into disgust as agents didn't talk about it to protect their own, but how would you feel if you've pinned your hopes and dreams your entire life on the joy of books we thought you shared to find out that you won't and can't fight with us and even like the post and appear to feel the same by liking the post saying you're our source of cash? (Especially when those agents claim to be on our side in the diversity struggle and they share the same diversity too.)

We, who wanted to be published with you, are working hard to understand this industry too, so why lock us out like we're less than and not intelligent enough to understand the intricacies. Why can't you talk about it instead of taking it as a personal insult? That's the question rattling around. We wanted to talk shop with you.

- Why do the publishing statistics not match the readership?

- What do you mean by "What sells?" Can you justify it with some market information? It feels terrible when you won't tell us why. Can't we share marketing info?

- We thought that one had to either set a trend--in which case edgy books or be ahead of a trend, rather than follow it--writers are confused on this front. We were told explicitly to not follow trends because by the time we do, they'll be gone. Sometimes it takes a year to write a book. So by the time you see it, it might have been around for 2 years at minimum. Diversity books take longer and we all know it.

- Writers would like more uniform or at least clear submissions guidelines which can be found here: https://www.tumblr.com/kimyoonmiauthor/685983497588965376/how-literary-agents-can-help-neurodiverse-people?source=share

BTW, if you have objections, voicing them in a professional way would help me refine the list. I worked with an agent and several writers for that list, and it would be good for everyone.

- We have questions about trauma representation that have gone unanswered by industry pros and often when we ask them we get blocked?

Diversity writers have questions about the same things in publishing. Can we discuss it?

Some of the ones I've seen are why agents are against covid, but want diversity trauma so much, and why can't you ask for nuanced takes and diversity joy? And then follow through? We notice when you don't get a new client after asking for a specific diversity client.

- We have questions about all these quotas we hear about.

"We have a Jewish writer, we don't need more" "We have an X, we don't need you.".

So are our manuscripts being assessed on merit, or by filling a quota, where the rest of the quota is filled by people who don't have diversity to hit phantom numbers like 50-50 male/female though the writer's population matches the reader's population.

- Also foreign markets and the US markets aren't the same, yes, but why are they jumping so drastically forwards, and we aren't? Can you talk shop with us about it?

- Can you allow more diversity of story structures and ways to write a story?

From our end we see things like anime fans talking avidly about their favorite anime, which uses kishotenketsu and jo-ha-kyu, and Korean drama fans who like shows that don't use 3-act structures and do things like Dream record with high viewership. We see things like Bollywood do a complete 180 in 10 years and then look at the West African market in books and television and find they are playing so hard with story and we want in--especially as own voices. We see Encanto take off and do well. We want to tap that market too, and please our domestic readership and international.

In our bones, we know braided narratives so well, that even if they don't have a name in our heads, we produce them anyway...

and we're told: It's not marketable.

https://www.kimyoonmiauthor.com/post/641948278831874048/worldwide-story-structures

But Everything Everywhere All at Once was publicly called a kishotenketsu (Though I felt it matched more closely beat for beat with qichengzhuanhe--I suppose one could debate that), and people were explained it and felt it in their hearts. And Encanto was a Braided narrative with different parts coming together. And there are motifs that our core fanship would recognize, say the old man that is an herbalist from Chinese tales, with zany ideas who helps the hero/heroine out of a lurch (like falling off a cliff and not getting that broken.)

I get it, though, it feels like a huge risk to be able to invite more structures and more story types, but they managed it in the early 19th century with ONLY US-invented story structures. People won't be that confused. What it feels like to writers is that you're not giving us a chance to really dazzle you and show off our understanding of the readership. But we were hoping you, too, loved the media that was prevalent to us when we were growing up and you also wanted change.

We want to be able to tell you a story about being disabled from an own voices POV, and rock your world with how it feels such that it blows the stereotypes out of the water and nuances it so deeply because it's not really about the disability in the end, you walk away from the book stumbling. Don't you want that too?

We want to share our joys, sorrows and let our creativity soar and meet the market *we* see and work on this problem together, so can you see our confusion? Transparency will help with that. Show us the marketing justifications.

Writers also pay attention to markets and passions too. We aren't ignorant to whims, we try our hardest to be plugged in, because it's also our necks on the line, our names on the book, and we aim to do well for the readership, ultimately. We are hoping you are hoping to do the same. We have customers to serve.

I know these asks seem like "You hate all agents" No... that's not the point. We want to understand and talk shop.

Actions to do together

If you want diverse clients, we won't hire you if you sell these.

PoCs also largely have solidarity with each other, so you have a PR issue if you betray one group, because the other groups won't trust you either. Also, why. Also, we appreciate agents that condemn it and say no.

Do everything in this list to set some industry standards and encourage your collegues to do the same: How literary agents can help Neurodiverse People (and everyone) query If you have questions ASK. I like feedback, it's my job. If you don't want it to be public, tag, me let me know, you can use the tumblr ask function and be anonymous and ask me not to post.

Agents that implemented it did it in less than 24 hours. If you are busy, maybe a week, but it's not hard asks.

Worldwide Story structures If you're not educated, then we can help.

Transparency and communication

On our end, we can work to prove the numbers you have maybe are wrong and there is more support for the movement than you think. That you won't have an epic fail if a Japanese own voices author uses Kishotenketsu in their story structure. That someone from Nigeria might have a different understanding of story and it won't fail. Show us the path and what numbers we need to meet and beat to show it won't fail if you're open and honest with us.

There's marketing discussions to be had on this. Maybe we can help work together on a better marketing plan. We can't help you, if you don't communicate with us about what you see and don't stop saying we know better than you. OK, spill, share. Give us the info we need to understand without saying you're superior. We all started somewhere--you did too, you weren't in the womb knowing how to publish a books and the market. Give us the leeway to learn and we'll do our best to also cast out people who aren't there for a friendly conversation and asking about how to work on it together.

https://www.tumblr.com/kimyoonmiauthor/685983497588965376/how-literary-agents-can-help-neurodiverse-people?source=share

Conclusion:

Communication, honesty and transparency are minimum risk. If we work together to make it happen, I think it will. I know that people promote the conflict narrative and individualism in publishing stories--though as I outlined, I think it's more nuanced, but people LOVE stories of cooperation too. And I think we could achieve it if agents, editors, publishers (the people, again), and the writers work together to achieve goals to meet the market.

Remember, a lot of us pinned our hopes on the love of books and stories, some from the age of 2 or 3, and some from the age of a teenager. We want to fight with you to make this the best industry around and kick other country's butts so we look like the most innovative on the block--are you willing to join us?

#agents #publishing #state of publishing #diversity #diversity in fiction #Diversity movement #editors #publishing pros #queries #mswls

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chronicarus · 2 years ago

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yes, i’m aware that I sign my art StarsetPrince instead of Chronicarus, honestly it’s such a pain to decide what to sign my art cause I have a few handles but I’ve been trying to narrow it back down. On Twitter my main is @StarsetPrince as well as my Instagram, but I still heavily associate myself with my Chronicarus handle, but I’m too overwhelmed and too lazy to change them From now on with my next piece I think I’m really gonna try to sign them more properly, with my unique personal signature, my StarsetPrince handle as well as Chronicarus. -a biography

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paladinofsol · 2 years ago

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another username change..

yourlocalcowboy -> paladinofsol

#I changed it to match my twitter handle lol #go follow me on there I’m more active on twt sorry...#also because I used my twt handle for a watermark and I’m too lazy to change it for each user I have across apps

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jmdbjk · 2 years ago

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Let’s go hard

How y’all been? Y’all still out there? I’ve been kinda busy, hence absent from here, but I’m always watching... waiting... where tf is that Jimin photo folio??? PJMs are MAD I tell you! Phew! I am excited to see something too but the timing is probably tricky with the Busan concert weeks away and all the “pre-show” stuff going on.

Talk about going hard though: a bunch of content was dropped today/tonight/last night. Jin’s Bangtan Bomb of him attending those movie premiers... I really loved seeing how he handled all that. And it still surprises me how uncomfortable he is even though I know this would be in-line with his personality. And now that I think about it, I have never before been exposed to these intimate behind the scenes details from such a global superstar being so candid about such things. It is new and refreshing and makes me love Jin and BTS in general even more.

Hobi’s Crush collab, Rush Hour, is killin’ it. So far every single 2022 BTS collab has been fire. Rush Hour is on all my playlists as is Sexy Nukim along with Bad Decisions (especially the acoustic version), Left and Right, That That and of course With You. Am I forgetting any? Anyway, the choreo pays heavy homage to BTS choreo and at the end of the Rush Hour MV, Hobi does a little bow out/salute while the lyrics are “get up, give it to, this is Crush Hour”... I am not familiar with Crush but they say this is his comeback after being discharged from the military.

[Mic Drop amongst the several BTS choreo that make an appearance in Rush Hour MV]

I love the way every single collab allows the presence of a BTS member to lift up the other artist to the world like a once hidden gem, now shining bright for the entire planet to take notice. I love that so much! BTS STILL doing for the South Korean entertainment industry what no one else can do!

Really, the only one that might be an exception is the PSY/SUGA collab, PSY led the way for BTS. That is my personal opinion. Though PSY was already known outside South Korea, SUGA on That That expanded that audience by millions.

And now to the main event of this post:

FINALLY! English subs are up on Jimin’s WeLive. Of course I’ve already read other translations but it’s nice to finally see the “official” subtitles (whether they are entirely accurate or not) and I like to actually see his facial expressions and body language as he says what he says. That important context is totally lost whenever you just read the translations on Twitter.

But the general vibe is that Jimin is fine. He says he’s been living an emotionally even-keeled and peaceful existence, working on his music and then vegging out as his lazy-couch-potato-self at home.

From some of the things he said about his state of mind in the past, he had some anxiety going on back then, we’ve known that, but now he really seems to have that under control. He made a wavy up and down motion while he was talking about “before.” He has said in the past that when he started running back in 2021, it helped him a lot mentally. My takeaways: 2020 did a number on him mentally. He struggled mightily. In 2021 he discovered running helped his anxiety and he has since changed his lifestyle for the better. Then he made a straight-line motion to show us how he feels these days. All good things. I am very proud of him.

He mentioned several times that he wants to be pretty for us all the time and for a long time in the future and this is why he takes care of his body and appearance. He’s been eating healthy and working out. He said: “I am an idol.” So, please understand that Jimin takes his vocation seriously. He lives to be an idol and he does what he feels he needs to do in order to maintain the level of “idol” that he wants to be. I know his constant talk about his weight and appearance don’t always sit well with some. I think it is just Jimin reassuring us that he knows what he’s doing and not to worry about him and this is why he cares so much about his weight and appearance.

But he is concerned that he’s not danced in a while and says he needs to get back into that. I have zero doubt he’ll have no problems brushing off the rust. He mentioned maybe dancing or dance lessons being the focus of his next WeLive. HELL YEAH! Bring Jungkook with you, Jimin! and have one of y’all’s late night dance practices like you used to do! Seriously though, I would love to see them do various dance styles and moves and then talk about the differences and their thoughts about doing them.

And the pole dancing... I’ve seen a few videos of a male pole dancer and it really is very graceful and lovely and omg the strength required to be able to do those moves...just wow. I hope Jimin somehow sees these videos and really does consider trying it because if anyone can pull it off, it would be him. I would love to see his spin (har har pun) on pole dancing.

He talked about getting braces (and that he is sort of over it) and that he has another wisdom tooth to get out but also, being at the dentist gives him “out of body experience” anxiety (cries).

He read one of the comments during the live that was something about the commenter being only 5 years old when BTS debuted and though Jimin questioned that a 5 year old could understand the deep lyrics of their music at that time, Jimin did the math, determined the commenter’s age (about 14) and him being 28, he said 14 years is not that big of a difference. Now, I’ve seen a few people raise an eyebrow at this (putting that mildly, it was antis looking for anything to latch on to in order to be hateful) but when I saw Jimin say this, my interpretation was that he meant the young Army’s age was not out of line for being a fan, just like someone who would be 14 years OLDER than he. Armys are ALL AGES and he knows that.

Then Tae hops into the comments and flexes his “I will make them update Weverse to have the ability to do simultaneous broadcasts.” I’m sure the Weverse developers shit their pants when they saw him say that. YOU GO KIM TAEHYUNG! MAKE IT SO!

Jimin said he wants to show us his music that he’s working on but it’s not a simple process. He said coming in to work really is his passion these days, as he put it... “coming to the company is like clocking out, not clocking in.” So that tells me he is really enjoying what he’s doing and to him, it’s not work, it’s his passion. I love that for him and I’m glad he said it out loud.

Then the whole moon tattoo “reveal/not a reveal” HAHAHAHAHA! Wow though, kudos to artist @ArizzoStudios on Twitter for being THE CHOSEN ONE that Tae showed to Jimin and then Jimin following through with the inspiration to get the other moons tattooed on his back. Just wow. I cannot wait to see them. I am also so thrilled that he is even bringing up such personal things like his tattoos. We’ve never heard such open talk about them before. We’ve come a long way from Jungkook hiding all of his tattoos with long sleeves and tape to now showing HD photos of them on social media and Jimin talking about them openly and how they came to be.

He tried to give us a peek of the moons. That’s when someone said “go easy, Jimin” and he laughed! “It’s my body so I will go hard if I want to!” HA!

He talked about how long his hair had gotten and of course, that he had permed it supposedly right before he came on the live, and then he made the remark that last time he cut it short (right before the Las Vegas concerts), he had some self reflection on why he did that, but he didn’t share why, but sounded like he was going to try to maintain it at a longer length for the time being. I love long hair Jimin.

He gave us some insight into how he feels about Instagram versus other social media like Weverse. The difficulty for him with Instagram is that he feels like he is just uploading images into a photo album because he gets no feedback on it (since comments are turned off). We know its possible on Weverse for him to have real communication with Army and on Twitter, he can see comments on his posts. For us, we like that he is shielded on Instagram from the toxicity that exists, but at the same time, he is prevented from seeing anything positive as well. Maybe he will learn how to write captions for his IG posts or post stories and therefore feel like he is able to communicate a little more there. My other takeaway from this information coming from him is that Park Jimin has no need for social media. Only Jimin of BTS needs it. If he was using social media for his own personal use on accounts that we no nothing about, then he would be more at ease and fluent using them.

He promised he would come around again this weekend, maybe we will see him again in a few hours!

Also. You know...Jimin saying he will get Tae to come on live with him and also ask Jungkook as well. I’ve been thinking... I want to try to express my thoughts on how I see he and Tae relate to each other versus how I see Jimin and Jungkook’s relationship. Both very different relationships. But has it all been said before already? Is it worth another post?

Something random that caught my attention: Jimin absentmindedly hummed 7 notes of a tune and then later 5 notes of something… clues to new music he has floating around in his head maybe? I guess time will tell.

#park jimin #weverse live translations #kim seokjin #crush x jhope collab #jimin #hobi #jin #someone please give jimin some hair clips #kim taehyung

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honeymoonjin · 4 years ago

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.8k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: threesome, nipple play, riding, unprotected sex, dom!taehyung, sub!?, restraints, blindfold, degradation, praise

A/N: it's my first time writing tgm smut in so long i hope it's okay ;;;-;

DAY TWENTY-SIX

Unable to fall deeply into sleep, when you wake fitfully at half past six in the morning, you decide to give up on it entirely.

A bath wakes you up slowly and gently, in no rush to clean yourself with a soapy loofah, the sweet smell of orange blossom lifting your mood just slightly. No matter how hard you scrub at your skin, Jin’s touch lingers beneath the surface like a tattoo, the reminder that you’d willingly chosen to cut him off from you that elimination day, and that your decision was keeping him from you.

The previous night, you’d spent hours with a hand cradling your cheek, trying to work out what the kiss even meant. A farewell, a consolation prize, a promise for patience? Either way, it just felt cruel to you. You rub harder, covering yourself in the foamed soap and watching it dissolve into the water.

By the time you dry yourself, well over an hour has passed, and the pangs of hunger start to flare off inside your stomach. You dress quickly, thoughtlessly, and sneak out of your door to the complete silence of the second storey. Nobody else seems to be awake yet, so you take your chance to go down and start on some breakfast.

The selection is relatively bleak to your lazy body, unwilling to make anything that requires the kind of effort the two eldest men tended to give for a meal. In the end, you tug some leftover curry from the back of the fridge, giving it a stir and setting it to heat up in the microwave.

The rhythmic whir and countdown combined with your lack of sleep is enough to have you feeling weak, slumping on the counter top. You rest your heavy head for a moment, pillowing it with your arm, and watch the dish turn around and around and…

“-matter, we’ll just wait and find out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust hyung. It’ll be fine. Can you pass me the- no, just beside it, the soy sauce- thank you. Should be ready soon.”

“Mhm, smells good.”

Adjusting to your sloped return to consciousness, it is the inviting smell that greets you after your hearing. A deep, meaty aroma is lifted with spices, making your mouth water.

The moment you shift, a sharp pain runs down your spine, settling at the back of your neck. You grunt, eyes squeezing shut at the ache.

“There she is. Must’ve been tired, poor thing.” The first one grows louder, sounding close to you as fingers reach out to tap your shoulder. “Wake up, sweetheart. Let’s get you something to eat.”

You groan again, lifting your heavy body up enough to prop your elbows on the table and press your hands against your eyes, willing coherence to sink back in. “Morning,” you croak, though by the way you feel, it could very well be evening.

The figure behind you - Yoongi, by his smooth rumbling voice - moves back around into the kitchen, and your ears perk up with the clink of bowls on the countertop. Blinking blearily, you yawn and focus in on the second person.

Jungkook is lifting a heavy saucepan and carefully pouring a stew into three bowls, the pink of his tongue trapped between his lips. “‘S that enough?” he questions, biceps flexing beneath his shirt as he hovers with the pan.

Yoongi nods once, fiddling in the drawer for spoons and chopsticks, and quickly hands you a set with your bowl, steaming lightly.

You smile gratefully, reaching out to feel the heat radiating off the ceramic. “Thanks, Yoongi.” The last of your sleep fades away, and you gasp suddenly, shooting up ramrod straight. “Wait - Yoongi, Jungkook! You’re back!”

“Keen eye,” Yoongi drawls sarcastically, but a fond smile plays on his lips nonetheless as he blows on a spoonful of broth. “Dad checked out of the hospital around 5. He’s doing really well.”

“Oh, Yoongi, I’m so glad,” you gush, relief filling your system.

Yoongi, however, seems to grow somber, eyebrows drawing together. “It wasn’t all good news, though.”

You freeze. “What? What happened?”

Like the news pains him, Yoongi grimaces. Jungkook, too, looks absolutely crestfallen. In unison, they open their mouths with matching frowns.

“The restaurant sold out of lamb skewers.”

“I didn’t see a single gho- Oh, yeah, the lamb skewers,” Jungkook tacks on, deflating. “But we stopped by a market on the way home to buy some lamb so we could make our own.”

