#since we got next to nothing of these two in the show - the fic writers' obvious next step is to turn to their actual life history | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shuichisweave · 2 years

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Your Bimbo reader x Edward was just- *chef's kiss* They're so cute I love that dynamic!

i'm so delighted to see that people liked my fic so much anyways haha after i got corona i had a huge writers block anyways lol heres part two

crosswords part two

Edward Nashton x Bimbo Reader

It had been a day since Edward had seen you last. He didn’t have the heart to text you. The fact that you had been so unbearably sweet to him, and handed him your number without him even having to ask for it. He was undeniably whipped for a girl he didn’t even know. He couldn’t stand the anxious feeling he got deep inside of himself when he became nearly brave enough to make the first move. Unable to withstand it for longer he began to chastise himself for his cowardice.

“Fuck, get a hold of yourself Edward!” He spoke to himself, “You’re making yourself look like more of an ass by not texting her. Get to it already!” He swiped his phone off of his dresser and searched through his coat pocket for his crossword puzzle page that you scrawled your number onto. It was only now that he had noticed the small glittery heart you had drawn next to your number, and he began to feel soft at the sight of it. It was a weird thought, but he thought your handwriting was just like you, cute. ‘No-’ He thought, ‘It doesn’t mean anything, the girl dots her letter ‘I’s with hearts when he writes… It’s insignificant.’ Regardless of that he typed in your number into his phone and sent off a message to you, it read as

-‘Hey this is the guy from the diner the other night.’

Finally typing this down he realized the completely embarrassing fact that he hadn’t even given you his name the night previous, nor had he learnt your name. Rookie mistake when meeting hot girls in tiny dresses. God, the more he thought about that dress…He hated to say it but the night he met you he was practically undressing you with his eyes, imagining you in nothing but the baby blue chunky pumps you had been wearing. He was laser focused on the small of your back, and how badly he wanted to wrap his arms around it and pull you onto his lap. His mind swirled with lewd fantasies of you. He could feel his cock twitch in his pants before he heard his notification sound go off. You had responded!

He dashed to his messages and found that you had responded with,

-‘omg! hi!! you were super cool to talk to the other night! do you want to talk on the phone together?’

Fuck fuck what had he gotten himself into? He was utter shit at talking on the phone to people let alone a grown woman he was interested in. What was he meant to do in a situation like this? This was foreign territory that he had never ventured into before, and god, now was as good a time as any to start making headway. “Man it the fuck up Nashton- get on with it!” He berated himself for his lack of courage softly under his breath. The illuminated keyboard shone back at him brightly, mocking him for not being strong enough to simply talk to a girl on the phone. He made his move and replied,

-’Sure thing, now is just fine.’

He did not know whether or not to call you first- but before he could even make that decision, he was startled by the deafening sound of his ring-tone and the drop down notification showing an incoming call from your phone number; speaking of, he should really set up your contact in his phone when he gets off the phone with you. He fumbled with his phone before clicking ‘accept’ and pushing the phone up to his ear before being met with your cheery greeting tone.

“Hey hi! It’s great to finally talk to you again- um. Wait no i've got it… give me a second. Oh gosh I’m so embarrassed… What was your name again?” You said remorsefully, clearly humbled at the fact that you believed you had lost his name.

“No-no it’s alright, when I uh, met you the other night we never got around to exchanging names, I’m Edward by the way,” He said, slightly comforted by the fact you were almost equally as awkward as him. Key word being almost, he had the same amount of grace as a brick being thrown through a window. You chuckled lightly over the other end of the phone and replied with your name back to him. He grinned at hearing this, a soft swelling warmness in his heart began to appear. You began to speak again to him, “So um, Mister Edward… I was wondering if I could possibly see you again sometime soon? Maybe you could come over to my place, and we could … I dunno, watch a movie? Your choice of course! I’m down for anything.”

Was this a message? From God? To see that he was truly out there? Because fuck, he felt like he was in heaven currently. Before he could leave you hanging he hastily replied, “YES! I mean yes. Of course. I’m free this Wednesday if that works out for you?” He was white-knuckling the knees of his trousers so hard he was afraid he was going to burst a blood vessel in his eye. He waited with baited breath for your impending response. Finally, (thank fuck) You replied back, “Totally! You like popcorn? I’ve got a couple bags and I've been waiting for a good excuse to use them. I’ll text you my address and we’ll link up then okay? But promise me you’re not like, a totally creepy murderer got it?” He let go of the breath he had been holding in unknowingly, and answered the pressing questions you had.

“God-I no! Of course not. But yeah that sounds good to me. I’ll be there. I guess I um…Promise not to be a psycho killer?” You squealed in excitement into the receiver on your end of the phone, “O.M.G. I’m so excited to see you again Eddie! It’ll be just me and you! It’s a date! See you then!” You half screamed before the call ended with a beep.

It’s a date. It’s a date. It’s a date! He could feel his face warm and his heart soaring out of his chest.

#edward nashton x reader #fanfic #riddler #the riddler x reader #paul dano riddler #riddler x reader #edward nygma #edward nashton imagine #edward nashton smut #edward nashton #bimbo reader

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thebestofoneshots · 5 days

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I'm honestly so exited for the next chapter of GC!!!

If you had any advice for anyone wanting to write a maurauders fic what would it be?

THE INTERLUDE PT. 2

Hey Darling! I think my advice to anyone who wants to write, not just fanfiction for the Marauders, but anything in general, is that you must do three things:

Pay attention to your surroundings

This one is important because there are stories developing around us at all times, and these stories can be both inspiring and insightful. You have to look at people. But to really look at them. How does sadness look? How does desperation? What about happiness and excitement? What about love?

Paying close atention to the way people react to things, to the way their faces move and to the way they try to stop them from it, is what gives you a real outlook on all these things and helps you with the classic "show don't tell" aspect of writing. (You can also fo this by watching movies, it doesn't have to be just real people).

Sometimes what I do, is very much like method acting. What I mean by this is that I try to feel my character's emotions in my own body so I can write their reactions, did they furrow their brows? Did they shed a tear or two? Sometimes it takes a heavy toll, but personally. I like living the story as I write it.

Read a LOT

Now, I've got dyslexia and I'm a slow as fuck when reading, but still, I try to read as much as I can, especially now, I've been reading a lot of old classics, the likes of Frankenstein, Dracula, The Picture of Dorian Grey, Midsummer Night's Dream, and even some other not so classics like The Secret History.

I'm currently reading The Brothers Karamazov and I especially pay attention to new vocabulary (English is not my first language but feels like it at this point) and yet, sometimes when we read we skip past words that we allude a meaning due to context but we don't actually pay atention to them.

I mean did you know the black suit with white neckline that priests use is actually called a "cassock"? I had no idea, so thank you Dostoyevsky for teaching me that. (Comes in handy for that Priest!Remus fic I'm working on, if you know what I mean).

But yes, read a lot. You know Virginia Wolf once said:

"Read a thousand books and your words will flow like a river"

And trust me, she was onto something, nowadays I find myself using words that just in 2023 I wouldn't have even thought of, and that's just like a 6 books difference. And I know some of you all are incredibly fast readers! (Someone literally read the 300K words of GC in two days, not even in my dreams would I be able to do that).

So use that to your advantage and take out your books. Or read on ePub on your phone, that works just as well. Instead of scrolling, go to your books app!

My screen time does not look like this out of coincidence.

I've made a conscious decision to stop scrolling Instagram and Pinterest so much and start reading instead. Whenever I'm waiting in the car, whenever I have a free moment, I OPEN that app and get READING. (It also helped that The Secret History is damn engaging).

Also, since the Marauders don't have much official material, I'd recommend reading more fanfiction on them, it's the only way you can get a grasp of the personality we have collectively created for them.

Start typing

And finally, all that reading, all that looking and all that feeling is going to we worth for nothing if you don't actually sit down and write. Be it on a notebook while you're in school (I used to do this a lot, I don't even know how I got such good grades), or type on your computer while you're at work and have some free time.

It's silly when writers say this, but you have to make time to write, it really is the only way to do it. Sit down, write a word, and then another, and then just keep going. You don't like the result? It doesn't matter you can write it again, scratch and restart, but you must get writing.

And finally, don't be afraid to show your work, sometimes feedback is the way to get better. I mean, beats me I didn't know "tight" and "thigh" wasn't the same thing due to dyslexia for years! And it was thanks to one of you, that I took a closer look and realised what a pitiful mistake I'd been making.

So yeah, WRITE, show your work, and get feedback from friends, family or people on the internet. That's the secret ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

I might have gotten carried away with this answer lol, this is why it always takes me so much to go through my asks.

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sillymarigolds · 1 year

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Between the Lines

I'm back writing fanfic after many years away from the wonderful community of writers and readers! This is my first THG fic and was inspired by the prompt "This Would Have Happened Anyway" on @promptseverlark but I just never got around to writing it in time for the challenge.

Also posted on my ao3 here (I'm sillymarigolds there, too!)

Synopsis: If the 74th Hunger Games had never brought them together, perhaps the 75th Hunger Games would bring Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark together instead. A canon-divergent AU fic based on the “This would have happened anyway” prompt on @promptseverlark

~*~

Early Summer

Crouching in the scrub, I strain my ears listening for the rustling of leaves that might give away any game. The chorus of birds is absent today, leaving only the hum of insects emanating from the trees.

I watch the shadows of the trees grow taller on the forest floor and sigh. It’s time to go.

I trudge back to the hollowed tree stump where I carefully wrap my bow in oilcloth to protect it against the elements. Readjusting my game bag with only two hares and some wild greens to show for my afternoon, I pick up my pace to a trot, making my way towards the fence. I stop briefly to listen for the hum of electricity. Hearing nothing, I wriggle under a loose section close to home.

The streets of the Seam are quiet, still awaiting the next layer of coal to be deposited off the backs of the miners toiling underground. I make this journey alone most days now. Since Gale has turned nineteen and started work at the mines, we are hunting partners only on his weekends off.

I have started to feel very envious of Gale sometimes. He no longer has to go to school and listen to lessons on the importance of coal production to Panem. He can finally support his family financially without relying on selling game at the Hob. And most of all he has survived the reapings.

The only place where I don’t have those terrible thoughts is the woods. Because in the woods there is no District 12. There is no Hunger Games. There is only green and bird song.

From the street, I catch sight of the clock atop the Hall of Justice and realise I am late to pick up Prim. Sliding my father’s hunting jacket off and dumping the game bag in front of an angry Buttercup who yowls in response, I cut through backyards to make it back to the schoolhouse.

