#things that will never make it to ao3

[jmflowers]

I just accomplished a bunch of things I needed to do before bed, so I vote we celebrate with an instalment of "I wrote this stuff and then discarded it from Risk"!

In trying to figure out how to have the dad thing factor into the story, I wrote like 5 or 6 different iterations of it coming to light. This is one version that I liked but decided against using because I wanted Risk to be told entirely from Carina's third-person point of view and this negated that. It was super fun to explore the relationship between the kids as teenagers, though, and this push-and-shove dialogue has become the backbone of writing them in their older years.

We'll call this: "prompt #17" (I guess). You can read it below the cut...

Despite their best efforts, Andrea and Beatrice haven’t quite managed to cover the entire kitchen table with their combined homework. A small patch of wood peeks out from the space between them, untouched by the wide array of tech they’ve spread out. Andrea groans, slamming a finger against the backspace button on his keyboard as he rubs at his forehead.

It’s become a routine now that high school requirements are plaguing them both. Quiet Friday evenings before the moms get home are perfect for sluffing through as much schoolwork as possible. Andrea misses the days of cartoons and popcorn, though; when they’d sneak all the sugar they could before grown-up eyes came through the door with dinner and disapproval.

“You getting anything done?” he sighs, leaning back on the kitchen chair to get a better view of his little sister.

Beatrice is hunched over her tablet, the stylus in her hand swirling around in mindless circles. She exhales loudly. “I think if I doodle any more, I’ll have to go pro.”

That settles it. Andrea closes his laptop, finally admitting defeat. “How was practice?” he asks as he rises from the table, crossing the kitchen in search of something to clear his head.

“It was good,” Beatrice answers, the stylus still swirling. “Coach says my arms are getting better.”

Andrea pulls open the fridge, scanning the contents for something that isn’t better suited for a life inside a protein shake. Unsurprisingly, he comes up short. “You’re supposed to run with your legs,” he jokes, switching his attention to the freezer.

“Ha, ha,” Beatrice says, tossing the stylus onto the tabletop and turning around in her chair to watch as Andrea digs through the freezer. “There’s some gelato under the peas if Mama didn’t finish it already,” she suggests.

“Yes!” Andrea rejoices as he uncovers their prize. He pushes the freezer closed with his foot at the same time as he stretches to grab two spoons from the cutlery drawer, his long limbs already rehearsed in years of this kitchen tango.

Beatrice accepts a spoon as he drops into the chair next to her, depositing the gelato container on the empty corner of the table. They’re quiet for a moment, both shoveling oversized scoops into their mouths. It’s not quite as good as the gelato they’d had last summer in Italy but it’s sweet and cold and not homework.

“There was a scout at practice today,” Beatrice murmurs after a while, once the brain freeze has slowed her shoveling.

“Oh yeah?” Andrea answers, still focused on his spoon.

“Yeah,” Beatrice nods, “Kate says they’re probably looking at the juniors already.” She draws her bottom lip into her mouth, chewing on it slowly as she thinks.

Her brother notices that, though, smirking as he shoves the gelato tub in her direction again. “That make you nervous?”

She scoffs, shoving it back. “I’m a freshman.”

Andrea shrugs, pulling the tub into his lap as he scoops up the final few bites. “Crazier things have happened, B.”

“He talked to me,” she whispers, fingers dancing across her spoon with the jitters of nerves and excitement and confusion. “He knew my name… Me.”

For the first time since he’d started eating, Andrea stills, spoonful of gelato halfway to his mouth. He gathers himself again quickly, shoving it between his lips and standing up. “Just the one scout?” he asks, “Isn’t there usually a few scheduled to visit a meet or something?”

“Andrea,” Beatrice groans, throwing her head back against the chair, “I didn’t ask for three parents.” She flips her spoon up into the air above her head, catching it before it can collide with her face. “He just came over and talked to a few of us while we were stretching. It was nice.”

“Okay,” Andrea shrugs, leaning over the sink with the now-empty gelato tub.

