#WRITE MORE OUTLINES DIPSHIT!! WRITE MORE OUTLINES!!!!

[hellhathfrozethoverthinking]

fic #2

A/N: >2.5k words of....somethin. not actually sure what to call this..."Visiting Saturn Overtakes Terra With A Terrible Feeling Of Discomfort Brought About By His Own Mistakes And Control Freak Tendencies" doesn't really have a ring to it. more notes after the end :UUU

--

SRN-006's wing of Starship Sol was very minimalist.

The crown moulding and intricately carved patterns in each nook and cranny of SRN-007's broad and colourful corridors stood in stark contrast to these…neatly grid tile walls and artificial marble floors polished to reflection. A monochromatic, mostly black scheme, with splashes of white for accent.

It was one circular, narrow hall surrounding the repair lab in which he worked, with only purely necessary latitude. Just wide enough to accommodate their largest enlistee and no further.

SRN-006's wing of Starship Sol was too minimalist.

The dim pin lights resting parallel on the bottom of the perimeter were bulbless, caged, and cold. Cameras and sensors abounds sat in little pockets mechanically blocked out of the tile, and they too were black, with tiny red ringed eyes staring, unmoved, at whoever passed.

And then that would draw the attention to the preference of verticality in construction, as those burning lens would still be present the further back you tipped your head. In fact, should you regard them, they would return the favour, ensuring you felt small and out of place.

The ceiling stretched temple-high, and if you chose to follow it to its end, nothing special awaited you at the top. It was the same throughout, if not darker for the lack of mounted lighting.

SRN-006's wing of Starship Sol was beyond minimalist.

In every aspect, he'd wasted his opportunity for expression on barren, and featureless design. Nothing existed for comfort. There were no intentional benches, no decoration, nothing to suggest that anyone with a personality occupied the room in between.

How he managed to use so little of the space allotted to him when drafting, and turn what could have been a gravity-controlled exhibition lobby (per his home planet's aesthetics), into claustrophobic lifelessness was…disappointing.

Moreover, it was uncomfortable.

The experience of passing through this glorified pod bus tunnel was among the many things that made Terra's skin crawl.

He would never admit it to anyone, but it struck a particular chord of dread in him whenever the louvred metal doors slid away before him and he was forced to traverse the droning, beeping, clicking, groaning machinery trapped behind the architectural emptiness.

Pluto had once explained to him the concept of a "liminal space" while organising his daily field research.

-

"Liminality is, how do you say, a state commonly observed by man."

His glittering ruby irises flit back and forth across the tops of several holographed tabs.

"It is, so to speak, existing in a state of limbo."

He dismisses each window to the right or left with confident, swift swipes of his fingertips.

"When one is outside of points A and B. When one's regularity is upset and change is coming, but hasn't yet."

In the corner of Terra's visual feed blinks a purple light, alerting him to the three files just received under the subject "inv_rp21".

"A liminal space is similarly transitional. It is being beneath the bridge that connects your docked train to the station. It is being in the foyer of an familiar's unfamiliar home. The point of unease typically achieved by this will vary for the individual, but its basis is the same."

The sway of his tail and a dark chuckle follow him sauntering out of the office.

"Simply a little walk through to the gallows will unsettle these poor, ugly animals, even if they aren't in the noose. The paranoia is quite pathetic, don't you think?"

"…Quite. Thank you, 08."

-

The idea that he should be so human as to feel the effects of a "liminal space"…quite frankly, it irritated him.

What was the point of becoming an android if not to escape the trappings of the illogical?

If he had a choice, he'd simply warp straight to the laboratory and skip the gallows' walk altogether. The atmosphere of the planet Earth, the planet they'd been stuck on for centuries, he had to keep reminding himself it was far too dense to do any such thing and then attempt recompiling his molecular structure. If he were to try, travelling light speeds here would rip him asunder on an atomic level and he'd die a dangerous, obliterating death.

The thought alone was harrowing and persistent enough to keep him on the ground. He wished he'd never gotten a taste of it during the war against Mega Man, because it was tempting. But he couldn't. If he forgot, and did, wouldn't that be horrific? Every one of his men screaming for cover they'd never get, his carelessness costing them their lives, leaving their legacy a crater on a nowhere planet?

…

'Stop it.'

The necks of the cameras craned to fix their gazes on him.

A picture, of 40 different eyes turned to him in unison with his face reflected in each glassy surface, burned into the front of his mind.

And wouldn't leave.

Terra's legs stiffened. He shut his eyes.

Hampered by his body and the Earth's device, he had one defense against the odd, humiliating stress of being scrutinised from all angles: talking. It was a habit he'd developed long before his reconstruction at Albert Wily's hands.

In order to distract himself from the baleful thoughts that would constantly, ceaselessly encroach upon his mind, he would quietly, but vocally, talk to himself. He would talk until either the offending issue was gone, or until he'd calmed his anxiety enough to face it without shutting down, or doing something impulsive.

Instrumental to the success of this repression was that he not stop. That he tune out anything else telling him to divert his attention, do what he set out to do, and not stop.

"…♁, you're already pushing the envelope on time," he scolded, in a sing-song tone.

"If you arrive for your hygiene check late, he's going to complain, and then waste even more of your valuable time arguing why he should be 'cut a break, if you're not going to abide by your own set rules and arrive precisely when you mentioned you would, you neat freak."

The predicted conversation annoyed him perfectly. It drove his low heels clacking across the floor, to confront his slacking, good-for-nothing inferior before he had a chance to say exactly that.

"You can see his face now, right, sad and long like it deserves sympathy, probably because he'd been 'waiting oh so patiently, your highness'__I'll bet you feel your temper flare when he says that,"

which it did, taking his annoyance to anger and hurrying him into a power-stride, past a door with a slate sign labelled "MAINTENANCE".

"And of course, opportunist he is, he'd probably have thought he could take a quick nap-- actually, scratch that, there is no such thing as a 'quick nap' for him, once he's down, he's out, and he knows that, yet he never considered that when filing for employ in this embassy, he's got no professional pride, one of these days, he's going to get you all killed."

"Your invisible friend does a terrible job of backbiting, you know."

Terra's greenest shoots curled very suddenly, tightening his posture and releasing a gas into the hall that was the closest thing to a scent he'd detected since departing the byway.

He swivelled on his heel and stomped once to steady his posture, something he'd had to make a habit of doing since losing his hind legs, and usual gait. His company shook a finger at him.

"I do wish he'd be a little quieter."

Saturn was behind him by at least three metres.

Behind him by…what?

Behind him?

Sun strike him dead, the door was enormous. He was right there. How couldn't he have heard it shifting, at least? Was he really so caught up in distracting himself that he'd prioritised his pacing over the destination? Who knows how many times he might have gone in circles around it in that case?

Worse yet, why did that smug, sleepy face have to be the foremost indicator of his mistake? Taunting him with the notion of having seen all that faffing about?

Terra inhaled, and closed the distance between them, to two metres minimum. He even checked his feet to ensure that was correct.

"Move."

The seemingly indestructible smile on Saturn's mannequin-esque visage only grew with the demand.

"Now Terra," he started, pulling his ring off his shoulder. "There's an etiquette to asking things of people. A magic word: you may have heard of it?"

Electrostatic discharged between Terra's roots as he clenched the fist of his left hand, building up energy for the Spark Chaser. He didn't have to turn around to understand the hall cameras had settled on him, in sync with Saturn's hollow, impossibly red optic display.

"Move."

Motionlessly, Saturn's line of sight trailed from his hand to his eyes. Locked on to them. In mustering up the courage to hold him there, and not back down, Terra was able to look through him to the…limitless nothing. Into the abyssal, and unfeeling vacuum behind that warmly coloured shell.

…For just a few seconds, before the marionette made a show of throwing up his hands in mock defeat.

Terra questioned whether or not someone's photoreceptors counted as a "liminal space". His, at least. Certainly, they teetered on the cusp of real and unreal. It didn't help that his every action was such a practised, methodical thing.

It made nothing but sense that he'd devise sanitised, utilitarian floor plans like these, when he thought about it critically.

Saturn spun his ring out of the doorway, toeing it two metres until he could stop behind it and bow, gesturing his hand to the open lab. Always overdoing it with the inane, performative gestures, he should deck him just for that.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't realise you were in that kind of mood!" The plastic grin did not waver. "Go on in! Gosh, what a throwback! I remember when you dropped in just like this, oh, couldn't have been any less than two Earth days ago! Time flies, hm?"

Terra shot him a look as he stepped over the threshold into the very white, and somehow even more ascetic rotunda. Then shot him another to make sure he wouldn't shove him on while his back was turned.

"You certainly are a diligent one, inspector," Saturn continued, unprompted. "I hope this visit yields tangible results. Aethers forbid you find nothing, driving you madder when the data doesn't reflect the nonsense you're convinced of in your own head! …Oh, wait."

Hilarious.

A wry laugh escaped the other as he considered stitching his inferior's mouth closed and beating him into submission.

But, not really. Although, somewhat.

He missed the years where he didn't have the wherewithal to emulate this biting sarcasm he seemed so reliant on to mask his social ineptitude nowadays.

It'd grown tiresome.

On his tiptoes now, Terra was careful not to trip any wires hooked up to heavy duty equipment or touch any of the hand tools littered on the floor with his feet. He avoided crushing a single mircochip, or shattering any stray sheet glass. He squinted at the fluorescent white fixture in the dome ceiling and swore something fell into his eyes. Let alone his grasses.

Sun above, for how tidy and untouched it appeared, it was filthy in here. How could it have gotten this bad in two days time?

"Terra? What's wrong?"

Saturn's voice came in far too loudly behind him. He rushed to occupy himself with plucking and pulling on two gloves from the dispenser near a chemical wash sink.

"Yellow patches notwithstanding," he jested, jested, absorbing every Sun-forsaken microbe from the doorframe as he reclined against it like it was a seat, it wasn't, why did he insist. "You look exhausted! This neverending cycle of fretting and compulsive cleaning to look busy and responsible must be wearing on you!"

A disingenuous look of pity crossed his expression. "Is there anything I can do for you, Your Highness?"

His composure nearly dissolved, right there on the spot. Terra grit his teeth and angled his head just enough to keep Saturn in his peripheral vision.

"You can disappear, how about that? You'd like to help me? Get out."

And, not giving him room to refute, "I'll signal you once I'm done in here, if you haven't managed to trip, get comfortable, and fall asleep on your way to the common room."

"Actually, I never said I was-" "Get out, 06! OUT!"

The 6th planet's greatest shame pretended to flinch, and hit a red button fixed into the doorframe, backing steadily out of his base of operations. "Well, all right! No need to shout, you'll wear your poor old voice hoarse!" The door slowly, very slowly, began to close, and would lock once it did. Terra crossed his fingers it wouldn't give him trouble when it came time to leave for the deep-wash chambers.

Grabbing a clump of steel wool and a bottle of bleach from an open storage closet, he glared at Saturn's waning form through the shuttering egress.

So many installations, so little time…he decided he'd start scrubbing at the surgical table, which by no means should ever see so much residue and metal shavings, but how much could he really expect out of such a lazy slob? This wasn't even his job, but he'd forced his hand into doing it anyway.

He flipped back the belt restraints, out of his way.

If he could hack the idiot open and reprogram him with a sense of accountability, he would, without hesitation.

"And while you're out there," he snidely commented, unable to hold back. "Try rethinking your interior design aesthetics."

From out in the corridor came a satisfyingly vexed huff.

"When we begin reconstructing the Sol, I don't want to see any lobbies plotted by an AI whose net is three cheap home renovation magazines max, 06."

"MINIMALIST! IT'S MINIMALIST, TERRA!" Despite his best efforts to remain in earshot, his voice faded behind the nearly-closed door. "I've seen the future, and it's LESS-IS-MORE, alright?! I'm a futurist! I'm ahead of the curve! I promise you, in another 20 years you'll be…"

Click. Hiss.

The commander's eyes drifted to the console at which Saturn monitored all his various security feeds, and watched him move between them. He watched him haul himself all the way to the lift, feeling much less tense behind the spotlight than under it.

"Slovenly bastard."

He was probably tracking untold amounts of grime and dust behind him. That this blind tryhard had the audacity to call himself "ahead of the curve"…

Terra sighed hard as he scrubbed, in repetitious circles, trying to decompress, and found he couldn't. Just talking to Saturn had sucked all the will to live from his body, like matter through a black hole.

The truth was clear. At some point, he'd have to go browsing the market for a new engineer.

If things continued like this, he was seriously going to hurt him.

More than he already had.

...But, not actually. Not really, he hadn't.

At the end of the day, he was a void imitating life, feigning innocence and pain, priding the future while clinging to the past. He couldn't be asked to take the blame of despair for someone opting to live a lie.

…

The steel wool broke the glove on his right hand. Hastily, he tossed it and the other in a mesh wastebasket, washed his hands, and popped on a replacement pair.

