#Call Forward to Doomsday

[tofupixel]

Do you have any advice on how to get into pixeling larger scenes, or how you go about the process? I dabble in pixel art occasionally and am interested in pursuing it more, but whenever I try large scenes I always tend to fall flat

Love your art, by the way!

thank you!

my first step i always go get a ton of references. i think if you are struggling with pixel scenes it can help you to get some pixel art references too. for example if you arent sure how to render a tree, look it up on pixeljoint hall of fame im sure you can find something that inspires you.

this is the moodboard for my current knight crowley/statue azi piece im working on (software is called pureref btw. i have a dedicated monitor just for this but you can do transparency and overlay it if you lack space)

i think this is mostly preference but i always begin working with large areas of value/colour rather than an actual line sketch

i usually only save the wip process if im sending it to clients, so here is an example of how i worked through a commission

at this point im just going for the vibes. colour is more important and shape/size and having random pixels everywhere doesnt matter cos u can just remove them later !!

its kind of an anomaly/doomsday thing so i wanted the red sky and chaos all over

i work really quickly at this point and try for energy

just beginning to work my way through and detail things up. im still changing things around and adding more stuff in different places. its digital art so you can change things however you like, just keep moving forward

final ver sent to client after some revisions. pixel art is 99% rendering so you just need to keep pushing forward

i also want to say i did like 3+ years of sporadic studies. mostly studio ghibli and shishkin. if you have someone who inspires you you can study their work and figure out how they do it.

it cant be overstated how many of these i have done lol and im still not even close to where i want to be (its a process)

anyway sorry for the long post but you really should go for it. ive done the same concept like 3 times over my career (so far) cos i enjoyed it and want to come back to it now that im a little better. so u dont have to make it perfect the first time but doing it is better than not doing it!

sorry for the long post but i kinda got carried away anyway lmk if u want more specific tips i like talking about pixel art :--3 GL with your art

[thelifeofchuckmovie]

When it comes to ending the world, Stephen King is a repeat offender. He has brought life as we know it to a brutal conclusion several times over the decades, usually highlighting the cruelty and desperation that erupts among the last to go. But his 2020 story “The Life of Chuck” uses doomsday to evoke some unlikely sentiments: Wistfulness. Gratitude. Even joy.

The idea of creating an apocalyptic version of It’s a Wonderful Life is what led filmmaker Mike Flanagan to call dibs on the rights to the novella more than four years ago. The breakdown of society, extinction-level natural disasters, and the disintegration of reality itself is explored through the lens of one relatively meek and mild accountant, played by Tom Hiddleston, whose memories and choices are mysteriously connected to these tribulations. Retirement posters congratulating him on “39 great years” pop up everywhere. But who is this guy? What job does he do (or did he used to do)? And why does it matter so much to the fate of the world? This apparent nobody named Chuck Krantz has lived larger than anyone thought possible.

Having explored King country before in 2017’s Gerald’s Game and 2019’s The Shining sequel Doctor Sleep, Flanagan got involved after reading an early copy of “Chuck” before it was published in the collection If It Bleeds. The Haunting of Hill House and Fall of the House of Usher creator produced the film independently, believing it might be too offbeat for risk-averse studios to greenlight. He even secured a waiver from the striking Hollywood guilds last year to move forward with the shoot while the rest of the industry was stuck in the work stoppage. Now he and Hiddleston are ready to reveal the finished version of The Life of Chuck as it heads to the upcoming Toronto International Film Festival, where it will screen for potential distributors.

Among the skeptics about this adaptation was King himself, according to Flanagan. “His initial responses to me were a little like, ‘Oh, okay. Yeah. If you think that’s a movie…,’” he says. “He did say several times that he thought it would be a challenge to get it supported through traditional means.”

King has now seen the finished movie and no longer has doubts. He described it to Vanity Fair as “a happiness machine.”

“Well, he’s written something very tender and very wise,” Hiddleston says. “I think there is a great wisdom in the soul of the story, which is that it takes courage to hold on to what is good in a world that feels like it’s falling apart.”

Flanagan hopes others see it that way too, although the overpowering dread that begins the story may be more immediately relatable. “I’ve heard it said that every generation feels a little like the world is ending at some point, [but] I still feel like it’s different for us,” the 46-year-old filmmaker says with a mordant laugh. “Institutions we took for granted as propping up our society are failing left and right. Our politics have degraded spectacularly. The sense that it’s breaking down, that the world is moving on, has been increasingly palpable. When I talk to my parents or members of older generations who have been through their own turbulent times, the thing that strikes me is that they’re like, ‘Oh yeah, this is really bad.’”

But…it’s not entirely bad. And that’s the underlying message of The Life of Chuck as its various mysteries play out. “There’s no sense of terror in the way that King drew it,” Flanagan says. “Even as the world feels as though it’s ending, people become introspective, they reach into their past for loves that have left their lives for one reason or another. Strangers engage in open and fearless communication.”

It’s an indie-film variation on the big-budget cataclysm story. “A disaster movie has people meeting the end while running from tidal waves, and this story has people sitting quietly holding hands looking at the stars,” Flanagan says.

The key to it all is Chuck himself, although he doesn’t turn up onscreen until the second segment of the three-act story, which plays out in reverse chronological order.

The beginning is actually the end, as the whole world circles the drain. Caught in this spiral is Chiwetel Ejiofor (12 Years a Slave), a school teacher trying to apply logic to the planet’s troubles; Karen Gillan (Guardians of the Galaxy) is his ex, a hospital worker determined to save everyone she can; Matthew Lillard (Scream) is a construction worker neighbor who finds zen amid the chaos; and Carl Lumbly (Alias), plays a funeral director who has dedicated his life to easing people through death.

The end of the movie is actually the beginning, showing young Chuck (Benjamin Pajak) when he was a boy being raised by his grandparents (Mia Sara of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Mark Hamill). The insight of these two—coupled with the otherworldly revelations he finds in an eerie room tucked into the peak of their Victorian home—help him learn to seek out bright spots when life is marred by sorrow and darkness.

In elementary school, young Chuck discovers some important things about himself thanks to guidance from a brusque dance instructor (Samantha Sloyan), and a kindhearted English teacher, played by Kate Siegel, who gives the boy (not to mention the audience) some important information that serves as a code breaker for the story's more cosmic puzzles.

As for the middle of the film: It’s a dance number. That’s when Hiddleston steps in.

Compounding the peculiarity of The Life of Chuck is the question: Why is this song and dance sequence so important? The answer is for the movie to reveal, but it matters a lot. “The life of every human being is a constellation, as expressed in this film,” Hiddleston says. “There are certain moments which will burn most brightly as individual stars. Sometimes it feels like the world is going to hell in a handcart, and it’s full of pain and suffering, and it is—but there are moments of deep joy and deep connection.”

Hiddleston shows the audience this single moment in the life of a buttoned-up fellow who somehow controls the destiny of the world. It’s not necessarily the most important day in his life, but it’s a memorable one involving a street drummer (Taylor Gordon), a lovely stranger (played by Annalise Basso), and a fateful decision to cast aside caution and cut a rug. “It’s a reminder to do whatever it is that expresses whatever gives you that feeling of being alive,” Hiddleston says. “Whether it’s music or dancing or math or writing or creativity—do it. Do it now. Those moments are what you’ll remember.”

Flanagan considered casting a relative unknown as Chuck to “give the audience the experience of ‘Who the hell is this person?’” as the peculiar retirement signs begin to appear in the midst of the apocalypse. But he felt the promise of the Loki star would build more curiosity as the world falls apart. “You grow an enormous amount of anticipation to finally spend time with an actor like Tom, who can be a literal god in one story, and then an everyman in another,” Flanagan says.

A TikTok video of Hiddleston getting his groove on sealed the deal. “He had a completely unfiltered joy on his face,” Flanagan says. “He was a good dancer, but that wasn’t what struck me. I wasn’t amazed by the technique so much as the degree of happiness that was radiating off of him. The look on his face made me smile the same way I smiled reading that particular portion of the book.”

The resulting scene was created in a month-long collaboration between Flanagan, Hiddleston, Basso, choreographer Mandy Moore (So You Think You Can Dance, and La La Land), and Gordon, a real-life percussionist who performs under the name the Pocket Queen. “Taylor was there for all of the dance choreography. She wrote that piece of music for that performance. They built it together,” Flanagan says.

Hiddleston rattles off the lists of influences: “I had to learn in six weeks the full regime of any dance training. We did jazz, swing, salsa, cha-cha, the Charleston, bossa nova, polka, quickstep, samba. We were trying to tip our hat to anything that might have influenced Chuck. It might’ve had a bit of Gene Kelly or Fred and Ginger. Certainly moonwalking—Stephen King is very specific about the moonwalk.”

Precision was not the goal, exuberance was what they sought. “We need to always bear in mind that this man is an accountant. We needed this to be an earnest, escalating explosion of joy, and a remembrance of who he was,” Flanagan says. “It’s a chance to step back into the skin of his younger self, not caring that his feet are going to kill him the next day, not caring that he’s going to wake up with a horribly stiff neck.”

A surprising thing happened while shooting the scene over the course of several sweltering afternoons in the deep South. “I burned holes in my shoes,” Hiddleston says. “I was dancing out on the asphalt in Alabama, and by the time we’d finished, you could see my socks through the soles.”

The sequence begins awkwardly: Chuck is self-conscious as he first hears the busker’s rhythm while walking back from a banking conference. That feeling quickly gets shaken off. “Tom was very committed,” Flanagan says. “He was like, ‘If I look silly, that’s fine. As long as I look happy.’”

Flanagan remembers being in a bad place when he first discovered “The Life of Chuck.” Then again, everybody was.

His copy of the manuscript arrived in March 2020. “That was just as the world shut down for COVID,” he says. “We had been a week away from starting principal photography on Midnight Mass in Vancouver and had fled across the border before it closed to make it back to the States. We were hunkered down in our homes and had no idea if this was going to last for two weeks or if this was going to last forever.”

With everything halted as the lockdown set in, Flanagan had plenty of time to do nothing but read. The new King book seemed like the perfect escape. Except…

“The first third of ‘The Life of Chuck’ just rattled me,” he recalls. “There’s no way he wrote this before the world ground to this bizarre halt—but he did. And the feeling of anxiety, and uncertainty, and that everything was falling apart came roaring out at me. I wasn’t sure I could finish it. It just felt too close to the anxiety I was feeling.” But he kept turning the pages. “By the end of it, I was in tears, and incredibly uplifted, and convinced I’d read maybe the best thing that he’d written in a decade. I just was floored by the thing,” Flanagan says. “So I fired off an email to him right away saying how much I loved the story, how incredible I thought it was, how meaningful, and important, and how it had really tattooed itself on my heart and said, ‘It’s the movie I want to make so that it’ll exist in the world for my kids.’”

King’s response: Not so fast. Flanagan and his producing partner, Trevor Macy, had at that point secured the rights to King’s fantasy saga The Dark Tower through their company, Intrepid Pictures. The eight-book series is threaded throughout King’s other works, and adapting it was a massive undertaking that Flanagan is still working to make happen. Other filmmakers had either abandoned the project, were canceled midway through, or bombed miserably. The author didn’t want him to be distracted. “He doesn’t like to give the same filmmaker more than one thing, because it typically means one thing is not advancing at all,” Flanagan says. “He said, ‘Well, let’s focus on The Tower and I’ll try to keep this one available for you for later.’”

The quest to The Dark Tower remains a priority for Flanagan, but a number of disruptions to that epic undertaking led him to reapproach King last year about Chuck. Intrepid’s deal with Netflix, where they had created Hill House, The Haunting of Bly Manor, and other shows, had come to a close, and Intrepid signed a new development agreement with Amazon. That meant starting over on The Dark Tower. Meanwhile, the threat of a double-barreled strike by writers and actors was on the horizon, stalling nearly every major new project. The industry plunged into another production-halting lockdown, this time over contract impasses rather than a virus.

Since The Dark Tower was suddenly further off on the horizon, Flanagan saw a chance to make The Life of Chuck happen in the short term. “It’s so rare that I get to approach any project that just has not an ounce of cynicism to it. I just really believed in this thing,” he says. “But it was also clear that we would have an incredibly uphill battle bringing the story to any major studio. They would try to make it as familiar as possible, instead of leaning into what makes it so different.”

King gave Flanagan his blessing to proceed. “I was off like a shot,” the filmmaker says. “I think I turned in the draft to him before he got around to sending the formal agreement.”

For everyone involved, The Life of Chuck became a bright spot in an otherwise dismal time, which matches the theme of the film. “There is a profound optimism in this story,” Hiddleston says. “As the world is spinning off its axis, there are moments of magic.”

