#and I have like. four scenes to write and all of them Fuck Severely and now I'm excited about it again

[marypsue]

After fighting it tooth and nail for many, many years, I have at last embraced outlining with open arms. I love outlining. It’s like writing, but without all the hard bits. 

[bamsara]

Have you seen cannon Eclipse yet?? Will Ruin be effecting how you portray them in SL?

(Ruin spoilers) Long post!!! Sorry I rambled klsdhglksd plus I pulled out some of my older art so it's a bit of a ramble post about Eclipse and how I write/draw them / the duality of man (robot) / and SL's AU universe

Most likely not since a fully-booted-up Eclipse in SL wouldn't be too terribly different from what I could work with coming from Ruin. I've already made several art pieces and writing drafts about the 'scary looking but sweet' Eclipse type more than the murder murder murder scary kill kind having to do with the virus's invovlement, so I think this developement is actaully pretty steller for me

Not to say my Eclipse won't be a bit more intense than what was shown in the DLC, but I think it still works out

I mean Look at my doodles and writings of Post-Solar Lunacy Eclipse and how they act: you've got your spooky behavior that comes from Five Nights At Freddy's being a horror game + based off of the DCA's behavior + general alternate universe junk :

and then your silly goofy:

I've always adored the Duelity of Man (Robot)

So basically: Ruin DLC will probably not affect how I write Eclipse at all because from the short few lines we got from them kinda already alligns with how I see Eclipse behaving, at least Post - Solar Lunacy. Sweet boy.

Eclipse's dialect is a bit different in the ruin dlc then how I've had it planned but I think that's okay too, considering how I had their dialect/manner of speaking pretty down similar to how Sun & Moon were speaking in the DLC at least (the short sentences, phrases, occasionally long ones) although this is kinda just a writing flow choice / au character interpretation thing that's a personal preference, since I personally have Moon less verbal than Sun and Sun a lot more talkative in my fics than even the og Sun in Security breach.

Appearance wise? Nothing really changes! The hat and sunrays combo can switch inbetween having a hat or just having sunrays (like how arcade game Eclipse just has sunrays, but character model Eclipse has Moon's hat) and it really just depends on the scene and/or if the DCA was already wearing the nightcap as Eclipse makes an appearance.

I'm keeping the four-arms deal. Best thing the fandom came up with and love it when they do that for characters. Insert 'i just think its neat' image here.

Solar Lunacy has been and still is a AU universe so like said before, some aspects of canon are choosy to whatever I think makes a good entertainment story and all, so not too worried about sticking to canon all that much. Yippie for transformative and creative expression!

THAT BEING SAID, I absolutely fucking adore the glimpse of personality we got from the few scenes of canon Eclipse in the Ruin DLC and it fits an idea of character in my head for them, so I won't really need to divert from the original draft too much for Eclipse!

I'm really happy ahh!!!!

[sil-te-plait-tue-moi]

Got shocked.

Quick summary: Before he knows why, Rust is fixating on you.

Warnings: Not much except it does get literally sick here kind of; sexism and really gross remarks; kind of workplace harassment; Rust being unsettling.

Word count: 3.6K

A/N: Erm this is not the second part to the Idler Wheel but I just thought I’d write this because whyyy not! It was kind of written quickly so if there are weird grammar mistakes just ignore them lmao 😭😭 might come back and edit when it’s not past midnight if you know what im saying. Anyhoo it’s September now?

***

The brain-rotting contents of his colleagues’ pass-time conversations was an unfortunate byproduct of Rust’s refusal to pay mind to his own thoughts. He needed it, he thought sometimes, though he’d rather not have had need for anything: it served as a focal point for his attentions, which, otherwise, might be directed inward at himself for too long.

He didn’t pay much attention to the exacts of it all. Bar last night, dick jokes, some wild sexual exploit from their twenties: once Rust had heard it once, he did not need to hear it again. Even before they spoke, Rust had had most of them figured out. He only had to watch them, his first day at the office. Still, initially, he let them tell their shit to him and believe like maybe they could be friends, like, maybe, Rust was one of them, too, that he was entertained by their boring fucking carousel of stories. Fucking arrogant. Plagued by the crack and froth of some dry ash-type taste, Rust would swallow it down. Just the first time, though. Not the second, and not any time after that.

No, he did not care for the details. More like, it was the tone of their voices that he could plaster his resentment on. Proud, girthy, spread over too much ground, self-important. For the most part, if he had to talk to one of them, more dogs than anything else, his throat would feel too full—his mouth, too. It was what it was: force-feeding. Why anyone in their right mind would pretend to enjoy it, Rust had no idea. Everything down here displeased him, but no less so than it had in other places. Everywhere he went, Rust came with himself, though he’d tried to sever that unwelcome tie a long time ago. If he was lucky enough, some floating sensation would find him, and Rust would get to leave the conversation for some worthy train of thought. Finally, he would get to pry apart a crime scene - in his head, he did not have to use gloves: he could play it like a tape, a thousand times, a thousand different ways.

Hear them now. Rust’s lip begged to curl, which was odd. It was then, coming to terms with the sensation of his instinct, its physical demands, that he understood that something was strange about this conversation.

Slow, crawling, his eyes made their way to Marty, who had scooted his chair over to Rust’s desk. With steely eyes, he took note of how his partner’s elbow was flopped over his paperwork, how his body was sprawled open wide so unnecessarily.

Rust removed a pen wedged under Marty’s forearm. He didn’t even shift.

With the aim of cleansing his mouth of that bitter swell, he took a mouthful of cold coffee, and another, and another. When he was alone, Rust took one sugar, but, here, it wasn’t enough. Shit, it was never enough to neutralise that foul taste. Sometimes, it grew so strong that Rust would take a little longer on his smoke breaks, making his way through one, two, maybe three cigarettes. Yeah, that usually quenched it. But it was no use inside - no, he needed an open sky above him, to let all the fumes out, like smoke from a smouldering kitchen. Something about four walls and a ceiling: how many men like them had sat there, sweat there, jawed there, pissed there, before them? It just made him sick, made his head spin.

There was no need to turn to know how the rest of them were arranged. So predictable. So deeply interwoven into their psyches: the strong belief that they deserved the space that they took up, and, shit, they took up a lot. Fighting for dominance of the conversation, pushing, shoving, overlapping, each trying to mark out a platform for themselves. He wouldn’t, and it unsettled them, just as they could never comprehend anything else that wasn’t like them.

Gradual-like, Rust let his mind melt back to the specifics of the conversation, the messy, brutal abstraction of their voices condensing into words and phrases, like ink-blots soaking back up into the brushes from which they were dispelled. It didn’t take long listening for him to understand that you had drawn the interest of the hoard.

Johansson would’ve said something—if he were here. The more Rust listened—to them inching closer to what they really wanted to say, hopping around the hot topic of women and their ways on them—the fatter his tongue felt, sitting big and swollen in his mouth like it shouldn’t have been there, like he ought to have cut it out by now.

With his spectre hands, he reached into his pocket, slipped a cigarette between his lips, lit it with one flick of his lighter. That click was enough to make his mouth water, most days, although not now. Breath scraped painfully through his throat, like sandpaper.

You were distinct from them - that was a fact. When he’d been thrown into the department, he found it odd that more remarks weren’t made to your face about most things: your capability, your temperament, your looks. More often, it’d be behind your back, huddled over in the office kitchen, passed around like a note in a fuckin’ middle school classroom. He figured it was because you were smarter than them, and they knew it. At least you were only a woman, they told themselves. They couldn’t beat you up, but they could do whatever they wanted to you in their heads. They could talk about how they’d pin you down if they ever got the chance.

That last comment only happened once. At least, only once when Rust was around. He’d ended up in the captain’s office, his fingers still twitching with the way that that pulse had begged and struggled for release.

His body ached with the effort to keep himself from shaking - the tremor in his fingers would not be eased by the deep, punishing drag of smoke into his lungs, nor would the dirt clouding his brain be cleansed and sanitised by the sting, the burn of the breath he held close to him, until it hurt his chest. No, he needed the sky—but he didn’t want to leave you either.

Rust’s head swung under a bout of nausea, which hit him like the impact of falling in a dream. Briefly, he closed his eyes, taking another drag, swallowing down the husk of it. It only made it all worse.

Punch him, he thought desperately, like maybe you could be telepathic, like maybe he was as well. Who?—he didn’t know. Any of them, all of them. It was all the same.

When Marty let out a bellow of a laugh, full and selfish and fucking stupid, Rust had to look at the photograph of the dead girl in front of him again to steady himself.

Delusion did not seduce Rust. Relying on what he knew to be true, he figured that you must’ve known what you were doing. You had worn your hair down today, not in a bun as was your usual - it hadn’t taken long for Bishop, this morning, to tug on a strand of your hair, like it was just waiting to be done, like bait on a hook. If he hadn’t done it, someone else would’ve. He was inclined to simply because you dared to exist in his presence. Even then, Rust’s throat had tightened, like this. So, even though his back was defiantly turned to the hoard, Rust knew—he knew—that, when you grunted softly, it was because it had happened again. Rust closed his eyes and willed that you would hit whoever did that.

People already knew the decision they were going to make, always, in some part of their minds, so Rust didn’t see the point in attempting to console or consult anyone about anything. If it was detrimental to a case, then he would explain this to Marty, calmly point out or even correct his mistake, but, on the most part, that was the extent of his reasoning. If his partner was in a bar, flushed and loose, and flirting with the twenty-one year-old bar-keep, he wouldn’t intervene. He hadn’t. Marty dug his own grave, and Rust let him. To do otherwise would be to overestimate the sensibilities of the other and to inconvenience himself. Fuck that. People didn’t want to be changed and Rust certainly had no interest in trying to. It was a losing game, a dumb one at that. Waste of time, waste of space. Rust knew better than to take up space - he would keep what he could close to his chest; otherwise, it was dead weight that needed losing sooner rather than later.

Everyone was begging to tell, to be fucking heard. It was a naïve, selfish way to look at the world: to assume that every other human put on Earth was someone to unload onto, to purify yourself with. Rust stared hard at the twenty-four year-old woman in the photo, sprawled over her bed, that long gash down her belly, like gutting a pig. He thought of how satisfied that the killer must’ve felt, to be able to finally share his urges with someone, to get to sit, placated, with their shoulders finally light.

He looked over the coroner’s report again, despite already knowing every statement on there, trying to fill your silence—which scratched over his eyes, the front of his brain, like claws—with the lull, the truth, of the case.

They were talking to you, now.

“Let’s get you down to the bar, buck,” somebody said to you, and he was pretty sure it was Geraci, oily, slick, fat. The skin over the back of Rust’s neck, thin, had crawled.

The boys liked to call you that—buck—like you hadn’t run the same track as them, jumped the same hurdles as them. You’d transferred from Brooklyn. Same shitshow, different department. They could tell, some of them said. City girl, high up on her horse. Not really, though. Your nature threw some people off at first, he speculated - you were not cold or brash, which he sort of thought maybe you ought to be, but, somehow, decidedly kind. Not gentle. There was a difference.

You were smart, and this was why you were not choking Geraci out right now. Did you want to? Rust could not get it out of his mind. He wanted to turn and look at you—not now, just some time—and figure it out. He had an outline, like the edge pieces of a puzzle all joined up. That was always a good start. Still, he didn’t appreciate it: the effort. It made you interesting, which was inconvenient. The people who worked here were not difficult to understand - their innermost desires were eager to be released, Pandora’s box, bursting at the very seams of their mouths, and, shit, Rust let it happen. It played out that way most times with the monsters he sat across from in the box: he would listen unflinchingly, and that was attractive to a lot of people, apparently. Someone who would not shy away. Maybe that was where Rust was misstepping with you. It wasn’t like him to be glad for things, but he was when it came to the orientation of your desks: your back was to his, and he did not have to look at you, and he was glad for it. He could not pin down why.