“It doesn’t matter, anyways,” Beatrice continues, flipping the spoon again, “He’s a long-distance coach and I’m a sprinter. It’s basically two different sports.”

Andrea turns on the tap, rinsing the tub slowly beneath the steady stream of water. “Long-distance?” he asks, swallowing roughly.

“Yeah,” Beatrice laughs, “Mom probably would’ve loved to talk to him. They could’ve gotten each other all riled up about endurance and race snacks.” She flips the spoon once more, but her aim is off just a little and it misses her grasp, clattering against the tile floor.

Andrea jumps at the sound.

Beatrice sighs, rolling off her chair to retrieve it. “He even said he’d trained an athlete who went to the Olympics,” she chuckles as she strolls across the kitchen, dropping her dirty spoon in the sink. “Isn’t that crazy?”

“Yeah,” Andrea whispers, “Crazy.”

~

It’s a typical Friday night dinner; takeout containers spread across the table, Beatrice babbling away animatedly about her day and forgetting to eat. Andrea sits at the other end, more focused on his meal than the chatter, quiet until his little sister finally relinquishes her hold on their mother’s attention.

Carina watches as it unfolds, as Maya nods along to everything their daughter has to say even though she’s probably only half-listening, as those familiar blue eyes of her wife’s dart up every few minutes to find her own. They’ve barely had an hour together in the same place all week, between the track meet and their work schedules and Andrea’s college fair, the requirements of motherhood taking precedence as usual.

“And what did Mr. Harcourt say?” Maya prompts, smirking as the question launches Beatrice into another tirade, their daughter barely pausing for breath as she tells the story.

Carina finds herself looking to Andrea instead, analyzing the slope of his shoulders as he hunches over his plate. He’s been not quite himself all evening: his smile not quite reaching his eyes, his posture not quite as upright, his fingers busy tapping at his thighs more than is typical.

When Maya looks her way again, she holds her gaze, left eyebrow lifting as she tips her head towards their son. Maya frowns in response, her jaw shifting side to side in acknowledgement. Something on his mind.

They’ve been looking at colleges for a few months now and the process has been weighing on him, Carina knows. Even though he still has time to decide, he can’t seem to settle on a major, which makes picking a school more difficult, and the added pressure just seems to be dragging him down.

Their sweet, sensitive boy has never been one to flourish amidst change.

“Andrea,” Carina interrupts, halting the string of Beatrice’s thought before she can launch into another tale of freshman drama, “How was your day?”

He shrugs, eyes still on his plate. “It was fine, Mama.”

“Lots of homework?” Maya presses, reaching across the table as if she’s only half-focused on him, too.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “That essay is due on Monday.” He bookends the sentence with a forkful of chicken, taking his time to chew.

“You got a lot done earlier, though,” Beatrice pipes up, tossing him a wide grin from the opposite end of the table, “Didn’t you?”

Andrea nods, still chewing.

“Was that before or after you got into my gelato stash?” Maya teases, lifting her own fork in accusation. Beatrice’s nose crinkles in response, those big brown eyes of hers sparkling with mischief. Andrea smirks, his cheeks colouring.

“My gelato,” Carina corrects, leaning into the banter in the hopes that it’ll lower Andrea’s guard for at least a few minutes. A good joke can do that sometimes; drag down his armour long enough to get out what’s racing through his mind.

It warms her inside, this intimacy of their family. That Maya, too, knows that letting Beatrice talk through all of dinner will mean their daughter can settle into the calm of their home with a clear head. That Andrea needs laughter when his mind is swirling through a scenario he can’t work out on his own. That even now, when their children are teenagers who sit at either ends of the table, they can still read them, still decipher them, still look at each other and communicate the rhythm needed to reach them both.

It's intoxicating, this synchronicity, and it makes her want to lean across the table and pull Maya into a kiss.

“I’m the one who hid it,” Maya argues.

“But you hide everything in the same spot,” Beatrice bickers right back.

“Yeah, cause none of you ever touch the peas!”

