#[visible only to anons and non-muses]

[serpentsurgency]

[Visible only to anons and non-muses.]

The night had been quiet so far. They had taken care of the dogs and then themselves before tucking themselves into the small bed for the night. It was hardly much but it was what they had been making due with for the last few weeks.

Hopefully for many more weeks to come as well.

Edwin shifted in the bed, curled up beside Henry, his eyes opening drowsily. He blinked a couple of times before shifting again, recognizing that he had woken himself up once again. It was not an uncommon experience, but still a tedious one.

Careful to not accidentally stir Henry, he turned on his side and stuffed his wrist underneath his own side of the pillow to prior it up under his chin.

Soon enough, he began to drift off again.

…

It was equally short-lived as soon enough he began to find himself drowsily waking back up, unable to quite recall if he had even fallen asleep in the first place or if he had merely just stopped thinking for a little while there. Either way, it was almost peaceful.

He kept his eyes closed, figuring that he would slip back into sleep soon enough.

… Then he heard a soft noise.

It was quiet, sounding like the gentle scrapping of a claw or fingernail against wood…

For a few moments, he placed the blame on one of the dogs potentially twitching in their sleep. It wouldn’t be a first.

… Even still, it gave him a somewhat uneasy feeling…

—And almost as if taunting the thought just as it occurred, a single long scratch could be heard followed by a click, as if someone were dragging a nail across the door before opening it unceremoniously.

He tried to snap his head back in the opposite direction towards the door but—

…

He couldn’t. He couldn’t move at all.

… Henry wasn’t reacting. He could still hear their quiet breathing beside him. Even the fucking dogs weren’t reacting.

Slowly, footsteps crept closer to the bed, slowly at about halfway across the room — Edwin already imagining how whoever it was would be creeping just past the dogs by that point — before coming to a stop at the far end of the bed. At the side by Henry.

…

He still couldn’t fucking move. He couldn’t fucking turn and look at whoever it was. He couldn’t see them. He couldn’t see if they had some kind of weapon. He couldn’t fucking do anything but imagine what they might be holding or preparing to do.

The bed softly creaked, as if someone were sitting down. He could feel it watching him.

The logical side of his mind would have tried to reason with him all of the signs by this point… He couldn’t move… He couldn’t speak to alert the dogs… He technically hadn’t even felt the bed shift from someone supposedly ‘sitting down’ beside them both…

… The logical side of his mind wasn’t working right though. All that was going through his mind right now was sheer fucking panic.

…

Then he heard another soft creak, as if it was leaning closer to them…

After a few moments, there was only silence as Edwin tried to force himself to twitch a finger or cry out for the dogs to wake up and snap them both out of this hell or for somebody to come help them or-

“Why do you bother with trying,” A voice — a familiar voice — whispered beside him, close and almost deafeningly loud. “I’m not going to make it out of this.”

The logical side of his mind doesn’t even stand a chance as he finally feels his hand twitch as he regains his movement and voice, his entire body then sharply twisting as he kicks and cries out at something that was never even there.

[o5-blackbird]

[Visible only to anons and non-muses.]

Experimenter quietly walked through the hallway, only moments earlier having crossed through the bridge under the watchful gaze of a few stray guards from each side. The huge circular room had been just as large and barren as he had always remembered it. Even despite the countless times that he had passed through the room, the room still carried the same strangeness as the very first time, back when him and Eight were first feuding.

... It had been so long since then.

Now, on the opposite side of the bridge and quietly trailing through the long hallways of the building, all that remained was a slight hesitance and a delicate metallic object weighing down his pocket.

As he walked, glancing across his surroundings as he came to a large intersection where a few hallways met, the surroundings began to melt into something familiar...

He knew he had passed through it a handful of times in the past but the significance of the plain section of the site had never quite struck him like it did now, not even after that vision months ago — lifetimes ago.

It had always felt like just another hallway.

Strange how something can feel so different with just a little context...

...

This was it. This was where it happened. ... Where it would happen. ... Eight would be here soon and it would be time for this all — this nightmare — to finally end...

He just had to wait.

[aetherceuse]

If people can't be threatmantic, I don't want any antagonism. There is an art to engaging in verbal and physical fisticuffs with a villain and it is dying. Please keep this time honored tradition with me Rex. Let's throw vague threats, be chill and ruin regions. ❤️❤️❤️

I wanna be threatmantic enough all the weird anons just go the fuck away. 🎉✨✨✨

Thanks for this message Kei, I’ve been looking at it, while trying to avoid doom scrolling the dashboard all day, and I’ve finally gotten a moment to sit down and reply to it.

I’d like to clarify, that when I wrote my post about the frustrations of an antagonist writer, it wasn’t to stoke the flames or make it seem as if one group of writers has a more difficult time than another group of writers; problems on both sides can, and do, exist. I did want to bring light to some of the unique frustrations that coincide with people who heavily favor antagonist writing, however.

I write these characters, because I love these characters. And I love these characters because I’ve always been really passionate and really invested in crafting a believable, impactful villain; literally as far back as I can remember, into my earliest years, I was always much more invested in what the antagonists were doing in Disney movies, in old school anime and cartoons, in books, in games, in any sort of media that I was consuming. That is always how I have been. The bombastic energy, the stage presence, the dialogue, the body language, it was always so dramatic and captivating for me, and something that I wanted to replicate in my own art.

What I think a lot of younger people do not realize, is that early on, a lot of villains on television were queercoded, in order to emphasize how TERRIBLE AND AWFUL IT WAS TO BE GAY in the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, etc. You saw male antagonists who were effeminate, you saw female antagonist who were absolutely lesbian coded. All of these traits were projected onto antagonists. And as a lonely youngin in a household where being gay was considered a mortal sin, where else are you going to find representation? Visibly queer heroes were practically non-existent— and if they did exist, it wasn’t accessible for a child like me, growing up in a staunch Catholic household. Media where the gay men were the bad guys though? Media where the main female antagonist went against gender roles and societal standards? They were plentiful. Sure, there are far more queer heroes in media today, but, my niche has already been solidified.

I think that, along with the fact that my own personality and flavors of trauma and mental illness are— extremely difficult to deal with— influences my writing, and why I have wound up finding a niche in antagonists. At the end of the day, a lot of the psychology and themes that I enjoy writing have not been applicable to protagonists. The antagonists always wind up having the traits that I need to get invested in a muse.

That’s not to say that I do not want my characters to grow. I do. There is so much more to writing— and interacting with— an antagonistic character than putting them in a position to be beaten up, or the butt of a joke. Frankly, it makes me really sad when that is the only thing people want out of my villains. These are human beings, with a range of emotions, interests, backgrounds, and skills: frankly, all of us are more likely to be one step away from being a villain in somebody’s story (and yes, everybody has been the villain in a story at least once before in their lifetime), than a legendary hero. I want to be able to write a character that gets people thinking. However it just gets— more and more difficult to keep up with the pace of the community, especially as someone with characters that require a LOT of patience and time in order to open up. I write personalities and characters that are slow burns. And because of my busy life, my body pains, and other factors, it is difficult to achieve this lately. It is disheartening, to say the least. There is a lot I want to write, there are a lot of angles I want to explore, but it is hard when it feels as though I am not going fast enough— or having my muse open up fast enough— before interest is dropped.

There are people who do appreciate what I do, people who appreciate the nuances of my characters, people who see what I’m writing, nod, and fist bump me. It matters a lot, and those people are dear to me. I realize that my niche isn’t for everybody. I realize that my content can be disturbing. I realize that it can be difficult to interact with. I know these characters can make people uncomfortable, and I don’t take it personally when people SB or hard block my blogs due to the content. But I’m queer, I’m mentally ill, and I’m writing content for queer, mentally ill people to find catharsis in; sometimes, seeing yourself in a villain is what you need for introspection.

My ex told me that my content was “disturbing” and that I “needed help”, and essentially made me stop writing it. I’m not going to stop anymore. This is my passion, and, I hope you guys will see my name on the cover of a hardback novel one day. I despise that we are in an era of the internet where so many people deem you as “bad” if you happen to favor villains over heroes. I don’t see it much here in this community, but, I see it everywhere else on other social media. You can enjoy the themes of fiction, without condoning it. You can put evil on the table without romanticizing it. And you can write villains without being treated like one.

I’ve gone on a ramble, but, thanks for giving me the opportunity to talk about this.

[o5-the-daughter]

It Ends in Blood, pt. 3

Warnings: gun use and subsequent injury, implied murder, implied decapitation

Word count: 850

[Not visible to anons or muses.]

He is exhausted, and visibly so, though he still takes the time to articulate his heavy steps on the soft grass below well enough to evade the cameras placed around the premises, taking shelter behind high bushes and thick trees that seem uncomfortably unchanged from the last time he had passed them, a time during which his steps had been quicker and his heart beating faster, his mind clearer and the world before his eyes less blurred. It's enough to avoid being seen too soon, though, and that will have to do.

Through a high wall of rose bushes, he catches a brief glimpse at the warm lights shining out from the bridge house just a handful of meters away, a sight he takes in for maybe a few seconds too long before moving on; the thought of whether those stationed there are still the same guards he had lied to what felt like a lifetime ago crosses his mind, though his thoughts are too far out of order for him to linger on the possibility.

