#Liberal use of the em dash

[legendary-guest]

After reviewing @those-other-ones fanfic Powerless (NSFW 18+ fanfic and account), I was compelled to write a very short continuation! No smut in mine, sorry to disappoint, just some light groping. Constructive criticism appreciated.

Redemption

“Close the door.”   

“Sit.” The Supreme One's clawed finger points to her lavish bed.

He follows her command, scared, hopeful - very hopeful - more than he knows he should be.

With his heart thundering in his chest, he barely registers the awkward creak of the bed giving way to his weight upon seating himself.

The Supreme One saunters up to him, removing her gloves and tossing them back to join her discarded cape on the chair. Then she fiddles with some feature or another on her high-tech suit.

The obedience collar is disengaged and unlocked. Drakken is stunned into silence - not that he would know what to say, anyway.

Before he can even feel the air around this part of his neck for the first time in many years, her delicate hands steal the first touch, smooth and cool.

It is clear from her expression that she is studying this part of him that has been concealed from them both. The twitch of her furrowed brow flickering her hardened face from analytical to remorseful.

He has no idea what she is looking at, what it looks like. In some far-off corner of his mind it occurs to him that there are electrical burns seared into his skin from liberal use of the obedience collar, punished for transgressions of love and passion. This is what vexes the unshakeable Supreme One, what gives her pause.

Nostalgia overcomes him, transported back to the Caribbean lair, where her very presence extinguished every racing thought for world domination, leaving him grasping for words, for breath.

Her lips on his skin surprise him once more and he gasps, voice hitching. It is soft, sensual, waves of relief and desire flood him at the sensation of plush lips and lapping tongue, unmistakeably gentle and apologetic.

"Shego!" Her name escapes him, hoarse and broken. Unable to control himself any longer, he embraces her fiercely, practiced in the art of gentleness and reverence in spite of his monstrous strength.

Collar clattering to the floor, her mouth finds his; hot, fierce, familiar. He can feel her, the both of them, shudder from the collision.

As if he hadn't cried enough that night, Drakken's stinging tears fall freely, a wretched sob threatening to crawl out of his throat. In an effort to will it away he bites down on her bottom lip, and she moans in pleasure.

Taking her mouth in his again, he greedily swallows every sound she makes, hungry for her.

One of her hands trails down to his chest, softly pushing him back, not with any force, but a simple command. He obeys like he's been trained to, fear spiking in his chest, the Supreme One, Shego, a pale, green-tinted haze as he looks down at her. He can parse that her small, open palm moves to cradle his cheek, thumb grazing his scar.

"I've been treating you pretty badly, haven't I, Doc?" She asks - Shego asks - voice tinged with regret, when she knows she's crossed a line with her teasing, or actually hurt him with her plasma, or any number of the hundreds of memories that return to him in that instance. He'd never even been aware that Shego had shown him so much evidence of being feeling person, of remorse and regret. It's just that she never said sorry.

What he wanted to say was no - it was fine, he could take it. To prove to her, to the Supreme One, that he could handle her punishments, to be the perfect reflection of her regime that her last line of defence, that her personal bodyguard, needed to be. Unflinching, unfeeling. Instead, he found himself nodding in agreement, confessing. He had no more strength left in him to respond in any other way. Wounded. Weakened.

He closes his eyes and rests the full weight of his head in her palm, the events of the night leaving him exhausted, body and soul. Shego holds him, thumb continuing to brush against his cheek, interrupting the slow and steady flow of tears. Then her hand moves to the back of his head, fingers weaving into his hair, guiding him down to her shoulder, but his corrupted body can only crane down so far. The other, he is now aware of, settling on his clothed arousal, miraculously, or ashamedly, still erect.

For a moment, a tortuous and wonderful moment, she simultaneously kisses the freed crook of his neck and palms his erection, eliciting a groan.

"Let me take care of you."

[spacelesscowboy]

i hate doing the readings for this class they make me so upset

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Fic Writer Interview (omg I got tagged in one of these things. Thx @formulaocean)

I'll put it under the cut!

How many works do you have on ao3?

232. Most of that is from my MCYT days. 37 are Formula 1, which is what I'm writing now.

I will be the first to tell you that some of those are serieses of oneshots that could reasonably be posted under a single work instead. But, the number is the number.

What’s your total word count?

I have 365,184 words posted as of right now, so I average ~1.5k per work. I'm happy with that.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Red Bull Ring (F1, Lestappen)

Tommy Babysits Michael for A Couple Hours (MCYT, TommyInnit & Michael)

Good Enough For Someone (MCYT, TommyInnit & Schlatt & Dream)

Hug One Step Removed (MCYT, Bedrock Bros)

The Little Orange Lion Plushie (F1, Lestappen)

It's nice to see that some of my old stuff as held up. Of course, as I writer I want to keep improving, and would like this list to reflect that, but it will be a sad day when my MCYT things fall off the leaderboards.

Do you respond to comments? Why/ why not?

I do respond to comments.

I used to get excited when an author responded to comments that I'd left on their fics, so I thought I'd pay that forward in case there are other people that feel similarly.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Well. I have 232 fics, so I'm not going to remember all of them. But from what comes to mind Only Pain (Traffic SMP, Scarian) had an angst ending.

Something more recent that has an angsty ending in Already Packed (F1, Lestappen) from Made In The A.M (one of the oneshot series that could've been a single fic).