--END

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didnt have a name for this goin in or anything i just sat down yesterday and typed up some crap cus Terra. idk i'm Interested in him theres so many different interpretations of him you can go with and Im leaning heavy on "a well intentioned but morally questionable Bitch". with OCD. his OCD isn't part and parcel of his Bitchness but it does contribute to a lot of his thought patterns, decision-making, and fixation on germ avoidance.

and then, arbitrarily, things can be too clean and clinical and then we arrive at an uncanny valley stage, which is his mood in this fic.

i wanna believe he an Saturn are like. at odds. working together yea but still at odds bc Long Arduous History. theyre barely tolerating each other and it Will come to a head at some pt. should write abt that too someday.

u h here i guess. //dumps this out in your hand and runs away

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  @wynnyfryd! Wynnyfryd has 34 fics in the Stranger Things fandom and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

i don’t know, you figure it out

Plot Holes

biting you biting you biting you- oh! kissing you!

Satanic Ritual: DO NOT WATCH!!

She's got some of the FUNNIEST writing in this fandom, and it's very snappy too like. She's an editing demon for sure, she can take a concept that I'd think would take paragraphs to explain and find the right words to make it hit just as hard with like, two sentences. I also really really love how descriptive her metaphors are, really visceral sometimes, and she's really good at writing realistic life events but still making them fun to read about even when it's about like, devastating shit. The sex she writes is also intense as hell! -- @griefabyss69

Below the cut, @wynnyfryd answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I am but a humble bisexual — I see two beautiful brown-eyed men makin’ beautiful brown eyes at each other, I go a little insane for two years. It is what it is.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

late-night moments of quiet hopeful hesitant intimacy over a shared joint or cigarette. Thin wisp of smoke between them, stars dancing in their eyes. Yeah. YEAHHHHHHH 

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

This isn’t really a trope so much as a dynamic, but I love a good dipshit 4 dingus dialogue-heavy scene. Don’t get me wrong, I think Eddie and Steve can both be very smart and knowledgeable in their areas of interest/expertise, but these are two young dudes with no access to the internet. I love letting them be confidently incorrect dumbasses. Just ‘yes and’-ing each other’s stupidity while an exasperated third character begs for mercy.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

Well, this question is impossible and furthermore rude. This question came into my home and didn’t take its muddy boots off. This question never mailed me a thank you letter for my lovely wedding gift. That blender was expensive; the absolute nerve. No but seriously, I think The Lathe by palmviolet is going to stay with me forever.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I’m a big fan of doing canon divergence from different jumping off points — the beauty of having characters live in the same small town their whole lives is that you get so many great opportunities for these “what if our paths crossed sooner” moments.  I have some very loose notes for a S3 fic where Eddie is the movie theater employee who finds Steve and Robin in the bathroom after they escape the Russians, and I also have an old WIP set between S1 and S2 where lifeguard Steve rescues Eddie and then spends the summer teaching him how to swim. Would love to revisit those after I finish the trailer park AU (which I will be referring to as TPAU because my fingers are tired and because ‘toilet paper au’ makes me laugh.)

What is your writing process like?

Uhhhhh. 😂 I mean, for TPAU, basically just insert the scene from Dune 2 of Paul’s first sandworm ride: I’m shaking I’m sweating there is sand in my nostrils and I am surely about to die— oh wait, maybe I’ve actually got this? Am I actually doing it? Oh shit, look at me go!   For one-shots I like to use a more structured outline and bracket method. I start by dividing my doc into numbered scenes, with each scene getting a notes section and a prose section, like this:

This format gives me a lot of freedom to switch up the order of scenes and to move between scenes so I avoid writer’s block. I can also jump ahead to scenes I really want to write without making a mess of my outline. Once I have something written in the prose section of each scene, I go back and work on replacing each bracket with prose until there are no brackets left. Lastly, I create a new blank doc and copy the prose over in order so I can read the full fic and work on edits from there.  

Do you have any writing quirks?

I have been known to abuse a semicolon. And an em dash. And a conjunction at the start of a sentence. Yes, I do have ADHD.   I’m also a lyricist, so I feel like my prose tends to stray into poetry territory pretty often.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

When I’m finished! Which is probably why I tend to stick to one-shots; I get impatient and want to post stuff the second it’s ready.

Which fic are you most proud of?

‘i don’t know, you figure it out’ for SURE. I’ve never written a fic this long or stuck to a writing project this consistently in my life. Like ever. The last time I even came close was my first NaNoWriMo when I was 16, which was, uh… years ago, plural, and I’ll leave it at that. 😂

How did you get the idea for i don’t know, you figure it out?

“There’s a dead rat on his doorstep.” That’s it. That first sentence/scene popped into my head while I was bored at work, and then I started thinking, “hey, you know what? I don’t know that anyone’s ever done a fic where Max and Steve trade places for S4; that might be fun.”  And then NaNoWriMo was coming up, so I thought it would be cool to try live posting a fully improvised fic every day for a month to see how many words I could write. And then this tragic wet cat version of Steve Harrington grabbed me by the throat and took over my whole life.

When writing Satanic Ritual: DO NOT WATCH!!, what was something you didn’t expect?

How SAPPY these two got!! My god, boys, I’m trying to write smut over here, stop having a beautiful existential crisis! (I blame Briston Maroney for that though lol, I think I listened to ‘Body’ like 1400 times that month.)

What inspired Satanic Ritual: DO NOT WATCH!!?

@inklessletter posted this totally gorgeous art of Steve and Eddie recording themselves kissing, and I promptly lost my mind.  

What was your favorite part to write from biting you biting you biting you- oh! kissing you!?

This exchange: Steve: “What? I’m just asking!” Robin: “You’re being embarrassing!” Steve: “No, you’re just embarrassed. There’s a difference.” Like it’s just so them lmao

How do/did you feel writing i don’t know, you figure it out?

You know when you set out on a long hike in the summer and three hours later your calves are screaming and you’re covered in sweat and your sunburn’s starting to itch and this one horse fly won’t fuck off and your cell phone doesn’t even get service out here so literally WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO YOURSELF, and then you climb that last hill and look out on the most beautiful landscape you’ve ever seen in your silly little life? Basically that.

What was the most difficult part of writing Plot Holes?

Ooh, that one was fun! The only real difficulty was trying to keep it to a microfic because the concept could definitely be fleshed out to a full story — @griefabyss69 and I were joking around about “what if someone did ‘plot hole’ for the @steddiemicrofic prompt fill?” and then that fic just fell out of my head in about 15 minutes. 

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

For sure! I’m currently super proud of the graveyard scene in the most recent update of TPAU — I don’t write true horror often, but I love horror so it was really fun to give it a try! Favorite line from any fic is probably this reference to ‘You’re Divine’ in my fic Monsoon Season because I love uncomfortably-aroused prude Eddie, and his internal monologue cracks me up every time I think about it: Freddie Monsoon’s debut novel is called The Fourth Chime, and it is, as far as Eddie can tell, the first installment in a series of unapologetically filthy fuck fests about a man whose lover gets flung into an alternate dimension during an apocalyptic event and miraculously returns as some sort of… sexy bat-boy with a fucking horse dong and a bite kink. Critics are calling it “the most romantic novel of the last decade.” It’s me; I’m Critics.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

My main project right now is finishing TPAU if it kills me, but beyond that, I have a few one-shots for @subeddieweek in the works, including a collab with @griefabyss69 that I’m so so SO excited to share. It’s hot, it’s funny, I can’t wait for y’all to read it. 

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

First of all, as @wormdebut would say: I think you’re pretty. Thank you so much for all your hard work! I love this blog, and I love answering questions <3 Secondly: - Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. - Toss cubed sweet potatoes and parsnips, sliced sweet onion, and fresh garlic in a mix of olive oil, salt, pepper, and rosemary, and then spread in a single layer on a foil-lined baking sheet.  - Bake for ~40-45 minutes. (Potatoes and parsnips should be soft without being mushy when you poke them with a fork.) - Prep your sauce: I made a dijon drizzle situation by mixing olive oil mayo, a dash of dijon mustard, lemon juice, salt, pepper, garlic powder, and a splash of water, but you could also add a little dab of hot sauce, bbq sauce, or different mustards. Basically just grab like four condiments out of your fridge and play around with the flavors you like until you make a mix that’s thin enough to pour. - Drizzle roasted veggies with sauce. - Enjoy a very tasty side dish (or do what I did and eat the whole sheet as a meal like some sort of parsnip goblin because you were too lazy to make the main dish after chopping all those veggies) okay thank you love you byeeeee

Thank you to our author, @wynnyfryd, and our nominator, @griefabyss69! See more of Wynnyfryd's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[entomjinx]

I'm stuck in one of those creative blocks where my perfectionism is getting the better of me, and I keep seeing the WIP poll around, so I'm going to do one.

For every vote something gets, I have to write 250 words of that wip, and I'll doodle every One Piece character that's left as a comment or in the reblog tags, but the catch for that is I can't spend more than 20 minutes on any of the drawings so the perfectionism doesn't grab me. The cut off point is one week from posting.

Feel free to leave multiple characters for the doodles too. I need practice or I'll never get better, and reblogging isn't necessary but it would help. and ifyou don't like any of these ideas, please just click a random one for me so I'm compelled do something.

[aza-writes]

Ribbit and Rip-it

Blood Red One-Shot

Hell's Kitchen : 2025

Alek's POV

"So, how was L.A.?" I could feel my smirk growing, not even trying to play it off as if I didn't know. Mathew just got back home from L.A. after representing Luke Jacobson, the designer of our new suits, as a favor.  

"Shouldn't you be in bed right now?" His voice is sharp, small hint of annoyance with a bit of amusement. He knew I knew -- but more importantly, he knew where this conversation was going. 

"How was meeting She Hulk? She's been all over the news and social media recently." 

"Jen was fine." His reply and his footsteps are quick, trying to get to bed and out of this conversation.

"Jen?" He stops. He knew he slipped up. "You talked to her as Jen?"

He hesitates a bit, trying to make a believable story. He knows I'm not gullible, and we both know he's just lying to go to bed. "Yeah, I met her at a bar-"

"Ooooo" 

A long sigh followed by a small chuckle left his mouth "I went out for a drink after the trial at the bar she so happened to be at."

"Okay okay, so you went to court, won, went out for a drink, fought Leap Frog and that's when you slept with her."

"How do you know that?" Got him. 

"Someone saw you dipshit." I grab the picture I printed out and poked holes in so he can feel the outline of the picture. I set it flat on the kitchen table and run Matt's hand over it. "This is you," I move his hand over to the opposite side of the picture, "and this is an older women walking a dog."

"Dammit." 

"Why are you upset? You're the dumb-ass that decided to do a traditional walk of shame in your Daredevil suit."

"I didn't have other clothes on me, what was I supposed to do? I didn't want to leave before she woke up."

I couldn't hold my laughter back any longer "You just defined a walk of shame. And I'm not upset with you, I'm so happy this happened." I start to stifle my laugh, trying to control it, "It's really funny and brought me some great entertainment for the day."

"I-" he takes a deep breath, "I'm going to bed, goodnight." He pats my back softly and turns towards his bedroom door.

"You really are a man whore." My laughter grows.

"You pray to God with that mouth?" His voice is light, he's also trying not to laugh. Even he can admit, it's a bit funny he finally got caught on camera.

"Doesn't change the fact that you're a whore."

"Goodnight!" 

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A/N: Hello everyone! I'm so excited to post this! I've been wanted to write these little blurbs about what goes on outside the main books. Please enjoy and remember I take request for this book!!

Chapter 14 of Blood Red out tomorrow❤️

[veilder]

"I thought you left" "Nope, just making pancakes" - Convin

Okay, so, I love this prompt and I promised I'd try to write it so... I actually did this last week at like 2 am and have been too busy to edit it until now. But I'm kinda sick of trying to puzzle it out so just take it please, omg.

(Prompt from this post if anyone's curious.)