The moment he steps out into the area just infront of the house, right where the trees and hedges give way to small, flowering bushes on his left and right, he knows he has been spotted a bit earlier than expected, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut at the sudden, blinding lights of the building's floodlights being directed straight down where he has come to a halt. Despite his better instincts to run or at least cover his eyes, he stays perfectly still, right where he is, and only tightens his grip around the bloody linen carried in his right hand, a motion invisible to the onlookers far above him. Tilting his head back just a little bit, he tries his best to see what is happening in the windows of the house, many of which have stayed dark while a few others are now brightly lit. He can't see who is there, but he knows he has been recognized, and that he is being watched.

Ten minutes, Willow's exhausted words echo through his mind, ten minutes is all they need.

His near-blinded eyes follow a blurry figure moving along some of the third-floor windows in what he vaguely recalls to be a living room, and he knows the orders they are being given just as he watches one of the windows being carefully opened, following a protocol he himself had written more than a year prior, when life seemed so much duller and so much larger - fire at will, take out the target if you consider it necessary. Their aim, which he is painfully aware of even without the presence, or maybe rather visibility, of half a dozen red dots sprinkling his chest area where the fabric is stained already, will be non-lethal for as long as he stays still.

The Foundation preferred living hostages, at least most of the time.

Ten minutes.

Magnolia must be up there somewhere, debating whether to take him out and save them some trouble once and for all or whether to stick to the protocol of the man standing down there, staring up at where she might be with eyes that shine unnaturally bright in the light meant to blind them. Maybe she is discussing the matter with an old friend, or maybe she is pacing up and down her office, looking at him from the ever so slightly different angles her windows provide, or maybe she is giving an order right this moment.

Five minutes would have to do, he decides, making a note to apologize to Willow later, even though the words have escaped his mind before he even fully finishes the thought. It would be alright. It would be good enough.

The pain shooting through his upper arm, all the way down into the tips of his fingers and along his spine, is almost instant as he raises his hand, offering up the bag he had held onto until now to where he knows the nearest camera to be. His fingers shake at the pain, and he has to hold on tighter to avoid dropping the bundle, though his muscles give in against his will anyway and the bag, together with its round-ish content, drops to the ground with what he presumes to be a rather disgusting noise.

In his dazed mind, he gives the bag one last kick, pushing it a bit further towards the front door, though this time's response misses him entirely, burying another sniper's bullet in the ground below. He looks up, towards the window he had previously observed, and steps back, instantly being blinded by a flash of colors that are little more comfortable than the floodlights they replace.

Even with the smell of blood still clinging to him, his hands, his shirt, his very own flesh, the cold, heavy rain suddenly crashing down on them both feels like the best relief he could have asked for.

[bridges-to-ashes]

Remember

Forgotten.

Warnings: N/A

Word count: 350

[Visible to anons and non-muses.]

The early afternoon sun burns through the high windows of the bank, though a light breeze blowing through the open doors makes the mid-summer weather bearable. Few people had come by so far, as it was usually the case until the afternoon, leaving one of the young employees to sit on the polished wood of his section of the counter, his back resting lightly against the metal fencing meant to protect him from the people coming in. The newspaper in his hands is still warm, though he can't tell if it's from the paper being freshly printed or from it having rested in the sun just minutes before.

He looks up from his paper as two pairs of bare-footed steps audibly rush up the marble steps to the bank, and he slips off his seat with a grin as he catches a glimpse of familiar faces. The equally unoccupied teller to his left chuckles, watching as the young man steps out of the booth before returning to his coffee.

"Nadeer!", one of the visiting girls squeals as she throws herself at him, leaving him barely enough time to close the metal door before he already welcomes her into his arms with a laugh. He spins her around once, twice, before gently letting her down to greet her twin as well, though the second girl is satisfied with a hug only. Cupping her face, he pressed a quick kiss to her head, then pulls away from both to meet the eyes of their mother; she smiles, tiredly but warmly at all three of her children, her arm wrapped lightly around her husband's.

"Sabah alhudu'i?", his father asks, lightheartedly raising an eyebrow at the empty hall around them.

The young man shrugs with half a laugh, an opportunity the excitable sister uses to cling to his lower arm with a bright smile. He glances down briefly, offering his other hand to the older girl, who takes it and rests her head against his shoulder.

"Almuetadi."

[a-dangerous-game]

[Visible to anons and non-muses.]

It appears that the full moon has risen, the forest remaining mostly quiet excluding the usual soft sounds of insects and birds in the distance.

The setting looks similar to that of the first night a few months ago with a warm fire nearby and a mostly empty bottle and a leather bag on a log nearby but… This time the creature itself does not appear to be in as excellent spirits, laying down with its back to where the video is angled and it’s chest rising and falling quickly and repetitively as if the creature were panting — even the audio being just barely able to be heard if one listened close enough.

A few feet away lies the remains of an animal carcass that is most obstructed by some bushes and leaves — though there appearing to be much more leftover then the first night. Near that, some more remains; those appear to be a bit more chewed up and not as easily kept down.

The creature itself appears mostly out of it, three ropes connecting from its neck to the sturdy tree with a few straps of leather tucked lopsidedly across its snout — the muzzle looking as if it could not be properly secured in time and instead sloppily covering only the top of its mouth with the sides digging into its cheeks, the bottom part of the muzzle completely unfastened — clearly not for a lack of trying.

The creature shifts slightly without warning, seeming to try and drag itself back upwards before giving up as it is unsuccessful in drunkenly finding a foothold beneath itself.

At the very least, it seemed it would be a quiet and beastless night at the library.

[palaceoffatties]

time to rank muse sizes!

Bow (aka blob) weighs in tonnage instead of pounds , swimming in fat the walls to his room are gone as his sea of gluttony has soread to the teo rooms adjacent to him

Kikimora , lighter than bow by a decent margin but she’s short af that weight S P R E A D S to the point where just like blob she spills into other rooms but doesn’t fill them like bow

Double trouble at full size when they’re blobbed out they weigh more than kiki by a small margins and are able to fill a room now!

Zeena another case of shortstack width , she’s been bound to her room for ages , only member of the palace to have an onlyfans just to boost her ego

Cala maria , sure she takes up a fuckload of space but if she was shrunk to normal size she’d be one of the smaller blobs

Odalia blight another full embrace of the feedee lifestyle , she demands to be hand fed and as such actually has robot attendants made by entrapta , odalia is a major roomfiller with heavy tits and those pixar mom hips actually begining to crack the walls of her room .

Tracer , her ass alone counts as a bed her pear shape is one of the most visible in the whole palace given her torso does give the impression she’d be pretty thin . Only cartoonishly pear shaped girl in the palace

Grusha , after he got stuck in doors he just submitted to blobdom , he’s bed breaking but still fits in his room properly

Cosma , she can grow and shrink at will , which is sorta cheating but she can be a micro blob so it’s a win .

Lord domminator the last of the roomfullers , she’s fully given into this blob lifestyle , it’s impossible to tell where the gut ends and the ass begins with a yoga ball sized rack and chuns a plenty to use as pillows

Android 17 another mega pear , his gut and ass take up 50% of his bedroom and provide quite the view when he flies or is by a window he’s one of three muses still mobile as blobs

Polly! Technically weightless but her tits alone are about the size of android 17 she’s only this low because she’s technically weightless

Looma , still restrained in her room with chains that she’s totally into , her heft is suspended two feet in the air yet her gut still touches the ground , pancake stacks of folds covering her arms and rocking the quadboob look looma if allowed to fully spread on the floor would cover about a quarter of the room .

Scorpia still mobile but leaning into heavy blob , her thickened hips destroy normal couches snd make the reinforced ones creak , her musclegut has no rival , the only strongfat left in brightmoon

Shadow weaver , bedbound and spoiled rotten she’s fully embraced blobdom and it shows with her slobby tendancies and bed filling gut

Sombra , her spying mission quickly got screwed by entrapta , she’s been bedbound for a while now but is one of the smallest overall

Kiriko , orginally tracer’s feeder who quickly got addicted to snacks , she’s become blobby and horny as hell about it , very gut heavy with chins to match , her chest is still mostly flat .

Coral @bigfatglimmer the queen is one of the smallest blobs but with her weight changing on a whim from magic anons or her own spells she can fit near the too of the list if she desires .

Angella , her royal titty queen is borderline blob still mobile and still very active her bust covers counters entirely but the rest of her heft while impressive is nowhere near that size .

Entrapta , the only non blob remaining she’s still as thin as she was in canon!

[theredkingmuses]

Rules

                                                          Last Updated: 8 July 2024

Muse List: [Tumblr Version] [Carrd Version (WIP)]

Google Docs Version: [View Here]

                                         Tyto | 30+ | He/They

General Rules:

→ My blog is 18+. If there is no visible age on your blog, I will not follow back and I will soft block you. Follow me again and I’ll hard block. 

→ I will write problematic content. I will ship problematic dynamics. I will always tag it and warn under a read more. Writing is writing. I don’t believe exploring dark and taboo subjects makes me problematic. I won’t write with you what you’re uncomfortable with, but this is my blog and outside of our threads, you have no say in what I write. If you have a problem with my content, block me and move on. I won’t debate with you. You do you, I do me. 

