#i just want to have my own tv show featuring all my ocs because i have a perfectly thought out storyboard and world

[that-shy-fanfic-writer]

What started as an interview (aka writing practice) to get to know my OC better turned into more of an introduction into who they are and where they come from, so I decided to fix it up and share it here. Enjoy?

Interview with my OC

Lavender: Okay, Mercy. They're all yours.

Mercy: Ooh, this is so exciting! My first real taste of social media! Hi, random strangers on The Internet! My name's Mercy Fey! I can't wait to share my story with you all!

Lavender: Don't get too excited. This is just to test the waters. Why don't you tell us a little about yourself?

Mercy: Sure! So first off, while I share traits with Y/N characters—or Reader Inserts, what have you—I'm not a Reader Character. I am my Own Character and would appreciate being treated as such.

Lavender: Wow, you just jumped right into that. Can you explain what you mean? That you share traits with Reader Inserts?

Mercy: I'm what you'd call non-human, or maybe human adjacent? I don't have a solid appearance so my features are always changing, hard to pin down. That's what I mean when I say I share characteristics of a Y/N. But I'm an OC. Please don't mix me in with them. Besides, I have a name and belong to a Creator, as much as I don't want to admit it.

Lavender: Why not?

Mercy: Why would any character want to have the self-awareness of the Fourth Wall? It means we're being controlled by forces outside of ourselves. It means we're not Real. I can't speak for all characters, but I'm sure the Truth can be mind breaking to some. However, while I don't like to admit I have a Creator, I can accept that I have an Author. Which is more fun, because that means I have just as much control over my person as she does.

Lavender: … Right. Would you mind sharing some things about the world you inhabit?

Mercy: Nope! I live in a pocket dimension on the outskirts of the omniverse, just this side of the Fourth Wall, at the edges of Reality. It's how I can connect to everything from the Real World while also Knowing there are a multitude of other worlds beyond mine that are Fictional. And I can access all of it right here at Home.

Lavender: Speaking of, what does Home look like?

Mercy: Well, it's empty, for one. Kinda like the anti-void, just pure white all around with a House built for me at its center. Or maybe it was created? I have no idea how it got here, but I'm pretty sure it's been here since the beginning of my own existence, and it can change its shape to whatever I want. The Background too, outside, depending on my mood. Sometimes, I'd want a forest setting, sometimes a city scene. Not that there's anyone else who lives in it. Just the sounds of a city. Like ambience or whatever.

Lavender: It must get lonely.

Mercy: Not really. I can keep my own company well enough. And if I'm bored, I have lots to do! There's a library that holds all the books of Reality and then some! Fanfiction too! And I've got a TV that plays movies and shows, some YouTube videos, blah blah blah. I've never had access to The Internet before now, though. At least, not like this! Especially social media sites. Oh! But I can break the fourth wall sometimes! When I want to—or rather, whenever the Author remembers. She forgets too, a lot. Hah! Anyway, breaking the fourth wall is usually the only way I can learn all the Meta things, like fandom theories, how people in Reality behave, The News. Awful times y'all live in, by the way. How do you cope?

Lavender: Let's move on. Is there anyone in particular that has, or had, an influence on you?

Mercy: Oh, yeah, for sure. The Author, mostly. Have I mentioned I'm completely non-gendered? There's absolutely nothing down there! Or up here! I checked! But because of the Author's influence, my pronouns are sometimes she/her because she identifies as female herself and tends to project. And sometimes there are characters I find cool and inspiring—like AVA by Inyahs and that one Frequently Isekai-ed Protagonist who, by the way, is a Reader Insert—so I'd say they have an influence on me too. It's one of the reasons why the Author can't pin me down. My appearance is vague at best and I can flip emotions, personalities, thoughts at the drop of a hat.

Lavender: Okay, we gotta wrap it up soon, so only a few more questions. What would you do if your favorite characters suddenly showed up in your world?