Stay

The sun was already high in the sky when Gavin finally blinked awake. He could tell because there was one fuckin sliver of window he could never manage to cover with the blackout curtains hanging up in his bedroom and the goddamn sun was shining right in his fuckin eyes, Jesus Christ! With a groan, he rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to go back to sleep. But even that small burst of cognizance had its consequences. Gavin could feel the awareness creeping in fast, God fuckin dammit. Was a little shut-eye too much to ask for? But there was something... Something niggling at the back of his mind. It itched at instincts well-honed by over a decade on the force and not even his most earnest desire to return to oblivion could keep it at bay. Restlessly, Gavin huffed out a disgruntled sigh as he kicked at the covers, frustrated despite himself at being roused after the night he’d had— Like a shock passing through his body, Gavin’s eyes snapped open, memories of the previous evening flashing through is mind. But just as readily, a heaviness settling deep in his heart as he took in the other side of the bed. The sheets were mussed and the pillow indented, a clear sign of its former occupant. Evidence as plain as day told Gavin that last night hadn’t been some delusion or dream. And yet… He reached out a hand, an involuntary, desperate motion, tracing the outline where his partner had lain. Where Connor had lain. But just as he’d feared, the sheets were cold. They matched the ice filling his heart. Slowly shuffling upright, Gavin leaned back against the headboard as memories of the previous day filled his waking mind. Flashes of the case he and Connor had worked together rushed by in a flurry. The tip-off for the perp they’d been tracking for weeks and the reckless chase that followed. The abandoned warehouse. The shootout. Vivid Thirium across dirty concrete. Connor had taken a bullet for him. Gavin remembered staring up into those brown eyes, watching as a splatter of blue burst from his chest. "I'm fine," Connor had said, "the bullet didn't nick anything important." And even though the android had gotten right back up and proceeded to almost single-handedly take down the rest of the hostiles attacking them, it was still a moment Gavin knew would haunt him for a long-ass time. Shit was enough to give him nightmares. It did give him nightmares, in fact. Which is how the two of them had ended up back here. In Gavin's apartment. Together. Because after that little fiasco, after the gang had been arrested and the hostages recovered and both he and Connor had been checked over by a medic and technician respectively, it still left the job far from complete. Needless to say, Gavin had eventually nodded off at his desk after a long night of interrogation and paperwork, the rushes of adrenaline and fear more than even his beloved coffee could contend with. He only meant to rest his eyes for a moment. Just a moment and then he'd finish up. But when he awoke some indeterminate time later, it was to his own voice screaming, Connor's name upon his lips, Connor's blue blood scattered across the darkest corners of his mind, Connor's hand upon his shoulder jostling him awake. The android’s LED was flashing a violent red as he stared Gavin down, his brown eyes wide with worry. Gavin couldn't help but cling to him, something twisting, clenching in his heart and demanding he hold on tightly. From there, things had passed in a blur, though he remembered Fowler's imposing figure ordering the both of them to take the next few days off. Too tired and distressed to argue, Gavin agreed immediately, only too glad to get the fuck out of there and go home. And Connor? Connor insisted he drive Gavin home. Connor insisted he make sure Gavin got to his door. Connor insisted that he get Gavin to his bed. And Gavin, still clinging to the android with every last bit of his flagging strength, let him. Over and over he let the android steer him along, trusting a partner fully for the first time in... For the first time

in far too long. And when Gavin had finally settled, comfortable yet shivering in his too-large bed, he took a moment to insist right back. "Stay," he'd said. One word. One plea. A lifetime of wanting to not be alone wrapped up in a single syllable. A few short weeks of shifting worldviews and growing affections cradled in four letters. A wealth of experience in loss stealthily couched within a breath. Gavin insisted. And Connor stayed. Or, at least Gavin thought he had. Because here and now, in the stupidly bright light of day, he was alone again. Like always. He didn't know why he'd expected otherwise. He really should've known better. After all, why would Connor want to hang around here? Especially after his fuckin embarrassing little act last night, fuck. He probably had loads of things to do. Important... android things... People to meet. Places to be. He wouldn't waste his entire day sitting around in Gavin's shitty apartment while he slept like a log. How fuckin stupid would that be? It didn't mean anything. Gavin told himself this over and over again as he shifted, swinging his legs out from under the covers and onto the floor. Just because they could be considered friends now didn't mean Connor had to drop everything for him. Just because he'd begging him to stay didn't mean Connor owed him anything. He'd probably felt uncomfortable as hell last night, what with Gavin whining and bitching at him like a fuckin child. Probably said what he could to mollify him before getting the hell out of Dodge. Gavin couldn't even blame him for that. Fuck, Connor'd just had emergency maintenance done! Because of Gavin! Like hell he'd want some handsy human all over him for ten straight hours, Jesus Christ. It didn't mean anything. Even if he wished it did. His stomach picked that moment to rumble, thankfully interrupting his little pity-party. Thank fuck. It was too early in the morning (or afternoon technically) to be crying over stupid shit. He was probably just hungry. Yeah, that's it. He's all fuckin emotional cause he hadn't eaten in almost 24 hours. It didn't matter that Connor fucked off ASAP, Gavin could get some waffles delivered. Waffles never fuckin betrayed him. He could trust waffles. With newfound resolve, Gavin stood, fumbling for his phone on the nightstand before scrolling through his food delivery aps to see if he could get waffles from anywhere at two in the fuckin afternoon. With heavy tread he stepped out into the hallway, mouth already watering at the prospect and stomach rumbling again in agreement. Fuck, he could almost smell them already. Wait. No, he can smell them? What the fuck?! Before Gavin could do anything more but stand there in his pajamas, wide-eyed and mystified, a figure stepped into view. Instinctively, Gavin's heart raced, adrenaline flooding his veins as the threat of a home invader cycled through his brain. In that fraction of a second, he was prepared to dive into an all-out brawl with the bastard. He was not in the mood for this shit! But then said bastard's lips quirked into a dazzling grin and a brown-eyed gaze sent Gavin reeling in disbelief. While his brain was preoccupied with keeping his suddenly-weak legs standing, his idiot mouth opened up on it's own: "I thought you left,” he said, choking on his disbelief. Connor (because of course it was Connor) only quirked his head to the side in that cute way he does, looking for all the world like the dogs he so adored. His LED flashed a single, swirling yellow before settling back to blue and he said, "No, I was just making pancakes. I thought perhaps you might be hungry." A strange hesitance entered his voice, some dour note falling across his features. "Did you want me to leave?" "No!" Gavin blurted out in a moronic, high-pitched squeak because again, he was nothing if not an idiot. (And one destined to embarrass himself at every possible moment at that.) Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I mean, you can do whatever you want. Doesn’t matter to me." (He's lying through his teeth. It obviously did matter to him. It

mattered a huge fuckin deal!) Connor blinked at him, the only sign of the awkward atmosphere between them the flashing colors at his temple. "Your words run contrary to both your body language and your involuntary actions," he said, "And they are a direct counterpoint to your request last night." Gavin fidgeted, knowing the damn android was right but never in a million years wanting to admit it. "Stop analyzing me, dipshit, it's too early for this." Finally, Connor's face relaxes a bit, a smile smile stealing across his lips. "It is two thirty-three in the afternoon, Gavin. Far from early." "Oh, can it, Poindexter! You know what I mean!" With a huff, Gavin moves forward, sidling past his annoying house guest. "What was that about pancakes?" Connor beams at him as the two of them enter the kitchen. "Ah yes. I determined that you would be hungry after going so long without food. I managed to make due with your atrocious grocery selection and have prioritized calories over nutrition for the time being. But just this once.” While Connor seemed dead set on critiquing the apparently-lackluster pantry he’d been forced to bravely overcome, Gavin only had eyes for the heaping pile of flapjacks sitting at his breakfast nook, fluffy and golden brown and still steaming. Fresh off the griddle, holy shit. How did he…? Despite his hunger, Gavin looked over at Connor questioningly. It was almost like the android could read his mind (which was a scary fucking thought) as he answered his unspoken query immediately: "I calculated your sleep cycle based off the Circadian rhythms I observed during your convalescence. I'm glad I timed it right. I wanted you to enjoy your breakfast." "It's past 2 pm," Gavin retorted with a smirk, "can't be breakfast now, hotshot." Connor's answering smile made Gavin want to melt into a puddle and he quickly turned away, staring at said breakfast with a helpless desperation. "Indeed," the android said, heedless of his partner's distress. "Regardless of the time of day, I wanted you to enjoy your meal, nonetheless." And something more vulnerable finally stole into his voice then, the merest shadow of his quiet pleas from the night before. "I thought, perhaps, you might consider them an offering." Gavin tore his gaze away from his not-breakfast then, looking up at his partner with enough confusion to drive out all other complicated emotions. "What offering? What the fuck are you talking about, tincan?" And now Connor was the one to look away. "It's just that..." He drew in a deep breath (though Gavin knew it was only him mimicking humans. Fucker didn't actually need to breathe) and continued, "yesterday... Yesterday frightened me. When I saw that gunman aiming at you, I—" He clenched his eyes shut, LED flashing a dangerous red. "In that moment, I preconstructed a multitude of outcomes, many of them where you did not survive. In which that bullet found its mark. And the thought of it, Gavin!" he wails. "I couldn't—! The thought was unbearable! And so I calculated the best result. And I determined my course of action. And you lived. You lived. And I thought that would be the end of it. But..." Finally, Connor looked up, his eyes meeting Gavin's head-on once more. "It was like a glitch. The preconstruction, it— It kept resurfacing again and again and again, every time you were out of my sight. And I... I disliked the feeling immensely. I think perhaps I hated it, even. And so I did my best to linger. I didn't want to leave you. Even though I knew you were safe, I still... It was so irrational but I still wanted to verify that you were okay. I still do." Before them the pancakes were growing cold, but neither paid them any mind. Connor looked away again, eyes shut. "I thought that, perhaps you had figured this much out last night. Which is why you asked me to stay. Because we are friends now and that's what friends do. But I worried that I may have... forced the issue... in my desperation. And I-I... I wanted to do something for you in return for your generosity." Looking down at the cooling

breakfast, Connor's face fell further. "I know it's not much but I thought at least—" Gavin had heard enough. "Okay, okay, okay, hold the fuck up, dumbass!" He stood, breakfast forgotten, and approached the shocked android with a fierce determination. Jabbing a finger directly into Connor's chest, he stated as sternly as he could, "You don't owe me a goddamn thing! For fuck's sake, Connor! You fuckin saved my goddamn life yesterday! You took a fuckin bullet for me! And even after that, you still fuckin stayed with me and made sure I got home safe!" A growl rumbled through his chest as Gavin poked Connor again. "I was having a fuckin nightmare about you dying! When you woke me up in the precinct! Did you know that?!" Connor shook his head but Gavin only poked him a third time, this time with much less force. He left his hand there, palm splayed across where his heart would be were he human. "That shit kept replaying for me, too. Over and over again. So I get it. I get wanting to 'verify.' I was doing the same thing. That's why I asked you to stay. Because I fuckin—! I wanted you here, okay?! Because the idea that you were hurt or injured or fuckin dead had me panicking!" He brought his other arm up now, slinging it around Connor's broad shoulders in a half-embrace, and leaned in, burying his face in the android's neck. "That shit's unbearable to me, too, tincan. Thinking of this fuckin trash heap of a world without you in it is—" He sucked in a breath. "Can't stand the thought." They stood there for what felt like an eternity (though it was probably only a few seconds) before slowly—tentatively—Connor brought his own arms up to squeeze around Gavin. He held him with a brittle tenderness, his touch light and careful as if he was afraid Gavin might break. And fuck, maybe he would. Maybe Connor could shatter him into a hundred-thousand little pieces. But shit, he'd take it. Because Gavin would never have been in this situation in the first place if Connor hadn't broken right through his walls first, scattering him and leaving him adrift in a strange, new world. And when he’d managed to build himself back up, it was into something—someone—stronger. Someone who could look at the world and see progress instead of oppression, opportunity instead of limitations, people instead of just machines. Connor had shattered his body once before down in the archives. He'd shattered his mind too over these last few months. It’d only make sense for him to shatter his heart as well. But he didn't. He wouldn't. And as Connor held him like a thing to be cherished, Gavin felt again that perhaps he'd been right last night. Perhaps this was a partner he could trust. A partner who could trust him, too. And perhaps he would— "Stay."

_____________

Bonus:

Connor: "Okay, but only if you eat your pancakes. I didn't download an entire cooking catalogue for you to let them go to waste, Gavin." Gavin: "Fuckin bite me, we're having a moment here." Connor: "Is your stomach rumbling part of that moment?" Gavin: "God fucking dammit, I fuckin hate you." Connor: ^_^ "False!" Gavin: "Fuck!"

And they lived happily ever after. ♥

[isthisthingeven0n]

sad together, last together : s.s

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED UNTIL AUGUST. Please do not send one in right now, as I can’t get to it sorry guys.

brief summary: it all started with a drunken mistake, but led to something more between two of the sadest people in the vlog squad - shame no one knows how beautiful it all is just yet 

word count: 1.3k requested: yes! i combined two requests (one to use sad together by olivia obrien a vibe entirely) (two - write about dating scotty and no one knowing)  warnings: idk if there are any?? let me know if there are!

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

Your fingertip swirls around the rim of the glass as you watch everyone dance together, not a single care in the world consumes their thoughts. 

David’s filming Natalie and Corinna, whilst Zane orders more shots to share with Todd and smiles cross all of their faces. Yet, you’re sat in the booth by yourself, too preoccupied with past memories. 

“Hey,” Snapping from your past, you smile up as Scott slides into the booth next to you with two shot glasses being placed on the table. “you doing alright?” He asks, you only just understanding him by reading his lips.