→ Curate your space. I'll tag what I can but it's not my job to babysit you. I can tag something if you ask, but if there's something you don't like on my blog, unfollow me. Block me. I don't care.

→ Please do not ask me for non-con. It’s not a trigger, but I don’t like it. I may still write it, but only with someone I trust.

→ Tag me in a post to bring it to my attention. ( @theredkingmuses ) If it’s been a week or two and I’ve been replying to other people, you’re free to ask if I saw yours. ( Do not tag me multiple times. )

→ Don’t pressure me for replies, there will be times where I may take weeks, months, etc. to get to a thread. I’ll indefinitely drop the thread if you pressure me. ( I will generally make a post to warn my mutuals if I’m taking a temporary absence/hiatus/break, etc. from tumblr. ) This isn’t a job, this is my hobby. 

→ Follow standard RP etiquette, don’t godmod, don’t metagame, don’t powerplay, trim your threads, move asks to a different post, etc. If you’re not sure, send me an ask. 

→ No drama will be tolerated. If you involve yourself with vague posting, callout culture, or support toxicity, I will hard block you. I’m too old to deal with anyone’s bullshit. 

→ My Asks are Free For All for right now. Any blog can send me an Ask. If anyone abuses this, I will turn off Anon.

→ My IMs are Mutuals Only and always available for plotting. 

→ This is a Multimuse blog. Universes are tagged. Please adhere to the tagged universe.

→ I will be selective with OCs. I RP with OCs if there’s an about page and I can see the potential of our characters interacting. 

→ I am not selective about who I RP with, but I am selective on who I follow back. Too much dash traffic stresses me out.

→ I will write with duplicates of the same character. 

→ Personal blogs get hard blocked unless they are an RP Hub. 

→ One liners, one-para, multi-para, novella, etc. I’m okay with whatever. But if you give me a one liner to a multi/para response, I’ll drop the thread and I will not answer. ( You don’t have to match length, but give me something to work with. )

Shipping Rules:

→ Check the shipping rules per character. I prefer single-ships over multi-ships for comfort.

 ​

[serpentsurgency]

How about we do! :)

M!A Edwin and deity Edwin switch places for about an hour or two; both retain their original memories, but alive Edwin will temporarily gain the limitations and instincts of the creature, while the creature takes on the appearance of its alive self just before it died

[only if the mod is cool with it, of course!]

[Visible to anons and non-muses.]

Edwin was peacefully resting in Henry’s arms, the edge of a shadowed creature just barely visible but tucked away out of sight to the two behind the doorway to the closet. Edwin’s eyes were closed and his expression was soft, barely awake in the comfortable spot.

After a few moments, however; it blinked softly a few times, its eyebrows furrowing a little as if caught off guard by something. After drawing its gaze across its surroundings for a few moments, it’s wide eyes finally rested on Henry.

A few feet away, the creature in the closet twitched slightly, remaining still for a moment before even the edge of it vanished as it slowly pulled itself out of view of even the anons.

[o5-blackbird]

Content Warnings: Description of a gun Visibility: Visible to anons and non-muses

[Media: a video lasting approximately three minutes.]

The video begins in a dim room lit by a single lamp, the light source casting only a small amount of light across the surroundings, the desk, and the small man sitting quietly at it.

The angle of the camera appears to come from somewhere close to the desk, Experimenter’s face hidden somewhere behind the edge of the frame. … Even despite that, he moves slow, fidgeting with something just out of view within his desk’s drawer.

Hesitating for a moment, he slows his movements to a halt before shifting in his seat as he appears to glance somewhere off screen. After another moment and seeming satisfied with the nothing that he sees, however; he moves again and softly drags something small and metallic from the drawer, it glinting as it passes by the camera before it slips back out of sight and to the surface of the desk where only his short small movements provide any indication of what he is doing just out of sight.

… That and the soft noise of metal being set quietly on wood.

A few seconds pass without any movement as Experimenter stares down at the object wordlessly.

He picks it up a moment later, gently raising the item to where the edge of the metallic barrel is visible, inspecting it. After a few moments has passed, he turns it around and looks at something else before moving once more — a soft clicking noise can be heard. After another pause and another long stare, he gently touches something and then the clicking sound is heard once more.

Every movement that he takes with the object is careful and gentle…

He moves it again, continuing to fidget softly with the object before lightly pulling something again — another click following — which is then followed by a repetitive gentle click of something sounding as if it is rolling followed by a gentle but mildly jerked moving resulting in a final click that ceases the rolling sound.

He waits for a few moments before turning the object again, the edge of the barrel visible once more as he appears to look down into it, the edge of his cheek just barely in the frame while maintaining a large but nonetheless mildly unsafe distance from it.

The seconds pass as he appears to stare down at the barrel of the object.

Eventually, he raises his thumb to part of the object just barely off screen, holding it there for a few moments.

Slowly, he turns the object back around and clicks it one, twice, three times…

With a soft sigh, he raises the object, the delicate six-shooter with a wooden handle and dark metal passing the frame of the camera for only a few moments before vanishing into the edge of the frame.

A few more seconds pass as he merely holds it there off screen in a long silence.

His arm shifts as he adjusts his grip.

Moments later, a click rings through the quiet of the room, the connection lingering for only a few moments longer before dropping.

[o5-12]

💭 for Domuque’s Jack?

[OKAY. So, I am really proud of this one and it is very relevant to Adam plots so I am making it visible to both Jack from @ask-the-domuques-scp and anons/non-muses. It is also long so I am putting it under a readmore.]

The stack of folders detailing the birth, family, rise, and subsequent fall of a former staff member weighed heavily in your arms. It was significantly heavy compared to many of the other staff members that had wandered these halls — and yet it hardly felt heavier than that of a newborn.

On the cover, written in neat black font, tied together with a neat black bow as if specifically wrapped together for him; Dr. Jack Bright, Senior Staff alongside a name that had been long redacted adjoined with a date from only a few short months prior.

Slowly, you made your way back to the desk, resting the old oil-lamp and sole source of light on the desk beside you, waiting for only a few moments before pulling the ribbon and gently opening the first file.

There were more details then you could recall giving. You could not gauge what was shared by who; either your successor or the Administrator was your best guess. You doubted any other would speak so freely.

You poured over each folder slowly, gently closing and setting aside any folders that clung too harshly to the deep and dark details that you had never been proud of — that you doubted he would have been proud of.

As the rise of the infamous researcher began to draw to a sparse end, you noticed the lamp begin to flicker and your breath catch.

The oil was nearing it's final drops. It would hardly last for the full duration.

You could not bring the folders with you either; it would only serve to put dig his grave faster. Despite that, you could not seperate from them now. You had to read to the end. To know what happened. To know what became of the last prodigal Bright offspring.

Quietly but swiftly, you picked up the lamp and folders, taking care to separate those that you had already read, and made your way across the room towards the fireplace that had not seen embers in far too long.

With only a moment of hesitation, you crouched down and placed the folders already read gently into the cold frame as carefully as one would place a slumbering baby in a crib, taking just a final moment before uncapping and tipping the remaining oil of the lamp onto the paper. Finally, you pressed the end of the flames to the documents, watching as they lit aflame.

You blinked once, twice, before taking note that it was burning much too quick. It would not last.

You quickly pushed through the last few pages of his time as an employee; recognizing that only a single thin folder remained beneath it. He had advanced in his career, he had moved to the administrative department, he had become close to a few — many of which were already long gone.

With the end of that folder, you scrambled to slide the papers back in and close the folder before flicking it too into the flames, watching as it lit for only a moment before directing your attention back down.

'June, 1936,' The only words on the cover of the pathetically thin file. It felt ill-fitting considering you knew it described his end. Regardless, you pulled it into your lap and threw it open, hurried against the fast burning fuel of your only light source.

You already knew what it would say.

It was obvious by the date.

You still needed to read it yourself.

The fireplace was burning so quick.

You read the first page, describing the context of the scenario. You already knew the context. You read it anyways.

The moment you skimmed the last word, you pushed away the last remaining paper and flicked the already-read paper and the document case sharply into the fireplace before picking up the final page. The fireplace chewed through the other paper so quickly.

Within seconds, you would have nothing.

No ability to save the document for later without prying eyes.

No light to read it here and now.

No son to tell you what lead him to what happened himself.

With hardly a moment of frantic thought, you pressed the very top of the paper into the embers, lighting only the end of the paper just as the fireplace began to crackle into dim darkness.

Quickly, using the lit end of the page that cast the softest slow glow across the words on the page, you read as the fire chased each word.

At the end, as the very last few words burned to charred remains on the floor and cast you into finalized and empty darkness, your assumptions were confirmed.

Defected.

[bridges-to-ashes]

Remember + Val, a memory about their time in containment!

Forgotten.

Warnings: imprisonment, implied harm to a non-present person, lip biting/picking

Word count: 700

[Visible to anons and non-muses.]

He sits perfectly still in the middle of his cell, out of reach of the bed, the desk, and the half-hearted excuse of a bookshelf bolted against the walls, his knees pressed against the cold floor with only the thin fabric of his bare, white pants to cushion his discomfort. With his hands resting on his knees, in easy sight of the irritatingly nervous guard stationed across the room, his dark eyes remain fixated on the door that had been left ajar twenty minutes prior, right when the doctor was meant to come and check on him.

