#is this going to inspire things for my fics? abso-fucking-lutely who do you think I am
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I’m gonna cry watching this video for real. Kerri? Olivia? MARCIA??????? And 4 other as of yet to be announced drag queens that I am hoping include Jan and Rosé? Goona is FEEDING US WELL
#new Marcia content new Marcia content I am going to go so feral#if I knew how to make gif sets I would be planning to make GIFs of every appearance she has in this music video#is this going to inspire things for my fics? abso-fucking-lutely who do you think I am#lagoona bloo#Kerri Colby#Olivia Lux#Marcia#Marcia x3#Marcia Marcia Marcia#also ever since I saw Olivia on Jan’s podcast I’ve been an Olivia stan#I loved her before but meeting her in person absolutely solidified it#drag queens#drag queen#elle woods
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I just found read your crossroads fic over on Ao3, and damn sweetheart, I am in LOVE with this classy mob styled version of Overhaul you have going on. The smut in that last chapter was abso-fucking-lutely to die for! But I really need to know something about his character in this story. He was obviously a virgin, but r there any specific kinks he’s been thinking about or planning on trying with her?
*blush* THANK YOU!!! You can blame my good friend and favorite Kai fanfic author @inorganicone2230 They’re the one that spurred me into having the idea for this fic and then (like they’ve done with all my bnha fics) encouraged me to write it and brainstormed with me.
Yes, Kai was a virgin. Though his skill level might test some folks suspension of disbelief (something I try not to do too much in my fics, even though I write mostly fantasy).
Kai’s kinks in this fic might be fairly tame by our standards. But it is a 1920′s era au fic. Don’t really know if they’re kinks; but Kai would love to spank Maya then bend her over his desk and…
...so I don’t know if you saw my post. But I decided to do a short smutty scenario thanks/inspired by this ask. So here you go. Sorry it’s so short. Between having my ‘poison juice’ (aka infusion) last Friday and unexpected visitors yesterday and the day before I’ve been kinda wiped.
FYI this little scene would take place after things settled a bit from the last and (eventual) upcoming chapter.
WARNINGS: spanking, non-con, creampie, cockwarming; Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).
Promised Pleasure
Removing his dust mask as Maya entered his office, Kai frowned at her attire. “That’s not what I told you to wear today.”
Maya’s shoulders tensed. She foolishly hadn’t expected her choice of clothes to be an issue. She should've known better. Still, her pride wouldn’t let her apologize. And she knew Kai would sniff out any lie.
Deciding a gently put truth was best, she stepped further in his office. “I felt like wearing this.”
Kai’s golden eyes narrowed. She was testing boundaries again. And her testing was trying his temper. “Close the door please, my Dear.”
Despite the politeness of the ask, a shiver ran up Maya’s spine. Mouth suddenly dry, she turned and closed the door with a shaky hand.
“Lock it.” Kai ordered, voice taking on a twinge of sharpness. He had called her in here hoping for a nice diversion. But with his beautiful girl acting so spiteful he would have to resign himself to giving her a lesson.
Maya’s hand paused on the door. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.
“Maya. Lock the door, Darling. You know how I dislike repeating myself.”
The slow scrape of the lock setting in place deafened Maya to everything but her ragged breathing and thundering heart. She didn’t hear Kai’s next words. So when she turned back around, it was to find him looking more annoyed then ever.
Smothering her nerves, Maya met Kai’s piercing gaze head on. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
Unlacing his fingers, Kai sat back. “I told you to come here. This is the second time I’ve had to repeat myself. I won’t do so again.”
Maya shuffled hesitantly toward Kai’s desk.
Kai pushed back and slightly turned the chair he was sitting in. “This side. Come around near me.”
She moved around the desk, stopping a couple paces from his spread legs. Skin prickling under the caress of his roving gaze, her breath caught glimpsing the bulge in his pants.
At least Kai always brought her pleasure. Unlike the disgusting landlord who had used her and left without care or glance after. Kai always made her feel special. Beautiful. Loved. In those moments of heated bliss she lost herself and forgot she was doing this solely for justice for her brother. Basking in Kai’s twisted affection and the delightful pleasure he gave she’d start to believe she truly cared for him in return. That they could make something of this. Possibly enter a real relationship that wouldn’t end when he did as he promised and saw those who killed her brother put down.
Maya stared at the tailored suit jacket hanging over the back of Kai’s chair. Anything to avoid seeing the twitching cock in his pants.
“Why don’t you serve me some water and unbutton my vest for me, Sweetheart.”
It wasn’t a question, or even a suggestion. Maya knew well enough it was an order. But with Kai’s honeyed tone and adoring gaze it was easy to trick her mind into believing there would be no consequences for disobedience.
Turning over a heavy tumbler that sat on a silver tray at the end of his desk, she took up the crystal carafe and poured. Setting the glass in front of him, her fidgeting hands fell to her side, smoothing her skirt.
Her delay in following his second commend had Kai rising to his feet. Maya stepped back even as she hurriedly reached for his vest, seeking to rectify the offense. Kai grabbed her wrist before she touched him.
Maya grimaced at the too tight grip. “I’m sorry. I--”
Kai pulled her roughly against him. Maya stumbled, heels catching on the plush area rug. She fell against his chest. His expensive cologne assaulted her nose. She loved the smell but hated smelling it as she only got a whiff when Kai had her in his space.
Suddenly gentle, Kai’s strong arms steadied her. “Careful, Sweetheart. We don’t want you hurting yourself.” He caressed her cheek, brushing the hair out of her face with a tenderness that didn’t match the blazing fire in his amber eyes.
Maya held perfectly still, struggling not to flinch. The way Kai flipped from loving and sweet to caustic and hurtful on a penny dime was what frightened her most about him.
Smiling, Kai’s head dipped. “You’re so beautiful, Darling. So soft and beautiful.”
His tender lips graced hers in a chaste kiss. Maya’s lashes fluttered closed accepting the kiss, thinking she had escaped his anger. Her body jerked at a sudden tug. The sound of something ripping rang out in the room. A sudden cold strike of air hit her front torso pebbling her nipples.
Maya’s eyes shot open with a gasping cry. Kai had rent her blouse and camisole open.
“If you refuse to wear what I tell you to. Maybe you should be left with nothing to wear at all.”
“Kai… I’m--”
Kai cupped her cheek. “I don’t want to hear it, Sweetheart. You apologize and apologize but keep on going astray from the clear, defined rules I’ve set. My love for you has seen me be more than patient. But I’m afraid my patience has come to an end.”
Maya stumbled again, her world spinning as she was quickly turned and shoved down against the desk. The glass of water she served slid off the surface and fell to the floor. It’s crash accentuated Maya’s surprised cry. Mind reeling, she didn’t feel the splash of water soak her hose.
“Ka—ah!” She broke off with a scream, senses assaulted by the sound of her tearing skirt. The cold hard desk against her breast and torso and Kai’s painful grip on the back of her neck. Her nose burned, eyes watering from the lingering smell cleaner that clung to the polished surface.
