#gs fic things

[ridiculously-over-obsessed]

Hey guys.

So I know I’ve been really quiet lately and I haven’t updated anything in over a month and I just wanted to address that. Things here aren’t great, I’m in a really weird headspace because I’m going no contact with mum once I move out and it’s just making me feel really weird and out of place while I’m waiting for that, not to mention the fact that she’s up to her usual bullshit which leaves me drained and exhausted. I also don’t have a functioning space to write atm because while I moved out last year I got demoted to the box room and my sister took my old room (which y’know, it’s fine I get it) but that comes with all my shit having to fit into a room that has furniture that’s way too big/takes up too much space even before I’ve gotten my stuff in, and I’m just cramped and claustrophobic with no access to my desk or a surface that I can write on, and it’s created this perfect storm of lack of writer’s block and zero motivation that I just can’t defeat right now.

So, I’m going on an indefinite hiatus. I wish I could say it’s only going to be a few weeks or a month, but I can’t put a time frame on it. Hopefully, everything lines up for me to move out in August and once I have some peace and some space for myself I can get back into my fics again. But for now, everything is on pause, and I’m so sorry for disappointing people waiting for updates, I promise that I’m trying to get back to a place where I can write again, but I just don’t see it happening any time soon.

Love and big hugs to you guys

- G

[arialerendeair]

I was curious about the unhinged comments in question (which were awesome) so I actually compared word counts and you came in a mere 754 words shy of the Giving Sanctuary Chapter 21 word count - 9761 words vs 10,515 words.

LOL, I'm glad that you enjoyed my screaming - it was the single best way that I could honor how amazing that particular story is, and that chapter.

I knew that @avelera had been fighting the muse on GS, so I had resolved to write the comment I had been planning in my head for weeks now, because I'd read Chapter 21 so many times that point, that I probably could have recited some of it.

So, I took a note from @foodsies4me's book (who writes comments that regularly make me want to sob) and decided to just... comment on the whole chapter. All of it. Piece by piece, analyzing, commenting, screaming over, all of it. It was a book report and screaming session all in one.

All 6 comments took me the better part of 4.5 hours to write, lol, but it was so worth it. So, so, SO worth it.

(Even more worth it when I found out that we're gonna get some Dream POV from Chapter 21 as a result and I'm gonna fucking die over that.)

[ceratedfish24]

I think the first time Scott did something kind to Etho he didn't even realize it was a big deal, just reflexivly did it and immediately thought nothing/forgot about it, and Etho is left standing frozen eyes wide like oh snap I'm interested in this guy now. So Etho starts watching Scott from a distance now and notices how Scott keeps doing these kind things for other people and that's how he falls in love.

YES!!! YES! YES! YES! Scott is so kind to everybody he meets, and Etho is so used to fighting for his life and becoming a product of by his circumstances, whereas Scott is so stubbornly kind, refusing to let his hardships corrupt his loving nature. It happens when Etho is scoping out the competition right before 3rd Life, and Scott is going around introducing himself to everyone. Right after Etho finishes a playful stare down with Bdubs, this pretty boy comes right up to him, an enemy to be, offers him a smile, and wishes him luck in a game they’re both about to compete in. Immediately after, Grian calls Scott over to make fun of him, which means Scott didn’t really get any time to think about Etho’s reaction. “You can’t be nice to the competition, Scott! We’re going to war! Stop making my game friendly!” Etho just watches him go… He can’t actually be that friendly, right? Well, he really was, and he continued to be.

Scott excitedly congratulates Grian on his win. He defies the Boogeyman Curse instead of going after his teammate. He sacrifices himself for Pearl. He has no resentment towards Martyn after Limited Life. He teams with Gem, a new player who may be in need of guidance. He treats Cleo’s win with all the seriousness and excitement of a full-length season’s win. He negotiates and reaches out to Etho, who has never done anything for Scott or grown close to him or proved himself to be a good teammate for other people.

And, on top of all of that, Scott does really well.

At first, Etho assumes that Scott is just really kind to people he’s close to, such as Jimmy, Cleo, and Pearl, but then Scott extends his kindness to Etho in Limited Life, making polite conversation with him despite them being on different teams and having so much more time than anyone on Etho’s team. Then, in Secret Life, Scott humors him even though he knows that Etho’s trying to distract Scott from pursuing Bdubs during the infamous game of tag. At the time, Etho couldn’t explain why he found himself stumbling over his words, as he found himself so distracted by how the light reflected in Scott’s eyes. Finally, Wild Life is what tears Etho open like a gash in a place he already knew was tender. Etho isn’t oblivious, at least not to his own feelings. He’s known that he’s felt something for Scott for a long time, but a crush isn’t exactly an optimal in a death game.

Scott, so willing to grant Etho a place on the Gs, smiles and shrugs and tells Etho that he doesn’t care if Etho’s “not a good teammate”, and Etho’s heart bursts in his chest. He’s been given a chance that he doesn’t feel as though he’s earned from someone who doesn’t know him all that well. Everything that’s been buried deep in his chest finally erupts to the surface and he wants to grab Scott and get him somewhere safe and warm. He wants to hold this man’s hand and be as close to him as physically possible, but he can’t. They’re in the middle of a death game. Etho isn’t about to dump all of his years of internalized yearning onto Scott in the middle of a death game. They can talk afterwards.

Except, of course, Etho manages to create a more urgent matter to talk to Scott about after Wild Life. If they were a mainstream pairing, there would be two hundred fics about that kill by now.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

I'm obsessive over my Constantine Jr Au (which still needs a fic name for, I'm open to suggestions) because

this is a cranky danny. he's spent years fighting with no end in sight, with parents who he can't trust and his only companions never truly understanding what he's going through.

he vapes CBD for the pain he's constantly in. he drank alco/hol once to help him sleep, but his parents smelt it on his breath and, just like with their research, took that to believe EVERYTHING they'd ever suspected about danny to be true: that he drinks, he does dru/gs, he's in a gang. the only thing they've never suspected their son of--being a ghost--is the one thing he actually does.

then, right on the cusp of eighteen and freedom, he gets outed. AND transformed into a seven-year-old.

this is not a danny who is willing to play at being a child. and if anyone tries to, they're in for a foul time.

Danny was 17, transformed into a 7 year old and hides in Bludhaven, and is 8 when the police finally figure out that, hey, this weird kid who keeps altering us to crime scenes is usually right on the money about who the killer is, we should investigate that. Officer Grayson is on the case!

And discovers that he absolutely can't STAND this kid.

He thought he liked kids! Everyone thought he liked kids! but this kid...

This isn't called the Constantine Jr AU because Danny is a supernatural detective, or because Danny might be Constantine's kid. Its because Danny is an unrepentant little bas/tard and he makes it everyone's problem.

Danny vapes and blows bubblegum smoke in Grayson's face.

He takes out a flask and Grayson's grabs it, learning its full of orange juice. Danny then takes out a second flask, this one with vod/ka.

He wears a trenchcoat he found in the trash (the same trenchcoat Nightwing wears in DC vs Vampires, if you know you know) but the end and the sleeves are cut off for his hands and legs. the pockets are roughly around his knees.

