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ofstoriesandstardust · 5 months ago

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can't take the home out of oklahoma - i. (k.c.)

a/n: eeee! a fever dream later, i've finally cobbled together the first part of my top gun: maverick and twisters crossover fic! it's going to be lengthy so we are in for quite the ride! it's way heavier on twisters, so any non-top gun fans should have no problem reading this. future parts will deal with darker content that's only referenced right now, so that'll all be tagged and marked accordingly. for now, it's just my standard cup of angst. reblog and comments are always appreciated!!

summary: After a twisted stroke of luck, you leave behind your whole life in San Diego, California and find yourself in Oklahoma with Tyler Owens and his Tornado Wranglers.

warnings: swearing, weather inaccuracies, flashbacks, reference to past trauma, alcohol

word count: 5.7k

Your finger rubs gently over the crinkled piece of paper Jake had torn off for you, the phone number and the name Tyler Owens written in the neat penmanship the blonde prided himself on.

If you ever find yourself down South and need something, Jake had said, a bit out of breath as he’d run out of the house after you. If you need anything, call that number. They’ll help you.

The cursor blinks back up at you on the call pad, your cracked screen making a mockery of you. The chaos of the San Diego airport whirls around you, pressing in on you the longer you sit here.

You take a deep breath and press call.

His phone starts vibrating on the table and he frowns, eyebrows furrowing as the team, crowded around the table in the RV, goes quiet.

He answers, despite it being an unknown number. “Tyler Owens.”

“Hi. Uh,” A shaky breath comes from the other end of the receiver before introducing themselves to him. “Uh, Jake Seresin gave me your number. Told me to call if I needed anything.”

His gut drops at the name, a clench in his heart. “What can I do for ya?”

“Look, I’ve- I’ve had a rough week and I’m, I’m sort of finding my life upside down. And uh, I guess I’m just grasping at straws here. Jake said, he said you could help me.”

“That so? Well, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to be more specific. How can I help you? What can I do for you?”

“A- a purpose, maybe? I need a purpose, something to do. Um, I’m in San Diego right now but I need to get out of here.”

Tyler frowns, eyes flicking around at his team. They’re all curious as to what’s unfolding, and he scrubs at his forehead, knowing they’ll be upset with him for pulling the trigger on this without talking it through with them first.

But damn it, this girl sounded scared and Jake had sent her to him. Had told her he’d help her, and he would see to it that he did.

He wasn’t going to leave her behind.

“Tell you what, get yourself on a plane to Oklahoma. I’ll come get you. You can come work with me and my team.”

“You- your team?” Though she sounds hesitant, she almost sounds relieved at having some sort of direction now.

“Storm chasers. Ish. We’re doing some field research out here in Tornado Alley, but I’ve got a team, the Tornado Wranglers. And honestly, we need another set of hands out of here managing the backend of things.”

The word managing was the wrong choice as it immediately sends his team into protest. Boone stands up abruptly, Javi and Kate whispering protests to him, as Lilly starts making a face. He waves a hand, wanting them to be quiet.

The last thing he needed was for this girl to hear, to hang up, to not follow through.

“Okay.” You say, and he thinks he hears you stand up. “Okay, I’ll find the soonest flight out. Um, what kind of things do you need help with? My background- it’s not in science.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure we could find something around here you can help with. Research grant editing or something.”

“I’ve actually got experience with that.” You say with a choked laugh, and Tyler can feel the relief bleed through the phone. He smiles a bit, pressure easing as he does.

“Then we’ll make sure we put you to work.” There’s a beat as he hears the intercom in the airport go off in the background. “Listen, text me when your flights supposed to land. I’ll make sure I’m there to get you. We’re out in the field right now, so it may be a bit of trek out here, but I’ll make sure you get here.”

You confirm and he hangs up and his team starts yelling before the phone is even back on the table.

“We don’t need another team member man-“

“A manager? What kind of business do you take this for?”

“Are you serious? Kate and I, we’ve got the grant stuff covered-“

“This really tells us how you feel about us, Owens.”

He glances at Kate, who’s looking at him with a guarded expression he hasn’t seen since he first met her. She doesn’t excuse herself, simply pushing her way out, climbing around the back of Javi and Boone.

It would be hard to miss Tyler, the way he’s signing an autograph, cowboy hat atop his head as he leans against the truck branded with the Tornado Wranglers logo.

You stop dead, a cold feeling washing over you at the eerie reminder of the person you’d just left behind.

This Tyler Owens might be Jake Seresin’s doppelgänger, and based on what you’d seen during the flight you were beginning to suspect the only difference between them is the way they chased the adrenaline high.

During the flight, you’d bought in-flight WiFi for the first time in your life, just to learn who these people were, who you’d be spending time with. Trying to understand what you’d gotten yourself into.

Tyler perks up at the sight of you, a smile growing on his face. He holds out his hand and you take it, noting the genuine smile. You shake his hand, swallowing around the burning desire to ask the question.

“Welcome to good ol’ Oklahoma.” He welcomes. “You ready to hit the road? The team is a bit of a ways out.”

You nod as Tyler grabs your small duffel bag, throwing it in the back of the truck before you can even ask.

You climb in the front, taking note of all the gadgets the truck is equipped with. “What’s all this?” You ask, as he turns the key, pulling away from the curb. “Storm chasing stuff?”

“You could say that. The trucks decked out with all kinds of stuff.”

The radio is soft in the background as Tyler talks to you about the team, about what you’ll be doing.

As Tyler talks, as you talk, as you both think of things for you to do, you begin to lose interest in the conversation as the Oklahoma skyline begins to paint itself into a deep orange.

“Can we stop?” You ask, voice full of wonder as you peer out windshield, watching the sky transform itself.

You feel Tyler look over at you, before turning on his blinker despite the lack of cars around. The truck rolls to a stop as you dig around, pulling the disposable camera you’d bought from the bottom of your backpack. Tyler hasn’t even parked before you’re slipping out of the truck, walking around the front to take a picture of the sunset.

“I haven’t seen a sunset like this since I was a kid.” You breathe, the camera clicking as you do.

“I hear California has pretty good sunsets.” Tyler says, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stands next to you.

You shrug. “They do, but if you’re in the inner city, a lot of times the good ones are hard to catch. They’re easier to see at the beach but the marine layer blocks a lot of the good ones.” You say, turning to Tyler. “At least in my opinion. We can get back on the road now.”

He nods, eyes steadily watching you as you turn on your heel, climbing back in the truck. Tyler’s a few beats behind you, still standing in the same spot as you buckle your seatbelt.

The rest of the drive is quiet, the flow of quiet country music coming through the radio as the Oklahoma skies turns from dusk to night.

By the time you roll up to camp, it’s clear that Tyler’s team has gone to bed, save for one.

An older man perks up at the sight of you, climbing to his feet from his chair. “Ah, Tyler. Was just about to call and see where you were. This our new teammate?”

Tyler nods, introducing you to this man. You step forward taking his outstretched hand.

“Dexter.” He says, a smile on his face. “You must’ve had a long day. We’ve got some leftovers, can I get you anything? We’ve also got our extra tent set up, it’s where you’ll be sleeping.”

You glance at Tyler, although you’re not sure for what. Reassurance maybe. “I’d love some food. And a water maybe? I don’t have a water bottle with me anymore.”

It’s almost a natural instinct to wince at the thought of the loss of your emotional support water bottle that was probably laying in some crevice in the wreckage in Texas.

Dexter sets to work as Tyler settles himself in front of the fire, a beer in hand. “We’re meant to head to town tomorrow anyways. We’ll stop, get you stuff to help out with the team. Maybe some new camping gear and whatever.” He takes a sip of his beer, cringing as he does. “Just realizing you’ll probably have to sleep on the dirt; I don’t think we’ve got any extra protectors after we visited the last wreckage. We should probably get more stuff tomorrow anyway.”

“It’s no worries.” You say with a wave of your hand. “I was a Girl Scout for like, eight years, so it’s not a big deal. Won’t phase me.”

A head pops out from a tent nearby. Tyler perks up at the sight of him, as the man sticks his hands in the pockets of the zip-up he’s wearing. “You want a jacket?”

You glance down, realizing you’re shivering. “Uh, yeah, that’d be nice.”

He gives you a cautious smile before looking to Tyler. “Hey Ty, man, I’ve got an extra pullover in the back of the van, can you grab it?”

Tyler nods as the man reaches a hand out. “I’m Javi.”

You shake it, introducing yourself.

“You from around here? You don’t sound it.”

You shake your head. “San Diego, actually.”

Tyler comes back the same time Dexter comes back with your food and Dexter waits patiently as you scramble, pulling the soft material over your head.

It smells strongly of rain in a way you can’t explain. In a way, the smell brings you a sliver of comfort.

You take the food from Dexter as you do, thanking him.

“Dexter, this is incredible.” You say around the bite.

“It’s an old family recipe from down in the bayou. I’ve tweaked it so we can make it out here on the road, but it’s a crowd pleaser when I do.”

“You from New Orleans?” You ask and he nods. “My boyf- my ex boyfriend now I guess-“ You say, taking another bite in hopes to hide the awkward way you swallow around those words. “He’s from out there too.”

Dexter sighs. “I miss that place, I do. But it wasn’t easy to stay after Katrina. I lost my whole family.”

Your heart pangs, at his words, and it aches, at the thought of the person you’d left behind.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” You say softly.

Javi clears his throat. “You need anything else?” You shake your head and he stands up again. “I really oughta get to sleep, but we’ll chat more tomorrow, yeah?”

You nod and Javi gives you another cautious smile. In your heart, you want to believe there’s maybe a little hope hidden in it too.

Dexter also bids you and Tyler goodnight, and the two of you sit there, the crackling fire filling the silence as you eat.

“Thank you Tyler.” You say softly, staring at the burning embers after you’ve finished eating.

You know you should explain to him how it all happened, how you got here, but Tyler doesn’t ask and you can’t forget the vision in your head of Steven’s cold eyes, unseeing.

“You’re giving me a second chance here, and I really do appreciate it.” You settle on instead.

He nods. “Whatever I can do to help.”

You excuse yourself, bidding the man goodnight, only to find yourself tossing and turning on the hard ground.

You thought sleep would come to you easier, with how emotional the last week has been, but everytime you close your eyes and a breeze rolls through, it all comes flooding back, the haze of freezing rain, of a rusty storm grate, a heavy body, and so much blood-

The sound of a door shutting (from the RV if you had to guess,) causes you to open your eyes, sitting up on the makeshift bed.

“I don’t want her here Tyler.” A female voice says, and you frown.

There’s a beat.

“Too bad Sapulpa, she’s staying.” Tyler responds.

“Stay here and do what?” The girl asks incredulously. “We don’t need her help. And I didn’t know you’re suddenly in the business of helping out random strangers who call you in the middle of the day-“

“This is our whole business, Kate.” He says firmly. “We help people. Strangers. That’s what we’re here to do, remember?”

“And how are you helping her?”

Tyler’s quiet for a minute again. “We’re giving her a second chance.”

“A second chance? Are you serious?” The girl, Kate, huffs.

“It wasn’t that long ago it was you who needed a second chance. We gave that to you, remember?”

Another zipper being yanked cuts off Kate’s response.

“Yo!” It’s Javi. “Can y’all argue about this tomorrow?”

You don’t hear the sound of Kate’s footsteps but you hear the slam of the RV door loud and clear.

Tyler goes through the motions, getting the camp cleaned up, before putting the fire out. And then you hear him slip into the RV and for the first time in days, in the quiet of the Oklahoma night, it feels like you can breathe.

You awake with a gasp, clawing at the blankets as if it was Jake’s flannel, holding on for dear life through the storm.

You swallow back the bile threatening to spill over and blindly climb from the nest of blankets, pulling the zipper down, and stumbling into the sun.

You swallow as someone’s head turns. It’s a girl, sat at the table the crew has set up outside. You pull yourself from the tent, unable to shake your nerves as you take in the soft baby pink hues above her in the sky.

You introduce yourself softly and she gives you a tight smile in between bites of yogurt. “Kate.”

Your heart clenches, realizing this must be the girl you’d heard last night.

It’s an awkward silence the two of you sit in, the baby pink fading from the sky as Tyler pulls himself from the RV. When she sees Tyler, she quietly excuses herself and brushes past him, floating back into the RV.

“You oughta get that screen fixed.” Tyler comments, sitting down next to you.

“Haven’t had time.” You say with a shrug as you glance at the screen on your phone. It was more shattered than it was cracked, a hazard really, but what could you do?

“I’ll take you to a place in town today that’ll replace it for cheap.” Tyler says around a bite. “Can I get you anything to eat?”

Tyler’s team appears over the next hour, and he introduces them as they do. Dexter appears from the RV first and then Dani and Lilly from the back of the van. Boone gets dragged out from the van by Lilly twenty minutes later, and Boone pulls Javi from his tent because “if I have to be awake so do you Miami.”

Kate doesn’t leave the RV for the rest of the morning.

“They don’t like me.” You say quietly, drumming your fingers on the car door as Tyler drives to the motel that evening.

“They barely know you-“

“Cut the shit Tyler, I heard Kate last night.” You say sharply, sending him a cold glare. “They don’t want me here.” You roll out your shoulders, looking back out the window. “If you want me to go back, it’s okay.”

“And send you back to god knows what?”

“I’d be fine.”

“Kid, you sounded so damn terrified on that phone — I’m not inclined to turn around and give you back to that fear.”

You swallow around a sigh, feeling Tyler watch you as he drives.

“Give me a week. Give me a week to make it work. And if you still feel like you need to go back, hell, I’ll pay for your flight.”

You look at Tyler, noting the serious look in his eyes.

“Okay. One week.”

The next week feels simultaneously long and short in the worst ways.

Short, in that it feels like your time is running out.

Long, in that there are no storms to chase, dissipating before the team ever has a chance.

Long, in that you sit around most days, doing your own research on grants and sponsors and the backgrounds of potential investors and articles on social media growth.

Long, in that you don’t really talk to any of them, except for the one time you look over at Javi’s computer, just to tell him that his sentence didn’t make any sense.

Long in that, Kate refuses to be anywhere near you and Boone ignores you and Lilly shuts you out of conversation and Javi sort of looks at you like you’re some sort of alien placed down next to them.

It’s only on the sixth day, when you’re collecting everything you’ve worked on all week to give to Tyler in the morning before he takes you back, that something happens.

The storm is too far away for them to chase it, to get any research done, but Tyler and Lilly agree that the team should head in, to be there to help out and hand out food in the aftermath.

Because, apparently, that’s what this team is known for.

You feel awkward here, watching the team spring into action. You feel out of place, not knowing what you were supposed to say or do as these people dug through the rubble of their lives.

You were supposed to help people. Tyler had said you could help people here.

The team is distracted just enough, that it’s you who catches it, not them.

The sounds of a cry, somebody softly shushing them. You round a corner, heart breaking at the sight.

There, a small little boy, maybe around the age of 8, is holding who seems to be his little sister as she cries.

The poor girl can’t be any older than 3 or 4.

“I want Mom.” She blubbers out and the boy shushes her.

“I know, sissy, we just gotta-“ The boy looks around helplessly.

“Hey.” You call out, stepping around the rubble. “Hey, do you need help?”

The boy nods. “Mom said not to move but-“

You hold your hands out. “Stay where you are, okay? I’ll come get you and your sister alright?”

The boy nods, clinging to his sister’s hand. You make your way through the rubble, kicking things out of the way to make a path back before finally reaching the two kids. You kneel down best as you can, leveling yourself to them as you introduce yourself.

“I’m here to help. Can you tell me your name?”

“I’m Jack.” The boy says. “This is Bella. She’s bleeding and I can’t find my Mom-“

“Hey, hey.” You soothe. “We’ll get you guys some help and get you out of here, okay? We’ll find your Mom.” You look at Bella. “Bella? Are you okay if I carry you? I’m going to help you find someone to patch that cut up, okay?” Bella nods and Jack lets her go as you scoop her up. You hold out your hand for Jack as the two of you navigate your way out.

As you weave your way through people, you ask Jack soft questions about himself, where he goes to school, if he likes dinosaurs or trucks, distracting him as he talks to you. Once you get the two kids to the EMTs, you duck around the side, in search of someone from your team.

“Kate.” You call, as she’s sifting through rubble, calling for a dog. She glances over at you. “Hey, I’ve got two little kids here who can’t find their Mom. I’m gonna stay with them but can you let the team know? Just in case anyone sees her.”

The face Kate makes is difficult to read as she nods. You sigh, making your way back around the truck.

Bella’s all patched up and Jack is studying the logo on your shirt, lighting up when he recognizes it.

“Mom lets me watch their YouTube channel sometimes!”

You scoop Bella back up in your arms, holding a hand out for Jack to jump down as you do.

“Oh well then I’m guessing you don’t want to come see the tornado-proof truck?”

It’s late in the day when Bella and Jack’s Mom comes running down the street, hysterical. Tyler and Kate aren’t far behind her.

Her arm is in a sling and there’s a few bumps and bruises on her, but otherwise she’s fine. Both of the kids light up at the sight of their Mom, and she’s tearful, thanking you over and over for helping them, for watching over her babies.

You wave her off, citing babysitting as just another thing you’re used to, a big family and all that.

It’s as they’re walking away, Dexter asking if you want any food, Jack shouts out.

They turn back, Bella running back to you with the stuffed animal she’d been holding in hand. You kneel down as she holds it out for you to take, heart aching as you look at the stuffed pig.

Bella had seen it atop your stuff when you’d taken them in the RV and had been holding it ever since.

It was one of the few things you had of your life left behind but you know when it’s time to let something go.