Mercy: Well, I'd want to play, obviously! My first time getting to meet people from The Outside? And they're characters I know? Heck yeah! I'll give 'em a whole tour, show them everything! And we can hang out and play!

Lavender: That's… very in character for you, I just realized. Huh. Speaking of showing them everything, what can you tell us about your powers?

Mercy: I have all the powers! This world is my playground, mine to control, so I can teleport to wherever I want to be the moment I think it, or float in the air, fly even! I can change what I'm wearing with a snap of my fingers! Oh! I can also change whatever I want in the House, down to the room count or the size of the rooms or the furniture, and even how it appears from the outside. Though sometimes I have to ask House for requests. It can't know what I want until I ask, but sometimes it can. It's as fickle as I am, I guess.

Lavender: Are you saying the House is sentient?

Mercy: Maybe? At least semi-sentient? Or maybe the word is sapient? I dunno. Sometimes it'll do things without my input—I just have to think and it does it—and sometimes it won't, even if I ask. It can also hold a grudge, apparently. I learned that the hard way…

Lavender: Okay, last question. What would you do if you found yourself in another universe? A fictional one?

Mercy: I guess that depends? Which world am I in? What are the Rules there? If I'm not even familiar with the world or its characters, I'd observe what it's like. Do they have powers or magic? Am I in an AU of a world? Space or Sci-Fi? What's the genre? Once I figure it out, I keep observing. If it's a world I'm familiar with, I'll mess with the cast a li'l, play around, since I know what's going to happen—or has happened—for the most part. And if it's a world I don't know? Well, it won't be too hard to figure out the ropes. I'm a pretty fast learner. Especially with Knowledge from the Author. What she knows, I know. … Sometimes. Sometimes, she doesn't want me to know so I'm blocked from Knowing the Plot. That's just how it be, I guess.

Lavender: This interview had been pretty insightful, I think. Thanks for sharing your thoughts, Mercy.

Mercy: No prob. Now get back to writing my stories! I wanna play! Cringe is dead and fun is in! Go! Shoo! And to those who stayed to read the whole thing, thank you! Love you! Hope you enjoyed!

Lavender: Hey! That's my line! Scratch the love you part-

Mercy: Not anymore! I already said it. Now what are we still doing here, let's go!

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

You know what I hate? People trying to put words into my mouth. ( crossing out their name / user, because i am not a dick )

ALSO, WTF HAS THE HOTD / ASOIAF FANDOM BECOME?

What they claim / what I said back :

What did I say to get this reaction? A fucking reminder that for those who want more creative freedom, can create Houses / use lesser known Houses. I said AND I QUOTE WORD FOR WORD :

This is just a casual reminder to all of my House of the Dragon / Game of Thrones writers, there are like a million small houses in the TV show / Books. Here's a few of them : 

-  House Caswell 

-  House Mallister 

-  House Strong 

-  House Frey 

-  House Tarly 

-  House Dayne 

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO MAKE YOUR CHARACTERS FROM THE SAME HOUSE / THE SAME 4 HOUSES! ( Stark, Baratheon, Lannister, Targaryen ) Not that using them is bad! But, remember you have other options! ( I will admit that I have used those houses before, but I am just REMINDING you that there are more options out there! )

There are plenty of small houses / lesser used houses out there! Some of which have barely any info! ( Which gives you the perfect opportunity to fill in the blanks / create whatever you want! )

Notice how I never once said, "I look down on you for using one of the main Houses". I also admit to using them myself!

It was a fucking reminder that, "Hey, want more freedom? Here are some options for you".

I know that the HOTD fandom is toxic at times, but seriously? Attempting to put words into my mouth?

am i like stupid or something? i will delete and apologize if i am in the wrong.

--

ADDED TO THE POST!

Same person is accusing me of 'whitewashing' my own OC. Like wow..