Wait. I think Jaskier dies at the end of The Flowers' Breath (Witcher, Gaskier).

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Uhm. See this is tough because I have written a lot of very crack-filled oneshots. I'm not going to pick any of those, instead I'll say Holdin' On (F1, Lestappen) also from Made In The A.M. Cause that whole series of Max and Charles are exs, and this is the fic in which they get back together. It's a little more impactful if you read the previous instalments in the series though.

Do you write crossovers?

No. I just don't really vibe with them. Don't read them either.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not that I remember, or that I'm aware.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do write smut. I'm actually trying to get better at it by writing a Winner's Room series with Max and Charles (F1).

I keep them M/M. It's pretty vanilla: anal and oral, the usual.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I remember, or that I'm aware.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not yet.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. One of my weaknesses as a writer is that I don't like brainstorming with other people about my ideas at all. But I am more than happy to chat with other people about / through their ideas. So like, no, not in any official capacity as the question implies.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

I don't think I have an all-time favourite ship, but Dramione has been a staple of my reading habits. When I'm in a slump and need a jumpstart to get back into reading they always do the trick.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

One of the first WIPs I semi-plotted out in my drafts is a Lando/Oscar/Logan OnlyFans fic. Based on where I am right now, and the priorities list I've got for my drafts, I don't know if I'm ever going to get around it to. And that's a real shame.

What are your writing strengths?

I'm going to say my sense of style. I have a very particular way of crafting my sentences, and a lexicon that has very specific words I tend to use over and over. I also have a liberal love of the use of em-dashes, which I've found isn't typical.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Description. I have this habit of painting broad strokes, but never getting into the details.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I speak French as a second language, so I sometimes will give Charles, Pierre, and Esteban French dialogue. I don't like the way translations look in the middle of fics, so I try to look at it with my English brain and see if it looks like one could be able to pick out the main words and plough through without pulling out their translation app of choice. Or, like in the case of A Pile of Navy Clothes (F1, Lestappen), I will have another character summarize what was just said but in English. Like in that fic, Pierre and Charles notice Max in Charles' nest and talk French about it, and then Lando comes in and also notices.

I also try to follow musical theatre rules with the French: if the emotions are too much for speech, sing; if the emotions are too much for singing, dance -> if the emotions are too much, swap to native language. But only for the French speakers, sorry Max, I don't speak Dutch.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Dream SMP, MCYT. It was a Technoblade fic, and I didn't use any names. It was only description and pronouns.

It became a stylistic thing when I wrote a sequel, but I will readily admit it that choice was because I was so shocked at myself for actually writing fic that I was in denial about it; hence not using his name.

(It's still up, here it is Dangerous Pink.)

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I have a Lockwood & Co idea that I want to put to paper. I also want to write more for Legendborn (go read Legendborn).

In terms of F1, I'd like to expand past Lestappen and explore other dynamics. There's that Lando/Oscar/Logan fic, and I have a Carlandoscar fic I will definitely be getting too at some point. I also want to do Pierresteban, but I don't think I can write hate sex yet.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

The Flowers' Breath (Witcher, Gaskier) for sure.

Made In The A.M (F1, Lestappen + Landoscar) also holds a very special place in my heart.

Well that I was fun. Okay, time to find people to tag (no pressure to do this) @mvlionheart @liwysz @charlescoded @formula-fun

[gardengalwrites]

10 Ways To Tell You're Reading A Fic By Garden Gal

With all the fun tag games circulating on Tumblr, I decided to start a small one of my own. 😁

Brevity.

You are bound to experience mood whiplash.

Characters are crying all the time for both joyful and sorrowful reasons.

Detailed descriptions of food & drink.

Liberal usage of em dashes, colons, and parentheses.

Romance, romance, romance!

The tender beauty of redemption and restoration.

Breaking the unspoken rules of writing. Never use the First Person POV? Challenge accepted. Stay away from similes like "red as a tomato"? Watch me do it. Et cetera.

The journey can be angsty but the ending must be happy. No exceptions.

The End (bold and centered) is written at the conclusion of every story, whether it is a one-shot or a multi-chapter.

I tag @angelosearch, @cynic-view-ahead, @suleikashideaway, @sevlinop, @hyperionnnheart, @maggsdraws, @lenorelovesxion, @cyanoscarlet, and anyone else who feels like playing!

[fridayyy-13th]

friend talkative r u like ok (kinda) and you scare me (again kinda, but especially when we first started talking lol)

all of this is /pos/respectful/aff btw

thank you!! totally fair judgment lol. i am a Verbose Guy who uses em dashes and semicolons liberally over text; it does lend itself to an air of formality, huh 😅 and yeah i'm alright (...mostly. just general life anxieties and stuff, you know how it is :P). sometimes you've just gotta toss some words to the void of tumblr when there's nothing else to be done about something, i guess. love you Dylan <3 (/p)

[ask game]

[phdmama]

heeeyyyyy what do you mean by curation criteria?

anon I'm ngl at first I had no idea what this meant, but then I remembered my tags on this post.

So usual caveat, these are my thoughts as I'm currently thinking, and are not a judgement on how other people choose to navigate the world (unless you're, like, sending death threats on anon or whatever).

Behind a cut because as usual, I rambled.