“We?” Yoongi asks incredulously. “I didn’t see any ‘we’ when you refused to chop vegetables just now.”

Jungkook makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. “I just suffered a paranormal experience, hyung, I was too shaky to handle a knife.”

“You just said you didn’t see any ghosts.”

The youngest huffs. “I felt them.”

Your head darts back and forth, lamb stew forgotten as you watch the playful rally between the two men. Yoongi doesn’t miss a beat, raising a single brow. “What; was there a poltergeist petting zoo on the fourth floor I wasn’t told about?”

“Their presence, hyung. I felt their presence. Taehyung even said he could feel a chilling aura coming through the phone and into his body, but he thinks it could’ve just been Jimin’s feet.”

Yoongi presses a few fingers to his temples like he’s getting a headache. “You mean to tell me I had to get my sickly father to pretend you were his son all for you to stay the night, and the only thing that happened was Taehyung getting possessed by the ghost of Jimin’s feet?”

Jungkook blinks once. “There was a vending machine that gave out free lollipops,” he offers.

“A vending…” Yoongi sighs, eyes slipping closed. “Jungkook, I think that’s for patients who get low blood sugar. For emergencies.”

“Oh.” Jungkook considers this for a moment. “I took five of them.”

“Of course you did. Alright, eat up, please. It’s getting cold.”

You quickly thank Yoongi for the meal with a bemused smile, chest feeling light at having the two back in your company, and Yoongi in a visibly better mood than the past two times you’d seen him. The three of you fall into an easy silence for a few moments, but it doesn’t last long as the others in the house begin to wake.

Namjoon is first down, getting over his initial surprise quickly and rapid-firing countless questions to Yoongi about his father, ensuring he truly was alright. Taehyung and Jimin are next, the former just about barrelling into Jungkook and Yoongi, tugging them into a bear hug as Jimin watches fondly from behind. When a bleary-eyed Hoseok comes down, he notices the breakfast before the company, letting out a relieved groan at a mouthful of broth and promptly choking on it as he processes the presence of Jungkook and Yoongi.

Finally, it’s Jin that takes the longest to wake, and when he turns the corner and spots them, his only response is a wordless sigh, and a silent hug. Despite that, his emotions radiate off him in waves, and you don’t doubt there are unsaid words shared between him and Yoongi. To your surprise, he breaks away after a moment and pulls Jungkook into a tight albeit brief embrace as well, patting him on the back with a quiet murmur you don’t catch.

It feels right, comfortable and calming to have all eight of you back in the Villa together. The short absence feels so much more extended when you’re used to the same company twenty-four hours a day, and having them all back in your immediate vicinity again feels like a hit of some intense high. The relief rushes through your system, and you catch yourself unconsciously counting heads over and over.

“So I guess we just sit here?” Hoseok asks at one point, interrupting the blanket of quiet that had descended over you as you ate. “Do you think we should text Sejin and tell him to come debrief us or what? It feels like we’re in limbo.”

“No need.” A new voice resonates from behind you, Sejin himself walking through the doorway.

Taehyung narrows his eyes to the point of almost closing them, glaring first at the producer and then at the dormant cameras in the top corners of the room.

“Don’t worry, we aren’t rolling just yet. I’ve just been waiting a while for you all to get sorted. I figured you deserved to at least eat first, Yoongi, Jungkook.”

“Well, we’ve eaten,” Yoongi confirms, oddly stiff, an unreadable expression darkening his features. “I guess that means it’s showtime again.”

Jungkook looks up at him from his hunched posture leaning on the countertop. “I bet a lot of them missed you, hyung. The viewers. They seemed really worried on Twitter.”

Yoongi blinks, shifting. “Missed-? I- I suppose it was sudden. We should probably get this thing up and running again so they aren’t concerned.”

As Sejin nods in confirmation and pulls out his phone to relay the message, you nearly miss the quirk at Jungkook’s lips at changing Yoongi’s attitude so easily. The two of them seem at ease with each other like nothing you’ve seen before. No doubt due to the time they’d spent together last night, and it warms your heart to see them standing so closely.

“Come on, then,” Sejin announces, belatedly lifting his gaze and putting his phone back away, the cameras installed around the room blinking back to life with their steady red blip. “Let’s move to the couches again.”

“Just like the good old days,” Jungkook sighs dreamily.

Jin raises a brow, taking a seat in the center of the middle couch, the two youngest jumping in on either side of him like toddlers ready for a bedtime story. You do your best to ignore him, still feeling sensitive from the night before. “You mean ‘just like four days ago?’”

From his left side, Taehyung huffs lightly, though makes no effort to distance himself at all from the eldest. “Time is a social construct.”

“Can we make a start?” Sejin questions, perched on the corner of the coffee table with his hands on this thighs. “I doubt the viewers are here to listen to you bicker.”

“Right you are,” Taehyung notes, nodding sagely, “they’re here for the good stuff.” He shares a glance with Jungkook, and in unison the two of them place their hands side-by-side directly on top of Jin’s crotch, glancing up at the cameras expectantly.

Jin clicks his tongue like his dick being used as a prop is little more than a mild inconvenience, making no move to push their hands away.

They do, however, when Sejin flattens a stare at the two of them. The youngest properly chastened, the producer finally looks around at all of you as a group. “For the sake of continuity and coherence, we’re picking up where we last left off: Limited Edition week. Yoongi, you’re the only one to already have completed your prompt-” the man puffs his chest at this, sharp eyes darting to you as Sejin speaks, “-so you’re done for the week. Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook and Jimin, I’m afraid you’re left with very little time to complete yours. Because of this, you’re no longer required to wait for a text message to start your scenes, and I’m also postponing the Fan Favourite vote until Monday morning to give you some additional time. We’ll unfortunately have to merge it with the elimination meeting. Today is already Friday, so do the best you can.”

“We won’t let you down,” Jungkook promises fiercely, conspicuously glancing down at Jin’s lap as if he’s about to use it for emphasis again.

Sejin sighs, shifting back, continuing on as if he didn’t hear the strangely passionate pact. “If anyone has forgotten their prompt, don’t hesitate to ask, otherwise the show is back on as per usual. Producer Kang is coming in at midday to set up the confessional booth again, so from this afternoon onwards, feel free to use it again to share your thoughts. I’m sure the viewers will have their fair share of questions for you as well. Understood?”

Most of you nod, content with the update. You try and fight the sickly flutter of anxiety in your chest that creeps up at the reminder of elimination, focusing instead on the side of you that’s relieved to have this level of normalcy back, and secretly pleased to have your cards filled up for the next few days. It feels like it’s been longer than it has, and you shift in your seat wondering who will approach you first out of the four men yet to fill their prompt.

Perhaps it won’t be Jungkook; he pushes himself off Jin and tiptoes to Sejin’s retreating figure, asking for a reminder on his prompt with shy pink cheeks. The producer lets out a weak laugh of bemusement and guides him out of the front door to escort him to the producing van outside.

The others seem to know what they’re doing, and you spy Namjoon and Hoseok with heads ducked together, Hoseok grinning at something Namjoon’s saying. The two have been growing closer lately, almost out of nowhere, and you’re curious if they’ll stick as two peas in a pod when it comes to the game, too.

The four of you that remain chill for a bit, making lazy conversation on how strange it feels being back on the clock again. It’s nice, being able to enjoy the time relatively care-free. Despite the overall weirdness of the competition in context to real life, it’s become a comfortable familiarity, and you welcome it back.

You could happily spend the whole morning there, were it not for the sharp bolt of pain that rushes up your spine when you turn to listen to something Jimin has to say.

Gasping, hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck instinctively, you squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation. From beside you, it takes no time for Jimin’s hands to find you, gently settling on your back and arm as he asks you if you’re okay.

“I fell asleep on the counter this morning,” you admit, trying not to move your head at all as you speak, “I think it messed up my neck.”

As your eyes untense and open again, you see Jimin’s rounded in concern, first at you and then glancing over at Tae in sober worry. His teeth are running over his lower lip over and over, a habit that he does in moments of stress and helplessness, and through the ache you can’t help but feel warm at his reaction.

“When does it hurt most?” you hear Taehyung ask, and it’s habit that makes you turn your head to face him.

“Fuck,” you curse thickly, shoulders hunching up against the tight feeling, “just when I turn it. Feels like a tug that shouldn’t be there.”

Yoongi and Jin are silent, and from your new angle of vision, you can see their apt focus on you, Yoongi going so far as to be shuffled half off his couch, ready to jump up and give medical aid.

“It’s probably a crick in your neck,” Taehyung asks, and you spot his mop of browl curls fill your vision as he crouches in front of you and looks back over his shoulder. “Right, hyung?”

Yoongi hums in agreement. “Sounds like it. I can get a heat pack?”

“I have some upstairs,” Taehyung answers, “I think a massage would help a lot. Y/n, do you think you can make it upstairs?”

You take a moment to consider this, and gently shift your head around with small motions. Up and down seems to be fine, and left and right hurt the more you turn. “I think it’ll be okay,” you decide, “I didn’t really notice it that much until just now.”

“Okay.” Taehyung presses his lips together and stands up again, holding out his hand to you. Slowly, with several check-ins, he guides you upstairs and into his bedroom, assisting you in sitting down on the bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows. You leave Jin and Yoongi downstairs, but Jimin insists on following, his hand warm against the small of your back the whole way up.

Feeling a little embarrassed at the fuss they’re making, you nonetheless soak up the chance to be at the center of their attention, Jimin linking your fingers together from the side of the bed as Taehyung rushes around, grabbing a single-use heat pack and some massage oils.

“You’ll need to turn around so your back is facing me,” Taehyung instructs, getting on the bed behind you. It’s a little awkward shifting around with three of you on the bed, and you unable to really move as freely as you’d like, but after a moment Jimin has replaced your original spot against the headboard, your knees bumping his as you sit cross-legged with Taehyung behind you. “Okay, that’s good. Just relax.”

Your shirt has a relatively low, round neck, and even though it’s not quite loose enough to push past your shoulders, Tae doesn’t want to make you take it off and risk hurting yourself further, so he just makes do, warming some oil between his fingers.

The soothing smell of lavender fills the air, and your shoulders go lax as Taehyung slips gently presses down on them with his still-dry knuckles, thumbs sliding up to hold your neck steady. As he pushes the hem down as much as he can and begins to slide his fingertips over your skin to spread the aromatic oil, you fight the urge to let your head loll back. It’s been a long time since Taehyung gave you a massage, and though you have no doubt he’d do it anytime in a heartbeat if you asked, you always felt strange approaching it. A crick in the neck was not ideal, but certainly a nice excuse to have his hands on you again.

In front of you, Jimin watches you carefully for any sight of pain. While a month ago you may have been intimidated or even put off by his intense stare, you know he’s there to make sure you’re alright, and you’ve seen him vulnerable enough to feel okay sharing this with him.

It is still a little awkward, however, and as Taehyung lets his fingers dip as low as they can between your shoulder blades, you send Jimin a crooked smile. “Do you want some popcorn?”

He scoffs warmly with a shake of his head. “If I’m bothering you…?”

You almost shake your head, sucking in a sharp breath through your nose as you fight the automatic urge. “No, you’re fine. I just don’t think me getting my neck fixed is very-” Your voice is abruptly cut off by a staccato groan punched out of you by Taehyung pressing his thumbs right into the knots on either side of the base of your neck. He crawls them up carefully but confidently, beginning to smooth out the tension, and you can’t help your eyes fluttering shut. “Very entertaining,” you finish, breathier than when you started.

“That’s where I’d have to disagree,” Jimin responds in a buttery whisper. With eyes closed, you don’t see him move, and are caught off guard by the tickle of sensation that arises on the sensitive skin of your inner ankle as he slowly sweeps a single fingertip in lazy circles around the bump of the bone. The touch isn’t particularly sexy in its location, but nevertheless feels dizzingly intimate with the knowledge of whose finger it is roaming the fine details of your body.

“I see how it is,” you manage to respond, but the fight is drained from you from both ends; Jimin at your ankles, Taehyung at the nape of your neck. Taehyung’s touch is distinctly heavier and more decisive than Jimin’s, and it becomes harder to resist lying back against him as he works at the sore muscles of your neck.

“My clients aren’t normally so chatty with someone that isn’t me,” Taehyung remarks from behind you, lightly flicking the side of your neck in playful complaint.

“Client?” you question with a pout he can’t see but can definitely hear. “Are we not even lovers, Tae?”

He hums, so low in his chest that it’s a soft growl, and his hands converge on your sternum, face coming forward to press at the side of your cheek as he hugs you from behind. Your heart rate picks up at the proximity; his lips so close to yours, but impossible to reach from the angle. “You know I can’t touch you like a lover should. Not now.”

“Would it be so bad?” you wonder aloud, even as you recall the rule that would get him kicked out should he touch you intimately. The rule wasn’t so harsh were it you to touch him, however. “I could.”

His breath comes out in a rush that tingles your jaw. “Don’t tempt me,” he warns, sitting back upright and pressing the sides of your neck to straighten you up again, “you’re injured.”

“I’m injured?” you retort, “I thought you were meant to be fixing me. You mustn’t be doing a very good job.”

This time, the sound that leaves him most certainly is a growl. His fingers dig into the dips in your upper spine with a ferocity that while measured is distinctly more authoritative. You feel manhandled into wellness, the pain malleable and easily manipulated by his touch. Your body is heavy, barely able to hold itself up, but inside you feel lighter than air, so thrilled to be at the receiving end of Taehyung’s dominance after such a long time under Jimin’s strong hand.

As if following your thoughts, Taehyung mutters out a low, “hyung?” Jimin hums in response, his fingers circling your ankle and letting the lax weight of his arm pin you to the mattress. “I want to touch her so bad.”

You let out an unfiltered moan as you hear Taehyung talk about you to the man on your other side as if you’re not even there, though his fingers never stop for a second, leaching away every last ounce of pain.

“You can’t,” Jimin replies simply.

“But you can,” Taehyung fires back. “Do you trust me?”

Your eyes open wide as you hear the hidden meaning behind his words. Jimin seems to recognise it, too, as he looks past you with lips parted in surprise. It takes him a moment, but he eventually does respond. “I trust you.”

“Get the blindfold.”

It’s clear Jimin is hesitant about letting Taehyung take control. Not the kind of resistance you’d expect he’d give someone else trying to dom him, but simply the delay of uncertainty, of inexperience. He gets up on his knees after a moment to reach into the bedside stand’s drawer, pulling out a soft black sleeping mask.

Taehyung’s hands finally slow, fingertips slipping just under the hem, fiddling with your bra straps. “Put it on, hyung.”

“Tae,” Jimin breathes, eyebrows furrowed in worry, but he goes along, slipping it over his head and adjusting it, lips pursed. You see the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a harsh swallow, his toes curling and staying tucked.

“How’s your neck?” Taehyung asks you, and in your daze at seeing Jimin gingerly submit, it takes you a second to even realise he’s addressing you. You quickly assure him it’s fine, and feel your heart race as he takes his hands off you and backs away, pulling you backwards as he does. “Lie down for us,” he commands softly.

Your breathing is elevated, and you can’t seem to calm it as you watch Taehyung in your peripheral pull up a chair to the side of the bed. His knuckles are white as he clutches the arms, but his face is darkly focused.

“You can’t fuck her with all those clothes on, hyung,” Taehyung states simply, and you can see the way Jimin’s brows lift above the blindfold.

Obediently, Jimin moves towards you, but with his vision obscured he pats around to find you, fingers running blindly up your side to seek out the lower hem of your shirt and lift it over your head. There’s something strangely exciting about Jimin being the one to disrobe you, when only Taehyung will see your naked body, and the clumsy way the older man fiddles with the zip on your jeans before slipping them off makes it feel like he’s touching you for the first time.

It takes him no time at all to unhook your bra once he finds the hinge, and soon enough your panties, the only scrap of fabric left on your body, are being tugged down your legs impatiently. Once they’re gone, however, Jimin’s hands hover uncertainly over you, awaiting further instruction.

Taehyung grins, though Jimin won’t see it, and wets his lips. “So you can be a good boy, hm? Who would’ve thought the big bad wolf was just a little puppy?”

Jimin swallows, nostrils flaring as he struggles with his own submission. He offers no answer, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind, sitting forward in the chair.

“Are you hard, Jimin?” The blue-haired man grits his teeth at the intentional lack of honorifics, but confirms reluctantly that he is. “Show us.”

After opening and closing his mouth, Jimin swallows hard again and his fingers pat against his waistband until he reaches the button, undoing it and dipping a hand in to release his cock. True to his word, he’s hard, the tip glossed with precum and angry red.

A wave of arousal rushes through you so strong that you clench around nothing, wanting nothing more than to push him back and take what you need yourself. But it’s fascinating seeing him like this, and you don’t want to even speak, too scared to break the spell Taehyung has somehow constructed.

The younger man just lets out a flat noise as if unimpressed. Jimin’s dick twitches as his cheeks heat in shame. “Tae,” he breathes, fingers digging into the tensed flesh of his still-clothed thighs.

“It would benefit you to give my name more respect than that. I’m not your boyfriend now, not your pet. I’m your boss. I say what you can and cannot do. So what do you say to me?”

Jimin’s lips are parted, a pretty pink that trembles if you look closely enough. He stays silent for a moment, thinking it through. “Mister Kim,” he says, going so far as to duck his head shallowly in an imitation of a bow.

A dark smirk tugs at Taehyung’s lips. “I like that,” he decides, “good boy. Why don’t you touch our girl, then? She’s arching so nicely for you, Jimin, I think she wants to feel you on her pretty little tits.”

Your eyes couldn’t be wider if you tried, fingers twisted harshly in the bedsheets on either side of you. It’s true, your back hitching off the mattress in need. Truth be told, you’re shivering in the desire to feel him anywhere, but the thought of him flicking at your sensitive nipples has you letting out a shaky whimper.

It’s not Jimin’s hands that greet you, however. Instead, he uses them to catch his fall when he hangs forward, face burying in the soft skin close to your right hip. You can feel the hard tip of his nose, the tickle of his eyelashes, and the plush warmth of his lips.

You tremble beneath him at the way his breath heats your naked skin in pants. Jimin navigates higher with his nose, running it over you, lips dragging against you just enough for you to catch scrapes of his bottom teeth occasionally as he works from left to right, seeking out the swell of your breasts.

It’s not long before he crawls high enough, but it feels like an eternity of absence has been broken when it’s not his fingers but his hot, wet mouth that closes over your nipple, sucking it in like a man starved.

You gasp at the sudden bloom of sensation, a moan getting clogged in your throat. Once Jimin reaches you, you can feel the confidence of his usual dom persona return in the intense way he laps and nipples at the stiffening peak, but the hastened breaths that have his chest heaving above you are entirely due to Taehyung’s invisible grasp on the both of you.

It’s not until Jimin fastens his teeth around your nipple and tugs once, harsh enough to make you keen and grab at his shoulders, that he moves to the other side, repeating the previous treatment with twice the hunger and desperation as before.

