#writing trope

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

the way I have heard so many talented fanfic writers say they started writing because they read someone else's fanfics that are so good they inspired them into becoming writers too? just proved my point that your writing is never 'in vain', even if you dislike it and think it could've been better, it's still good enough for someone out there that it becomes their source of inspiration and perhaps happiness. you'll never know.

but don't ever, ever belittle your own works. just because you don't like them, doesn't mean other people dislike them too. again, you'll never know. there could be someone out there who reread your works every day because those fics you wrote helped them escape reality for a while, they could be reading your works as a way to help get them through a hard time in their life. you'll never know.

your writing may have saved someone's life.

your writing may have inspired someone into pursuing their career and changing their life for the better.

several best selling authors started as fanfic writers, and the majority of fanfic writers started writing because they were inspired by someone's fanfics. you do the math.

your "silly fics" have permanent impact on this world, even if you think they're not good (they actually are good, I promise you, don't let your mind lie to you).

I mean ***I*** personally started writing my first fanfic about 7 years ago, and have been writing ever since, because I was inspired by my favorite fanfic writers. I still remember all the lines I like from those fics I read 7-8 years ago, I still think about those fics I read from 7-8 years ago and still remember the stories very well in my heart. I started writing because of them.

this blog would never have been created at all, if it weren't because of those fanfic writers whose works I read 7-8 years ago.

I wouldn't have so far written about 130,000 words this year alone, if it weren't because of those fanfic writers whose works I read 7-8 years ago.

to all the fanfic writers out there; your works inspired someone, your writing made a difference to someone's life.

[bebx]

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

[becomingvecna]

X

[nekoprankster218]

new trope I think The Boy and The Heron utilizes:

Refusal of the Call but with the upgrade of trying to Shoot the Messenger the whole time

[iwritealittlebit]

new trope idea: Innocent/naive character who is notoriously trusting of people who's trust gets broken and is hurt so many times that they're no longer very trusting but they pretend to be so they don't put their friends through the pain of seeing them change

[ayowotsdis]

There is a bitch inside me, who finds it thoroughly fascinating when unhinged women have soft husbands. Yes, like "I can't fix her so I will love her with all my heart" and "i can make him worse by loving him with all my heart". Like YES give me that comfort. They balance each other out so well.

[devine-fem]

theres something SO special to me about two character peacefully sleeping together, and i mean platonically, its so sweet to reduce yourself to a completely vulnerable state around someone you trust like especially with characters who don’t let themselves be vulnerable often… mmm 🥹

[cripplecharacters]

What is your opinion on the trope of a character faking disability for plot reasons? (One that often comes with "surprise they weren't actually disabled all this time" plottwist when it's done by not one of protagonists)

Hello! Please please please don’t write this. This sort of representation is overdone, and can have real harmful effects on disabled people. It can lead others to believe that disabled people who are just living their life are “faking” it. Trying to identify what disabled people are faking only ends up hurting people.

Thanks for the question, Mod Patch

[shamelesstragedyenjoyer]

Reverse Trope fics I would pay to read;

-Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss (Jason Todd x Reader)

-Divorce of convenience (Catwoman × Batman)

- Too much communication (Lois Lane × Clark Kent)

- Soulmates who are fated to kill each other (Stephanie Brown × Cassandra Cain)

- True hate kiss, Only kissing your enemy can break the curse (LEGO Movie Batman × Joker)

- Really nice guy who hates only you (Platonic Dick Grayson & Stephanie Brown)

- Hate at first sight (Platonic Duke Thomas & Green Lantern)

- Love triangle where the two love interests fall in love instead (Talia Al Ghul × Catwoman with Batman as the initial love interest)

[dilutedconfusion]

The Nameless

SoftYandere!Eustass Kid x F!Reader (Part 1) MDNI 18+

CREDITS TO @likeeliterallywtf for requesting this!!! She gave me an amazing request with a detailed description of what she wanted so hopefully I’m doing it justice!!

Summary: Kid sees you for the first time and is stunned. Melting into a cacophony of insistent need to have you. He’s had a rough past with woman before but this felt different. Or at least that was the excuse he was going to use to have you.

Warnings: YANDERE TROPE!!! There is no explicit warnings in this first part but THERE WILL BE. So I would advise not reading this if topics such as mental & physical abuse, blood/gore, and just an overall unhealthy relationship bother you! Of course you can still read this first part if you want just be wary of any of the other chapters.

Word Count: 4.4k

The clawing feeling that Kid felt inside when he first saw you wasn’t something he had expected.

The insistent pumping of his warm blood could be felt like a flame across every inch of his skin. Tying his stomach in knots and melting his marrow as he just stood there like a deer in headlights to watch you from afar. Expecting a glance. Expecting a conversation. Expecting your blood to boil with passion forcing you to run into his arms.

