#Needs to finish banging out the basic structure but damn.

[itsbrucey]

The Oakson werewolf fic i cooked up.............chat I'm outlining. With Evil Intent.

[this-lovely-universe]

Dead Girls Walking

Chapter 1: The Basement and The Photos

TW: Child abuse and Applied SA

“Let me out, you dick!” Anastasia pounded on the door. "What the hell did I do?!"

She was confused on why her dad had even locked her in this time. She hadn't even said anything to set him off this time.

He hit the door back, making her jump and stop banging. "You'll be let out in the morning."

"You've got to be shitting me!"

She was met with silence.

She sighed, turning around to the stairs she nearly got pushed down.

He nearly broke my neck and killed me over something I don't even know I did.

She went to grab her phone, only to remember that it was on the ground of the living room

"Motherfucker...." She muttered, starting to feel around for the light switch.

She found it and started making her way down the stairs.

She coughed. There had to be enough dust to give her a lung

infection.

"Great."

The air was musty and smelt of mould. Shocking, I know.

Damn really need some Febreze in this bitch

She sighed. She definitely wasn't getting much sleep tonight.

She looked around, trying to find a sleeping bag or something. She'd doubts there'd be a good one but it was a worth a shot.

As she searched, different thoughts appeared in her head.

Would she ever get out of here? Sure, once she turned 18 she could legally leave, but where would she go?

Her grandma’s was the best option, but she lived 3 states away. How was she even going to get there?

It’s not like she could get a way out for herself. Her dad basically has her tracked, always on his leash of control.

He said it was for her safety, but Anastasia knew better.

She spotted a window. A small one, but anything was better than the smell of mould.

One issue. The window was definitely out of her reach.

"Fucks sake." She muttered. Time to pray she didn't break her ankles doing this.

She pulled the most structurally sound container to under the window, and gently stood on it for a second.

Seems good enough, I guess

She stood up on it, holding her breath.

"Don't break don't break don't break don't-" She mumbled as she fiddled with the window.

The window was built weirdly. She couldn't push it out, she had to pull it.

No wonder it smelt disgusting in here. The rain just got let in if the window was opened.

She pulled on the window. Unsurprisingly, it didn't really move.

She sighed once more, before it turned into a slight gag.

It was starting the smell like dead animal in there, and Anastasia felt sick smelling it.

She pulled harder, desperate to not smell that.

"Come on... come on!" She said with every yank. "Bitch, open!"

She managed to pull it open, tumbling backwards off the container, the container flipped with her.

"FUCK!" She hissed, the container landing about 3 inches from her face.

Well that's about three inches from an concussion

She slowly sat up, wincing slightly.

She looked down at her wrist. "Oh, that's bad..."

It was already starting to bruise.

As she stared down, a picture fluttered down into her lap. Her face paled as she saw it.

She flipped it over.

Jessica Baird. 1995

Where the hell did this come from? They made sure that everything was scrubbed from the face of the earth after the accident. Like Jessica never existed.

She let out a shaky breath as she heard the door unlock.

"Anastasia..." Her dad's voice boomed, his words drunkenly slurred.

She quickly shoved the photo in her pocket, feeling tears roll down her cheeks as she heard him walk down the stairs.

God, she hoped it would be over quickly.

***

It had been several months since that day, and Anastasia had pushed any memories of Jessica to the back of her mind.

Things had been better now. She was at camp, got adopted by a 17 year old (don't ask it's a long story) and had actually make some friends. All while she was out of her dad's grip of control.

"See you around , Cameron!" She called, having finished training with the Ares kids. Perks of having no siblings, you might say.

She walked (more like jogged) to back to her cabin. Perfect way to finish training. A long ass walk back to her cabin.

There were plenty of people around, either heading to or from people’s cabins.

It was a regular thing to see around camp. Unless it was lights out, there were always people everywhere.

When Anastasia finally arrived to her cabin, two girls were out the front.

“What’s up?” She walked up them.

“Look.” Brook pointed to the door.

“That’s a door.”

She sighed and pulled off something stuck to it. “I meant this.”

Anastasia took it from her. It was the same photo she had found in the basement that day. Along with it was a note.

BURIED AT MASON'S POINT

"Wait-"

"So, it's the same for you, right?" Finley spoke, pulling out her own photo and note. "It says they're buried were they weren't, or for me, I assume they weren't."

Brook pulled out hers as well. All three of them had the same note, BURIED AT MASON'S POINT scribbled on it.

"We asked around, mainly with Mum's other kids, but it seems we're the common denominator." Brook explained.

"These important people to you?" She asked.

"Yeah, it's my dad." Finley said.

"And my sister." Brook added.

"And this is my aunt." Anastasia sighed. "And I'm figuring they're all... you know..."

"Dead? Yeah." Brook said dryly.

"That can't be it, right? There has to be more then we're just friends that all have dead family members. Everyone here fits into that category at this point." Finley ran a hand through her hand.

Brook nodded, and Anastasia agreed. "It's way to board of a thing to pick us."

"I swear if there's a prophecy-"

"Don't. Don't even think about it." Anastasia cut Finley off.

"It's a little hard not to, Annie." Brook pointed out.

"I know. Sorry. Just-"

"It's a prophecy. And prophecy's come with sacrifices. Who knows what we could lose if there is one."

All of them fell silent. That sentence echoed in Anastasia's head. Who knows what we could lose if there is one. It was less of a what and more of a who at this point.

"Look," Finley broke the silence. "Clearly, the answers are at Mason's Point.'

"Yeah, but how on earth would we be able to leave camp?" Anastasia asked.

"We'd need a quest, which means-" Brook spoke.

"A prophecy." The other two groaned.

"Bingo." She sighed.

"Maybe we should just ignore it? It could be a trap." Brook suggested, although she didn't seem to sure of her words.

"Everything is a trap at this point..." Anastasia said quietly.

"I don't know what to do." Finley groaned.

"None of us do." Brook looked to both of them anxiously. "It's not like we have to find the answer. There's no prophecy, or quest or anything. It might just be best to ignore it for now."

Anastasia knew she had a point, and it was a point she really wanted to believe.

"Yeah." She agreed. "There's no stakes to this. Just creepy photos."

"I still think there's more to it." Finley voiced. "But, you are right about there being no oblations."

"So, just pretend this never happened?" Anastasia asked.

"What happened on the porch, stays on the porch." Finley agreed.

Brook looked at her photo. "Oh, shit. I gotta go to the infirmary." She shoved the photo and noted in her pocket. "See you later!"

"Bye!" Finley called, before turning to Anastasia. "I'm really hoping that's nothing..."

"Same here, Fin. Same here."

Notes:

Accounts/oc's mentioned:

@number-one-ares-kid

and jack's kids (You know who you are, I ain't tagging all of you)

PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK I LOVE FEEDBACK, EVEN IF IT'S YOU SAYING YOU DIDN'T LIKE (IF YOU GIVE REASONS)

@arisdaughter @childofthewargod @dianedantedominic @kaiaalwayswins

@that-girl-cupid @delilah-isnt-dead-yett @daonedaonlyskh

@aria-pane @poseidons-hyperactive-kid @wine-cooper @i-am-persephones-daughter @unhinged-waterlilly

@demigod-jack-hearth @seed-of-the-pomegranate @you-know-you-want-me @istglevi-gotmesimping

@if-chaos-was-a-boy @ariathemortal @i-was-never-sane @gaygirldoodles @superbstarlightsheep

If you want to be added, removed or if I forgot to tag you, let me know :)

[bakerstmel]

Fall Favorite Fic Festival, Entry 5

Remember, winter doesn't officially begin until December 21, she said pedantically.

I've delayed writing this entry because I was trying to define the reason (or reasons) why I love this fic so damn much. I read this fic at least twice a year, usually sometime in February and then again in the fall. It's a sports fic, and while I am not in general a sports person, I do love me some baseball. But the sport isn't the reason I love this fic, and I think I may have figured it out. Stick with me.

I started the link at Chapter 2, because Chapter 1 is a guide to baseball for the uninitiated. Some of it is out of date now, because MLB in its STUPIDITY has messed around with the rules this year because GOD FORBID people have to wait longer than a minute for anything to fucking happen on a sports field, and of course only HITS matter, but it is still fun to read. You don't need it to appreciate the fic, though.

Whilst I was processing this fic, I spent some time thinking about sports fics in general, and that led me to reread a couple of other favorites. One was A Study in Winning, by Jupiter_Ash. I really like that fic as well, even though I know next to nothing about tennis. I like the drama of the story, I like Sherlock faking his nationality just because, and I enjoy John being a petty little bitch to Moriarty there at the end. I feel like there for a while everyone had read or was reading that fic. Another one I went back to was Of Ice and Men, by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John, which is an OT3 set during the Winter Olympics. That one has John in the Paralympics, which gives the relationships an entirely new dimension. There are other good sports fics - throw your favorite in the comments, if you like. I'm mostly limiting my scope in these musings to Sherlock, as I've said before, but I'll read anything if it's good. Links to these two fics are below.

One of the ways in which sports fics have an advantage is that they have a built in structure. There's a match, or a tournament, or a season, and the relationship drama plays out against that backdrop. Writing classes always talk about the "ticking clock" approach to narrative tension, and almost every sport has some type of literal ticking clock. The Bang and the Clatter plays out over a full baseball season, including Spring Training and the postseason. That's basically a year minus the main American holidays, and EarlGreyTea does a really good job of letting the story play out at an appropriate pace. That's very impressive considering that she was posting this as a WIP over the course of an actual season.

(I need to take a minute to talk about my issues with EGT, and by "issues" I mean "soul churning jealousy." EGT is ridiculously prolific. If you go back into the fandom annals and look at the timing of some of her biggest fics, she was posting what became major reference points for the fandom in tandem, writing multiple fics at the same damn time, while, you know, teaching law or moving cross country. She is the best example I know of the importance of writing regularly. Of course, she's incredibly gifted, highly skilled at plotting, characterization, pacing, and just words. She has a fabulous imagination. Her dialogue rings true, and it's fun. But she can turn really good stuff out relatively quickly because she's limber AF. She writes. Anyone who comes to Word Sprints on Sundays or just hangs with me writing knows I'm not fast. I'm lucky to break 100 words in 15 minutes. Part of that is that I edit as I go, but it's also that I don't write as often as I would like to, so it takes me some time to warm up. I would like to be more like EGT, which probably sounds kind of creepy. I hope she doesn't see this. Anyway, she's written many of my top 20, and she actually finishes her stuff. So, yeah. Issues.)

So here is where I ended up: this is a good AU that takes advantage of the time crunch of the sport in which it is set, but that is not why I read it 2+ times per year. I read it because this is one of my favorite John and Sherlock relationships ever. It feels so in character for the way we see them in the show (at least through S2; this was written in 2013). We see them meet, we feel their attraction, we feel Sherlock's very authentic confusion. We feel their fear at being caught out, at first by each other and then by the world. They earn their angst. The way to my heart is good characterization, and this has that. Alongside the battery, the OCs (especially Sherlock and John's families) are complex and have issues of their own. Moriarty doesn't show up until the All Star Workout, which is halfway through the season for those of you who don't know, but it works because by that point, John and Sherlock have things to lose. Lestrade is the best effing choice for a beleaguered, exasperated baseball manager there ever was. Mycroft saves the day AND fucks it up, which I wish we'd seen more of in those days.

Also, John and Sherlock never get too far away from each other, and when they're separated, it's usually for narrative reasons. I like that in a fic, I've come to realize. I like to watch the characters' interplay. It's hard for Sherlock to keep secrets from John when they work together, commute together, and live together, and John is no fool. Their office isn't 221b Baker Street, it's a stadium in Austin, TX, where shit plays out in front of 30k people. John loves baseball. Sherlock loves John. They fight, they fall in love, they eat Chinese food, and they play baseball. And best of all, they are themselves together.

If you read the parts that EGT wrote after the big story, there's a mention of Sherlock pulling together a pick up game in London made of American ex-pats for John's sake, and I'll tell you what. That really pulls this fic together for me. This Sherlock would do that for this John, and we end up a little on the outside looking in, and it's just charming as fuck.

In conclusion, read this even if you don't know baseball, if you want great characterization, a chance to be reminded of how beautiful John and Sherlock were together back in the golden age. Pay attention to the ticking clocks in your favorite fics; intentional or not, there's almost always some time pressure ginning up the conflict. If you're a writer, the best way to get better is to write more. Feels like bullshit, but it's true. And finally, fuck MLB forever for going the completely wrong way on the DH. Pitchers in both leagues should have to/get to hit, and more to the point, DHs should have to fucking do something when their teams are out in the field. I will die on this mound.

(Also, if I'm being honest, Bull Durham is probably my favorite movie, so maybe I'm more of a baseball fan than I'm letting on. I do generally love baseball in popular media. But I still think it's the characterization.)

[box-dwelling]

So I wanted to make a pinned post compiling every post I've made that I have any intent at all to do anything with as a fan work.

Most of these are just drafts currently but as stuff gets released I'll edit this post and reblog with the news.

This post is long so the info will be under the cut but as a contents:

Franmaya Narumitsu Kids Au

Turnabout Orca

Ace Attorney DnD

Narumitsu Enjoying Art

Trucy V Kristoph

PTA Narumitsu

No Children Krisnix

Narumitsu Who Wait Too Long

Full Breakdown of My Plan For a Fic EU:

-Untitled Disbarment -Untiled Turnabout Trump Missing scenesand Fallout -Untitled Hell -Turnabout PTA -A Stray Turnabout -Turnabout Orca -A Christmas Turnabout -Untitled DnD -Turnabout Date -A Family Turnabout -The Perfect Wedding Turnabout -2 Bonus Fics

FranMaya Narumitsu Kids Au

Original post - full AU breakdown. Warning it's long

Ask about the Richards relationship to his sisters

Plan:

I'd love to do some fun comics. Maybe a fic but it would be a bitch to format as such. May become a series of drabbles instead

Current status:

No words on the page for fics. Ideas planned for comic but I'm really not happy with my art style at the moment and struggling to get someone drawn that I don't instantly hate and want to restart. Happy to take ideas to expand on this AU with questions

Turnabout Orca

Original post - Concept Breakdown

Additional post - Additional discussion of concept

Fic link

Plan:

Fic. A part of my larger series I have planned that I don't talk about that much here but separate enough to be posted on its own before the rest

Current Status:

Chapter 1 published. Chapter 2 needs edits but could honestly be posted whenever. I just keep procrastinating. I had ideas for a chapter 3 when playing this case but don't remember what it was so I'd need to replay the case.

Ace Attorney DnD

Original post - Character role breakdown

Character sheets

Plan:

A spin off midquel of a fic within my extended fic universe

Current status:

Ugh. So. I have a Klapollo Christmas fic within the previously mentioned extended fic series. There are 4 fics I need to post first or else it will make no sense.

The fic itself has a good amount written but is not finished but I probably could write the remaining scenes pretty easily. I would love to post this at Christmas but erm. We'll see.

I could cut down the previous references and just have it all be out of order as I post.

The first fic is a good good way done.The second is short sweet and basically done. The forth is a short sweet fluff fic that's not got too much written yet but should be easy enough to bang out. The third one is a complete god damn shitshow that I'm really unhappy with at the moment. I want to rearrange a tone of stuff before I post it. There's some stuff in there I adore. Then there's other stuff I hate and want to cut out immediately but can't because the stuff I like its currently dependant on it. It's got no coherent structure. There's a million things I want to cover in it but not over riding theme. A lot of the later stuff hinges on events in this one so I can't just completely kill it. It's overstuffed and just a complete Trainwreck. I recognize that what I post doesn't have to be good and this is a fan space but I genuinely don't want to put this out there in this state. Like to explain what a state it's in its currently dealing with a mirror to FmT, sibling reveal, setting up Klapollo, Manfred's execution, Narumitsu proposal, another thing on this list, AJ fallout, and Edgeworth's promotion and very very little connective tissue between these concepts.

This is relevent because the DND fic is kind of a midquel to said Christmas fic so need to come out after it.

Idk guys Christmas sounds a little too optimistic. I may post the Christmas fic very very late.

Narumitsu Enjoying Art

Original post - concept breakdown

Plan

Included in a part of one of the fics in the extended fic universe

Current status

Hey so remember what I just said about the third fic having a planned segment for another point in this list. Suprise guess which one it was. This one. So yeah development hell. I've not even written that part yet because even opening that doc demoralises me. Will it be in the end product? I literally have no fucking clue. It's linked in with the FmT mirror segment which is the most likely to get the axe and also the hardest to fucking cut so just ugh.