“You keep it okay?” You say softly. “You take care of yourself little Bella?” She wraps her arms around your neck, the stuffie clutched between her little fingers. You return the hug, exhaling as you do. Bella lets you go, returning to her Mom and her brother and you stand back up, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Do you want some food? You’ve been with those kids all day.” Dani says softly, holding the box.

“How’d you find Mom?” You ask quietly, crossing your arms.

Tyler sighs. “Was sitting with her the whole afternoon when Kate came down the street, hearing her talk about her missing kids. Kate connected the dots.”

Your arms wrap around yourself tighter. “Kate, I told you I was with those kids. I told you to tell the team in case anybody found Mom.”

Kate opens her mouth but no words come out as Lilly’s eyes slide between the two of you.

“Here.” Lilly says gently as she holds the box out, taking it from Dani. “You should eat. Been a long day.”

“I’m not hungry.” You say. “I’m gonna get in the truck, let me know when we’re leaving.”

You sling your backpack over your shoulder, the truck door shutting behind you as you walk up the motel steps.

The backpack, downsized from your duffel bag as Tyler had gone through the Oklahoma necessities with you, which was hardly anything you owned, feels heavy as you do.

“Hey.” Kate’s voice calls out. “That was a really nice thing you did for that little girl.”

Tears sting at your eyes as you push the key into the lock, pressing against the door with your body weight to get the door to unstick.

You think Tyler says something as you shut the door but under the hot water of the shower rushing down you, you can’t hear anything else.

You clear your throat, announcing your presence as you do. Tyler and Kate pause in their conversation as they look over to you.

You set the folder down in front of Tyler, Javi’s pullover in front of Kate.

“Just wanted to give these to you. Tyler, do you want me to just wait in the truck?”

Tyler peeks at the folder as Kate asks “Wait for what?”

“What is all of this?” Tyler asks, flipping through the pages.

“Research on potential investors and their backgrounds. Just so you guys don’t get into another StormPar situation. There’s some stuff about grants, donors in there. Other stuff I tracked down about how you could grow your social media, ideas I had. There might be a couple of pages about laws on people donating, not sure. It’s everything I’ve done this week. Y’all don’t have to use it but I just thought it might be helpful as lead points.”

“This is- this is really great stuff.” Tyler remarks. “It’s gonna be a real loss to not have your brain on our team.”

“Wait - are you leaving?” Kate asks, eyes flying between you and Tyler.

“I’ll meet you at the truck.” You say, turning to leave. You think you hear Kate repeat the question to Tyler, but you shut the door to the RV before you can hear their conversation further. Across the parking lot, Javi calls out, but you wave him off as you climb into the passenger seat of Tyler’s truck.

Your heart feels heavy as you look at your own Javy’s contact.

It would be so easy to pick up the phone, to tell him you made a mistake, to beg him to let you come home.

He would too, and he would pick you up from the airport, and he’d wash the Oklahoma from your skin, and he’d hold you through the loss.

But then you remember Jake’s defeated look as the two of you had assessed the damage, the way he’d asked you to lie.

You remember the blood-

A startled gasp leaves you as someone knocks on the window.

It’s Kate.

You roll down the window.

“You’re leaving?”

You eye her, unsure why she appears to be almost nervous, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her arms.

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

You shrug, surveying the team in the parking lot. “It just didn’t work out. I didn’t fit here.”

“But-“ She worries her bottom lip. “Where will you go?”

“I’ll figure it out.” You say simply.

You’d have to because you knew the alternative would be devastating to everyone you’d ever known.

She sighs, eyes flickering to Tyler, who’s moving closer. “Well, we’re headed to my Mom’s tonight. You should stay one more night. You’ve never even had real Oklahoma barbecue.”

A dry laugh escapes you without your permission. “Kate, what are you playing at here?”

She seems shocked, not expecting your question. “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, huffing. “Kate, c’mon, you told Tyler you didn’t want me here.”

Her face drops as her arms fall by her sides. “You heard that?” She says quietly.

“Yeah.”

She licks her lips. “Look, I ain’t good with new people. I’m- It’s a me thing.” She looks down, scuffing her boot on the ground. “It’s my problem and I misjudged you. I’m sorry. Give me another night to show you how it could be.”

“Why the hell would I stay to see how it could be when I know at this moment I’m not wanted here?”

“I do.” She says softly. “Want you here. I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

You let out breath through your nose, meeting Tyler’s eyes through the windshield.

You think of Dexter’s food, Javi’s pullover, Dani and Lilly’s gentle insistence you feed yourself last night.

You think of the Louisiana area code sitting open on your phone right now.

“One night, Kate.”

“I sure am sorry you’ll have to sleep on the floor. I just wasn’t expecting an extra person from the crew but we can make sure you have somewhere to sleep tomorrow night-“

You cut her off, holding your hands out for the dishes from dinner. “That’s very kind of you Ms. Cooper, but I’m just fine sleeping on the floor.”

“Please, I keep telling you to just call me Cathy and, well, you could stay in Kate’s bed?” Cathy offers as you take the plates from her.

“Think you’d find my throat slit tomorrow.” You mutter and Tyler barks out a laugh.

“You deserved that one Kate.”

Cathy turns to her daughter, a look on her face. “What did you do?”

Kate pulls a face, holding her hands out. “What- Nothing, Mom!”

Cathy hums, eyebrows furrowing but you cut them off. “The floor is just fine, Ms. Cooper. Um, do you mind pointing me in the direction of the bathroom so I could change?”

“Do Tyler and Kate have a thing?” You ask, taking a sip of the hot chocolate Lilly had made as Javi chuckles next to you.

You’re watching the group fight over Uno, you and Javi sat in front of a puzzle.

“They did at one point. When they first met, but they burned out pretty fast. Figured out they were better off as friends.” You hum and Javi’s grin grows. “Why, you thinking you want to start something up with Owens?”

You blanch and shake your head. “No, I think I’ve more than had my fill on macho thrill seekers for this lifetime.”

Javi lets out a laugh, a real one, for the first time all week. You smile, thinking of how Tyler would fit in with those pilots like he’d always belonged there.

You were all set on those types.

Kate though…

If Kate hadn’t been so cold to you, Kate would’ve been the type of girl you could see yourself falling for.

Witty, bright, a soft smile always worn on her face. She’s at ease here and it makes your heart hurt to see. You want to someday be as at ease as she looks, wedged in between Boone and Dexter, the brightest smile you’ve seen from her on her face.

“So how the hell does a city girl like you find herself in Oklahoma?”

You slide a puzzle piece into place. “I don’t, I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s okay.”

Javi sighs, quiet for a minute. “Look, I’m sorry we were so off-putting when you first got here. We’re a tight knit group and we’ve been through a lot together. And-“

“Javi.” You cut him off with a tight smile. “You don’t have to explain. I get it, okay? You guys aren't the first group to not want me around and you won’t be the last, alright?”

He heaves a breath, an unreadable look on his face. “Just- if anyone might understand the things you’re running from, it would be us.”

“Who says I’m running?”

Javi raises an eyebrow and you sigh, setting the pieces you’re sorting through down.

“Look, I’m not running. I’m just- I’m just trying to leave something behind.”

Javi studies you for a few minutes as you set back to work on the puzzle.

“Shame you and Kate can’t get along. You two are more alike than you think.”

You awake with a start, fingers clenching in unfamiliar fabric.

“Are you okay?” Someone asks softly and you blink, Kate coming into focus.

Right, you had- you had slept next to her last night after she’d worn you down. You couldn’t deny how nice it had sounded to sleep in a real bed.

“Fine.” You breathe, willing yourself to forget the shouts of a friend left behind.

She frowns as she pulls her pants on. “I’m, uh, sorry for waking you up. Gotta help Mom with the cows.”

You wave a hand, pulling yourself to sit up in the bed. “Want a hand?”

“Mom would kill me if I let a guest help. Why don’t you get some more sleep, okay?”

You lay back down as she quietly ducks out of the room, but you know sleep won’t come.

You’re restless so you pull yourself from the bed, padding down the staircase and sitting in one of the chairs on the porch. Tyler appears a minute later, an extra coffee mug in hand. You take it from him with a quiet thank you before the two of you start to watch Kate.

“So California, are we gonna talk about it?” Tyler asks.

You sigh as Tyler kicks his feet out. “Well, you’re gonna ask me questions I don’t want to answer and I’m gonna ask you ones you don’t want to answer, so unless you want to start copping to some things…”

Tyler shakes his head. “Won’t talk about it then, California.”

You eye him. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t call me that. Sort of hard to leave that life behind when you keep calling me that.”

“You gonna stay?” Tyler asks, looking over at you.

You shrug, finger running over the rim of the mug. “I don’t know that I should.”

“I know it’s been a rough start with them.” Tyler sighs, shoulders hiked up. “But they’re good people.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“You’re good people too.”

“Doesn’t make me a good fit here.”

Tyler sighs. “It’s my fault, I should’ve approached it a different way. But if you leave, we’d really be missing out. You’ve got those fancy degrees and you’re smart and you’re one fucking selfless girl. We could use someone like you around.”

Kate and her Mom appear, Kate’s bright smile appearing as she pulls herself onto the railing of the porch.

“You guys hungry? I’m gonna go get started on breakfast.”

“Starved.”

“Wanna come see the barn?” Kate asks you as her Mom opens the screen door.

“Now hang on, California ain’t said if she’s staying. No reason to show her the barn if she’s gonna be leaving.”

You sigh, look down at the mug you can feel going cold. You rub your thumb over the Oklahoma written into the side as you think of Kate’s smile, of Tyler’s kindness, of Dexter’s food, of Javi’s pullover that had somehow ended back up in your bag after giving it back to Tyler and Kate yesterday.

You blink, looking back up at them. “Okay. Yeah, okay, I’ll stay."

ii.

#twisters #kate cooper #kate cooper x reader #kate cooper x female reader #top gun: maverick #twisters fic #can’t take the home out of oklahoma

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imagining-in-the-margins · 8 months ago

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🌈CM Pride Challenge🏳️‍⚧️

The following are prompts including LGBTQA+ PRIDE! Reader, Original Character, Character/Character ships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed!Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading.

This event is over (Masterlist of Fics here), but you are welcome to use any of these prompts. If you would like to be added to the existing Masterlist of entries, please check out the Rules below!

General Prompts 🏳️‍🌈

Coming out is so much harder the second time

Describe Character’s first kiss with the same gender

Describe Character(s) spending a day at a Pride parade

The team realizes that A&B were more than roommates

Penelope goes a little overboard on rainbow decorations at Characters’ wedding

Character's marriage mutually comes to an end when they come out... now what?

Character comes out at the same time they announce their new relationship to the team

Character A fears it’s too late for them to live authentically, and B assures them that’s not true

Character A gifts B something colored like their pride flag because “the colors reminded me of you”

Child realizes that not every kid has two moms/two dads and they have a lot of questions about it

Queer characters have a hard time deciding what their child should call them and come up with fun ideas

Character A goes to a LGBT bar with B as a wingperson (or maybe they want them, themselves?)

Anything else you can think of!

More prompts (transgender, assorted, dialogue) below!

Transgender Prompts 🏳️‍⚧️

Character A helps B get their first tailored dress/suit

Character A helps B shave and/or put on makeup

The couple is looking for gender neutral nicknames

Character A buys B specialty gender affirming lingerie

Character is casually referred to with an appropriately gendered nickname for the first time

Characters are renewing their vows and redoing their wedding photos following a coming out

Character A walks in on B wearing a new gender-affirming outfit and surprises them with an enthusiastic compliment

The team throws Character an impromptu first birthday party following their coming out (how did they get a banner so fast?!)

Character A buys B a gender affirming but stereotypical gift (sports jersey, neon pink purse, etc.) that they would otherwise hate (but find absolutely hilarious)

Specific Prompts 💝

[Bisexual] Character gets irritated when people reduce their sexuality to their current partner

[Bisexual] Character A is in a M/F relationship with B and worries that their queer identity will become invisible dating them

[Asexual] Characters explore different forms of non-sexual intimacy

[Asexual] Characters are both asexual but too nervous to tell one another. They awkwardly attempt to have sex but end up laughing at how ridiculous they feel.

Dialogue Prompts 💐

“Are they… flirting?” “Big time.”

“I got to fall in love with you twice.”

“To be seen is to be loved." "I see you.”

“Be gay, do crimes.” “Aren’t you a cop?”

“There is no heterosexual explanation for that.”

“Life is very different once you find your people.”

“Cardinals and hydrangeas can change. Why not you?”

“You're still the person I love. Nothing will change that.”

“We both wear pants. Makes it easier to kick your ass.”

“It’s never felt like this before. I've never felt like this before.”

“I guess it makes sense now why it never worked out with my exes.”

Am I allowed to look at her like that? Could it be wrong when she's just so nice to look at? ("She" by Dodie)

“You can kiss a hundred boys in bars, shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling ... Well, good luck, babe. You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.” ("Good Luck, Babe!" by Chappell Roan)

Rules ❤️🧡💚💙💜🖤🤎

The fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I’m collecting both! You can also tag it “#mentioningmargins” which is a tag I track.

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check.Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post.

Have fun!

🌈Happy writing! 🏳️‍⚧️

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libbys-braincell-loss · 7 months ago

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"The Dream"

---

An SMG34 oneshot

Took inspo from a mini comic i saw while scrollin thru the smg34 tag, will link it when i find it again (edit: found it)

This oneshot was written after Meme Hunters came out

The impulse got to me and i couldnt resist

This oneshot includes:

angst

fluff

references to igbp

thats abt it

---

SMG3 puffed out his chest, and hyped himself up. He held a small blue flower in his hands, and he tried to calm his breath.

He was going to do it.

He was gonna confess to his crush, SMG4.

He decided better now than never, and saw SMG4 not too far away from him, back facing him. SMG3 mentally prepared himself and walked over to SMG4, holding the tiny flower behind his back.

"Hey, SMG4!" SMG3 said in as chipper of a voice he could. He instantly regretted it and decided to stick with a more realistic tone. He sighs and speaks in a quiet, genuine voice.

"Four... I have something to admit to you."

He awaits a response from SMG4, but he doesn't turn around. SMG3 finds it strange, but continues.

"I... I have... I have a crush on you."

SMG4 doesn't turn around. SMG3 nervously begins taking the tiny blue flower out from behind his back to hold out in front of him.

"...I've had a crush on you for as long as I can remember. But back then, I thought it was jealousy, or envy. But as time grew on, and we grew closer, I realized the feeling never vanished despite us... becoming friends. And I realized, that I had feelings for you. And I can't bottle them up any longer."

SMG3 feels himself growing nervous as SMG4 doesn't respond.

"...Well? Aren't you going to say anything?..."

Just then, SMG4 turns around with an uncharacteristically ominious smile. This makes SMG3 jump back a bit, startled.

"You are in love with me??? Puh-lease." SMG4 says in a mocking tone.

SMG3 freezes.

"...Excuse me?..." he says, quietly and nervously.

SMG4 laughs.

"Do you really expect me, the better content creator, the better person, the hero, to fall in love with my copy? My rival?" SMG4 says in disbelief as he steps closer to SMG3.

SMG3 swallows nervously, his head spinning, his worst fears coming true.

SMG4 puts two fingers on SMG3's chin and tilts his head upwards to stare into his eyes. SMG3 is frozen, he can't seem to stop him.

"You are nothing but a thorn in my side. So petty, and pointless. Always degrading me... where are your manners?"

SMG4 grabs the tiny blue flower from SMG3's hands, and crushes it in between his fingertips, while glaring at SMG3's helpless, aching face. SMG4 lets the flower petals fall to the floor.

"Why would you love someone who hates you?"

SMG3 feels tears beginning to form in his eyes. For whatever reason, he anticipated this happening. He expected him to deny his confession in the most horrible way possible, and SMG4 was justified to do so, because SMG3 was a trashy person that didn't deserve his affection.

The ground begins cracking beneath them, and SMG3 closes his eyes and begins falling, until he feels SMG4 grab his foot as he hangs upside down. SMG3 looks at the ground below, and sees the familiar sight of Peach's castle falling into the abyss caused by SMG4's "perfect video" craze. He looks up at SMG4, who is holding his foot, while the glowing USB lingered on SMG4's shoe. SMG4 glares at SMG3 bitterly.

"If I had to do it all over again... I would pick the USB every time."

SMG3 feels his foot slowly slipping out of SMG4's clutches. He begins hyperventilating and panicking, but not a single word comes out of his mouth.

SMG4 slowly and purposefully loses his grip on SMG3, and as soon as SMG3 feels his body drop as SMG4 lets go of his foot, he feels himself plummet onto his mattress.

SMG3 gasps as he sits upright in his bed. It was all a dream. It was the middle of the night, and he was in his bedroom, the secret lair in his cafe. The room was dark.

He begins trying to control his breathing, slowing it down to a more realistic pace. It was all just a dream... Just a nightmare...

He glances over to the other side of his best and sees Eggdog sleeping peacefully. He smiles and gives Eggdog a few scratches on his head.

SMG3 decides to go outside and clear his head. Touching some grass wouldn't hurt.

---

SMG3 steps outside of III's Coffee and Bombs cafe and onto the showgrounds, lit by moonlight.

He looks around at the grass and sees familiar tiny blue flowers around, almost identical to the one he had in his dream.

SMG3 sighs and shakes his head. Merely a coincidence. Pay no mind to it.

SMG3 turns his head and stops when he sees SMG4, working hard on the attraction he's planning on making for the showgrounds, which he hasn't revealed to anybody at all what it is yet.

God dammit, why is he out here... I came out here so I could avoid thinking about him...