So for me, the phrase I internalized from @cuethetommo is "curate your own experience," meaning, all of this on tumblr pretty much is OPT-IN. I control my own dash. Sure, sometimes I see stuff I don't like or that makes me uncomfortable or whatever, but that's life in the world, baby, and it's not other people's job to protect me. As an adult on the internet, it's my job to manage my own experience which includes managing any uncomfortable (or worse) feelings that might get stirred up by what I see. There is no safe space on the public internet.

The day I realized I could just unfollow blogs that posted stuff I didn't like was HUGE for me (as a point of reference, my own personality is very anxious, very loyal to the point of pathology, and desperately afraid of hurting anyone's feelings so I'd follow blogs and then realize their content wasn't for me but stick around). Probably other people already know this, or never needed to learn it.

I unfollow. I block. I make very very liberal use of tag and content filtering because it puts me in charge of deciding if I want to see something or not. And I strongly encourage people to do the same. I try to tag my specific fandom stuff because I know not everyone is interested in 911 or hockey or any of the many other things I'm into (see pathologically loyal above - I fall into hyperfixations easily, leaving is hard).

So my curation criteria continue to evolve as I sit with any uncomfortable feelings that might come up from what I'm seeing (this isn't like, a huge process or anything, I just take note of that "oh dear" sensation and respond fairly quickly). I used to force myself to stick with things I didn't enjoy because... I don't know. All of my own stuff. But like, this is my recreation space. Why on earth would I do that to myself?

So I unfollow/block/filter as the situation warrants and move on. And I'm very deliberately not writing any specifics about what those filter terms might be or the content I don't like, because it's not important. Other people get to enjoy those things, post those things, interact with those things! And more power to 'em. I mean that really sincerely. I just don't see the point of seeking out things that I don't like.

Life is hard enough, you know?

[findswoman]

4, 11, 20, 40, 71, 74

Thanks for asking! (From this list.)

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

All sorts of places. It can be just in conversations with other author friends, or in challenge prompts, or from related ideas that arise in the course of writing one story (the “I used to have three fic ideas, I wrote one, and I still have three fic ideas” effect).

11. Link your three favorite fics right now.

Favorite fics and authors are always extremely difficult for me to choose, because for one thing I don’t want to offend anyone. So I’ll limit it to three in-progress long stories I’ve been following and especially enjoying recently: your Stars in Their Multitudes series, The Liberator’s Path by @para-cera-therium , and one being worked on by my good friend @spacemomcreations , her Spectre Six series (part of her Infinite Ezras project).

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Oh man, there are a lot of these, and I know I’ll leave some out. Let’s see: “mismatched friendships” of characters from very different backgrounds, high proportion of alien characters, high proportion of female characters, much description of scenery, clothing, rituals, etc.; much ritual, period; being bogged down in choosing the right “said” synonym when I could probably dispense with them altogether; lots of paired modifiers (even my doctoral advisor got on me about that); long sentences, lots of em dashes (I blame reading too much Emily Dickinson in high school).

40. If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Really, I’d be grateful for any story or scene at all, because that would be such a wonderful gesture of appreciation that I wouldn’t want to nitpick it! But in my own mind one scene I’ve been picturing a lot is the very last scene of The Book of Gand, Part the Third (you know the one, and I won’t give details here so as not to spoil things), so I definitely would not say no if someone with better art talent than me gave that one a try.

71. When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, etc.?

This one is still new territory for me, since I only have ever written (and am writing) one story of this type. Even though I’m generally more of a “gardener” than an “architect” when it comes to writing (and that definitely makes longer works an uphill battle, which is probably why they’re few and far between for me), I’ve been finding it helpful to write up a rough bullet-point-type outline (and I mean rough) of each chapter of BOG before actually writing it. That way I’m not going in totally cold, but there’s still room for things to evolve and change. That approach seems to be working for the time being, but who knows—if I embark on other epic-sized projects in the future, I might end up taking different approaches for them.

74. You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

Probably from the things listed in no. 20 above! 😁

[knucklegagging]

12:08 And I have 44 Calories Left

 This is probably the thing that kills me the most. Breakfast: 44 grams of toast and 120 grams of beans (I think it was kidney. I have to eat them so I can get the rest of the gluten and lecithin out of the house. I have an allergy so this might be counterproductive, but I also don’t want to create food waste so it’s kinda like a catch 22) This would have been 122 for the bread and 174 for the beans, and I’d have been fine with just my 4oz glass of orange juice (55) to take my b-vitamins complex in (Major problem with super low iron lately and the calcium and vitamin c in the orange juice is SUPPOSED to help the absorption... but I still felt exhausted and passed out today once around 8 or 9 am.)

I pulled a nasty-ass grimes and cooked up my bread in one tablespoon of salted butter (100) cuz it’s another thing in the fridge I’m trying to get out of the house, and then I had the rest of this tangerine jam I bought months ago cuz I’m sure it’s on it’s last legs. (167) That brought me to a whopping 618 calories for breakfast.