Trucy V Kristoph

Original post - beginnings of concept

Extended post on this idea - concept breakdown

Plan:

Finally, its own thing. A multi chapter canon divergence fic

Current status:

Honestly doing pretty well. I've got like 3 chapters written but am struggling to know where to go from where I am. Kind of on hiatus but I could also just post what I have so far and then have it be a more public hiatus.

PTA Narumitsu

Original post - concept discussion

Plan

Fic. Similar to Turnabout Orca in that it fits within the canon of the extended fic universe and may get plonked in there as a series but works as a stand alone

Current status:

One scene written. I have ideas but it's a hard one to get motivated to write. I love the concept but it's just not the document I instinctively open up.

No Children Krisnix

Original post- lyric by lyric scene description

Link to homeforall's own version of said idea

Plan

Animatic

Current status

I have done a handful of scenes but I'm having the same issue I was with the Au comic. I just need my art to be a bit better to feel comfortable.

Narumitsu Who Wait Too Long

Proper concept breakdown

Related prior post

Plan:

It's own fic as its own thing but also a general feeling and concept I try to bring in whenever I write 7yg stuff

Current status:

A brief scene written as its own thing though I may change it to go a different way because I have being think about it more. Also a theme I have in the first of the extended fic universe stories

Aforementioned extended fic universe

Ok so this one is more complicated because I don't really have posts for it but I did want to break it down for me and for future reference.

1: Untitled: Disbarment

Concept:

Begins with some small stuff during the trilogy, Choosing death, forbbien hospital scene and what not but is primarily about Phoenix's disbarment. Narumitsu fic mainly but there's a good deal of Franmaya and also some deeply toxic Krisnix.

Status:

A lot written but missing a lot of connective tissue and I want to put in some fluff padding at points. Also there's probably a smut scene or two that I want to write but have been putting off.

2: Untitled- Turnabout Trump Missing Scenes and Fallout

Concept:

Kind of tieing some loose ends from the last fic with some headcaons I have about this case in particular. Short. Probably a one shot. Could be an epilogue to the previous but I think will be worth publishing as its own thing.

Status:

Basically done. Need to be published in order.

3: Untitled Hell

Concept:

After Turnabout succession Phoenix goes to Europe with Edgeworth and Trucy and Apollo stay behind to take a case. When Apollo is writing up his journal notes from the Misham Trial they look through Phoenix's paper work to clear up some loose ends and find out a lot they didn't know. Meanwhile stuff gets more and more out of hand in Europe

Status:

Already said. Absolute hell.

4: Turnabout PTA

Concept:

When Edgeworth gets promoted to Chief Procecutor, Phoenix takes him to the PTA to show off. Chaos ensues

Status:

Already said. This and turnabout Orca are the only ons before the Christmas Turnabout that doesn't have to be posted before it. This one could probably come out on its own but it's best after the 3rd fic

5: A Stray turnabout

Concept:

Short sweet fluff fic. Athena meets her Boss's fiance. Edgeworth worried about Trucy's grades. Phoenix adopts a stray puppy. Apollo gets to subject the agency to one of his special interests

Status:

Like half written and the other half is inmy brain. It's just not been a priority.

6: Turnabout Orca

Concept:

Turnabout reclaimed from Edgeworth's perspective

Status:

Already said. Will be posted when it's posted.

7: A Christmas Turnabout

Concept:

Just after the end of dual destinies, Apollo invites Klavier to the Wright-Edgeworth Christmas party given that his previous plus one is now dead. It's the obligatory Klavier joins the found family and gets "forgiven" (read: realised he was never blamed I'm the first place) for Phoenix's disbarment fic that I always eat up. Also dealing with the fallout of DD and Clays death and Klavier's fallout after AJ. Big ensemble cast. Angst and fluff.

Status:

Solid half way done

7.5 Untitled DnD

Concept:

Some for the cast are bored and unable to sleep on Christmas Eve so Trucy runs a Christmas one shot for their DnD party.

The idea for this was that all the family members have a DnD character but it's kind of expected that not everyone can always make it. So it's an induction for Klavier and Simon into the fold by making their characters and joining in. The players for this fic are Klavier, Apollo, Simon, Athena, Kay, Pearl and Sebastian. Maya, Phoenix, Ema and Edgeworth all also have characters but aren't present for the game for reasons that make sense in context.

Status:

Already said

8: Turnabout Date

Concept:

A direct sequel to A Christmas Turnabout taking place a day or so after that one leaves off. Klavier has asked Apollo on a dated to an intimidatingly fancy restaurant.

Meanwhile as the anniversary of DL6 draws closer Edgeworth ends up giving up and giving the prosecutors office a holiday break until the New Year. In turn Phoenix gives the WAA the time off too given the stress of the last week. Both offices decide to help their respective idiot in love prepare for the date. Though the weird girls of Maya and Kay end up on the opposite of their usual sides as Phoenix needs requests the aid of everyone's favourite great thief and Maya get caught up in the chaos after an attempt to seduce her girlfriend.

Status:

About a third written. I'm really really fond of this one though.

9: A Family Turnabout

Concept:

A pair of ghosts from Phoenix's past turn up on the agency door all related to Athena's most recent case. A poisoning in a tea shop that she herself witnessed.

Tensions are high as more than one Wright family member's life hang in the balance. As Phoenix's mental state grows slowly more unstable, his relationship with his daughter is put to the test.

While Athena and Apollo butt heads about how much their powers are to be trusted and ask they begin to learn more and more about the mysterious group the victim and defendant belong to, Phoenix's protegee are forced to ask serious questions about what justice really means and if the WAA's tactics in court are really moral and safe.

Status:

Hey idk if you can tell. This is my favourite. If I could just post this and focus on it I would. Unfortunately it needs a lot of fucking context. Stuff that's fine to just be explained to a reader who knows they can learn more in other available fics but will sound insane if not. How much is written. A whole lot. The stuff that's missing is the case fic stuff but I know exactly what I'm doing with that now so it just needs to be properly written out. There's probably a few posts I could have linked to put this bad boy on the mentioned works in progress section but that would probably spoil it a bit and I don't want to do that.

10: A Perfect wedding Turnabout

Concept:

Narumitsu wedding. Big old ensemble piece. Stuff will get crazy but I don't want to spoil anything. But those two could never have a normal wedding come on.

Status:

This was like the 3rd fic is started writing and well. It shows. I don't love how a lot of it reads. I want to rewrite a tone. But there is a lot already on the page. The other 2 I wrote this early were a very early draft of the first fic which has been revised enough to be fixed and then the 3rd fic which is the bane of my existence. I like the plot concept I have. But I worry about the prose. When I wrote this is had been a long ass while since I'd tried to write a big cast like this and it fucking shows. Also just the character voice is off. It's kind of expositiony. It's not as unsalvageable as 3 it's just not there yet.

2 Bonus fics

Status:

Completely unwritten

Concept:

I kind of want to do a narumitsu fluff fic of them buying a house together and putting up furniture after 3 and I wouldn't mind a reunion faraskye fic before 3. But the benefit of me having written nothing and having planned nothing is that they have no vital link to the others so they can just be punished whenever and I'll say where they are in the timeline.

[the-fiction-witch]

Books

TV SHOW: THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY WATTS X READER  RATING: FUNNY + FLIRTY

I walked down the half broken, foul smelling new york streets. Hearing my heels clacking in the pavement as I walked, the swishing of my petticoats and my dress, the small sun trying to peek through the thick grey clouds. I put my sunglasses in my handbag as I arrived at the tall buildings I saw the beaten up beetle parked in the street and the small handful of parking tickets it had under the wiper blade so I picked them up and sighed turning to look down into the ever stretching darkness of the stairwell. I stepped down trying not to touch the handrail to the first level of little doors with some lights and then down the second stairwell into the dark nothing's, it smells like shit down here. 

I got to the door trying to not touch the gross walls tapping in the door as hard as I could hearing the metal echo through the basement.

The door opened tenderly and careful a first as if trying to peak before it opened fully revealing a barefoot, Benny watts. Stood in his black dirty jeans where he'd clearly wiped his hands down his legs for some reason, his black t shirt with his usual chains, his hand fixing his hair out of his eye with a small smile on his lips 

"Hey you"

"Hey" I smiled briefly stepping inside, as soon as my foot crossed into his apartment he put his hand on my waist and gave my cheek a kiss "move your car" I told him pushing the tickets into his chest he took them and I headed inside slipping my Jacket off and laying it over the chair 

"I'll move it in a bit" he says "coffee?"

"Tea" I Answered "extra milk t-"

"Extra milk two sugars I know" he laughs going over to his kitchen setting the tickets down in a forming pile on his kitchen counter 

"You should pay them"

"I should do a lot of things"

"Pay your parking tickets Benny"

"Suck my dick y/n" he says leaning against the counter looking at me crossing his arms over his chest "we both don't do what the other wants us to"

"You make me suck your dick I'll bite your cock off" I sighed sitting at the table 

"I know, I still have the bite mark from Last time" he sighed bringing the cups over sitting across from me with his coffee instantly I took my little hanki from my handbag and cleaned the top of the cup seeing the white cotton turn grey 

"What is it Benny? What did you summon me to the slums of new york for?"

"Oohh sorry, next time should I request an audience at mi lady's palace?" 

"What do you want Benny before I pour this tea down your pants"

"I need your help"

"... Hu. Never thought I'd hear you say that but go on"

"I need your help with something that only you can help me with"

"Right…"

"I wanna write a book" 

"A book?"

"Yes"

"What kinda of book?"

"One with... words?"

"No shit. Fictional or non fictional?"

"What's the difference?"

"Fictional is a story, non fictional is real life."

"Oh, non fiction"

"Okay, do you have a plot structure"

"A who what?"

"What's the plan for the book Benny?"

"I shall write it. And then I shall publish it." 

"Did you wanna edit it somewhere in the middle there?" I laughed

"Eh, you can do that" 

"Okay… so lemme guess this is a book about you? Or about chess?"

"Little I'd both"

"Who's publishing it?"

"Me?"

"Ohh so you have four thousand dollars laying around do you?" 

"What!"

"If you wanna self publish Benny, the basic level is four thousand dollars and that will get you local distribution if your lucky which is about five states out if that." 

".... Uuuughh, I'll publish through a publisher? Your publisher?"

"Eleanor doesn't take non fiction"

"Then she has to know someone who does? Right?'

"She does but then have to pay for meetings which cost roughly fifty bucks per ten minutes, and you have to get an approved manuscript before they'll even meet you, and even though a publisher for international you’re taking nine to ten thousand. Dollars."

"Uuuuuuughhh, wait. It's a chess book so I could get funding for it from the chess federation"

"Maybe, but then they are going to need to approve it first, and the send to a publisher willing to carry it, and then designing, and editing and printing and stocking which could take over five years" 

"Five years!"

"Yep. The novel world is a slow one Benny" I said "besides that's all publishing stuff, you can worry about that when you have a manuscript"

"A what now?"

"Manuscript is like the… actual book pages and all the words that will be on them"

"Ohh, well that shouldn't be too long, bang it out over a long weekend or something"

"You think you can write a book manuscript over a long weekend? Three days?"

"Yes"

".... Okay, so you wanna write a book? Which for non fiction about chess really a good level would be five or six hundred pages minimum, your going to get it written, edited, and ready to send to the chess federation for approval by Monday morning, even though they might reject it or just plain not fund it, you'll be already one thousand dollars in the red, before you add shipping, handling, copywriting, paying me for editing because I ain't doing that shit for free and as it's currently four pm on a Saturday afternoon and you haven't even writen a word yet"

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"How long did it take you to write your book?"

"Six years, in and off with a full time job and without an editor"

"I'm fucked aren't I?'

"Not fucked Benny. Overambitious" I laughed "do you have a title?"

"No."

"Do you have a synopsis?"

"No."

"Do you have a typewriter?"

"I was going to write it by hand?"

"With your handwriting?"

"What's wrong with my handwriting?"

"Benny, it looks like a spider learnt cursive and then got drunk"

"I don't own a typewriter. May I borrow yours?"

"No. Buy one"

"There like sixty dollars!"

"I will buy you a pre-owned typewriter"

"Aww thank you sugar"

"How are you intending to pay me for being your editor?"

"... Royalties?"

"Awww Benny darling, if you sell your book for a dollar each you'll be lucky to make 25 cents per book in royalties, less if you go though a publisher, and even less if it's being funded by the federation… you'll maybe get about six pennies if your lucky" I explain 

"Then how the hell do you afford your car? Your house? Your dresses?"

"I sell alot of books Benny"

"I'll give you three pennies if my six pennies royalties?"

"Of your not yet existing book? So I'm just meant to wait and see if I get paid?"

"I'll bake you a cake?"

"You can't cook Benny"

"... I will eat you out?"

"No deal"

"I promise you half of all royalties, editor credit and I'll fuck you as much as you want, now will you please just help me?"

"Fine. I'll be needing a deposit payment" I said 

"Alright, you know where the bedroom is I'll finish my coffee and be there in a sec" 

I sat on the leather chair looking at the handwritten chapter structure Benny had given me "Benny?"

"Yeah?" He asks slightly jumping where he had been sat for so long at his table with his notes and the old typewriter I got for him trying to figure out how he loaded paper in it 

"What is this word?" 

"What word?" He asks 

"The something with something"

"Which chapter?"

"Four?"

"The faults with defense" 

"That is how you write an s?" 

"Yes"

"... How do you not write an s right it's in your name?" 

"No it's not?"

"Yes it is"

"B. E. N. N. Y. No s there?"

"Watts?" 

"Ooohh yeah"

"You fool" 

"Also, does this have a E?"

"No."

"And how am I meant to write a chess book without the letter e? I sort of need it? Chess. Defensive. Queen. Benny."

"Antidisestablishmentarianism" 

"That's a word?"

'"yep"

"Can you use it in a sentence?"

"Screw you bitch I can spell antidisestablishmentarianism" 

"A.n.t.i.d.i.s.t?"

"Nope"

"Damn it" he sighed "but I need e how am I meant to write chess without an e?"

"Write an o and then draw a line in the middle?" 

"Fine" he said starting to type one key at a time "Openings… and… tactics… by… Benny… watts" he said but the typewriter had got to the end of the spool "y/n! Why won't it type!"

"Benny just… ughh come here you child" I sighed getting up going over and moving the spool back to the centre so he could write "there. You have to do that at the end of each line"

"Really?"

"Yep. Isn't writing fun" I smiled kissing his head 

I sat listening to the clicking and clacking of his typewriter keys, sounded like music to my ears in his quiet dark and cold apartment

"Fuck!" He yelled breaking me from my relaxation as he stopped

"What?" I asked

"How do I undo?" He sighed rubbing his eyes 

"You can't what happened Benny?" 

"I typed porn instead of pawn" he sighed resting his head in his hands

"You fool" I giggled "you wanna know how we fix mistakes Benny?" I giggled going over wrapping my arms around his neck 

"We we write the whole page?" 

"Nope. White out" I smiled handing him the shall bottle 

"Fuck! That smells like paint"

"Ehh pretty much is"

"Thank you y/n"

"Your welcome" I smiled giving his head s kiss "call me when chapter one is done I'm going for a shower" 

"Uuuuhhh… yeah I'll do that" he says not sounding confident 

"How close to finished are you with chapter one?"

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh… next week sound good?"

"And you could bang out a whole book in a weekend" I laughed sitting back on the chair 

"I said I'm sorry! I didn't know it was this hard" he says 

I sat the other side of the table with my lovely blue pen, my leg over my knee, smirking slightly at him as Benny sat on the other side his hands to his face watching me Intently, panic in his eyes everytime he saw me use the blue pen, which I was having to do alot. 

"Here" I said throwing it back to him now I was done "you should probably re write that's a little too much editing for white out watts"

"What's wrong with this?" He asks as he looked over the page 

"You used the wrong there"

"I hate you. Beyond words can express." 

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet ugly prompts, 02 indruck?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one and interpreted the prompt kind of broadly. It's set in the same world as this Sternclay prompt

Fun fact: there is a fire lookout in the Monogahela, but the structure I describe is based on more elaborate ones elsewhere

02. I bought a house three months ago but I’m finally moving in and discover you’ve been squatting because you’re homeless

Only in Duck’s life would “dream job” and “months alone in the woods” be equivalent.