Hand still holding her down, Kai dropped her ruined skirt. His freed hand slid over the silky slip she worn. So soft, he mused. But not anywhere as soft as the flesh beneath. That covering was pulled down along with her panties.
“Kai! What are you--” Maya broke off with another shouted cry.
The crack of his hand hitting her ass echoed about the room. Maya’s back arched at the blooming fire but was roughly pushed back down against the desk.
“Stay, my Love. You wouldn’t want to upset me further and earn yourself another lesson after this.”
Wiping tears from her eyes, Maya tried to look back at him. For a moment she swore she saw a horrid bird-like beast in place of her handsome tormentor. But the monstrous vision was gone quicker than she could blink.
“Le—le—lesson?” She stammered.
“For continually testing your bounds.” Kai leaned forward, low rasp tickling her ear. “I’m afraid this will hurt, my Dear. But know, that it will hurt me to do it more than it’ll hurt you.”
Ass still stinging from the first spank Maya doubted that. By the third strike she was certain Kai enjoyed it and was glad for the chance to discipline her supposed disobedience. Confirmation of his delight came when he paused after the fourth hit and ran a hand over her blazing butt-cheeks.
Kai’s fingers traced the red marks, trailing over the rising welts. He loved Maya’s perfect, soft skin. But there was a possessive pride in seeing her flesh temporarily marred by the work of his hand. It sparked something primal in him, turning his tender caress into a rough, digging grope. She was beautiful, his beloved. A perfect little darling that would fit so well beside him in the new wholesome world he was working to usher in. Or at least she would be once she learned to listen and obey without hesitance or question.
No one but him could touch her. Certainly no one else was allowed to see her in such a weakened and debauched state. Kai growled at the thought, fingers digging into the meat of her ass. He would gouge the persons eyes out. Cut out their tongue, and break their knees and fingers. Then grant them a slow, painful death for having seen his darling like this. Because this… His other hand loosened and trailed down her neck, slinking around her side to cup her breast, reveling in the weight as she lifted a bit thinking they were done. ...this was for him, and him alone. His throbbing dick ground against her raw ass.
Maya’s lips pressed together between clenched teeth, biting back a cry at the burning pain. Halfway into righting herself her back bumped Kai’s chest.
Weight rested on his hand planted to her side on the desk, Kai’s chin hooked over her shoulder. “Think you’ve learned your lesson, Beautiful?”
Breast heaving with a shuddering breath, Maya nodded.
“Doesn’t appear so. You know how I prefer worded responses.”
“Yes!” Maya expelled. “Yes. I’ve learned my lesson. Please, Kai. I’m sorry. So very sorry. It won’t ever happen again.”
Kai’s knuckles glided down her back. Other hand gripping her hip he pulled her blistered ass against his leaking erection. “Why don’t we test that? Bend over, Sweetheart.” Annoyed as he was by her hesitance, he smiled lightly. “Either you haven’t learned your lesson. Or liked it so much you want another.”
Before Maya could respond she was pushed and held down on the desk. Her eyes shot wide at the resounding spank. Fresh tears sprang from her eyes as they squeezed shut at the sharp boiling pain. “Kai! Please! I’m--”
Another hit landed. Then another.
Kai stopped after the tenth. Staring down at her trembling frame he had a moments regret. He should have made her count. Next time, he told himself.
He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his vest. Amber eyes skimmed over his handy work. Just when he thought she couldn’t be more beautiful… Even her mix of drool and tears puddled on the desk were lovely.
Lost in the consuming tumble of dull thudding pain accentuated by sharp stinging bursts, Maya didn’t hear the jangle of Kai’s belt being undone. She jolted at his hand slipping between her legs. Whimpering as his prodding fingers dragging through her folds.
Kai frowned at the minimal moisture. Usually Maya got so wet for him. It wounded and upset him. But before those emotions could take root his eyes drifted back to the pool of saliva on his desk. His heart lightened. Even with her punishment his darling had thought of him and his needs. Proving she loved him as much as he loved her.
He leaned over her and kissed her tear-stained cheek. “Thank you, my Dear. You’re so sweet and good for me.”
Maya’s lashes fluttered. She watched Kai’s hand trail through her drool, gathering it.
Bringing his wet hand to his freed length, Kai slathered her saliva over his shaft. He grimaced, skin prickling with the beginnings of a inch. But soothed himself that was Maya. She was clean. Worthy. His.
It’s like indirect oral, he thought with a steadying breath. The prickling itch diminished then fully disappeared as he focused on Maya, pumping his fist to fully wet his cock.
Lining up his cock he leaned back over her and kissed her shoulder. “You’ve had you’re punishment, Darling. And you took it so well. Now, let me remind you of my love and the pleasure I can give.”
Maya’s shining eyes flicked to Kai’s. Her brow furrowed. Was it the light? Or was there a dim otherworldly glow in those honeyed depths? The image of the demon Dabi’s bright burning eyes flashed through her mind. But it vanished in an instant from the breach of Kai’s fat cock head. She would've cried out at the burning stretch if her breath hadn’t seized in her lungs.
Kai hissed at the pull of his sensitive skin. Maya’s drool helped. But it didn’t provide the smooth silky glide her delicious arousal did. Wanting the discomfort over with he snapped his hips flush against her, driving his length in her tight hole.
Fully sheathed, Kai slowly exhaled. His eyes closed, head rolling back. Taking a moment to simply feel, he basked in her velvety embrace. This would never get old. Slipping his aching cock into Maya’s perfect, tight pussy. Feeling her walls stretch to make room for him then flutter as they adjusted to his penetrating presence was something that consumed his thoughts; just like everything else about her.
Maya mewled the most pitiful whine beneath him and Kai lost it. His darling was just so sweet. So beautiful. So helpless.
His hips pulled back and slammed right back against her.
If asked, Maya wouldn’t have been able to say if her scream was from the hard thrust or Kai’s pelvis pounding into her blazing red backside.
Her back arched, lifting her off the desk.
One hand gripping her hip, Kai’s other hand grabbed the back of Maya’s neck and shoved her back down. Never once did his ramming thrusts stop.
The once dulling pain of Maya’s welted ass sharpened again. Fresh tears seeped from her eyes. Kai had lied. He had said she had her punishment. The pain was suppose to be over. But every thrust was just another spank. Until…
Kai’s feet shifted. Angling his hips he hit that spot in her that had her seeing stars.
Pleasure mixed with the pain. The rough scrape of his trousers zipper didn’t hurt as badly. Even the occasional jab of his belts buckle didn’t make her want to crawl up and die.
Kai almost reached around to finger her clit. But an idea struck him. It was scandalous. But so was fucking his darling over his desk. He groaned, cock twitching at the thought. His pace sped seeking his own release without a care for hers.
Maya rocked against the desk. Her hips started to push back against him despite the blazing pain to her ass. A different kind of heat pooled in her belly. But just as the coil started to tighten another warmth filled her.