Lunch: Lunch I’m rounding up on one count, the soup. I made this great beatrice potter soup, basing the herbs and ingredients off her books and subsequent cartoon. I’ll put the recipe below:  It’s 2.5 lbs of fresh beetroot and 45 grams of raisins braised with mint and dill with 1.5 t of parmesan and half a cup of coconut milk (would have been cream but I’m no longer buying dairy, the parmesan was already in the fridge) and you bring that to a boil with some dried basil, thyme, and oregano with a pinch of salt and pepper and grated lemon. When that comes to a boil you turn it down to a simmer and slowly stir in one tablespoon of honey before letting it stew off to the side. Then in a separate pot it’s 24 oz of sweet peas, 2 lbs of sweet corn, 4 stalks of celery, 986 grams of red cabbage (not purple ik they look similar but it does matter. the purple does not mesh well) 303 grams of red onion, and 1.5 T salted butter to first brown the onion, then add the cabbage, and season with basil, a pinch of nutmeg and cinnamon, salt, pepper, a sprig of fresh mint, and more oregano. (ik it sounds weird to have the nutmeg and cinnamon in it but it really is a tiny amount and adds a big difference, making it feel like there’s more depth and warmth to dish without becoming overpowering or adding anything ‘spicy’ etc.You steam the cabbage over the sautteed onion until it’s soft, then you stir in the peas and corn. And while those are going you peel 3 lb of sweet yams, chop em thin, and bake those on 425F with oregono, mint, and dill, w a dash of salt and pepper... and again just a tiny little pinch of nutmeg. Do NOT Skimp On The OREGANO)!! 20-35 minutes later the sweet yams are done, and you throw everything in a crock pot and mix it together a smidge w 10 c of water and your choice of stock/better than bouillon. I used a veggie based fake beef and mushroom blend. Cook that for 4hours and bamo! (On mine it’s “low” but mine runs hot so I’m not sure the perfect temp if anyone does try and emulate this). Anyhow, that gets you 4029 calories for the entire pot (and I’m counting potentially evaporated calories like the T of olive oil I had to grease the yam pan with etc. which is 50 servings of 1/4 cups, at 80.58 calories each. So a “normal” portion of 3/4 c bowl is only 241.74 calories! Anywhore, so I haf one 3/4 cup serving of that for lunch and then 31 grams of corn chips. I rounded up and called this 100 cal per 1/4 c even though Ik that’s false, but it makes me comfortable in knowing I’m definitely not being too liberal w my servings. So lunch was 466 calories. I also have a sore throat today cuz I drew blood the last three nights from my esophagus. ~Ik Ik see a doctor yada yada yada blah blah blah go bye bye now it happens~ So I allowed myself three talll mugs of tea with 1/2 a T of honey each. Each mug is 3 cups of water boiled w an herbal tea bag except for the one black tea which Ik I shouldn’t have had but I couldn’t wake up all day today so I needed SOME Caffeine.  And I had one medium basic red apple, from a brand called “cosmic” which makes me kinda mad at my own stupidity, cuz I thought “cosmic” was a new TYPE of apple I had yet to have before (and I’m a whore for apples. Total massive connoisseur. I have a genuine unadulterated and pathetic obsession/passion for applesand if I knew how to have an orchard that’d probably be my dream job. To eventually create a new breed of apple. Shoot me I’m a reject it’s fine. But whatever so I’m guessing that’s around 100 calories cuz that’s what my calorie counter app said and I don’t want to fixate TOO hard (like this massive ass essay isn’t already me doing so) I also had two cookies. That was legitimately bad. 130 calories of SUCK. And my honey needs today got the better of me so dinner was 1/2 a cup of plain oats with a quarter cup of unsweetened coconut milk, a teaspoon of molasses, a teaspoon of flax, annnnnd cold brew. Cuz mama needs her cold brew. And yes I am saying that in the voice of Louside from Bob’s Burgers rn. Fight me. Ik that I’m below my needs. 44 more calories. And I’ve spent an hour and a half writing this (minus the shower break to try to remind myself how fat I am so I’ll keep going and keep calories away from my big face hole’s gluttonous gob). Somehow this doesn’t count as obsessing tho? Lol I’m such a loser. I’m not hungry, but I’m expecting I’m gonna want more of those chips cuz they’re bloody delicious and they’re what fucked me up last night. ‘just a wafer thin crisp’ fuck me.  The worst thing about this whole ordeal is that the calorie tracker I use says I’m on target to be 107 lbs by December 25th. And I totally get that the slower you lose the better chance you have of a. keeping it off. but more importantly, b. not relapsing with anorexia. But like fuckety fuckety fuuuuck. I want to be 99 BEFORE I move. I know that’s crazyballs butI’m just not enjoying the idea of being fat. Well... my version of fat. Which is a bmi above 19.I just wanna get out of the 20s for bmi and get out of the 120s that my fat fuck binging did me in for last night. Waking up at 122 was a recipe for depression.Recipe below: Stir equal parts of lard with shame in a vad of quicksand over the period of ten minutes. Watch as your life congeals into a blimpie’s ad. Die on the pot, puking at 3 am and upsetting the shit out of your house plants. Rinse, Cycle, Repeat. Definitely debating changing the goal. But I also am well aware I shouldn’t, primarily because I might just cement myself to failure if I try to cut my calories any lower than they already are. 1,590 was today. My budget is 1,634. That sounds like such a lot but I do see myself ramming through it right quick. Fuck I want those goddamn tortilla chips. But I fucking know if I nab em I’ll be threatened over the shower drain again. (Another reason for taking my shower now, before there’s enough temptation come along to purge out). I’m fighting so hard the urge to purge or c&s lately. I just want to stop being a fatty fat PIG. Wish me luck guys. Really trying to get these 14-20 lbs off in a logical and healthy way and not become an advert for death by anorexia. 