The Bickle Nob Fire Lookout is a coveted position, and Duck is pretty fucking flattered they chose him as the ranger for July and August. He took the high clearance off-roader to get here, he’s got his bags full of everything he needs not to die of boredom (or anything else) and his schedule of supply drops. He’s as ready as can be and so fucking excited when he opens the door of the wide-windowed cabin.

Then he jumps back, startled to find a skinny, silver-haired man asleep on the floor.

“Uh, sir? This site is off-limits to visitors.”

The man wakes up in a series of catastrophic movements; he bangs into the wall, tangles in his blanket, and nearly stumbles out the window when he manages to stand.

“I, I’m sorry, I didn’t foresee anyone coming here.”

“Department spent all of June arguin’ about whether it was worth allocatin funds for this, so that’s why the place was empty. Fire up North two weeks ago scared ‘em enough to send me up here.” Duck explains with a casual smile; after all, even if he’s way off the trail, there’s no reason to assume this guy is out to cause trouble, “if you got lost hikin, I’m happy to radio down and ask for someone to come get you and take you back to your camp.”

“Nono, I, ah, I’m not lost. One needs to have a destination to be lost.”

“O-kay. Uh, well, whatever you’re lookin for, I’m afraid this ain’t it. This buildin is for the fire lookout only.”

“I promise I’ll be very unobtrusive. I even have my own supplies, you won’t have to worry about me in the slightest.” The man smiles,opening one of his two bags to show it crammed with shiny packets of food.

Duck shakes his head, “Can’t do it, sorry. I’m serious though, if you need a ride into town I can get a hold of someone who can help. Maybe, uh, you could find whatever you’re lookin for there?”

“No” the man sags, but begins zipping up his bags, “I do not think I will find it there. I am sorry for intruding.” He steps out the door, turning towards the deeper woods on the western slope.

“You need a map?” Duck calls. The man doesn’t so much as look over his shoulder.

Duck unpacks as much as he can, checks the weather station and notes the readings suggest those thunderheads on the far horizon are coming his way. By dinnertime, they’re right on top of him, rain pattering on the roof and thunder rattling the windows. He’s scanning the trees when he spots a metallic flash, not of lightning but of silver hair. His mystery visitor is huddled under a tree, wind forcing the hood of his raincoat back over and over again.

The rules and regulations in the forest are there to keep the environment and visitors safe. If something doesn’t violate those basic requirements, Duck sees no reason not to bend them.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“I really cannot stress how grateful I am that you allowed me back in.” The visitor, who introduced himself as Indrid, finishes packing their scant trash into the can, “I promise that as soon as the storm passes I’ll leave you be.”

“Yeah, about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “you really don’t got anywhere to call home, do you?”

Indrid opens his mouth. Duck stares, pointedly, at the holes in his white shirt and the worn shoes sticking out from frayed jeans.

“....No, I do not.”

“In that case, you stay here the next two months, on two conditions: one, you don’t get in the way of me doin what I’m here to do. Two, you don’t tell anyone I let you do this. Deal?”

“Yes, yes absolutely” Indrid shakes his hand, bouncing up and down a bit, “thank you so much. You will barely know I’m here.”

This turns out to be completely true and utterly false.

Indrid does keep to himself most of the day; he draws, reads, lays in the sun outside the cabin and generally stays out of Ducks way while he’s working. But he’s also the person who sits and jokes with him during meals, who eagerly follows Duck’s hand when he points out interesting birds or plants, and watches intently when Duck reads his instruments.

He never thought he could live in a fifteen by fifteen foot space with another person and not have a full head of grey by the end of it. Indrid Cold is the exception that proves the rule, Duck certain he’ll never be able to be cooped up with anyone but Indrid ever again.

It helps that he still gets his quiet time; Indrid will got out for walks, even watches for smoke so Duck can do the same. They use the wild foraging guide and Duck’s knowledge of local plants to bring back extra food. Indrid was particularly pleased when he located some wild blackberries. When Duck reminded him to watch out for bears near the berry patch, Indrid simply smirked and said there was only one bear on the mountain who could get him.

Duck’s daydreaming of what Indrid might do if caught on his way back from a dusk walk. And, more urgently, how he can convince Indrid that he wants to sleep outside tomorrow night. So it takes two tries of the front door before he notices it’s locked.

“Indrid?” he knocks, “you in there?” Stepping back, he finds the windows hastily covered by his bedsheets and blankets. He knocks harder, “that’s real fuckin dangerous, if there’s a fire we won’t see it. ‘Drid! Open the damn door!”

He continues banging, unanswered, as the moon--two days from full--rises above.

--------------------------------------

Indrid covers his ears to block out Duck’s increasingly worried shouts from outside. This is the right choice, the best of a bad bunch; it will keep Duck and anyone else nearby safe. The ranger will probably turn him away come morning, rightly furious at his irrationality. Indrid resolves not to argue with him; he’ll slink back into the trees, just like he did the last time someone threw him out for his transgressions.

It starts in his chest, his heartbeat climbing to marathon speeds in spite of him holding still. Then his skin prickles, silver hair sprouting from every follicle, followed by his back bowing in pain and his jaw elongating with a crack. From there the adrenaline kicks in, flooding his body so the transformation doesn’t render him unconscious (and therefore helpless) with pain. When next he raises his head, a werewolf with glowing, red eyes looks back at him from the darkened windows.

Beyond the covered windows, someone howls. Then he scents it, another of his kind coming dangerously close. He has to go out, he can’t leave Duck out there with something that will rip him apart, surely he likes the human enough for his mind to see him as a friend, not prey-

CRACK

The door splinters off its hinges; he growls, ready to defend his home. A deeper growl answers him as a larger wolf, black-furred and yellow eyed, stalks across the threshold.

“What. the. Fuck?” the newcomer snaps, “I told you, you can only stay if you don’t fuck up my work and locking me out comes real fuckin close to that!”

He cocks his head “Duck?”

“No, I’m the fuckin president of the united states.”

“I, I’m so sorry.” Indrid drops to all fours, then flattens to his belly just to be safe, “I didn’t know, I just wanted to be sure I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Duck points to the broken door, “you coulda just done that from the opposite side and I woulda been dinner.”

“No I, I know that if I confine myself I tend to be...calmer. I don’t get overstimulated and then agitated.”

“You coulda just told me. Lockin me out is real rude.”

Indrid whines, crawls close enough to nose at him.

“You don’t gotta do that; I ain't assertin dominance or some shit, I’m just a little annoyed.”

He whines again, “please don’t make me leave.”

“I won’t.” Duck’s voice turns softer.

“And you will not get angry at me for not being appropriately grateful for your leniency?”

Duck frowns, “Aw jesus, did you come from one of those old-school packs?

“Yes” Indrid grumbles, hating himself for how easily he fell into manners he loathes, how deep the teachings of his home run.

Duck eases him up so they’re both sitting, then noses the side of his face, “We don't do that around here. Least, I don't. I don’t spend a ton of time with most of the other Weres when they’re wolfed-out, but they ain’t big on tradition and hierarchy the rest of the time.”

“Ah. That’s, that’s good.”

The other Were stretches, stands and pads about the room, removing the make-shift curtains, “You gotta teach me how you’re so fuckin accurate on when the moon is full enough to make us shift whether or not we want to; I thought I had a day left. I, uh, I was gonna ask you to sleep in here while I ‘slept under the stars’ so you wouldn’t know.”

“You’re not afraid of hurting someone?”

“Nah, especially not this far out. Sometimes I hunt deer, but whatever strain of this I got doesn’t go feral unless some shit goes majorly wrong.” He drops the blankets on the floor, “don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like huntin tonight. Or stargazin. I’m beat from work.”

“Agreed. Transforming against my will always makes me tired.”

Duck lays down on the floor,yawns, “In that case: sleep tight ‘Drid.”

Indrid tries to do just that. But every time he catches Duck’s scent he wishes he could move closer to him, then remembers that would be rude, and continues in that back and forth until he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that his Were form runs cold; he’s shivering in spite of it still being close to eighty degrees.

His ears flick at Duck’s footfalls. Then a warm, bulky frame curls around his freezing, lanky one.

“This okay?” Duck carefully drapes an arm over him.

Indrid sighs, feeling safer than he has in a year, “better than.”

---------------------------------------------------------

“I’m a seer.”

Duck looks up from his breakfast, mouth full but question clear.

“Last night, you asked me how I knew we’d transform. Seeing the future makes it rather easy.”

“Damn, that does sound handy.”

“In many ways it is. Though it carries some, ah, some downsides.” Indrid steers his thoughts towards safer paths, “If you’d like, I could use it to help you with the fire lookout.”

The ranger grins, the expression twice as warm as his fur the night before, “That’d be fuckin great.”

Indrid smiles back, keeps his eyes on the windows so as not to look longingly back at the rumpled sheets. They awoke this morning in a heap, Duck’s modesty preserved only by a blanket and Indrid’s hair stuck in all directions. He’d been ready to apologize for not moving away before dawn, but Duck simply reached out, stroked his hair down, and asked if he wanted coffee.

-------------------------------------------------

“You’re right, you can see more animals this way.” They’re perched, fully transformed, on the rocks outside the cabin. Indrid knows how to use his night vision for hunting, but Duck is teaching him how to use it for more peaceful matters.

“Yeah, long as you stay put most animals get up the nerve to nose around some.”

They’d transformed side by side, Duck banging his head in the process. Indrid licked near the bruise and made soothing, sympathetic sounds when Duck whined and cursed his luck. Back home, being demonstrative was frowned upon; here, Duck seems to always be casually bumping their bodies together.

When they go to bed several hours after moonrise, they curl up side by side without hesitation. It’s so very easy to tune out his visions when Duck is near and Indrid falls asleep while the ranger is still whispering about the birds they can hear.

He wakes up an hour later in a panic, disasters of visions past tearing through his mind.

“‘Drid? What’s wrong?” Duck noses the base of his neck.

“Nothing. Just a bad dream.” He closes his eyes, tries to focus on Duck’s scent, his breath, the wind in the trees, but still the ghosts of his memories lurk in the corners of his vision.

“Can I try somethin?” Duck murmurs. Indrid thought he’d gone back to sleep.

“Of course.”

Teeth tenderly and ever so carefully clamp the fur and skin of his neck. He goes limp in one breath. He was high status enough that no one ever did this to him, but goodness does he wish they had

The ranger let’s go, “Do I need to do it again?”

“Please.”

Duck obliges and Indrid whimpers, melting shamelessly in his arms.

“Thank you. I think I can sleep now.”

“Any time, ‘Drid. Uh, before you, uh, go to sleep there’s somethin I wanna ask you. Since you need a place to stay, do you, uh, wanna stay with me? In Kepler.”

“You’d really like that? You, if this is out of pity-”

“It ain’t.”

There were no futures where it was. Indrid wanted to hear the words all the same.

“Besides” Duck nuzzles him, “we already know we make damn good roommates.”

Indrid can’t help it; he howls, brief and joyful, safe in the knowledge that Duck will be ready with a laugh and a kiss in reply.

[rosedevents]

Call me ... busy

The deadline for Call Me Daddy fest is next Sunday, so I’m trying to get my entry wrapped up this week. It’s hilarious I thought I would finish it earlier than exactly when it’s due. That’s basically what I’ve done on my Biospecialist holiday series - the day before the holiday, I really get to work haha 

When I signed up for the fest, I quickly banged out the first half of the story and wasn’t sure where it would go from there. Then I didn’t look at it again for about a month. I’m excited because in diving into the second half, I thought of a fun structure. There’s going to be an interesting way of showing the progression of time, and the halves are divided into Draco and Hermione’s perspectives. The fest is all about breeding kink, but this won’t be very “fun” ... more like incredibly dark. But if you’ve ever looked through my works, you know I like to mix it up. 

Other updates:

I’m still on hold with The Slytherin Toy’s Christmas Wish and I wish I made it more vague on when I would circle back. I said March 1st-ish and that is very unlikely. It will probably be more like mid-March. 

I’ve been making more progress on New Year’s Eve Wedding Week! Chapters 6 and 7 will be heavy lifts, but I know it’s getting ridiculous how long I’ve dragged this one out so I’d like to knock it out and off my list very soon.  

I also want to knock out The Enchanted Smutbook. I thought Chapters 13 and 14 would be super easy because I already wrote chunks of them early on, but for some reason I’ve been dragging my feet. Ugh. It’ll get there eventually but I’d really love to have a long WIP off my plate! The next chapter is Snape and I think I just need to get in the write mood for it - heh. 

I love the readers on The Curse of 100!! I’ve been getting a lot of really nice comments on that one this week in particular, so I got started on Chapter 14 even though this story is now kind of low on the priorities list. I’ve known that after Shell Cottage, Hermione is going straight to a bar, where she will end up hooking up with someone. I thought for a while it would be a muggle bar or that she would change her appearance, but I’ve now decided she’s going to have a one night stand with the bartender at The White Dragon in Tinworth. In casting this new character, I wanted to have more diversity versus a slew of white guys. I looked for inspiration for an Indian charcter, but ended up finding Charles Melton and just thinking ... hot damn! So behold, hot bartender:

[agarthanguide]

How I Did the Mosaic Effect

You asked for it, so here it is- a shoddily composed but nonetheless candid and hopefully useful tutorial on the Mosaic Effect I used in the Mollymauk portrait.  Those of a stout and courageous spirit, read on.

Start with a sketch.  I was heavily referencing the Byzantine mosaics found in Ravenna and Istanbul, so my sketch is boxy and simple.  The detail and structure comes from the shape of the tesserae, so there’s no need to put in a lot of fine lines in the sketch. In fact, you probably won’t be able to replicate really small details.

Next lay in the gold textures where you want guilding to be.  I used multiple layers of gold textures, piecing things by where I wanted the visual interest.  Blend the edges by erasing with a soft brush, but don’t make anything too smooth.  Sparkle comes from the difference between dark and light. You can see I placed the highest texture in the halo and in his chest, and darkened the sides by his arms a lot.  NOTE- I eventually found this color gold to be too warm, and cooled it down significantly.

Time to paint!  Try really hard to block things in without lines.  If you do draw lines, make them bold enough that they can serve as a line of tesserae in the finished piece.  Use motifs that echo the style you are going for, and the end texture will do the rest.

For example, I cribbed the diagonal square pattern on Molly’s coat from a famous mosaic in the Hagia Sophia. Also make note of the shifting line patterns of the gold tiles, which create a circular shape in Alexandros’ halo, while building mostly on geometric patterns in the background.  That’ll come up later.

Apply a stone texture to the painted section. Once again, it doesn’t have to be perfect or absolutely convincing, it just has to break up the brush marks that inevitably make up the underpainting. I went with a marbled look, but you can go in any direction you like.  Most Byzantine mosaics have satin polished stones making up the tesserae, so I wanted a smoother look.

Okay here is the magic part- Place a stone or plaster texture over the whole piece.  I used a photo of a plaster wall from textures.com, but I’m fairly confident anything will work.

Now darken the plaster texture to a midtone, something that matches very few areas of your underpainting, in terms of darkness levels.

Put the following layer style setting on your plaster texture layer.  There’s a purpose here- you are making a very tiny shadow around every tesserae you draw.  It makes a huge difference on areas of the finished painting where the tesserae colors are similar to the background color.  Lemme give you an example-

This is Molly’s hair without the Inner Glow styling.  See how you can hardly see the individual tiles on the lighter sections?

Here’s the same section WITH the layer styling.  Big difference.

Now- apply a layer mask to your plaster texture.  Set your texture to a lower opacity- say 70%. Get yourself a slightly geometric brush with hard edges.  Choose the color absolute black and choose your layer mask to paint on.  Set your brush to 100% opacity. Are you ready?

BEGIN TO PAINT OUT THE TESSERAE. This takes practice. You’ll probably have to go back and forth between making the texture layer 30% opaque and 70% opaque.  The goal is to be able to track the shapes you are making while still being able to see the underpainting.

This part takes a while to get the hang of and even after you’ve mastered it, it takes forever.  Keep turning your background to 100% opacity to check how it’s going.

My advice is to start with the outlines of everything.  I know I finished the face first, but by the time I was patching up the other interiors I had learned so much that I basically had to do mass parts of the face over again in their entirety.

At some point I decided that Molly’s skin wasn’t purple enough- color choice is one of my weaknesses, so I had sampled colors off of actual Byzantine mosaics.  They don’t really include violet as a tone at all, so I eventually had to make the decision to abandon historical accuracy in pursuit of lavender.