Instead of getting one of those rare but mildly entertaining visits, however, he had gotten stuck on the ground, watched by some idiot that assumed him to be a threat for no other reason than the white he had no choice but to wear, listening to the bright screams of someone down the hall.

He heard her often, especially at night, even if the walls of these cells were meant to be sound-proof; and for the past few years, he had been left to wonder whether he should be impressed by her ability to surpass the sound-proofing or whether he should consider breaching for the sole reason of getting her to finally shut up.

He, of course, didn't do the latter, and never commented on the former either.

Instead, with a quiet sigh of annoyance, he closes his eyes and listens for the smaller noises around, for the guard's uneasy shifting and the ticking of the clock that had a habit of driving him just as mad as the yelling, for the shutting of a door and-

Steps.

His shoulders relax ever so slightly at this sound, focusing on it until it drowns out the screams, coming closer, closer, closer, until they stop and a quiet voice speaks to the guard, permitting them to leave the room. Still, his eyes remain closed, his knees painfully numb on the ground, his hands resting on his legs where they are easily visible.

"Would you join me for a cup of tea?", a familiarly warm voice offers, the doctor's voice joined by the quiet clicking of the door as the guard escapes as quickly as they can while retaining their dignity. Only when the lock has clicked in place does he open his eyes again, taking a moment to look the other man up and down.

He has taken his usual seat at the table already, carefully placing down two porcelain cups and a matching teapot, a warm expression on his soft features. The doctor looks more tired than usual, he notes, his lower lip bearing a shimmer of red from biting it too hard, the careful double-fold of his sleeves having slipped and become messy throughout whatever appointment proceeded his own.

Amber eyes slip from the delicate porcelain and down to where he still rests, and their tiredness seems to lessen a little as he smiles at him and gestures towards the second chair. With a light huff, he gets up to his feet and wanders over to the offered spot, sitting down there with his arms crossed over his chest; even without saying a word, his demeanor makes the doctor laugh, a light noise he had come to enjoy over time.

"I'm sorry for letting you wait", the doctor apologizes, drawing a vague smile from him that breaks his dramatized annoyance. "But I think I have just the right thing to buy your favor back, hm?"

The doctor's warm smile grows as he leans down and carefully pushes the basket he had brought along over to where he sits. He looks at him for a moment, at his face, then at his hand, and only after that at the basket. Pulling it over fully, he flips the lid open, taking a few seconds to glance over the contents inside - even he can't help but allow his expression to soften into a soft smile at the slight.

"Gulliver's Travels, in the first edition. I thought you might enjoy it."

[rpbetter]

Hi! How do you distinguish between a mun who has favorites but still treats their non favorites with respect, and a mun who has favorites but uses this as an excuse to disrespect everyone else? Sometimes it's hard for me to tell, and I'd love to hear what you think.

Hey, Anon! That's actually a great question.

It's also totally reasonable to have a hard time telling. When you feel like you might be a little more into the threads than the other mun is, no matter how much they're being respectful and caring, it can still feel a bit...lame. We all want to be a favorite writing partner, even as we know that's impossible, that we can't manage that ourselves. It's not a thing of logic!

I feel like I should probably preface the detailing I'm about to do - this is only my experience. There are always variables in anything dealing with other people, and any time we're already feeling down, it's really easy to see things in a way that might not be the reality.

Alright, then.

Muns who use this as an excuse or justification for what they're doing tend to be the ones that:

are likely to pair the excuse/justification with aggressively vilifying anyone who takes issue with their treatment of them for being too serious about RP/too emotionally invested in anything from friendships to ships/otherwise "not realizing it's just a hobby" - apparently, "hobby" actually means "you're not making a dollar, so, do whatever you want in whatever way you want, so long as it's making you and only you happy and comfortable," who knew?

will lead muns on, either because they're uncomfortable with telling those who are not the favorites that...well, they're not the favorites and they might wish to just drop the threads or because...

they have a bit of a habit of going through favorites/their favorites take frequent breaks or are slower to reply, and it's good to have other muns around for when either situation happens - it's okay if everyone else is bored and/or left out, but not them

become angry and defensive if you ask them about your thread(s) and/or if everything is alright after a reasonable period of inactivity only on your threads*

if they previously had OOC contact and/or a friendship with you, it's one pole or another of OOC behavior with you now - no contact/as little as they can possibly manage or they'll proceed like you also only want to have conversations about what is going on with the favorite(s), the ships, the threads, the fandom, the mun. Before anyone misconstrues this to mean that "so, no matter what they do it's sus lol," no. There is such a thing as neither insulting someone by having nothing else to talk about except the mun/muse/ship you're ignoring them for nor just stopping/avoiding conversation altogether. It's actually not normal or acceptable to treat people like disposable fixations or expect them to be thrilled or lie about it when you can't shut up about their replacement(s)

in general, if this mun just keeps making it apparent that neither you nor anyone else exists unless they're the favored mun? That's really it. That's the difference between having favorites and still treating other muns with respect - there isn't any respect, none of you exist to respect

*I'm not going to speak to what is reasonable to everyone, it's one of those things I think muns should mention to some degree in their rules, but with people taking it to mean things it doesn't, it's doubtful that's going to happen. (I encourage it, though, please, put in your rules when you'll ask about threads or if you'll assume there is no more interest and they've been dropped. "After one month of no reply and no OOC contact, I will either contact you to ask if you're still interested." No big deal!) For me, it would depend on the mun themselves, even if I've got in my rules that after x time, I will assume y. If this is a mun that has updated OOC that they're extra slow right now, and they're usually pretty slow, I'm going to just see that as them prioritizing preferred partners with what little time they have, that's not coming across as rude favoritism to me at that point. If it's a mun that has continued to reply as normal, posted no updates OOC, and they're specifically just replying to one or two favorites with that regular timing, I'm going to ask if they're still interested after a month or so.

The problem always is that, despite what the RPC likes to say for the same damn reason, we're all afraid to be acting on ridiculous suspicion and paranoia. We get treated a certain way, maybe it is once and it was just extremely bad, maybe it has happened over and over again, and we really do start seeing phantoms of ill-treatment. It becomes difficult to trust your own judgment and listen to your inner voice (one that, furthermore, is already at least a bit embattled by life on and offline).

These are only some points to help you trust yourself or disprove yourself if you already feel like there might be this problem going on.

If you have someone who could be impartial when given evidence, you might want to consider asking if they'd mind helping you identify if this is a problem or not. Don't mention mun names or even muses if you're in the same intersections of the RPC, you're not trying to smear anyone here, just get a different viewpoint that isn't touched by any negative or positive feelings about that mun!

I said "evidence," so, I want to be clear that I did not mean screenshots or direct quotes. Give situations, what the mun is and is not doing, as both are important.

Some questions that might help you identify things to present to a third party for help:

Are they replying to any of your threads, how about asks?

If/when they reply to you IC, how do they reply? Is it shorter than it used to be, unenthusiastic? Or is it the same, just fewer and farther between, or less interesting to you than what they're doing with preferred partners?

Are the plots they're doing with the favorite(s) ones that you previously had with them or that you had plotted out and were working toward? And if that answer is yes, are these common plots that can be applied anywhere or specific ones?

Is this all something that is perhaps temporary overexcitement, or has this just kept going on for months, shows no sign of stopping?

Did you speak/were friends OOC? If so, how has this changed? Frequency of messaging, topics of conversation, enthusiasm, interest in you or your muse?

Are you now left out of games on the dash in which you used to be tagged, or unwelcome in things like "dash crack?" Is it, by contrast, that you might be welcome in the latter, but either it doesn't interest you by inclusion/focus of the favorite or because you lack a base of engagement with what's going on?

Do they send you memes, has that changed at all?

The way you feel is valid, but it might also be influencing the way you're viewing a situation, including in how you relate it to someone else for help. So, try to stick to actions when doing so.

By contrast, muns who have favorites but are not using this to justify being disrespectful to others tend to:

be open and upfront about having favorites and why - they're not trying to hide anything, including what makes their favorite writing partners, threads, and ships favorites to begin with

^they are not "open and upfront" by obnoxiously reminding everyone constantly who those favorites are, they're not shit posting how @munthatisntyou is their bestie/their muse is lusting after their muse/actually my wife. They are upfront about it by stating in their rules they can, will, and do have favorites. They're open about it by not lying or acting like it's the worst accusation ever when someone asks them about it

definitely have priority threads, might have an easier, thus faster, time responding to questions/prompts regarding those threads/ships, but still respond with equal interest to memes from others*

the same is true of interest and turnaround time with thread replies, they might get the preferred ones out faster, but they're still replying to everyone and still keeping other muns updated on what's going on*

will not be hostile when approached by fair, politely put concerns about threads, but rather, will respond with honesty as to their interests - whether they have, indeed, changed or haven't alike

they still express the same interest OOC outside of messages, liking and commenting on posts, sending memes, and being concerned or congratulatory when they see OOC posts dealing with life events

in general, muns who just have favorites like everyone does remain aware of others in the same way they always have, still make efforts to respond to threads, memes, messages, etc. with the same interest they always have - they appreciate everyone they interact with, not only their favorite(s)

*Everyone has a different way that works for them, and that influences their meme answering, thread replying, and OOC response turnaround time. A very social mun might respond to OOC messages more frequently, reliably, and with more zeal than a mun who is less socially active, forgetful, or dealing with different difficulties that might prevent doing so, for example. As another example, a mun who writes lengthy, detailed novella that takes a while to finish is going to take longer with everyone than a mun who writes in a way, or just has more time to write, that allows for replies to get out faster. Please, keep expectations and observances mindful of these factors and differences! What is typical of one mun might be perceived as legitimate favoritism when contrasted with a mun who operates differently than them.

