#back on my bullshit writing at 3 am

[theaterfires]

#дневник

[super-who-locked-me-in-here]

A Gentle End by super-who-locked-me-in-here

[magpie-trinkets]

zacharias barnham visits the wrights

[disappearinginq]

I hate that people on a whole don't understand a narrative. Like...your English/literature teacher should've flunked people over this.

Probably the people who understand it best are the ones marginalized in life, because hey, we see ourselves in those characters. Other people have the luxury of just going "eh" and moving on.

But when hugely popular shows and movies and even books keep killing off their marginalized and suffering characters as the "only way this could've ended" I want to reach through a screen and choke them out because stop telling me the world is better without me in it., Or I will take you with me, and we'll see who's mourned.

It's not even just Bury Your Gays. In Outer Banks, they kill of the kid who is told from season 1 that you'll never make anything of yourself. You will always be poor, homeless, unloved, and alone. And then spend three and a half seasons showing you that this character absolutely will beat his own narrative - he finds friends that are his family, he finds a life he loves with the people he loves and they love him back, and then - they kill him. BUT THE RICH BITCH FUCKING PSYCHOPATH GETS A REDEMPTION ARC? I don't care how good the actors are, the narrative has now wildly swung from 'you can make it if you don't give up' to 'don't even bother - life will find a way to beat you down to where you belong' and airing two days after the catastrophic American elections - where the billionaires and greed and hate win?

The Umbrella Academy had three seasons of fun, quirky, broken people who tried so hard to fix their mistakes, to fix what they broke, and canonically, are representing marginalized groups that never get the happy endings. But dammit, this family tried. They didn't always get along, they were dysfunctional, but they still came together in the end, and loved one another despite the bad they have done. And then - the narrative again spins a wild one eighty and the story ends with "the world is better without you in it - die". Which is a very real narrative a lot of us live with.

The MCU - kills off Iron Man/Tony Stark, one of the very first popular characters who suffers from extreme CPTSD along with an alphabet of mental disorders; Loki, who is the adopted child and queer across the board, loses absolutely everyone and everything; Steve, who while he isn't dead, his character most certainly is because he goes from the one who does sacrifice everything to making a selfish, personal decision that winds up fucking over everyone; Bucky, who again isn't dead but he is openly blamed for the things he did while he was a prisoner and a mind-controlled assassin for the bad guys against his will by his mental health professional. And the narrative is "no, you should sacrifice yourself so the rest of us who treated you like shit can live a better life."

The stupidity of wanting to punish your audience who is punished enough in the real world often enough we don't need it or want it in fiction is just...mind boggling. And when those are the real words used by writers to justify their shit decisions?

I hope your death serves a narrative purpose, since you seem to think that is the noblist way to go.

[raineandsky]

#27

“How’s your food?”

The hero wouldn’t know. Their food is currently going cold in front of them, untouched. The villain, on the other hand, has more or less inhaled theirs. 

“Oh, don’t be so dour,” they continue through a mouthful of their dinner. “Agency’s paying for this.”

That much is true. The superhero more or less forced their hand in this, first with promises of time off and a payrise, second with threats of getting fired when the hero didn’t immediately agree. So here they are, in a restaurant they didn’t like the menu of, staring at the food in front of them that’s long stopped steaming, sitting across from the person they want to punch most in the world.

The hero turns their gaze to the doors idly, disinterested. They hope they can go home soon.

“I can’t believe people actually believe you want to help us,” they retort flatly, and the villain frowns innocently.

“I do—that’s why I offered my help.” They say it like it’s obvious, and the hero tuts in annoyance. “That fucker—[Supervillain]—owes me. I’m just getting my own back.”

“He owes you so much you’re trying to set heroes on him,” the hero says disbelievingly, and the villain nods. They train their eyes on the door as well, expectant.

“You think too much, god. Have a drink, loosen up, for both of our sakes.”

The hero glances down at the wine glass on the table, just as untouched as the rest of their dinner. They didn’t like the menu—and honestly this pasta looks wrong somehow—but wine is wine. Hopefully they can have a little faith in something that got here already made.

They swill it in the glass thoughtfully for a moment, staring into the tiny current the movement causes before taking a test sip.

“How is it?” the villain asks hopefully. Their answer comes as the hero tips half the glass into their mouth in one go. To say they look ecstatic would be an understatement. “Oh, wow, must be good.”

It’s okay. It tastes a bit weird, but they imagine everything does here. They don’t care too much – they know they’re meant to be on business, but if they can forget most of the time they’re being forced to spend here it might make it a little better.

