Here's some of the notes, starting with the things multiple people brought up:
SHRIMP COCKTAIL:
banahbanah: #flashback to that one fic where Peter Parker frets about drinking shrimp cocktail because of the alcohol
generaldeliciousness: adding: what a prawn/shrimp cocktail is
#why is your character turning it down because they're under 21 #do you think prawn cocktail is a cocktail #this lives in my brain rent-free constantly #the rest of the fic was so normal #and good enough that i'll still re-read it #but bro
And then many, MANY, people wondering if this was actually authour mistake, since Peter really would do this!
POMEGRANATES:
zhajhassa: #haha where's that post that was like someone describing someone eating a pomegranate but they ate it like an apple
thornhands: #once someone wrote persephone biting into a whole Pomegranate #had to stop and stare at a wall for a minute
sungsingsanguine: I once saw someone very confidently write about a character eating slices of pomegranate.
FRUIT TREES:
zagreuses-toast: #given a very endearing glimpse into a writers blindspots by seeing them describe someone sitting under a ''pineapple tree''
salatrash: I remember something about picking watermelons... OF A FUCKING TREE
baander: #cranberry trees
DOUGH/BATTER:
maycelium: #I'm a chef so I'm really used to people not accurately describing how to cook food #But I was surprisingly flabbergasted when someone was writing making a cake and was kneading it. Which uh #Not necessary for cake. It was interesting for sure but just bizarre
livebloggingmydescentintomadness: #the one that drove me nuts was when a character set aside a batch of PASTA DOUGH 'to rise' #pasta doesn't have yeast!! #it does need to REST but it will never RISE #you do not want an airy crumb on your noodles
lovesodeepandwideandwell: #THE ONE WHERE THEY MADE COOKIES BY LADLING BATTER INTO A TRAY
Some other topics:
ANIMALS:
catenarwhal: #mandatory 'how cows produce milk' mention#i'll never recover from that one I fear
piromantic: #one time i saw someone fake their way through describing how spiders behave
pluto-lichen: horses
misskittypotter: #stardew valley faking its way through what fresh fish smell like
pa-pa-plasma: #saw someone faking their way through knowing what a seal is once #i still am fucked up over that one to this day. they just straight up did not know #& they were NOT good at guessing it either like it was clear they had never googled that animal ever #& was only just now realizing via answering questions from anons that seals are not!! what they assumed. initially
SEX:
dykevandyke: #what a prostate is #and where it is located #as in. external.
dreamyeyedrose: #I remember back in the ff.net days reading an Ichigo/Renji fic where the writer assumed the penises go inside each other #and I was like “I mean I don't know how it works for sure I don't have one but idk if that's how it works”
SOME OTHER FOOD STUFF:
thetrekkiehasthephonebox: #add another one to the list bloggers#this character is cooking a salad
shosta: #still baffled about the published work that didn't know food could freeze
sun-dari: #once i read a fic where the author didn't understand cinnamon
alto-tenure: #read something recently where the author was just. blatantly wrong about spices
dramatic-dolphin: #i saw someone try to fake their way through what ramen is once. like 14 years ago.#but i remember.#i was very confused about ramen for a few months. they were writing it so authoritatively.
the-celery-stalks-at-midnight: #i will never ever forget someone putting leftover fries in the microwave to reheat them and setting the timer for five minutes
typeghost: #this sparked a memory of a hannibal fic where the author had to fake their way through writing about gravy
draculin: #the one fanfic where the author knows about coffee only as a concept wrote a character as a coffee drinker#was very interesting#I don't remember the fandom or the plot but I was mesmerized by the coffee actions and choices
11235811235811: #there's a lot of faking their way thru congee in the svsss fandom i'll also note
fishali3n: #read one where the person clearly didnt know what tofu is
emmy-everafter: #in the aftermath of shadow and bone s2 i saw a lot of people pretending to know what stroopwafels are #babes they are more like cookies than breakfast waffles #like yes there is a waffle pattern but you're not gonna cut into a stack of them with syrup and sugar#🤣🤣🤣
NON-FOOD STUFF:
red-umbrella-811: Shoutout to Dame Agatha Christie for faking her way through what a wrench is in a very popular published work.