[i-cant-sing]

Yandere big brother!Jason Todd hogging baby sis!reader all to himself, and not letting anyone else near her. Like, the whole batfam is trying to get the reader but failing. And Jason just going, “You’ll have to pry her out of my cold dead hands if you want her! 😡🖕”

Meanwhile, he just dotes over his baby sis just being cute and he’s all like, “You’re so precious 🥰! I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you, okay? 🥺 Big brother jay will take care of you!”

He’s 100% ready to fight his family and go off the grid with his baby sister, or take extreme measures of hiding his baby sis!Reader if he has to. He feels that he’s better fit to take care of his sister out of everyone in the family.

Fr fr, and he can never bear to see you cry. Like the moment tears start forming in your eyes, oh god- it's like someone is actually crushing his heart. Believe me when I say that the nurse who gave your vaccination shots barely made it out alive, with Bruce and Dick holding Jason back while you cried (which stopped quickly as soon as one of them picked you up).

Like I can see Jason holding baby reader in his arms, who's just cooing and forming spit bubbles and Jason has this stern gaze directed at you, but anyone can see the huge softie is from a mile away, and he's telling you not to cry ever because it's just- wrong!

Jason, glaring at you: and you are not allowed to cry! Ever!

Baby Y/n, coos and tries to grab his hair: huegh?

Jason, leans closer so that you're forced to look into his eyes: It's illegal! No tears or its jail time for you!

Baby Y/n, leans forward to give his nose a slobbering kiss: *giggles*

Jason, tears forming in his eyes as he pulls you in a hug: gosh dammit fuck it, you're too precious for this world! I'll lock you up forever.

-

Alfred: Master Bruce?

Bruce: yes, Alfred?

Alfred: Master Jason has kidnapped little miss Y/n again.

Bruce, slamming his newspaper on his desk: GODDAMMIT ITS THE FOURTH TIME THIS MONTH! Where are they?

Alfred: the doomsday bunker-

Bruce, getting ready in his batsuit: of course, it's the doomsday bunker. Call Clark, tell him to take care of missiles Jason has fired.

[hbyrde36]

Steddie | R: Explicit (for eventual smut) | WC:4541 | Ch 1/8 | AO3

Chapter 1: Ghost of Yesterday

Two days after they failed to defeat Vecna, after Max died and came back, after Eddie died—and didn’t. Two days after they were forced to leave his body behind in the Upside Down because everything had gone to shit, a bright yellow pizza delivery van that looked like it’d been through its own apocalypse pulled into the Wheeler's driveway.

Jonathan, Mike, Will, and El finally made it home to Hawkins with the help of a friend.

On day three, Max woke up. 

She’d have a long road to recovery, but the doctors seemed fairly confident she’d walk again. Though, no one could be sure how much of her eyesight would return, if any. The same day, in a twist no one saw coming, Joyce showed up, fresh off a plane from Alaska after escaping Russia—yes, Russia—with a miraculously alive and mostly well Jim Hopper. 

And four days after the world both did and then didn’t end, the ghost of Eddie Munson appeared in Steve’s living room.

The kids and older teens, including the newest member of the doomsday squad, Argyle, were having an off-the-books meeting. After everything they’d done and been through, the so-called ‘adults’ were attempting to pull their same old shit, trying to sideline the younger set for their own, supposed, safety. 

Steve sort-of agreed about Dustin and the others, they were still too young and had already lost so much, but if Hopper, Joyce, and whoever the hell else thought they were going to bench him? They had another think coming, and he was pretty sure Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan felt the same way too.

But, whether he agreed or not, what he wouldn’t do was stop the kids from helping to come up with a plan. Because damned if he knew what the hell they should do next. 

Dustin leaned forward from his spot on the couch wedged between Erica and Will, steepling his fingers together in front of him. “So let me test my understanding. You set him on fire, and shot him—multiple times. He fell out of a third story window, and he just went… poof? Vanished without a trace?”

There was a collective groan from the room, everyone except for Lucas and El who were at the hospital sitting with Max, and of course Dustin himself. 

Robin rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, yes, Dustin. How many times do we have to go over this?”

 “I’m just laying out the facts!” Dustin snapped back. “Clearly we got something wrong here. We underestimated Vecna, and by a lot.”

 “And how is repeating our obvious failure helpful?” Nancy asked, a little defensively. 

Steve understood the attitude, he'd also been wresting with his guilt since that fateful night.

“The scientific method!” Dustin answered with a bit of the same slightly forced cheerfulness he'd been displaying ever since Max woke up. He held up a hand, ticking each step off on his fingers as he spoke. “Question, research, hypothesis, experiment, data analysis, conclusion.” 

“I got a question—“ Erica pursed her lips, giving Dustin such intense side-eye Steve wondered if it was actually painful. “Why are you such a nerd?”

Dustin sighed, as though it were everyone else annoying him instead of the other way around. “The question is—if Vecna is just a guy with powers like El, how could he have survived this long in the Upside Down? What’s keeping him alive?”

Okay, fine. Attitude or not, Steve hadn’t really thought about it but maybe the kid had a point. 

“The hive mind!” Robin offered up.

“Possibly.” Dustin nodded to her. ”Probably. So, what does that tell us?”

Erica crossed her arms, leaning back heavily into the couch. “I don’t know Mr. Clarke, you wanna share your thoughts with the class?”

“I didn’t say I had all the answers.”

“That’s a first,” Robin mumbled. 

“I’m just trying to get us brainstorming here!”

A flutter of movement pulled Steve’s admittedly already drifting attention away from discussion at hand. Something in the corner, the air there shifting and bending strangely, a little like the way heat shimmers off a sun drenched black top. He watched through his periphery, not daring to actually turn his head to look as a familiar figure materialized there. 

Fuck.

Though he looked confused and disoriented at first, it wasn’t long before the long-haired apparition tried approaching one of them.

Steve swallowed hard, his throat growing painfully tight. He fought to keep his face neutral as the ghost raised a hand in front of Dustin's face, calling the boy's name loudly before moving on to Erica, then Nancy—and Steve panicked, knowing he had to do something before the figure tried the same with him. 

“Water,” he muttered, mainly to Robin as he rose and bumped her shoulder. She was the only one really paying attention to him anyway, while the others still argued the physics and limitations of the alternate dimension. 

Steve fled for the relative quiet and safety of his kitchen. He just needed a minute alone to get his shit together, but he should have expected the phantom footfalls that followed him across the tile floor to the cabinet. 

As he took out a tall glass with shaking hands, the ghost hopped up to sit on the counter just beside him and started talking to himself.

“What the hell does a guy gotta do to get a little attention, huh?” The figure held up his slightly transparent hands in front of his own face, turning them over and back again. “I-I’m kinda freaking out here.”

Under the show of irritation he sounded sad, and a little terrified.

“They can’t see you,” Steve muttered softly, regretting it the second the words passed his lips. 

He knew better than to engage with ghosts. 

Since the moment he’d first shown signs of the gift, he’d been taught by his late grandfather to leave the spirit world be, and mind his own goddamn business.

He’d only broken the rules one other time, about a month or so after they learned the full truth of what happened to Barb and he’d seen her essence lurking around his pool at night. That experience had only served to further prove the old man’s point. 

Nothing good ever came from acknowledging the dead. 

But this was Eddie. 

They’d fought together, bled together. Eddie was his–his ally, his compatriot, his friend. 

And towards the end there Steve was even starting to think that maybe… maybe one day they could be more, if he ever got up the courage to flirt back.

Not that it mattered now.

“No shit, Harrington!” Eddie spat. “I’ve been waving my hands in front of their faces, screaming Dustin's name at the top of my lungs and getting jack squat back in return. I mean what the fu—”

With a sad little smile Steve turned, finally looking straight at the other boy just in time to see his eyes go impossibly wide. 

“Wait—holy shit! Harrington, does this mean you can see me?!”

Steve winced, grimacing at the sheer volume of Eddie's voice. “And hear you, unfortunately.”

Who knew the loudest guy he’d ever met would be even louder in death. 

Actually, that tracked. 

“Steve?” Robin’s voice filtered in as she called out to him from the other room.

Steve took a deep breath, locking eyes with the adorably confused looking ghost haunting his kitchen as he shouted back to her. “Yeah?” He raised a hand to his head, rubbing at the bridge of his nose just as Robin appeared in the doorway. 

“What are you up to in here?” She asked.

“Oh, just…” Steve trailed off, trying and failing not to track Eddie’s movements as he hopped down off the counter and began to stalk towards Robin, a determined, mischievous glint in his eye. 

“ …talking to myself.”

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

“Are you okay she asks,” Eddie grumbled, tipping his head mockingly from side to side. “Pfft—I’m the one who’s invisible. Why isn’t anyone asking if I’m okay?”

“Um,” Steve fought to keep a level expression and not laugh, even as Eddie blew wet raspberries and made increasingly silly faces inches from an oblivious Robin’s nose. “No, actually. I think I might have a migraine coming on,” he lied.

“You want me to get everyone to leave?” She asked.

Yes, good plan! 

In fairness he wasn’t exactly feeling his best. He was exhausted. It had been a long few days.

A long… week and a half? 

Years. 

It had been a long few years.

And he needed some time alone with Eddie, to talk.

“That'd be great, yeah. Thanks, Rob.”

“Sure thing. Why don't you go get in bed with your eye mask on, and I'll bring water and painkillers up?”

“Oooh,” Eddie crooned. “His majesty sleeps with an eye mask? Fancy.”

Ugh, why were all of Steve’s favorite people such fucking smartasses? He glared at Eddie before he could stop himself. Which meant he was staring daggers at a blank wall right now, right in front of Robin, leaving her looking more concerned than ever. 

Shit. 

He should have known she’d wanna stay behind and take care of him. 

“I—um, t-that’s okay,” Steve stuttered out. “M-maybe you should just go on home too.”

Her face fell.

Hacking and wheezing, he forced a fake coughing fit in her direction, only barely covering his mouth with his hand.

“Very convincing,” Eddie commented with clear sarcasm.

Robin wrinkled her nose, recoiling like the germaphobe Steve knew and loved.

“Sorry, I think I'm coming down with a cold or something actually. You should get out while you still can.”

Robin bit at her lip, looking mildly dubious, but eventually she nodded. “Fine. Just promise you’ll call me if it gets any worse, or if you need anything?”

“I promise.”

While everyone cleared out, Steve hid in the kitchen, finally getting that drink of water he so desperately needed—his throat was on fire now that he thought about it—and splashed some more cold water from the sink on his face for good measure.

“You sure you’re not actually coming down with something?” Eddie asked, sitting back up on his perch on the counter. “You don’t look so hot.”

“I’m fine,” Steve said with practiced ease, though his head was beginning to throb a bit. Maybe that migraine thing wasn’t as much of a lie as he’d thought.

With the house now safely empty of prying eyes and ears, he ventured back out into the living room, with Eddie hovering along behind, and locked the deadbolt on the front door before plopping down hard on the couch, letting his head rest against the back of it.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Eddie asked, pacing back and forth along the floor in front of him.

Steve let his head loll to one side. “Plan?”

Eddie groaned, stopping in his tracks to throw his head up to the ceiling. “Why couldn’t it be Henderson who can see me.”

Okay, rude.

“A plan, y'know?” Eddie went on. “To get me back? To get me out of the Upside Down or whatever purgatory I'm currently languishing in?”

Steve could only stare at him blankly for a moment as the words sank in. “Eddie—” he began hesitantly, sitting up straight.

“What? Don't tell me you’ve all given up on me already?”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Steve had heard about this, how sometimes spirits don’t realize they’ve passed on, but surely Eddie had to know. What other possible explanation could he have for suddenly becoming invisible and incorporeal? 

“Eddie, what is it you think is happening here, exactly?” He asked, praying he was wrong but bracing himself for the worst. How on earth do you go about telling someone you care about that they’re dead?

“Well, clearly I–I'm…” Eddie sputtered haughtily for a moment before looking away. “I'm not sure. I’ve been separated from my body somehow, obviously. S-so It’s gotta be some weird Vecna shit, right? And uh, you can hear me and see me b-because… because we both got bit by the bats and it gave us, like, our own little freaky hive-mind type… thing?” 

He sounded less and less sure as he went on, and Steve’s heart ached for him. He remembered the bats attacking him part, but not the dying part. That just seemed cruel.

“Eddie, um,” Steve cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together nervously. “I don’t know how to tell you this but you… you died.”

“Bullshit,” Eddie snorted.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true. We came back from the Creel house and you…” Steve paused, struggling for a second to force his words past the sudden lump in his throat. “Dustin was sitting there with your—”.

“No.” Eddie shook his head roughly. “No–no, because, if I'm dead… then how is it you can see me? Huh?! Explain that!” 