“Why don’t you tell Moms about the scout, B?” Andrea suggests, derailing their banter. He looks up expectantly when he says it, wide eyes and an encouraging smile filling his face as he stares at his sister.

Carina watches as Beatrice squints at him, clearly attempting to deduce his motive.

“A scout?” Maya asks, eyebrows rising comically high up her forehead, “At practice?”

“Uh, yeah,” Beatrice nods, still focused on her brother, “Getting an early look at the juniors, I guess.”

“Sophomores, too, probably,” Maya adds.

Beatrice pales at the suggestion, her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth. Unlike Andrea, their not-so-little girl has a pretty solid idea of where she’d like to go after high school, already watching as the seniors embark on the track scholarship pipeline she’s begun dreaming of. It’s not pressure, she’d assured them all over dinner a few weeks ago, Just a goal.

“But he was a long-distance coach, right?” Andrea continues, feigning nonchalance. He falls a little flat of his target, though, his eyes flicking upwards to Beatrice’s face too often to not declare the obviousness of intent behind his question. “Didn’t you say he coached someone who went to the Olympics?”

Maya stills immediately, the muscles in her arms tightening so minutely Carina’s certain she’d have missed it if there weren’t decades of memorizing her wife under her belt. There’s a tightness in Maya’s jaw when she goes searching for her gaze, every inch of her body suddenly on high alert.

Andrea swallows roughly beside his mother. “What was his name again?” he asks.

Beatrice shrugs, completely oblivious to the rising temperature at the table. “I don’t know, something obnoxiously running-related,” she grins as the memory resurfaces, digging back into her food with a renewed vigor, “Kate kept snickering about it after.”

“Track?” Andrea suggests.

Blonde hair swishes as Beatrice shakes her head, food finally making its way into her mouth. She doesn’t answer as she chews but her eyes flick up towards the ceiling, attempting to remember.

“Dash?” Carina murmurs, watching as Maya’s throat bobs.

“Mmm-mmm,” Beatrice hums.

Maya’s mouth opens slowly, her fingers tensed on the tabletop. Her voice is flat when she speaks, so cold and so un-Maya that it makes Carina shiver. “Lane?”

“Yeah!” Beatrice laughs, “Can you imagine? I think I’d rather be named starting block or sprint.” She brushes a wisp of loose hair behind her ear, somehow still unaware of the change in energy occurring around the table.

Forever in her own little world, their Beatrice.

Andrea, however, ducks his chin, abandoning his fork on the table as he shifts backwards in his chair. Maya doesn’t look at him, doesn’t look anywhere but at the plate in front of herself, muscles winding themselves tighter and tighter with every second.

He’d asked about his grandfather the summer before last, when a traipse through the basement for some camping supplies had unearthed a photo album he’d never seen before. The pictures had been cute and untroubling at first; braids and braces and Maya’s triumphant grin. Until Andrea had turned to the last page and Carina had caught sight of Lane Bishop for the first time in more than 15 years.

She’d tried to tread carefully around the subject. Tried to convey as gently as she could the reason their children have never known their grandfather, the reason that Maya never speaks his name in their home. But he’s receptive, their son, and far smarter than she sometimes knows what to do with.

Andrea understood it seemed, even then, that Lane Bishop wasn’t a person to ask his mom about, nor a name to blab to his little sister. Carina had been grateful when he’d tucked it away inside his mind, despite the swirl of guilt in her gut at her own selfishness. There’d been too many years of therapy, she’d rationed, too much time spent burying his memory to dig it back out again.

Only, Andrea doesn’t forget.

And Maya’s father will probably always be a festering wound.

“You are not to speak to that scout,” Maya manages through a jaw so tight her mouth barely opens.

Beatrice scoffs, the sound dying only when she finally looks up at her mother in the millisecond before she’s about to protest. Her brow furrows, eyes darting around the table as she takes in the tension that’s looped its way into everyone else. “Oh… kay,” she mumbles, “What did I miss?”