SMG4 is working hard with constructing the attraction single-handedly, until he pauses and sees SMG3 looking up at him confusedly. SMG4 grins excitedly and waves at SMG3, excited to see a familiar face at this hour.

SMG3 blinks when he realizes SMG4 was waving to him. He awkwardly waves back, as SMG4 jumps down to greet him.

"Hey, SMG3! What brings you out here so late?"

"Hey, man... I could say the same to you. Why are you working on that thing so late at night?"

"Oh, well, I'm really excited to work on it! Couldn't sleep. Sudden bursts of motivation at midnight, amirite?" He chuckles.

"...Yeahhhh."

"Anyway, why are you out here, Three? ...Did you want to help?" SMG4 grins at him excitedly.

SMG3 looks at the ground, tired, but still a little antsy from the dream he had.

"No... I just... had a shitty dream. It really messed me up. I had come out here to clear my head. ...Little did I know you'd be out here."

SMG4's smile fades from his face as he realizes something's up with SMG3. He steps closer and reaches a hand out at him, as if hoping to comfort him and hold him, but immediately decides against it and recoils his arm. SMG3 does not notice.

"Oh... I'm sorry, man. I hope you're doing okay."

SMG3 looks up at him, and smiles with a sad look in his eyes, and looks at the ground again.

"...I'm fine."

SMG4 frowns, being able to tell that he isn't at all fine.

"Are you s-"

"Would you do it again?!" SMG3 says with urgency in his voice, a distressed expression on his face.

SMG4 blinks for a moment. He looks at SMG3 confused.

"...Pardon?"

SMG3 realizes his sentence didn't make sense, so he slows down and breaks down the sentence to be easier to understand.

"...What I meant was... if you had to relive... the perfect video craze... would you pick me over the USB again?"

SMG4 blinks, and realizes what he means.

"Ohhh... well, yeah, of course. Every time."

SMG3 looks at him and blinks in disbelief.

"...No hesitation? Not even thinking about it? You serious?"

SMG4 nods as if this were a stupid question.

"I mean, yeah, obviously. I would always pick you. I'm not even sure why I was hesitating when I had to pick the first time."

SMG3's eyes widen and start to sparkle. Was SMG4 being for real...?

"Why? Why do you prefer me over the perfect video? Aren't I a... a thorn in your side?"

SMG4 chuckles and nudges his shoulder.

"You can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I wouldn't trade you for anything. We're friends, right? You said it yourself."

SMG3 feels his cheeks grow warmer. He feels stunned, but he eventually relaxes his tensions and smiles a soft smile at SMG4. SMG4 actually does care about me...

SMG4 notices the blush on his cheeks and smiles to himself, a tinge of blush appearing on his cheeks as well.

SMG3 realizes they had been smiling at each other in silence for about 15 seconds, and so he breaks the silence, blushing slightly harder.

"T-Thank you... that actually helped me feel so much better."

SMG4 smiles in return.

"Hey, no problem. You're an absolute delight, Three."

SMG3 blushes lightly at his words, and smiles to himself.

SMG4 glances at the ground and sees several tiny blue flowers in the grass. He smiles to himself and walks over and picks three of those little flowers and holds them in a tiny bouquet, before handing them to SMG3. SMG3's face turns bright red as he holds the three tiny flowers in a tiny bouquet in his hand.

"I... um... what... huh..."

"I'm gonna continue working on the attraction now. See you in the morning, Three!"

With that, SMG4 turns around and begins heading back over to the attraction-in-progress. SMG3 blushes as he holds the three flowers, three of the same kind he wanted to give SMG4 in his dream. He looks at the flowers, then looks back up at SMG4. He quickly picks four more tiny flowers out of the grass and runs up to SMG4.

"SMG4!"

SMG4 turns around as he hears SMG3 call his name and run toward him. SMG3 quickly shoves the four freshly picked tiny blue flowers at SMG4, while holding the three that were picked for him in his other hand.

SMG4 blushes and smiles as he takes the tiny bouquet of four blue flowers in his hand.

"Aw... thanks Three-"

"YEAH YEAH, WHATEVER, GOODNIGHT SCRUB!"

SMG3 blushes madly as he sprints away from SMG4 and back into his cafe.

SMG4 stares after him in confusion as he runs away, but smiles at the fact SMG3 gave him flowers in return. He sticks the flowers into his hair, two behind each ear, then continues working on the attraction.

SMG3 slams the door behind him in his bedroom/lair and breathes heavily.

Holy shit I just did that... Holy shit I just did that!

He internally high fives himself, so proud of the fact he successfully gave SMG4 flowers. ...Maybe it wasn't a confession, like he hoped to do, but it was a start! Better than nothing!

He stares at the three blue flowers SMG4 gave him and smiles warmly. He finds a tiny vase on a shelf and goes to the bathroom sink to fill it with water, and sticks the three flowers inside of it and puts it on his dresser, right near his bed.

SMG4 is nothing like that dream version... no... he is nothing like what my anxiety is fearing. Maybe he doesn't like me like that at the moment... but for right now... this is so much better than him hating me.

He crawls back into bed, being careful not to wake Eggdog, and goes back to sleep cheerfully.

#smg4 #smg34 #smg3 #smg43 #smg4 fanfic #smg4 x smg3

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flightfoot · 2 months ago

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How Alya's mistreated by the saltdom and the writers

I've written this for the @yall-hate-kids-tourney, but figured that I'd publish it on my own tumblr as well for an easy reference point for others who want to illustrate how badly Alya's been treated - mostly by the fandom, but she's been somewhat screwed over by the writing as well. I've written it so that even people who have never heard of Miraculous before can understand my problems with the way Alya's often depicted, and I will probably use this essay for that purpose repeatedly in the future. It's over 4500 words, so buckle up!

---

The amount of hatred Alya gets in the fandom is absolutely insane. There are over 800 fics tagged with "Alya Cesaire Bashing", and that's just the ones that actually TAG it - many of them either use a a non-canonical tag or just take their demonization of her as canon. It's not just that a lot of fics bash her either, but that the fics that bash her are disproportionately popular. If you go through the "Miraculous Ladybug" tag on AO3 and sort by kudos, I'd say around a third of the top 500 most popular fics use this gross caricature of her in order to justify inflicting some sort of insane punishment on her, or at least replacing her with "better" friends and leaving her to wail in despair.

Basically, Alya is the best friend of the main character, Marinette. She's really into superheroes and aims to be a reporter someday, to the point that the first time a supervillain cropped up in the series, she immediately got out her bike and cycled after him so that she could be there when a superhero showed up to fight him (Lois Lane would be proud). She runs a blog called the "Ladyblog" which reports on what the superheroes are doing, and sometimes makes some fun videos, like about the most impressive feats of one of the superheroes.

More relevantly though, she acts as Marinette's support a lot of the time, often being the one to push her to confess her feelings to Adrien, to help her with plans she comes up with, to talk things out with if she's having trouble processing something, and trying to act as the voice of reason if Marinette's gotten to into her own head. It can sometimes head into Black Best Friend territory of having her mostly stick around to support her bestie, but she DOES get a decent amount of screentime and focus at least.

Then the first episode of season 3 aired, and the fandom went BALLISTIC.

This character, Lila, debuted back at the end of season 1 as being this attention-seeking liar who pretended that she knew a lot more famous people than she actually did, including being best friends with Ladybug. Alya, being a naive 14-year-old, believed her and put Lila's interview on her blog. Since Marinette IS Ladybug, she knew this was not true, though she was initially more freaked out about the possibility that Adrien (the boy she has a crush on) would find her supposedly amazing life to be entrancing and that Lila would steal Adrien away from her, to the point that she actively wanted to stop Lila and Adrien from spending time together to prevent Adrien from falling for her.

Fast-forward to Chameleon, the first episode of season 3, and Lila's back and lying some more, this time about having Tinnitus (which would mean that she needs to sit at the front of class, next to Adrien). The class has a whole seating rearrangement in order to accommodate the move, and because some of them just wanted to change seats. Since Marinette was late that day, she didn't get to give input, so she wound up sitting alone at the back of the class, instead of next to Alya like she usually did. She's upset by this, but can't prove that Lila doesn't actually have the disability (she doesn't even have evidence that Lila doesn't have hearing problems, it's just that her story of how she supposedly got the disability is suspect), so she puts up with it for the class period.

Then lunch time rolls around and Marinette tells Alya and Alya's boyfriend, Nino, that Lila's a lying liar who lies. Alya asks why Marinette hates her so much, since she barely knows Lila (this isn't the first time that Marinette's nitpicked at Lila's stories, but she's never actually managed to prove that Lila's lying, Lila's good at coming up with explanations for any hole Marinette exposes in her tales). Marinette tells her how, after Lila first arrived at school, she followed her and Adrien, eavesdropped on them, and then saw Ladybug show up and tear into Lila for not knowing her. (Presumably that's what she says, the episode skipped past her actual recounting of what she saw). Alya and Nino are more concerned with the fact that she stalked Lila and Adrien, with Alya also being skeptical that what she heard might have been out-of-context, given how common out-of-context eavesdropping is in fiction for causing issues, with Alya saying, "A good reporter always verifies her sources. Can you prove she doesn't actually know Ladybug?"

Since Marinette can't actually prove anything without revealing that she's Ladybug, she decides that the sane and reasonable thing to do is to throw a wadded up napkin at Lila while she's eating lunch, and when she catches it (Lila's pretending to have a sprained wrist), to loudly declare that she obviously doesn't have a sprained wrist. Lila quickly pretends that catching it did actually hurt, the classmates Lila was sitting with scold Marinette for hurting her, and then Marinette goes off to seethe in a bathroom, where Lila finds her and threatens to turn her friends against her if she continues trying to expose her lies.

Then at the end of the episode, Adrien goes to sit with Marinette at the back of the class to keep her company, the teacher thinks that Marinette ALSO has hearing issues so she's brought back to the front (and away from Adrien again), Lila pretends that her hearing has been fixed so she can sit at the back with Adrien, and Alya spots that Marinette looks miserable about sitting alone at the front, so she chooses to sit next to Marinette to keep her company and everyone ends up going back to their old places, except that Lila's sitting at the back of the class now.

And that's it. That is, for the most part, what kicked off the entire Alya hatred and demonization onslaught. While there ARE more things that happening in following episodes, they have a pretty small effect on the demonization Alya's put through, almost all of it is derived from Chameleon and hasn't changed much since then.

So for starters, in fanfics Alya is often made to ditch Marinette constantly to hang out with Lila instead. This never happens. She's often exasperated when Marinette starts talking about how Lila is awful and points out that she doesn't have proof of that, but she doesn't avoid Marinette, and the closest she ever comes to hanging out with Lila outside of class events is when she called Lila over to babysit hers and Nino's younger siblings when Marinette canceled at the last minute.

But most Alya-bashing fics don't just leave it there. Oh no. If you look through a bunch of the most popular Miraculous fics, you'll see Alya made out to be some sort of ringleader for the class in bullying Marinette, hitting her, pinching her, poisoning her, destroying her things, saying nasty, heinous things to her, the works, and inciting the rest of the class to do the same, sometimes to the point that even LILA is shocked at her cruelty. Usually in these cases, Chloe, who is canonically the class bully (and Marinette's bully in particular) is inexplicably Marinette's primary protector against the eeeeeevil Alya, becoming Marinette's best friend and support and basically taking on Alya's canon role and some of her personality traits, despite the fact that canonically, Chloe's as susceptible to Lila's lies as anyone else, and that in season 5 Chloe actually became Lila's partner in crime in trying to hurt Marinette in particular. (I don't like how Chloe's treated in canon, but that's a different story).

I've never even seen any justification given for why Alya's so frequently made to be outright violent or cruel towards Marinette, it's just widely accepted in fiction now, even with nothing pointing to her ever being malicious like that. There ARE other things Alya canonically does that I see her taken to task over though, but that fall apart when you examine them.

One of the biggest offenders is criticism towards Alya over how she handles babysitting. In Christmaster, Alya and Nino pick up Nino's little brother after Marinette babysits him for them while they're on a date, in Timetagger, Marinette's slated to babysit for them while they're on a date but cancels at the last minute, so they call Lila over instead, and then in Simple Man, Marinette books herself to babysit Alya's and Nino's younger siblings and the daughter of one's of her mom's friends, a little girl named Manon, all at the same time.

Alya receives heavy criticism for not paying Marinette for her babysitting, for having Marinette babysit for her secretly behind her parents' back without their knowledge, and for pressuring Marinette to babysit for her even though Marinette's so busy.

A few problems with this.

1. We see babysitting happen several times, sometimes with Alya helping Marinette with babysitting Manon and sometimes with Marinette just babysitting Manon without anyone else's involvement. At no point is payment brought up, and yet the absence of such a discussion is only ever used to demonize Alya.

2. There is no evidence that the babysitting Marinette does for Alya's sake is done behind her parents' back, the only thing pointing to that is a lack of Alya ever flat-out saying that she has her parents' permission to have Marinette babysit for her, but there's no evidence of sneaking around. MARINETTE, however, DOES canonically ditch her babysitting duties by having Alya babysit for her without the parent's knowledge. In Prime Queen, Marinette accidentally double books herself to do an interview as Ladybug at the same time that she's supposed to be babysitting Manon, so she calls Alya over to watch the interview with her, lies to her that she's just gonna go downstairs for a few minutes to talk with her parents and for Alya to please watch over Manon while she does that, and then leaves to do the interview while Alya watches over Manon the whole time. Nadja definitely didn't know that this happened, because she was surprised and worried when Alya and Manon called in during the interview with Marinette nowhere to be seen. In addition to this, in Simpleman, Marinette foists off all the children she's babysitting onto her grandpa against his will so that she can run off and help with Adrien's photoshoot after he calls her. The people demonizing Alya for supposedly having Marinette babysit for her secretly are not upset about the examples of Marinette canonically doing these things.

3. Of the three times that Marinette has, to date, been scheduled to babysit for Alya's sake (Christmaster, Timetagger, and Simpleman), for Christmaster she spent the next several hours after finishing with babysitting making Adrien's 50th birthday present (he's currently 14 years old), so I wouldn't say she was pressed for time, for Timetagger, she literally called Alya at the last minute to say she was too busy to babysit and Alya said it was no biggie and made other arrangements, and for Simpleman, Alya offered to cancel her date and take care of her younger siblings herself the instant she saw that Marinette was already babysitting Manon, and Marinette told her to go ahead and go on her date and that she'd look after her siblings.

So clearly, the people clutching their pearls about how horribly irresponsibly Alya is handling babysitting and how she's wronging Marinette in the process don't actually care about babysitting ethics here, because otherwise, Marinette would be getting the brunt of the hatred, not Alya. Despite this, I've seen a fair number of posts in the past tearing into Alya's babysitting for the reasons I already gave, and a bunch of fics that make it so that Alya pressures and guilt-trips Marinette into babysitting for her when she's struggling to keep up with all her work, only to have her parents find out and be horrified by how Alya's lied to them about who's been doing the babysitting and that Alya's been getting an increased allowance because of that, so they pay Marinette out of Alya's allowance and ground her, take away privileges, just have this be used as an excuse to punish Alya for supposedly wronging Marinette.

And then there's the subcategory of Alya demonization towards her for putting up Lila's interview on her blog without verifying that Lila was telling the truth. Admittedly, this was foolish, but she's 14. Retractions exist for a reason. And yet, fics frequently have her reputation be completely destroyed because she put up one interview that had a false statement by the interviewee in it, and sometimes even to be completely blacklisted from ever being a journalist in the future, things that are completely insane and would have even the most storied and well-respected of reporters be unable to ever get a job.

She also frequently gets demonized and bashed for "believing Lila over Marinette". My major issue with this: what she's specifically believing Lila over Marinette for is on the topic of "is Lila an awful person". I don't think it's unreasonable to have a higher standard of proof for believing that someone is an awful person than for believing that your friend might just have some biased interpretations. Alya thinks that Marinette doesn't like Lila mostly because Lila has hit on Adrien, Marinette's crush, before. This isn't unreasonable considering that Marinette's first reaction to Lila is to freak out about her stealing Adrien away, and that when this other girl, Kagami, started hanging out with Adrien, she freaked out about that too. Specifically, she called a meeting of all her female friends to try and stop Kagami and Adrien from going away together to London for the weekend in Backwarder, helped Chloe in trying to get Kagami covered in food at a fancy red carpet movie opening in order to drive her away and steal her seat next to Adrien for the movie, and when she and Kagami were paired up for a "friend-making game" where the goal was to locate where Adrien was in Paris and the prize was to spend time with him, she pretended to genuinely want to be Kagami's friend so she could sabotage both of them and prevent Kagami from spending time with Adrien. So it's not like the belief that Marinette might be unfairly biased against Lila because she's made moves on Adrien is an unfair assumption.

In addition to that, on the occasions when Lila HAS tried to frame Marinette for something, Alya hasn't believed it, or hasn't been shown to believe it at least. In Ladybug, Lila tries to frame Marinette for cheating on a test, for stealing a necklace from her, and for knocking her down the stairs. Despite the evidence Lila planted, Alya doesn't believe it and investigates to try and find out what really happened. She doesn't uncover any solid proof, but she still believes in Marinette. She doesn't believe that Marinette's assumption that Lila's behind this is necessarily correct, since Marinette's leaping to that without presenting proof, but she doesn't believe that Marinette's the culprit either. And in the two following cases when Marinette's framed, Alya never actually gets a chance to say what she believes after the accusation is made against Marinette.