That's really the difference, there is recognition and appreciation of everyone. They might have a visibly different friendship with their favorite(s), but it doesn't come with the cost of treating everyone else either like they don't exist or like total shit. And that comes in many ways, as many ways as there are possible interactions in the RPC. From being casual mutuals who do not write together (still acknowledging posts etc.) to outright writing partners (still giving replies with as much effort and quality).

You can think of muns like this as you would people who have different sorts of friendships as opposed to people who have rather cliquey friendships in which it's often enough a clique of two in which everyone else, even if included or otherwise used by those two, only exists out of necessity. The former is a normal social situation, we get on well with the people we do for a reason, and that's perfectly alright. The latter is some immature and self-interested behavior one should have grown out of in junior high.

As you didn't ask for this, I'm putting it under the cut as additional advice for others!

If you feel like someone is being disrespectful, or worse, and is glossing it over with "it's okay for people to have favorites, calm down" (a thing that's totally true but not meant to be used to excuse shitty behavior), you really do want to just remove yourself from the situation. In a situation like that, you're not going to change their behavior, and even if you did, are you ever going to be able unsee it?

What is more likely to happen is you'll be growing the seed of upset they planted into a big tree of animosity. Every time you are on your dash and see them replying or tagging their favorite(s), you're going to be either hurt or angry. Eventually, it's impossible to separate which of those things you are, and it's increasingly likely you're going to say or do something regrettable. And I mean regrettable in how it is likely to negatively affect you. You don't deserve to be branded a terrible person for an outburst. The situation has been bad enough.

Whether you should soft block to unfollow and force an unfollow, hard block, unfollow with or without communication is all subject to too many variables for me to advise any single course of action.

If it's possible to communicate politely that you're officially dropping threads or unfollowing, I will always advise doing so. If that isn't possible because this mun has been that terrible, or has proven in the past that they will react badly to such communications, then so be it, just quietly remove yourself from their presence.

You owe friends, even former ones if they've not done you awfully, the decency of communicating that you're ending things. You owe mutuals who haven't done anything more than ignoring you (as awful as that is, it's not as bad as being aggressively disrespectful, lying to you, leading you on, etc.) that decency and maturity as well. You do not owe anyone who has behaved like an immature ass that decency, it's okay to just leave in those cases. As it is in situations when you feel confident that speaking to them is going to cause drama for you.

When a mun hasn't ever really interacted with you, you've become mutuals, but it never went anywhere because they were already engaged in ignoring everyone except the favorite(s), it's alright to just leave quietly, too. They clearly don't register that you exist, so...don't exist. Go exist around muns who know you're there. But the caveat to that should be that if they decide to notice your vacant spot on the dash and come to you to ask about this, you should answer them. Be honest, but polite. Tell them that you just didn't see working out with them after all, and since you hadn't interacted, you unfollowed.

You never know (you just shouldn't count on it), in that latter case especially, that mun might honestly not be aware of the effect of their actions. Like everyone else, they're just doing what they enjoy, what makes them happy is what they're concentrated on, and might genuinely just have a narrow field of vision on it until spoken to.

Whatever is right for the unique situation at hand, don't lie to someone if they message you about it. Don't just act like it was an accidental unfollow or a tumblr glitch, grit your teeth, and add them back so that there is no unpleasantness. There is already unpleasantness if you felt the need to distance yourself from them, remember that!

[iinfortunii]

rules: code of conduct.

BEGIN.

Before we start, I would like you to have certain things in mind when approaching me ooc. I am very shy and quite awkward, which results in me not being much of a talker; however, I will always try my best to be friendly to whoever wants to approach. I dislike pet names so please do not use them with me unless we are very close. There will be times when I'm just exhausted, so my wording could sound rude/aggressive, to which I apologize in advance -I never mean to hurt people’s feelings. I also reserve the right to interact with WHOEVER I want, and pestering me about it will only get you blocked.

Updates will be made as required.

I. BASIC.

A. This blog is: Selective / Independent / Canon Divergent / NSFW / Mutuals only / Singleship / Mostly iconless / Multiverse / AU, Crossover, OC, and Multimuse friendly / Vaguely affiliated with the OP RP fandom.

B. I am a very slow rper for many reasons —school, family, my ever-fluctuating mood —and I would appreciate it if you refrained from pestering me for replies. In return I offer as much patience as necessary. Think of this blog as low activity please.

C. English is not my mother language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes made.

D. I track the tag #iinfortunii, although mentioning me works just as fine.

E. Constructive criticism is always welcome but anon hate will be immediately deleted. I have no problems if you disagree with my portrayal, but it doesn't give you the right to harass me.

F. Mun and muse are both over 18, so there are chances that heavy content will be present; however I won't be writing smut. I can roleplay anything before or after the act if requested, but the moment things get far too explicit, I'll do a fade-to-black. I ask of you to not lie about your age or else you’ll be blocked indefinitely.

G. This is a heavily headcanon-based blog, and changes are likely to be made as more information is revealed about him, though I reserve the right to adjust the new information according to my interpretation of Deuce or simply ignore it, which is why I’m canon divergent.

H. If you'd like to turn an ask into a thread, you can turn it into a new post, or reblog from me, as I won't be using the Tumblr asks anymore due to the problems that come with formatting and such.

I. Ask box is open for everyone ic or ooc, but you aren't allowed to turn it into a thread and nor I will reply to it if we’re not mutuals. Please don't push me, because I won't hesitate to block.

J. No godmoding —only a minor is allowed if it moves a thread forward —or metagaming, please. Don't kill Deuce either, unless plotted beforehand, and most importantly, don't hold your muse back.

K. Discord is available for mutuals upon request.

L. Just because I write something it does not mean I condone it. Please have this in mind and again, do not pester me about it. Any and all nsfw matters will be tagged accordingly. There will be triggering topics present, and you can know more about this on the section below.

M. DO NOT involve me in drama or call-out posts. I’m heavily against both things. On this note, you’ll never see me rebloging a call-out post. This culture is so damaging and toxic, and I firmly believe no one should play the role of the judge for the good of the community just because you had issues with someone or don’t agree with the things they roleplay. Talk things privately, be mature about it, hard-block the person and move on. I am also very aware that a lot of people have done things that can’t be excused, but I like to believe that people can change for the better. If you try to drag me into it, I'll hard block any and all people involved indefinitely.

II. TRIGGERS.

A. They will be tagged as trigger tw, trigger / and trigger cw.

B. I do my best to stay up to date with my mutuals triggers. Your comfort is way more important to me than you might think, so never be hesitant to approach me via IM, (anonymous) ask or stop following me.

C. Triggers that are likely to appear, although some more than others: violence || blood || death || drugs || abuse || knives || body image || medical equipment || suggestive content || etc

D. I have no triggers, so you are free to go wild with your content. I only ask you remember to tag your nsfw (both written and visual), please.

III. INTERACTIONS.

A. Deuce won't like everyone. He might/will make wrong assumptions about your character. He will insult and bite back. He won't always be nice to those he likes. He does many things that serve his interests. You, as the mun, have no reason to take it personal, because I'm won't follow someone I don't like; if you DO take it personal however, and decide to rouse drama, then I'll be hard-blocking you. Goes for me as well —I have no reason to get angry for any of the things noted above.

B. My bonds page displays the relationships that have been built over time, not necessarily through interaction alone but over plotting as well. Refer to it for more information.

C. Interactions with OCs related to canon characters will only take place as long as said OCs have a detailed about page. Personally, I'm not interested in the idea of an OC being blood-related to my portrayal, so I apologize in advance.

D. Formatting isn’t a big thing across my blogs, save for the small text. Please don’t mix either sup/sub with small text when writing with me, as I have eyesight problems. Don’t use colored text either.

E. Non-romantic pre-established relationships are allowed! Just make sure to talk it out with me first, yeah?

01. Spade / Whitebeard pirates (canon and original characters alike that i am MUTUALS with) will have a pre-established relationship as long as the other mun is comfortable with such idea, though that relationship will be limited to merely crewmates, unless discussed otherwise.

F. You don’t need to match my writing length as long as I’m given enough to work with. If something about my reply bothers or doesn’t work with you, let me know and I’ll re-work it.

G. I really enjoy plotting scenarios or talking out about the relationships my muse could have with other muses, so hit me up if you’ve got any ideas! I’ll try to do the same!