“Mm, atta boy,” Taehyung praises in a borderline sarcastic drawl. Jimin huffs through his noise noisily against you as he places sloppy kisses on the pebbled skin around your nipple, and your eyes roll back at the overwhelming situation you’ve found yourself in. There’s something unbelievably obscene about being at the whim of Jimin touch but Taehyung’s command, of hearing and seeing and feeling Jimin be just as affected by Tae as you are.

Jimin’s still mostly dressed, but you can feel the heat radiating from his unsheathed cock as it presses against your leg, and you will Taehyung to demand Jimin fuck you, feeling out of your mind with need.

“You want to taste her somewhere else, don’t you?” Taehyung asks after a few moments of ecstasy. Jimin groans lowly against you, and you feel his hair tickle your breast as he nods. Taehyung’s voice hardens. “That’s a shame. On your back, Jimin. Clothes off.”

You and Jimin whine in unison as you’re parted again, but the latter wastes no time in undressing, throwing his shirt, pants and underwear away blindly, almost hitting Taehyung with them.

Taehyung lets out a cheeky smile as he ducks out of the way, before steeling his expression again and standing up to join you at the bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch as Jimin lies down beside you, head propped up on the pillows.

Making him wait in silence and darkness for a moment long enough to make Jimin hold back another whine with a bit lip, Taehyung suddenly reaches out and rakes his nails up Jimin’s chest from his lower stomach to his collarbones, flicking his nipples on the way.

Jimin hisses and almost comes clean off the mattress, arms flying down, but Taehyung catches him at the wrists and tugs his arms up with a roughness that takes Jimin by surprise, leaving him pinned open with reddening lines across his torso.

“Fuck,” he curses, head thrashing back and forth once in frustration. He looks overwhelmed already, though you’re beginning to suspect this is his first time subbing, at least in many years. “T- Mister Kim, Mister Kim, please.”

“Y/n’s going to take what she wants now, Jimin,” Taehyung instructs gruffly, sending you an expectant gaze for you to get up, “and you’re going to give it all to her. Isn’t that right?”

“Please,” Jimin repeats brokenly, fingers curling in the open air as Taehyung holds his wrists up.

Heart racing violently in your chest, you find yourself straddling Jimin with barely-restrained excitement. His cock is lying against his lower abdomen, leaking steadily, and the moment you reach out and take it in your hand he lets out a low, keening sob, thighs lifting as if to curl in on himself.

“Colour, Jimin,” Taehyung demands, loosening his hold on the man’s wrists briefly.

Jimin lets out a frustrated whine, foot stomping against the mattress. He’s panting like he’s run a marathon, even with your hand still on him, and it almost seems like he’s about to end the scene with the pained look on his face. “Dammit, green. Fuck.”

Taehyung pauses for a moment, but suddenly a booming laugh is leaving him as he stares down at the figure on the bed below him, with restrained arms hanging uselessly in the air. “Oh, you dirty fucking boy,” he gushes, bending down to nip at the already-swollen flesh of Jimin’s lips, making the older boy whimper, “you love this, don’t you?”

Shaking his head, Jimin can’t hide the way blood rushes to his cheeks, tinging his face and neck pink as his cock pulses in your grip. It encourages you to move again, and you lean down to spit on it, hearing him hiccup wetly at the feeling of it before you’re jerking him off steadily to spread the slick around.

As much as he tries, Jimin can only hold back the sounds of pleasure for so long, and by the time you’re straddling him, lining him up at your entrance, his chest is heaving and every breath out is tinged in a moan. He all but trembles in anticipation as his tip bumps against you, and you suck in a single slow breath to prepare yourself before you’re sitting on his cock, feeling it part your walls deep inside.

Jimin shudders, and his arms, still in Taehyung’s grip, tug towards his own face to cover it, fingers curling into claws at the flood of sensation.

“Is it good?” Taehyung asks rhetorically, allowing Jimin to pull his hands over his face before cruelly spreading them wide again, leaning down until their noses touch, voice dipping to a gruff whisper, thick with arousal. “You don’t get to hide from us.”

You’re propping yourself up with one hand on Jimin’s heated chest and another on the mattress, letting yourself adjust to the intrusion, and you see the way his lips tremble every time you clench around him.

Though it hasn’t really been that long, you feel the stretch more than usual, especially without the foreplay involving any fingering. But, if you’re honest with yourself, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

There’s something so divine about rocking your hips against him and having his cock open you up through your own movements. You control the pace despite the whines and weak growls of complaint, and you take your time with it. While Jimin might prefer more friction, more motion, you’re enjoying the deep grind, his pelvis pressed to your clit every time you lean forward.

You look up from him, at Taehyung holding him down for you. His hair is messy, but no more than before, and he’s still fully dressed. His eyes are dark with lust and glimmering with excitement, and once he feels your gaze he looks up at you sharply. Your heart jumps, and you squeeze unintentionally around Jimin, making him groan.

Still looking at Taehyung, however, at his sculpted lips, strong gaze and hooded lids, you’re overwhelmed with the urge to lean forward and kiss him. It’s like a string is tied between the two of you, being cranked tighter and tighter. It would be so easy just to give in and-

“Don’t be mean, Y/n. Jimin is being good for us.” Taehyung grins at you, teeth glinting. “Make him come.”

Jimin’s chest hitches, and his hips rock shallowly up at you, unable to get the momentum to do much more. Still, it causes him to drag against your walls, and the pleasure shoots up your core at the feeling. Inspired by both your own pleasure and the need to please the two men with you, you steel your thighs and begin to ride Jimin in earnest.

It’s harder than you expect to keep a rhythm up. Every time you get a good downstroke that reaches your g-spot, it makes your legs tremble, and before long your thighs begin to ache. Nonetheless, you’re determined as you watch Jimin’s blindfolded face contort in pleasure, and you shift your position and bounce harder.

In the back of your mind, you hear Taehyung praise you, but you barely spare him a glance, chest lowering so that you can put all your energy into the tight motion of your hips. Your fingers dig into Jimin’s shoulder, and his muscles tense beneath them as he tries to reach out for you.

Every time he’s reminded of the grip Taehyung has on his arms, Jimin thrashes just a little beneath you, but his cock just keeps on getting stiffer inside you, and as you suck in harsh lungfuls of air, you know he’s getting close.

The sounds that leave his parted lips are nothing short of pornographic, losing all sense of shame or hesitation as he approaches that peak.

You fight off your own orgasm, tightening around Jimin as you try and hold back and distract yourself with him. You’re losing stamina quickly, the rhythm falling apart into unsteady jerks and bounces.

Taehyung watches you carefully, before bending down again and biting right into the plush flesh of Jimin’s cheek, addressing him only after he soothes the blooming red with his tongue. “Why don’t you return the favour and fuck her a little, my good boy?”

Jimin sobs, and his abs tighten as he attempts to get up, but Taehyung just tuts, instructing him to do it right where he is. Clearly too far gone to protest, you feel Jimin prop his feet up against the mattress with a shaky sniff. That’s your only warning before he makes full use of his core strength to piston his hips up into you with toe-curling speed, purely seeking out his own end.

You cry out, knees buckling at the first thrust, and your chin hits his shoulder awkwardly, almost biting your own tongue. Clutching at his arms, you attempt to hold yourself up enough not to bear your dead weight on him, and go along for the ride.

Even from his unwieldy position, Jimin manages far better than you did, and his his moans quickly raise in pitch and shorten in length, until he’s whimpering in desperate yips, thrusting up into you with such ferocity that your teeth chatter.

He’s deep inside you, deeper than he’s been before, and your eyes begin to well at your own impending orgasm.

Closer than you, however, Jimin freezes for a split second before he’s shuddering violently and spurting inside you. Taehyung holds onto him for a moment longer before he releases his wrists, and suddenly you’re being caged in by Jimin, his arms holding you flush against his heated torso as he grinds his cum into you, still blindfolded and barely able to catch a breath.

It’s this rocking motion that tips you over the edge, your clit gaining enough friction to break the dam, and you sob hard as the pleasure wracks through you. There isn’t a single inch of space between you and Jimin, and just as you think you’re in pure ecstasy, you feel Taehyung’s hand tangle in your hair, stroking it as his lips brush the shell of your ear with praises intended for the two of you.

Your face is wet and your body is trembling uncontrollably as you let your climax run through you, and when it fades you feel hollowed out, boneless.

Jimin is clearly the same, because he quite contentedly lets you lie atop him, panting just as hard as you are. His eyes remain closed long after Taehyung slips the blindfold off, pressing kisses to Jimin’s eyelids and the flush on his cheeks.

After a sweet eternity, you gather enough energy to roll off Jimin and sit up, separating yourself from him. He sighs out weakly, and you’re shocked to see just how drained he seems. For a moment, your heart stutters, but as you reach out and grab his hand, matching Taehyung who has his other one sandwiched between his, a drunken smile stretches across Jimin’s face.

“What the fuck?” he asks breathily, chuckling slightly despite his exhaustion. A single eye cracks open, looks up at the two of you with a warm gaze, before slipping shut again. “Oh my god, I can’t believe… I can’t believe that.”

“Can’t believe you liked it?” Taehyung questions, and even after the scene you hear a tinge of nervousness in his tone.

“God, Tae, I think I get it now,” Jimin gushes, voice lowering into a sleepy slur, “it’s- that was fun.”

Taehyung beams, squeezing Jimin’s hand fondly.

Jimin sighs in bliss. “And next time I’m going to edge you so much you cry, Mister Kim.”

The smile drops off Taehyung’s face in an instant. “Hey! That’s not fair. I let you come.”

Whatever protest Jimin would normally fire back is dissolved in his post-orgasm bliss. Instead, he just hums sweetly, entirely unbothered by the sticky mess his lower torso has become.

“Come on,” you jibe softly, feeling your own skin growing tacky, “let’s get you in the shower.”

Jimin groans at the thought of standing up, but Taehyung is having none of it, digging his hands under Jimin’s back to lever him up like a crowbar. “Yeah, we’re not gonna stop taking care of you just because you busted a nut, asshole. Get up and let me clean your dick like the good dom I am.”

Though Jimin huffs all the way to the shower, as the two of you clean him up, dry him off and dress him in a pair of Taehyung’s sweats and a baggy shirt, his eyes never stop gleaming for a second, not-so-secretly enjoying every minute of it.

The three of you spend an hour or so post-shower chilling in Taehyung’s room before hunger overcomes you one at a time. You’ve certainly missed lunch, but there is plenty still left in the fridge, and Jimin takes on the duty of reheating it as a silent thank you for the scene.

He’s quieter than usual, and you know it has to do with the intensity of it, at least for him. It was a big deal, actually submitting to another, and both you and Taehyung keep a close eye on him, filling the silence between the two of you so he doesn’t feel the need to exert himself, but keeping him close nonetheless.

At one point, Jimin goes upstairs to take a nap, insisting he’s fine on his own, and Namjoon and Hoseok return inside from where they’d been having a picnic of sorts (or perhaps fucking on the lawn, though they refuse to deny nor confirm your teasing accusation). The four of you put on a random reality show you’d been meaning to watch, and it isn’t long before Jungkook is joining you too, piling on the couch between the two subtle lovebirds. When Jin comes down, he half-watches from the kitchen, preparing some side dishes for dinner, but Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

Your mind doesn’t linger on the thought for long, getting distracted by the dating show that somehow is just as ridiculous as the one you’re on, and you let the time slip by as you watch episode after episode. It’s nice to rest up, aching a little bit in a new place than before, but satisfied.

When Yoongi comes down, you’re so caught up watching television that you don’t even see him. It’s not until he cuts into your line of sight and holds out a decisive hand that you blink into focus and notice his presence.

“Y/n. A minute.”

You stare at him for another minute, brain not catching up. Yoongi huffs and bends down, grabbing onto your hand and tugging you up off the couch.

The others stare at you in bewilderment, and you return the confused gaze over your shoulder as he tug you out of the room.

Stumbling through the hallway, you furrow your eyebrows as he leads you up the stairs, almost frantic in his pace.

Arriving at your own door, he throws it open and pulls you inside and shuts it behind you. Your brain catches up, and you let out an uncertain laugh. “Yoongi, you already did your prompt, you don’t have to-”

You’re cut off by a pair of lips on yours.

Yoongi’s body knocks you back and pins you firmly to the door as his mouth slants against yours. Both hands cupping your face, he kisses you like there’s no tomorrow, tongue darting out slightly to flick at your lips.

You let out a surprised moan that gets entirely swallowed by him, knees weak and held up only by his hold. Frantic, hurried, his kisses convey a thousand praises, and your mind whirls with the sudden passion.

This close, you can smell the musk of his cologne. It dizzies you, and you feel as if his hands on your cheeks and his lips on yours are the only thing anchoring you to the world. They move against you, exploring your mouth with a desperate sweetness. You can’t wrap your head around it, can’t catch up, and so you let yourself drown in it instead, clasping at the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt to hold yourself steady.

When you finally part, he rips himself away with dazed eyes, pupils blown with desire. “Y/n,” he breathes, staring at you in wonder as if for the first time. He steps back again, after a moment, touching his swollen lips with a disbelieving smile. “I really tried, you know.”

You frown in confusion, stepping forward to get closer again. “Tried what? Yoongi, I don’t understand.”

“I tried not to fall in love with you like the rest.”

You have no words, mouth hanging open. Before you can think of anything to say, he’s moving past you and letting himself out of your room, the door half-ajar as his footsteps recede into silence.

You stay up in your room for what must be hours, replaying his words over and over in your head, lips tingling.

You miss dinner that way, too occupied in your own thoughts to even notice the knock at your door. Even as the sky darkens outside your window, you feel too wired to sleep, running through every single interaction you’ve ever had with Yoongi. Reading them in every possible way you could.

Working out if you would be telling the truth to say it back.

Your mind runs in circles, unable to land on a single answer, on a single perspective or truth or belief.

Late into the night, and further to the early hours of the morning, you force yourself to think about every other member in the house, too. About how they treat you, how kind they are to you, the way they look at you.

About the way your heart races when you’re around them, even as they comfort you with their presence alone.

You manage to fall asleep shortly before sunrise, eyes aching and body exhausted, every line of thinking and internal interrogation whittled down to a single two words.

I’m fucked.

#the gentlemen #bts smut #bts x reader #jimin smut #taehyung smut #jimin x reader #namjoon x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jin x reader #hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #tgm

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xvnexx · 4 years ago

Text

TWITTER AND INSTAGRAM BIOS

speak your mind even if your voice shakes

tell me a lie

you were a masterpiece, but then everyone saw you

I smell autumn

yes I function with out a heart

my mom won’t like you

please do not touch

there are so many types of art but {name of idol) is my favourite

seize the day

fragile, handle with respect

I was the perfect roe that drowned

happiness is a great colour

you eventually will run back into it

keep your heart closed but mind open

qualified meme-ster

ambitious

s/he was so artistic painting smiles on every face but her/his own

did s/he forget to love

ask no question and you’ll get no lies

people change quicker than you think

society is an ugly burnt ass cracker

how many secrets can you keep

only fools fall for you

meme queen

everything I ever loved, I lost in the magic

seek joy, embrace joy, share joy

if you don’t build your dream, someone will hire you to build theirs.

autumn kills summer with the softest kiss.

no tears for the creatures of the night

you will let go

the colour yellow is really under-appreciated

im a petty bitch

Im a golden thread; fragile but valuable

a little bit of sugar, but a lot of poison too

confusing reality with dreams

and I will fight even if I break

smile

fuck im broke

give me a sign

you’re one of a kind and no one understand

make your life a story worth telling

in conclusion, im bitter

but one day I’ll stop falling

(idol name)’s the tear in my heart

im soppy and emotional so stay the fuck away

yikes

have I fit into society yet?

is this any better?

create you’re own path to an adventure

I let you out, and everyone saw

send memes

glazed donuts

late nights, red eyes

entertain my faith

*instrumental*

sometimes to stay alive you gotta kill your mind

I’m Fiji water, you are toilet water

see good in all things

we rise by lifting other

oh no, not you again

you still have Facebook?

you make me emo

just keep going

but do you know my aesthetic?

wheres the leak ma’am

be like spongebob, create fire in the ocean

can life go back to when I didn’t understand it

How do I silence my sins

I will burn again

did I give you permission to break my heart?

red blood, black heart

dear society, do you accept me now?

a thornless withered rose

a touch of gold

fuck you I don’t care I failed

aesthetic mind

my brain is 80% song lyrics

im at the top but I still don’t see you

left me in the dark

stars fall and the world goes blind

sorry mom I promise to never be a a bad bitch

if you’re lost just look for me

dismayed mind

fuck of weirdo

home is where the art is

keep your dreams close to your heart

teach me your contour blending ways

find a way to be yourself

first you find yourself

let me glow bitch

I don’t want seconds

take on life like a swan; calm and serene on the surface, but paddling like hell underneather

(idols name) fills my heart

mom can I be savage now?

do ya thang

neither lost nor found

have a positive mindset

im honestly a troubled kid looking for dank memes

don’t look back, chase whats in front

no thanks, I don’t want leftover

I want to create

a black cloud in a black sky - nobody notices

oops sorry I spilled out my heart

I found the heart, but its empty

did I leave a stain on your heart

I thought this was eternal

buy me food pls

I asked for the word, and you bought me a carrier bag

sorry only dark humour is accepted

you made it this far kid

you’ll probably love me

too lazy to socialise

I found my happy ending

#twitter bios #quotes #funny #love #cute #inspirational quotes #mental illness depression suicidal depressive upset down cry tears kill me useless failure sad sadquotes broken hate gone los #instagram

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itscominghome · 3 years ago

Note

Hey bestie , I love what you write . Can you do one with mason , where they are dating and she gets negative comments and like she feels very bad but didn’t tell him . At the end he finds out and he takes her defens .💕💕

thank you for your request :) sorry it took so long x

Summary: Since you and Mason made your relationship public three months ago, you have received negative and abusive messages from fans. But when everything takes a drastic turn, Mason is there to protect you and takes to social media afterwards to shut down all the abuse and threats.

Warnings: Derogatory language

I'll Always Protect You

"Mason deserves better"

"Slut"

"You're not even that pretty"

"What does Mount see in you"

"I wish he'd just hurry up and break up with you"

"Lets be honest, you wouldn't look twice at him if he wasn't who he was"

"You're just with him for the money"

"I know where you live"

"Break up with him, we know where you live"

These were just some of the many Instagram messages I would receive daily. Some were just calling me names or making me out to be a gold-digger and the sorts. But those on the worse end of the spectrum, those threatening me made me feel sick in the stomach. They had started just over three months ago after Mason and I had gone public with our relationship and they hadn't stopped, only gotten worse. I hadn't told Mason about any of them, I mean surely all of the threats were empty, just a series of words strung together to try and scare me. But part of me was scared that if Mason saw them, he'd start to believe them himself.

"What you looking at, baby," Mason asks from beside me on the bed, sounding concerned. I realised that there must've been a shift in my emotions and immediately plastered a smile onto my face.