I’m a handsome guy. I’m the future pirate king. I could get any woman I want. But if you impress me enough...then maybe I just want you. This thought dripped like honey on his mind. Enveloping every crevice and stem with just this all-encompassing thought of you.

He could nearly taste you on his tongue. He could nearly feel your hair dance between his fingers. He could nearly see you smiling at him shyly as you spoke to him. A bright red dusted across your cheeks like the slow sweet blossoming of a flower. A flower he wanted to encase in glass and delicately touch whenever the urge hit him.

But just like the glass a wall of space separated the two of you. A gruesome space separating you from the man you’d spend the rest of your life with.

He just couldn’t wait to tell you the good news of his arrival.

“Earth to Kid! What the fuck man? Are you even listening to me right now?”

As if cold water had splashed over his face Kid's body jumped a little as he stood. The muscles in his neck tightened spastically. His eyes were weary and his hands nearly vibrated as he slowly came out of his stupor.

“Yeah..yeah uh what..what were you saying?” It was almost physically painful for Kid to take his eyes off you. To give even Heat an ounce of his attention. The slight sheen of sweat gracing his brow got swept back into his hair as he adjusted his goggles a bit.

“Since you’ve been blanking out everything for the last 10 minutes I’ll tell you what’s happening. We’re going shopping right now. Buying some ingredients before we head home. Look I get it, you hate shopping. But at least help me instead of just standing there.” Heat's voice was aggravated and low. A whisper of words meant to reach Kid's ears whilst trying not to reach others.

Kid didn’t particularly understand why Heat seemed so reserved. It was just a crowd. Just a herd of unmentionables moving through the open market. The sun oppressively beat down on the civilians. Their awkward and wayward gawking at the aforementioned pirates wasn’t something new to Kid. But if he wanted anyone to pay attention to him, to look at him at all, he was hoping it’d be you. Yet his hopes were not being met just yet.

You seemed to be staring out just like him on the other side of the street. Thanks to Kids' tall height he could see you past the bobbing heads walking by. No glaring sunlight or bright colors or the vendor's canopy fluttering above him would steal away his attention. Everything seemed to center on you as if it was where his eyes naturally glided.

Side pressed against the tagged and rough alleyway wall you stood. A thin hood covering the softness of your face in a deep shadow. The rest of your clothes seemed worn. You’re canvas pants shredded in a few places along with a rough patch of what looked like dirt on the calf. They led down right to a pair of shit-kicker boots slightly scuffed in some places. The deep red shawl laced with the hood itself covering up the loose black t-shirt hugging your torso. Though compared to the deep rift of darkness in that alleyway nearly swallowing you up, he could still see you crystal clear.

Maybe she’s just trying to stay in the shade. Beat the heat.

There was a keen look in your eye that fluttered over the passersby’s in the street and vendors at their stands. It was sharp and antagonizing. A slight snarl quirked at your lower lip.

You were looking for something or moreover, you were looking for an opportunity.

A thief are we now?

“KID!” A loud thud of pain erupted onto Kid's shin. Making his jaw get even tighter if that was even humanly possible.

“What the hell man? Don’t fucking kick me!” Kid's cheeks became noticeably flushed. Trying to mask his anger but also trying to appease the shop vendor to think that the two of them were at least partially normal.

Heats hands were still occupied with filling a small crate with supplies. Cans, jars, and a load of nonperishables slowly getting jenga-d in there. His sad-looking eyes not even sparing a glance towards Kid. “Quit being creepy and help me pack this shit up or I’m making you carry everything.”

Those words caught in Kids' ears like a fish on a hook. His lips flattened out into something far more ashamed. “I’m not being creepy. You don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Heat chewed on the inside of his mouth. Holding himself back from saying something too stupid but glowering at him regardless. “Well I have a pretty good idea what you’re doing and it sure as hell doesn’t involve helping me. But since you wanna just gawk, you’re carrying the crate.”

“No the fuck I’m not”

“Yes the fuck you are.” Heat stare didn’t falter in the slightest. Sure this big red-headed brute was his captain but he was also his friend. A friend that just so happened to be a bit strange at times. Heat knew not to try and change him but he also knew to not let Kids habits get in the way of their work.

“Fine” Kid grumbled while sliding the full crate over towards him. Heat then promptly picked up some bags as they were sitting loosely on the floor. Kid hoisted the crate up easily and held it snugly under his right arm. Following Heat in a slow meandering pace out into the street.

Where is she? His eyes glazed over the spot where you once were. That full figure of yours is now gone from his sight. Heat of course was walking way too damn fast. Already a good bit ahead of him and siphoning through the crowd.