Just... the amount of demonization towards Alya TO THIS DAY, often for things she NEVER EVEN FREAKING DID, is absolutely insane. Even over 5 years since Chameleon aired, fics with Alya being made into this malicious, awful bully so that Marinette can get some new friends to publicly denounce her, get her arrested, or otherwise be punished are frequently on the front page of the most recently updated fics on AO3, and are often some of the most popular ones. If you go to "Fandom-Specific plot" on Tvtropes, saltfics like these have multiple files going through all the common salt tropes. When looking through fics, I frequently search for Alya's name because she's often the first person to be unfairly demonized, so if she's safe, then everyone likely is.

I suspect that racism plays a major factor in this. It doesn't make sense that Alya's often painted as being a violent, malicious bully and leader in getting the rest of the class to physically hurt and terrorize Marinette, I haven't even seen analysis arguing that she'd do that... but it tracks with the "Black Brute" archetype. This becomes even more obvious with Chloe, who's white and canonically DOES do some of this stuff, taking on Alya's canon role and some of her personality traits in these sorts of stories.

Then there's the standard Alya's held to for how she handles her blog. It's way higher than anyone would hold real-world reporters to, much less 14-year-olds. But it makes sense if you factor racial bias into account, and how Alya, being Black, is going to be held to a higher standard than anyone else, and be punished more for failing to meet that standard.

For things like the babysitting double standard, it makes no sense if you're actually looking at the stated criticism, given that the same criticism isn't leveled at Marinette... but it makes perfect sense if you're going off the assumption that Alya, as Marinette's Black Best Friend, is supposed to solely function as her support and that she's simply fulfilling her duties by always being there for her when needed, including for babysitting, but that if Marinette ever attempts to repay in kind, then Alya's being unfair towards her because Alya's obligated to always support Marinette, but that relationship is supposed to be a one-way street. Alya is supposed to function as Marinette's support, never the other way around.

And as for the way Alya's demonized for asking for evidence before believing that Lila's lying, well... again, Alya's expected to act as Marinette's support, and her "failing" that in any way, even if it makes sense from her point of view, is viewed as a betrayal. She's supposed to be loyal to Marinette, and only to Marinette, not to think for herself or to have multiple other friends or values that she needs to weigh. And anything that she does to go against that "justifies" Marinette intentionally trying to hurt and punish her for failing to live up to her role.

In conclusion, the way Alya's treated by the salt side of the fandom is grossly unfair, often has little connection with anything she canonically did, and has some gross racist implications, and is likely at least partially spurred on by racism, especially with how common and popular it still is to this day.

Addendum: How Alya is screwed over by the writers.

While Alya is primarily screwed over by the fanbase, there are some aspects of the writing that exacerbate her ill treatment. In season 4, Marinette confesses her secret identity to Alya, letting her know that she is Ladybug. Despite now knowing why Marinette was so convinced that Lila wasn't friends with Ladybug, and that Lila's interview stating that she's best friends with Ladybug is a lie, the subject just... never comes up, even when Lila starts being important again. It's not that Alya's ignoring what Lila lying on those subjects means, it's more like the writers just completely forgot that Lila told those particular lies, since Marinette doesn't bring them up either. This creates an inconsistency with the fanbase, who really, really, REALLY haven't forgotten those lies.

There ARE ways to explain this - Lila lying about being friends with Ladybug in order to try to boost her reputation, especially when she's the new girl, isn't really all that heinous. Marinette lies a lot as well, even if you don't count lies told to protect her secret identity or other "necessary" lies, sometimes out of embarrassment, sometimes to to try and prevent someone's feelings from getting hurt, and sometimes because she thinks it's the fastest, easiest, or most certain way to get the outcome she wants. And yet, even though Marinette lies a lot, she's not ostracized for that since it's usually not for malicious reasons - foolish reasons at times, but rarely malicious. It would make sense that Lila too, wouldn't be thought too badly of for merely lying in an attempt to make friends.

None of that actually comes up though. Alya later, in Confrontation, states that, "Marinette, you know we'll always believe you. But every time you've accused Lila, there's been no evidence. And at worst, it was just a misunderstanding." Marinette doesn't say anything about the previous times Lila has been proven to lie, so it seems like either it was decided offscreen that the more understandable lies she's told don't matter, or that the writers just plain forgot about them.

There were other opportunities created by Alya knowing Marinette's identity that were ignored. Alya concludes that Adrien backing up Marinette's statement that Lila's bad news was just due to him wanting to defend his girlfriend. This is also a bit of a writing flaw, while wanting to back up his girlfriend's stance IS a decent reason for Adrien to be biased against Lila, this is Adrien we're talking about here. He's nice and understanding to a fault, and is known for giving people the benefit of the doubt and second chances. It makes far less sense to believe that he'd believe the worst of Lila, even if Marinette does, than it does for Marinette to be biased against Lila. That being said, Adrien wouldn't have been present for Lila's more indisputable threats and statements directed against Marinette, so he can't actually verify for sure whether or not there could've been some misunderstanding.

There WAS, however, someone who was always with Marinette, and who could actually back up Marinette's statements more definitively.

Tikki. She was present for every threat Lila made, for everything she ever claimed. While it's possible that both Tikki and Marinette may have misunderstood Lila in the same way, it's far less likely, especially since Tikki would have had different biases from Marinette. Tikki could be an important witness. Yet that never comes up, is never proposed, because that would end the plotline too quickly.

Alya was also screwed over in the immediate aftermath of Lila being exposed, though not by the writers per se? There was a short scene planned after Lila's exposed where Alya apologizes for not believing Marinette about Lila being a liar and generally an awful person, we've even got leaked footage of it, but it appears that it was cut somewhere between being written and voice acted, and the episode being aired.

All of this only really affects detailed arguments about how well (or poorly) Alya's story arc with Lila was handled, its affect on the actual fanfiction produced about Chameleon salt was minimal, I saw no change in its frequency, severity, or general handling of the characters with any season after season 3. I highly doubt that even the changes I suggested here would have done much to persuade the saltdom against Ron the Death Eatering Alya, especially since a lot of the hatred against her has so little to do with the show.

There IS some hatred thrown at Alya for non-Lila related reasons - well, reasons that aren't DIRECTLY Lila related, most of that hatred still stems from people hating her for Chameleon stuff and then retroactively justifying it by looking back at other things she did that irked them. The most common one (that actually has some sort of argument to it, not the "Alya's a horrible babysitter and is abusing her friendship with Marinette" nonsense I listed in the main essay) is that Alya's pushy about getting Marinette together with Adrien.

This is more a product of Alya's usual role in the story than anything. I mentioned in the main essay how Alya sometimes falls into "Black Best Friend" territory, and this is one of the biggest examples. One of her most common roles throughout the series is as the person who pushes Marinette to actually confess to Adrien, to hang out with him, to pursue her romantic desires even with her anxiety holding her back, and to be honest with herself during the times when she's trying to deny her feelings for him. She's Marinette's sounding board whenever she's having an anxiety spiral about... actually, just about anything, and acts as the voice of reason when Marinette gets in her own head too much.

Thus, Alya sets Marinette and Adrien to end up somewhere alone together, or tries to push her to talk to him, or to be honest during the times when she tries to "move on" from Adrien by denying that she still has feelings for him (which is blatantly untrue). She IS okay with Marinette dating someone else though, if she honestly seems to want to do that. She had no problem with her dating Luka, for instance. She DID protest Marinette's seemingly sudden interest in Chat Noir, but that was mostly because Marinette seemed to be grabbing at her new attraction as an attempt to run away from her feelings for Adrien, something that Tikki ALSO noted.

That's another thing - Alya's the character who's most frequently thrown into this role, but she's not the only one, nor even the most extreme one. A new character that was introduced for the Miraculous New York Special, Jess, observed how Adrien and Marinette acted around each other, and decided to try to get them to confess their love by faking a supervillain attack on them, with the supervillain kidnapping anyone that no one loves in order to compel Marinette to FINALLY confess to Adrien. (Alya thought it was stupid, but agreed to help since it might actually work). When Marinette, Adrien, Luka, and Kagami went out to the wax museum together, Luka intentionally locked Adrien and Marinette in a room together so that Marinette would stop running away and would be forced to talk to Adrien. Marinette is written in such a way that other characters are compelled to meddle in her lovelife, because otherwise she'll continue making her own extreme plans and pining away, but never actually confess her feelings.

So while Alya could be said to be "pushy" to an extent, it's mostly for Marinette's benefit. I would like if this was a less frequent role for Alya - I think it does her a disservice, since it locks her firmly into Marinette's orbit rather than emphasizing who Alya is as her own character. Most of the hatred towards Alya for this is tied up in "Die For Our Ship" being directed at Adrien though, with Adrien bashers hating that Alya's trying to set Marinette up with what they see as an inferior option. Ironically enough, while Alya's role in this situation is one of the primary examples in the show of her being treated by the writers as a "Black Best Friend" who exists to serve Marinette's character, it's actually one of the cases where I think racism is a pretty minor part of the hatred by the fanbase over it, since I think that's mostly motivated by hatred towards the Lovesquare.

In conclusion (again), there is an issue with the writers bending Alya's character in order to tell a particular story, particularly a Marinette-centered story, while ignoring how little sense that makes with what happened earlier on in the plotline, or how it centralizes Alya's role and character around Marinette in ways that exacerbate already existing writing patterns in media.

#alya cesaire #ml analysis #ml fandom salt #miraculous ladybug

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 1 year ago

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Don't cha wanna dance?

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 30/31

Prompt: New year's resolutions

Rated: T

CW: Vague boner references again

Tags: No UD AU; dancer Steve Harrington; good neighbor Eddie Munson; Flirting; Sexual tension

Notes: Continued from day 22. This is for @sourw0lfs and @wormdebut specifically, who very gently bullied talked me into writing more dancer!Steve. 🩰

Eddie has never understood new year's resolutions. He believes that, if he wanted to change something about himself, he could do it any time. Like quit smoking. Or stop biting his nails. Or be less of a goddamn push-over.

Okay, so maybe the latter is something he should really, really work on, ‘cause it's gotten him into a whole shitload of unfortunate situations lately. As if chauffeuring Max to her stupid ballet classes wasn't enough. Now he's also helping out at the dancing school’s annual Christmas recital, because he's just such a nice guy, apparently.

While he tries to arrange the lopsided folding chairs into something resembling a neat line, he struggles to remember when he agreed to this shit. For the life of him, he can't recall. His brain was probably flat-lining when Max asked him, as it tends to do around a certain very hot dance teacher and his muscles and his tights and-

“Looking good!”

He whips his head up. Steve is standing a few paces away. The tights are a pale pink today. Jesus Christ.

“You too,” Eddie blurts. Steve's eyebrow arches and shit, he wasn't talking about Eddie, was he? “I mean, thanks, I … ow, son of a-”

“Oh, shit!” Steve is next to him in an instant, freeing his hand from the maws of the folding chair. Eddie swears, sucks his throbbing thumb into his mouth. “Sorry, these things are ancient. You need an ice pack? I've got some-”

“‘m good,” Eddie says. Tries to go for suave. Fails because he's still got his own thumb up his mouth like a fucking two-year-old. “Had worse.”

Steve’s face is a mask of doubt, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Anyhow,” he smiles instead, putting the offending chair in line with the rest. “I just wanted to say thanks again. You're probably busy enough around the holidays, but Max insisted you'd be happy to help.”

“I'm not,” Eddie says. Pauses. Grabs a strand of hair to hide behind. “Busy, I mean. I am happy to help, so … don't sweat it, or whatever.”

A heartbeat passes in awkward silence.

“So, what's with the, um …” Eddie says. Watches how Steve tilts his head at him, hair swooshing with the motion. Briefly considers stuffing his thumb back in his mouth to shut himself up. “... with the y’know. The getup.”

Something flashes across Steve’s face, something dangerously akin to hurt.

“What?” he asks, doing a hesitant three-sixty. “Something wrong with it?”

Screw the thumb, Eddie thinks. He needs to find a way to fit his entire hand in there. And Steve, for what it’s worth, needs to stop twirling, or they're about to have a massive fucking problem.

“It’s fine!” he says. Maybe a bit too fast, because he thinks Steve’s mouth curls into a smug smile. “I just mean, um … you’re not … dancing today, are you?”

Is he? Oh dear God, please no. The place is gonna be swarming with proud parents and relatives, Eddie is not ready for the inevitable consequences of Steve in his pink tights on that stage. Not in the skinny jeans he had to wear today, stupid fucking moron that he is.

“Huh? No, tonight is all about the girls,” Steve says. Eddie is so busy sighing in relief and nodding that he doesn’t catch the next words.

“Sorry, what?”

“That other recital I was talking about earlier? You coming to that, too?” Steve repeats, and fuck, what other recital? Eddie really needs to work on his listening skills. If he actually listened instead of staring at the guy like a catatonic caveman every so often, he might be able to maintain a halfway intelligent conversation.

He’d also probably know why Steve is suddenly coming closer. Eddie tries to take a frantic step backwards and almost crashes into the folding chairs.

“Oh, erm …,” he stammers. “When was it again?”

Stever reaches up to run a hand through his hair, boyish and bashful.

“Um, New Year's Eve,” he says apologetically. “I totally understand if you already have plans, it's just… There's a little get-together after the show, too, with drinks and snacks, and I thought-”

“Sure, I'll be there,” Eddie says.

See, what did he say? Total push-over.

The thing is, with the way Steve’s eyes light up, he can't really find it in himself to regret it.

“Ew, what happened to your finger?” Max looks about as disgusted as she sounds. Which is probably fair, because Eddie’s thumb has turned a vibrant purple.

“These little babies did,” Eddie gestures offhandedly at the chairs they're stacking against the wall. “So be careful.”

“Were you staring at Steve again?”

“Fuck off, I wasn't.”

She pushes the hair that has come loose from its bun out of her eyes so she can give him a deadpan stare. Eddie glowers right back.

“And even if I was, what's it to you? You can be glad I keep showing up to these gigs. Today, on New Year's Eve, it's really getting-”

“What are you on about?” Her entire face scrunches up in confusion. “There's no recital on-”

“Oh no?” Eddie pulls the flier Steve gave him from his pocket and pushes it into her chest. “Then what's this?”

“That's not our school, dumbass. Check the address.”

She studies it for a second.

“Huh? What d'you…?” Eddie is already squinting at the letters again. Sure enough, the address doesn't match the one he's been driving Max to. Instead, it's somewhere downtown. “What?”

“That's the studio Steve goes to,” Max has already returned to stacking chairs. “Super fancy place. He used to be a pro, y’know? Before he tore that muscle?”

When Eddie doesn’t reply, she tugs the flier from his limp fingers, folds it neatly and puts it into his jacket pocket.

“Happy new year, doofus. Better wear bulky pants.”

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddieholidaydrabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

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agender-witchery · 1 year ago

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On Project Moon

Hey, this is gonna be long, I'm putting most of it under the cut. This post is about the recent firing of VellMori from Project Moon, I know that it warrants some tags for triggers, but I have no idea what's commonly used, so if I miss something, please tell me.

Additionally, I have written this up in a way that if it escapes the target audience of Project Moon fans, it can still be understood, so with that in mind, there will be Library of Ruina spoilers.

The tl;dr for those who don't wanna read the full thing is that Project Moon was put in a very bad position with some violent extremists targeting them and that I'm not happy about any of what happened.

So, for those unaware, Project Moon has fired VellMori, the CG artist for Limbus Company. Now, a not inaccurate statement that can be made from this is "Project Moon fired a woman for being a feminist" but this is... somewhat reductive. Let's immediately get out of the way that VellMori did absolutely nothing wrong. Some people have said she is a TERF. I've seen no evidence of this. Some people have said she wished death on all men. I've seen no evidence of this.

What I HAVE seen is that VellMori thinks sexual abuse is bad. Now, why would this lead to a firing? The short answer is that a bunch of violent incels, one of which was literally dressed as a clown, came knocking at their office doors.

See, Limbus Company has a "beach" event coming up. In this event, we are getting a water themed outfit for two of the characters, one male and one female. For Sinclair, the guy, he has been given an EXTREMELY slutty mechanic's outfit. For Ishmael, the woman, she has been given a very skintight wet suit outfit. Now, I wanna take care to note that VellMori is the CG artist - she had no hand in these designs, a man made them. I would also like to mention that both outfit designs are amazing, and I will be including them at the end of this post for reference.

Now, upon revealing the wet suit design for Ishmael, a bunch of whiny incels on what is basically Korean 4chan got upset that Ishmael, instead of being in a bikini as is usual for gacha games, was wearing a wet suit. Nevermind that the designs in Limbus Company have always been conservative and that the Sinclair design is the most skin we've ever seen and it's just an open shirt. Again, the wet suit is still super revealing, it's skin tight and this is literally the first design of her that doesn't make her look flat chested. They're not rioting over the lack of sex appeal, they're specifically mad that it's not a bikini.

The incels come to the conclusion that the lack of any skin being shown on Ishmael's outfit is a result of evil feminism. No, I'm not exaggerating. They initially begin harassing the artist who is actually responsible for drawing the outfits, but upon learning that he is a man, set their sights on VellMori because she's a woman, and being an artist is good enough I guess. What they do from here is they start digging and digging and digging on VellMori's twitter, making use of archived pages because many of the "offensive" tweets had been deleted.

I'd like to take a moment to point out that VellMori never actually tweeted anything out here - it was all retweets from a 4-6 year old archive, and retweets that have been long deleted. These retweets contain such transgressive statements as "I'm sick of misogyny" and "If being against patriarchy makes me antisocial, then so be it" and just... mirroring back to men what those men were saying to women. Some people would like to have you think she was calling for death to all men. She wasn't. She ALSO retweeted all this stuff while she was a teenager and well before she worked for Project Moon.