Grayson is desperate to figure out more about this kid, but he doesn't go to batman because, time-line wise, this is right before red hood starts running around. Jason is dead/alive-in-hiding, Tim is Robin, and Dick is mad about it. (ages-- Bruce: ? Nightwing: 24 Jason: 19 Tim: 15 Danny: 8 Damien: 7-8)

he doesn't really bond with the kid until they're both kidnapped by a gang for hostages, and Danny's big kid emotions get a hold of him (he thought he could escape them bc he's an adult, he's gone through worse, but nope! child brain chemistry). Grayson is worried that he's hurt and in pain, but Danny confesses that he's always in pain. he has nerve damage all over his body, and the only thing he really trusts is CBD. He feels like shit for taking his juul away, but more importantly, because he's been treating Danny like a irritant and just a little kid.

they get rescued and Grayson tries to take him back to his home, but Danny reveals he's homeless, saying something like "I sleep where it suits me, just drop me off whereever."

Absolutely not, Grayson is taking kid back to his place for a bed, food, and a shower, in whatever order the kid wants.

Danny stays semi-perminantly at his apartment, but Nightwing tries not to push it, because this kid practically screams flight risk. unfortunately, the paparazzi have nothing better to do and snap a pick of Grayson and Danny getting dinner together, speculating that Dick's taken after Bruce

Danny doesn't care too much; I think his ghost form is the same, if glitchy, so his parents don't know about the deaging. Grayson is mildly panicking, but its not like he HASN'T been considering adopting the evil troglodyte. Even Bruce, Tim, and Alfred aren't the problem.

No, the problem is the Red Hood, a crime boss who just cut 8 people's heads off, seeing what looks like Nightwing pulling an innocent kid into the neverending fight against crime and Seeing Green.

Edit: Had to censor sh!t because ths wasn't showing up in the tags

[sevastiel]

These are both made for GS, but I am not entirely sure I'll be able to fit them in without my flow, so I'll post them here.

The drifter's scars are not based on actual scars, but mental ones. They're always slightly moving, highlighting old injuries or pains, and the only constant happens to be that big old stab wound directly through his chest. While light blue for visual clarity, they do not glow. His hands and feet are almost always completely scar free, or entirely covered. Socks bc lazy.

The mural below that one was going to be for a chapter that I was planning on writing, then forgot to write, because other things took my attention first. It might show up one day anyway! :D

Fic link if anyone's interested. I've really enjoyed writing again tbh.

[erineas]

Hey/

Did you see 6 skeletons 1 maid updated?

Thoughts?

I was saving this ask to make a little comic of how that last chapter felt but- lets say it didn't turn out how i wanted. Instead, i just dug out some of my old Maid-chan drawings and stared at them blankly for the next days.

I'm still particularly fixed on this one little page:

Mister Green was my absolute favorite and the only light i saw at the end of her tunnel. He was so kind and sweet, and pretty much the only one that treated her like a person (besides Yellow of course). When i first read this fic so many years ago i didn't trully realized the dark tone of this story but i still chose the only "healthy" option. I wanted MC to be happy and free, and oh how i wanted him to give her that. I held those drawings of him for years imagining a chapter where they would encounter again and that would drive her to a better ending (either skeletons overcoming their issues and treating her with respect or him taking her away).

But then this final chapter appeared and it was... a thing.

(Kinda spoilers for the babes that haven't read it)

First of all, I FINALLY GOT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED AFTER BEACH CHAPTERS OMG I NEEDED THAT

Second of all, it didn't look good at all and it was getting worse as I read. But then good because it was a week alone for her to rest and Sans was eating with her?? But also that whole scene reminded me how bad her situation really was so it actually wasn't good at all.

And then the scene that broke me.

I was aware that I wanted her to flee before, but I never thought she could.

It was oddly satisfying, if not a bit anxiety inducing because of the thought that they would caught her eventually. As always.

But then Asgore, and Orange. And nothing...

I got mad that he found her. Which was a weird feeling since I remember liking him a lot. It felt to me like he ruined her good enough ending. But despite that, it makes sense it was him so I don't complain.

What crushed me though, wasn't that she couldn't say goodbye or that Sans got tired of trying to get her back. It was the fact the Gs didn't even try looking for her. They didn't even got mentioned. What happened there, I wonder. Didn't they like her? Care for her? Mister Green wrote her letters, of course he liked her. But then why...?

Suddenly he looked like a fairytale.

The ending was great, finally lending her the ability to choose. It made absolutely everything worth it and the way it was written made me feel like I do have a say in the matter. And for the first time, i didn't choose the skeletons.

I realized she could find her happy ending alone.

(My live reaction)

[whalesforhands]

MY GOD YOUR GETO X READER X GOJI FICS SCRATCH AN ITCH IN MY BRAIN AND THE SHOKO CRUSH ADDITION?!?!? ABSOLUTELY DIVINE I TELL YOU!!!! Part 3 had me hurting ngl like ouch man but it inspired some angst *rubs hands evilly* what if one day after a tough mission reader is just feeling super down and tired and weak and is abt to cry and runs into Gojo and Geto who (not knowing any better) start teasing her abt her abilities and cursed technique etc not knowing her mental state and she just snaps and starts crying and yelling at them abt if all they think of her is a joke then they should just leave her alone instead of messing around with her feelings and runs off. Shoko is the one to find her and comforts her while Gojo and Geto are left gobsmacked and stricken with guilt. I’ll let you imagine how they realize what idiots they are and try to fix their huge screwup. Also I’m so glad you’re writing for Geto x reader x Gojo there’s hardly any fics on here with that pairing and not smut (not that I don’t love that too but I want PAIN and DRAMA and SHENANIGANS) and your fics give me just that so ty

anon i’m going to cry i finally got another ask. i thought ppl hated me bro. ur so cute for such a detailed and compliment filled ask, anon

i write 2 gs x reader bcs it never feels right knowing that they are without each other. i need them to be happy 😭😭

anyways, eat up

dread creeps around the corner (gojo x reader x geto, shoko x reader)

warnings: angst to fluff, y’all making me consider quitting smut writing to become a full time PG writer cause these are way more fun

You think the weariness of life is catching up to you.

Your body felt heavy, your feet dragging as your back was hunched over. Your staff strapped to your back as your eyesight started to blur.

Your backpack seems even heavier today too. You were sure you packed light.

Another mission, another near-miss. How many times would you be able to just make it out with your life? How many times until your luck finally ran out?

Why weren’t you improving? Why weren’t your techniques breaking past their limit quicker? What are you doing wrong?

Why are you so weak?

Perhaps you just aren’t cut out for savi- No.

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of those thoughts as you sense the familiar energy begin to surround you.

“Little Miss Barrierrrrrr!” An arm latched itself onto your shoulders as weight suddenly pressed itself down onto you, the sudden pressure causing you to stumble backwards, only for the arm to support you and keep you upright on your feet.

“How was your mission?” Gojo’s loud voice rang throughout your ears, it’s sheer volume grating and painful. His hand going round to the strap of your backpack, tugging it off of you and onto his own shoulder.

The other presence flanked your side, before you felt the weight of your staff disappear from your back, leaving you empty handed as the two sorcerers smiled down at you.

You took a breath in.

“It… It was-“ Horrible. Tragic. You survived by the skin of your teeth once again. You struggled to find the strength to describe it in more detail.

“Fine.”

Gojo grins as you felt Geto’s hand pat your head.

“Sounds like code for, ‘You struggled!’” He laughs, patting your back. “My Six Eyes tell me your cursed energy barely improved after that mission too. Should I ask Yaga to assign you harder ones? Maybe with us?”

Your body stills. It… Barely improved? You gave that mission your best shot.

You heard Suguru laugh as he smacked Satoru’s arm, ridding his arm off your shoulder as he replaced it with his own.