Fucking hell where is she? He made no move to walk faster and just scanned the crowd in utter desperation. Hoping to catch a glimpse of your red hood bounding through the streets.

Heat of course gave a wayward glance back towards Kid. His abnormally tall height made it easy to spot him along with the red hair of course. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, coming to a stop in the middle of the street until Kid met up with him.

“Should I just leave you here? I want to get home man it's hot as hell out here.” Heat's voice rasped out in a solemn whisper. Watching the way Kids eyes seemingly couldn’t maintain eye contact with him. Like the rest of the crowd held the promise of wealth and fame if he just looked hard enough.

Or it held another girl like always.

“I’m...I’m coming. I don’t want to have to hold a stupid crate when I…” Kid trailed off. Rubbing his prosthetic hand through his hair as he wistfully imagined the first conversation he might have with you.

She is going to swoon for me. Look up at me with those pretty eyes just begging to be mine. I have to be perfect. I need to show her what I am. What I can provide.

Heat had waited for Kid to finish his sentence but he never did. The redhead just chewed on his lips and looked off into the distance with a thousand-yard stare.

“God if I knew any better I would think little hearts should be floating around you right now. You gotta control yourself, man. Let’s just get home and then you can come back...and do whatever.” Heat stepped next to Kid's side. Trying to persuade him to keep walking as if he were a child.

“There’s no fucking hearts floating around me. It ain’t like that.” Kid snapped his head towards Heat with a snarl. Taking long board steps forward in a stomping motion to get a move on.

“Yeah? Well if that’s true then water must not be wet huh?.” Heat again gnawed on his cheek like always. His sarcasm was raw but his willingness to say more was seemingly gone.

“Shut up! I just don’t want to leave and then I don’t see her again. What if she’s leaving tonight? What if she doesn't live here?” That very thought made Kid's heart skip. Still trying to take notice of every passerby on the street hoping and praying one of them was you.

“So it is about a girl huh? Knew it. It’s fine if she leaves because what does it matter? You could pull someone else or go to a brothel like the rest of us.” Heat cocked his head up at Kid. A wry smile pulled at his lips, or at least the sort of half smile that his sad face could manage.

“I know that asshole. But I’m allowed to want what I want. Don’t judge me for being particular about the chicks I pick up.” Kid scoffed a bit and looked away from Heat. That smile did little to pick up his mood. He began walking even a bit faster. Urgency on his mind as the heels of his boots clicked against the cobblestone road.

“When have I ever cared about what you do with women, Kid? I literally don’t give a shit unless you start acting weird and not doing what you’re supposed to.” There was a slightly serious tone under the natural wave of relaxation that Heat often held. Kid has been infatuated with a few girls in the past few years. Picking them up just to string them along for a month max before leaving them on some island. It was...a questionable choice in his and some of the other crew mate's minds. Though if he was being honest it particularly annoyed him.

He gets hung up. He gets what he wants. He realizes it is not what he wants. He gets mad at the rest of the world for it. What a fun cycle about to start again. Heat nearly rolled his eyes at his thoughts. Gripping the bag handles a bit tighter as he offhandedly glances up at Kid once more.

“All I did was not help you buy and pack shit? Are you seriously complaining about that?” Kid couldn’t particularly see the logic in why Heat was complaining. To him this was simple. To him, he didn’t remember about those handfuls of girls he’d been maybe halfway committed to. It felt real and full and passionate at the start. But then they break his little heart by being completely different than what he expected.

This girl doesn’t seem like that though. She’ll be different. She’ll be perfect. She needs me. I can feel it.

“I’m complaining because I know how you are. You take things too far sometimes.” Heat mumbled his words a bit. Trying to cautiously weasel around the big elephant in the room that was Kid's love language.

Kid, though emotionally unintelligent as he is, still caught on to how Heat was avoiding specifics. He wanted to know what his crew mate thought of him. He wanted to wear it on his chest and feel the piercing sting it might cause.“Too far as in what?” Rolled off his tongue with an emphasis on the what. Eyeballing Heat as they slowly made their way out of the town. A rural glance between here and the sea upon them.

Heat paused for a moment, biting his lip in thought as he tried to piece together the best way to put it. “You..seriously don’t remember that blonde chick? The one that you...” He couldn’t finish his sentence. Not because what happened particularly bothered him. But Kid…just seemed different in the worst possible way the last time he had one of these so-called partners.

“Oh, you mean that. Whatever. She was pushing me to do it. It was practically her fault. I don’t like getting taken for granted and I don’t like my women looking at anyone else. She was just a fling and I’m fucking regretting it.” Kid once again scoffed. Brushing that whole incident aside like it was just dirt on his shoulder.

