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ahtohallan-calling · 4 years

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chapter 8 of don’t read the last page is here!

[kristanna / m / multichap / modern au with actress!anna and vetstudent!kristoff]

this is another chapter where you gotta click through to ao3 to see the whole thing ;), but here on tumblr it’s all t-rated

“People who are fine don’t sort out other people’s kitchens at three in the morning.”

“I just wanted to help,” she said, her voice small, and a little frown appeared on his forehead.

chapter 8: firsts

Anna was getting antsy.

Filming had wrapped way back at the beginning of July; there was a lull now until the trailer would be released at the beginning of October, and then slowly interviews would trickle in, talk show appearances if she was lucky; then the movie would drop, and if it went well she’d probably get offers of other jobs or at minimum asked to be on more shows, and if it failed-- well. She’d taken a good, hard look at her options back in May after the tampon commercial had first come out, when she’d had to wonder if going semi-viral on Twitter was the height of her stardom. The company wanted her back, wanted to make a whole series of ads featuring her and capitalizing on the traction the first commercial had gotten, but she had her limits.

She’d asked Sven semi-casually what it took to be a bank teller and quickly scratched that off her list; she’d never had a head for numbers. The only math classes she’d ever done well in were the ones in high school where she got to sit beside Kristoff and pass him notes asking for help, so that ruled out most of the jobs Google said were easy to get into. She could go back for a master’s in teaching and try to be a drama teacher, but while she’d played a very good Anna Leonowens in a community theater production of The King and I, she’d never really had a knack for actual teaching of any kind. There was always starting from scratch in college, but even the thought sent a shudder down her spine.

She’d waitressed her way through college and done well enough at it; maybe she’d do the opposite of the old stereotype and be an actress before waiting tables.

As much as she’d tried to hide her worries from her sister, Elsa had taken notice of the fact that Anna’s room-- and, in fact, the whole apartment-- was suddenly much cleaner than normal. “You don’t have to hang around here all day,” Elsa had said one night as they sat down to dinner together. “And you know you can talk to me if you’re feeling stressed, right?”

“But I don’t hang around here all day,” Anna protested, and it was true. It was just that there was so much time to fill now that Kristoff was at school or work most of the time, and Honey was working on two different sets at once, and Elsa and Sven had real grown-up jobs, and her friends from college in the area had, by and large, moved on to 9-to-5s as well. So she spent her mornings tidying the apartment, scrolling through casting calls, going on long runs, checking the audition postings once again just in case-- and then she’d look at the clock and see it was only eleven and feel a sense of dread rising in her, settling a little more heavily on her heart every day.

She tried not to burden Kristoff with it; she’d taken the once-seemingly endless days full of pillow talk and lazy kisses and picnics on the living room floor for granted, and now when she saw him he was usually only awake for a couple of hours at a time, and even then he was always studying or trying to catch up on errands or just too exhausted to do anything but hold her.

He’d tried to apologize for it once at the beginning when he’d accidentally dozed off mid-conversation as they sat together on the sofa, but Anna had shaken her head and shushed him before he could even finish saying “sorry”.

“Look at me, Kris,” she’d said, cupping his jaw in her hands. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to apologize to me for working hard.”

“I just feel bad,” he had replied, eyebrows pulling together in a frown. “I want to take you out and stuff like you deserve, but here I am falling asleep before you can even finish telling me about your day. I’m really sorry, Anna, you deserve better and--”

She had leaned in and kissed him, not pulling away until he relaxed against her. “Don’t say that, baby,” she’d said, and he’d sucked in a little breath; she hadn’t called him that before. “You’re the best thing in my life.”

And I love you, she’d been tempted to add, especially when he’d tugged her onto his lap and started kissing his way up her neck, the way that made her clutch at his shirt and moan his name every time, but then he’d reached her mouth, and she figured maybe she’d just show him instead of saying it out loud.

But by the end of September, with the trailer’s release only a week away, she was beginning to reach a breaking point; it wasn’t anyone’s fault but her own for picking such a useless job with so much downtime when you weren’t good enough at it to stay booked, which she apparently wasn’t. It was a Saturday night, and Kristoff had a rare day off on Sunday, and they’d made plans to go out for brunch in the morning before driving up to a stretch of coastline Kristoff had assured her was deserted, with a crooked little smile that sent shivers up her spine.

He was asleep next to her now in his bed; she had been nestled against him, her nose buried in the crook of his neck, but no matter how many deep breaths she took, sleep continued to evade her, and so she had rolled away, careful not to disturb him.

She was tempted to reach out and trace her fingers over the lines of his face, set her palm on his cheek and lean in to kiss him, but he looked so peaceful, without even the trace of a frown for the first time in weeks, that it made something in her chest ache, and so she slipped out of bed and tiptoed into the hall.