"Nothing, Mase," I reply, my voice unsteady. I hate lying to him.

"Tell me you're not reading one of those stupid articles about us again," he says, looking at me, a look of sadness on his face. On top of the private messages I had been receiving, there were a few articles online from gossip sites and even big newspaper companies slating our relationship. Of course, Mason knew about those, there was no way to keep them quiet.

"I don't care what they say, I love you," he would affirm every time he saw one or caught me reading one.

Mason had stayed over at my house last night, not yet moved in with each other, but today wasn't one of the days we could have a lazy day. A day spent cuddling up to each other in bed, doing nothing but watch films, or catch up on the latest episode of 'Married at Frist Sight', which Mason would repeatedly remind me he hated (he loved it really). But, unfortunately, Mason did have training on my day off. I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head before the bed dipped beneath me as he started getting ready.

"I'll come and pick you up later and we can go out for a meal or something," he promised as he opened the door thirty minutes later, pecking my lips lightly.

"Sounds good," I smile, "I love you,"

"I love you too," he says before closing the door and making his way to his car.

Tap. Tap. I looked up from the TV to look around for the source of the tapping noise. I noticed it almost straight away and my heart skipped a beat. There was someone outside my window, tapping on the glass, wearing a black balaclava. I froze in my seat, my hands shaking. He continued tapping for a few more seconds before moving to another window and continuing. Then he moved to the door, jiggling the handle in an attempt to open it. At this point, I start to panic, even more, rushing around looking for my phone.

"Where is it..? Where the fuck did I leave it..?" I whisper to myself as I rush upstairs, extremely distressed. I find it on my bedside table in my room and immediately dial Mason. Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring.

"Come on, pick up, pick up, Mase." Ring ring. Ring r-.

"Baby, you can't be missing me that much already, I've only been gone for ten minutes," he jokes light-heartedly.

"Mase..." I say, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Baby, what's wrong? What's happening? Talk to me," he says, concern evident in his voice.

"Someone's outside, they... they were at the window... tapping it. And... And then they... they started trying to open the door. I can hear them shouting through the letterbox and hitting the door. Mase, I don't know what to do," I say, tears streaking down my face.

"Shit... I'm turning around right now, I'll be back as quick as I can, lock yourself in the bathroom or something, just in case they get in. Stay on the phone," I nod, trying to steady my breathing. On my way to the bathroom across the hall, I can hear the abusive muffled shouts. I pray to God that Mason can't hear what is being said through the phone.

I hear Mason's car pull up in the driveway and his car door slam shut. I unlock the bathroom door and race downstairs where I can see him attempting to confront my perpetrator before he runs away. I open the door, tears of terror still staining my cheeks. Mason sees me and runs over, pulling me into a hug

"Hey, hey it's okay, they're gone, I'm here now. I've got you," he comforts, taking me back into the house and sitting me down to calm me down.

"I didn't think they were being serious..." I say under my breath.

"Baby, what are you on about?" I try my best to play it off as nothing, but Mason won't listen.

"It was just a few messages, it doesn't matter,"

"Show me them," I reluctantly pass him my unlocked phone and he scrolls through my message requests.

"Why didn't you tell me..." he says with a frown, clearly upset that I had not confided in him.

"I thought that if you saw them, you'd start to believe what everyone was saying,"

"Oh, baby..." he whispers, pulling me into his chest, "Nothing anyone says will ever change how I feel about you. Go and get yourself a bag packed and you can come to training with me,"

"It has recently come to light the amount of hate, abuse and downright threats have been hurled at my girlfriend, Y/N. And to tell you the truth, I'm disgusted. So, I've come to Instagram to address it.

I was unaware of how much abuse had been projected onto her until earlier today when I read some of the messages she has been receiving on both Instagram and Twitter. Most accounts claimed to be Chelsea fans, but as I'm sure all of my teammates would agree, to verbally abuse one of our partners, someone that I LOVE, does not qualify you as a Chelsea fan.

I had obviously seen all of the news articles, those I could look past, but the threats became very real today. I am sure that those of you who messaged threats like "We know where you live, break up with him," were all just empty words. But today, I had to drive back to Y/N's house after leaving for training after receiving a phone call from her, telling me that someone was tormenting her in her own home. If this happens again, it WILL become a matter that will need to be treated more seriously.

Finally, I would like to say that no online abuse of anyone should be tolerated. People in the public eye have feelings too, they are human too. It is never okay to attack someone for loving who they love. I know that this message will not stomp out all of the abuse, but I hope that the majority of you are mature enough to take what I have said into account and will consider what you say before you send it.

M19" I read aloud to myself when I see that Mason has posted. I feel a pair of arms snake their way around my waist, pulling me closer into his body. Mason.

"Thank you for protecting me today,"

"I'll always protect you,"

Sorry I'm taking ages to write requests, I have been so busy with coursework and homework as of late. That, and posting about 30 things about the match today. So, sorry for the spam, but I hope you enjoyed this request! <33

#mason mount #mm19 #m19 #chelsea fc #ktbffh

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maddogofshimano · 4 years ago

Text

Goromi Character Story

I really liked this one even if it was a pain in the ass to translate. Damn all that kansai slang! I have some pics to go with this one unlike the Goromi Event where I forgot to take any screencaps.

Character stories are split into three parts with a fight in each part, and this one will be a little more paraphrased because there’s a lot of back and forth dialogue that doesn’t matter too much. Here’s Goromi’s card!

Summary: Turns out it takes several days for Kiryu to actually show up to club SHINE to meet Goromi (he’s busy!) so Goromi spends her time working there and taking care of problems. She’s not the number one hostess for nothing!

<Part 1> <Majima Goro, as Goromi, has been working at club SHINE for several days now> The shop manager has been having to deal with this and he doesn’t know what to do.

Majima shows up again, as usual, and the manager fumbles over himself on whether to say Majima or Goromi

He asks if Kiryu has shown up yet and Majima complains before heading to the back to get changed, where Goromi continues to complain that she’s a good woman and Kiryu is a horrible lazy bum for standing her up for so long. She’s bored to death! (I wonder, does Majima leave the Goromi outfit at the club or take it with home each time?)

A rowdy customer comes in and makes a scene and Goromi steps in to wallop on him, because she’s bored and he spilled a drink on her dress. <Fight Happens> Goromi wins, easily, and makes him leave his wallet. The manager pulls her into the backroom to tell her that she can’t fight customers. Goromi counters that she can’t allow a threat to women to go unchecked.

Another hostess on the floor shouts at a customer to stop because touching is forbidden. Goromi says that sounds like trouble, she might as well handle it since Kiryu hasn’t shown up yet. The manager says absolutely not, those are Sakamoto Family men (probably, it’s not spoken out loud but Sakamoto is the most common reading).

The manager goes out to deal with it and gets hit by a Sakamoto Family goon for his trouble, but the guy leaves. Turns out the Sakamoto Family has been showing up a lot and never paying, and it’s a real pain. Goromi tells him to get his act together and fight back already! The manager says there’s no way he can win, going along with them is the best way to protect the club. Goromi calls him a coward, and leaves. <Part 2>

<the next day> Majima once again shows up and has a brief struggle with the wig until... Tada! A perfect Goromi~❤️

Goromi is certain Kiryu-chan will show up today! He definitely will! ...Why the hell hasn’t he shown up yet? She notices yet another unruly customer, once again a Sakamoto Family goon, hassling the manager, but this time she just watches. The manager tries to explain that the rules clearly state you aren’t allowed to touch the hostesses, and gets hit for it again. He stands back up, repeats himself, and gets punched another time. The goon grabs the hostess and says they’re going to the bathroom together.

Goromi steps in to stop him, but the manager beats her to it, and finally hits the guy back. He’s remembering what Goromi-san said to him... He’s not going to run away!!

Manager gets his ass KICKED, goon taunts him and says he’d never win in a million years. Manager gets back up anyways, tells him he has to leave... just in time for the patriarch of the Sakamoto Family to arrive. He’s heard this is a fun place, and wants to sit with a lady ASAP. His goon shouts at the manager, the manager fumbles, and Goromi steps in.

Sakamoto thinks this is just great, that eyepatch is really getting his fighting spirit going! His lackey is less sure. The manager tries to step in, Goromi cuts him and says she’ll be his hostess tonight. Sakamoto is falling over himself trying to offer Goromi a seat, he’s just smitten.

The manager wonders what Goromi is up to...

We start off immediately with Sakamoto telling Goromi how cute she is, and how much he likes her, and that she’s got a real tight lil butt.

“Stoooop~, ya pervy patriarch❤️”

Sakamoto says he really like Goromi, too many girls nowadays would throw a fit if he grabbed their ass. The manager is wondering what the hell is going on, why is Goromi being so nice??

Sakamoto asks what kind of men Goromi likes. She likes strong, beefy guys, of course! Sakamoto says that she’s gonna love him then. Sakamoto: I was the strongest guy in his whole town! I’ve heard that the strongest guy in Kamurocho’s the patriarch of the Majima family, some moron named Majima Goro. Goromi: Oh, is that so? Sakamoto: I’m pretty sure him being crazy strong’s just a silly rumor though. If I were up against him it’d be like beating up a baby. Goromi: Woahhhh, that’s so cool~ 🎵 All that strength is really making my heart beat fast~

Sakamoto lets Goromi order whatever she likes from the menu. The manager worries that she’s going to order a fight! But no, she just asks for Don Perignon, the most expensive thing on the menu. And she convinces him to get 10 bottles of it.

<2 hours pass>

Sakamoto: Bahaha! Goromi-chan, you're the best girl of them all! Goromi: Before ya go I got one more thing for ya Mr. Patriarch! Sakamoto: Ehhhh, is it a kiss~ Goromi: It's your bill! Sakamoto: Ah....? Haha, great joke Goromi-chan! Goromi: It ain't no joke! Between the drinks and the service... you've racked up 5 million yen. How would ya like to pay that? Sakamoto: Now hold on, I ain't payin' that! Even if you're cute!! Goromi: Eh, you really won't pay? Sakamoto: No! I absolutely will not pay!! Goromi: So that mean's you're not a customer now, is that right?

Goromi: Since you're not a customer, Goromi can be a little... rough Sakamoto: Tch, boys, let's teach this lady a little discipline! Goromi: Discipline....? Idiots, Goromi is the butterfly that dances in the night. I don't take orders from anyone, especially morons like you!! <Fight Happens, Goromi obliterates them> Sakamoto: You, you're actually...! Goromi: What are ya talking about? I'm Goromi, Kamurocho's number one hostess. Goromi: If you disrespect the women of this city... I'll show you a world of hurt. Sakamoto: W-Wahhhhh!! P-Please forgive me!! Goromi: From now on you're banned. Don't let me see your face here again. Got it? Sakamoto: Y-yes ma'am! I understand! P-Please excuse me... Goromi: Wait. You still got a bill to pay. Sakamoto: Wh- um, well, I don't have that much right now... Goromi: Haw? Then why'd you eat and drink so much! You got some nerve takin' whatever ya fancied. But... I could forgive ya if you go on an after hours date with me. Sakamoto: ...Eh? Goromi: Until the money's collected, we're going on dates. ...Be prepared.

<the next day> Manager: Majima-san, thank you so much. Goromi: Eh? What're you talkin' about. This is just Goromi gettin' paid properly for her work. Manager: Ah. I see. Goromi: And... I'm glad you stood up for your girls. Ya finally showed your guts. You've got a real good crew here, keep workin' to be the best. Manager: Th-thank you so much! Uhuuuuuu! Goromi: Don't get all emotional and cry! I'm countin' on having your full cooperation when it comes to fighting Kiryu-chan! Manager: Yes ma'am! By all means. Door Greeter: Maji- I mean, Goromi-san! K-Kiryu-san is coming here!! Goromi: Ohh, nice timing! Well, let's do this thing! Manager: Yes! <Goromi goes to greet Kiryu at the door> Goromi: Heyyy, it's Goromi~

<END>

Another bonus fact that relates to both this and the event: the rggo twitter put up a poll asking everyone which of these girls was their favorite

(Lady that does the gatcha rolls, Mayumi from rggo’s story, Yuki, and badly photoshopped Goromi)

in a shock to no one reading this, Goromi obliterated the vote, coming in just shy of 80%...

...which was apparently a shock to the staff! They immediately tweeted "Goromi got 80%...! What a crazy result 😵 We're having an emergency planning meeting now. Thank you all for voting so much!"

I have to wonder if this was a turning point in how they wrote Goromi, with the event and substory presenting her as not strictly a one off occurrence! Maybe the fan enthusiasm got them to take her a little more seriously

#yakuza #rggo #majima #goromi #ryu ga gotoku #ryu ga gotoku online

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years ago

Text

To Call Forth Love - Chapter 7

So this chapter is in Ivar’s POV. Kind of a glimpse as to see what is going on with him. Plus, its a great excuse to write some Floki/Ivar interaction.

Warnings: swearing, implied violence, Ivar having boundary issues but that’s not new.

Words: 4550

Tag List: @heavenly1927 @youbloodymadgenius @zuxiezendler @punkrocknpearls @love-all-things-writing @southernbe

Series Masterlist

"There you are, you crippled bastard. I've been looking everywhere."

Ivar smirked, exhaling the cigarette smoke from his mouth, not even turning his gaze from the lights of the city beneath him. "How did you get up here? I thought your old, lazy ass wouldn't be able to handle it."

Floki scoffed as he moved to stand next to his protégé. "Old, lazy ass. I may be old but I could still kick your ass if I wanted too."

Wordlessly, Ivar pulled out his cigarette carton from his suit’s pocket, taking one out and handing it to Floki. He grabbed his lighter and held it out, open palm. When Floki did not immediately take it, he glanced over to see one of the people he trusted most, staring down at the cigarette spinning between his fingers.

"I won't tell Helga."

Floki giggled. "You're a bad influence on me, boy." He took the lighter and lit his cigarette, handing it back over after.

The two stood silently for several minutes, leaning against the railing, overlooking the city. They were at the Ragnarssons Trading headquarters, one of the taller buildings in the heart of the city. The sound of humanity floated away to a hushed background noise with how high up they stood. The upper floors of the building were restricted access, being the main offices and meeting rooms of Ragnar, his sons and others deemed important. The lower floors housed the cesspool of asinine insubordinates, those that did their limited jobs and were easily replaced. Ivar avoided those floors, not just because of the stares, or the twittering females and few males who vied for attention from the Ragnarssons in hopes of snatching one up or thinking sleeping with them as an easy way to further their careers. No, he found them all boring and beneath him. With a single look, he knew what many of them wanted, they were so easy to read, to know their simple minds. It was pathetic.

So, when he did come to the headquarters, he immediately headed to the upper floors. He had an office next to Torstein that he used infrequently. Most of his work he could do remotely, a blessing due to his condition and his volatile temperament. When he had work that needed extra cyber security or to delve deeper into concerns, having the multiple monitors at his office and the ability to search out his father or brothers immediately came in handy.

The roof of the building was his favorite place to think and plan. No one came up here but more than that, he could see everything. The city, the surrounding water, everything. He wondered if this was what the gods felt like looking down on Midgard from Valhalla.

Ivar exhaled, the curl of smoke slipping from his lips. "Are you coming to the meeting?"

Floki ran a hand over his tattooed head. "Your father asked for me to come."

"Mmmm. Know what it's about?"

"Probably the same old boring shit."

They chuckled, still staring over the city. Out of the corner of his eye, Ivar could see Floki tug uncomfortably on the black business suit he wore. The only reason the shipbuilder ever wore anything remotely formal was when Ragnar demanded it….and coming to the headquarters fit into the category. Ragnar liked to say that if they wanted to be taken as serious businessmen then they needed to dress the part, and it was not too difficult to wash blood out of the suits.

The youngest Lothbrok leaned against the railing in a charcoal gray suit, his dark hair pulled back into a man-bun. He did not mind the formal attire as much, there was a sense of prestige and strength that came with it. On more than one occasion, he had been told he presented a striking figure and he liked to use that to his advantage. Whether it was terror or arousal that his figure caused depended on the person. He knew how to control them all.

A vibration had Ivar pulling out his phone to see a new text from Kari. He smiled softly at her cheeky response. When asked what she was doing tonight, she said she was taking a bubble bath and reading a book. He said he did not believe her and demanded a picture as proof she was actually taking a bubble bath like a child. Now he gazed down at an image of her feet peeking out of bubbles against a porcelain bathtub. The picture was so innocent yet sensual, just like his kitten. An innocent seductress. His cock began to stiffen at the lewd ideas running rampage through his mind at the simple picture.

With her picture came a text.

Kari: You should try it sometime. It's very relaxing.

He snorted. There was no way in hell he would ever take a bubble bath, and he figured she probably knew it.

Ivar: the only way I'm gtn n2 a bubble bath is if u in there w/ me

Grinning smugly, he could imagine the flush on her cheeks at his answer as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Floki's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You going to tell me about her?"

Ivar did not answer right away, taking a drag from his cigarette and slowly exhaling it. "Nothing to fucking tell."

"Hmmm…. I'd bet she is the only person you smile for like that."

"Fuck…." He ran his hand over his mouth, before turning to lean his back against the roof's railing. Floki was right and clearly knew it if the sly look said anything. It made Ivar want to knock the smirk off the madman's face with his cane, which rested on the railing next to him.

"This isn't like Freydis, right?" Floki quietly inquired after several minutes of companionable silence.

"Gods, no. She is…." He found his words trailing off, unable to articulate what Kari meant to him.

Freydis had been a hope for someone more than just a fuck, someone who potentially cared for him. Unfortunately, he quickly realized that she may have cared for him, but she cared more for the status and money being in a relationship with him allowed. So, they used each other. She wasted his money on frivolous things, lavishing herself with stuff she would never dream of having otherwise. He used her for fucking and to have someone on his arm when they attended events, to silence the pitying looks from others and the comments that he did not know how to please a woman.

After ten months though, he found himself resenting her and their relationship. It was then he broke it off with her. She cried, supposedly heartbroken but he did not care. In the months following, she tried to worm her way back into his life but he slammed the door shut, uncaring of how cruel he appeared to others. He fucked other women or had them give him blow jobs, never even taking the time to remove his leg braces or pants. They meant nothing. They were nothing.

But all that changed a month ago when a woman with blue-green eyes and a sweet innocence about her bumped into him…. and then confused the hell out of him when she kissed him.

"What's her name?" Floki asked, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette.

"Kari." He answered, probably sounding far softer than he meant to. After, he tilted his head to look at his surrogate father, brow furrowed. "How'd you find out?"

"The gods told me." At Ivar's unamused look, Floki giggled. "Your brothers. They said you have a new girlfriend."

"She's not."

"Mmmm?"

He sighed. "My girlfriend. She's made that very fucking clear. She keeps saying she can't be my girlfriend or she doesn't want to date right now. It's fucking infuriating!" He ripped the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it on the ground. "I don’t…. I don't fucking understand. She always says we're just friends, but I know she wants more. Sometimes I can see it when she looks at me. I don't know what to fucking do!"