“It’s alright,” Suguru began. “Don’t listen to him. Improving takes time anyway.”

Takes… Time? How hypocritical does he have to be to tell you that? He, along with the gifted Gojo Satoru, had immense cursed energy from the beginning. Their talent innate, their improvement expedited with little to no training.

Self-sufficient, talented, never having to try too hard to far surpass the standards of average. Exceptional. Things that you never were, never will be.

Frustration had built up, your emotions starting to light aflame. With desperation, with aggravation. Why did it always feel like they looked down upon you?

“Helloooo? Earth to Miss Protection? Ya there?” Gojo waved his hand in front of your face.

Seeing no response, he reached a hand out to caress your cheek.

“Gosh, if you’re going to be so distracted, I might just ki-“

You slap his hand away before he could touch you. Eyes alight with anger, you looked straight at him, throwing Geto’s arm off your shoulders.

“If you think I’m so weak, then just leave me alone!”

The air grew tense. Your tears were beginning to well up.

“I- I know I’m weak, okay?! You don’t have to rub it in all the time! B-but I’ve tried! I’ve tried too hard for you to tell me that I’m not doing enough!” The dam broke, your cheeks streaked with your tears as your stutters caused you to grow embarrassed.

Why can’t you even express your anger more courageously?

You turned tailed and ran away. Your sobs making themselves more apparent the more you ran, the more your legs burned.

You were such an embarrassment.

Settling by a creek, your legs bundled up to your chest as you cried into your knees. You don’t know how long you’ve been here crying your stress out. Your eyes were puffy, stress not leaving your body as you sat still, listening to the gentle pitter patter of the rain beginning to fall upon you.

Can the day really not get any worse?

You wanted to laugh at yourself as you felt the rain begin to drench your uniform. It was your last clean one. You need to do the laundry again soon.

As the rain poured down on you, it suddenly stopped. A shadow had overcome your figure, providing you shelter.

Cigarette smoke and a hint of a citrusy fragrance.

Shoko.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

You stay silent. You didn’t expect to be found. Nor did you even feel like talking right now. You bury your face deeper into your folded arms, trying to hide. You don’t want to be seen as weak by Shoko.

It stays that way for a moment. Silent, besides the gentle patter of the rain.

“It’s not,” She began. “It’s not weak to cry when you’re sad. Not in front of me.” Assurance. She was comforting you.

You felt her settle next to you, getting her skirt wet.

She gently adjusted your head to rest on her shoulder.

“Cry all you want. I’ll be here.”

And you did. Sobbing, fingers digging into her uniform as your tears and snot mixed into her clothing.

You didn’t notice her other shoulder getting wet with rain as she held the umbrella up over the both of you.

——

You were holding her arm with both of your own as she walked you back to the dorms.

You were ready to take a shower, collapse onto your bed and cry even more. Too much stress has built up.

What you didn’t expect was to see the duo settled on your carpeted floor.

They scrambled up to their feet almost instantaneously.

You sniffled, your eyes red and weary as you held Shoko’s arm tighter.

Geto spoke first, a hand of his outstretched to touch you before he willed it back to his side. “I- We’re very sorry. It wasn’t our intention to hurt you.”

He never wanted to make you feel inferior.

Gojo’s eyes were downcast, sight seemingly stuck to the floor before he raised his gaze to be directly looking at you.

“You’re not weak. You just need more training.”

Geto elbowed his side as you heard Shoko sighed exasperatedly beside you.

“Ow!” The white haired sorcerer exclaimed. “Oh, and uh, I- I’m sorry… Too.” He rubbed at his torso where Suguru had landed his hit.

“Hopeless…” You heard her murmur. Strangely, you didn’t feel taken aback by Gojo’s seemingly insincere apology.

You found it funny. You giggled, desperately trying to not let them see as a hand came up to slap itself over your mouth, your eyes beginning to light up with joy.

“It’s-“ You tried to speak through your silent laughter. “It’s- Okay.” Getting ahold of yourself, you remove your hand.

“I forgive you.” You smiled.

“We bought you pizza as an apology by the way.”

“You’ll join us, right?”

masterlist

Note:

Geto, Gojo and Shoko thought your laughter was cute, especially after seeing how hard you cried.

Surprisingly, Geto and Gojo were fighting over who was to pay for the pizzas. They both wanted to pay for you. Shoko watched, amused by their fighting as she paid for it at the counter whilst they were too busy wrestling.

You never thought you’d get so hungry after crying so hard. You ate nearly half of the whole damn thing before Geto went to order some more.

Gojo thought it was adorable how you were stuffing your cheeks like a pig.

Shoko licked some sauce off your face as you were eating, you blushed so hard and told her she’d make an amazing wife.

“Just because of some sauce?!?! I can do that too-!”

[serenityhime1]

I feel like smut comes in several different tiers.

First you've got your bottom-tier smut. This smut is lower-effort. Maybe it's a newer writer's first attempts at smut. Maybe it's someone young or inexperienced dipping their toes into things that intrigue them. Maybe it's someone learning what writing style works best for them. Maybe it's a writer who just wants to write some damn porn and couldn't care about the quality of what they put out.

There is nothing wrong with bottom-tier smut. Everyone starts somewhere, and it's easy to do a little hand-waving for anatomical improbabilities because even though every woman has the perkiest size Gs and the every man has the thickest 12 inches ever seen, it's still hot and people like reading it (and writing it!)

Next you've for your middle-tier smut. There's a couple of categories here, too, of course. You've got your low-story PWP that's just nicely-written sex mixed in with your stories that are a little more plot-driven but not quite written with the highest level of finesse. Middle-tier smut is where a lot of writers (myself included) fall. Good stories, good sex scenes, maybe not the kind of story you think about too much later.

And then there's the top tier. Cream of the crop, silver spoon, gilded in gold smutty fics that are so much like epic stories that leave you curled into a ball sobbing with how beautiful they are. Maybe you don't actually cry, but maybe after you finish it you stare vacantly at the wall for a little while, pondering the depth of the information you've managed to cram through your brain cells via your retinas. Stories you think about at random times, sometimes years later.

My point is that each of these tiers is beautiful and precious and I love them. I love stories that I would consider not the highest of art (although I can't always stick with it if some of the smut gets too wildly implausible sometimes), I love stories that make me contemplate the meaning of life, and I love everything in between.

It all comes down to the idea that art is wonderful. I'm talking about smut in particular here, but I'd love to encourage anyone who wants to write to give it a try. Even if you struggle, you can put your ideas to the page and come up with something new, or even something old that's being told in your own way.

I want to read your epics, and I want to read the stories you think are trash, and I want to read your low-brow entertainment, and I want to read your well-outlined plot. Sometimes I crave a challenge, and sometimes I want something simple, and neither of those is "good" or "bad".

Everything has its place, and they should all be celebrated. Write. Make art. Add to the collective creativity of the human race. Do it wildly with passion, do it carefully with a precise hand, but do it.

[inkieflame]

I Need an Anchor (God, I Want to be Satisfied)

A Wild Life Etho fic, featuring the Gs :)

Content warnings: none

2000 words

Aka, Etho doesn't know his self worth, so he tries to prove himself to his new alliance. They assure him they care about him even if he is washed up

Author's note: this was supposed to contain Cletho and that never happened, oh well. Maybe another day

Etho isn’t running away.

He’s not abandoning anyone, he’s not betraying them or leaving them behind. He’s not doing any of that.

He’s just taking a quiet exit.