“It runs in my family. My dad doesn't have the gift but my grandfather was able to see ghosts, and his father before that.”

“Suuure, Harrington,” Eddie’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “So—not only am I supposed to believe that I'm dead, but also that you’re descended from some long line of ghost whisperers? Is this a joke to you?! I’m in dire need of–of fucking rescue, and you’re over here trying to fuck with me? Not cool, man. Not cool.”

Steve stood, almost reaching out as he itched to comfort the other boy in some way, but he knew well that it was pointless. “I’m not, I swear I'm not messing with you. I know it’s not what you want to hear, and I'm so sorry but I'm telling you the truth. Dustin, he—” Steve’s voice cracked. “You didn’t have a pulse, Eddie.”

“Stop it!” Eddie snapped.

“I’m sorry, really. I–”

“I said stop!” 

With a choked off sob Eddie moved to shove him away, only to stumble when his hands found nothing solid, or rather, as Eddie’s ghostly and very not solid form passed right through Steve’s body.

Steve held his breath as he waited for it, the sensation of being doused in a bucket of ice water, the spine tingling, creepy crawly thing he’d felt the only other time he’d let a ghost near enough to touch.

But this was nothing like that. 

Eddie felt… warm. And while Steve still shivered it wasn’t because the failed touch had been bad or painful. Quite the opposite, actually. He was left with a pleasant buzzing in his core, the initial warmth lingering, wrapping around him like an embrace before fading slowly.

Maybe all spirits were different. Maybe Barb had felt cold because she’d hated him, because it was his pool she died in—his fault she was out there in the first place.

But Eddie was…

Oh shit—Eddie. 

Steve spun to find him on the floor with his knees pulled up, hugging them to his chest, his huge brown eyes shining with unshed tears. 

Could ghosts cry?

Steve knelt down next to him, biting back a wince as the movement pulled at the bandages hiding beneath his shirt. He’d need to change those again tonight, they felt tacky with dried blood.

Eddie's voice shook when he finally spoke again. “I’m—dead?’

Steve bowed his head in a solemn nod. He would have given anything in that moment to be able to wrap his arms around Eddie.

“T-the bats?”

“There were just too many of them,” Steve explained. “It looked like you put up a hell of a fight, but I think you bled out.”

“My uncle, Wayne, do you know if he—” Eddie trailed off, worrying his bottom lip.

“Dustin talked to him. He couldn't risk telling him everything, but he gave him your guitar pick, and told him you were a hero. That you died a hero.”

Eddie barked a wet laugh, shaking his head.

“It’s the truth," Steve said, hoping his tone left no room for doubt. "If you hadn't distracted them we never would have made it into that attic. And If you hadn’t led them away when you did…” He didn’t need to say it, they both knew Dustin could—and likely would—have been hurt or worse, and those things would have gone through the gate and into the right side up.

It was exactly what Steve would have done too, had their roles been reversed.

“How long has it been?” Eddie asked, quietly.

“Three? No–no, four days.”

“And Vecna?”

“Down, but not out. We wounded him for sure but he got away. That's why everyone was here tonight.”

“Okay,” Eddie blew out a long breath, rubbing hard at his eyes. “What happens now? Do you like, help me find the light or something?” His eyes darted around as though some doorway or portal might appear right there in the living room. “Or maybe I'm going the other way. I can think of a few reasons the big guy might not let me upstairs, but what do I know, maybe self-sacrifice gets you a free pass?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Isn’t this your legacy or whatever?”

“I’ve never done,” Steve waved a hand, gesturing between the two of them. “This before. I was taught to ignore the dead. Pretend I can't see them just like everyone else and let them go about their business.”

“How come?”

“Grandfather said if you get too involved, if the dead find out you can see them they’ll never leave you alone. That it’s dangerous. The dead linger for a lot of reasons, but the most common are unfinished business and revenge. Lots of angry spirits out there according to the Harrington journals.”

Eddie tilted his head thoughtfully. “Am I really the first ghost you’ve ever talked to?”

Steve thought of Barb again, the way her face had morphed into a rage-filled mask when he revealed he’d been able to see her all along, but he pushed it forcefully out of his mind.

And lied.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I just told you, my grandfather—”

“No,” Eddie cut in. “I mean why, after a lifetime of ignoring ghosts, did you choose to acknowledge me?”

“B-because, you’re—“ Steve faltered, not knowing quite how to put it into words. He wasn’t sure even he totally understood. Yes he’d started developing a crush on the guy, but it was more than that. They had a connection, Steve felt it, even if Eddie didn’t. And maybe it was normal—inevitable even, when you get thrown into this shit together. But whether it was all just trauma bonding or something more, Steve couldn’t deny the pull.

“You’re—” he tried to say again as he pushed himself to his feet, only to double over, sucking air through his teeth as the dull pain in his sides turned searing and sharp.

“Steve?” Eddie shot up as he spoke, sounding worried.

“‘M fine,” Steve grit out, managing to straighten his posture without another outburst. “Jus' tired.”

Eddie raised a single eyebrow, but thankfully didn’t argue, silently following Steve as he headed for the staircase and began to climb.

Of course, this was Eddie, so he was only capable of being silent for so long.

“Hey, how come I can’t touch you, but I can walk up the stairs?” 

“I don’t know,” Steve huffed out, breath stuttering as he neared the top landing. 

Just a few more steps.

“Do you think I could, like, sit on a couch, or—or lay in a bed?” Eddie asked.

“I don’t know,” Steve repeated, trying not to sound as annoyed and in pain as he felt. He just had to make it to his room, get these stupid wounds cleaned and then he could pass out for a few hours. Maybe then he’d be able to answer questions and figure out what to do about all this. 

“What if I—”

“Eddie!” Steve barked from the top step, whirling to face him. He nearly lost his balance before catching himself with a hand on the wall. His sides were screaming at him and the throbbing in his head was getting worse too. “I really don’t know any more than you do. I don’t know all the ins and outs, or why things work the way they work.  Can you please just give it a rest for a minute?”

Eddie wilted, dropping his gaze to his feet. “Sorry.”

Fuck.

“No,” Steve sighed. ”No, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t be… y’know, when you’re—”

“Dead?!” Eddie snapped, raising his head again. He looked hurt.

“Sorry.” Steve sucked his lip between his teeth.

“Whatever.”

“Eddie—”

Eddie stomped past him and into the upstairs hallway. “Spare me the pity party. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m telling you, if I was dead, I'd know it.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut again without another word. He didn’t have the energy, and If that was what Eddie needed to believe for now to get through this, then who was he to tell him what to think? It wouldn’t change the facts but if it made him feel better, what was the harm?

Somehow Eddie had guessed the right door. He waited, leaning up against the opposite wall and very deliberately didn’t look at Steve as he walked over, and pushed into his bedroom. 

Steve went right through to the bathroom to get this over with, not bothering to close the door behind him, assuming Eddie would be able to walk right through anyway if he wanted to.

Eddie did follow, still silently brooding as he found another piece of wall to hold up.

Steve ignored him for now, he felt awful but he’d try to apologize again later once the other boy had calmed down, and carefully peeled his shirt off as he stood in front of the mirror. 

The bandages at his sides looked gnarly and gross. He’d bled again, and it looked like there was something yellow seeping into the huge squares of gauze too. He turned his body to the side, looking over his shoulder to see how the road rash on his back was doing. It looked better than the front, but that wasn’t saying much. The skin around the wide scrapes was red and inflamed. He couldn’t cover those on his own and could really only clean them in the shower, but they were shallow at least and would eventually heal on their own, he figured. 

A quiet gasp reminded him of his audience, and a quick glance over through the mirror showed Eddie staring at his torso with wide eyes.

“It looks worse than it is,” Steve said quietly, quickly looking away. Which wasn’t exactly true but the last thing he needed right now was another person trying to force him to go to the hospital. 

He knew some first aid. 

It was fine.

Turning back to face the sink, Steve ran water over a washcloth and held it to each of his dressings to soak them off. The air stung when it finally hit the wounds, as though they'd been freshly opened, and, sure enough, there was definitely some pus seeping from the edges.

No problem. He’d just have to clean them extra thoroughly.

Gritting his teeth, Steve poured a hefty amount of peroxide on a new clean washcloth and began to gently pat his right side. 

The pain was instant and excruciating. 

Bile rose in his throat, a cold sweat breaking out across his body as the world around him swam. Steve swayed on his feet, dropping the cloth to the ground as he himself began to fall. 

A sudden warmth at his back, and strong hands wrapping around his chest were the only thing that kept him on his feet. Carefully avoiding the worst of his wounds, Eddie had caught him, holding the bulk of his weight until the spinning in his head stopped.

The moment Steve could stand on his own again Eddie jumped back as though he’d been burned.

Steve’s eyes snapped up, locking with Eddie’s in their reflections as he realized with a start what had just happened.

“How?” He whispered. He could still feel the imprint of Eddie’s hands where they had cradled him to his chest. He’d felt so… real, so solid, so—alive for that handful of seconds. 

“I-I don't know!” Eddie said, a little too loud in the small space. “I didn’t even think, or-or like, I forgot that I couldn't. I saw you about to go down and I didn't want you to hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t think it was possible." Steve took a step towards him. "You should try to do that again.”

Eddie tucked his hands behind his back, moving as far away as he could without actually leaving the room. “Don't we have more important things to worry about? Like maybe getting you to a hospital?”

“No.” Steve shook his head. “I told you, it looks worse than it is.”

It was abundantly clear that Eddie didn’t believe him, but something about the accidental touch had freaked him out enough that he let it go.

As quickly as he could, Steve finished cleaning the ruined expanse of his stomach and got both sides wrapped in fresh bandages, managing to do so without nearly fainting this time, and threw a clean t-shirt on to hide the evidence. Hopefully that would stop Eddie looking at him with those big brown fucking sad worried eyes of his. 

Out of sight, out of mind, and all that. 

As much as he liked Eddie’s attention on him, these weren’t exactly the circumstances he would have hoped for.

Steve shut the lights off, and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“We should try it again,” Steve mumbled through a long drawn-out yawn.

Eddie laughed softly from his corner hiding spot. “What was that, big boy?”

Steve wished he’d try to join him on the bed, but didn’t know how to ask. He untangled one of his arms from the sheets, reaching a hand out in Eddie’s direction. “Touch me?” 

The room was dark, and it could have been that Steve was a little delirious but he was pretty sure a light blush crept over Eddie's cheeks as he took a step closer, his own ringed hand outstretched.

The sight set off butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

Steve waited to feel the tips of their fingers brush, was desperate to feel Eddie’s touch again if he was honest, but it was no use, Eddie’s long digits passed right through.

“Maybe we have to–” Steve interrupted himself with another deep yawn. His body still ached but now that he was tucked in and warm in his bed, it was getting hard to fight the inevitable. 

“Just go to sleep, man,” Eddie said, his lips quirking into a small crooked smile. “It's not like I'm going anywhere.”

It should have been awkward, or weird to know someone would be there all night, lurking around while he slept, but as Steve drifted off he felt safer than he had in a long time, oddly comforted by the fact that Eddie would be there watching over him, even if he was just a ghost.

Thanks as always to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta and an absolutely amazing cheerleader!

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad

Fic taglist (open): @sidekick-hero

[emotionalsupport-ljh]

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon

AU - Woozi x fem!reader

Nobody asked but! I wrote some imagines for my favorite doomsday prepper. The end is pretty vanilla smut because I couldn't help myself, that boy is fineeeeeee.

Word Count: 1k

CW: really vanilla smut some fingering, a little handjob, then p in v, cuddling. You know. The basics.