His knuckles were glowing, he was sure of it: if he looked down at them, Rust could’ve seen that illumination, his violence emanating from within, daring to break the skin like splitting, old leather. He could smell the embers already. Maybe that was you, though, or something else.

The heat bubbled up through his nausea. No, it was him - he would be up in flames soon, some sight to behold. His eyes pulsed against the thin skin of his eyelids, so he ruled out the option of closing them.

He flexed his hands slowly, passing feeling all along his weary tendons, before he continued typing, though the letters spun and jumped out at him like bugs in long-grass. Crickets in his ears, deafening. Was almost like he could understand them, some language he knew to respond to as a child, now long left behind. He was not alone, as much as he wanted to be.

When you spoke, Rust’s shoulders tensed, like a cramp. “I got business tonight,” you drawled, ever-polite, even sweet. That raw, thick, sugary taste oozed over his tongue, clogged his throat - Rust almost gagged.

Bishop’s voice emerged from the clatter: “What business you got on a Friday night? You got better plans?”

Fuck if you did, fuck if you didn’t.

A shrill whine speared through Rust’s head then, like a fissure in the Earth’s crust, his brain a liquid, churning beneath. He fought the urge to touch his own face, make sure everything was in its right place. He knew it would be, so he didn’t move. Sensation did not indicate reality. If it did, then Rust would have had to have discovered a whole other world a long time ago. He sat still, a statue, for several heartbeats. Then, he resumed his typing. A suspect’s alibi. He did not kill her.

“You don’t gotta spend a dime with us. We’ll take care of ye,” Howard added, and the hoard hummed and chuckled their agreement, a sick tilt to all of it. Rust wished his desk were anywhere else - he rarely wished for anything.

Conviction was not an area in which you lacked. You were a quiet, formidable force. Nobody at the precinct admired the way you worked the way it ought to have been. Not enough people gave enough fucks when you conducted interviews. Once, he had seen it. He had wanted to find Marty, and Marty was with Johansson, and Johansson had been on one side of the mirror, the other side behind which you were smiling warmly at a woman who had not long ago eaten about two thirds of her boyfriend, holding her hand. She had been twice your age at least, but you were the two-headed mother there, walking that fine line. For a moment, Rust had thought to himself that you would’ve worked him, wrung him out, if he was the one across from you. Not just a thought: a realisation. It unsettled him whenever he thought about it too long. What had confused him was your distinct lack of calculation. At least, he perceived it that way. Was it instinct that let you master that certain slope of your shoulders? No amount of practice could let him fabricate it to the same standard. Or maybe you had really felt it: sympathy.

But no. Once it was done, you’d exited, and your attention was searing. Rust had left before you had time to notice him.

Stoicism: you had mastered it, and Rust itched to know you, to understand how. How was the vein in your neck not throbbing like it would burst? How were your hands not fists, white-knuckled?

And you spoke through a smile, of all things: “That’s nice, but I can’t.”

“C’mon, buck, what kinda business you got that’s so important?”

Once again, Rust scoured over the coroner’s report, flit between the list of observable marks and wounds, correlating them with the visual aid of the photograph of the entire corpse. Total ten lacerations, eight of which had been on her stomach. Other two, on her face: slicing into each of her cheeks, those soft parts.

If he did this, Rust did not have to read into your answer, which was what his mind immediately raced towards, a bullet train, blindly searching in the darkness for some semblance of you. “My own,” you replied, and it did not mean anything to him because he was doing this.

Rust body itched to leap up and lay someone out, right then and there. His fist yearned for it, for the contact. For however often Rust felt like his body was not his, he had rarely considered the possibility that it might be in charge. People did what they would with him - his job was merely to take it. There was a strange sort of peace in that type of compartmentalisation, the kind where he could simply leave what apparently made up his person. If he was away from himself, he wouldn’t have to face whatever he was doing. An education in the dissociative state, an underutilised tool. He’d even had a course on it, he was sure. It was part of the reason he could keep his pulse so low, retreating so far into this meat shell that not even his blood flowed too close to the surface. But he felt it now, thrumming in his neck, a riptide. Taking his pulse now would do nothing to save it. The muscles there were stiff, flexing oddly under the strain of choking back on the natural instinct that, it appeared, was his. It tasted like vomit. Maybe that was real, though.

You were not some lamb that needed a shepherd. Fuck, he could never be one, not any version of him: he’d only be leading a thing to rot and ruin, and the parasite would get them, too. No, Rust wasn’t the shepherd. Never the shepherd. Rust was critical and cold. He might’ve been the wolf.

Ten lacerations. Raped.

The laughter of the hoard circled his head again, again, again. Someone must’ve picked at your hair - you grunted.

Abruptly, Rust stood up, like he got shocked because the room was on two different circuits. His spine like some iron rod, so unnaturally straight, his body so unnaturally tense, so unlike himself, he momentarily drew the attention of the other detectives all clustered together in the bullpen. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought they knew, that he was fighting for the wheel, that he was battling back the grey that had begun to vignette his vision. Why was he suddenly so tall? Not even that. Alive. He could hear it: life rushing, roaring, in his ears, crackling like a wildfire. Rust’s body, that strange entity, was momentarily reborn as something else, whose neck was never bowed, whose shoulders never rounded, who conducted itself like it was powerful. Maybe it was.

Marty eyed him like he had grown another fuckin’ head.

Despite the dissipating attention, murmurs to the side, you were still looking at him, too, with your eyes so hard, almost black, like two cherry pits. Rust was piloting, and he would not look away. No. He would look on, as he always did. No matter the electricity burn of your attention, which he preferred to avoid - the energy was coursing through him, bright, his veins fried and blackening. Beneath the surface, his being spasmed and seized. But he knew that you were no different than anything, so he looked.

If he didn’t, he would hit someone. That could be taken the wrong way.

Geraci’s hand was braced on your desk, just next to you, his fat, greasy palm covering some paragraph that you had no doubt been trying to read. Rust’s hands twitched, but he had managed to bring himself inward, had relaxed most of his body thus far, and he would not fuck himself over by letting fists form now.

So, Rust stared at you, cool, unrelenting.

He was surprised by the distance of his own voice when he asked you if you could come over to the files room just a minute and give your opinion on something for him. It was like his own mouth was at the end of a long, stretching tunnel, his words far away from him. He crushed his cigarette into the closest ashtray, annihilating it.

He tasted pennies there, in his mouth. Perhaps he had been biting his tongue. Perhaps it was just the look on your face.

Okay, you said, quiet-like, before you rose, prying yourself away from your desk. As you stepped past him, Rust let himself look at Geraci. People dug their own graves, but that did not cancel out Rust’s thirst to kill. That kind of justice lies in the bones.

Most likely, he just needed to sleep. It was coming up on four days, nearly, without, which did not aid in the dizziness that threatened the stability of Rust’s every step as he slowly turned to follow behind you.

In the files room, you were waiting for him, staring up at the flickering halogen bulb that illuminated this section, the chain still swinging from when you had just pulled it.

Rust stared at your back, far away from himself, almost stumbling back when he closed the door, sealing the two of you off from the real world. His anger flung about like a whirlpool behind his eyes, thrashing and throbbing. If he had mind to say something to you—which he did not—he wouldn’t have been able to anyways. Saliva pooled in his mouth, pushing under his tongue. He cleared his throat, delaying a gag.

When you began to turn to look at him, Rust almost begged out loud that you wouldn’t, his heartbeat thrumming in his throat, almost daring him to start panting for air like a dog. The assault of the light from the halogen bulb was invisible to you, so it could not be real. No, you were looking at him now. With his hand still gripping the handle like it could save him, like he could escape it, you, he almost closed his eyes, cringed away. But what was he?—some child? He could not. Sensation was not necessarily reality, and he was not sick, and you were not of concern to him. Still, he turned slightly, his body angled toward the door at which he still stood, refusing to step any closer. He couldn’t close his eyes—you could get the wrong idea—so, instead, he opted for the linoleum floor, careful to avoid your feet.

Fuck, he could feel your relief washing over him like a warm wave. It almost knocked him clear off his feet, and it left his knees weak, threatening to buckle. Once, he had gone out west, to the coast, with Sophia and Claire. Nothing like where he grew up: out there, in that endless cold, his pa used to warn against any and all large bodies of water, ice. Even when you thought the surface beneath you was safe, it could give out, and you’d fall through into waters you didn’t know could be so deep.

Rust had reason enough to believe that this might’ve been worse.

There was salt spray in his mouth, now. Your ebb and flow churned in his stomach like the beat of a drum, reverberating through his flesh, which he was suddenly very aware of.

You’d figured it out: he didn’t need your help. He didn’t need to be in here either.

Something tangible rolled around on his tongue as your eyes scanned over him, a meticulous, slow rake. It grit between his teeth, like a grain of sand or a seed or something. Rust swallowed it and then fought a proceeding dry heave, smothered by a bright feeling in his throat that only flared up when he heard your breath hitch, too.

You were polite to spare him, to stare at your hands. Wordless, you left him to go busy yourself with nothing in the back of the files room, melting into the shadows, concealing yourself behind a shelving unit.

Even though he couldn’t see you, though, your sweetness still flooded Rust’s mouth, inescapable. He knew you were there, thinking, maybe about him.

He almost wished he had done nothing.

[paradiseismine]

Instant Chemistry (part 1) - Finn Wolfhard x reader

Pairing: Finn Wolfhard x actress!reader

Warnings: none yet, but of course, this fic will be packed with smut in its future chapters.

Summary: reader is an actress and her agent has a surprise for her - a hot scene in an indie film with one of her favorite actors, Finn Wolfhard.

Format: This is NOT a one shot like the ones I usually post, it’ll likely be a 4 part story (maybe longer).

Love note from Nina: I had a dream about Finnie recently and decided to write it down into a fic. Hope you like it 🫰🏻

Everyone in the industry plays an archetype: that was a given. Some actresses were the goody two shoes, some were femme fatales, some were girls next door. And as crazy as that might sound, you were growing into a femme fatale. That meant that showing some skin and partaking in more sensual roles was bound to happen - and it’s not like it bothered you.

Leo, your agent, had gotten you pretty far for a 22 year old with your background: you had gone from model, to extra in some bigger productions, to main star in a few indie films. You had started acting classes a couple years ago, and was trying really hard to become an actual actress, and make a living solely out of your acting.

One day, you made Leo a huge favor by preventing his future husband of figuring out Leo’s proposal before it actually happened, as it was meant to be a surprise. “I owe you one” he had texted you later that evening, “and I’ll make it count when I pay you back”.

Several weeks had gone by and a project you were once dying to get your hands on was finally going strong. You had gotten home after a long week of shooting your new indie film - a complex and delicate story about a young marginalized prostitute whose dream was to have a romantic relationship and live a normal life. It had some intense sex scenes, but lots of dramatic charge that would surely put your name on the spotlight. With your body exhausted but with your heart smiling, you fell asleep in your new apartment in L.A.

“Morning, rising star” you woke up to Leo texting you, your phone buzzing with his messages. “Remember that one I owe you? Just paid it”.