Because he might drown if he has to stay with Bdubs and Tango one more day. He thinks they can feel it too. Something is wrong with their alliance. Something is inherently broken.

They fight each other more than their enemies. They steal, they mock, and when one of them is injured they’re left to pick themselves up on their own.

It's just not how an alliance is meant to work.

And Etho needs out.

He picks through this chest, looking for whatever valuables he has left. Minimal iron and even fewer diamonds. He manages to scrape together some building supplies and food. Hopefully this will be enough. Hopefully, hopefully.

He doesn’t know what to expect. He wants to seem useful. He wants to be necessary to a team. Indispensable.

Because if he’s not, they might neglect him too, just like Tango and Bdubs. And gosh, it hurts to be neglected by people you love. Etho can’t take it anymore.

He ducks out of his tower, backpack full of supplies and his new beloved trident in hand. Distantly, he can hear Tango and Bdubs bickering about something. Etho avoids them, and makes his way through the woods to the other base.

The late summer sun falls through the leaves overhead, making him squint as he approaches the wheat fields and walled in building where his new friends live. He swallows, and then wanders to the gate. He can hear the soft chatter of people within the base. Etho’s heart swells with jealousy. They are so friendly with each other.

“Etho?” He sees Pearl lean over the top of the wall, “Hey, we can see you lurking how here.”

“Oh. Hi.” He says. “Can income inside?”

Pearl turns back to talk to someone behind her. Etho can hear Scott’s voice. She turns back to him, “Yeah, come up over the wall though. Scott says Impulse just trapped the gate.”

Etho nods once, relieved that he hadn’t let himself in only be blown to bits. He towers up and Pearl helps to pull him over the last bit of wall so he standing on top of the stone next to her.

She jumps from the wall and hurries back over to where Cleo, Scott and Impulse are chatting on the front porch of the building.

Etho lingers awkwardly behind her, dropping down and following.

“Hey guys, hi. I brought some supplies? I hope they’re enough.” He says. He turns to rifle through his backpack, pulling various things from his inventory. “I’ve got a bit of iron? Two diamonds if anyone needs a new sword. And some cooked cod if anyone needs food-“

He is cut off by Scott waving him over and gesturing for him to sit with them, “We’re all good on supplies right now.” Scott says, “But join us! I’ve been wondering when you’d be over.”

This makes Etho’s stomach churn uneasily. They don’t need anything he has to offer. He’s not giving anything, he’ll just be a drain on supplies here.

Okay, so fix it. You have a problem, analyze it and fix it.

He hovers near the group, not sitting down. His eyes dart around the group, trying to fit pieces together. What can he do?

Pearl is still wears some pieces of iron armor. So is Impulse.

“Etho?” Cleo echoes, “Aren’t you going to sit with us?”

Etho bites his lip. He can feel the Scar there underneath his teeth. “No, I, uh, I forgot some things at my base.” He lies. “I’ll be back.”

He ignores how Scott looks disappointed and how Cleo sighs when he turns away.

Etho doesn’t come back until he has enough diamonds to get both Pearl and Impulse a new piece of armor. He jumps the wall again, and then he drops down into the small walled in area.

Scott is the only one outside, tending patiently to the flowers around the building.

“Oh, Etho, there you are.” Scott turns to him, “We thought you’d left us!”

Scott laughs, but Etho can’t help but hear an accusation. Traitor.

He hurries to seem useful, to be a good teammate, “I went mining.” He blurts, “Got some diamonds so y’all can get some better armor.”

Scott stares at him blankly for a moment, confused. “That’s. That’s very kind of you. The others are inside if you want to say hi.”

Etho nods, “Of course.” He shuffles backwards, then turns and makes his way to the door.

Pearl and Cleo are inside, sitting around a small pool in the floor with a few axolotls swimming around it. Cleo is sitting on top of their storage chests, sprawled out over two of them. Pearl sits by the edge of the pool with her bare feet in the water and her boots laying next to her.

“Etho, hi!” Cleo smiles at him, “I was wondering if you’d drop by again.”

“Hi Cleo.” He turns to Pearl, “uh, I got you some diamonds. Make yourself some new armor?” He holds out half of the diamonds for her to take. “I also have some for Impulse.”

Pearl takes the diamonds, “Ooooh!” she turns them over in her hands admiringly, “Very nice!”

Cleo gives Etho a strange smile, “Don’t you need new armor too?”

He shakes his head, “I’m alright. I’d rather put my new team first, be a good teammate and all.”

Cleo’s smile turns to a frown, but she doesn’t say anything else.

When the sun goes down, Etho quietly dismisses himself to his old tower near Tango and Bdubs.

Bdubs is pacing the outside of his own tower, muttering to himself. When he sees Etho, he snaps to attention, “Hey! Where have you been all day?”

“Uh, just out.” Etho shrugs.

Bdubs fumes, clearly in a bad mood, “Likely story! We had that whole list of things to do today, remember? Nothing got done!”

Etho tilts his head, “Didn’t you work on it at all?”

“Well! I just! You!” Bdubs splutters, “Very freaking funny! You need to work on it too! I can’t be doing everything around here!”

Etho nods, “I’ll take a look at the list tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bdubs huffs, “Time to shreep.”

The next time Etho is with his new alliance, he is itching for something to do.

The five of them are all laying around outside, just enjoying the sunshine. Scott and Impulse sit in the grass together, while Pearl is perched in the pale oak tree that grows inside the walls. Cleo sits up on the edge of the wall, overlooking the group.

Etho sits a small distance from Scott and Impulse, watching Scott teach him how to weave a flower crown.

He can’t help but think how lazy this is. No one is doing anything productive. They just sit together, like they have forever. Like they’re not going to face their encroaching death soon.

They didn’t even have a to do list for Etho to check. If they did, he would be out, being productive. Instead he’s stuck nervously following around other members of the alliance hoping to help with whatever they’re doing.

But none of them are doing anything.

And Etho is failing to smoother this feeling of uselessness.

“Etho, are you alright?” Cleo asks suddenly.

Etho glances up at her, “Yeah, I’m alright.”

Scott shakes his head, “No, Cleo is right. You’re acting odd.”

“Uh, I guess I’m just a little antsy.” Etho shifts uncomfortably, “I was hoping to do something useful today.”

Cleo and Scott glance at each other. Etho wishes he knew what that look meant. And then they both look at Pearl, who nods, and he feels even more lost.

“You seem stressed, man.” Impulse says, “I think a day of rest would be good for you. Take a break.”

Etho sighs. Impulse get up from his spot near Scott and comes to sit by Etho.

“I don’t need a break.” Etho says, “I just want to be a good teammate.”

Because he needs this. He needs someone to tether him down when he can’t find a direction to go. He needs an anchor.

Scott scoots over until he’s seated on Etho’s other side, “Etho. You don’t need to be a good teammate.” He says, “We don’t care if you bring nothing to the table. You’re part of this group now, so you belong here no matter what.”

“But I still need to be productive.” Etho insists, “Otherwise, why am I on this team?” Scott hesitates to answer, and Etho panics, joking nervously, “It can’t be my irresistible charm?”

“Your pathetic wet-cat energy.” Cleo offers.

“Yeah yeah, that.” Etho’s says, “I’m washed up.”

Impulse sighs, “Man. We want to hang out with you even if you are washed up.”

Etho doesn’t believe him.

Etho makes it to the late afternoon before his restlessness gets the better of him, and he finds himself getting ready to go back to his tower. At least there he has something to do. He could work on Bdubs’ list, or try to finish his tower.

