#and ended up losing motivation not even halfway through it

[shadesofnavy]

There's so much I should be doing yet I'm not.

hkjrhrkhrjkrjrhr

send me ideas to draw regular Keith or Pico

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Two Ghosts One Stone [Ghost x Reader x Ghost]

Warnings: 18+, Double Penetration, Binding/Restraining, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Stomach Bulging, Manhandling, Dirty Talk, Name Calling, Degradation (Slut-Shaming), Fem! Reader, Mentioned/Implied Aftercare, The Masks Stay On, etc.

Simon watched, his eyes dark and intentions darker, his pants drawn down his thighs. Behind you, Ghost gripped you by your hips, pulled you back so you could feel something prodding you. You gasped.

“Come on,” said Simon, a drawl in his voice; haste. “Hurry up and take her already – we ain’t got all night.” And, the demand hanging in the air, both Ghosts laughed, a joke between the two of them – one you understood all too well. As if Simon’s impatience rubbed off on him, Ghost’s fingers dug into the skin of your sides, making you wince. And, before you could breathe, you felt him – his girth, his weight – his tip had been at your centre, and now, he was halfway inside. You yelped.

“God !” he strained. You felt his stomach to your back – he was leaning against you, as if for support. His breathing, heavy, gave the illusion of exhaustion; of relent. “Fuck, you’re tight, Princess,” he rasped. Leaning forward now, his lips came to your ear. Even through the mask, you could feel his breath, scorching, against your shell.

“Let’s see how loose I can get you by the end of the night.”

Now, rubbing circles into your hips, he erected to his full height, his front no longer to your back, and pulled out. Time was but a pinprick between then and now as he slammed himself inside you – all of him, all at once. And, just as before, you let out a noise of surprise, though this one was subdued – steeped in the beginnings of euphoria. And, just as before, he was heavy. Thick and veiny, you could feel the veins along his cock, bulging and wide as he took you, his breath shuttering, his head thrown back as he let out a yell, short and sweet, a shriek.

And Simon watched. Watched you grip the bed sheets, trying to catch your breath; watched as your head rose to face him, lips parted. The image of his cum drooling from your mouth, you thoroughly used and enjoyed flashed in his mind. He pumped himself once. Twice. He’d coated himself in saliva; a makeshift solution to his aching problem.

His chest fluttered with every breath, chest heaving as he watched you, pumping himself faster once Ghost took to a rhythm. Ghost wouldn’t let you fall far; his grip on your hips kept you glued to him, his praises of “Good girl, keep taking me,” enough motivation to at least try and remain at your spot on the bed. And to send electric euphoria between your legs. You whined, and Simon, still at the wall, gave a minute gasp.

To begin with, with his founding strokes, Ghost made this task somewhat possible, the force of his hips against yours enough to knock you forward, his strength pulling you back. But, as the seconds turned into minutes and Ghost began to lose himself, his thrusts became…stronger. Insatiable.

“That’s it,” he told you through breathless praises, the feeling of his thighs against your backside becoming more frequent, bruising. “Such a good girl–” He pulled out, almost all the way. You scarcely had the time to scream as he slammed himself – all of himself – back inside, sending a stab of pain through your middle. You choked, your breath catching in your throat, and fell forward, your chest to the bed sheets, Ghost’s grip no longer able to hold you. He was gone. Truly and utterly. You could tell in the way he moaned, low and loud and filling the air with dark electricity – a call to arms. He didn’t even reassure you as you tried to regain your breath, tears burning your throat, warned off by the building euphoria in your centre.

“Fuckin’ Hell, Ghost – be gentle,” came Simon, whose voice, gruff as usual, was sharp with territory. His breathing, though hitched as his hand stroked himself, particularly close to his agitated, reddening, weeping tip. Pre-cum beaded from his slit, collecting on his palm as he slid it down his shaft.

“There’ll be nothin’ left of her the way you’re pummelin’ her.”

Even though he was behind you, you could feel Ghost’s smile beneath his mask, felt a weighted darkness pressing on you.

“That’s the goal.” He pulled out all the way and tore his way back inside. You shrieked, moaned, your mouth pressed to the sheets, muffled by the mattress. As little as you wanted to admit it, you wanted them to destroy you, to fill you so utterly and entirely that nothing else existed except them. And it seemed they wanted that, too. Especially with the blackened gleam in Simon’s eye as he picked up the pace, fisting himself with an almost voracious sentiment, his eyes narrowing as he refrained from succumbing to the tidal euphoria building within.

You felt that the ecstasy building between your legs mirrored Simon’s, exceptionally so when Ghost, still slamming into you, forcing you deeper and deeper into the pillows, ceased, pulled you close to him by your hips, and continued, hitting a hidden, wanton angle. Electricity spasmed through you, and you gasped, letting out a breathy moan. Ghost laughed, sly and slender, his hand sliding up your thighs, straying between your legs, drawing ornate patterns into your skin. You shivered, the feeling of his incongruously gentle touch with his harsh, biting thrusts almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself clenching down on him, lips mouthing his cock as if choking on his girth.

His hand, large, rough, warm, slid from between your legs. His palm rested on your stomach while he rolled slow circles against your clit. The static building in your core spasmed, a phantom tendril lashing out. By reflex, your legs tried to close, but Ghost was having none of it. His other hand gripped your thigh, hooked around it and forced it apart. You wailed, unable to shield yourself from his attack. Not like you actually wanted to.

“Oh no, Princess,” Ghost said, his voice a low purr. Simon’s breath quickened, the slick sounds of his solo excursion the vocals to the symphony of ghost ploughing into you. “I want to see all of you,”

 And see you, he did. In fact, he watched, observed you – like an experiment. Not that you could see it, rather felt its palpable presence – Ghost’s stare was sharp, razor. He took in the red, sodden, aching mess you’d become, friction marks from where his thighs met yours in a slapping, thumping manner, crescents where his nails had dug into your skin and kept you tethered to him, to the outcome he was forcing you closer and closer to. You could tell you were soaked; the brief chill hitting your backside and thighs whenever Ghost pulled away gave you a horrendously honest look at how desperate you were for the two men. That, and the collation of fluids collecting and rolling down from between your thighs.

“‘F only you could see her, SImon,” came Ghost. His breath shuttered, wavered as he worked to keep his pace, his skin slapping against yours, his hand becoming drenched between your thighs. “If only you could feel her,” he pressed his palm into the bottom of your stomach. And you wailed. Of course, you’d felt Ghost’s dick weighted inside you, but to have you feel him more, pressing your stomach so you could feel his cock against your skin, felt unreal.

“Bet you couldn’t fill her like this.”

Had your euphoria not built to a point where everything was muffled to you, you may have seen the room darken, the atmosphere grow heavy. But alas, you were past the point of oblivion, innocent to the pointed, glaring, fiery stare Simon gave Ghost, and the immediate ceasing of his strokes. Even Ghost seemed to slow, though kept pumping into you, rubbing you, agonising you.

You didn’t hear Simon’s footsteps, the heft of his boots against the floor as he approached the end of the bed, and, with his free hand, grabbed you by your hair. He yanked your head up to meet his, and while you gasped, a shriek died in your throat as Simon shoved his cock into it, stifling you, choking you. You let out a yelp, tried to retract, but Ghost’s frame behind you and Simon’s painful grip on your follicles made such a manoeuvre an impossibility.

“Suck it up, cum slut,” said Simon. Now, looking up at him through bleary eyes, you saw the steel in his stare. He didn’t let you accustom yourself to his intrusion before he pulled out and slipped back in, protruding deeper into your mouth, the taste of salt smattered against your tongue.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want Ghosty here to get upset,” came a voice from behind. You almost turned around, flashed a pleading look to him, asked him if he were intentionally trying to invoke Simon’s wrath on your behalf. But an ache formed in your jaw as Simon used you as he had his hand prior. And, just like Ghost, he was anything but gentle.

The longer he had you wrapped around his shaft, the more potent the taste and viscosity of a foreign substance coated the insides of your mouth, painted it white, drooled and dripped down your chin like saliva. And all the while, you couldn’t stifle or help the moans Ghost drew from you, the vibrations of which seemed to reach Simon as his mouth dropped open he threw his head back. “Fuck,” he breathed, his Adam’s apple thick and protruding just beneath the lip of his mask. Ghost smiled, lips drawn thin beneath his mask. “Looks like Simon’s close,” he said. You could say nothing in response, to which Ghost gave a short, stark laugh – a scoff. A hand reached up to your jaw, gripped you by the cheeks. And squeezed. You could feel Simon’s cock slick against your gums. And so could he.

Before you could accustomed yourself to this feeling, Ghost’s crushing grip about your cheeks, Simon’s pounding, unrelenting rhythm, Simon twitched in your mouth and, with a lasting, gruff cry, became blinded by ecstasy. The after-effects of which you felt fill and drip from your mouth and down your throat.

As if like clockwork, Ghost, his breathing remaining laboured, began to feel loose behind you. His killing pace remained but there was a softness to it there had not been before – a bluntness. With Simon panting above you, his release dripping down your throat, making your chest sticky, and Ghost’s increasingly rhythmless strokes bringing you both closer and closer to your end, your body scorched, ached where you had been used – where you were being used. You’d have cried for a moment’s respite had it not been for how Ghost’s hand slipped to your breasts, held them, squeezed them to his palms. The way he held you had stray electricity shock between your legs, tipped you ever closer to the edge.

“Go on, Princess,” Ghost rasped. His voice was deeper now, serrated – as if his throat was seared with…something. “Cum for me,”

Not that you’d been holding out for Ghost, but something about the authority in his voice, the fact that you had warranted his permission, sent you spiralling. Still gasping around Simon’s girth, he finally looked down at you, and, instead of pulling out, gripped you by the hair again.

“I wanna feel your screams, angel,” he said, eyes half-lidded yet still piercing. And you couldn’t hold it anymore.

White-hot euphoria took your senses, had you hostage to the whims of the two men before and behind you. You clenched, gripped Ghost, to which he made a strangled noise that not even his mask could contain, filling the dense, moist air with a primal growl. You practically shrieked, the reverberations of your staining voice stimulating his softening, sensitive appendage. He grunted, glowered, sucked breath in between gritted teeth.

“God, Darlin’ – fuck – you’re so tight,” panted Ghost, his strokes becoming slower, almost stilled by the force with which you held him. 

The fireworks within evolved, dimming with each wave that flowed from your core outwards, leaving you limp. Simon took the liberty of removing himself from your mouth, stroked your bottom, puffed lip with his thumb. You scarcely made out his praise, him calling you his “Good girl,” between Ghost’s panting, his low moaning, and the static in your head.

“(Y/N) – I-I’m–”

Ghost didn’t have chance to finish his sentence for his climax tearing through him, reaching into his soul and withdrawing from him a deep, guttural moan, breathy yet weighted at its centre. You felt warmth filling you from within, felt Ghost still, his pounding no longer stoking your fire, letting you ride the wave with your cheek in Simon’s hand, eyes glazed and lips parted as you tried to regain your breath.