bluebeetle: #once saw someone have a character put an entire phone book in their pocket
nonametis: #- sex talk in languages other than english #<- or just the petnames in a different language other than English
sadisticpony: #the fanfiction i saw this week where op DIDNT KNOW HOW AUTOMATIC DOORS WORKED #and that they arent in peoples homes!!! of course. also opening the automatic door for someone is unironically very funny but its not #its not like. grabbing the door handle to let someone in. helpppp
danmeichael: #reminds me of the fic with the figure drawing class where the character started with the feet. #i love you feet first figure drawing author
meowmix1100blr: #me watching this one fic absolutely obliterate what the board of directors does
vexedhexes: #one time i read an architect character making a doorway bigger by building a bigger door #what a beautiful world. #OH. also gravity falls fic where they go 'oh piedmont is in california so its warm all year round'
leveragehunters: #characters going to a beer garden #And it's literally a garden outside the pub#It was a very cute mistake
fitofpique: #yes! #grown men do not get blind drunk off two beers #but i am possibly guilty of the hypothermia one #assuming it does not make you very horny?
dadvans-likes: #always thinking abt the soup kitchen fic #the entire setting of the fic was 'soup kitchen' #and i very quickly realized #the author did not know what a soup kitchen was #and they thought that soup kitchens only served soup #fic
msmargaretmurry: #i love fanfiction #once read a fic where the characters played 20 questions #but the author seemed to not know how to play 20 questions and was just kind of winging it........ #immaculate
shakespeareaddict: #Look I know not all of us are hockey experts #But it takes about ten seconds of research or any attention paid to the show to realize #That the Stanley cup playoffs are not in fucking September
baejax-the-great: #the funniest one i saw #was someone faking what church is like #like 1. they really didn't have to write an entire church experience for their fic #and 2. they had clearly never even watched a show where people went to church #it was bonkers weird
twosunson: #things ive seen authors faking #knowing how to unclog a drain #knowing. literally any history #knowing what ketamine looks like (apparently- oregano) #(you know who you are)
waterhorseyblues-ao3: #beltane being celebrated in winter #wales being portrayed as a completely separated land from england (i wish) #characters getting up after weeks of bedrest like that dosnt completely fuck you up
violetfairydust: #i once read a fic where the flight time from london to seattle was 3 hours
purekesseltrash: One time, in a fic set specifically in Des Moines, IA, two of the characters casually drove 20 minutes to the ocean. The memory continues to delight me. I want to know where that author thought that Iowa was.
First original post yayyy! Welcome welcome. Ummm, so this is a story I wrote awhile ago for class and I figure this is a good a place as ever to start with.
I dunno how much context to give; this is a story taking place in my world, in a country called eroth. And the main character is my original species called erothans. I might go into it later if anyone asks but whatevs
Um. Cw: death, blood
Scabbard
Suddenly, I see.
The man hovering over me is grizzled, beard caked with soot, but looks at me with fondness. He polishes me with an old cloth until I shine his reflection in warm firelight.
I do not know how I know all these words.
“Your name is Blessed,” the man says “because that’s what you are.”
“I do not know what that means,” I say.
“You will,” he assures.
He stands, and carries me gingerly to the workbench, then hides my body so I no longer reflect anything but the gold shimmer from my grip. The sheath is warm, and comfortable, but I know I’m not meant to stay here long. Eventually, I must be wielded.
He grabs me by my sheath and carries me outside. The world has more colour than I could’ve ever imagined. Blue, and green, and bright, bright white. All the colours that didn’t exist in the forge.
My favourite colour has to be blue, blue, blue. The endless sky.
The man suddenly kneels, and I am handed to the most beautiful person I have ever seen, or will ever see. She has eyes that are blue, green, blue. Her skin reminds of the clay used to build the forge.
“What’s your name?” she asks me.
“Blessed,” I say.