The schoolhouse has apparently not changed in anyone living’s memory. It is only one room, built of whitewashed wood harvested from the forest that now lies outside the fence. Prim was supposed to wait outside on the front steps for me, but I can’t see her.

I fly up the steps, my braid swinging like a crazed pendulum behind me. Two of the long desks we sit at during classes have been covered in old cloths stained in many colours. The long bench seats have been pulled either side making it look more like a formal dinner setting than a classroom. Old jars stand filled with opaque shades of brown, grey, blue and violet atop the table. Pencils and charcoal are dotted between them. Darius, one of the younger peacekeepers is napping on a chair in the corner of the room, his hands resting on a folio stuffed with paper. The late afternoon sunlight casts a bright orange glow onto the crown of his head which rests on the window. The room is otherwise empty, but I see the back door is open, so I slow to a walk and make my way out the back.

I see the backs of Prim and Miss Flora our old schoolmistress standing over a tub together washing out paintbrushes quietly singing a folk song that calls for a good harvest. I take the stairs two at a time and walk around to stand opposite so as not to scare them knowing I have a light tread. “Prim, you said you would be out front,” I say hands on hips. Prim’s eyes widen pleading forgiveness. Miss Flora turns looks at me through her grimy spectacles and I swear I can almost see a hint of a smirk on her lips. She looks over to Prim and exclaims, “I’m sorry dear, time must have gotten away from us both. Thank you for all your help, I can take it from here.”

“But Miss Flora, Katniss and I could stay for a little…”

I open my mouth to rebut that no, we do not have time and that we need to make it home so I can cook dinner, but Prim continues:

“We still have to take all the paintings inside!”

Miss Flora pulls her hands out of the tub and wipes them on her apron, pushing her spectacles back up her nose. “I would certainly appreciate it if you two would do that, my knees aren’t quite what they used to be. If you could stack them all against the wall next to the blackboard.”

My stomach growls as I go to frown at Prim, but she is already wiping off her own hands on her skirts and skipping around the side to the building.

Miss Flora looks up at me and says, “Thank you Katniss, see you tomorrow morning,” and goes back to washing up, whistling the chorus of the song.

I follow Prim around the side of the schoolhouse to where the canvases are lined up to dry in the late afternoon sun. She has already got one in each hand and is heading inside with them. “Thank you, Katniss,” she says sweetly, and my face softens. I could never be angry with Prim.

As we pass one another, I catch sight of one of the paintings —a portrait of a man opening the door as he comes home from work in the mines. It is every bit a beloved father painted by an adoring child. But everything in it is too clean – the house, the father’s face, his clothes. One thing strikes me as true though, and that is his smile. I can remember my father always having one on as he walked through the door, bending down to hug me as I clung to his knees, and then he would scoop up a baby Prim to plant a kiss on her temple. Always the left one, where she has a birthmark so close to her hairline it is almost invisible. Sometimes I see her touching it when she looks at the photo of our father on the mantlepiece. Suddenly my chest feels tight, and I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the emotion swelling in my throat from spilling over into tears.

When I close my eyes, I can still see President Snow’s face pulling that letter out of the wooden box, his eyes cold as he reads out the words: “On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that the beauty and peace they enjoy at the generosity of the Capitol is still young, each district will send their youngest eligible male and female as tributes.”

The art was Snow’s addition. That “all the potential tributes should showcase their district and the generosity of the Capitol in art to be displayed in the Capitol before the Games.” There have never been proper art classes at school before. Only ever graphite pencils and plain paper which were already scarce. Most of the children in Twelve had only ever drawn on frosty windowpanes when there wasn’t enough money to keep the fire stoked with the coal their fathers toiled underground to mine during the long, harsh winters.

The day after President Snow’s announcement, a peacekeeper-guarded train arrived filled with coloured pencils, paints and paintbrushes in all the colours I could imagine and some that I couldn’t. There had been an announcement to all parents that children were to stay on Friday afternoons until the reaping to work on their pieces that would be considered for the “great honour” of travelling to the Capitol and representing our district. Of course, that should have include me, but I was excused by Miss Flora on account of my inability to think of anything I was remotely grateful for that the Capitol had given me. How could I be grateful to people who killed my father and left me and Prim to starve? Who will take away twenty-four twelve-year-olds to fight to the death for entertainment?

What I love about Twelve has nothing to do with them. I love Prim and my mother. I love Gale and his family. And I love the woods. Besides, my artistic abilities are limited to drawing hunting maps in the mud with a stick.

I blink my eyes back open into the afternoon and rub my eyelids with the hem of my shirt before Prim comes back. I grab two more canvases trying not to look at them and head back into the schoolhouse to lay them next to Darius’s chair with the others. Darius is still snoring softly, but has been joined by Purnia, another of the peacekeepers who is sitting on the opposite side of the room. We nod politely to one another having seen each other around the Hob. Prim and I continue this dance, passing each other with paintings in each hand, until I see Prim heading for the last two and I wait inside for her while Purnia starts collecting up the art materials from the tables into a large metal box with a lock. Purnia has almost cleared the tables and Prim still hasn’t come back inside, so I head back through the door and around the side where I see her standing perfectly still.

I walk towards her, my steps quickening as she fails to look away. “Prim,” I say from a metre or so away, but I get no response. She is so enraptured by the canvas she is looking at.

I reach for her shoulder placing my hand on top of it and eyeing her with concern. “Katniss,” she whispers quietly in reply, never turning her head to look at me. And so, I turn my head to see what has struck her almost dumb.

I recognise the scene immediately — it is the woods at the outskirts of District 12; the woods I left to come here. The leaves are the perfect shades of green with streaks of gold reflecting the sun overhead. There is even the dappled shade that covers the ground in the afternoons. I have this strange feeling of wanting to reach out and touch the leaves and hear them rustle under my fingertips. And then I focus on the figure in the middle of the painting, a girl with her face turned away and a long braid of black hair resting down the middle of her blue, floaty dress. Birds are perched in all the trees like a silent audience. Their beaks are shut, and they watch intently as if they have been held entranced by the girl.

“Katniss it’s you.” Prim says quietly, finally turning to look at me with tears in her eyes. It’s my turn to be struck dumb because I know she is telling the truth. My tongue feels like it has swollen up to the roof of my mouth and my throat feels as dry as if I hadn’t had a drop of water all day. Prim reaches out to me and takes my left hand in both of hers. She knows I can’t express whatever I’m feeling and not to make me try. She lets go of my hand to walk over and pick up the canvas with both hands, treating it with the utmost care, and starts walking it inside. I look over to the canvas next to it and see a warm hearth with a large scruffy yellow tabby cat and goat curled up on a rug and I smile knowing that Prim can always see the good through the grime.

Reaping Day - Part I

The sun is high in the sky, glaring off the windows in the square. There is no wind to flap the flag of Panem or the banners that have been hung on the Hall of Justice.

Prim and I have scrubbed ourselves to a healthy looking pink. My mother laid out her blue dress for me again, but at the thought of the painting I folded it and left it on the end of her bed. Instead, I am dressed in my favourite green blouse and skirt with my signature braid coiled up into a bun that sits on the nape of my neck.

My eyes flick between the stage and the younger girls a few rows ahead where I see Prim standing in her pink blouse and brown skirt. I have to keep reminding myself that she is safe. This time, my mind adds.

There is no need for the reaping balls this year. Everyone has known who will be going since the announcement or soon afterwards. The little girl Nona’s body shakes with her sobs. The boy Martin is trying to be brave, standing as tall as he can, but I can see the fear in his eyes. They are both Seam children — he the eldest of five, she the youngest of four. I walked past their parents: one mother sobbing like her only daughter, the other completely silent as if she had no tears left to cry as the baby slung across grabbed at her chest for comfort.

The paintings going to the Capitol have been hung behind the stage on a large piece of red fabric that I learned is called velvet. Prim’s painting is there amongst a dozen or so others. The painting of me is there as well. Together they tell a very different story of District 12 — one with fathers who always make it home, where there is always food to eat and coal to burn, where we are all surrounded by cleanliness and greenery.

Effie Trinket is back for the televised broadcast of the reaping. As usual she sports the bizarre fashions of the Capitol, with a gold wig teetering atop her head and red jewels stuck on her face. I adopt as neutral an expression I can through the proceedings. The entire district is silent apart from the wails of babies and the soft wooshes of fans held by adults to keep them from fainting. I can see the faces of the peacekeepers starting to falter as they too are struggling with the prospect of sending our youngest away to die far from home for the amusement of strangers. They end up having to restrain Nona as she tries to run for her parents. The only person whose resolve seems not to be tested is Haymitch Abernathy which I think is simply because he is too drunk to be aware of what’s going on.

When Nona and Martin have been taken to the train along with the paintings, the crowd slowly disperses. Prim comes and takes my hand, rubbing circles with her thumb over the back of it to soothe me. I can feel the tension in my jaw loosen a little. “What should we do, little duck?” I ask her, pulling my mouth into a closed smile.

“Can we go and look at the cakes in the bakery window?”

“Of course.” I know Mother will have already gone home to lie down.

Hand in hand we walk over to the bakery, an old brick building painted white and kept meticulously clean. I know the baker, Mr Mellark, well as he is one of my best customers. He loves squirrel, although I can only sell them to him when his wife isn’t around. She is a proud woman who thinks it is beneath them to eat game since they can afford “proper” meat.

I catch sight of the baker at the counter through the glass in the door and he dips his head at me in greeting, his eyes twinkling. Prim drags me towards the window, her nose mere inches from the glass, eyes roaming hungrily over cakes we could never afford.

As I stand there bent over holding Prim’s hand, I notice a new tray being pushed into the cabinet. Small cakes decorated with bright iced flowers on top. They remind me of the paint boxes from the Capitol. I stand up expecting see the baker, but instead my eyes meet his in a different face, that of his son, Peeta Mellark. His reaping clothes are covered by a well-used apron that bears splotches in many colours and a dusting of flour. I notice Peeta’s hands are covered in the same bright hues.

We hold each other’s gaze for a moment, I feel like he wants to ask me something. But then I hear his mother call out for him and his shoulders sag slightly and he turns away and disappears out the back.

Peeta the painter. It must have been him. Which just begs the question, why Peeta who has this comfortable life choose to paint me in the woods?

Reaping Day - Part II

Later that evening, out of our reaping clothes, we are drinking mugs of dandelion tea in candlelight in front of the empty hearth. I am oiling my boots to keep my hands busy and Prim is sitting cross legged with Buttercup on her lap. Instead of turning in to bed, Mother has fallen asleep in one of the armchairs. She dipped into her emergency stash of Ripper’s white liquor, which means she found today more distressing than usual. Father’s photo looks down on all of us from the mantle. The only sounds are my cloth rubbing against well-worn leather and the purr Buttercup eminates as Prim’s nails scratch his scalp. The broadcast of the reaping is at last over, each face of the tributes flashing before my eyes making me rub harder, my knuckles turning white.