Scott watches him out of the corner of his eye as he makes his way back up the wall, and prepares to drop down.

“Etho.” He calls.

Etho hesitates, looking out at the forest beneath the wall. He turns back, “yup?”

Scott pulls himself up onto the wall next to him. He eyes the rest of the group, and drops his voice to a whisper.

“Stay?”

Etho frowns, “It’s getting late, I have work to do.”

Scott seems disappointed, “I know you wanted to keep this alliance on the down-low, but…” He doesn’t finish.

“Bdubs will be wondering where I am.” Etho says. It’s a lame excuse, but not untrue. “And I have to go home sometime. Get some rest like everyone has been saying.”

Scott sighs and steps back, “Alright.” He says. “But know you can stay here too, if you ever want. You’re always welcome here.”

When Etho gets home, to his own cold bed, alone in his copper tower, he can only stare at his ceiling. He knows that somewhere Scott and Pearl and Cleo and Impulse are all going to bed together. They will fall asleep to the sound of each other breathing.

Etho will fall asleep to the sound of Tango pacing next door, restless.

“I brought food.” Etho says next time, because despite the constant reassurances he can’t help but feel like an addiction to the team instead of a part of it.

He has to prove himself, he needs to deserve this.

The fish are cooked on an open fireplace, while the group sits around it, enjoying the fire and the food. The base smells like warm fish, and bread that Pearl made, and the herbal tea in Scott’s mug.

Etho smiles, watching them chatter.

He’s glad to have given them some sort of substance, and a moment of peace away from the start of next session tomorrow. He feels useful and needed.

He ignores how Bdubs blows up his communicator with messages about preparing for tomorrow. Etho will deal with him tomorrow. Today is for his alliance.

“Stay?” Scott asks again, as the sun comes down and after Bdubs is long asleep.

Etho thinks about his cold bed, and his copper tower, and Tango’s insomniac pacing. He thinks about all the yelling he’ll wake up to in the morning if he goes home, verses to prospect of bread and tea if he stays.

“yeah.” He says softly, “I’ll stay.”

Then he falls asleep that night curled in the bed between Cleo and Impulse, like maybe he was still at home with her in Secret Life, or with him in Limited Life. Nearby Scott and Pearl are breathing steadily, drifting into sleep.

And he can’t help but think he is the luckiest person here. Because he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but they want him here anyway.

Etho thinks he’s beginning to trust them. He knows they will be here, a firm constant in a ranging sea. Something to keep him grounded.

His anchor.

[hellsfirekeepsyouwarm]

I Swear To You

Frank Castle x Reader Requested:

Hello my lovely writer, I'm in great need of some protective care taking fluffy angsty Frank Castle fic. And so I was wondering if you are interested in my request =) please let me know what you think. Frank has a cute new neighbor. They ended up talking a lot, Frank even flirting with her, but doesn't have the guts to make a move. One evening she was on a date which went sideways. The creep drugged her. As she notices something is wrong she snuck out of the bar calling a taxi to go home as fast as she can. He manhandled her as he notices she waiting for a taxi but she makes it home... She barely made it to pay the driver as she stumbled to her door to out if it from her spiked drink, so she isn't able to open her door let alone find her key. She collapses at Sehr front door, lying in the Cola night (maybe she hit her head pretty badly when going down). Frank comes home and finds her in feoneof her door. She's hypothermic and he notices her weird state and knows instantly she was drugged. So he takes care of her and her wounds and tries to warm her up. He nurses her back the next days

I hope you like it and thanks for requesting, and sorry for pushing this out for too long.

TW: Mentions of dru-gs, mentions of SA, puking, a terrible man doing terrible things

Frank was a goner. The moment he spotted you at the end of the hallway, gently balancing on your high heels, dress hugging your curves perfectly, hair and makeup done like you were ready to walk the red carpet, he knew he messed up. He messed up when he let his facade fall, and let you see the real him. Or part of him. Nothing was out of place, he came back from work, catching your right opposite of his door, going to a walk, to get a coffee, to meet up with your friends. You greeted him just the same, but your smile was giddy, a little bit too wide for a regular day.

He was oblivious to a lot of things, but even he could see that you are going to a date. And the guy is pretty fucking lucky tonight. He could see you wanted to impress, and you already won, because he was fascinated. He took sneaky glances, tried to act casual when you eyes spotted him walking towards you, shoulders heavy with a long ass day behind him. You greeted him as usual, asked about his day as usual, but he just couldn't act like usual. He had to acknowledge how beautiful you looked, and he did just that. A compliment, then a hidden question to confirm his suspicion. Your hips swayed as you walked away from him, giggling at his compliment, dissepearing into the night.

He was in deep. Too deep.

*

You had a good time, the best since a while. He was charming, charismatic, a kind face with a killer smile. Smooth talk, lingering touches. He was literally perfection. He really was.

As the night progressed, your glass never emptied out fully, he made sure you had plenty to drink. You didn't think much of it, his glass was the same, always full, often smiling into the golden liquor that grazed his lips. You ate, but surely not enough for the amount of drinks you consumed. How much did you really drink? You couldn't recall when your vision started to feel so tunnel like, or how your head felt heavy like a brick strapped to it. The more you felt it, the often his smile faltered.

First you thought you were just tired, haven't ate enough, that's why you are being a lightweight now. But in the back of your mind something told you it wasn't that. You only drank wine, wine that most of the time brought the frizzy numbness to you and the giggles out from you, meanwhile right now, you feel like you drank an entire cupboard of alcohol.

He is closer now. Pulled his chair next to you sometime you don't remember happening, if you saw it, you already forgot it. His breath fanning you ear as he speaks to you, something along the lines of going home, having a good time, taking it somewhere more private.

You wonder if you can walk to the restroom, or even stand up on your feet. You never had to wonder. Alcohol never made you think you physically can't move your body as you want. Panic have settled in your bones, silently urging you to do something. Anything, just to get away from him. You felt his fingers grazing your thigh, pushing your dress higher with every stroke, his voice still murmuring into your ear, although you cannot understand what he's saying.

You excuse yourself, trying to mimic you half an hour ago self. Flirty and joyful, you try to laugh it off, telling him you have to freshen up, telling that you have to pee badly, giggling while admitting it. You must act good, because when you slip off the chair, his warmth doesn't follow, nor his voice. You heart is beating rapidly in your chest, probably the only thing that you can concentrate on to not fall face first to the ground.

You are so fucking hopeful you walk somewhat towards to restroom, so he doesn't realize you are figuring your way out of the place.

A cute face emreges in front of you, your body oddly colliding with the person, you hands flying up to steady yourself on their shoulder. You would be so embarrassed if you were sober. It's a waitress, asking you if you are alright, honest concern in her voice.

You mumble something out, praying it makes sense and she'll know what you need.

"You want to go home? Want us to call a taxi?" She asks with a comforting voice. "Do you need us to call someone?"

Frank's name comes to mind first, and you silently scold yourself for never asking for his number.

"Hmmm, no."

"Let us call a taxi, yeah love?" She says, gently pushing your body forward with her hands eloping you in a side hug. Everything is blurry, your vision only picking up bits and parts of the world around.

You were more than sure that he put something in your drink. If your body wasn't so numb, you would be an erratic mess right now. Your senses are limited, everything comes and goes like a dream. You are not even afraid what he had put in your drinks, you just want to get away from him far away enough so he cannot talk the sweet lady out of helping you. You momentarily feel the cold breeze outside before the early winter air hits you in full force, the cold easing your flaming skin.