What they claim / what I said back :

My evidence to disprove this : screenshot of the text proving that she is a bastard therefore why she would not look like Corlys or have POC features, AND revision history that tells you when I wrote all of this.

So, no. I did not whitewash MY OWN OC. Like, you're reading what parts of my book that I published. I had to fucking spoil my own book cause you want to assume / accuse me of shit that is not true. Like, wtf?!

---

save me..

@danytar

@lovelykhaleesiii

[slackerartist]

With having to create so many story stuff for many different characters, original story stuff like Doodle Madness, to existing stories like Splatoon with SplashInk and the Persona 5 AU, Another Story, but one story idea I haven't gotten to doing at all is for a show I have just rewatched a while ago, which is The Owl House, and for this story idea I have in mind which I have been working on for a short while, I would like to call it... Twisting Tides

What even is Twisting Tides anyway? Twisting Tides is an Owl House styled story that would be taking place during the events of the main show itself, but it would mainly focus on the characters that I have created especially only in Twisting Tides itself.

What is the story to Twisting Tides? It essentially follows the same story and structure as the original show itself, but with a few twists and turns of course. Twisting Tides follows the story of Everest Anderson, a human from our own world as he accidentally gets put into another world, simply to give back a notebook to his long time friend, Luciana Cordell, who is revealed to not be a human, but revealed to be a witch from the Demon Realm!

With him being stuck in the Demon Realm however and not in his own, it’s going to take a lot of risk and turns for Everest to be accompanied in this whole new world, with him going to a new school while learning on how to use magic with his very own wand and spell book that he rightfully acquired to try and learn all the brand new magic spells, meeting new friends/enemies, and even exploring his very own origins to find out about his actual past life that isn’t in his own world however.

Will Everest eventually find his way back home in the Human Realm with the help of Luciana, Luciana’s own family and even his new found friends?

What will Twisting Tides include? In Twisting Tides it would feature different ideas from the show itself, both old and new, with those examples such as… -Stuff from the pilot, the pitch bible and even the Test Animation/Next Time On would be added into Twisting Tides, so expect different ideas for stuff, like on Luciana for example, she is loosely based on the version of Amity from both the pilot and pitch bible of the original show, and even the creepy Puppet Luz character idea to be used for Everest, if you've seen the test animation, you'll know why. -Owl House characters that were created by my friends would show up in Twisting Tides. -Twisting Tides would be going for the same route as Adventure Time: Fionna & Cake, think of what if The Owl House was rated TV-14 instead of the show's TV-Y7 rating. -Have different original locations that would expand in both the Human Realm and the Demon Realm, and even go beyond from the two realms with the new location called the Spiritual Realm. -Characters from the canon show would show up in Twisting Tides.

Will Twisting Tides suffer the same fate as other fan fictions like The Seventh Son by Cowboy Alchemist, or even the notorious Amphibia fanfiction, Loyalty Among Worlds by AdmiralDT8? Simply to answer that… ABSOLUTELY NOT!!! I’m putting all the safety precautions to make sure that I do not want to follow the same patterns as those fanfics are doing, I’ve known for creating different original ideas and even wanting to take existing stories to actually give them originality, and no I’m not going to ship an OC towards the show’s main character, Luz, since that 1. the ship with both Luz and Amity is already in the show, and 2. my character Luciana is to have a crush with Everest.

So yeah, guess that's about it, also won't be planning on making another blog account because of this, since I have three blog accounts made and will not plan on making a fourth one lol

Also no, I don't plan on making this into a webcomic on Twisting Tides, but instead, doing fake snapshots, more character art, writing stuff and might even do scene redraws since I'm known for doing those types of stuff.

And if you have made it this far from reading from top to bottom, congratulations, you get a cookie!

[bjornkram]

🎶✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favourite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

YAAAY I LOVE TELLING PEOPLE TO LISTEN TO MY MUSIC

These are my top 5 songs- listing them off awards show style

Honorable mentions to:

Rio Grande by The Oh Hellos, Send Me On My Way by Rusted Root, Bloodbuzz Ohio Live on The Current by The National, and Forest That Weeps by Wintersun.