They set the glass back on the table with a sigh. The villain watches them eagerly as they lean back in the chair. “Any better?”

“I don’t get drunk off half a glass of wine,” the hero snaps, but they’d be lying to say they don’t feel a little dizzy. “I’m not that much of a lightweight.”

“Shame. Would’ve made for an interesting night if you were.”

The villain goes back to shovelling food into their mouth as the hero heaves a deep breath. They’re feeling worse by the second, the whole world starting to spin nauseatingly, and after a couple of minutes they feel like they’re going to be sick. They lurch to their feet rather suddenly, pulling the villain’s gaze to them in surprise.

“Bathroom,” is all they have time to say before they stagger away from the table and in the vague direction of the signs they saw earlier.

The door bounces off the wall as the hero shoves it open, the clatter it makes against the tile emphasising the headache assaulting them. They stumble to the sinks, shakily turning a tap on and slapping water over their face. It’s refreshing, and it’s only when they feel the cool water on them that they realise how unbearably hot they feel. They have to lean all their weight on the counter to keep themself standing, desperately blinking away the unconsciousness slinking up on them.

They’re barely aware of the door creaking open behind them. There’s movement in the mirror in front of them, though they can barely bring themself to look up beyond the rising sickness. “That wine must’ve been strong,” a familiar voice says from behind them, the sound dulled slightly as if it’s coming from underwater. “You look rough.”

Something—no, that’s someone—touches their shoulder lightly, pulling them away from the counter. They sink to the floor, their support gone, and the villain follows them down worriedly.

“You have a phone, right?” They rummage through the hero’s pockets uninvited. “I’ll call [Superhero]. You really need to go home.”

“Ugh,” is all the response the hero can give them. They can see, somewhat distantly, the villain frowning at their phone in their hand, presumably looking for a contact they can use. They turn away as the door swings open again, and they lean out of the hero’s vision as they get back to their feet.

“What the hell are you doing here?” they snap coldly, and the supervillain hums a laugh.

“Picking up the trash. I knew you’d try to do me in,” he says simply, and he shoves them back to come more into the room. “You’re not the most original criminal, are you?”

There’s a moment of silence, and the lack of anything to concentrate on makes the hero realise how close to passing out they are. “You did this?”

“Who else? You’re too weak to do anything that matters.”

They know it’s not aimed at them, but the last of the hero’s attention is trained on that one sentence as the arguing fades into fuzzy nothingness. You’re too weak to do anything that matters.

[bunnihearted]

🕸🎀˚.⁺⊹

[lastavengedarchived]

the midnight suns brain worms call to me. i am writing here there, posting some, tossing some into queue for tomorrow. no pressure, i love writing and making new friends and writing with said friends.

it's summer time, i have no work for next few weeks (it just how my part time position be), and it's so hot. i tend to sleep during the day and be awake at night when the windows are open because it's cooled down. so everyone knows where this little izzy is where with their brain worms; it's reverting back to being a nocturnal creature.

anyways, thanks for everyone whose been following over here and being patient that my ability to write man (literally xD) aka my main boy clint is taking a nap, while i write my ladies. i've been glad to have made this a full blog and moved from a side blog. it's also officially been a year since i returned to writing and tumblr (i disappeeared end of 2019/march 2020) and it's been nice to revisit, and meet new people and see old friends too <3 i have truly missed when you make a nice little community of your own and geetting to write creatively and be as obsessed about superheroes as i do get with everyone i talk to / meet.

anyways, appreciate you and just think you are neat <3

[blondiest]

six sentence sunday monday: all's fair in love and war (and this is both) [chapter 2 coming wednesday]

Mello settles into bed himself and shuts his eyes. He does a few breathing exercises, trying to calm himself enough to drift off. Normally, if he hadn’t been distracted by coming up with a workable offensive strategy to counter Near’s extremely evil-genius attack on his psyche, he would’ve taken a shower after dinner instead of doing schoolwork all night, so normally he would be relaxed by the time he laid down. Today, though, his entire schedule has been disrupted by the brief but horrific debacle in the library; the ripple effect of watching Near lick his spit off his fingers is devastating even eight hours later. Pink lips wrapped around saliva-shiny fingertips, a small tongue carelessly moving over the digits, the whole thing playing and replaying in up-close slow-motion on the backs of his fucking eyelids. Mello wants to die, but God is not that merciful.