A stillness settled, rearing its head.

At some interval of this quietude, Ghost pulled out, the only indication being the sound of liquid friction and his weight falling back onto the pillows behind. You’d felt little of this – merely a blunted retraction, your lower half growing numb with every second that passed.

“Almost milked me dry,” said Ghost, and while there was a distinguishable whine to his tone, he wasn’t complaining.

“Yeah,” came Simon, taking a step towards the bed. “Thought you wouldn’t be able to hack it, Love.”

You did little in reply save for a smile, reserved and quiet, but a response all the same.

You hadn’t realised yet, but your body was much weaker than before, being that Ghost had thoroughly enjoyed and used you; Simon, too. But somehow, you knew that wouldn’t let you off the hook, warrant an ‘early night’. No, not if the feeling of Ghost all but sneaking up on you from behind, his arms enclosing your waist and pulling you into his chest was anything to go by.

You whined. Ghost growled, gripped you by your jaw and forced your chin to point heavenward, making swallowing very difficult and making some form of eye contact with him facile.

“Oh no, Sweetheart,” he drawled. “We’re not done with you yet,”

“He’s right,” Simon said. The same Simon whose belt now lay wrapped around his wrist like a serpent, one knee on the mattress, his chest puffed with newfound vigour. “He might’ve had his fill of you,” his eyes flickered down to your stomach, a bump having formed there, the culmination of Ghost’s thick load still oozing from between your legs. “We can’t stop ‘til I’ve had you, too.”

Everything happened so fast it may as well have been a technicolour show of memories, time skips and jumps, for during the scuffle (which was really just Ghost forcing your wrists together, Simon tying them, and you whining when Simon forced your legs apart, exposing your already sensitive parts to more punishment) you were bound, restrained and defenceless.

Ghost had finished what Simon had started, prying and keeping your legs apart by digging his ankles between yours, spreading your legs as far as you could allow. Simon slid your bound wrists over the back of his neck, keeping your front open. The look he gave you – veiled almost entirely by his mask – was visible in his eyes; a rabid determination seen only in those with nothing left to lose.

Between the numbness between your thighs and the newfound proofing feeling at your back, Simon edged closer, held himself in his hand, stroked once. He almost twitched, his eyes narrowing.

“Now, Angel,” he said. He leaned closer, his nose an inch from yours. You felt his tip against your lips. “I don’t wanna what any complainin’ or cryin’ unless it’s because your pathetic little cunt can’t take any more of me,” a hand came to your throat, stroked the ridges – your Eve’s apple – still stretched by Ghost’s grip.

You said nothing, but a look of hazy resolve in your eyes told Simon all he needed to hear. He looked past you, to the man behind you, who, when Simon nodded, released your jaw. You almost wanted to celebrate. In unison, they lifted you, Ghost by your waist and Simon by your thighs. The next thing you knew, you were full – painfully so – pressed between two walls of men.

You let out a winded cry, jostled between the idea of leaning against Ghost or taking to Simon’s chest for comfort. The former made the decision for you, taking his hands from your thighs and bringing them to your waist. He shushed you, gently, voice free from condescension and irritation. It was an imitation of comfort, a gesture.

“It’s okay, Princess,” he whispered in your ear. He massaged slow, calm circles into your sides, his hands coming to rest upon your stomach. “It’s alright, breathe for me – there’s a good girl.”

Simon’s expression seemed to mirror Ghost’s, for a softness possessed his gaze, one which encouraged a hand to trail to your cheek, holding it. He wiped a lone tear. “I know, Sweetheart,” he said. “It won’t hurt for much longer, promise.”

Perhaps their altruism was only a show. Perhaps they were true in their comforts, purveyors of their reassurances, for the pain did pass in the minute that followed. And, when you nodded, told them they could continue, the air changed.

Simon and Ghost brought you up and slammed you back down on their lengths, following a rhythm to which, accustomed now, but no longer numb, you tried desperately not to get lost in. Not again.

The embers of your last orgasm ebbed within as the two took you, Ghost’s hands resting on your waist, feeling him and Simon inside you, your stomach swollen. You hadn’t even noticed until you felt Ghost give a short laugh in your ear, and spoke over you.

“God, Simon – have you felt her ?” he said. Simon, looking to where Ghost’s gaze rested, gave a groan. He could see perfectly well what Ghost was talking about; having two men inside you at the same time, two particularly well-endowed men, no less, was bound to have some physical effects on your body, but Simon hadn’t anticipated them to be so immediate, rather assuming them to be an aching between your legs the next day or the inability to walk properly.

You couldn’t help but pay attention to their conversation, one which, while about you, did not include you. Or so you thought.

Simon’s hand came to lay upon your front, and, while he ploughed into you, he felt himself inside you. “God, (Y/N) – ‘m surprised you ain’t burstin’ from the seams,” he said, a deep drawl in his voice. You wanted to retaliate, say that you were, but the vigour with which he slammed you onto him now knocked the air out of you, made arguing pointless. And, as if in competition, Ghost followed suit.

“Seein’ as you’re so eager to get ahead,” said Ghost. “How’s about we see who can ruin her first.”

It wasn’t a proposition.

Simon smiled.

He pulled out, entirely, and threw himself back in. You let out a moan, something between a scream and a whimper. Whatever hopes you’d had of holding out for the whole night were dashed in that instant. 

And you couldn’t be happier.

The coil in your centre tightened, the telltale sign that you wouldn’t last another ten minutes if you were lucky. And, given your track record of the evening, you weren’t going to place any bets.

Simon and Ghost’s breathing was deep, heaving, and you had no doubt the masks and the physical excursion did little to help things. Though, the sounds which poured from them – micro-whimpers and whispered moans – existing within the crevices of these pants were too enticing for you to care.

Simon’s hands came to rest on your thighs, where he squeezed your skin, grabbed any conjuration of muscle, meat and fat he could, and uttered more praise to you. “My girl,” he said. “You’ll always be my girl – no one else’s,”

Ghost did nothing to dispute Simon, but the squeeze to your sides suggested he wasn’t agreeing. Or going down without a fight.

A mere ten minutes into this fresh Hell and you already could feel yourself going numb again, the electricity at your centre having grown, your nerves burning with a need for release. You’d have conjured the words if you’d known them, but you feared your mind had been turned to jelly under the competition of the two military men.

You could tell they were close to finishing, what with their breathing growing deeper and more uneven by the second, their thrusts becoming uncoordinated, desperate, seeking any and all solace they could glean from burying themselves within you. And, of course, the praises.

“Doin’ so well, Angel,” one would rasp, while the other would show you their gratitude, moulding your breast in his hand and sucking his mark into your throat.

There came a point where you weren’t even sure you were human anymore, with you still remaining conscious yet limp amidst this exchange. Save for the need to let go, to have the energy inside you now burst free, you felt a mere toy to these men. And you loved every second of it.

“I c-can’t–” you managed to choke out. Simon and Ghost kept at their attack, their pursuit of that which they coveted most; your pleasure. The room, heavy with everything you’d done, was filled corner to corner with your gasping moans, Simon’s guttural growls and Ghost’s grunting. All the orchestra of a dream come true.

“Cum for me, Princess,” heaved Simon. A desperation lay in his voice – one which sought the same release as you, and that only through your climax could he achieve his.

“Yeah, Darlin’,” came Ghost, thick and hot behind you. “Show us how we make you feel.”

And that was the last straw.

You moaned, long and hard, and you came. Your body scorched with fire and electricity, a storm you could hardly keep to yourself as you threw your head back against Ghost’s shoulder, your stomach arching into Simon’s. Your coil snapped, combusted, and you were left a heaving, panting, near-crying mess.

You gripped Simon’s shoulders while Ghost’s front pressed to your back. Within quick succession, one finished after the other, their growled moans carrying through the room and into your mind as, still impaled and overcome with a euphoric exhaustion, you rested against the two men. 

You knew they’d take care of you – run you a bath and tend to your every need in the minutes following. But right now, you just wanted to be here with them, feeling their hearts thunder like drums against your skin.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

Taglist: @montenegroisr @projectdreamwalker @animarix @konigsblog @sweetirilly @crystaljade22 [will not be adding ageless blogs]

[blakbonnet]

AUTHOR OF THE WEEK: @clairegregoryau 💕

Everytime the topic of fandom kindness and community comes up, of helping each other out and fostering a quiet corner where people can be themselves, most people in our little fandom think of Claire. She's written over a million words of OFMD fic and read even more, and you can always see so so many recs over on her twitter. Incredible good vibes, and an author who truly lives to lift other authors up. She also does SO SO much for fic authors over on the OFMD Fic Club server <3 And she was incredibly kind and shared her entire writing process with me:

What's your writing process like? Do you start with the beginning or the end? Do you write in order or as the scenes come to you?

I’m a huge advance planner, which is a process that has developed for me over more than 25 years of writing original fiction. I’ll get whacked with a story idea, then I’ll sit down and set out the central kernel of that idea, and where it needs to start, where it needs to end, and what the turning points need to be to get there.

A lot of the time I use a three-act structure, largely because Jenkins has talked about OFMD using that structure (one example here). So that makes it easy for me to hold to the canon beats when I’m writing AU stories, or to mirror them in canon-era stories, which is also something I try to do most of the time. With long experience (and now 1.7 million words of OFMD fic written (!)), I find this part of the process really easy. I’ll usually do that plotting by hand-writing out my notes, because it really fires up a different part of your brain.

Because I am such an advance planner, I do tend to write in a completely linear way from start to finish (I also pretty commonly post my long-fics as I write- each chapter goes up as soon as it’s finished and has a final editing pass). Punching through it in a linear way, knowing the ending that I’m working towards and being enthusiastic to get there, really keeps me motivated.

I do all of my writing in 30-minute sprints at the OFMD Fic Club Discord, where we’ve built a lovely and LOUDLY enthusiastic writing community that anyone is welcome to hop into 24/7. For those who find the constant chat a bit overwhelming, we also have a Quiet Focus Sprints channel. Again via long practice, I’m a very fast writer, but that’s accelerated a lot more over the last couple of years, paradoxically because I couldn’t write the way I used to anymore.

I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that includes some fun brain impacts at times, and it’s really hit my working memory especially. I used to be able to hold all the strands of a complicated story together in my head as I wrote, but now I can’t do that as easily. So that’s why the outline is important for me, so I never lose track of the idea- I’ll also do a quick outline at the start of each chapter I’m writing that notes what needs to happen, and then I’ll write in what I call layers, getting down whatever I can first, and then doing sweeps back through it to add internals, narrative detail, sensory details and so on. I make a LOT of notes and square brackets as I go to remind myself of things to look at later.

I also use a plot matrix [Twitter thread, Example Matrix] that you may have seen floating around- I mostly use it to keep track of plot details that have already happened within a story, so that I can check it out at a glance, but I will sometimes plan certain elements in advance (as in the case of Tree Change, which covered 87 of the 93 Kinktober prompts last year across 12 carefully planned chapters). There’s always space when I’m writing for the characters to surprise me within that plot framework- as a final plotting thing, once I’m at the halfway mark I’ll often plot backwards from the planned end to make sure that I’m on course, and to see what I need to adjust.