Kai thrust deep inside Maya, cock coming alive. He grunted, pushing his hips firmly against her, driving her against the desk, seeking to get even deeper as hot ropes of cum spit from his pulsing cock.
Building orgasm lost, Maya deflated atop the desk. Her nails clawed at the polished surface, hands balling into weak fists. Though grateful it was over, she couldn’t help but be bit bitter about Kai’s second lie. ‘...let me remind you of my love and the pleasure I can give.’ Yes, she had felt some pleasure. But she hadn’t gotten her full pleasure.
She waited for Kai to pull out. When he didn’t she looked back at him.
Kai greeted her with a smug smile. “You didn’t cum. Did you?”
Maya’s mouth fell open.
Before she could respond, her torso was pulled up off the desk. Heated as his skin was through his button-up shirt, Maya shivered the instant her back touched his chest.
Kai’s arms wrapped around her. He held her firmly against him, keeping his cock snugly inside her. His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Did you think I forgot about my promise, Sweetheart? I said I was going to remind you of the pleasure I can give.”
Keeping her glued against him, Kai retook his seat. Head a whirl of confusion, Maya barely grimaced at the discomfort of his softening cock shifting inside her. The heated pain of her abused butt numbed by her racing mind trying to figure out what Kai was doing.
Soon enough she got her answer and wished she never had.
“I’m a man of man word, my Love. What do you say you keep me warm while I do some work? Then I can give you that promised pleasure.”
After this, Kai might develop a breeding kink to go with spanking, rough office sex, and cokwarming.
Comments and reblogs are always appreciated.
Thank you all for being so patient with me and the posting of this fic. Special thanks to Anon for the ask and inspiring this one shot. And as always, an extra special thank you to @inorganicone2230 for being the best fellow writer friend (and friend in general) and encouraging and brainstorming with me. I mean it when I say I would’ve given up posting long ago if it wasn’t for your support.
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Vent Your Spleen Until You Keen.
| {Maribat 2k20 – Day 3: Out Sick} |
| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |
| Triggers/Warnings: Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Pneumonia, Concussions, Blood and Injury, Drowning, Explicit Language/some swearing. |
| Bloodied Robins aren't built to swim with clipped wings. Good thing the bats, birds, and bug are there to patch him up before it's too late. |
| Word count: 1968. |
==–==
| A/N: So as I mentioned in the authors note of the previous Ficlet, I got mugged in the dark dank alleyway by the Maribat2k20 MariTim prompt calendar and stabbed by the knife of inspiration. Except this time it was the angsty knife of inspo. So enjoy a nice but of hurt with comfort. |
| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then send me a DM or an ask! |
| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |
==–==
Crashing into the Miller Harbour waters after being thrown from the roof of a warehouse is not how Tim thought his evening would go. Then again, earlier, he hadn't realised this drug trade would be a trap, meaning now he just so happens to be the unlucky bat to get caught. Or in this case, dumped in the harbour. Which is great. Lovely. Abso-fucking-lutely spectacular.
The crack of the armoured suit and gear slamming into the dubiously murky waves is accentuated by the thrumming pain from where his back and neck take the brunt of the impact. Tim arches in pain as the air is knocked out of him, leaving him gasping for breath. It's not helped by the chilly water breaching his suit and stinging his open wounds. I'm going to get so sick from this, urgh. He grumbles internally. Even if he wasn't lacking a spleen, the harbour's waters are polluted enough to make probably even Superman sick.
Tim kicks upwards and is struck with the realisation of oh no, oh fuck. As the water weighs his suit down even more and he starts to sink. The cold saps his energy and makes him clumsy. Fingers slipping at the straps and zips and security measures on his suit. Grimacing, he struggles, strength waning too quickly. Sploosh-Thwip-thwip-thunk-clink, chunks of his armour detach and sink below, significantly slowing his descent but he's still sinking.
He fumbles around his belt for his rebreather and manages to get it over his mouth just as his vision loses colour and goes fuzzy around the edges. Breathing heavily, he listens to the creepy sound of the rebreather working and flurry of air bubbles surrounding it.
Shit, I'm running out of time. Tim curses in his head. He keeps kicking and the water is looking lighter, meaning he's close. So close. But not close enough.
There's a thunderous splash as Tim breaches the surface. He doesn't stop—can't stop, not if he wants to live. His swimming is the only thing keeping his blood pumping and head above water.
His vision blurts violently and the darkness at the edges of his sight flares. Not enough time, not enough. The bank is closer though, I might make it?
Tim blacks out.
One second he was swimming for his life, now he's lying face down on the cement bank, gasping for breath like a dying fish. He pushes himself up, muscles protesting and shaking from cold and pain. There's a shallow pool of watery blood surrounding him—not good but could be worse. Just need to get back to my Nest and I'll be fine.
Tim fiddles around his remaining armour and gear, tapping the self destruct buttons for the discarded gear, and grasping at the grapple hook in relief—it would be a pain getting back home without it. He limps forward and shoots the grapple, swinging himself home.
He barely makes it through deactivating his security measures and stumbles through his window. Limping over to his sofa, Tim immediately collapses and passes out—still in gear.
==–==
The next day, Marinette's halfway through patrol and already fairly banged up—with a particularly nasty headache among other things—when she spots that the window to Tim's Nest is open. She swings by to inspect and sees his handiwork on the deactivation of his security measures. She hums and glanced through the window to look inside, thinking, Probably nothing to worry abo—
Tim's lying half on the sofa, covered in blood and muck. He's pale—paler than usual—and his hair is plastered to his forehead. Breathing laboured and nasally, and shaking like a leaf. He looks sick and injured and he's not even managed to switch into civvies before passing out—not good, really not good.
Okay maybe definitely something to worry about. Marinette mentally amends, a spike of worry slamming itself into her chest. Especially since no one's talked to or heard from him since early patrol yesterday... She climbs through the open window, closing it behind her and then resecures the security measures.
With a whispered “Tikki, spots off,” she drops her transformation and wobbly bolts to Tim's side. Checking his pulse and status. Too-quick heartbeat, infected lacerations to the arms, legs, and torso, bruised or maybe broken ribs—Marinette flinches and takes a second to calm herself down so she doesn't retch—bruising to the side of the head, and a ton of minor bumps, scratches, and grazes from the looks of things. She then checks his other symptoms: rapid and shallow breathing with occasional wheezing, high temperature, sweating and shivering—clammy.
Marinette chews her lip, eyes watering. “Oh, Tim…” She shakes her head, heart-pounding, and whips out her phone, scrolling down to the contact with shaky hands. It rings twice then picks up. “Leslie?” She cuts in as soon as the call connects, shoving the phone between her ear and shoulder to free her hands. “I'm at Red Robin's place and he's hurt, really bad, I—” She breathes in before recounting all his injuries and symptoms. “He's unconscious, and I think he's either in septic shock or got pneumonia, maybe both…” As she's talking, Marinette grabs the nearest first aid kit she can find and goes about cleaning out and patching up the injuries she can with the equipment she has.