She turns and unsheaths me, swinging me around for a moment and examining my blade, my grip, and my soul.
“A perfect name,” she says approvingly.
“I’m Lady Klaio, and I’m so glad tohave you.”
She hands something to the man that clinks, and then sheaths me once again.
When I am unsheathed again, Lady Klaio is sitting in the glow of firelight. The sky is dark, but not black. Grey, blue… white. Warm, familiar, lifegiving firelight. Her eyes glow, and the cool blue-green clashes with the yellow. She is smiling, and if I had the ability, I would smile too. I know I have to protect her.
“Do you know how to wield me?” I ask, suddenly anxious.
“I do. Don’t worry,” she coos.
“Tomorrow we’re going to the woods to find the man who wronged me.”
“May my blade remain sharp for you.”
She laughs, “We can work on your conversation skills later.”
Her laugh makes me wish I could smile.
Lady Klaio tucks me back into my sheath as she goes back into her tent and sets me beside her. I watch her through the night as she lays perfectly still.
I am on her hip. It is where I belong. She’s running and I can see the man ahead of us. My blade burns for his flesh, but in my scabbard I remain. I cheer as the man trips, and she laughs. When he stands up he draws a blade of his own. A dead thing. Uncared for. Old and rusted. When its blade clashes with mine, I feel filthy.
When I shout in disgust, the man staggers and Lady Klaio thrusts me into his chest.
My body turns red, red, red.
I drip blood onto the forest floor as the man falls, and I am satisfied.
Klaio is singing. She always sings the same song. It’s her favourite, and it’s the only one I know. She tells me it’s one her mother sang to her, and it’s how she keeps her alive.
I don’t know what she means, but I’m sure I will. That is always what I’m told.
I watch the world roll by from horseback, and the hoofbeats hit rhythmically with her voice. I learn it quickly, and I sing it with her.
A man is attacking her and I am filled with rage. I only wish I could move on my own.
By now, I know how to anticipate movements.
I call, “UP,” and she slashes up to block the man’s blade. I cry, “ACROSS,” and she blocks his next hit easily.
The clank of metal on metal is a ringing bell; a tremor up my body that I feel in my very core, but it is replaced by the next hit, and the next. Until finally I am still, and so is the beast that dared assault my Klaio. With every score of my being, I am made for her, but in the same way, she is mine.
The cloth is soft, and gently wipes the blood from my blade. Her hands are more calloused, but her grip is the same, and so is mine, thanks to her. The rag grows damp, and she dips it into the stream that runs by us and trickles softly. The sun reflects on the water and the stones, and I see brown, yellow, white. It is cold, and soothing. I can only imagine this is what a bath feels like, going off how Klaio has described it.
As my silvery shine reappears, her eyes reflect in them. Klaio isn’t staring at herself, though, she is looking at me, into me. I am doing the same for her. She cleans the dirt from the fuller in my blade, and it tickles; every time. I laugh. She smiles as if she wasn’t expecting me to.
“Does that tickle?” she says patronizingly.
“Don’t,” I warn, as if I can stop her.
She flips me over and runs her cloth up and down the length of the other groove and I laugh loud enough to frighten the birds in the tree overhead.
“STOP, STOP!” I cry. This was one out of a dozen times I wished I could break free.
She is laughing. I have gladly killed for that laugh.
“Not until you tell me you love me,” she taunts.
“I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU, KLAIO! I’LL LET THE WHOLE OF EROTH KNOW!”
She finally stops and pecks a kiss onto my pommel.
“I love you too, my Blessed.”
A huge building. Klaio holds me gingerly, and cradles me against her chest. I am comfortable. We sit still for a long time, and then the painter turns the canvas around, and it is a perfect picture of us.
“It’s perfect,” she coos as she returns me to my scabbard. “Just like my Blessed.”
She shows me portraits of her family afterward. Siblings and cousins, parents and nieces and nephews. There’s one that she says is her, but it’s so much smaller.
She has changed so much.
I look back at her, and realize there are lines in her face that were not always there. She is still changing.
I cannot change with her.