[maddie-2022]

Look ... you can take my excessively long, multiclausal sentences -- making liberal use of commas, semicolons, and em-dashes -- from my cold, dead, lifeless hands; furthermore, you're a meanie and I don't like you -- so there!

feeling called out today

credit: _ADWills

[alinalioness]

Alina and friends in Equestria 7 Chapter:Friendship time.

The heroes on "Victory" were delighted by the disappearance of the ghost.

Heroes:Hurray!

Alina:We have won!

Tricky:We managed to deal with him!

Sparkle:But all we have to do is free the ponies and the princesses.

Alina:By the way, you have already found a way to release.

Alla:Absolutely right. We need the six to use their magic to free everyone. So they did a lot of things.

Alina:Great. Then let's get started.

Cristine:And how?

Sparkle:Easy.

Time to be awesome "JTH remix"

1 Verse:

[Sparkle]

I know the world can get you down

[Rainbow Dash]

Things don't work out quite the way that you thought

[Pinkie Pie]

Feeling like all your best days are done

[Fluttershy]

You fears and doubts are all you've got

(Everyone on the Victory is heading near Ponyville)

[Apple Jack]

But there's a light, shining deep inside

[Rarity]

Beneath those fears and doubts so just squash 'em

[Ponies]

And let it shine for all the world to see

[Sparkle]

That it is time, yeah, time to be awesome

(During the chorus, the heroes land on the ground while the heroes make a circle so that the ponies can use magic.)

Chorus:

[Heroes]

Ah, ah, ah, ah, awesome

It's time to be awesome

Ah, ah, ah, ah, awesome

It's time to be awesome

2 Verse:

[Alina]

You've no idea how hard it's been

This dull routine we've been forced to do

[Tricky]

Don't let them rob you of who you are

Be awesome, it's all up to you (All:awesome)

[Alina]

I feel the light, strirring deep inside

It's like a tale still yet to be told (Girls:It's time to be awesome)

[Girls and ponies]

And now it's time

To break the shackles free

And start living like

The brave and the bold

[Krash, SpongeBob, Phineas and Ferb]

We used to soar though the clouds in the skies

[Kayna, Alla and Ella]

Elaborate schemes we would love to devise

[Freddy and Balan]

We rescued our treasure and stored it away

[Alina]

Saving those gemstones for on rainy day

Chorus:

[All]

We see that light

Filling up our skies

So take the Storm king's orders and toss 'em

'Cause it's the time to let our colors

Hey our friends, it's time to be awesome

(The six ponies raised their forepaws and took hold of each other. Magic began to shine under them and flew all over Equestria. During the chorus, the residents of ponyville noticed that the chains were disappearing.)

Muffins:Are we free?

Dr. Hooves:It looks like it...

Ponies:We are free!

Pony male:Hurry up to the heroes!

Ponies run to the heroes while magic enveloped the stone Celestia, Luna and Cadance. That made them normal. Later, they heard the joyful cry of ponies and went out onto the balcony. They saw ponies standing near the heroes while the six left the circle.

Celestia:They did it.

Meanwhile, with heroes.

The song ended and the characters looked at the ponies with a smile.

Muffins:You did it!

Pony female:You are real heroes.

Apple Bloom, Scoolatoo and Sweetie Belle:You saved us!

Apple Bloom:This is my sister Apple Jack.

Sweetie Belle:And my sister, Raiti.

Wander:Just look at how cute and colorful they are.

Krash:They are all perfectly happy.

Lula:Look.

The heroes noticed Celestia, Luna and Cadance flying up to them. When they landed, the heroes bowed.

Celestia:We welcome you and thank you for saving our Equestria, strangers.

Alina:No problem. We are always kind to the whole world.

Celestia:You did a great job with our six. (To Tricky) Even you are Tricky.

Tricky:No problem.

Celestia:(To residents of Ponyville) I declare the liberation of Equestria from ghosts successful (Ponies rejoice).

Alina:To be honest. It's time for us to go home.

Six ponies:Already?

Alina:Our house is far away. But we will make a surprise for you that will please you.

Alla:Do you mind if Tricky flies with us. We need her help.

Tricky was surprised by the wolf's words. She looked at her pony and Princess friends. Celestia nodded to the heroes in response, and the six nodded to Tricky. The heroes from Tricky climbed onto the Victory and fly back home, waving their hands to the heroes.

Sparkle:We will be waiting for Tricks!

Spike:Be careful!

After that, the ponies returned back to Ponyville, and the princesses to the castle.

To be continued...

[zincodrone]

Is everyone on tumblr just a liberal arts major?

I constantly find people turn some of the simple of responses into a elegant display of a humongous lexicon while staying grammatically correct. All the while they use items in the english language that you would only find in books. e.g. Em dashes (—)

Like, who other than people who majored in Creative Writing use em dashes.

I just feel so out of place here because of how absolutely befuddled by the extensive use of literary devices that you would only find in literature. (While writing this I realized I gained somewhat of an ego and decided to start replacing words I would commonly use to describe what my thoughts are with words that are of higher level to describe the same thoughts.)