A gentle knock on the front door brings me to my feet. Prim’s eyes are wide and worried as she stays rooted to the ground. Mother continues to slumber on.

I tiptoe over to the door and take a deep breath in as I open it into the cool night breeze unsure of what I will find.

A young man stands outside half in shadow, his head tilted down. “I’m sorry to come by so late,” he says, moving towards the light.

It's Peeta Mellark.

The left side of his face is covered with an ugly hand-shaped welt that has swollen his left-eye half shut. He is still dressed in his clothes from the reaping, his hands awkwardly holding his elbows.

My brain struggles to pass words to my mouth, so I instead wave him in and lock the door behind him. Prim’s hands are over her mouth. Peeta winces knowing what a sight he must be.

His blue eyes meet my grey ones. “I thought maybe your mother…” his sentence trails off. Of course, he is here for Mother.

I go to her and squeeze her forearm, but get no response, so I move to squeeze her shoulder. “Mother, wake up,” I say, my voice a little shaky. She screws her nose up but resists opening her eyes. Prim comes to stand next to me, taking Mother’s opposite hand, “Mother, please, there’s a patient here to see you.”

Prim has said the magic word. Mother’s eyes fly open, and she pushes down into the armchair to stand, smoothing down the front of her dress. She turns to see Peter still standing near the doorway. She gives no hint of pity in seeing his swollen face or his broken spirit.

“Come, sit,” she says like someone who was asleep only moments before. “Prim grab my bag. Katniss, boil some water.” She takes Peeta by the arm and leads him to our kitchen table, settling him in one of the chairs.

As instructed, I head outside to fill the kettle from the pump in the backyard. Seconds later I hear Mother come out behind me, and in my peripheral vision I can see her outline heading for the outhouse. The liquor must have caught up with her.

We head back inside together, not speaking until, as we are a foot away from the back door, she whispers almost inaudibly, “She always did have a nasty temper, his mother.” I almost stumble and fall behind her, closing the door behind me. In the dim light, I catch my reflection in the glass panes of the door and feel like I am looking at a ghost.

I put the kettle on the stovetop and sit down at the end of the kitchen table, watching Mother and Prim working together like a well-oiled machine. They grind up herbs and roots out of jars kept in Mother’s leather apothecary bag to make a poultice. The train of thoughts in my head stretches on without end:

How could his own mother do this?

On a day she was able to keep her son?

I must have lost track of time as I am broken out of my reverie by the order “Katniss, make Peeta tea with some willow bark,” as the kettle whistle crescendos in the background.

I make my way over to the stove, shifting the kettle off the hot plate. “How do you take your tea?” I ask without turning to face Peeta.

“No shu-argh-no sugar, thank you,” he replies, wincing at the sting of whatever Mother is applying.

I steep the willow bark with the tea leaves in one of our nicer mugs, listening to Prim ask Mother questions about the ingredients in the ointment she has applied. When the tea is ready, I make my way around the table to stand in front of Peeta. He is sitting quietly, hands folded in his lap, looking down.

I hold out the mug to him with both hands. He lifts his head up and I get a better look at the mark his mother’s hand has made. If I had a paintbrush, I could trace the outline of each of her fingers. There is a small section that is deeper and jagged where a ring has torn into the milky flesh of his cheek. Peeta reaches both of his hands out for the mug and his fingertips brush mine ever so gently. I want to yelp as the feeling of an electric shock runs up my arms, but I end up biting my tongue.

Our eyes meet again, and I look away.

Every time I see his eyes, I am back there, sitting in the rain outside the bakery.

“Thank you, Katniss,” he whispers quietly.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. “Excuse me,” I say to the room as I head back outside to rinse my mouth out.

When his tea is finished, Mother sends Peeta home with a small jar of the ointment and a poultice to keep on it to reduce the swelling. I couldn’t think of anything to say to him, so I sat there awkwardly with my stomach twisting and turning on itself.

She tidies up and heads to bed without saying another word. Prim gets into bed with her, pre-empting the nightmares she will have after today.

I crawl into my own bed alone, pulling the thin, woven blanket over me. I stare up at the ceiling and feel like the world is moving around me ever so slightly, pitching my stomach side to side even as I lie as still as possible. I feel so unbalanced and all I want to do is sleep to make it go away, but I also don’t want to close my eyes. I don’t want to watch the reaping replayed in my dreams. I don’t want to trace the outline of the mark on Peeta’s face. I can’t tell which is worse anymore, being awake or being asleep. I exhale all the air in my lungs and try to focus on the sliver of sky I can see through the roof, hoping sleep will take me by surprise.

Late Summer

I take every opportunity after the reaping to disappear into the woods.

The weather is still warm, but I leave my father’s hunting jacket on and stick to the shade cast by grandfather trees. The song of invisible birds rings out through the small clearing not too far from the fence. There is no need to hunt today, but I carry my bow out of habit. “If you aren’t prepared to fight then you have already lost,” as my father used to say.

As my eyes wander through the trees, I am reminded of Peeta’s painting — all those birds perched, listening. I feel silly, but I want it to be real, so I lower my bow and clear my throat. The words are tucked deep into my memory, and so as I start to sing, I close my eyes to help bring them to my lips:

“Down in the valley, valley so low, Late in the evening, hear the train blow. The train, love, hear the train blow. Late in the evening, hear the train blow. Go build me a mansion, build it so high, So I can see my true love go by. See him go by, love, see him go by. So I can see my true—" I swirl around as a twig snaps behind me.

The corner of a blue shirt and brown boot catch my eye from behind the trunk of a red oak.

I can feel my heartbeat thudding in my ears as I raise and draw my bow.

“Who’s there?” I ask. The birds are silent like curious onlookers.

From behind the tree Peeta steps out his hands raised in surrender. The mark on his face has vanished.

“Sorry,” he says, looking up past me to the trees, “I’m just here to paint,” he leans his head over to his left shoulder which carries a canvas bag. “I was going to move along but…” his voice trails off.

“But what,” I snapped, my bow still raised at his throat.

“But you really can make the birds fall silent.” He gestured up at the trees and I turned around to see the birds had come out into the open, onto the edges of the tree branches like spectators in the highest stands of an arena. They all stood perfectly still as if Peeta and I were Covey midway through an act.

“I remember you singing that song when we were in music class.” Peeta adds.

“My father always said your father could make all the birds fall silent too.”

I am glad I have my back turned to Peeta at this point because I don’t know what to say. I just stand their silently, making eye contact with each of the birds in turn.

“He wanted to marry your mother you know, my father that is. I don’t think my mother’s ever gotten over feeling like a second choice…” He adds.

“I’ll go,” Peeta says after the silence between us grows, he shifts his weight with the resultant rustle of leaves.

“Peeta, I’m sorry.” I blurt out as I turn back around and narrow the gap between us.

Now it’s Peeta’s turn to be confused. He looks at me with a furrowed brow, sunlight glinting off his eyelashes making them outline his eyes in gold.

“I’m sorry your mother did that.” I clarify, tipping my nose towards his left cheek.

Peeta’s brow relaxes, and his face twists into a sad smile. “She was so angry when she saw that painting,” he explains.

“But this was what I thought of when I thought about everything good and pure in District Twelve.”

I duck my head and feel the heat of a blush rise in my cheeks.

Peeta’s voice picks up where I left off:

“—so I can see my true love go by.

Go write a letter, send it by mail. Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail. Capitol jail, love, to the Capitol jail. Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.”

There is a commotion as the birds prepare to take flight, jostled by this new voice that sings in a slightly off-key tenor. To settle them, I join him to finish: “Roses are red, love; violets are blue. Birds in the heavens know I love you. Know I love you, oh, know I love you, Birds in the heavens know I love you.”

The last note of our voices intertwined seems to hang in the air, vibrating slowly.

Something different is in Peeta’s eyes when I meet them this time. It is both steely and determined, soft and enveloping. The trees behind him seem to shift back and forth despite there being no wind.

I feel myself drawn towards him and reach out for the same place that ugly welt marked his face. As lightly as moth wings, I place my hand where his mother’s lay. His skin feels like it is burning my fingertips.

Peeta reaches up to encircle my wrist.

“Katniss,” he says softly, looking straight at me.

And to make everything straighten out I press my lips against his.

#thg fanfiction #the hunger games #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3fic #everlark #this would have happened anyway #sillymarigolds

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youknowwhatted · 2 years

Note

we love him nakky (and steve’s glorious collarbones)

We do love him nakky🥵

So many thots

Johnny Storm x reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI- roommates to lovers trope, idiots in love, mentions of drinking, drunk reader, mentions of the show below deck, over use of the pet name Peach, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, PIV, unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it), breath play, spitting

AN: I am so sorry this took so long @holy-stevie , I am a terribly slow writer and this started out as something entirely different but I hope you like it😊

Written on my phone. All mistakes are my own. This fic got away from me and I suck at knowing how to end things. Have no idea of the word count.

"Jesus, Johnny!" You cried as you covered your eyes. "Put some fucking clothes on," you grumbled as your roommate plopped down next to you on the couch in nothing but a towel and a devilish smirk.

"No can-do, Peach. You know I like to air dry after I shower," he stated as he reached over you for the remote.

You made to grab the remote out of his hand, "first of all; do not call me peach. You saw my bare ass one time -"

"And it's so perfect, how could I not call you Peach?"

"And second," you continue, rolling your eyes, "don't interrupt my boat show."

He was still halfway across your lap, both of your hands on the remote, "Boat show?" He smirked at you.

Fuck, this was not helping the little crush you had on your very sexy and very cocky roommate. The intoxicating smell of his body wash lingers in front of you, you wanted to lick the rivulets of water dripping down his chest and you could clearly make out the outline of his cock under the towel.

"Yes. Now let go," you tugged on the remote and shoved his shoulder with your free hand. You bit your lip as he leaned back, releasing the remote and holding his hands up in surrender, "okay, okay, Peach."

You shot him a glare before trying to turn your attention back to your show. You couldn't keep your eyes from drifting down to his wide set thighs and you had to tamp down a whimper when he popped his hips up slightly, getting more comfortable. The towel begins to cover less and less of his legs the more he adjusts. Some drama was happening on the screen and Johnny pulled you out of your lust filled stare, "Has that dude slept with every chick on the boat?"

"Huh?" Your eyes snapped back up to the TV, "Oh yeah, Gary's a real player. Kinda like someone else I know," you playfully elbowed his ribs.