Okay so that’s the interior finished!

For the external background, I made a brush.  Well, I took a hard square brush and took away all size jitters and transfers.  Then, after a few lines, I added a 1% angle jitter so that it wouldn’t look Too Perfect.  Actual Byzantine mosaics have very regularly irregular backgrounds.  They try to make as much of it out of square stones as possible, but then they keep the matching ones all in one little patch and then just sort of bang that patch into other patches.  So, in an effort to imitate that, you can see my hastily-developed system. I picked a size and plotted out a small area in that size.  Then I built lots of other small areas of various sizes until they started to collide. I left the imperfect spaces alone, for a minute....

Then I went back and filled them with my hard brush, by hand.  This was an absolute necessity in curved areas, like the edge of the halo, but also looked really slick where tiles didn’t line up quite right.  It gave it that imperfect, handmade look.

Okay DAMN ALMOST DONE!  I made the damaged bits by taking a cloud brush, setting it to pure white, and going to town on the layer mask. When you feel good about the shapes, take a hard brush and bust up the edges to that it mostly takes out whole tiles instead of just... ghosting them to death.

NOTE-  I almost gave myself a heart attack because I forgot to duplicate the texture layer first and ended up having to recover the original finished pic from some Well of Lost Souls in the back of my computer.  So learn from that and do elegant damage AFTER DUPLICATING YOUR TEXTURE LAYER.

OKAY THAT’S IT!  Go into the world with this knowledge and make me a bunch of mosaic effect drawings.  It was tedious but fun, right???

[silver-wield]

tbh after playing the remake, I get the appeal of CA, because it's a familiar manic pixie dream girlfriend type love story. It even plays into the tragic boy loses girl trope which helps frame it as some grand romantic story. and yeah they're cute, and they definitely have a special connection. I think I could ship it if not for the whole rest of the story. It's a relationship that has the potential to become romantic, but it doesn't exist in a vacuum. 1/5

The remake is doing a great job on untangling a lot of the ambiguity the OG left us with. Yes, Cloud could develop feelings for Aerith and vice versa, but the remake is planting so many seeds that confirm he currently has feelings for Tifa (which she reciprocates) and I don't think it's possible for any feelings he might develop for Aerith to overcome these feelings he has harboured since childhood. 2/5

Unfortunately those feelings are something he cannot fully understand because of his comprimised mental state. But you can clearly see that his deep affections for Tifa and desire to protect her stay with him despite that (as can Aerith). The problem with the OG (other than having to potray this incredibly complex subversive nuanced story through text and polygons) is that the LS scene recontextualize so much of who Cloud is, but by that time people had already made their conclusions. 3/5

With the remake you can see them trying to fix this by having a constant thread of romantic undertones to all of cloti's interactions. The CA relationship meanwhile is potrayed with these moments that play into romantic tropes and expectations. The bridge scene is flashy and grand and draws the attention, but it doesn't carry the substance that a single hand-clech does. 4/5

It's meant to be a smokescreen to the real story - just as Cloud is not the hero you think he is, the love story is also not the one you think it is. And that's what makes FF7 so great. It's all about the subversions of what you expect - it's about the truth underneath these grand and compelling illusions that is complicated and real but still just as beautiful. 5/5

Okay, first off I don’t see how anyone can play Remake with Cloud being biggest mood around Aerith and find that appealing. Personally I think it’s the most toxic and harmful behaviour in the entire game when he’s alone with her and she’s literally trying to force him to act like her dead boyfriend. There is zero appeal in that and it’s not cute how she behaves, it’s arrogant and self serving. Like I said in a different post (or maybe a tweet) both Sephiroth and Aerith use Cloud to fulfill their own selfish desires. Sephiroth needs Cloud to destroy the planet by getting him the black materia, and Aerith wants Cloud to emulate Zack so she can fool herself into believing he didn’t die. In both cases what Cloud wants doesn’t even factor into things. That harmful dynamic doesn’t give them a special relationship. It mirrors Cloud’s relationship with Sephiroth in that it hurts him. Aerith and Sephiroth are two sides of a coin and the whole isn’t anything that benefits Cloud. Even after they’re both dead they continue to harm him through their obsession with him. It’s only at the end of AC when they’re both truly gone from his life completely that he’s able to smile and be at peace. He has no stalkers in DC and that’s why he’s so cheerful. He gets to live happily with Tifa and not worry about ghosts coming after him. It has zero potential to become anything because to make that a thing, you need to totally destroy everything else about the story and characters themselves. You have to take away Zack being Cloud’s best friend and saviour, at which point he’s just dead. You have to take away Tifa being his motivation to become a soldier, at which point he’s dead cause Sephiroth still comes to Nibelheim and burns it. Point is, there is no way that dumdum dinghy is possible without removing Cloud and most of his personality from FF7, at which point he’s just a pretty face, so people should just go write AU fanfiction and admit they wanna bang the pretty boy and not deal with his canon personality and story. 

There wasn’t any ambiguity in OG because 7R is FF7 and the devs have said multiple times the story is the same as before. The problem back then was a poor translation, bad advertising and people refusing to follow the narrative to its proper conclusion. Cloud at no point in OG or any of the compilation could develop feelings because it’s shown in the entire compilation that he has always and will always love Tifa. Before Crisis he loves Tifa. Crisis Core he loves Tifa. OG he loves Tifa. AC he loves Tifa. DC he loves Tifa and Remake he loves Tifa. There’s zero room for anything with Aerith because his entire character arc is consumed with his desire for Tifa. It’s literally shown in the damn game that he’s in love with her. So, no, there never was any chance for Aerith, and I’m tired of people trying to entertain one by saying “if she lived”. Sorry, not sorry, if she lived Cloud is still in love with Tifa, so he never would, could or want to develop any feelings for Aerith. 

Cloud loves Tifa. It’s the goddamn plot. 

There isn’t any problem with the lifestream scene being the big reveal at that point in that game. The problem, again, is that people refused to follow the narrative to its logical conclusion and got hung up on their dumbass headcanon about Aerith. The entire premise of the game is built on illusion vs reality and yet some people still refuse to wake up and see reality. The game spells it out for everyone. They got so triggered over her dying that they acted like the game ended at that point instead of it carrying on and reaching the actual true culminating arc where we find out Cloud wasn’t himself this entire time. People seem to think Aerith dying is the plot and that she’s the main character or something. It’s Cloud’s game. The plot revolves around him. That’s why the lifestream scene is the apex of it. 

It’s Cloud’s story, not Aerith’s. 

I’ve pointed out several times how Aerith’s optional scenes in Remake show that Cloud is barely even a fixture. Her language of flowers you barely have Cloud in shot while she’s doing all that talking. She’s basically talking to the player. Her optional dress scenes show the illusion for what it is. That bridge is tiny and yet in the red dress is looks like this massive structure. I laughed my ass off when I spotted it. The pink dresses perspective shortens drastically for each one, with the funeral dress having Cloud standing nearest to Aerith, so that one’s probably closer to reality than that ott scene with random fireworks and fans popping up from nowhere. Not to mention the fact Aerith’s entire figure is padded out to fill that dress and she’s got hair extensions in and a ton of make up and the ost is actually called a mess of makeup or something like that and not a certain gaudiness. I mean, Madam M tried to turn Aerith into Tifa to win the bride contest and beat Sam. The game makes things very clear that the illusion is Aerith and the reality is Tifa, and players can’t turn Aerith into Tifa to make Cloud notice her no matter how hard they wanna believe they can. Her resolution literally has her repeating her OG lines from the GS about how Cloud isn’t himself, but she also arrogantly assumes he fell in love with her or would because she’s arrogant. It’s a character trait that again mirrors Sephiroth’s arrogance. It’s what gets them both killed in the end. Aerith underestimates Sephiroth and Sephiroth underestimates Cloud. 

And we already saw what Cloud had to say about her declaration cause he only ever refers to her as a friend and didn’t show any romantic behaviour when he rescued her. Unless “Yep” is the height of romance now. It’s not that the romance isn’t the one you think it is. It’s that it’s the one you ignored and acted like wasn’t important because you hate the heroine. Tifa and Cloud are together from start to finish, but because people decided the pink girl was more important they acted like Tifa had no right to what was hers from the beginning. She didn’t get between Cloud and Aerith. There never was any Cloud and Aerith. It was always Tifa. She just took what was always hers and kept it. 

Anyone who doesn’t understand that should try playing the game cause it’s clear they didn’t.

[bestworstcase]

How exactly do you keep track of all your ideas when brainstorming and writing? Cause I can't imagine making it otherwise than with a giant corckboard and a ton of word documents, and in your writing all just goes together so smoothly. Do you have any methods/tools you're using?

um

okay so i have AN answer but it’s not a very good one if you’re looking for like, advice. because every time i have an idea i write it down but i use… ulysses, google docs, and the ios notes app and there is no rhyme or reason to which one i write any given idea IN and there’s no organization just three big messy stacks of notes and a half-finished world anvil and rambles to a couple friends on discord and rambles on this blog that i search through whenever i need to refresh my memory gbfjcjdbsh i have “a system” in that there are notes but the system is just

and then for the stories themselves my planning stages go kinda

1. ruminating on plot points

2. jotting down notes like this:

0 - xaviers big book of lore

1 - vardaros / the baron & stalyan / kiera & catalina

3. think about the structure of the narrative and how best to arrange plot points along that structure

4. start writing synopses of each basic section like this (you can see how much vardaros changed from my early thoughts!):

Bounce from Alcorsīa, heading east to Eldora and Vardaros. Things are weird between Cass and Rapunzel and Cass feels weird about it. She sticks close to Varian, glad to see that the flying ship has pulled him out of his funk a little bit, and he thanks her for trying to find him at Ghisa. Eugene and Lance are excited about Vardaros; Eugene is hoping to show Rapunzel the sights and hopefully get her to talk about Janus Point a bit. Moira testily reminds them that this is not a vacation, which makes Rapunzel dig in her heels a bit. When they get to Vardaros Moira flatly is like if you’re not back by nightfall I’m leaving without you.

Cass opts to stick with Rapunzel, Eugene, Varian, and Lance (henceforth Team Corona) while Moira and crew members set out to take care of business/buy up supplies (Vardaros is right on the border of Marne, so they land in a Marnese lake near the border and walk into the city). Cassandra is keenly aware of the risks here: she’s a Coronan traitor walking around in a city of one of Corona’s closest allies. Eugene and Lance try to entertain Raps and Varian with a tale of youthful misadventures in Vardaros.

They are, of course, ambushed by the Baron’s goons. Eugene and Lance are captured, Cass and Rapunzel get pretty banged up, Varian (at Cass’s command) bolts back to the ship to get help.

Rapunzel and Cass reconvene at the Zampermin. Moira is pretty unsympathetic and kind of like rules are rules, we’re leaving at sundown, but Rapunzel loses. her. shit. Screams that they are going after Eugene and Lance and Moira is going to help because we don’t leave the people we love behind!! Moira sneers but Cass steps in and is like, Moira, they got kidnapped, it’s not like they’re off being irresponsible, come on. So Moira is like fine. Twenty-four hours.

Rapunzel is like we should go to the police and Moira just laughs. Asks for a description of the muggers, says they sound like the Baron’s boys and the watch isn’t gonna do a damn thing. He’s a crooked noble and Rodolfo loves him. Nobody messes with the Baron; even Moira is wary of him. Cass remembers Lance mentioning him before and is like oh shit. They agree to sniff around town in the morning; Moira theorizes that the Baron is gonna use his authority to have Eugene and Lance executed. 

5. junk draft! this is just a speed write a la nanowrimo of a kind of hybrid very rough first draft / very detailed final outline. a lot of narrative troubleshooting happens here (this was the stage where i went ‘oh cass should go with moira instead’ for myriad reasons and also decided to toss abraham into the mix)

6. and then the revision/full writing stage is when i go through and separate everything into chapters and write it out as like. a real story. sometimes troubleshooting continues to happen (eg the lance pov scene in uh. 6 was originally planned to be eugene pov but when i went to write it i was like ‘…this section is a lot more about lance so let’s write it through his perspective actually’)

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

it’s all a bit chaotic and kind of about…slowly feeling out what ‘works’ for the story.

i will say that imo thinking about ✨narrative structure✨ is extremely important - HOW am i telling this story. i have these blocks of characters, plot points, settings. and i have certain plot and character arcs i want to build. what is the best way to put the blocks together to achieve the shape i want in the sturdiest, most coherent way? what is the core purpose of this scene and what other functionality can be layered into it, what other jobs can it do? how are these events being framed, through whose eyes, and why? etc. narrative structure will make or break a story so it’s good to keep it in mind as u plan and write 👍

[bombshellsandbluebells]

The 100 Fic: Malware (1/3)

Summary: Just a few months into Spacekru’s stay in space, the Ring begins to malfunction and life support systems start failing. Spacekru needs to learn to work together quickly if they want to live. If they don’t, the very place that had been their salvation just might kill them.

Relationships: Canon relationships hinted at; Spacekru focus

Other tags: space thriller, the ark is not safe, incorrect space science probably

because why finish my wips when I can start a NEW fic because I’m terrible at that

(read on ao3)

Part I: Program Failure

Two months after they arrive in space, the lights flicker off without warning, and the Ring plunges into sudden darkness. Even the emergency light strips running along the hallway floors fail. Without the lights, and with only the darkness of space coming in through the windows, the Ring falls into a darkness so complete and impenetrable it seems to seep into the residents’ very skin.

Inside the room that hosts the algae farm, Monty, Harper, and Murphy halt. Harper, halfway through cleaning the filter inside the algae tank, freezes, afraid to damage it accidentally. Murphy waves a hand in front of his own face; it’s impossible to see, even just inches away from his eyes.

“Well, that’s not good,” he mutters and hears Monty’s answering snort from somewhere to his left.

“I hope they don’t stay off for long,” Harper says, her annoyance almost palpable. “I can’t move.”

“Neither can we,” Murphy says. “I can’t see a damn thing. I’d run into a wall if I tried.”

“You’re not stuck with your hand in the algae tank,” she snaps. She’s gotten used to digging around in it, but it’s far less enjoyable when she can’t see or move. The algae floats gently in the water, occasionally brushing up against her hand; without her sight, the sensation is startling every time. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end. She tries to carefully pull it free, but it bumps up against something and she falls still immediately, filled with panic. This is their only food source; she can’t risk it.

It’s as if Monty knows that Murphy is opening his mouth for a comeback – and in all likelihood, he does, considering Murphy and Harper’s daily arguments have become almost routine at this point – because he quickly interjects. “I’m sure Raven’s going to fix it now.”

“How the hell is she going to get there?” Murphy asks. No one answers him for a moment. The visual of Raven stumbling blindly down the hallway, running into walls and tripping over hidden obstacles, is all too easy to picture.

“Surely someone has a light of some sort,” Harper offers slowly, then shrugs, despite the fact that no one can see it. The other two hum in agreement. Neither of them sound very convinced.

But there’s nothing they can do to help – there’s nothing they can do at all but wait.

The silence that falls between the three is uncomfortable, made even worse by the utter darkness. Murphy fumbles with his jacket sleeve just for something to do, and the shuffling of the fabric is loud in the quiet room. The sudden blindness is irritating enough, but the ever-present tension between him and his current company grows worse without a job to focus on. He’s sure Harper and Monty’s silence is only because of his presence in the room; they’d probably have preferred to be trapped without him around. He can’t say he blames them; he still doesn’t really get along with either of them on the best days, and there’s no one he really wants to get trapped in the dark with other than Emori – who, incidentally, is the only one here he absolutely trusts not to jump him with his back turned.

“How much light does the algae need?” he asks, partially due to real worry, but mostly just to break the silence.

“More than this,” Monty answers. “But it can handle not having any for a little bit. I’ll start getting worried if they stay off for a couple hours.”

No one has to say they hope it doesn’t take that long, but Harper mutters, “They better not,” under her breath anyway.

Luckily, it doesn’t. After forty minutes of stilted conversation – topics ranging from how much they miss real food to what might be happening in the bunker – the lights flicker back on. The three of them blink into the sudden brightness, their eyes re-adjusting slowly.

Harper carefully pulls her hand free from the filter and out of the tank. The skin is pruny from the water. She shakes it dry.

“Well, that sucked,” Murphy voices, and the other two murmur their agreement. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen again.”

