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#lj writes
itsokbbygrl · 2 days
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Just Stay.
- A GN!Reader x Jackson!Joel Miller story
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For my wonderful, lovely, kind, hilarious friend, Jo (@morgaussy/@merci-killing), who wants nothing more than to worship that old man. I hope this is to your liking ♡
Tags: 18+ MDNI, explicit content, BODY WORSHIP, slight size difference (reader is described as shorter than Joel), reader is generally able bodied and has hair but is otherwise not described, oral sex (M receiving), heavy petting, lots and lots of kisses, body hair appreciation, domestic fluffy smut, two goobers deeply in love, kink discussion (daddy kink, and per jo's request, "A secret barely there splash of mommy kink"), grief mention, TLOU2 Jackson Era (post-Ellie run away era, pre-snowstorm)
WC: 4.6k
A/N: this is full of lazy writing technique and i am aware! there is POV switching whenever i say so, get in both their brains, die mad about it POV purists :)
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Warm water, straight from the tap. Straight from the tap and into the basin where Joel Miller’s aching muscles are learning to relax, still, years after their first reconnaissance with a god’s honest bath. He can’t quite believe it. More than 20 years after the end of the world, where people starve and maim and kill and hunt to survive, there are still hot baths. He takes a deep breath and sighs in relief, letting himself sink lower beneath the surface, only the top of his broad chest and shoulders remaining above in the cool air of the home. He closes his eyes for a moment, soaking. 
The jiggling of the sticky front door knob calls his attention. An alertness solidified in a world consisting only of predators and prey. Kill or be killed. He knows, rationally, he’s safe here. His eyes clock his hunting knife laid safely on the vanity anyway. 
He listens to the familiar sound of your steps, the way you insist on toeing off your boots at the front door, the soft pattering of sock clad feet as they maneuver around the first floor, the creak of the loose floorboard near the kitchen island that he’s been meaning to fix. He can tell just from your movements that you’re hankering for a cup of tea—hearing the cabinet door close softly, always gentle, the ceramic clink of the base of your favorite mug coming into contact with the stone countertop, the metallic clang of the filled teapot as you set it atop the stove. He relaxes further knowing you’re home, safe. 
The water is just turning tepid when he hears the stairs creak, signaling your imminent arrival. He pushes himself back up to greet you, the cooler air causing his wet skin to break out in gooseflesh. He turns his head to find you standing quietly, hip propped against the vanity, warm mug cupped between your palms, eyes trained on him already, his favorite soft grin gracing your lips, plumping your cheeks. 
“Whatcha doin’ there, starlight?” he asks. 
“Just admiring the art,” you respond, raising your mug to your mouth and taking a slurping sip, careful not to burn the fragile skin of your lips and tongue. The response makes him chuckle and flush, blaming the pinkness brought to his chest and neck on the temperature of the water if pressed. 
His starlight. A beacon in the dark, guiding him home. He found you at a time when he thought he’d lost everything. Ellie had run off, and, terrified, he’d run after her. Once she’d been found, she’d confessed how she hated him for the choices he’d made for her, how she didn’t want to be part of his life anymore, and he’d agreed to her terms as long as it meant she’d be safe and home. He’d spent the entire ride back to Jackson fighting off the grief that threatened to overtake him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to cope this time, losing another daughter. At least this time he knew she was alive, could watch from a distance as she grew, could talk to the other townsfolk and get updates on her life, make sure she was ok. 
That was where you came in. You’d been serving at the local watering hole, The Tipsy Bison, when he’d come in for a drink. You’d poured his whiskey neat, just as he’d requested, and quietly left him to his thoughts as you tended to other patrons. He sat quietly, sipping his drink and listening to your conversation. His ears perked up when he heard you mention your students having a hard time with an assignment you’d given recently. He knew everyone in town shared responsibilities, should’ve figured you would have more to offer to Jackson than to only be a bartender. When you came over to check on him, see if he wanted another pour he assumes, he cleared his throat and asked about your other role as a teacher and your entire face lit up as you gushed about your kids. He tried to listen, but found himself lost in the feeling of being a kid again, the awe he felt the first time his dad had taken him and Tommy out to the wide open Texan countryside and shown them how bright the stars could shine. 
He tuned back in when he caught you talking about one student in particular you had connected with—his Ellie. How she was a natural writer, so creative, always scribbling in her journal. Mostly doodles, but over time you described how you’d earned her trust and she’d opened up a little more, shown you some of her poetry, how you’d encouraged her to keep writing. You talked about how she was quiet, shy, kept to herself most of the time, but she had a lot to say on paper. Joel tried to tamp down the proud tears that threatened to well at the news. She was ok. She was going to be ok. 
Joel kept going back and you were always there for him, greeting him by name with a soft smile, pouring his glass of whiskey before he’d even had a chance to take a seat on one of the old wooden barstools. You’d formed an easy friendship and before he knew it, he was inviting you over for dinner. You’d gone a little speechless and he worried he’d overstepped, but then you’d let out a breath you must have been holding and giggled, burying your face in your palms for a second before you found his eyes again and the way they shone for him was nothing short of celestial. You’d agreed, and the rest is history. 
“You wanna get in?” Joel asked, motioning to the tub. 
You shook your head. “Not today. Just want to keep you company if that’s alright.”
“Course that’s alright, sweetheart. Make yourself at home,” he said before going back to relaxing, closing his eyes.
You watched him ease back into contentment in the water before you moved, opening the cabinet below the sink and stealing a couple clean towels. You placed them on the floor next to the tub before kneeling atop them. You took a long drink from your mug of tea before placing it aside. You looked over the products on the tub ledge and grabbed the shampoo. Quietly, you leaned over, laying a soft kiss to Joel’s exposed shoulder before whispering in his ear, “Tip your head back for me.”
He did as instructed, sitting up from the wall, keeping his eyes closed and tipping his head back. You grabbed your mug of tea, draining it before quickly rinsing it in the water, filling it and carefully soaking his sweat damp curls, using your hand to ensure none of the water dripped forward onto his face. You then uncapped the shampoo and squirted a small amount into the palm of your hand. You lathered your hands together, causing the shampoo to begin sudsing, and brought your fingers to his scalp. He hummed in bliss as you began massaging the soap into his tresses, the day’s tension easing from you both as you cared and were cared for in return. 
After a few minutes of gentle ministration, you guided his head back with your fingertip under his chin before rinsing the suds from his locks. You then reached for your bottle of conditioner, something you typically reserved for special occasions, and squirted a dollop into your hand before softly carding it through his hair. You let it sit for a bit, rinsing your hands in the water and allowing yourself a moment to admire the man in front of you. He was remarkably beautiful—strong, broad, sun speckled chest giving way to a softer stomach coated in a fine layer of soft brown hair that drew your eyes southward to where his thick cock laid softly against the crease of his thigh, his legs strong enough to walk or ride for miles. Scars littered his skin and you mentally pressed a kiss to each one as your eyes worked their way back up to his face. His eyes met yours there and he leaned forward, capturing your mouth with his own. He held you in place with his palm in its favorite place, cupped around the side of your jaw, thumb finding its place in the divot next to your ear. He kissed you deeply for a few more moments, pouring all of his affection for you into it. You smiled, effectively breaking the embrace, and left him with a final peck to his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, before maneuvering him once again to rinse the conditioner from his hair. 
Once clean, you helped ease him from beneath the water, wrapping him in one of the towels, now body-warm from where you sat, using the other as a soft barrier between his wet feet and the cold tile floor. He lets you care for him without a word, chest warming as you dry his body and leave sweet kisses in the towel’s wake as you go. He laughs good naturedly when you try to comb his hair back and have trouble reaching, bending down to make the job easier. His heart swells when he sees you grab your precious jar of aloe from the countertop, swiping your fingers through the gooey substance and working it between your palms. 