"Oof," he mocked offence as he rubbed his ribs, "that hurts, Peach," he frowned.

You rolled your eyes again and shoved his shoulder with your own as you brought your focus back to the show.

You two had been playing at this unspoken game of who was gonna break first since you moved in. He didn't have the heart to tell you that the night you came home plastered last weekend, you had tried to kiss him as he helped you in to your bed.

"Johnny," you happily cried, throwing your arms around his neck when he opened the apartment door you were struggling to unlock.

"'M drunk," you slurred with a giggle, struggling to stand upright and he wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you from falling.

"I can tell," he chuckled, as he tried to walk you down the hall to your bedroom, your feet uncooperative in your strappy heels.

"Toooo much tequila," you whined as you fumbled again before he picked you up bridal style and carried you to your bed, setting you down gently on the edge. You bit your lip when you got a full view of him as he stood back up; hair tussled, gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, his bare chest that you wanted to sink your teeth into, and that smirk that always did you in. He kneeled down and started to undo the straps on your shoes and you tossed yourself back on the bed, hands over your face as you groaned, "Why d'you have to be stupid sexy all the time?"

He laughed again and placed your feet up on the bed, "Oh, you are gonna be so hungover tomorrow," he helped you get under the cover and was pulling them up when you made grabby hands at him with a pout. He rolled his eyes, a smile tugging on his lips as he leaned down to give you a hug, but you pulled on his neck, bringing his face to yours, "I want you," you whispered, inching closer. He sighed, closing his eyes and rested his forehead on yours, "God, I wish you'd say that when you're sober." He reached up and took your hands off his neck, whispering "goodnight, y/n," and walked out of your room. He heard you sniffle as he closed the door.

You woke to the smell of bacon and emerged from your bed with a splitting headache, in search of coffee. Your embarrassment from last night's rejection is evident in the ruined mascara and tear tracks under your eyes when you caught a look at yourself in the mirror as you changed into sweats. All you could remember was that you made your move and he rejected you.

"Ah, she lives," Johnny said with a smile, sliding a plate of his famous hangover cure breakfast to you as you sat down at the island in the kitchen. You moaned, head in hands, voice cracking as you asked for coffee. He was already sliding a cup to you. You took a sip, and hid your smile behind your favorite mug, it was just the way you like it.

"So," he started, trying to be nonchalant, placing the dirty pans in the sink as you dug in to your food, "tequila, huh? Did you black out again?"

You thought for a minute as you chewed, trying to piece together your hazy memory of the night before. The silence making him nervous.

"Shit," you sighed, his hands stilled in the soapy water, "I think I tried to make out with one of the bouncers at Mick's. Fuck. I am never going drinking with Kristi again. I don't even remember coming home." His shoulders fell a little as he began scrubbing again.

"I-, uh, I didn't do anything stupid when I got home, did I?" You asked hesitantly. He put the clean pan on the drying rack and turned to face you with a soft smile, "Nah, Peach, you were fine. I mean, besides you falling in those crazy heels every two seconds, you were fine." He turned back to the dirty dishes. Fuck.

But now. Now, you were so fucking close to breaking. His bare thigh was pressed up against yours and watching the deckhand and chief stew on the reality show make out in a hot tub was doing nothing to stop your thirst. You tried to be subtle as you squeezed your thighs together trying to quell the throbbing in your clit, the action not going unnoticed by Johnny. His crystal blue iris' a thin line around his lust blown pupils as he threw one arm on the back of the couch, his other across his lap to try and hide his growing erection. You cleared your throat and shifted, practically squirming in your soaked panties.

"You okay, Peach?" He husked, leaning closer.

You turned to him, locking eyes, "don't call me that," but there was no bite in your words. His eyes drifted down to your lips when you ran your tongue over them. Your chest rising at a quicker pace the longer he stared and when you bit your lip his hand that was on the couch was on your neck, gently pulling your towards him. "Tell me you want this, Y/N," he whispered, eyes searching yours.

"I want you, Johnny," you echoed your words from the weekend before and in an instant his lips were on yours. Soft and needy and urgent. His other hand wrapping around your waist to pull you into his lap, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders as you moaned into his mouth. He tasted minty as you tongues explored each other, his hands sliding up and down your sides and when you sucked his tongue into your mouth he groaned, grabbing your hips to grind you over his cock. You could feel his hard length through the thin leggings you wore as his towel slipped away, making your pussy clench around nothing.

"Holy shit," the words came out before you could stop them when you pulled back and looked down, his large cock, bigger than any you've had before, twitching under your gaze and leaking pre cum, making your mouth water.

"Like what you see, Peach?"

Your half-lidded eyes meeting his, "I told you," you simpered as you got off his lap and on to your knees in front of him, your hands running up his thighs as he spread them when you leaned forward, "Don't. Call. Me. Peach."

You licked from the base of his cock, running your tongue up the thick vein to his leaking tip, his taste heady as you took him in your mouth. A quiet "fuck," falling from his lips when you you looked up at him through your lashes as you took him as deep as you could, his tip hitting the back of your throat and you swallowed around him, your hand wrapping around what you couldn't fit in your mouth. You swirled your tongue along his vein and hummed when he began gathering your hair away from your face, gently urging you to move. His eyes rolled back in his head as you slowly came back up stopping to run your tongue over his slit and you felt his thighs shake. You swirled your tongue around his tip one last time before bobbing your head and working the rest of his length with your hand in tandem. "Oh shit, just like that baby," his voice a low and desperate, his grip in your hair tightened as you began gagging on his thick cock, drool spilling down your hand and onto his balls.

You hummed, feeling his cock get incredibly hard, his moans and grunt above you making your chest swell with pride and he asked, "Can I cum in your mouth, baby?" You nodded your head as best you could before he groaned again and a slew of profanities falling from him as ropes of his cum shoot down your throat as you tried your best to swallow all of it.

You pulled off of him with a pop. He growled, pulling you up into his lap again and bringing your lips to his in a heated kiss, tasting himself on your tongue as he squeezed your ass.

"My turn to taste you," he whispered against your lips, slowly lowering you to lay down on the couch. He sat back, pulling your leggings and panties down and bringing a finger to your glistening cunt.

"Is all this for me, Peach?"

You nodded your head as he ran two fingers up the cut of you making your breath hitch, gathering your juices and bringing them to his mouth. He moaned at your taste, "always knew you'd taste amazing."

He ran his fingertips up your thighs as he leaned down, lifting your legs over his shoulders and kissing down the soft skin of your inner thigh, making your tummy swoop with anticipation. He grazed his teeth just above where you needed him most, making you whine, "Please, Johnny."

"Don't worry, Peach. I'll take good care of this pretty little pussy," he husks, his breath ghosting over your pulsing clit before he spit on it, watching his saliva drip down your folds, your breathing becoming rapid and he hadn't even put his mouth on you yet.

You inhaled sharply as he finally put you out of your misery, running his tongue from your leaking hole to your clit, swirling it and then latching his lips around and sucking. Your cries and moans of "ohmygod," and "fuck yes! Right there," egging him on as he flicked his tongue rapidly over your swollen bud, you fingers carding through his short hair, heat blooming in your core as he brought you closer to bliss.

Johnny spread his hand over your tummy to still your hips, his other tracing around your glistening lips before he sank two thick fingers into you, searching for that soft, spongy spot that made your toes curl. "Don't stop!" You cried as he found it, "I'm so close."

He moved his fingers and tongue faster, your body going ridged as your orgasm spread fire through your veins and you held his face to your pussy. "Yesyesyesfucksogood," your words slurred together as he worked you through your high, drinking in your juices.

He pulled back, taking a deep breath, "Damn, Peach," he smiled as you both caught your breath. He pulled his fingers from your drenched cunt, making you whine at the empty feeling.

"I need to feel you wrapped around my cock and have you do that again," he said as he crawled up your body, stopping to lift your shirt and brought his mouth to your nipple, biting it causing a thin keen to leave your lips.

"Fuck yes," you replied, pushing him up to sit on the couch as you straddle his lap, slipping your tongue in his mouth as you grind your pussy over his massive cock. His hands grip your ass before he slides them up your back, lifting your shirt as they go and you pull back so he can take it off of you.

"God, you're so beautiful," he brushes his thumbs over your hard nipples, a shiver running down your spine before kissing him again, and you can't wait any longer, you needed to feel him inside you. He couldn't wait either, one hand on his cock, the other moving to your hip to guide you down on to him, watching each other as you feel him stretch your soft walls, the pain and pleasure mixing has your head going light. He pulls you down, inch by inch, until he's buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around him, a choked moan falling from your lips and his grip on your hip bruising.

"Fuck, you're so big. I don't know if I can-" you shudder as you begin to circle your hips.

"Oh yes you can, Peach. You're taking me so well," he brushes a few hairs from your face, his hand coming to rest on your neck, pulling you back to his lips as he whispered, "just like I knew you would."

He kissed you as he slammed his hips up to yours, then slowly pulled back out, leaving just the tip as your pussy tried to suck him back in. Both of his hands fell to your ass as you whined, trying to wiggle back down on his fat cock. "Awe, is my Peach needy," he squeezed your ass, keeping you in place and kneading the supple flesh, "use your words, baby."

And here you thought you being on top would mean you were in control.

You bite your lip, tipping your head back and closing your eyes as you whine again.

"Don't get all shy on me now, Peach," he whispers before bringing his lips to your collar bone as you rake your nails over his shoulders.

You bring your eyes back to his, any other coherent thought leaving your mind before you practically yell "Fuck me, Johnny." And oh he is happy to oblige. A grin spreads over his lips as he slams you back down and you cry out, both his hands coming up to cup your breasts as you begin to bounce. You can feel every ridge of his cock as your walls flutter around his hard length. A familiar heat begins to spread in your core, the coil twisting tighter as you feel your high approaching. He brings his thumb down to rub harsh circles on your sensitive bud and his mouth to your peeked nipple, biting hard as he moans. The sensations overwhelming as the coil snaps and you cry out his name as he fucks you through your high. His hips stutter as he wraps his arms around you, groaning when he paints your walls with his seed, making you cum again, your hips moving on their own accord over his sensitive cock as he shudders as after shocks roll through your body.

"Holy shit, Peach," he groans, leaning his forehead against yours as you both catch your breath. You smile, "I told you," you give him a quick kiss, "don't call me Peach."

Like and Rb's appreciated 🤟

#chris evans fanfiction #johnny storm #johnny storm x reader #johnny storm smut #chris evans smut #noel answers #smut #emma

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genyathefirebird · 4 months

Text

⭐️ End of year questions ⭐️

Thank you to @mekana47 for tagging me in. I was feeling a little down-in-the-dumps since I haven't written a lot (arbitrary I know, but compared to the last few years), but these questions were nice and turns out I am proud of what I've done.