"HEY, excuse me. Where are you taking her?" The hair stands up on your whole body from his voice. Sweet, hidden malicious. "No i won't take a step back, where are you taking my girlfriend? Honey look at me!"

You don't have anything in you to respond. You just want to go home.

"Sir you need to leave her alone."

Hushed voices follows movement, softly pushing and pulling you around. Where is your purse? Did you left there at the table? You have your phone and wallet in it, you'll need that.

"My purse, my phone.." You mumble, feeling your body lowered to a flat surface.

"It's in your hands love, take care." The lady says, her voice is distant. You squeeze your hand, feeling a tiny little strap in your palm confirming your fingers are locked on your bag. You barely feel the material on your skin.

"Where to?" Your eyes go wide with a new voice calling out. You are getting comfortable at the back of a taxi, an older man looking at you, waiting for an answer, the dim light up on the car's ceiling giving him a really bad angle.

You hear yourself telling him the address, the sound is like someone else and not you. The car goes smoothly, at least that's how you feel it, the seats smell funny, and the lights outside paints a weird image through the windows, your head's starts to spin as you can't comprehend your surrounding no more. You just wish the taxi driver is kind enough to lead you to your door.

You wished and you were so wrong. He calls out to you plenty of times before you manage to get out of the car, almost tripping over your own feet while doing so, trying to give him money for the ride.

And that's it, the car speeds off behind you, leaving you trembling on the sidewalk. Just a few steps right? That's all it takes to get to your apartment.

Your body sways with each drag of your legs, barely standing up. How you manage to get to your door? You don't know, probably will never know. But you eventually do, legs giving out right in front of it, landing on your knees with a sharp pain then ending up on your butt, the ice cold ground burning your skin where it connects.

Your body gives in to the drug in your system, turning the world to black.

*

He took a peaceful walk to the nearest diner, a place he and you are very fond of, often bumping to each other there, one of those times you said yourself how you love the oldschool vibe and the quiet there. Frank only grabbed a coffee to go, the couple of minute walk clearing his messy head, head that is filled to the brim with thoughts of you. It's rare to him, to have something else on his mind than his family or blood rage and revenge. It's refreshing and terrifying. When he left, you weren't home yet, almost two hours after you waved goodbye to him, and he started to feel restless. Two hour isn't too much for a first date? He wouldn't know, even back in the day he wasn't the guy who took girls to a date. His parents raised him old fashioned, but he usually liked the simpler things. Car rides, walks with deep talks, cheap picnic with soda and snacks. So what does he knows about fancy restaurant dates?

It's cold, too cold for the tiny dress you were dressed in, but he would take you home right? He would take you home, making sure you walk in your front door, seeing it close behind you before leaving. But that's him, and he knows for sure not every man thinks like that.

The coffee warming his palm, giving him some sort of comfort to his uneasiness, his eyes searching for the familiar door when he takes a turn to your street.

No lights up yet? Now he's worried. You might went home with him. It's possible, you are a beautiful grown woman, who probably knows very well what she wants. But his jaw clenches nevertheless at the thought. His eyes dart away in shame, knowing he has no right to be mad at you for having a good time.

His head snaps back so quick it hurts his neck, in the corner of his eyes a big dark spot in front if your door that wasn't there before. He blinks for a few times to make sure it's not just his brain tricking him into some illusions. His mind failed him before, showing him terrible things that weren't really there, but the rapid beating of his heart and the pounding in his head is a signal of the familiar danger he encountered so many times before. The type of feeling in his gut when he knows the worst is coming.

And nothing could have prepared him for your frozen body on the freezing ground. In your tiny dress, exposed skin sticking to the concrete, the contains of your purse scattered around.

His instinct kicks in with full force, his hands fumbling for a pulse under your skin. He checks your wrist and neck before pulling your numb body up to his embrace, without thinking twice about who might see him taking you into his apartment. God knows how did you end up there, and he's not risking it if your date shows up at your door, finishing what he had started.

Because why else would you be lying knocked out in front of your home, why couldn't you get in, why else would you loose consciousness if not because of a doing of a horrible piece of shit man?

He is a man on a mission. Something he felt ages ago, and now it's welcomed with a sense of purpose and a sharp sting in his heart.

You are terribly cold in his hands, and he has to hush the voice in his mind that tells him the worst possible outcome.

He rushes to his bed, putting you down on his sheets gently, fingers trembling as he pulls your damp dress off of you, at this point he can't bothered that you are nearly naked in his bed, this isn't how he imagined it. He rushes off, his boots heavy on the creaking wooden floor, looking for the warmest clothes he has in his mostly empty wardrobe. It's a hoodie and sweatpants he comes up with, the best he can offer.

He knows you'll be greatly embarrassed when you come to your senses, so when he removes your undergarments, he tries to do it as respectfully as it's possible. One clothing off and another on, your icy skin burning under his warm hands, the sensation leaving a bad taste in his mouth. A reminder that he has a bastard to find after you are recovered.

His mind is racing, the loud thump in his ears slowly quieting down as he checks for your pulse again, cursing himself that he doesn't have a damn thermometer. He should have called an ambulance, he thinks. But god knows how much time they need to get here, if they ever. He's being selfish. But you are in good hands, he wants to think you are okay with him.

He's greatful for his years in the military, now more than ever. When it comes to himself, he's tactical and precise but numb. Any wound he stitched up and treated is decent enough, but nothing more. His own discomfort and pain is a welcomed guest. But right now it's not his body that is in pain, and he's not allowed to be careless and emotionless. You are wrapped up in his bed, safe and sound, but it's nothing to soothe his nerves.

He grabs a towel from the bathroom, the exact same of the pretty set you gave to him a couple of weeks ago when you saw his own torn up one, insisting he needs it way more than your wardrobe where you kept it since buying them. He gently lifted your head from the soft pillow, neatly covering your damp hair in it, your soft breaths music to his ears, he leans closer, just to confirm you are breathing evenly.

He considers for moment before deciding to open your eyes with his fingertips, his suspicion is confirmed by your blown pupils, the color of your eyes barely visible from the blackness of it. He sighs, rage and anger coursing through his veins, tempting him to get up and find the fucker. It would be easy, so easy. But you need him more than he needs to ease the bloodlust.

Just now he realizes he is still in his coat, sweat glistening on his forehead, his body hot under the layers he should get rid of, dirty boots tainting the already year long stained flooring of his apartment.

He glances over to you, a last conformation you are okay before he himself changes from his street clothes.

He doesn't mean to overstep, but when he goes back to you, and you body is just as cold as when he found you outside, his mind is set. He carefully slips in to the bed, he himself isn't sure how he manages to get under you, he searches for the best way for his body to give off it's heat to you. So you are now trapped between his legs, back laying heavily on his abdomen, hair tickling his bare skin. It's more intimate Frank anticipated, but to be honest, he wasn't debating about it much before doing what his brain told him to do. He would change his mind about the position if he couldn't feel your body soaking up his warmth. It's satisfying, how you take unconsciously, and he's basking in the feeling of giving. It's been so long since he was able to serve gently, in a quiet manner. Like when he ruffled his son's hair, or put the school bag on his daughter back. Or how he played with a single strand of Maria's hair, putting it behind her ear.

So his hands pulls you closer, every part of you hugged by his body, giving and giving everything he has to offer.