“I'll be able to treat him at the cave. How quickly can you get there?” Leslie answers in a clipped but calm tone.
“Uhh…” Marinette pauses both in speech and in movement, “We'll need someone to drive him there because I can't drive. I don't know who's close enough and can drive. I'll call B, O, or Agent A after this.” She continues to apply first aid.
“I'll be at the cave in twenty-five minutes,” Leslie responds, cutting the call off not a second later.
She grabs her phone from her precarious ear-to-shoulder position and scrolls to Agent A's number and it only takes him one ring to answer. “A.” Marinette pulls the same thing she did with Leslie's call, cutting in before the other can speak whilst putting it back between her ear and shoulder so she can continue applying minor treatment. She repeats the same thing she told Leslie. “I've also called Leslie, she's heading to the cave now, she said she'll be about twenty-five minutes.”
She doesn't quite catch all of Alfred's response because Tim wakes with a groan and coughs, his pupils are blown and his gaze is worryingly blank—glazed over. Marinette thinks she hears something about the batmobile and three minutes but she's more worried that it looks like he's concussed as well. “Concussion. He's also got a concussion.” Marinette relays on autopilot, and maybe she hears Alfred inhale sharply but she can't tell. She's not sure when or if the call ends but she's too stressed to care.
She's fumbling with the first aid and it takes every speck of focus she's got to make sure she isn't making him worse—next thing she knows Nightwing and Red Hood and jumping through the window (security deactivated and opened first, so no broken windows here).
Red Hood pulls Marinette away from Tim, and Nightwing carefully scoops his little brother up. The world blurs around her and then her vision wavers, going completely colour blind as it goes fuzzy and dark at the edges, getting worse and worse. She thinks Red Hood's talking to her, he's gripping her arm rather tightly, almost painfully but it's giving her something to anchor on to… But it's not enough, her vision spins, going completely black, and distantly she hears panicked yelling and feels the world tipping to one side—
==–==
The world slowly comes to and Marinette's feeling absolutely wretched. She's lying on a medical cot from what she can tell, but her mind's so fuzzy. She doesn't want to open her eyes. People are talking in hushed tones the distance. She thinks this isn't the first time she's woken up here since—
She has vague memories of opening her eyes and people bustling in and out of view, asking questions and doing things. She doesn't remember much.
Then she hears a voice closer to her, she can't remember whose voice it is but it's warm and rumbly but not too gruff—familiar. “Hey kid, you awake again?”
Marinette groans in protest—she would rather not be awake right now.
“Yeah, yeah, you're in pain, life sucks. I know.” The voice sounds amused.
She huffs in indignation which only causes the voice to bark with laughter.
The voice quietens down after a second. “You an' Timbo gave us quite the scare y'know. Don't think I've ever seen B that worried before, when we dragged the both of you to the Batmobile.”
Marinette hums, unsure how else to respond.
“You've got a concussion if you're wondering, you were lucky I was already holding you up when you fainted. Could've made your concussion worse if you had hit the ground instead.”
She groans again, the mention of the concussion brings the full throbbing pain in the back of her skull back to her attention. She huffs again to express her displeasure at the voice reminding her.
The voice snorts—probably at her pain like a sadist. “Timbo's fine, by the way, surgery went off without a hitch. Even woke up a few times, so if you're up and about the next time he wakes up you can help the others smother him with love and affection.”
Marinette smiles lopsidedly. “Coo'.”
==–==
Of course, the first thing she does once she's no longer bed-bound, and Tim's awake and somewhat healed, is take Jason's (it took her a while to recognise it was him who had been speaking to her) advice. In the form of her relentlessly hugging Tim like a clingy koala—much to his joy and begrudging dismay.
“Mari… please.” Tim begs, staring at the ceiling as if it would somehow save him.
If anything his words prompt her to hug him even tighter, “Nope! I will hug you for as long as I physically can.”
In exasperation, he exclaims, “Mari, no!”
“Mari, yes!” She shoots him a smug grin.
“Mari please.”
“Tim, I will keep hugging you.” Marinette threatens
“Mari, let go.” He says with no real intent behind his words.
“No letting go! Only hugs or death!” She declares with an even smugger grin.
He grins back then dramatically proclaims, “Guess I'll die then.”
“No!” She half screeches, struggling to contain her giggles.
“Oh no! I'm dying! Blargh!” He lays back down on the medical bed, pretending to die dramatically. “Marinette, as my dying words I must tell you that—that I—I—” He fake coughs and lets himself go limp.
“Tim! Nooo! Clearly, the only way to save you from dying is to give you the magical fairytale kiss of life!” As soon as she says that, not giving him any time to react, she pecks him on the lips.
“Wow, I'm alive again, what a miracle!”
==–==
Around the corner, unbeknownst to the two, Jason eyes Dick with amusement. “You taking blackmail photos there, Dickiebird?”
Dick makes an undignified squawking sound and nearly drops his phone. If not for his bat training, he definitely would have dropped it. Trying to pull off an air of nonchalance, he leans against. “Pfft! What are you talking about? Of course I'm not, I'm just collecting evidence that Timmy's okay. For uh Bruce and Alfred's sake. And the Teen Titans too, they've all been worried once they heard how bad he got.”
Jason snorts. “"For evidence he's okay", sure you are.”
Dick narrows his eyes. “If you tell anyone, I'll release all the cute photos I have of you when you were still wearing the Robin suit.”
Jason gasps. “You wouldn't dare!”
Dick grins. “Try me, Little Wing.”
Raising his hands up, Jason backs away. “Fine! You win!”
==–==
| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |
@maribat-2k20
#Miraculous Ladybug#ML x DC#DC x MLB#Maribat#Timinette#MariTim#Timari#Tim x Marinette#Marinette x Tim#Maribat2k20#Maribat2k20 Tim x Marinette#Maribat2k20 Day 3#Maribat2k20 Out Sick#Vent Your Spleen Until You Keen#VYSUYK#Sham's Posts#Sham's Writing#Sham's Fics
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Good Years
1.7k words on Zayn in One Direction and potential inspiration for Good Years.
Warning: this fic deals with anxiety and also a little bit of alcohol abuse! Please stay safe!
Also - slight use of bad language.
When she was little, Walihaya Malik loved to sing karaoke. She loved to sing her heart out, and the only thing that made the whole experience that much better than a fancy microphone was singing with her older brother.
Which meant Zayn was constantly roped into the singing festivities. And most of the time, it was fun. It was only less than wonderful when she asked him to play about every other night. Singing the same songs over and over again multiple nights in a row wasn’t exactly Zayn’s idea of a good time.
It was exhausting. There was nothing worse than that heavy feeling of weariness that came with the lack of energy that it took to have fun. Or worse, to look like you’re having fun, which happened any time Walihaya gave Zayn the puppy eyes when he’d collapse on the couch after a song.