She wasn’t sure what she was going to do at first; Sven was away at some conference, so at least she didn’t have to worry about waking him. She considered flicking the TV on and watching late-night cop shows on mute and making up her own dialogues the way she and Elsa had done when they were kids first learning to rebel in their own little ways. But she’d been doing stupid, inane things like that for so long, just trying to pass the time; she felt utterly useless, so much so that she was starting to feel an itch deep in her bones, a desperation to do something, anything that made her feel like she was contributing to the world around her.

Her eyes lighted on the kitchen, an idea sparking in her mind; she knew Sven and Kristoff both liked to cook, so the cabinets were overflowing, but neither of them really had much patience for organization, and so half the time they spent in the kitchen was wasted shuffling through drawers and shelves and making an even bigger mess. Maybe she was a washed up has-been (more like never-was) at twenty-four and maybe her boyfriend was a hero who would save tons of baby animals someday, but by god, at least she could do this.

She started with the bottom shelves in the cabinets, thinking maybe she’d just straighten those out and crawl back into bed, but then she realized that being taller than five foot three meant you could actually make use of the rest of the space, and so she crawled onto the counter and started pulling everything out; if she was going to do this, she should at least do it well.

She had the top two shelves alphabetized in both cabinets and was working on the lower ones— that was the hard part, these she had sorted by usefulness and had had to consider what someone who actually knew how to cook would use— when he heard footsteps coming up the hall.

She kept her focus on the little piles around her, hoping Kristoff would just go to the bathroom and crawl back to bed; he’d been exhausted enough that he probably wouldn’t even notice she wasn’t there with him.

She realized it was fruitless when she heard his footsteps on the linoleum and heard a heavy sigh. “Anna, what the hell are you doing?”

She slipped the rosemary next to the garlic salt; probably those got used in the same thing anyway. Right? “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I might as well start pulling my weight around here since I basically live here half the time.”

“Come back to bed.”

She bit her lip and ignored him, turning back to the trickiest little pile: one of them— Sven, most likely— apparently had a penchant for collecting different colors of salt, and she had no idea what any of them did.

“Anna.”

He had come up behind her now and put his hand on her back; she turned at last to look at him and met his confused gaze for only a moment before ducking away again. “I‘ll redo it if you don’t like it.”

He just stood there for a long moment, wearing only his boxers and his glasses; they hung just barely lopsided, one of the arms caught up on a little snarl in his sleep-mussed hair. “It’s three in the morning.”

“Well, I really didn’t do anything all day, so—“

“Anna. You need to sleep. You’re going to be too tired to do anything tomorrow, and we’ve been planning this all week.”

“I’m fine,” she huffed out a little more forcefully than she had meant to and turned quickly back to the cabinet to hide the tears of shame that sprung up almost immediately in her eyes.

“Fine,” he said after a stunned moment of silence. “Fine. Then I’ll wait up for you until you’re ready to tell me what’s really going on.”

“But you worked all day, you’re—“

“I’m fine,” he said, and though he didn’t raise his voice, the words still stung. Wasn’t that why she was doing this, trying to make his life a little bit easier, and here she was just—

No, a nasty, stubborn little voice whispered in the back of her mind. He doesn’t mean it. He’ll sit up for a minute and then go back to bed, and then in the morning he’ll thank you for helping him out so much, tell you he’s relieved you finally fucking did something, you useless sack of shit.

She turned back to her shelving with renewed vigor, lining each cap up nearly until the cabinets were filled with perfectly organized, colorful rows of plastic and glass, as cheerful as any supermarket display.

But somehow, she didn’t feel any better.

She dared to peek over her shoulder; Kristoff was still there, sitting on the couch and watching infomercials in a bid to stay awake. As she watched, his head began to loll to the side; he suddenly pinched his own wrist and jolted upright again.

Suddenly she couldn’t get down and back over to him fast enough. She started to clamber onto his lap out of habit, but then he turned and looked to her with such exhaustion in her eyes she sat next to him instead, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them tightly.

“You need sleep, Kris,” she said, doing her best to keep that stupid little wobble out of her voice.

“Not as much as I need to know you’re okay.”

The words nearly knocked the wind out of her. “I— I— really, I’m fine.”

“People who are fine don’t sort out other people’s kitchens at three in the morning.”

“I just wanted to help,” she said, her voice small, and a little frown appeared on his forehead.

“Help with...what?”

“Just— stuff. I’m— I’m sorry I woke you up, really, but I promise it’s not important, we can talk about it in the morning if you—“

“Anna, baby, I’m not even gonna be able to sleep until I know what the fuck is going on. You’re scaring me,” he said, and suddenly she was crying and he was leaning over and pulling her into his arms and rocking her like she was a child as she sobbed into his bare shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to start a fight with you,” she choked out.

“Is this a fight?” he asked, sounding genuinely worried.

“I don’t know. I don’t want it to be.”

