Okay, so I know you're on a hiatus and that you won't see this anytime soon but I have to tell you that I've read all of your stories and that I LOVE them! 💕 Seriously, your writing and characterization are wonderful! Oh, and I can't thank you enough for writing those Sergio/Gerard stories because I ADORE the two of them together and there simply aren't enough fics about them 😩 and yours were perfect!! 😭 I just want to say that you're absolutely AMAZING 👏🏻👏🏻😭❤️
I have been away for 300 years. I apologize. Gotzeus was one of the most requested things in my inbox/messages. So I wrote this little thing. I’m also working on a longer fic about Mario returning to Dortmund, because that’s something I never wrote about. Hope you all enjoy this! I apologize for the long hiatus. I’ll probably be taking new requests soon. I write football or kpop, and the requests can be submitted here. Football fics are posted here. Kpop fics are posted on ao3.
Title: “Clever Costumes”
Pairing: Mario Gotze/Marco Reus
Disclaimer: This is probably true. Mario is an idiot. (It’s actually not. I don’t own anything.
Rating: Teen, I suppose. There’s a bit of language.
Word Count: 1198
Summary: Mario’s choice of costumes makes Marco question his choice to date him.
Notes: It’s Halloween the First, so here you go!
Warnings: This is not beta’d. I am sorry.
Don’t link this story to any other social networking site or copy and paste it anywhere, especially livejournal, fanfiction.net, or ao3. It’s my original story. Have some respect. Read it and leave it here. Thank you.
“It’s a stupid fucking idea.”
“It is not!” Mario whines.
“It is.” Marco is lazily insistent. His eyes are on his phone, scrolling through Tumblr and his latest obsession – puppy photos with fall themes.
It’s October. Everything is fall colors and Jack O’ Lanterns until November 1st when everything becomes fall colors and pumpkins.
“Marco! This is our first Halloween as a couple.”
“Mario, we’ve been together for six years,” Marco rebuts as he reblogs a photo of a yellow lab with a tiny orange and black witch’s hat perched on his adorable head.
“I know that!” Mario is pacing around the living room in their shared flat. “But it’s the first time we can go out in public as a couple!”
“So, this is how you want to advertise our relationship to the public?”
“I won’t argue that some couple’s costumes are cute.” Marco shows off the image on his screen. Two Golden Retrievers in what could be couple’s costumes – one is a Jack O’ Lantern complete with a little hate with a pumpkin stem; the other, a witch with a witch’s hat.
Mario tries to scowl, but he cracks. Grinning, he says, “Send that to me. It’s so cute.”
Marco sends it to him after reblogging it from his own blog, resumes scrolling through his dash.
Mario resumes arguing his point. “Marco, come on! We have to wear matching costumes.”
“Mario, I have no real problem wearing matching costumes. But your chosen costumes are fucking stupid and I’m not wearing them. Think about it.”
“It’s CLEVER.”
“It’s not clever.”
“IT IS MARCO!”
“Perhaps I’m just too ignorant to see the cleverness of it. Please explain it to me.” Marco rolls his eyes and reblogs a kitten curled up inside a pumpkin bowl. Not a puppy, so how it’s in the “fall puppy” tag, he doesn’t know, but it’s too cute to resist.
“Marco.” Mario growls out his name.
That might be sexy, if Marco wasn’t so convinced that his boyfriend was a moron.
“My name is Mario,” he says after a few moments.
Marco offers no response.
“Marco!”
“What?” Marco sets aside his phone finally. “Was that your explanation? Your evidence to support your idiotic case?”
“Obviously.”
“Your name is Mario. That’s it. Your name is Mario.”
“Obviously.”
“Your name is Mario.”
Mario plants his hands on his hips and glares at Marco. There are no puppies to make him crack this time.
“Your name is Mario, which is why you want me to wear that. And you’ll wear that.” Mario nods after every “obvious” statement his boyfriend makes. “And that will make people see that, not only are you exceptionally clever, we’re a couple.”
“OBVIOUSLY.”
“Mario!” Marco explodes off the couch. “You moron! Firstly, it is not clever for me to dress up at Mario because your name is Mario.” Mario starts to interject, defend himself, but Marco waves him off and steamrolls over him. “Secondly, it is not clever for you to dress like Luigi because your name is Mario.” Again, Mario attempts to interject. Marco karate chops the air between them. “BUT. THIRDLY. THE MOST IMPORTANT THING THAT YOU HAVE FUCKED UP ABOUT THIS IDEA IS THE FACT THAT MARIO AND LUIGI ARE BROTHERS, YOU DOORKNOB!”