Nonetheless, the incels had decided that feminism was the reason Ishmael had a wet suit and not a bikini and they had found a feminist working for Project Moon. It is at this point that we must take a brief detour and talk about Library of Ruina, Project Moon's previous game.

See, in Library of Ruina, one of the protagonists, Angela, has this whole arc about escaping her abuser and becoming a human. Yes, she is literally a robot, but Project Moon isn't exactly a stranger to symbolism in their stories and a feminist reading of Angela is ridiculously easy. The main antagonist in Library of Ruina is Argalia, the Blue Reverberation, and his crew is called the Reverberation Ensemble. Every member of the Reverberation Ensemble is a violent lunatic who each want to reinforce the status quo in their own unique shitty way. In addition to this, typically in order to reach the titular Library, you would need to be invited. The Reverb Ensemble are the "uninvited guests", the ones who managed to reach the Library and knock down the door without an invite.

Why am I talking about this? Well, the incels decided to start calling themselves the Reverb Ensemble, and referring to each other using names of the Reverb Ensemble members such as Pluto, Elena, and Oswald. Having taken on the moniker of the uninvited guests, they then showed up to Project Moon's office to protest. Over the lack of a bikini. Now, remember how I mentioned someone was dressed up as a clown? One of the Reverb Ensemble members, Oswald, is a clown with an extremely tenuous grip on reality. So much so, that his ideal world is one in which there is no meaning whatsoever. That is the character they chose to dress up as. This is either a case of extreme self awareness or extreme self unawareness.

Eventually, the incels were let into the office possibly as a form of damage mitigation to prevent the crowd of protestors from getting any bigger. This was a questionable decision, but they had a group of violent incels at their doorstep either way, and I don't exactly have full details on this. Regardless, Project Moon had on their hands a group of violent protesting incels, who they felt compelled to let into the building, and who had demands including the firing of their feminist employee. (7/28 update: a translation of the transcript posted to DCInside has surfaced. Please check the reblogs for it. Project Moon was verifiably threatened.)

So while "Project Moon fired a woman for being a feminist" isn't inaccurate it also isn't the full picture. More appropriately, it'd be "Project Moon fired a woman because a group of violent incels who weren't satisfied with a form fitting wet suit instead of a bikini showed up to their office demanding that an artist who did not make the wet suit design be fired because she retweeted some feminist stuff 5 years ago while she was a teenager".

I'm not happy with this. None of this is good. People are allowed to be feminists, and Project Moon stories have always presented progressive ideas to anyone with half a brain to do some basic literary analysis. I can understand why they would cave to the demands of people who were threatening them and showed up to their actual place of work, but at the same time, that's someone's livelihood gone and proof that in the future, the same sorts of people can use the same sorts of tactics to bully Project Moon into doing whatever they want. All of this sucks.

For those who would like to see the retweets in question alongside translations: https://twitter.com/danghwangs/status/1683884236888223744

And for people who would like reference as to what the artworks these incels were up in arms about, Ishmael in the wet suit and Sinclair in the mechanic's outfit.

#limbus company #project moon #VellMori #misogyny #library of ruina #im tiny puppy

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dreamwatch · 1 month ago

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Part 1 Part 2 AO3

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."

Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.

Word Count: Pt3 - 4954 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury - please let me know if you think I've missed any.

Part 3

For the first time in years they get lucky; Wayne gets Christmas off. He says it’s because he worked Thanksgiving, but Eddie overheard phone calls that maybe he shouldn’t have been listening to, and he has a suspicion it’s more to do with the fact that for a while there Wayne was facing all his future Christmas’s alone and this one’s kind of special.

They’re watching the TV, eating too much, and sipping on beers. It’s normal. Just regular Christmas Eve in the Munson home, but the weight of it, the what ifs, hang in the air. It’s not oppressive, or sad, it’s just … there. It should be a sign, probably, that he and Wayne need to have a good talk, maybe work through a few things. But Wayne isn’t a talker, doesn’t understand why anyone would go to a shrink, he buries his shit deep. When Eddie thinks of his father, he was much the same. It probably shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, then, that Eddie likes to keep things locked away, hidden from public view.

He sips on his beer and he eats his cookies, and he smiles at Wayne and Wayne smiles back. They know what they have. It’s enough.

They don’t get visitors often and he can’t think of a single Christmas where they’ve had one that wasn’t a cop, so when they hear the knock at the door they both look at each other like deer in the headlights. The bad knocks, the ones that end up with shit on the doorstep, or notes on the door telling him to move away if he knows what’s good for him, they don’t come as often as they used to. The last one was around Halloween, which in some regards he kind of expected; every town has a boogeyman and sadly he’s it for Hawkins. They keep a baseball bat behind the door where most people store their umbrellas.

Wayne answers the door, fist twitching, but then Steve is wandering into his home, flakes of snow on his eyelashes and in his hair.

“Hey sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you, I just wanted to give you these.”

He hands over two badly wrapped gifts, something bottle shaped for Wayne who seems a little shellshocked at getting anything, and a small navy blue package for Eddie, with way too much tape holding it together. And he knows gifts aren’t a quid pro quo kind of situation, but he’s honestly been back to back with appointments and just life in general, and he doesn’t get out as much as he would like, seeing as he still can’t drive, so his heart sinks a little at it.

“Shit, I didn’t— sorry, I was just so caught up—”

“It’s nothing. Honestly, it’s just something I saw that reminded me of you.”

His voice peters out as he says it, and Eddie feels that little kick, the little squeeze in his core, but he just can’t help it. Reminded me of you. Like he’s important enough for Steve to think about. And isn’t that something?

Reminded me of you.

It’s a little fan, breathing life onto a flame that he just can’t afford to have lit any further. Tamping it down is getting harder and harder.

They talk for a few minutes, but it doesn’t matter how many cookies or beers or sodas Wayne offers him, he declines them all with a sorry, got to get back. He gets up to leave and Eddie walks him to the door.

“What are you doing on Friday?” Steve asks.

“Hmm, I’ll have to check with my secretary, my diary gets booked up so far in advance these days.”

“He ain’t doin’ nothin’!” Wayne shouts. “And close the goddamn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Jesus Christ, old man, keep it down. No fucking privacy here. Well, as you heard, I ain’t doin’ nothin’ apparently.”

It’s a pretty accurate impression, which he knows Wayne heard and he’ll be paying for that for a while. But he made Steve laugh, so it’s entirely worth it.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at four, be dressed and ready to go.” Steve hops down the porch steps back to the car.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out on Friday. Get inside before you freeze to death, Munson. Merry Christmas!”

“I’m going, I’m going, why is everyone such a nag? Merry Christmas, Steve!”

He should wait until tomorrow, but the little blue package in his hand feels like it’s burning him. He sits on his bed and tries his best to peel each piece of tape carefully, but the fucking thing is covered in it so he ends up ripping the paper off anyway.

The guitar strap is neatly folded, blue embroidery singing against the black leather. Guitar picks slip onto the floor at his feet.

His breath falters, trapped in his throat, and it’s several long seconds before he takes a deep breath again.

His guitars were some of the only things saved from the old trailer. Wayne told him how lucky he was to be at the back, how most of his precious possessions survived. He even hung the Warlock on the wall of his new bedroom. It felt like he was being watched, like an eye following him around the room. It felt like a living thing in a way that scared him.

And it wasn’t just the thing of it, the object that got carried into battle - even if that one was a version from another world - it was the way it sounded in his hands now. He tried to play it just once, and once was enough to know it would never happen again. The shake in his hand was frightening, the lack of control, the dissonant noises that rang from it. He chalked it up to some weird phobia, a reaction to what the guitar meant now. But then he picked up his old Fender knock off and it wasn’t any better, and it hit him that it was gone, everything he had practiced, everything he worked for, it was gone just like that. Now he had a shaky left hand and no grip strength and moving his fingers along the fretboard was an effort not an instinct.

It was over. And he never wanted to see that fucking guitar again.

But now he’s sitting here with a beautiful guitar strap in his lap and guitar picks all over the floor, things that Steve chose for him, because they reminded me of you, and it’s painful in a different way, in a way that he can’t examine right now because he just doesn’t have the strength for it in the middle of a Christmas he was never meant to see. He wraps them both back up in the crumpled blue paper and puts them in the bottom drawer of his dresser, pulling a pair of sweats over the top.

Christmas is… emotional. But like in that quiet ‘we’re not gonna talk about it’ way that he and Wayne have perfected over the years. There are pats on the head, hair ruffles, side ways glances when Wayne thinks he’s not looking. Weighty, but not unpleasant. It’s a lot to know you’re loved so deeply, a lot to know how difficult this would have been for Wayne if Eddie hadn’t been here.

(There’s things about that day, about the decisions he made, that he tries to keep hidden from everyone, himself included when he can manage it. They haunt him at night when he’s alone in the house by himself and has time to dwell on them, but when Wayne rests a calloused hand on his head, it’s almost like forgiveness. He hopes Wayne doesn’t know. He hopes none of them know.)

When Friday swings around he feels entirely too much like a kid in a candy store, and if Wayne notices his slightly hyper demeanour when Steve pulls up outside, he at least has the grace not to mention it.

Steve doesn’t open the car door for him. Anyone looking on, watching Eddie potter down his steps unevenly, crutch in hand, would read that as rude. Eddie reads it as trust, as being listened to, and most importantly being heard. Other people struggled with that, so many of his friends, fuck, even Wayne, wanting to step in whenever they thought he needed a hand, but never really hearing him when he said he was fine. And look, he’s a stubborn fuck, he knows this, and he hasn’t made this easy on people, he could have - should have - asked for help at times, but having one person in his corner that listened to him made him feel less powerless. That it was Steve made his heart sing.

Steve still won’t tell him where he’s going, so they do what they usually do, argue over the radio while Eddie tosses tapes around in the glove compartment. Eddie doesn’t get out often, mostly of his own choosing, so these moments mean a lot to him. Painfully normal.

Painfully normal with Steve by his side.

He starts to nod off to the sound of Cyndi Lauper coming through the speakers, but he catches sight of the sign to Indy and it wakes him up with a start. He glances at Steve who definitely knows he’s being stared at because the little smirk on his face grows. Something in Eddie grows with it.

Twenty minutes later they’re pulling up outside Sandy’s.

“Holy shit,” he says, almost under his breath. “I haven’t been here since… fuck, last year I think? How did you find this place?”

Steve unbuckles his seat belt, that smirk firmly still in place. “Friend of a friend.”

And then, because Eddie’s world hasn’t spun out from beneath him enough this year —

Steve Harrington winks at him.

And it’s not a wink like, sports and jocks and rough-housing with the kids wink, it’s a wink. It’s loaded. It takes up space in the car. It passes between them, a little bird Steve set off into the air for Eddie to catch with careful hands.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, but it feels like it will collapse around him if he asks, his little tower of cards that just got to the second level will flutter to the ground. So he laughs it off, calls him a dork and then gets out of the car.

They take a booth at the back, sliding in, face to face.

“Have you eaten here before?” Eddie asks.

“Just the once.” And there’s that smile again, and that little thing in him that keeps so deeply hidden continues to unfurl.

The waitress approaches to take their order, and Steve gets in before Eddie can.

“Two chilli dogs with extra onions, two sides of cheese fries, and two peanut butter malts, please.”

He didn’t even look at the menu.

The moment she walks away, Eddie leans forward.

“How do you know my order?” He’s a little rude with it, though he doesn’t mean to be, and for the first time Steve looks unsure.

“I told you, a friend of a friend.”

“Gareth. You can say Gareth, Steve. I’m not stupid.”

Steve picks up the salt shaker, rolling it idly between his hands. “I just wanted to do something nice, for Christmas, you know? Is that so bad?”

“You did something nice for Thanksgiving.”

“Uh, no, I tried to do something nice. Consider this a do-over.”

Eddie does his best, tries not to read too much into the fact that Steve knew his order, or that he asked Gareth for help, or that he ordered the same thing, or that he spends the entire time practically moaning as he slots the hotdog into his mouth in a way that honestly looks filthy as fuck, but he can’t possibly know what he’s doing, or what he’s doing to Eddie specifically.

He does his best. But a boy can dream.

Steve pays, which just makes it all so much worse. Is this how they feel? All those girls from Hawkins High? Is this what it means to be wooed by the Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?

They get back to the car, and Steve starts her up, the cool air from the vents turning warmer as they sit there.

“That was… that was really cool, actually.”

“Yeah, those hot dogs were awesome. Seriously we need a place like that in Hawkins.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No I mean… you bringing me here. It’s my favourite place to eat. It was a really nice thing to do. Thank you.”

Steve looks delighted. “Good, I’m glad you liked it. And hey, it wasn’t burnt this time, right?”

Steve laughs and Eddie tries to but he can’t, is the thing. It’s all kind of caught up in him, like a tangle. He’s confused, and warm, and happy and a little sad, actually. He surrounds himself with things he wants and can’t have. Sometimes he can live with that, but sometimes it hurts.

“Thank you. Like, honestly,” and he let’s a puff of air out of him, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. Blowing the sting from them. “I haven’t been there since my birthday last year. It was kind of a tradition, you know? I didn’t get to go this year, so… yeah, thanks.” And he means it. Truly and honestly means it.

Steve taps the steering room, out of rhythm to the song on the radio, a nervous little tick Eddie’s noticed before.

“So, there’s one more thing. Uh, one more place I want to take you. If that’s okay?”

He looks so earnestly at Eddie, like he’s honestly scared Eddie will say no to him when right now Eddie doesn’t think he would deny him a fucking thing.

“Yeah, of course. Lead the way, sire.”

They don’t drive far, but they move into the suburbs on the other side of town and into a little neighbourhood Eddie recognises, before pulling up somewhere Eddie knows very well indeed.

Wayne was the first one to bring him to Rudy’s Music Shop back on his twelfth birthday, when he got that old Fender knock-off from Gary at the plant. It needed strings, and it buzzed like crazy and Rudy’s was cheaper than the big store in the middle of the city, so they visited and Rudy fixed it up for him, almost as good as new. And when he was finally ready for his first serious guitar, something metal that he would take the world by storm with, it was Rudy’s that he went to. He couldn’t afford a lot, but the Warlock was a trade in, barely used but with a couple of big chips in the paintwork. Rudy cut him a deal, and Eddie spent three bucks on red nail polish and you could never tell they were there unless you knew where to look.

“Steve… ?”

“I um… Wayne told me about this place. I thought it would be nice to visit. It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers.

Steve taps him across the chest. “Come on.”

This time he does let Steve help him out of the car, the long journey and the cold starting to wear him down. They walk over to the window, the red neon sign glowing bright into the dark street, the guitars stand like soldiers under it, and he feels the pang of want. It feels like the twist of a knife.

“You wanna go in?”

Eddie’s not sure where it comes from. But something in him stirs, something that feels like bravery, and he finds himself wanting just that. But…

“It’s closed,” he says, trying his best to keep the disappointment from his voice. “But thanks for bringing me here, it was a really lovely thought, you know.”

Steve walks right past him to the door and knocks three times, and in a moment Rudy is there, unlocking the door and ushering them in.

“It’s good to see you, kid,” says Rudy.

“Uh— shit.” He starts laughing, it bubbles up from nowhere and he feels a little delirious with it. “It’s good to see you too. Sorry, it’s just a lot, being here.” He gestures around the store at the walls of instruments.

Rudy laughs softly, “Yeah, I bet.” Then he looks at Steve and says “You got half an hour then I got to lock up. You want the, uh—” he gestures over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Uh, give us ten minutes?”

Rudy nods before heading out back, pulling the office door closed behind him. Then it’s just them, and Eddie’s head is spinning like a fucking top.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Promise not to get mad?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “Why would I get mad?”

“I thought maybe it was time to get that new guitar.”

Eddie tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling painted with famous musicians. He stares B.B. King straight in the eye. B.B. Stares right back at him.

“Steve, I just… I can’t.” He blows out a huge puff of air, and it feels like he’s emptying his heart as much as he’s emptying his lungs.

“I know you sold the Warlock. And I get why.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Okay, so explain it to me.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“You can’t run from everything, man.”

It’s like a slap and Eddie turns on him. “Oh fuck you!”

All of it’s falling to shit, all the good, summer, the trips to the drive through, the summer spent in the Harrington’s pool. Cold nights tucked up against each other watching horror movies. A burnt Thanksgiving dinner.

A guitar strap.

Steve reaches out to him, squeezing his wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just. You’re so fucking talented, Eddie, and I hate that you lost the thing you loved the most. You deserve better than that.”

Eddie scoffs. “How do you know I was talented? You’ve never heard me play.”

Steve smiles softly and digs into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a cassette before waving it gently in the air.

“Borrowed it from Wayne. Blues, huh?” And there’s that smirk again, like he’s won something, and fuck it. He has.

“Fucker.”

“Me or Wayne?”

“Both of you.”

There’s a pause, Steve opening and closing his mouth like he's working out what to say next.

“Why did you lie? Why did you sell it?”

It’s not an accusation, just an honest question. If it were anyone else Eddie would fob them off. But it’s Steve, and he deserves so much more than that.

“Because it wasn’t the same, Steve. I couldn’t look at that fucking guitar, I didn’t want it anywhere near me, man. It just didn’t sound the same anymore. I didn’t sound the same. And it just reminded me of everything, every time I looked at it, Chrissy, and Patrick, and the bats--” He heaves in a breath. “Do you know what it’s like when your dreams are stolen? For them to just disappear overnight?”

Steve’s eyes drop to the floor, but he replies with a nod.