⫘⫘☣︎⫘⫘⫘⫘☣︎⫘⫘⫘⫘☣︎⫘⫘

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who is technically part of a larger group but operates like a lone wolf

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who doesn't socialize much which gives him the strong silent badass vibe

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who can competently wield any weapon whether it’s ranged or melee, but prefers to use his own arms and fists against the undead

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who you only meet briefly when it's time to make camp in some abandoned building

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who has a superficial relationship with everyone in the group

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who will disappear for days only to come back with loot for the whole community

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who makes sure everybody eats

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who takes care of all the undead that threaten you, making it look easy

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who saves you from wayyy too close a call when you almost get tackled and bitten

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who listens with a heavy heart to you tossing and turning still shaken by the attack

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who wordlessly joins you in your bed and wraps his strong arms around you making you feel safe and secure as long as you're with him

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who opens up to you slowly so you realize he has a soft heart

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who becomes a little more careful in his escapades because he has something worth returning to

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who always found it more difficult to deal with the living than the dead

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who begins to show the sides of himself he tucked away when the apocalypse demanded his “strength”

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who everyone meets in a completely different light when he begins to start conversations and talk about his interests

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who enjoys being more involved in the socializing aspects of the group, but still values his alone time

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who you find on the roof of the abandoned office building where the group is camping

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who stares into the night sky and remarks that he can finally see the stars clearly without all the light pollution

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who you spend the better part of the night talking to about everything scary and beautiful about the apocalypse

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who can’t take his mind off of you lately

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who sees your face illuminated in the moonlight and chances to lean forward to kiss you

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who melts you with his surprisingly soft lips

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Whose hands have the potential to grip you so tightly around your waist, but settle for a strong handle of your body that you don’t even try to resist

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who leads you with his strong grip to the secluded place he set up his sleeping area for the night, only detaching from your lips to breathe and then finding his way back quickly and efficiently

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Whose tongue makes its way into you to taste every inch of you

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who lays you down on an array of blankets and does all the work in stripping you down to just your panties

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who is still fully clothed

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who traces his calloused hands over all the sensitive parts of your body, stopping to play with you nipples before taking one into his mouth

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who has one hand on your other nipple while the other finds its way into your panties

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who teases the your most sensitive parts until you can’t contain your moans; if the area wasn’t so secure, there would be a hoard right outside of the door

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who takes his mouth off of your chest only to lick around his own fingers while maintaining eye contact with you

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who is slowly becoming obsessed with the way your lips are parted and your eyes are lidded and you chest rises and falls with deep breaths

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who slides one finger into you slowly, groaning at the tight feeling

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Whose pants get tighter and tighter as he hears you plead for more

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who kisses you when his second and third finger find their way inside you, stretching you enough to accommodate him

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who makes you cum hard on his fingers

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who finally begins to strip down while you slip off your panties leaving both of you completely naked

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who has scars around his hard body marking all of his time surviving the desolate landscape

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who lets you trace some of the sizable marks on his torso before pulling you close into a hungry kiss

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who presses his body against yours, so you can feel how hard his cock is for you

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who guides your hand to stroke him, groaning when your soft fingers grasp him gently then squeeze as you move up and down the long, thick shaft

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Whose cock drips with precum that you swipe with your thumb and spread over the sensitive head

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who watches as you spit in your hand and use it to coat him, hoping that it eases its entrance into you

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who can’t hold back anymore and moves you to your hands and knees finding a place on your hips to grab you

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who lines himself up with your wet entrance

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who makes your body shiver when he enters you slowly, growling as he feels himself begin to reach his peak

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who relishes in every sound you make as he slides inch by inch inside of you

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who stalls once he bottoms out, breathing in and out hard

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who you beg to move which causes him to set a steady pace fucking in and out of you

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who grabs you tighter and uses one hand to slap your ass, marking you as his

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who pulls out and flips you around so that he can see your face when you cum again

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who resumes his thrusting inside of your tight walls while placing his hands behind your knees to get a better angle

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who finds your sweet spot and digs into it until you come undone with a moan that borders on a scream

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who wipes the single tear from your cheek that trickled out due to overstimulation

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who chases his own release by desperately thrusting into your wet heat, listening intently to the sounds of skin slapping skin

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who finally pulls out to stroke himself to completion leaving ropes of cum on your chest and stomach

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who comes down from his high to the sight of you taking some of his cum onto his finger and placing it into your mouth

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who kisses you fervently tasting you and himself intertwined

ZombieApocolypse!Jihoon Who wipes you off with his previously discarded t-shirt then lays with you in his arms as the sun comes up and you drift to sleep feeling safe and secure even in the apocalypse

[websterss]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄 𝟑/𝟒 — 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘  

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Ethan keeps trying to keep you under his watch in fear of you outing him as your killer to the group, but you’re determined to make his life a living hell.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): A bit graphic, mentions of blood and dying, angst, flashback

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3,250

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Ethan Landry x fem!Ghost!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed! I based this off the song by Lizzy McAlpine - Doomsday

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Your plan wasn’t working. Your plan wasn’t working and Ethan dared to give you a new identity. You were furious and in need of wanting to punch him, but most of all you remained unseen. Unnoticed by your friends, Chad of them all.  

“Wyen? What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shove past him causing him to stumble back and chase after you.

“I panicked.” Ethan tries catching your hands under the sheet but you are too quick on your feet. You push and shove past intoxicated bodies, wanting and doing everything to put some distance between you and Ethan. It’s when you turn and ascend the stairs that you hear thumping footsteps grow closer. “I don’t know what you want from me, Y/n,” Ethan calls behind you. Oh, now he wanted to use your name. “You’ve been bitching all week about wanting to leave the dorm, but when I do take you out, you just complain and–” Ethan's words are cut off when you shove him into a vacant room. He grunts when you shove him in and close the door behind you. Completely overlooking the fact you had touched and closed a physical door. Though Ethan seemed to catch on instantly. He gaped, looking at you and at the door. “Did you just-”

“Get this fucking thing off me!” You shoved him with your covered hands again. “Get this sheet off me, now! Get it off!” You shoved him, then frantically pulled at the fabric. “Ethan get it off– just get it off!” Your breathing picks up as you start to panic underneath. “Ethan get it off please–” Ethan immediately reached forward and pushed it past your face. Your teary eyes coming into his view now. “I hate you, I hate you so much!”

“Yeah, we’ve established that.” He shook his head at you.

“Fuck you! How can you just stand there and watch me break down every day?” You began shoving him back. “Huh? I’d have expected some sort of guilt from you but all you’ve done is show me just how fucked up and horny you really are. I have no excuse for it either, I’m lonely, but you’re sick. You fucking killed me!” You scream in his face. “I’ve already endured the worst pain of my life, but for some reason the universe has me enduring this! You!” You shake your head not seeing any signs of remorse from him. What would you know? He had no trouble killing you. So he’d have no trouble showing no empathy. “Why are you still hurting me?” Ethan looks away at the slightest crack in your voice. “Have I not been through enough?” Your shoulders slumped as a tear slipped down your cheek. That had been enough for Ethan to act on how he felt rather than using his words. He had cupped your face gently and caught the tear on your lips with his own. Sealing your pain with yet another kiss. He had a habit of kissing you when things got too vulnerable. He pulled back resting his head against yours. “Stop hurting me. Just let me rest already. What good am I to you now, being here like this?” You furrow your brows. “Why can’t you let me go, why can’t you see me for what I really look like? You and I both know this isn’t really me?” You placed your hands over his wrist. 

“I don’t know what you mean…”

“You do. You know what I look like. Yet you prefer to glamorize me, paint me as the pretty picture that I’m not. I’m not a vision anymore, you made sure of that Ethan.”

“I don’t want to picture you that way.” Ethan kept his eyes closed tight. The night of your death is still vividly clear and horrid in his mind. There was so much blood that night. So much guilt that ate at him. Showering did nothing to make the memory of you wash away. 

“Why not? Is it the guilt? Does the state you left me keep you up at night?” Your voice dropped into a darker tone. Sinister-like.

“N-No…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “This is the you that I want. This is the way I want to see you, remember you. What’s so goddamn wrong with that?” He gripped your face tighter. He went in for another kiss but you held his wrist firmer.

“This isn’t who I am anymore Eth. I’m not this pretty version you think that I am. Can you open your eyes for me?” You tilted your head at him. “Please…I wanna see those pretty brown eyes I loved so much. Open your eyes!”

Ethan only shook his head.

“Ethan…Look at me!” You growled, causing him to jump back. He let out a surprised gasp as your now milky white and glazed-over eyes stared back at him. His eyes grew as your stab wound became visible. Your lips were stained red with blood and your whole shirt was coated in it. Your smile turned wicked as you tilted your head. “See that wasn’t so hard now…” 

“No!” He growled as he rushed forward and pushed you back into the closet doors there. You half expected him to strangle you but when his lips met yours in a rough swift motion, you were not prepared for it. When he pulled back after a second to catch his breath. His eyes roamed over your face and stomach. Any traces of blood and the wound he gave you were long gone by now. He sighed in relief as your beautiful irises stared back at him with curiosity. “Don’t ever do that shit again.” He warned darkly. His eyes narrowed with hate. 

“I didn’t do anything...” You smirked up at his towering frame. “That was only a preview of what lies in there.” You reach up and tap the side of his temple. “There is some guilt inside of you, that’s why you wake up during the night in a startled state. You’re only hurting yourself further by picturing me this way. It proves that you don't want to admit it to yourself yet. You don’t think I'm aware of the way you kiss me to avoid confronting the real truth when I’m close to getting you to repent for your actions. I'm dead Ethan, not alive, dead. And you can’t bring yourself to believe that I am. A coward's move really.” You scoff as you look him up and down. 

“I’m not a coward.” His jaw clenched. 

“No? Then go get Chad, maybe Tara, or Anika, and then Mindy. Hell, let’s make it a party. Call Sam, and tell her that you killed me. Tell her what you did to me. Tell her how I begged and pleaded for you not to, and in return, you stabbed me. Drove your knife into my stomach, pulled it out, and watched me bleed out. That you saw the light leave my eyes, and that you heard me take my last breath. You’re not a coward you say? Go and tell our friends the psychopath you really are. How the girl who you confessed to having the biggest crush on is now dead because of you. Chad trusted you, brought you into our lives, he stood by you, trying to be your wingman and what did you fucking do? You killed me because your dad had a slight problem with me. You won’t do it though, you know why? Because you’re a coward Ethan. You’re nothing but a scared fool who can’t take responsibility for his own actions. You didn’t need to kill me, but you did. I’m never gonna let you live this down as long as I’m still here, and god quit kissing me. I’m dead for fucks sake, you’d think you’d show a bit more restraint.” You scoff and shove past him, forgetting the sheet as you open the door and head downstairs. The loud slam caused him to flinch. 

-

You pushed and pushed yourself to crawl faster but you had been in so much pain. Your flight response grew as you heard him sigh behind you. 

“Y/n…” He closed his eyes. Having just exited your room to watch you a few feet into the hallway that was facing the front door.

“Noo…” You pleaded. Your cries increased as you pushed against the floor. Your hands kept slipping. The blood that coated them gave you no friction. 

The door is right there…it’s right there. You kept repeating.

“You’re not gonna get to the door. You’re not, I’m sorry.” He sighed.

“I will, I will.” You cried. A groan slipped past your lips with every strain against your wound. You could hear just how fast your heart was beating against your eardrums. Your breathing comes out strained and in heaves.

“Not with where I stabbed you. That wound is fatal.” He stalked closer to form on the floor. “Y/n, this isn’t going to turn out the way you hope it will.”

“No!” You choke back a sob.

Ethan looked away as your cries became more rasped and cracking. Your vision was blurred from the tears falling down your face. The door was becoming difficult to see now. The light inside slowly dimmed the more you struggled to crawl forward. “I-I can. I just need to push myself a bit more.” You groaned, then screeched when you felt him turn you onto your back. “Please. Please don’t do this!” You pushed against his chest. You were no match for the strength he possessed. He overpowered your injured state.

“It’s just gonna hurt for a second then it’ll all be over.” He held your wrist together with one hand, his thighs squeezing your legs together so you wouldn’t squirm and push against him any longer.

“Please, please. P-Please.” You cough as blood starts to fill your lungs. Your teeth were stained red. “Please, I don’t wanna die. I-I don’t wanna die.” You shake your head, weakly pushing against his chest. “I haven’t done anything yet…I wanna live. I wanna live, please.” You tilt your head back as tears spill down your face. “I want my mom…I want my mom!” You slump against his tight grip. “Please…please.” You stare at him, numb and broken. You didn’t have much of a fight left in you. “Please, please, please.” Your voice becomes soft as a whisper in the wind. 

“I won’t let you suffer anymore.” He leans down to press a kiss against your temple, then you feel the harsh insert of his knife entering your wound once more. Your gasp falls heavily against his ears. You begin to choke on your blood in an attempt to get another word out. He pulls the knife out and watches as your chest starts to rise and fall slower 

“W-Why?” You mustered before your breathing grew shallow, and your eyes dilated. Ethan's eyes scattered all over your frame, watching you take your last breath, watching the light leave you. The thing that ached the most was your hands going slack in his grip, slipping down his palm as your head lulled to the side. You were gone. He probably sat there for half an hour before the ringing from his phone brought him out of the daze he was in. He snapped out of it, averting his eyes from your body, down to his gloves, and the knife covered in your blood. 

“Shit!” He cursed, catching on to the massive pool beginning to form around you. He got up quickly, removing his gloves and shoes before walking over to where yours and his books remained from your session a while ago. He cursed once more struggling to find his phone. Once he grabbed a hold of it, the contact displayed made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He looked back to where you lay, running a hand through his hand to compose himself before answering. “Dad?”

“Where the hell have you been? Quinn and I have been trying to get a hold of you.” 

“What why? I’m at Y/n’s remember? The plan you went over with me before meeting up at her house.”