“Okay,” he said, kissing her forehead, “it’s not a fight. But please, please just tell me what’s wrong.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I— I just feel so useless, I just— since I finished the movie I just sit around all day waiting for something to happen while you’re working so hard at school and the café, and Elsa works too and so does everyone else, and you’re all good at what you do and— and you help people, and like you’re gonna take care of animals and stuff and meanwhile my job is just standing around saying the same thing over and over again in front of a camera and I just— I just…”

She trailed off, struggling to put it all into words in a way that didn’t make her feel even more pathetic. “I just...I couldn’t sleep because I felt so useless. I wanted to do something to help you instead of just wasting even more time, because you work so hard and you’re so exhausted and— and now I’m just making everything worse, and I’m so, so sorry.”

He was quiet for a long time, long enough that the tears on her cheeks had dried; still he held her close. She had shifted to sit beside him, her legs thrown over his lap as she leaned against his shoulder; he had one arm thrown over her, keeping her tucked against him, and she held his other hand in both of her own, endlessly tracing the lines of his palm.

“Have I done anything,” he asked at last, his voice unsure, “to make you feel like this?”

“No. Never. None of you, it’s— it’s just me being stupid.”

He was quiet again for a moment. When he spoke again it was slowly, like he was terrified he would say the wrong thing.

“You’re not stupid, Anna. Or useless. This is just— this is part of life sometimes. The, like, in between shit. I don’t know. And I don’t— I don’t know what I can do to make it better. But I...care about you, whether you’ve got a part you’re doing at the moment or not. And if you decide this is too much and you wanna try another job, then I’m here for you. And if you stick with it, then I’m here for you, too. I just— I don’t know. I really don’t. I don’t think any of that even helped.”

“It did,” she said quickly, tears threatening to spill over again. “It does— I’m so sorry, Kris, really, that I woke you up for this.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you did if it meant getting it out of your system. Just— do me a favor?”

“Anything. God, I owe you lots of them, I feel like I’m always the one having a crisis and you’re—“

He put a gentle finger over her lips. “Two favors. One, stop being so hard on yourself, okay? You’ve been going through a lot of new stuff this year. It’s okay to freak out about it sometimes. And two—“

He kissed the tip of her nose, the way that always made her crack a smile, even now. “Please just tell me next time something is upsetting you instead of holding it in. Preferably at a reasonable hour of the day, yeah?”

She nodded sheepishly. “I will. I promise. Will you— will you please go back to bed now? I’m worried about you.”

“Will you go with me?”

She nodded again, and then suddenly he was scooping her up bridal style and carrying her back to bed. He laid her down gently and pulled the sheets over her shoulders before crawling in himself, pulling her back against his chest and draping his arm over her waist.

“Good night, Kris,” she whispered, lacing her fingers through his.

“Good night, Anna.”

---

They decided to forgo going out for brunch; neither of them really felt like talking to other people today, even for a moment. She had nearly forgotten what it felt like to have a whole day to just themselves, hour and hours at a stretch to be spent holding and being held and trading little whispered secrets and promises and praise, each sweet word paired with a kiss or caress or little silly sigh. She was drunk on Kristoff and the dark of his eyes and the heat of his hands and the press of his lips, soaked in love as if it were honey, so much so that she felt heavy with it sometimes, like all of it was constantly on the verge of spilling out and sweeping her away, and god, still every day it kept growing in her, filling her chest with so much warmth it felt like she had swallowed a star; she wondered sometimes if people could see it, if they knew. Kristoff had to, she thought, had to see it in her eyes and know she adored him, could probably see it now as she came into the kitchen and perched on the edge of the counter as had become her habit, swinging her legs and watching him make a batch of pancakes with those quick, clever hands that always knew exactly how she needed to be touched.

He smiled softly in greeting as he poured batter into the pan and came over to her the moment he was finished, wrapping his arms around her waist and tucking his chin over her shoulder. Her heart did a funny little flip when she noticed the ends of his hair were still damp, falling into slight curls; she ran her hands through them, feeling a sudden deep sense of contentment.

“You know,” Kristoff said playfully, his arms tightening slightly around her middle, “it was a lot easier to mix these up now that I knew where to find the vanilla.”

“I love you,” she said, the words popping out in response like they just couldn’t be kept in any more. “Kind of a lot, actually.”

His fingers had been tracing idle circles on her back, but they stilled suddenly; she heard him suck in a breath and hold it. She bit her lip, too nervous to break the silence, as if she stood on some great precipice and even the carelessly blown breath of a misspoken word might be enough to send her tumbling over the edge.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his fingers curling into the back of her shirt-- his shirt, really, another one she’d stolen from his drawer, coveting any opportunity to be close to him even in the smallest of ways.

Anna turned her head and kissed his temple. “I love you, Kristoff Bjorgman. And I think that pancake is going to burn.”

“Forget the pancake,” he breathed, pulling back so he could look at her, wonder in his eyes. “I-- you-- do you mean it?”