Tagging in @ongreenergrasses @strangesmallbard @melodious-madrigals @aphroditestummyrolls @lttrsfrmlnrrgby if you want to play and anyone else who has been writing and arting and crafting!

What is your favourite thing you created?

the ties that bind us - my first fic of the year and a fun splash around in magic realism in the world of The English where Cornelian Whipp sees threads of destiny and we follow as she finds love and revenge. There was a lot in the show’s costume design and fashion at the time that I got to read around but it was really sparked by Emily Blunt's delivery on her lines about there being magic.

Which work are you proudest of?

I try to sing a melody (your way) - a Piranesi fic in the voice of the House. I wanted to play with a setting-voice for a long time and the House was the perfect sandbox and I got to walk a few more halls and staircases before reaching the roof to look down on all its infinite kindness

Is there anything you are proud of that you achieved this year?

love, the armour saints wear - this one is a Grishaverse fic. Genya is a fascinating character and this is where I got to put the young Tailor under a microscope and explore her as the asset others view her as. As a treat I also threw in a splash of the ongoing tussle between the verse's most dysfunctional mother and son. Baghra is hilariously fun to write.

Did you explore anything new this year? (A new way to be creative, a trope you didn’t write before, or an idea you hadn’t thought of earlier, etc.)

I committed to submitting an original short story to a lit magazine (which has now shut down). Touch Of The Sun was a coming-of-age sci-fi about a young girl Asha and life living underground on a sun-scorched Earth. It was fun to write for a different purpose, but now I'm not too sure what to do with it. I will be writing more original pieces though.

Which work gave you the most difficulty?

keep me searching for a heart of gold - La'an, oh La'an, you know sometimes you come across a character you share a little facet of personality with, or more than a few? Anyway, this has stalled a little both because of its angst and also because of writer's block, so I guess we're both in this time loop.

What was your biggest creative challenge this year?

Boring, but I've not been well so trying to find some free time to sit down where I have motivation and energy to write has been The Challenge. It's meant I've had to change my habits (easier than I thought) and also try to be kinder to myself about not-writing (harder than it should be).

Which work brought you the most joy?

we can't keep meeting like this - funnily enough, it's a bit of a mirror to I will share your road, the Andy and The Doctor fic I wrote a while back, in that she repeatedly meets another long-lived acquaintance… Death. Bashed this one out fairly quick and I like the way I wrote their recognition-to-friendship. It was also fun plotting out their meeting points across time and a map.

Which of your works do you think people should check out?

Anything you want! The mix of fandoms and genres and concepts continues to grow.

Do you have creative plans for next year? Is there anything exciting you’re currently working on?

I have two upcoming fics in my Genya the Firebird series. One is the multichaptered story and a twist on the Firebird tale, and the second is a tooth rottingly sweet but angsty one shot. I want to write the first draft in full before I post anything which is why it may be some more months.

Lastly, any words of wisdom or anything else you would like to share?

Nothing revelatory but 3 things that have helped me this year…

1) If you're not happy with your writing or fic goals, change them!

2) If you want to write something, write it because your first audience is you!

3) If there's a story type or a trope that you enjoy, remember you're never limited to writing it once!

Happy New Year and hope 2024 brings you much enjoyment for whatever you're working on! 💜💜💜

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jack-kellys · 1 year

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Charlie for the ask game??

YES YES yes. yes.

send me a fandom/ship/character and i’ll tell you some stuff!!

him him nothing but him miles and piles of him <3

How I feel about this character:

i’ll admit it. crutchie was not my main man in the past. he felt like a bit of a shoehorn based on the content i had, like ok of course they get rid of the disabled best friend for most of the show. like wtf. but i’ve evolved, i now am like ok that’s bad writing but it doesn’t make crutchie a bad character. and this is just. matthew duckett alone is a crutchie dissertation LMAO!! i LOVE CRUTCHIE!! i love his position with jack, i love his standings with the newsies, i love his resilience, his new more jaded take vs. the sunshine naive one of THE PAST (it’s of the past bc i personally killed it and stabbed it to death so that it would die. you’re welcome), he’s so sarcastic and dedicated to the strike and to jack. mans keeps his chin up and i am obsessed with him for it. he’s just SO COOL now like not only is he a good character he is genuinely a cool fucking character. fuck yeah. only took ten years (or. oh my god. thirty? 1992 is… thirty years ago?)

Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character:

um! fuck it i’ll be controversial— i honestly have no issues with jackcrutchie! all the newsies call each other brothers through the whole show and this fandom ships them anyway, and the 15 year old crutchie is now. a myth. thank god. because a revival has happened that has purposefully not taken jackshit from bway and there’s no way they got matthew duckett playing a FIFTEEN YEAR OLD LMAOO.. so jackcrutchie is valid and their relationship is interesting and complicated w/ refuge stuff to do i think there’s a lot of pull from! more than. uh. most ships in this fandom.

also crutchie is almost never paired with anyone romantically and i wish it was a mystery as to why. so if he wants to kiss jack kelly… who am i to tell a fic writer what to do. but also… crutchie and davey. i could have thoughts if they were dropped in my inbox.

My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character:

OKAY WELL YEAH it is jack and crutchie. i can be a jackcrutchie ally and not ship it consistently. their history together is the longest in the show’s context and i love how clear it is… i think crutchie’s love for new york and jack’s growing distaste of it is REALLY fascinating given the fact crutchie is the one thrown in jail and he is still like. but this is my city. like wow. idk that’s so… so fascinating for them two

My unpopular opinion about this character:

my unpopular opinion is that the hashtag ‘let crutchie say fuck’ agenda is still rooted in like a quirky infantilism. like when the child learns a bad word. what

anyway hashtag crutchie does say fuck

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

i wish crutchie got to talk to jack about the strike. because one minute they’re talking about santa fe, the next prices are raised and crutchie is saying how they should just buy their papers and keep surviving, and then suddenly we are on strike. i want a like. “what happened to leaving new york, mr. president?” kind of conversation between them especially since crutchie is IN OPPOSITION of jack. fuck me i’ll do it myself if i have to

Favorite friendship for this character:

DAVID JACOBSDSNDND!!! i think there’s this weird kind of recognition that crutchie has with davey, like this knowledge that jack needs someone like this to bring him down to earth. like. this Approval crutchie has of davey is fucking awesome, very clear in uksies. also they’re shown talking together a lot, after WWK they r at the center table like Deeply discussing something before davey says his line. ugh<3

also the way crutchie gives davey (yes not the other way around. davey like comes over to him and crutchie invites him in for a hug) is so personal to me oh my god!!

THANKS CAM!!

#i like am a matthew duckett stan account /j #newsies #crutchie morris #jack kelly #davey jacobs #mutuals #newsies uk #uksies #analysis #i talk a lot sorryyyy love him #fizz answers

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gobblinhours · 2 months

Text

I'm a bit nervous I won't finish my Mar13 fic on time, so here's the starting scene.

(oh yea i got over my writer's block yippee)

Callie scooched her body across the couch until her head was draped over the armrest. "Hey Mar?"

Marie, draped in a throw blanket and sipping a cup of tea, looked up from her book and over at her flopped-over cousin. "Yeah?"

"Why d'you think that Marina gets so flustered around us? She's an idol too!" Callie asked, kicking her feet in the air.

Marie shrugged. "I dunno, it doesn't make sense. As much as I don't like to admit it, she is more famous than us, so I don't see why she can't just act normal."

Raising her head so that she could look dead-on at her cousin, Callie squinted. "So what you're saying is that she should be fine around us because she's in the more popular group?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Callie snaked her arms over the armrest and pressed her fingers together. "mhmm, and what about that time we got seated next to the Chirpy Chips during an awards show and you begged Diss-Pair to swap seats with us because you were too embarrassed to sit by them?"

Marie's eyes blew wide and she looked away, blushing furiously. "That's different!" She squealed, raising her blanket to cover more of her body.

"How?" Callie asked.

"Well, um, it just is!" Marie retorted, unable to come up with a proper answer.

Callie frowned and blew a raspberry. "Ugh, you sound like Octavio."

Marie quickly turned around. "Take that back!" She said, offended.

"What are you gonna do about it?" Callie asked, a sly smirk on her face.

Marie got up. "You're wearing a tank top right now, correct?"

Callie tilted her head. "Yeah? What's that got to do with anything- uh oh."

Callie scrambled to flip around and escape her cushioned coffin, but by the time she figured out Marie's intent it was too late.

"NO! NO! NOO-HA HA HA-OOOOOO!" Callie yelled in defeat as Marie horribly assaulted her.

Why did she have to be born ticklish?!

After an eternity, (15 seconds) Marie took and mercy on her, and released Callie from the torturous hell she induced upon her.

"You're mean!" Callie said, upset.

Marie, the jerk, said nothing and looked down upon poor, innocent, Callie, who had never done anything to deserve such a horrible attack.

The two cousins looked at eachother for a moment before Callie broke the stalemate.

"Am I gonna get an actual reason, or are you gonna keep being a jerk?!" Callie asked accusingly.

Marie sighed. "You're gonna bug me about this until you hear what you want, aren't you?"

Callie looked right at her and took a deep breath, obviously willing to annoy the info out of her.

"Fine." Marie acquiesced. "I'm, it's, well," Marie trailed off, looking for the right words as Callie stared expectantly at her.

"I just think they're really cool." Marie finished quietly, but still loud enough for Callie to pick up.

"Ooooooooooooooooo!" Callie taunted, expelling her air in one go. "You're embarrassed!"

Marie looked down, feeling exactly what Callie thought. "Yes, but it's fine."

Callie frowned. "How?"

Marie sat down next to her. "Well, Marina has to interact with us because of, you know." Marie pointed finger guns into the air and started to continue before Callie cut her off.

"And because she's our friend".

Marie sighed before continuing. "That too. But since I only have to be around them during big events where I can easily avoid them, it's not nearly as debilitating."

Callie stared at her cousin and frowned. "What if you meet them outside of one of those events?"

Marie sniffed. "The chances of that happening are about the same as a salmonid joining the splatoon. I think I'm good."

Callie frowned at that non-answer. Marie was obviously scared of meeting them. But she would help Marie face her fears, no matter how long it took!