“Can you sit on the toilet for me, please?” You ask. He plants a kiss on your head and complies, thankful for the warm towel you wrapped him with saving his damp skin from the cold porcelain. You stand between his spread thighs and begin your work, piecing together a clump of curls and twisting them around your finger, effectively applying the gelled aloe before giving the little ringlet a squeeze and moving onto the next piece. Joel sits calmly, loving the feeling of your fingers in his hair, the way you love him so simply. He wonders, as he often does, how he got so lucky to find such goodness in a world gone so rotten. 
You take your time, dipping back into the jar of aloe you harvested earlier that week as needed, ensuring each ringlet receives the care it so deserves. You love doing this for him. You love this man—this man with his reputation for violence, this man with a karmic debt that may never be fully repaid, this man whose hands were made to create, not destroy, who patiently sits with children as he teaches them to play the guitar, who misses his daughters more than anything in the world. Joel Miller, who protects the least of these with his gun and his knife and his bare hands. The same hands that delicately carve in his workshop, drafting some of the most intricate pieces of woodworking you’d ever seen. 
You finish the last curl at the base of his skull, just behind his ear. You give it a little tug and watch as it springs back into shape, smiling at the sight, before leaning down to leave a kiss there…and there and there as you move down the column of his strong neck. You feel his large palms grip your hips and you move your kisses northward, along his jaw, to his mouth where he meets you, urges your mouth open to lick inside and explore. You pursue a deeper physical knowledge of him in return, giving as good as you’re getting, tongue dancing behind his teeth, cataloging every crevice, every bump and ridge, deciphering the taste of him as if he were a fine wine—notes of apple and coffee and his 5pm pour of whiskey and something uniquely him. 
You feel his hands roaming, making their way to the front of your jeans, pushing the button through its hole and tugging down the zipper before stuffing his hand inside. He gives you a few firm strokes over your underwear, just to feel, to be so close, and you allow him to explore for a moment before you break your kiss to rest your forehead against his. 
You shake your head softly when he attempts to move his hand beneath your cotton barrier and he stills his hand. “Not tonight,” you say quietly, “you first,” and you step back before sinking to your heels in front of him, grabbing the towel from in front of the bathtub and placing it under you before kneeling forward and meeting his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, mouth shiny and flushed with arousal, his chest and neck blushed a beautiful pink. You think he’s never more beautiful than when he’s about to get his cock worshiped by your reverential mouth. 
You reach up and gently unfurl the towel from where it’s tucked at his waist, allowing the soft graze of your fingertips to lightly tickle the skin of his stomach, the muscles beneath contracting in their wake. You unwrap him like the gift he is, allowing the towel to open fully, exposing all of him to the room. You take in the sight of him, hard and drooling at the tip, thick thatch of curls nestled at the base, strong thighs parted to cradle you between them. You turn your head to the side and lay a kiss to the inside of his knee, up his thigh, right to the crease of his sensitive groin, before repeating the motion on the other side. You hear him groan and look up to find his head tipped back, already losing himself to his pleasure. You’ll never get over how easy he is for you, how much he clearly loves the way you love him. You repeat your favorite vow to whatever god is listening, to love him forever if they’ll be so gracious. 
You reach up to grip the heavy weight of him in your palm, curling your fingers around him as much as you can, and give him a few gentle strokes, the velvety soft skin warm in your hand. You feel his pulse combine with your own as you glide your thumb along the veiny underside. A fresh drop of precum oozes from the tip and you’d be remiss to let it go untasted, leaning forward to meet the spongy head with the wet warmth of your tongue and lapping at it, thankful for its musky, salty gift. You’re sure at some point you’ve stepped out of your body because everything goes quiet as you taste and taste and taste him, lathing your tongue over and over the weeping head while your hand continues to stroke, kissing the very tip of him gently before trailing your lips along the length of him, down to the base and tonguing back to the top, mirroring your actions on the other side, lifting him to give attention underneath, not wanting to leave even a millimeter of him unfound by your mouth. 
“God, baby, there you go, so good at this,” Joel’s praises bring your head back above water, but all you want to do is drown. And so you do. You flick your eyes up to meet his before opening your mouth wide and allowing the thick length of him inside, sliding him along your textured tongue, and closing your lips around him tightly. You hold him there for a moment, watching his face as you roll your tongue along the underside of his cock, sucking in a stuttered pattern, allowing the pillowy softness of your inner cheeks to hug him briefly, before pulling off and refilling your lungs. His eyes glisten just as yours do. He cups your face in his palm and you turn to kiss him there. He pushes his fingers into your hair and gently scritches at your scalp. You close your eyes and lean into the gesture before returning to prayer at your altar. 
You take him as deep as your jaw will allow over and over, not caring for how messy things are getting as you continue the push and pull, saliva pooling on your tongue and dripping along his length, down the corners of your mouth, off your swollen lips and onto the towel below. You can hear him moaning with abandon now, knowing he’s loving this as much as you do. You tenderly roll his sac between your fingers and he tugs at your hair, so you continue your ministrations as you suck. 
“Shit, baby, gonna make me cum,” he warns. You pull your mouth off him and continue to stroke him with your hand. 
“Cum in my mouth. Please, want to taste you, want to, want to,” you stutter, mind focused solely on him, making him cum, easing him into blissful release. You open wide and take him back inside, closing your eyes and losing yourself to the feeling. You grab his other hand with your own, holding tight to each other as he helps guide your head exactly where he needs you. You suck and suck and suck until he grants you the prize you’ve eagerly anticipated, and he does it so beautifully. The sounds he releases from his throat resonate against the tiled floors and walls of the room, reverberating into your bones. His lashes fan and grace the tops of his cheeks where his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. His pillowy lips part, the plushness marred by his own teeth marks, bitten in an effort to not give too much of himself away too soon. He tastes so deliciously of man—clean, soapy, salty, musky—as he releases onto your tongue, into the back of your throat, and you make every effort to gracefully swallow everything he gives. 
Once he’s finished, you softly suckle the last of your combined fluids from his length, ingesting them to become one together inside you. You leave a parting kiss to his length in thanks for all he’s given you before you allow Joel to haul you up to meet his mouth. He kisses you fiercely, tasting himself there. You know him almost as well as you know yourself, and you know he’s itching to return the favor, but you slow him, softening the kiss until the temperature returns to a simmer. He holds you there against his bareness, one arm keeping your head against his chest while the other strokes your back and you mirror him, fingers running gently all along his back. You feel more than hear when he speaks as it rumbles from his chest. 
“Thank you, darlin’. Love you, more’n I thought was possible,” he says. You sigh and kiss his chest, wrap your arms around him tighter. 
“Feeling’s mutual, my love. I promise,” you assure him, giving him a final squeeze before stepping back, keeping his hands in yours, not wanting to completely break contact with him just yet. “Come with me, we need to get you dressed.”
You lead him by the hand to your shared bedroom and sit him on the edge of the bed. You turn around and find the dresser where you keep a majority of your combined clothes—yours on the left, his on the right—and pull out a well worn tee and pair of grey sweatpants. You bring the clothes back over to him, setting the pants aside for the moment, and unfolding the t-shirt. 
“Arms up, baby,” you instruct. He complies amusedly, raising his arms above his head while you drape him in soft cotton, paying careful attention to the collar, ensuring it’s stretched wide to not disturb his drying curls. Once the shirt is tugged down to cover his soft belly, you move to his pants, scrunching up one leg and feeding his foot through before repeating the motions with the other side. “Stand, please,” you request. He stands, allowing you to tug the waistband up over the swell of his ass, carefully pulling the material over his front to not accidentally overstimulate his now soft cock. You eye him up and down, nodding in approval of your handiwork. “Beautiful,” you say under your breath, not intending for him to hear, just for yourself. 
Joel doesn’t remember the last time he felt this way—so deeply cared for. For as long as he can remember now, he’s been the provider, the protector. He hasn’t had a moment to slow down since before Sarah was born, 30 some odd years ago now. And it feels…nice. He feels small in some ways, but not diminished, never with you. No, he feels almost young again, experiencing this kind of selfless love that he’s only ever experienced before from a parent, and something clicks for him. He sees you near the hamper, changing out of your day clothes and into your own pajamas and he gets you, understands you on a deeper level than he had just hours before. He lets you finish your routine and make your way back over to him, anticipating you getting into bed, but instead he’s met with your hand reaching out for him. He takes it in his own, he’ll always take it when it’s so graciously offered. 