“I had a basketball scholarship lined up. Until Billy smashed a plate into my head, anyway. It’s not the same, I know, but I do get it.”

Billy was a bastard, and Eddie never liked him, and it’s awful but all he can think right at this moment is that he’s glad he’s dead.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that,” he says softly.

Steve shrugs. “Shit happens. It’s what you do after that matters. Come on,” Steve takes him by the hand, locking their fingers together, and Eddie’s breath slams to a stop as Steve leads him to a stool and amp. “Rudy said you can play whatever you want. Just point and I’ll grab them. But there is one, I kind of put aside for you. If you want to try it?”

Alternate dimensions haven’t got a thing on what ever the fuck is going on here today. He barely nods before Steve runs off like an excited puppy. He returns a moment later, carefully holding a guitar.

“So, I know this isn't like, metal, or whatever. But Rudy said it’s got a really nice tone? And it’s a lot lighter than your Warlock, so I thought… “ He coughs, suddenly sounds embarrassed, “I just thought it would be easier for you.”

He recognises it immediately; a Gibson ES-335. But not sunburst or cherry red, like everyone knows it for, but in a washed out sky blue. It’s scratched, the paintwork chipped in places, but it’s clean and otherwise clearly well looked after.

“It’s beautiful.”

Steve’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

Tentatively, Eddie reaches out for it and Steve hands it over almost reverently. It is lighter than the Warlock, though it’s bigger. But the rounded cut outs make it fit him better, it rests comfortably on his thigh. He runs his fingers up the neck, feels the comforting grab of the frets under his finger. The loss of it all hits him so suddenly he feels himself fall back, like a gust of wind carrying his grief slammed into him.

“Yeah,” he manages to say, but his throat is closed tight and theres no way Steve doesn’t hear it.

Steve kneels in front of him, places his hands on Eddie’s knees and a spark fires through him.

“Play me something.”

“What?”

Steve beams at him. “Anything you want.”

He feels a tear slip over his lashes, and he watches as Steve traces it down his cheek, wiping it away before it falls from his chin.

“No tears on the guitar,” Steve whispers. “Not good for the paint.”

“Fucker,” Eddie laughs wetly. “Plug me in.”

Steve sets him up, with a little direction, then sits on the floor in front of him, legs crossed, like a toddler at story time, his attention undivided.

It’s rough, the first chords are chunky and stilted, he doesn’t have the strength or the dexterity that he once had, certainly not the speed. But as his hands warm up, as he falls into it, the rhythm, the vibration of the strings under his fingers, the callouses softened from all these months without steel underneath them. His eyes slip closed and he plays by feel again, and without thinking he starts striking chords, the D, into the F sharp, G into the A. He smiles to himself, before opening his eyes, and he and Steve lock eyes, sitting in the dark in Rudy’s, just the neon red lighting them up.

You’re the one I’ve waited for

He sings it openly, part challenge, part declaration.

I need your love more and more

His breath is knocked from him as Steve rushes forward, hands on Eddie’s cheeks pulling him in, his lips pressed deeply into Eddie’s. Eddie grips the guitar in one hand, covering Steve’s hand with the other, holding it there. When the shock passes, he kisses back just as fiercely, lips finding one another in the red glow.

Steve breaks apart first, breathless with giggles before leaning in for another quick peck. And then another. And then he takes the guitar from Eddie, gently places it on a stand before standing in between his legs, his hands on Eddie’s face, tipping him back, before leaning down to kiss him again, slower this time, more softly.

“I’ve thought about this for so fucking long.”

A sound escapes Eddie, air rushing out after a punch to the solar plexus, to a place deep within him.

“You have no idea, man,” is all Eddie can manage in response.

There’s a cough from behind them and they split apart as fast as they came together.

“So, uh, we taking that guitar, boys?”

“Yes,” answers Steve, at the same time Eddie says “I don’t know.”

“Do you like the guitar?” Steve asks.

“I love it.”

“Good. Then we’re taking it.”

Rudy carefully places it into a case and hands it over before letting them out onto the street, and wishing Eddie well.

“But I haven’t paid—”

“He’s all paid for kid. All yours.”

Eddie is dazed when he makes it back to the car. He looks at the little store front in the dark, the neon fighting the orange glow of the street lamps for the honour of lighting the sidewalk. It was a minute ago but it seems like a dream already, like a spell was broken the moment they walked back onto the street, and he’s not sure it happened. It’s too ridiculous to imagine that it happened.

Steve climbs in beside him, looking every bit the King of Hawkins High, smug bastard.

“What just happened?” Eddie says to no one.

He catches movement beside him, Steve pushing his fingers through his hair, checking himself out in the rearview mirror before repositioning it.

“Well, I took you to dinner, then I brought you to your favourite guitar store, bought you a beautiful guitar and basically took you out on the best date you’ve ever had.”

Eddie nods absently. “Oh, is that what happened?”

Steve looks like he’s actually thinking about. “Yeah, pretty much,” and he winks again, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to Eddie now.

They drive back to Hawkins, Steve stretching his hand out to hold Eddie’s every time they come to a stop light, Eddie squeezing it tightly like it might disappear, like it might be the last time he gets the chance.

They pull up outside Eddie’s little house, just as snow starts to flutter to the ground again. Steve leaves the car running, the heat blowing out onto their faces. Eddie feels a little flushed. He’s not entirely sure its the heater though.

“So…” he starts.

Steve throws his arm across the back of Eddie’s seat. “So.”

“Did that really happen? Because, I was dead for about five minutes back in March and they said there could be lasting consequences from the oxygen deprivation and—”

Steve shuts him up with a kiss and not for the first time Eddie’s pleased they moved to a private little house where they can’t be seen from the street.

“Firstly,” Steve says when he let’s go, “Don’t ever joke about that.” Steve’s cradles his jaw, thumb stroking at the raised pink of the scar that sits there. “But yes, it happened. All of it. Maybe I was a little slow off the blocks. Let’s just give thanks for me getting there sooner rather than later, huh?”

Eddie can’t help the bubble of laughter. “Oh, I am giving thanks, trust me, big boy.”

Steve’s eyes narrow as he leans in for another kiss.

“Oh we are totally circling back to that,” Eddie says gleefully.

“Shut up.”

They lean in again, and this time he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him close, his lips parting ready to kiss, until a loud knock knock knock on the window has them flying apart.

Wayne peers in at the two of them as Eddie rolls the window down.

“Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of us.”

“This strikes me as something you might want to do inside.”

Steve combs his hands through his hair, nodding. “Yep, absolutely. We will definitely do that.”

“Not tonight though,” Wayne adds, and honestly, Eddie loves this guy, he does, but fuck does he pick his moments to get parental. “Goodnight Steve.” And then, because Eddie’s suffering is his greatest pleasure, he smirks and says. “Hope it all went well.”

“Would you just leave, please, now. Thank you.”

They both watch Wayne walk back up the porch steps, a sly smile on his face.

“Fucker.” Eddie sighs into one more kiss, Steve meeting him across the console. “I should go.”

Steve hops out to grab the guitar - his guitar, and that’s going to take a while to get his head around - and carries it up to the porch for him.

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Please,” Eddie says, feeling for all the world like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush. So, this is what it’s like?

Steve gives him that stupid little wave and smiles at him, but as he’s about to get in the car he calls back.

“Hey, what was that song you were singing?”

Eddie laughs.

“Oh, uh, Love Hungry Man. AC/DC.”

“Holy shit,” Steve laughs. “Don’t hold back, Munson.”

He shrugs, delighted. “What can I say? Speak your truth, right?”

Eddie stands in the cold as he watches Steve drive off into the night. Flakes of snow begin to fall again, shimmering in the amber street lighting. He sticks his tongue out to catch them. He feels giddy, kind of light headed and for a second he thinks he’s over done it today, he should get in, get his pills and sleep.

It takes a moment for it all to filter through, for his brain and his body to catch up with one another, but eventually it hits him; he’s happy. He’s never let himself want before, not big things, not things he can’t buy. He’s spent years hiding big parts of who he is, even from his closest friends, with only the dream of moving to a city to give him real hope for a connection with someone. For love.

And then Steve Harrington, brave, smart, wonderful Steve Harrington, knocks the wind right out of him, turns his world upside down, the good kind this time, and now not only does Eddie get to want, he gets to have.

He sticks his tongue out again to catch a last, fat flake of snow, and then carries his guitar inside.

He has a lot of practicing to do.

****

Holy shit. Full disclosure, I wrote most of this today and I'm sleep deprived and I can't bear to think how many typos and errors there are in this, but I'm trying to hit a deadline. Feel free to let me know what I fucked up. 😂

#corrodedcoffinfest: black friday #corrodedcoffinfest #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #wayne munson #cw sui ideation

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elamimax · 7 months ago

Note

What is the Downfall of TGST? You included it in that eggfic meme, but I've searched Scribblehub and Bigcloset and found not a sign of it.

Okay SO

Chapter 1: The Rise of TGStoryTime

In 2011, a man going by the name of Joe Six-Pack launched the TGStorytime website or "archive," with the express idea of creating a repository for fiction focused on forced feminization and similar "TG" fetish content.

Though it took a bit to find its footing, it nonetheless became a place where all kinds of people could share their stories about men becoming women, usually against their will, after which naughty shenanigans would usually occur.

It also became a place where many trans women both read and later on wrote their first piece of trans fiction (yours truly included). Other trans authors that got their start here were QuietValerie, Purplecatgirl and Trismegistus Shandy, each of which would later (or at the same time) make their name on other fiction hosting platforms as well.

As an aside, an interesting feature of TGST is the fact that every single story needs to be vetted by "the moderation team," which has at times included One (1) member: Joe Six-Pack himself. I'm sure that won't be relevant later.

Everything was going reasonably well, until one fateful day.

Chapter 2: The Problem With Joe Six-Pack

In 2020, a new user joined the website. I have no intention of speculating towards intention, but the effect they had was immediate.

They wrote extremely short stories, often between 50 and 100 words, only a few paragraphs, of people who were forcibly turned into women. What made this so egregious was the denigrating way it referred to these "new women," sometimes using slurs and other speech that has been hurled at trans women to dehumanize or simply demean them.

There was an immediate backlash, the now-quite-substantial trans userbase of the website standing up for themselves and asking that Joe Six-Pack, the host and active owner, do something about this new user's low-effort but offensive stories. At the very least, that he please stop personally approving them.

He refused.

He refused on the basis that TGST was never a place for queer people to find each other, nor was it a place for trans stories. As he put it, TGstorytime was repository. It was an archive of TG - not Trans - stories, one that was his sacred duty to maintain. He was not a moderator, he was simply an archivist. He also asserted that transphobia was a somewhat normal response on the internet and that moderating it would lead to a witch-hunt that would see his website shut down eventually. He would not stop vetting - and personally approving - stories that were rife with transphobia.

Chapter 3: The Exodus

In the following months and years, a large part of the trans community moved away from TGST, spreading to the neighboring websites of RoyalRoad, BigCloset and Fictionmania. Some tried to make their own websites like Fluff4Me and Offprint Café.

But the biggest move was to Scribblehub, one of the few websites that not only allowed users to mark their stories with "Transgender" as a built-in tag, but also had moderators that listened to vulnerable minorities when they raised issues. As a result, many trans women moved over to the at-the-time primarily manga-and-light-novel brained site, causing a pretty significant upheaval and forcing the moderation team to make some changes to the way it weighted its "trending" tab, since it quickly became dominated by transfem fiction.

Despite these changes, Scribblehub remains the best place to find new, and importantly, free trans fiction online, written by both established as well as up-and-coming authors.

If you like this video please like and subscribe. If you want to support me and other creators you can use the code below to subscribe to Curiositystr

#transgender #transfem #trans fiction #queer fiction #queer lit

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bonefall · 1 year ago

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So, I'm writing an essay on the whole STATE of misogyny in WC for one of my university classes, and I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of things! No pressure of course, please feel free to say no!

A) Could I reference your good takes with appropriate harvard referencing and links back to your blog?

B) Are there any specific moments from the books that you think should be covered the most?

C) The end result will be a visual essay, so it's like those fun infographics people on Tumblr make on like ADHD and stuff, so when it's done, would you like to be tagged to read it?

(Sorry for anon, I'm nervous lmao, but if you'd be more comfortable I'll resend this off anon)

AAY good topic! You've got a lot to work with. Absolutely feel free to reference anything I've written, and tag me when you're done.

While you're here and about to write something so legitimate, I'm also going to recommend you check out Sunnyfall's video on gender in Warrior Cats. She breaks down the arcs into numbers, directly comparing the amount of lines mollies have to toms, and examining the archetypes women are usually allowed to be.

I think it's a must-have citation in a paper about WC misogyny.

...and, I think it's insightful to look at the WCRP Forum thread about the video. Note how the respondents immediately come into the thread to complain about how the video is too long so they didn't watch it, dismissing Sunnyfall as not being entertaining enough to hold their attention, even whining that she starts with statistics to prove her point, which I'm convinced she did exactly because they would have cried that she "had no evidence" if she didn't.

I am not a scholar, so I don't know how to document or prove that the books have an impact on the audience outside of anecdotes. But I think if you do write a section about fandom, it would be worth mentioning the in-universe and metatextual apologia for Ashfur and its reflection in the real world discourse, the authorial killing of Ferncloud because of fan complains, and the utter defensiveness against the discussion of misogyny you see outside of Tumblr.

You may also want to check out Cheek by Jowl, a collection of 8 essays about sexism in xenofiction by Ursula K. Le Guin. There's a very unique manifestation of authorial bias in animal fiction, having a lot to do with how the author views "the natural world," and it's worth understanding even though Warrior Cats are so heavily anthropomorphized.

So... Warrior Cats Misogyny

I think discussing individual instances can be helpful, but I'd implore you to keep in mind what's REALLY bad about WC's misogyny is framing and the bigger picture.

Bumble's death is shocking and insulting, but it's not just that she died. It's that the POV Gray Wing sees her as a fat, useless bitch who took his mate so she deserves to be dragged back to a domestic abuser, and he's right because the writers love him so much. It's that Bumble's torture and killing only factors into how it's going to hurt a man's reputation.

It's how Clear Sky hitting, emotionally manipulating, or killing the following women,

Bright Stream (pressured into leaving her home and family)

Storm (controlled her movements and yelled at her in public)

Misty (killed for land, children stolen)

Bumble (beaten unconscious, blamed nonsensically on a fox)

Alder (child abuse, hit when she refused to attack her brother)

Falling Feather (scratched on the face, subjected to public abuse and humiliation)

Tall Shadow (thrown into murderous crowd, attacked on-sight in heaven)

Rainswept Flower ("blacked out" in anger and murdered in cold blood)

Moth Flight (scratched on the face for saying denying medical treatment is mean, taken hostage in retaliation against mother for the death of his own child, which he caused)

Willow Tail (eyes gouged out for "stirring up trouble")

Is seen as totally understandable, forgivable, or not even questioned at all, when killing Gray Wing in an act of rage would have been "one step too far" with the ridiculous Star Line.

"Kill me and live with the memory, and then let the stars know it would only matter if a single one of your murder victims was a man."

It's the way that fathers who physically abuse their kids out of their ego (Clear Sky, Sandgorse, Crowfeather) aren't treated anywhere near the same level of narrative disgust and revulsion the series has for "bad moms", even if they're displaying symptoms of a post-partum mood disorder (depression, anxiety, and rage), an umbrella of mental illnesses 20% of all new mothers experience but are heavily stigmatized with (Sparkpelt, Palebird, Lizardstripe).

It's Crookedstar's Promise giving him two evil maternal figures in a single book, while bending over backwards to make every man in a position of power still look likeable in spite of the fact they're enabling Rainflower's abuse. Leader Hailstar is soso sorry that he has to change Stormkit's name for some reason, in spite of leaders being unaccountable dictators the other 99% of the time, and Deputy Shellheart functionally does nothing to stop his own son from being abused or even do much parenting before or after the fact.

It's the way men's parental struggles are seen sympathetically, and they don't have to "pay for it" like their female counterparts (Crookedstar's PPD vs Sparkpelt's PPD, how Daisy and Cinders are held responsible for Smoky and Whisper being deadbeats, Yellowfang's endless guilt for killing her son vs Onestar's purpose in life to kill his own), even to the point where a father doesn't have to have raised their kids at all to have a magical innate emotional connection to them (Tree's father Root, Tom the Wifebeater, Tigerstar and Hawkfrost).

It's less speaking lines and agency for female characters, being reduced to accessories in the lives of their mates and babies, women getting less diversity in their personalities, with even major ex-POV characters eventually becoming "sweet mom" tropes.

You could zoom in on any one of these examples and have an amoeba try to argue with you that "Oh THIS makes sense because X" or "Ah well my headcanon perfectly explains this thing" or "MY mother/girlfriend was abusive/toxic/neglectful and I've decided that you are personally attacking ME by having issues with how a character was written or utilized," but the beleaguered point,

That I keep trying to hammer in, over and over, across books worth of posts,

Is that these are trends. More than just a couple one-off examples. It's the fabric that has been woven over years, showing a lack of interest in, or even active prejudice of, women on behalf of the writers.

LONG STANDING trends, which have only gotten worse as the series progressed. From Yellowfang being harshly punished with a born evil son who ruins her life in TPB and the mistreatment of Squirrelpaw that begins in TNP, all the way up to the 7 Fridgenings of DOTC and Sparkpelt's PPD being a major character motivator for her son Nightheart.

So, I would stress that in your paper, and structure it less as "the Sparkpelt slide" and "the Yellowfang slide," and more as "The paternal vs maternal abuse" slide, and "the violence against women" slide. They're really big issues, there's tons of examples for each individual thing.