“Oh, you’re still there.”

“Yeah, we were studying before I went into the bathroom to get ready. What do I do now? I know you dealt with a mom when I ki-”

“You’re still in the bathroom? Oh, thank god. Go ahead and take the Ghostface rob off. There’s been a change of plans, I changed my mind.” Ethan felt his heart sink to his feet at his father’s words. “I don’t want you to kill her anymore, alright? Your little girlfriend can live another day!” Ethan’s face fell hearing him laugh. “I thought about it some more and if we kill her now it’ll just end up drawing more attention than what we need, so I’m calling it off. Go back to studying or whatever it was you two were doing. Don’t kill her, we’ll save it for later when we go after the rest of her friends alright…” Ethan slowly turned. His gaze fell on your face that was turned towards where he stood. His heart started picking up. “Ethan? Ethan, you there? You don’t have to kill her anymore. You hear me, boy. The plan is off okay. Look I gotta go. Those two wannabe fucks Jason and what’s the other one's name…Greg? Yeah, Greg. I’m planning their deaths for sometime next month. I’ve been following them and it looks like they’re gonna be a problem. Those two do need to go, but uh…yeah that girlfriend of yours, she’s safe for now. Don’t do anything stupid okay? I gotta go.”

“D-Dad…” Ethan’s voice cracked.

“Yeah?”

“She’s dead! I did what you told me to. W-Why didn’t you call me sooner?” Ethan gasped, running a hand through his air. “W-What do I do now?”

“Goddamit boy…H-How long has she been dead?”

“What?” He didn’t know why the time mattered. 

“How much time has passed boy?”

Ethan pulled back the sleeve of the robe and checked the time on his wristwatch. It hadn’t been that long, had it?

“T-Three minutes. It’s been three minutes.” He breathed out.

“Yeah, you need to give her CPR right now!” 

“Are you fucking serious?” He started panicking looking back at your very dead body. 

“Put your goddamn phone down and start fucking giving her chest compression!”

Ethan raced back over to you at lightning speed, he dropped his phone down next to you, hitting the speaker option. He kneeled next to you and placed the heel of his left hand on your breastbone at the center of your chest. He places the palm of his other hand on top of his hand already on your chest and interlocks his fingers. He winces when he positions his shoulders over his hands and starts pressing straight down into your chest and starts counting. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…” He breathes out as he presses fast down on your chest. He counted up to twenty in his head before he alternated between chest compression and rescue breaths. He tilted your head back, pinched your nose, and blew into your mouth. He gave two breaths. Then he repeated the cycle. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…” Two breathes again. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…” Another two breathes. “One, two, three, four, five, six…Come back to me, please come back to me.” He pinches your nose again and gives you another two breaths. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Come back to me.” He chokes back a sob as he keeps trying. “Come back to me…One, two, three, four-“ He cries out as he hears a gasp spill past your lips. Your chest rises as you inhale a deep breath and then release it. “Oh!” He sobs, reaching forward to kiss your cheek. He presses his head against yours. 

You whimper as you try to get your vision to settle. Your senses slowly come back to you. “Eth…”

“Oh, thank god! Dad, it worked! It fucking worked!” He cried out. He moved behind you letting you rest your head on his thighs. “You’re okay, you’re okay! Dad, we need to get her to the hospital okay-“ Ethan looked down at his phone, his heart sinking as he stared at the black screen. His brows pinched together in confusion. He was just on the phone with him.  

“Ethan?” He turned his head, at the sound of his own name being called. “Ethan, are you still there? How much time has passed?” 

“What?” He shook his head. He was still standing where he had been. He looked back to see that you remained motionless. Dead. You were still dead. “The time?” 

“How much fucking time has passed boy?” 

He looked down at his wrist again, he was so confused. He had just saved you. You took a breath of air. You were okay. “Ethan for fucks sake.” 

He gripped his watch and realized just how much time had passed. It had been exactly half an hour now…not the three minutes he hoped had only passed. 

“H-Half an hour…” He muttered. He had just saved you. He had saved you. You were okay just a second okay? “It’s been half an hour.”

“Oh, Ethan.” His das sighed heavily through the phone. If he could, he could see his dad run a hand down his face. 

“S-She’s gone. She’s gone.” He turned to look at you again. “I killed her dad. I-I killed her!” He choked back on a sob. 

“I’m on my way. Just hang in there.”

-

You didn’t expect Ethan to put the sheet around you again as you ran out the front of the door. The party grows distant as you track it back to Ethan’s dorm. You complained when you felt the fabric fall past your face once more. “H-Hey! What the hell?” 

“Had to.” He wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Can’t have people thinking I’m talking to myself.” 

“Why not? It’ll add to your crazy persona.” You grumbled under the sheet before being taken off guard by Ethan’s sudden closeness. You couldn’t help the frown he couldn’t see.

“I’ll have you know, not everyone takes lightly to someone talking to themselves… You’re a terrible ghost, by the way.” He kisses your head covered by the sheet.

The kiss sent a wave of redness up your neck and face as you let out a very lady-like sound. “W-Well! That’s just me being a terrible actor. I’m a great ghost! Boo!” You say defiantly. Before adding on, you whisper. “I got some haunting up my sleeves too if you wanna see…” Ethan could already feel the smirk hidden underneath. He rolled his eyes, though he felt a shiver up his spine knowing what your real form looks like. 

“No thanks. I think I prefer you this way ya know, outta sight…me out of a psych ward.” He shrugged. 

“What? You don’t wanna see the face of the woman who’s been tormenting you these past couple of months? How rude.” You say with mock offense before continuing. “Besides, I’m a ghost, not the boogeyman, I can’t hurt you as much as you’ve hurt me already...” You breathe out a laugh.

“Yeah…just a ghost.” He hums, keeping his arm around your shoulder as you both walk back to his dorm.

[hypnoneghoul]

Hyp. Your awesome. Your writing is awesome. Could be kinda awesome if you wrote some good ol' RainDrop in a bit of an enemies to lovers or a classic hate fuck situation? Only awesome if ur feeling it, obviously. If not that's cool. Just thought I'd ask to see if your awesome brain came up with anything 🤭

heheh thank you! i had some lore kinda thoughts and it turned into whatever this is. they're not fucking (yet) here, but the enemies to lover vibe is strong. I hope it's okay :3

(and look at my new divider by the amazing @ghuleh-recs!!!)

“What on earth are you doing with that bass?”

Rain jumps at the harsh voice of the other ghoul. He thought he was alone in the practice room—and maybe he was, but obviously not anymore.

“Playing,” he replies, trying his best to sound sure of himself and confident, but it comes out more as a question.

“Making an even bigger idiot out of yourself than you already are is what you’re doing,” Dewdrop scoffs. Rain tries to ignore that pang of hurt in his chest at his words, but it’s hard when every single day for the last weeks all that the fire ghoul’s been doing is showering him in hate. He thinks he may just about have had enough.

Still, he lacks the courage to do anything about it, anyway. When it comes to flight or fight, Rain chooses the former over and over again.

“I’m just gonna go if you need the room,” he says quietly and turns to put his bass away.

“Sure, go abuse that thing somewhere else.” The water ghoul has no idea what Dewdrop is on about. Maybe he is doing something wrong, but how would he know? He doesn’t have a mentor to teach him like all the other ghouls that were summoned to their pack with him.

Rain sighs, packs the bass and turns to leave with his head hung low.

Before he can actually leave, though, Dewdrop stops him. He stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest and he’s glaring up at Rain as if he has expected him to do something else.

“Who told you to pick like that?” he asks. Rain’s eyes are dragged to a wrinkle between his eyebrows. It seems permanent, always there with his frown, but the water ghoul thinks he could actually be really pretty if he just…got rid of that everlasting anger etched in his features.

“No one,” Rain tells him the truth. “I’ve been trying to figure stuff out on my own.”

“Why?” Dewdrop asks, seeming completely oblivious. Rain gets a little confused now, too. He knows the fire ghoul’s history, he knows it should be him teaching him his instrument. Did Dewdrop himself forget?

Suddenly Rain gets bolder.

“Well, I don’t exactly have a teacher,” he says louder, straightening up. “I’m doing my best, unlike someone.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Dewdrop growls and takes a step forward. He’s small—way smaller than Rain—but the pure fire in his eyes can intimidate. Still, the water ghoul doesn’t move.

“You know what! You can’t call me an idiot for not being great at something I have zero idea about just because the person who was supposed to teach me decided to…I don’t know, hate me for no reason!”

Dewdrop’s eyebrows shoot up.

He looks like Rain’s words…got to him and the water ghoul doesn’t know how to feel about it. Is it just a calm moment before the storm, is he about to be burned to the ground with Dewdrop’s anger? His anxious brain manages to come up with a multitude of doomsday scenarios in those short moments.

But what happens is so very different from all of those scenarios.

Dewdrop looks down and scoffs as if he’s regretting what he’s about to do, before he swiftly reaches out and grabs Rain’s arms to keep him close when he stands on his tiptoes and presses his burning lips against the water ghoul’s cold ones.

Rain huffs into the kiss in surprise, but quickly finds it…nice. He relaxes and kisses back and it’s getting more and more heated with every second.

A few moments later it’s Rain who begins to peel the other’s clothes off piece by piece. Neither of them knows what happens, it’s like they black out and in the next moment they’re tumbling on the floor naked.

“Fuck me, Rain,” Dewdrop pants and the water ghoul likes the way his own name falls from his lips. His voice is pretty. “Fuck the hate out of me.”

Well, Rain can’t exactly waste a solution to fixing his own problem?

Can he?

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Fuck It Friday

HI! Thank you @theotherbuckley for tagging me.

I am VERY excited to share more of a WIP I am working on - called Long Death. My first foray into vampires.

---

“Garlic?” Eddie asks over the phone in the morning, anyway, slogging forward with life like a robot. 

“Yeah, there’s a sale on at Walmart.” Buck explains. “I’m stocking up.”

“I didn’t think you shopped at Walmart.”

“Well, there’s a sale for garlic cloves, so…”

Eddie rolls his eyes, even though Buck can’t see it. “Okay, well I’ll tell Pepa to take you to Mass next week to pick up some holy water.”

“You’re laughing, but-”

“I’m not laughing, for the record.”

“I think it might be smart to go get some wood from Home Depot, at the very least. You know, for stakes.”

“You realize this sounds insane, don’t you, Buffy?”

“What we’ve seen is insane, Eddie.”

“Yeah, but even if that was the work of vampires, do you think some garlic juice marinated sticks are going to help you in an emergency?”

“I don’t know! And that’s the point. It’s not going to be like the beginning of Covid, where I was too late to order enough hand sanitizer. I’m getting ahead of the curve.” 

Right. Because there’s going to be a vampire pandemic. 

“Okay, so you’re doomsday prepping,” Eddie rationalizes.

“You could say that.” 

“I am saying it.”

“Well, mock away, but just remember who will be taking care of you during the vampire apocalypse.” 

---

No pressure tagging @pantsaretherealheroes @jeeyuns @exhuastedpigeon @aroeddiediaz @tizniz

@steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @daughterofscotland @madneywedding @bidisasterevankinard

@evanbegins @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @wildlife4life @buckleybabyblues @adarkermiserablecrow

@epicbuddieficrecs @fortheloveofbuddie @watchyourbuck @buddieswhvre @your-catfish-friend

@l0v3t0hat3y0u @lyricfulloflight @kwills91 @diazsdimples

[mr-kench]

Grigori is such a unique villain because he’s only a villain in the most technical sense. This guy is Neutral at best Neutral Evil at worst because (MEGA SPOILERS)

his whole thing is is finding a worthy protector of the world. The Seneschal is a Pseudo-God that watches over reality from the heights of the Rift but it’s a job that no one can endure forever so they seek out a replacement. The Seneschal is an Arisen that’s defeated the Dragon and defeated the last Seneschal. The Dragon is an Arisen that failed that final test. Grigori calls it The Eternal Ring because this has been a cycle that has gone on forever and will continue forever. It is a duty born in strife because only the strongest and most noble are worthy of the position.

Grigori attacks the world, devastates countries and civilizations looking for those who would challenge him and if he decides they’re worthy to slay him he will turn them into an Arisen. In the first game theirs a doomsday cult that worships him and wants to gain his favor to conquer the world and Grigori decimates them once they reach the foot of his lair. Saying how he doesn’t care about what they want, their ramblings were nonsense and not worth listening to. He doesn’t want to rule the world or destroy it, he doesn’t care about power like that.

The. During the final fight itself where most villains would monologue about how they stand no chance against him, they’ll destroy everything you love, how dare you stand against me?! That sort of stuff but not Grigori. He’s cheering you on. Encouraging you to strike him down and take back your heart, prove to him you’re worthy of it. His dialogue in the first game just before the final fight is him talking highly of mankind.