Maya swallows and it looks so painful Carina feels her heart clench in response. The desire to reach for Maya flares loudly, a voice screaming in her head to grab her hand or round the table to pull her into her arms. But it won’t help, Carina knows, won’t do anything but speed up the inevitable unraveling or spark the explosion.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Andrea whispers.

“It’s okay,” Maya exhales, “You didn’t do anything.”

Beatrice squints, her shoulders hiking up towards her ears with sudden nerves. “Did… did I do something?” she murmurs.

“No,” Carina soothes, reaching for Beatrice’s hand instead. She squeezes at their daughter’s fingers and smiles as softly as she can manage, suddenly desperate to spin time backwards a few minutes. “We just…” She trails off, unsure what to say.

Maya swallows again, drawing in a slow breath. “I need a minute,” she mutters, rising from the table. She’s gone in a second, disappearing up the stairs and leaving the wide, panicked looks of their children in her wake.

“It’s okay,” Carina soothes immediately, patting Beatrice’s hand, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She reaches for Andrea as she gets up, too, leaning over to press a kiss against the top of his head. “Either of you.”

The voice in her head is getting louder, screaming that Maya needs her.

“Should I go check on her?” Andrea asks. It really is a family curse, the incessant need to take care of others; it’s printed into Andrea’s DNA, even though she didn’t mean to put it there.

“No,” Carina murmurs.

Even though she meant to shield them both from this.

“I’ve got her.”

[riacte]

Unconventional format / mixed media / meta / epistolary fic ideas:

Script format but the characters slowly break fourth wall until they grow self aware and scream to leave but the script confines them.

Mock up notes of an author's fic outline only for a "fan favourite" / "author's darling" character to gain sentience and influence the story. The character changes the outline to suit their own agenda, and their changes are marked with a different colour whereas black text means it's the author's will. Maybe another character using another colour gains sentience. The different colours fight for dominance. Mom says it's my turn with the keyboard hey what the fuck man excuse me I'm literally trying to save my family can you guys let go and let me write your character arcs in peace OH FUCK OFF

Recipe fic. The story is told via those unnecessarily long backstories on a recipe blog in which you learn about someone's grandma or a breakup or literally anything. Bonus points if the actual recipe deals with worldbuilding (what ingredients are available? What utensils are used? How to serve this meal? Woohoo Dungeon Meshi) or in-cheek recipes (eg. "Recipe for making up with your estranged mother - Step 1: Mix patience, nostalgia, and filial piety and let it marinate for ten years. Step 2: Throw that shit into the trash because you're better than that")

Travel fic. A character is lost and trying to find their way somewhere. GPS directions, googling "x place to x place", tickets and dates, train station maps, leaflets. It gets weirder and weirder. You never get closer to your destination. You're walking around in circles. It's always 10 meters away. Where are you going and where have you been?

Receipts. Try to infer what a character is doing judging from the weird things they buy together. Also yipppee inflation tracker. On the other side, maybe it can be about a cashier/ shop owner getting to know their customers and what they order.

Written from the pov of an non-native English speaker, all the English words are italicized whereas their native tongue are the only words not italicized. Inspired by Kupu rere kē by Alice Te Punga Somerville. This is because I got salty about people from Ao3 Reddit saying they won't read a fic in all italics.

Murder mystery / "Among Us" style impersonation fic strictly using the chatfic format. Characters and readers will have to figure out which character has been killed and replaced from the way they text and use emojis. This is also because I got salty about Ao3 Reddit being a wee bit pretentious about emoji usage in fics. Maybe emojis can be important plot devices! Some people prefer to sign off messages with a heart emoji of their signature colour, so won't it be weird if they use another coloured heart? How about someone using lapslock suddenly using proper capitalisation and full stops? Can you tell if someone's phone has been stolen? What if someone's mother is pretending to text like their child? Why is someone suddenly only using UwU speak? Is it a bit, or have they been replaced?