Favourite trope or headcanon you like to explore while writing?

I really like to dig into the friends-to-lovers trope that sits at the heart of the show. The Ed and Stede relationship reminds me immensely of my own- like Rhys and Taika as friends, we’ve been yes-anding each other for over 25 years (all of my least hinged fic ideas come from bouncing thoughts back and forth with my husband), and it’s been a steady mix of constant silliness, curiosity, and care. We’re best friends first and that’s one of my favourite things about Ed and Stede, that they are, too.

What I really love about it is the vulnerability of these two people who’ve been hurt so much by others in the past, who’ve never been fully appreciated for all the things that they are, and in each other they find the one absolutely perfect person who just gets them, and it makes all the difference. It’s always fun to play with that and variations on it in fics, and it’s usually the beating heart of my stories.

Whose voice is easier to write - Ed or Stede? Why?

I want to say that I find them both equally easy depending on the story. Ed as a character speaks very much the way I think- he has that ADHD buzz, the high swear level, and a very AoNZ turn of phrase that’s also very familiar to Australians (like me). Writing Ed is like turning the inside of my head out and it always flows easily.

But I have always said that I see myself in both characters in equal parts, so I find Stede pretty easy to write as well. I feel like I pretty solidly understand him as a person, with his history of rejection and his commitment to trying anyway, and trying to be kind, and letting himself be fascinated by things, from piracy to books to moths to Ed (that one’s not hard).

Your personal favourite thing you've written that you'd like more people to read

This is a near-impossible question with 69 OFMD fics up on AO3 😅 I really do love them all, and I have a lot of smaller one-shots that haven’t been read as much, but overall I’m incredibly lucky with readership and so so grateful for everyone who enjoys my work.

But my recent Reverse Bang fic The Broken Lines is hugely important to me and I think it’s probably one of the best things I’ve ever written anywhere. It’s set in the aftermath of the First World War (my professional zone of expertise), and features a Stede who’s lost his voice, his memory, and as far as he knows, his Ed. He gradually remembers what happened with the help of the crew and another Ed, who appears in his mirror from 1719, searching for his own Stede. It was a beautiful collaboration with artist Gerlinde to begin with, but I also got to work with one of my longest-term writing friends Jill @followedmystar as my beta, and then with Boy, who made a truly transcendent podfic that I can’t yell about enough.

What is the one word that you think you use a lot?

I think the word I have to zap more than any other is “actually”, and there are still a million of them in there when I’m done. The main reason is that to stick close to canon voice, I try to incorporate a lot of the less iconic/ more ordinary turns of phrase that the characters use a lot in their speech (I’ve watched every episode of the show… way too many times), and both Ed and Stede actually use “actually” a surprising amount. I just use it an even more surprising amount 😂

(This just sent me on a QUEST to find a specific number because I am that kind of nerd- Stede says it 15 times in S1 and 12 in S2, and Ed says it 8 times in each, for totals of 27 and 16, many of them in distinctive moments; it just gives that little buzz of recognition for me. I started out screenwriting before I moved to prose, so my writing tends to lean pretty strongly on having a recognisable, almost audible voice to the dialogue, as well as a cinematic visual style for the big adventures especially).

Do you have a beta reader? Have they made you a better writer?

I quite deliberately don’t use a beta reader for most of my OFMD fics, because being in this space is an exercise in recovering from lifelong paralysing perfectionism around writing especially. I’ve spent so many years not finishing original work because it never feels like it passes the invisible bar for perfection that exists in my own head. So when I started writing OFMD fic, I set out to accept good enough as good enough, and to get back to enjoying writing as fully as I can.

Obviously this means that my work could be better, but I’m actively working on letting that thought go and loving everything I’ve made just as it is. When I have worked with beta readers on projects that require them, like the Reverse Bang, it’s been with friends who I trust and adore, who I know will listen to what I need (cheerleading, mostly), and will do their best to work with me on improving the story without letting me spiral into hating it all because it wakes the perfectionist beast back up.

That doesn’t mean I’m without regular support, or that I’m not trying to improve my writing! I read an absolutely insane amount of fic, and I’m always in awe of the talent we have on this ship, and always learning from what other people do well. In lieu of beta readers, we share snippets of work all the time in our sprints team, so I get feedback there; I also get it from readers in progress, who often give me a sense of what’s hitting the way I hoped and what needs a bit of tweaking. I also have lovely group chats and individual friends like Kerry @communionnimrod and Lis @ghostalservice and Jill who I can run to if I need an opinion on whether an idea feels right or not, which I will often ask.

I’m very very careful with my writing, but in a couple of rare instances readers have also DMd me to note spots where I’ve inadvertently included something that doesn’t reach the sensitivity standard I’m aiming for. I’m always grateful for that gentleness and bravery in reaching out and I’m always happy to change something or to add tags or notes as needed.

Why OFMD 🥹

I watched the whole show in one hit a week after the final episode aired, and I loved it immediately, but I thought I was going to be normal about it. The unravelling into complete, unrelenting obsession happened gradually as I rewatched it with my husband and teen, then again, and again, then started to read fics and hunt up art, then started joining fan spaces, and then dived into writing my first fic in two and a half decades (all original writing between The X-Files and here), thinking it would also be my last.

I’m still here, still writing constantly, and a major portion of it is the show and how distinctly it reflected all the many parts of me, some of which I’d never seen so clearly before. I had a tough childhood in a few different family respects. I didn’t understand that I was neurodivergent until I turned 40 and my own kids were heading for diagnosis, and I’d been rejected constantly throughout my life for being too much. I was a high achiever who was in the process of crumpling under pressure right when I watched it, and while I’d been figuring out my sense of my own queerness for a few years, I’d never had a community that helped me feel at home with that.

And in the end it’s the community that’s been the reason I’ve been fully sucked into fandom for the first time since my teens- the writing in this space is top-tier wonderful, and the community is such a found family, just like the Revenge. Being able to write and have people actually want to read that writing, being able to cheer others on and hype their work, being able to help set up the OFMD Fic Club Discord and make it a safe spaceship for so many people, has been incredibly fulfilling and lovely. 

Please head over to @ofmdlovelyletters (who also made the header) and send your love to all your favourite authors (and authors of the week 😈 watch that blog for some special letters coming your way)

[sseastar]

✶ tingly feeling ; lee heeseung.

info. fluff ; lee heeseung x gn!reader warnings. physical touch / cuddling. listen to. it takes two by fiji blue.

[✧] “see, this is nice, isn’t it?” a muffled voice says against the skin of your neck. it’s funny how much you’ve become used to the feeling of his lips grazing over your skin. you could barely look at him early into your relationship and you think you’ve come a long way. especially since your boyfriend could have anyone in the palm of his hand just by smiling. or those damn eyes.

“i suppose,” you tease, taking your hand to run your fingers through the locks of your boyfriend’s hair, his head tucked at the crook of your neck and his body half draped over yours. his arms tighten around your torso as he presses a soft kiss on a spot on your neck, and you giggle. a little under a year ago, you would’ve slapped yourself for giggling, reprimanding yourself for letting a man make you giggle. but lee heeseung always had that effect on people anyway, and you were no different.

well, except for the fact that you were the one he chose to love. and frankly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“what do you mean you suppose? i know you’re comfortable right now,” heeseung lifts his head from where it rests against your neck and shoulder, lightly tapping his forehead onto your cheek. you only laugh, tightening your hold around the boy that lays halfway on top of you, patting both of your hands against his back and shoulder and pressing a kiss onto the top of his head.

against the sound of your oscillating towering fan in the corner, you can hear the morning birds chirping outside the window you decided to leave open the night before in hopes to cool down the stuffy summer air. the chirping was what woke heeseung up from his slumber next to you as you finished up one of your assignments before turning it in. as soon as he watched you click the bright blue ‘submit’ button and the webpage celebrated with animated confetti, he was shutting your laptop and forcing you back down onto the pillow. ‘this is your punishment for not letting me wake up in your arms.’ you only rolled your eyes at him, but allowed him to take up his rightful place over your body.

“no, yeah, you’re right, i’m enjoying this because you’re being a big baby right now.”

“hey!” he huffs, and his grip on you loosens as he props himself up to interrogate you. you don’t think you it’s possible to not get flustered by the way he hovers over your frame. even if he’s whining right now. so, you yank on his shirt again and he gives in, returning to the position he had been in. “what do you mean ‘big baby?”

“i’m saying you need to be cuddled as much as i do and that i’m glad i’m the only one that gets to see your clingy, cute side under your whole…husband material…apparatus.”

“oh, you think i’m husband material?” heeseung raises his head from your chest again to quirk an eyebrow at you and you take your hand to push his face back down to its original spot.

“hee, you already know i do, you dork,” you pout, and he only laughs against your neck, only for you to join him when you realize how content you are right now. content in this moment, in this place, in his arms.

no matter how asleep your leg is.

⌕. author’s note ; ayo guess who's back! it's been so long sinc i last posted, and this is so so short but i currently am in finals week and just need a break so i wanted to post something here! i'm still very much working on my wips rn but i keep losing motivation and getting inspo at the worst times (like i said i have finals this and next week) so thanks everyone for the patience! i'm obviously not a consistent writer just because my personal life doesn't allow for it, but posting stuff every once in a while is just something i want to continue to do because i don't want my writing to just be stuck in my google drive! anyway, hope y'all enjoyed this very very short thing that i ended up posting as a blurb because i couldn't find a good wip to put it into lol <3

⌕. taglist ; @soobin-chois @koishua @iwonzzi @enhacolor @chrysbibi @acaiasahi

[howlsofbloodhounds]

What do you think happened during/after the fight Delta had with his Gaster(in the Final Ep. 1). What are your headcanons for it?

Apologies for the delay in response, I needed to both gain energy/motivation to reply and also to go rewatch Ultra/Vitaltale to refresh my memories.

And also the way the videos were sorted on creator’s YT channel was confusing my brain for some reason, so I just scrolled through their entire channel in order to find every piece on the AUs & put it into separate chronological order in a playlist of my own. Then I tried to rewatch all of it.

Which was hard, because I kept getting distracted and my attention kept drifting away. I will probably try to rewatch again soon, when I am capable of actually retaining the information in my mind accurately.

(Random side note because the thought just occurred to me; I find it very interesting how both Doggo and Papyrus demonstrate bravery when facing up against the unknown threat in Vitaltale Episode 1.4.

Whereas Sans, who will eventually absorb the SOUL of Bravery to become the Delta we know, is all for evacuating. Love how this Sans is not naturally brave in the typical way, even should he eventually come around to gaining the bravery soul in Vitaltale as he did in Ultra.)

Anyway. On to the actual question. My mind is a little wonky today so if I get anything wrong or confused about the question feel free to correct me.

So it’s to my understanding that Echo (Ultratale’s Gaster) calls Sans/Delta to the Ruins for a “chat” after Delta’s fight with Cross. Echo has information for Delta—a way to “fix” their mistakes, but he will not tell Delta unless he fights for it.