"Why are you still wasting time on her then? She sounds like she doesn't care. Just move on from the bitch."

"Don't you fucking call her that! And she does care! More than most people." He snarled, fists trembling at his side. When Floki only smirked at him, Ivar rolled his eyes, anger slowly abating. He played into the old man's game easily.

Floki dropped his own half-used cigarette, eyeing Ivar curiously. "What is it about this girl?"

"She…. fuck…. she sees me. Not a cripple. Not some rich guy she can fuck and get stuff from. She sees... she sees me. Just me. Like you and mother. I don't….no one has looked at me like that. There's always a motive, always an angle. But not with her." The words rolled off his tongue, a dam unleashed, as if begging to have been finally uttered, to share his thoughts aloud to make sense of them. With Floki, he knew his thoughts were safe, that the man would never cruelly make fun of him.

"You really care about this girl."

Ivar did not answer, the truth already hung in the air as if painted in the sky for all to see.

Floki moved closer, wrapping his arm around Ivar's shoulder and pressing their foreheads together. "Give her time. The gods will tell you what to do. But for fuck's sake, stop stalking her. Hvitserk made sure to tell us how you showed up at her work and home unannounced."

Ivar chuckled, mirroring Floki's action. "Hvitty better keep his fucking hands off her."

"He will. He sees how important she is to you." Floki leaned back, that stupid grin on his face. "When do I get to meet her?"

"Why the hell do you think I'd let her meet your insane ass? She'd take one look at you and run away."

"She puts up with your stupidity. I'd be an improvement for her."

"Fuck off." Ivar laughed, throwing a mock punch at the man. "I've only known her for a month."

"But it feels longer, right?"

Ivar startled at the soft tone Floki used, like he knew exactly how Ivar felt. For once, he wondered if this was how Helga and Floki’s relationship felt. His tone was just as quiet, almost reverent as he answered. "Yeah."

"Don't do something stupid and lose her. Meet her where she is. Be her friend if that's what she wants. She seems good for you."

"Where is this wisdom coming from?" Ivar scoffed, running a hand over the braids on top of his head.

"I've always been wise, you just don't listen, pretentious asshole."

"No, it's Helga that's the wise one."

"My sweet Helga certainly is." Floki clapped a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "Come on, the meeting will be starting soon. I was sent to find your crippled ass."

"Why the fuck are we talking then?"

"I wanted to hear about this girl. From the sounds of it, you'll start waxing poetic sonnets about the poor girl soon and the gods will certainly…."

"Shut the fuck up."

Talking casually about the latest boat Floki was working on building back home in Norway, they headed towards the meeting room attached to Ragnar's office. The trip from the roof to the meeting room should have been quick but Ivar moved slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. He knew the whites of his eyes had an alarming shade of blue. He had seen it that morning when he looked in the mirror but even more so, he could feel it in his bones. It felt as if with one simple misstep, he would break a bone. The fragility of his body was never more evident than on these days.

He loathed it.

Thankfully, Floki made no comments about Ivar's eyes or his slow, measured gait. Instead he talked, making sure to hold doors open and continued in his loping walk as if they were on a leisurely stroll. He did comment about how nice Ivar's cane was and asked if he had used it on anyone recently.

The cane had been a gift from Floki three years ago for his birthday. It appeared to be an expensive cane made up of an ebony tapered shaft and sterling silver handle with a snarling wolf's head. What only a few knew was that if Ivar twisted the handle and pulled, a long, slender knife came out, the blade attached to the handle. Plus, the shaft of the cane was reinforced with a sturdy material, making it easily used as a blunt force object without fear of it bending or denting. Floki had said long ago that one should never be without a weapon, and the cane was his way of ensuring Ivar followed that sentiment.

The private meeting room of Ragnar was a spacious corner room with two walls made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, a dark hardwood flooring and deep green walls. A single slab wooden oak table was the centerpiece of the room, with cushioned chairs around it. Currently all those seats were filled besides two, signifying that Floki and Ivar were the last to arrive at the meeting.

Ragnar Lothbrok looked up as they entered the meeting room, appearing both suave and intimidating in his gray business suit and hair plaited. "Where have you two been?" He narrowed his piercing eyes at Floki. "I thought Helga wanted you to stop smoking."

"Your son is very convincing." Floki shrugged.

The patriarch's lips twitched in a suppressed smirk. He waved at the almost full table. "Sit. Let's get this started."

At the beginning of each month, Ragnar liked to meet with his sons and few trusted advisors to review the past month and discuss anything important in the future. It was his way of checking in with progress and making sure everyone was doing their jobs, while keeping all informed. Ivar typically found the meetings boring and a waste of time, but he made sure to attend them like a dutiful son.

In this particular meeting, Ragnar discussed how he would be meeting with Ecbert of Saxon Industries in a week, an impromptu decision but Ecbert had insisted of its necessity.

Ivar rolled his eyes but kept his thoughts to himself. He knew by the way Floki clenched and unclenched his fist on Ivar's left that he felt the same way. A glance at his brothers showed the two latecomers were not the only skeptical ones. Ecbert and Ragnar had a mutual respect for one another but it did not stop them from betraying and trying to sabotage each other's businesses when it pleased them. Aella, who ran the Northern part of Saxon Industries, made no qualms about showing his disdain for Ragnar and his family, labeling them nothing more than "power-mongering, bloodthirsty heathens who allowed their animalistic tendencies to rule them".

To say there was bad blood between Ragnar and his sons with Aella was an understatement.

Years prior, Saxon Industries had been the leader in imports and exports in the United Kingdom and Ireland but all that changed once Ragnar set his gaze upon those shores. Now, Ragnarssons Trading was the powerhouse of the United Kingdom, Scandinavia, and France, with that influence expanding even more as trade flourished around the Mediterranean.

Saxon Industries was forced to turn their ventures to North America, something that caused resentment from both Ecbert and Aella, even if Aella was the only one vocal about it.

Ivar personally thought they should just wipe out the competition, utterly destroy Saxon Industries until it held no hope of recovery. It would also send the perfect message to any who tried to compete against them in the future.

At the conclusion of the meeting, Ivar rose from his seat, still moving slower than normal. He could feel the tenderness in his muscles and bones. A silent threat to his body. The concerned looks from those around did not help. It only happened every few months now, but he still hated the pitying looks.

"Ivar, I need to speak with you." Ragnar announced, momentarily breaking off his conversation with Torstein and Sigurd at the head of the table. Ivar nodded his understanding. With a muted groan, he sat back down in the plush chair and pulled out his phone.

"Want me to wait for you?" Hvitserk asked, coming to his side.

"Nah, go ahead. I'll see you at home."

Hvitserk gently clapped him on the shoulder then leaned down to whisper smugly. "Tell Kari hello from me."

"Fuck off!" Ivar said, making his elder brother laugh as he walked out.

Speaking of, Ivar opened his phone to view the response from Kari to his previous message.

Kari: unbelievable.

For a second, he considered replying but closed out of the text. At this late hour, she would already be asleep due to how early she regularly woke up. Instead he decided to wait until the morning to reply.

Soon enough, everyone trickled out of the meeting room leaving him alone with his father. Once it was just the two of them, Ivar watched as the confident, composed expression typical on his father's face slid away to reveal something more haggard. He straightened in his chair when his father walked across the room and pointedly closed and locked the doors before taking the seat next to him.

Ragnar rubbed a hand down his face, gazing out the open window before them. A sudden falling star streaked across the sky, momentarily distracting Ivar from his impatience, which thudded in his chest like a drum, growing louder and louder each moment his father kept them locked in silence.

"What I'm going to tell you does not leave this room. If you have any questions, you come to me directly. Understood?"

Turning his head to eye his father with intrigue, Ivar nodded. "Understood."

Only after that did Ragnar shift to meet Ivar's intense blue eyes with his own. "Our security system caught an email being sent out which contained an itemized list of some shipments we will be sending next month to our friends in Finland."

Ivar's eyebrows rose. About ninety percent of Ragnarssons Trading was legal, something his father was very proud of considering how the company started. That hidden ten percent, it allowed them to stay connected to the black market and underground trading, to know things before they happened. Most recently they had made contact with a new buyer from Finland who had an affinity for certain illegal weapons.

Ragnar leaned forward, rubbing a hand over his mouth before continuing as if it pained him to utter the words. "It seems the damn email was supposed to be encrypted but somehow never fully transitioned, leaving half of it legible. We know it was sent from this building."

"Do you know who the recipient was?"

"The Russian mafia in Thailand."

Ivar sharply inhaled, his mind furiously working on the implications, plus what their next steps should be. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to find out who the fuck is selling us out. By any means necessary….and I want to burn them alive."

A sinister grin grew on Ivar's face, matching the one on his father's.

"Consider it done."

"Good." Ragnar absent-mindedly tapped the table with his fist. "This is your main priority but completely confidential, not even a word to your brothers."

"You think it's one of them?"

"No, but we don't know who is close to them that it might be." Ragnar reassured.

Ivar rubbed a hand over his mouth as he thought, eyes drifting to the window. "I'll trace from my office. If the need arises, I'll go to Norway with Mother."

"Good. You've never failed me. I know you won't in this."

Ivar's heart swelled at the praise, something he rarely received from his ambitious and frequently absent father, especially during his childhood.

After a long moment, Ragnar reclined back in his chair, a small smirk on his face. "Your eyes are blue."

"They are always blue, courtesy of your genetics." Ivar retorted harshly, already knowing where this was going.

"You know what I mean, Ivar." His father flatly stated. "If you break something, your mother will be breathing down both of our necks."

"I'm not a fucking child, I can take care of myself."

Ragnar hummed, seeming amused by his son's antagonized state. "Don't come into the office tomorrow."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want to."

"Start whatever you want, but for gods' sake, stay in bed where you can rest. If I get a call that you're in the damn hospital with a broken bone, I'll break something else on you." He threatened, pointing a finger at his son.

Ivar sneered, "Mother will skin you alive."

Ragnar chuckled darkly, leaning back once again. "No, her style would be to sabotage me somehow. Now get out of here. Your brothers planned on going out for drinks tonight, are you going to join them?"

He opened his mouth to answer when an impulsive idea latched itself in his mind. "No…." He answered slowly, a wicked smirk curled on his lips. "I think I'm going to bed."

"Alright."

Ivar rose, leaning on his cane. After taking a few steps away, he turned back to see his father watching him curiously. "Doesn't mean it's going to be my bed."

With that, he walked out of the meeting room to the sound of Ragnar laughing loudly behind him.

*****

He closed the bedroom door silently behind him, pleased with how the house remained quiet as he moved about. It was nearing two in the morning and the last thing he wanted was the police called with the neighbors thinking he was a burglar or something ridiculous.

Gently, he leaned his cane against the wall then proceeded to slip his shoes and shirt off. He dropped them on the floor, overly aware of any noise he made. Carefully, he maneuvered to the side of the bed, feeling very much like a thief in the night though he ignored it, and eased his legs out of his braces, setting them on the ground. Next, he slid under the rumpled covers, pleased when the bed's other occupant did not wake. His heart pounded in his chest though it did not deter his actions, if anything the forbidden feel spurred him on. Laying on his side, he placed his arm around her. Cautious of his body, he scooted closer to her until his chest was to her back. Before he could fully relax, she began to stir.

"Mmmm?"

He tenderly placed a kiss on the back of her neck before murmuring. "Shhh, go to sleep."

"Ivar?" Kari asked sleepily, her body tensing under his touch.

"Yes. Go back to sleep."

At his words, she twisted in his arms to face him, his arm still over her waist comfortably. He could hear the sleep fading from her voice. "What? What are you doing here?"

"Trying to sleep." He answered coolly, a flash of irritation shooting through him. Why was she questioning him? All he wanted to do right now was sleep with her in his arms. The increasing pain in his traitorous body made him want to lash out. To demand she shut up and let them sleep. He bit his tongue before the venom could erupt. Logically he knew his presence was unexpected and surprising at this hour, but he had hoped she would be more excited to see him.

"That…. what? How did you get into my house?" She demanded, trying to wriggle out of his hold but to no avail.

"I have a key."

That easy statement made her freeze. "You have a key…." She slowly repeated. After a moment, she sighed, relaxing back into his embrace. "You know what, I'm too tired. We'll talk about that fact in the morning. Why are you here though?"

Maybe it was the darkness surrounding them or the enticing sleepy voice of hers, either way he found himself answering honestly…. a bit too honestly. He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he quietly confessed. "I missed you….and I don't want to be alone."

They laid there for several seconds in a tense silence. Even though she did not pull away from him, he could practically feel her over-thinking. If she told him to leave right now, he wondered if his dark heart would splinter. Over the past month she had become so vitally important to him. When he first met her, his interest had been fueled by lust plus the mystery and innocent aura around her. He wanted her. Now though, it had moved beyond want. It was a need. As much as he needed air to breathe, his mind and body coveted her. She somehow slipped past his guarded heart to entangle herself in his very core. Her presence soothed the violence that controlled his mind, she gentled his rage. She cared about him, not because of who or what he was, like everyone else. No, she cared about him as his own person, as simply Ivar.

Finally, she spoke in a resigned whisper. "Fine. Go to sleep, Ivar."

"I was trying to but someone kept asking me questions." He quipped, in hopes to hide the joy and relief in his voice.

She grumbled, then turned over and tried to move away from him but he was not going to have that. Not now. Not where he wanted her to be after so long. Where she deserved to be. With the arm around her waist, he pulled himself against her until they were spooning. At first, she attempted to fight him, squirming away, but after a few moments she surrendered. A barely suppressed chuckle escaped him, as he tightened his hold on her. She felt so perfect in his arms, like the gods created her to fit flawlessly against him, two puzzle pieces that finally found their match. He pressed his face into her hair, nuzzling into her. His elation only increased when her fingers intertwined with his that were splayed just under her breasts. A fond smile danced on his lips at her acceptance.

Within moments, he felt her go limp against him, sleep consuming her one again. He lightly kissed the back of her neck, pleased when he thought he heard a content hum come from her at the action.

Knowing his kitten, there would be hell to pay come morning, but for now, he needed this. Her body against his, to feel her heartbeat, to know she was safe. It was something that was no longer optional. He felt a man possessed, bewitched. Everything about her cast him under her spell- her beauty, her friendship, her tenderness towards him, the silly ways she made him laugh, and how she stood up for him. She was his. His responsibility. His devotion. His peace. His kitten. His alone.

"God natt, min skatt." He whispered against her skin. (Good night, my treasure)

It did not take long for him to follow her into sleep, more at peace in this moment than he had been for in years.

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saffron-nova21 · 4 years ago

Text

XIX. Secret Tours

Remember Me Masterlist

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

Warnings: Strong language

A/N: I know, I’m so sorry about the lack of a read more, I might try to add one later, but currently, they aren’t working on my phone and my laptop is out of commission. I’m really, really sorry, guys.

...

With a sweet, but sleepy, smile plastered on your lips, you step away from the train with Atsumu, your bag slung over your shoulder, finding yourself excited to meet Tetsurō in person. You might not have known him for very long, nor had you met him in person yet, but all he’d been was a good friend to you. One you had come to need and depend on, with all that had been going on in your life. All of those lonely days, who had texted you and grounded you throughout all of it? Not your brother, not any of your team mates, no... It had been a stranger you’d met through Twitter, by pure coincidence.

He was the one who had knocked some sense into you to stop giving Rintarō chances. He was the one who talked you into telling Atsumu what had happened, rather than continuing to allow yourself to be manipulated. He had been the one to tell you that quitting volleyball club and practicing on your own would be best, with the way the other team members continuously made you feel like shit and gave you the cold shoulder.

When you spot he and his best friend standing there, the latter with a game in his hands, you nearly jump out of your skin as a jolt of excitement runs through you.

Looking at who who assumed to be Kenma, you found yourself touched that Kenma continuously glanced up to search for you, immediately getting the sense that he probably didn’t do that very often.

You end up walking towards them without a word to your best friend. Though Atsumu would tease you later on, saying you were borderline running to the two. When they caught sight of you, Kenma and Tetsurō go bug-eyed for a moment. Kenma’s arms fall a bit as his attention shifts to you, completely.

Both of them were quickly able to come to one conclusion: Any pictures of you did you no justice.

As you reach them, you stop just short of them, having to retrain yourself from leaping on them both... They’d been so good to you, it only felt normal to want to hug them.

“Hi,” you grin at them both, effectively breaking their momentarily stunned silence, your smile shining nearly as brightly as the sun.

A grin emerges on Tetsurō’s face as he shakes his head and offers open arms, to which you nearly jump in, hugging him tightly. Very quickly, he had become your anchor, being there for you and believing in you, when even your team lost faith in you and you could only hope your embrace conveyed all of the emotions that you couldn’t voice.

Hugging Tetsurō felt like hugging an old friend, or an older brother you never got to see. His embrace felt warm and it made this sense of security wash over you that you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“Ready to go?”

“Of - fucking - course I am!” Your voice attracts the attention of people around you and makes Kenma look back down at his screen, being knocked from his trance. He hadn’t been staring, he hadn’t been staring, he hadn’t been stari — “I get to come and play volleyball with some of Tokyo’s best. Not to mention, Tokyo has some other-worldly pretty setters.”

Kenma doesn’t respond, his head just shooting up to give you a brief, almost confused glance look before returning his attention to his gaming device.

Though you don’t miss the reddening of his ears.

“Yeah, I meant you, Kenma, baby.” You grin, finally slipping from Tetsurō’s embrace to look at Kenma, who looks at you again.

Momentarily, the faux-blonde looks confused, before he lets out a small exhale, opening his own arms to you. Moving forward, you embrace him, without a care in the world that you hardly knew him. And as he rests his chin on your shoulder, you miss the slight smile that forms on his lips.

Pulling away after a moment, you allow Kenma back to his game, “You guys give some amazing fucking hugs. Just thought you should know.” You inform them, before turning to face an oddly quiet Atsumu.

You always complimented people a lot and borderline flirted with everyone around you, until you and Suna started dating. And now, you were back to being your normal flirty self.

Though Atsumu was the same way, consistently flirting with everything that breathed.

You both weren’t together, you’d just been flirting, putting your past feelings out in the open, and opening the doors to a relationship between you both maybe having a relationship one day.

There was nothing exclusive between you both, as far as you were aware. Not to mention that he was still talking up a storm with his fan club, just yesterday.

But apparently you were wrong.

...

You shouldn’t have been as excited as you were about touring Nekoma High. You’d be transferring for your final year of high school, leaving behind all of the people you’d met. Leaving, even if Suna could regain his memories any day now, leaving even though you and Atsumu had only just laid out all of your feelings out on the table, together.

As you approach the large gym, a smile forms on your face, eyes shining as if you’d just opened a present. Everyone around you could see the way you picked up your pace and held your head up higher, even if you didn’t quite notice it.

Entering the gym, you looked around, glancing at all of the people who looked towards you at your entrance. As much as you wanted to shy away from the attention, you couldn’t, just grinning as Tetsurō comes to stand next to you.