“Yeah,” You lie, nodding along to persuade him. “just in my head a bit, that’s all.” You add, glancing to your left, remembering when his arm was around you as you laughed giddily. 

Scott goes quiet upon seeing your brows furrow together, your shoulders dropping. “Here,” He speaks up, passing you the shot glass. “it won’t last forever you know.” He tells you, nudging your arm playfully. 

“I know, we’re born alone and we die alone, so cheers.” You hold up the glass before knocking the shot back, feeling the bitter burn through your throat as you wipe your lips. 

*

The last thing you expected to wake up to in the morning was a face smushed into the pillow beside you, let alone Scott’s face smushed into a pillow. 

“What the fuck!” You blurt out, tumbling out from your bed as Scott begins to stir. 

“Too loud.” He mumbles, rubbing his eyes before opening them and looking up to see you. “You’re in my top.” He points out groggily. 

“And you’re in my bed, shirtless.” You add and Scott sits upright, taking a look at himself before his eyes widen. 

“Did we?” He holds the bridge of his nose as you shrug your shoulders, trying to remember details from last night. “All I remember is you telling me you didn’t want to be alone.” 

A small laugh leaves your lips as you perch back on the edge of your bed, smiling up at him. “I mean, that parts true.” You say, now focusing solely on the rising smile on Scott’s lips. “Do you want some breakfast?” 

“I’d love some, yeah.” 

*

It was only going to be a two-time thing, but sometimes things didn’t work out that way. 

Lying in bed, curled up against Scott’s chest you could hear his heartbeat rhythmically beating. He was fast asleep whilst you were focused on the ceiling, endless thoughts circling your mind.

“Why’re you awake?” Glancing up, you see Scott tiredly looking down at you with a lazy smile. 

“Sorry,” You mutter, slowly moving to sit upright. “I just couldn’t get to sleep, too much on my mind that’s all.” You shrug it off, but even in the darkness, you can see the faint outline of concern on Scott’s face. 

“Is it about us?” Scott speaks up, catching you looking away from him as he mentions the possibility of being an ‘us.’ “If you wanna stop, we can. I know this was a temporary agreement.” Scott justifies as he shuffles under the covers.

“I, I don’t want it to be temporary.” You quietly admit, playing with the hem of his t-shirt over your body. “And I know, that’s wrong of me to say, but I didn’t think I’d get attached.”

Remaining still, you can feel your heart sinking as Scott turns away from you.

Yet, you blink as he turns the bedside lamp on and quickly reaches out, holding your cheek with his hand as he kisses you sweetly, not wanting to let go.

“Then let’s make it long-lasting, huh?” Scott mutters as you pull away from the kiss, feeling his words closely as you nod. “I guess we should go on a date sometime then?” He suggests, hearing you chuckle softly before cuddling back up into him, knowing you’ll get a better night sleep with him holding you close.

*

Much to your surprise, things were going well between you both. Yet you couldn’t ignore that dull thought in the back of your mind, still fighting its way through your barriers to pipe in. 

Today was one of those days, and you couldn’t ignore the thoughts. Scott could tell from the moment he walked into your place. Usually, you greeted him with a tight hug, your legs wrapped around his waist as he walks to your couch, the pair of you just lounging over one another talking about your days. Instead, Scott was greeted with silence and the eventual shuffle of your slippers, followed by a half-hearted wave. 

“Do you wanna go out somewhere?” Scott suggests, feeling the weight of your head lifting from his chest as you quirk an eyebrow in response. “I mean, just to get out of the house. As much as I love being here, fresh air isn’t a bad thing either.” Scott shrugs his shoulder, trying to play it off. But really he does care, and is scared about it. 

Rubbing your eyes with your palm, you nod along. “Sure, I’ll grab my purse.” You force yourself to your feet, wandering back into your bedroom as you change into your trainers, discarding your slippers under the dark depths of your bed. 

As you emerge from the bedroom, Scott can’t help but beam at you. It didn’t matter how many times he’d seen you, nor what state he has previously seen you in. But there was something about your tired smile and messy hair, just on show for you and him, it made his heart beat faster as you rolled your eyes. 

“Alright house cat, let’s go.” Scott holds his hand out, feeling you grab hold as he pulls you to his side, kissing the top of your head as a smile crosses your lips before you close the front door behind you. 

Laughing lightly, you took another spoonful of the ice cream to your lips. “You got something on your nose,” Scott motions and you bashfully look away, trying to wipe it off. “come here you dipshit.” Scott chuckles as he rests his hand under your chin, using his thumb to wipe off the blob of ice cream on your nose. 

“Better?” You ask, his hand moving up to rest on your cheek. 

“Beautiful.” Scott mutters in response before leaning in, kissing you with the sweetness of strawberry ice cream. 

“Fuck off, no!” Pulling away abruptly, you both turn to see Zane stood to the side of you with Hidaya by his side, covering her mouth with both hands. “No, you guys? Seriously?” Zane stutters over his words, watching in shock as you just nod. 

“Yeah, for like four months.” You smile up at Scott, hearing the words leave his lips. “She’s my girlfriend, and I’m her kinda depressed boyfriend.” 

“Oh my god this is adorable.” Hidaya comments, nudging Zane to say something as he simply stares at you both like jugs of apple juice in Ralphs. 

“Four months, and none of us noticed?” Zane reiterates his point as you just chuckle before moving over, patting his shoulder lightly. 

“It’s okay, Zane. But hey, you’re the first to know.” You joke before moving back over to Scott, accepting your ice cream from him. 

“See, I told you good things happen when I visit.” Hidaya mutters, causing you to chuckle lightly. 

“You guys want some ice cream, I don’t mind getting some more since mine has half melted.” 

Scott looks down to the melted puddle of cream in the cup. “That’s one sad lookin’ ice cream.” 

“Almost as sad as us, huh?” You mumble as you walk away to find the nearest trash can. 

“So you guys are kinda serious then?” Zane questions, noticing how Scott looks away from him and toward you as you wipe your hands over your skirt before turning back. 

“I mean yeah, we’re both sad, so why not be sad together?” Scott shrugs his shoulders as you return, giving him another reason to carry on with his day.

[stealth-liberal]

Flowers in the Attic, and the whole Dollanger series, for that matter, is a tragedy, neigh unto Greek in its scope, about how generational abuse and trauma destroys everything it touches. The Dollanger children are DESTROYED by it all... and that was the fucking point. V.C. Andrew's said in several interviews that that was the point.

Andrew's talked A LOT about how America hid it eyes and stuffed their fingers in their ears about the cycle of child abuse and how it HAUNTS families. And she was right. Flowers was published in 1979 and the rest of the series was published in the 1980's. I grew up in the 80's and 90's and it was an era of society confronting itself on how it had ignored child abuse and domestic violence and the generational devastation it caused. New laws were created, things like mandatory reporting would come into place, training on how to spot abuse as well. It wasn't until the mid 80's that marital rape became illegal in all 50 states.

This was the world Andrews was writing about. She had been confined to a wheelchair for the majority of her life and today we would call her mother abusive and isolating. We don't know a lot about her relationship with her father, but it is believed to have been bad. One of her best quotes is this:

"So many voices cry out behind closed doors in pain and terror and they are ignored. We don't want to look and we don't want to hear. So I'll make you."

Thank G-d she died in 1988*, before all the moral purity dipshits started calling her an incest fetishist. To be sure, her books were extremely controversial during her lifetime, but unlike today, most people back then got the abuse angle loud and clear. This is the whole Nabokov/Lolita disaster all over again. Authors write books telling us how awful and terrible something is and then people accuse them of the most terrible things. For idiots who require clear moral instruction from fiction... they seem to be too stupid to realize when they get it. How anyone reads the Flowers in the Attic series and doesn't realize that it's a tragedy is beyond me.

*After Andrew's death, she had extensive material, a large portion of which was so close to completion that it just needed more than the usual amount of editing to be finished. So, those were published posthumously. Unfortunately, her books were so popular that her publishers hired a ghost writer to write books based on ideas she had and outlines she'd jotted down.

Those books were written by a man named Andrew Neiderman, and they are of meh to extremely poor quality. Neiderman is also really odd with his obsessions in ways Andrews never was and it bleeds all over the books he's written in her name.

Just cried laughing at a youtube thumbnail of someone who read Flowers in the Attic, and the text on the thumbnail was "PEOPLE LIKE THIS??"

Yes. I fucking LOVE IT.

But also, honey, I get that you hate it. I'm not going to watch the video because I don't trust you won't claim that my loving the best incest fuckery in the whole world makes me a dangerous degenerate, but I respect that you gave it a shot.

100% here for hating Flowers in the Attic, but in this house, we have that shit in hardback and are forever mad there isn't a single fucking accurate swan bed in ANY of the adaptations. INCLUDING THE ONE WHERE THEY CARVED THE WHOLE FUCKING BED.

IT'S A ROUND BED GODDAMNIT WITH WINGS AS FUCK COVER AND GAUZY CURTAINS LET ME SET DESIGN THIS SHIT WITH JOHN WATERS TO DIRECT

[thewebcomicsreview]

How do I gain respect for writers? Is there even a difference between a writer and an idea guy? One could say that writers should be respected for their mastery of the language and Monomyth, but to me it all seems pretentious and superficial. I come up with stories without consciously referencing the Hero's journey, as people have been doing for millenia before Joseph Campbell came around. If storytelling comes naturally to just about anyone, is it really deserving of respect?

Any dipshit can come up with ideas. Here’s ten off the top of my head while I’m in a zoom meeting, feel free to use them if you need a story prompt: 

1. A carrot and a broccoli in a buddy-cop story about solving dietary crimes 2. A Disney princess runs away from home to join a hyper-violent deathmatch wrestling league 3. Cyber pirates attack your galleon with cannons and torrent all your booty 4. Man bites dog, likes it, goes on a serial dog biting spree while detectives try to catch him and the detectives unwittingly hire the dog biter as a pet psychic and I think this is the plot of Hannibal actually except with dogs 5. The only way to stop the alien attack is by putting teenagers in giant robots, but the teens get into over-the-top melodramatic sex scandals in Mobile Suit G-90210 6. Popular dog at high school keeps trying to make fetch happen 7. A dorky and mildly racist white dude gains the power to summon spirit animals with a mighty crack of thunder, and dedicates his life to fighting crime as the masked avenger, Animal Cracker 8. A man frees a genie, who offers him three fishes. He thinks he got a defective genie, but the fishes are themselves magical and take him on a fantasy ocean adventure that changes him for the better 9. Hot girl will only led a dude date her if he successfully climbs the big mountain from Nickelodeon’s GUTS, which is now in a warehouse somewhere. Nerd takes her up on the offer and in his quest learns important lessons about life. He either impresses the girl or finds self-actualization elsewhere depending on how romantic you feel this premise is 10. Website tech support guy spends zoom meetings coming up with more interesting things to be doing, but learns the real problem is just that he himself is boring.

Coming up with ideas is like 0% of the work for writing a story. Even coming up with a detailed scene-by-scene outline on Trello is only 10% of it or so. 

So, what, you “come up with stories without consciously referencing the hero’s journey”? Congratulations on your sentience, anon, but that’s not writing. That’s looking at a block of marble and imagining a statue. 

If you want to gain respect for writing, try actually doing it. Write a story, a complete story with all the scenes and all the dialogue and all the descriptions, and then when you’re done go back and reduce the page count by 10% because your first draft is too fucking long and has pointless scenes that don’t go anywhere or contribute to the plot and you’re using too many redundant adverbs and adjectives instead of coming up with better verbs and your characters have indistinct voices and there are plot holes you missed and and and and and.

In fact, y’know what? Get a friend (you do have friends, don’t you anon?), and pick one of those story prompts and you and your friend can both write a story based on those prompts and you’ll see how much work goes into writing just because of how your friend’s version is full of ideas you’d never even considered.

Writing is easy if you don’t care about quality, in the same way that art is easy if you don’t care about quality. Good writing is hard, and that’s why authors can get rich. 

[cumaeansibyl]

Fic Writer Interview

@copperplatebeech​ tagged me in this!

Name: Liz

Fandoms: Good Omens. Aside from occasional short tumblr posts, this is the first time I’ve written fanfiction since the X-Files one-shot I wrote when I was 15 or so. It’s also the first fiction of any kind I’ve written since college.

Where you post: AO3.

Most Popular One-shot: By hits, it’s “tell me ‘bout the mystery dance,” a very soft and fond “deflowering the fair maiden” roleplay in which Crowley lets Aziraphale lavish attention on her for a change. By kudos, it’s “thrown and overflown with bliss,” wherein Crowley and Aziraphale think they don’t need to negotiate boundaries or emotional pitfalls and it keeps biting them in the ass, but in a sexy way, mostly. (Communicate! Don’t be like these dipshits!)

Most Popular Multichap: Haven’t got any of those yet, but I’m working on it.