Going on tour with the band was trying to look like you’re having fun constantly.
Constantly meaning every single night.
For a year. Straight.
And then again.
And again, and again.
_____________________________________________________________
Zayn felt like he couldn’t breathe.
He felt like his ribs were contracting, like his chest was caving in on his lungs.
They had a show in a few hours. He didn’t think he could do it. He felt light-headed and sick and he had a headache. Liam kept telling him to eat, but Zayn couldn’t even look at Niall’s jumbo platter from Nando’s without wanting to hurl.
All he wanted to do was go outside. He wanted to sit in front of a tree and draw and just be alone in the silence and the sunlight. He wanted to breathe, to feel the wind and the sun and the nature and watch the clouds and the birds and the flowers.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even open a bloody window without hearing the screaming masses. He loved the fans, he really did, but they got on his nerves when they stopped him from going outside and suffocated him.
He went through the motions during rehearsals and sat in the toilets during the in-betweens, almost wanting to throw up just to get the feeling of nausea out of his stomach. It didn’t work, and Zayn wanted to call quits on the show.
He didn’t. He couldn’t.
_____________________________________________________________
1 AM, GMT+1 - 2 HRS. POST-SHOW
LONDON, ENGLAND, UNITED KINGDOM
ROOM 112, THE RITZ
“You think we’ve wasted all our good years?” Zayn asked quietly, staring at the ceiling of Niall’s hotel room. “No doubt about it,” Louis replied. There was a clink, and Zayn looked up to see his glass of whiskey magically refilled.
“Ah, cheers,” Zayn murmured, taking a sip.
“Bloody hell,” Harry sighed, reaching for the bottle himself. “We’re gonna be dead tomorrow.” Zayn gave a wry smile. “Wouldn’t mind that all that much,” he said, and Liam nodded. “Be a bit of a relief, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s too late for this shit,” Niall murmured, and Zayn smiled, knowing that he was curled up in his bed, practically already asleep. “Go to sleep, Ni,” he said. “You’re just -” Niall cut him off with a pillow thrown in his face.
“I’m trying,” he insisted. “You lot are too bloody loud!”
“Oi!” Louis exclaimed. “You’re the one who invited us!”
Niall groaned. “No, I didn’t! I said I had a few bottles of Guinness, and if you wanted to come up for a few minutes, you could! Not that we should stay up talking shit until two in the bloody morning!”
“You should really know better by now,” Harry said through a yawn.
“We really should sleep, though,” Liam murmured, but he didn’t make any moves to get up. “Maybe we should just… not,” Zayn said. “We could just… refuse.” That got a laugh out of Louis, who chuckled and stood up with a stretch.
“That,” he said, heading for the door, “would be quite entertaining. Good luck with that. Night, lads.” Zayn yawned, shifting into the sofa he was lying on. “I’m not moving,” he grumbled, and Liam sighed. “You’ll get yelled at tomorrow…”
“You know how many fucks I give?” Zayn asked, and Liam sighed again, evidently already aware of his answer. “How many, Zayn?” he asked tiredly.“Zero, Payno,” Zayn said. “Zero. No fucks. Nada. I could not care less if I tried. And I’m not trying.”
“Right,” Liam said. “Night, then. Harry? Comin’ with?”
A clink. Zayn peeked an eye open to see the bottle of whiskey, empty on the table, and Harry dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” he slurred, and he followed Liam out of the hotel room.
“Night, Ni,” Zayn mumbled.
Niall gave him only a loud snore in reply.
Zayn got in trouble the next morning.
He still didn’t give a fuck.
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Zayn closed his eyes, gripping his mic tight and holding back the tears. Just an hour more, he told himself. One more hour, and he’d be in bed. No more people, no more screams, just him and the silence.
The music began. The crowd roared.
Zayn bit his lip as the tears threatened to spill over.
A crowd of tears, he thought miserably, forcing a smile to his face.
A crowd of a thousand tears.
_____________________________________________________________
“Honestly,” Louis said softly, watching the crowd with a frown, “I would rather be anywhere else right now. Like, the North Pole sounds about perfect at the moment.” Zayn gave a weak attempt at a smile. “Imagine leaving, right now? Just… walking out? Think there’d be a scandal?”
Louis laughed. “Oh, you bet. World would probably go up in flames, it would.”
“If only,” Zayn murmured.
“If only,” Louis echoed.
And then he was smiling, running down the platform with all the energy in the world, and screaming and bouncing and jumping up and down and singing with all his heart like it was no big deal.
As he walked down the platform himself, barely keeping a smile on his face, Zayn wondered how the bloody hell Louis could agree with his miserable notions one moment and be beaming and laughing the next.
For the life of him, he just could not figure it out.
_____________________________________________________________
MIDNIGHT, PDT - 1 HR. POST SHOW
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, UNITED STATES of AMERICA
A CLUB SOMEWHERE IN BEVERLY HILLS
Zayn felt like
he was on top
of the world.
Everything was spinning, everything was blurry, he heard voices screaming loud as bloody hell and Zayn loved it because nobody liked silence after a good show. He was drinking some sort of alcohol, dancing with the boys, drunk off his face.
He was a superstar, he kept thinking.
He was at a club, in Beverly Hills, in the United States of America.
Him. Zain Javadd Malik. That little boy from Bradford.
Was a star.
Who’da thunk?
Not Zayn, that’s for damn sure.
He wished he could feel like that forever. He was absolutely content, bouncing and laughing drunkenly but somehow completely calm and still and collected at the same time. He could breathe, he could think (mostly), he didn’t have a worry in the world.
Nothing in the world could ever bring him down.
He was sure of it.
The hangover the next morning brought him down.
It was rubbish.
Zayn vowed never to drink again.
He broke that vow the next night, after the next show.
The next morning brought another vow, and the next night brought another broken one.
It was a vicious cycle.
_____________________________________________________________
A fan.
Zayn couldn’t remember her name.
She was nice, and proper fit, if Zayn recalled that much, and had a nice smile.
And she asked Zayn, Are you okay?
And she said in such a way, in such a tone, that Zayn almost broke down and started crying right then and there. She’d touched his elbow, just a bit, and looked into his eyes, and asked, and it took all of Zayn’s strength not to collapse in sobs.
“‘Course I’m alright,” he said instead. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Shows in your eyes,” she said quietly, “when you’re upset. If somebody holds pain, deep inside them, they can usually keep it off their face. But you can’t keep it out of your eyes, Zayn.” She paused, giving him a smile. “Don’t keep it all in, eh?” she told him. “Can’t have you dying on us.”
Zayn swallowed back the tears and nodded.
“I’ll do my best,” he said truthfully. “Just for you.”
_____________________________________________________________
Zayn stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, a little drunk.
He watched the ceiling fan spin round and let himself think.
He was done with One Direction.
They’d go off, do their thing, and Zayn would do his.
ZAYN.
They were already starting the album process.