--

Bellamy is mending a pair of pants when the lights fail a second time. In the sudden darkness, he loses track of the needle and pricks his finger, then swears at the unexpected jolt of pain. Blindly, he drops the pants on the table in front of him and pulls his hand away, not wanting to get blood on the fabric, even if the wound is small and barely bleeding. It’s hard enough to wash clothing on the Ring; it’s nearly impossible to remove stains.

He’s sitting in what’s generally become known as the common area, where the seven of them sporadically gather during free time or for meals. Unfortunately, he’d been the only one present when the lights went out, and loneliness is quick to settle in beside the darkness.

For a few minutes, Bellamy waits in silence and weighs his options. Then, with a sigh, he pushes himself out of his seat and stumbles forward. He walks carefully towards where he believes the door to be, hands outstretched in front of him to avoid a concussion. The cold metal of the Ark walls brushes against his outstretched palms, and he feels along it until he finds the door.

He keeps his right hand on the wall as he makes his way through the hallway, trailing it along the walls so he has some sense of where he is. The darkness in the Ring is terrifying; Bellamy doesn’t think that he’s ever experienced a darkness so absolute before. There had always been some source of light aboard the Ark no matter the time, and even Earth at night had the moon and stars. This utter blackness is completely new and horrible; it makes him feel vulnerable and powerless.

After a few months aboard the Ring, he’s managed to form a complete mental map of the place. He’d never known Go-Sci Ring well when he lived on the Ark, since there had never been much reason for him to go there, so he’d made a habit of walking the halls and taking note of the place that would be their home for the next five years.

After all, supplies and resources are the difference between survival and death. It was crucial they take note of what they had available to them, and, if Bellamy was going to keep all of them alive until they could reach Earth again, it was important that he knew every inch of their new home. Survival is a team sport, of course – he knows it doesn’t lie entirely on his shoulders, but he can’t help feel responsible for the people he convinced to head back into space with him. It had been his idea to go get Raven that had landed them all here.

And he can’t let anything happen to anyone – not after – well. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and knock the guilt away. It clings stubbornly anyways, as it always does.

Memorizing the Ring seems to be coming in handy now, at least. For the most part, he can remember which hallways to take even if he can’t see them – but it’s still slow going. At one point, he realizes he must have gone too far without turning and has to double back until he locates the hallway he needs with his hand.

Eventually, there is light up ahead, standing out like a beacon. As the shapes of the walls begin to take shape, Bellamy quickens his pace towards the light.

The system control room is lit by a multitude of computer screens. It’s a dim light, but it seems bright in the darkness. Raven stands in front of the screens, illuminated by the glow, eyes trained on the lines and lines of code scrolling by, her brow wrinkled with concentration, hands hovering hesitantly over the keys. She doesn’t look up as he enters the room.

“How’d you get here so fast?” he asks, because he’s amazed one of them made it here without hurting themselves, let alone two of them.

Raven waves a hand distractedly to her left where a tablet sits on the table beside her. “I always keep it with me. It took me too long to find this room last time. It’d be better if we had flashlights, but it works.” She worries at her lip with her teeth, eyes narrowing at something hidden within the code. All of it looks like nonsense to Bellamy.

He comes to stand beside her and studies her out of the corner of his eyes. It’s easy to read the exhaustion and stress lining her face, and he wishes he could help her carry the burden of repairing the Ring somehow. Monty can help her with the machinery, especially now that his hands are healed, but Raven’s the only one who can understand the various computer systems keeping everything running. Her time with ALIE had some benefits, at least.

“Any idea what’s wrong?”

Raven doesn’t reply, but he gets his answer in the way her face hardens.

Without warning, she slams a hand against the table beside her; the resulting bang echoes loudly through the room. Bellamy jumps, startled.

Raven breathes heavily. “I can’t read code the way I used to,” she admits quietly, like a dirty secret, voice straining between clenched teeth. “There’s whole sections I can’t even understand.”

It’s a lot like forgetting how to speak a foreign language you once knew, Raven thinks – like when her abuelita died and her mother stopped speaking Spanish completely and the words gradually faded from her mind, bit by bit, every year. She still has some of the vocab, and she can remember the basic structure, but she can’t speak it fluently like she could when she had the chip. Every day she seems to forget a little more.

“If I still had ALIE in my head,” she starts.

“You’d be dead,” Bellamy interrupts. It’s a simple answer, as if it isn’t the complicated thing she’s made it out to be – as if she doesn’t spend hours debating if the threat of death due to ALIE’s code was worth the knowledge it gave her.

Back on Earth, she hadn’t thought so. Anything was worth not dying, right? But here in space, when their very lives might depend on it, ALIE’s code seems so much more tempting; she almost feels regretful for destroying it.

“But I’d know what’s happening.” She wants to cry. Or scream. Her frustration grows inside her like a wild animal, vicious and untamed.

“That’s not worth your life, Raven.”

“If the Ark is malfunctioning, it might cost everyone their lives,” she snaps. She wants to be angry at something besides herself; Bellamy’s just an easy target.

He doesn’t take it to heart. Instead, he places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and Raven can’t help but think Bellamy is a better friend than she is. She feels guilty for that too.

“You’ll figure it out.” His voice rings with certainty. She wishes she could believe him, but optimism grows harder and harder for her to grasp, disappearing beneath the pile of problems the Ark throws at them. She’d promised them safety on the Ring, but she’s terrified she won’t be able to deliver. After escaping Grounders and Mountain Men and Praimfiya, is her incompetence going to be what kills her friends?

After almost an hour, the lights flicker back on by themselves, just as they had the last time, and Raven isn’t any closer to understanding why.

--

The third time almost goes completely unnoticed. It’s what passes for nighttime aboard the Ring, and, in a rare occasion, all seven occupants are asleep at the same time. The malfunction might have been missed entirely if the heating hadn’t shut off as well.

It grows very cold over the next few hours.

Harper wakes with a start, the clicking sound of her chattering teeth hitting her ears before she’s fully aware of herself. Her body is shaking with the cold, and she grabs at their blankets, curling herself under them in search of warmth. It takes her a moment to register the weight on the other end of the bed shifting as Monty goes to stand, but as she does, she reaches blindly towards him.

“Why’s it so cold?” she asks groggily, teeth still clicking together.

“I think the heating shut off again,” he replies softly.

Sudden light fills the room. Harper squeezes her eyes shut against it and rubs a hand over her face. Even her skin feels icy. Slowly, she opens her eyes again, blinking as they adjust. Monty’s holding an emergency flashlight in his hand – one of the few they’d managed to find after the second malfunction – and he’s pulling on his jacket.

“I’m going to go help Raven. Go back to sleep.”

“I’ll try,” she says, knowing it will likely be useless until it warms up a bit more. Luckily, they’d all stockpiled extra blankets in their rooms after the first few nights onboard the Ring when all the programs had been finicky and the heating unit had struggled. She piles all of them on top of herself and hopes that Monty and Raven can figure things out quickly.

By morning – or at least, what feels like it might be morning, though it’s hard to tell without any light at all – Harper gives up trying to sleep. She’s done little more than shiver for the past several hours, and, even if she can’t help the others, getting up and moving might warm her body up more than lying here will.

They don’t have another light in their room, so she uses the walls to find her way in the dark, wandering aimlessly with nothing but a prayer to help her find where Raven and Monty are. She gets lucky – as she turns a corner, she sees two figures illuminated by their own flashlight. Emori and Murphy stare back at her in confusion. Murphy looks even grumpier than normal, his hair a wild mess and his face wrinkled with a deep frown. Emori beside him is bundled in several blankets, nearly hidden away entirely beneath the fabric, her eyes and nose the only part of her exposed. She’s still shivering.

“Do you know what the fuck is happening?” Murphy asks.

Harper shakes her head. She wishes she had thought to bring a blanket like Emori. Her teeth are still chattering. “Monty went to go help Raven. I’m trying to find them.”

Murphy glances at her empty hands and raises an eyebrow. “How were you going to find them without a light?”

Like usual, it’s taken Murphy very little time to make her want to hit him. She’s starting to think it’s his only real talent. “Monty took ours. But I didn’t want to just stay in the room.”

“We can all go find them,” Emori says, though it’s hard to understand her with how violently her teeth are chattering. Murphy wraps an arm around her and rubs at the giant mass of blankets where her shoulder might be. She leans into it. Harper can’t help but stare; it’s almost sweet – or it would be, she thinks, if it was anyone but Murphy.

They make an awkward traveling party. The only sound accompanying them are their footsteps and the chattering of teeth, all three too unsure of their company to speak much. Uncomfortable as it is, Harper’s grateful for it. She has a hard time stomaching Murphy on his best days, and he’s clearly pissed off. The cold is bad enough; it’s a relief to not be forced to suffer Murphy’s stupid comments along with it.

Eventually, they hear talking in the distance and follow the sound into the only other area of the Ring with any light. Inside they find the others. Raven, with a blanket slung over her shoulders like a cape, is typing furiously at the keyboards of one of the computers, looking frazzled and angry. Her hair is loose for once, and Harper finds it an odd sight; she can’t recall ever seeing it loose from its ponytail before.

Monty hovers at Raven’s shoulder, wrapped in his own blanket and clutching the ends close to keep any air from burrowing into the cracks. His head is bent low, watching the lines of code appear on the monitor as Raven types.

Bellamy stands beside them both, without a blanket of his own and clearly suffering for it, absentmindedly rubbing his hands up and down his arms to try and warm them. Echo is also there, standing apart from the others and away from the light, tucked into the shadows of the room. She’s clearly handling the cold the best of all of them; she wears the cloak she had first arrived in when she’d come to save them before Praimfiya and it seems to provide enough warmth for her, as she’s not shivering or moving to warm herself up. Harper wonders if it’s because she grew up in a land known for its ice and snow, or if she’s just good at hiding her discomfort.

“Hey,” Bellamy says as he turns to watch them enter. “What are you guys doing up?”

“It’s fucking freezing,” Murphy snaps. “How the hell are we supposed to sleep like this?”

“I’m working on it,” Raven snaps back, not even turning to look at him. “If you’re not going to be any help, leave the room.”

Murphy raises his hands in surrender, even if she can’t see them, and takes the hint. He takes a seat on one of the chairs and slouches low in it, keeping his mouth blissfully shut.

Harper goes immediately to Monty, and he automatically raises an arm with half of the blanket for her to duck under with him, nestling close to his side as much for heat as for comfort. He smiles at her; it looks strained. “Any progress?” Her heart sinks into her stomach as he shakes his head. Raven grunts out a sound that might also be a no, though it’s hard to tell. It could as easily be a reaction to what she’s reading.

“Raven has a bit of an idea what’s happening, though,” Bellamy says, in an obvious and unsuccessful ploy to get their spirits up. In the dim light, Harper can make out the dark circles carved under his eyes and the wrinkles in his brow she swears hadn’t been there before the Ring. He goes back to rubbing furiously at his arms.

“Care to share with us?” Murphy asks.

“Actually trying to concentrate,” Raven mutters.

“You want me to drag him out of the room?” Harper whispers to her, only partly joking. If he’s distracting Raven, she won’t hesitate to kick him out – or find some other way to shut him up. Knocking him out for a few hours just might help improve everyone’s mood.

Raven’s concentration on the code breaks just long enough for her to smile at Harper.

“Oh,” Bellamy says suddenly in surprise, drawing Harper’s attention. “Thanks.” She turns in time to see him accepting one of Emori’s blankets from her. Harper wonders just how many she has on her; there seem to still be at least two left.

“You looked cold,” Emori explains, shrugging, the movement nearly masked beneath her layers. Then, she moves back to Murphy’s side, pulling up a chair beside him.

Harper keeps watching her for a moment, thrown by the gesture. She doesn’t know Emori well, but it was hard to trust anyone who was close with a person like Murphy.

“Dammit!” Raven’s sudden shout makes all of them flinch. A wordless groan of frustration bursts from her mouth, and she scrubs aggressively at her face, dragging a hand back through her hair roughly. There’s a beat of silence. Then, she turns her chair around to face the room.

“It’s like a power surge,” she explains. “There’s some program running that’s taking up a lot of power – only I can’t figure out what it is or how to shut it off. And it’s not exactly a power surge because if the lights were just blowing out, they’d stay off until I fixed them. But they come back on shortly after whatever program it is stops running. It’s like –“ She breaks off with an agitated sigh, fumbling for words. “It’s like the Ark’s intentionally shutting the lights and the heat off to divert power to this other function.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Monty says slowly, face scrunched up in thought.

“You’re telling me,” Raven mutters.

“Mind sharing with the class?” Murphy asks, eyeing them and the computers behind them warily.

“Well,” Monty says slowly. “The Ark shouldn’t be able to process something like that.” He turns to Raven. “Right?”

“No. At least, I didn’t think it could – but I’m a mechanic, not a programmer. I never worked on the computer systems. But that level of programming – no, the Ark shouldn’t be able to do that.”

“I’m still lost,” Bellamy says after a moment. “What do you mean the Ark shouldn’t be able to do this?”

“It – “ Raven hesitates, trying to find the words. She glances at Monty and looks relieved when he takes over.

“If what Raven thinks is happening is true, that means that the Ark computer system is currently deciding which programs to shut off to divert power to another function. But no one would have ever programmed it to shut off the lights and heat, no matter what else the computer needed to do. So the fact that it’s doing that means the Ark itself is making a decision of which programs to turn off.”

“It can think?” a quiet, terrified voice asks. The rest of the room startles and turns at once towards Echo, as if they’d all forgotten she was there at all. What little they can see of her face in the shadows of the room looks pale, eyes blown wide with terror. She chances a glance towards the computer screens, shifting her stance slightly towards something more defensive.

“Well, that’s just it – it shouldn’t be able to. Some computers can, just not this one.” Echo doesn’t look very reassured. Neither do any of the others. They eye the screens with suspicion. “Someone must have programmed it this way before they left,” Monty concludes, looking at Raven.

She shrugs. “I guess. Maybe if they thought they were all going to be on Earth and needed it to still run some program, they’d tell it it’s okay to turn off life-support systems.”

“Life-support systems?” Emori asks, panicked.

Raven waves a hand at her that’s less comforting than it’s meant to be. “We’re fine. As long as none of us freeze, it’s not life-threatening yet.”

“What about oxygen though?” Murphy asks. “That’s life-threatening.”

“I don’t know,” Raven snaps. “It’s not like I can predict what’s going to break down next.”

“Oh, real fucking great.”

“You want to get up here and do better?” Raven nearly yells. “Be my fucking guest, Murphy.”

“Alright, alright, stop,” Bellamy steps between them. The blanket tumbles from his shoulders. “Right now it’s just the lights and heat, right?”

Raven nods stiffly. “Right now,” she agrees.

“So we’re in no danger of dying just yet,” Bellamy concludes.

“Extreme cold is dangerous,” Echo argues. “And none of you sky people are built for it.”

“And the algae needs light and heat to survive; without that we’re dead too,” Monty adds.

“Okay. But the last two times the lights came back on automatically. So we just wait it out.”

“We could build a fire,” Echo suggests, as Monty shakes his head at Bellamy’s suggestion.

“Too much heat fluctuation will still kill the algae,” he argues. “This can’t keep happening.”

A high-pitched, nearly hysterical laugh draws all eyes to Murphy. He’s hunched over with his head in his hands. “I’m going to starve to death anyways,” he snorts, unaware of the eyes on him. “Should’ve stayed in the fucking lighthouse.”

Emori crowds closer to him, whispering something in his ear. He shakes his head slightly, but it doesn’t seem to improve his mood.

Not that anyone feels in the highest of spirits. Monty’s prediction seems to clog the air, making it harder to breathe.

“No, we’re not,” Raven says finally, resolute. She turns back to the screens and resumes digging through the code. “I won’t let us.”

--

No one sleeps much that night. In the morning, they’re all still huddled in blankets in the Earth Monitoring Systems room, Echo alone in her corner, Murphy and Emori wrapped around each other near the door, Harper drifting off in her own blanket cocoon, Monty passed out in a chair, and Bellamy trying not to fall asleep on his feet as he stands dutifully at Raven’s side.

“I’M THE FUCKING BEST!”

Raven’s shout makes them all jump. Murphy knocks his head on the wall with a loud bang. Monty falls out of his chair. Echo sits up with a knife in her hands.

“You’re what?” Monty asks groggily as he pulls himself up.

Raven spins to look at them all. The pride on her face nearly masks the exhaustion. “I know what’s happening,” she tell them, voice giddy.