[wilted-woman]

its back

[make-like-a-tree-and-leaf]

Chapters: 1/4 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lae'zel/Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate), Lae'zel & Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate), Astarion & Gale & Karlach & Lae'zel & Shadowheart & Tav & Wyll (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate), Lae'zel (Baldur's Gate), Karlach (Baldur's Gate), Gale (Baldur's Gate), Wyll (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate), Astarion (Baldur's Gate) Additional Tags: Shadowheart is Bad at Feelings, Shadowheart has Mommy Issues, Lae'zel is learning new things about Shadowheart, Useless Lesbians, They're gay your honor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Teasing, Bullying, In that they have to bully Shadowheart to rescue her, Pre-Relationship, Team as Family, hmm this might mess with some team dynamics, Shadowheart needs a hug, Shadowheart is confused and bad at feelings, Lae'zel is also confused but she's trying Summary:

When a succubus and incubus launch a surprise attack in the night, Lae'zel is the only one with a plan.

Its harder to keep things hidden when under a charm.

Shadowheart is learning that the hard way.

Lae'zel on the other hand is learning about Shadowheart.

[sophiethewitch1]

i think romance is just killing each other forever in the time loop

[the-golden-ghost]

I HIT 3000 WORDS OF MY FIC AND FINALLY GOT IT TO A STRUCTURE I LIKE!!!

[kayfabebabe]

“This has to be the end.” for Bret boy? 💚

Mango! Oh, sweet Mango. I am so SO sorry that I’ve taken literal months to answer this. I tucked it into a corner of my drafts for safekeeping and I genuinely thought that I’d answered it. That’s my bad! - This was 100% inspired by the song Lyin’ Eyes by Eagles 

Bret Hart X Female Reader WARNINGS - Angst. Mentions of cheating/infidelity. Sad times. 

~ ~ ~

At first, Bret kept his back turned towards you. His head remained lowered as he focused solely on tightening his belt and getting re-dressed at the foot of the bed. Pieces of your clothing were strewn haphazardly around the hotel room. Both of you had been too desperate to get each other naked to care about neatly folding anything or placing them together in a singular pile. 

You made no attempt to gather your clothes, preferring to wrap the comforter around your bare body and sit against the headboard. If you delay getting dressed then, maybe, you could escape the heartache for a few moments longer. Saying goodbye, however, was inevitable and, no matter what you did, it couldn’t be avoided. 

“Bret, this has to be the end.” 

Your voice lacked any type of conviction as, if truth be told, the last thing that you wanted was this to end. Bret was everything. When you first crossed-paths, you were immediately enraptured by his dry humour and heart of gold hidden behind an icy exterior. That initial spark soon grew into a fire that threatened to burn you from the inside if you ignored it. So, you didn’t. You allowed yourself to succumb to the fire, relishing in the heat with any rational thought of the consequences forgotten whenever Bret kissed you.  

“Why?” 

“You know why…” 

Of course Bret knew. The garish ring on your left hand was a constant reminder that you’d bound yourself to an uncaring man. One that sat at the top of an illustrious empire of wealth and riches, never lifting more than a finger and treating people as if they were disposable. He didn’t deserve you. This is a conversation that you’ve had over and over again with every time being the final time. And yet, a week or two later, you’ll find yourself in another hotel room, making the same promises that were never intended to be kept. 

The room falls quiet; Bret holding his shirt in his hands before tossing it back onto the floor and clambering onto the bed. You catch a flash of Bret’s hardened expression as he presses a rough kiss to your mouth. It skates that fine edge of becoming too harsh until you lift your hands to cradle Bret’s face and he relaxes again. Leaving never got easier for either of you. Entangled hearts were rarely content with being frequently forced apart, but there was no other choice.

Perhaps, in a different life, you could’ve freely spent your days together and allowed your love to fully blossom.

~ 

[windfighter]

Can you tell I don't care about football?

The title isn't even a title. I just really don't care about football and this is the second??? third??? time I use it to hurt this blorbo. Enjoy x3

Prompt: Blurry vision | Support | ”I think I need to sit down”

-----

Kouji stumbled. The world spun around him, out of focus. His head hurt. The air was thick and heavy and hard to get into his lungs. His heart banged against his ribcage. Quick beats like a woodpecker. An arm wrapped around his waist.

”You okay?”

Kouichi. Kouji leaned against him, blinked. Okay wasn’t… the right word.

”Think I’m sick”, he mumbled.

He waved a hand infront of his face. He could see it, but the edges were blurry. It probably meant something.