“Doorknob” is all Mario says in response.
“Don’t question my choice insult. Just acknowledge the fact that you’re an idiot.”
“Right after you acknowledge the fact that you’re mean.” Mario pouts.
“Mario, I told you it was a dumb idea when you texted me from the costume store. What did you expect me to do when you actually dragged the costumes home?”
Mario crosses his arms over his chest and pouts harder.
“Seriously, Mario… Tell me why it would be a good idea for two guys who like to have sex to dress up as Mario and Luigi for Halloween?”
Mario shifts a little, but basically keeps up the same pouty crossed-arms stance.
“Mario, you do know that they were brothers, right?”
“I thought they were friends!” Mario spouts.
“Mario, the video game was called Super Mario Brothers! Not Super Mario Friends. Certainly not Super Mario Boyfriends!”
“Oh, shut up, Marco! I didn’t think about that game. I just thought of Mario Kart and how we love it. And how my name is Mario and wouldn’t it be funny if I dressed as Luigi and you dressed as Mario.” Mario stomps his foot. “Damn it.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have been funny even if we weren’t dating.” Marco pats his arm. “Take them back. Buy something else.”
“No. I’ll return them, but I’m not buying new ones. We just won’t go to the party.”
“Okay.” Marco walks toward the kitchen. It’s nearing dinner time and his stomach is rumbling.
Mario stomps after him. “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO ARGUE WITH ME!”
“I just called you stupid like five times. I thought the arguing was over.”
“NOT THAT. You’re supposed to argue with me that we need another costume and we have to go to the party because the whole team will be there and the national team and we can eat cookies and we can kiss in public!”
“We could stay home, eat candy, and have sex in private.”
“Don’t try to tempt me with sex, you siren!”
Marco narrows his eyes at him. “Mario, sirens…”
“I’M LEAVING!” Mario dramatically whirls away from Marco and stomps back to the living room. He snatches up the costumes and flails his way to the door of the flat. He makes enough noise to raise the dead, tempting Marco to call him back.
Marco doesn’t even offer him so much as a glance as he continues into the kitchen to prepare dinner.
When Mario slams the front door an hour later, Marco is back on the couch with a bowl of chicken curry that he ordered in after realizing he was too lazy to actually make dinner.
“Dinner’s on the counter. I got you a curry.”
“I FOUND THE BEST COSTUMES.”
Marco groans and hangs his head.
“THIS TIME IT REALLY IS CLEVER!”
Marco groans louder and stuffs his mouth full of chicken and rice. With any luck, he’ll choke to death and won’t have to hear the next words out of Mario’s mouth.
“I’LL BE A FOOT AND YOU CAN BE A BALL! THE BALL INFLATES!”
It takes all the self-control Marco has not to spit curry across the room. “Mario, if I look up from this curry and you are holding a foot costume and a ball costume, I will break up with you right now.”
Marco hears Mario’s footsteps retreating to the door.
“JUST KIDDING. I’LL BE RIGHT BACK. I, UH, FORGOT SOMETHING.”
The door slams and Marco stares down at his curry.
“I could be single,” he mutters. “I don’t really need a boyfriend.”
The door opens a moment later. “Marco, are you sure it’s not funny?”
“If you don’t disappear, I never want to see you again. I’m going to embrace the SINGLE LIFE!”
The door slams again and Marco deflates with a sigh. What did he do to deserve falling in love with this idiot?
One thing to write a fanfic, another to deal with deadlines, formats, inputs. Fanfic writers cannot understand.
S.E. Hinton, author of The Outsiders
(This tweet of hers has since been deleted otherwise I’d link it.)