“Well don’t leave us hanging,” Murphy says, rubbing at his head.

“The Ring is shutting off the lights and heat to divert power to the satellite. It keeps trying to send a message to Earth.”

“Why?” Bellamy asks.

Raven shrugs. “Not sure. I don’t even know what the message is. I think maybe the Ark tried to get in contact with Earth before they left, and the computer systems just keep trying to send the message. I’m not sure why it’s turning off life-support systems to do it, but that’s what’s happening. And we can stop it.”

The room, as one, exhales a breath of pure relief.

“It’s a little complicated, though,” Raven adds. “There’s some kind of block keeping me from turning off the satellite or stopping the message from sending, and I don’t know enough programming language to get around it. But I have another solution. We can manually disconnect the Satellite. If the Ark can’t access it, it should hopefully stop trying to send the message until I can figure out how to stop it completely.”

“How do we do that?” Harper asks.

“Spacewalking.” She turns to look at Bellamy hopefully. “But I need someone to come with me.”

“Of course,” he tells her, as if surprised she even had to ask.

--

They all gather in front of the airlock to see Raven and Bellamy off.

Raven dresses herself with easy, practiced motions, then helps Bellamy pull his suit and SAFER pack on, quickly walking him through how to use it. She fits their helmets on, raps on Bellamy’s just to see him jump, then gives him a grin and motions for the airlock. He follows her into it and Monty closes the doors behind them.

“Alright,” Raven starts, her voice coming in through the radio as she secures Bellamy’s tether onto his suit. “Monty, we’ll be able to talk to you the whole time we’re out there. This should be a fairly easy fix.” She reaches for her own. “Bellamy, we’re going to –“

The doors to the airlock fly open without warning. 

Within seconds, Bellamy and Raven are gone.

[thoughtlesstales]

Criminal Minds Alphabet Challenge

Title: D - Delusional Aaron Word Count: 2658 Rating: Explicit Fandom: Criminal Minds Relationship: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid,  Triggers: Mentions of drugs

Prompt by: criminalmindss312and309

When they agreed to work on the case sent in NYPD they never expected the end result to be their boss getting dosed with some drug that made him make several attempts to disrobe nearly all members of their team. If it wasn’t the fact that Spencer knew he had been drugged and wasn’t in his right mind he might have been more than a little pissed off that his lover was doing such things. 

“Look Spence.” The younger agent looked across to the blonde standing beside them. They were observing Aaron through the tinted glass of the interrogation room they had confined him into. “I know the pair of you would have liked to tell us in your own time that you’re dating, and that you are probably wondering how we know - but let’s just say neither of you are very good at being secretive or subtle - but in this moment you need to do something about that.” With a flourish she waved at Aaron banging against the glass. “You know the only way to help is to get it to pass out the system and apparently that is best done through exercise, now I don’t see the boss doing star jumps do you?”

The blush crept across the younger man’s cheeks. He could not believe that this conversation was happening, but he was thankful that it was JJ and not Morgan or Rossi, that would have just been the worst. He swallowed thickly and opened his mouth to answer but no words came out. 

“This can’t be the easiest situation, I get that, but it seems you’re the only one that can help out in this situation and whether we like it or not, he’s in pain that drug was designed to act as cupid - he’s going out of his mind, you also know what happens if they can’t burn the drug of quickly enough.” JJ informed him, keeping it as professional as she could. She knew what she was doing, she was playing with his rational mind and making it seem like this was a situation of a friend helping a friend and not between lovers who had been caught, one with their pants nearly down. 

“I know, I know.” Spencer answered, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. He knew what needed to happen, because the last thing they wanted was for Aaron to go into cardiac arrest, the likelihood was that damage had already been caused to his heart with how long the drug had been in his body without them noticing. “Not here, I can’t and he would hate that - It’s got to be somewhere private.” 

“It’s already been sorted, we’ve got a car outside and it’s going to take you hotel down the road.” JJ answered, everything was so efficient with her, Spencer was thankful. “I’ll be driving.”

“Okay, okay - let’s do this.” Any other time the younger man would have jumped at the chance to jump his boss, but he just wished the circumstances were different. He was also glad it was the blonde taking them, he knew what was likely to start happening in the car and it was a little less embarrassing with the woman. 

JJ left and Spencer took one last breath before pulling open the door to the interrogation room. “Aaron?” Spencer called out his name and the man instantly appeared. “We’re heading out, I’m going to help you okay?”

“It’s hurt Spence, it feels like I’m crawling out of skin, it feels like it’s on fire.” Spencer could hear the desperation in his voice, the pain and the panic. That pulled deeply at Spencer, the last thing he wanted was for the man he loved to be in pain. 

“I know baby, we’re going to get through this together, alright?” 

“Okay, yeah okay.” There seemed to be a moment of clarity for Aaron, he was able to push past the base desires the drug was inducing and make it to the SUV without attempting to get into Spencer’s pants. Spencer had been grateful that the rest of the team had cleared everyone out so they could get out with eyes on them, without people staring and judging and wondering what the hell was happening. They climbed into the back of the SUV and JJ sped off, sirens blaring around them as they hit the New York streets. 

The touches started out small, desperate, but small. Aaron’s hand grasped at his own, it was tight and bone braking. He was holding on for dear life. Then he was curling into Spencer’s side, tucking his face against his throat. Lips then began to press searching kisses against his skin. Teeth bit and scraped against Spencer’s skin and he did his best to bite back the gasps and moans wanting to fall from his own lips. Spencer felt somewhat guilty for feeling pleasure when Aaron was going through what he was. He shouldn’t be taking pleasure surely? This was happening because the man he loved had been drugged and was now going through torment because of it. 

“We’re here.” JJ’s voice broke the silence and when Spencer looked out the window he could see that they were in an underground parking structure. “Emily is waiting at the lift, she’ll take you up.” JJ answered, looking in the rear view mirror at them. “You’ve got this Spence, it will be fine.”

“Yup, thanks JJ.” That was all Spencer could say before Aaron, apparently understanding what was happening, was dragging them out the SUV towards the lift. True to her word, Emily was waiting for them, doors open and soft smiles. They piled inside and Aaron instantly had Spencer pinned against the back wall. His hands were attempting to pull the tucked in shirt free so he could get his hands under. They flew up the floors, Spencer wondered why they didn’t stop once, and made a mental note to ask later. 

They stopped and the doors opened into a suite, damn, they had spent some money for them to step into a suit like this. Aaron was too distracted with trying to get Spencer’s shirt off to notice they had arrived. “Baby, we gotta move.” His tone was gentle and his hands gripped at Aaron’s hips pushing him back. Aaron got the message and brushed past Emily without acknowledgment and dragged Spencer behind him by the front of his shirt. Spencer barely had time to grab the bag that Emily held out as he passed. The moment the list doors shut behind them, Aaron attacked Spencer. 

The momentum threw them over the back of the couch and into the wide seating area. Their blow cushioned. Aaron’s mouth was on Spencer’s, harsh kisses. Teeth biting and tongues clashing against lips and his own tongue. It was brutal and bruising and Spencer fell into it with a moan. Shit. It was everything he wanted. As the kiss broke and reignited, hands pulled at his clothes. He heard them tearing under the harsh grip and he didn’t mind in the slightest. They were pulled from his body and Spencer groaned under the touch as the kiss broke and Aaron began to trace his lips across his pale skin. He marked his throat, sucking deeply to draw the blood to the surface and leave a bruise, he did this multiple times across Spencer’s torso. 

When his lips wrapped around his nipple, teeth worrying the point, Spencer thrust his hips upwards. Pushing them against the straining erection that was encased in Aaron’s pants. He was so hard it was beginning to hurt. He never thought he would love the feeling of being manhandled, his body being controlled and used for pleasure. It still worried him that he was enjoying this so much, the situation not being ideal. However, it was something he certainly hoped they could explore for the future. 

“Spence.” He heard the gasp of his name. Felt the vibrations against his skin as it was uttered. He looked down at his body and saw the pained look Aaron was giving him. “Need you, need you to -” Aaron looked down, his hand pressing against his own hardened cock. Spencer understood and pushed back against the older man, giving him the picture he needed to move. Once he did and was sitting on the couch, Spencer pulled at his slacks. Pulling them down his legs, along with the boxer shorts he wore underneath. His cock sprang free, hard and the head purple and leaking precum. It was a beautiful sight. So strong and powerful, even with the look of pure desperation wracked on his face. Spencer took the length in hand and slicked his palm with the pre-cum leaking, easing the path. 

Aaron bucked in his grasp, moaning deeply, Spencer’s name rolling off his lips. The younger man did it again and then this time added his mouth to the combination. Wrapping his lips around the purple head and sucking deeply, flicking his tongue across the slit. Aaron exploded immediately, pouring cum into Spencer’s mouth. He lapped at it greedily. Drinking him down and pumping every last drop he could from the erect length. When he looked up, he saw his lover’s face. It was beet red, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide. Breath caught his chest and the pleasure and release finally eased. He sucked in a deep breath, eyes finally opening and looking down. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” The words fell with panting breaths and Spencer sat back on his heels with a smug smile. He wiped at his mouth with his thumb, catching the drop of cum that was on his lip and then licking it away. When they both looked back down at Aaron’s erection he was still hard, which wasn’t uncommon, but harder than either of them had seen especially after already cumming once. “What is this doing to my body?” The older agent asked. 

“Lay man’s terms? Basically it makes you want to fuck everyone and anyone.” Spencer answered with a grim smile. “You have to burn it out of your system, but it screws with your hormonal drive and results in this.” Spencer finished flicking his hand towards the erection in front of him. 

“Any other time, excellent - but this drug sucks.” Aaron groaned, throwing his head back against the couch. He then started to shift, the muscles in his thighs tightening and shifting, when he lifted his head again his pupils were blown wide again. “It’s coming again.” Aaron breathed focusing on Spencer with a look that couldn’t be broken even if he wanted too. 

“I’m right here.” Spencer breathed offering his hands to the older man. Aaron moved from the couch, crawling against his lover and sinking his fingers into the lighter curlers. He pulled at the roots, pulling his head back and then mouthing at the creamy column of the throat. One hand detached and moved south, skating across skin until it reached a belt buckle and started pulling. He wretched the metal buckle free, with little finesse and then popped the button to his own pants, pushing a hand inside. 

Spencer yelped at the rough touch, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as calloused fingers wrapped around his hard cock. Aaron held onto him, only pulling his hand free to spit into his palm and take hold of his partner’s cock once more. Once the movement was slicked, he pumped hard. There was no prelude, no gentle touches. It was fast and rough and Spencer came furiously, coating the hand and the insides of his shorts like a horny teen. Gasping for breath and with no break, he was pushed back onto the floor. Aaron yanking his pants down and throwing them into another part of the room. 

A hot wet mouth wrapped around his softening cock, licking him clean and sucking the growing oversensitive head. Spencer attempted to push Aaron away, writhing on the floor at the simulation and failing to get the other away. He was begging readily, it was too much and his body was tense. He could feel himself growing hard again at the stimulation once more and finally Aaron pulled back. Lips red and chest heaving. “You’re so fucking pretty.” Aaron moaned palming at the prone body in front of him. “Such a pretty boy.” He breathed mouthing his way back up. 

“I’m going to fuck you. Again and again.” Spencer shuddered at the hushed tone pressed against his ear, body shuddering beneath the others. The tone was seductive, breathy and oh so final. Spencer nodded and without so much as a breath he was flipped onto his front. “Lube?” Spencer was surprised Aaron remembered such a thing, but then when he really thought about it, it didn’t surprise him. The other man had always been conscious of such things, and would never intentionally cause Spencer pain. 

“Check the bag.” He felt Aaron move away, the burning heat of his body gone only to be back again in moments. Hands gripped his hips, lifting them to get Spencer to do as he was told. Spencer moved into position. Face pressed against the floor and his ass in the air. Aaron’s mouth was on his instantly, tongue flicking and pressing against the ring of muscle. Demanding entry. 

Spencer moaned, pushing back and relaxing under the insistent muscle. He felt Aaron push inside and the slick heat wet his insides. He was in heaven and it continued for longer than he imagined, then it was a slicked finger easing inside, stretching him. He only got the brief moment of one before a second was added and a burning sensation increased. He gasped and writhed against the touch, seeking comfort instead of the sensation. Then it eased and insisten fingers pushed against his prostate sending sparks of pleasure throughout his body. A third finger caused his cock to embarrassingly jump and leak pre-cum against the fluffy cream carpets. 

The fingers were pulled free and the wide head of a cock was pressed against him instead. Spencer whined greedily as Aaron teased him with it. Then in one full push he was inside. Spencer rocked forward, hands searching for anything to grip onto. It was both pain and pleasure, wrapped into one and teasing him into submission. Christ. Aaron only gave him a moment to adjust before he was pulling out and thrusting back inside. Rocking Spencer forward each time. He fucked him ruthlessly. Gripping his hips with a bruising strength and rutting against him with a desperation Spencer had never seen before. 

The younger man reached under himself and took his cock in hand, still wet from earlier, he pumped himself in sync with Aaron’s thrusts. That was hitting that perfect spot each time. Two more trusts and Spencer was shooting his load across the carpet, shaking and gasping at the sensations battling through his body. Aaron wasn’t far behind and finished inside his younger lover. He had lent over Spencer and bit down at his shoulder at the same time. 

They both took a moment to catch their breath, bodies shaking and weak and they collapsed in a heap to the floor. Spencer felt the need to sleep pull at him, and he curled against Aaron. Holding him tightly. It seemed for now the need to fuck had lulled, enough that they might be able to get some rest if it hit again. 

It did hit again, and again and then for a third and final time through the night. When the men woke in the morning, bruises scattered both their bodies. Spencer’s held the majority, some in the shape of fingers and others clearly from a mouth that had sucked with desperation. Aaron had attempted apologies, begging for forgiveness for what he had done. Spencer had only silenced the man he loved with a gentle kiss and hushed words of love. 

[janiedean]

hello dearest (not) anon, excuse me if I don’t reply to you directly but as I want to block each single one of you I’ll keep the original so I can lovingly delete it after I’m finished. :)

now, I was this tempted to just delete or troll you, but as y’all have honestly seemed to not realize that you’ve gone overboard and that I didn’t want to get further involved with this dumb shipwar but you’re basically making me go like

so fine, whatever, I’ll address this one because it has all the single dumbest arguments we could have and I kind of want it for safekeeping, so.