“lol what did you do?” you responded, the tips of your fingers rushing through the keyboard on your phone screen, curious. Leo was always full of surprises, and you loved that about him.

“You’d told me your fav tv show was stranger things, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, I think I just got one of the ST kids to be with you on a spicy scene next week hehehe” he texted, and your mouth went completely agape. “You’re welcome in advance, darling” he added, his jokingly cocky tone nearly audible.

“omg who????”

And… he didn’t text you back.

Your head was cooking for the entire weekend, trying to figure out which ST actor Leo had convinced to partake in the movie. He had said “ST KIDS”, so it was one of the core four, for sure. You crossed them out in your head after some extensive online research: Noah Schnapp is gay, so he probably wouldn’t be comfortable with such intense sex scenes with a woman… Ok, he’s not it. Gaten Matarazzo is probably busy with some Broadway play, he always is. Not him as well.

Finn Wolfhard is always juggling twenty different gigs at the same time. You wanted him the most, but it was very unlikely he’d take the role. So, Caleb McLaughlin was your best chance. He was surely a darling to work with, you’d heard, so you were still excited to meet him, of course.

As you entered the set on Monday morning, your mind was hung up on the idea that Caleb was your special guest. You’d rehearsed in your head how you’d introduce yourself to him, the things you’d say, everything.

Your brain turned into complete putty once you spotted FINN WOLFHARD sitting on a foldable chair, holding a stack of paper, eyes roaming through the script. Fuck. It was him.

You’d get to kiss him, to rub your body all over him. Not for a minute. Not for an hour. But for a whole day. Heck, maybe even two days. And you’d still get PAID for it. It seemed nearly illegal that a job would do that.

You approached him slowly, trying to gather words into your mouth to simply greet him. Soon, he raised his eyes from the script and spotted you.

- Hi - he smiled sweetly. - You must be y/n, right? I’m Finn, nice to meet you.

He shook your hand politely, and you tried your best to give him a firm handshake (Leo always says that a good handshake is important in a Hollywood career), preventing your fangirl reaction from shining through.

- Oh, hi - you smiled back at him, still trying to seem normal and unimpressed. - That’s me. Should we get to the chemistry read? I’m so excited for this project, you have no idea.

- Me too! I loved the script so much, this is just great - he flipped through the pages, his teeth showing through a cute shy smile.

- Quite a departure from fighting inter dimensional monsters, isn’t it? - you joked.

- Definitely - he laughed, standing up to follow you towards the chemistry reading table.

Once everyone was sat down and settled, the reading began. Finn would be one of your character’s clients, and was only supposed to be in a scene or two, in a cameo appearance type of thing. But at the end of the reading, that seemed likely to change.

The chemistry between the two of you was electric, the director had said. The whole crew was amazed at how naturally you seemed attracted to each other just through your words, how easily the scenes would develop. From a small role, Finn was now asked to play your character’s main love interest.

He called his agent on the spot and pushed back a few band gigs on his schedule and said yes to being half naked with you for a few more days. I mean, the project itself was an indie film, so it wasn’t even good money. His main reason to take the part must’ve been you.

[f0point5]

MAD MAX FIGHT SCENE WHEN?? I have never needed a written piece more than right now

I also reserve the right to imagine Emilia throwing a shoe at someone in this scenario. Idk why i just feel like it could happen. She is not happy about it

MAD MAX FIGHT SCENE NOW!!!

Tell me why this went four different ways before I came to this version. The alternate version took place in a club and had Emilia spraying champagne at a bunch of people but fundamentally it didn’t work as a written piece because you can’t hear what anyone’s saying in a club for shit 😂 No shoe throwing but I hope you like it anyway 😂

Me writing action scenes is like something out of that book After it’s so bad I’m sorry but I hope you got where I’m going 😂

✨set after the Monaco Grand Prix 2018✨

I don’t regret it one bit, ‘cause he had it coming

Another Monaco GP, another yacht party. You’re not even sure whose yacht it is but you don’t care. During GP weekend, drivers can pretty much walk onto whatever boat they want. You, Max, Clara, and Laurent had wandered onto the biggest boat with people having a party and set about forgetting Max’s nightmare weekend. The party is chaotic, you’re not sure how long whoever is in charge of the marina will let the noise and overcrowding go on, but you’re enjoying the high, four shots down with Max on the upper deck, lazily moving to the music emanating from the DJ playing his set downstairs.

“Where’s Laurent?” Max asks, practically shouting in your ear. He’s tipsy, which he deserves to be, his arm slung over your shoulder as he looks around, jerking your body as he turns. He’s out way too late, you can tell by how his t-shirt is clinging to him, and the fluffy top of his hair has completely broken free of the gel hold. He looks positively feral. You don’t hate it.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, pushing up onto your tiptoes so you don’t have to shout. “Probably fucking Clara in a bathroom somewhere,”

Max chuckles at that, taking a sip of his Red Bull. He offers it to you but you shake your head.

“I thought you were supposed to be supporting me,” he jokes as you avoid the can.

“Not by rotting my insides,” you tell him, squirming in his hold as he bops to the Dua Lipa remix he’ll pretend he’s never heard before. He manoeuvres you in front of him as if you don’t even have feet, wrapping his arm around your stomach so that you’re still trapped, but comfortable.

“Je bent niet leuk, schatje,” he says into your ear. The air on your neck makes you shiver against him, and he must think you’re cold because he holds you tighter.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you tell him, which makes him smirk. “And I’m not your baby,”

“Ja, maar-“

“Max!”

You twist in Max’s hold when a guy you don’t recognise appears from somewhere in the crowd. Max lets go of you to greet him, and without being entirely engulfed by 80kgs of Red Bull and audacity, you realise you’re parched. You tell Max you’ll be right back and scoot out of reach before he can say anything. You creep through the crowd and then downstairs to where the drinks are without twisting your ankle, which, given how drunk you felt back upstairs, sort of surprises you.

There’s several ice buckets lining the edge of the deck and you peruse the options. You’ve certainly had enough to drink but one more vodka couldn’t hurt. You glance over at the cans of Red Bull and make a note to take one with you as you pick a glass off the table.

“Do you come with the bottles?”

Well, that’s a choice of opening line, talking to a girl like she’s a phone charm.

You turn to see what, not whom, actually felt comfortable saying that out loud and there he was. The epitome of a guy who would say that. He’s older than you, maybe mid to late 20s, all tan and tight jeans, dark hair cut in a fade, gold watch that could be seen from space and those Louboutin loafers. His cologne smells like Dubai.

You look him up and down very slowly and deliberately. “Not if you’re buying them,” you say, turning back to the ice bucket.

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that,” his voice is closer now, almost in your ear. You turn only slightly and find his face already next to yours. ”Come have a drink over here,” he nods over to a seating area where a few guys sit with girls that look too young to be there.

You know the type - down on a girls trip for the weekend with only party outfits in their bags, they’d likely hung around the marina until the pack of jackals had brought them here to ply them with alcohol they didn’t have to pay for. You’re half offended that this guy thought you’d be anywhere near that easy.

“I’ve got enough, thanks.” You say, firmer this time, as you give up on the vodka and just grab one of the many bottles of champagne in the ice bucket. When you turn to leave, you practically collide with the hunk of meat now towering over you.

“Who do I have to speak to to get you to come have a drink with me?” He asks, as if that’s meant to be sexy.

You roll your eyes. “Your hairdresser.”

“Come on, just one drink. I’ll make it worth your while,” he says, his eyes glancing down. You follow his gaze, already steeling yourself for some vulgar gesture, but he pulls out the edge of his wallet from his jeans.

You roll your eyes again. “I’m not pay for play. Now leave me alone.”

You step around him this time, starting to make your way back towards the stairs when this experiment in protein shake consumption blocks your way. You almost trip trying not to crash into him, not that he would have minded if the way he leans into you Is any indication.

“Look, I’m not some nobody, baby, I’ve got real fucking money. I’m what all you pretty girls come out here in your skimpy dresses for,” he says, the noxious smell of chemicals and tequila almost making your eyes water. What makes you feel sick is the way he uses his height advantage to look down your dress. “So have a drink with me. It’ll be fun, I promise,”

Only now does he employ an actual smile, the kind that you’d never want to be in a room alone with. Suddenly, you don’t feel like making any more jokes, you just want to get as far away from this guy as possible. Turning on your heels, you figure you’ll double back around the deck, but a hand tight on your wrist stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t walk away from me,” the words are growled, and you feel your pulse spike. Now you’re scared, but showing it will get you nowhere.

“Get off me,” you snap, trying to shake the giant cretin off you without causing a scene. He doesn’t let go and you’re just about to bottle him over the head when you hear Max’s voice.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Max strides towards you, looking as angry as you’ve ever seen him. He must have been watching from up by the railings of the top deck.

“Oh, here we go,” the guy grumbles, rolling his eyes as he looks at Max. You take the opportunity to wrench your arm free of him. “Don’t worry, bro. You can have her back when I’m finished with her,”

“You arrogant piece of shit,” you snarl at the guy, almost taking a step towards him before thinking better of it.

“Watch your mouth,” he snaps back, pointing a finger at you. “Your ass isn’t that nice,”

“The fuck did you just say?” Max yells over the music. He guides you behind him effortlessly and you don’t argue, though you do keep hold of his arm.

“You heard me, you prick,” the douchebag says, flashing Max a cocky grin. That won’t go down well.

You pull on Max’s arm. You can tell from the set of his shoulders that this is getting out of hand.

“Max, leave it,” you tell him, pulling him again, and this time he listens, sighing and shaking his head. He knows he has to let it go.

“Jesus,” the arrogant pig sneers, and you cringe. “Has this bitch got a magic pussy or something?”

You don’t even have a chance against Max’s reaction speed. He’s moving before your eyes can even follow, shoving the guy backwards so quickly that the drunkard stumbles slightly, but not as much as you thought he would.

“Shut the fuck up,” Max growls at him.

Dickhead doesn’t take this well, shoving Max back. You’re too scared to get in the middle now. People are starting to stare, a couple of them even have their phones out.

“Max,” it’s more of a plea than anything. “Stop it,”

You know Max isn’t going to just drop it. He doesn’t know how to walk away from a fight, it’s just that normally his fighting involves being protected by a ton of carbon fibre, not that he thinks he needs it.

“You don’t want to mess with me, man,” the guy shouts, looking over Max’s shoulder to glare at you. “Certainly not over some dirty yacht slut,”

Once again, you’re no match for Max’s reaction speed. You don’t see his arm move. You’re barely able to process his fist connecting with the guy’s face. You just see Dickhead fly backwards clutching his jaw as he tumbles to the ground.

“Max!” You scream, but this time he totally ignores you.

“Fucking pussy,” he yells, at the same volume but now that the music has been turned down so that everyone can pay attention to the spectacle, it feels like the whole marina can hear him.

He steps towards the disoriented drunkard on the floor and this time you manage to catch up with him, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him backwards.

“Max, come on,”

He’s fighting it a little, and you press your nails into his skin as you fight harder, dragging him away from where Douchebag’s friends have swarmed around him trying to help. You know they’re looking in your direction but you ignore them and you’re hoping Max does, too.

He turns to look at you and it’s like barely recognises you, his face is flushed and his pupils are dilated and you don’t entirely recognise him either. It knocks the wind out of you, and for just a second you swear everything stops, even your heartbeat.

“You’re okay?” Max asks you, through frenzied breathing.