The realization seems to hit them, the teams walking over to speak and introduce themselves.

You were so caught up that you didn’t notice the way Atsumu watched you. Even though he introduced himself and conversed with his normal lazy smirk, he couldn’t miss the way you smiled.

For so many weeks, your smiles had been half-hearted. They hadn’t quite reached your eyes, and everyday, it seemed like you were dragging your feet, just waiting, wishing the days would come to an end. So how could he miss your first genuine smile in weeks? How could he miss the way your eyes lit up, while you looked around? How could he miss the way you spoke to them excitedly, without having to hold your tongue for fear of people attacking you for what you said? How could he miss the way you clicked so easily with these people?

That's the thing. He couldn't.

...

"I think you'll really like the people here, too. Of course, every high school can have a toxic atmosphere, but it hasn't really ever gotten half as bad over here as what you've had to deal with, in the past months." Tetsurō explains with a grin playing on his lips.

"Over here are some of our other clubs. I assumed you'd be signing up for the volleyball club, but in case you truly wanted a clean break, here you are." Reaching a hand to the bulletin, he pulls off one of the many sheets, filled with different clubs. "Do you want to look at the classrooms, or would you rather tour the courtyard?"

Thinking momentarily, you roll your shoulders in a nonchalant shrug, "Honestly, you said it yourself, the Chemistry classroom was the most interesting and you already showed it to me, so the courtyard sounds best."

With a nod and a teasing smirk cast in your direction, a 'this way, your highness' came from your friend.

Walking to the courtyard with Tetsurō, you smile, "So... Kenma. He's... Interesting."

The Captain goes bug-eyed at your words, though it's hidden behind a curtain of messy black hair, from the angle you're looking at him. He quickly hides it with a discreet shake of his head. "What happened to that setter of yours, that you were so in-love with?"

Embarrassment floods you, your face growing warm as your bring a hand to rub the back of your neck. "What-?" Your feigned ignorance doesn't fly with your new friend, though, who makes you drop your 'act' with a knowing look. "Look, I love Atsumu... But am I in love with him?" You sigh. "I told him that it might be possible that I attempted to move on with him... But I know how he's going to take it, when I tell him I'm changing schools.

"I love Atsumu, I do... But I know him better than anyone else. Except for maybe Osamu. And knowing him so well means knowing that he's not going to want to accept it. He's going to think I'm abandoning him and lash out. Then he'll feel guilty, but won't apologize, because he's prideful."

Tetsurō furrows his brows, looking at you, "Then what are you going to do? Just not say anything when you disappear, next school year?"

Looking around, you smile a bit up at the bright blue sky. A few fluffy white clouds decorated it, but otherwise, it was nothing but clear skies. It almost made you forget the fact that Atsumu wouldn't be able to handle you moving schools. He'd nearly lost his shit when you had changed middle schools and the only way that he had kept his cool was knowing you'd be going to the same high school together.

"I don't know."

Tetsurō nods a bit in understanding, opting not to say much more on the topic.

As Tetsurō continued to give you the tour, neither of you noticed the texts from Kenma, warning you that Atsumu had left the gym in search of 'the bathroom' and hadn't come back.

And you would soon find yourself regretting not checking your phone.

Tetsurō honestly hopes that you and Kenma get along. He worries about Kenma, for after he goes to university, and knowing that he's leaving someone behind who will make sure Kenma takes care of himself makes him feel a lot better.

Atsumu wants you happy. But he wants you happy with him. Even if you're not dating, he knows distance can ruin friendships.

You know that you're attracted to Kenma - of course, you wouldn't call it a crush since you only just met him, but you do want to get to know him more.

I hope you guys are enjoying, still!

You guys better be eating some food, drinking some water, and taking care of yourselves mentally and physically. But remember, no matter what, I'm proud of you and I love you. You're doing great, today. Even if you just got out of bed, keep it up, because you're doing great, alright? Things will get better, I promise.

Taglist:

@kookie-doughs @halesandy @ermahgerd-larry-and-ziam @kac-chowsballs @saltylettuce @its-the-aerieljeane @javj @ash-levi @babyshoyo @hiraeth-z @random-fandom-girl-24 @kodzuklutz @tsukkiswifeey @thollandx @pandauniverse @starylust

#haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyū!! x reader #haikyū!! smau #suna rintarō smau #suna rintarō #suna smau

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pixelwisp-archive · 4 years ago

Text

Itadakimasu!! | Part 5: I Didn’ Ask (Written Chapter)

word count: 1.7k

Atsumu Miya was handsome, that was an undeniable truth. So naturally it would make sense that his identical twin brother would be, well, identical - and yet, you couldn't help the state of shock you found yourself in as you stood before him, your once buckling knees relieved of their pressure as his very large arms grab the box from your hands with a grunt ('lemme take that, looks heavy'). In all honesty, the fact that he was that good looking pissed you off, and watching him be kind, albeit taciturn, to you after bullying you for a month straight on Twitter (okay, fine, it was a mutual bullying, but he definitely started it) only made your scowl deepen. Your eyes narrowed at his back and you turned toward the van with a huff, finding another, perhaps lighter box to take inside.

"This place has been collecting dust for years, ya sure you guys can make it work?" Miya's voice was deep and rich, every syllable dripped with his Kansai accent. The unfamiliar sound made your chest bubble and you had to stop yourself from outwardly groaning in frustration. You crossed the threshold of the new place and your mouth fell open as you took in the shops current state.

The shop was- well, let's just say there was a reason it was so cheap. Even still, your eyes glittered at the potential you saw. The exposed beams looked in near mint condition as the sun filtered through the windows and soaked the unstained wood in a warm morning glow. It was empty, save for some appliances that definitely looked antique (the thought of being able to restore them made you drool), but the space had more than enough room for café style seating, and maybe even a section for a corner library or a stage for live music. The stairs to the two bedroom apartment that resided directly above the shop space, where you would be living, was tucked away in a hallway off to the side. You made a mental note to make sure it was a bit more livable than the current shop situation downstairs, and motioned for him to settle the boxes along the main counter.

"We're planning on restoring the kitchen within a few weeks, then setting up a pop up stand out front to make revenue while we renovate the rest. Hoping to be fully open come summer." He merely hummed in response as he brushed off the dust left on his hands. You were caught up in your own world, detailing in your brain every minute detail you planned on changing when Kuguri stumbled in through the front door, giant box obscuring his vision as he tripped over the step. "Ah, careful, looks fragile." Miya rushed over to help, taking the box and allowing Kuguri to steady himself. Kuguri blinked, warmth hitting his cheeks as he mumbled a small thank you.

“Don’ mention it,” came Miya’s slightly strained reply as he set the box down next to the others. The room fell into a less than comfortable silence and you tried to look anywhere other than at the man currently standing in your dining area. Kuguri cleared his throat and tightened the grip on his suitcase as he made his way over the stairs. "I'm gonna go check out the apartment. I'll be back in a bit." You shot him a pleading look but he mouthed a quick 'sorry' and scurried off, leaving you alone with the Other Twin.

More uncomfortable silence. You felt warmth rush to your face as you grew more flustered with each beat, neither of you willing to break the tension that had been slowly pervading the air around you like a dense fog. The suffocation ended up winning out over your stubbornness and you turned your head to look at him, embarrassment flooding at the sight of his eyes already on you.

"Uh, thanks, you know, for the help." He gave you a tight, forced smile, uttered a quick 'yer welcome', and began to make his way towards the side entrance. Arms crossed in front of you as you watched him open the door, the tiny alleyway and side entrance to his own shop coming into view. Miya paused at the open door and turned his head to look over at you, a smirk settling on his face.

"By the way, little creepy of ya to stalk us and rent out the space next to us. What are ya lookin' for here? I hope you know this new development doesn't change anythin' between us." Your eyes widened at the sudden change, your brain working overtime to try to process what he said. Once you had caught up to the moment, you scoffed.

"Oh please, Miya, as if. The world doesn't revolve around you. We bought this place over a month ago." His eyes shone with something you couldn't quite place and he let out a small chuckle, one that sounded far too innocent in comparison to his hard gaze. "Whatever you say, Paradis." You scrunched your nose at the familiar nickname, shaking your head.

"Don't call me that; I have a name, you know." Miya turned around to face you fully then, the smirk ever present as he leaned against the frame, his hand still grasping the handle to the shop door. "Ah yeah? You guys don' mention names on your Twitter, and I was always too (again, petty) lazy to bother lookin' it up," he drawled, deepening your frown in response.

"It's L/n Y/n." Miya's lazy smile upturned ever so slightly.

"Ah, I didn' ask, but thanks."

Embarrassment crashed over you once again and you felt the heat creep up your neck and ears. Your glare seemed to be filled to the brim with hellfire as you bore holes into his back. He turned to leave, and you followed after him, taking hold of the doorknob and watching him make the short distance back to Onigiri Miya's side entrance.

"I noticed you call me Miya, it's quite formal of you,” he noted, now at his own door. You let out a less-than-ladylike snort and waved your hand. "I wasn't being formal - coincidentally, I just also didn't bother looking it up." He laughed then, and it was a nice laugh, and you hated how nice it was with every fiber of your being.

"Osamu," he said, the smugness oozing off him, as if you were just dying to know his name and he decided to humor you. You stepped backward to make room for the door.

"Ah, I didn' ask, but thanks," you mocked, accent and all. You threw a shit eating grin and a quick wave his way before promptly shutting the door. When you saw what seemed like the five stages of grief cross his face in a span of a few seconds, you knew that putting Osamu Miya in his place was going to become your favorite past time.

Based on the way you two had tweeted each other over the last month, Osamu had deduced that you were probably a woman. What he wasn't expecting, however, was just how cute you ended up being. If you had been anyone else he probably would have been nothing short of a perfect gentleman; carrying all the boxes, smooth talking his way through conversation, and working himself up to asking you out. Unfortunately for him, though, there was just something about you that got under his skin, and he genuinely couldn't figure out what it was.

Osamu stood alone in the alleyway, giving himself a moment to process the last forty-five minutes of his life. Paradis Bakery, the company he's been openly beefing with on Twitter for the world to see, not only opened a second location in Osaka, but moved directly beside Onigiri Miya, in the place he had been looking into purchasing for at least six months now. The abandoned café was supposed to be a plan B in case Tokyo had to be pushed off for a few more years - being able to expand Onigiri Miya would have been huge for them if they couldn't swing the Tokyo location, and Kita had been more than open to the idea of expanding. When you said you purchased the café over a month ago, he remembered inquiring about the place at least two weeks prior to Atsumu's visit to your bakery, and the owner mentioning that someone had put in an offer. The sheer coincidence honestly creeped him out more than anything; he didn't like the feeling that fate was behind this because if it was - why?

Osamu shook off the goosebumps and decided he'd worry about fate intervening when it actually decided to do so. Turning toward his own shop, he hustled into the store with tense shoulders and a furrowed brow. Why was he so worked up? He's well aware that he's the one who started the whole social media war between you, and it's not like you guys actually had any reason to hate each other - you were just doing it for the attention. So why does he have this familiar feeling of contempt coursing through him at the mere thought of you?

"Osamu, are you okay? Ya sleep well?" Osamu snapped his attention to Kita, who was standing in the kitchen, already beginning food prep for the day. Kita's knife paused its assault on the spring onions as he waited for an answer.

"Ah, yeah, I slept fine Kita. Ya meet the new neighbors?" Kita nodded, resuming his ministrations. If you didn't know Kita, you would have just assumed the polite smile was just that - Osamu knew better though, and the slight upturn had a hint of what looked like mischief behind it. He gulped at the thought of Kita plotting.

"I met L/n. She's very nice." Osamu face scrunched at the mention of your name, which didn't go unnoticed by Kita, who's eyebrow shot up in surprise.

"You don't like her?"

"She's...fine." Osamu walked into the kitchen, putting on his apron as he washed his knife in preparation for the salmon.

"Honestly, I'm surprised, I thought you'dve taken a likin' to her if anything." Osamu grunted in response. "I dunno what it is, but there's just somethin' that rubs me the wrong way."

"Give it time, she may warm up to ya."

Osamu doubted that.

Prev | Masterlist | Next

Fun Facts -

Tendou got an earful when you called him that day, and he bit back a laugh every time you angrily mentioned how hot Osamu was (’Oh my god his face??? his arms??? Why’s the universe gotta have favoritism for the worst people’)

After hours, Kita also got an earful from Osamu - and he also had to cover his smile with his hand whenever Osamu angrily mentioned how cute you looked when you scrunched your face up. (’-and then she snorted, actually /snorted/, at me and while it was adorable it was rude as hell. She’s rude as hell, Kita.)

Kuguri rushed upstairs partly because he couldn’t stand the tension, but mainly because he wanted first dibs on bedrooms.

A/N: ahhh I’m SO sorry for such a long wait, I never intended to take nearly a whole ass week to post - I started a new job this week with weird hours so I had to adjust, plus this chapter actually gave me a little bit of grief haha (thank you lark for pulling my head out of my ass multiple times). But exciting things happen!! Y/n finally meets osamu and its awkward and annoying and they’re both so hot what do we do oh no~ I’m very excited to see how their relationship progresses through the next few chapters lol. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy, feel free to pop into my asks if you want to talk about the fic, or your day, or would like to be added to the taglist!! As always, thank you so much for reading, I love you guys!

Taglist -

@larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @fucktheworlddude @doctorspencereid @keiarma @cherriechurros @halesandy @k3nma-fairy @jewlmin @tabipleats @kaleidoscopekai

#Itadakimasu!!#osamu x reader #osamu miya smau #osamu smau #haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq smau #osamu miya x reader #hq!! smau #hq!! x reader

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mediaeval-muse · 3 years ago

Text

Life update and stuff. Feel free to scroll past - I won’t be mad.

I want to first apologize to the people who I know IRL and who are “internet friends” - people I talk to but haven’t really met IRL. I know I haven’t been very responsive for the past year and a half or so. Here’s why.

The year leading up to my dissertation defense in May 2020 was a little rough, but not too bad. It wasn’t until the defense that something in me snapped. I had to defend over Zoom because of the pandemic, and the impersonal feeling combined with the lack of celebration, the lack of being able to be hooded, etc. was disappointing. But it wasn’t just that - I also graduated at the worst possible time and couldn’t find any job in academia, so I had to move out-of-state to be supported entirely by my partner.

I realize I’m very privileged. My partner’s job wasn’t affected (he’s an essential worker in the field of pharmaceutical testing) and my partner makes enough money to support us both comfortably. But something about losing my entire community and being shut out of a field I really, REALLY wanted to be in was a lot to handle. Especially since I didn’t feel like I got a sense of closure.

After I “graduated,” my university no longer provided me with health insurance, so my partner and I had to rush to get married so I could be covered by his insurance and not experience any gaps in coverage. While I appreciated that our wedding wasn’t a big party with a lot of people, it also wasn’t really done on my terms, and I was admittedly a little salty about that. I’m very grateful that a very close friend officiated the ceremony and we could stream it to friends and family, but I was disappointed that I couldn’t have people I care about there (save for my parents and my partner’s parents).

I struggled to find a job after that. No one was hiring, and academia was going to shit. I eventually got an independent contracting job in July 2021, but to date, I’ve been paid less than $1000. It’s not a good source of income. Luckily, I was contacted by a recruiter at my partner’s company, so I might be getting an interview there, so maybe things will turn around if I can land the job.

We’re also looking to buy ya house because rent has gone up so much that it’s basically the same amount as a mortgage payment. Again, I know I’m privileged to be able to do this. I still find the process frustrating, as the housing market is still extremely competitive and we’ve already been outbid on 3 houses so far.

I started volunteering for a local climate organization, and that has been going well so far. I work on their monthly newsletter, though I had to stop doing their Twitter outreach because lately, doomerism on social media and exaggerated science has triggered panic attacks.

But perhaps the biggest struggle has been with my mental health. I finally started seeing a therapist for crippling anxiety and depression, which, in the last year and half, has fixated on climate change and feeling like the world is doomed. My mental health has been so poor lately that I have trouble doing things I like (like playing video games or drawing) and have been struggling to eat more than a coffee and a Pop Tart a day, and I’ve been compulsively seeking out and posting climate stories on my Facebook. I was having between 2-6 panic attacks per week, though lately, my therapist and I have gotten it down to 0-2 or 0-3. My therapist treated me for anxiety and depression for a few months before telling me that some of my symptoms resemble OCD, so although I haven’t received a diagnosis, I’m being treated as if I have OCD to see if that works. I’m currently not on any meds, as the therapist I see is part of a practice that focuses on holistic therapy. I don’t have anything against medication - this is just the practice that was in my insurance company’s pool. My therapist also isn’t anti-med and tells me when she thinks we’ve hit a wall and we should consider meds (I don’t want anyone dragging my therapist - she’s good and very honest). I haven’t sought out a primary care physician to get a prescription, though, for reasons that waver between being too lazy and still feeling like I don’t have “real problems.”

I’m sorry to my IRL and internet friends for not really telling you all this sooner. I probably won’t put this info on my other social media for a while, just because I don’t really want to talk about it other than making this post.

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arigatouiris · 4 years ago

Text

an inconvenient crush // kenma kozume x reader (1/2)

Author’s Note: A new story?? SO SOON?? Thank you for all the love for my previous Kuroo story, it meant the world to me. I write for myself primarily, yes, but it brings me SO MUCH JOY to know that my words reach you. It helps with the motivation to put them out more often. Thank you. This story is very close to my heart because I’m a gamer, although I don’t stream. I’m more like Kenma though, personality wise. Haha.

Word count: 5k+

Pairing: YouTuber! Kenma Kozume x Streamer! Reader

Summary: YouTuber Kozume Kenma has had the biggest crush on Twitch Streamer, (s/n) (y/n), who in actuality simps heavily after Kenma's secret YouTube persona, puddinghead0.

What happens when their paths cross?

Kuroo is honestly tired of Kenma's second-guessing, and (y/n) is a bit of a crackhead.

Warnings: unrequited love, one-sided crush, slight angst, pining, crackhead reader, internet bullying, slang, gaming references, haikyuu manga spoilers, fluff

C h a p t e r O n e : puddinghead0

Kozume Kenma suddenly turned existential when his eyes shifted to his phone screen for the 12th time in ten minutes.

Was he always doing this? Was he always obsessed with his phone to a point where he'd constantly check for notifications? Did this mean he was deeply lonely on the inside and wanted approval from people on a virtual platform, which meant that the approval was also virtual and none of it was real? Did it mean that he craved to nullify the growing void in his chest by distracting himself with a black mirror that showcased light that could permanently impair his sight?

He let out a breath and forced himself not to look at his phone. He didn't care. It didn't matter. That's what he always said.

"Hey!" His classmate/room-mate screamed from the entrance to his flat, "Are you watching her stream? Posted two minutes ago!"

His phone was definitely slow. He had been checking his phone but there was no notification. Letting out a breath, and giving himself a mental reason to actually check his phone, Kenma opened the notifications tab to see the one notification he had kept his eye out for had been buried under ridiculous facebook notifs.