Delta calls the information “old,” and says he’s going to beat Echo into the ground anyhow. Gives me the impression that he’s possibly more fixated on his current task—protecting AUs—then trying to go back and fix the past.

Because Ultratale was ultimately rebooted into Vitaltale we obviously don’t know for sure how this battle ends and likely never will, but I personally HC that it has multiple endings.

1. Delta loses, Echo doesn’t give him the information. The two go on their separate ways and live their own lives.

2. Delta wins. Echo attempts to tell the information, but Delta stops him. Says he doesn’t want to know and just wants to move on with life. That it’s what Papyrus, Frisk, and the others would want them to do.

3. Delta wins, Echo tells him the information of how to go back and fix it all. Delta refuses.

4. Delta wins, gets the information, and he accepts. Perhaps this information leads into the formation of a variant AU—a reboot, that creates Vitaltale. Chara doesn’t absorb Frisk’s soul and therefore can’t prevent them from Resetting.

(Side note: perhaps, for a character defining moment, in every ending where Delta refuses to hear or accept this information, Echo always furiously protests against this. Maybe Echo is the voice encouraging Delta to go back, to fix it all and “fight for us,” whereas Beta is the voice encouraging Delta to keep moving forward.

Echo cannot let go of the past because he was shattered and wasn’t ready to leave it, but he is was always aware.

Beta never got to truly live either because they were murdered and kept in a jar, but they were not as aware of the world outside the jar and thus is able to move on easier. Because Beta’s life was over before they truly got to live it, whereas Echo/Gaster’s was cut off at its peak.

Delta is in the middle of this. Experienced with life, but still young. His life is just starting—he’s halfway out of that cage—whereas Beta realizes they are free and is just trying to convince Delta to join them, and Echo..the cage is open, he can step out now.

But he spends his time trying to coax Delta and Beta back inside instead, and to help him bring everyone else back in the cage where it’s safe and familiar.)

Delta, now just Sans and perhaps without any memory of the events of Ultratale, manages to convince Frisk to Reset near the end of a Genocide route and be better. However, the Determined Omega!Chara must still Erase this world—the culmination ending exactly as Ultratale did.

Omega!Chara absorbs Frisk’s Soul, prevents them from Resetting and goes on a Genocide to Erase this world once and for all. Sans attempts to prevent it, even by giving characters such as Doggo hints and tips to help them in combat against the unknown threat.

None of it matters. Sans’ attempts do nothing, it ends in Genocide and Sans absorbs the Bravery soul—going on to protect the rest of the Multiverse.

He always fights Cross, he always fights Echo. He’s always given the choice—go back and try again and again, or accept what happened. Be brave, and move on. Do what Doggo and Papyrus did—brave in the face of impossible odds.

Anyway I guess my little HC is basically that Ultratale and Vitaltale are connected in-universe. Vitaltale is the story of how we got to Ultratale, and Delta must choose between the mortifying ordeal of the unknown and living with his mistakes & losses, or the comfort of a past that’ll end horribly in Ultratale; but at least he never lost anyone yet and no mistakes were ever made.

If he chooses to move on, he goes to the Omega Timeline where he meets Color, Epic, Core Frisk, Killer. Grows closer with Beta, Cross, XChara. Adopts a service/therapy dog he names Zorox (which is someone else’s HC, I don’t know if it’s okay or not with being tagged). Lives life, saving and protecting people.

Sans manages to escape the loop of Undertale only to find himself in another due to the rebooting nature of Ultra and Vitaltale. Only this time he has the ability to choose to escape it, he just has to be brave enough to attempt it—even though it seems impossible.

(Also how, despite the way his experiences could understandably lead him to Nihilism, helplessness and the belief that nothing he ever does or says will ever matter or change anything, he learns to be brave enough to keep trying anyway.)

Anyway. Sorry for the long rant that got horribly off topic at points. I had a lot more ideas about this by the time I was done than when I first read the question. Have Delta & Echo being silly and zesty respectively to make up for it:

[oh-saints]

bowling

what were the odds of the one and only sir lewis hamilton sparing you some time for a mini lesson on mercedes' annual bowling session in japan?

lewis hamilton x merc-crew!OC

word count: 2.3k

tw: nothing

note: blurbs because that particular gif above still sent me UGHHH istg pls sir i just wanna finish GR's part 2 and the mason story i have in mind :(

“who hasn’t had any turns?”

susie wolff was still beaming as she scanned the bowling alley the team had reserved beforehand for the mercedes-amg petronas f1 team’s annual bowling session. the matron—god bless the woman—was visibly trying hard to involve everyone and making sure everyone’s involved, not leaving everyone behind. at the end of the day, the bowling session was an initiative to bring the mobile crew members closer as well as an outlet to let out their stress after going through halfway around the world for a full season of racing.

“you!” susie wolff pointed at the girl at the far back, just as the girl intended to until susie discovered her wishing the earth to swallow her whole so she didn’t have to participate the sport. “how dare you try to slip away from my sight! aletta, you’re next!”

“no, no, no, no, no,” aletta shook her head ferociously she could feel her head going dizzy from the violent shake. “please, no. not me.”

“why not?” george—god, the mischief george—discreetly challenged her to give the rest of the crew a good reason as to why she had to be excluded. she knew because, even without many explicit words being said, george liked to rouse an emotion from her. for god knows what. “are you scared to lose?”

“no!” at george’s raised brow, aletta pursed her lips to give herself a moment to think how to answer george. as much as she enjoyed their bickering, aletta didn’t want to fuel any fire george might be lighting up soon. “it’s not that.”

everyone was expectant of her, of her answer, because everyone had bowled their turns.

except for sir lewis hamilton.

which made everyone realise they were short of one person playing, when the team had registered an even number of people to play today.

fuck it. lewis was brilliant at this—the entire bowling session was sparked by his motive to introduce the crew to one of his favorite sports—and there was no way she could cover her disastrous skills and experience. she didn’t see any choice but to heed to george’s next question.

“then what is it?”

“i can’t bowl for life, okay, george?” aletta let out a heavy huff from her nose. “happy now?”

“then at least try,” susie came down to aletta’s seat before clutching aletta’s hands in hers. “please? for me?”

who was she to deny THE susie wolff, anyway? if she did, she might upset susie, which would upset toto. and upset toto wasn’t the easiest hulk to put down to sleep. god help us all when his emotions were spiked.

“okay,” aletta gave in, pursing her lips hesitantly. “but please teach me how.”

“oh, lewis can teach you!” susie jumped up from the seat beside her and dashed for lewis’ attention. “lewis, will you please give aletta the basics of bowling?”

lewis’ signature light-weighted voice resonated well like it was music to aletta’s ears. “you’ve never played?”

aletta stepped forward timidly, every step she took signalled she was succumbing to the embarrassment of being defeated by susie wolff and her eyes blinking rapidly—a sign she was utterly nervous; not just because she was to humiliate herself in front of hundreds of people, but she was about to step up to sir lewis hamilton. as the new junior social media officer, she was usually attached to george russell instead of handing the meticulous and particular job for the senior driver.

“no…?” aletta instinctively reached for a ball—my days, that is flipping heavy!—to the nerves threatening to spill all over the floor. gross, that would’ve been a whole new level of humiliation. “is that so hard to believe?”

aletta wished lewis wouldn’t catch on how she was struggling to hold the ball but the light vibrations under her feet told her the otherwise.

“nope, wrong ball,” lewis grabbed the shiny object from her hands and put it back where it belonged. “where do you hangout with your friends then?”

“you don’t want the answer to that.”

lewis, for unbeknownst reason to aletta, laughed at her submission before turning around to give her another bowling ball. “try me. but is that still too heavy for you?”

aletta’s eyes widened as she weighed down the ball. she didn’t know there were different types of this thing. “this one’s perfect, thank you.”

lewis nodded in acknowledgement. “you’re holding it wrong but answer me first then we’ll start the basic.”

the younger woman was surprised that the sir lewis hamilton was willing to hear how she lamely spent her time. “we read books together and have a discussion about it.”

“okay, look at how i hold the bowling ball. make sure it’s these three fingers that you put inside those three holes because you’ll hurt your fingers if you don’t,” lewis went ahead to demonstrate it for her before he put it down and corrected the digits she placed in those little, ugly black holes. “ah, yes, i heard your book community.”

“you did?!”

thank god lewis was still holding the hand she placed on the bottom side of the ball, stabilising her as his words sent every fibre of her being out of this world. god knows what’d happen if she dropped the heavy object right to his feet—oh the thought she could’ve jeopardized his next race header raised hairs all over her body.

aletta, in fact, built a strong online community centred to feel woman empowered from books they read. every week she would determine which book to be read to be discussed on the next community discussion. the fantastic engagement on the social media she created for the community was one of the reasons why mercedes hired her in the first place.

but she had no idea—none, nada—that there was a famous figure watching over her account, especially as famous as lewis hamilton. not even george, whom she had been working together from the beginning of this season, knew about the existence of her digital persona.

the shock even alternated her mind from the fact that lewis hamilton was holding her hands. in other circumstances, aletta would’ve gagged at this whole “the prince and the pauper” scene.

“yes, i think it’s impressive how you can unite people through books,” lewis pushed her towards the alley when he was done showing her how to hold the ball. aletta guessed lewis would’ve shaken his head at how ridiculous she was—how could one not know bowling? “you can even make them feel empowered from the characters a fiction book creates. what you do is amazing, is that so hard to believe?”

“it’s more of i can’t believe you’ve heard of the community,” aletta took a shaky breath as lewis corrected her posture this time, to stand a bit straighter. “no one here knows about them except my manager and the hiring team.”

“you really should tell me how you go incognito like that when in reality you have almost half a million followers,” lewis laughed under his breath, probably at his own irony. “now, you’re ready to bowl?”

“never.”

and there was the carefree laugh—the one people always said it sounded like a grandpa wheezing—but to her it was rainbow coming to life. at that moment, aletta got reminded of her sister’s answer to her question of “when do you know you like him?”. the other woman smiled dreamily as she answered, “when you just want to make him laugh all the time.”

“here, watch me.”

it turned out lewis hamilton truly graced the pedestal to teach her how to bowl properly. heck, lewis hamilton went galactic and beyond to lift her from the brink of embarrassing herself further. he went step by step to make sure she got the right posture to get a strike.

susie was the one to call it off the mini tutoring session between lewis and aletta as soon as the matron realised aletta now possessed enough of skills to bowl her first ball without rolling it to the gutter. lewis pushed the small part of her back gently before aletta took her bowling stance—three steps from the line, just as lewis instructed—for the first time ever in her short span of life. but as soon as she let go of the ball, aletta didn’t have the heart to see how many pins she managed to knock out. she didn’t want to get her hopes high after being taught by lewis, only to find george laughing at her result.

but simultaneous cheers she got instead. then the machine voice boomed. strike!

aletta had never turned around so fast in her entire life that it made her head spinning in dizziness. she saw that the machine didn’t lie and that she had, indeed, violently put down the entire set of aligned pins. she could feel her jaw slacking before she realised what she was doing.

on the background, lewis was definitely laughing at her reaction but clapping nonetheless. “you sure this is your first time? you’ve got it in you!”

aletta shook her head. “no way i did that.”