Favorite story you’ve written so far: “similar to angels,” which has the most comment threads of any of my fics because people keep yelling at me about it, which I take as a sign that I was successful in my goals. I’m not going to spoil it but I really, really enjoyed getting ridiculous with it.

Fic you were nervous to post: Probably none more than my first one, “as you stumble in the debris (London, 1983).” I stopped writing fiction entirely after college, after having shaped my identity around writing fiction. Naturally there were a lot of complex factors in that decision and a lot of complex emotions arising from it, which I won’t go into, but kicking open a compartment of my life that I’d quite firmly closed was a strange and anxious feeling.

How do you choose your titles: Google “songs about [fic topic],” usually. I think my favorite is “no macrame for me,” from the Go-Go’s “Fun With Ropes.”

Well, I'm collecting colored cord No macrame for me Dim the lights and lock the door And never set me free

Do you outline: Kind of? Whatever I learned in creative writing classes I’ve thoroughly forgotten. So far I’m just doing bullet points.

Complete/In progress: In progress is my first multi-chapter fic, a post-canon story where Aziraphale has to confront the terrible things he’s done for Heaven -- one for which he may be able to make partial amends, and the others that can’t be taken back at all.

I just now set aside my other WIP, a silly story about the Bentley gaining a very car-specific form of sentience, because, after a good college try, I’m not able to explain her motives in such a way that actually makes the joke land. It’s not her fault, but she’ll have to stay in the garage.

Coming soon/not yet started: @go-events​ is doing a book crossover event -- any piece of published literature -- and I’m doing Rosemary’s Baby. Good Omens is, of course, based in part on The Omen, which was part of a Satanic horror craze in movies and film that ran for about a decade: Rosemary’s Baby was published in 1967, The Exorcist in 1971, and The Omen in 1976. So I thought, what if you picked a different antichrist-based property? One that honestly takes it somewhere a lot darker?

I already had a few nebulous ideas about American Crowley kicking around (snakeskin shoes, baby, put ‘em on your feet) and then Aziraphale obviously has a bookstore in the Village and it all flows pretty naturally from there.

Prompts?: *confused honking*

Upcoming work you’re most excited about: Honestly I’m excited about finishing my WIP in one way and about starting the new project in a completely different way so it’s a tossup.

I have refused to tag people since LiveJournal and I won’t start now, everyone gets to pick if they want to do it or not :D

[thiswasinevitableid]

47 for OT4, SFW or NSFW I love your writing! :))

Thank you! I went SFW for this one.

47: you overhear me complaining to my coworker about your ridiculous daily coffee order, whoops

“Oh christ, here he comes.” Duck mutters to Indrid as he pumps hazelnut syrup into a cup, “the one I was tellin you about.”

Indrid, stationed at the counter, tilts his head as he watches the windows, “would he be the one that looks like a lumberjack or the one who looks like a secret agent?”

“The second one. I dunno what it is, but his order drives me fuckin nuts. It’s super specific; dark roast, single origin only, heavy cream until it turns about that color” he points to the wall, “with a half pump of caramel and a half pump of vanilla. You’re gonna be that specific, just make it at home.” He’s busy putting a lid on  the drink and therefore misses Indrid’s hand waving. 

“I do, and it’s not that hard.” A deep voice makes him turn; the lumberjack, looking more amused than annoyed.

“And since you know my order so well already” the other man, smile, tight lipped, at him before turning to Indrid, “one of those and one large, black coffee.”

Duck starts the drink, making it as fast as he can so he can slink off into the back room. Shit, if the guy rats on him he could get in trouble, he’s already on thin ice after throwing out some rich kid for harassing the staff. 

Indrid takes the drinks, mouths, “go” and heads around the counter while Duck makes a bee-line for the supply closet. 

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

Indrid sets the cups down in front of the two men, then slides a plate with a large, hot monster cookie on it between them. 

“On the house, as they say.”

“This an apology cookie or a ‘don’t give us a bad review’ cookie?” The lumberjack smirks.

“Both.” Indrid says mildly, smiling and returning to his post.

 As he walks away he hears the deep voice whisper, “wouldn’t kick that one outta bed for eating crackers.”

A soft laugh, “Agreed. Pity his friend is an ass.”

When Jake and Hollis arrive a few minutes later to take over for him and Duck, he finds his boyfriend clonking his head into the wall by the break room. 

“Don’t worry, love, I smoothed things over.”

“Thanks. Just feel like a dipshit. Both for gettin overheard and complainin in the first place.”

“I assumed it was stress from waiting on interview results.”

“Yeah.” Duck pulls on his jacket, “still feel shitty though.”

“Come, let’s go home. I have some ideas for relaxation.” He purrs, kissing Duck’s cheek. 

“How may of ‘em are fuckin’-based?”

“Half.”

“Good, gives us some variety just in case.”

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

“We’ve paired you with another duo, if that’s okay?”

“Sure” Duck smiles at the Escape Room employee, takes Indrid’s hand as they follow him down the hall, “Aubrey says these are more fun in a group.”

“I look forward to--oh dear.” 

Duck turns to see the pair from the coffee shop last week. The lumberjack looks about the same, but the secret agent is dressed more casually than usual. His black hair is loose rather than slicked back, and he’s in jeans and shirt that reads, “Champ” with a dark outline of sea monster on the front. He almost looks cute.

“You’ve been  trapped in the lair of hostile, highly intelligent space aliens. You have an hour to escape. Good luck” The employee shuts the door, leaving the pairs to stare at each other. 

“Uh, hi. Again.” Duck waves awkwardly

“Hey.” The lumberjack waves back, “so, uh, this is hella awkward, right?”

“Yes.” The other three respond.

“Cool. Look, I dunno about you but I don’t wanna get dissected by aliens. So, bygones?”

The others nods and he smiles, “I’m Barclay, this is Joseph. My, uh, my boyfriend.” It’s distinctly odd watching such a large man blush like a schoolgirl. Joseph smiles, kisses his cheek, then looks around the room.

“Alright, we need to find the four symbol code to enter onto that pad. Spread out and look for places symbols might be hidden.”

They find the first one easily. Indrid’s eye for color and patterns helps them locate the second, and when a clue points to the third being high up, instead of having to construct a makeshift ladder or step-stool, Barclay simply reaches up and grabs it. It does not escape Duck’s notice that both Indrid and Joseph get appreciative looks on their faces when Barclay then moves a “cloning pod” out of the way all by himself. 

“I suspect the last symbol is hidden one something that is in...that hole.” Joseph points to the newly revealed wall lined with several cubbies, one of which has danger signs written all around it.

“Not it. Too close to a garbage disposal, and I have nightmares about putting my hand down that at the wrong time.” Barclay shudders.

“I would also prefer not to be the one to reach in; such elements often have a loud noise gimmick and I do not enjoy that.”

Joseph glances at Duck, blue eyes glinting with a not-entirely-friendly challenge.

“Fuck it, I’ll do it.” Duck steps forward and cautiously slides his hand in. Indrid’s instinct was right, as the whole starts vibrating with a loud, grinding sound. Indrid yelps, grabbing the other two men, who in turn jump and scream  in surprise. Duck grits his teeth, fights the urge to pull back, and finds a smooth tile waiting for him. When he removes his hand the noise stops, and he grins, triumphant, as he shows off the last symbol. 

“WHOO!” Barclay cheers and high-fives Duck  as Joseph punches in the symbols, stopping the timer on the wall, “shit, that was wild man, scared the living hell outta me and I wasn’t even  the one doing it.”

“Mmmm, my brave hero.” Indrid drapes his arms over his shoulder, kissing him.

“Sap.” Duck teases, kissing him back.

“You know, we make a pretty good team.” Joseph brushes stray hair off his face.

“Yeah. Would, um, would you guys like to go grab coffee or something?” Barclay looks genuinely hopeful, which is why, ten minutes later, Duck is sitting across from Joseph in a dark-wood coffee shop. Indrid has excused himself to wash his hands and Barclay is outside taking a phone call from someone named Mama.

Duck sips his coffee (black) as he watches Joseph measure cream into his mug.

“That explains it; guys who drink black coffee are always weird about guys who don’t.”

“Don’t Barclay drink his black?”

“Only when we’re out, when we’re at home he’s always making fancy coffee. Trying out new recipes. It works well. Or, um, mostly well. There was a green tea cherry espresso that was not his finest.”

“Eech. Heh, that reminds me of the time ‘Drid was so groggy he poured strawberry syrup into his coffee instead of caramel. Didn’t phase him one bit, but I felt like I was kissin a berry patch the whole day. Swear the man’s half moth or some shit from how much sugar he drinks.”

Joseph snickers, “sorry, imagining Indrid as a mothman is a funny image.”

Duck pictures it and giggles, which makes Joseph laugh harder. When they recover, he scratches the back of his neck, “Look, I’m sorry I was a dick about your coffee order. Just havin one of those weeks where everythin got on my nerves.”

“It’s alright. I’m not all that bothered by it. Not intellectually, anyway. Being particular or precise is something people have been, um, less than kind to me about in the past.”

“Nothin wrong with knowin what you like.”

Joseph glances out the window at Barclay, “No, no there’s not.”

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

It becomes a weekly arrangement; the four of them meet for some kind of activity, then go to lunch or dinner. Duck learns many things over those weeks; that Barclay can figure out how to reverse engineer Indrid’s favorite cupcakes from a local bakery, that Joseph has a worryingly deep yet very endearing knowledge of bad horror movies. That while Joseph is terrifying during a trivia match, Duck can still wipe the floor with everyone when it comes to the science categories. He learns that Joseph is trans, like him, and that Barclay and Indrid actually went to the same high school but were two years apart and thus didn’t know each other. 

Right now, he’s learning that he’s not as good at laser tag as he thought he was. 

They went during the cheaper hours, mid-afternoon on a Sunday, and while all four of them are on the same team they’ve gotten separated in the neon-tinted darkness. 

He can tell the enemy team has spotted him, and is moving as fast as he can out of range, when a hand reaches out of a darkened turret and pulls him in.

“GAHoh, phew, scared the hell outta me Joe.”

“Sorry, it was safer than calling out.” The space is small, built for kids rather than two twenty-six year olds, and so Joe is pressed right up against him as he watches the door. He might be the only guy Duck knows who wears honest to god cologne, clean and minty smelling, and the scent wraps around him when Joe pulls him back against his chest to hide them from passing opponents. 

“Fuck, that was close.” He whispers.

“Don’t worry” Joe murmurs in his ear, voice huskier than normal, “you’ve got me to look out for you.” He breaks away as if nothing happened, pulls Duck’s body out into the glowing chaos, while his mind stays in the little room, wondering what the fuck that was.

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

 “Can’t believe we got our asses handed to us by a bunch of eleven year olds.” Duck groans as they sit, licking their wounds along with soft-serve from a tiny shack that Barclay swears by.

“That one blonde girl is gonna grow up to be a sniper.” Barclay offers his cone (chocolate and sour cherry) to Joseph, who takes a prim bite.

“It may run in the family; I think her dad was the one with the ‘Go Army’ shirt.” 

“Oh, were we not supposed to be going easy on them?” Indrid cocks his head. The others stare at him in mute shock. 

“I’m kidding; I was utterly outmatched in there.” He grins before dragging his tongue up his cone (pineapple and marshmallow). When he reaches the tip he opens his mouth wider, taking it all in with a satisfied moan. He pulls off, stray ice cream dribbling down his chin until Joe hands him a napkin. Indrid thanks him, then proceeds to do the exact same thing, over and over, and Duck realizes neither of the other men have looked away from his boyfriend. Barclay’s legs are now crossed, and Joe’s cheeks are pink. Duck can’t really blame them--he knows exactly what Indrid can do with that mouth--but what’s stranger is he doesn’t feel jealous or annoyed. He knows Indrid sometimes struggles with looking, in his own words, “offputting.” It’s nice to see two other people catch on to just how hot he is. 

Then again, he kind of wishes Joe would stop staring and eat his own cone; he wants to see what his tongue can do, too.

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

“Watcha drawin’?” Duck slides onto the couch next to Indrid.

“Just random images.”

“That us with Joe and Barclay?”

“I, ah, yes it is.”

“Like it a lot. Christ you’re talented, it’s like how much you like us is comin’ right off the page.”

“Is, ah, is that so? I hadn’t noticed, ah, oh dear, I just remembered I need to go call Jake about covering my shift.”

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

Duck: That new barcade is finally open, wanna come with us on Saturday?

Barclay: Wish we could, but we got a friends birthday that night.

Duck: No big, let us know if you want to catch a flick on Sunday

Barclay sets the phone down, not remembering it’s a group text until Joe pokes his head out of the bedroom.

“Shit, whose birthday is on Saturday? We need to get a gift.”

“Oh, uh, no, no one. Just, uh, didn’t feel like going out but didn’t want them to think I was, like, angry or something. Sorry, shoulda asked if you wanted to go without me, shit, that was rude.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind time that’s just for us.” He crosses the living room, fiddles with Barclays hair, “but let me know if you want to see a movie Sunday, I’m happy either way.”