An inconvenient crush, that's what he told himself whenever he looked at you. You were a streamer, a bit different from what he did on YouTube because you were primarily on Twitch. There were reaction videos of you on YouTube, which was where he found you, but damn—how could one be pretty while rage-quitting a game? It was abnormal. Nothing about you was normal; college student/Twitch streamer, an apparent baker in your mother's bakery, game reviewer for Sony, and you were insanely cute.

"She's getting to that part," his roommate commented from behind Kenma's back, while Kenma really just wanted to watch the video in peace, "Shit, she's gonna cry."

You did cry, quite a few times, and too easily if he could add. You cried at the ending of God of War, you cried to The Last of Us (which made sense, but you were perhaps just bawling throughout the entire game), you cried in a game called Detroit: Become Human, you cried far too easily, but you never really quit. He loved how passionate you were about games, and it was the sort of passion he could completely understand.

"Oh shit," You said in the video, your eyes scanning all over the game screen, "What's happening? What's happening?"

Kenma chuckled at how cute you were, god, you were killing him. You looked worried, and he could visibly see a sweat drop on your forehead, but you were so focused that it didn't matter. Suddenly, there was a screaming sound from the game you were playing, and your eyes popped open as wide as they possibly could and you just sat there, unmoving. He loved how you never squealed or made any loud reactions, except when you were in a fight with a difficult boss, but whenever something traumatic happened, you just froze and sunk it all in. You were currently playing the second part of The Last of Us, and a traumatic scene was definitely happening. Kenma had just finished playing it the night before, so every scene you were playing was familiar.

"I officially hate this game," You said, your voice breaking and he desperately wanted to hold you, "Fucking hell."

"God, she's amazing." Kenma's roommate said, eyes turning into literal hearts.

"Hm." Yeah, she is, Kenma thought, but could never really say.

As a YouTuber himself who streams games, he was aware that you were not as popular, and it was a fact that he really didn't like. Sure, you were on a less popular platform, but Twitch was incredibly popular by itself as well. He also understood the bias that came with being a female gamer, and while it sounded ridiculous to him, Kenma was one of those people who believed gaming required no gender.

He adored your content, and he secretly adored the hell out of you, so seeing you soar would only make him happy.

"I... I can practically feel what pain she's feeling right now," You spoke about the game, a lone tear threatening to leak out of your eye, "But! We shall persevere. I've been waiting 7 years for this game, so I won't let... won't let something like this halt my interest. Let's see if this has a point to it all."

God, he adored you. But, Kenma considered it an inconvenient crush because of course, the world was small. The first big crush he has on someone and he hoped it would remain over the internet, but it just had to become something more tangible, something that could make him weak in the knees.

You, a college student/Twitch streamer, an apparent baker in your mother's bakery, a game reviewer for Sony, insanely cute, and also happened to be one of his YouTube channel's biggest fans.

He had only recently discovered your personal twitter handle, and dear lord, you were simping after him with no remorse. It wasn't as if he was all you talked about, but he had also noticed the trajectory of the games you were playing were on par with his own timeline. Kenma had finished his final stream for The Last of Us II just the night before and you had now started playing it. Right before that, it was Bloodborne, and before that, it was Final Fantasy VII Remake. However, your public handle was a lot more professional and despite knowing that it was there, he hadn't sent you a follow request because well, Kenma called himself an introvert in every matter but Kuroo just said he was shy.

While he knew that he could easily approach you and have you know he knew of your existence, Kenma preferred not to get into such detail. It was comfortable admiring you from afar, and it was comfortable being where he was—he had his company to work hard over, he was also a computer student and a YouTuber. Sure, he had his hands full especially after calling you abnormal for something that he himself was doing, but he never really fit into a bracket anyway. Kenma's latent obsession with you was something he wasn't particularly proud of and this wasn't because it had anything to do with you, but simply because he didn't want to make a big deal out of it. Change, in many ways, scared him. And by changing the structure or dynamics of him admiring you in secret, while you admired him not so secretly, Kenma was certain that it might not lead where he may have wanted it to go.

Surely, Kuroo was against this sort of caution, calling it cowardly and saying it lacked passion; but Kenma knew it was just a crush. There was no way he could deduce the kind of person you were based on how you gamed or reacted to games, based on the little tid-bits of information you gave out while playing those games, or even how you openly spoke about how much you admired 'puddinghead0's videos. Kenma hated Kuroo for giving him that name, but he was too lazy to come up with a new one.

"Also," You sprung up in the final two minutes of your latest video, "I'm on Patreon, now! I honestly have no idea how it works, but if you really like the content I make and want to support me, you can become a patron and wish me luck!"

Kenma waited for his stupid roommate to go out of his room before he could open Patreon and find your link, which was thankfully in the description. Without a second thought, he donated to your profile but cussed instantly when he realized what he had done.

He had sent you a donation as himself, as 'puddinghead0's Patreon.

Without a second thought, Kenma called Kuroo and explained what had happened.

"That is why, Kenma, you need to check a thousand times and not let blind love navigate your actions—"

"If I knew you were going to spout such nonsense I wouldn't have called you."

He could hear Kuroo snicker while he ran a hand through his hair. Kenma groaned before Kuroo said, "How bad is this, Kenma? She'll be happy. Of course, this means she'll know you watch her content, but how bad can this be?"

"I didn't want her to know."

"And leave her devoid of the happiness of having her idol appreciate her content? You're cold, Kenma."

"You don't understand. What if... What if she tries to contact me?"

"You, my friend, have not even shared your personal account anywhere. The only way she can contact you is by commenting on your videos, which I am sure you check constantly to see if she did comment, or Tweeting, which she does every three days."

Kenma blushed at the accusation because it was true.

"She won't know who you are. Besides, there's no harm if she even does contact you! Just tell her casually that yeah, you like her contact. I don't see what the big deal is."

"Of course you don't—"

"Oh, she's tweeted something."

Kenma's entire body froze. Leaving Kuroo on the call, Kenma opened Twitter on his laptop and there it was, your latest tweet.

I am trying NOT to freak out over puddinghead sending me a donation on Patreon, pls save my soul, I am dead.

Kenma groaned before hearing Kuroo laugh once more, "She's adorable!"

I know that, Kenma thought before feeling his entire face flash up. Ending Kuroo's call, Kenma looked at your public profile before then moving to your personal one. He wasn't following that one either, but he wanted to see your tweets, he wanted to know more about you—he wouldn't deny any of these facts, but Kenma believed it was far too idiotic to dream of getting to know you through a virtual media. He wasn't even the sort of person to become close to people he met in real life, how could he allow himself a virtual friendship?

The thought staggered him, and the idea behind it was what kept him at bay. Kenma wanted to know about you, talk to you, learn about who you were and what you were doing, but he felt the media that connected you was what separated you.

It wasn't cowardice at all if he was just sticking to the facts and being real.

The next day, Kenma walked to his class by himself, listening to the latest podcast by Joe Rogan. While the external sound wasn't entirely muted, Kenma could discern sounds of people talking, cars moving around, and other noises even though he was playing the podcast on full sound. However, there was one sound in particular that stood out. Kenma paused before turning to his right, noticing a crowd of people had gathered there, with some sort of event going on. He didn't pay attention to half the events that his college conducted, his mind was obviously quite busy elsewhere, but when the announcer moved around in a weird Joker cosplaying outfit, Kenma was a tad bit intrigued.

Was it gaming related?

He slowly moved toward the crowd before finally being able to hear what the anchor was saying.

"We've got prizes for the top three best performers, and one of the participants is the one and only (s/n) (y/n), streamer from Twitch!"

Kenma froze, half-minded to run the hell away from there. But, it seemed as if his feet were stuck to the ground. How had he not known this? Didn't you always announce the events you go to? Why were you suddenly here? A second later, he spotted you, hair put up in an updo, a plain black tee, and regular jeans. You were smiling, but some part of that smile seemed a bit hesitant.

"We will be playing a bit differently today! Instead of the usual Fortnite battles or Apex Legends, we'll be going went and battling out on Red Dead Online! And of course, if you beat (y/n) here you earn bragging rights!"

He noticed you shift in your position a little bit, clearly uncomfortable with the attention you were getting; it didn't even look like you wanted to be there. Kenma could feel his chest hurt, and his palms were sweating now. That's all it is, he told himself. An inconvenient crush, an inconvenient crush, that's all.

Kenma sighed before noticing how he barely knew anyone there and was almost thankful for that fact; but before he could thank his stars, a hand threw itself around his neck and sprung him forward, earning the attention of not just everyone there, but especially you.

"We have our first participant," It was his goddamn roommate, "Kenma's a brilliant gamer!"

Kenma's eyes immediately found yours, and you were looking at him with wide, confused eyes. Although this was set in the open and the atmosphere was quite cold, Kenma felt nothing but warmth radiating all over his body at the mere sight of you; you were just a few feet away, and you were giving him a rather sympathetic expression, and god, you looked so fucking pretty—

"That's great! Sign up, ya'll! Winner will be winning a brand new DualShock 4!"

Oh fuck, Kenma thought before he felt his heart beginning to pound. He was now seated beside you, and he could practically shrink into non-existence. You were unmoving, and you weren't looking at him, but would you have looked at him if you knew he was puddinghead? Insecurity swarmed his being and he could practically feel steam escaping his ears but a moment later, he thought he'd die.

"This was so last minute," you said, rubbing the back of your neck, "The anchor's my cousin and she's so demanding."

"Oh," Kenma said, feeling his heartbeat skyrocket, "I see."

"Yeah! I mean," You giggled now, "I'm not even good at Red Dead Online!"

Kenma smirked, knowing the fact already. You struggled with Red Dead Redemption not because you were bad, but because you couldn't progress with a plot so divisive. You wanted to explore more, and since the game was so vast, you barely bothered with the Online version. You turned to him now and tilted your head.

"You're a gamer, I heard? Kozume-kun, right?"

Fuck, she knows my name, "Y-Yeah. I game when I'm free."

"Do you have a Twitch or YouTube?"

There's no fucking way I'll answer that, "No—"

"Ah, you must really be having a great time then."

Kenma blinked before turning to you with confusion. What did you mean?

"Don't you enjoy streaming?"

"Ah, no, no," You flailed your hands shyly, and Kenma believed he could combust, "It's not like that. I just think, after a point, streaming becomes more for the fans than for yourself. I used to do it for me, but now... I'm needed in places like this for promotion, and I need to have a Patreon if I'm popular or it'll look weird, I don't know... Too many restrictions. I just love gaming, you know?"

Kenma found himself smiling, "Yeah, I know. I've seen your videos."

"Oh?"

Kenma's eyes widened. He wanted to slap himself on his forehead.

"I—I mean, y-you're popular."

"Thanks! You're really sweet, Kozume-kun!"

Fucking hell, Kenma placed a hand on his forehead, She's too cute.

"Say," you said, a sly tone to your voice, "Do you want to get out of here?"

"I'd do anything." Kenma honestly agreed.

But, you couldn't just up and leave. You were called here as Twitch streamer (s/n) (y/n), and that meant your behavior was restricted. As much as you seemed to hate said restriction, Kenma was certain that you wouldn't go against it. It could take a big blow against your viewership, and you wouldn't take that chance.

A second later, your hand gripped his wrist before you shot him a wink. Kenma's heart jumped to the skies before you pulled him away from the crowd, with participants lining the entrance to enter their names. Sure, you were doing something bad—your cousin wanted you there, but not once had she even asked if you wanted to be a part of this event. Just as Kenma was pulled in without his consent. You weren't a competitive gamer, and you were not going to be, even if it was for someone else. After running away a fair distance, Kenma felt the part of his wrist burn right where you were touching him.

"I think I need to run more in real life and not just as Ellie." You said, and Kenma chuckled.

"Running's good."

"I used to run track," You said, turning to him. "Now I run in games and that's it."

You have no right being that cute, he thought before clearing his throat. He slowly pulled away from you, which made your eyes widen before shooting him an apologetic smile. He was a bit confused as to what you had done, did this mean you didn't care about losing followers?

"You might think that I've committed career suicide," You scoffed, "Honestly, this is the bravest I've been in so long."

"What do you mean?"

You shrugged, "Ever since I became a bit popular by streaming, I've just... I could feel myself change with the way my viewers wanted me to be? I don't blame them or anything, I just think that the love I get from them makes me yearn for more. And that yearning leaves me... inept to be myself. It's the downside of wanting to remain popular, I guess."

"It's not like you can't be yourself and still be popular." Kenma added.

"Yeah I know," You said, "I mean, just look at puddinghead0, we don't even know what he looks like, and wow. I adore his content."

Kenma froze once more. Was this being recorded? Did Kuroo finally tip you off and was this being filmed for his reaction? Whatever it was, he wasn't going to reveal to you now.

"Y-Yeah, I think he just doesn't care."

"I wish I was more like that because I end up caring. I like the comments and the views and the love. Agh, it's such a weird complex moral question. Don't even get me started."

Kenma laughed at your reaction before you turned to him and stuck a tongue out. Kenma rolled his eyes before waving a hand at you.

"If anything," Kenma said, looking at the ground, "You didn't lose this follower today."

Your eyes widened at his statement. You smiled before nodding, and let out a chuckle.

"Thank you, Kozume-kun."

Locking the door to his room, Kenma began to edit for his latest video. He was making a review for The Last of Us 2, but his mind was elsewhere. He still hadn't told Kuroo that he had met you, which would only cause the black-haired man to tease him relentlessly. Letting out a sigh, he felt sleep douse his eyelids as he continued the edit, right before a notification popped up on his phone.

It was you.

He narrowed his eyes before checking the date and time; it was unusual for you to stream live on random days. He'd learned your pattern by now. You'd been doing this for a couple of months, and it was quite easy for him to know just when and what time you'd begin. However, the screen for The Last of Us 2 was open and you looked like you had just stopped crying. His heart broke at the sight, and he instantly closed the tabs to his own edit, before opening your video on his monitor. You were taking deep breaths before chuckling.

"Hello to everyone that's still with me," You sounded so broken, Kenma felt helpless as he continued staring at you, "You might be wondering why I'm... yeah. So, I did something and I guess I got punished for it? I was forced into a game contest and I think walking out of it made some of my followers mad. I even spoke to this other person about walking out and honestly, it didn't hit me then that what puddinghead's doing takes a lot of courage."

"Ah, fuck, (y/n)," Kenma groaned.

"I guess even when I expected to lose followers, I didn't expect the hate? Some of the comments were just... nasty. I..." You sniffed, "...I didn't expect that you would hate on someone for making a personal choice? And I didn't do it to offend anyone, I seriously don't know how the internet works. Oh, oh wow—" You looked troubled and Kenma could see why. "—losing out on viewers now, great. 'Don't be a whiny bitch', 'This is why girls shouldn't game'..."

You took a deep breath before calming down and saying the few words Kenma feared you might eventually come around to say.

"This is (y/n), signing off to a world where gaming is appreciated and is not filled with a community of hate. Hope to see you there."

And the stream ended.

Kenma sighed before leaning back, no thought in his head. He knew for a fact that his room-mate must have seen the stream as well, and Kuroo would be calling him about the entire ordeal just to ensure he had something to say about it. Kenma, on the other hand, felt like he had practically pushed you to make this decision and partly felt like taking the blame, despite the common sense telling him that he had nothing to do with it. You weren't the sort of person who would jump at something without a second thought, and even if he didn't know you personally, he had been following you and your streams for months now. It felt like he knew that part of you quite well.

Kuroo was the first to call. Kenma stared at the phone for a bit before letting out a breath and getting back to editing his video. He only had to add commentary, and his mind was already circling on what to say.

Uploading the video took him exactly two more hours, after having missed three calls from Kuroo and twelve messages. At one point, Kuroo had even stopped contacting Kenma, thinking he was busy with something, and he was spot on. Kuroo's eyes wandered on the new notification about his friend's YouTube channel, which was weird considering it was not yet time for him to post something. He knew quite well that Kenma might have definitely seen (y/n)'s stream, and wanted to desperately talk to him about it, but without a clue of what the boy was thinking, Kuroo simply clicked on the notification and let the video play out.

It was the review for the game, The Last of Us 2, and Kuroo knew while giving the review, which was around 8-9 minutes, Kenma would speak his thoughts that were a tad bit uncensored toward the end. He'd talk about the drama surrounding the game, he would even bring up the entire hate that this game was receiving, but instead—Kenma had a rather strange dialogue instead.

"One thing I don't understand is how toxic the gaming community can be, at times," Kuroo paused, narrowing his eyes at his friend's words, "While we welcome new gamers to the entire journey of learning and discovering the joy of gaming, we also tend to put them down if they didn't adhere to a certain trend. I came across one such incident happening to (s/n) (y/n)'s Twitch channel."

"Holy shit!" Kuroo sat up straight, eyes wide as saucers at the bold move his friend made.

"I'm part of this community and I think I have the right to call out how toxic we are in general,"

Kenma's voice didn't even waver, but after knowing him his entire life, Kuroo could deduce that the boy was a bit angry,

"(y/n) didn't particularly do anything wrong, and she's received some nasty comments about being a female gamer, and I think that's...just disgusting. She has all the right to either attend or ditch a gaming event, and no one has to be forced to do something they don't want to do. We all have games we don't like despite being gamers, we don't have to do it all. I support (y/n), and I'll admit, I'm saddened by how her fans have treated her. Her content is great and I have immense respect for her. I hope she decides to come back and stream more. That being said, I think The Last of Us 2 is..."

As he got around to talk more about the game, Kuroo knew that this was a huge step for Kenma, and he had no idea what suddenly made the boy rethink his entire decision on never bringing her up. Now that he had, he's indirectly initiated a conversation with her, she'd definitely try and reach out now—in any way she possibly could, just to thank him at least.

Kuroo noticed his phone ringing a second later and a grin made its way to his lips.

"What just happened?"

"I met her, Kuroo," Kuroo almost had the wind knocked out of him, "She was at my college campus. I was walking back to my room since classes were canceled. There was some sort of gaming event. She didn't want to be a part of it, and neither did I, and we ditched. It was—"

"You like her more now, don't you?"

When Kuroo received nothing more than silence from Kenma's end, he was certain. His precious, introverted, best boy had fallen for someone. It was a proud moment, almost.

"You have to tell her—"

"Kuroo, this... this is all I want to do."

"That's bullshit, and even you know that."

"What? You want me to open up to her and tell her I'm the YouTuber she's been gushing about for so long and I was the one who kind of pushed her into doing what she did, and so that she can hate me afterward for hiding the truth because I wouldn't be losing out on anything and she—"

"Whoa there, Kenma. I'm just saying go talk to her as her favorite YouTuber. You're overthinking this."

"No, you're underthinking this. I did what I had to do. It was... hard to see her like that."