Innocuous second person POV until the last line where it's suddenly revealed to be first person POV all along and the "I" has been stalking and narrating "you".

Other fun bits / Easter eggs / secrets to hide:

Decoding within the text itself. Maybe we get given instructions to find a word in x chapter on page y on the nth line. And when we as readers collect all the words, they form a sentence that spells out an important fact which the characters are oblivious to. Or maybe the in-universe characters find a book with the same title as the irl fic with a bookmark in it, and if you go to where the bookmark is stuck irl, you'll find the murderer plainly stated. The rest of the fic is about the readers having hard confirmation of who the murderer is while characters don't know.

A phrase is subtly repeated throughout the text of the fic and is spelled out with the letter that begins a sentence. It gives off the effect that the narrator is screaming and crying into the void (to the readers in the fourth wall) while trying to avoid detection. Bonus points if the same word is repeated for pages and pages to the point the lack of sentence variation feels weird and clunky.

Morse code!! I love morse code! Using onomatopoeia to convey the dots and dashes! The sound of rain pattering on the tin rooftop— drop, drop, drop. A low whistle of a train rumbling in the distance. He slowly sharpens his knife, creating a shiiing sound. A lengthy, high pitched squeal from his kettle. A dog barks. A sharp knock. His heart thumps. Dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot. SOS. Maybe a character's death scene spells out the name of their mysterious murderer. Maybe a character is reminiscing their deceased loved one and the scene spells out what the deceased person would've wanted to tell them— "LIVE ON" or "I LOVE YOU" or something.

[stellewriites]

A Helping Hand

throwing my hat in for @the-californicationist’s nameless challenge!

600+ words, sfw, gn!reader, no content warnings it’s all fluff. don’t forget to guess who you think it’s about 🤭

you first met in uni.

it was a couple of weeks in, so you were settled into your classes and confident with the subject matter so far. you’d made friends with your roommates and had checked out the area of the new city you were in. it was all going well.

your current class was in a lecture hall, though the discussion was nothing too important; just going over the reading syllabus for the year. they’d already emailed it out during the summer so you pretended to take notes on your laptop while pulling up wordle.

one of your new roommates had gotten you addicted, it had become a light-hearted competition between you both as you got to know each other before finally meeting in person. they’d finally upped the stakes at the start of the week with a bet and you were determined to beat their average by friday - after all, loser would be paying for drinks on saturday when you all went out.

this day’s puzzle, however, was stumping you. you didn’t want to just guess aimlessly, visions of free drinks seeming ever further away, but you just couldn’t figure out the word either.

F_ _ _R

you stared at the screen unblinkingly, thoroughly distracted from your course and the discussion around you until a hand holding a slip of paper appeared at your shoulder in your peripheral.

you took it hesitantly without looking back and unfolded it. you stared at the word written scratchily across it in disbelief.

FOYER.

fuck. how’d you miss that?

you typed it in and heard a satisfied chuckle behind you when it was correct and pursed your lips to hide your own smile. you figured you should thank the guy at least, he might’ve just won you free drinks after all.

you flicked your eyes up and found the professor busy facing the board and took the chance to swivel in your seat to look up at the one above yours and the handsome man that currently claimed it.

“thanks,” you whispered, your smile turning flirtatious and less guarded when you met his pretty eyes.

“don’t mention it,” he said with an easy shrug, his voice warm.

“oh? you don’t want a favour in return then?” you asked, coy. “you might’ve just won me a bet with a friend, so i owe you.”

his shoulders shook as he huffed. you realised it was a laugh, just muffled behind a surprisingly fond smile aimed your way and a want to keep quiet in the lecture hall. he was clearly charmed by you - and likely the view he had down your shirt as you leant forward against the back of your seat, equally enamoured.