“Uhuh, will do.” Barclay nods, not really paying attention, as he imagines silvery hair in the dark theater and holding slender, cool fingers in his own.

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

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t actually have that DVD to loan me?”

“I do” Duck shuts the apartment door behind Joe, “but we got some things to discuss first.” He waits until Joe is sitting next to Barclay (lured here by the promise of cookies) and across from Indrid (lives here, not that hard to lure).

“Look, I don’t think I really gotta point out how weird it is that we went from hangin out every week to not seein’ each other for near a month. But what I do gotta point out is why it’s happenin’.”

“We’ve all been busy?” Joe hazards.

“Yeah, but we all were busy before and we made time for each other. Now we, myself included, are cancelin shit.” He takes a deep breath, “Barclay, Joe, you both got a thing for ‘Drid, don’t you?”

Joe nods while Barclay blushes and mutters, “yeah.”

“And ‘Drid, you got a thing for both of them?”

His boyfriend shifts nervously in his seat, but nods all the same. Barclay looks genuinely surprised. 

“Well, you three ain’t the only ones realizin’ you want more than you got. Joe, I, uh, I really like you. As in wanna date you. So, uh, that’s where we’re at.” He sits down next to Indrid, who instantly takes his hand. 

“That’s...wait, don’t we all want the same thing?” Joe looks between them, puzzled. 

“You’d really be okay with me dating Indrid?” Barclay asks softly. 

“We’d both be dating him. And I’d be dating Duck as well as you two. Assuming that was alright with Indrid?”

“....You know, I think it is.” Indrid squeezes Duck’s hand, “I was afraid to admit how I felt; I didn’t want to come between you and Barclay, because you clearly love each other, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing Duck. But I’ve also seen how happy he is around you, Joseph; there is no reason we could not all work things out to be happy as a, ah, polycule? Is that the term?”

“Think so.” Barclay relaxes, “fuck, I felt so bad thinking that wanting Indrid would fuck everything up, don’t know what to do with my self now that I’m not stressing about it.”

“I propose we order dinner and just...talk.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “I think that will help us sort out where to go from here.”

Duck orders takeout from the Chinese place down the block as Indrid and Joe arrange the living room into a place where they can all sit together comfortably and Barclay grab drinks. Soon they’re gathered on the floor, working out logistics and boundaries and hopes and fears between bites of fried rice and chow mein. Joe keeps notes, curling closer to Duck as the evening goes on. 

There’s a part of him that wants to jump straight to sex, to pin Joe to floor and fuck him while his other boyfriends do what they want to him, to Duck, to each other. But this thing between them is a new leaf in spring, vulnerable and just beginning to grow. 

So, after dinner, they cuddle up on the couch and floor to watch the midnight movie on local T.V, hands tentatively finding each other and bodies gradually resting closer together in new configurations. 

He falls asleep on the floor, Indrid spooning him and Joe resting his head on his belly. Wakes up with Joe curled around him and Barclay cuddled up to Indrid, snoring softly. 

Duck slips out of the configuration, pads into the kitchen to start coffee. When Joe sneaks up behind him he gasps, snickers as the taller man kisses him good morning. Then he grabs two mugs, smiling to himself at his luck as he opens the fridge. After all, he already knows just how his new boyfriend likes his coffee. 

[evienyx]

Fractures Prologue Outline

I was inspired by @muffinlance sending out an outline and so I grace you all with the original outline for the Prologue of Fractures. I managed to stay on it pretty much completely, except for when it comes to the word count.

Also, Google Docs is messing up for me, so instead of a Google Drive link, the outline is just below the cut.

Enjoy!

- - -

Outline:

EVIE I KNOW YOU’RE AN IDIOT BECAUSE I AM YOU SO DON’T FORGET: Zuko was imprisoned at 13, was there for 3 years, we don’t go into detail cause you don’t want it rated M now do you? You don’t. He was released two days after Sozin’s Comet.

Why is the Gaang not in the Fire Nation? Who knows. They’re not though. Ignore that Iroh would probably be smarter than that, I don’t care. You can figure it out, Future Evie. We are a master procrastinator, afterall.

Estimate for the Prologue’s length: Maybe 10000 words? Minimum: 8000 words, Maximum: 16000

Note: Keep OCs straight (not in the sexuality way dipshit). They are plentiful.

So here’s the deal: zuzu’s been hurt, tortured, traumatized, all the things and all of them are bad. Shyu (the only valid Fire Sage) comes down like “hey youre firelord now.” Zuko is understandably shocked but he’s not complaining i mean-

So there’s Keeli, who gave him food, and Ming and Lee, two of the guards at his cell. (other guards to be introduced later).

Zuko meets Pim and two irrelevant-yet-named servants. He is so kind. So good. There is much shock. What? A Royal treating servants like human beings??? Blasphemy.

So Zuko gets crowned and even tho his legs are jacked up he stands up and its very dramatic and very beautiful omg i cri evry tiem,,,

Then we have a royal party to attend but UH OH its boring so Zuko dips and goes to the commonfolk party (spoiler alert: he has more fun) (spoiler-spoiler alert: commmon ppl will LOVE HIM if he keeps this up (spoiler alert to spoiler alert: he keeps it up))

Zuko should probably take a bath somewhere in there.

Time skip to next morning after a night of nightmares (no need to go in depth for these just mention that they happen). Zuko’s got a meeting with the council and it doesnt go so hot and so he’s like ‘man our government sucks i gotta change that’ (wait is it a coup or revolution if youre the firelord? i dont know the school system has failed me).

Squeeze in meeting two new people who were also guards: Tyne and Anzo. They’re married, Tyne is Lee’s sister.

REMEMBER THAT TYNE AND LEE ARE FIREBENDERS.

On that note, Zuko’s firebending is messed up.

Reveal to ONLY THE READER that Lu Ten is alive and married to Keeli (and they have the MUNCHKINS).

Zuko goes to the Boiling Rock bc plot convenience, finds Mai and Ty Lee. Awkward reunion? Probably.

Zuko finds Suki and Hakoda in the Boiling Rock. Hakoda is cold, Suki is too. It’s not just because they were born in the southern half of the world (heh puns)

Zuko takes them back with him cause he’s a good boi and they are very obviosuly injured and he ONLY HAS PURE INTENTIONS WHY CANT THINGS JUST WORK OUT FOR HIM (i shouldnt be saying these things im the one writing this fucking outline).

Zuko has a panic attack for some reason because hes got t r a u m a .

Cut to Hakoda’s POV and like what he thinks about Zuko and stuff.

Ride back in the carriage, show zuko OBVIOSULY overworking himself. Pim being a badass and getting CHARCTER. Maybe she like punches someone.

Time skip again, get some bonding with Keeli in there if possible (better be possible). Zuko suspects a prison guy of embezzlement or some shit and goes to investigate HIMSELF because we need the plot to progress somehow. It’s an old waterbender prison.

SPOILER ALERT: HE FINDS KYAAAA

Kya is a badass tho and we love her and shes so strong and she sees RIGHT THRU zuko bc shes not an IDIOT (ahem hakoda).

Hakoda and Kya reunite and its beautiful and there better be tearsss.

Okay this might end up being around 25000 words instead.

Zuko works to like improve relations with the guests he has now, readers get a little inside look on a few different people.

IMPORTANT ENDING: ENDING IS AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT!!! I REPEAT: AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Make sure to end the prologue with a KNIFE IN ZUKO’S SHOULDER and nothing else because making readers feel pain is glorious.

End prologue.

- - -

[marvxlousqueen]

Warren Worthington- Dream

A/N: i missed this bby!! thank you anon ily! also i keep having to reuse gifs i’m mad (he needed more screen time wtf i’m sad) also i’m writing this at midnight so yuh

requested by anon: im feeling dirty so warren smut? maybe him fucking your face?

word count: 1.4 K

warnings: smut obvi, cussing, underage drinking, uhhh not proofread? 

“7 minutes in heaven? How old are we again?”

Scott rolled his eyes before cracking open another can of beer. 

“It’ll be fun, come on Warren! It’ll be like a throwback to our younger days. Don’t be a pussy.”

Warren stood up, grabbing another drink. “I am not a pussy. I just don’t see the point! You’re already in a relationship, how could that be fun for you?”

Scott shrugged. “We’ll invite some others, have a little kick back. Get some more girls other than Jean over, maybe, Ororo, Jubilee... (Y/n).”

Warren sat down, “Shut up, Scott.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

He rolled his eyes, wings puffing out. “I know what you’re thinking, don’t. Just don’t.”

Scott moved to the other couch where Warren was seated. “Don’t you want to live out that little dream you had?”

“No! Shut the fuck up!”

Scott raised his hands in surrender. “There’s nothing wrong with it! Everyone gets urges, it’s totally okay. And I bet you could lay some real groundwork with (Y/n) tonight if you play your cards right.”

Warren stood up, face flushed. “Why- why did I ever tell you about that? That was so- so fucking stupid! It’s not going to happen- it shouldn’t happen. She would hate me if she knew I thought about her like that- it’s disgusting.”

“Listen man,” Scott sighed, rubbing his temples, “some girls could find a guy dreaming about facefucking them as a compliment, you know?”

“This is awful. I’m awful-”

“Warren! She’s not going to know about the dream, okay? But, maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll get to kiss her tonight and sort of test the waters, okay? Just relax.”

Warren nodded, sitting back down. “Okay, okay.”

[...]

Two hours later, the small living room was crowded with slightly tipsy teens. Jean was sitting close with Scott, making jokes in his ear. (Y/n), Ororo, and Jubilee were attempting to all play ping pong against Peter, but even with the three of them, they were unable to keep up. 

“Damn! You’re too good, Maximoff.” (Y/n) felt out of breath from the intense game. 

“I know.” Peter took a seat next to (Y/n) on the couch, throwing an arm around her before stealing a sip of her beer. 

Scott could feel Warren tense, even from across the room. “Okay! Let’s play a game! Who’s in?”

Jubilee raised her hand quickly, looking for anything to entertain her. 

“Wait, what game? I’m NOT playing monopoly with you guys again, last time took 6 hours.”

Scott rolled his eyes, “It’s not monopoly, (Y/n), don’t worry. Let’s play seven minutes in heaven!”

(Y/n) laughed loud. “Why would we do that?”

“Shut up and play. Get in a circle. Jean, can you grab that bottle?”

A bottle of beer was placed in the center of the circle. 

“This is so stupid-”

“Shut up, (Y/n)! Live a little, alright?” Jean raised her eyebrows at her, which (Y/n) only responded to with a tilt of her head, confused. 

“Warren, why don’t you spin first? You’ve been quiet.” 

Warren looked Scott dead in the eyes glasses, shaking his head slightly. Scott raised his eyebrows, making Warren give in. 

“Fine.” 

Warren reached out and spun the bottle. It went ‘round and ‘round, before stopping in front of (Y/n) so suddenly, almost as if someone had stopped it themselves. 

Warren looked up at Jean, eyebrows furrowed. 

What the fuck? Was that you? Did you stop the bottle?

“Maybe. Anyways, don’t be mad. You should actually be thanking me. How else are you going to be able to live out that little fantasy you had?”

I- what- what the fuck? Scott told you? I swear to God, I’m going to kill him. 

“Warren?” 

“Huh?” Looking up, he saw that (Y/n) was already heading towards the closet out in the hall. 

“Are you coming?”

Scott mumbled under his breath, “Oh- he will be soon.”

Warren made sure to kick him on the way out the door. “Yeah, yeah.”

(Y/n) opened the closet, squeezing into one side, trying to give Warren as much space as possible.

Warren closed the door behind him, only being able to see the outline of her through the darkness. 

“Hi.”

“H-hey,” he stuttered. 

“So-” “So-”

“Oh you go first.”

“No, you go.”

“Okay,” (Y/n) sighed, “So- um, Jean might’ve told me something about you- like, I don’t know- a certain dream?”

“Huh.”

“Yeah...”

“Wow, okay. I should’ve gone first.”

(Y/n) chewed her lip, “Why? Why’s that?”

Warren cracked his knuckles to calm himself down. “I was hoping I’d get to tell you I liked you before you heard about a creepy sex dream I had about you, that way at least I seem like less of a dirtbag.”

“Wait, you like me? Like actually? You don’t just want sex?”

“I mean,” Warren looked (Y/n) up and down, her clothes hard to make out in the darkness of the closet, “I do want that stuff, but you know.. more than that too.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Cool.”

“Sorry,” she shook her head, “it’s more than cool, I’m just- shocked? I don’t know, really. I- I like you too.”

“Oh, cool.”

She nodded, “Cool.”

A beat of silenced past as Warren tried to calm down the butterflies in his stomach. “So.. do you think I’m a dirtbag? Because of the gross dream-”

“It’s not gross.”

“Huh?”