Kuroo let out a sigh but before he could say anything, Kenma had already ended the call. That boy needs to grow a pair, he thought, a bit annoyed at Kenma's nature of avoiding his feelings. While Kenma believed it was for the best, he knew he was simply running away from it. Kuroo knew his friend adored (y/n), but the boy couldn't categorize that as real feelings because he's met her just once. Finding something real virtually scared him more than finding something real in real life, and while Kuroo wanted to understand that, it only annoyed him because Kenma wasn't even trying.

When you watched puddinghead0's recent video, you were jaw-dropped in awe and absolute admiration. Tears filled your eyes, but what was more was how his voice now seemed a tad bit familiar, though you didn't pay any heed to it since you've been following this channel for an entire year now. It moved you to know someone you've been admiring has been watching your content, but at the same time, he was speaking up for you? You wanted to thank him, you wanted to send him a message and say you were incredibly grateful for what he's done and the only way you knew you could say something was on Twitter.

So you mentioned him on a tweet and poured your heart out within character limit. You wondered if he would notice your tweet since you've mentioned him countless times before, but even if he didn't, even if he paid you no heed after all of this, you were still grateful. However, a second later, you received a new follower. You blinked upon noticing that it was Kozume-kun from the other day. A soft smile fell on your lips at the soft recollection of running away from a gaming event, after which everything spiraled, but you didn't in any way blame him. Your mind again drifted back to puddinghead0 and you sighed.

I'd kill to see him, man, you thought, eyeing your tweet of him dreamily.

A second later, there was a notification. You almost spat out your heart at the mere words: puddinghead0 likes your tweet.

puddinghead0 likes your tweet.

"Oh my god—" You choked on air. However, a second later, you found it difficult to remain sitting on your bed.

Don't thank me, I hope you're feeling better. You didn't deserve any of that.

Is that a—

...deserve any of that. <3

Fuck me.

Kenma almost dozed off in class right before it ended. It wasn't like it was school where the teacher would wake him up after noticing him asleep, no one really bothered. Kenma was pushed awake by the momentum of the class once it was over and he leaned back before gathering his things. Tightening his hair tie, he casually walked out of class and got to the campus. He spotted the event area, where the gaming event had occurred and instantly spotted his room-mate and a bunch of people gathered there. Rolling his eyes, he walked away from there, not wanting to gather any attention.

"Kenma!"

He had failed. Kenma froze to his spot before turning to spot his room-mate dashing over to him, a wide grin plastered on his features. Wrapping a hand over Kenma's shoulders, his roommate brought him to the others he was talking to, before releasing him.

"You're that guy (y/n) ran away with during that event, right?" One of them asked, and Kenma didn't bother to respond.

"Why did she run though? I mean, it doesn't make sense for her to just up and leave."

"I've been telling you," The same guy said, "She's not the one playing those games. She's just the face."

Kenma frowned. What is this dick talking about?

"Man, I think that's harsh," His roommate said, "I just think she's too chicken to play in front of people—"

"She's literally a streamer." Kenma said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, but why did she—"

"If you can't understand that she doesn't owe you shit, then there's no helping it. She didn't want to play at that event, and she didn't. I don't see why you aren't calling me a fake gamer for running too." Kenma snapped.

The others shrugged, "That's because we've seen you play—"

"It's bullshit." Kenma said before walking away. You all are bullshit, he thought before the frown on his face settled into an uncharacteristic glare, directed at what who knows what.

A moment later, he felt his phone buzz with a notification. Kenma opened his phone and saw that he had a message from you, but what confused him was—

The message was directed to Kenma and not puddinghead. His heart jumped as his fingers roamed over the notification, wanting to open it only when he was in the comfortable confines of his room. Swallowing the bubbling anxiety, Kenma fought the urge to smile as he continued walking back, unaware of what the Twitter message could be. It would normally take him around 12 minutes to get to his apartment from campus, but that day, Kenma merely took 7.

On reaching his room, he finally allowed himself to open your message.

(y/n): Hey! I've taken a break from streaming for now, just wanted to let you know. I don't know why I'm sending you this message, but talking to you that day made me realize that I don't really need to seek approval constantly. Also, puddinghead liked my tweet and I'm a bit too happy so I needed to gush, don't @ me

Kenma chuckled, feeling his heart jump at every word you'd said. He knew you didn't realize that you were gushing about him to him, but that didn't matter. He wanted to gush about you too. He felt a stone stuck at his throat at how real all of this felt, despite having only seen you once.

Kenma Kozume: I think he's the sort of guy who isn't too loud about the things he likes. And I think a break is a good idea, (s/n).

(y/n): Call me (y/n), came the immediate response. Kenma's eyes widened at the fact that you were online, and that the two of you were currently exchanging messages live.

(y/n): Yeah, I got the feeling from his videos that he's perhaps a private person. I'm still really glad that he supported me, I can't thank him enough. I'm feeling much better already!

Kenma smiled, I'm glad that you are.

(y/n): Also

He blinked.

(y/n): Do you want to co-op at Bloodborne? I'm trying to get a platinum, haha.

"Fuck," He let out a breath before chuckling uncharacteristically. "You can't be serious."

(y/n): I'll send you my PSN, and you can add me as a party member. Only if you're up to it, I mean.

Kenma Kozume: Sure, sounds like fun. Also

Kenma gulped. He felt like this was showing off, but he didn't care. He was going to say it.

Kenma Kozume: I already have platinum in Bloodborne. :)

(y/n): Ah, screw you.

Kenma chuckled. He wouldn't admit it, but his heart was hammering against his chest and his palms were sweating. Soon, he'd be connected to you via the DualShock and the two of you would be co-oping in a game that was designed to make players fail. He wasn't too sure how much more his heart was going to take, and while he knew he had to tell someone, for some reason, Kenma wanted to keep this a secret. It wasn't because he was ashamed or he didn't want anyone to find out.

It was simply because it was too good to be true, and he didn't want to lose out on a chance to get to know you more. Because, if this kept up...

If this kept up, Kenma was surely going to fall in love with you.

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lilydalexf · 4 years ago

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Syntax6

Syntax6 has 17 stories at Gossamer, but you should visit her website for the complete collection of her fics and to see the cover art that comes with many of the stories (and to find her pro writing!). She's written some of the most beloved casefiles in the fandom. I've recced literally all of them here before. Twice. Big thanks to Syntax6 for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I’m delighted but not surprised because I’ve written and read fanfic for shows even older than XF. Also, I joined the XF fandom relatively late, at the end of 1999, so there were already hundreds of “classic” fics out there, stories that were theoretically superseded or dated by canon developments that came after them, but which nonetheless remained compelling in their own right. That is the beauty of fanfic: it is inspired by its original creators but not bound by them. It’s a world of “what if” and each story gets to run in a new direction, irrespective of the canon and all the other stories spinning off in their own universes. In this way, fanfic becomes almost timeless.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it? What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

(I feel these are similar, at least for me, so I will combine them here.)

First and foremost, I found friends. There was a table full of XF fanfic writers at my wedding. Bugs was my maid of honor. I still talk to someone from XF fandom pretty much every day. Lysandra, Maybe Amanda, Michelle Kiefer, bugs…these are just some of the people who’ve been part of my life for half my existence now. Sometimes I get to have dinner with Audrey Roget or Anjou or MCA. Deb Wells and Sarah Ellen Parsons are part of my pro fic beta team. I have a similar list from the Hunter fandom, terrific people who have enriched my life in numerous ways and I am honored to count as friends.

Second, I learned a lot about writing during my years in XF fandom. I grew up there. Part of this growth experience was simply due to practice. I wrote about 1.2 million words of XF fanfic, which is the equivalent of 15 novels. I made mistakes and learned from them. But another essential part of learning is absorbing different kinds of well-told tales, and XF had these in spades. Some stories were funny. Others were lyrical. Some were short pieces with nary a word wasted while others were sprawling epics that took you on an adventure. The neat thing about XF is that it has space for many different kinds of stories, from hard-core sci-fi to historical romance. You can watch other authors executing these varied pieces and learn from them. You can form critique groups and ask for betas and get direct feedback on how to improve. It’s collaborative and fun, and this can’t be underestimated, generally supportive. The underlying shared love of the original product means that everyone comes into your work predisposed to enjoy it. I am grateful for all the encouragement and the critiques I received over my years in fandom.

Finally, I think a valuable lesson for writers that you can find in fandom, but not in your local author critique group, is how to handle yourself when your work goes public. Not everyone is going to like your work and they will make sure you know it. Some people will like it maybe too much, to the point where they cross boundaries. Learning to disengage yourself from public reaction to your work is a difficult but crucial aspect of being a writer. You control the story. You can’t control reaction to it. It’s frustrating at first, perhaps, but in the end, it’s freeing.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I participated in ATXC, the Haven message boards, and the Scullyfic mailing list/news group. For a number of years, I also ran a fic discussion group with bugs called The Why Incision.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I started reading XF fanfic before I began watching the show. I had watched one season two episode (Soft Light) and then seen bits and pieces of a few others from season four. I’d seen Fight the Future. Basically, I’d seen enough to know which one was Mulder and which one was Scully, and which one believed in aliens. An acquaintance linked me to a rec site for XF fanfic (Gertie’s, maybe?) so that I could see how fic was formatted for the web. I clicked a fic, I think it was one by Lydia Bower dealing with Scully’s cancer arc, and basically did not stop reading. Soon I was printing off 300K of fic to take home with me each night. I could not believe the level of talent in the fandom, and that there were so many excellent writers just giving away their works for free. I wanted to play in this sandbox, too, so I started renting the VHS tapes to catch up on old episodes (see, I am An Old). After a few months, I began writing my own stuff.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had to be dragged kicking and screaming to The X-Files. I’m not a sci-fi person by nature. I think my main objection is that, when done poorly, it feels lazy to me. Who did the thing? A ghost! Maybe an alien? I guess we’ll never know. You can always just shrug and play some spooky music and the “truth will always be out there…” somewhere beyond the story in front of you. You never have to commit to any kind of truth because you can invent some magical power or new kind of alien to change the story. I think, by the bitter end, the XF had devolved into this kind of storytelling. The mytharc made no kind of sense even in its own universe. But for years the XF achieved the best aspects of sci-fi storytelling—narrative flexibility and an apotheosis of our current fears dressed up as a super entertaining yarn.

What eventually sold me on the XF as a show is all of the smart storytelling and the sheer amount of ideas contained within its run. At its best, it’s a brilliant show. You have mediations on good versus evil, the role of government in a free society, is there a God, are we alone in the universe, and what are the elements that make us who we are? If Mulder and Morris Fletcher switch bodies, how do we know it’s really “them”? The tonal shifts from week to week were clever and engaging. For Vince Gilligan, truth was always found in fellow human beings. For Darin Morgan, humans were the biggest monster of all. The show was big enough to contain both these premises, and indeed, was stronger for it. The deep questions, the character quirks, the unsolved mysteries and all that went unsaid in the Mulder-Scully relationship left so much room for fanfic writers to do their own work. As such, the fandom attracted and continues to attract both dabbling writers and those who are serious craftspeople. People who like the mystery and those who like the sci-fi angle. Scientists and true believers. Like the show, it’s big enough for all.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I look at it like an old friend I catch up with once in a while. We’ve been close for so long that there’s no awkwardness—we just get each other! I love seeing people post screen shots and commentary, and I think it’s wonderful that so many writers are still inventing new adventures for Mulder and Scully. That is how the characters live on, and indeed how any of us lives on, through the stories that others tell about us.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I ran the Hunter fandom for about five years, mostly because when I poked my head back in, I found the person in change was a bully who’d shut down everything due to her own waning interest. A person would try to start a topic for discussion, and she’d say, “We’ve already covered that.” Well, yes, in a 30-year-old show, there’s not a lot of new ground…

Most other shows, Hunter included, have smaller fandoms and thus don’t attract the depth of fan talent. I don’t just mean fanfic writers. I mean those who do visual art, fan vids, critiques, etc. The XF fandom has all these in droves, which makes it a rare and special place. But all fandoms have the particular joy of geeking out over favorite scenes and reveling in the meeting of shared minds. It will always look odd to those not contained within it, which brings me to the part of modern fandom I find somewhat uncomfortable…the creators are often in fan-space.

In Hunter, the female lead joins fan groups and participates. This is more common now in the age of social media, where writers, producers, actors, etc., are on the same platforms as the rest of us. Fan and creator interaction used to be highly circumscribed: fans wrote letters and maybe received a signed headshot in return. There were cons where show runners gave panels and took questions from the audience. You could stand in line to meet your favorite star. Now, you can @ your favorite star on Twitter, message her on Facebook or follow him on Instagram. In some ways, this is so fun! In other ways, it blurs in the lines in ways that make me uncomfortable. I think it’s rude, for example, if a fan were to go on a star’s social media and post fanfic there or say, “I thought the episode you wrote was terrible.” But what if it’s fan space and the actor is sitting right there, watching you? Is it rude to post fanfic in front of her, especially if she says it makes her uncomfortable? Is it mean to tell a writer his episode sucked right to his face?

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I own the first seven seasons on DVD and will pull them out from time to time to rewatch old faves. I’ve shown a few episodes over the spring and summer to my ten-year-old daughter, and it’s been fun to see the series through her eyes. We’ve mostly opted for the comedic episodes because there’s enough going on in the real world to give her nightmares. Her favorite so far is Je Souhaite.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I don’t have much bandwidth to read fanfic these days. My job as a mystery/thriller author means I have to keep up with the market so I do most of my reading there right now. I also beta read for some pro-fic friends and betaing a novel will keep you busy.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I read so much back in the day that this answer could go on for pages. Alas, it also hasn’t changed much over the past fifteen years because I haven’t read much since then. But, as we’re talking Golden Oldies today, here are a bunch:

All the Mulders, by Alloway I find this short story both hilarious and haunting. Scully embraces her power in the upside down post-apocalyptic world.

Strangers and the Strange Dead, by Kipler Taut prose and an intriguing 3rd party POV make this story a winner, and that’s before the kicker of an ending, which presaged 1013’s.

Cellphone, by Marasmus Talk about your killer twists! Also one of the cleverest titles coming or going.

Arizona Highways, by Fialka I think this is one of the best-crafted stories to come out of the XF. It’s majestic in scope, full of complex literary structure and theme, and yet the plot moves like a runaway freight train. Both the Mulder and Scully characterizations are handled with tender care.

So, We Kissed, by Alelou What I love about this one is how it grounds Mulder and Scully in the ordinary. Mulder’s terrible secret doesn’t involve a UFO or some CSM-conspiracy. Scully goes to therapy that actually looks like therapy. I guess what I’m saying is that I utterly believe this version of M & S in addition to just enjoying reading about them.

Sore Luck at the Luxor, by Anubis Hot, funny, atmospheric. What’s not to love?

Black Hole Season, by Penumbra Nobody does wordsmithing like Penumbra. I use her in arguments with professional writers when they try to tell me that adverbs and adjectives MUST GO. Just gorgeous, sly, insightful prose.

The Dreaming Sea, by Revely This one reads like a fairytale in all the best ways. Revely creates such loving, beautiful worlds for M & S to live in, and I wish they could stay there always.

Malus Genius, by Plausible Deniability and MaybeAmanda Funny and fun, with great original characters, a sly casefile and some clear-eyed musings on the perils of getting older. This one resonates more and more the older I get. ;)

Riding the Whirlpool, by Pufferdeux I look this one up periodically to prove to people that it exists. Scully gets off on a washing machine while Mulder helps. Yet it’s in character? And kinda works? This one has to be read to be believed.

Bone of Contention (part 1, part 2), by Michelle Kiefer and Kel People used to tell me all the time that casefiles are super easy to write while the poetic vignette is hard. Well, I can’t say which is harder but there much fewer well-done casefiles in the fandom than there are poetic vignettes. This is one of the great ones.

Antidote, by Rachel Howard A fic that manages to be both hot and cold as it imagines Mulder and Scully trying to stay alive in the frosty wilderness while a deadly virus is on the loose. This is an ooooold fic that holds up impressively well given everything that followed it!

Falling Down in Four Acts, by Anubis Anubis was actually a bunch of different writers sharing a single author name. This particular one paints an angry, vivid world for Our Heroes and their compatriots. There is no happy ending here, but I read this once and it stayed with me forever.

The Opposite of Impulse, by Maria Nicole A sweet slice of life on a sunny day. When I imagine a gentler universe for Mulder and Scully, this is the kind of place I’d put them.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Bait and Switch is probably the most sophisticated and tightly plotted. It was late in my fanfic “career” and so it shows the benefits to all that learning. My favorite varies a lot, but I’ll say Universal Invariants because that one was nothing but fun.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I never say never! I don’t have any oldies sitting around, though. Everything I wrote, I posted.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I write casefiles…er, I mean mysteries, under my own name now, Joanna Schaffhausen. My main series with Reed and Ellery consists of a male-female crime solving team, so I get a little bit of my XF kick that way. Their first book, The Vanishing Season, started its life as an XF fanfic back in the day. I had to rewrite it from the ground up to get it published, but if you know both stories, you can spot the similarities.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

The answer any writer will tell you is “everywhere.” Ideas are cheap and they’re all around us—on the news, on the subway, in conversations with friends, from Twitter memes, on a walk through the woods. My mysteries are often rooted in true crime, often more than one of them.

Each idea is like a strand of colored thread, and you have to braid them together into a coherent story. This is the tricky part, determining which threads belong in which story. If the ideas enhance one another or if they just create an ugly tangent.

Mostly, though, stories begin by asking “what if?” What if Scully’s boyfriend Ethan had never been cut from the pilot? What if Scully had moved to Utah after Fight the Future? What if the Lone Gunmen financed their toys by writing a successful comic book starring a thinly veiled Mulder and Scully?

Growing up, I had a sweet old lady for a neighbor. Her name was Doris and she gave me coffee ice cream while we watched Wheel of Fortune together. Every time there was a snow storm, the snow melted in her backyard in a such way that suggested she had numerous bodies buried out there. How’s that for a “what if?”

What's the story behind your pen name?

I’ve had a few of them and honestly can’t tell you where they came from, it’s been so long ago. The “6” part of syntax6 is because I joke that 6 is my lucky number. In eighth grade, my algebra teacher would go around the room in order, asking each student their answer to the previous night’s homework problems. I realized quickly that I didn’t have to do all the problems, just the fifteenth one because my desk was 15th on her list. This worked well until the day she decided to call on kids in random order. When she got to me and asked me the answer to the problem I had not done, I just invented something on the spot. “Uh…six?”

Her: “You mean 0.6, don’t you?”

Me, nodding vigorously: “YES, I DO.”

Her: “Very good. Moving on…”

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My close friends and family have always known, and reactions have varied from mild befuddlement to enthusiastic support. My father voted in the Spookies one year, and you can believe he read the nominated stories before casting his vote. I think the most common reaction was: Why are you doing this for free? Why aren’t you trying to be a paid writer?

Well, having done both now, I can tell you that each kind of writing brings its own rewards. Fanfic is freeing because there is no pressure to make money from it. You can take risks and try new things and not have to worry if it fits into your business plan.

(Posted by Lilydale on September 15, 2020)

#new post #old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #syntax6

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