#Which will be the meat of the story

[jackieshaunanat]

Chapters: 1/4 Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Alice/Cindy Berman (Fear Street), Cindy Berman/Tommy Slater (Fear Street), Christine "Ziggy" Berman & Cindy Berman, Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson Characters: Cindy Berman (Fear Street), Alice (Fear Street Part 2: 1978), Christine "Ziggy" Berman, Tommy Slater (Fear Street), Deena Johnson, Josh Johnson (Fear Street), Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street) Additional Tags: Lesbian Cindy Berman (Fear Street), Cindy Berman Lives (Fear Street), Alice also lives, Ziggy dies instead, Slow Burn, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Well the first chapter is obviously the rest of the story won't be, What if Cindy saves Alice in the mess hall but as a result Tommy successfully kills Ziggy?, Nick Goode is not fast enough and not even the Devil can save her from that axe to the chest, Internalized Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobia

Summary:

Peachy Keen (pee-chee-keen) adj. informal. 1. Very satisfactory. 2. Just fine.

Cindy Berman's life is perfectly and completely satsifactory. Until 1978 throws everything she has ever worked for into the wind. Is it worth it to rebuild everything anymore?

[egophiliac]

CROWLEY SSR THOUGHTS

there is zero basis for this, but I can't get this thought of my head

I don't know why I decided to draw it this way

[meatlessmcmuffin]

stop thinking so hard about it dude ur gnna get a headache

[al-luviec]

something simple to try to get out of art block (it didn't work)

[d8tl55c]

oh boy !! ! ! ! !!! ! thANK y0u all for the kind words on my last art posts. you all get it and i was/still am so happy about it

as promised, here's some close-ups of the comic for image quality's sake, and other screenshots i rescued from the community whiteboard (and something else)

first up another sketch of mystery gender-ambiguous being. (please send me more name ideas for them if you got one- i like to hear em! (reminder it's the side character that appeared for <10 seconds in AvM Ep. 30))

a few fav scenes

emotional support cwab

they weren't meant for this purpose exactly, but i do have countless "fluffy sticks" loose in my notes and homework sheets from the school years.

papery critter.

even when i wasn't confident in fur or feathers, they helped me practice posing and create some satisfying gradients/flowing poses. (im a sucker for good tail poses) (oh yay! i found a good pic...)

and finally, little sneak peak for you for reading so far ;3

i realized that whiteboardfox is pretty great for my working needs. simple and to the point and all. feels nice with the mouse and the tablet.

so i started hashing out a big project idea just to see if it holds up and

[

several hours later ...

]

oh

oh man

it's a little bigger than i expected

<next>

[penisgeorge]

Hey guys why the fuck did that thing know about Kingers wife. “How’s your wife Kinger” WHO ARE YOU AND WHY DO YOU KNOW HER

Usually I’d go off on a tangent about how the circus must monitor them in some way and PURPOSEFULLY chose that as the thing that would hurt (or punish) him most in that moment but I have learned by this point that none of it will mean anything mechanically and will not be touched on again; it’s all just symbolism. Which is great, however I’m dying now

[carnivalls]

.

See the thing is. I know I'm good at writing. Like I have my weak areas or things I need to improve in, but it's not a skill I otherwise spend a lot of time feeling insecure about because a) if I don't believe in my writing literally who will b) if I want to publish my writing I ought to at least feel a resting level of good about it because editors and agents likely will not be cradling my face like a prize cat and telling me how talented I am while asking for their edits c) I've always had an audience for my writing even at its worst– I started sharing my original works online when I was around 16 & that really helped sell to me the idea of 'there will always be someone out there who likes what you do' d) untalented men never think this hard about the quality of their works and they always end up published anyway and e) I don't have many other thoroughly developed skills so why not have one I feel good about. Having said this. Awkward feeling to realize you're one of the authorial weak links in your postgraduate creative writing degree's social circle

[hana-bobo-finch]

damnnn I hate it when tumblr doesn’t show me posts from my mutuals and I have to scour through their blogs to see what I missed. How barbaric. Especially hate it when I can tell my own posts aren’t being shown. Listen when I post I want EVERYONE to see it. Like look at this

It’s zasp as a larva 🥰🥰🥰ignore the fact that he is Actively Being Eaten

[badscientist]

theres so many things in dead meat id wanted to explore but its already so lengthy after trimming what i felt was unnecessary.

[hofftrans]

the other big plot twist of this past year other than many of my organs freaking out on me was spending years telling people abt my highschool experience, having them jokingly say it sounds like I was in a cult and us then all having a chuckle about that

only to look up the history & religious beliefs of my highschool and finding out that Yes It Was Very Much A Cult

[specialagentartemis]

My favorite genre of sci-fi is “small research team goes to a distant plant/star/space station/black hole/etc to study something weird there, and then the weird thing there Wrecks Their Shit.” Can’t get enough of it. “Small research team goes to a deep undersea research station” and “small research team goes to a deep Antarctic research station” are also very good variants of this as long as they get completely rekt by a weird mysterious alien thing there. I love it every time.