Now for rhw nominees

5: SOS by Dethklok

Listening to this right now and realized that Dethalbum IV is the only album that features a choir and made my self cry because I then realized that the choir in SOS represented the army of the doomstar, and then cried even harder when I thought about how it was made as a thank you gift to all of us who held on to the show and the music after everything that adult swim did to it. I think about everyone I've met in the metalocalypse fandom, truly the kindest fandom I've ever been a part of, and how Brendon Small walked through fire to give us an ending and a cathartically satisfying finish to one of the greatest stories ever told. Anyway, stream Dethklok SOS on spotify.

4: When I was Done Dying by Dan Deacon

I like to listen to this one as loud as i can physically handle so I can hear every noise. (RIP neanderthals you would have loved Dan Deacon.) I highly recommend watching the music video I linked, lot of flashing lights tho jsyk.

3: Wolf Like Me by TV On The Radio

I found this song while making a playlist for my OC, Valentine Jester. The song really encapsulated everything I wanted to portray about his character and his relationship with his own transformation. It also slaps harder than hell.

2: Lost River by Murder By Death

This is one of the songs I found while making a playlist for my OC, Brother Lonely-Waters. Water is extremely sacred to his religion and he was entrusted with shepherding the waters that run through creeks, brooks, small rivers and ponds. There's just like extremely specific coincidences in both this song and the next one as well as the over all vibes that just really embodies him. (I'm putting some of my blw lore in here bc I can and I love talking about him)

1: The Ghost On The Shore by Lord Huron

This is another song that I found while making the same playlist. I've been writing short stories about Brother Lonely-Waters and theres one that I named after this song. Everything about this song fits him so perfectly. Its my favorite song of all time, I got to hear it played live at redrocks while it was pouring and the wind was crazy. Honestly a religious experience, thats how the song was meant to be experienced

Any way i love music i wish it was real

[bluecichlid]

for the writing ask: 7, 9, 15, 28 !!

7. Your favourite ao3 tag.

From my own fics, definitely “Desecration of Religious Artifacts” and “Quality Bedlinens Ruined.”  The latter featured on the AO3 tag of the day blog!  Otherwise, I am quite dull when it comes to tags.  

For other people’s fics, I always have a soft spot for “canon compliant”, “AU - canon divergence”, “hurt/comfort”, “angst with a happy ending”, “everybody lives/nobody dies”, and “soulmates”.  It is a bit of a miscellaneous list!  

9.  Thoughts on cliffhangers.

So long as they are ultimately resolved, I love cliffhangers. They are usually the sign of a plot-heavy fic and that’s my jam!  It can be frustrating if they aren’t resolved, but I can live with them if the story is still good up to that point.  I can always mentally write the rest in my mind.  

Although, the worst cliff hanger ever was an 80s TV show called Alf. The MC was a lovable puppet alient whom the family was sheltering. In the last season, he was captured by the government. The next season's premier was going to be the family rescuing him. But the show got canceled, so it ended with him looking out of the back of the van as he wass driven off to be dissected.

15.  What's your favourite plotless fic you have written?

I’ve only done a couple of fics that could be called plotless, but my favorite is a funny one: “His Complete Package, A Fanfiction Parody” https://archiveofourown.org/works/5326562 It is an affectionate send-up of some fanfic tropes - I set it in Game of Thrones, but the tropes are pretty universal.  

28.  Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?

I think writing is so individual, and particularly in fanfic there is no wrong way to do it so long as you are writing what you want and having fun.  

I guess what works for me is to always try to make my approach to a line, character, or plot point interesting. Often if I get stuck it is because I’m personally not invested in what I’m writing.  Maybe it doesn’t advance the story enough, or take the characters or world in a new direction.  So I have to go back and think of something different.