point one: starting an ask with you freaks and then complain we don’t complain about jaime calling brienne ugly makes me wonder if you actually re-read your asks before you send them or if you even bother to make sure they’re internally coherent, because sorry but you’re basically saying this entire fandom is made of **freaks** which last I know was not a compliment to anyone’s aesthetic, so you already don’t have ground to stand on;

point two: stupid is actually a universally degrading word when referred to a specific person and used to undermine their intelligence, especially if continuously repeated. now, in *itself* it’s not damning - an argument can be stupid, a discussion can be stupid (I mean I’ve seen people savagely arguing over who had to wash the dishes, that’s a stupid reason to argue with anyone), a law can be stupid (all of italian bureaucracy is definitely a challenge for anyone for one), of course it’s all about how it’s used. for one, if used ironically and not meaning it, as in ‘my stupid son charging against dragons’, it’s not damning either, because wow, wait a moment, every single person who says that also knows that jaime is doing that out of ptsd fight instinct and that there’s nothing funny about it, but as we are people outside the narrative who love the character, we don’t mean it in a demeaning way. obviously charging at a dragon is suicidal, and it’s exactly what he’d have done (probably also in book canon I’ll give them that), but we all know why he did it, and btw dork is nowhere near on the same level as the stupidest lannister, it can be meant positively as well and tbh it’s used way more positively than that - I mean, there’s dorks in love and idiots in love as ao3 tags, no one uses them to insult the people in the ship they’re writing about now, do they? however, the whole thing about ‘the stupidest lannister’ is completely different because it implies cersei, someone jaime trusts implicitly and who’s his sister and, to him, also his lover and his other half - going by your own/their own definition - continuously demeaning his intelligence. now, I don’t think you quite realize how emotional abuse works or how that works, but let me tell you: if people you are that close with or have a fundamental impact in your upbringing (your parents, your siblings, your first teachers etc.) tell you that all the time, you end up believing that. and what comes with it? if you think you’re more stupid then them, then it means that their decisions will be better than yours because you’re too dumb to take them properly and they’re not, and you won’t even start to wonder that maybe they’re wrong and you’re right, and it’s an exceedingly common thing that happens between abusers and their victims, ie convincing them that they’re not smart enough to know what’s good for themselves, and so coming from cersei who also doesn’t want jaime to put two and two together and realize he’s a different person from her and actually, worse, doesn’t even consider the possibility that he might actually not be a different person from her, it’s straight up emotional abuse of the ugliest kind and it has nothing to do with *fans of the character* calling him a dork over his utter lack of smoothness when hitting on people, because we know why he doesn’t know how to hit on people. other than that, in the show they made jaime canonically dyslexic. now, if you even don’t get that calling someone stupid for thirty years will do a great fucking lot of damage to them (I mean, I’ve been told I was snobbish for three years by a teacher I didn’t even particularly admire in my formative years and I still have to finish unpacking the consequence of that shit, I can’t imagine being constantly demeaned by your relatives or people you trust implicitly) I doubt you’ll realize the fucking wrongness depths of the implication that the only lannister with a canon in-show learning disability is *the stupidest lannister* especially when there’s still the stigma about dyslexic people being dumb because *they can’t read* when that’s not true at all and they just need different ways of approaching a text and then they’re good to go and it has nothing to do with how smart or no they aren’t, but I’m going to tell you: it’s ableist as hell, falls under harmful stereotypes about dyslexic people that tv shows should go against, not reinforce and it has really disgusting connotations, so excuse me if I am pressed about it and other people are pressed about it and your opinion belongs in the trash and I really hope you’re not a teacher not are planning to become one;

point three: now we go at how you don’t get at all how those two work and how brienne’s character is structured, but here, let me explain you: a) jaime calls her ugly when they meet and after he loses the hand he only calls her ugly in his head and/or to her face when he’s irritated or she has misunderstood his intentions or he feels hurt by the fact that she misunderstood his intentions (when he gives her oathkeeper in the books), and in the show he stopped mid S3. on the other side, she calls him an oathbreaker and all the worst things she can call him - if you missed it, they insult each other and they start their relationship thinking the worst of the other person, and even with that he spends the entire first chapter of his in asos checking her out but you didn’t notice that I suppose; b) jaime does not call her ugly at all after he punches ronnet connington and in the show again he hasn’t since mid s3, and given that they were supposed to start as enemies and she insulted him right back, I won’t be here being pressed about them trading insults when the entire point of the story is that they stop insulting each other after they get to know each other and get closer to each other, or have you missed that too? c) the fact that he calls her ugly is actually narratively important because let me explain you something that you don’t know because you obv. haven’t read brienne’s chapters: most of the time she remembers being hurt by other men when it comes to her feelings, it’s when she found out they lied to her about her looks. she got her first trauma related to her looks when her septa told her that people who called her pretty were lying, and she got hurt during the bet with hyle and so on because those people were courting her and telling her nice things and then they were all planning on screwing her literally and metaphorically, so if someone went to brienne and told her ‘oh hey you look hot as hell let’s bang!!’, she wouldn’t believe them. let me guarantee you, she wouldn’t. the fact that jaime did not compliment her at all if not going all the way around to do it about her fighting prowess and maskerading it as insults means that he never lied to her about her looks or about anything, and the fact that then he changes and genuinely respects her and trusts in her and gives her THE THING SHE’S WANTED MOST IN HER LIFE ie a sword and a knightly quest and someone actually believing she could be a knight and carry out her vows instead of thinking she was a joke weights a lot more than any insult he might have thrown at her in the past and actually, she can trust him to not make fun of her/she can know for sure he’s not joking exactly because he never had a problem with calling her ugly (which she knows she is according to westeros beauty standards in the beginning) nor to tell her mean things when he thought them, and so since he never lied to her before and she can see that he changed, she has no reason to think he could or would lie to her after, and considering that most of her trauma is tied to having been lied to in that sense... sorry but no, it doesn’t bother me at all because if it’s an enemies to lovers kind of trope I really don’t think I’d expect him to gift her flowers at their first meeting. I mean, *enemies* to *lovers* implies that at the beginning they don’t like each other, or did you forget that words have meanings? also, hairy is not an insult. I suppose that for people who insult other people about the peach fuzz mustache most women have it would be an insult, but let me tell you: it’s not. and given that I’ve seen posts over posts about how it’s an expression of feminism to not shave I really think you haven’t even checked that discourse lately - personally I don’t care for it but like, having body hair is not automatically a crime nor a reason why you’re unattractive. get lost. and like, excuse me if insults traded by people who didn’t know each other and that they both outgrew when they did know each other are nowhere near on the same level of making someone think they’re too fucking stupid to take their own decisions and always have to follow someone else’s lead, and excuse me if I’m way more than mildly worried that anyone in this fandom would look at that stupidest lannister bullshit and actually don’t feel horrified at it.

now, honestly, can y’all just stop with this grasping at straws which happens to also be ableist as hell while pretending to give a fuck about brienne as a character - because you don’t, it’s obvious from how you don’t understand her issues at all - and keep to your own lane or what? because honestly, it’s obvious no one has ever called you ugly in your life and that you never had to deal with anyone demeaning your intelligence because you were most likely too busy demeaning other people’s, but you’ve been at this bullshit since 2013.

didn’t you get bored?\

[d33-alex]

Why Consciousness Does Not Compute

The emperor of physics—Roger Penrose—defends his controversial theory of mind

Once you start poking around in the muck of consciousness studies, you will soon encounter the specter of Sir Roger Penrose, the renowned Oxford physicist with an audacious—and quite possibly crackpot—theory about the quantum origins of consciousness. He believes we must go beyond neuroscience and into the mysterious world of quantum mechanics to explain our rich mental life. No one quite knows what to make of this theory, developed with the American anesthesiologist Stuart Hameroff, but conventional wisdom goes something like this: Their theory is almost certainly wrong, but since Penrose is so brilliant (“One of the very few people I’ve met in my life who, without reservation, I call a genius,” physicist Lee Smolin has said), we’d be foolish to dismiss their theory out of hand.

Penrose is a mathematical physicist who made his name decades ago with groundbreaking work in general relativity and then, working with Stephen Hawking, helped conceptualize black holes and gravitational singularities, a point of infinite density out of which the universe may have formed. He also invented “twistor theory,” a new way to connect quantum mechanics with the structure of spacetime. His discovery of certain geometric forms known as “Penrose tiles”—an ingenious design of non-repeating patterns—led to new directions of study in mathematics and crystallography.

The breadth of Penrose’s interests is extraordinary, which is evident in his recent book Fashion, Faith and Fantasy in the New Physics of the Universe—a dense 500-page tome that challenges some of the trendiest but still unproven theories in physics, from the multiple dimensions of string theory to cosmic inflation in the first moment of the Big Bang. He considers these theories to be fanciful and implausible.

Penrose doesn’t seem to mind being branded a maverick, though he disputes the label in regard to his work in physics. But his theory of consciousness pushes the edges of what’s considered plausible science and has left critics wondering why he embraces a theory based on so little evidence. 

Most scientists regard quantum mechanics as irrelevant to our understanding of how the brain works. Still, it’s not hard to see why Penrose’s theory has gained attention. Artificial intelligence experts have been predicting some sort of computer brain for decades, with little to show so far. And for all the recent advances in neurobiology, we seem no closer to solving the mind-brain problem than we were a century ago. Even if the human brain’s neurons, synapses and neurotransmitters could be completely mapped—which would be one of the great triumphs in the history of science—it’s not clear that we’d be any closer to explaining how this 3-pound mass of wet tissue generates the immaterial world of our thoughts and feelings. Something seems to be missing in current theories of consciousness. The philosopher David Chalmers has speculated that consciousness may be a fundamental property of nature existing outside the known laws of physics. Others—often branded “mysterians”—claim that subjective experience is simply beyond the capacity of science to explain.

Penrose’s theory promises a deeper level of explanation. He starts with the premise that consciousness is not computational, and it’s beyond anything that neuroscience, biology, or physics can now explain. “We need a major revolution in our understanding of the physical world in order to accommodate consciousness,” Penrose told me in a recent interview. “The most likely place, if we’re not going to go outside physics altogether, is in this big unknown—namely, making sense of quantum mechanics.”

He draws on the basic properties of quantum computing, in which bits (qubits) of information can be in multiple states—for instance, in the “on” or “off” position—at the same time. These quantum states exist simultaneously—the “superposition”—before coalescing into a single, almost instantaneous, calculation. Quantum coherence occurs when a huge number of things—say, a whole system of electrons—act together in one quantum state.

It was Hameroff’s idea that quantum coherence happens in microtubules, protein structures inside the brain’s neurons. And what are microtubules, you ask? They are tubular structures inside eukaryotic cells (part of the cytoskeleton) that play a role in determining the cell’s shape, as well as its movements, which includes cell division—separation of chromosomes during mitosis. Hameroff suggests that microtubules are the quantum device that Penrose had been looking for in his theory. In neurons, microtubules help control the strength of synaptic connections, and their tube-like shape might protect them from the surrounding noise of the larger neuron. The microtubules’ symmetry and lattice structure are of particular interest to Penrose. He believes “this reeks of something quantum mechanical.”

Still, you’d need more than just a continuous flood of random moments of quantum coherence to have any impact on consciousness. The process would need to be structured, or orchestrated, in some way so we can make conscious choices. In the Penrose-Hameroff theory of Orchestrated Objective Reduction, known as Orch-OR, these moments of conscious awareness are orchestrated by the microtubules in our brains, which—they believe—have the capacity to store and process information and memory.

“Objective Reduction” refers to Penrose’s ideas about quantum gravity—how superposition applies to different spacetime geometries—which he regards as a still-undiscovered theory in physics. All of this is an impossibly ambitious theory that draws on Penrose’s thinking about the deep structure of the universe, from quantum mechanics to relativity. As Smolin has said, “All Roger’s thoughts are connected ... twistor theory, his philosophical thinking, his ideas about quantum mechanics, his ideas about the brain and the mind.”

This is a heady brew, but unconvincing to critics. Most scientists believe the brain is too warm and wet for quantum states to have any influence on neuronal activity because quantum coherence only seems possible in highly protected and frigid environments. The most damning critique has come from Max Tegmark, a professor of physics at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, who calculated that any quantum effects within microtubules would break down after 100 quadrillionths of a second. “For my thoughts to correspond to a quantum computation, they’d need to finish before decoherence kicked in, so I’d need to be able to think fast enough to have 10,000,000,000,000 thoughts each second,” Tegmark writes in his 2014 book Our Mathematical Universe: My Quest for the Ultimate Nature of Reality. “Perhaps Roger Penrose can think that fast, but I sure can’t.” Even Penrose’s old collaborator Stephen Hawking is dubious. “I get uneasy when people, especially theoretical physicists, talk about consciousness,” he’s written. “His argument seemed to be that consciousness is a mystery and quantum gravity is another mystery so they must be related.” Penrose dismisses Hawking’s criticism, saying their disagreement is really about the nature of quantum mechanics.

Last year I saw Penrose in action at a one-day conference on consciousness in Lucerne, Switzerland. It was an intriguing assortment of speakers, including the neuroscientist Christof Koch, Buddhist monk Matthieu Ricard, The Tao of Physics author Fritjof Capra, and even an ayahuasca expert. Then there was Penrose, who played the part of the unworldly Oxford don—slightly rumpled in appearance, with an impish sense of humor. He had set up two overhead projectors on stage, and then darted back and forth between these machines, laying down a series of transparencies filled with his own handwritten notes and drawings of neurons and microtubules, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, a floating astronaut, and—as I recall—the Little Mermaid, all in an effort to explain the Orch-OR theory of consciousness. Modern science may be a high tech game, but this was a dazzling piece of performance art, and the overflowing audience loved it.

Hameroff was also at the conference, and it turned out their hotel rooms were just down the hall from mine. In my brief interactions with them, I got the sense that Hameroff plays the role of willing accomplice—not only touting the genius of Sir Roger, but also looking after Penrose when it came to travel arrangements and even getting to the conference site. Hameroff can also be the pugnacious bulldog defending their theory (which, in the panel discussion, he did by needling Koch about various details of brain activity).

This past March, when I called Penrose in Oxford, he explained that his interest in consciousness goes back to his discovery of Gödel’s incompleteness theorem while he was a graduate student at Cambridge. Gödel’s theorem, you may recall, shows that certain claims in mathematics are true but cannot be proven. “This, to me, was an absolutely stunning revelation,” he said. “It told me that whatever is going on in our understanding is not computational.”

He was also jolted by a series of lectures on quantum mechanics by the great physicist Paul Dirac. Like many others, Penrose struggled with the weirdness of quantum theory. “As Schrödinger clearly pointed out with his poor cat, which was dead and alive at the same time, he made this point deliberately to show why his own equation can’t be the whole truth. He was more or less saying, ‘That’s nonsense.’ ” To Penrose, the takeaway was that something didn’t add up in quantum theory: “Schrödinger was very upset by this, as were Dirac and Einstein. Some of the major figures in quantum mechanics were probably more upset than I was.”

But what, I asked, does any of this have to do with consciousness? “You see, my argument is very roundabout. I think this is why people don’t tend to follow me. They’ll pick up on it later, or they reject it later, but they don’t follow argument.” Penrose then launched into his critique of why computers, for all their brute calculating power, lack any understanding of what they’re doing. “What I’m saying—and this is my leap of imagination which people boggle at—I’m saying what’s going on in the brain must be taking advantage not just of quantum mechanics, but where it goes wrong,” he said. “It’s where quantum mechanics needs to be superseded.” So we need a new science that doesn’t yet exist? “That’s right. Exactly.” 

After we’d talked for 20 minutes, I pointed out that he still hadn’t mentioned biology or the widely held belief that consciousness is an emergent property of the brain. “I know, I know,” he chuckled, and then told me why he felt compelled to write his first book on consciousness, The Emperor’s New Mind, published in 1989. It was after he heard a BBC interview with Marvin Minsky, a founding father of artificial intelligence, who had famously pronounced that the human brain is “just a computer made of meat.” Minsky’s claims compelled Penrose to write The Emperor’s New Mind, arguing that human thinking will never be emulated by a machine. The book had the feel of an extended thought experiment on the non-algorithmic nature of consciousness and why it can only be understood in relation to Gödel’s theorem and quantum physics.

Minsky, who died last year, represents a striking contrast to Penrose’s quest to uncover the roots of consciousness. “I can understand exactly how a computer works, although I’m very fuzzy on how the transistors work,” Minsky told me during an interview years ago. Minsky called consciousness a “suitcase word” that lacks the rigor of a scientific concept. “We have to replace it by ‘reflection’ and ‘decisions’ and about a dozen other things,” he said. “So instead of talking about the mystery of consciousness, let’s talk about the 20 or 30 really important mental processes that are involved. And when you’re all done, somebody says, ‘Well, what about consciousness?’ and you say, ‘Oh, that’s what people wasted their time on in the 20th century.’ ”

But the study of consciousness has not gone the way Minsky had hoped. It’s now a cottage industry in neuroscience labs and a staple of big-think conferences around the world. Hameroff is one of the driving forces behind this current enthusiasm. For years he and Chalmers have run the biennial “Toward a Science of Consciousness” conference that features dozens of speakers, ranging from hardcore scientists to New Age guru Deepak Chopra and lucid dream expert Stephen LaBerge. Hameroff’s connection to Penrose also goes back decades. He first contacted Penrose after reading The Emperor’s New Mind, suggesting he might have the missing biological component that would complement Penrose’s ideas about the physics of consciousness.

“I finished the book without really knowing what I was doing,” Penrose recalled. “Stuart wrote me a good old-fashioned letter in which he said, ‘It seems that you don’t know about microtubules.’ ” When they met in Oxford, Penrose realized that microtubules had the best chance of anything he’d seen that could mediate large-scale quantum coherence within the brain. And ever since, Penrose and Hameroff have been peddling their theory. Then in 2013, scientists in Japan announced that they had detected vibrations in microtubules, which, according to Penrose and Hameroff, seemed to show that the brain is not too warm and noisy for delicate quantum activity, and launched a new round of debate about the Orch-OR theory.

In some ways, Penrose and Hameroff are the odd couple of science. Hameroff is upfront about his spiritual views, talking openly about the possibility of the soul existing after death. Penrose is an atheist who calls himself “a very materialistic and physicalist kind of person,” and he’s bothered by New Agers who’ve latched onto quantum theories about non-locality and entanglement to prop up their paranormal beliefs.