[flowers-that-sing]

(the following apply only to my more formal writing, and likely vary to how i use them in informal settings)

parentheses: i hate them in fictional writing. i use them only when i feel they are absolutely necessary.

em-dashes: my love.

italics: my beloveddd

all caps: well i usually prefer to use italics for yelling. but if its getting progressively louder, i might do something like “fuck. fuck! fuck! FUCK!” because its necessary

semicolons: my dad loathes them with his entire being—which, naturally, means i love them (but don’t apply them too liberally)

capitalizing important words: only in poetry. otherwise, i follow standard convention. proper nouns and sentence starters get capitalized (though some things that may generally not be used as proper nouns i will categorize as such if it makes sense in context, though this is extremely rare)

repetitive punctuation: i mostly use it in either dialogue, thoughts, or first person pov writing, but i do use it occasionally in other scenarios when called for.

hey, writers. reblog this with your opinions on:

(using parentheses)

using em-dashes—more or less liberally

using italics

DIALOGUE IN ALL CAPS TO IMPLY YELLING

the semicolon; or, how to properly use it

capitalizing Important words

using. repetitive. punctuation. for. emphasis.

[teawan]

How about something like a secret relationship? They sneak off and hide to make out and stuff. Just really cute and wholesome love for one another. I just want some sweet fluffy romance! Thank you! ♥

here you are :) it's a little rushed and probably ooc bc this is my first time writing for stranger things but hopefully it's not too bad 😭😭 ty for the prompt and hope you enjoy!!

-

It’s seven at night and the party is gathered in Mike’s basement, drunk on laughter and cold pizza and togetherness. Will is in his wizard costume—well, the cape is draped across his lap as he stretches out on the couch and the tall, pointed purple hat is askew, a couple jostles away from falling straight off, so maybe he isn’t exactly in costume, but he doesn’t really care at this point, because the room is full of warmth and giddiness and he hasn't felt so at peace in what seems like forever. Mike is sprawled out on the floor below him, snorting at the sight of Lucas and Dustin as they wrestle with each other.

“Give it up, man, Suzie literally saved the world,” Dustin says, pinning Lucas to the ground and carelessly lifting an ugly throw pillow that Mrs. Wheeler had placed meticulously on the couch only hours before, preparing to sock Lucas in the face with it.

Lucas scoffs, rolling out of the way just as Dustin brings down the monstrosity of a cushion. It lands squarely where Lucas’s face had been moments ago. “Yeah, by reciting some numbers. What was it? Pi or something? Max is way more badass.”

“Planck’s constant, you idiot,” corrects Dustin, dodging clumsily and checking his hip on the corner of the table as Lucas lunges to tackle him to the ground. “Oh, shit, that hurt! Motherfucker!” 

Will laughs. “I don’t think Mrs. Wheeler would be very happy to hear that kind of language under her roof.” He glances at Mike when he says this and is pleased to see that a small, amused smile has wormed its way onto the taller boy's elegant, angular face.

Alarmed, Dustin turns to the stairwell, as if he expects Mike’s mother to materialize at the sound of her name like a demon being summoned. Lucas takes the opportunity to chuck a die from their unfinished campaign they had drifted away from an hour ago at Dustin’s exposed nape, and his newfound basketball skills ensure him a direct hit.

“Ow!” yelps Dustin, whipping around so fast that he nearly trips over his own feet. “Oh, you’ll pay for that, Sinclair—”

As the two boys’ bickering continues, Will catches Mike’s eye from his spot on the couch, reaching out with a socked foot and nudging Mike’s hip to get his attention. A silent conversation passes between the two of them, consisting solely of secretive smiles, sparkling glances, and, occasionally, a peek at Lucas and Dustin to check whether or not they’re being watched (they aren’t; Lucas and Dustin, having spontaneously made a truce, are now leaning against various pieces of furniture and discussing seriously about their respective girlfriends), and eventually, Mike props himself up on his elbows, gravity sweeping a single dark curl over his face. Will bites back a smile as Mike tries to blow it out of his face, eyes crossing slightly. After a few attempts, he gives up, hooking it behind his ear impatiently, and moves to stand, making his way to the stairs. 

He doesn't get far, having taken only four steps—Will counted—before Dustin and Lucas look up, eyes questioning.  "Where are you going?"

"Up," replies Mike, waving his hand vaguely at the stairs. "I think my mom called." He doesn't look at Will, but his body is ever so slightly angled towards the couch where Will lounges. The corners of Will's lips quirk up at the likely-unintentional gesture. It's at times like this that he has to restrain himself from doing one of two things: either pinching himself to reassure his mind once again that he is not, in fact, trapped in a strangely realistic and detailed dream that spans several weeks, or—the urge that is much harder to resist—launching himself at Mike in front of everyone and smothering his boyfriend with kisses because God, Michael Wheeler is the single most adorable thing he's ever had the pleasure of encountering in life. He can't do either of these things because first of all, Mike would get pissy if he saw Will doing anything remotely harmful to himself, and second—well, that's self-explanatory. It isn't that he thinks that any of his friends would react badly if they ever found out that he doesn't like girls the way they do, but honestly? He doesn't want to deal with the drama that would inevitably come if he were to show any kind of affection towards Mike that wasn't strictly platonic in front of other people.

Lucas hums in acknowledgement and he and Dustin return to their conversation. Shooting Will a quick, conspiratorial grin that says I can't believe it was that easy, Mike trots up the stairs. Smiling to himself, Will begins to count backwards from one hundred and twenty—it's probably unnecessary, but staggering their exits when in front of other people makes both of them feel a little more secure.

"Hey, what about you, Byers?" Dustin's question distracts him from his reverie, and he sits up before remembering the hat that's balancing precariously on his head. Well, was balancing. It falls to the ground with a soft sound and Will spares it a short glance before turning his attention back on his friends. 