*

Your head hurts. No, not hurts, splits into two, even more when your eyes open with a painful sharp feeling behind them. You would groan if your throat would let it slip past the desert that's inside. The rest in your bones mixing with various aches under your skin, and the comfort around isn't enough to reach your body. You are tempted to back to sleep, sure another hours wouldn't hurt, before you mind clears up, shaking the sleep out of you.

It hits you like a lightning. What day is it really? What day was yesterday?

You shot up, dizziness almost pulling you back down with a terrible feeling in your stomach. Before you could comprehend anything that's happening, something is held to your face where soon you empty out the contains of your stomach. A soothing hand appears on your back, trying to keep your hair there while you puke your literal life out. Sweet words reach your ears when your traumatized body calms a little bit down.

"You are alright, sweetheart." It's Frank's voice. "How you feelin'?"

Your grimace, disgust being the only thing you are feeling besides every ache of your body. "It's okay, darlin'. Just breath, let it out if you have to."

You look sideways, seeing him half naked, his body so close you can feel his warmth radiating towards your trembling body. He's concerned face is looking for something in yours, perhaps panic that why he is here with you, or the fact, that you aren't in your own room, or apartment, or why are you wearing his clothes that hangs on you loosely. There is an explanation for it, you know that, and you don't have the will or the energy to be panicked. Despite these thoughts, you heart beats out of your chest, hearing your blood rushing in your ears.

"What happened?" You ask. If you are with him, he's having all the answers. What is the last thing anyway that you remember? You getting ready? Was it yesterday? Your date. You don't remember your date. It's daytime right now, so it's surely passed.

Maybe it's too apparent on your face how you put together the pieces in your head, or he's just panicking at how you are starting to panic that you don't realize. Your shaking body is fumbling with the duvet around you, eyes snapping to Frank then to your surroundings, frantic with your every move. Like an animal cornered.

"Hey hey hey..You are alright! Look at me darling! Look at me." He forces you to look in his eyes, warm and safe, attention seeking. "You were drugged last night, but you are okay, you hear me? You'll have a hell of a day today, but it's gonna pass. Nothing happened, okay? He did nothing to you."

It's sincere. Everything he says he believes. How does he know?

"How..?"

"You know how, sweetheart. Let me get you some water okay? Get back in bed." He commands, leaving you on the side of the bed. So he is Frank Castle after all. You had you suspicion for a while, and you might asked too risque questions he caught on. How does this makes you feel? Kind of relieved, and grateful? You are grateful that your neighbor is a cold-blooded killer?

"There you go. Drink slowly, okay?" He murmurs, a black t-shirt now covering his upper body. You take careful sips, eyeing the man next to you without shame. He does the same, watching intently with so much comfort in his eyes.

"I don't remember anything." You voice is defeated, drained even without using it for hours now.

"I know, i'm sorry." Tears are threatening to fall as your mind tries to navigate the information that you have been drugged.

"What if he.."

"Nonononono, look at me! He did nothing to you. He put it in your wine, let you have too many drink, but he did no more than that!"

You nod. Accepting it. He's the Punisher after all.

He takes your hand in his, planting a faint kiss on top on your knuckles. "You are safe, i swear to you."

You are safe with him.

[ridiculously-over-obsessed]

My mental health is kinda shit rn so I’m taking a little break from my multi chapters because I’m struggling for inspiration with all of them and it’s not helping me feel any better dfkgjlkdf

I’m gonna work on some oneshot/mini fic type things instead, just see if that kicks my inspiration back into gear, if not I’ll just take a break full stop ✌🏻

[evolnoomym]

🩵Wip Thursday 🩵

Thanks for the tags @the-mandawhor1an @joelmillerisapunk @jolapeno @baronessvonglitter @arcanefox207 🙏🏻🫂

There’s multiple things under the cut.

(Tw: in the snippets is a mention of csa, nothing super graphic but still + mention of dr*gs)

First we have the new Moodboard I created for my FamousActress x Joel Miller Fic (which now also has new title) + some new snippets. 🎀 As always nothing is final nor edited.

//

“Sweetheart you deserved so much better, someone should’ve protected ya,” he steps closer until your noses are almost touching.

You feel like drowning in his brown orbs, he gives so much warmth off.

“Could you protect me Joel?”

A simple question but not for him.

“I would do so much more than just protect ya. No one would hurt you’ll ever again, I’d take such good care of you,” His voice sounds more desperate with each word “if ya let me.”

The tension is so palpable.

“Joel?” You whisper.

“Yes?” He whispers back.

//

“No I don’t care anymore, I’ve told you again and again. Yet you still force me to be close with him,” your hand comes down flat on the table with a loud smack presumably at her come back “you married the guy that assaulted me as a child and you call me crazy for wanting nothing to do with him?”

//

“No, I don’t believe your lies anymore, you knew exactly what he did and you let it happen,” a moment of silence “the greatest betrayal a parent could commit.” You sound sad while speaking the truth you probably avoided voicing for years.

“You also know he was the one to give me coke for the first time, to make me more pliant for his sick games,” you exhale shakily “I hate you so fucking much for ruining my life Mommy.” And then the sobbing starts.

//

Then a Moodboard for a Fic idea that I got after talking to @thundermartini , there won’t be any Joel (Sorry) this is mainly to fulfill my teachers-pet fantasies 📚🤭😂

Next up a poster I made for the monarchy Fic idea that I had which is titled „Amantis foedus“ its Latin and, as you might’ve already guessed, it means „The Lover‘s Pact“. 👑

Last but not least we got a Moodboard for „Liquid Smooth💦“ which could be seen as a part 2 of „Washing Machine Heart 🩶“ but also it’s the cock worshipping Fic I owe to my Wifey 😂😏

Npt: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @tightjeansjavi @wintrwinchestr @mermaidgirl30 @joelsdagger @beefrobeefcal @penvisions @strang3lov3 @joeloverture @ovaryacted @joelslegalwhre @almostfoxglove @ozarkthedog @morallyinept @toxicanonymity @pedrospatch @punkshort @mountainsandmayhem @iamasaddie @mrsmando @netherfeildren @macfrog @syd-djarin @joelsgreenflannel @penascigarette @jeewrites @hellishjoel @gutsbys @chronically-ghosted @lotusbxtch @burntheedges @itsokbbygrl @bonezone44 @ace-turned-confused @encasedinobsidian @magpiepills (anyone who sees this, pls feel tagged as well + sorry if you’ve already done wip Wednesday/Thursday 😅🩵)

[thesupernaturalhouse]

.....guys I accidentally made lore for the reaosn vaggie chose her name-

Like, I was looking at people complaining about her name, which, valid. also, I love the name change people came up with, especially 'Valerie'

But uh, I was looking at them and went 'lol what if she kept her name because of *lore*?' And then paused because I realized I'd accidentally created lore

Anddd now I have to post about it, it is the law-

So, essentially the lore I've come up with is that Vaggie kept her name because she was afraid if she changed it the exorcists wouldn't be able to recognize her, or they'd thinks he was a sinner, when they acme to take her back...because this punishment was temporary!....right?

The other reason would be because Adam, who, at the time to her, was one of the holiest beingsz he first man alive, gave her that name. And who she was to get rid of or change it?