“C’mon, let’s have a snack, worked up an appetite,” you say jovially. He snickers, thinking to himself that he fed you pretty well not 10 minutes ago, but he’d follow you to the ends of the Earth if it meant you’d keep smiling at him like that. 
You lead him downstairs to the kitchen and sit him in his chair at the breakfast table he made just for you. While you putter around, preparing the two of you a small meal to share, he thinks about how beautiful you look in the morning light, the early sun catching on your hair and in your eyes. And you, you give the sun a run for its money with how you shine, bright and golden, warming everyone you come into contact with. You make it so easy for him to forget where you all are, when you are. Nothing is simpler than time spent with you. And now he knows you even better and he isn’t sure yet how he’ll quite thank you for that. 
In what feels like just a blink, Joel watches as you plate a simple late evening dinner of eggs and toast for the two of you, an old favorite of Sarah’s, nothing sillier to a child than having breakfast food while the moon sits high in the sky. You bring the plates to the table and sit across from him. He hooks his foot around your ankle as soon as you’re settled. 
“Thank you, sweetpea. You didn’t have to do all this,” Joel tells you as he accepts the proffered fork. 
“I know,” you respond, stabbing a bite of your scramble with your own cutlery, “but I wanted to,” you finish simply, popping the eggs into your mouth with a smile. Joel returns your smile and digs in. 
The two of you quickly polish off your plates, leaving nothing but the crumbs from the bread you’d baked a few days prior behind. Joel moves to clear the table and you allow him to, but join him at the sink, grabbing the dish towel from its place draped over the left half, falling into your regular routine—Joel washes, you dry. 
“You know,” he starts, “I think I understand you even better now, after today.”
You turn to look at him with an amusedly confused face. “In what way?”
“You know how sometimes you ask me to be your “daddy” in bed? I love you and I would do almost anything for you, so I’ve never had a problem with it, and I love how it seems to make you feel, but I didn’t fully understand it before,” he pauses, giving you time to respond if you felt you needed to, and turns to see you’ve paused with plate in hand. He fully turns his body to face you now. “I think I get it now. The way you took care of me tonight? It was…almost parental? But it wasn’t at all at the same time. I think,” he tries again, “I think the only other time in my life I’ve experienced that kind of selfless…devotion, I guess…was from a parent. And obviously you’re not my parent, but…fuck, I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” he asks self-consciously, unable to meet your gaze. 
You bring your fingers to his chin, lifting his eyes to meet yours before you speak. “You’re not fucking anything up. You’re right, that’s why I like it, why sometimes I need it. It’s the way you take care of me. You make me feel so incredibly safe, Joel,” you answer him. 
Joel pulls you into his chest, gently rubbing your back. “It makes me so, so happy to hear that, my sweet starlight. Always want you to feel safe, loved, taken care of here.”
Your hands snake up the back of his shirt, needing to feel him closer, flesh on flesh. “The same goes for me, you know? If you ever need, or want…I want you to feel that way, too. I love taking care of you, too.”
Joel leans down and kisses the top of your head, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of you, wanting to solidify this memory for as long as his mind will allow him to hold it. He considers leaving the dishes in the sink to be tomorrow’s problem, wanting nothing more than to return to bed with you, but he knows he’ll be frustrated when the egg has glued itself to the pan and he has to really scrub to remove it. He reluctantly releases you from his embrace and turns back to the sink, washing the remaining plate before handing it to you to dry, and doing the same with the utensils and the old, salvaged steel pan. 
Once you’re both satisfied with your work, you close down the kitchen in tandem, flicking off the lights and heading back to your room. You move to your respective sides of the bed—Joel going left, you going right—before climbing beneath the old, soft comforter. You’re both wiped from the day’s activities, opting to just turn the lights out rather than do your usual song and dance of reading for five minutes and falling asleep with the book splayed open on your chest, leaving Joel to gently dogear the page and set it on your bedside table before clicking off your lamp in fond exasperation. In the dark, you hear him shuffle, turning towards you. 
“Hey, darlin’?” he asks, getting your attention. 
“Yeah, baby?”
“Can you, umm, would you hold me tonight?”
“Of course I will. C’mere, my sweet boy,” you answer. Joel turns over again and shuffles back, allowing you to snake your arm over his torso and bury your face in his shoulders. He holds your arm in place and it feels…right, so nice and comforting and he gets it. 
“Thank you. For everything. Never known a love like this, but you make it so easy. Not sure how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”
“Just stay, Joel,” you answer simply, “stay with me. That’s all I want, all I need.”
And he thinks he can do that. And he sends up his own prayer, his favorite vow, to whatever god is listening, to let him stay with you forever, to let him love you until his dying day, that they owe you that much at least, your simple wish. He’ll do whatever he can to ensure it comes true. And as he drifts into unconsciousness, held safely in your arms, he thinks he never wants to be anywhere else. 
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thank you for reading ♡ please reblog or leave a comment if you enjoyed!
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ljandersen · 1 year
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Pairing: FemShep/Kaidan Alenko
Available: AO3
Summary: It’s a hard time of year for Shepard. This year especially. Since losing her family on Mindoir, she’s come to dread Christmas.Kaidan can’t take it away, but damned if he won’t try. This year he has an idea.
Excerpt: 
Kaidan opened the glass slider to the balcony. Winter air hit him in the face. Light snow -- barely snow at all, more like flecks of crystal -- shimmered in the hazy moonlight, suspended over the city lights and the gray ocean in the distance.
“What are you doing out here?” He stepped out in bare feet. The icy cement sent a cold shock up his body, and he reached back inside for a blanket.
“Just . . . sitting.”  Shepard sat on a bench with her back to the wall. A hand resting on her stomach, she gazed out at the hazy, dark skyline.
“It’s freezing out here.” He came over with arms full of chenille.
“If you’re not wearing a shirt, it’s going to be cold anywhere.” She glanced up at him.  
Her loose white T-shirt and baggy sweatpants were hardly a step up in winter wear.  She was having a hard time fitting the clothes she already owned, too stubborn to commit to maternity wear yet.
He dropped down onto the bench beside her and wrapped her in the blanket. “When you see your breath, it’s cold by anyone’s definition.”
“Especially to a guy without a shirt.” She shrugged the blanket up higher over her opposite shoulder and held it out to him with her other arm, like a chenille batwing. “Share some body heat?”
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fantasywriter19 · 11 months
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3, 23, 33 💛💛💛
Thank you for the asks ♥ I actually love that they're all in threes - a good lucky number honestly.
3. How would you describe your writing style?
Hmm... I guess I'd say it's ever-shifting depending on each character's point of view.
I can get it straight to the point at certain areas, and during others there's some flowery description... and that's also purely dependent on how that character views their surroundings.
23. Dialogue or description? Why is the other one so hard?
I have always been better with dialogue. Heaven knows why when I'm terrible at it in real life 🤔.
Description has generally been one of those things that I skim over even when I read, because my imagination insists on going in its own direction. Though I've gotten better at it through reading books where the writers aren't so overbearing with their descriptions, and I try to incorporate that into my own work.
33. Give your writing a compliment.
My writing has improved to where it doesn't embarrass me later, so that's something 🤣. But it is also unique as I've heard from a lot of people - possibly as part of my own strange inner voice ah ha - and that's definitely something I'm proud of 💛
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psychmerchant · 1 year
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plumadesatada · 1 year
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just remembered a fic on AO3 (or more likely LJ because it had that distinct late 00's experimental vibe) that appeared double-spaced oddly, in that some paragraphs would be spaced normally and others would have double or even triple spaces in between. it was about one half of the otp getting over the other's death (or coma, can't remember which), so all the comments were about how poignant the use of visual spacing was as a means to convey all the emotional holes in the character's life.
and then the author replied like... *giggle* guys it's NOT double spaced. try selecting the whole text
and we were all like "no WAY"
but we selected the text, and yes!!!
the "holes" in the story? they were actually lines and actions from the dead/coma character's ghost, rendered invisible to the eye by the simple trick of coloring the text the exact same as the background, revealed by nothing more than a click and a drag of the mouse
a story about the profound loneliness of losing your the partner of your life and having to make do without them, without anything to fill the holes they'd left behind, suddenly became a story about the profound helplessness of seeing someone you love suffer from your absence while you are right there, unable to do anything about it, unable to communicate that you love them enough to suffer unseen and unheard with them, just to keep them company they'll never know about
it was then that I truly realized how *superior* the digital medium is to plain printed paper, how the medium and the format can add to a story.