"Huh?"

Lucas gestures impatiently, waving his arms around in the air and looking at Will like he expects him to understand. "Y'know. Any girls?" Wiggling his eyebrows, Dustin leans forward, clearly anticipating some kind of juicy answer.

Will tries to force down a laugh, but the question is just so ridiculous to him—obviously he can't really blame his friends, as he has spent the last decade trying as hard as he possibly can to fake crushes on the women in magazines and modeling shows, but the idea of him noticing a girl enough to feel the need to share it is absurd. Mike is literally two floors away, waiting for Will. Lucas and Dustin had been in the same room as Will's boyfriend not even two minutes ago. So, despite his valiant efforts, a giggle slips out.

Lucas's face morphs into an expression of comical confusion, but Dustin just raises his eyebrows, leaning even farther forward. Will doesn't understand how he hasn't fallen yet. 

"No," he answers truthfully, and watches the confusion and excitement slip from his friends' faces, suspicion painting itself over their features instead.

"Really?" Lucas asks skeptically, knitting his brows together at Will.

Will nods, trying to look as earnest as possible—it's not like he's lying, after all. He'd answered Dustin's question completely honestly. He hasn't noticed any girls, not ever in his life. At least not in the way that his friends were implying.

He sees Dustin open his mouth to ask a follow-up question, most likely something along the lines of an accusation of insincerity, when he remembers to check the time on the clock. The minute hand has ticked its way around the face twice now, and is on its way to complete a third revolution. Mike is probably getting confused by now. Will can just picture his delicate features twisting into a look of puzzlement as the seconds race by, and he stands up abruptly, his purple cape dropping unceremoniously from his lap onto the floor, before Dustin can even get a word out. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he announces, and toes the fine line to how fast he can walk before it becomes alarming.

Just as he reaches the first stair, he catches a glimpse of his friends’ bewildered faces. “Isn’t there a bathroom down here?” he hears Lucas ask Dustin, but he’s already stepping out onto the first floor and shutting the door to the basement as quickly as he can without slamming it.

Doing a short preliminary scan to make sure he’s in the clear, he scurries towards the stairs that lead up to the second floor. Before he steps foot on the staircase though, Mrs. Wheeler’s voice cuts through the silence, scaring Will so badly that he almost jumps out of his skin. “Will, honey? Where are you going?”

Heart pounding in his throat so hard that he feels nauseous, Will turns to see Mrs. Wheeler rounding the corner with Holly on her hip, looking slightly concerned. “Oh, uh—Mrs. Wheeler! Hi,” he manages, trying in vain to take himself down from fight-or-flight mode. He doesn’t do well with sudden noises or people creeping up on him, especially since the Upside Down. It reminds him of the constant fear, the nonstop need for vigilance, lest the grotesque, horrible, fleshy creatures picked up his scent, or heard his breathing, and decided they were hungry for human boy.

“Hi there,” Mrs. Wheeler says slowly, brows drawn together in confusion at his strange reaction, looking him up and down as if assessing for injuries. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah. I’m okay, you just scared me,” he says, mustering up a smile and hoping it doesn’t look as much like a grimace as it feels like one. “I’m just grabbing something for Mike. From his room.” He prays that Mike had gotten up into his room unseen so Will can avoid any further questioning.

Still looking slightly doubtful, Mike’s mother adjusts her arm around Holly. “Well, okay. Let me know if you need anything, alright? Don’t hesitate to ask.” Will nods, silently willing her to go, and to his relief, she turns and heads back towards the kitchen.

Racing his way up the rest of the stairs, he half-runs down the hall until he reaches Mike’s bedroom, twisting the knob a little harder than he intended to and yanking the door open to reveal his boyfriend, lounging on the bed with a comic laid out in front of him, lanky arms and legs sprawled lazily out across the sheets and eyes half-lidded with boredom. “Took you long enough,” Mike says, grinning at the sight of Will’s flustered expression, and slips off the bed, padding towards the shorter boy.

When Mike wraps his arms around Will, pulling their bodies towards each other and pressing a kiss onto Will’s lips, he melts, losing virtually all muscle function. Mike laughs into the kiss, hauling Will onto the bed. “What did Dustin and Lucas say when you left?” asks Mike, mouth still pressed against Will’s, and Will can feel the shape of the words. Mike’s voice is sweet and sounds and tastes like a popsicle on a sweltering summer afternoon.

He mumbles something incoherent, pressing himself against Mike because he doesn’t really have the facilities to carry a conversation right now. He’s mostly focused on getting as close as humanly possible to Mike, hoping that maybe willpower will be enough to get their bodies to fuse together. “I wanna wear your skin,” he mutters as he wraps his legs around Mike’s waist. He attempts to deepen the kiss, but Miks draws back, startled. “You want to what?” he asks.

Frustrated at the sudden lack of contact, Will headbutts Mike’s shoulder. “Why’d you stop, stupid?”

“Because you implied that you wanted to literally skin me alive,” replies Mike, adjusting their positions so that he can look into Will’s eyes.