<<ooh, tumblr doesn't copy ao3 line breaks, ooh>>

FOUR YEARS LATER

#splatoon #fanfiction #mar13 #mar13 day #marie splatoon #marie cuttlefish #callie splatoon #callie cuttlefish #callie and marie #squid sisters #chirpy chips #<- kinda #also maybe marina #marina splatoon

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kakairu-rocks · 1 year

Text

We are excited to introduce our next shining star for the Creator Spotlight... My_Private_Tsukuyomi!

This is an activity where we reach out to one of the talented people in our community each month to find out all about them and their kakairu creations, and then show them off to the world!

We hope you enjoy learning about My_Private_Tsukuyomi & her creations as much as we did. Please give her some love ❤️

Pronouns: She/Her

Type of Creator: Writer

Where to find her:

AO3

Discord: My Private Tsukuyomi

Read the exciting interview below the cut, or on the forum!

If you would like a chance to be in the spotlight too, the only thing you have to do is be a member of the kakairu rocks forum or follow us, and be a kakairu creator; and we will contact you, ourselves!

1. How long have you been creating KakaIru fanworks?

Since January 2023

2. What are you working on right now?

I’m working on a Modern Day AU KakaIru Sugar daddy/baby fic with a twist. Iruka is the high-powered CEO type with a huge philanthropic streak but is trying to battle a hostile takeover that includes a marriage/business merger. Kakashi is a disgraced, down on his luck veteran. Kakashi needs a job and Iruka needs someone on his arm in public to stave off the marriage pressure but also someone capable of protecting him at events. But what neither expected is that the lines between the job and real feelings would get blurred so quickly!

3. What is your favourite trope to create for?

Angst with a happy ending seems to be my specialty. Kakashi and Iruka suffer a little, but that just makes the final resolution all that much sweeter.

4. Which of your creations is your favourite, and why?

Right now I’d have to say one of my latest creations, The Road of Life. It uses scrapbooking as an opportunity for Iruka to travel down memory lane to look at a life well-lived and well-loved with Kakashi. I tagged it MCD but it isn’t permanent - I could never permanently separate these two!

5. Do you have any WIPs you’re excited about?

Surprisingly enough I’ve only got the one WIP right now, which I described above. I have some half-formed ideas, but I haven’t started anything else yet. I think I’m waiting to see what the next theme will be on the kakairu discord server. I love meeting those monthly challenges!

6. Do you have any original characters? If so, tell us about them!

My first fic featured an OC female ANBU badass named Minako. I created her before I turned to writing KakaIru, realizing how perfect Kakashi and Iruka are together - they are canon, just mostly off screen. But yet they connect enough on screen to convince me that they are meant to be.

7. What was your hardest piece to create, and why?

I think I’m having the most trouble with my WIP because it’s completely different from anything else I’ve written. Plus I want it to be a bigger, multi-chapter thing with real world-building. That’s always a challenge.

8. Do you have any favorite scenes from something you’ve created?

I do! One of my favorite scenes is from my first KakaIru fic Of Romance and Holidays. Kakashi takes a candy conversation heart that says ‘be mine’ and carves a little question mark and the letter K into it before leaving it for Iruka to find.

My other favorite scene is from The Road of Life, when Iruka and Kakashi meet for the first time after the Pain attack. Iruka tries to tell Kakashi he wasn’t worth Kakashi’s sacrifice, that he’s nothing. Kakashi interrupts and tells Iruka that he is, in fact, everything.

9. Where does your inspiration come from?

My inspiration comes from many places. I often dream in KakaIru, so sometimes those dreams become fics. I also draw inspiration from songs. Three of my fics are based on song lyrics. Finally, I draw inspiration from the wonderful folks on the KakaIru discord server Forbidden Scrolls of KakaIru. The prompts and challenges posted there are phenomenal.

10. Which of your creations is the most meaningful to you, and why?

I don’t think I could choose just one. All of my creations are a piece of me. It’s both delightful and terrifying to share that piece in my fics, and it is humbling that people actually read and enjoy them. Thank you to all of my readers. You, like Iruka to Kakashi, are everything.

#Creator Spotlight #kakairu.rocks #creator interview #talented creator #kakairu fanfic #kakairu #kkir #kakashi x iruka #hatake kakashi #umino iruka

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writebackatya · 1 year

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3, 6, 19, 25 for the end-of-year writer's ask game

{cracks knuckles} Okay then...

(for the people that were tagged, your mentioned in the answer to number 25. Pack a lunch, you'll need to do a lot of scrolling)

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

I can answer both right?

Favorite line: "How do you know? I'm magic." - Lena in chapter two of Up, Up, and Away!

So some context for the line. Della informs the kids (The triplets and Team Magic) that she can drive them to the beach to work on their movie just the five of them are going to have to squish in the back of the car. (I like to think that after Donald went on his sea voyage with Daisy, May, and June he left his car for Della to use.) Anyway, Lena immediately calls shotgun to which Della allows to happen much to Louie's chagrin. The green triplet then protests the decision since Lena did not see the car, Della however puts her foot down that Lena gets the front since she is the oldest of the kid group.

Louie then begins to interrogate Lena, letting her know he found it odd not knowing the rules of shotgun after living with Violet to which Lena lets Louie know that Violet did teach her the rules. Louie then let's Lena know that she has no right for the front now because there was no way she could see the car from the Triplets' bedroom to which Lena replies, "How do you know? I'm magic."

Whenever I see artwork of Lena and Louie it's usually just them chilling together. Which yeah would definitely happen because those two would definitely get along. But I'd also love to think they'd have these moments where they need to show the other that they're the superior snarky member of the group

I just love Lena's response because it's a lame excuse. She knows it. Louie knows it. And she knows that Louie knows it. But it's too late, she already has the front and there's nothing Louie can do about it.

They're both really clever and really snarky kids, but Lena has magic. So Point: Lena.

Also when me and my siblings got around the age where we were old enough to sit in the front we'd always fight for that spot calling shotgun. It was so bad that whenever someone called shotgun the people that didn't get shotgun would call "backshot" which is the seat behind shotgun.

Anyway, I always felt out of everyone in that group Louie and Lena would fight for shotgun.

Favorite scene: the scene where Gandra threatens Rick Rath (aka The Punnysher) at his job. Which is also from chapter two of Up, Up, and Away!

Anyway, context for THIS scene. Fenton and Gandra have snuck into the office where Gizmoduck's latest villain of the week works disguised as printer repairers. As soon as the two spot their target, Gandra goes over to persuade the wannabe villain to stop his charade. After doing things the easy way, Gandra decides to do get violent in a rather discreet way in an office setting. All while Fenton is repairing the printer

Overall I do love Fenton and Gandra part of the story. I loved seeing the two do science stuff together, but I really wanted to see more adventures with the two together, more specifically in their respected genres of adventures: Spy and Superhero so I wanted to open their story with an adventure that is a mixture of both.

Also for this scene I had to Google "How many volts of electricity could kill a person" and I wrote Gandra's monologue about that topic while I was at work and I'm pretty proud of that

So here's the thing about my writing process. Most of the time I write on my laptop at home. I will occasionally use my phone at work whenever I'm on my lunchbreak to read, edit, and occasionally add a sentence or two but never anything big. So yeah, that entire sequence was written while I was at work and it was a slow day. I did get all my work down so I wasn't slacking off. It was just a very slow day

6. least popular fic this year

In Views: The Three Caballeros (and Della)!

In Kudos: Up, Up, and Away!

19. any new fics to start next year

While part of me really wants to focus on the stuff I've already started, this other part of me wants to start several other fics that will most likely take up my time as well. So might as well talk about them. Some are already WIPs some I haven't even started if they have a title they're most occupying a save file in the cloud somewhere

Here are Multiple Chapter Stories I Wanna Start:

An Act of Murder!: So in this one Huey, Dewey, Louie, Webby, Scrooge, Launchpad, Gyro, B.O.Y.D., Fenton, Gandra, and Falcon Graves all get invited to a dinner party at Emma Glamour's home hosted by Mark Beaks who acknowledges that he had wronged each everyone of his guests (and his mother's whose home he is currently crashing at) and promises to introduce them to the "new Mark Beaks". Anyway, since this is obviously a murder mystery story Mark is found dead at the dinner party (and later his body goes missing) and everyone is a suspect! Yep, it's going to be that kind of mystery that has been going on since Agathe Christie's classic And Then There Were None...This idea came to me when I was rewatching an episode of Scott the Woz

Back in the Game!: I'm just going to come out and admit it, this WIP is heavily inspired by Korkorali and tsundereanubis's Closets and Moons, and How They're Alike which is a story where Della tells Webby, Lena, and Violet about her past loves. Anyway this would be a story set post-canon where Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby help her get back in the dating game. For this one I wanna explore all the different pairings I've seen Della shipped with (along with other ships I wanna brainwash trick force people into shipping).

F.O.W.L. Play!: So anyone who has read Indi-Quack! might be familiar with this title. This particular one would explore the time Gandra worked for F.O.W.L. so this one would take place during canon from the point of view of Gandra as well as a bit of Fenton. I feel like the way I wanna write this one was heavily inspired for my love for the shows like DuckTales, Arrested Development, The Harley Quinn Show, and Inside Job.

The Spear of Selene: Just a pre-canon story of the events leading up to the infamous Spear of Selene incident starring the Original Three. It's one of those stories where I know exactly how I want to begin and how I want it to end. Most likely my least comedic idea of mine, I mean there will definitely be comedic moments but not a whole lot. Expect a bittersweet ending

Untitled DuckTales 87 and DuckTales 17 Crossover Fic: So because of DuckTales 2017 and writing DuckTales fanfics I have now watched most of the classic DuckTales (as well as a Darkwing Duck but that's irrelevant for this one) anyway, I just wanna see these two different universes collide and certain characters interact with one another

Here are some one shots I'm hopping I can start. Because finishing one shots is great you're like, "Cool. Now I'm done."

Every Possible Angle!: Just a story exploring Louie's gift of seeing every angle of a situation. But I don't know, do you think people want an angsty fic starring Louie?

I Think We're Alone Now!: Another during canon story that takes place during season 3 during Gandra's time at F.O.W.L. where Steelbeak catches Fenton at Gandra's place and blackmails his fellow F.O.W.L. agent at bar. While she's there, Gandra runs into Della who is having a Girls' Night with her girl friends Penny and Selene. I like to think this happens right after New Gods on the Block!

In Which Della Shows Her Kids a Movie from Her Childhood: Title not final. Work not started. But this is a story where Della finds out her boys never watched a movie from her childhood and decides to show them (as well as Webby) the movie. You guys will never guess what the movie is

Thanks for the Memories!: DuckTales did a lot different genres of episodes, I always thought the show NEEDED to do a fake clip show episode. If you ever watched The City of Clipsville from The Powerpuff Girls or Paradigms of Human Memory from Community or The Gang Does a Clip Show from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, it's just like those examples. It would show moments in the show that we the viewer never saw.