“The dream- I mean, Jean didn’t get that graphic, but I don’t think the idea of me sucking your dick is gross.”

“It wasn’t- it wasn’t exactly sucking-”

“What does that mean?”

Warren shook his head, “Oh god, I want to die. Okay, it was more like aggressive than that, like- um.. facefucking..?”

“Oh-”

Warren’s head dropped, “I hate myself.”

“That’s not really gross either.”

Warren looked up at her so fast, he felt like he almost got whiplash. “It’s- it’s not?”

She shook her head, “Kinda hot..”

“Oh, cool!”

(Y/n) laughed, “Yeah, cool.”

Warren hummed, not sure what else to say. 

“Warren.”

“Mhm?”

“Do you want to right now?”

“Want to what?”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, “fuck my throat, dipshit.”

“Oh-i-” Warren felt blood rush to his crotch, “I mean- I, yeah?”

“Okay, good.”

(Y/n) dropped to her knees.

“Wait- can I like, kiss you first? Because I was really hoping just to kiss you tonight-”

She stood back up, pressing her lips against his. (Y/n) pulled away, moving to whisper in his ear, “You can do so much more than that, Warren.”

“Fuck- okay, good- cool.”

She dropped back to her knees, looking up at him through the darkness. 

Warren could feel his cock straining against his jeans. The thought of being able to do this to her was too much. Her hands moved up to unbutton his pants, sliding them down his legs. 

Her hands went to passage his bulge through his boxers, palming him slowly. 

“Fuck- please.”

(Y/n) stopped her movements. “No, I want you telling me what to do.”

Warren felt his dick jump. “Fuck okay, okay.”

She went back to palming him, waiting for another instruction. 

“Take- take my dick out, spit on it.” 

(Y/n)’s hands moved to slide down his boxers, revealing his length. His dick slapped against his stomach, rock hard. Her hands trailed up and down it, ghosting over it to tease him farther. 

Warren’s hands moved into her hair, tugging it back. “Spit on it.”

She did as he said, spitting on the tip, slowly jerking him off. 

“O-open your mouth.” 

Warren slowly slid his dick into her mouth. “F-fuck-”

(Y/n) swirled her tongue around the tip before he started thrusting. 

“Oh fuck- (Y/n)-”

Warren’s hips went deeper into her throat, hands pulling her hair. 

“S-such a good girl for me.”

Warren’s hands guided (Y/n)’s head all the way down his length. “Oh jesus christ- I’m close.”

(Y/n) hollowed her cheeks before humming around his dick. Warren began to thrust faster, his hips stuttering. (Y/n) tightened her throat around him. 

“Oh- fuck! Are you- are you ready?” 

She hummed in response. Warren thrusted into her mouth one last time before finishing down her throat. “Oh- shit”

He pulled out of her mouth, pulling his boxers and pants back up before helping (Y/n) off her knees. 

“That was-”

“You were-”

“Great.”

“Great.”

(Y/n) laughed, seeing how hard Warren was breathing. 

He ran a hand through his hair, “I can’t believe Jean told you about that- I’m going to kill Scott for telling her, and then I have to kill her for telling you-”

“I’m glad she told me.”

Warren looked at her, “Really?”

“Definitely. I needed a good throat fucking, so thanks.”

Warren let out a laugh, “Shut up!”

(Y/n) raised her eyebrows, “make me.”

taglist: @chocolatealmondmilkshake @thoughtlesspace @billyhargovesgurl @babebenhardy @rexorangecouny @cyndagoaway @killcomet @mcrmarvelloki @queen-turtle-boiii @hardlylo @ziggymay @jacqueline1916 @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ixchel-9275 hmu to be added to my taglist!!

[the-resurrection-3d]

18 19 20

18. Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

I do try and use outlines, although not anything strict. The closest I come to “tools” would be bibisco, which is a free alternative to a software like Scrivner. (There’s a paid version, but the free version has really all you need.) You can store character/worldbuilding/plot details in there and separate chapters by individual scenes, so I use it a lot for non-chronological or heavily fragmented projects, as I can move things around more easily. It also has a function that counts how much of the story is in each character’s pov, which is cool, although I ended up installing a highlight-counter macro into Word to calculate the Hannibal-Will distribution in “here stands the spring whom you have stained with mud.” (By which I mean I went through and highlighted lines of Hannibal influence and Will influence in different colors and then had the macro calculate how much of the overall document each one takes up, because I want to make sure it’s not All Hannibal All The Time.) 

19. Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

I actually looked up the quote to try and understand what in the fuck King is talking about, and here it is for anyone who was baffled like me:

“There is a muse, but he’s not going to come fluttering down into your writing room and scatter creative fairy-dust all over your typewriter or computer. He lives in the ground. He’s a basement kind of guy. You have to descend to his level, and once you get down there you have to furnish an apartment for him to live in. You have to do all the grunt labor, in other words, while the muse sits and smokes cigars and admires his bowling trophies and pretends to ignore you. Do you think it’s fair? I think it’s fair. He may not be much to look at, that muse-guy, and he may not be much of a conversationalist, but he’s got inspiration. It’s right that you should do all the work and burn all the midnight oil, because the guy with the cigar and the little wings has got a bag of magic. There’s stuff in there that can change your life. Believe me, I know.”  

Okay, now I get it. I guess my muse is actually pretty similar, but it’s inside of the sewers of my mind like Bluebeard’s BDSM dungeon. As my work becomes more and more memoir-based, I’ve begun looking inward for inspiration rather than just poking holes in pre-existing media, although the two impulses are still intertwined. Does that make sense?

20. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

I know this vividly because I had it once: the study center in the library that used to be open 24 hrs a day yet was rarely used outside of finals week -- a huge locked classroom with just some tables and chairs and a blackboard so I could skip and run around all I needed, but was close to a bathroom, a pencil sharpner, and the cafeteria so I could always sneak out and either buy food or steal from the soda fountain after all the cafe workers had finally left. I once stayed in there for eight hours and hand wrote some 18 pages of YYY fic that way, although I think the most that was ever posted was “Neutral Slam Hotel.”

Then they added macs, which made it harder to parkour over the tables, and then one of the dipshit useless freshmen destroyed a bunch of computers in there and you had to start making appointments to go in. God I fucking hated our freshmen class. 

Thanks for the questions!

[netflixonyourcouch]

A man was struck by a toppling statue last night on Facebook live among a huge crowd of people. This puts me in such a weird headspace.

First and foremost, the act was horrific. Who knows how heavy that statue is, and it came down full impact on the victim's head as he was looking away. It is likely that I just watched a local resident die on Facebook live. I can't imagine how the onlookers in real life are coping with seeing such a traumatic and gruesome incident. I am not doing ok.

But the other part of that coin is that it does unbiasedly changes the "all cops" argument a bit. Cops were ordered to stand down so they did not prevent people from playing on the statue and defacing it and eventually pulling it down. But what if they *did* order the crowd to disperse? Maybe a man would have woken up in his home instead of a hospital bed.

Cops were immediately on the scene, clearing the way for EMS and taping off the scene. They were instrumental in the first moments of the accident. You could very well hand-wave this away and say "anyone could have done it" but honestly, that was the time for the protestors to prove they could do the job without cops and everyone was frozen in shock and awe at the moment. It's a factual statement, without any bias, to say that the police contributed to rushing that man to the hospital.

To say that the cops are beyond reproach is not really a logical argument. I know this, because if you take all of those supposed woke protestors and put them in cop uniforms and let them police the way they want to police, then we'd have a different story of policing on our hands. All it takes is the right person on the job. I've been personally stopped by cops 5 times and have been let go without any hint of racism.

It's very true that police brutality is systemic and more than a few bad apples. We have the proof of that, NO ONE SHOULD ARGUE AGAINST THAT. But I never agreed with "abolish the police" for not one second. We haven't proven the "no police" theory would scale. I don't agree with radical ideas. It shouldn't get you ATTACKED for not agreeing with radical ideas.

"But you know what's radical? Defunding education lololol" Listen, I know dipshit. You think I'D agree with defunding education? No, I'd call that radical as well. I hate when you're moderate and a radical wants to fight you WHEN YALL ARE ON THE SAME SIDE. Fuck.

I understand fully and agree with other aspects of this whole national argument. I'm FULLY behind defunding police. I'm FULLY behind giving other first responders a chance with responding to societal issues. It hurts me that I have to clarify every fucking thing I say or else people look at you as if you say anything less than "Fuck all cops" that you're a cop sympathizer. I hate to say it, I really do, but this mob mentality is one of the hugest reasons why I don't march, why I'm not particularly vocal on issues of social justice and why that shit bothers me in like a second if I read too much of it.

I get it because I don't expect everyone to be able to write a 12-page thesis with sources outlined in MLA format about how to fix society. But at some point, thinking in extremes even on the far left side, is going to get people hurt like it did last night. And that's what I don't want.

Let's fix the government, not dismantle it and leave it up to millennials and zoomers who know more about what's going on on Tiktok and Twitter than they do of American government run the circus lol.

[amnachil]

The College Society Chapter 4 Part 1

And here we go !

This is the last chapter of Liam’s 1st year at the university. It’s a long one, so be ready ;)

A new pov will replace Barbara starting now, I hope you’ll like it.

Damian-Nicholas Smith Carrey Friday March 8, in France

When people said him that he could write a book about his life, he never imagined what kind of book it would be. But now, he had quite an accurate idea. He would call it : 'How to change from the most famous hunter to a stupid and naive man in love'. He had gone through step one for a long time now : have a fucking ridiculous teenage crush. And now, he started step two : be in a relationship with your so-called crush. Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey wasn't someone easily flustered. At least on paper. But when it come to the baboon, it was a true disaster. He must have left his pride back in the US.

"What do you think ? Isn't this one better ?" asked Liam.

The junior looked at him, his brows furrowed. They were doing shopping for souvenir. Well, the baboon searched little things for his siblings and Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey tagged along.

"I dunno. There are the same to me."

One was a key chain with the eiffel tower, the other with the Arc de Triomphe. Both were low quality products anyway. But the baboon finally picked one, and they went out of the store.

"Where are we going next ?" asked the blond lad. "There is plenty of time before our departure..."

"I bought everything I wanted." replied his boyfriend. "So I thought we could hum... take some time for us ?"

He blushed when he said the last word, which made Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey blush too, and then they both blushed even more. This is an endless circle of  pathetic shyness. I mean, I eat ass every other day, so why am I so prude right now ?

"Fine." he agreed anyway. "Lead the way."

They honestly had a good time. It was fucking weird to enjoy this at much as sex. Maybe even more. They went for walk the length of the Seine. Liam ate a box of pastries along the way and they talked about this and that. This is the end of my damned life. I'm having a silly conversation with someone. It must be the first time since... I don't even fucking remember. They were on their way back when Liam sighed.

"I'm happy to have you Dami." he whispered.

All this romantic bullshit was so embarrassing. Do I like it or not ? Just get a grip dude ! Not only he was having a damn date with his boyfriend, but he also looked like the flustered one here ! No one must ever know it happened. The baboon took his hand.

"I'm serious you know ?" he continued. "I mean, I'm still very worried about a lot of stuff... Nate is my main concern, but I'm also still preoccupied by my father. And I can't deny my story with Kilian is giving me an headache. But I'm really happy to know you're here."

"First of all baboon, it doesn't suit you to be so serious." replied Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey while trying to regain composure. "Secondly, there is nothing in what you said that can't wait tomorrow. You've the right to enjoy a little time for yourself with someone you love."

Liam blushed. He kissed his boyfriend to thank him. Holy crap. I'm getting good at the cheesy stuff too. Well, it wasn't surprising : Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey was good at everything.

This evening on the plane, the junior felt a weird dread through his whole body. Suddenly, he stressed about his relationship. But there is nothing new... I mean, we already were a couple before. So what is different ? He quickly put his finger on it. I said to the baboon I loved him. I confessed my weakness. The hunters shall never know. Nobody in the university, for that matter. There are already too many fucking people aware of our relationship. I don't trust anyone about this.

"Hey dude."

Damian Nicholas Smith-Carrey glared at the sophomore who hailed him. It was the dipshit called Matthew, Theo's heir.

"What the hell are you doing here ?" he asked. "Want to suck my prick ?"

The cocky lad (it was obvious this guy was an arrogant bastard) smiled.

"Maybe another time. I just wanted to say D.R sent me the contract regarding Barbara. She has to stay away from Colton and all his friends starting now. So you won't see her again much."

"Don't give me that crap, idiot. I don't care about the roach. You can fuck her, so go on. Isn't it what you wanted since the beginning ?"

Matthew's smile grew larger. I can definitely see the ressemblance with this shitty Theophile now.

"Just go away, moron." he concluded.

Liam Sunday March 10 back in the US

"This trip has done some damage..."

The young lad bite his lips. I knew I had indulged a lot but that's quite a change...

"Do you dislike it ?" asked Nate, while slumping on his bed.