Your mouth is dry but you speak anyway. “I’m fine.” You don’t know if you’re lying. “Let’s just go,”

You don’t give him time to argue, and it seems he’s calmed down enough to realise now is a good time to cut your losses, because he follows you without complaint.

You don’t let go of him until you’re on the concrete pathway up towards the stairs that have street access. More accurately, that’s when you become aware that you’re still holding onto him. When two toasted revellers try to walk between you but can’t, and shout something at you in Spanish for walking too slow. You let go of Max but he still doesn’t say anything. You keep stealing glances at him as you walk. His shoulders are still tight, his jaw is clenched. His hands are clenched into fists at his side. He still looks livid. That’s why you’re nervous, that’s why you can’t catch your breath, that’s why it’s hard to look away from him. You’re worried about him.

“Well, that was stupid,” you say with a sigh, once you’re sure your words won’t come out as some kind of breathy invocation of a worse kind of chaos than anything you’ve already been involved in tonight.

“That guy was stupid,” Max shoots back, grinding his teeth.

“You could have got hurt, Max,” you tell him, shoving him in the arm. He rolls his eyes. Of course. When taking your own life in your hands is what you get paid for there’s not much you can afford to be scared of. “What would have happened if you’d broke your hand? Your dad would actually kill me,”

“My dad would have done the same thing I did,” Max counters, and you can tell by the several expressions that cross his face in quick succession that he doesn’t quite know how to feel about that.

“Your dad is an idiot,” you remind him. He doesn’t argue. “And so are you,”

He scoffs. “So I was just supposed to let him talk to you like that? Touch you like that?” It’s not really a question, more a general statement of unadulterated disgust and you can’t really blame him. “Fuck that. I’m not going to just-“

He cuts himself off, his jaw ticking again. Neither of you have ever spoken about it, but you know men behaving like sentient sewage is a sore subject for both of you. Maybe, you think, you shouldn’t make him feel bad for standing up for you. You’d never needed anyone to stand up for you, and you still didn’t, but the fact that Max always did means more to you than you know how to articulate.

You lean over and kiss him on the cheek, catching more of the corner of his mouth than you intended, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stops walking and looks at you, the left side of his lips twitching.

“You kiss idiots?” Max asks, tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip.

“Exclusively,” you shrug, “judging by my dating history,”

That makes him laugh, a proper one, with that bark he does when he’s surprised how funny he finds something. All traces of the menace from the boat filter out of his body, and something in the back of your head tells you it was just in time.

“Hey,” a loud, obnoxious, and lovable voice rings out behind you. You turn around and see Laurent walking towards you with a well satisfied Clara on his back, holding a large bottle of pilfered champagne. “Where the fuck have you two been?”

[lurkingshan]

Dead Friend Forever is a Marvel of Mystery Writing

I haven’t been watching Dead Friend Forever live, because I am not always that into the slasher genre and I figured I would wait to hear whether it holds up before jumping in. I admit, I was a bit dubious about a drama sustaining a slasher narrative for 12 entire weeks and didn’t want to spend time on something that might be too shallow to sustain and would end up falling apart. I basically told bestie @wen-kexing-apologist to vet it for me and holler if I needed to start paying attention. And a few weeks ago, they started poking me with increasing intensity, along with a few other friends, because the writing was holding up better than they could believe. I started asking questions, and once @ginnymoonbeam mentioned that Sammon was the writer, it all started to click and I dove into a binge to catch up.

And they were right! This show is excellent, and its strength is sourced in an incredibly strong script from a writer who knows how to construct a longform mystery. Because it turns out, that’s what this show actually is. How do you sustain a slasher for 12 weeks? By embedding a deeper mystery within the slasher framework and pacing your story so that the entire middle delivers a backstory narrative that is even more compelling than the current events. This show is expertly structured to grab your attention and then get you deeply emotionally invested in the coming bloodbath, which is crucial for a slasher to feel like it has any stakes. Let me also note that the excellent writing here is supported by extremely smart direction and editing and some standout performances from young actors. I am going to focus on the writing here because that’s what I do, but it should be said that this whole production is all around excellent. 

So let’s talk about why the writing in Dead Friend Forever works so well! Great drama mysteries should support two kinds of engagement from the viewer: 

no thoughts head empty engagement from the people who just want to be pulled along for the ride and be constantly surprised

red string board theory engagement for the people who enjoy finding clues and trying to solve the mystery in advance. 

It’s actually really fucking hard to thread this needle as a writer, because it requires seeding strong enough clues that attentive viewers could reasonably guess some of the big reveals, but not giving away so much that you are unable to surprise them. A reveal in a good mystery should have you saying “oh my god WHAT” and “of course, that makes perfect sense” at the same time. And the best mysteries support the viewer being able to go back and rewatch, find new meaning they missed the first time, and realize every single thing that happened adds up. A tight mystery has no loose ends and no false steps; it never lies to the viewer, it only works to draw your attention where it wants it at any given point in the story.

Dead Friend Forever does this masterfully with several of its reveals, but I will highlight the biggest example: the reveal of Phee and Non’s relationship in episode 7. In the first four episodes of the show, the story lets us in on a few crucial facts: Phee is newer to this friend group (along with Tan and White), he was not present for whatever went down with Non three years ago, he has some kind of fucked up not!friends with benefits relationship with Jin that involves lots of sexual tension and dick biting, and he seems interested in figuring out what the hell happened once all these dudes start acting crazy about the videos. The string board theorists had enough to go on there to reasonably guess that he was intentionally trying to uncover the truth—but not why—and the no thoughts head empty crowd could just vibe, enjoying his scenes with Jin and wondering how exactly he ended up hooking up with him and getting involved with this group of people he doesn’t even seem to like.

Once we get to the backstory and see Non’s narrative, additional clues emerge, like the existence of both an older brother and a mysterious sweetheart that is only saved as [heart emoji] in Non’s phone. No thoughts head empty is over here going huh I wonder who they’re gonna be and hey when are the rest of the characters going to show up; string board theorists now have two clear options for how Phee could tie in to Non’s story and why he might care enough to investigate, but no one knows for sure. So when the show ended episode 6 with Phee running into Non’s room and began episode 7 with The Most Effective Five Minute BL Of All Time, everything clicked into place. No thoughts head empty got to experience a very pleasant shock moment, the string board theorists got to feel satisfied that they figured out at least part of the reveal, everyone got to enjoy an unexpected shot of romance in the middle of this stressful narrative, and there were still parts of Phee’s motives and involvement with this group that we didn’t understand and would require additional reveals. That is great mystery writing in a nutshell.

And it’s not only the mystery construction that makes the writing here so smart. It’s also the way Sammon is weaving in tons of social commentary, embedding Thai cultural and religious values, incorporating complicated crimes with lots of players in the mix that somehow don’t get confusing, and drawing complex and nuanced characters whose choices and behavior you understand even if you find them abhorrent. It’s not easy to make a viewer both despise a character and still care what happens to them; when you write a story about despicable people you run the risk of inspiring apathy in the audience, which is a death knell for a mystery. We have to be invested for this story to work. We have to feel deep empathy for Non to the point that we fully support axe murdering his bullies, but we also have to be interested enough in the bullies and why they behave the way they do to watch 12 weeks of them running around being awful to each other and harming everyone in their paths. And Non, too, gets to have real complexity. He is not a perfect little Mary Sue who never does anything wrong. He makes big impulsive mistakes, and seeks attention and affection from the wrong people, and lies to the ones he loves, and doesn’t always ask for help when he needs it. He is a flawed human being and that’s so important, because he is the center of this story and we need him to feel real.

In conclusion: holy shit. I tip my hat to you, Dr. Sammon, and I am very excited to be on this ride for the final four episodes. 

[ladykailitha]

Look, considering I've only gotten involved in Stranger Things after season four and therefore haven't been around the fans during other new season filming starts, but my brothers/sisters/nb in fandom what the honest fuck is going on right now?

I have been a part of other fandoms when new seasons started filming and the worst I'd seen was BBC Sherlock. And you lot are behaving worst then they did.

And Jesus fuck, that's a fucking low ass bar.

(Again I am ship and let ship, kinktomato, and headcanon free for all)

But this is just what I've seen in my small deliberately secluded corner of the internet so forgive me if I get some things wrong.

Ronance fans have turned on Steddie fans.

Steddie fans are trying to eat each other over who tops and who bottoms between two horny, barely out of their teens, men.

Eddie is confirmed dead.

Dustin is trying to become Eddie.

People want Will dead because Noah Schnapps said some stupid shit regarding genocide.

And Argyle isn't coming back.

I'm going to give you my feelings on these so buckle up lets go:

1- Steddie and Ronance fans have turned on each other. And I know this because I doom scroll through steddie tag. That Ronance fans think Steddie fans are delusional and that they're going down after season five airs and there will be more Ronance fans because they're perfect for each other.

Where to even begin on this? First, never tell a shipper that their ship is never going to be canon because they don't care. Just ask all the Destiel, johnlock, and merarthur fans. Steddie fans are just going to ignore all but the most salient parts of season 5 if Eddie doesn't come back and write AUs for the rest of their lives. You know, like they have since the last scene on the Piggyback faded to black?

Secondly, I don't think I've seen much Ronance without Steddie. Granted I only read Steddie, but it seems that the two ships are tied pretty heavily together. The fruity four comes to mind. So maybe it's that they're getting tired of being a side ship next to a massive one like Steddie. Who knows. But apparently they're bitter.

And I say that because they keep tagging their anti-Steddie posts as Steddie to make sure we see it. Honestly, I just block them and go about my day. But seriously, I've never understood people's need to be shitty like posting hate on the tag for that thing. If you don't like it, fine. Block and move on.

Thirdly. Lastly. Maybe. I don't like Ronance. I saw the charms when I first joined the fandom and it was cute. Until the more I read and I realized that most of the time they don't bring up that Jonathan is even a person let alone Nancy's current boyfriend. That most of the time Steve is written wildly out of character about not caring that they're a couple and that he just wants them to be happy. Like, one Jonathan is severely under used in the fics I've read. Like Will doesn't have an older brother anymore. It's all Steve or Eddie. Which considering how you like your flavor of queer for Eddie or Steve (gay/pan/bisexual) Will talking to them about being gay makes sense, but Jonathan showed us in the last season that he is going to protect Will no matter what. Then blip! in fanfics, he's gone.

And then the whole Steve being okay with Robin not only dating an ex-girlfriend of his, but the ex. The one he thought he was going to marry. The one he dreamed a whole fucking future on. That was still hurt by two fucking years later. You either think very lowly of Steve or you just don't care. Because if you think Robin and Steve are the same person/share the same braincell/ride or die for life, there is no way even if Nancy threw herself at Robin would she even consider it. (I can write a whole ass post just on this by the way, don't get me started.)

2- This is the most recent bullshittery due to a current event about Sub Eddie. This is the worst discourse in any fandom and the worst offenders on either side tend say the most homophobic shit imaginable.

And it's pointless. Whether you think Steve is a top or bottom, whether you think he's dom or a sub. Same with Eddie. Everyone has their own flavor they prefer and they won't always match up with yours.

Personally I write them whatever feels natural for the story. But here's the major crux of the matter. I don't believe a little nerd in Bumfuck, Indiana has any idea what flagging is. I'm sorry. Left pocket, right pocket. Doesn't matter. The likely of him even knowing what BDSM is is pretty slim. I grew up in a small town. There will be some people that know, but that's because they know adults in the scene.

Don't like, don't read. Seriously, guys. Let people enjoy what they want to.