Zayn hummed a melody they’d pitched, remembering that drunken conversation in the Ritz of London. He thought of all the crazy times he’d had with the boys, all the insane concerts and ridiculous fan experiences. He thought of the amazing fan mail and the countless compliments, of the trillions of Tweets and colorful signs. He thought of the kindness of the fans and the love they’d given, of their loyal support and unrelenting adoration.
But then he thought of the drugs and alcohol and hung-over mornings spent face-first in the toilets. And he thought of all the mornings spent face-first in the toilets not because of hangovers, but because of pressure and tension and fear. He thought of the panic attacks and stomach-wrenching stress and suffocating afternoons spent trapped in screaming-mass surrounded hotels.
Staring at the ceiling fan, Zayn realized with a start that he was already 22 years old; he’d basically reached his prime in life but was only just beginning his career as a soloist and - dare he say it - his career as a serious artist with respectable music.
All he could do now, he thought tiredly, was pray he hadn’t wasted all his good years.
_____________________________________________________________
Tell me:
1. your thoughts on Icarus Falls
2. if any of the boys’ solo songs makes you cry
3. if you’ve ever been to a 1D or solo concert
4. your thoughts on panera bread
or!
5. Tell me anything!!! Feedback is always much appreciated :)
#zayn malik#zayn malik drabble#zayn malik blurb#good years#stream icarus falls#!!!!!!#zayn#zayn fanfic#zm#zayn drabble#zayn blurb#idk#one direction#fanfic#anxiety tw#kinda sad#protect zayn malik!!!
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I've seen one or two fics on AO3 for a certain ship, and am considering writing something for it, since I feel the two characters in question would have an interesting dynamic. Problem is- the ship in question is Kenny x Karen. What are your thoughts on this? Should I still write it, knowing there will most likely be backlash? Could I just write it and not publish it? Should I not write it at all?
HERE’S THE THING!!!
It’s fucking fiction. If you want to write it, fucking go for it. Write what you want. Will you get hate and backlash? Abso-fucking-lutely! You’ll get hate and backlash regardless of what you do. A few things I’ve gotten hate over, saying it’s okay to write gender bending. Saying I don’t particularly care for gender bending. Breaking up Tweek and Craig. Writing two adults that use to be 10 year olds having sex. Making a fucking list of South Park Fan Weeks and saying I wouldn’t exclude anyone from shit. You may only have like 10 people who want to read it, but if you enjoyed making it, then that’s all that fucking matters.
People act like just because you write it, you’re encouraging it or doing it. James Patterson doesn’t go out and murder people for inspiration. Robert Lunlum isn’t turning people into forgetful government special ops agents. Clive Cussler didn’t travel back in time and drive a train into Flathead Lake for a story. V.C. Andrews doesn’t endorse locking your children in an attic.
LETS FUCKING TALK ABOUT THAT!!
V C Mother Fucking Andrews has a story called Flowers in the Attic. If you haven’t read it, don’t worry, it’s been adapted into a movie fucking twice! TWICE! You know what it’s about? Its a fucked up story of a lady who ends up having to lock her children in the attic. The kids find out their Dad was actually their mothers uncle, and then the two eldest siblings start falling in love.
You know what else has incest?
Game of Thrones.
The point is, just because you write it, doesn’t mean you endorse it in real life. Just because you write it like a beautiful love story, doesn’t mean you want to fuck your brother or think incest in real life is a good thing. (If you do, i gotta show you some royal families!) I happen to love Harry Potter and the Weasley twins! Top 5 favorite Harry Potter ship! Does this mean I want to be pounded by some twins? Yes.Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk.
Kidding. It doesn’t have to be twins. I just want to be pounded by 2 people.
But seriously, write it. If you want to share it, then share it. You may get hate, but I encourage you to use that block button. I encourage others to just, not read it if that’s not something they are into. And just know that there is an entire community with in the fandom that, even though they may not be into it, are going to support you. The’ll defend your right to write what you want and give you words of encouragement when the haters start their shit.
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tagged by @marcceh - I’m sorry this is so long, I’m incapable of talking about writing in a small amount of words.
Author Name: deathofaraven on fanfiction-specific sites; I’ve been considering changing it but it’s been my username since 2009, so there’s no point. I think it’s some version of I.Ravencrow on other writing sites.
Fandoms You Write For: Fable and BBC Sherlock currently; Tom Becker’s Darkside occasionally; DMC, Batman, Death Note, Kuroshitsuji, Harry Potter, shit I’ve written for a lot of fandoms and can’t remember them all because I deleted the fics from my profiles, and most of LJ Smith’s work previously.
Where You Post: mainly on Ao3 now, but I occasionally post on FFN and on Tablo
Most Popular One-Shot: Hiraeth, which is apparently my third most read and second most kudosed fic on Ao3?? Idk how that worked out, but I’m so glad readers have enjoyed it.
Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: A Marriage of Inconvenience, to absolutely no one’s surprise--it’s the first in a series, it’s a really old fic (originally written in 2012), it’s the fic I moved to Ao3 for (specifically because I’d rewritten it in 2015/2016), the reason I got a tumblr account. It was kinda...the start of a lot of things, so it’s sorta fitting it’s the most popular I’ve written. I’d like to...eventually fix more things about it (or do a version that I feel is more complete), but I’m proud of it. It’s my baby. I’m glad it’s still going strong.
Favorite Story You Wrote: Nope, no, not picking sides. They’re all good children; I’m proud of everything I currently have up and I enjoy rereading 99% of them.
Story You Were Nervous to Post: Oh, hmm...I’m generally nervous 95% of the time when it comes to posting, but I think I was most nervous about No More Heroes and Ghosts. NMH is almost entirely headcanon-based but set in canon, which is something I usually avoid doing; usually I save hc-heavy fics for AUs, but the hcs suited the prompt so well that I couldn’t really help it. As for Ghosts, it was the first time I’d really made an effort to break into a new fandom in...years and there was a lot of really sucky stuff happening at home at the time so it just felt like a huge gamble for me--I went from writing characters I know so well to characters I didn’t really...know (still don’t feel like I entirely know, though I’m enjoying getting to know them) and, on top of that, was dealing with some...I guess some fear there’d be backlash for abruptly jumping into the fandom despite how much shit this fandom gets sometimes. Luckily both NMH and Ghosts seem to have been received pretty well--there’s things that I’d change about both, but I’m really proud of them and they no longer make me nervous.
How Do You Choose Your Titles: I scream into the abyss until it sees fit to grant me inspiration for a suitably pretentious title. Or I go with something that sums up the theme or directly relates to the prompt. Song lyrics as a last resort. MoI’s name came from an in-game quest title, though, so...like...anything that fits?
Do You Outline: Sorta? If it’s a one shot I like to go in totally blind except for whatever vague idea I want to write. If it’s long, I like to have a very vague outline. Usually a summary or a slightly more detailed idea plus where I’d like the characters to be emotionally or what I’d like to happen at certain plot points. The plot points are usually the focus so I like to at least have a map of where they start and where they end and whatever happens to the characters in between those points just happens. I mostly ignore the outline.