“i could maybe think of some way you could thank me,” he acquiesced, smile turning sly. “better concentrate on the front of the class for now though.” he nodded forward.

with a look over your shoulder you noticed the unimpressed look your professor was sending you both. you sent them a contrite look as you sat back properly and stayed quiet for the rest of the lecture, not wanting to cause a fuss and make a name for yourself too early in the year. you did like this subject after all.

you just liked handsome, helpful men too.

you bit your lip in an attempt at calming your smile and the excited noise that bubbled at the back of your throat when you got a second note passed over your shoulder by a now-familiar hand not ten minutes later. you kept your eyes facing forwards as you took it, wanting to play it cool.

that went out the window however when you opened the note and felt giddiness override it.

coffee after this? it read, followed by his name and number.

absolutely, you thought.

[skippingseaglass]

if drawing silly goobers was a profession that paid i'd be racking it IN bay bee

[steelycunt]

that lancali girl who keeps popping up on my social media talking about what a successful poetic writer she is and then she shares something she’s written and every time with no exception it is one of the worst most embarrassing pieces of literature ive ever read like the cringiest purple prose you can imagine and everyone in the comments is talking about how it’s history-making and the most be beautiful thing they’ve ever read..and yes i do blame taylor swift for this

[kris-mage-fics]

Wintersun

A short Shepherds of Haven fic that takes place on Wintersun. Some vague spoilers for Chapter 4 and Blade's 5th day off in the Alpha build. Also there's a reference to this bit of a fic I haven't finished, but it's not necessary to understand what's going on.

| Ao3 | rated G | 628 words | Blade/Kyrahlise | under the cut for very light spoilers mentioned above |

"Happy Wintersun," Kyrahlise said as she handed Blade a slim package not much larger than her hand. Neither of them acknowledged the momentary brush of their fingertips.

The gift was neatly wrapped in paper she'd painted with winter berries and small swirls of gold. All tied off with a thin green ribbon salvaged from one of her old dresses. The design was overly flashy for his taste, but she had been too focused on making it pretty and was short on time to repaint something more austere.

Blade raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "You didn't need to," he said, yet she could've sworn his face softened as his eyes traced the designs on the paper.

Kyrah smiled having anticipated he'd say something along those lines. "I'm aware. But I wanted to and thought you might enjoy it."

He looked up from the gift to meet her eyes. "Did you paint this?" Of course he remembered she painted. While in The Reach he'd fussed at her plenty to not paint outside. He trusted her judgment enough to promote her to Captain after a month, yet the cold was somehow too much. He made absolutely no sense.

"Yes," she said in a light tone.

"It's nice." Did Blade's compliment make her feel happy in a way it probably shouldn't? Yes. But she'd take that to her grave before admitting it to anyone.

"Thank you, though I hope you like what's inside more."

Blade's eyes went back to the present he held delicately. She ignored the strange little feeling in her chest when he untied the ribbon and slipped it into a pocket before carefully unfolding the paper. Underneath was a small book of poetry. "You remembered, thank you."

An unusual wave of nerves washed over Kyrahlise. What if he'd read this collection before and hated it? Well, there was no use worrying about it now that the book was in his hands. "Yes, by one of my favorite contemporary poets. Are you familiar with her work?"

"I'm not."

Her smile was tinted with relief. "I hope you find her poetry to your taste."

There was a upward tilt to his lips as he nodded. Kyrah gathered he was thanking her again, but reading his subtle expressions was like cracking a code.

Not that she needed to decipher anything to understand Blade's kindness. He'd always been considerate and respectful towards her. A sharp contrast to how many Norms treated her after she left the Circle. Like when he'd been livid because of what happened in that damned cave, it had filled her with so much warmth. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to have anyone care about her well-being. It was the catalyst for certain feelings towards him being stirred up. Feelings she accepted existed then politely ignored.

Though a recent incident in his room made her question if Blade was really as indifferent to her as he so often appeared.

When Kyrahlise glanced back up at Blade, his eyes were so gentle as they met hers it brought an instinctive smile to her lips. The first time he looked at her like that was when she learned black was the warmest color of all. The way his gaze slowly traced over her face almost felt like a sweet caress that seemed to stop briefly at her lips. But she was likely imagining things again.