I asked what he thought of Hameroff’s far-flung ideas about disembodied consciousness. “Well, I have to allow him his freedom,” he said. “It does worry me a bit. I mean, he goes a lot further than I would be prepared to.” Still, he acknowledges that consciousness is a huge mystery. “I’m not even sure what materialistic means, quite honestly. Quantum mechanics behaves in ways that one thinks are certainly at odds with the view we used to have.”

As we probed the deeper implications of Penrose’s theory about consciousness, it wasn’t always clear where to draw the line between the scientific and philosophical dimensions of his thinking. Consider, for example, superposition in quantum theory. How could Schrödinger’s cat be both dead and alive before we open the box? “An element of proto-consciousness takes place whenever a decision is made in the universe,” he said. “I’m not talking about the brain. I’m talking about an object which is put into a superposition of two places. Say it’s a speck of dust that you put into two locations at once. Now, in a small fraction of a second, it will become one or the other. Which does it become? Well, that’s a choice. Is it a choice made by the universe? Does the speck of dust make this choice? Maybe it’s a free choice. I have no idea.”

I wondered if Penrose’s theory has any bearing on the long-running philosophical argument between free will and determinism. Many neuroscientists believe decisions are caused by neural processes that aren’t ruled by conscious thought, rendering the whole idea of free will obsolete. But the indeterminacy that’s intrinsic to quantum theory would suggest that causal connections break down in the conscious brain. Is Penrose making the case for free will?

“Not quite, though at this stage, it looks like it,” he said. “It does look like these choices would be random. But free will, is that random?” Like much of his thinking, there’s a “yes, but” here. His claims are provocative, but they’re often provisional. And so it is with his ideas about free will. “I’ve certainly grown up thinking the universe is deterministic. Then I evolved into saying, ‘Well, maybe it’s deterministic but it’s not computable.’ But is it something more subtle than that? Is it several layers deeper? If it’s something we use for our conscious understanding, it’s going to be a lot deeper than even straightforward, non-computable deterministic physics. It’s a kind of delicate borderline between completely deterministic behavior and something which is completely free.”

It’s hard to know what to make of these pronouncements. Even if you’re skeptical of Penrose’s argument about consciousness, it’s tempting to root for him. The science of consciousness feels stuck, and here’s a theory—however speculative—that suggests a possible way forward. The fact that Penrose is asking so much of us—not just to accept quantum coherence in microtubules but also his contention that consciousness can only be explained by still-undiscovered laws of physics—may simply be too far-reaching to ground a new scientific theory. And there’s another problem as well. Suppose 20 or 200 years from now the broad outlines of Orch-OR are confirmed. Have we explained consciousness—or just pushed the mind-brain problem into a deeper mystery, the quantum mind-body problem? Can we ever bridge the gap between the physical and immaterial worlds?

As I wondered why Penrose keeps hammering away at his theory on consciousness after all these years, I asked him if he thinks there’s any inherent meaning in the universe. His answer surprised me. “Somehow, our consciousness is the reason the universe is here.” So does he think there’s intelligent life—or consciousness—somewhere else in the cosmos? “Yes, but it may be extremely rare.” But if consciousness is the point of this whole shebang, wouldn’t you expect to find some evidence of it beyond Earth? “Well, I’m not so sure our own universe is that favorably disposed toward consciousness,” he said. “You could imagine a universe with a lot more consciousness that’s peppered all over the place. Why aren’t we in one of those rather than this one where it seems to be a rather uncommon activity?

“So, yes, we want to see the purpose of it. I don’t know. Maybe it’s attributing the wrong word. Purpose—what does that mean?” He chuckled.

 By Steve Paulson, the executive producer of Wisconsin Public Radio’s nationally syndicated show To the Best of Our Knowledge. He’s the author of Atoms and Eden: Conversations on Religion and Science. This post originally appeared on Nautilus.

[sol1056]

another round of asks

These are all related to plotting and story structure in some way, so I’ve put them together. 

expanding story vs failing to deliver on the promise

how does one story deliver and another fail

is plot-driven = bad vs character-driven = good 

mishandling clone storyline premise

clarifying the rules of a premise

1 expanding story vs failing to deliver on the promise

What’s the difference between a story where it starts off small in scope, but then branches out waaaaay beyond from where it started and something that didn’t deliver on its promise? 

A story that branches into every possible permutation and then some? Epic fantasy does it, and so do multi-book series, especially in the roman-fleuve style. If we’re talking a series of books and each tops 150K+, the story must dig into every ramification of its premise or else it’s gonna run out of things to say and just repeat itself. 

If a story’s premise (which is much like the teaser you read on the back of a book, or the movie’s description on Netflix) mentions time travel and the actual use in the story treats time travel like, well, taking a plane ride? Probably not digging as far into that part of its premise. If you finish a story dissatisfied because the story seemed to take a lot of things for granted that you’d wanted to find out more about, it’s probably failing short on delivering.   

2 how does one story deliver and another fail

How could something like Homestuck not feel like it’s breaking the promise of its premise, despite taking zany, imaginative, meta turns, but voltron feels like... well. We’ve been sorta... let down at times?

Homestuck had clear potential from the get-go, because its premise is just so damn open-ended. It also often has to do with the rules -- the more bizarre or esoteric they are, the more likely you’re going to expect the characters to bang up against one or more. 

That’s the most common way to explore things. Like, “you can’t time-travel to a time you already occupy or Bad Things Happen.” You’re immediately curious to see if the story will do exactly that, and thus explore the consequences and implications. 

That’s one way VLD pulled itself back from asking some interesting questions. The paladins are bonded, so what happens if one dies? Apparently... not much. You just find a replacement. What if one leaves? Again... not much. Would a lion ever ditch their paladin? Sure, but another lion will take the paladin instead, then. 

Rules should have consequences. Forcing characters to experiences those consequences is one of the most fun places to play in a story. That’s when you get to really dig down into the implications of the story’s world and rules. At least in my opinion, fwiw.

3 is plot-driven = bad vs character-driven = good

And are plot-driven stories a bad thing in general, and something to be avoided? Or is it more that VLD came from the angle that it was going to be character-driven then shifted into plot-driven?

Certain genres are more plot-driven than others, just as certain genres are more character-driven. Mysteries, thrillers, disaster movies, and classic chosen-one epic genres can tend to be strongly plot-driven. However, that means you need a really fascinating plot, because the characters can end up a little passive -- they’re basically chasing after a bad guy, a tornado, a bunch of magical coupons. Stories with a lot of character development/change -- coming-of-age, romance, domestic dramas, novels of manners, literary fiction, etc -- tend to be more character-focused.  

VLD is sitting in the space opera tradition, so it’s a mix of character-driven and dramatic moves from the Big Bad that also propel the plot (ie Zarkon chasing the team everywhere). The character-driven aspect fell away in S4, and dropped right off in S5, and S6 is almost as uneven. The clue for me was when the EPs said they were squeezed for time so they picked what would fit. 

The VLD staff may have mapped out a character-driven story, but when you edit down to just ‘the things that happen,’ the result is a plot-driven story. You have to keep in the beats that show characters making decisions against understood goals, or you’re just reciting a string of events. 

I’m not inclined to say the writers hit a bad streak. I have a feeling S3-S6 was more a result of an inexperienced voice at the helm making some ill-chosen calls about how to cut the story down to something that’d fit in the time allotted. The only way to learn that is the hard way, by doing. And that means sometimes doing it badly.  

4 mishandled clone storyline & premise

I spent the evening combing through and reading as many of your analyses and meta (and the ones you reblogged) regarding season 6 and I am so glad to know that I'm not the only person feeling like the clone storyline was mishandled.

Ahaha, you’re not alone. I included your ask here because a clone storyline is absolutely one where the premise must be explored. It’s rife with so many major ethical and philosophical questions. Juicy questions like: what does it mean to be human, what impact is nature vs nurture, how do we understand ourselves as an individual, what are the implications if you cannot differentiate, etc. 

The ethical and moral aspect, though, means if you skip delving into the premise, you risk creating a hollow -- or worse, amoral -- story line. On top of that, it’s also one that’s been damn well done to death, and that means it’s really too easy to end up with a horribly cliched story line. 

It’s certainly not a plot line I’d ever recommend if you’re just going to throw it into the story and leave it there. If a story’s going to tackle something done so many times, the story has to find a new angle, and then respect its premise enough to really tear it apart and make it an organic part of the story.   

5 clarifying the rules of a premise

I think we coulda benefited from having the originally planned 2-parter The Legend Begins (bc Coran said "Voltron destroyed Daibazaal to close the rift", implying that there was a lion swap happening there too) for some better clarification that a person can change enough to fit a different lion entirely.

Oh, absolutely. Or that single line from the pilot, when Allura tells her father -- when only three people are on the bridge! -- that they can still form Voltron. Clearly there were other loopholes or aspects the story never saw fit to actually explain, and it’s possible with those, the lion swap might’ve made more sense. Or at least been less bothersome for a lot of the audience. 

Had the backstory realized the work it really needed to do -- raise questions for the current storyline -- it would’ve done more than a passing statement. A backstory is nothing more than filler if it doesn’t change something in the story, prompt a realization or decision on the part of a character, now. 

That particular episode needed something that made the paladins react with an, “omg this changes everything” kind of moment. Had Coran explained -- or one of the listeners called him on it -- then we might’ve gotten more insight, enough to change the characters’ perspectives of how the lions worked, and their role to play as the lions’ partners. 

Instead we were handed a conclusion -- “so Lotor wants X” -- despite the fact that a) Lotor never even appears in the backstory, and therefore b) there’s no way to conclude anything about Lotor from knowing what his parents did. It was another missed opportunity, but I think this is simply another case of the situation in #4: cuts for the sake of time, rather than for the sake of the story.  

[smoresiesfanfic]

Ok so basically your fic Deliverance gave me feelings and also made me like the members of Akatsuki that I didn't care about that much before, and now I have a plot bunny that won't let me go :[ I really really want to write about them, but I'm not sure I have all of their personalities straight... It's been so long since I watched the show, and again, I didn't pay that much attention to some of them before!

You need help writing Akatsuki members??? Look no further. Here’s a surefire way to write them all:

(Let’s start with my favorite…)(Canon)Hidan: insert random religious babble. Make most of the words offensive. Be loud. When in doubt just throw Jashin praising in the mix. Yell at Kakuzu for being mean. Call people athiest bastards to spice things up. (“Lord Jashin would be proud of me for relishing in this sweet ass death. Hell yeah boi. Fuck you Kakuzu, you old fuck. Fuck you with your detachable dick, you heathen athiest.”) Kakuzu: take your grumpiest thought and multiply it by infinity. Take any positive feeling of emotion and throw it across the ocean. Kakuzu hates you and he DGAF. He likes money. Give him money. He hates Hidan and insults him regularly. But make him do something nice for Hidan to really give his grumpy character depth. (“Hidan I can’t believe you did this you dumb fuck. This is why we can’t trust you. Can you do anything right? I fucking hate you” kakuzu says as he literally sews Hidan new clothing because it’s snowing outside and Hidan is not allowed to get cold and he ripped his shirt for the thousandth time)Kisame: he’s literally the purest soul. Don’t pay attention to the sadistic side. Kisame is literally the offspring of Mr Rogers and Bob Ross. The best way to write kisame is have him mention Itachi no matter what he’s talking about because kisame loves Itachi and I’m fairly certain there’s nothing else he can talk about… That and shark facts. Oh and he totally takes his sword on walks like a dog because he love this sword. (“Hey everyone, so sorry I’m late. I was 17 villages over getting Itachi his favorite dango because I love him- I mean… I love him. No you heard that right. Samehada and I want you to be in our family. Pls love me.”)Itachi: low-key wants to ride that shark dong™ acts like he’s super cool and just chills in the background but actually high key can’t see for shit. He speaks in weird riddles that make him sound deep but he just doesn’t make sense. He just wants to love kisame. But first he needs to avoid all the booby traps deidara set for his blind ass. (“Kisame, we aren’t fish, we’re people. You can’t love me because I have a tragic backstory™ and kishimoto literally hates me so I’ll likely die. But don’t worry because you’ll die too and when you die, they’ll play my theme music to underlying out hella gay partnership. Also. Can you help me? I’m fairly certain deidara strapped explosives to my body”)Deidara: deidara is a teenager so he’s crazy and irrational and he doesn’t know what taxes are but he 100% knows that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. Deidara is tough because depending on who you are, you ship him with different people. Or you’re like me who ships him with everyone so he my lil ho. So let’s just pretend he’s a ho. So dei is doing his ho thang just tryna bang, doesn’t matter in which way tbh. Deidara is cocky so he likes to talk about himself. He also likes to talk about art so when he talks just insert random realizations of art in whatever he’s doing. Then he blows shit up. Add his tick to random sentences. (Deidara was doing his homework for biology in his bedroom when he realized how artfully structured his spoon was. The one from the bowl of captain crunch he ate 4 days ago but totally left in his bedroom because he’s a teenager and they leave dirty dishes in their room. It’s in their DNA. He learned this from biology. “Katsu” he whispered and blew his desk up. He sighed, realizing his homework was on fire. Now he’s have to fuck his biology teacher for a grade. Again.)Sasori: uhhhhhhh drama drama drama. The best way to write sasori is to ignore him but know he’s lurking in the background. You know how they say that writer’s need to stop thinking their character is 100% of everyone’s attention at all times? Yeah that’s the truth when sasori is in your story because he’s likely spying on them. He knows everything about everyone. He learned several languages so when he gets his nails done at the salon he knows if they’re talking shit about him. I also don’t ship sasori with anyone because I’m not tryna get fucked by literal wood, ya feel me? (Sasori crept in the background undetected. he couldn’t help himself. He had to know. It was brimming with curiosity. What was next to the story? “Oh my god they were roommates.”)Zetsu: ok you tryna write white or black? Whatever. Just throw two completely opposing personalities together and also add in cannibalism and there you go. Also white zetsu loves everyone so he shows up to talk to people but likely kisame is the only one who pays attention to him. Black zetsu likely wouldn’t even give you a ride to see your dying relative in the hospital. He also sucks. (“Wow what a beautiful day to have friends!… What’s that noise?” “Hm? Oh sorry. I was eating” “… Is that my bff Wilbur?” “Yup” “😭” “🤷”)Tobi: do you remember that weird kid in your class that wouldn’t shut the fuck up? Yeah use him as an inspiration and also make him talk in first person and have a good boy kink and for calling people senpai. He also needs to be the most extra person in the room and act like a damn fool. Also, add a tragic backstory and personality disorder. (“Tobi is a good boi, senpai.” That’s it. And that was Canon.)Pein: God complex. Loves himself. Thinks he’s got shit. Strong af. Tries to be stoic but probably 100% cried during each piercing. Konan: the mom friend. She just wants her children to survive but they’re… So dumb. They’re so fucking stupid. Why was this a good idea. Someone please save this poor woman she dies so much.

So anyway, you put that all together and get something like this:

“Can everyone please listen to me.” Konan said, looking around at the clusterfuck anxiously.

“YEAH BABY, FUCK ALL OF YOU BITCHES. ITS TIME TO BE A TRIBUTE FOR MY LORD! KAKUZU I SEE YOUR UGLY FUCKING FACE, IF YOU LOOK AT ME ONE MORE TIME-”

“Don’t lose your head you moron. I’m not even looking at you. I’m thinking how much money I can get for your bounty.”

“Did someone say Itachi???”

“No Kisame. Literally no one said Itachi.” Sasori said with an eye roll. “Stop thinking about Itachi for three goddamn Seconds”

“Tobi is a good boy!”

“How the fuck do we have Tobi and sasori at the same time, hm??”

“Shut up, deidara.” Said kishimoto, probably.

“Did you finish your homework?” Konan asked seriously.

“Of course I did you dick”

“Ok what what did you learn?”

“… The mitochondria is the powerhouse-”

“Ok but you were doing macroeconomics???”

“Katsu! Oh look at that Itachi blew up I gotta go”

“No! ITACHI!”

“DONT WORRY.” Sasori said bravely.

“But he had no chakra left!”

“And with his negative chakra he managed to summon a giant snake and teleport himself away in the knick of time.”

“That seems highly unlikely.” “so does me as the villain but hey, just roll with it” white and black zetsu argued.

Pein looked around the room and nodded firmly.

“I am a god.”

Ok I hope that helped you. In all honesty id love to hear your idea!And if anyone has any questions they’d like answered, let me know!