I think about that fic about once a year. I wish I could find it again
EDIT: FOUND IT!!!! UPDATE HERE
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otrtbs · 7 days
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southern lily evans with josephine as a middle name and her mom calls out "lily jo!" from the back porch when it's time for her to come home for supper send tweet
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zahmbie · 9 months
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Hi! Love your writing! If it’s okay, can I request Jeff, Toby, and Jack (separate) in an argument with their s/o and their s/o asks if the creeps are gonna hurt them?
Jeff, (Eyeless) Jack, and Toby’s reactions to their s/o asking if they’d hurt them
Notes: the fight isn’t elaborated on but it is implied
(edit: just realized I read jack and assumed you meant eyeless jack, let me know if you meant LJ!)
Toby
It doesn’t matter how upset he was during the argument, no matter his emotional state he drops it immediately. His first focus is making sure you’re okay. He’s a fairly goofy and upbeat guy but he’s still a serial killer with fucked up hobbies, he knows he can be scary and the last thing he wants is for you to think he’d hurt you, he’s had nightmares about that!
He forgets whatever you guys were arguing about unless you bring it up again, his only concern after that is making sure you’re okay and you know he loves you.
Jeff
If Jeff is pissed enough he’d reply with something like “I fucking might if this keeps up.” Then he looks and sees you genuinely scared and realizes he might be the asshole here. He’s not quite ready to admit that though so he’ll mumble something that might’ve been an apology and head into his room for the rest of the day. He simmers in anger for a while before he finally calms down.
Jeff finally comes out of his room to find you the next morning. He’s not great at apologies, but he actually seems genuine. If you sit down to talk things out with him he’ll discuss it with you, but otherwise his default is to apologize and then pretend the fight didn’t happen after.
Jack
He’s not quite ready to drop the argument like the other guys are, but he very quickly tones it down. He’s a little hurt you’d think that but he doesn’t blame you, he’s generally pretty chill but he knows he’s a monster. He was also, admittedly, getting a little more heated then he normally would in an argument. 
He might need a few minutes to cool off and clear his head, but when he comes back he’ll sit down beside you to sort out whatever you guys were fighting about. He’ll also stress that he’d never even think of hurting you. Even in his more feral demon-y state if you even look scared it’s enough to bring his more rational brain back to him.
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mondfuchs · 6 months
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Today one year ago, I read @cock-holliday's beautiful X-Files fanfic Bait & Switch, whose 7th chapter had just come out as part of the Fictober challenge, and which was a direct sequel to the Dreamland story where Mulder and Scully swap bodies. I absolutely loved the way LJ wrote the characters, and I was deeply, deeply moved by the 4th chapter (the steamy one!!), so I tried to put my feelings into words in my tags on the reblog. Shortly after he replied to my tags, and we've been talking ever since.
If you've been looking for a good body-swap!AU for MSR, I warmly recommend you this one! The characterisation of both – not despite but because of the swapped bodies situation – is so sound and so emotionally captivating. It feels so true to both of them, and it is so very interesting genderwise.
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not-poignant · 3 months
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Out of curiosity, when did the, 'fanfic doesn't need to adhere to canon, everything is valid and good, don't give concrit unless specifically asked for' attitude become the norm? Genuine question.
I was active in fandom back in the LJ days, when sporkings and comms viciously mocking Mary Sues were the norm, but then I sort fell out of fandom spaces for the past (checks notes) fifteen years holy shit. The current attitude seems diametrically opposed to what I remember fandom being like (kinda shitty, it was 'cool' to be an asshole back then), and I'm just curious as to when and how the shift happened. I mean, I assume it was a gradual thing, but is there anything in particular that stick out to you?
(Also, because tone doesn't convey very well through ask, and I don't want to leave you with a poor impression-- this is by no means a defence of the 2000s attitudes, nor an aspersion on the current ones. I'm genuinely only curious about the evolution from one to the other; I hope that comes across.)
Hi anon!
TL;DR because my response got LONG -> Anon this existed before Livejournal as an attitude, in fact modern fandom was literally born out of being not canon compliant (*waves aggressively to Spirk shippers*) and this existed on Livejorunal too and there have always been big pockets of fandom that really frowned on sporking even there, like that was not cool when I was on LJ, unless you were a certain age, or in certain spaces in fandom.
But also AO3 was its kind of final death knell re: making it cool to bully 13-16 yo writers (who were largely the victims of sporking) and killing dreams, which was born out of meta happening on LJ and in other places about like... not trying to make people miserable for writing a free fic out of the love in their heart that someone else didn't like or think was good enough.
Anyway, the longer version of this under the read more!
(For everyone else, welcome to some of the uglier aspects of 00s fandom!)
So there was actually criticism around all the stuff you mention 15-20 years ago as well. I was also on Livejournal during that time and there was a pretty big proportion of people in certain fandoms who recognised even then that like... setting up communities to mock say, Mary Sue writers, was actually a pretty weirdly cruel thing to do to people who were providing free labour and the literal only 'payment' they could get in a kind of energy exchange was people just not being complete dickheads to them.
So things were already changing, especially in many LJ communities and awards communities. There were a lot of big debates over whether concrit should be asked for, and a growing movement of authors who said they welcomed constructive criticism for example, instead of assuming it should automatically apply. There was also a lot of meta around the function of fanfiction and whether it should even be 'good' by published standards if the author was just doing it for themselves, and for fun (esp if they were just going to get punished for it by folks who were elitist, judgemental, grammar purists etc.)
Things really changed around the time of AO3 (2009-2010 - literally around 14~ years ago, you may have just missed the big change anon!), Strikethrough and the Dreamwidth exodus. There was a massive swing away from leaving concrit unless the author specifically asked for it, and fandom became a lot more generally able to recognise that a lot of labour goes into fanart and fanfiction and that paying with public criticism is shitty actually. Also people were just more able to recognise that like most fanfiction writers aren't trying to become professional writers and many don't want to be.
(I would actually say things changed around the time of fanfiction.net too - rude comments there were definitely noticed and could create some pretty forward 'hey why are you doing this on something you literally don't have to read' responses from fellow readers - idk what fic sites you were on. The small indie fic sites where you could often only comment via email for example, definitely drew a lot more critical attention than sites that tended to have public comments).
The 'fanfic doesn't need to adhere to canon' literally exists since the very first Spirk slash fic in modern fanfiction in the last few decades. Literally, as soon as you write Kirk/Spock, you're not adhering to canon. Our fanfiction 'ancestors' literally paved the way for a legacy which is about not adhering to canon in order to see the world/s and thing/s you want to see, be entertained by, by turned on by, or enjoy, from the very beginning. You may not have been in slash circles anon, but the foundation of queer same sex fanfic is in many ways the foundation of fandom. But yeah, this is literally where fanfiction started! As soon as you're shipping characters that aren't canon for fun (or for whatever reason), you're making it pretty clear that you want stories different to canon, and you have to change things to often keep those characters in-character.
So yeah! That's been there for decades. Idk what circles you were in on that front! While it was fairly common for a while to criticise characters for being OOC (Out of Character), imho, a lot of folks started to recognise that they literally weren't paying for what they were criticising, and they could just walk away and potentially not like...blast the fanfic. Some folks started to recognise more that people were writing with ESL, or were teenagers (some 40 yos in fandom realised they were mocking literal 15 year olds in their proto-podcasts and websites and realised actually that's just...mean? Really mean? Not the way to nurture new generations of fanfiction writers. Definitely in no way encouraging), or were writing for themselves, or writing for like one other person, or writing for fun, or writing for free, or writing for personal reasons etc.