"Not really..."

He had been ages since the last time Liam had looked properly at his reflection. He was pleased with his general body shape. His face was finely chiseled. He had strong biceps and triceps. His legs were robust but thick just like his chest. His pecs were nicely standing out. Even his back was kind of burly. But where three month ago he had a blossoming six pack, he had now a modest amount of squishy flab. His bulging waistline was easily noticeable since he was only in briefs. But he wasn't dissatisfied.

"I think I like myself." Liam whispered.

"And that's a good thing." mumbled his bestfriend, his eyes closed. "You have nothing to be ashamed about, trust me."

The chesnut lad outlined a smile. I'm glad to see Nate is talking more and more. He was also pretty sure Dami won't judge him for a little bulk.

"I mean..." resumed the other lad. "You're even well-endowed."

It made Liam blush like hell. (Not that he didn't take the compliment.) (Who could blame him ?).

The freshman expected things to improve since they came back from France. After all, Nate was getting better, Nick was actually making some progress at swimming and Dami literally confessed his feelings. It looked like the unicorns were finally powerful enough to repel the forces of evil. (After all, he had been feeding them with his dreams for months now !). So when a girl went to talk to him during his training this afternoon, he completely ignored her. (Not on purpose of course !). He was just so happy that he couldn't focus on anything. He went throught weight lifting and then legs exercises without noticing the many people who accosted him. He left campus without taking note of the lustful looks around him. I think I'm happy. The talk with Kilian had freed him. He was so glad to know the force of evils failed to take his ex-boyfriend. Anyhow, he finally went to work. As soon as he arrived, Judy came to him.

"Oh god Liam here you are ! I was so worried !" she shouted.

He blinked, not sure to have heard right. (Not that he often didn't heard people or anything...). What was she worried about ? Did he forget something important ? Something life-saving ? Maybe the aliens were gonna attack soon ?

"Liam focus ! I'm trying to have a conversation here !"

Judy clicked her fingers right under his eyes, breaking his thoughts.

"Are you alright ? Did someone do something to you ?"

"What ? No." he replied, surprised. "Why ?"

She frowned.

"Are you and Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey still a couple ?" she eventually asked.

Liam blushed. I think I'm supposed to keep it a secret but... He could trust Judy, right ?

"We are." he replied. "But what is your point ?"

"Be prudent when you're not with him okay ? I never thought I would say that one day, but I think you're safer with him around. Even if I still bet he'll hurt you in the end, like he did with everyone else."

Liam nodded. Their boss was calling them. I'm not sure I understand what she meant... However, he was certain Dami wouldn't said "I love you" so lightly. I'm special to him, I'm at least sure of that.

When he arrived at their flat tonight, Nick announced Nate wasn't there. Apparently, he had left for a talk with Archibald. It reminded Liam there were still things he wanted to improve in his life. My bestfriend and my poor family situation should be my priorities. He had no doubt the unicorns would agree on this. Besides, everything was linked to the forces of evil anyway. He grabbed a slice of pie in the fridge and joined his roommate. (Of course a pie made by Dami. Now that he had tasted his boyfriend's pastries, it was very hard to eat anything else to be honest.). (Once you visited heaven, you wouldn't come back, right ?).

"I can tell he's doing better." said Nick while staring at the screen of his console. "But I also can tell he went through something very disturbing. What do you think they're talking about so often ?"

"I don't know." admitted Liam. "But Dami assured me Archibald was a good guy so I trust him."

Of course, the chestnut lad wanted to help. And yes, I want to know what happened. (Curiosity is not a sin). (Glutonny is, but Liam didn't think much about it).

"Yeah well, until now we can say whatever he's doing is working." agreed Nick. "You should go to sleep... Wait, are you snacking ?"

Liam took a mouthful of his pie and chewed happily.

"This is just too good." he explained.

"You were sooooo against food at the beginning of the year." laughed his roommate. "I never imagined you were such a foodie."

Well... Seems like I changed my mind.

Nicolas Monday March 11 – Tuesday March 12

< Imagenius : yo what's up ? >

< TheSavior : long story short it sucked. I m better looking at my screen and playin'. Wht abut you pal ? >

< Imagenius : long story short my roommate is fuckin' loud while talkin' with her new friends. I hate people with actual life you know ? They remind me I'm a loser >

< TheSavior : won't say I know the feeling cuz I dont. >

< Imagenius : lol becuz right youre so popular >

< TheSavior : at least i hav friends outside a lame chat bruh >

< Imagenius : bruh >

< Abeautifulwomen : guys I do to. >

< Imagenius : as if a man who claims to be a girl could. Anyway Sav can you send us another pic of  this cute roommate of yours ? Pretty please ? >

< Abeautifulwomen : Same. But hey Ima are ya gay ? >

< Imagenius : Joker ? >

< TheSavior : need 2g. I'll turn the chat off. I don't hav any another pic >

* Abeautifulwoman is offline *

* Imagenius is offline *

* TheSavior is offline *

Nick sighed and looked at the clock. Almost midnight. Nice. I can still play. He slowly stood up and headed to the kitchen. First of all, he needed supplies. The raven-haired boy opened the fridge and grabbed a slice of pie and a beer. Two beers. He knew Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey had cooked it for Liam but whatever. His friend wouldn't mind. Nick came back to his room and turned his console on. A sligh whine came from his roommate's bedroom. Nate was having a nightmare again, he guessed. It was happening every other day. Not like if I could just ask what's wrong. If he doesn't talk to Liam, he won't talk to me. The lad drank his beer and started to play. He was good at it at least. He finished the level rather quickly, only to notice he had already ate the pie and emptied the beers. Again, he stood up and headed to the kitchen. Not that he was hungry, but he liked to play while chewing something. This time, he opted for ice cream. And beer of course. Then, he took his playing up again. One hour later, he was done with two more level. And he had devoured the ice cream. So once more, he stood up and headed to the kitchen. No wonder I'm fat. He put his snacks on the counter and patted his belly. When he had entered college he had been a twig. But the sudden freedom allowed him to indulge without his parents constant nagging. Maybe he had enjoyed it a bit too much. When he had come back at home for the christmas holidays they weren't very happy about his changes. Himself had been surprised to discover he had already hit the freshman 15. Now this limit was beyond him. I checked when we came back from France. I weight 89 kg (196 pounds) now. Almost 200. Nick shrugged. He didn't really care. He took his snack and continued to play.

The next morning, he got ready quickly. Unlike Liam, he wasn't dozy on the morning. Well, Liam was dozy all the time so bad comparison. They left together for the first lecture. When they arrived, the first thing Nick noticed was Barbara. The girl hated him for some absurd reason. She was so obnoxious. Then, he glimpsed Rebecca. Another one he couldn't understand at all.

"And to think I've been interested in her..." he mumbled.

Liam didn't hear him. That was the good thing with this dude. I could've been screaming, he wouldn't notice. They joined Colton who greeted them warmly. Nick turned on his gameboy but he wasn't paying attention to the screen. He knew the game by heart since middleschool anyway. Instead, he looked at his friends. He often did that without them noticing. Everyone assumed he was just another nerd but he was an observant nerd. Their trip in France had took a toll on Liam waistline aswell. If I'm looking closely enough, I'm sure even Colton's ever slim frame must've softened a bit. Nick was pretty sure this one would lost it in one day or two. As for his dreamy roommate... I think he will keep it on purpose. He seems to like it. Well, both of them were handsome anyway. The raven-haired boy didn't have this luck. He heard someone laugh behind him. The person whispered something about pokemon being a lame game. Another talked about his little bathing in the Seine. Not a day I want to remember. Seriously, classes were so boring...

Noon eventually came. Nick hit the buffet of the cafeteria like a ravenous beast. He needed his daily amount of junkfood to functiun properly.

"What do you think about the math assignment ?" asked Colton. "Shall we work on it tonight ?"

"I finished it already." he revealed. "But I'm sure Liam would be glad to do it with you."

Of course, his roommate wasn't listening. He was looking away while munching on home-made cookies. And new thing, he was crooning. I know some very weird people but they can't hold a candle to him. Nick discreetly kicked him under the table.

"Uh... What ?"

"Welcome back to earth." he said. "Colton wanted to ask you something."

Nick didn't listen to their conservation. He had glimpsed Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey in the crowd. Another strange dude. Since I came here, I met too many real character. He looks pissed. I mean, more than usual. He was talking to a girl. Well, probably insulting the girl to be fair.

"... Swimming tonight ?"

The raven-haired lad turned his attention towards Colton.

"No thanks." he replied when he had guessed the question. "I'm not very... at ease when there are so many people watching me."

His friend smiled.

"Of course."

* TheSavior is online *

* Abeautifulwomen is online *

* Imagenius is online *

< Imagenius : yo ! Day was booooring. How was yours ? >

< TheSavior : Same as usual. Couldn't wait to be back in my flat >

< Abeautifulwomen : Mine was fine. I don't actually leav my flat. Lucky me ! >

< Imagenius : Btw guys there is something up in my college. I heard ppl sayin a big hunt started. Don't know what that meant but they were very excited. Apparently, the prey is one of a kind ! >

< Abeautifulwomen : Funny. Do you think they hunt human ? >

< TheSavior : I'm sure they're talkin abut a treasure hunt or smthg. We shuld play. >

< Imagenius : Nah Sav it was about a real person. They want him but idk why. Maybe he did something wrong. Beauty yu didnt hear anythg from your boss friend ? >

< Abeautifulwomen : He doesnt control every college in the country duh. Last time he called he was very very very very very angry :3 I got a dick pick thanks to that ! >

< Imagenius : You really are gay. >

< Abeautifulwomen : I told yu im a girl >

< TheSavior : Come play and stop the chichat. Wdc abut a fke hunt nor ur fke dick pick >

< Imagenius : Aye sir >

< Abeautifulwomen : Aye sir >

To be continued

Tadaa. Something is going on in the community, but what could it be ?! I can only tell you Damian Nicholas Smith Carrey will have a lot of work to do. Liam is in a happy bubble, but you know me, it won’t last long.

And welcome Nick. He has been a steady presence in the background since the beginning, so he earned his own pov. He’s on a group chat with two other people... Maybe you’ll be able to guess who they are ;) 

[eclipsedalice]

im having a fucking think-a-thon about everything smeyer fucked up in terms of jacob and bella rn and its like. holy FUCK is there a lot. holy FUCK! 

first off, love triangles are stupid as all hell, but we all know that. what should have happened at the end of new moon was:

jacob gets upset with bella for leaving to find edward because he realizes that their relationship is unhealthily codependent, not because he’s in love with bella and resents her for not picking him. upon her return he verbalizes this concern (which he had started to do when they went to the movie together in new moon - when he pointed out how much the cullens leaving had messed her up) and bella would have been forced to come to terms with the less savory parts of her relationship with edward. 

there are multiple outcomes to this: either she realizes she’s too dependent on edward and changes it by outlining more boundaries in their relationship and not allowing edward’s abusive tendencies, or she calls off the relationship entirely - while this sounds ridiculous bc bella believes theyre soulmates or whatever, bella is also extremely rational and mature thanks to her parents being garbage, so its not a far cry to assume she’d think rationally. pair that with the fact that toward the end of new moon, before the edward rescue mission, she was actually entertaining the idea of letting Jacob help her heal, its not hard to imagine a life where jacob, instead of possessive and a dickhead, is a supporter of her healing, a huge proponent in getting her out of an abusive, codependent relationship, and a good partner.

alternatively, post new moon (though i do think that edward and bella really need to map out their relationship better, sheesh) jacob could have been understanding about the nature of edward and bella’s relationship, as wolves have a similar concept to mating - imprinting. were stephanie meyer not a dipshit, she’d realize that having jacob be unable to realize that edward and bella were fated to be together DESPITE that literal thing happening to every god damned one of his packmates is dumb as all hell! he should be cognizant of the fact that just like sam found emily, edward found bella, and despite the differences in species, its the same concept. and i know we’ve all heard it, but if you love someone, let them go? if he had a shred of actual, genuine love for her as smeyer tries to write him as having, he would respect her wishes, instead of ignoring them and assaulting her. 

really, he should have given up the second everyone else started imprinting and he didnt with bella. he shouldn’t have had any delusions - every other instance of imprinting in the novel was between two people from the reservation, presumably because, as jacob says when he explains imprinting, the imprint is imperative in finding the best genetic match to produce more strong wolves. how would imprinting on a non native woman do that? this of course brings up some fantastic discourse about smeyer treating the natives like animals - making them vicious wolves, making them slaves to, basically, a breeding fate, but. we wont get into it. 

i guess the moral of the story is like. it doesnt make any sense that jacob is angry with bella for her choices. its not who he is - werewolf or not. and i refuse to accept smeyer’s characterization of him as “angry and jealous bc of the wolf inside him” gloss over all the plot inaccuracies and holes of jacob acting the way he does toward bella. 

#freejacob