”World’s…”

He didn’t quite find the words to explain. Was too tired. His heart beat too loudly. Why did he come along to the park to begin with? His body tilted forwards and he didn’t have energy to fight it. Kouichi tugged at him, tried to get him to stay standing. It wouldn’t work.

”...think I need to sit down”, Kouji said.

Kouichi tugged at him again. Turned around a bit. Kouji had no idea what he was searching for.

”Alright, let’s get you seated down”, Kouichi said.

He took a step. Kouji tried to lift a foot, but his knees buckled. Hit the ground. Kouji’s head spun worse. He leaned forwards, hands against the grass. Closed his eyes. He could hear the others come closer as well. Izumi, Junpei, Tomoki and Takuya. He opened his eyes, but they didn’t want to stay open.

Why had he come along to the park?

A hand was placed on his shoulder, someone shook him. Sounds were starting to be just as blurry as his vision.

”Let’s get him lying down”, Junpei said. ”And get some water into him.”

Lying down sounded nice. Kouji leaned to the side, let gravity do the job of pulling him down. Hands turned him over, put him on his back. He blinked, but his eyes still didn’t want to stay open.

”Takuya, go get your bag”, Kouichi said.

Soft steps as Takuya ran away, returned. Something soft was placed under Kouji’s legs. The bag. They pulled his bandana off, put a wet towel across his forehead. His head slowly started cooperating again.

”Sorry”, he whispered.

”You have a fever”, Kouichi said.

Kouji wasn’t sure how Kouichi knew, but he nodded.

”You woke up with a fever”, Kouichi repeated, ”and decided that playing football sounded like a good idea.”

Kouji frowned. When Kouichi put it like that it made him sound like an absolute moron. He opened his eyes. The world was in focus.

”I didn’t think it was this bad?” he tried.

”You almost fainted”, Junpei said. ”That’s pretty bad.”

Kouji rubbed his eyes, yawned. Tried to sit up. Takuya put a foot on his shoulder.

”You’re not getting up until we’re sure you’re fine.”

Kouji felt small where he was on his back, with Takuya, Izumi and Tomoki towering above him. At least Junpei and Kouichi had the sense to sit down. He turned towards Kouichi.

”I’m fine, promise.”

Fine was an exaggeration, but the air didn’t feel as thick any longer. Kouichi looked at him, put his head in his hands and shook it.

”Fine, sit up if you want to.”

Takuya took his foot off Kouji’s shoulder, took a step back. Kouji stayed on the ground. He took a shaky breath. Tomoki sat down.

”Are you thirsty?” he asked.

”I’m not helpless”, Kouji answered.

”No, but are you thirsty?”

Kouji snorted. His throat felt dry.

”A bit”, he admitted.

Tomoki disappeared out of Kouji’s field of view, rummaged around in the bag under his legs. A bottle was placed in Kouji’s hand and Kouji took a few sips out of it. The water was cool despite the sun shining on them. Kouji closed his eyes and put the bottle on the ground again.

”...call mom or dad?” he asked.

He wasn’t helpless but his head still felt a bit weird and he wasn’t sure he could muster the words to explain to his parents what happened. Kouichi squeezed his shoulder, took the phone from his pocket. Kouji listened as Kouichi explained what had happened. Someone took the towel from Kouji’s forehead, rewetted it and put it back. They talked quietly, Kouji didn’t listen. He was almost drifting off.

”Mama’s on the way”, Kouichi said. ”How are you feeling?”

”Tired?” Kouji suggested.

He put a hand on his chest, massaged it. His heart felt like it was trying to escape through his ribcage. Kouichi frowned.

”Is it pneumonia?”

Kouji shook his head.

”Heart’s still racing”, he said. ”It’s uncomfortable.”

”Are you having a fucking heart attack?!”

Kouichi’s suddenly louder voice made Kouji’s head pound again. He clenched his eyes shut and shook his head.

”I’m too young for a heart attack”, he said with a laugh.

”Young people can get heart attacks too, especially if they decide to work out when they have a fever.”

”Really feel like you’re scolding me now.”

He pushed himself into a sitting position. The towel fell to the ground next to him. His head spun, but not as bad as earlier. He put his hands in his lap, kicked the bag to the side. Took a few deep breaths to try and get his speeding heart under control. He hadn’t expected it to get this bad.

”It’s not a heart attack”, he repeated.

Kouichi opened his mouth to protest. Kouji was so tired. He leaned forwards, put his head in his hands.

”No, really, it’s not. Mom’s taught me the signs in case dad would get one.”

Kouichi sighed. Moved closer and sat down right next to Kouji.