My first thought was, clearly this woman has never participated in a big bang before. But it honestly goes so much deeper than that…
You know, I’m always proudest to call myself a fan fic writer when someone, especially someone like S.E., bashes on it. It’s like I’m harboring this little secret about what I actually do when I write fan fiction versus what they’re accusing me of. And while people who put us down about writing fan fic are trying to make us look like idiots, if you ask me, they’re the ones who end up looking stupid. It’s always apparent when someone who gives you crap for writing fan fic has no idea what they’re talking about other than what they’ve heard. They have no idea the amount of passion, dedication, or heart that goes into fan fiction. They have no idea how supportive (for the most part…) the community is. They don’t know the fear of putting oneself “out there” when sharing their work, or what it feels like to have someone admire your work even though you’re not a published author. They might never know what it feels like to have something that brings them so much joy laughed at, or mocked, or disregarded because it’s different. They cannot understand.
Yes, S.E. is a published author, she wrote her first novel as a teenager, and the book is still well known today. She knows about these grueling deadlines, and formats, and inputs she speaks of. But what she seems to be missing about us measly fan fic writers? So. Do. We.
The thing is, countless fan fic writers are writing because it’s an escape, because it’s something we’re passionate about, because it’s a way for our voices to be heard; a lot of us will stop at nothing to be able to write even just a little bit every single day. So many of us are full time students, parents, holding full time jobs, often times doing any combination of the three and so much more. Dead lines? Yeah. I have them. I get to write when the kiddos go down for a nap. Two hours. If I don’t get out what I have to say in those two hours the opportunity is gone unless I want to sacrifice something else (like sleep, for example). Many others are squeezing in words on their lunch breaks or in between classes, staying up late to get something put on a page because they worked all day or haven’t had time otherwise. Sure it’s not a “real” deadline. No publisher or editor is hanging a contract over our heads, threatening our jobs. But you know what comes with that publisher? What comes with that editor and that deadline? A paycheck. Compensation for the time you’ve spent writing. A paycheck just like you’d receive at any other job. So yeah, we may not have “real” deadlines, according to published authors such as the acclaimed S. E. Hinton, but that’s because no one’s forking over cash in exchange for a word count by Monday. We’re writing because we love it. Because we want to share a piece of ourselves whether it comes with money attached or not. We’re writing because we care about something so much, it spills out of our hearts and onto the page in the form of high school AU’s, and slow burns.
We may not understand deadlines according to the “real writing world”, but we sure as hell understand doing what we can when we can because otherwise we won’t get the chance. That does not lessen our skill in any way, shape, or form.
But input, oh. We don’t understand input. …Except for you know what comes along with all that fan fiction we’re not being paid to write? Input. In every single form imaginable. Kudos, and comments, and reblogs, and likes. That is our input. Reviews, recommendations, criticism most of us don’t ask for, thrown at us on our AO3 accounts and our tumblrs, our fanfiction.net accounts, our livejournals, and our wattpads — places most of us go to for solace. Whether we want to see said input or not, it’s there, glaringly apparent. And a lot of times it’s great input! A positive comment on one of my fics can make my day. But sometimes, just like input any published writer may receive, it is not kind. Often times it’s harsh, degrading, discouraging. And we don’t have editors, or assistants, or publishers to keep us going. We don’t have the buffer of “well I’m getting paid to do this so it doesn’t matter whether they like my work or not.” All we have is each other, and our own strength, strength a lot of us have garnered from both tough life experiences and you guessed it, being a lowly, silly fan fic writer.
So you know what? Go ahead. You keep on giving your [shitty, unwelcomed] input on what you think about me writing fan fiction and what I could or could not ever understand because I’m not like you. I’ll be over here doing something I love, something I often times have to fight to be able to do, and I’ll keep doing it because nothing you or anyone else could ever say will make me feel like what I’m doing doesn’t matter. Because it does. And that is something you could never understand.
(via nestingdean)
Also, fanfic is a collective noun, S.E. you fucking hack.
If I see another fucking show where a bisexual girl is labeled “confused” because she has only dated men in the past, and finally finds a girl to date, I’m going to fucking scream.
#likewise #if i see another show where a bisexual woman was,'experimenting' or 'going through a phase' because she dated a woman previously #but now dates a man #i'm going to fucking scream
If I see another fucking show where a bisexual girl is labeled “confused” because she has only dated men in the past, and finally finds a girl to date, I’m going to fucking scream.
I fucking love tumblr. I'm like I'm feeling like shit, because I just realized my new fics are shit when compared to the old ones. I need something to cheer me up. What could it be? Tumblr: Definitely 85 gifs of Bangtan, including Kookie with puppies. Good job, tumblr.
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