For example, in Not Alone, the third chapter was always going to be young Kell meeting someone in Grey London who is kind to him and helps him, they sit on the park bench together, and the person gives him something which ignites his trinket smuggling hobby.  All those elements stayed the same.  But in the first drafts, that person was Barron.  Who was really my only option if I wanted a canon character.  I try to keep close to canon where I can.  I got the first chapter out, and … the chapter just wasn’t flowing.  So I came up with the OC character of Adrian, who was a much more dynamic character, and let me have all sorts of fun with the lore.  I didn’t want him to come out of nowhere, so I made him Ned Tuttle’s great-grandfather.  I was really happy with the result - I banged chapter three out pretty fast, and it is one of my favorite things I have ever written. 

[ofpsyche]

#OFPSYCHE: each soul has it's own destiny!!

an independent, highly selective & mutuals only multimuse roleplay blog ft. many oc's, canon characters and other individuals of various tv shows such as my name, kinnporsche, voice & others which are lovingly neglected by k. she/her. 29 this is a dash only blog, beta user.

currently most muse for: ???

#INTRODUCTION: i’m k. poking the 30’s ( dec. 95’ ) & i go by she/her. i’ve been on tumblr since 2009-ish/2010 ? also started roleplaying around that time. i will do whatever i want on this blog.

***

#ONE   please specify the muse you want starters/memes/plots for. otherwise i will ignore it and/or delete it from my inbox, calls etc. + if you are a multimuse too, please specify your muse from your end as well.

#TWO  i would consider my activity semi-active ? you either get a reply within days or you got to wait a couple weeks. there is no in between. i have a full time job, i commute and i visit therapy once a week. it’s really just...depending on my mood.

#THREE  i love shipping but chemistry is a vibe. however; once i ship; i ship and i get hella excited about things and will yell at you from time to time. ( excitedly )

#THREE.ONE i am not one for smut, however, i will write the occasional make out or if i am completely comfortable with you, i might. it really depends on the bond and vibe i get with the mun. that said, don’t push it or i will block you.

#FOUR  just be nice. basic roleplay etiquette. i will not tolerate any racism, homophobia, etc. results in blocking!

#FIVE triggers will be tagged trigger tw. but it does happen from time to time that something may not be tagged because we are all human beings. so on that note: this blog will feature violence, gore, blood, mental health issues and many more triggering topics that are nsfw. speaking of that: MINORS DNI!

#SIX personal/non rp-blogs dni! hard block immediately.

#SEVEN  credit to apocalypsresources & psychepaz for banners, promos & templates

#EIGTH fandoms i am not interested in, however, doesn’t mean i will not follow back or follow because you might have muses of them on your blog, or are a multimuse (list is subject to change) : hp, aot, star wars, asoiaf, lotr, spn, dr. who, sherlock,

#NINE please have at least any info on your blog. like a pinned post that states your age etc. i will most likely not rp on discord. it’s a personal preference. && discord will be given out to mutuals.

#TEN i adore ocs but make sure to have information of them on your blog. a bio, a tag to find things, anything. if i cannot see anything or find anything about them i will most likely not follow back nor interact with them. i too have oc's and understand the love so i am sure you understand that.

#ELEVEN mun =/= muse - i am a grown woman that can distinct between fiction and reality. if you do not like it, leave. there is a unfollow button and block button too.

#TWELVE formatting. i mostly use small font and no icons because i just cannot be bothered to make them anymore.

[dchuntress]

my non-fandom ice skater oc, alexis kennedy! warning for triggering content stuff + it's still a bit of a wip

From a young age, she's been a very famous and highly accomplished figure skater. She's had a picture perfect life on the outside, but behind the scenes, everything was truly crumbling down, and she, expected to epitomize perfection, only had the ice rink as her only light in life.

That is until the day she accidentally slips during her Olympics performance and permanently injures herself; her life only continues to get worse.