My personal feelings on the matter is that Steve is a bottom/sub because he deserves to be taken care of and Eddie would absolutely want to be that person for Steve, in and out of the bedroom. Again, you do you, beau.

3- The tombstone. Sigh. It was hard to see that. Not just because it confirms he's dead, but because it's been defaced. Most likely like fans have said, "BURN IN HELL" the poor bastard.

Having a tombstone doesn't necessarily preclude Eddie's return. There are several ways he can still comeback Kas! theory not withstanding. But the wank here is people jumping on Steddie shippers and Eddie fans in general pointing and screaming "see!"

Like we didn't have campaigns for Barb and Bob and (Billy). If someone's favorite character has died, don't be dicks when they want them to be resurrected a la Jim Hopper. Because that right there is the main reason people will still hold out hope until the final scene fades to black, okay?

I guess this one is just be nicer to each other, okay?

4- *sob* like holy fuck. Dustin you sweetheart. The long hair, the torn Hellfire t-shirt, the rings. The horns and sticking out his tongue. That poor boy needs several hugs STAT! And of course, people can't leave well enough alone on Facebook, I couldn't tell you how many of the comments were "steddie fans are going to make this all about them, aren't they?" Even though there wasn't a single comment by a Steddie making it about Steve/Eddie. But so many eye rolls. The other half were death threats against Noah Schnapp.

Which brings me to...

5- Noah Schnapp said some really shitty things about Zionism and the attack on Gaza. There is no escaping that. He said them. He double downed on them. And while yes it sucks he said those things, let's not forget he's still young and stupid. He's barely 18/19 years old. I remember being that age and saying stupid fucked up shit, and hoo boy does this make me grateful I was well into adulthood when the internet became a thing (24ish).

There are a lot of reasons to be upset by his comments and I get that. But death threats and calls for his dismissal/boycotts just seems excessive to me.

One, because the story began with a kidnapped little boy and a runaway little girl. If you get rid of one of them especially this close to the end it would fuck up the story. Now if there was more than one season left, sure. But this is literally the end. And for all we know, Will's character may already be doomed by the narrative. So calling for it now isn't go to do anything. Especially since they already had all the scripts written and would have finished filming if it hadn't been for the strikes.

Two, one person on the cast said something stupid and hurtful and you want to boycott the entire show for it? Like, what did David Harbor, Joe Keery, Maya Hawke, Millie Bobby Brown and all the others do to deserve you boycotting their show? If the last season tanks it could seriously hurt their careers, but hey Noah Schnapp said something bad, so fuck them?

I'm going to stop there, because this is another one I can go on and on about, but yeah. Don't hurt other people in your rush to vilify an 18 year old.

6- Eduardo Franco recently said that he didn't get a call so he didn't think he would be back. He was sure that ship had sailed.

Fans are upset, naturally. Argyle was a sweetheart and deserves better than to be cut from the story like that.

But thanks to the incident with David Harbor and Jim Hopper supposedly being dead, a lot of fans are saying he's only saying that because it's a "secret" he's coming back. Which would make sense for Eddie or any of the other character died. Martin Brenner, for example, but not Argyle. There would be no need for subterfuge. Plus, he would already be out in Georgia if he was coming back.

It's sad that he was done dirty this way, but if they split up the filming like they've done before there is still a chance he might get to come back, but as far as the current filming is concerned, yeah Argyle isn't coming back.

***

Just... be kind to each other. Remember that the other people on the end of the URL is an actual person with feelings. That people can like what they like so if they aren't hurting you, don't hurt them, okay?

[babygorewhore]

Can’t stop thinking about…werewolf Steve.

Werewolf Steve loosely based off the beauty and the beast scene….this is thought because it’s very short. I may write a full fic someday. Not proofread.

Warnings! Violence! Some gore! Werewolves attack reader! Painful transformation! Injury! Minor hurt comfort!

Wandering around during a full moon wasn’t smart. You knew that but after getting into an argument with your ex werewolf boyfriend? You needed to blow off some steam. His fucking attitude was nauseating now that he was Alpha. Almost as bad as Steve Harrington who was your college notable asshole.

These werewolves used their abilities for stupid purposes and to blow off their girlfriends. You broke up with him last week after catching him literally in the act with an omega and if he didn’t have exceptionally strong flesh you would have hit him. But you didn’t want to break your hand.

Your best friend begged you to come to the costume party tonight and you wore a flirty ruffled dress with your hair covered in jeweled clips. You wanted the distraction of dancing, drinking and mentally escaping the everyday life stress. Not argue about how Gerard fucking another girl wasn’t cheating because he was drunk.

You wrapped your long jacket around your body as you squinted, trying to get a signal so you could call an Uber when you heard a growl behind you. Whipping around, you saw six sets of eyes glowing yellow in the dark. Werewolves.

It was a pack. Five of them had black fur but the Alpha was white. The different coat signifies the status of each wolf.

You were fucked.

You knew it was Gerard but you never imagined he would go this far.

Their maws snapped, you could see the glimmer of drool underneath the stars and you took a step back. Looking for any sort of weapon when you saw a large broken off branch. You sprinted towards it, locking your hands around the body as they swarmed you. Jaws snapping as they closed in, barricading you to a corner where no one would see you.

“Get away from me!” You screamed, swinging wildly. “GET BACK!” Gerard in his wolf form growled deeply, his hackles raising as his body preened in preparation.

You held the branch like a bat but you knew you were going to die or worse. Be tortured for hours.

“Little red?” You gasped and saw Steve Harrington on your left, he was holding a bouquet of roses with wide eyes. You had no idea where the fuck he came from but now you were both going to be killed.

“Run! Steve run!! GO!” You were screaming so loudly your lungs constricted but Steve collapsed onto all fours.

By the pained screams, you knew this transformation was new for him but you didn’t have time to think about it . Once they grew used to it, wolves usually kept their agony silent. A claw raked across your arm and you turned, yelling as Gerard loomed over you. Swinging, you managed to hit him across the jaw.

They all moved to jump on you when a roar stalled them. Steve, or what used to be Steve, lunged then all snapping, biting and tearing at them with his claws. Several of them were thrown as his maw latched around their neck as he threw them across the yard.

How this turned from a party to a fight was beyond you. But your ex boyfriend refused to go down easily as he sank his fangs deeply into Steve’s back. He let out a howl but he didn’t stop, before he planted his paws and roared so loudly you had to cover your ears.

They all finally stopped, their heads lowering. Steve’s dominating demeanor forced them to start walking away. King Steve came to your rescue. While carrying a bouquet of roses. This you never imagined happening. He was known to be an asshole. A player. But…maybe there was more.

As they all left, you turned. Ready to leave him. Your arm needed attending to when you heard a whine.

He collapsed on the ground. And you changed your mind quickly. Rushing over, you pulled off your jacket and covered his body. “Steve?” His yellow eyes stared at you, glazed but with recognition.

“You have to help me…you have to stand. I can help you.” You whispered. “I can find some way to get you home.”

You started to stroke his fur and he bumped your hand. Signaling you keep going and a small smile painted your face. Maybe there was something sweet. And almost kind to him. And you would have to find out something about those roses.

@scene-and-dandylover @xxhellfirebunnyxx @reidsbtch @imyourdaninow @slvt4jamesmarch @take-everything-you-can @emsgoodthinkin @chrrymunson

[zeroducks-2]

How old is Thawne I didn’t know he was a white hair old man

He's several lifetimes old.

He's a time traveler, and especially after Barry's death he's been moving up and down timeline, completing cycles and touching up events this or that way to see what would be the effect in the long term. The timeline we're seeing is the one he picked basically, in which he managed to pull Barry "kicking and screaming" out of the Speedforce after having altered his life deeply enough.

Speedsters don't grow old, in the sense that they look the age they want whenever they want. Eobard explains this himself to some very confused Wally, Jay and Barry in the Rebirth Mini.

When it comes to the way Eobard looks, the main thing is that it's not exactly consistent. Sometimes he has white hair, which sometimes are long and sometimes are short. Sometimes he's blond, sometimes he's a ginger. Sometimes his eyes are a pretty warm amber like in the picture above, sometimes they're red, sometimes red with a black sclera, and sometimes they're blue.

It's generally assumed that the red eyes and the (sometimes) white hair happened after he became the Negative Speed Force. But then there's Venditti's run, in which he was white haired since he was literally a small kid, so he had to have been born with them

You need to look closely but his hair is white even as a kid.

But it's important to keep in mind that unlike other speedsters, whose looks tend to stay consistent, Eobard's appearance changes all the time. In my mind's eye when I write him he looks different in every fanfiction and snippet, with some combination of the traits I described, depending on what's happening and in which point in time the fic takes place.

To make you an example, look at how much of a twink he looks in Running Scared by Joshua Williamson:

But then in The Flash Age he's a seven ft tall hunk of a man built like a four doors wardrobe

I swear it looks like the suit rips because my mans too big not because it's damaged by the fight. So, see, very inconsistent looks. He changes his appearance all the time, and I like to headcanon that it's because the NSF allows him to and he doesn't have a perfectly stable perception of his physical self.

We don't often see him with his cowl off by the way. That scene in the Rebirth Mini where he takes it off while yelling at Barry is probably the ONLY scene in which he takes the cowl off by his own initiative. He's always very covered up, to the point where Barry doesn't even know that he has numbers tattoed (branded?) on his chest, and we the audience know only through a very brief flashback.

But yeah, most certainly he isn't a white hair old man unless he wants to. In one comic he de-ages himself and looks like a small child of about 8. King can look however the fuck he wants and I love that for him lmao.

[weebsinstash]

God devout protector Miguel after the you two incident would be AMAZINGLY AWFUL. Man will full on strap your ass to him in like a baby carrier kind of fashion, you wouldn’t leave his sight, let alone his reach.

And the other spiders would be crossed between being mad jealous but also relived because if anyone can keep you on lock, it would be Miguel.

If you did try and leave again tho I FIRMLY believe man would go full feral, foaming and running on all fours, just to get you again.

But also? He’s totally crying the first time he gets to fuck the real you. Man will swear there’s a diff between you and your dopple.