It is also important to note that these stories can range from “TPK” to “lone survivor” to “a few losses but most of the main characters come out of this harrowing ordeal alive, if changed” to “everyone survives this harrowing ordeal and they have a new friend now!” but the more characters survive the better the story better be. If it’s a TPK/lone survivor I eat this up and will love it no matter how bad it is (Underwater (2020) starring Kristen Stewart I am vaguing you here. Stupid movie. Saw it on the big screen and loved it). But if most/all of the cast survives, the writing and the story and the characters better be goddamn amazing (All Systems Red by Martha Wells and Wolf 359 by Gabriel Urbina and Sarah Shachat I am vaguing you here <3 )

[arolesbianism]

GUYS.

New dupe real! Also new pod????? Olivia is that you girlie speak to me

[asleepinawell]

[ailius-suffers-through-art]

An original story i wrote for my english class way back when. It's dark (like all of my original fiction for SOME FUCKING REASON????? i guess im an angst connoisseur......???) so please heed the tags before reading to the end!!

i find nuclear power so ungodly interesting so its a damn shame i couldn't use it here. coal power plants generally use the same system minus the radioactive fuel though so i think its worthy of a mention.

reader beware, but please enjoy

Title: 17/11/██

-----

I don’t know how I should start this. Does it even matter at this point?

I’m not sure what else I can do. The Walls scare me and I want to go home.

I guess I should start at the beginning if this is going to be my last work.

If anyone will ever read this in the first place;

This whole situation, the horror I’m trapped in right now, all of this is my brother’s fault. We had been sneaking out to meet our girlfriends at the time, Oh god marie, I’m so sorry. I hope I will be alive to see you again. and decided it might be fun to have a test of courage in the abandoned power plant just a stretch into the forest by our meeting place. Which twin had the fortitude to explore the old building, we wondered. I was certain it had to be me– though Dallas thought otherwise and was confident in his strength of mind. It was an amateur writer versus a “detective in training”, so he likes to call himself. If my brother were here, I wonder how sane he would be able to stay? Perhaps I, myself, have stumbled upon the true test of courage in his absence. Even despite our disagreement I couldn’t wish this fate on him or on anyone, really.

Unknowing of what awaited us, we threw ourselves into the dark with gusto.

We began our journey in the metal cylinder’s room. Small windows near the ceiling let in the moonlight and hinted at the size of the room, but nothing could prepare us for the sheer scale of it. Our flashlights darted around the wide open space, and we could hear the echo of our footsteps as we explored. In the middle of this expanse, our lights hit a massive enclosed structure– the sides metallic and rusted.

“You should peek inside. There may be a monster waiting for you to come give it a kiss!” I teased my brother, knocking on the loose door. He laughed alongside me and agreed, pushing it open though his hands shook. As his flashlight lit up that small room, we saw the titular device I have named the room after. Forgive me for my ignorance as to the proper names for many of these locations and devices. I’m not somewhere where I could access this information– even if I wished to. It was a grand cylinder with lines engraved down the sides, stretching across several of those enclosings. This machine, bizarre yet harmless as it was, seemed to frighten my brother and so he quickly shoved the door closed again.

“Not to worry,” he joked– trying to cover up the way his eyes shook, “I gave that monster quite the smooch. She enjoyed it well.”

The air got colder the deeper we descended. Each hallway we traversed was lined with hundreds of pipes, trailing off into the darkness as our light was swallowed by the distance. The more my brother shivered, the more confident I became about my superiority in this little contest of ours. I was so sure of myself that I ignored the warning signs; the shifting beneath the ground, the dread slithering round and round those everlasting hallways.

At last, we reached the basement. The air was silent as death, the rest of life cut away from those isolated depths like an amputated limb. It was so quiet I felt as if I could hear a breath from a mile away. My brother stopped us there, grabbing me by the shoulders with his clammy palms.

“We can’t continue. Something’s… not well with this place.” he told me earnestly, but my ignorance was boundless. I laughed, spittle flying into the damp air,

“You’re quitting already? So much for that detective work, then?” Even now I can clearly remember the expression he made; it’s burned into my mind with all the clarity of a photograph. The furrow of his brows, the disbelief that bloomed across his face as he realized my foolishness, the frustration he must have felt, I understand it all clearly now. He shook me, clenching my shoulders tighter than he ever had before.