“yes way, missy,” lewis stepped up with his own bowling ball before rolling the shiny object on his own lane. “this is going to be a fun game with you. now it’s your turn again.”

lewis recognise aletta was about to dash for her life so he got a hold of her wrist to stop her from going anywhere. aletta groaned at how fast lewis moved to retaliate her initiation. “can somebody take my place instead?”

“why?”

“because i suck at it, i can feel it!”

“you just hit a strike, who does that on her first ever attempt to bowl?”

“it’s called beginner’s luck, lewis,” aletta rolled her eyes, half with the intention to forget the feeling of lewis’ hands lost from her skin. “we all have that.”

“alright, ms. partypooper,” lewis rolled the sleeves of his black customised sweater and may god forgive aletta for ogling at the sight. “tell you what. if you roll the dice once more and you fail to hit another strike, you can have me do whatever content you’re planning for the next race week.”

her senior social media officer—the one who was responsible for lewis’ appearances on all of mercedes-amg petronas f1 team’s social media—and their direct social media manager jumped elatedly at lewis’ offer in exchange of the challenge. they immediate shouted you can do this! to aletta, even though they were metres away from where aletta and lewis stood. aletta couldn’t even hide the fact that she was tempted at the prize waiting for her at the end of the line because everyone knows lewis didn’t do any more social media stuffs to gain engagement, interactions, or anything that could possibly land him another sponsorship.

(oh to be legends, aletta sighed.)

“you’re being serious?”

lewis raised his eyebrows, giving her what the fuck look. “do i look like i’m joking?”

“nooooooot really… but what’s in it for you?”

lewis only answered her question by handing her another ball fitted for her size as he said, “one way to find out, no?”

aletta could simply lose by not performing well and got the content we all had been waiting for. the thing was, lewis taught her too well for a first-timer that aletta didn’t know how to downgrade the skill she had gained from the world class athlete. she couldn’t even pretend she didn’t know how to bowl anymore, her acting prowess would put pornstars on any podium.

hence, another strike.

this time, aletta didn’t have any time to turn around and avoid digesting reality. everything happened to fast as she focused on not slipping after she threw the ball on the alley that when she stood up, the pins had all already been on the floor, colliding against each other. she gasped at the incredible sight, remained rooted to the ground while the machine swept away the pins clear because fucking hell. aletta didn’t have any athletic bone and now she striked twice?

“told you you’re a natural,”

hairs stood up once more at lewis’ voice came up behind her, gentle as usual but a hint of something more laced behind it. like she should be scared of it. like she should be scared of lewis, for the first time in forever. like she should be scared of what would happen with their dynamics. but may god forgive her for her disinterest to succumb to the fear and wanting to find out what’s in the bag for them. like she just wanted to scream fuck you! to the world and listen to the devil for once.

the pause was killing her because she knew—god did she know—lewis still stood behind her. his breath tickled the back of her ear the only way he knew how, the only way her body alighted at the subtle touch. she wished he’d get this done and over it because my days, aletta couldn’t stand the pregnant tension between them. she was so afraid if she breathed, it’d scatter the bubble and ruin the life of her and she had to walk down the walk of shame.

but maybe aletta should’ve listened to what her mother says. pray in detail; how would God know what you want? aletta had to remind herself to exhale the breath that was caught in her throat, now panting as a result, because bloody hell did she not expect the seam of lewis’ lips grazed down the shell of her ear so featherily she would think she was dreaming if it wasn’t for the next string of words.

“seems like i get to take you for a dinner sometimes. after all, you still owe me the tricks to go incognito.”

[thistransient]

Halfway through July, and I have neglected to write my yearly birthday introspection, although it did occur to me that between my birthday and the new year I was in fact doing two introspections a year anyways.

For certain reasons I've been waffling about it, but it's also quite nice to be able to look back and compare with the previous year, to see what's changed (sometimes unexpectedly) and what's still the same. Last year I mentioned I "made a close friend [...] and disentangled myself from a draining relationship", but in the end I had been drawn to said friend because he was the polar opposite of the person I was disentangling myself from, and while a different extreme might have been refreshing in the moment, that too was unsustainable in the long run. I think what finally dragged me out of the cycle of too-clingy/too-distant nebulous just-friends-but-what-if sort of relationships was twofold: I started going to counselling with a goal (not the usual "I feel like I'm having a breakdown so I'll see a therapist for 3-6 months before ditching"), and also got into a communal hobby such that I was able to make casual friends and attend regular and diverse events with a time limit (rather than laser focusing on one person and relying on them for all my socialising).

A year ago I said I was feeling adrift, goal-less, and filled with the sort of summer malaise inspired by the scorching Taipei weather this time of year. Unfortunately we are still rather scorched. The temperature and UV levels somewhat put a damper on my usual practice of walking around outside looking at things. On the positive side, I did struggle through the adrift-ness and applied for one (1) grad school program over the winter, which I didn't get into but I did learn that I feel better when I'm working on something, and I was also motivated to finally take Taiwan's Chinese proficiency exam to open up my options for the sort of programs I could try for in the future (I passed a level higher than I expected to, and it was great to feel acknowledgment of my competence at something I'd really put long-term effort into). After the grad school rejection I started planning the trip to Ladakh, which allllmost felt like it involved a similar level of paperwork and fuss- and actually pulling that off in the end (ok, even tho this was after my birthday) despite all my fears and anxiety (particularly around travelling post-transition) was also a great confidence boost. (For a week after I also had this frantic urge to drastically change my life, and I can't tell if it wore off with time or if the heat simply drained out all ambition beyond staying out of the sun and sitting in front of the fan eating cold dragonfruits.)

I have at least two proper goals now, and although one may require starting over entirely from an educational standpoint, as they say, "the time will pass anyways". On my bike rides at night I do tend to start pondering what shall become of me, creeping along in the years but being no closer to permanent or even temporary residency status than any other time I write about it either wistfully or with well-intentioned but otherwise ultimately futile determination, nor feeling like I am useful for any sort of capitalist pursuits. (I suppose this is the part of reflection wherein things have stayed the same, and we must stay tuned for next year.) But I also believe I have made some progress in deflating a little the omnipresent catholic guilt at simply existing, not to mention the adjacent notion that enjoying life a bit and not being maximally miserable at all times is a SIN. By this I mean I have gone twice now to a nice hair salon to let a beautiful woman shampoo, condition, and also give me a haircut that doesn't bear a strong resemblance to a bichon-frise immediately after.

All in all, I would say the verdict is incremental improvement. (Okay maybe I'm also racking up incremental nerve damage from all the shibari but you win some you lose some.) My housing/employment/visa-running status hasn't changed dramatically but I feel more hopeful and kinder with myself. I think my Chinese reading speed has kicked up a notch. I've managed to keep the instant noodle consumption under control. I've sent a lot of postcards on my quarterly trips, which are generally well-received. I have taken great delight in growing many plants in the window cage (whether they survive is another thing, RIP to the tomato plants while I was away, bravo to the basil that miraculously rehydrated from what seemed to be a completely unsalvageable state, sorry to the lemon tree sprout that was apparently doing fine on its own before I came back and over-watered it to death). Things feel kinda okay, and I used to be quite suspicious of this because surely they were only going to get worse again, but these days I figure hey, even so, might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

[daeneryseastar]

Aemma is the very tragic figure that the TG supporters make Alicent to be!

I will stand by that and they can argue with the walls!

there’s not a doubt in my mind that the writers decided to completely flip the script for aemma and alicent. aemma was 11 when she married a 16 years old viserys. alicent was 18 and viserys 29. while still not a great age gap, even by today’s standards alicent would be a full grown adult. it’s pretty clear from the get-go that alicent had agency and knew what she wanted out of the marriage; which was for her son, the king’s first born son, to sit the iron throne. she spent years antagonizing and isolating rhaenyra when she was a child, and even hinted that she knew ser criston was a predator towards her and still took him on as her sworn shield bc of her hatred for rhaenyra. this was a grown ass woman who decided to spend her years not preparing her son to rule and turning him into a halfway decent person, but instead bullying a motherless little girl due to sheer jealousy and conceit.

aemma on the other hand was a kid that was involuntarily married to an adult, who’s only purpose narrative wise was to give viserys heirs and die in childbirth (pretty familiar sounding story for targaryen women) so that he could remarry. they chose an older actress for the show to play aemma, i believe she was 40ish when the show was filmed, and cast an 18-19 year old for alicent. that would have her mid to late 20s when she had rhaenyra, and basically almost entirely removes how and when her victimhood began. she was the child bride, she was the one who was forced to get pregnant over and over again for viserys’ want of a son, she’s the one who ends up dying so devastatingly young; forced to give up her life and freedom bc her daughter wasn’t enough.

on the contrary, this would have been a fairly accurate casting for alicent, if they hadn’t decided to age her down to 14 at the beginning of the show and age rhaenyra up to 14 as well to create a doomed from the start friendship. rhaenyra was 8 years old when her mother died at 23 after aemma spent years either being pregnant, losing the pregnancy early, or going through multiple stillbirths. viserys started impregnating her when she was 13 years old. even the maester’s admitted that she was too young to be bedded, and that it had probably contributed to her fertility troubles. in f&b we’re only told that she died in childbirth, but she was forcibly cut open in the show, fully conscious the entire time that it was happening. too many people dismiss her death as necessary by saying she was going to die anyway, when in reality that doesn’t matter. she was a real, live human being who was gutted like a fish without her consent (another example of the show choosing to force unnecessary brutality and grotesqueness on women).

the show can try as hard as it wants to fully encompass alicent in the victim category, but they either fail to realize or do and don’t care that victimhood was never an aspect of her character; and in reducing her character to nothing more than that they’ve failed to properly adapt her motives and reasonings correctly for why she helped usurp rhaenyra and kickstart the dance of the dragons. aemma, however, was a victim; regardless of whichever media she is in. it was an integral part of her, as much as i hate to say it, and the writers failed to make the audience understand just how horrifying and tragic her life truly was.

[lunar-years]

The rest of the team is now totally used to the sight on the coach of Jamie sprawled over Roy's lap fast asleep while Roy just stares stoically dead ahead, but hes also got his arms wrapped around Jamie and anyone watching closely would see his hold tighten every time the bus breaks or turns to prevent Jamie from sliding off

YEAH!!

Random headcanon hour I think Roy is veryyyy “we must be Normal Coach and Player we must not mix Work with our Relationship” (on the surface at least lmao) so on the way to any game he insists on sitting up front with the coaches away from Jamie and Jamie sits with the lads and They Don’t Interact. This is also a weird pregame ritual where they do not talk directly or interact outside of like, Roy’s pre-match hype speech to the whole team. Because to talk one on one or whatever would be bad luck. BUT. On the way back. Well. That’s a different story.