A slight frown passed over his face as his free hand twitched, then clenched against his side. He looked at her another moment, gave a hint of a nod and another quick 'thank you' before turning and walking away. When he was out of earshot she sighed. Maybe one day she'd figure out what was really going on inside that inscrutable head of his.

[goodomensao3tagoftheday]

[jcryptid]

Heh... wouldn't it be fun to draw some slightly more detailed fanart for Keiko and-- oH gOD! OH FUCK!

@whatweoughttosay

[justsumtransdude2000]

The 'she never would've let you leave if she didn't have a spare' trope genuinely haunts me. It keeps me up at night. I truly wonder deeply and profoundly abt it every single day. i haven't even read Choices yet the label of spare haunts every single interpretation I will ever have of regulus arcturus black. he can never not have a brother, even when he doesn't. even when he responds "barty and evan are fine, thanks for asking.' even when he feels like his brother will never forgive him for the sacrifices he has had to make. every word he speaks, every thing he does every breath he takes is all through the lens of being the safety blanket for a loose cannon of a sibling and it haunts me.

[zukkaoru]

could you tell me more about why you dislike femskk?

okay disclaimer before i begin: this is not meant to be a dig on every person who enjoys femskk. the biggest reason i don't like it is honestly because it's just not my cup of tea and honestly it really makes no difference to me if other people like it. but beyond that my biggest issues with it are

1. the phenomenon of fans "yuri-ifying" the most popular m/m ship and then using that to prove they like female characters and f/f ships. this is not a bsd-exclusive thing; it happens with stsg too and i don't like femstsg for the same reason. but there's a big difference between actually liking female characters and just genderbending (or even making transfem) the big m/m ship. i literally went to the f/f category in bsd on ao3 the other day looking for fics and about half of them are skk fics instead of fics about like. the actual female characters in bsd. who i was looking for fics of. similarly, there have been some redraw trends going around twitter - specifically the i prefer girls cover redraw - and i have seen. i don't even know how many femskk redraws of that (along with a couple femfyolais and a femrimlaine) but only one redraw with actual female characters from bsd. same with the scene 14 redraw that was going around, and while that one wasn't originally two female characters, i have still seen significantly more femskk (and femsigzai, femsigchuu, femfyolai, etc) than i have ships with even one character who is female in the source material.

and imo this phenomenon is made even worse in the bsd fandom bc so many fans just see bsd as the skk show. so of course they're writing off the actual female characters; they literally don't care about anything besides skk. and obviously i can't do anything to force anyone to care about other characters but like.... bsd has so many other wonderful characters and dynamics (both romantic and platonic) that a good half of the fanbase won't even glance at because they're not skk. i do like skk, but bsd is about so much more than just them. they are, objectively, only one small part of it. like if you only care about skk, then just be outright about it and don't pretend you're "proving" you like female characters and sapphic ships bc you like femskk too

2. of the fans who only like skk and nothing else about bsd, most of them. don't even characterize dazai and chuuya correctly? i think the some of the best skk characterizations i've seen have been from people who actually like other characters and ships too, and some of the worst skk characterization i've seen has come from people who literally don't care about any other ships or characters. this isn't a hard and fast rule obviously but even with 30k skk fics on ao3, i have struggled to find ones that actually feel true to their characters. and the characterization seems to only get worse when it's femskk. if you're just going to turn femdazai and femchuuya into two completely different people, what's the point in it even being skk? why not write k.ousano or h.igugin or even a ship with one canonically female character? if you have to change the core characteristics of both dazai and chuuya... do you even really like them?

3. about femdazai: i actually don't mind the transfem dazai headcanon in general but most fans get her wrong. i made a post about it here but basically so many times i see femdazais that are just. completely unrecognizable as dazai. you can't strip away core aspects of dazai like idk the fact that dazai doesn't show any skin from neck to toe just because you made her a girl. i have seen some femdazai that's good! but i have seen so much that is just fundamentally wrong for dazai's character as a whole. mostly on twitter.