After years of spiralling however, 25 year old Alexis is finally ready to reclaim her narrative, rise from her ashes, and prove herself as a skater despite her hip injury. However, change isn't easy.

Her personality traits are as such: she's fiercely independent and helpful; she won't take help but she will help people. She doesn't know the balance between letting people walk on her and lashing out too much at them. She has impulsiveness and anger issues slightly, but she knows how to control herself and put on a fake facade in public - she lashes out when nobody's watching. She's constantly aware of how much her life sucks and how much she sucks and it's a vicious cycle. She can't be left alone with her thoughts.

Nonetheless, Alexis is disciplined, reasonable, smart, loyal, athletic, persevering. One thing she's never done in her life is give up. No matter how much she fucks up, she always gets back up for another day, another fight, no matter how much she sucks she still tries to be a good person.

Her whole life, she's had a very complicated relationship with her mother. Her entire adolescence, Alexis resented and hated her mom for everything; her mom pushed her to be the best at everything, pushed her to high expectations, didn't let Alexis be weak. They always fought over their conflicting ideas and Alexis blamed her mother for everything, as well as didn't learn healthy coping mechanisms or how to assert for herself from her mother.

But after Alexis' Olympics tragedy, things changed: her mother wasn't angry or disappointed at all.

Her mother finally revealed the truth; she was battling a lifelong terminal disease. Her mother, a single parent whose husband left, was trying to stay strong for her daughter, and she wanted to teach her daughter to be strong and independent so Alexis wouldn't feel the same helplessness her mother did when her husband and Alexis' dad left. But her mom learned an important lesson: it's important to ask for help.

Even as Alexis' life was crumbling after her Olympics disaster — everybody ridiculing her, being disappointed in her, booing her, leaving her — it was the best part of her life because she and her mother worked on their issues and became closer than ever and made so wonderful memories.

Was.

Because in the end, the terminal illness won. And in her early twenties, Alexis was once again left with nothing.

She tries to be positive and hopeful but she can't really, she just says those to herself because her late mom used to. She even got a butterfly tattoo because her mom used to tell her that she'd come back to her in the form of a yellow butterfly in the afterlife.

Despite everything, Alexis still has a fondness for the ice rink. Every now and then, she goes whenever it's empty to take comfort in her one last joy that hasn't been completely snatched from her.

This oc was for a reality tv show roleplay group (I had a really cute plot with a friend where their oc and Alexis were creating their own fictional show together and they went on the show as besties-who-are-totally-not-in-love to promote their show), so I guess I'd have Alexis try to make her comeback by featuring on a reality show?

[helpmyinterestsareverywhere]

(A late) Intro Post <3

hi hi hello hello! :D

Call me by literally ANY nickname you could possible get from my username, go wild👍 - She/her, an 18 year-old just vibing around here. This blog doesn't really have a theme - I just reblog/talk about whatever interest i have at the time :3

MAIN INTEREST/ONE'S YOU'LL SEE THE MOST:

Lego Ninjago (most likely talking about Lloyd) - (also I went through a phase of making incorrect quotes for Ninjago so if you scroll far enough back you'll find them LMAO)

Our Life (visual novel series)

...Final Fantasy 7

STUFF YOU MAY SEE RANDOMLY:

Visual novels (a general interest of mine so they will come up A LOT but its normally the series I listed earlier but sometimes other ones come into my orbit)

Youtube stuff (sorry 🧍‍♂️)

Random TV shows/movies (sometimes from my childhood) that get like 2 posts in a row and then radio silence afterwards

Random video games that I don't really talk about but do enjoy

I have DESPERATLY tried to organise this blog, so I have a few(?) tags to do with it - these will be in the "tags" section on this post but im also going to list them here with explanations:

#hmiae rambles - posts where i have just YAPPED and YAPPED, normally in the tags and they could be about anything LMAO (sometimes they're my own posts, sometimes they're reblogs who knows <3)