“You must be joking! Can’t you feel it? Everything feels wrong. This entire building is poisoned!” Dallas’ voice cracked harshly as he spoke with all the fervor of a wild animal.

All my blinded eyes could comprehend at that moment, however, was a coward.

In my folly I only saw the cornered dog, not the shadow looming over it.

“If you’re so scared you can run on back to your girl. Tell her your brother’s infallible will isn’t to be trifled with.” I had taunted.

“That’s not the point! God, it’s always the smartass with you, isn’t it? Think outside of your bloated ego for one second, for heaven’s sake.” he cried.

“If you want to leave, then just leave! I won’t stop you.”

Finally, he exploded.

“You arrogant prick! Fine, see what I care if you get yourself killed. Have fun with that courage of yours when you’re dead.” He shouted, turning around and marching away.

“Fine by me!” I’d called after him, before I was alone again in the silent dark.

Harumphing, my anger fueled me to plunge deeper into the basement. It was harder to face alone than with my brother.

The pipes looked like worms burrowing into the flesh of the building. At once I came across what seemed to be a shallow pool of water, stretching endlessly into that room.

My self-righteousness drained away by the cold, I kicked at the water sullenly. The water was warm.

Warmer than anything else in that chilly, dilapidated horrorshow. My instincts, once dormant, now awakened violently to the inherent evil of that place and sent me reeling backwards. All the signs had hit me at once. I had only understood the true nature of my situation when I was already in the mouth of the beast. Something reached out from that water and grasped my leg, and then I knew nothing.

When I awoke, I was here. I will attempt to describe this hell I am stuck in, though I feel my words will lack the depth of color to make you understand.

I woke up on a warm smooth surface, the heat of the room was quite pleasant in comparison to the freezing world I had left behind. The room was pitch black, so I felt my way across the room. Wall to wall, edge to edge, the walls were filled with warmth and the surface was without a scratch. The floor pulsated with an odd familiar rhythm, and as I searched for an exit I found myself enclosed within those six walls. A glass box with no escape. Whilst I fumbled around in the dark, my foot discovered my only other company, a pen and a stack of papers. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, I finally understood where I was trapped, or to be exact, what I was trapped in. The first thing I noticed were the eyes. Hundreds of eyes, all staring at me from outside that glass box. Second, it was the viscera pressed against every single wall, pulsating to the rhythm of a heartbeat. Hair was curled within that flesh, ingrown and putrid. Lastly, I noticed the teeth, barely attached to the squishy meat they were embedded in, surrounding cavernous tunnels that breathed against my enclosure.

I nearly threw up. Once my realization had passed, I tried to use the paper to cover up those horrible sights– to stop those disgusting eyes from watching me. No matter how much paper I used, though, it never seemed to run out. A boon, I suppose, from the one who trapped me in this infernal purgatory. I use that pen and paper to write to you now, if anyone will read this at all. This cage of mine, or perhaps I should call it my last line of defense as without it I don’t know what the creature outside would do to me, contains finite air. I only have so long before I will run out. I can only hope someone will rescue me before that happens. Maybe an early death will save me from going well and truly insane here.

I’m scared.

I don’t want to die.

I’m sorry, Dallas.

Please come save me soon.

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

This letter was recovered next to the emaciated corpse of ████ ███, a young man who had gone missing two months prior. His brother, Dallas ███, had reported the disappearance the day of, dated 17/11/ ██. The police had searched the ████ coal power plant that night but no one was found. Recently, people complained of a foul smell coming from within the power plant and the place was excavated. This was when the body was discovered alongside the papers. These have been transcribed as accurately as possible for posterity.

[amethysttribble]

I simply Do Not Understand people who don’t like Critical Role’s pacing. I mean, I do understand, on an intellectual level, but the rest of me simply doesn’t get it. Maybe it’s my love for and dedication to stupid long anime, but… the fun of CR is that it’s long and meandering and messy

I’m there to watch a live streamed dnd campaign. I don’t want the rules litigation and the mechanics questions and the side conversations cut. It’s a live dnd game, I want to watch people play dnd, which is like that, it makes it feel real. That’s the experience I came for, if I wanted all that cut, I wouldn’t be watching a live streamed dnd campaign, I’d go watch a tv show. A 12 episodes, no filler tv show at that, lol

It’s about understanding the medium and engaging with it that way. I got into CR knowing that the episodes were long and liable to be slow in places; my expectations were set accordingly. And when I see folks saying they wish CR was more streamlined, all I can think is… I’m not sure you actually like/want to watch Critical Role

[limirint]

I think that pacing is truly the most frustrating part of my writing process. I crave a slow burn!!!! But how slow should I make it? Should it even be burning yet? Maybe I should write an exposition about the matches first, that way I can lead into the flame— no don’t leave stick with me