H. Mun does not equal muse, so don’t go assuming I’m a jerk simply because Deuce is an asshole from time to time. I’m set on the idea that I’ll give people the same treatment they give me —which is always nice and kind. Kudos to everyone for this ♡

I. I don’t use a threadtracker because I rely on my memory (terrible mistake, I know), but I try to draft people’s replies as soon as I see them. If by any reason it seems like I lost it, then please let me know / send me a link with it and I’ll be deeply grateful.

J. I don’t do nor reply to greetings starters for matters of my own comfort, so I ask of you to never expect a starter or a reply from them.

IV. SHIPPING.

A. Singleship, with the spot taken by daadzi, which means Deuce is no longer open for romantic relationships.

01. Under no circumstances, I will accept more romantic relationships once the spot is taken. That being said, I won’t discourage your muse from falling for / hitting on him, although I ask you to understand he will never respond with the same interest or will never react gently if he’s pushed too far.

02. If my shipping partner is comfortable enough, I'll interact with duplicates with the condition that the relationship is strictly platonic.

B. Constant interaction, mutual interest, and chemistry are a must for the sake of better communication (both ic and ooc, preferably).

C. Please do not approach me if you wish our characters to have either a: one night stand or friends with benefits type of relationships. It won’t work out due to the nature of Deuce’s personality, and for that I apologize.

E. My ship has its own tag so you're free to block it if you don't want to see it on your dashboard. In addition, I'll also tag those posts with only the ship name for this very purpose.

F. Please do not force ships on me.

V. CELEBRATIONS.

A. First off, I am absolutely terrible at keeping up with dates, and to be frank, I am not the biggest fan of celebrating, which is why I think it’s necessary to say I won’t be partaking in any holidays, not even Deuce’s birthday (not that he has one, to begin with). Obviously I will still reply to any gifts received, and will send out things in return —you know, common courtesy.

B. I won't be sending out birthday gifts every year, and I might write drabbles for people once in a blue moon; it doesn’t mean they will be done for the specific date though, so please be patient.

VI. REASONS TO NOT FOLLOW BACK / UNFOLLOW.

A. Too much drama / call-outs / vague posts / sexual content.

B. Content makes me uncomfortable.

C. You are a personal blog without a visible rp sideblog. Please make sure it's easy to find.

D. You do not have a proper tag system.

E. Your blog doesn’t have a rules and about pages.

F. You lack the manners to deal with people respectfully.

G. I have no interest / lost interest.

H. I'm constantly / only used as a meme archive.

I. Other reasons may apply. I will soft block so we can both cease following each other and avoid any potential awkward situations. I won’t make a fuss if you decide to unfollow so I expect the same courtesy.

VII. ABOUT BEATRICE.

She is not a real person. Her concept as Deuce’s (toxic) pseudolover is my creation and was somewhat inspired from the real life Beatrice Portinari. Do have in mind that Deuce doesn’t talk about her so your muse can’t simply approach him and ask about her unless they can go through his memories / read his mind / any capability alike or he speaks about her, though it won't take a genius to figure out that she's a product of his imagination.

You can read about her by clicking here -link to be added.

She serves as a lie to shield himself from the internalized homophobia he deals with up until meeting Ace.

NOTE: As stated previously, Mun =/= muse, but I too have been dealing with compulsory heterosexuality for far too long, so I'd like to apologize in advance for projecting a bit of that into my portrayal. I'll work so that this part makes sense with what we've been given from Ace's novel.

VIII. MISCELLANEOUS.

A. I will never force people to follow me, so if by any reason you have to unfollow/block me, please go ahead. Your comfort matters and have every right to do what you must to ensure your wellbeing. With that said, I will not tolerate and will immediately hard block if you try to police my content.

B. I do not follow back immediately, and it can take me from a few hours to several days to follow back. Do not take it personally if I choose not to.

C. If I follow it’s because I am interested in interacting. I only ask you to be patient because it might take me a while to gather the courage to send something to your inbox or talk to you.

D. I have. ZERO knowledge about medicine. Don’t expect me to go full force and try to be 100% accurate, because I won’t.

E. I practice reblog karma (send a meme to someone if I’m rebloging it from them). If you see something you’d like to reblog but have no intention in sending something yourself, then please reblog from the source.

IX. FINISH.

Thank you for taking the time to read this! As you might have noticed, there’s no password to send. Make sure to check the psa tag for any updates, or don’t hesitate to send an ask if there’s anything unclear! I do my best so as not to post too much OOC posts, but sometimes it just happens. If it's nothing important, then I'll erase it whenever I have the chance/remember.

Keanu Reeves vc: You’re all breathtaking!

[ambitionsource]

Heyy can i ask for a bonus content of rl and da first double date, like riley freaking out and lucas being like chill you know them and stuff

so this has been sitting in here for like months, thank you for your patience if u are still out there anon!

it’s definitely not a question as to whether or not rl and da are each other’s go to double date duo. it’s easily confirmed and in some ways always felt like an inevitability. it really does stand to wonder, as riley did in cruel summer, if things would’ve been different in s2 if she had dedicated more time to befriending asher and dylan as individuals rather than sort of knowing them through lucas -- if that friendship had been cemented earlier, perhaps the chain of events could’ve been shifted or changed entirely. it’s something to muse about, for sure. it’s especially true of dylan and riley, who we’ll see in s3 have built a quite close friendship and rapport in such a short amount of time. this is, again, bc they’re the definition of kindred spirits.

but yeah, back early in the summer of love, i don’t think such an easy friendship would’ve felt so guaranteed. yes, there’s always been some kind of magnetic draw from riley to lucas and the two of them, but she doesn’t know if that’s a) reciprocated and b) plausible. like i don’t think she worries that asher and dylan won’t like her, since they basically already all know each other, but its that feeling of like... you know. kind of like you said, just stressing that it will feel awkward or stilted and won’t just click into place

the key to this, honestly, is dylan. because even though asher and lucas can be as non-problematic as possible and lucas can assure riles up and down it will be fine and asher can express little to no apprehension towards the whole idea, both of them are... how do i put this. off-putting, in their own respective ways. i think lucas and asher are both extreme creatures of habit and so even if riley is welcome in their circle now, neither of them know like... how to Act to make that clear. they’re not going to much change their own behavior, which doesn’t make it abundantly Clear that riley is a very welcome new player. like asher will treat riley normally and be nice to her and enjoy her company you know, but he won’t be like RILEY IT’S SO AWESOME THAT YOU’RE HERE.

dylan, on the other hand, DOES have that energy. so that first afternoon in june when they decide to all get together and go drive up to the hideout and spend some time chilling there, dylan is completely on his a game. he just knows how to make someone feel welcome and comfortable, so he puts all those skills to work when they come together. asher and dylan pick riley and lucas up and he’s immediately visibly excited to see her, greets her eagerly, even tells asher to get in the back so riley can sit in the passenger seat up front with him. this is honestly a smart move, because it allows for dylan and riley to converse a lot more easily and doesn’t make the lack of interjection from lucas or softer tenor of asher’s contributions to the conversation feel as noticeable. so dylan asks riley a million questions the entire drive up there -- which is still a new journey for riley, because lucas has only shown her how to drive up there like once at that point -- while asher and riley pass control of music back and forth.

i think the thing that helps too in terms of making the whole thing feel more natural is the fact that it doesn’t FEEL like Two Couples Getting Together. it just feels like a group outing. like cause dasher have already been a unit but in tandem with lucas for so long, so it feels less like they’re two separate halves of the group and more just a... harmonious quadrilateral. also bc both of them are relatively informal and unconventional pairs, it doesn’t exactly feel like a Date. you know what i mean? like they’re not at all dressed up or acting like it’s this big serious outing, they’re just hanging out as friends that just happen to be two couples. so in a way, riley can prioritize her focus -- like rather than thinking about the Date aspect of it and how she needs to act with / around lucas (which at this point they’re still trying to get used to and navigate + explore, they’ve only been Together for like a couple weeks), she can focus on building her rapport and friendship with dylan and asher

and that’s basically how it goes. they get to the hideout, the boys kind of give her the unofficial “tour,” and then i figure the group of them were planning to picnic up there since they’re all kind of outdoorsy people to a degree and it’s not a broiling hot june afternoon and its nice and shady in the hideaway. so they all brought along pieces for the meal (where lucas got his contributions, they don’t ask, though they all can make assumptions -- in a week or so he’ll be teaching riley how to shoplift make up and small items out of convenience stores so) and then just chill and chat while they eat. and i think that would start out a little awkward for riley, just because the three of them have such an established rhythm and rapport and she has to figure out where her voice can chime in, but she gets the hang of it pretty quickly and by the middle of the meal she doesn’t feel nearly as nervous anymore

then i figure dylan and lucas decide theyre going to go check if the trail nearby is decent for a good post-lunch walk hike type deal, so asher and riley clean up together and that’s her chance to get a better reading on where she stands with asher. and when it’s just the two of them i think asher would get more shy, because that’s just who he is, but riley pretty quickly figures out that its not a fruitless situation between them here. like she can earn asher’s trust and become a closer friend with him, it’s just obviously not going to be as simple and nearly effortless as with dylan (both because he’s so sociable and also because, as they’ll come to truly know very soon on the road trip, they really are just kindred spirits as said above). she’ll have to take things bit by bit with asher and earn his favor with time, and she can work with that. she’s definitely starting off in NEGATIVe territory, like he does already like her company, its just about weaseling her way into his actual deep friendship territory which is very hard to break into with asher.

i think, on a slightly different angle, though i don’t think he would show it lucas would be equally nervous about the whole thing. not because of like, his own presentation (since he’s definitely the one with the most established credit with all parties involved), but because i think he worries that for some god forsaken reason they won’t like each other. this is kind of funny just given the fact that he is like the most polarizing and hard to swallow figure of the four of them LMAO, but also like i get it. its not a realistic concern, but its the kind of one you get when something very important is about to happen, like what is the worst thing that could happen in this scenario. and considering how crucial both riley and dasher are to his life, it obviously feels very... major, whether or not they can intermingle in a way thats natural and positive and ideally, good enough that people want to do so more often

lucky for him, he actually had nothing to worry about

-- Maggie

[andormeddows]

A night at the opera ::: John Deacon (I)

Pairing: Fem!Reader x John Deacon

Requested: Yes! Anon, if you’re reading this, I would love to know if you liked it or not!