(Post contains across the spiderverse spoilers for Miguel's backstory/family)

Bruh I keep thinking of tons of ways to torture Miguel/the Reader, why do I have a fetish for writing fucking drama like this is some lifetime movie real housewives levels of drama, and I was thinking of a really specific scene sort of idea. So imagine a big reason YouTwo starts trying to steal your identity, really THE reason, is because YOU didn't realize "the severity of your surroundings" in the sense that you don't realize your spidey sense is going off half the time because a big portion of this community is stalking you, but YouTwo DOES. Like lmao, it's not even, totally out of spite against you that they steal your life either, YouTwo may just also share some of your massive insecurity issues and they see how so much of the Spider Society outright adores you and wants that for themselves, they want to feel important and loved, shit maybe YouTwo is even an anomaly who was never supposed to be a Spider but you were and that furthers their own mental health issues

I really like the idea of like, Reader and Miguel having kind of a slow burn undefined relationship which actually plays a role in exposing YouTwo or. Something lol. Idk I kind of struggle sometimes, tone wise, with writing yandere who are just like outright delusional and not at least partially lucid and, I typically don't go for those "I was drooling at the mouth the second i saw you" characterizations myself (not because I don't like them but, I'm apparently obsessed with "having emotional tension build up")

So, imagine if one point in the past Reader had gotten drunk and Miguel was taking them home because a super drunk and clumsy Spider who can crawl up any surface with super strength could be a potential disaster (did yall know Miguel can lift TEN TONS, that's 20,000 pounds, uh, uh, uh, sir thats actually terrifying i think you could deadass One Punch Man, fucking, Doomfist punch an entire fucking skyscraper) and at some point you just kind of. It's a little earlier on in how you know him and imagine you just kind of very extremely sloppily come onto him, just kind of a "fuck it he's handsome and I'm drunk why not just go for it" moment

you kiss him on the lips, and he just totally freezes and, you know, despite him actually having some developing feelings for you, unhealthy obsessive feelings gradually increasing over time, he's not exactly at the Having Sex With You stage yet, or, perhaps he already is but, you're too drunk for him to be comfortable sleeping with you because He's A Good Catholic Boy And Your First Time Together Must Be Special or, he has to be more drunk too so it feels a little less uhhhhh dubcon-y (I also keep thinking about, as a separate concept separate from YouTwo stuff, what if you both got drunk to the point both of you kind of forget who you slept with last night until Miguel remembers but you don't and he's like "oh shit did I actually remember to use protection or was i too drunk and excited in the heat of the moment" and, oh hey wouldn't you know it, Reader just missed their period, when applicable obviously)

But anyways Miguel just gently rejects your advances and, actually is, emotionally vulnerable for a while, like he respects you enough to explain his reasoning and then some, telling you, hey, it's been kind of a long time since he's, you know, been with someone In That Way, he DID used to have a fiance who had been pregnant when she died, and after losing them both as a canon event, and then losing "them" a second time, his heart is just. Still healing after all this time. And I imagine Reader is embarrassed as fuck but also you're crying but it's actually a good crying because you're like "dude i think its so beautiful that you love them that much that they're still kept close to your heart after all this time" and it actually makes you love and respect him MORE, his strength, his devotion, and the two of you just sit there and talk until you eventually pass out and THIS is a huge moment that furthers his obsession with you because he gently set a boundary where he's technically rejecting you, denying you something you want, and you're basically like "dude that's so fucking badass of you, you're like the strongest man I know, sir its an honor working with a man like you"

For one, imagine the fucking pain if after that experience with you, he winds up eventually having his "first time" with YouTwo and you walk in on it and that like, completely breaks your heart because it's like. Wow fuck we've been coworkers and, weirdly defined not-dating-but-everyone-jokes-we're-married status for like maybe a year and a half even, and he just suddenly, in your perception, replaces you with some... cheap copy? What was wrong with you? What did they have that you don't? Why weren't you good enough 🥺 like I imagine at this plot point Reader is already SEVERELY depressed and you just find a man you, you like genuinely LOVE seemingly replacing you with someone who looks and sounds just like you but somehow YOU aren't good enough. Like. Bro it hurts you so fucking bad, part of me thinks you just go to your apartment and don't come out for like a straight week and that makes you feel even worse because YT is still running around fooling people and not everyone notices your absence so one comes to check on you and it furthers your mental illness that "no one cares about me" when that couldn't be farther from the truth

Absolutely torturing this man with the concept of, you guys never sleep together (yet) but YouTwo just kind of automatically assumes from The Vibes they get from the pair of you that SOMETHING must be going on and, during what I'll call the big confrontation, where YouTwo is cornering you with other Spiders who accuse you of being the fake and they're kicking you out, you weaponize that you know things THEY don't. You're standing there desperately trying to think of how to prove your innocence and you take one look at Miguel and the way he's absolutely glaring you down, almost looking at him in a sort of "wait, I want you to see this" kind of way before you look at YouTwo and fall into a character of your own "so how long have you been sleeping with my man? What, i warm him up for you and you steal my boyfriend?" Or something to that effect, and YouTwo is just kind of like, "oh PUH LEASE, Miguel and I have a much deeper relationship than just the physical, you have no right to talk like you know him" and they sidle up to him rather intimately and meanwhile Miguel's expression just DROPS. He looks to you while you stand there glitching out without your wristwatch and you're looking at him with the biggest saddest fucking boo boo eyes and you just kind of like, solemnly bow your head, "it was an honor working with you, sir" and he's just like OH F U C K, man is RUSHING, he scrambles to try and put his own watch on you but it's too late, there's not enough time, he reaches out to save you and your form disappears from this reality just as he's about to snap the cuff on your wrist

Like deadass it isn't your fault, but, you RE-TRAUMATIZE this man. His wife and unborn child, the replacement family, now YOU, and YOU were totally innocent and this was even more his fault than the first two things, like, he is one more major incident away from becoming an addict or a barely functioning alcoholic by the time you stumble back into his dimension by accident

I imagine he and the other betrayed Spiders deadass put scars on YouTwo's face and body so there can never be any mistaking who they are ever again and they're exiled back to their home dimension (and I mean if they kill themselves Miguel just kind of shrugs like "that was their choice" and also I wonder if that would break canon for that universe and kill everything in it or deadass there would just be another replacement Spider and suddenly everyone is like oh wow YouTwo was a fake anomaly all along)

But gooooodddddd, thinking of both Reader and Miguel after the return. Both of y'all are traumatized and you're basically scared of him now, it's hard for you to trust him or anyone else at all, meanwhile Miguel is DESPERATE to try and make things up to you while you're flinching when he reaches for you. I imagine the man starts being more openly affectionate with you. More hands on your shoulder, a pat on the head, he asks Lyla to watch you while he goes to refill his coffee and gives you a kiss on the temple on his way out, meanwhile Reader is just, you know, probably desperately needing therapy at this point, thinking "do I or don't I trust him", but also still having all of those happy memories with him and everyone else and you're just, even if you wanted to you're too physically weak from being lost in the multiverse for several months to really escape if you wanted to

Deadass think at this point the man would microchip you like a cat. Oh, so Miguel has to worry about fakes of his loved ones showing up now, as if he isnt dealing with 2099 other things right now? He'll show them! He'll microchip your ass so he can track you and confirm your identity at all times! Maybe he'll just microchip everyone! Or he'll put some sort of system feature in all the bracelets where they all have ID numbers and such so no one can pretend they aren't who they say they are! He's not mentally ill, he's just well intentioned, promise :)

While you're recovering from bouncing around all the different universes, healing any fractures or broken bones, overcoming any fevers or infections, he is INVOLVED in your care. He's constantly asking any doctors and medics for updates, and really, he's like a genius geneticist, would he actually be directly involved in administering any of your care? He doesn't like seeing other people give you shots or draw any blood because it hurts you so he insists on doing it. He creates a little nook in his office and on his brooding platform (almost typo'd that as breeding platform, but, I mean, it COULD be) so that he can keep his eyes on you once you've recovered enough to be let out of bed. Miguel just, finally getting an actual chair or bench and he's sitting watching all his monitors in the dark while you're in his lap and he's occasionally gently petting your hair. If he sees anything upsetting he just settles himself closer to your body and it brings him peace like no other and suddenly, yeah he just straight up is toxic codependent on you. He wants to protect and fawn and obsess over you and you're scared and vulnerable and start depending on him for protection again, like imagine if you're actually too scared to try running away because you just spent several months being catapulted between universes and you just need to rest, there's so much danger out there you didn't even comprehend before and, at least here with Miguel, it's safe for you, so, you accidentally kind of feed into all his problems

Could you even FUCKING IMAGINE if a THIRD YOU shows up and they might actually have distinguishing features from you that make it like impossible for you to be mixed up BUT STILL the second you see them you literally begin bawling your eyes out IMMEDIATELY and cling to Miguel, SHAKING, "please don't get rid of me please don't get rid of me please I don't have anywhere to go please please please" and like You3 could be the nicest person ever and not want to fuck up anything in any way and the whole ass Spider Society is just still like "nah fam you gotta go home, there's only room for one of you here" which is ironic coming from a a society where 70% of them are like the exact same person, like gee let me go fetch a coffee with Peter Parker and Peter B Parker and Peni Parker and Peter Porker and Peter Parkedcar like. You see what I mean?

Miguel and Reader sharing living quarters after your return and like, do you think he has a decent living space or do you think like nah he's living in a bachelor pad. He's actually the CEO of Alchemax in his universe so I assume he'd be like absolutely loaded, and he's in a futuristic cyberpunk dystopia so like, presumably he'd have a fully kitted-out penthouse apartment, and yeah while there IS room for you to have your own space and own bedroom, for sleeping, you're REQUIRED to be in the same room or bed as him. The entire place is bugged and wired and he has things meticulously organized so even if there were cameras he would know when you touch things or potentially snoop around. Oh, those papers on his desk were a few centimeters to the left before he went to the bathroom kinda attention to detail

And of course he eventually wants to take your relationship even further and finally be with and hold you, the real you, join his bodies with YOU and not some fake this time, and if it's not outright noncon, maybe you're so traumatized at this point you just decide "at least he thinks I'm me, at least someone still loves me enough like this, at least he's devoted to me even though he's totally crazy" and, you know, participating. He's murmuring all these praises and endearments and you're just so anxious and shy while his hands roam your body and he just totally worships you with lots of kisses and nuzzles and teasing little bites and you're holding onto him and are affectionate with him back, basically cuddling the entire time during sex, like man could have you folded into a mating press and you just, reach and intertwine your fingers and look up at him like 🥺 so insecure and scared because is he going to stop and leave if you mess up? What are you supposed to do? And he can sense your anxiety and gives you plenty of compliments and praise and encouragement while showering you with little smooches

You're lying there post-coitus and he's got his huge muscular arms caged around you as he tucks you into his chest, rubbing his hands over your back, telling you how amazing it was, how you did such a good job, and he basically fucks you the entire night until you can't take it anymore and are passing out in his bed while he's holding you, practically purring until both of you fall asleep as he idly wonders what your ring size is.

[sillygoofyqueer]

I have been summoned by the newest chapter of losing hope :3

Not much happened but I’m taking this as a “I will give you fluff both after and before things go to shit”

Jingyi being Jin Ling’s reluctant friend is honestly pretty hilarious and I can’t wait to see those two start to get close because I feel like that’ll be like “I hate this person with every fiber of my being but if you make him cry there will be nobody searching for your body and no body to find either.” Especially after they realize the type of environment he was in his entire life in comparison to their childhoods. They’re goofy and I love ‘em.

Wangxian being shameless is always amazing (love that it’s LWJ doing it too!) but Wwx missing his sword. Jesus, that made me sad. It’d be interesting to see how suibian communicates with Wwx because in canon we know that the swords have spirits but that’s never really expanded upon. Especially since suibian sealed itself. It’d be nice to see them communicating with their weapons (also imagine suibian mother henning Wwx? Or even Wwx thinking of suibian as a sibling/parental figure? The angst for that would be great especially combined with the scene of Wwx giving away his golden core. Both of them would know Wwx would never be able to properly use suibian again and wow that would hurt. Also I’d imagine since Jiang cheng can also use suibian, suibian does care for him much like Wwx but also it’d be funny if it didn’t particularly like him. Like, the entire time Jiang cheng uses suibian it is fluently cursing at him.)

Jingyi picking up on LWJ pining/flirting is very funny but probably not as funny as it will be when sizhui realizes that A) they’ve both been pining for each other for almost two decades B) 100% they are not in a relationship even if they’re totally shameless with each other and C) they both SOMEHOW have NO IDEA that the other likes them back. The facepalm when that realization sinks in will be funny :3

As always fuck JGY.

Also as always, your writing is amazing four and I wish I could give you more Kudos <3333

Remember to take care of yourself and take breaks!

Just...just picture me holding you close right now. That's it, that's the sentence.