She nodded, feeling her heart begin to pound, so hard she could have sworn she could hear it, and he let out a sudden whoop of joy, surging forward to hug her again and pull her close to his chest, lifting her straight off the counter. Anna let out a gasp of surprise and fisted her hands in his shirt instinctively, her legs wrapping around his waist just in time.

“I love you, too,” he said, and she was suddenly glad he was holding her because otherwise she might have fainted and fallen to the floor at the sound of it. “I love you so much, Anna, I-- I just--”

The smoke alarm began to go off. He turned quickly to the stove and then froze, unsure what to do with his hands otherwise occupied; Anna, luckily, had the sense to snatch the handle of the pan and slide it over into the sink, which, thanks to Kristoff’s habit of washing as he cooked, was already full of soapy water.

The incessant beeping stopped after a moment, and they both let out a sigh of relief; Kristoff’s arms loosened around her, though he still held her close to his chest, and Anna realized he had been holding on to her so tightly it was starting to hurt, as if his first instinct in a moment of potential danger had been to protect her in whatever way he could. She cupped his jaw in her hands and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

“That’s not how I really imagined that would go,” he muttered, a flush beginning to creep over his cheeks. “The, uh, the making you breakfast thing. And the telling you I loved you part, too.”

Anna laughed and patted his shoulder as he set her back on the ground. “We can say it again and pretend it’s the first time.”

“No,” he said with a lopsided grin, “no, I-- I was so worried about saying it first and whether or not you��d say it back or whatever, and now...I guess it’s a relief to know I can tell you whenever I want.”

“Tell me what?” she said sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

“That I love you. So much. And that I’m so glad you love me, even when I burn your breakfast.”

“And I’m glad you love me even when I ransack your kitchen at three in the morning.”

He leaned down and kissed her then, his fingers just barely cupping her cheek, and his lips were so tender against hers she almost thought she would cry, but instead she kissed him back, knowing that this would be a moment she would treasure for a long, long time.

They broke apart only when her stomach growled in protest; Kristoff blushed again as he looked down at her. “Oh, fuck, I really am sorry about breakfast.”

“That’s okay. There’s always McDonald’s.”

Anna had just opened her mouth to ask if he still loved McGriddles even though they were disgusting when her phone went off on the table behind her. Kristoff recognized the ringtone by now, the one that she hadn’t been hearing enough lately. “It’s your agent— get it, I’ll grab our stuff.”

She scrambled for the phone. “Hey Sam— yeah— good morning to you too. What’s going on?”

She listened to his hurried explanation in stunned silence, feeling her breath speed up with every word. When at last Sam asked what she thought, she hardly knew where to begin.

“I— you’re serious, they want me?”

“Yes. They’ve been looking everywhere, heard about the Netflix movie, pulled some strings and saw the first edit and called me this morning insisting they want to see you by the end of the week.”

“I— and it’s seriously for, like— for—“

“Seriously, Anna,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Come by my office tomorrow, and I’ll get you everything you need for the audition, okay? Proud of you, kid. I know you’ll nail it.”

She set the phone down, her mind reeling. “Is everything okay?” Kristoff asked, sounding suddenly far away.

She turned to face him, her voice unsteady. “I— I don’t have it yet— but they— they want me for a part, Kris. A big one.”

#there is.....a lot in this chapter lol #and i still had to cut stuff lmfao #(it's only 4kish words but still like. whew)#my fics #drtlp

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lumiolivierlithium · 4 years

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Life Update of 2020 (Don’t Worry. Just the Good-Good)

It’s been a while since we last spoke, huh, Tumblr? I don’t pay you nearly as much attention as what I should, but I’m scattered all over cyberspace. I show up in the most unexpected places. But what the alternate title of this is:

Lumi’s Post of Shameless Self Promotion (Because What Else is a Blog Good For?)

So, what have I been up to, you may be asking yourself? Or maybe you’re not asking that question and you’re telling me to fuck off. Well, if that’s the case, then fuck you, too. So, hail Satan and have a lovely afternoon madam.

But if you are curious, here we are. Let’s do this in sections. That way, if you could give two shits less about something else I do, then, you can skip to the good bits, yeah? Or whatever it is you follow me for, K? Let’s get into it then.

1.) Fan Fiction:

So, in my last master post update, I hadn’t started posting Castlevania yet. It just recently came to an end last week, so...Brief synopsis and link in three...two...one!

Last of the Belmonts

Eden had lost her mother. The only family she thought she'd ever have. Her father couldn't be farther at the bottom of the barrel in her eyes. Her mother would be the only one who would accept her dhampir nature. That is until she finally starts to explore the other half of her blood, her vampiric half, courtesy of a certain girl gang of full-blooded vampires. However, despite that, she's still half human. Which half will rule her head and her heart?