'Don't Like Don't Read' wasn't just about political stuff, it was also about just walking away if you feel the urge to slam a fanfic in the comments.
I've been in fandom for around 2.5 decades anon, and there were so many spaces that were not actually as shitty or mean-spirited as the ones you were in? Or ones that at least had a lot of different thoughts etc. Like, sporking (mocking/bullying badfics and sometimes the folks who wrote them) was disapproved of by a lot of people in fandom even while sporking was at the height of its popularity (the Fanlore page goes into more detail about this). It might have just been the fandoms you were in, or the people you were hanging out with (and that might have been dependent on your age or just if you were around people who wanted to be 'cool' back then - in the same way that being an 'anti' is cool among certain crowds today. It's possible to spend years in certain crowds and never get an image of broader fandom for example - we can all end up in spaces like that! I know I have.)
When I started writing fanfiction (which no one will EVER find lmao), generally giving positive comments was normal. Constructive criticism was actually pretty rare and there were already fanfiction aggregate sites that generally disapproved of it in their Rules of Conduct. People were encouraging and polite. And this was around 20 years ago on Livejournal and private indie fanfiction websites.
I would actually say there was never exactly an evolution from 'one to the other' because like thousands of people in fandom already believed this and argued in defense of supporting fanfiction and transformative works via accepting that people are labouring for free and that not everyone wants to become a 'better writer' etc. - the meta was there on Livejournal in the 00s. There were communities where sporking was seen as hip/fun, and communities where it was literally banned or at the very least, super frowned upon.
There were meta fandom communities where sporking was the subject of discussion and you know eventually in a lot of those meta communities, that's where a lot of folks decided actually that calling out the fanfiction of 16 yos as 'cringe' or 'badly done' maybe said more about us as human beings and what we wanted fandom to be, than it did about the actual fanfic itself. By the time AO3 came around, people built it with this in mind.
To this day on AO3 it's mostly considered appropriate to say you want concrit in your author's notes, and to otherwise assume as a reader it's never welcome if it's unsolicited. That started during the LJ era. And it was talked about at great length. There's obviously going to be people who disagree! But for the most part I'm a big believer in compassion and 'not everyone is here for the same reason' and 'they literally gave this to us for free and it's meant to be fun' (like yourself! What we do/think/argue 10 years ago on LJ is sometimes different to what we do 10 years later lol, I used to be against trigger warnings pre-AO3! Times change a lot :D )
So yeah, this was definitely something that was around before you and I came to fandom, and it was something that continued to grow as an attitude during, until finally it kind of won out on AO3. But yeah fandom as we know it was born in people literally not being canon compliant to make some gay dreams come true (Spirk shippers bless them all), at a time when there was no representation.
Even in the earliest days of fandom where comments could only happen via email, one of the earliest phrases authors used were things like 'flames will be used to roast marshmallows.' For those reading who don't know, flames are hate comments, critical 'this fic is bad because' comments etc. Except you emailed them directly to the author, because there was no place for comments on a fic.
And this started because authors in part got death threats for writing gay stuff.
So you know, from the very beginning, authors in fanfic have by and large had a very low tolerance for criticism / hate over something they're doing for free and making no profit out of, when they're changing/altering the canon as they please to create representation (or hotness lmao), that is literally a labour of love in a world of very little representation. From there, things have just grown. The whole 'flames will not be tolerated' existed even before Livejournal did.
Honestly there are still people who love sporking and you could probably find groups and Discords dedicated to that even now (actually you literally can, there's a Dreamwidth group for it), it's kind of wild but it started to get cool again. Just like 90s clothing :D (Which is also wild because I can just take that crap out of my closet and wear it again).
But yeah it also sounds like you may have been in some pretty crappy pockets of fandom! When I was on LJ in the 00s I avoided those places and still got to experience fandom across multiple fandoms (mostly NCIS, Captive Prince, HP, Profiler, The X-Files and some others) and communities.
I was super active in some fandom communities and saw a lot of meta happening, and my view during the early and late 00s was that sporking was largely pretty frowned upon after a very brief (like 3-6 month) era where it was cool for only some folks, and then everyone (including some - but not all - of those folks) was like 'heyyyyyyy hang on a minute.' It was something that the bullies did, and enjoyed, and otherwise folks kind of stayed away from it, especially once they learned people were becoming too scared to write fics, which is the inevitable outcome of mocking/bullying folks and fics that have been made purely out of love for something.
Like, publicly making a spectacle out of what a 13 yo (they were often teens - and it's kind of sad how many 40 yo women were doing the sporking :/ ) wrote out of love, just for fun/clout was not considered cool by everyone even back then, because like, a lot of us saw that as killing new generations of fandom (some folks who sporked considered it a win if a fic or account got deleted, this is not based behaviour), not actually creating good writing, internalised misogyny (Mary Sue hatred and self insert hatred), etc. It's hard to explain because I do really think we were in different corners of fandom at the time, but I don't know anyone personally from my time on Livejournal who actually liked sporking as an idea or enjoyed it or enjoyed listening to it or reading articles mocking fic.
I knew about it from very lively 'is this okay' 'actually no it's not even if it's just for fun this is trying to hurt people and saying 'it's just the fic' is not going to be the bandaid a teenager needs to understand why older folks (generally) in fandom are mocking them for being new at a skill' discussions on LJ in meta fandom communities. So this is how much I could be in fandom and not be a part of it and also have like a wildly different experience to your LJ experience!
I think if I'd been a teenager during that era it would have seemed a lot more appealing (in the same way that many teens are antis now before they grow out of it), and fuck it if I was a more bitter person who was just around people who liked to make fun of what other people created, perhaps I would have enjoyed it too, I can see a lot of reasons why a person would fall into that in LJ -> but I was an adult on LJ trying not to be mean to people or what they were creating, so yeah I was maybe just in very different spaces! (Don't get me wrong, I have my giant fucking character flaws, but I was very scared of people hating me so like I didn't want to do things that would make that happen, lol, and also I was scared to put up fic myself during the era of active sporking. I know for myself that sporkers didn't just scare away writers of 'badfic' - they...intimidated a LOT of people).
Before AO3 I was on FF.net, posting fics on LJ, posting on Schnoogle, gossamer, and a couple of other archives. So I don't think my experience was that 'narrow,' I just think I wasn't around like... anime at that time or other places where it might have been happening. I also avoided like...Draco/Malfoy where CC drama was happening and I know sporking was popular in that specific arena / pairing for a while as well (er, as well as anything to do with Mary Sues).
So yeah! That's about where that is. Generally gatekeeping fandom is just seen as not a great thing to do to people, and that creates other kind of beliefs that are generally upheld as being more inviting/nurturing. After all, if someone truly wants to get better at writing, they can ask, or do courses, but as we all know, everyone has to write some bad stuff to get good at it, but not everyone wants to be good. Folks are in fandom for different reasons. I'm rambling now so I'm going to finish my lunch! :D
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schrijverr · 3 months
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The Hearts of Gotham 5
Chapter 5 out of 7
Bruce makes the Justice League believe he has two hearts and is a manifestation of Gotham’s night to throw them off his secret identity, not trusting them. When the sound system breaks, he doesn’t come clean, but lies instead that he split into two to make Robin. From there it spirals as all the Robins make the lies grow and twist it in their own ways, until the truth comes out.
This fic is based on this post and inspired by Bouncing Baby Bat, or so the Justice League is led to believe... by EmpressGeek.
On AO3.
Ships: none
Warnings: none
~~~~
Chapter 5: How Stephanie Used it to Fuck with Bruce
Steph wasn’t Robin for long enough to ever be introduced to the Justice League, something she takes great offense to. Tim had told her about it and she looked forward to it quite a bit, so she was disappointed when it never happened.