Now, I don't know what you meeeaaaan, there is barely any angst in my fic whatsoever and there will never be anymore angst-...*checks timeline doc*....for nowwww....In all seriousness though, I can't actually remember/decide if there will be any angst next chapter, but oh boy if there was wouldn't that be silly. Wouldn't that be sooo goofy? Guess we'll never ever ever EVER know. I was feeling soft and silly, and this was more of a filler chapter, so I was like, "fluff be upon ye" I guess.

Jingyi and Jin Ling are going to have a very interesting friendship - Jin Ling's been raised differently because Wei Wuxian has kind of been a part of his childhood, so I wonder if that will affect how he builds/views relationships with other people - what do you MEAN I can't foreshadow in my post, who said that?! Anyway, I can't wait to think about it from Lan Sizhui's perspective; dude feels bad for Jin Ling because it is OBVIOUS that this poor guy does not know how to talk to people and if he is befriending what everyone labels as a dangerous criminal, then he is in severe need of friendship. Then there's Jingyi in the background, barking like a chihuahua every time Jin Ling does something that the Lan doesn't like until they devolve into fighting.

Ever since I learned about sword spirits, I've always wondered how Suibian would interact with Wei Wuxian and how they work together. I read one too many SVSSS fics where sword spirits hold a big value in them and it was all downhill from there. Think about it - Wei Wuxian had a lot of people who knew him in Lotus Pier, but he was never truly vulnerable with anyone (except maybe Jiang Yanli, but even then, it wasn't much) because he didn't want to sound ungrateful. So, imagine a Wei Wuxian who found solace in ranting to Suibian. Now imagine a Suibian listening and soothing in their own way. You see my vision, right? Imagine losing that when he needed it the most, during the Burial Mounds. Imagine finally being able to get it back after years of unforgettable trauma and torture, when he desperately needs someone he can rely on without second guessing everything to do with human duality. That doesn't exist with a sword spirit - Suibian just cares.

[smaller-comfort]

27. I wanna know some lore. I'm not particular on any fic, soooo I just wanna know, like, any lore you're willing to share about your Resh'an/Aephorul fics. Tell me more about your headcanons on these toxic old man gays.

*cracks knuckles* Okay. This is like...most of the plot/backstory to Outshine the Sun that I have outlined.

Aephorul has four older brothers, but he's the baby of the family

He's technically a prince, but his kingdom is small and poor and in the neighboring empire where Resh'an is from, he's basically looked down on as hick

He gets sent to the empire next door to ask beg for aid because of a famine, and to find someone rich to marry.

He is not thrilled about having to do either of these things. (It's really, really funny to me that your backstory comics are like the inversion of my stupid backstory nonsense.)

Its not that he hates the idea of getting married- he wants a family eventually- but he's cluelessly demisexual in almost every universe I write him. His parents have a very loving relationship, and he's got some romantic idealism around the idea of falling in love.

We got fantasy racism and imperialism to go with the fantasy homophobia. None of this is ever getting written.

Resh'an is an orphaned bastard who initially grows up in a Solstice Temple. He bases Mooncradle on some of his most idealized memories of childhood.

His actual father (the Master Archivist of the Imperial University; basically the chief court wizard) eventually finds him and takes him out of the temple when he's ten. This is a complicated mess that Resh'an is completely unaware of until he's much older, and he never really forgives his father for any of it.

(He decides that Solstice Warriors don't ever need to know their birth parents, because he wishes he'd never known his. Instead of going to therapy, he starts a cult. I guess he and Aephorul have that in common.)

Resh'an figures out he's gay as hell very early on, but that sort of thing is frowned upon in the empire. It's tolerated outside of the capital, but he's under a lot more scrutiny as an imperial scholar.

He has a lot of clandestine sex with strangers; the idea of meeting someone and falling in love with them and having a relationship doesn't even ping on his radar as a possibility. It simply doesn't occur to him; that's not something that happens to people like him.

He and Aephorul meet when Aephorul is being interrogated after an assassination attempt on the emperor. Resh'an is the alchemist handling the interrogation drugs. Awkward.

After that, Aephorul keeps dodging his seneschal's matchmaking attempts by hiding in the library. At first, he and Resh'an mostly just make snide remarks at each other, until Aephorul starts asking him where to find some advanced texts on natural philosophy.

They go on excursion outside the city to hunt for alchemy reagents together. ("Do the imperial coffers not provide you with materials?" "They do, but I would have to fill out a requisition form." "So you're waking up before sunrise on your day off, to go out into the desert and wrestle with venomous snakes...to avoid paperwork?" "The form is very long. And the bursar is very intimidating.")

Resh'an realizes that all of his one-night stands are starting to look very similar and has an "Oh shit oh fuck oh no" moment about it.

There's an awful, heartfelt and heartbreaking confession scene that happens while Resh'an is severely concussed and he remembers none of it when he finally recovers. (This is because I am fundamentally an evil person.)

Aephorul has to return to his home shortly after Resh'an wakes up with no memory of Aephorul's confession; he writes it in a letter and tells Resh'an to read it if his memory returns before Aephorul does.

They write each other letters for months and it's very cute, and some day I'm going to do an epistolary-style fanfic where I'll have to actually write more than three lines of Resh'an's terrible poetry, and I will soundly regret all of my life choices.

Aephorul kept all of Resh'an's letters until most of them disintegrated. The fragment he keeps on his shelf of important things is the only one he has left. Resh'an's letters from Aephorul were all lost in a fire, but he made copies of most of them from memory. He still has those copies in the Archives; Aephorul doesn't know about them.

They escape the empire at some point- there's a civil war and most of the city burns down. Resh'an actually uses his solstice magic to get the two of them to safety. Aephorul ends up with third degree burns all over his arms in the process, that scar pretty badly. Resh'an feels constant guilt about this.

The war is finally the catalyst that convinces Resh'an he has to leave. They travel for several years, doing mercenary work and freelance alchemy to get by. They go back several years later, when they've come into their own as alchemists and things settle down after the war, to attend Resh'an's father's funeral. He gets offered his father's job as court alchemist, and even though Aephorul tries to convince him not to, he accepts.

They're still fairly young when they take the Elixir of Life- maybe early thirties, possibly slightly younger. They do stay in the capital for several decades after achieving immortality.

Aephorul is relieved when they decide to travel again; they make their way into the Sea of Stars. The Ovates are already gone from their home world, but there are sky giants guarding the passage into the Sea of Stars and regular ships that go between worlds.

When Aephorul starts fucking around with forbidden magic, his first foray into necromancy/soul manipulation is to summon the soul of his dead twin sister and capture it in a vessel to use as a power source.

Plot stuff- the famine that devastates Aephorul's kingdom is caused by an alchemically engineered blight. Resh'an didn't help develop it, but he did work on the production line; he didn't know what it was going to be used for.

After his kingdom gets absorbed by the empire, two of Aephorul's brothers get executed for treason.

Resh'an's best friend and fellow alchemist is responsible for the assassination attempt at the beginning of the story. I have got to actually write/post stuff with my OCs in it eventually.

[ohbo-ohno]

bo, first of all i adore your writing!!

but you've mentioned a few shall we say 'darker themed' books you've read in asks here and there, can you give some recs of your faves?? pretty please??

first of all, i love you! and also yes always, i never mind giving book recs! i sorta ramble under the cut, sorry lol

alright i'll start with the darker romances. these are hard noncon, and depict abusive relationships that aren't always framed as bad. when i say dark i mean dark lmao, always be aware of what you're going itno before you read a dark romance

If you like my fics, I can almost guarantee you'll like Taken by Felicity Brandon. This is about an author who writes dark erotica and gets kidnapped by a fan, who forces her to live out some of her scenes. Includes petplay! I have my issues with the book (and I DNF'd the sequel) but ohhhh the smut is so good

I mentioned them a while back, but Measha Stone's Owned and Protected series is a 6 book series with noncon/dubcon petplay in every single book. Calling these "romance" is a stretch, but god if you like my noncon petplay stuff (and you're alright with reading explicit noncon and forced relationships), you might like these

I haaated the ending of Distorted by Nyla K. but dear fucking god it is a good prison dark romance. Also it is SO Ghoap coded, I would recommend reading the first ~80% of it lmfao

Corrupt Idol by Dinah Harper is the first book in a series that will probably never get finished, but honestly it's pretty good as a standalone. Dark step-brother romance, and I thought the writing (at least in the first half) was so good, I genuinely felt for the FMC at times (even if I was screaming at her)

Ok I'm not confident in this rec because I'm still not suuuuper sure how I feel about this book, but Torment by Dylan Page is a dark step-brother biker romance. The FMC is the MMC's "rock", and the only thing that keeps him from flying off into a violent rage when he's upset, and he develops an unhealthy attachment to her that everyone around them allows because they don't want to deal with him. I never read the second book, but this is another one where you really feel for the FMC

One of my favoriteeee dark A/B/O (specifically the first book) is Born to be Bound by Addison Cane. I would suggest not reading anything past the third book, and I'm not a huuge fan of the side plots, but the stuff with the FMC and MMC is just. God it's the perfect brand of dark A/B/O (in MY head)

I've recommended it before, but for my truly fucked in the head followers - Under His Heel by Adara Wolf is probably the darkest book I've ever read. It's a four book series (and I think the whole thing is worth reading) and it's got every single trigger warning except for (i think) scat, pedophilia, and necrophilia. it has rape, incest that's also rape, extreme body modification (though it's not permanent), severe public humiliation, severe mental torture, and just about 0 aftercare for our MMC. The book follows a man in a far distant future who's working as an indentured servant to pay off his debts & his incredibly sadistic and evil master. These books are far from "for everyone", but if you really want some fucked up romance (with heavy smut) I think these are worth reading!

aaand some softer dark romances. to me, these are books with some lighter kidnapping or soft noncon, abuse in a mental but not physical way, and MMCs who just think they're in the right

Gemma Weir's Montana Mountain Men is like an acid trip and it's kinda crack, but i read all 7 in like a day, so take that as you will. Each book is about a different brother in the same family as they fall in love - except, in this family the men supposedly know who their soulmate is the moment they lay eyes on them. So there's some light kidnapping, some manipulation/unhealthy behavior, and some birth control tampering in these. For what they are, I enjoyed almost all of them lmao

The Darkest Temptation by Danielle Lori is like a kidnapping romance written for non-dark romance readers tbh. It toes the line of noncon/dubcon, and it's definitely a kidnapping romance, but it's really not that dark.

Nicky the Driver by Cate C. Wells is (in my opinion) not as good as the first book in the series, but it's way lighter in terms of darkness level

Shiver by Ella Frank & Brooke Blaine is a stalker romance that fell a little short for me, but was overall enjoyable (iirc lol). It's about a young man who goes into a kink club and attracts the attention of the owner, who then stalks him. I think it just wasn't as dark as I wanted tbh, but if you like lighter dark stuff I think you might like this!

[palepinkgoat]

tag game Wednesday Thursday!

thank you for tags and mentions @gallawitchxx @thepupperino @wehangout @blue-disco-lights @gardenerian @deedala @energievie and @jrooc !!! I love you all so much.

how did you get into the fandom? Girl, let's get in a Time Machine to 2013.