“Just wanna be closer,” complains Will, using a hand to guide Mike’s lips back to his. Finally, the dark-haired boy complies, letting Will capture him back into the kiss, grinning a little at the smaller boy’s eagerness. Impatient now because of the previous pause, Will snakes his tongue into Mike’s mouth in a rare display of confidence, apparently surprising the other boy, who makes a startled—but definitely not unhappy—sound. It’s not loud by any stretch of the imagination, but Will still draws back a little, listening carefully for footsteps before diving back into the makeout session with vigor. He whimpers a little when Mike catches Will’s bottom lip in between his teeth, not that Will would ever admit it, and he feels his boyfriend smirk at the sound. Irritated, he nudges Mike’s mouth open wider and licks into it in retaliation, wiggling a little with satisfaction and carding his hands through Mike’s deliciously soft and silky curls when his boyfriend’s long, dark eyelashes flutter at the unexpected action.

Suddenly, Mike flips Will over so that he’s lying under the taller boy, locks of hair framing his face as he looks down at Will impishly. His lips are kiss-swollen and his hair is mussed and Will doesn’t think he’s seen anything hotter than this ever. “Michael…” he says, half-questioningly and half-warily, because the shark-like grin on the Wheeler boy’s face is raising some alarm bells.

Without replying, Mike places his forearms down on either side of Will to support him as he leans down to kiss Will again. Hard. Overwhelmed by the warm, slick feeling of Mike’s mouth pressing against him with a ferocity that was at least double of what they had been working with before, Will’s knee presses up against the warm skin under Mike’s navel involuntarily. Mike hums at the contact and takes the chance to move away from Will’s mouth and down to his neck in the split second that he lets down his guard, stopping somewhere near his collarbone and sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. Will gasps shallowly at the painful pleasure, using every ounce of strength he has in himself to keep in the embarrassing keening noise that is building up in the back of his throat.

Mike continues down Will’s neck and onto his chest, exploring the almost too-warm expanse of his skin with his lips and teeth, and Will dissolves, clutching onto Mike’s shoulders to anchor him to reality as Mike quite literally marks Will as his own.

It’s really fucking hot.

Then Will remembers that he’ll have to cover it up later, which really defeats the entire purpose, but he’s too out of it for the flicker of unhappiness to be any more than just that—a flicker that’s immediately covered up by the pure sensation of Mike against him, Mike’s mouth on his skin. Fuck, he thinks to himself, because he’s so far gone for this boy, so far gone for Michael Wheeler, his best friend since childhood. And he can only assume, from the way that Mike is mumbling unintelligible endearments against his sternum, that Mike is just as far gone for him.

Then the door swings open, and Will doesn’t register the squeaking of the hinges until it’s too late. "What're you guys doing in—"

By the time he’s pushed himself up on his elbows, face burning and undoubtedly crimson red, Mike having fallen away from above him, Lucas and Dustin are staring wide-eyed at the two of them, uncomprehending looks on both their faces.

“What the actual fuck,” whispers Lucas, breaking the silence.

“...Surprise?” Mike offers sheepishly from beside Will, who whips around and cuffs him upside the head.

“Sorry,” says Dustin, looking shell-shocked. “I’ll—we’ll. Um. Leave you two…to, uh, it.” He reaches out and attempts to grab the doorknob again, missing a couple of times before finally grasping it and yanking the door shut.

Will, face still hot, turns to Mike. His boyfriend smiles back—he is way too calm for the situation they are in right now—and takes Will’s hand in both of his, squeezing it lightly. “Hey,” he says, “at least we still had our clothes on.”

Will chokes.

[king-ratboy]

It’s just a Halloween costume.

There’s nothing more to it.

Steve’s going to be here in less than ten minutes, thick hair styled back and the one-size-too-small black shirt they’d found on the clearance rack at Melvald’s tight across his chest, and when they show up at Wheeler’s house everyone will laugh and joke and groan and it’s fine. It’s supposed to be funny. It is funny. Billy had cackled for what felt like an hour when they came up with it two months earlier, grinning up at the Dirty Dancing poster outside the Hawk.

Billy stares at himself in the mirror, fingertips playing with layers of pink chiffon, gaze darting up to his mascara-lined eyes and hurriedly averting to the ground, and feels nauseous. It’s just a joke. It’s a costume. That’s all. There’s no reason why his heart should be so tight in his chest, why the sleek fabric should feel so soft and free on his thighs, why the black lining his eyes should make him feel anything.

Behind him, Robin stays silent, sitting on the edge of her bed and giving him a tight-lipped smile that’s a little too knowing for his liking, and when she stands Billy can’t suppress the tiny, involuntary flinch, the rush of danger danger danger she knows she fucking knows get out get the fuck out FIGHT, Neil’s voice roaring in his ears —

faggot

pussy

goddamn queer

what in the hell do you think you’re wearing 

get that shit off your face

you’re a disgrace to my goddamn name

— but then Robin’s awkward smile is expanding, spreading out into a megawatt grin, and when she tosses Billy a tube of lipstick that definitely isn’t hers, he only fumbles it slightly.

“You look smokin’ hot, Frances,” Robin says, still grinning, and the fluttering flare of panic in Billy’s chest quells a bit, allows him to glance back at himself in the mirror, at his carefully-crafted hair and the mascara Robin had clumsily applied and the – the dress, fuck, and the panic and nausea are morphing into something else, something he can’t put a name to, isn’t ready to name, and then there’s the flash of headlights through the window as the beamer rolls into the driveway and Billy looks at himself, draws himself up, and leans forward to press the tube to his lips.

[dinitride-art]

Yup I gotta turn off my phone because the temptation to read the script is too damn much for me. I am weak. For literary studies. In any form.