#hmiae personal - times where information i have shared/talked about is from my actual "offline" life - stories/facts/anecdotes etc

#hmiae asks - evey single ask I have answered is under this hashtag just for ease - if someone has sent an ask with their actual blog name, these asks will also be labelled with "#your username asks me" so that its easy to find your own ask if needed/wanted

#hmiae art - my art! - stuff i have drawn (honestly this is mostly my OC, actually might JUST be my OC lmao)

#oc poppy hart/#ninjago poppy hart - these tags are SPECIFICALLY about my OC for Ninjago (most, if not all of these posts are art i believe) - these tags are normally paired with #ninjago oc and #ninjago oc art (but of course these aren't my own tags)

I AM in the LGBTQ+ community and I really do not have any hangs-up about blocking people - so just be behave 'round these parts okay thank you (and no weird minor x adult/proship stuff because EW + illegal)

My asks are always open & I have the anonymous feature on (may change if people start to get weird)

Thats it! I hope you have a fun time looking around <3

[atlantis-lower-decks]

Atlantis Lower Decks: The Basic Premise

This egregious act of canon non-compliance is an episodic style long fic following a cast of original and minor Stargate characters. It’s largely silly goofy with very little regard for things like ‘canon’ and ‘the timeline’ so if that’s your bread and butter, I’ll save you some time and just say this isn’t for you.

The story starts with Atlantis filling support roles, the two main ones that the story follows being IT and Civilian Security. Both teams are make up of two people.

The IT is a set of siblings: Scout and Dan MacKenzie. They’re known for being difficult to work with, immature, and geniuses who could get a lot done if they applied themselves. They get into all sorts of goofy shenanigans and have ever since they sprang from the womb.

The Civilian Security team is a homicide detective duo: Nathan and Tony. They were picked as an afterthought because everyone kind of forgot the positions even existed. Because of this, they have very little concept of what’s going on at any given time.

These two teams meet on the Daedalus en route to Atlantis when they bond over being the only four people to take an entire box of donuts each rather than only taking one donut each. It’s at that time that they have a real recognizes real moment and they become unlikely friends. Their friendship quickly divulges into an alliance as IT loops the security team in on their plan to be the number one (see: only) supplier of digital media in all of Atlantis. In addition to the pirated movies, TV shows, music, sports games and other media, the IT team also has allies on earth and the Daedalus to get booze into the Pegasus galaxy.

Not wanting to lose out on the finer things in life, the security team allies with IT. The deal is that security turns a blind eye to the bootlegging in exchange for unlimited access to the digital supply and a sizeable portion of the booze.

Once they get to Atlantis, they befriend Ford (who is alive and well and not addicted to the wraith enzyme because I said so), Chuck (the Canadian sergeant in the gate room) and Jonas (who is in Atlantis because I love him). From there, the world is their oyster. IT builds up network infrastructure to give Atlantis their own internet which of course comes with their very own take on YouTube, Twitter and their own website which they use for the digital media empire. They also start their very own cryptocurrency known as LCBO Coin. LCBO (pronounced Lick-bow) is short for Lantian Central Banking Organization and is a play on the Ontario provincial liquor store’s name because they thought it was funny.

And yeah, so far the ‘episodes’ I’ve written include the theft of a MALP, a murder, a podcast all about life on Atlantis, a time loop, and a few off-word shenanigans. All these “episodes” follow the lower deckers in their daily life. The main characters from the actual show are effectively the bridge crew from Star Trek Lower Decks; they’re around and often feature, but they’re not the focus.

Anyway, I’m pretty pumped about this project. Unfortunately, it’s a) OC heavy, b) so deeply ridiculous that it’s a tough sell, and, c) I’ve thought about this so much that I’ve built up so much lore around it in my mind.