The monsters of this world are easy to understand. They eat when they’re hungry and sleep when tired of eating, they kill things when they want things to die and nothing more. However this is not mankind, they stand against nature as one, build towards a shared future and create new wonders that allow new life in turn. Mankind has done all this and more. For a champion who would stand against the coming darkness they have to be the greatest of mankind and so the only path is forward.

Not the typical villainous monologue. He deeply admires humanity, and their strength of will. He admires the Arisen most of all because they are the greatest among mortals not for power alone but because of their courage and willpower. If his death will lead to a Guardian over their reality and an inheritor to that cosmic throne then all of this will be worth it.

He’s the new kind of complex Villain because he doesn’t have a real sympathetic backstory. Sure he’s a failed hero from his own time forced to play a villainous role but it’s a role to find a man who can do what he failed to do. He’s a villain only because of the role he plays but not in mind or spirit. To protect the world he must find a worthy heir to take the mantle as protector

[mermaidsirennikita]

Do you have any queer historical romance recs? Are there any upcoming 2024 queer historical romances that you’re excited for?

Absolutely, I have recs! As for 2024 books, I'm currently most looking forward to You Should Be So Lucky by Cat Sebastian, which is an m/m romance set, I believe in the 50s, set around the world of baseball.

I also just read A Sweet Sting of Salt by Rose Sutherland (out 4/9) which I SUPER recommend if you want a f/f romance set in the 1800s, with a touch of fantasy. It's about a prickly midwife who finds this mysterious woman in the middle of the night, literally about to give birth. She helps her, and her husband turns out to be a local fisherman. But... something isn't right... both with the husband, and with his wife's origins. And when the husband realizes the women are falling in love, he only becomes more possessive. I promise it's romantic and has an HEA and doesn't feature overwhelming sadness (there is domestic and sexual violence alluded to, but it's brief and off the page).

As for historicals otherwise...

M/M

We Could be So Good by Cat Sebastian--set in the same general era and space as the 2024 release, I think, about a pair of reporters slowly and sweetly falling in love, especially after they become roommates (and they were ROOMMATES).

The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen by KJ Charles--about a guy who moves to the marshland after he becomes a baronet, and has to take care of his estranged father's family left behind. He finds out there is a crime family of smugglers controlling the area, and he rats on them after seeing something sus... But when he goes to testify, who's there to stop him but the guy who he used to anonymously hook up with! JOSS DOOMSDAY. Joss Doomsday is amazing I love him. Super sexy, funny, and definitely focused on a side of England you like, never see in historicals.

The Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel by KJ--the standalone followup to the last book. In this case, another title is inherited, and this time the lord's this gruff former soldier. His cousins or something contest his inheritance, and he hires this young, charismatic secretary (especially important because our lord has a hard time reading, which I felt was done in a really touching way). Anyway, the sexual tension boils over and they start hooking up on the low, but there's a SECRET. (Also, the lord is very like "I'M ABUSING MY BOSSLY POWER" while the secretary is like "I mean... abuse it some more.....")

Band Sinister by KJ Charles--kind of a queer sendup of gothics, this is about a young guy whose sister is like, always spying on their scandalous neighbors who hold orgies and shit for the sake of writing her novels. Then she breaks her leg and ends up laid up in the orgy house, and he rushes over like NO ORGIES FOR HER, but he realizes the group of friends is actually super cool, especially the verrrry siiiiiilky smoooooth one who's just soooooo suave. So good, and especially interesting in that, while I would definitely not call this a poly romance, it does explore the complexities of open relationships and polyamory.

The Queer Principles of Kit Webb by Cat Sebastian--Kit is a retired highwayman running a cafe, and suddenly this vERRRY pretty nobleman comes in flashing his very nice ankles and asking Kit to steal this mysterious book from his dad. Kit refuses, but agrees to teach Percy how to steal. Both are great, but omg PERCY is AMAZING. He's kind introduced as somewhat like... conventionally more on the femme side, but he's like a secret swordmaster, and also takes the lead with Kit sexually a lot. One of my favorite moments in this book is when he's blowing Kit and Kit thinks he's gone too deep and is like "SORRY" and Percy rolls his eyes and makes Kit grab his hair and start facefucking him lmao. Also has nice demi rep in Kit.

Something Fabulous by Alexis Hall--A frosty duke proposes to a woman he was always supposed to marry, and she subsequently goes on the run. He then has to pair up with her dramatic, fanciful twin brother. It's a really funny romcom, with a ridiculous duel that had me wheezing. Plus a semi-cultlike group of lesbians? Also, enthusiastic ass eating.

F/F

An Island Princess Starts a Scandal by Adriana Herrera--A cold vamp widow wants this business deal with a fun and flirty heiress, and the heiress agrees to make the deal... If the vamp agrees to show her LESBIAN PARIS. Hot, and both of the leads are Latina.

Mortal Follies by Alexis Hall--Adding this even though it definitely has a good dose of fantasy, because it's like... Jane Austen meets a Midsummer Night's Dream, with an emphasis on the fairies. This young deb ends up hexed so her dress is unraveling at a ball, and as she hurries into the pushes, she meets the mysterious Lady Duke, who's rumored to have murdered her brother and father. They begin this push and pull of seduction. It's both funny and kind of dramatic.

Trans/Nonbinary

Something Spectacular by Alexis Hall--the standalone followup to Something Fabulous. The runaway fiancee's ex, the genderfluid Peggy, is roped by said ex into attending an opera. The ex wants to seduce Orfeo, this gorgeous castrato soprano, and when they open their mouth to sing Peggy, who's very gruff and in control typically, faints. Orfeo is naturally like "WHO'S THAT" and begins pursuing Peggy rather than the ex. One of my favorite books, so funny (at one point they accidentally incite a gay orgy) with a hint of melancholy and great sex. Also, it has one of the most unique sex scenes I've ever read.

Unmasked by the Marquess by Cat Sebastian--a bisexual marquess makes a new friend in this young dandy in town. They kiss, and he thinks his friend is going to blackmail him... But the friend, Robin, turns out to be chamber maid in disguise! Except they're actually not a man or a woman, and don't want to live as a woman. It becomes as an FWB thing, but naturally our romantic hero falls in love and things become Fraught. Has one of my favorite "resentfully horny" moments, when Alistair is watching Robin from across the ballroom, and they pull a glove off with their teeth, and he's like "THAT IS IMPROPER" and wants to fuck them so bad.

A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall--Viola faked her death at Waterloo in order to live as her true self. Years later, she's pulled into helping her old best friend, the Duke of Gracewood, who's suffering from a chronic injury and severe depression following the battle. At first he doesn't recognize her... at first. Has an absolutely INCREDIBLE moment of recognition, and I really like that it's this romping old school type romance with a trans heroine.

Most Ardently by Gabe Cole Novoa--this one is actually a YA Pride and Prejudice retelling, highly recommend if you're open to it. In this case, the Lizzie character is actually Oliver, a trans boy, and he and Darcy fall in love--molly houses are included in this, which I really like. It's not super about historical accuracy, which I personally dgaf about, and it's very sweet and funny and warm. Also, the author is a trans man.

Queer Polyamory

Scandalous Passions by Nicola Davidson--FFM. A king's former mistress is sent away because the queen hates her, and is also asked to care for the king's ward. She and the ward begin to give in to their attraction, and at the same time their escort is this much-feared knight (who's really quite subby) who's been in love with the older heroine for years. And then he begins falling for the ward as well.... Super sexy medieval, with Dom/sub overtones.

Their Marchioness by Jess Michaels--A playwright is asked to a marquess and marchioness's home... Turns out he and the marchioness were in love before she was forced to marry the marquess. Fortunately, she and her husband are now very much in love, and he's basically gifting her a tryst with her old love for her birthday. Then he joins in... and it begins being more than sex. Has some bi awakening stuff.

M/F with Bi leads

The Perfect Crimes of Marian Hayes by Cat Sebastian--a standalone followup to Kit Webb. Percy's stepmother Marian is having a correspondence with a blackmailer, who unbeknownst to her is her odious husband's secret son. He ends up falling in love with her as they go back and forth with letters, so when she ends up in trouble and on the run, he comes to "save" her, only to find that Marian ain't that girl. Both leads are bi, and the sex is really cool and interesting because Marian doesn't like penetration due to trauma surrounding her pregnancy and labor. So she penetrates him (among other things) instead.

Hugo and The Maiden by S.M. LaViolette--a successful sex worker ends up being transported and washing ashore after a shipwreck. He's very snarky, but finds himself up against the vicar's uptight and uncompromising daughter--but he still has enemies lurking. Hugo is openly (for the day) bi and services both men and women. I really liked that even as he fell in love, his bisexuality wasn't like this background thing--he sees a guy he likes at one point and is basically like "if I wasn't taken......."

Any Duke in a Storm by Amalie Howard--a spy (who's also kind of a lady pirate) ends up being attracted to her super rakish and slutty first mate. She's bisexual, and one of the women on her ship is her former hookup (still her friend), which I like.

Melissa and The Vicar by S.M. LaViolette--a madame goes to a small village to recuperate and de-stress, and ends up falling in love with a virginal vicar she's so sure she can't have. Melissa is bisexual, and I thiiink a woman she used to be involved with is on the page? Her hero, Magnus, kind of has a "oh shit am I bi?" moment when Melissa tries to fake him out by pretending she's hooking up with Hugo. To be fair, everyone wants to fuck Hugo.

In Which Margo Halifax Earns Her Shocking Reputation--a scandalous woman begins chasing her sister (who ran off with a Bad Man) along with her brother's best friend, who's secretly in love with her. Margo is bi, and her relationships with women are one reason why she's considered scandalous~.

[rozugold]

hey rozu! weird petition, but could you list out all your au’s with a little description of them? I get lost pretty easily and have been wanting to binge all your content, but I want to do it right! hehe, hope you can help!

Yeayeayeah!! Honestly I’ve been meaning to sit down and write some descriptions/summaries for them, here’s some quick ones for now!!

First off, this post has links to almost all the comics so that should hopefully be helpful!!

Painted Illusions is a protégé Tommy au that starts at the end of exile. Dream comes back early to find Tommy on the tower and pulls him down. From then on Dream coerces Tommy to work with him and has him involved in building the attachment hall, setting off tnt machines on doomsday, and learning + testing the revive book lots of times (though not on himself, thankfully) He then gives Tommy is final task: to rid of his last attachment by killing Tubbo.

This au is split up in two seasons, labeled the same as the dsmp seasons. Season 2 focuses on Tommy’s time with Dream and the abuse he faces, along with some peaks into other characters povs at the time. Season 3 focuses on Tommy’s rocky road to recovery as he figures out how to move forward with such a heavy past that’s keen to haunt him. (Plus some people who want to make his life more difficult but we haven’t gotten there yet ahgg)

Distorted Illusions is a spinoff au of Painted Illusions that starts on disc confrontation. In this timeline Clingyduo aren’t saved by the server so Tommy is forced to kill Tubbo. Due to losing his best friend + all the accumulated trauma and abuse, Tommy snaps and kills Dream then revives both Tubbo and Wilbur. That aforementioned trauma also fills him with lots of paranoia so he forces Tubbo and Wilbur to live with him out in the middle of nowhere so there’s no chance of him ever being alone again. (unless…)

This au’s timeline is more loose and messy, the two eras being Tommy’s deterioration and The Healing Arc. (at least that’s what I’m calling it for now?) I jump back and forth between them when posting art but I do my best to make it clear which era I’m drawing 👍

Arm Eyes AU is the same as Painted Illusions except instead of painted eyes on his arms, Tommy gains real arm eyes just like Dream (hence the name skdhjd) There’s not much extra story here, except the time Dream blinds one of Tommy’s normal eyes… This au was more of an excuse to draw Tommy as a little creature guy and explore that creatureness since Dream doesn’t really revel in that part of himself haha

[the-haunted-office]

There seems to be some confusion about the status of my main verse muses, particularly Thursday and Doomsday, so I'm going to make this post and hopefully it helps clear some things up. Also going to post a summary of the #the only way in is the only way out plot I just finished writing, so hopefully that also provides a little bit of clarity. Keeping in mind, this is my MAIN VERSE, so that means this is what is happening with the heart of my blog. Anything happening outside of this with Thursday, Doomsday, and the rest of the Haunted Office is considered AU - which is fine! But just keep that in mind.