4. about femchuuya: i really truly just don't get femchuuya. i THINK the hype here is probably bc lesbians seem to get attached to chuuya (which. valid. i am also a lesbian chuuya fan.) and so they want to draw a chuuya they can be attracted to (i.e. femchuuya) which like. cool whatever i'm not here to judge. but looking at it from a "would this character actually identify as female" perspective, i don't actually think i can picture that for chuuya. maybe it's just because i so strongly hc them as nonbinary? idk. this one is honestly just a neutral "i don't see that but you do you"

tl;dr: from what i've seen, femskk is often mischaracterized, and genderbending the big m/m ships in a fandom is often a way fans "prove" they like the female characters and f/f ships while not actually caring about anything other than their main m/m ship

[slytherinshua]

I hate shippers sm it’s so weird 😭😭

[emily-mooon]

Noticed there wasn’t a ton of photocheer fanart and I wanted to change that (which why isn’t there more these two dorks are so cute together!!!!)

[svartalfhild]

Anybody else get any formal requests for collaboration from a supposed concept artist on their old FF.net account recently?

I just got one from someone named Gloria Jenkins, and a quick google tells me that there is a Gloria Jenkins who's been a storyboard artist for many children's cartoons starting in the 90's, and there's a Gloria Jenkins with an Artstation account, who may or may not be the same person, but the art in that account is much more consistent with the "concept artist and fan of high fantasy literature" the person from this message claims to be. (I also can't imagine a veteran children's cartoon artist wanting to collab with me, considering the kinds of stuff I write, unless they have a more diverse portfolio that it would seem lol.)

Anyway, I've been on the internet far too long to not be suspicious of something like this. This Gloria person is messaging from an empty account made a couple of days ago, and there's a few possible innocent explanations for that, but the scam possibility is also high.

[holland-vosijk-antari]

I've been thinking about how white london probably has different kinds of physical affection to red and grey, I can't imagine hugging being common among people who are casual friends like it is in a lot of places here (I'm talking from the pov of someone from an area not too far away from real london so i get that this isnt the case everywhere lol) hugging requires a certain trust that the person you are hugging is doing anything nefarious with their hands - like stabbing you in the back for instance... so i like to think that in white london where trust is about as thin on the ground as magic, hugging is a massive declaration of trust in which you may as well tell the other you love them.

on an additional note it makes me wonder about what affections would be commonplace, would a kiss on the cheek be a more common greeting to someone you care for? would people give a short bow as a greeting towards an acquaintance? (both things very common in many places in this world too so not exactly strange?) or are people simply all-or-nothing with their affections, giving all their affection to one or two people who have their absolute trust and not showing any at all otherwise?

when it comes to greeting a stranger i was taught in my martial arts classes to introduce myself with both hands visible and to shake hands with both of my hands as a sign of respect within the culture so i wonder if that kind of action would be common in makt - dont hide your hands when trying to gain someones trust or they will think you are hiding something...

[iwanttobepersephone]

Okay, you know what. You know what. I wanna know. I've had plenty of people ask me to write fanfics, and every time I say I can't. BUT! I CAN write movie-script esc "fanfics". And I wanna know if people would actually be interested in that? If they are, I can try and figure out how to use A03 if people would rather read on there than Tumblr. But if nobody is interested in "fanfics" that aren't really... stories, just. Descriptions of scenes and emotions. Then I won't bother lol.

I'll have examples below the cut, and also tag a couple people I think (EMPHASIS ON THINK) have asked me to write a fanfic in the past

@permettez-moi (or @golden-bubblebee ? Idk which one you prefer to be tagged for) @solarishashernoseinabook @ragingadhd @dragonslovecoins @rangertessadarling @ranger-tater @reine-du-sourire @biggestqiblifan

The quality WILL be better if it's an actual fanfiction, less references to the reader and more immersed and stuff, but the general writing style/pov probably won't change

[thevioletcaptain]

...........just discovered that someone made a fanlore page for me and one of my fics