However, Steph has never been beneath causing problems for no reason to get what she wants. So, she is more than happy to temporarily take back her mantle so she can get to meet the Justice League anyway. Especially to prove her honor as a Robin.
Damian is already pretty far along in adjusting to his role as Robin and, while B might have banned him now, she knows that will change at some point. So she has to move before that happens if she wants to fuck with everyone.
B can’t complain though, she thinks, as a Robin she has a right to do this. Besides, it’s not like she’s going to blow their cover, in fact, she might strengthen in. B should be thanking her.
Thus, there is a pep in her step as she runs down the halls of the Watchtower for the first time, Tim in her ear telling her the route and her story planned out in her mind.
She enters a big room with a table, around which all the Justice League members are sitting. They all look up startled when she throws open the door, then turn to look at B, who is definitely sighing and fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Father,” she shrieks shrilly. She has never claimed B as anything close to a father figure, however, for the sake of fucking with him, she is more than happy to. And by the way multiple people whip their heads in his direction, it works. “Something is wrong.”
“What is it?” B asks, he doesn’t sound too concerned, likely already knowing she’s here to mess with him. Though due to his gruffness and distance, it doesn’t appear the others notice.
“I don’t know, but Gotham called me to go to you. I think the darkness is growing,” Steph exclaims dramatically.
“Wait, wait, wait, hold up. Father? Like father-father? What happened to B?” Green Lantern interrupts and over her com Tim tells her that that his name is Hal Jordan.
“Didn’t father tell you, Hal?” she asks innocently, making her eyes go wide.
“How- how do you know my name?” Hal asks, scooting away from her slightly.
“I know a lot of things father knows, silly. I came from him,” Steph laughs. “He’s father, because I physically clawed my way out of his body to shape my own. What did you think splitting into two meant?”
And now she truly knows she’s been hanging out with Tim too much, because she’s referencing conversations she’s never been a part of. However, it is worth it to see both Hal and a few other nearby heroes pale at her words.
“Stop being rude,” Wonder Woman tells them and Steph has to stop herself before she pinches her leg, because holy shit Wonder Woman is standing up for her. Wonder Woman is coming her way. She is talking to Wonder Woman! She loves women superheroes.
Wonder Woman smiles at her and extends her hand for Steph to shake: “It is nice to meet you, Robin. I am Diana.”
“Robin, nice to meet you,” Steph shakes her hand.
“If I may be so bold, you are not like the other Robins I met,” Wonder Woman says and Steph knows that she is going to lord that over the others for the rest of her life. Jason will cry when she tells him.
However, she has a bit she’s committed to (and B will probably leave her to the mercy of Alfred if she fucks this up for him), so she simply curtsies and says: “I came to be under a super moon, when Gotham’s night was bright, not just lively.”
“That is a special thing,” Wonder Woman tells her kindly. “It’s good to have a fellow sword sister in you, Robin.”
“Thank you,” Steph smiles brightly, wanting to bond with Wonder Woman more, but she is here with a purpose. So, she frowns: “Though I fear I might not be for long.” She taps a few time, hoping Tim has caught his cue as she suddenly clutches her stomach and cries out.
“Are you alright?” Wonder Woman asks in concern, catching her as she stumbles and tries to stay in character and not focus on the strong arms.
“Father,” she whimpers, holding a shaking arm out to B.
Tim luckily did catch his cue, because Superman lets out an alarmed sound and says: “Your second hearts are going crazy.”
In the time it took Superman to say that, B has jumped over the table to get to her, likely not wanting to risk her being serious. It is also clear that he’s decided to yes-and it, because he gently tells her: “Robin, I’m here,” as he cradles her in her arms, taking her from Wonder Woman (a fact Steph doesn’t mourn in the slightest, what are you talking about?).
With a weak voice, she says: “I- I think- I think Gotham is-” a cough “-sending me home. We- we’re going to turn into one again, father.”
To others there, it might look like B is worried, but Steph recognizes his annoyed face anywhere. She regularly gets him to make it after all.
She writhes in pain again and pitifully whimpers: “Take me home, father? I- I don’t want anyone to see that. Oh, it hurts. It hurts!”
“Batman, is she okay?” Superman worries, hovering over B’s shoulder.
Steph almost risks sending B a shit eating grin at that, but decides against it. Instead, she coughs again, using some slight of hand to smear liquid latex on her cheek that she rests against B’s chest when she’s done.
B is just assuring Superman that she will be fine, when she lets out a shriek: “It’s already starting! Father, please.”
And indeed, when she pulls her cheek, it is now attached to B, slivers of skin apparently attached to him. Superman startles back and Steph lets out a pained moan.
At that point, B decides that removing her from the situation is the best course of action to prevent her doing more damage. So, he swiftly picks her up bridal style and says: “I must go. A new Robin is coming.”
Without waiting for a reaction, he stalks out of the room and to the Zeta-Beam. Steph continues to let out pained noises all the way, until they’re stepping into the Cave.
Once there, she rips her face from B’s chest and hops out of his arms. Grinning: “That was fun, we should do it again sometimes.”
“Was that really necessary?” B sighs, finally able to let that out and pinch the bridge of his nose.
“No, but it was fun,” Tim says, twirling away from the Batcomputer to grin at them, the cameras in the Watchtower still on the screen. “I mean look at this.”
He pushes a few buttons and one of the videos rewinds, showing B sweeping out of the room, followed by a moment of silence. Then Flash says: “Did- Did Batman just take off, because he’s going into labor? Is he entitled to maternal leave?”
“Don’t be stupid, Barry,” Hal says. “She called him father, it would be paternal leave.”
“Same difference,” Flash pouts, before Tim pauses the video again.
Steph snorts out a loud laugh. She couldn’t have imagined this going that well. She just hoped to cause enough chaos and a weird enough situation that B would have to uncomfortably explain himself next time, but this is gold.
“Why would you do this to me?” B asks her in a suffering voice.
She doesn’t care, she just replies: “You’re lucky I went with father for the creepy factor, I definitely contemplated using daddy, old man.”
Despite it all, B takes a few seconds to count his blessings, deciding to give up. “Thanks,” he settles on, before leaving the Cave.
Once he’s gone, Steph says: “You can get a feed up next B goes up there, right?”
“Oh, yeah, totally,” Tim grins back.
Indeed, next time B goes up to the Watchtower a few days later, her and Tim are crowded around the screen again, watching it unfold. Snickering when everyone seems to be sending B ‘subtle’ glances and being generally unsure of what to say to him.
Superman is the first one to dare, tentatively asking: “Are- are you okay, Batman?”
“I am,” B grunts, obviously wanting to avoid further conversation.
Naturally, Superman doesn’t pick up on that and carefully adds: “And… is Robin?”
“He’s fine,” B says curtly.
“He?” Wonder Woman asks, joining her two friends. “What happened to the Robin we met last time?”
B now realizes the position Steph has forced him in and actually uses more words to answer: “She is no longer Robin. She became one with me, left Robin behind and broke free again as Spoiler.”
“Spoiler?”
“Yes, Spoiler,” B says and Steph get the feeling she made a mistake. “She is all the toxic parts, the pollution in the night skies of Gotham, coming together into one part. We have a lot of companies dumping stuff, it was bound to happen,” B explains, sending a covert look to the nearest camera, knowing that they’re watching him.
“Oh that fucker!” Steph pouts as Tim laughs at her, the traitor.
Superman and Wonder Woman both send him a look, but the three are interrupted by Flash, who comes speeding up to them, asking: “That looked painful? Is it like giving birth or something?”
“Flash!” Superman catechizes.
Meanwhile, B flushes bright red (can’t be seen with the cowl, but Steph knows, she has been embarrassing him for a long time now). With a pinched expression, he grits out: “It’s a complex and very private affair.”
Flash’s apology is drowned out by Steph’s cheer as she triumphantly exclaims: “Ha! Who’s vengeance now, B!”