It wasn’t just nothing though. I’ve never seen him like that before. Heat's worry continued onto the present day. A day he was hoping wouldn’t be another chance for Kid to sink his teeth into someone.“It didn’t seem like a fling at the time...”

“You don’t know how it was! I’m saying she was worthless from the start and I’m fucking right about that. I didn’t take it too far, I took it exactly where it needed to go.” Defensive as always Kid couldn't see his actions as wrong. Heat knew they weren’t good people and he didn’t expect Kid to be a saint.

But what if he gets worse?

“So...are you planning on being the same with this girl?” The question was simple and didn’t point blame at Kid. He hoped Kid would come up with a resounding no. Saying he would take it slow, maybe test the waters a bit more before diving head first. If not for the girl then at least for his own sanity.

“She was pretty. She seemed interesting and there’s not a single doubt in my mind telling me she wouldn’t love me. I’m allowed to go for things that seem good, so quit being jealous.” The strong air of confidence that Kid held was average. He was confident in each and every single syllable that slipped off his tongue. Heat could tell there was no changing that but sometimes he wished his captain wouldn’t be so...persistent.

“I’m not jealous. Like I said, I literally don’t care what you do, I just don’t want it bothering the rest of the crew.” Heat averted the blame for Kids attitude towards him. Shaking his head dismissively as he walked a bit faster to finally approach their ship lined at the docks.

Heat was never much of a man who needed sexual pleasure to get by but Kid definitely was. So it didn’t make sense why Kid thought he was jealous. But Heat supposed Kid would even turn a scorned eye at Killer if he touched his ‘toys’.

“Well, you sound jealous. So don’t be catching looks when I come home with my woman later.” Kid eyed the few crew mates hanging out on deck. The sun slowly dipping into the watery depths of the evening gave him hope that he would have you soon.

Maybe even before midnight if I’m lucky.

Heat cast an accusatory yet playful smile towards Kid.“What are you going to do? Kidnap her? You’re sounding like a creep Kid.” There was a sense of worry in his voice though he tried to laugh through it regardless. Because it simply had to be a joke or else he wouldn’t be laughing.

I mean he would never do anything like that…would he?

Kid's body instantly paused. Leaving Heat to do a double-take and suddenly stop a bit ahead of him. He turned around towards the redhead with a weary glance. Noticing the piercing gaze that shot through him like a pistol.

Resolutions and ravenous tendencies dripped out of the hellhole that was Kids painted mouth.“I am a creep. I’ll be anything and fucking everything I need to be to get what I deserve. And I deserve her.”

__________

Fuck.

With sprinted exhaustion, each breath became a fiery roar of necessity. Legs close to throbbing from the amount of hits they had taken. A marred bruise turned to blood against your thigh. Each pounding step kept you unbalanced and staggered as you ran as fast as you could.

“Get that fucking thief!”

Shit. There was no time to realize what was happening until someone had slammed a stool down on your thigh. It had sent you toppled over ready to take a few sparse kicks in the spine body before you scurried upwards. Nearly falling face first as you barely managed to climb out of a window and out into the alley.

Now here you were running with a decent amount of money and scraps of food hitting your back. Thudding against your already sore spine you desperately clung to the makeshift tarp you were using as a bag. Your eyes skidded along the road in front of you as you made a sudden and sharp turn into another alleyway. It was slightly more crowded then the last and filled with exactly what you needed.

Perfect. It was a last resort in your mind but you were glad you had thought of it before stealing from that noble's house. You had a way to get into their town connected to the far more poor and dangerous area you were from near the shore.

A water flow system that brought water from the lake down through their city and back into the ocean. Of course, it was guarded on every inch of that huge wall that separated the rich from the degenerates. But you knew how to get in and had for a while now.

The sounds of racing footsteps behind you made your nerves go into overdrive. Hands shaking in a mix of fear and excitement from the rush. You quickly darted into the crowded alleyway. Running behind some large dumpsters you had pushed as a barricade into the middle of the road. Just a small enough slit to let you squeeze through their metal encasings just filled to the brim with rotting food and something a little extra.

Maybe if these dumbasses behind me had a lick of sense they would smell the gas in the air.

There was about a quart of alcohol sprinkled over the perfect kindling that was trash. Along with a very small and homemade piece of dynamite and a half-assed Molotov cocktail just to make it a bit more...well what would you call it?

Eyebrow scorching. Finally, these bastards will look about as ugly as their insides do.

You were quick despite your shaking hands. Picking up the Molotov cocktail you had hidden behind some trash bags. Eyes fluttering down the alley to spot the hoard of angry guards you had roused closing in on you. With quick succession, you threw your bag of goodies a good 20 feet away. Flicking out a lighter tucked into your pocket and walking backward from the men.