Anyway to leave off on a funny, look at this scene in Darkest Hour that I find unreasonably hilarious,

"Everyone who matters to me; my truest friend, my sensible and loyal warrior, the wisest deputy I've ever known, and 2 women." -Firestar, glorious idiot

He can't even think of a single trait for either of them what the hell does "formidable pair" mean lmaooo, when I finished a reread about a year ago this line killed me on impact.

#bone babble #cw misogyny #warrior cats analysis #SO good luck!! Absolutely ping me when you're done I wanna see lmao #Full disclosure I'm bad at responding to DMs because I open them and then forget #But I can try to answer your questions #Feel free to send questions in tho. You don't have to come off anon if you don't want i don't mind #I cannot stress enough. I'm just a guy who likes to yell about cats.

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year ago

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request if you feel like it:

i've been thinking a lot about astarion coming up with some unique pet name(unique as in not on his usual list of what he calls everyone) for tav and their brain just short-circuiting a little when they first hear it

“another (again no pressure): tav writing a song about astarion? or them absent-mindedly playing something that was inspired by him? and his reaction to that”

I assume these were both by you, anon lol I combined them because I felt like they worked really well off each other

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: references to sex, anxiety

Word Count: 989

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

As a bard, you were no stranger to performing for audiences and putting on a good show. Smiling and going on with the show in spite of the stage fright. You’d rubbed elbows with nobles and sung ballads to their wives - you shouldn’t be as anxious as you are.

And yet, as you sit Astarion down on a pillow within your tent and pick up your lute, your fingers shake and you feel short of breath. Even when you sit down across from him, you cannot seem to settle down. You performed this a hundred times by now to make sure it was absolutely perfect, but it felt like your fingers had never held an instrument before, and like your voice was entirely gone.

Cold fingers brush your knee. He looks worried. “Are you alright, darling?”

You nod despite the forced smile you put on. “Yup! Never better! I just, uhm,” you reach over for your journal and hurriedly flip through the pages, “need to make sure I’ve got this right.”

Your eyes read the notes and lyrics over and over and over, but process none of it. You try to jumpstart your brain by placing your fingers over the frets, but your nail catches a string and makes a rather terrible noise. You both wince. Astarion leans forward and takes your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Darling, breathe. Imagine I’m just another drunk tavern patron.”

You huff a nervous laugh. “It’s hard when all I see is the man I love.”

He smirks, but the softness of his eyes ruin the illusion. He pulls you forward and meets you halfway to place a kiss on your forehead. “Breathe. I won’t laugh if you mess up.”

“Liar.”

“I won’t laugh excessively if you mess up.”

He pulls away, stroking your cheek with his thumb before he pulls away and leans back on his arms. He’s so open and inviting like this. You want to toss your lute aside and crawl into his lap, bombarding him with hugs. But, you need to share this with him first.

You close your eyes. You imagine you’re just in some dingy inn, playing for scraps and discounted rooms. This song is just like any other you’ve written. The notes are at your fingertips, ready to be released. You breathe in, imagine the song in your mind, and breathe out. You’ve got this.

You avoid looking at him as you close your journal and set it aside - you fear doing so would ruin the illusion you’ve painted for yourself. Your fingers glide smoothly along the strings, as familiar as a lover’s caress, and settle on the first chord. The words climb up your throat, lining up, ready to leap out. You try not to choke on them. You close your eyes again and start to play.

You spent countless nights composing it. Ever since you chanced upon him looking in the mirror and he’d called your descriptions of him “poetry”. To you, poetry was one in the same with the flattery he so desired. Maybe he understood that now, now that you were together. And that is exactly what this song was for.

You sang about his eyes, his hair, his smile, his hands - preening him and his apparent beauty. But you sang about his heart, too. The tenderness he shared in quiet moments, the way he sought your hand out by hesitantly brushing his pinky against yours, the delicate way he peppered your neck with kisses before he bit down as gently as possible. You poured your heart into every note, into every word. You meant every single one.

The last note fluttered into the air, and in the void it left behind came your anxiety. You were scared to open your eyes. To lose this moment would destroy you. If he hated it… Gods, you didn’t know what you’d do.

Cold hands hold your face again, but before you can open your eyes, his lips are on yours. He kisses you with a burning passion. Gratitude and love and a million more emotions, all vying to be expressed in this one act, like he can’t leave them to fester in his chest any longer. When the kiss slows, when he can bear the weight of the remaining feelings, he pulls away so gently. You pant to catch your breath, and you can feel it fanning against his skin and back at you from his proximity.

“My wonderful little song bird,” he hums. Your eyes shoot open to stare at him. He can feel your pulse as your heart skips a beat, soaring with the new pet name. He pecks your lips again briefly. “Only you would take my words and turn them against me in song.”

You chuckle breathlessly. Your mind is still trying to catch up. “You wanted flattery, and I excel in poetry - it only made sense to combine them for my favorite muse.”

He smiles wide, fangs peeking out beneath his lips. “I think I can make an exception,” he teases. “As long as you only sing about my good features.”

You cup his cheek and guide him down until you can kiss his forehead. “All of your features are good features, my star.” You lift his head again to press your forehead to his. “I can’t admire a bow and ignore its arrows - you’re not you without all of your qualities, good and bad and middling.”

“Fine,” he sighs, “but I’m to be your first audience with each one.”

“And if I write something truly scandalous?”

He smirks devilishly. “Then I’m to be your only audience, and,” he leans forward to whisper in your ear, “I intend to act out each phrase.”

You hum. “I should get to writing, then.”

Fangs tease at your lobe. “Allow me to provide you some inspiration, my precious song bird. It’s only fair, as your favorite muse.”

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnloveslokiredacted @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog

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sometimes-love-is-enough · 5 months ago

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Every time you talk about giving yourself writing challenges, I think about how it would be fun to have a 'handicap bingo'- where you get a random writing 'handicap' like not being able to say any character's name, and have to write a full story with it. Idk. I think it would be fun

Min's Writing Challenge

Rules: Roll a d20, accept your fate, write a fic of your choosing and follow your fate to the letter. (Creative workarounds encouraged.)

Roll twice; you have to use both. If you roll another 1, the extra challenges compound accordingly.

Pick a single letter, A-Z. You're not allowed to use it for the entire fic. (Bonus challenge: E.)

Every sentence must be under ten words long. (Bonus challenge: five words.)

Pick a poetry/lyric style (sonnet, terza rima, ballad, etc). The whole fic must be written in that form. (Bonus challenge: keep it still obviously a normal fic, with appropriate tropes and narrative conventions.)

You must write in future tense.

You must write in first-person POV.

You must write in second-person POV.

Take your least favorite fanon concept/trope, and make it into something you want to write. (Bonus challenge: play the trope entirely straight - no subversions! - and make it enjoyable anyway.)

No character names allowed. (Bonus challenge: no dialogue tags either; you can't use descriptive phrases like 'the man in the prince costume' to work around it.)

No dialogue allowed. (Bonus challenge: no internal monologues allowed, either.)

Dialogue only - playscripts encouraged.

Epistolary fic - only letters, emails, notes, etc.

Write an AU, but the alternative universe is a profession!AU that you know nothing about. (Bonus challenge: no research allowed.)

Unreliable narrator. (Bonus challenge: the narrator is good at being unreliable, to the point that they might legitimately fool a reader.)

Whatever fic concept you have, you can only write the very ending of it. (Bonus challenge: you aren't allowed to use any exposition to explain how you got to that point.)

Write any AU of your choosing, but you must choose at least one major canonverse event/plot point and adapt it accordingly to your setting of choice. (Bonus challenge: Make the canonverse event and AU of choice absurdly incompatible.)

Must start in medias res, with a 'yep, that's me. Bet you're wondering how I got into this situation!' moment. (Bonus challenge: Don't plan what the in medias res situation is before you write it. Force yourself to resolve whatever bullshit you come up with on the spot. I've definitely never done this in my life, ever.)

You must write in outsider OC POV - no canon characters allowed. (Bonus challenge: No Sanders Shorts/related characters allowed.)

Pick a fairy tale, fable, or myth. The fic must be a retelling or reinterpretation of it. (Bonus challenge: you aren't allowed to reread or reference any version of it while you're writing - from memory only!)

Dealer's choice - pick from any of the above.

Good luck.

#god help you if you nat-one a ten AND eleven #asks #writing challenges #obviously targeted for sanders sides fandom but if anyone else stumbles upon it - go wild

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riacte · 28 days ago

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subjective + critical (NOT CRITICISM) wild life thoughts (no spoilers for winner, spoilers for finale gimmick)

Sorry for being back again. Anyways after watching Wild Life, I came to the conclusion that it's very... Grian. THIS IS NOT A BAD THING. In a way, it's always been very Grian (understandably so because it's his server and he picks the cast)— server wide event that gives everyone an opportunity to be involved, mechanics that toss you around haphazardly, random factor for funsies— I've watched Grian's minigames since HC6 Tag, Demise, etc, and there's a Grian-ness that I can't explain but I feel and recognise with my soul. This isn't Grian crit, I respect him massively for coming up with engaging gimmicks, I loved Demise 1, he definitely changed the scene of Hermitcraft 6, etc.

I previously talked about the experimental nature of Life series and how the emotional investment in Third Life was somewhat unintended. Wild Life is an experiment that's giving the expected results of Third Life— Grian-esque experimental gameshow about hanging out with friends and reacting to insane shit flung at you. The finale gimmick is all of the wild cards (seemingly individually chosen because of fun factor, no wider theme that connects them) together at the same time. It's fun! It's dramatic! It... doesn't have to have a deeper meaning!

Then comes the fandom's Swiftie tendency to connect everything (it's me, I'm the Swiftie), which is an inevitable and fun part of engaging with media. Famously, the LimLife winner symbolism debate. Coincidentally, the first three winners fit into celestial symbols, but it starts to fall apart with Martyn. But we love connecting stuff and making up symbols/blessings/curses, so we stuff Martyn and the following winners in anyway to honour them.

But there comes a point in which hyperanalysing everything sometimes feels like a stretch. This is a natural part of the life cycle I suppose. You can't recatch the lightning of 3L in a bottle, much like how All Stars Blue Bats doesn't hit the same as MCC9 Blue Bats. Wild Life is perfectly entertaining on its own, but to me it feels weird that it's tacked onto the Life series, like it's an afterthought. It has all of the cast so far, we get a lot of nostalgia bait, existing duos, but... it personally, subjectively doesn't feel like The Life Series TM. Like, it sure is A Sequel and Continuation of the plot but it feels like a Beach Episode. It's fun to watch! And... yeah!

And then you start to think. So maybe it's us who've been assigning a lot of Meaning to the first generations of Life series and now with Wild Life, it's finally reached its intended vibe of Fun Experimental Grian Gameshow. I remember someone said "what you're missing in the OG Life series was never there in the first place" and I see that viewpoint, it was like a collective hallucination. I'm gonna spitball if Wild Life was written by the fandom with attempts to "script coherent themes":

Fixed six sessions, first five gimmicks refer to previous five seasons, sixth sessions is every gimmick all at once

Clear "wild life" theme, which would keep the snails and superpowers probably, add possibly Origins, and cast members are encouraged to play into the theme (like BigB this season)

Dice theme, something about rolling 1-6, ties in with people starting with 6 lives

And we got the Gameshow. Individual gimmicks are quirky but don't seem really tied to each other. And there's nothing wrong with that. Sometimes you just have a bunch of fun ideas and throw them into a pot. But the fandom expects to have something to work with due to the meta starting from 3L. Even if it doesn't fit perfectly, it's fun to make it fit! That's why we do analyses and symbolism! It's the bread and butter of fandom!

This is where I bring up the Life Seriesification of Hermitcraft, which is probably related in ways I cannot fully explain. The Life series isn't just a fun gameshow, it's a JOB. It brings you clout and views and fandom relevance and fandom propaganda which brings you views and income. The Life hermits have generally become a closed circle, with exceptions like Ren who hangs out the most with non-Lifers. The fandom's desire to connect Life series meta becomes so overwhelming that it seeps into non-Life series stuff, prominently HC, and the non-Life hermits start to get sidelined. Okay, it's more like Life series meta is interesting, so your Lifers become more interesting, so you care about them more, so you care about their HC POVs more. It's a weird reinforcing circle. And if you step out of it for a while (Ren), your clout decreases (Ren), and even when you come back, you kind of.... don't get the same level of mainstream attention anymore even though your personal fanbase is going insane (Ren). (BigB also gets sidelined, although that is a different discussion.)

Anyways it Isn't That Deep and the main reason is probably The Novelty/Interest Is Gone. That and the segmentation of the HC fandom, which I am absolutely guilty of. I don't "need" to post or watch popular POVs because I get to know about them through osmosis anyway. So I end up only "caring" about a few POVs.

I am aware this doesn't make a good deal of sense and I'm sorry for being a party pooper of sorts. This is not criticism, just trying to analyse it through a critical lens.

Life series can keep on being a gameshow. It can be whatever it likes at this point. I'm just sick of it invading Hermitcraft fandom and tilting the balance overwhelmingly in favour of the Life hermits. It's suffocating.

Final reminder to myself, but replace "yourselves" with "Life series fandom":

#straight from the ministry of bitchery yay #not maintagging #ria.txt #crit

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ar3s-r4t-qu33n · 5 months ago

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Idfc if he's real or not, he's still worse written than Eddie. Also the problem is in his fans that are making him no guilty, innocent baby and always refering that Coyle/Eddie/Everybody else im outlast are the same. And if you think it'll work, try to compare Walker (with PTSD after war) with Franco (who is just a sicko). Anyway Barbi's simps are way more agressive than any other fans when you say something bad, what's a fact, about a grown ass man. I feel like those people are just little kids who are getting upset after school and shouldn't play the game ;) When I see all those comments with "He'S mY PoOkIE" I'm getting sick... Ya'll should get a brain

Guys look!! I got one!!

You don't deserve a response, because if you were old enough to be playing Outlast, you would be able to figure out that shaming people for (checks notes) liking a fictional character in a horror series? Is plain stupid.

It would also serve you well to maybe do some spell check before you come into my asks like this. I'd take you more seriously if you maybe drafted this one more time, but here we go:

First of all, you don't know me. You can check out my like, five posts and see that only two of em are Franco related and none of them baby him. In fact, I don't think I've seen a post yet by anyone who says "Franco is a sweet, innocent baby who did no wrong" because... That's the point. He's interesting BECAUSE he's done shit wrong. We are playing Outlast. Everyone is complex and awful and interesting. Just because not every post is marked with a little footnote that says "oh by the way everyone, Franco is a bad, bad man 🥺 I don't support his actions, I'm not a Franco defender, I just wanted to draw him being silly 🥺" doesn't mean we're all out here claiming he's a saint. The fact that he's a fucked up lil guy is why we like him. I feel like that's a given with all Outlast characters? But that's just me after being a fan of this franchise for years now, idk, being able to step back and analyse a community to see what they enjoy about something is quite a fun and easy task, I recommend giving it a try instead of coming into "loser nobody who has been on Tumblr for like a week's" asks to complain to me like I can put all the Franco fans in the corner until they learn to interpret characters the way you have decided is objectively correct.

But even if they are "babying" him and apparently ignoring that this is the Outlast series and Franco is a character from Outlast... Oh no! What horror! Someone is misinterpreting a VIDEO GAME CHARACTER what a terrible and unique crime!

Franco "just a sicko" Barbi was abused and neglected by his father, his mother was murdered, and he only ever received affection after he killed someone. But yeah, he was just born fucked up whereas every other Outlast character earned their trauma and the right to kill the player. What a senseless and just untrue take and I'm sure you know that, you just want to complain because that's all you people like to do. You want to feel morally superior over someone because you don't understand why they feel the way they do instead of just moving on and ignoring them like any other sensible adult would. Because who's actually getting hurt if some people think Franco is their lil Pookie? Is it you? Does it cause you psychic damage? Because last I checked, this is the internet. We are responsible for ourselves, so unless somebody is actually hurting anyone...

Block the Franco tag. You are brave enough to type out this whole message to a stranger online and act morally superior because comparing which video game character deserves the right to kill you is THE most mature thing in the world, so you're definitely brave enough to block the tag and move on.

You are responsible for what you see online, but ESPECIALLY on Tumblr, it is so so easy to hide content you don't want to see, and mind your own business. Quite frankly, I don't care if I come across as aggressive here. You came into my asks about a tag/fandom you clearly aren't in trying to act like you're better than the rest of us. That's pretty damn aggressive, wouldn't you say?

This is Outlast. A game about fucked up guys doing fucked up shit, and we love them for it. If that is too much for you, if the mommy issues gangster is too crazy for you but Eddie and Trager and Knoth and Coyle are completely fine, no questions asked? I don't think this series is for you. Sexual horror is a staple of Outlast. Childhood trauma is a staple of Outlast. You can't be shocked when people respond to a new character in a video game they like.

YOU are not better than me because you like Chris Walker and I like Franco Barbi. I can't believe you need to be told this, we are all in the same uncomfortable freakshow cesspit that is The Outlast Fandom, no one is morally good. No one is better than anyone else. You cannot claim moral superiority over any character because at the end of the day, I can point to Wernicke and say with my full chest that he is objectively the worst because he's a literal nazi, and what then? Are you going to tell me that Franco is worse than a nazi? The debate is over, in the list of "who is the worst of these awful people", Wernicke wins hands DOWN. The point is null because EVERYONE SUCKS HERE!!! THAT'S THE POINT!!!!