~~
A/N:
I realize that I may be projecting my crush on Wonder Woman, however, I will not apologize for it, bc I have great taste <3
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regulusrules · 2 months
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They all lead back to crying, which is an amazing way to get the day going, so do recommend
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ljandersen · 1 year
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Sideways Part 4
-------------------------------------
Chapter 30:
Revelation [End of Part 4]
Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy, post-war
Pairing: FemShep/Kaidan Alenko
Rating: Mature
Available: AO3 (beginning, new chapter)
Summary:
Shepard, a paragon for galactic peace and devoted family woman, wakes up in another timeline. War-torn, brutal, and hurting toward destruction, it’s a timeline formed by renegade decisions.
To see her family again, she’ll need to do the impossible before time runs out. Powerful enemies and dangerous secrets stand in her way, but the alternative is worse than death.
“Talk about what?” Shepard said cautiously.  She hadn’t forgotten Dr. Quigley’s conversation about a second blow coming Kaidan’s way.  Had he finally told Kaidan?
“Talk about?” Kaidan shrugged.  “Nothing.  Everything.  I don’t care.” 
The elevator pulled to a stop.
“So, anything from favorite colors to the existential meaning of life?”
“From burritos versus enchiladas to the ubiquitous desire satisfied by cross-species religions.”
“Enchiladas,” Shepard decided, “over burritos.”
“Blue, my favorite color.”
“And religions satisfy the desire for meaning.”
“The meaning of life is to create our own meaning from the arbitrary.”
The elevator doors opened to pure darkness.  Shepard blinked at it. Even the bottom ring that was under construction wasn’t this dark, but perhaps this was a different section that hadn’t been accessible to her.
“Hmm, well . . .” Kaidan checked his Omni-Tool.  “We just exhausted our conversation topics in thirty seconds.  Guess, I should get you back to your room, eh?”
Shepard edged across the threshold of the elevator into a metal hallway.  “Dark, alone, unknown location.  Should I have told someone where I was going?”
“How could you?  It’s an unknown location.”  Kaidan stepped out beside her.
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fantasywriter19 · 1 year
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Because I can't ignore a tag from the illustrious @the-al-chemist , I do appreciate this. Here we go 😄
Four Ships:
Kate and Luc - French Kiss
Westley and Buttercup - The Princess Bride
James and Georgina - The Mallory-Anderson family romance series by Johanna Lindsey
Simon and Bram - Love, Simon
Last Song: Midnight Sky by Miley Cyrus
Currently Reading: The Complete Idiot's Guide to Alchemy: The Magic and Mystery of the Ancient Craft Revealed for Today by Dennis William Hauck
Tags: @missnight0wl @domaslut @hphmmatthewluther
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psychmerchant · 5 months
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jessequinones · 7 days
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Writing Advice: Slow burn vs. dragging it out (relationship edition)
I’m currently reading Dragonfire: Fallen Star and I need to get this off my chest, it’s about the difference between a slow burn and dragging something out, namely in the way of creating a relationship.
In the first book, Blaze meets Risha and it’s obvious she’s the love interest and that’s fine. She doesn’t have much of a personality besides being moral support for Blaze but it’s whatever. At the end of the book, the author does something differently and doesn’t pair them together despite it being obvious.
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That caught my attention, if it didn’t happen in the first book after the final battle and Risha almost died, maybe Blaze would get with someone else in book two? No ... he doesn't. It takes until the end of book two for both of them to admit they love each other and Blaze is confused because he never had a concept of “love” and didn’t realise he was in “love” or that Risha loved him. (I know asexuality is a thing however I can’t comment if Blaze is asexual or aromantic because I’m not either of those things. As far as I’m aware, Blaze isn’t.)
So let’s talk about a slow burn vs. dragging out a relationship.
A slow-burn love story is kind of the focus of the story. Most of the time you see them in either slice-of-life stories, romance, or even erotic storytelling, but the main focus of the story is primarily the relationship between two or more characters. You know it’s gonna happen, everyone around them knows it’s gonna happen, and the build-up of their relationships feels natural, and if written well, you’re waiting for that “I love you, let’s kiss as a couple” moment just like how everyone else in the story is waiting for it.
Now that’s not to say a slow-burn relationship is only found in those stories, as it’s a common trope with a lot of storytelling. Two characters are in love but don’t have time to do anything about it until the story is over where they can relax and admit their feelings for one another. (Insert nearly any story here).
The point is, if it’s obvious, and we know it’s gonna happen if it doesn’t happen at the end where we thought it would...then it becomes a love story which feels like it’s dragging on.
Case in point, Dragonfire book one and two. While I was caught off guard about book one’s ending where Blaze didn’t get with Risha, book two started off with the most obvious “I’m in love but don’t realise it” kind of writing there is and it doesn’t stop until near the end. This relationship was already established and written in book one, why does it have to carry over to the next book? Mind you these books are over 400 pages long, I basically, read an 800-page romance where they don’t get together until page 800. That’s not a slow burn, that’s dragging it out.
Slow burn vs. dragging it out comes down to how the reader feels about said relationship. I’ll use myself as the main example because I like slow burns. I giggle when I see them because I think it’s cute when two people are in love, don’t realise it, and they blush every time they see each other. I’m a sucker for romance so I’d like to see my slow burns every once in a while.
Slow burn for romance, slice of life, and even erotica are kind of the point of their stories. Two characters are in love, they spend a lot of time together and in the end, they get together. So I don’t need to explain much about them because it’s kind of the whole point you read them some of the time.
Slow Burns for nearly every other story is written in a way where two characters are in love, they don’t know it, but as the story progresses, they think about each other, maybe even flirt a little, and they sacrifice their lives for each other. (Typical romance in more adventure pack stories.) At the end of the final climax of the story (normally after a love interests nearly die) and the world is saved, they kiss at the end and everyone cheers. While the romance isn’t the main point of the story, it’s still a very obvious way to write one and a lot of readers expect something at the end after it was built up from the beginning. Even if the relationship isn’t written well, some readers might give it a pass if they know what’s gonna happen at the end.
Now what about a slow burn for multiple stories? At what point does it drag?
Slow burns for multiple stories can work, but you need to change the relationship a little. First of all, having the main character “not realise” they're in love isn’t a good way to avoid putting them together unless said character is aromantic or asexual. (Like I said, I’m not either of them and have no idea how to write a character who's like that, so if that’s what you’re going for I suggest asking other writers who are either of those things.)
The relationship needs to grow and others need to comment about it. The characters could be unsure if the other will like them or they could both be aware they like each other but have neither want to make it official because what if it causes their friendship to break? Just do something which indicates they’re trying, but have a good reason not to make it official. 
Sometimes you can make fake love triangles. (Fake love triangles are love triangles which are put in place to further the relationship between two characters). Fake love triangles normally don’t last long, but last just enough for the slow burn to do its magic. Which is mostly by making one of the love interests either jealous or sad because they “missed their moment” even though the character they're crushing on is very obviously not gonna stick with their current partner.
Real-life relationships don’t just happen overnight, sometimes they can take years so there’s nothing wrong if you want to write a slow-burn relationship, the problem comes from the audience's patience and this is something which will vary from person.
From my own experience and how I feel when reading these types of relationships. If it was obvious, that they were supposed to get together at the end of one book but didn’t, that could either surprise me as I might've felt I read the entire relationship wrong or get annoyed because we’re doing this entire song and dance all over again in book two.
While I can’t give an example for every time I felt like this while reading stories, I’ll try to explain why I felt like some relationships were dragging on because as I stated before, this ultimately comes down to audience patience.
Enough time has passed: Most of the time between books one and two, there’s a time jump. Book one of Dragonfire and book two have a four-season time jump (so most likely a year) during this entire year, neither Blaze nor Risha get together? What were they doing this entire time?
I don’t know about other readers but I’d like to imagine what characters do when the story is over and if there’s a seconded book with a time jump, I'd try to imagine what they were doing in said time jump. Both of these characters were crushing on each other for the entirety of book one and yet neither made a move during the gap? Why? It also doesn’t explain why they never tried to make a move on each other during the gap in book two as well.