A devilish smile couldn’t help but quirk itself at your lips. The darkness that surrounded you now getting filled with the faint spark of light turned that turned into a flame. Butane hitting your senses just so you can breathe it in a bit deeper.

This is going to be satisfying.

You pressed that small flame against the dry rag sticking out of the bottle. Taking no time to throw it as hard as you can directly into the dumpsters.

“BURN IN HELL FUCKERS!” You yelled, a crazed laugh shaking in your chest as you heard the ceremonious crash of glass which of course quickly escalated into huge balls of flames.

The boom that resounded through your stomach and skull was nearly climax-inducing. Your body struggled to fall back as you took in the contrasting flames now filling up the once-dark alleyway with a piercing light. The roofs and windows of the nearby building instantly set on fire. The dumpster now jagged lines of half-melted metal barfing out trash onto the street.

You had shaken your small portion of the world yet again. A small triumph amongst an endless sea of crimes that were your playground.

Their screams took hold of your attention long after you had been staring at those rolling balls of flame. Backing up towards your bag of goodies you listened to the people panic. Trying to find a way to put out the fires the owners of the houses on each side of you called up yet another round of authorities.

Welp, that went accordingly. You walked up to a manhole cover hidden behind a few cardboard boxes you had placed. Picking up the heavy metal with a grunt you slid it over. The men were still trying to see past the dumpsters. Some of them were weaving their way around the buildings to make it to the other side. But you were already two feet underground before they spotted you. Every civilian's eyes were on the fire and every guard just a moment too late.

__________

The walk home was damp and dark. A small cement trail perfect for a brisk stroll. An underwater river that made up the water system of the city to add to the ambiance. A few rats following you along to keep you company.

It was gross and it was dark and it felt like you.

You had been feeding these rather plump rats for a while now. At first, they nearly bit your fingers off but now the little guys couldn’t help but find your light inviting. The small pitter-patter of their feet across the cement and piping brought you comfort despite being alone.

“Here you go you guys.” You mumbled softly. Quickly breaking off little pieces of bread for each rat as they scurried up to your feet. Standing up on their hind legs as their little hands greatly accepted the bread.

It was a ritual at this point. Like paying the toll on a bridge except you were underground and the toll was entirely self-inflicted. Though the rats clearly appreciated it or so you’d like to think. Their black glassy eyes just near a smile and their quiet squeaks a thank you. Letting you scratch their soft tummies before they hurried into the nooks and crannies that were their home.

A home that was akin to yours as soon as you made your way out of these tunnels.

We’re not so different, you and I.

It was a bit difficult getting out of these tunnels because it required nearly getting swept up in a strong current. A smaller cement walkway slanted down towards the river where all lines of water conjoined back together. So you had to tie your bag to your pants. Looping it through your belt and leaning forward as far as you could go without slipping into the water.

The ceiling above was curved and made out of scratchy brick. You’re ass pressed against the wall as you side shuffled towards the light of night. The cool milky sparkles cast upon the rushing water only halfway distracting you from the gross spiderwebs you sometimes ran across.

Eventually, you made your way out. Quiet as a mouse you pressed you’re back to the tall wall separating the towns. Eyeing a forest line off to your right that would ensure nobody would spot you. Of course, the guards up top swung their blinding lamps and guns at anything that got too close. So you had to hide in the shrubbery that lined the walls. Thorns pricking into your skin though you made sure to wear nothing but long selves as you hurried your way towards home.

Thank god that's over with. You slipped into the forest, finding the trail you had carved out to lead you through the darkness. Your home was pressed against an outcropping of rocks. Wood, tarps, and thatch make up the cabin you belong to. One that was made with inexperience but love.

Walking up to the door you let out a little huff of air. Dusting off the dirt on your clothes before grabbing the handle and walking on through. The cabin was dark inside as you started slipping off your boots. Setting the loot bag down on the ground and bending over to unlace your shoes before kicking them off lazily.

Your thigh was of course still hurting like a bitch even if it had stopped bleeding. Your spine basically imprinted with the few kicks they managed to land on you.

A soft sound caught your ears and made you halt. Noticing the small sliver of light coming from underneath the door to your kitchen.

Did I leave that on? No, I always make sure to turn it off. But maybe I didn’t?

Fear struck you like lightning. You’re body halting as if it had been frozen before you forced yourself to move. Carefully craning your neck and pressing your ear to the wall. There were no loud sounds but you could tell there was some faint shuffling. As if someone was walking around in there looting the place.

I’m getting fucking robbed. Nobody knows I live out here! Did someone trail me to my place?