And I think by the time She realizes that her being in hell is going to be permanent, shes nver going back to heaven, and that Adam is an asshole....Charlie already knows her as Vaggie(with hard gs ofc)

So she doesn't really see any point in changing her name, plus, her name sounds nice coming from Charlie

Is this the canon reason or why vivze named her it? HELL no, I'm pretty sure her name is supposed to be a crude joke, from what I've gathered from other people, buttt I like adding lore to things and this is my personal reason as to why she kept her name

.....also, it adds vaggie angst, and I love vaggie angst, she should have more solo fics focusing on her angst.....you can tell vaggie is one of my favorite characters

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

rewatched most of True Detective season 1, episode 1 last night. minor thoughts, not in order, mostly for me to refer back to when I need it. memory of a memory and if I forgot it in like 20 hours, maybe it's not important anyway.

Marty really does go: me? oh normal regular dude. with a huge dick.

Marty, you've JUST met these guys. must they know about your dick.

Oh, Rust is so sad and wet. You know he's sad and wet. You remember that he's sad and wet. And then he's on screen and he's so much wetter and sadder than you remember.

Rust is not even waiting for a red light to pound his fuckin robitussin. my guy, you already specifically experience hallucinations. YOU ARE DRIVING. put down the DXM.

Rust is so funny, actually, in general. "Oh, I wouldn't bust anybody for hooking. OR DRUGS." [sends other girl away to buy drinks] SO. pills? you got pills? you got downers? pills?? <- first half is a quote and the rest is paraphrased but for real. man's here like. so. PILLS? yeah I'm workin. yeah there's a girl missing. medium breasts, natural. now about those pills--

Like, I remembered Rust as mostly functionally sober until the Crash episode, minus his Sophia grief drink binge, and that's just. That's so inaccurate of me. He's hot for it the instant we get him away from Marty.

Marty is actually initially pretty nice at the dinner, nice about Rust showing up while fucking trashed. He bitches Rust out for like a sentence and then reassesses. The cup of coffee, a little physical touching for anchoring, we'll try this again another time, etc.

And Rust is actually quite forthcoming here also--he outright apologizes.

Or, no. Rather:

It's Rust's being forthcoming that prompts Marty to turn nicer. Rust admitting that he doesn't drink because he's had trouble with it before. Explaining meeting a CI, being at the bar, "couldn't think of a good reason not to."

Which is a good example of how they work--they dance--they adjust to each other.

I always remember Rust as less communicative than he actually is. Because in large stretches, he isn't communicative even when he's talkative. But he's actually very forthright, when he chooses. Like, oddly forthright--no wonder Marty backs down immediately. How can you kick that sad wet man while he's down and apologizing to you?

thought for later--ways he is prideful vs the ways he is very much not.

I want to know more about the dead cats in universe, actually. are they black cats? are they being harvested for their bones. first inaccurate santeria mention here. I'm gonna count them all so I can bitch.

not devil traps, devil nets. i mean, nonsense either way. NOT SANTERIA. nor is Santeria incompatible with identifying as a good Christian--up until recently, any Santero you talked to would, in fact, identify as a good Christian and they'd mean it.

Rust never says "alright" or "all right." Rust strictly says aight. Those Ls are getting dropped, baby. I'm usually pretty good about this--was I paying too much attention to the captions? Either way. Not sure I'll go back and fix it, fic wise, but it's something to consider for future dialogue.

UNSURE if they drop their gs as often as I think they do. It took me ten years to learn to understand Southern and if I watch this show for too long, I forget that these dudes even have accents. It's like how if you put me in the panhandle for a week I start droppin' my gs and I can't even hear myself doing it. Not that I consistently pronounce my gs in any case, but usually I know if I'm doing it because it's one of those code switch-y things. can you take elocution lessons as an adult. askin for a friend.

People tend to discuss how Rust is playing Gilbough and Papania, but Marty is ABSOLUTELY performing a bit the whole time so far.

Speaking of Gilbough and Papania: Papania wants Rust to be the killer sooo bad. He's ready to fight Rust in the parking lot as is, no further questions asked.

Gilbough has such a nice smile, actually.

Rust's ties are so shittily tied. I know this is on purpose, it is a Look for the audience, it is a Characterization Choice, the way this man is undone, ramshackle except where he isn't, but I dated a lawyer for a long time so the loose tie is just. On one hand, it's a leash. Good. On the other hand, it's wrong and I know my fingers could fix it.

He does do it up nice for the press conference, however. He knows how. He just chooses not to.

Thinking about the dinner again. I like how lying comes so easily to Marty. He's clearly just so used to it. 

do we actually ever find out who burned the fuckin field in the very first opening shot. is that addressed? ever?

[e-adlirez]

You got any more hot takes for us?? :3c

It took me a loooonnnggg while to come up with any that I considered hot takes, but I'll try my best haha

(I may have said these before, but I forgor so)

Hot take: Pam is not supposed to be the group comedic relief; Nicky is. Now that Pam has taken that role in the group in the later books, Nicky is basically a non-character and it makes me sad :(

Cold take: Nicky deserves to have her cowboy hat back. It's where 60% of her power is in, we need our crazy Aussie gremlin to gremlin another day please

Hot take: Violet liking tea isn't a bad stereotype thing, especially with how they adapted it into later books and her non-English lore. It's not that she's Chinese and therefore she likes tea, she's a goddamn tea connoisseur who just so happens to be Chinese. (Yes the earlier books didn't handle it as gracefully but cut them some slack, it was the 2000s, after all)

Lukewarm/warm take: Colette has had more fashion fails than Violet, ironically.

Hot take: Paulina is the most generic/bland of the five. I'm sorry, but it's true. She is the blandest of the five, her alleged mom friend role doesn't get explored nearly enough, she's mostly in the background, and being an IT kid is not a personality trait. The only personality traits I can think of is that she is chronically online (in the workaholic kind of way, not the "has been scrolling on Twitter for 9 hours" way), and she and Nicky put their everything into what they're doing enough that sometimes they butt heads over it.

Hot take: Nicky is not stupid. She is a dumbass, but she's not stupid. She has that ADHD flavor of hyperfixating on something so hard that when she plans a trip, she plans out a whole-ass itinerary complete with little factoids about the places and where they're staying. She plans so thoroughly that even Violet doesn't have to add anything to her plans because they are just that rock solid. She hyperfixates so hard that when disruptions ruin her plans, she goes into ":[" mode-- god she's just like me fr

Hot take: We need more passive-aggressive Violet in the books. We just need it. It's funny. In fact, we need the girls all in all to be a little meaner, a little more shamelessly blunt, a little more unafraid of roasting the crap out of some people.

Hot take: The old profiles of the girls are crap. Like, actually crap. Sure they're thematic with the journalism profile thing and they're good at giving a general overview of their name, nationality, strengths and weaknesses passports/social security numbers, it is absolutely NOT a reliable method of getting a gist of what their personalities are like. Unfortunately as far as I'm aware, there's no real way of getting a good look at them and what they're like in a nutshell (besides maybe the occasional good fic and I guess I'll toss in the GS 101 slide here too), but even then it's like eeehhhhh, I feel like there's so much of them that can't be put into words but is also showcased really well in the Italian TS books mrrrrrr -m-

Hot take: Vissia/Vanilla/Vic de Vissen > Rebecca/Ruby/Ryder Flashyfur

These are the ones I have that can remember so far ^^

[demonslayedher]

Sometimes a Fanfic Monster's gotta fanfic. And upload images to Tumblr to have a way to post them on AO3.

There it is, go drink that angsty sugar water

OH HEY MORE FOR A DIFFERENT UPCOMING FIC

Ohohohoho, spoilery thing I needed to hide for GS Low-Key Married AU

Is this omake real? Is it a joke? You'd have to read the fic to know, ohohohoho