Just a heads up. If you do read Last of the Belmonts (which I highly recommend. I loved this story so much and I’m so sad to see it go.), there are slight mentions of rape, but they’re far and few in between. Eden, the MC, is a dhampir. And for those who don’t know, dhampirs are a human/vampire hybrid. She wasn’t one of the lucky ones who came into this world by consensual means. Most of them aren’t. But before you ask, NO. SHE IS NOT DRACULA’S DAUGHTER. We find out just who she is throughout the story. But it’s got a little bit of everything in it. It’s got Trevor and Alucard sassing each other. It’s got Sypha trying to mediate between them. It’s got a MC that’s got a chip on her shoulder. I like to call it an alternative season three. Like, the story opens up in Braila after Carmilla’s raid, so...I’m not going to give too much for spoilers here. Just...Read the damn thing if you’re that curious. And I’ve been getting asked about a sequel, but I’m not quite sold on it yet.

But Castlevania isn’t the only fandom I’ve dipped my toe in as far as fic goes. Because...It’s been three years since I last wrote for Death Note and I got a friendly reminder of how big of Death Note trash I was when I fell down a fanart rabbit hole one night and thought, I need to jump back into writing Death Note fic. It’s that kind of a year. What the hell? Why not? And because I was feeling particularly thirsty, I decided I’d write my first Lawlight fic. Which...Again, same as I did for Last of the Belmonts, synopsis and link! BAM!

The Sweet Taste of Silver

Email after email...It only made Light sicker to look at them. Final notice. Past due. Expulsion threats. He knew going to one of the best schools in the country would be pricey, but that's what his scholarships were for, right? At least until they start running out. At least he'll have his internship...And his new employer.

Yeah. It’s what you think. It’s a sugar baby AU. We all know Light’s a sugar baby waiting to happen and it’s an underappreciated AU on Ao3, so I figured I’d add to the rich tapestry it is. But this is still ongoing. It gets updates every Tuesday. This story has been my new lightning in a bottle. It’s gotten a lot of traction on Ao3 and you are definitely more than welcome to it. I never thought I’d get so into writing angsty gays like I did with L and Light, but holy hell. It’s so much fun...Why did no one tell me this would be fun? I don’t know why I needed a sugar baby Death Note fic, but dammit, here we are.

Amongst all that mess, I’ve posted a SHIT TON of Mystic Messenger oneshots (even got my first commission because of those oneshots!). They’re all on Ao3. There’s probably 11 or 12 of them, so I’m not going to post the whole list here. Just go to my Ao3 account. You’ll see them there. But since we’re on the subject of MysMes fics I’ve written over the years, I started doing a rewrite of Man’s Best Intern, too! I mean, the story premise is still the same, but it’s had some tweaks here and there. And that’s damn near catching up to the Sweet Taste of Silver. My babies are all growing up so fast. I’m so proud of them...But the Man’s Best Intern rewrite is going up on Ao3 every Wednesday and Friday.

And the last fic I’m going to throw out here is For the Family. Now, for those of you who remember, last year, I posted a story called Switch about a little girl that grew up in New York mafia falling in love with a sweet, yet salty yakuza boy and getting tangled up with the Ouran Host Club. Well, it got a sequel. Again. Link and synopsis, ho!

For the Family

One year. That's all it took for Rei's heart to find home in another city. But it wasn't necessarily the city that captured her heart. it was the cute yakuza boy that bumped into her in the hallway. And thought she was a dude. Anyone else would've been afraid of someone with that kind of power...but not everyone had that same power. Now that another summer has passed, Rei and Ritsu were ready to go back to Ouran to take on their mutual frenemies: The Ouran Host Club

I couldn’t stay away from them for long. They were too cute. I loved Rei and Ritsu’s dynamic and they’ve only gotten worse. At the time I’m posting this, For the Family is ongoing, too. It goes up on Thursdays and I love this one so much. It’s been a roller coaster already and it hasn’t even gotten to the middle bit yet. This coming week’s chapter may or may not be a shit show.

I know I said that I’d be done with my fan fiction bullshit after my pitch of For the Family, but I also kind of have something cooking up. I’ve been working on a project that’s been completely handwritten for Hetalia that includes both the 1p! and 2p! characters, centered around an OC. I’ve been debating on whether or not to post that one online. Because it’s been mostly me writing it for me to unwind at night. It’s what I’ve spent my last half hour of my day working on and it’s put me in such a good place. Which is weird because the MC spends a lot of time with 2p!France and he’s kind of an asshole. I don’t know. I’ll think about it.

2.) New Schedule Changes? Instagram? Whaaaat?

I know. That sounds like it still pertains to my fan fiction here. It does not! On my Instagram for the last few weeks, I’ve been doing livestreams on Friday nights. It’s mostly just me sitting down and bullshitting with a camera, but it’s been some great fun! For the first one, I made curry. For the second one, I was working on a bullet journal spread. They’re all just very chill livestreams with a little hint of chaotic. My last post before this one? That was from last week’s stream when we were talking about different CMV projects I’d love to make, but I don’t have the bodies to make them. As mellow as they are, they’re also a lot of fun. So, if you’re looking for something to do with your Friday night and feel like hanging out with me, come hang out with me. My IG handle is LumiOlivier. You’re more than welcome to come sit and hang out. If my streams keep going they way they’ve been, maybe I’ll start doing more with them. Maybe I’ll bring them to YouTube. Maybe I’ll do something silly like do them more than once a week.