Is that enough for you? Or are you gonna keep harassing people through your alts or getting your friends to do it? I can go alllllll day, baby, you ain't making me feel bad about my interests in the O U T L A S T fandom, dear GOD, this is ridiculous. Don't fucking condescend me, telling me to "get a brain" you don't KNOW ME, I am a stranger to you, why do you feel comfortable coming onto my blog harassing me about a video game character? That's not a good look for you and now it is immortalised here. Anonymous or not, you still did this. Whoever you are, you typed that out and sent it to a random person you do not know and felt comfortable enough to do so.

That's weird.

#franco barbi #so when is this guy gonna get tired and finally leave us alone??#i thought blocking the main account would do something but hey ho #and if you're not that person or an associate of theirs than this is just embarrassing #media literally is a skill sweetheart #and its fine that you haven't learnt it yet #but mind your own until you do or you're old enough to realise that none of of this matters #dear GOD this discourse is something else #if Franco was hot i wouldn't hear a peep from y'all

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daisyblog · 2 years ago

Text

Back To You

When We Were Young Masterlist Summary: YN and Louis admit they want each other back.

Since their reconciliation a few months ago, Louis and YN had become practically attached to the hip. When they weren't together, grabbing a cuppa at the coffee shop or walking the streets of London together, they were texting, calling, or facetiming each other.

YN wasn't sure if this was just them being friends or if it would turn into something more, but she was happy again. It was easier to get up in the morning, she found herself smiling a lot more and she would find herself checking to see if that one name would appear when she checked her phone. Who are you, a teenage girl? She thought to herself but still continued with the behaviour.

She was currently at his home, sitting opposite him and she blushed as she caught herself admiring him from afar. Something she had found herself doing a lot of lately, she'd noticed how he changed from that teenage boy she met years ago, to a man with stubble, but was still that funny, witty and beautiful boy she fell in love with.

YN had been thinking about it for a while, she'd even written a song about it, but it never seemed like the right time. She wanted to give her and Louis another try, but the fear of rejection scared her so she pushed the idea to the back of her mind.

Louis coughed into his hand, breaking her from her thoughts "I..uh..I've written a song"

"Can I hear it or-"

Louis nodded, but he was nervous, YN could tell by the way his body and shoulders were stiff.

I know my friends they give me bad advice Like move on, get you out my mind But don't you think I haven't even tried? You got me cornered and my hands are tied

You got me so addicted to the drama I tell myself I'm done with wicked games But then I get so numb with all the laughter That I forget about the pain

Whoa, you stress me out, you kill me You drag me down, you fuck me up We're on the ground, we're screaming I don't know how to make it stop I love it, I hate it, and I can't take it But I keep on coming back to you

YN didn't want to make an assumption that he was referring to her in the song but was this him saying he felt the same as her. When did this become so complicated?

"Uh..I..um" YN was taken back slightly, not expecting the lyrics to be so open and direct "That was amazing Lou..I really think you've got something there..I think it could even be made into a pop beat..if you-"

Louis chuckling interrupted her rambling "You've always rambled when you're nervous"

"It's funny how you still know me so well"

Louis hesitated slightly, not wanting to move too fast but he'd waited two years for this moment and he wasn't going to waste it "I want you back"

Louis didn't know what he expected her to do at his words, but roar with laughter was not it "W-why are you fookin' laughing..I'm being serious darlin'"

"You're not the only one who's written a song" YN began to explain "It's like you already knew the title of it"

"You can't tease me like..c'mon show me your magic" Louis moved closer to her side.

Why do I only remember the good? I tell myself we were just misunderstood When you never did a thing you know you should If I could just kiss you, I know that I would

I'll say it Yeah, I want you, I want you, I want you back Like, baby How can you be the worst and the best l've had? I need it I could tell you a lie, so I don't seem sad But it drives me mad 'Cause I want you, I want you, I want you back

YN didn't have a chance to sing any more of the song before fingers on the back of her neck pulled her forward and her lips met Louis's, his stubble tickling her lip. Two years of missing his touch, two years of wanting his love, two years and she was home.

Tag List: (let me know if you would like to be added) @peterholland04 @werewolfbansheelove

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galacticwildfire · 9 months ago

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Early Mornings

Poe Dameron x Solo!oc

summary: poe dameron and hope solo have places to be, but the only place they want to be is in bed

tags/warnings: essentially a non-sexual situationship (they're disgustingly in love but in denial), cuddling, flirting, kissing that borders on smutty, references to sex and jealousy, some suggestive dialogue, a little angst and brief reference to trauma, but sickeningly sweet fluff overall

word count: 2.8k

a/n: this is a scene I've written for my series fire meet gasoline on ao3 but it's been sitting in my notes app for too long to not share it as a stand alone one shot. also gif for obvious reasons.

The feeling of Poe's arms unconsciously tightening around my body's what stirs me awake in the early hours of the morning. While I can vaguely remember falling asleep listening to the steady beat of his heart it seems that sometime in the night we ended up with my back flush to his chest and our limbs tangled. Any space we'd left between us in the late hours of last night long gone.

My lips brush the arm he has tucked beneath my head as I look back over my shoulder, finding his head buried in the crook of my neck and still sound asleep. The feeling of him nuzzling into me's a now familiar sensation I let myself bathe in for as long as I can before forcing myself to remember that we have places to be.

The only downside to these mornings is the tragic fact that they have to end, especially when physically removing myself from him is a feat in itself. I may as well be struggling against a Wookie with the amount of strength it takes to pull myself from Poe Dameron's arms. Although I'd never want it any other way.

BB-8 beeps good morning and after returning it I glance at the time, reluctantly and very carefully untangling myself from Poe before he can wake up, a learned skill. Knowing the amount of sleepless nights we've both had in the past weeks I decide to take the first shower to let him sleep that little bit longer.

My spare flight suit’s folded in the drawer that had been empty until recently, along with the towel that’s made its way into Poe’s room along with other necessities. Despite having everything that I need when I sleep over I haven’t been able to give up the shirt he’d loaned me to sleep in, not that he seems to mind.

Finding my hairpins on his bathroom counter drives home how routine this arrangement’s become to the point that I don’t know how I slept any other way, how mere months ago I was out there in the Outer Rims alone and now… now I can’t imagine doing any of this without him.

He’s still asleep when I come out in my flight suit, finding him with the blanket bundled up in his arms in place of where I’d been. The sight has my heart clenching and BB-8 beeps quietly to ask if he should wake him up.

“I’ve got it,” I say, leaning down to rub his head as I make my way over to Poe, reluctant to wake him up but people are going to start asking questions if we’re both late to our third meeting this week. My mother would start asking questions, and this is something I wouldn’t quite know how to explain to her.

“Poe,” I hum as I sit down on the edge of his bed, running my fingers through his messed curls until he begins to stir. “Morning.”

He blinks in confusion when he can’t feel me beside him, but the tension leaves his face when his eyes find mine.

“Hey,” he smiles tiredly and murmurs “What are you doing all the way over there?”

“We’ve got a meeting.”

“We do?”

“Come on, Commander,” I say, brushing back the dark curls that fall across his forehead. “I thought it was your job to know these things.”

His eyes are warm as he leans into my touch. “I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

“That can easily be fixed-” I begin, slowly withdrawing my hand until he stops me.

“No, no,” he quickly says, and I’m smiling as he pulls my hand back and holds it to his cheek. His eyes fall shut as his lips brush my palm, his morning stubble a welcome feeling. “Don’t you dare.”

I can’t help but lean down to kiss his cheek, bumping his nose with mine as I insist “Come on or we’ll be late. I’ll grab our caf and see you there.”

“Hey, caf’s my job,” he protests as I reluctantly pull back but relents. “How late are we?”

“We’ve got about half an hour, so take a shower and I’ll meet you in the mess.”

“Yes, Captain,” he says, and rolls onto his back while still holding my hand in his, looking up at me with his brows drawn together as he questions “Since when are you up early?”

“Since I’m actually sleeping well,” I say and he gives me a tired smile that I’m helpless to adore.

“Me too, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” I say softly, knowing that hasn’t been the case for either of us these past weeks.

He nods and brings my hand back to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “I mean, I sure as hell don’t wanna get out of bed.”

I catch the glint of mischief in his eye the moment before he tugs me back into bed with him, somehow managing to roll me so I’m lying on my back in the small space and he’s hovering above me - not that I’m putting up much of a fight.

“Which is why I got out of it before you woke up,” I whine as he nestles his head in the crook of my neck and slips an arm back around my waist, intentionally pinning me to the bed with his bodyweight to keep me from moving. “Since someone likes to cling to me like a sloth.”

He lifts his head up with a proud smile. “A handsome sloth.”

“That’s true,” I agree, helpless to deny that as he bumps my nose. “But that face won’t help you when you’re late.”

“It’s helped me so far,” he dismisses, his stubble grazing my skin as he kisses my forehead. “Might not be enough to get me out of trouble but it’s enough to keep you here.”

My jaw drops a little at the audacity but I can’t argue considering he knows damn well it’s the truth as I shake my head at him. “That damn face - my one weakness.”

“It’s alright sweetheart, yours is mine as well,” he assures me as he peppers kisses across my face. “Those eyes… you know I can’t say no to you so-” I whine again as he pulls back and moves his body off mine, settling between me and the wall. “I’ll let you get going and I’ll meet you in the mess.”

He knows he has me where he wants me and I couldn’t care less as I tug him back by the fabric of his shirt and he certainly doesn’t make any effort to resist as he gathers me back up in his arms, settling over me with his elbow propping him up this time.

“No, you’re stuck with me now,” I decide and I’m holding his face as I pepper kisses from his cheek to the bridge of his nose, our bodies melding as our legs tangle together.

He kisses my jaw while he teases “Isn’t being clung to all night enough for you?” It’s then he turns his head to look at me and his lips incidentally brush mine, although it’s far from the first time.

Still, his breath hitches and my voice trembles slightly as I ask “What do you think?”

He searches my eyes, seeking whatever it is he’s looking for before our lips meet. Again, far from the first time. Another in a long series of kisses we’ve sworn wouldn’t happen again and yet we always end up here. The softness of his lips has me trying to recall every reason we’ve used for why this can’t happen.

The fact that we’re a disaster at the best of times.

That we both have the tendency to let our emotions cloud our judgement until it ends in screaming fights in the middle of the hangar.

The fact that he’s still my commanding officer and we’re on fragile enough footing with high command as it is, even if everyone knows we operate as partners.

That all it would take is one bad call in the field and we’re both dead.

The fact that he’s my best friend, my partner, the one damn person in this galaxy I trust whole heartedly.

Knowing that I’d lose my mind if anything ever happened to him.

If I lost him-

My back arches off the bed as his tongue slips into my mouth and he swallows the sound that comes from the back of my throat as the hand that was under me moves to squeeze my waist. He gasps softly as my fingers slip into his hair in return, gently tugging at his curls to pull him closer - needing him closer.

It’s when my legs hook around his hips that BB-8’s beeping reminds us that he’s still there and we both flush in embarrassment. R2’s been around long enough that he doesn’t linger past a certain time, even when Poe and I’s affection is innocent, but despite being a romantic sweet BB-8 isn’t prepared to see anything more than this.

And Poe and I certainly aren’t prepared to put on a show for him.

Still, I can’t help but burst out laughing when Poe murmurs in my ear “We have an audience.” He kisses my forehead again before clearing his throat. “Hey buddy, why don’t you go see what R2’s up to?”

He gives an offended beep, both at his dismissal and us forgetting his presence, before finding his way out and we share a look of mortified guilt. I’m trying to hold back embarrassed laughter while Poe’s head dips to my shoulder to kiss where my collarbone's exposed by the partially zipped flightsuit before he again slips into the bed beside me, holding me close with a caressing hand over my hip.

“I’m guessing you haven’t had to kick BB-8 out before?” I tread, knowing that I’m the only person Poe’s had sleeping over since he’s joined the Resistance, but I can’t help the pang of jealousy at the thought of him being with someone else like this.

“Like I’ve told you sweetheart, I’ve been living like a Jedi since before Leia recruited me,” he says, settling those thoughts with a kiss to my forehead. “I think he’s just mad I’ve been taking your attention away from him.”

“I still give him plenty of love,” I assure Poe and he tugs me closer, his lips lingering on my temple as I bury my face in his neck. “Five more minutes, then we’ll get up.”

“What happened to we’re gonna be late?” he teases and I just groan. “Hope…”

“I know, I know,” I pout, rolling back enough so that my face rests beside his on the pillow we’ve shared more often than not the past few weeks. “I just wanna stay here with you.”

I search his eyes, praying he hears what I really want to say. That I want it to be just you and me. No First Order. No protocol. Just us. Raw and mostly unfiltered.

He plays with my fingers, kissing each one individually before he meets my eye and I know that he does. “How about after the meeting I swap patrols with Karé so we can go out together?” he suggests. “It’s been a while since it’s been just the two of us and our x-wings.”

“Because command nearly has a nervous breakdown every time we go out there together,” I remind him, lacing our fingers together. “I believe the words ‘tie-fighter magnets’ were used.”

Neither of us can pretend we aren’t proud of that label.

“Well, it’s a good thing that the two best pilots in the galaxy can take them out then,” he says but I don’t miss the way his face falls when he remembers what happened the only time we couldn’t. Even now I can't shake the sound of the pure fear in his voice when he pulled me from the crash. He kisses my hand again and tries to push it from his mind but the memory lingers. “It’s you and me, and the patrols Leia’s got scheduled shouldn’t be dangerous.”

“Famous last words,” I say and he can’t argue with that considering command’s right when it comes to our track record. “But I’d like that. You and me.”

“Me too sweetheart,” he says, stretching as he lays back, both of us ignoring the fact that we’re definitely not making it to breakfast before the meeting. “But first I’ve gotta shower, get dressed-” he trails off, deciding to be a little shit as he grins “Unless you wanna join?”

I’m matching his grin with a playful slap to his chest. “Then we’d definitely be late.”

“I didn’t hear a no.”

He can see me blushing red and he still wears that same cocky smile that I’m more than tempted to kiss off his face. I don’t know how many times he and I have been on this ledge, teasing and tempted to go further, only to treat this with more caution than we’ve given to anything else in our lives.

“Are you trying to call my bluff? Because we both know how that ends.”

This is one thing, waking up together and sharing these kisses that we don’t acknowledge. This we can still fool ourselves into believing is the pinnacle of platonic love, a playful extension of the affection we share - an unconventional partnership.

Sex is another thing entirely.

When we’d first met and things got heated I wanted it, and I wanted it with him, but we both know that this partnership is too delicate to handle those emotions on top of all the others we can scarcely deal with on our best days.

“Oh I know,” he assures me. “Considering the last time I tried to call your bluff you took a shot at me.”

“You were the one who said I wouldn’t do it,” I remind him, blaming that one on a bout of temporary insanity on both our parts after a dogfight gone wrong. “What can I say? You drive me crazy.”

“I know,” he grins. “The good kind of crazy I hope.”

“Always,” I smile before correcting. “Well, most of the time.”

“Alright, we’d be lying if we didn’t say most,” he admits and we share a laugh knowing that everyone on base, even our own squadron, was at their wits end with us not that long ago but here… it’s just us and no one else.

Unfortunately that has to come to an end, but not before I press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Breakfast in fifteen.”

“Yes, Captain,” he smiles as I sit upright, but raises an eyebrow upon deciding to try his luck. “I can make it in ten if you give me another one.”

And so I do, only for us to end up right back where we started; in the bed with his hands on my waist and mine tangled in his hair. The gentle swipe of his tongue across my bottom lip has me planning to use the dwindling privileges that being the General's daughter brings to get away with being late by at least another half an hour, although Poe puts a stop to that as if he wasn’t the one who started this.

“Poe,” I whine when he pulls away, sitting up properly and leaving me with my head on his pillow. "Why do you do this?"

He still has the audacity to play around and take his sick enjoyment in riling me up. “We have meetings, remember?”

My eyes narrow at him. “Bastard.”

“What was that?”

“Bastard,” I repeat and he grins.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Come on beautiful,” he murmurs as he pulls me upright and I just laugh.

“Oh no, don’t ‘come on’ me when you’re the one that dragged me back into bed.”

He gives an unapologetic shrug but the warmth in his eyes makes up for it. “You missed the beautiful part.”

I shake my head and he kisses me again before I have to put my hands on his chest to keep enough distance between us that I can actually get out of the bed and away from it without him pulling me back into it.

“We’re gonna be so late and you still need to get ready,” I lecture, knowing I’ll be the one getting the blame for it considering he’s the favourite.

“Give me ten minutes to get ready and I’ll meet you in the mess,” he promises, extending a pinkie out to me but I’m not naive enough to get close enough for him to pull me back in. “Considering your track record Leia expects us to be about twenty minutes late anyways.”

I scrunch my face up at him but he only smiles.

“You’re really cute when you’re pretending to be mad at me.”

The smile I can’t force back only proves his point. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” he challenges, having woken up intent to test me but I'm not falling into his trap again.

“After the meeting,” I promise before heading out the door to find BB-8 waiting outside for us with R2. “Come on, you can keep me company while he drags himself out of bed.”

We're halfway to the mess when we come across Jess who's in a rush. "There you are, Threepio's been looking for you and Poe. Have you seen him?"

"Yeah he's just in the shower," I say as I continue on my way, only to freeze a little as she turns her head back incredulously.

"How do you know-"

"BB-8 told me," I quickly follow up and she blinks at me in disbelief before she shakes her head and keeps walking, but at this point Poe and I have accepted the fact that our squadron believes we're hiding some illicit affair from them.

Then again, it's always poor Jess who seems to catch us in compromising positions. Although as long as it's her and not my mother, or maker forbid Threepio, I can live in peace with that.

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