How many of your [BBC Sherlock] stories are…
Complete: 6; 4 on Ao3 right now, 1 on tumblr that’s too short to transfer, 1 that’s not going to be posted.
In-Progress: Y’all wanna see something stupid? It’s me. 28. (And that’s ignoring the contents of my prompt list that haven’t technically been started.)
Coming Soon: Possibly another half dozen? Can’t be certain. I always seem to finish Sherlock stories very randomly and very abruptly, so it’s a mystery to everyone involved. I blame my Sherlock muse; he takes great pride in being an absolute bellend during writing. And during not-writing.
Do You Accept Prompts: I shouldn’t, but I abso-fucking-lutely do. Send ‘em. No guarantee I’ll get to them any time soon, but send ‘em anyway if you’d like me to do them. (I’d prefer prompts/requests be sent off anon so I can talk with the prompter if any issues come up or if I need extra inspo, but I’ll still make an effort even if anon is on...you’re just leaving a lot more of the story in my hands and up to my random interpretation.)
Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: Hmm...they’re all exciting in their own way? A lot of the AUs I’m excited to write because I’m curious what people will think. I’m also really excited for Three to just be over because I’m kinda tired of working out the logistics of it and tired of rewriting it. (And I’ve also never posted a fic like this before. So.)
Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions As Well*:
@jamlocked @grayrosegarden @weweremadeforeachothersherlock @sincerelyjimlock @johnlockedinwarstan No obligations for any of you, if you don't wanna do it! ^^
* I know it says 5 and specifies Sherlock as the fandom, but if anyone who follows me wants to do this and just...changes the fandom to your main fandom, I’m totally up for that and you should 100% tag me so I can go snoop at what you’re writing. ^^
#thanks for the tag!#very long post#I used to write for so many fandoms; what happened to me?#and I still can't decide if I should stay on FFN or not...it's been so dead for so long#28 fics is too many to have in progress but someone ask me how many Fable fics I have in progress so I have an excuse to compare the numbers#I really need to do a fic masterpost one day#and see how many words I've written in total...maybe once my prompt list starts to go down#marcceh
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Update
❤️Hey guys,
FYI, I got a hella rude ass ask from an anon along the lines of, “What’s your fucking problem, why are you acting like this?” So let me explain why I’ve been on a hiatus that, I, at no point had any plan on taking.
I am an adult. Being an adult comes with responsibilities that unfortunately I have to do in order to keep food on the table and a roof over my head. Since it is the holiday season, they’ve upped my work at my second job and my first job, that’s working for the government, we fell behind two weeks of work because of Harvey which we’ve recently caught up with. All these things I do so that I can afford to do the aforementioned things.
On top of that I had car issues a couple of months ago and this week my car fucked up again to the point that I haven’t been to work most of this week. I had to get it towed to a shop to get it fixed and pay out a bunch of extra money that I wasn’t expecting to spend. Plus, I had to contact my ex-husband (the inspiration for a lot of these stories) since the car is under his name, so that was really fun.
Now, these fics, headcanons, and drabbles that I write abso-fucking-lutely free of charge for you guys come from my dark heart. I do try and make time to write them, try to squeeze out a drabble or two, but unfortunately, things in my personal life come first.
Would I love to get paid to write what I love? Of course!
However, this is real life and I can’t afford to stay dreaming about such things. I have a Ko-Fi at the top of my page for those who want to send a couple of extra bucks my way, but I in no way force y’all to pay me. I want to let you guys know that I write because I love to write. I love to see the comments, messages and asks.
I had to take down my commissions for the time being because of how hectic everything got but I do plan on having them up someday soon. There is one commission left that I have a huge block on and I refuse to reopen any other commissions until I can get over that hurdle. It’s not right for the commissioner if I decide to open them back up without me finishing theirs but I am finally reaching a close on it.
Also, keep in mind that I am just one person running this blog and I currently have 77 messages in my Ask box and 89 items in my Drafts. But I just ask for a bit of your patience. Because all this stress in my personal life has greatly affected my writing. I still plan on getting out a couple of drabbles a week at least, but like I said before, I wasn’t able to this week because of the car trouble.
Recently, everything that I’ve written looks like shit. I’m not satisfied with anything and I don’t want to put something out that isn’t up to par with what I think it should be. I’ve always said quality over quantity and those feelings aren’t changing anytime soon.
So I ask that please let me get over these hurdles that I’m currently going through so that I can go back to writing how I used to. I know that I’ve slowed down, believe me, I feel it more than any of you guys. So I just ask for a bit of your patience.
So thanks for reading and I hope to bring some darkness back to y’all soon.
❤️❤️❤️❤️
#personal#update#rant#sorry i had to get this off my chest#i just feel so bad that i haven't written anything#like i feel like shit that i can't do these simple asks for y'all#but i'm trying#yevon knows i am
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Tumblr best friend quiz
an excuse for me to talk about @fetchalgernon bc she made me cry at work today and i still haven’t forgiven her
When and how did we first meet? i got a message from one of my author crushes saying ‘hi we should be friends’ and, after i picked myself up off the floor, said YES, PLS
Who is your best friend’s hero? korra is her most #relatable character
If you could go any place on earth with your best friend, where would it be and why? redwood national and state parks so we could gawk over the trees together! (i didn’t even have to change this one)
What is the name of your best friend’s crush? no oneeeee
If your best friend were deserted on an island, what are the three things she/he could not live without? a fully equipped baker’s kitchen, a lifetime supply of baking ingredients, books
What three movies does your best friend love the most? she loves ever after, love actually, lots of disney movies (aladdin, moana, and frozen top that list), how to train your dragon. i think she generally prefers movies to television and novels to both.
What are the two things your best friend does not know about you? i wanted to be a veterinarian and spent the summer after 8th grade volunteering at the local vet and assisting with surgeries. when i was 3 i broke my arm while jumping on the bed during nap time when i fell off and took the nightstand down with me.
How would you describe your best friend’s ideal partner/spouse? eh...if such a person existed, that person would be super smart, be able to keep up with her, be socially and politically engaged, emotionally aware, love British television and baked goods, carry equal weight in a relationship, be supportive, thoughtful, and caring (like her)
What is your best friend’s dream job? same as now now, but with less b.s. moonlighting as an author.
If you were out together, what would your best friend eat? mac and cheese, milkshakes, pizza, baked goods
What do you most admire about your best friend? that she lives life so intentionally. she’s continually improving herself. continuously thinking about the kind of person she wants to be and friend she wants to be. she travels and is smart with her money. she plans and does she shit she needs to get done, done. she lives her cozy life and volunteers and hones new skills and connects with people and she is thoughtful and kind and driven. she is, hands down, the most intentional, and therefore inspiring, person i know.