If they win, obviously they’re both very happy and feel more loose. So then after, Jamie very deliberately hangs back to be one of the last on the coach so that he can obviously makes eyes at Roy and wait for Roy’s “permission” to sit with boys celebrating on the way home (this is just Roy head-nodding at him). Roy always does nod and let him, of course. Only problem is that Jamie is notoriously sleepy after games and so even if everyone is happy-partying-etc, Jamie passes out halfway through the trip on whosever shoulder he happens to be next to, lmao. Then when they get to the Richmond car park, Dani and Sam always have to debate: ‘do we wake him up?! 🥺’ until Roy stomps back there and is all ‘I’ll take it from here’ in his Roy Voice, and then eases him off Dani’s shoulder or whoever and onto his own 🥺 but then as soon as the last boys are off the coach and they’re alone he’s barking at Jamie to wake tf up so they can go tf home and flicking the side of his head to get him to awake ckdhdikwk. He’s very gentle helping him off the bus though and he always carries jamies bag for him because sleepy Jamie is bad about leaving shit behind ❤️

If they LOSE…I think Roy is a massively sore loser tbh, lol. So while I think he can hold himself together enough to be moderately motivational in the locker room, once they get to the bus everyone knows to give him a wide berth. He’ll come into training the next time with a wealth of new ideas for them to try and be all business about it and deadpan calm about their fuckups, but right after a lose, he is fuming simmering in anger and you are better off Not Talking to Him and for the love of god Do Not Approach. The only person he lets near him is Jamie. Jamie always sits with him when Roy is Like That, and usually they don’t talk at all, but when Jamie eventually falls asleep on Roy’s shoulder Roy has an arm gripped around him steadying him at every bump.

Reversely, if it’s a game where Jamie specifically plays poorly (whether they won or lost), Roy will be like “oi Tartt! You’re up here with me” and Jamie will of course Go and Roy will talk to him in Soft Tones and no one else on the team understands how or why but Jamie always ends up asleep on Roy’s shoulder by the end of the ride one way or another.

Anyway, yeah, the bus as a sacred space or whatever

[princess-nobody]

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes: Mae Thoughts

(Spoiler Warning)

So I just got home from watching Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, and while I can't articulate it very well right now, I will say that I do not like Mae very much... perhaps in the future, when I rewatch the film, I will make a deeper and more detailed post on this, or even change my thoughts entirely, but here's my initial thoughts.

I want to start this off by admitting my obvious bias, I have never been a huge fan of the human characters in the pota reboot franchise, I understand their necessity and there's a few I enjoy (loved Nova in War) but overall they have consistently been the least interesting characters in each movie. This isn't really a pota problem, this is just a problem with xenofiction in general; that is to say, in a world of sentient apes with heightened intelligence as well as their own foreign cultures and lifestyles, the recognizable humans who are alike to the audience in behavior, culture and general lifestyle are going to be the least interesting. Even my favorite franchise Avatar struggles from this, with Spider being not that interesting by virtue of him being surrounded by far more fascinating na'vi characters. Therefore, I admit I'm partially biased because Mae is human, and a lot of humans in this franchise are mind-numbingly boring.

Before I get negative, I will say that I adore how they handled Noa and Mae's conflict – I remember thinking halfway through the film, "aren't they supposed to be bonding by now? Why is there no chemistry?" only for the film to end with them having ended up even more apart than they were when they first met. Fundamentally, Noa and Mae cannot get along because they both represent very different mindsets on the current state of the world. Mae bringing the gun to confrontation only proved that she never gained a respect or new outlook on the apes, and Noa could not pretend to like someone who sees him as an animal undeserving of the life they now have with their newfound intelligence. So yeah, good job Kingdom!

With that being said, I feel Mae as a character wasn't as effective as she could have been because of the fact that she triggers a specific sort of annoyance in the audience, which has everything to do with the fact that (pretty much) everyone who went to see this film had seen the last three films. The victim act is understandable from a personal standpoint – it's been 300 years since War, most humans are feral and only those living in hiding are still in any way like regular humans, so of course Mae sees the apes as her oppressors – but after watching three films that are set over the span of decades following humans absolutely terrorizing the apes and nearly killing them off, despite said apes begging them to just leave them alone, it's hard for you to feel all that bad for the humans in this situation.

It's difficult to be accepting of the narrative that it is now the humans that are the victims in this story, when it was the humans that experimented and abused the original apes, it was the humans that created the simian flu, it was the humans that instigated the original ape human war and it was humans that killed Caesar. The humans started the war, and they also happened to lose it. So, while I can understand Mae and her motivations, it's very hard to see her in a sympathetic light with the knowledge of all of the atrocities humanity has inflicted upon the apes.

It also doesn't help that Mae just didn't get as much development and time to be eased into the audience as she could have, especially since the movie is over 2 hours long (which I find hilarious, considering the pacing issues it has). Whenever she was on screen, she was either nasty to one of the apes or being typically defiant and rude, and if she wasn't doing that, she was having incredibly awkward moments of conversation with them. She barely had a character aside from the human girl that's tagging along, and her motivations ultimately don't do enough to justify most of the decisions she made.

The fact that I cannot tell you anything about her aside from she's a human and wants to make humans smart again, despite spending 2 hours with her, is a sign that she was not a very well thought out character. I respect the nods to the original Nova, but I feel they really dropped the ball with Mae.

Then again, we probably have another 2 or 3 movies to go, so maybe they'll rectify this in coming films lol.

[koishua]

queen of tears spoilers!!

identity is above all else, it seems like. ep 14 of queen of tears ruined me in all the good ways. when the question is "do you want to die as yourself?" vs "are you willing to live at the cost of who you are as a person?", the ultimate answer hae-in gives is no. she'd rather come to peace with the prospect of death with all of her memories of loving and, in turn, being loved coming with her. the death of memories is more painful than the death of her life itself. hyunwoo begging and sobbing in her arms does not deter her, however much she wants to keep on living. as herself. keep on living as the hong hae-in who loved dearly and who was loved, desperately so.

a loss of identity is death to everything that ever had a hand in helping her become who she is now. this brings me to the phrase "death is for the living". the dead do not mourn or face the aftermath of their last breath in the world of the living. the living, those who are left behind, are the ones who truly know what death is. so it is painful when hyunwoo, the man who isn't struck with the terminal illness bound to take her life any time soon, begs almost on his knees for hae-in, the woman who's counting the seconds left she has to live, to give up her sense of self. it's understandable how both of them stand strong in their desires. one fears becoming a stranger to all that she loves and one fears becoming familiar to life without the one he cannot live without. so he does everything in his power to have her take the surgery (all effort is in vain, she will not give up her identity).

i love this episode so much. im still only halfway through it but i had to give my two cents. such a beautifully tragic dilemma of two people who love. one loves by wanting to remember, one loves by giving everything to make her live. have a taste of love again for the first time. he says that he'll be the first person she'll meet and get to know again after the surgery. that he will still be there for her when she wakes up a completely different, empty, and lost person. he wants her to live, does not care if she'll ever even be able to reconnect with him ever again. he believes that she deserves to wake up another day and smile. to still be able to make new memories.

in the end they're both very selfish people who love selflessly.

edit: help me my stomach hurts from laughing so hard oml not him using his face and body card to annoy her into living. using jealousy as a mean to motivate her to take the freaking surgery and live ugh im in tears ahhahahah i love how if she doesn't become convinced the first few times when he's nice, he just intentionally pisses her off or annoys her into doing things to help herself 😭😭 thr only way to get hae-in motivated to live: make her mad at himself and have her do beneficial things out of sheer SPITE

edit 2: NO WHAT THE FOUK JUST HAPPENED POOR HYUNWOO OH MY GOD the way he lost all strength in his knees my god he crumbled in front of her feet he got a taste of what losing her felt like with that massive crash im still in shock i can't imagine having to witness that and trying to get through the car window to help save her and then not find her there?? and then she appears unscathed thankfully and he feels like a bucket of ice cold water drops over his head??? man they have to be so much more careful from now on bc the amount of yandereism the other guy is exhibiting ugh and the evil mother saying she'll help him out with "i can't stop till the moment i die" wtf??? OMG SHE'S GETTING THE SURGERY WHAT WHAT WHAT "i promised i would never make you cry after we get married" WOMAN HE'S BEEN SOBBING HIS SOUL OUT EVERY EPISODE SINCE!!!! 😭😭 ALSO NOOOOO NOT MY BOY SOOCHEOL GOING THROUGH IT AGAIN I CANT TAKE IT PLS MAKE HIM HAPPY WITH HIS LITTLE FAMILY I WILL CRYYYYYYYY he's gonna have MAJOR trust issues lmfao

[no-one-anon]

Hi, how about a young reader as in like 19 who makes tiktoks and stupid videos around base, maybe she does dances in front of the team in her downtime? Have a good day :))

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

My first ever ask aksjsjskssj

Thank you for asking <3 this is a nice idea, I love it!!

Note: sorry that it's so short, my laptop malfunctioned and loses my progress if there's too much text 🙁 and I've been having no motivation</3

{fun fact: reqs are open - please I need ideas}

♪ · ♪ · ♪ · ♪ · ♪ · ♪ ·♪ · ♪ · ♪ ·♪ · ♪ · ♪ ·♪ · ♪ · ♪ ·♪ · ♪

Young reader (~19) makes tiktoks and stupid videos around base - does dances in front of the team in their downtime.

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

Simon Ghost Riley:

Ghost has no clue on why you were always dancing. When you explained to him that it was from TikTok, he was confused. Very, confused. He's older than you by a lot, so it does explain why he's not 'with the time'.

Whenever you tried to explain what you were doing, he always got lost whenever you tried to get to the third step. He's too old for this, he claims. He'd just end up leaving the room halfway. He just gave up. Ghost can go kill multiple people without problem, he can break into an enemy base without problem. But dancing? Dream on.

After the few times you begged him to dance with your for a TikTok, he caved. But he eventually uncaved when he realised you had been teaching him how to do a TikTok dance for nearly three whole hours.

Which lead him to either, sprinting out the room or swapping places with Soap. It's usually Soap as he needs to distract you, because somehow... You always find him.. Like he's got some sort of tracker.... Hm....

John Soap MacTavish:

Soap tries to keep up with whatever you do, he tries to. He's not very good at it though... A for effort though.

But sometimes, sometimes he does surprise you. Somehow he does a move perfectly, somehow he makes a random move up that looks MUCH better than the original move. You don't know how he does it, but he does.

Soap is... Someone that you can ramble about. So, he's mainly the one you go to when you wanna do a mess around and find out. And definitely getting Price running after you, through the hallways.

Whenever you do a TikTok dance, he tries to copy. Whether failing miserably, and making him look like a flopping fish on land, or making him look like a natural dancer. There's no in-between, ever. You're mainly the in-between.

Captain John Price:

John was no better than Ghost. He was dumbfounded. Why did you always dance? Why were you dancing? And are you filming right now? What is going on? He's very old. Once, you even said he was from the prehistoric ages. He didn't take that very lightly.