But that’s pretty much it. I’ve been, like most of you, shut up in my house for the last six months as much as possible. This year might be shit, but there’s been some pretty neat shit happening. And hopefully, it’ll be more of an upswing for the rest of it. So, I’m going to go because I have a chapter I need to do for Wednesday tonight and an outline to do. K, love you, bye!

#long post #life update #where in the fuck have you been Lumi?#shameless self promotion

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shmisolo · 6 years

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Some recommendations for showing your appreciation for fic

I never know how to make this post, largely because I write fic and so I don’t want it to come across as a “do this for me.” But I see my peers and friends routinely stating that they don’t know how their fics are being recieved and feel as though they are shouting their fic into a void and that it is wildly disheartening.

So since I had time on my hands this morning, I’m writing up some suggestions for you. This is long. I’m not putting it under a cut for Reasons.

Tumblr

Reblog fic.

That’s the biggest one. Hitting like feels great. I, as your fic writer, enjoy it when my fic is liked. I, as an author, get really excited when someone is recommending my fic.

Reblogging is not just showing your appreciation; it is recommending it to the people who follow you. It’s a double whammy.

Most fic readers like fic recommendations. There’s a lot of fic out there, and so someone saying “Hi, I liked this and enjoy it, you might too” is really appreciated as a reader who is trying to figure out what to do.

Comment on fic.

Commenting is a great way to show support for a fic and an author. It’s talking to them and showing your appreciation for their work. It can be finger mashing, it can be something longer. Tumblr comment culture tends to rely on sending shorter notes, but I’ve never seen an author complain about getting a long comment ever in my life.

Tag Commentaries - One of the things I like about tumblr is that tag culture has turned, over the years, into a way to add some subtle commentary while reblogging. So you can tag things functionally (#fic is my functional reblogged fic tag), and then add anything you want in the tags. Adding a simple “I loved this” in the tags makes an author feel great and might motivate them to write more.

Replies - Replying to the fic is another great way to show an author you liked their story. The author (and the person you might be getting the reblog from) will get a notification of what you are saying on their post. So even if you don’t follow the author, you can still say you appreciate their work.

Reblog additions - You can also add your own commentary to the caption of the fic as you see fit! Different fandoms have different conventions on this, and authors have different preferences. Similar to replies, the author will get a notification in their activity feed that you’ve said something and be able to check it out.

Sending asks or DMs - This is another way to reach out to an author and let them know you liked their story. It’s more private and personal, which means it happens rarely. But especially if you’re shy, sending a nice anon (especially when most people’s associations with anons are p r e t t y n a s t y, can be really a day-brightener).

Some general recommendations

Commenting is hard, especially when you don’t know what to say but have a lot of good feelings about a fic.

Things not to do: “When are you going to update?” / “More please!” - Sometimes this can be well recieved; other times it can have the opposite effect. Some authors might take it well, others might take it as demanding and it might kill the joy they have in their story and so, far from getting the update you want, you won’t get anything at all. Recommended alternatives: saying what you liked to make you want more from the story.

Tone is a tricky thing to navigate generally online. Something that might sound right in your head might be read very differently by the reader, so sometimes comments that are well-meant can come across as sarcastic/caustic and thus insulting when the author is reading them. Be mindful and aware--we know you don’t mean that, but that doesn’t mean your words don’t hurt unintentionally.

Didn’t like something? Or something grated you? The author got canon wrong? Take a deep breath. It’s just fanfiction and you are not entitled to their work. If they are not asking for critical feedback, your providing some unsolicited is crossing lines in an editorial process that you might not be aware of as a non-writer. Just take a deep breath and keep scrolling.

Something as simple as a “this was great!” can go a long way. If you want to go even further than that, pick a line you liked or a moment and say that you liked it.

Like fic.

If you’re not going to reblog fic but you enjoy it, I strongly recommend hitting the like button. Not everyone uses the like button on this website the same way. (I use tumblr across multiple devices and so I hit like on most posts I reblog just to remember that I’ve already seen the post; I know not everyone does this though.) But if you’re someone who uses the like button fairly liberally, this is a strong move.

Following.

Obviously--you get to choose who you follow. But if you like a fic, check out the author’s blog, and consider giving them a follow.

There are also frequently fic-amassing blogs within larger fandoms. Those are good ones to check out too!

AO3(/FF.N/Other Platforms)

These are mostly recommendations based on AO3, though some may apply to other fic publishing platforms.

Comments

I’m not going to type all that up again. I’d say the suggestions I made in the tumblr comment section apply across all platforms.