We Are Family!: Scrooge recruits a team for an adventure to win a bet against Glomgold only to realize that not a single member of that team is member of his family (by blood that is). And not everyone is on board for the adventure. The two inspirations for this one are interesting again the idea came from reading a fic by Korkorali and tsundereanubis called Time Alone and also whenever I chip away at this one I end up listening to the Meet the Crew song by The Lonely Island. It's just fun to think about how big the family has gotten since episode 1

Untitled Dewey Centric fic: You know Dewey's iconic dream from Nightmare on Killmotor Hill!? Yeah, I wanna share my interpretation of that.

Untitled Fic Where Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Scrooge play Mario Party Superstars: Just as the untitled title says. I don't know if this idea is too niche

Untitled DuckTales/Celeste crossover: I don't know, I just always wanted to do a crossover where Scrooge meets Madeline from the game Celeste. They climb a mountain and talk about their struggles and stuff. This idea might be too niche.

And here are some One Shot Collection ideas

Dewey Dew Night!: Every story would be an episode of Dewey Dew Night where our dewlightful host interviews a character from DuckTales on his show. If I ever do this one I definitely would want the readers to pick the next guest

Untitled one of those text chat fanfic types: I'll be honest, I don't really seek out read stories that are just text conversations but I definitely see the appeal and have even done some text conversations in my stories so it's something I've considered. Plus I love writing character banter and there's a lot you can do with that format. I've thought of group chat ideas but none of them feel like a full idea

And just recently I decided that I really wanna write that AU where Scrooge took the Spear of Selene

Anyway I wanna start those. But I also wanna finish what I already got started.

This is gonna be an interesting year

25. a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

@christianfoxymc did already ask me this question so instead of giving you the same answer I gave her, I'll just recommend another fic I loved

So yeah, I made it quite clear that I enjoy @korkorali and @imjustusingthistolikeartists's collaborative works and I liked a lot of their stuff. But I think my personal favorite of their is Dewey Duck's Guide to Figuring Out if You're Dating Somebody

I'm pretty sure I was at work on my lunchbreak when I got the email when I got the notification for this story and so I read it while I was at work. And I'm glad I did. This one is great

Dewey is my favorite triplet and Dewelyn is one of those ships I really enjoy and I think the two of them nail every character in this story. It's great

Thanks for the ask @shychick-52!

Also if anyone asks me 3 or 25 again I will most likely answer it again with a different answer. So be warned

#click keep reading if you dare #ask prompt answer #shychick-52 #writebackatya #ducktales fanfiction #ducktales 2017

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awakefor48hours · 7 months

Text

The Maribug Fic

[Fanfiction.net] || [AO3]

[Chapter 1] || [< (3) Prev Chapter] || [Next Chapter (5) >]

WOO!!! We're back with another chapter. Sorry this took so long. I got a violent case of writer's block and then the block passed but I still couldn't make an update to this, it was almost as if this fic was covered in a weird ooze that my brain wouldn't touch. But the ooze and block are gone and now we get to see more of the idiots.

Adrien couldn't believe it! The feelings for Marinette and Ladybug were mutual! If soulmates are real, then those two must be. They're so similar in so many ways, there were times when you'd think they were the same person.

Now that Adrien had confirmation on their feelings for each other, he tried to think how he could bring them closer together. It seems like Ladybug might be too shy to talk to Marinette and Marinette is a civilian so there's no way that she had access to Ladybug. He could try to potentially bring Ladybug to the Dupain-Cheng residence but would that be right? To just stop by uninvited and say "hey there, Marinette, Ladybug has something important to tell you." That's not fair to her and knowing Marinette, she would hate that. Then again what other way could he help? The only times when he sees Ladybug is when Paris is in danger.

The school day flew-by and Adrien was distracted the whole day. This was too important to him. Ladybug and Marinette were his friends and he wanted them to get together more than anything. But would they even want his help? Probably, therefore butting in and trying to come up with an elaborate plan to get these two to meet under non-dangerous circumstances that feels entirely natural is definitely a good use of his time.

When he got home, he immediatley rushed to his room and ignored all his homework to start coming up with a plan. This was quite difficult but it was for love. He would find a way to help his friends.

He had about an hour before and Ladybug had to go on patrol, that is unless an akuma shows up.

Marinette doesn't have the same after-school activities but she does do fashion and knowing his father, that could take up a big chunk of time. He also didn't have a clear understanding of her schedule since he was usually modeling or cooped up in his room playing piano. Was Marinette a homebody or did she go out? These are questions he feels like he should know by now. Is he a bad friend? No, no he wasn't. Bad friends don't go out of their way to make convoluted plans to get their two friends to start dating each other. He was definitely normal for this. He wished he could talk to someone else about this though but there probably isn't anyone else in Paris who would understand what he's trying to do.

He then shifted his focus to Ladybug. Ladybug only really shows up when there's a crisis around. She was very meticulous about keeping her identity a secret that he didn't really know what her hobbies are. Maybe daydreaming about Marinette was one? Yeah, that's definitely a normal hobby. He took this moment to write a note of that.

He was about to keep going until Plagg finally pipped up. "Adrien, what are you writing about?"

"I'm trying to come up with a plan to get Marinette and Ladybug to start dating!"

"What!" Plagg shouted more in confusion and less than shock. That's weird but there's no use thinking about that.

"Yeah, you rememeber that last night Ladybug said she had a crush on Marinette and today Marinette told me that she had a crush on Ladybug!"

Plagg seemed confused. "That's right, Ladybug did mention that." He then mummbled something under his breath but it he couldn't understand it. "What did you say, Plagg?"

"Oh, nothing, just a joke you wouldn't understand. But, uh, might I recommend not doing this. I mean, you could be putting Ladybug's identity at first if you do this." That's true. He didn't even think about that. "I guess that makes sense. But one little day together wouldn't hurt though. I mean… I went on a date with Marinette once as Cat Noir and my identity wasn't put in any danger."

"That's true but--"

"Also, Ladybug is super careful with her identity. Besides, the girl of her dreams like her back and after everything Ladybug's done, doesn't she deserve to know!"

"Well, what if Ladybug doesn't want this!" Adrien didn't understand why Plagg was so relenting on this. He didn't really care this much when Adrien was interested in Ladybug. Did he bond with her as Lady Noire? If he did then was she a better holder than him…? She was actually, no question about that, but he did wish that Plagg was on his side with this.

"That's nonsense, Plagg. Besides, you've said countless times that you don't understand human relationships." Adrien looked at his phone and noticed the time, patrol was starting in just three minutes. "We'll have time to talk about this later, Plagg. But for now…PLAGG! CLAWS OUT!"

I'm back baby! I like how this one turned out but I am slowly learning I like writing from Marinette's POV more so hopefully next chapter will have better shenanigans and I'll see you all there.

#my fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #ladynette #maribug #adrien agreste #selfcest

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allsassnoclass · 1 year

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scrolled through two days of dash content just to get to the ask game you reblogged so i could send you some questions here goes: 🥳 😍 and 👾! xoxo bella

@clumsyclifford omg thank you for your dedication but for future reference i link ask games at the bottom of my other answers! i hope you enjoyed the dash journey though!

🥳 What writing accomplishment made you most proud? you already know! it’s finishing pas de deux and posting it on time. it’s the longest thing i’ve ever written by over 20k, and i wrote it in under 2 months. i got each chapter out on the day i said i would (even if it was 11pm at night for me) and i think that the story itself is good!!!! i am honestly amazed at myself for accomplishing that fic given how much i have struggled with fic deadlines in the past and in general how often i jump from project to project rather than focusing on one fic until it’s finished. i also think i did a relatively good job of maintaining cohesiveness in the story and the characterizations, which is difficult over that many words! that being said, i haven’t reread the fic at all, i’ve only read the chapters as i’ve edited them, so maybe my opinion on that will change once i do reread the whole work together, BUT! that will not change the fact that i am extremely proud of myself for writing that fic in the manner and timeframe that i did :)

😍 What’s one of your favorite lines or exchanges you wrote this year? okay the whole year is a very long time to look back at but I do really like the following exchange:

“Rock, obviously. I used to dream of being a rockstar as a kid. I wanted to be the next Billie Joe Artmstrong.”

“His wife is from Minnesota,” Ashton says, then immediately winces at Michael’s unimpressed look. “Sorry. Calum possessed me for a moment. Tell me more about rockstar Michael.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Michael says, hands ghosting over some CDs. He flicks a few of them forward, looking at all of the titles hiding behind. “It was always going to be ballet for me, ever since I was really little. I didn’t have the time to learn an instrument, so it was a lot of air guitar while listening to other bands.”

He dreamt about becoming a rockstar the way other kids dreamt of running away to the circus. It was a nice fantasy to entertain, something to daydream about in class or before falling asleep, but he knew it would never happen. He was always meant to be onstage, but in this life it’s as a dancer, not a musician.

i like Ashton’s immediate “his wife is from minnesota” because pointing out famous minnesotans or minnesota connections is something that i have to very consciously stop myself from doing All The Time, otherwise i would be insanely annoying, but i also like the line about michael dreaming of being a rockstar the same way other kids dream of being in the circus, given my love of the circus. then, of course the little thing about how in “this life” he’s meant to be onstage as a dancer, because we all know that in real life he’s meant to be a musician :)

👾 Ruh roh. Your FBI agent just took a peek at your internet search history. What kinds of things will they find? oh nothing too spicy. “do houses with solar panels save money” is the most recent fic-related search, but otherwise the fic things i look up are mundane and insignificant enough for me to not remember. i did look up information about the nutcracker, balanchine’s theme and variations, and dances at a gathering for pas de deux, though! lots of googling of specific questions about those shows and also how to spell various dance moves, because i never learned how to spell them.

Fic writer 2022 wrapped

#ask #bella #clumsyclifford #*yes* all of these are about pdd but that was a very significant part of my 2022 fic writing #and it is definitely the freshest piece of writing in my mind lol #thanks for asking bella <3 #i am going to go to bed now i really need to do a lot of writing tomorrow #yikes!!!! i'm stressed now!!!! yikes!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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inthememetime · 2 years

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Since you're back to writing horror, are you going to start doing the horror/scary writing tips again? Asking for a friend.

So, I did promise monthly updates...and then got distracted writing a romantic comedy of all things. I'm sorry!

Some things I end up using a lot are foreshadowing and Chekov's Gun, which are pretty closely linked with plot twists, so I'll go over how that relates to horror, audience engagement, and how to avoid punishing clever/invested audiences under the cut.