She cannot see my turmoil, and smiles. She always smiles; she’s always so happy. Is she not afraid of the change? Is she… afraid of anything?
I notice her changing again.
Her hair is turning grey, one long streak at a time. Her hands do not grip me the same: they are less nimble, and covered in bumps that run the length of her fingers. She is still my Klaio, but I worry. Her eyes are blue, green, white… she is missing spots when she polishes me, and her reflexes are slower.
“Why don’t you stop? Return home?” I ask from her belt.
“Because I would have to hang you up,” she replies. Her voice rattles deeper in her throat now. “And I would hate to do that to you.”
“I wouldn’t mind… if it meant you were safe.”
“But then you would collect dust; you hate dust.”
“I do…” I admit, “but—”
She hushes me. The cave entrance echoed our voices, and down the way we can see firelight. Klaio pulls me from my sheath and holds me at her side before we even see the thieves. She has been doing that a lot of late. She’s getting slower at unsheathing me.
Klaio’s steps are quiet and careful. Her eyes glow in the dark room, but duller; I can hardly see, so I have to trust that she can. The stones scrape imperceptibly under the soles of her boots. I see the back of a man’s head molded by the glow of a campfire, then another, then more. There are six of them; I wonder if that’s too many for us.
My blade scrapes along the stone wall like claws on slate, and if I had lungs I would be holding my breath. The thieves turn around and Klaio gasps, raising me out of instinct. In the blazing light of the fire all I can see is the other blades.
Daggers and cutlasses and rapiers glinting in the glow. There are too many of them.
“UP!” I scream, but I’m too late, and Klaios takes a hit to her shoulder. I shout in panic and scan around, but all I can see is red, and orange, and silver. I can’t parse any sounds beyond the echoing screams of Klaio and the thieves around her. I can only feel her hand, gripping tight around my hilt and shaking.
She’s shaking.
Why is she shaking?
I wasn't supposed to, but I steal a glance up at her face, and the painful red light is drowning out her shining eyes. She looks pained… scared. The expression is burned into my memory from decades of dealing the final blow. I turn my attention back to the thieves and watch as a dagger blinks into focus, and I wail,
“GUARD!”
My blade slams into the cold stone. She dropped me.
I look up and she’s clutching her chest, the campfire illuminating just enough for me to be horrified. Red, dark, red…
“KLAIO!” I cry, desperate to move, desperate to hold her the way she holds me. I needed to save her, I needed to protect her.
“Blessed…” she croaked.
“Klaio, please,” I whispered with a shattered voice, “please, you can’t.”
The clamour vanished as the thieves grabbed their things and ran.
“YOU COWARDS!” I screamed, and my voice screamed back from the cave walls.
Klaio’s wizened hands wrapped around my hilt and pulled me close. The abrasive dancing light of the fire on her face made her look just like she did when she got me. The wrinkles rubbed away, and she smiled. I still wished I could smile too.
She grabbed my blade with her bare hands and the familiar warmth of blood ran over me.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Holding you the way I always wanted to,” she panted. The teal light from her eyes was getting dimmer, and the warm puddle was spreading under me.
“I love you,” I said, “My Klaio, my lady.”
“I love you too, my Blessed, my…—”
The blue-green light vanished and I screamed into the cavern, letting my own echoes deafen me.
The world is black, black, black. No movement, no sound, no light.
I am a dead thing. Uncared for. Old and rusted. I was loved, and loved well, once. I am in her arms; it’s where I belong. The flesh has been picked clean off her bones, but she is still my Klaio.
I still sing her song. To keep her memory alive. My voice echoes back at me so I harmonize with myself at all hours of the day. I don’t know how long it’s been. Only now do I understand my name. I was Blessed, but Klaio is the one who blessed me.
Thank you so much for reading my lil story! lemme know if you want more or wanna be on a taglist or anything. I will be posting from all over the timeline and from various other worlds yay!
✨(Everything was made using Canva - so check that app out if you’re looking to make your own! Credit is not required but a reblog would be great if you use! 💕) ✨