What’s your best friend’s favorite TV show? kristina loves lots of tv shows but i’m going to say legend of korra, gilmore girls, pushing daisies, b99, hannibal and pretty much anything she’s written a jily fic abt lmaooooo
Would your best friend watch a chick-flick, action, comedy or a horror movie? why isn’t disney coming of age story on this list
What is your favorite inside joke? “at least you didn’t adopt a pretentious french accent” is also mine
What is the one thing that annoys you most about your best friend? it does not annoy me, but i am jealous of her free time and that she gets to travel so much. i am more happy for her than jealous tho. also that she doesn’t live here.
If your best friend could meet anyone, who would it be? she doesn’t even know, but i know if she met the person she wants dead she could kick him the balls
Has your best friend ever voted in a presidential election? abso-fucking-lutely
What is the one thing your best friend would want for their birthday? my wish for her: that everyone close to her in her life is as emotionally engaged, thoughtful, and caring as she is
What would your best friend do if they won the lottery? give lots of it away to local charities + the place she volunteers at, go to sweden w/out a second thought, buy a small, cozy house with a nice yard and retrofit the house with a kickass kitchen, do lots of nice things for people
Can you describe your best friend in one word? no, but i’ll give you two: fucking amazing
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sorry if this is like. the weirdest question ever but i thought you would be an ok person to ask. i've recently gotten into writing again and discovered that the hardest part of writing characters different from me isn't when they have a marginalized experience i don't know (ex. writing poc as a white person), bc there's research and guides available for that, but rather when i have an experience they don't (like writing straight or neurotypical ppl as a mentally ill queer person) 1/2
so i was wondering if you ever had the same problems or any advice on how to write characters with more “mainstream” lives when you can’t remember how to connect to that pov? it’s fine if you don’t, i just have a lot of respect for you as a writer and a person and i value your thoughts! sorry i wrote so much :/ 2/2
oh don't apologize, i love love love questions about writing, especially the weird ones ^^ and this is truly a fascinating question. it did puzzle me a bit at first because the thing about the mainstream perspective is that it's, well, everywhere. and it's absolutely an experience in itself too ! like as queer people we've grown up surrounded by straight love stories, and so on. so it made me wonder why exactly you have that difficulty, and whether i also sometimes encounter it (maybe a little at times).
- is it a problem of legitimacy ? as a person that has been 'otherized' in certain ways, do you maybe feel like your perspective on 'the norm' is less valid/adequate ? I especially have this when it comes to mental illness, I have these weird moments of anxiety about whether all the characters i write end up being mentally dysfunctional without me realizing it, etc - i don't think it's true, but the anxiety is there. and honestly i think the concept of 'mentally sane' in the society we live in remains somewhat nebulous and to be defined still. if you share these anxieties, it's good to remember that it's a proven phenomenon that marginalized people are forced, for reasons of survival and because they are socialized to the norm anyway, to quickly acquire insights into the experiences/minds/habits of privileged people ; and have been taught to see privileged people as human and complex in ways where the reverse is not necessarily true. This is why, for instance, women's writing perspective on men can have a depth and humanity that the reverse often lacks. in general i think as baseline that people can write really valuable things about experiences they don't share, the 'stranger's perspective' can be really interesting in itself because it forces you to ask more questions ; unless it has been blighted by privilege (which functions on a basis of seeing the other as inherently lesser and the atrophy of empathy). i really don't believe in the idea you should only write about experiences you know or have ; after all empathy + research + curiosity + imagination + questioning why things are the way they are, are a fundamental part of the writer's craft ; it's just crucial to be aware of how power can skew that. so i hope this reassures you a little if you struggle with this.
- is it a problem of interest ? ever since i realized i was queer, i have had this desire, more or less strong at times, to only consume and produce stories containing a majority of queer people. i was accused once of making too many characters queer in my fic (lmao i was so proud). and you know what ? i think that is abso-fucking-lutely fine. if people have an issue with that they can go back to the 99% of literature that caters to them. if you don't feel like writing about straight people but think like you 'have to' for some reason, please don't force yourself lol. and don't be ashamed to want to write about people who do share your experiences in that way, especially since we have been starved for representation for a long time. sometimes it's also just a detox phase you need to go through. i have had more m/f ships as of late and it almost feels fresh again to me lmao and focusing on queer pairings for a long time has given me a new way of looking at love and relationships and general which is great.
- is it a problem of connection ? ok so maybe you do want to write about those mainstream experiences but you just find it hard to be inspired for some reason. if you have checked that it isn't one of the problems above, i think the next step is to just look for the core reason of why you're writing these things in the first place. where's the issue, the spark, the zing, the problem, the crack, the fatal flaw, etc. Mental illness and queerness are interesting to write about, of course. but when you don't have that, you should still have other interesting things to write about. and you can go back to the universals. what is love ?how does sexuality impact people's experiences ? what does it mean to be mentally healthy ? what's the mind anyway ? how does our society affect those things ? how is the 'typical neurotype' qualified and why ? i have always believed anyway that true universals are made of an infinity of diversity, and not some sort of generic mold. so you can find a connection to an experience you don't have via an experience you do have. (again, as long as you're aware of power dynamics etc). will it always be perfect ? no, but it's still interesting to try. 'being straight' as an identity is not equivalent to 'being queer' because 'being straight' ties into heteronormativity as a tool of social control/oppression and therefore, heteronormativity deserves to be destabilized and written about in weird/new/original ways by queer people who don't entirely understand what it is to be straight ; this will always be more interesting and liberating than straight people writing about gays who 'are just like everyone else!!!!' uwu'. as a neuroatypical person i actually believe i have very interesting things to say about the nature of the mind and selfhood because i am constantly thinking about it in way neurotypicals don't ; i have experienced first hand how much of our selves are influenced by chemistry and how willpower is not everything in life and how the self can be a fluid thing. I choose to believe that i am not some sort of alien freak that cannot understand 'normal' people, but rather that i am a specific mode of the human species that just has a lower statistical recurrence, and therefore society is not adapted to me and i have to think about things that other people can ignore and that is thinking and writing material !!!!! the 'norm' is not more central, more human, more valid, more basic, more by-default, etc. and barriers between identities are often more porous than we think. even if you 'fuck it up' it's actually interesting !
anyway i think my point is, in general, this is not an area that you have to be super careful about ! experiment, go nuts ! write about straight couples as if they were gay ! imagine what it means for you to be mentally healthy/stable/thriving ! don't feel bad if you don't understand something, invent shit and it will still be interesting ! and like, you can still very much do research here. like there is a shit ton of love advice columns that mostly cater to straight people, stories full of straight people, books on love in general...you can study that just like queerness has been studied lmao. for the neurotypical thing in particular I have just started a book called "Explaining Humans" by Camilla Pang, a brilliant scientist who has autism/adhd/generalized anxiety disorder, and who basically created a manual of 'how do people work' through science and it's so interesting, there are a lot of things that are implicit and that they never really explain to you and you can kind of miss if you're neuroatypical and it's really fascinating.
good luck ! and please feel free to tell me more if this has made you think haha <3 thanks again for the question !
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