Let me know of anything you'd like to see next!

Foreshadowing and Chekov's Gun

There are a lot of blogs with GREAT tios and definitions of both of these terms, so l'll just use my short & sweet version.

Foreshadowing is any hint that the creator puts out or the audience picks up on. These hints can be unintentional or intentional, and can lead to something or nothing. Foreshadowing is a great way to keep audiences engaged and interested. After a certain amount of 'what's going to happen next? I can never tell!', there is an inevitable 'ugh, this thing is so random, nothing makes sense'.

Foreshadowing helps you avoid that by putting hints about something in Act 2 or 3 in Act 1, so things do make sense. It can still be a surprise, but just because an audience knows X is going to happen to character 1 doesn't mean they know the ramifications for the other characters- or the mcguffin they're always after.

Chekov's Gun, simply put, is the idea that if you bring special attention to item, it will be important to the plot (or a character) later. Who wants to read 3 pages about some dumb curtains or a dress? It's a pit I used to fall in frequently- I would get so invested in describing what I saw, sometimes on things that had nothing to do with the plot, that readers would get bored and leave.

Chekov's Gun helps avoid that. And it can be any item- not just a gun. Let's look at the paragraph below.

The room was lavishly decorated; carved wood moulding on the baseboards and ceilings covered in gold shone dimly in the light from stained glass reading lamp. The desk was beautiful mahogany, carved with fine panels depicting old fairy tales. That made the plain, unmarked case stand out further; a closer look revealed it contained a bottle labled 'Arsenic'.

So in that paragraph, we've set up a few things. One, our character is in a really fancy place. Two, they notice patterns well. And three- somebody has a bottle of arsenic!

If that arsenic serves a plot purpose, no matter how small, congratulations! You've used Chekov's gun. If it is never used, never referred to, then why bother mentioning it? And why give it the same amount of attention you did anything else?

That leads us to part 3: audience engagement and punishing the audience for being engaged. Do you remember the show Lost? If you don't, you aren't missing much. They'd set up a plot, work towards it, and as soon as a fan guessed it, change directions immediately. It was frustrating! I remember figuring it out- and then feeling like I'd been slapped because all the notes my friends and I took weren't worth anything; instead of moving the plot along, they switched it completely to something new.

Then, once we figured out season 2, guess what the writers did? That's right. I never bothered with season 3. It lost my engagement because it punished me for being engaged.

I'll use a comment on one of my own fics for example: "I KNEW IT WAS GONNA HAPPEN BUT I WASNT PREPARED!!!

That's good! You see, the real trick isn't shocking your audience with what happens. After the first twist or two, they'll start figuring out what you're doing. The trick is how you do it.

Is your character secretly a serial killer? Maybe they've figured that out- but they haven't figured out who the killer is going to go for next, or why, or what law enforcement is doing. There's lots of ways to surprise them without punishing them.

Hollywood tells us we have to have the twist ending or twist villain. Do we? Sometimes that's great! But sometimes, especially in horror, the build-up is where you have to put your emphasis. If you don't build up, or you build up to something disappointing, that punishes an audience.

#inthememetime #not lotr #horror writing tips #writing tips #build-up #plot twist

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tamelee · 2 years

Note

Damn I read some of previous ask/answers and I can't help but wonder why Naruto fandom is so unfortunate and at each other's throats so often. I mean, one thing is disliking a ship of something specific about it, but another haressing fic writers, artists and even original anime staff. I'm not a die hard fan so I'm mostly outside fandom thus I never had any bad experience myself, but from what I saw almost everyone who makes content or metas got harressed at some point. It's basical principle of fandoms: my kink isn't your kink and that's fine + dont like? Don't interact principles

Yes, the more popular the fandom the more this and that people would it attract; one cannot invite sheep without expecting wolves to appear too. But idk what made ppl feel such degree of entitlement and self-righteousness to police others... I honestly hope they're under 16 and would know better when grow up.

On separate note your art is top notch! It's so beautiful :D and I agree about your post how Kishimoto might have planned for Hinata to die at some point bc it'd fill in the gaps of Hyuga slavery thing and Naruto never doing anything regarding her confession

Hi @noa-ciharu !!

lol

“my kink isn't your kink and that's fine”

No, but imagine everyone having the same hand-kink like me. I’d feel sorry for all of you. Also let's keep this a secret.

Half-jokes aside, you’re right! Naruto has such a huge fandom and it never ceased to be even when they robbed us from a satisfying ending or seeing them grow up in their twenties in a way that makes sense. And instead of seeing Naruto work towards becoming Hokage, as there was a lot more to it, we get this bullshit… and yet a lot of us can’t help but read/watch/secretly side-eye his demolished, adult self to see what’ll happen.

That in itself already says a lot.

Naruto.. if it had stopped at Chapter 699 or if they left it open-ended in another, similar way, then nothing of the sort would’ve happened. The SNS fandom would’ve been satisfied with the nested story within Naruto as we picked up on it already, SS and NH never happened anyway and for sure the War Arc would’ve turned out differently.

Right now Naruto and Sasuke are dumbed down only to fit two girls who are in love with them, which means a guy should reciprocate otherwise he’s an asshole, right? Also.. babies. NH aren’t satisfied because Naruto is “a bad father, never at home, doesn’t show love for Hinata” which makes him an asshole anyway they say. SS aren’t satisfied because Sasuke is “a bad father, never at home, doesn’t show love for Sakura” but he isn’t an asshole he’s just Tsundere. (I’m being sarcastic). And non-shippers aren’t satisfied because: what the fuck.

So I absolutely agree with everything you say! I’m just not surprised that the separation within the fandom has always been so prominent.

By spoon-feeding every single “group” a little bit of ‘content’ here and there with phenomenal timing from the marketing team, that is literally what they’re creating as that is what has been a huge source of income for so long. And the dissatisfaction is what eventually makes them go to Twitter and harass the company for more content.

That’s never okay, but they’re also kind of asking for it since they’re giving it to them easily too and they know it. Soon they’ll come back for more. *Sigh*

That’s why I never really blame the fandom, not even the wolves.

“But idk what made ppl feel such degree of entitlement and self-righteousness to police others…”

Admittedly this is annoying though 😂

“On separate note your art is top notch! It's so beautiful :D”

Thankyouuuuu so much! 🥰 Drawing wasn’t working out today, but reading this helped me finish my next post (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و💕💕

“and I agree about your post how Kishimoto might have planned for Hinata to die at some point bc it'd fill in the gaps of Hyuga slavery thing and Naruto never doing anything regarding her confession”

I swear, the more I think about it, the more it starts to make sense. Especially when you take out ‘Boruto’ and then go from the beginning. It’s almost perfectly set up.. aaah, I want to make a post about it.

I still think the Naruto fandom is laid-back compared to other fandoms I've been in and really, really quickly left 😂 (I've been in Korea for a few months, I'll take anime over kpop anyday.)

Hope you have a nice day! 🧡~

#ask #naruto rant #fandom rant

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catracorner962 · 2 years

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My Response to a Rude Comment - Fandom Etiquette and Entitlement

The first comment I got on my latest update of Vessels of Wrath was an alleged unregistered A03 left a rude comment, and not the first of its kind that I have received. It was deeply discouraging to me as someone who creates in their free time, so I decided to respond. I am sharing here in case it is helpful to other creators who face the same issue.

I would just like to express my thanks for supporting me and my writing and I would like to reiterate what they said. As someone who has been reading and engaging with fanfiction since 2013, I assume that you understand we do this for free and for fun. I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you are a student and might not understand that many of us fanfic writers and fanartists work regular 9-5 jobs to support ourselves. Fanfiction is something we do in the limited free time that we have. Believe me, there is nothing I would like more than to sit down and spend eight/nine hours a day working on, planning, drafting, editing, rewriting, brainstorming, writing fanfiction. I already have most of this story planned and key scenes already drafted. The fact that it has taken me three months between chapters one and two should show just how much work I, and other writers put into our stories.

I believe you when you say that you meant no offense, and as someone who spends just as much time reading fic as I do writing it, I understand asking about updates. I've asked about them myself from authors I've enjoyed! There is this soulmate AU that is one chapter long that I have kept bookmarked for a year now and periodically check back to see if it has updated so I understand wanting to know when another chapter is coming. I am grateful for your excitement and I am so glad you enjoyed the fic. Here are some things to consider however, for next time you want to leave a similar comment on someone's work:

1) If I knew when I'd be posting the next chapter, I would tell you. I would put that directly in the notes section at the end. I specifically do not have an update schedule because A) This is not my professional job, B) that puts stress on the writer and fanfic writing should be enjoyable not a source of stress. C) I don't want to let my readers down! I would never want a situation where I say "Next chapter coming in a month!" and then something like this happens where I get a new job and things have to be pushed back and I let fans down without an update. It has happened before and it is not a good feeling for anyone. If I ever do post about an update it will only be when I am putting finishing touches on editing and I am positive it can be posted when I say it will be.

2) Golden Rule: Treat others the way you want to be treated. Put yourself in the other person's shoes! Would you like it if you spent three months planning, editing, drafting, revising a lengthy chapter, finally posted it, and the first feedback you got was along the lines of "when is the next one coming?" Without any comment about the actual content of the chapter, the story itself, the characters, or anything that piqued your interest other than a demand for more. Consider thinking twice or at least tell the writer things you liked about the fic, what drew you to it etc. before you ask for updates. It is extremely discouraging in part because it reads as: "what you worked on here is not good enough, I want more."

Again, I do thank you for your interest and for reading! I always say comments keep me going. I don't think you meant anything malicious by it at all, I don't think you're a "bad-fan," but I want to be honest and transparent with you about the community of creators you have engaged with for so long as a fan. We are not professionals, we do not owe you the amount of time or energy or promises for content as creators who are getting paid as their livelihood to do this. What I mean by that is you would not be commenting on ND Stevenson's work in that manor, and he is paid to do it, so please do not say things like that to us as fanfic writers and fan artists.

Thanks again for your interest in this story! I really do hope I can post chapter 3 sooner than this update, and I will do my best, (I already have it outlined), but again I do not commit to an updating schedule in case things change. To everyone who has followed this Glitra romp thus far, you have my deepest heartfelt thanks. Thank you for this community, for rallying for me when I felt discouraged and for providing an educational opportunity to fans who make these sorts of comments, well-intentioned or not. It truly makes me feel like I belong and have a place in this fandom and people in my corner. You are who I write for. You keep me going. This is going to be a wild ride, and I am excited to share it with you. All I ask is for your patience in return and I of course extend that courtesy to you all as well. <3

Thank you, Emilia Gryphon

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