@longlivefeedback has a comment builder tool if you want help with writing a longer comment.

The only other point I’d say is there’s not time-limit on when to give a comment. Someone posted the fic three years ago? Five years ago? Drop a note! I’ve never seen an author complain about getting a comment on an old fic. On the contrary, most of them are thrilled when it happens.

Kudos

Kudos are not like the tumblr like function. They aren’t a way to save a fic you like--they are an easy way to show appreciation for a fic you’ve read. If you liked it, and don’t regret the time spent reading, I recommend hitting the kudos button. Most authors have daily emails turned on with Kudos updates from fics on AO3 and will get a note saying a fic got a kudos. That feels good: some read their fic and enjoyed reading their fic.

Bookmarks

You can have both private and public bookmarks on AO3.

Private is good for things you....might want to keep private (like that kinky fucking porn that you really enjoyed and might...want to...find....again later....) (Or whatever else you want to keep private.)

Public will appear on your AO3 profile. If someone is checking out your profile, they might see bookmarks as recommendations of good fic they might enjoy. Since AO3 doesn’t have a reblog function, this is as close as you can get to having a catered fic recs section on that platform.

You can add additional tags and commentaries to your bookmarks as you’re saving them, allowing you to organize as you see fit. Additional commentaries are something the author can also see and which might make their day in the way a comment might.

Cross-Platform

A lot of authors have multiple platforms they engage with. Some will post directly to AO3 (or another platform), some will post to both tumblr and AO3.

If you find something on AO3 that you enjoy, a good number of authors will link--either in their profile or in their fics--how you can find them on tumblr. If you want to spread an AO3 fic you find to your followers, see if the author has an original post they made about the fic that you can reblog--that way the author knows what traction their fic is getting, and where it’s coming from. (We like to know that shit. Trust me.)

If the author doesn’t have a post you can find, I strongly recommend @-mentioning them here on tumblr so they get a notification and know that they’re getting recommended.

If you’re making a post that lists out AO3 recs and you put the AO3 author handle--but know that the author has a tumblr, please also @-mention their tumblr. They love knowing they’re getting recommended.

If you see an author you follow is posting a lot of tumblr fic, check out their AO3--they might have more! If you don’t see a link for their profile on their blog, ask after it! Chances are you’ll make them feel warm and fuzzy because that’s an ask that says “I love your writing. Is there more of it I can check out?” Even if they don’t have an account on AO3, you might get links to more fic for you to check out.

Some Notes for Authors

I read (and reblogged) a post a while back that talks about social media and fic writing. The thing that’s hard about all this is that, even if AO3 doesn’t feel like a social media (we all know that Tumblr is one, for better and for worse) that doesn’t mean it’s not still beholden to some of the same laws that affect all web platforms, regardless of content or purpose.

I’m gonna quote the first post that I linked above (thank you @obotligtnyfiken for adding info to that post):

1 % are very active. They are the fans. They create their own content (hello, fanfic!), they cheer you on, they protest. 9 % may respond when you ask them to do something, but they will not take initiative. And they will not engage every time. 90 % will never engage, whatever you do.

Let me first say: it sucks to think about your fic in terms of marketing standards when you might not have any experience in marketing. Considering what a success rate is based on what social media success is considered to be rather than the more nuanced forms of “I got a bunch of reviews and they were heartening” sucks. But if you’re looking at hit counts and kudos counts, the above is important to bear in mind: most of your readers might enjoy but not engage because that’s how internet users engage with internet content across the board. (Think about all that stuff you see on Facebook because you follow a page. You might see it. You might even appreciate the information. You might not hit the like button.) It sucks that the same is true of fic but...the same is true of fic.

Readers: You’re reading this. You see what authors are balancing when they’re posting their fic online. Please be mindful. And I encourage you to engage with things you like. Don’t be that silent 90%!

Because of this, bearing in mind that if you have a 10% kudos:hit ratio on your fic, that’s doing pretty well.

@longlivefeedback has a good breakdown of how the AO3 hit counter works. I recommend checking it out since it was more protective of authors than I had initially thought.

People are engaging with your fic, despite the fact that 90% of people don’t necessarily engage with content on the internet that they might still enjoy. If you’re writing a chaptered fic, that number might get skewed so the percentage seems even lower.

That being said, there are still ways that a hit:kudos ratio might get skewed in ways that might actually be kinder to your fic than you think: let’s say that someone goes back and rereads your fic after a few weeks or months or years (or days tbh). You’ll get fresh hits from that. They might not necessarily say anything--they left a kudos and a comment last time. They gave their feedback. But you’re still getting hits from them.

Readers: authors welcome “I’m rereading this and still love it” reviews. If you’re reading through this section and want to support your authors, be aware of all the different feedback inputs they’re contending with, and what seem like happy fun fic time to you might come across as “no one likes my stuff,” to them which could be flatly untrue.