What once was fear became rage. Grinding your teeth unconsciously as you made your way over to the hallway closet. You tried to stay as quiet as possible. Clicking the door open and grabbing out a stolen rifle. Pressing the hilt of it into your armpit you got yourself ready. Aiming it steady as you cautiously walked up to the door. You gave yourself a second to breathe and wipe your sweaty hands on your pants before quickly opening the door. Letting it slam across the wall as you peered into the lit kitchen.

Eyebrows knitted as you found a nearly 7-foot-tall man at your stove. His wide back turned to you before he swiftly turned around, a big smile on his rosy face.

“Ah, glad you’re home dear. I’m making you something.” His voice was smooth and warm. The light rasp of his throat and the soft light of a lamp cast across his imposing figure. His amber eyes looked up and down between your confused face and the gun in your hands.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Growled out of you. Hands steady as you pointed the gun right at his head. Not daring to take a step closer from the doorway.

With a grunt, he pressed his lower back up against the counter and crossed his hands over his wide chest. The corners of his smile turning more sarcastic around its edges. “Making you dinner that’s what. Though I personally don’t think rifles and pasta mix. But whatever makes my doll happy.”

A/N: So basically Kid is weird as hell. A walking talking red flag if you will. Dude just stared at y/n and was like “Yep…she literally needs me”. AFTER LITERALLY NOT SAYING SINGLE WORD TO HER. JUST DELUSION. Hope you like him like this 💞

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

WRITING RESOURCES

LIST OF INJURIES SOMEONE COULD OBTAIN IF THEY WERE SEXUALLY ASSAULTED

(trigger warning is applied.)

fractured pelvis (if their body was bent against a desk, a car, or something with hard surfaces)

ligature marks around their neck

bruises on their arms, thighs, legs

abrasions on their cheek (if their face was pressed against concrete floor)

urinary tract infection

blood in stool, blood in urine

lacerations around and/or inside the genitalia

[bebx]

yeah yeah that famous quote that goes along the line of “if a writer falls in love with you, you can never die” but it’s the tireless AO3 writers who pull an all-nighter writing 100k words of fix-it fics where their favorite characters live

[dinkflocculent]

Whumper is a rich aristocrat/king who bought whumpee as a form of entertainment or pleasure. They treat whumpee as a pet. Collaring them, putting them in a cage, training them to be their perfect little pretty thing. They show off whumpee to party guests as if they're their prized possession.

Whumpee starts off as defiant, but more of the punishments they endure for their defiance shape them into an obedient little dog. A pretty little thing. All for whumper. Only for whumper.

[erin-ashh]

[nothingenoughao3]

Why we wanna transition to Mad Scientist (or, revulsion and queerness in horror)

(Hi, @ash-eats-film! This is the thing I mentioned!)

Horror has a few baseline emotions it tries to inflict on the audience. This has been written about for decades, most famously by Stephen King, but the baseline elements most writers agree on are as follows.

Dread: Anxiety over what is about to happen

Terror: The fear of what is occurring right this second

Revulsion: Being forced to interact directly with what's happening right now

Black comedy: Being tricked into laughing at either the terror or the revulsion

Horror: The trauma response to what just happened

A great example of this can be seen in The Evil Dead II (YT link that doesn't include the full context, but does have the, uh, money shot). There's the dread of realizing there's something in the root cellar; the terror of when the Deadite pops up in the trapdoor; the combined revulsion and black comedy of Ash jumping on the Deadite's skull/the door, popping out its eyeball which shoots into Bobby Joe's mouth, and then the horror of what just went down rolling over Ash and his current companions.

Often, revulsion and black comedy go hand in hand. That's because they're tension relievers. The revolting thing becomes ridiculous, and you laugh at how ridiculous it is. This lets you settle down in the midst of the gore and death, just slightly, just enough to get through it... so the horror can fully set in for you, too, once it's over.

You also, often, question your own stability if you laugh in the middle of a gross-out horror scene: "Am I sick? Is there something wrong with me for laughing at X?" This is even worse if the villain starts laughing--now you're questioning whether you're IDing with the monster. Are you okay? Is something wrong with you?

Revulsion is often framed as the slutty member of the good, proper, morally-upright brigade of horror. We have a name for folks who seek out gross-out horror--they're gore-hounds, a term that is virtually always pejorative when applied to other people. We call certain types of horror "torture porn" or "gore porn", as though it is inherently sleazy and sexual to rely on this specific emotional reaction. (Note that we don't have "black comedy-porn", or "dread hounds", even though a dread hound sounds really fucking cool.)

Not to go off on a huge tangent, but I think the issue with media that overly relies on revulsion is that it's unbalanced, not that it's bad. A movie that's nothing but dread never has any emotional payoff. A movie that's nothing but terror never lets the audience relax back into their seats and, paradoxically, will become boring (imagine two hours of jumpscares).