Summary: The reader is a very talented opera singer, but the company she’s at makes her feel bad about her weight, because she has a bigger bust than most others do. She gets fitted for a dress which causes her to feel insecure about its extreme cleavage and John reminds her how perfect she is and how much he loves her frame. Fluff!

Word count: 3432

Warnings: None, I guess?

Notes: See what I did with the title? Sorry, it just had to be done! Also, guys, I know nothing about how Freddie and John walked around London, so I tried to picture… I don’t even know if people would run for then if they ever saw them on the streets. Sorry, I don’t know. I also had to do some research about opera in general, hope I could get its essence. I pictured 80′s Deacy while writing this one. Anyway, I hope you like it! I loved this request! Feedback is always appreciated!

Part 2 is here!

Masterlist is here!

The scenery changed on the upstage as the opera overture rehearsal ended. The screeching of the sheaves echoed as ropes were fiercely pulled. Musicians, accommodated in the orchestra pit below the stage, hurriedly reorganized sheet music. Artists packed the offspring wings, including you, awaiting the orchestra cue for their entrance.

However, as soon as you noticed your colleagues looking sideways at your costume, you timidly hurried away from the crowded offspring to the backstage. As always, they weren’t exactly admiring your costume, but vilifying you for the extreme cleavage made visible by it.

“It seems costume designers measured YN’s bust wrongly once again,” Tina murmured to Dermot, simpering at her own ruthless words.

Being an utterly talented opera singer had never characterized you amongst your colleagues. In fact, it had always been unimportant after being hired by the company. Since the first day, comments have been whispered regarding your bust, bigger than average, causing you to feel insecure about your weight. It had never been a preoccupation, but, after accidentally listening to ballerinas shrieking with laughter backstage while teasing your presentation because of your costume, doubts emerged.

“YN! It’s your cue!”

Astoundingly blinking, the director’s voice dragged you back to your senses. The artists on the stage silently whined, rolling eyes at the director’s command to restart the act. Once again, people gathered on the offspring wings.

“Can you get this right?” Tina questioned irritated, voice exploding with sarcasm. “We’re debuting tonight, love.”

As the orchestra restarted the music, people reached the stage. Ballerinas moved across the upstage according to the choreography as extras reached their positions, silently acting. Gulping, you obliged your legs to move, dragging your body to the stage center, where a spotlight had been focused. Your hands tightly gripped at the skirt, slightly pulling it upwards.

In his apartment, at the very time your voice echoed around the theatre, John sighed. His luggage lay untouched by the apartment door. The Game Tour had been over for five days. He refused to unpack until his mind accepted the fact that the chaotic, but marvelous, months spent playing bass around the world were over.

Drafts of unfinished songs lay over the coffee table, whether being written on tour or during boredom-filled hours at his apartment. Underneath the mess, lay two tickets accompanied by a short letter. Your letter. John smiled, sitting on the leather armchair and pulling it towards him. He would never mistake your slanting handwriting for any other on Earth.

God, he had missed you. Being away from home for such a long time without being able to call you for weeks in a row had its effect on him. He missed spending afternoons with you listening to old records. He missed the nights you would spend at his apartment as he wrote songs, bass propped on his laps while he repeatedly played melodies. He missed going for late night walks around the city, stopping by coffee shops to buy any hot beverage. He missed visiting you on the opera house, where he would explore its backstage and all its magical, yet slightly messy, environment. He missed hearing your angelic singing around your apartment. He missed seeing your laugh, how your face would lovely contort into a smile and lit up with such happiness.

He missed you. Absentmindedly chuckling at his thoughts, he took a sip from a steaming mug of tea in one of his hands as he reread the letter. He couldn’t wait to see you.

Deacy,

I could have called you, but it would definitely spoil the surprise. Since I already had to send the tickets, I decided to write a letter as well. Honestly, I wish I could pay you a visit and hand you them myself, but we have been rehearsing non-top for the past two weeks. A new opera, in which I got the leading role, will be debuting a few days after you’re back from tour. It would mean the world to me if you came to watch it! The problem is I only got two tickets, so I cannot invite all of the boys, which is rather shitty .Would you, please, apologize to them in the name of myself? I’m sending both of the tickets anyway in case one of them wishes to come along. I miss you! Love you.

Yours always,

YN.

Hurriedly drinking the remaining tea, John winced as the hot beverage burned his throat. He abandoned the mug on the coffee table, reaching for the telephone table. He dialed Freddie’s number, anxiously listening to the telephone beeping.

“That’s Freddie. Yes?”

“It’s Deacy, Freddie,” John excitedly answered, fiercely gripping at the handset and pressing it against his ear. “Would you fancy accompanying me to an opera tonight? YN’s debuting in it as leading role and sent me two tickets.”

“Is she?” Freddie smiled at John’s words. “God, I would love to.”

When the starry sky shone above London, John giddily pulled his black leather jacket hanging by the apartment door before leaving his apartment, tickets held tightly in his hands. Freddie’s Rolls Royce parked by the sidewalk on the other side of the street. John’s body shivered, buffeted by the wintry wind as he crossed the street.

“Hurry up, Deacy! We should never be late for the rise of a star.”

John got in the car, putting the seatbelt on and receiving a gleeful smile from Freddie. The city lights shone as they crossed London. John observed people on the sidewalks, overcoats and boots packed the streets as winter approached, showing its first signs.

The driver pulled by the opera house, cars parked in front of it. Occasionally, horns would echo accompanied by the shouting of irritated drivers. Freddie’s Rolls Royce lost between many other cars parked by the other side of the large street.

John and Freddie hurriedly crossed the street as people gathered at the opera house entrance, tickets held tight between their fingers. John pulled the pink tickets out of his jacket pocket, reading them in order to find the right section entrance.

“She got box five reserved for us,” John mused, heart inexplicably racing at his own words.

“She must love us, then. I mean, you. I’m just your humble guest, dear,” Freddie answered pressing his lips in a thin line to prevent a smile from crossing his lips as John absentmindedly stopped walking, mesmerized by your gesture. “Shall we get inside?”

After entering the vast theatre and accommodating himself in box five beside Freddie, his eyes wandered to the stage. The heavy red and gold curtains were closed, revealing a tiny stripe of the dark wooden floor. Several musicians sat in the orchestra pit tuning their instrument so that it sounded perfectly. The painted ceiling bore a gigantic chandelier. John’s eyes focused on it, mesmerized by its beauty as though bewitched by it. Its excessive golden details shone magically under its bright tiny yellow lamps. His peripheral vision registered painted naked angels around it, holding harpies as though praising the chandelier.

“This is marvelous,” he whispered.

“Everything about an opera house is marvelous, dear. I’m actually glad to be here,” Freddie answered, observing his surroundings.

John watched the people moving below, crossing the theater looking for the correct seats before averting his gaze to the leaflet received at the entrance in his hands. It presented information about the opera, listing its acts. The following pages announced every artist participating in it along with their roles. A black and white picture of you in one of your costumes of the show occupied a whole page, a brief text present you, your career as an opera singer and your role in the debuting show.

The constant noise of conversation reached their ears as the seats were gradually being taken by the public. John couldn’t suppress the smile that crossed his lips. He felt proud of you it would actually be an understatement to say it. A full house would witness the rise of a star.

After the sounding of the alarm, a masculine voice politely asked for people to accommodate themselves before warning that any recordings of the show were strictly prohibited. The lights slightly diminished, the lamps of the chandelier shone feebly as a spotlight focused in the middle of the apron. The opera director announced its start, presenting you as the opera diva. John whistled loudly as the roar of people clapping filled his ears. He felt his heart would burst in pride.

The heavy red and gold curtains were slowly opened, revealing a magnificent scenario as the orchestra started playing, the classic music echoing in the perfect acoustic arrangement of the theater. As earlier during the last rehearsal, artists packed the offspring wings, including you, awaiting the orchestra cue for their entrance. The costumes were now properly worn, the makeup and different hairstyles done meticulously.

You exhaled in nervousness,   averting your gaze up to the stage ceiling packed with ropes and sheaves. Your voice would certainly fail. Where you good enough for the leading role, anyway? You would certainly stumble over the dress skirt. People would laugh at your costume for showing too much.