If you want to create a slow burn for several stories and you know there’s gonna be a time jump in between some of the stories, you need to explain why your characters, who now have some time to relax, don’t get together. Sometimes it can be as simple as “we already tried and it didn’t work out”, it happens. Sometimes people need to try a relationship a few times before getting it right. If this is the case, it’s more believable that while they still like each other, they don’t want to try again because what if it doesn’t work out a second time? What if they get into a fight and ruin their friendship?
You can also have one of the characters already in another relationship with someone else. This is leaning more on the love triangle side of things instead of creating a fake one, but how this one works is that one of the characters took a bit too long to say “I love you” so, the other character moved on during the time jump and now the character which took a bit too long to say “I love you” is upset about their actions. The reason why I say this isn’t really a fake love triangle trope is because if this love triangle is established at the beginning of the second book, then it’s gonna play a more prominent role throughout the story.
Maybe you could create a Romeo and Juliet kind of slow burn where the main characters know they love each other but they can’t make it official because of reasons. While this is on the line of creating an established relationship, there’s a difference between them kissing in secret compared to kissing in public and it’s the public kiss the readers are waiting for. You can also do this same exact love story but have it where one of the characters keeps refusing to progress because if others find out, then a war will break out or something.
The point is, that you need to acknowledge why they haven’t gotten together instead of the “I didn’t know I was in love” trope.
Another reason why I feel a slow burn turns into a dragging-on love story is when there are no other options. I know we all hate love triangles but they do serve a purpose. If two characters love each other, and there’s no other character that ever gets brought up as a potential love triangle then I ask, why haven’t they just tied the knot if neither of them have any options?
It should’ve happened already: This one is an easy explanation. If a reader feels like the relationship should’ve already been confirmed and it’s not...that feels like the relationship is dragging on. This kind of feeling will vary from reader to reader so if this is what someone says, it’s best to ask them to clarify.
The writer put too much emphasis on the relationship: If you want a relationship to take place over several stories, or even just one, but you want it to be a slow burn, while not creating a romance, slice of life, etc. If you bring up the fact two characters are in love over and over, to the point it feels like the relationship is getting more attention than the actual story, readers might want those characters to tie the knot just so the story can move forward.
Every single one of these examples is based on a reader's feelings about the relationship you're creating so it changes for everyone and everyone will have a different spot in your story they can tell you where it felt like the relationship is dragging on. For me, it was in chapter two of book two, I already felt like it was dragging on as soon as I realised this was gonna be the same thing as in book one.
Beta readers are your friend and if you’re gonna have this come across in multiple stories, then make sure to find beta readers who’ve read each story and ask them how the relationship felt for them. If someone tells you it feels like it’s dragging a bit. You don’t have to change the relationship entirely, but make sure you get multiple opinions because each reader will view your relationship differently.
Despite love being a very common experience everyone has felt, it’s also one of the most difficult ones to write. Just make sure to get different opinions and see what the majority of your readers feel like.
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get-back-homeward · 5 months
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Now and Then Day
This sideblog began after watching Get Back nagged and nagged at me until finally I started to look closer at context relative to the Beatles discography and suddenly started experiencing these WAIT WHAT moments every day as what I thought I knew got turned inside out. The appeal was in looking at something you knew like the back of your hand from another direction and seeing/hearing something new you hadn’t seen/heard before. But I had no idea we’d get another song to add to the mix in 2023.
I knew Now and Then day would be an experience. I thought I’d have to wait the whole day before listening. But I got lucky and found a few minutes to listen to Now and Then when it was first released this morning. And inexplicably clicked to hear the remastered Love Me Do instead. I cannot explain my brain.
I then tried to start Now and Then and noped out before 15 seconds in. Too overwhelming. Not the right time. I was too rushed and needed more space to mentally prepare for it.
I caught NPR covering the Now and Then release today on my drive home. They had a Lennon biographer (I didn’t catch the name) reviewing the song. He said the song recalls John’s more delicate tunes like Beautiful Boys (sic) and mentioned John started the song in 1970.
Say what?!
Here I was late last night trying to nail down a better date for John’s demo than “late 70s”. Meanwhile, biographers are just here on national public radio pushing lies. Did he have ChatGPT write his comments?
Oh yeah, they also said it was created with AI no qualifier.🤦‍♀️
They played a few snippets of the song including one new piece not in the doc but refrained from playing it in full. It was mostly wrong Beatles facts all segment.
Trying the song a second time hours later, I got through it in one piece but was feeling abit 🥴 about it as a song itself. Having just listened to the original demo was probably a mistake, and I could hear all the seams and feeling the Frankenstein song effect.
Third attempt sounded more together, with the seams not quite as noticeable. I was prepared for the changes, the layering bits from other songs, and noted highlights of the instrumentals: the strings, George’s guitar bits, and Ringo’s flourishes. I love Paul coming through on the future tense certainty of “I will love you” (is that I Will?). Ringo’s shimmering effect choice (is it tams?) is such an entrancing closer. Giles’ score and Beatles recycled bits do mend the seams well once I stop thinking about them too much.
On fourth listen, my biggest notes are questioning why Paul’s harmony with John isn’t more distinct. He shows a lot of restraint here but maybe too much? Did Get Back get to him in other ways than the most obvious? Is he just self-conscious about his own voice? Or is it the limitation of the tech when it comes to harmony mixing?
The strings were what I was most worried about, but their entrance at the 1:15 mark really kicks it up a notch to transition into the singalong. Other standouts are 1:40 with George’s flourish and 2:29 peak with the guitar solo.
Lyrically, it’s the conditional and if I make it through it’s all because of you that haunts in layers of meaning both grim and cathartic that reverberate through time and space.
If John makes it through emotionally to 1980 and has a comeback? Congrats, bud you did it. But he’s stopped physically through no fault of his own. There’s the obvious mourning of that lost potential even 40 years later.
If this song this voice this message of John’s makes it through to 2023 and reaches the public? Well, success there, Paul’s tenacity saw it through with help from many friends. John’s voice and song lives on through Paul’s wish to conjure him by his side. On the Day of the Dead no less. I was reminded of the concept of tulpas today and was knocked back on my heels by the thought.
If John as an artist and Beatles as a band make it through so fans are still listening in 2023? This doubles as a bit of a fan love letter, and thank you for 60 years. Released on the day Beatlemania first appeared in black and white.
But then there’s also a reflector on this. Some original Beatles fans have aged with Paul and Ringo and others have not and aren’t here to share this like John and George. There’s grief and mourning from those still here about those lost, and the song acts as a catharsis. A kind of thank you to the band for being there for fans in good times and bad. The symbiosis of fame between a band and its fans across the decades.
It’s a lot.
I spent some time looking at the youtube comments on the song. Some original fans but many second and even third generation fans. And quite a few stories about a loved one who loved the band and recently passed away like this one:
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And this:
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But also in there are stories of catharsis and healing.
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And many memories of the joy that Beatles music has brought to people’s lives. We all have these stories of how their songs weave into our own life. But it’s the joy that I keep coming back to as the secret sauce to the band’s earliest days. I often think of those early songs more in terms of feeling then anything, and it starts with the first single.
I love the Love Me Do remastering. That harmonica sounds so crisp. The bluegrassy harmonies have never sounded better. The ones on ple-ee-ee-ease still give me chills. Ringo’s drums moved forward in the mix to appreciate that driving beat just a bit more. I can hear the bass too. I can’t wait to hear what the other early Red album tracks sound like.
But next to Now and Then, I’m also looking at the lyrics like I never did before. Why give it another glance? Written by a 16 year old kid, it always sounded a bit juvenile and simple. But suddenly next to Now and Then, there’s a weight to it I never heard before.
Love, love me do
You know I love you
I’ll always be true
So please, love me do
It sounds like a promise. Now and Then is fulfillment of that always. It’s no longer just the whim of a kid. But rather the beginning of 7 decade devotional: To John, to the band, to fans, and reflected back again. The love is reciprocal from all sides.
How’s that for a WAIT WHAT moment? Paul turning the least likely song inside out and backwards. And he didn’t even add a lyrical middle eight.
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