Although, with whatever you kept talking about. He started to feel like he was from the prehistoric ages... But, he'd never admit that out loud, never. So, whenever you started doing one of your... TikTok? Dances. He was overall confused, he was always in the background of your TikTok's too.

Whenever you made silly videos that would injure you if not done properly, he felt like he was going to have a heart attack. John looked up at the trees, there you were.. Hanging upside down... John looked behind him, you were there lying face down on the floor. John looked anywhere, there you were.. injured in some way..

So, when you tried to teach him. All went south. If you needed to turn left, he turned right. What do you mean he's doing it wrong? What do you mean he has to do this first? What? Huh? Oh god, he's way too old. Just let him retire already. He's already got countless grey hairs due to you...

Kyle Gaz Garrick:

Gaz was surprisingly up to date with the new generation and their shenanigans. But, he is on the younger side considering the other ages of the team. So, you can't really say you're that surprised...

Although he is 'with the times' he doesn't know how to do anything that's with the times. But he's definitely trying. Well, not hard enough.. Being on the younger age of the team, makes it seem like you two... Are hellhounds.

Always running around, doing something you shouldn't. Somehow breaking a bone, or two... Yes, it's happened. It always ends with Price scolding you two, but as soon as he leaves... Chaos ensues.

Yeah, you two together are chaotic. Whne you two both do a TikTok dance, it definitely seems like you're both trying to summon Satan. Well... Sometimes you guys are. Although you'd never tell Price about it...

Speaking of summoning Satan, Price always complains about things moving to completely random places...... Oh well! Not your fault!

Alejandro Vargas:

Alejandro just laughed. Laughed at whatever idiotic thing you decided to do now. Whatever trick or dance you did, he laughed. To be honest, he had no idea what you were doing. But it was entertaining. The man is completely oblivious that you would film whatever shenanigans you would do.

Whether you're dancing or doing something idiotic, Alejandro is always there. Ready to laugh at you, or ready to patch you up if you injured yourself.

So, of course. That led you to force him to dance with you. Obviously it would be a TikTok dance. You showed him what you needed to do, how you needed to do it, when you needed to do it, where he should be playing his hands or feet, etc.

Overall it was a very difficult operation. He does not listen to your instructions well... When you started recording. Oh boy. Things did not go smoothly. In the end, Alejandro ended up on the floor with a tired and defeated look. You would feel pity for him, if he didn't step on your foot a million times.

[stobinesque]

Make Me Write: SNIPPET

The people have spoken and the people want Jeff to be Steve's bisexual awakening! I now have ~1.7k words written of this fic that had previously been a vague outline in the back of my head. Full disclosure, though: the "awakening" part of this is going to take a good long while for our beloved Steve.

I'm tagging everyone who explicitly requested this for WIP Wednesday (I counted each request as 3 additional sentences to my total count). But I'm going to hang onto the asks and use them for future motivation!

SNIPPET BELOW!

The return to school is a rocky one. The worst of the bruising has faded, and Steve can finally make it through most of a day reasonably alert—at home, at least. But there’s still a persistent ache throughout his whole body, and the fluorescent lights at Hawkins High are suddenly audible in a way he doesn’t remember them being just a couple weeks ago. About halfway through second period he develops a splitting headache that only gets worse as the hours tick by, and he feels seconds away from losing a breakfast he didn’t eat.

And that’s just the physical stuff. Returning to the social feeding frenzy of a small-town high school stuffed with teens with nothing to do than stick their noses all the way up the asses of everyone around them after getting his lights knocked out by the shiny new guy… Max may have knocked Billy out, but Billy’s not the one who had to take a week and a half off. Billy’s not the one with yellowing bruises splashed across his face. Billy’s had time to fashion himself a little amateur PR campaign, with Tommy Hagan as his own personal town crier.

It’s not like Steve had any particular interest in continuing to hover at the periphery of the circles he’d once been the ringleader of. But with Nancy tucked firmly into Jonathan’s side, and staunchly avoiding his gaze, and without the blandly polite interest of any of his other “friends,” Steve is just…adrift.

And on top of all of that, somehow a grade 3 concussion has not managed him a get out of jail free card for the stack of problem sets, papers, and tests he missed while he was out. Steve’s not totally convinced that a couple teachers didn’t tack on additional assignments out of spite.

“Mr. Harrington.”

Steve freezes with one foot in Mr. Donovan’s classroom. “Yes?”

“You’ll be making up the test you missed at the end of last week.”

“Didn’t I also miss the lessons for that test?”

“It’s not my fault if you didn’t have someone to take notes for you while you were away.”

“Away? I had a concussion.”

“Yes, and I’m sure you’ll think twice before getting up to whatever nonsense resulted in that unfortunate accident again. But that does not change the fact that you have a test you need take before you can continue in this class.”

Steve works his jaw, tempted to pull out the ‘my parents will be hearing about this’ card. He probably could get his mom to kick up enough of a fuss to get him out of the test. If he played his cards right, he might even manage to rile his dad enough to get Mr. Donovan fired. But either option was a devil’s bargain, and Steve has had quite enough of hell and its denizens to last himself at least two lifetimes.

Steve swallows down a retort—if he’s not going to try to manipulate his way out of this he’s certainly not going to dig his hole any deeper—and crosses to the front of the room to grab the test from Mr. Donovan’s hand.

***

Almost all of the tables in the small library are full by the time Steve shuffles through the door right on the heel of the final bell. The only one free is the rickety wooden table near the back that has one leg about half an inch too short that always wobbles whenever someone so much as looks at it. Steve sighs, but he resigns himself to sneaking a book thin enough to wedge under the table leg off the shelf while Mrs. Miller is looking away.

A minute later, Steve is cycling through a large stack of very small books when he’s startled by someone speaking from behind him. “I’d go with The Awakening.”

“Huh?” Steve doesn’t even turn around, singularly focused as he is on making this table passably usable for taking the goddamn Chemistry test.

“The Awakening? Kate Chopin? Perfect profile for wedging under there.”

Steve scans the spines of his pile until he spots the book. Fishing it out, he sees that there is a small indent on the front cover that looks suspiciously similar to the shape of the table feet. Sure enough, it settles into place easily, and winks the wobble into nonexistence.

“Perfect, thank you.” Steve finally turns enough to catch sight of his savior. It’s another kid from Donovan’s fifth period Chemistry, but Steve can’t recall his name. If he puts his mind to it and casts back far and wide, he can maybe conjure an image of a darker-skinned teen sitting at the same cafeteria table as Eddie freaking Munson, but there’s a strong chance Steve’s just extrapolating based on the fact that the guy is currently wearing one of the silly “Hellfire Club” t-shirts. Not that knowing his extracurriculars helps at all with remembering what to call him. Steve’s never been the best at names and faces, but he’s starting to think Billy knocked something loose up there when he knocked him out (that’s basically what a concussion is, right?), because he can usually at least come up with some vague impression of a sound even if it’s off. His head is totally blank on this one.

Trying to recall the guy’s name just leaves him awkwardly staring into the middle distance, though. So when Hellfire Guy drops into one of the chairs at the table, it startles him into following suit. Hellfire Guy drops an identical packet to Steve’s on the table.

“You too?” Steve asks.

Hellfire Guy just kind of stares at him with a confused smile. “Why’d you think I was here during our shared class, Harrington?”

Steve flushes. “I didn’t really think before I spoke, to be honest.”

“Well at least you’re honest.” His new tablemate flashes a more genuine grin. “I was out with strep last week. Frankie grabbed my assignments for me, so I just have to make up this stupid test.”

Steve nods, pretending to know who Frankie is, and refusing to wish that he’d had someone willing to grab his assignments while he’d been out. It’s not like he could have done anything about them when he was sleeping two-thirds of the day away.

Steve settles at the table, and as he moves to start writing his name at the top of the page, he realizes that’s the perfect way to figure out Hellfire Guy’s name without seeming like a total jackass. He flicks his eyes across the table to try to catch a glimpse of what the other kid is writing. But Steve’s ability to parse other people’s handwriting is lackluster on a good day. Throwing in the additional obstacles of trying to read something upside down from a foot away and he may as well be trying to read French. He can’t get even a halfway decent look without having to strain himself awkwardly—which he nearly does, forgetting that the whole point of this exercise was to be discreet.

Hellfire Guy looks up to meet Steve’s gaze, and he looks a tad irked. “You trying to cheat off of me, Harrington?”

“No, no, I—” Steve cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t remember your name,” he says. The Steve of a year ago wouldn’t even care about whether or not he knew some nerd’s name. He doesn’t want to be that guy anymore, and yet he’s still right here in the same exact place. Only now he does care, and the fact that he can’t remember the name of a guy who’s sat two rows over from him for the last three and a half months is just embarrassing. “But I didn’t want you to think—” Steve blows out a sharp breath. “It seemed stupid to ask.”

Hellfire Guy blinks. “My name’s Jeff,” he says, without any hint of judgment or annoyance shading his tone. Jeff tilts his head and looks at Steve with an intent sort of squinting look. “Hargrove really did a number on you, huh?”

“Oh.” Steve hadn’t been expecting that response. “Yeah.” He paints a charming smile onto his face. He doesn’t want to talk about this. “We should probably stop talking before Mrs. Miller starts to think we are cheating.”

Jeff opens his mouth as though to say something, but then glances over the front desk. Mrs. Miller is talking to another student, but rather than call Steve out on his obvious deflection he just shrugs and returns to working on his own test. Steve lets out a slow steady exhale of relief and continues working on his own.

It doesn’t take long for the headache that’s been building all day to bloom into something distractingly painful. Even if parts of the test didn’t reference material that he entirely missed while he was out, all of the questions about stuff that he does recognize are about things he’s been struggling to grasp. The multiple choice section was fine—even if he’s not particularly confident he knows the answers to more than three of the questions, at least he can just guess and move on. But he’s thoroughly stuck on the segment of the test where he has to balance equations.

“Are you okay, man?”

Steve jolts in his seat and looks up at Jeff, who’s staring at him with what Steve takes to be genuine concern—as out of place as that should be on a nerdy junior whose name he didn’t know remember less than thirty minutes ago. Beyond that—what was Steve doing that even prompted Jeff to ask? “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“Dude, you’re ripping your hair out, and you sound like a dying lawnmower.”

Steve immediately drops the hand that he didn’t realize had been tugging at his roots from his head, and flushes red. Maybe Billy punched a few holes through his filter while he was doing his best to cave his face in. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. You stuck on something?”

Steve scoffs a bit. “All of it.” He runs a hand through his hair again, but this time to try to reverse some of the damage. “I hate balancing equations.”

Tagging: @eriquin @inairbinad @delta-piscium @steventhusiast @bifuriouswaterbender @xenon-demon @steves-strapcollection @spicysix

[dazed-poltergeist]

Facing death with a descendant of Allfather

Pairings: Ivar the Boneless x Reader

Summary: The reader is on Ivar the Boneless' side and loves him, but never has the chance nor the courage to tell him. Both the reader and Ivar die side by side on the battlefield in Wessex.