So forth and so on: all aspects of horror rely on each other to survive. That includes scenes that make you go "Awww, sick" while nervously cackling.

Here's the thing: in previous generations, revulsion was similarly understood to be an essential part of horror, but what led to a revolted reaction was very different.

Lovecraft (boo this man! BOOOOO) understood the power of revulsion, which was the source of a lot of his strangest and most vivid descriptions. It was also the source of some of his most bigoted ideas working into his stories. The undercurrent of "non-WASPs are evil because they are repulsive" is as pervasive in his work as "the universe is incomprehensibly vast". You kind of can't get around that.

But there's another thing Lovecraft did to generate revulsion. He wrote a number of stories where an unhealthy focus on corpses, graveyards, graverobbing, and the like is, indirectly or directly, associated with sexual perversion. 

How many, you may ask? Off the top of my head, there's "The Loved Dead", "In the Vault", "The Disinterment", "Pickman's Model", The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, "The Hound" and "Herbert West: Re-Animator". All of these tales share certain themes, which don't repeat beat-for-beat in each tale but do overlap:

Male character becomes obsessed with dead bodies--whether that's stealing them, having sex with them, desecrating them, or resurrecting them.

He is comfortable around death and the dead to a degree that is unusual, sometimes explicitly stating that he prefers the smells/sights of death to those of life.

Terms like "fiendish", "hellish", "abnormal" and "perverse" are used to describe him; his gaze towards dead bodies or to experiments may be framed as "leering" or "speculative".

He is frequently a twink; often described as being frail, if not noticeably beautiful; he may recall being mocked for being "bookish" or "weak" as a child.

He is superficially charming in a way that gets him by in polite society, but not long-term nor in-depth.

He often ensnares an otherwise "normal" man to share his obsessions, effectively recruiting him as an assistant... until the "normal" guy realizes he's about to go on the chopping block (or, in at least one story, already was on the chopping block).

Their crimes involve a lot of sneaking around late at night, locked doors, whispering so they don't get caught (or they'll be killed), secretiveness, glee at getting away with it, and frequently, sharing the same living space.

The Unrepentant Evil Dude is often killed at the end of his tale in a way that implies vigilante/mob justice is at hand. 

The other may be allowed to live if he's very sorry and frames the whole story as being the fault of the other guy, or he may die too while affirming his horrible demise as just, even if it terrifies him.

(One could make an argument that Wilbur Whateley fits into some of these tropes. It's me I'm one)

If this all sounds very gay, Lovecraft probably would have agreed. He had as dim a view of homosexuality as he did on most other things that were Outside The Norm. In other words, we were supposed to see Richard Upton Pickman with his ghouls and think, "Ah, yes, this is a metaphor for queerness", only we were supposed to be revolted by that revelation.

This same attempt at revulsion can be easily read into Victor Frankenstein, and probably more Mad Scientists than I can name offhand (but feel free to in reblogs). Frankenstein's "crimes against nature" were connected to dead bodies as well, and likewise involved a lot of sneaking around, locked doors, and worry about what would happen were he caught with this naked man-thing he's keeping in his dorm. His crime, as with his parody character Herbert West, is creating life outside the bounds of heterosexual cisgender sex. This was meant to revolt readers' sensibilities as much as the whole cutting-up-corpses-and-stitching-them-back-together thing would.

This is why, if we're being honest, "Re-Animator" and "Bride of Re-Animator" are not necessarily gay… they're homophobic. This might be controversial, but stick with me.

I feel like Gordon and Yuzna were tapping into that old-fashioned Revulsion Handbook, including from the source material, which thematically linked Herbert West with queerness. (I'm using "queer" a lot here, but I would personally include trans-friendly readings under that rubric; I'm using "queer" in the analytical sense and not solely in the identity sense.) This means that, ironically, a lot of what we could point to as queer subtext is actually homophobic text.

This is reinforced by the novelization of the first film, written by a homophobe who got Trumpist brainworms later in life. He wanted to make West repulsive to the reader, and therefore, he tried to make West more gay. And IT WORKED. 

To be clear, I'm not accusing anybody, other than the novelist, of being a homophobe. There's a difference between possessing internalized bigoted beliefs which express themselves in writing, versus utilizing tropes originating in bigotry because That's What's Done Around Here. (I can understand why others might not perceive a meaningful difference.) Like the Cuzco lizards, this queerness-as-villainy is definitely a stupid thing ported in from the source material.