#fanfiction culture #fanfiction

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elrhiarhodan · 7 years

Note

Ask Meme: 6. Favorite character you ever created; 20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on; 50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

Thank you - you are one of my best Tumblr friends, hands down!

6 - Favorite character you’ve ever created:

Ooooh, that’s a hard one because I’ve created some really wonderful OCs over the years - Eduardo Montoya from We Shall Come Home, who rescued Wolfhounds Peter and Neal. Then there’s Isabelle Burke from Privilege, Peter’s twin sister, who lived to make her brother’s life miserable, until she needed him (and who just might have been the woman who broke Mozzie’s heart). And what about Dennis Christiansen - Mozzie’s would-be-brother from Sterling Heights, Michigan - who spent a lifetime regretting what he’d done, from Happily Ever After Isn’t for Guys Like Us.

But it really is a tie between Michael Burke, Peter’s pot-smoking, alpaca-owning, nickname-obsessed dad from Thanksgiving at the Burkes and Joe and Cathy Burke from The Wonderful Years.

I can’t really choose. Michael is just such a delicious basket of crazy - and just the type of crazy that made Peter be able to deal with - and more importantly - appreciate the joy that is Neal Caffrey.

But on the other hand, Joe and Cathy created Wonder(ful) Years Peter, who is loving and generous and selfless, a man who can fall in love and never be afraid of loving.

What is YOUR favorite?

20 - Post a snippet of a WIP.

I don’t have any active WIPs for White Collar at the moment, but I always hope that I’ll get the spark that brings me back home. I do have a few that have been sitting for a while, so here’s something from a story I’d started for the WC Pairings challenge last year but couldn’t get more traction on:

“Tell me, should I or should I not get a hot dog from a street cart?”

Peter blinked, that usually wasn’t a question he was asked on a first meeting – or ever. "Well, we do call them dirty water dogs for a reason.“

The other agent laughed. "Teddy’s is kind of obsessed with meat in tube form, since he started watching Anthony Bourdain on Netflix.”

Peter figured he’d offer a little New Yorker wisdom on that score, “Well, you could head uptown to Papaya King, or to Coney Island for a Nathan’s original.”

Winters nodded. "Thanks, will do.“ To Peter’s shock, he waved and left.

“Is he really going to get a hot dog?” Peter looked at Reese, who shrugged but didn’t seem otherwise put out.

The man in the good suit answered. "Probably – I wasn’t kidding about Teddy and hot dogs.“

Peter held out his hand. "We haven’t been introduced. You are?”

“Neal Caffrey.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Agent Caffrey.”

“I didn’t say I was an agent.”

“But you are.” Peter wished he’d take off that ridiculous hat.

“Why do you say that, Agent Burke?”

“When I entered the room, you shifted your weight from right to left, as if you were going to reach for your gun.”

“I’m not carrying.”

“No, you’re not – not in that suit. But you’re accustomed to it. And you walk like an FBI agent, too.” Peter looked over Caffrey, from head to toe. "I’d put you as a ten-year veteran, probably recruited fresh out of Harvard. Or maybe Princeton?. At least four languages – and I’m guessing French, German, Japanese and … Greek?“

“No Greek. Italian. You’re very good at reading people, Agent Burke.”

Peter grinned and thought it was a pity he couldn’t tell this man that he’d deliberately flubbed the last one. The file he’d just read noted that this deep-cover agent actually spoke nine languages, but none of them was Greek.

“What brought you and Agent Winters to New York?”

Caffrey sat down, took off his hat and dropped it on the conference table. Peter blinked. The man was … exquisite. He also looked exhausted.

“Winters’ technically isn’t with me.”

“He’s your handler?”

Caffrey flicked a gaze up at Reese, who hadn’t said anything since the initial introduction. Reese nodded.

“Yeah. We go back a ways. He’s been my connection into the Bureau for about three years.”

“You’re just coming off an assignment?”

“Yeah.”

Reese sat down and gestured for Peter to do the same. "This situation isn’t optimal and the AD assures me that the operation won’t drag on forever.“

"I’ve had those assurances before, Agent Hughes. Last time I got that promise, I was undercover for eighteen months.”

50 - Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

Oh, come on!

My writing is weirdness central! Peter turns into a cat, Elizabeth is a tiger-shifter, Neal turns into a kitten (or a puppy, depending on the story), Moz is a multi-shifter - depending on the phase of the moon, he turns into a chinchilla, a hamster or a wombat.

Or Peter and Neal both turn into dogs.

Elizabeth and Peter are a witch and a wizard and Neal’s the only muggle in the White Collar unit.

Neal has wings and tentacles.

Alder has tentacles.

Mozzie’s a dragon

Peter and Elizabeth and the whole FBI are Dracons. Neal’s a Dracon, too.

You want weirdness, just check out the Transformations tag on my masterlist.

::HUGS::

#white collar #my writing #meme'd #archivistsrock

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