I had just had a massive injury that left me unable to walk or leave my bed for months. In this time, I was watching YouTube a lot. YouTube knows me well, so one night said "oh, this is gay, you will like it." The clip was the van kiss. Like, the first kiss. It piqued my interest and soon I'm in a YouTube wormhole. Season 3 had finished so there were some newer uploads. I loving the morning scenes with the Gallaghers too, and once I kind of pieced it all together I went on amazon and bought the first 3 season digitally. There I was, obsessed and bed bound. After a little googling I found Tumblr around Christmas, and lurked until season 4 started. Then I started poking my head out a bit and reblogged some stuff. But I wasn't really fully "in" until I started writing fics in 2014. Then I got more active and after writing a series called Four Eight, more people learned who I was (via a post by a super "popular" and now deactivated Tumblr account). Then I was in. sidenote: Eventually I did physical therapy around the time the club kiss aired (being there for that in real time?? Guys, I'm still screaming) and I'd watch that over and over as I iced my weak leg and took half a prescribed Percocet. The club kiss was better than the Percocet.

how long have you been here? So technically I guess I've had Tumblr 10 years. In December it will be 11. HOWEVER I was not active for several years in between like season 7ish until after the series ended, so I guess I should subtract. But that gets too be too much math.

what’s the first fandom channel you found? (Youtube, Reddit, Tumblr, Insta, Twitter, FB, other?) Youtube at first since that's how I found them. I was also really into watch fan video edits and watched them OBSESSIVELY.

what’s your favourite now? For fandom, Tumblr! Nothing quite like it. I'm glad to be back.

which mutual have you known the longest in the fandom? Oh my gosh. @captainjowl, @wehangout and @the-rat-wins are the ones who come to mind but I'm sorry if I'm overlooking some. So many people left!

which tumblerino’s did you have your first fandom crush(es) on and wanted to get to know? I remember really loving @captainjowl and being so glad when we got to be friends. Then because I almost have a Tumblr Season 2 life, I was really impressed by @heymacy and she just JUMPED off the screen. I wanted to be friends so I sent a message about chapell roan and now we talk ALL THE TIME. I've met so many newer to me people and I am so glad I know so many cool people.

first Gallavich fan fic you read (or that blew you away that you remember) I wish I remembered the first fic I read!! Sexual Harassment in the Workplace was posted around the time I started writing fic and of course that's amazing. I know works by anythingbutgrief were some of the first too. Beautiful.

first fan art that blew your mind? @steorie blows my mind every time. That's the first person I remember just losing it over. But there are so many incredible artists!!

fanfic trope that you were sure wasn’t for you but now you low key (or high key) love? a/b/o! But I mostly was like "what the fuck is this about?" And then got on board pretty fast.

What surprised you most about this fandom? the level of talent is absolutely wild.

moment in the show (or YT vids if you’re one of those) that you fell in hyperfixation with Gallavich? the first one was probably s3 "not everybody gets to blurt out how they fucking feel every minute!" because i was like, OHHH OH THIS IS GONNA HURT ME & then it just kept getting worse.... @gallawitchxx just said it best BUT! I have a tattoo that says "sorry I'm late" so I guess you could say I'm into that one too.

Ian or Mickey? Ian is my baby, my friend. my familiar. I adore them both and it's hard to choose, but I loved him right away and never quit.

Which Gallagher or Milkovich are you? I'm honestly a lot like Ian. But maybe if I swung Milkovich I'd be Sandy.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

https://www.tumblr.com/xabura/752028677741608960/bryke-confirming-that-katara-loves-aang-like-a?source=share

What do you think of this? Apparently Bryke themselves said Katara loves Aang like a babysitter or brother. I don’t understand it? This is coming from the actual creators of the show even though I never got that vibe from Kataang despite what the ZKs say. Does that mean they were right?

If Bryke had said "Ozai is not abusive, he is just strict" it would not suddenly erase the canonical proof of abuse that is literally burned into Zuko's face. Yang can say he didn't write Zuko to be an abusive piece of shit in the comics, but I saw him literally throwing Azula in a place that, by Yang's own admission, only made her condition worse.

I saw Katara get jealous when other girls were paying attention to him as early as episode four of the first damn season, and then ten episodes later looking intrigued and even happy at the possibility that maybe they are fated to get married when they're older.

I've seen her blushing next to him like she did with Jet and Haru. I saw her doing a romantic dance with him. I saw her wanting to kiss him and then getting offended when he said he didn't want to kiss her.

If I saw a babysitter doing that to a child, I'd call the freaking cops. And if Katara had done any of that stuff with Sokka, Nickelodeon would not have let Avatar air (I'm still surprised the bedroom scene in The Awakening didn't get scrapped or at least severely altered).

And speaking of Sokka, I never saw Katara teasing Aang in a sisterly way like she did with Sokka, and with Zuko. I never saw Aang say that, when he thinks of "mother", he thinks "Katara" like Sokka does.

Instead I saw Aang and Katara hanging out, and him reminding her, IN THE FIRST EPISODE, that she was ALSO a kid. And then Katara immediately got attached to him because, in her own words, he had brought FUN back to the vilage.

(And before someone inevitably brings up her dressing up as his mom in "The Headband" - she also dressed up as Sokka's heavily pregnant wife. Read into it if you want, but be consistent. You can't cherry-pick one aspect of the scene and ignore the entire context).

They're children. They're peers. They're friends. Maybe Bryke wanted to add a "But she's also the mom/older sister/babysitter" aspect to it, but if that really is the case, then they fucking failed at it in an absurd way.

Like, if you want her to be "the babysitter" make her baby him, not treat him as an equal even when she's in the role of Sifu with him as the student.

Now, if Zutarians want to use this word of God moment as undeniable proof that Kataang is "weird", fine by me. I'll disagree because I actually DO like "weird" ships and Katang didn't interest me for the longest time exactly because it LACKED any weirdness, but whatever.

But if they expected that shut down differing opinions, once again, they gotta be consistent: Bryke also said that Zutara is toxic, would have no future, and that characters don't like each other like that.

If they want to have the right to disagree with them on that, they can't turn around and say "But you gotta take their word as law when it validates half my point!"

Either everyone is free to agree to disagree, even if they're disagreeing with the creators of the show, or no one is. Either everyone can engage in Death Of The Author when they genuinely think the intention doesn't match the text, or no one can.

If they wanna disagree with Bryke on the anti-zutara thing, but agree with them on the babysitter thing, fine. But they don't get to act all shocked when people do the reverse and pretend it's somehow hypocritical of us to do the same thing THEY are doing.

(Also it's very funny of zutarians to constantly cry "Male gaze" because "Oh, it's just young boy having a crush on an older girl" like they aren't CONSTANTLY using "What girl goes for the younger guy instead of the older one?" as an argument for their ship. Funny how fantasies and tropes are only bad when it's not THEIR fantasy or prefered trope)

[qprstobin]

Different first meeting post-s1 Stobin AU (that sort of turned into Fruity Four) I was tossing around for myself to write but am going to put it out into the world because I’m not sure I’ll ever get to it.

It’s the Spring of 1984, and Nancy is looking for a way to help Steve pad his college application after seeing him struggle with his essay writing for the past few months. Somehow, this leads to her convincing him to join the Spring play, Romeo and Juliet. Not only will it look good on his application to add another extra curricular, but the English teacher always gives extra credit for drama participation, especially the annual Shakespeare play.

Steve, of course, ends up getting the lead role, much to his chagrin, and he turns out to be a pretty good actor. This should all be smooth sailing, a way for him to get an easy add on to his apps, if it wasn’t for who was playing Juliet.

Band Geek Buckley.

She isn’t the worst choice - they have pretty good stage chemistry, and she’s funny in a mean way (in a way he’s kind of missed now that he no longer is talking to Carol and Tommy) but she hates his guts. He honestly didn’t even really know who she was before this, but he could feel her glaring at the back of his head in first period every day.

Honestly, they would be fast friends if both of them weren’t trying their hardest to make sure the other knows no showmances will be happening between them. (Robin for obvious reasons, and Steve because he is very much in love with Nancy at this point and would not ever cheat on her.)

Steve at one point tells her that she isn’t his type (which actually, is kind of a lie but it doesn’t matter because it would never happen), and Robin is just, so fucking offended. She would never want to date him (he’s a man AND an asshole), but where does he get off saying shit like that?? Robin in turn, nearly outs herself at one point by claiming she’d rather kiss his girlfriend than him.

(Nancy on the other hand… spends the entire play very confused, because despite the disgust that both of them express during the (rather chaste) kiss scenes, Nancy thinks it’s kind of hot. She has a lot to think about.)

Even before they become actual, spill your secrets on the bathroom floor friends, they get into so much chaos together. Definitely the type to be bickering with each other but then team up to turn on someone else when they are being rude or creepy. Even though there are no Russian Spies to bond them together for life (yet), they probably go through some harrowing night together that leaves them with something of a headache.

Maybe they accidentally eat too many weed brownies together at a cast party, maybe they get locked in the prop closet for several hours, maybe they get stranded at a gas station outside of town when their director sent them on what was both a “you are going to work your shit out TONIGHT for the sake of the play” and “y’all are the only ones available” emergency prop run. Either way it ends in tears and laughter and bathroom (or closet) floor confessions and a rock solid friendship.

Nancy is happy that Steve has a friend that isn’t just her or Jonathan, and is happy to have a new friend herself, especially a female one.

Tammy Thompson is less happy that Steve’s attention is on Robin, which is unfortunate, as this is Robin’s peak Tammy Thompson era, and Tammy gets mean. Nancy definitely tries to fight her at some point for how rude she’s being to all of them (Tammy didn’t like Nancy much either, she just didn’t honestly care much about Tammy saying rude shit to her, but she isn’t gonna let someone be a bitch to her friend like that). Steve was just going to ruin her reputation, but honestly, he didn’t even need to with how hard Nancy went in on her.

(Nancy trying to fight Tammy is also how Robin moves on from her “god what a priss” mindset regarding her. A minor crush may also blossom. Steve is happy to commiserate over being clocked in the head emotionally by Nancy Wheeler, he made t-shirts.)

Their odd friend group gets rounded out to four (five if you include Jonathan, who does eat lunch with them everyday but who thinks that Stobin are a bit too loud for him in anything other than small doses) by another cast member - the drug dealer Eddie Munson.

This is Eddie’s first try at senior year but his prospects aren’t looking great. English isn’t the only class he’s doing poorly in, but it is one of the main ones, and his English teacher has offered him a boon - get a speaking role in the spring play and he’ll get enough extra credit to pass the class, as long as he makes an actual effort to turn in his work for the rest of the year. He thinks fuck it! Might as well, this is the only deal the hag is going to give me, and ends up landing the role for Mercutio.

His start with the group isn’t as tumultuous as the Stobin friendship starts out, though there definitely isn’t any love lost between them. Steve may have dropped Hagan and Perkins earlier in the year, but he’s still a jock, and his prissy, perfect girlfriend isn’t much better. Eddie doesn’t have any personal issues with Robin, but Robin definitely isn’t a fan of his, not with how loud the other man is.

There isn’t any real dramatic moment that adds him to the group, at least not as dramatic as what finally solidifies the Stobin bond, but spend enough time running lines together and he sort of realizes that maybe they aren’t as bad as all that.

(Really Eddie is just there to cause chaos, and try to pass Senior English. Falling into the weirdest friend group known to Hawkins High is just a bonus.)

Honestly, I came up with this idea because I just wanted more Stobin dif first meetings, and thought the idea of Stobin having to play romantic leads opposite each other in a play was hilarious. It ended up becoming Fruity Four just because Stancy is still happening here, and Eddie was perfect for the role of Mercutio. I didn’t even have set ideas on how I want this to end shipping wise. Just wanted to get it out of my misc WIP document <3