”...okay then. Think you can walk to the parking lot?”

Kouji hesitated. Maybe. The thought of standing up sounded like a chore. He put a hand on the ground.

”Have to”, he answered.

Because he did, didn’t he? Mom wouldn’t be able to carry him there and he wasn’t helpless. Just a little sick and tired. He got his feet under himself, pushed himself up. The world spun. His head exploded. Someone wrapped an arm around his waist and put his arm over their shoulders.

”Easy there.”

Takuya. Kouji’s legs trembled. But he wasn’t falling back down. Success? He leaned against Takuya. Takuya laughed.

”Need me to carry you?”

”Don’t think I’m that sick”, Kouji said.

Kouichi stood up, grabbed Kouji's hand and pressed two fingers against his wrist. Kouji blinked, stared at him. There was a frown on Kouichi’s face.

”If you can carry him, please do”, Kouichi said.

He let go of Kouji, shook his head. Crossed his arms over his chest. Kouji rolled his eyes.

”That’s almost as high as your exercise pulse.”

”I have been working out”, Kouji said.

”Yeah, but it’ll usually be normal by now.”

Kouichi had that irritating know-it-all voice he got when he knew better than Kouji. Kouji rolled his eyes again and tried to take a step. Takuya followed, but Kouji’s legs didn’t quite want to carry him, his lungs didn’t quite want to get enough air. His chest hurt and his pulse sped up. He clenched his hand around Takuya’s shirt. Why did he get out of bed?

Takuya laughed, took a better grip around Kouji’s waist before leaning down. His other arm behind Kouji’s knees and the world tilted. Kouji stared at the sky. Well, this was stupid. The whole situation was stupid. He put his head on Takuya’s shoulder, released a frustrated breath.

”Just this once”, he said.

”Just this once”, Takuya agreed.

Kouji closed his eyes, counted his heartbeats as Takuya walked. Way too high, but he wouldn’t admit that if he could avoid it. Mom would know what to do. He pressed a hand against his chest. Next time he was sick he’d just stay in bed until he was better.

Yeah, no, that was a lie. He wouldn’t and he knew it.

Takuya stopped. Kouji blinked, looked around. Already at the parking lot. Takuya let go of Kouji’s legs, lowered him onto a bench. Kouji rubbed his eyes, leaned forwards. His head pounded to the beat of his heart and his stomach was starting to protest as well.

”How…” he started. Swallowed. ”How do I look?”

He hoped it didn’t come across as flirtatious. That Takuya wouldn’t answer in a flirtatious manner. He needed to know.

”Like death walked over you”, Kouichi answered.

”Yeah…”

Kouji pulled his hands across his face. Leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt like it too. He heard a car pull up, the door open. What sounded like mom’s shoes against asphalt. A hand against his knee, Kouichi’s awkward greeting. Kouji opened his eyes. Mom. She looked at him, grabbed his hand. Put two fingers against his wrist in a gesture he wasn’t supposed to notice. She frowned and Kouji agreed.

”Hey”, she said. ”Ready to go?”

She didn’t mean home, he could see it in her eyes. But they didn’t need to worry the others. He nodded, reached for Takuya. Takuya pulled him up, held him as he stumbled to the car. Mom opened the door to the passenger seat and Kouji sank down in it. Buckled up before leaning back, closing his eyes and listening to his heart pounding in his ears.

”Can I come with you?” Kouichi asked.

Their voices sounded far away, from the other side of an iron door. Kouji leaned the seat back a little. He was starting to feel dizzy.

”I’m sorry, Kouichi. Not this time. We’ll call you later, I promise.”

”From the hospital”, Kouji slurred because his brain was an asshole and decided to let it slip.

He really wasn’t feeling well. Cartoonish noises left Kouichi, or maybe it was just Kouji’s brain playing trick on him. Someone closed the door on his side, he couldn’t tell who from behind his closed eyelids. The darkness was nice though. Soft. Silent.

...they should probably have called an ambulance.

The engine roared to life and the car shook. Kouji pressed a hand against his mouth, then let it fall down. He was drained. Mom squeezed his knee, or was he imagining, and then the car jerked as mom pressed the gas pedal down. Kouji slid against the window. It was cool, released some of the ache behind his forehead. He sighed.

If whatever was wrong didn’t kill him, Kouichi would.

[saviltriide]

Hi hello, im terribly invested in doctor who again <3

[luv-again]

realising writing rouge's/amy's perspectives is slowly healing my very possible internalised misogyny

i was a fool to be sleeping on things like this in favour of shadow </3