Warning: A lot of spoilers. There will be mentions of a lot of important events in the series, so I highly recommend not reading if you haven't finished the show.

Add. Notes: Ragnar and his sons claimed multiple times in the series, in one way or another, that they are associated with Odin/the Æsir in general, so I rolled with that it the title. It feels kind of weird to watch a TV show and meanwhile write fanfiction about another; I finished watching The Last Kingdom on the day I started writing this. The Coccham squad will always have a place in my heart 🥹

Masterlist ✧⁠*⁠。

You were a great warrior, who officially joined Ivar's side when the Ragnarssons divided. You worked a lot with the brittle-boned man, discussing battle tactics when the times came, and simply fighting alongside him during those times. You fought with the brothers when they avenged Ragnar, you fought with Ivar when he defeated the Saxons in York, and you were also with him during and after the battles of Kattegat. You went along the Silk Road with Ivar when he fled Kattegat, and were on his side when he was held captive in Kiev by the Rus.

You had been through a lot with the youngest Ragnarsson, and you realized that when you caught yourself having him on your mind often through the years with him. As the time went on, you started thinking about him more; worrying about him and his health, the things you wished to do with him if it weren't for his disability or the things happening around you, and finally the thoughts that were not the most... appropriate.

You didn't recall when exactly you began having romantic feelings for Ivar the Boneless; you concluded that it was a long time ago, since you didn't remember anymore. But you never got the chance nor the courage, even as a fearless warrior, to tell him of your love for him.

Even though you didn't like the idea, you stayed quiet about the said feelings, and kept working for him while constantly showing your thoughts and feelings to the back of your mind. In the past you had made a few vague attempts at confessing to the cripple, but they hadn't worked because of your body failing you or because of some other form of interruption.

Your first attempt was similar to the first reason; you were in York with him, and you thought it was the right time to tell him. You tried to talk to him about it, but words refused to come out of your mouth when you got to the love part. You ended up embarrassing yourself infront of Ivar, Hvitserk and a few of his men, causing you to avoid him for a while from the agony of said embarrassment.

The rest of your attempts failed were because of the latter reason, much to your relief and surprise. One of them was also in York, but this time you were interrupted by Freydis' emergence, as Ivar asked you to leave them alone. The last two times were in Kiev; the first time you were cut off by Igor, and the second time a guard came to tell Ivar of an invitation by Oleg to watch a puppet show.

You were surprised when Ivar proposed to invade the Saxon lands shortly after his return to Kattegat. You questioned if he had another motive behind that proposal, but you decided to follow him to Wessex either way. You forgot the potential ulterior motive almost entirely, until you were halfway on your sailing journey to Wessex with only your thoughts occupying you.

"Ragnar went to England before his death, right after coming back to Kattegat, even though he had been gone for ten years. Ivar has been gone for a while as well, and now is also heading to England. Could his death be near?" Such thought came to your mind, and immediately you were concerned of Ivar's safety. You were not ready to lose him, not with the feelings you had for him.

The forest battle against the Saxons was successful, but it cost Harald's men their leader's life. Harald hadn't returned to Ivar's campsite from the now foggy and bloody woods, making the Danes conclude that he was dead. It was mildly upsetting, but you liked to think that now he got to reunite with his younger brother, Halfdan, in Valhalla.

You overheard Hvitserk make a comment about the white parts of Ivar's eyes; he said that they were blue. You had heard in the past about the whites of Ivar's eyes turning blue when he was at risk of breaking his bones, but you never genuinely believed that. You were now looking at Ivar's eyes, and they were indeed blue in and around the pupil.

Hvitserk was trying to persuade Ivar to not fight while he was at risk, but Ivar was not listening to him; he kept insisting that he was fine and fit for battle. You were starting to think that the risk drove him to fight the Saxons more, which reminded you of the thought that crossed your mind on the boats. But you were sure that if even Hvitserk couldn't convince him to rest, you couldn't either, so you stopped eavesdropping and walked away.

Ivar had offered peace to Alfred and the soldiers of Wessex, but they refused, which lead to Ivar's and formerly Harald's men preparing for battle. Ivar was still determined to fight even with the state he was in, so you proposed that you will try to be near him at all times to protect him. But he scoffed and claimed that the Saxons couldn't kill him, since the Gods were by his side. You frowned upon his response, and said that you will still try to be close to him in case something happened to him.

You had seen the deaths of many, in battle and elsewhere; it wasn't supposed to shake you anymore, and yet it still did every time. You saw the deaths of Sigurd, Halfdan, Bishop Heahmund and Björn. But losing a person dear to you would hurt you much differently. You were convinced that Ivar was going to die in that battle and wished to shield him from all harm that came in his way.

But you got separated from him as the two of you went around killing Saxons, both of you getting bad injured in the process. Then you heard a yell of agony that sounded like Ivar. You were frantically looking around the battlefield, trying to locate Ivar and Hvitserk, who you believed was likely with the brittle-boned man. You finally spotted the two Ragnarssons, and started limping in their direction.

As you were getting closer to them, you began to see the lethal wounds Ivar had gotten; multiple stab wounds in his torso, and what seemed to be broken bones. Hvitserk was helping Ivar down on the ground, as the latter was bleeding out and hurting.

When you were barely a few feet away from the two brothers, you felt a painful shot through your shoulder. Then you felt a more painful one in you back, making you almost fall face down on the ground. You didn't have the strength nor the determination to turn around and see who the Saxon archer was; you were focused on Ivar and his older brother.

You took the last few agonizing steps in their direction, and fell on your knees next to the younger Ragnarsson. You landed on your side on the ground next to him, and he turned his head to look at you.

"I don't want to die, Y/N, I don't want to die-" was all that he was saying. You did not know how to comfort him, for you were dying as well and didn't know how to comfort a man on the verge of his death.

"Death is inevitable, Ivar. We can't escape it, even if we hope we could. We can only wish for dying in a good and honorable way." You were convinced that your attempt at comforting him wasn't doing anything better, because you now saw tears coming from his eyes, and you could feel tears coming from your own as well.

Alfred ordered his soldiers to a halt. He began walking to you, Ivar, and Hvitserk. But you chose to ignore him, because you wished to finally said the words that got stuck on your tongue on that day in York.

"Do you remember the day in York when I tried to tell you something, but stopped halfway, left and avoided you for days?" You asked from Ivar, though you were not expecting an answer from him; he seemed to be using every ounce of his strength to just stay conscious and listen to you.

You were using every bit of your strength as well, but to talk to him instead of listening. You could feel Ivar and yourself losing consciousness at any moment now, so you used you last ounce of strength to say your last words;

"I love you so much, Ivar the Boneless. It has been an honor to serve you."

And so you felt life slipping out of your grasp, and you were sure Ivar did aswell. Yours and Ivar's limp bodies were surrounded by soldiers of Saxon and Dane origin, with Hvitserk and King Alfred among them. Hvitserk started crying for his little brother; Ivar was one of his only family members left to him, and even though Ivar wasn't the last one of Hvitserk's brothers to die, the third eldest was sure that he would never see any of them again.

I kind of want to mark the day I started writing this, because as I said in my notes, I finished watching TLK. I really liked that show, so I kind of want to remember the day. Although, I think I'll remember it for both finishing the show and accidentally dropping a bowl of guacamole...

-Eero, Dec 10th 2022

[dear--mars]

01.5 Hating you?? — class

tartaglia x f!reader

Hating you??

masterlist -- prev | next

everyone almost always listens to signora bc they know how scary she can get

even scaramouche

Synopsis -- In which a girl who had been played by Cupid refuses to be fooled around with anymore. That was until the love devil in one last ditch attempt sent you the school’s rich playboy. Caught in a string of lies, rumors, and fame you end up fake-dating but what happens when you realize he’s not who you originally thought…? Author's notes -- istg if I lose motivation halfway through... Taglist is open -- @hanilessa @duckyyyx @boywxonder @ynverse @ahnneyong @wonderland-fan @yelleloww

[navnae]

Eddie thinks it’s unfair having a snowball fight with Steve due to his athletic abilities and he pouts through out the game because Steve is just beating his ass without shame. Eddie makes the call to stop the game completely making Steve roll his eyes in the process.

“I want to start over. Clearly you have a unfair advantage over me.” Eddie whined. Steve thought Eddie was being a sore loser at the moment but if he genuinely felt that way then he wasn’t going to argue with him about it.

“Alright fine. I’ll give a head start but if you still lose you have to yell in public that I’m the best.” Steve said before smiling widely. Eddie contemplated the punishment and how embarrassing it was but that only motivated him not to lose.

“You’re on then, Harrington.” Eddie lifted his head up with pride running through his veins. He wasn’t going to lose this time no matter what happened.

The boys went back to throwing the snowballs like before only this time Eddie had several opportunities to throw them first without Steve being able to dodge them. Somehow even with Steve standing completely still Eddie was still losing and he couldn’t aim at his target well enough. Steve couldn’t stop laughing at Eddie missing every single shot at him, Eddie looked like he was on the verge of tears with his nose being all red from the cold and the way he pouted made Steve want to kiss him endlessly. Eddie had completely blew his head start chances and ended up losing again. Steve didn’t take it easy on him either, he was still able to hit Eddie even when he tried to runaway from Steve. When the game came to an end Eddie accepted his defeat and he braced himself for the punishment that was soon to come. Steve walked up to Eddie with a smirk on his face, the feeling of victory weighed on him just like he wanted.

“I assume you already know what you have to do now.” Steve teased even though he already knew what was going to happen.

“Do I really have to?” Eddie groaned as the cold air could be seen coming from his lips whenever he spoke. Steve noticed the blush on Eddie’s face and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“Yep.” Steve said excitedly. Eddie could feel his cheeks heating up.

“Okay… you’re the best.” Eddie mumbled under his breath. Steve folded his arms disappointingly hoping that Eddie would’ve been a better sport then this.

“I know you can do better than that babe.” Steve was really pushing for the this punishment. Eddie’s heart started beating fast once he started noticing some neighbors were coming out of their houses and they would be able to here him. Steve figured that would be a little too embarrassing so he made the punishment less than what was previously. “Well can you at least say it to me just this once?”

Eddie’s pride would’ve definitely been the death of him if Steve wasn’t the one already doing the damage. Saying no to him was a battle that he’ll never win and honestly he was fine with that. Eddie sighed deeply before pulling Steve towards him by his jacket and he looked at him sweetly. Before speaking Eddie cleared his throw for comedic effect which made Steve laugh.

“You and only you, Steve Harrington is the fucking best and I am glad to say it proudly.” Eddie said halfway through a laugh. Steve didn’t expect to hear Eddie say those exact words but he wasn’t complaining. “Happy?”

“Very.” Steve whispered as he leaned in closer to Eddie then making both of their lips connect.

Both of them kissed while tiny snowflakes landed on them and the scene of the snow that surrounded them looked so beautiful. They were so in love with each other that even the could weather couldn’t keep them away.