I do think that this is why everybody but Our Queen Barbara Crampton seems embarrassed or nonplussed by all the transfags pestering them about fellatio tapes. It's because they don't get why this thing appeals so much to us. It shouldn't. If anything, they should be canceled for having yet another queer-coded villain, along with a number of other plot choices of questionable taste (I'm looking at you, The Head Scene, and I don't like what I see).

Only, uh, it didn't work out that way long-term, did it?

I thank Cronenberg and venereal horror for this, in part. Brutally queer despite not being explicitly gay, venereal horror is what happens when the characters should be revolted, but aren't. 

This kind of thing is horrifying for crossing the line twice: first by being disgusting, then by having characters respond as though it is exciting, or sexually stimulating, or if nothing else, normal. They are perverse. They leer at the dead and the subjects of their experiments. And the disgusting monsters at the center of these narratives are celebrated. Their twisted sexualities are explored with the same brave frankness other filmmakers give to milquetoast cishet missionary nonsense. Their political views are given life and air, and usually, they're right. Their deaths, if they come at all, are framed as tragedies brought on by society's sick rejection of the flesh their brave experimentation.

Cronenberg's the dude who unironically thinks that Shivers (trigger warning for literally everything) has a happy ending. My man David's got subscriptions where others have issues.

Venereal horror has given us a new metaframework for looking at the repulsive, the monstrous, and the problematic and responding to it… differently.

Now here's another thing: Lovecraft likewise provided a structure for embracing the grotesque and the queer.

Pickman, the Decadent artist, paints photorealistic, enormous portraits of ghouls. Literal flesh-eaters. He is fascinated by them, comfortable with them. "Model" heavily implies that Pickman is a ghoul changeling--switched at birth with a human child. This leans into Lovecraft's ideas about heritability being a major source of horror, of course, and seems run of the mill until you get to The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath.

In there, Pickman appears again, but this time as a ghoul. He has cast off his human social shackles and joined the beings he loves, beings who understand him and support him. Kadath is notable in that the ghouls are actually... like... reliable, loyal, and morally good? Carter's opinion pretty much is, "They do eat human corpses and they smell awful, but they're all very nice and want to help me on my quest, so maybe they're not so bad (if not as good as the cat army)".

This feels like Lovecraft acknowledging that his entire approach of linking queerness, death, and revulsion is fundamentally flawed. Once you become familiar with the repulsive, it becomes not-really-that-repulsive-at-all. You can find beauty in it, and amusement, and love. Pickman embracing his ghoulish nature isn't all that different from Seth Brundle's overall lack of revulsion at his body's transformation. And it's not that different from what a lot of transmasculine folks go through, either.

It's not that transmascs, trans men, and/or transfags don't see what West does as crimes against nature. It's that we're all very fucking tired of being accused of crimes against nature. We're tired of not being able to look at socmed without finding accusations that we're disgusting perverts who sneak around behind closed doors to corrupt innocent, promising people to be our lackeys and partners in crime.

Hell, I refer to my wife as "my partner in crime" not because it's a cute way of acknowledging how well and how much we work together both in life and creativity. It's also because we could have been arrested for our relationship when we got together.

We were illegal.

There was a lot of sneaking around and whispering and trying not to get caught and "what if they call the cops on us if we're clocked". Can I tell my friends about this? Will they reject me or rat me out? Where am I safe? Nowhere. Best to lock the door and then check it again to be sure. Best to be very quiet.

Best to act like a graverobber trying to get their grisly wares back home before good, decent, Christian folk see them.

So when I hear "Blasphemy? Before what God?!", I read it as (whether he's ace or aro, gay or achillean, trans man or transmasc or genderfucked) a queer slogan of defiance, instead of a defense of graverobbing, corpse desecration, and non-consensual resurrection.

We're told we and our bodies are repulsive, so being told that Herbert is also repulsive makes him more relatable. Instead of wondering what the hell's wrong with him for shooting up reagent, we all theorize that it's actually T or has similar effects--because we're all told that T is a toxin that will horribly change and disfigure our bodies. He dresses in a three-piece suit for school, and instead of reading him as a stiff and overly-formal little freak, we assume he's layering up because he hasn't found a hoodie he likes yet. 

He cackles at his horrific creations, and instead of saying "What a fucking freak (anguished)", we say "What a fucking freak (affectionate)" and laugh along with him. Who among us hasn't taken apart our Barbies and tried to combine their parts with the Kens? What is a doll, or a human, but a collection of parts to be rearranged? Haven't we also been told we're freaks for rearranging our own parts?

We've already been told by society at large that we are Herbert West. We're just embracing it, in the proud tradition of venereal horror fans who are not revolted when they ought to be, and I think that's delightful.

[achickennamedcheese]

"I can fix him", no no no, "We can fix each other"

thoughts?