Main verse Thursday is currently deceased. She died in the Office when the energy jet struck her, and permanently died in Dimension 42 when she (her soul) ascended and joined the collective of other Thursdays known as the Narrative. So, yes, she is deceased, dead, fully gone from this world as of right now. She is not permanently gone, though, and will return in a new body, but she is not back YET, so as far as anybody's muses should know at THIS POINT, she is DEAD. If your muse is responding to her in the main verse and they knew her, then you can have them respond however you feel they would respond. That is up to you to decide. (Threads that were started before these events, though, are excluded from all this.)

Main verse Doomsday is currently out of the Office. She has left to be on her own for a little while because she is heavily grieving. She does not wish to be contacted by anybody. She is not answering any texts or calls. She may answer from certain people, but it really depends on who it is that's trying to reach her and what's said. Again, it is entirely up to you if you decide your muse would notice that she has been quiet and that they would try to reach out to her. Otherwise, she isn't visiting or speaking to anybody unless I have sent her to your inbox. (Threads that were started before these events are also excluded from this.)

I don't know what all anybody has read or hasn't read. I can't make anybody read the things I post on my blog. It is a little frustrating, I admit, to not know who has read what, because to me, all I can see is that nobody's muses are reacting to Thursday being dead and Doomsday's absence. But - I don't know if that's because people don't want to be involved with the plot due to triggers and whatnot, or if that's because people's muses are not noticing or what. I can't make assumptions, so that's why I'm making this post, and hopefully that will catch everyone up to speed, and then you guys can make these decisions. I can't make anybody participate in things they don't want to participate in, and I will respect that. But I will need to know if our interactions going forward will be main verse or AU.

That said, here is a timeline of the events that took place during the plot, so that you might be able to make a better informed decision. Hopefully it isn't too long, but here it is:

Doomsday jumped into a black hole because she wanted to experience what it was like to be spaghettified by one. In doing so, she was ripped apart, which threw her Dampening energy soul everywhere, opened a rift, and pulled it all through into the Office when she respawned there.

The energy jet of her energy spewed out by the black hole erupted down the 210 hallway of the Office once the rift opened there upon Doomsday’s respawn attempt. Thursday was “called” into hallway, where she stepped into the energy jet, and was killed.

Both Thursday and Doomsday are stuck in a continuous respawn process by the jet as it remains in the hallway at the Office.

Dorian is in a lot of pain as the energy jet is piercing two exterior walls along with multiple interior walls.

Both Thursday and Doomsday have found themselves in Dimension 42, a realm of staircases. The staircase they are on is an endless one encased in a tower made of white bricks, stretching off infinitely up and down.

The Narrative begins speaking to Thursday and tells her that she is dead, and that she is to ascend the staircase.

It’s revealed that Cyrus witnessed on the video recording of the energy jet manifesting in the Office, that Thursday stepped into the blast rather than stepping away from it.

The Narrative reveals Themself to Doomsday and explains that They needed her to open the doorway for both she and Thursday to enter Dimension 42. Doomsday is unhappy with this knowledge and breaks out of the staircase tower, only to discover she can’t escape.

Thursday continues her ascent of the tower, seemingly happy and content with her journey. The Narrative asks if she’d like to stay there with Them and become a part of Them, revealing that Dimension 42 is a dimension where all Thursdays go when they die, and that They themself are a collective of Thursdays that Thursday may join if she chooses to ascend.

The Narrative speaks further with Doomsday, to clarify Their intentions. They reveal that all the other Thursday souls Doomsday had been previously bonded with when Doomsday was a ghost are now a part of The Narrative, explaining the same to her that They did to Thursday. They explain that choosing to ascend and join the collective means choosing to die, and that They will be with her and support her decision no matter what.

Thursday is still ascending the staircase. The Narrative explains that the process of ascension is individual to each person and only that person will know when they are ready. After hours of traveling the staircase, Thursday is stricken by painful memories of when her mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness and is almost rendered unable to continue. The Narrative firmly encourages her to get back up and continue ascending. After much struggling, Thursday is able to continue, only to discover a few steps later that her struggles are only beginning.

September, antagonized by Oleander (who is in her phone, which is floating around inside her gelatinous body), makes a bold move and enters the energy jet in search of a way into the rift to see if she can retrieve Thursday and Doomsday from wherever they ended up.

While ascending, Doomsday is reminiscing about her life and realizing that there is too much she missed about it while she was a ghost. She realizes she does not want to die. She expresses this to The Narrative and also tells Them that she wants to take Thursday back home too, at which points she is told she cannot, that Thursday must make her own choice. Doomsday refuses to let it go at that. The Narrative tells her that she must figure it out on her own then, but hints that she is on the wrong stairs. Doomsday breaks out of the staircase again, finds Thursday’s stairs on the opposite side of her own, and runs off to find her.

Thursday continues her ascent of the staircase, encountering voices from her past criticizing her. She nearly gives up, but The Narrative encourages her to "Rise" and "Ascend". She is finally able to get back up and continue, at which point she transforms into The Narrative itself, and has finally ascended.

Doomsday is running up the stairs when the tower breaks apart. She falls and ends up back in the Office, screaming for Thursday, who she wasn't able to reach.

September is also thrown back out of Dimension 42, but not before witnessing the cosmic horror that Thursday has become, although she doesn't recognize her as such. She lands back in the Office on top of Doomsday, squishing her, much to her dismay.

Doomsday and September are drawn outside by Dorian, who has witnessed a strange thing in the sky. Doom recognizes that the thing is Thursday, now The Narrative. They have a brief talk, where Thursday says they should all start a new narrative and go from there.

That is basically the end, although this story has no real end, because it's only the beginning.

Please let me know in a comment if you'd like for your muse to continue interacting with mine in the main verse, or if you would prefer for things to be AU going forward. That would help me out a lot! Thank you!

[that-one-banger-of-a-rhcp-song]

hiii, i saw your post for needing requests. i was wondering if you could write something fluffy about Five Hargreeves x tall husband reader. perhaps something like cuddling on the couch by a fireplace after a long day. thank you ☺️

Thank you for the request honey! I hope I met your expectations <3

Warnings: cheese. so. much. cheese.

Finally Calm

Your eyes were closed, and you were taking in the warmth from your small husband, sprawled over you, and the fire, just four feet from you. The pillow beneath your head, the soft noise of his breathing, his eyelashes slightly tickling your neck, it was all perfect. After years of the mental and physical torment of doomsday, you both had prayed to any god willing to listen for some sort of peace, and you got it.

The smaller boy hummed gently, "This is nice."

"Love, you say that every time we cuddle," you said, opening your eyes and looking at your husband.

"So," he started, lurching forward to kiss you, "Perhaps that would be a good indicator that its true,"

"Perhaps," you said, bending your neck to kiss him back.

"I love you," you both said in unison, and looking into each others eyes. You both grinned. You moved your hand from his waist up to his cheek, "Can I get up?"

"Mhm" the boy nodded, before tiredly getting off of you.

The boy sleepily followed you to the kitchen, where you started to make two mugs of hot cocoa. You had put the milk in the microwave for one minute and fifty seconds, before pulling your lover close to your chest.

"Five,"

"Hm?"

"you used to be the tall one,"

"I love you, but I'm not above chugging your cocoa so you don't have any," He said.

"You're so sweet." you said kissing the top of his head.

"Like Cocoa." He was so tired it was becoming uncharacteristic.

The microwave beeped and you mixed the sweet powder into the milk, handling a spoon in each hand. Five hugged you from behind, the side of his face pressed into your shoulder blades, "I'm so happy I can call you my husband," he muttered.

"Me too, love."

------

Authors note: I'm sorry if its short, I hope you liked it :)

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

One Way Out

Dick Grayson knows what it’s like to be used as leverage. To be a bargaining chip rather than a competent player. He was one of the first sidekicks, after all. “Boy Hostage” was his least favorite nickname, but it wasn’t always inaccurate.

But Dick moved on from that. He became Nightwing. He’s more than just the kid that followed Batman around. But try telling that to the Crime Syndicate. Because Dick is feeling a lot less “Nightwing” and a lot more “Boy Hostage” right now.

---

“You don’t need to do this.”

“Hush,” Superwoman orders.

“No, really.” Dick shifts in the giant metal device, trying to look past the mini operating team in front of him. “Owlman, you won’t let-”

“Hush,” Superwoman demands. A golden lasso appears out of nowhere, cutting off Dick’s airway. He gasps and struggles in his restraints until black spots crowd his vision. Then the lasso disappears, and the prepwork continues.

The surgeon (or whoever he is) messes with a jerry rigged heart monitor. A few others in scrubs prep trays of glinting steel instruments. But Dick can’t pay attention to the instruments, because he’s distracted by the blue scalpels wrapped in plastic.

Dick swallows hard. Feels the metal cuffs tighten around his hands. Tries to ignore how he’s trapped, he’s trapped, he’s trapped. He can feel every cut and bruise and burn and break in his body. He can feel the days (Weeks? Months?) of torture. They weigh him down too much. He doesn’t have the energy to fight, so he silently endures the anticipation.

But then someone places something cold and wet on Dick’s bare chest. He flinches, but with no room to move, he only slams his back against the metal device he’s strapped to. The whip marks on his back scream in agony.

“Just disinfectant,” the person in scrubs explains.

Disinfectant for what?

“Disinfectant for-?” The lasso finds Dick’s throat. By the time he can breathe again, the surgeon has already started cutting through his skin.

Dick yelps, but once again, he has no room to flinch away. “No anesthesia?” Dick asks shakily, voice tight with pain. “Li’l barbaric, dontcha think?”

“Silence,” Superwoman orders. And considering she’s the one with the lasso in her hands, Dick doesn’t want to upset her. He grits his teeth, grunting and gasping as scalpels slice through muscle and wires are placed in the incisions. The surgeon is efficient, stitching the cuts with the wires still inside. There is no excessive pain. Nothing beyond whatever the goal is.

Dick hates him anyway.

Once the surgeon steps back, snapping off bloody gloves and wadding up his blue gown, another scrubbed person steps forward with the heart monitor. They position it on the ledge just below Dick’s chest, and it clicks into place. Then they connect the wires on Dick’s chest to the heart monitor.

Instantly, the monitor begins beeping out a cheerful rhythm. Except the rhythm is racing, desperate and confused and in pain.

Once Dick’s breath returns to him, he dares to ask, “What did you do? What is this?”

But the surgeon and the scrubbed people are already leaving, and they don’t turn back. Superwoman steps forward, and Owlman watches behind expressionless goggles.

“It’s called the Murder Machine,” Superwoman explains.

“Oh. That sounds… pleasant.”

“It was designed to hold Doomsday,” she continues. “But I think it will serve our purposes just fine today.”

“Oh.” He really doesn’t have the strength to probe further. Fortunately, Superwoman seems eager to monologue.

“The Murder Machine is a bomb. It’s set on a timer. But it also monitors your heart activity. As long as your heart beats, the timer counts down. Unless you flatline - asystole - the bomb will go off.” She tips her head, lifting Dick’s chin with a finger. “It’s been fun, but you’ve nearly outgrown your use. You’ll keep Batman busy. That’s the important part.”

Dick can’t even pull away. He’s forced to look at Superwoman’s cruel smile. She looks like a tiger, playing with her food before going in for the kill.

“O-Owlman…”

He’d promised. Owlman had promised. If Dick went with him, if Dick agreed to help, Owlman would set him free. And Dick had agreed to help, so why isn’t Owlman doing his part?

Owlman says nothing. He stays rooted in his spot, arms folded.

“Batman… Batman won’t bother with me.” Dick is sure. Bruce has always had an analytical, cost-benefit view of vigilantism. If Bruce has the choice between trying to save Dick and saving the world, he’s going to pick the world every time. And in this instance, it’s a non-issue. Dick will die no matter what.

“I’m doubtful, but if you say so. Don’t worry, Nightwing,” Superwoman soothes. “You’ll see Batman again. That, I am sure of.”

Dick’s stomach sinks. He’s bait, once again, dangled in front of his former partner. Of course. And there’s… there’s really no getting out of this one.

By the time Superwoman and Owlman leave Dick alone, Dick has already come to terms with the truth:

One way or another, he will die tonight.

---

The world is fuzzy when Dick comes to. He feels hot and cold at the same time. Lights burst across his vision. His head spins, and every square inch of him aches.

“Dick? Everything’s going to be alright. I’m here.” There’s a cowl in front of him. Two white eyes, one tense jaw.

“Batman…?” When did Bruce get here? How did Bruce get here?

“I’m sorry I shut you out.” There’s a gloved hand in Dick’s hair. Bruce is murmuring apologies and regrets and atonement like he’s got somewhere else to be. “All of you. I didn’t want you getting hurt.”

Hurt. Hurt?

… the bomb. The bomb, the bomb, the bomb-

“No…” Dick gasps. Bruce doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know.

“I’m going to get you out of this,” Bruce promises. His fingers fly as he tugs on the wires and messes with the heart monitor.