The sudden thought of John witnessing your failure caused you to feel dizzy. Should you have invited him? Your cheeks acquired a light shade of red underneath the makeup, shame creeping up your veins. A mirror stood beside your anxious figure. Your eyes unwillingly averted to your reflection on it. That costume was ridiculously tight. Had costume designers measured your bust wrongly as Tina had suggested? The extreme cleavage made visible by that dress utterly annoyed you.

“Don’t lose your cue, YN,” Dermot teased, being followed by some other artists.

“Oh, shut up, loser,” you mumbled irritated, crossing your arms over your chest and rolling your eyes at his strutting to the edge of the offspring.

“We shall see who the loser is at the end of the performance, yeah?”

“Prick,” you whispered at him.

The overture was over, the scenery changed on the upstage. Music still played as people reached the stage. At a particular high note reached by the violinists, you obliged your legs to move, managing to straighten up your face. The nervous expression was replaced by an adorable smile as you graciously reached the stage center. A spotlight shone above you, illuminating your figure in an angelic manner.

John’s eyes accompanied your movement through the stage. Your willowy figure angelic illuminated by the spotlight caused his heart to miss a beat. No other goddess would be as stunning as you. God, he could admire your costume for the rest of life.

“Oh, fuck, John,” Freddie murmured beside John, mesmerized by your figure. “She’s a goddess.”

“She’s more than a goddess, Freddie,” John replied, hanging on the edge of his seat, intending to stand near the box handrail.

On the stage, you obliged the negative thoughts filling your mind to hit the back of it. No benefit would be gained by dwelling on them. Taking a discrete deep breath, moving in a regal manner, you opened your mouth intending to start singing as the orchestra hit another cue.

John’s eyes brimmed with tears of joy as your magnificent singing filled the theater, engulfing it in a magical moment. He gripped the velvety box handrail as he watched you transform the whole atmosphere of the place. Intense shivers wandered through his body, causing him to smile at the sensation.

Freddie excitedly watched your figure. His eyes attentively recorded every move of your hands and arms. He had never seen a more pleasing body language. He, then, averted his gaze to your mouth and throat. He could practically see your vocal chords working to produce those angelic sounds.

Ballerinas surrounded you. Your dress shone below the spotlight, sparkles occasionally reaching people’s eyes. Your hair combed into an elegant bun, filled with minuscule silver flowers, caught John’s attention in a second. A few strands of hair framed your features. Oh, what a marvelous sight.

After two hours of incredible singing, acting and dancing, applauses exploded through the theater as people eagerly stood up. The cast bowed, smiles all over their faces. John whistled loudly once again, clapping non-stop.

The artists left the stage, leaving you alone. A spotlight focused in the middle of the apron, to where you paced. Another round of applauses exploded. A genuine smile crossed your lips as tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. After the amount of whistles, applauses and praising at your debut in a leading role, you wished your talent would be recognized by the company, who, up to that moment, vilified you for the extreme cleavage made visible by the dresses you wore.

Your eyes observed the crowd, averting to the right of the theater, where box five could be seen. You had obliged yourself not to glance at it during the whole show, afraid that John would have given up on you. But there you saw him, smiling and clapping eagerly. A silent laugh escaped from your lips as your eyes landed on him. Freddie stood beside John, equally clapping. A few tears streamed down your cheeks at their reaction towards your performance.

“Magnifica!” Freddie bellowed at you.

The director reached the stage once again, taking your hand in his and flashing you a proud smile. Both of you bowed together, earning another round of applauses. You stepped back as the red and gold curtains started to be pulled closed by the staff. The roar of the crowd was muffled by it, the applauses never seemed to cease.

Once Freddie and John reached the agitated street, John pulled Freddie to the staff entrance intending to wait for you to leave the theater. It took a while until you managed to shimmy out of your costume. Your dressing room had been filled with bouquets, a flowery smell filled the air as Harper helped you undress.

Quickly thanking him for helping, you left the dressing room, crossing the theater corridors in order to reach the staff exit. You smiled at the security guard at the door, who kindly opened the door for you. As soon as the cold night air buffeted your body, your eyes wandered through the street.

“YN! YN!”John’s voice echoed from a few meters on the grey sidewalk.

You ran to his arms, letting your body collapse against his. His arms embraced you in a tight lasting hug as he pressed kisses to the side of your head. Strands of your hair hit his face because of the wind, but he smiled. You were there.

“God, I missed you!” you mumbled against John’s shirt. “I missed you so much! Where’s Freddie?”

“Hm, he left already. He apologized for having to leave without complimenting you, tough,” John nervously answered, Freddie’s words echoing in his mind before leaving — “I guess I’m leaving, John. I’m sure you both need some time alone, yeah?”

You timidly smiled. “Hm… This is actually…” you gulped, averting your eyes to your hands propped on his chest, almost reaching his shoulders. “What do you think of spending the night at my apartment, John?”

He chuckled nervously. “Wouldn’t you like to rest? I mean… I’d love to, but…”

“Don’t worry. It wouldn’t bother me at all, you know?”

John nodded, fingers anxiously pressing against your waist. Your eyes bore into his, another timid smile plastered over your lips. You blinked a few times as strands of your hair hit your face. “Thank you.”

John asked for a taxi, opening the door for you with a gentle smile. The ride was silent, but John’s fingers timidly crossed the leather seat looking for yours. Your heart missed a beat as he hesitantly tangled them together, causing you to press your lips in a thin line as anticipation hit your body. It was a normal gesture for a friend, wasn’t it?

“You looked like an angel tonight, YN,” John murmured. You shook your head, smiling at his kind words. However, they weren’t enough to erase your insecurities.

“John…” you started unsure. “I actually need to talk to you about something.”

John gulped, the gentle grip on your fingers momentarily faltering as the taxi driver pulled by your apartment. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. No, of course not,” you rushed to reply. “This is actually about me.”

You quickly handed the taxi driver the money, thanking him before leaving the car. John followed you, a concerned look on his features.

“What’s wrong, YN?” he anxiously asked while closing the backseat door.

You shook your head, reaching the sidewalk. You both entered the block of apartments as you fumbled with the keys inside your overcoat pocket. You unlocked the door to your apartment and entered first, turning some of the lights on. John couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your apartment. He missed it.

“I… I don’t know how I should start this,” you admitted, reaching the kitchen and pulling the fridge door open. “It’s actually ridiculous, but it’s been bugging me for a while.”

John anxiously waited for you to continue as he followed you into the kitchen. You offered him a beer bottle before resting against one of the counters and chugging a glass of cold water down. You tried to work out the words inside your mind. Nervousness filled your body. Should you talk about how insecure you felt towards it? By talking about it, you would oblige him to notice your body if he had never done that before. Wouldn’t it be awkward?

“Hm, YN…” John started, crossing the narrow kitchen towards you. He propped the beer bottle on the counter, next to your empty glass of water. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I know I spent a long time away, but I hope it didn’t change our friendship?”

You could notice an insecure tone in his voice, desperately shaking your head. “No, God. John, it would never happen. Nothing can change our friendship. It’s just that… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable talking about it.”

He shook his head, pressing his lips together in a thin line. “Go on, try me.”

You chuckled at his words, fondly gazing at him. However, you soon averted your gazed to his chest. “I haven’t been feeling comfortable with my body lately. I joined this opera company probably a month after you left for the tour, you know? Since then, I’m feeling self-conscious about my image. They fit me into tight dresses that end up showing too much.”

“Too much, YN? It’s a dress, nothing more than a costume.”

You sighed frustrated. “That’s exactly the problem. It’s a dress! Most of them make extreme cleavage, John… It actually makes me feel uncomfortable. I see other girls walking around the stage in similar costumes and I… I feel I’m overweight. They fit perfectly into their dresses…”

“Look at me, YN…” John whispered, taking another sip from his beer. A loving gaze lit his features as his hands slowly caressed your upper arms. “You’re perfect.”

“John, cut the bullshit,” you retorted, sighing in frustration once again.

“YN, I mean it,” he replied. “Why would compare yourself to those other girls? Weren’t you the one who admired all shapes and forms, praising people for being who they are? Why don’t you celebrate yourself either?”

“John…”

“No, wait,” he whispered, pacing closer towards you. His delicate fingers reached for your chin. “I mean every single word. What’s wrong with having a bigger bust than others do? Did it ever prevent you from following your dreams? Did it stop you from achieving the bloody leading role in an opera? For God’s sake, YN… Do you how proud I am of you? I almost collapsed in tears seeing you on that stage. Please, listen to me when I say you’re perfect. I believe these words don’t dictate beauty patterns in no circumstances: how many different people say these words to other different ones? Believe in me when they leave my lips.”

You gulped, blinking fast as your eyes brimmed with tears. “God…”

John silently laughed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Your hands reached for his, still on your chin. Your eyes bore into his. For a moment, both of you silently stood close to each other. Your mind still absorbed his meaningful words, which, honestly, were the only ones that mattered.

“You’re perfect, YN,” he repeated it, pressing kisses all over your face while murmuring the words against your skin, causing you to laugh and squeal under his touch. “I’m repeating it until you believe in its meaning.”

Part 2 is here!