“You need to… leave.” Dick can barely get the words out. His lungs feel like deflated balloons. “You need to go.”

Bruce ignores him. He’s an expert at that.

There's an explosion from outside the door. Everyone - because there are other people here, though Dick isn't sure when they showed up - quiets. The room is so still that the heart monitor is audible.

Ba-deep. Ba-deep. Ba-deep.

It's slower than before. Even being stressed about Bruce and the bomb isn't enough to speed up his heart rate. Not anymore. Now his heart sluggishly chugs on.

“What is that?” a woman asks. Dick can't see who's asking. He decides it's not worth worrying over.

“It's a countdown.” And this voice is a man’s, but it isn't Bruce. “This isn't just a fancy pair of handcuffs, Catwoman. It's a bomb.”

And the voice is right. It is a bomb. Dick is a bomb. Dick’s heart is going to kill them. And why is Bruce still here?? Why hasn't he left yet? Is he… Does he not get it?

“You don't understand,” Dick wheezes.

“I’m going to disarm it and get you out of here, Dick.” He’s being suspiciously chatty. Almost like he's talking to himself. Like he's trying to convince himself that Dick can be saved.

There's crashing and rumbling. Dick feels lightheaded. The world shifts in and out of focus.

“Is the countdown monitoring his heart?” Catwoman.

“Yes. The detonator is hooked into it.”

Dick tries to push through the fog. Tries to will away fatigue and dehydration and severe blood loss. “Batman… The… The bomb…”

Bruce’s expression hardens, furiously cutting and prying pieces off the monitor.

“It only disarms…” God, has it always been this hard to breathe? Everything is just spinning, spinning, spinning. “... only disarms if my heart stops.”

Bruce stiffens. He pauses for a second, and Dick capitalizes on the moment.

“Please,” Dick begs. Sweat rolls down his temples. Blood drips from his nose and mouth. “Listen to me. You… You still have time to… to get out.”

And Bruce's voice turns to sharpened steel. That's his really angry voice. The voice that a young Dick Grayson would do anything to avoid. The voice he listened to without question. “I’m not leaving you, Dick. I am not abandoning you.”

Oh. This.

But Dick won’t let Bruce die because he thinks he's a bad father. Dick won’t let Bruce die over stupid principles.

“You aren't, Bruce. And you never have.”

Bruce shakes his head, returning to the wires. “The only way we’re getting out of here is together,” he growls. He desperately disconnects and swaps and twists, but his voice rises in pitch, shoulders drawn tight like a bowstring. “No…” he mutters to himself. “No, the wires…” He bites back a snarl. “Every time I disconnect a relay, it fixes itself.”

“Then there's only one way to disarm this bomb, Batman,” the mystery voice says.

There's a loud buzzing and a whoosh. Bruce collapses, disappearing from Dick’s line of sight.

“What the hell are you doing, Luthor?” Selina is shouting. Dick’s vision is too blurry to see it, but he can hear the crack of her whip. There's a scuffle.

And then Lex Luthor steps over Bruce and glares down at Dick like he's gum on the bottom of his shoe. “I’m making an executive decision, Catwoman. I’m saving our lives by ending his.”

And then he clamps his hand over Dick’s nose and mouth.

Dick can't struggle. Even when survival instinct kicks in and the last of his energy is used to fight for air, he's still trapped. There's no room to struggle.

On some level, Dick knew that he might be killed to save the others. And he was okay with that. He is okay with that.

… maybe.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grayson,” Luthor says. But his eyes aren’t sorry. They look like the eyes of a murderer. Angry and hurt and decisive. Not truly apologetic because otherwise, he wouldn't do it.

“LUTHOR!!” Bruce roars. (Roars. Bruce is roaring, he’s so livid.) “If you hurt him, I will kill you!!”

There’s more crashing, but Dick can’t pay attention to it, because the world is getting dark, and he’s struggling to turn his head to the side. To get away from Luthor’s hand. To breathe.

(Even if he knows he has to die, his body won’t give up so easily.)

“It’s the only way to save us, Batman,” Luthor laments.

Dick’s eyes roll up into the back of his head. The last thing he hears is Bruce screaming his name.

And then, he’s gone.

---

“Dick??”

Bruce wants to believe that he’s mistaken. But then the heart monitor lets out a never-ending whine. The final nail in the coffin.

The air catches in Bruce’s throat. He doesn’t know whether to feed into his grief or apathy. So instead, he falls headfirst into a roiling tidal wave of fury.

“No. No… No!” Bruce tackles Luthor to the ground and starts throwing punches.

One punch. Split lip.

“Batman,” Luthor gurgles. “Wait.”

Two punches. Broken nose.

“You murderer!!” Bruce bellows.

Three punches. A hand around Luthor’s throat, squeezing tighter and tighter.

“I have this… under control…” Luthor chokes. “Grayson- kkk!”

“Shut up,” Bruce growls. “Shut up.”

“Batman!” Someone is pulling on Bruce’s shoulder. “Batman, stop!”

Selina.

“He killed Nightwing,” Bruce hisses, still staring at Luthor’s cruel, traitorous eyes. “He… He killed Dick, Selina.” And just saying the words steals the breath from his lungs.

Luthor’s suit expels a heavy dose of electricity, and Bruce shouts as he’s knocked to the side. “It’s not too late, you idiot,” Luthor seethes, rubbing his throat. He climbs to his feet, keeping Bizarro between himself and Bruce.

Bruce recovers quickly, but it’s still not fast enough. By the time Selina helps him up, Luthor is standing in front of Dick again, ripping away the wires stitched to his chest. Blood wells up at the incision points, but Luthor ignores it all, digging something out of his own belt.

“Get away from-!”

Luthor silences him with a hand. “I made him swallow a cardioplegia pill.”

“A what?” Selina’s hand rests heavily on Bruce’s shoulder. It might be her way of providing support. But it’s more likely to keep Bruce from attacking Luthor again.

“It paralyzes the muscle surrounding the heart,” Bruce explains. But Luthor’s admittance doesn’t make things better, because how is killing Dick with a drug any better than smothering him?

Luthor pulls out a syringe and removes the needle cap. “If this boy’s heart doesn’t get a shot of adrenaline right this very second, he’s going to stay dead.” He stabs the needle into Dick’s chest and depresses the plunger.

For a long, long, long moment, nothing happens. Luthor throws the needle to the ground and shuffles his feet. He’s nervous, and he should be. The odds that a single dose of epinephrine will start the heart three minutes after death are astronomical.

But this is Nightwing. This is the Justice League. The odds have always been astronomical.

Bruce still doesn’t expect it to work. At first, he thinks Luthor is the one that makes the pitiful little cough. And then he sees Dick shaking, and his heart jumps to his throat.

“Dick?”

He’s running before he realizes it, pushing past Luthor to embrace his son.

“B-Batman?” Dick whispers, vocal cords rough and spent.

“I told you I had it under control,” Luthor sniffs. “There was no need to worry about him.”

But Bruce has stopped paying attention. He’s too busy holding Dick to his chest. And Dick… Dick grips Bruce’s cape like a lifeline. And for a moment, everything is right. Dick is here. Alive. Okay.

For this moment, that’s enough.

[writergeekrhw]

Since SAG-AFTRA is asking its members to vote for strike authorization, and there have also been rumors of DGA considering doing the same, I was wondering: what's at stake for actors and directors in comparison to writers in terms of the issues the strike is focusing on like residuals and AI? Do you think it's likely those groups will strike too? (Sorry if you're not the person to ask about this)

Well, the problem with slowly working my way through a long queue is that this question is now well out of date. The DGA took a deal, like they always do (no surprise). SAG-AFTRA has a strike authorization. As to what's at stake:

FOR DIRECTORS: AI can potentially create shooting schedules, shot lists, call sheets, all straight from a script, taking away work from ADs and UPMs. The DGA says they've gotten protection from this. I'm a little skeptical. I'm not sure their language is bulletproof, but we'll see. Of course, if the actors, sets, and scripts all end up being generated by algorithms, there won't be anything for directors or other DGA members to do. Studios will be able to automate the entire content process. As to residuals, the DGA used our strike as leverage to get some gains. Less than I think they could have gotten if they'd walked, but DGA gonna DGA.

FOR ACTORS: So-called AI is already coming for actors. Voice actors are looking at a doomsday scenario where computer generated voices could take away their voice acting jobs completely, and very very soon. If a CG character doesn't need an actor to voice it and give a reference performance, that's the end of hiring actors for animation. And once CG becomes completely photo-realistic, that'll be the end of acting. Actors will be replaced by either completely computer generated "characters" or digital recreations of today's stars will end up acting in everything going forward forever, which means no new jobs for anyone else. That's an existential crisis for them, so if they can't get protections from CG "actors," I predict they'll strike.

At least that's how I see it.

Singularity coming.

Unless we stop it. It's now or never.

[king-of-wrath]

Open Starter for Mutuals: To Hell and Back (Hopefully)

Down in the depths of DHORCS' newest headquarters, technicians had made adjustments to the extra-dimensional portal generator. Now able to send an adult human into Hell, the agency would need to perform vital reconnaissance: they needed to know the number and composition of demonic legions, to locate strongholds, identify points of interest and map-out each of the Seven Rings.

The casualty projections were extremely grim: even with the best military equipment,blessed tenfold by heavily indoctrinated and genetically "pure" holy men, it was expected that no more than one agent per ten would survive deployment. But in the minds of DHORCS' higher-ups, obtaining even the smallest amounts of information was well worth the sacrifice. Agents One and Two were given the unenviable task of drawing names from a hat---knowing they were sending their fellows to certain death.

Agent One reached in and pulled a slip from the hat. "Five," he read aloud. The same agent would step out from a line and receive his equipment: a fire-resistant bomb-disposal suit with a full-faced gas mask, an assault rifle and a handgun engraved with religious iconography and a backpack full of basic camping supplies.

"Twenty-six," Agent Two read aloud. With a solemn nod, she stepped out of line and went to gear-up.

"Forty-two," Agent One called out. He turned and briefly embraced his fellow agent before going forward.

"Seven," Two called. They swallowed hard, but accepted their fate.

"Eighteen," One called. "Put the fear of God and Man into 'em," One told Eighteen with a tear welling in his eye.

"...Sixty-nine," Two rolled her eyes. A few agents struggled to hold back giggles---until someone replied with "Nice", making them all spit and choke. The agent called out wasn't amused, having clearly endured that childishness for months.

"Thirteen," One called as the process continued.

"Fifty-five," Two called. Unlike the others, she seemed to relish in the opportunity.

"Thirty-three," One called.

"And..." Two reached inside. "...Eleven."

Agent Eleven was mortified and on the verge of fainting. Already pale and scrawny, he looked even more like a ghost. The agents to his left and right grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him forward, not letting him escape his imminent doom. He received his kit, but struggled to put it on because he was trembling like a newborn faun.

"Ey, youse!" One snapped his fingers at the two heading back into line. "Help Casper 'ere into his suit," he said with a chuckle.

Now that all ten agents were outfitted, the generator began its start-up cycle. If all went according to plan, they would be sent to a different location in Hell and regroup. Each agent's data-pad contained one part of a ten-character activation code, which would broadcast a homing signal back to headquarters for extraction. Even if the other nine had perished, the anticipated survivor was expected to recover their fellows' data---they needed to, if they had any hope of returning home.

One minute passed, feeling like an hour to the ten agents standing in wait. A man-sized rift then opened before them.

"Alright, one at a time!" Two commanded. "Same order as you were called!"

One by one, each of the nine agents ran headlong into Hell itself---not knowing what to expect or whether they would survive. Eleven was still terrified and had to be unceremoniously tossed through by Agent One.

Eleven shut his eyes, grit his teeth and curled into a tight ball as he felt himself flung through space and time. During every second of extra-dimensional travel, his ears were blasted by agonized screams and the echoing laughter of dark, thirsting beings.

Inside a ruined hovel, on the edge of the perpetually-violent Doomsday District, a tear in reality opened and spat forth the unfortunate agent. He felt his body thud against the rubble, but the heavy padding cushioned his fall. The laughter stopped and the screams weren't as loud, though his eardrums rattled with the sound of gunfire from not far away.

Eleven slowly lifted his head, raising the blast-shield on his helmet to discover where he was. He saw bullet tracers intersecting across a blood-red sky as unseen combatants shouted. He crawled along the ground, peeking out from a pile of bricks---just in time to see a grenade bounce down the street.

With the agility of a frightened cat, Eleven threw himself back and curled into a ball again. Once the explosive went-off, he scrambled to his feet and ran away from this apparent "war-zone". In one hand, he held the blast-shield down in front of his face and in the other, he tentatively gripped the handle of his rifle.

"God help me..." he muttered through his air filter.