Because of all those points, I’ve started this blog to act as a bit of a starting point or reference for anyone who cares to be invested in this. Like I said, I know that this is NOT everyone’s cup of tea, so no hate if you just wanna ignore it or just casually try and read a chapter here and there. It’s very hard to get people to care about a project like this, so I know it’s not gonna do numbers. I’m just here to make the art that I wanna see in the world.

[wander-wren]

i finished watching season 2 and i’m back with an essay. spoilers below the cut, though i was as vague as possible.

first, there are a few immediate arguments that sab can’t be fanfiction:

it’s a tv show

it’s produced for profit/commercially

it was partially created by leigh

i’m throwing out the first point because that’s semantics and no one cares. i’ll toss out the second because, while fanfiction should be free, it does get bought/sold (hot tip: don’t do that) and profit doesn’t change its nature.

that leaves the third point and a big question: can an author create fanfiction of their own work?

i think the answer is yes. in my eyes, fanfiction is a lot about the intention of a work, the context. if leigh were to, say, release a short story featuring the crows in our world, without grisha powers and etc, and had them do a heist, that is clearly not intended to be part of the canon. it’s fanfiction.

you may disagree; the lines here are incredibly blurry and everyone sees things differently. but i believe shadow and bone CAN be fanfiction.

the question now is…is it?

in short, i think it is, yes.

it’s well known that many of the people working on the show are big fans of the series. it’s been clear from the start that leigh and eric don’t intend to tell the story of any of the books 1:1–that’s literally impossible in this setup. what they’ve done is to embrace that change, taken the crossover alternate universe where the crows and alina’s plotlines happen semi-simultaneously and asked what ELSE they can change. it’s a derivative work, but not really an adaptation. therefore, i say fanfic.

forgive me for not having read the shadow & bone trilogy in years; i don’t remember how much exactly of that canon made it into the show. i do know that the show added several new characters in both seasons—original characters, if you will, OCs. i definitely saw them add an “only one bed” and fake dating trope in season 2. milo the goat comes across as just a little crack-ish, to me. in the most complimentary possible way, of course. oh, and the dream/hallucination sequences (not alina, the other ones) just felt fannish, i can’t really explain that.

also, what we got with kaz and his backstory/trauma feels fanfic-tinged. if you’ve read any of my fic you know i’m ALL about exploring those things, mental health, recovery, etc. i also write original fiction sometimes, and look, there is a huge difference between the two when it comes to that. characters in shows, movies, books, they can’t really have things like panic attacks unless the story is actually about mental health in some way. at least, not in fantasy/specfic. there simply isn’t time for it; the plot has to move. once you’ve established, yes, Character fears Thing, you don’t need to waste time continuing to have them freak out. plus, it might get boring/repetitive.

but this works in fanfiction because there is no set word limit. because fans love angst. because fans expect fic to fill in what canon doesn’t. because fic is allowed more dramatics and more range of emotion.

kaz brekker having multiple obvious panic attacks and flashbacks? kaz forced to take off his gloves in a crowded market? kaz clutching his cane and gloves like a child in the corner? it’s fanfiction, baby.

counterargument: in the books, we do get that to an extent, but it’s mostly just in kaz’s mind and not showing on the outside. that’s because it’s a book, kaz can do that. in a show, if you want that point to get across, you have to make it show on the outside.

i maintain that it’s fanfiction-y anyway. that’s just what it feels like, as someone who’s written on both sides.

that was a very shaky point i didn’t mean to talk about for so long. but now, the main event: i want to talk about signaling.

i’m not sure if there’s a better word for it, but it’s a fanfiction staple and it’s everywhere in shadow and bone. see, the assumption with fanfic is that everyone reading is already familiar with the world, characters, and plot. you don’t need to explain or go into detail; everyone already knows. hence, signaling.

signaling is: the search for the sea whip/firebird going so fast. book fans already saw the journeys, the friendship-making, etc. we don’t need it rehashed; just the big dramatic highlights.

signaling is: jesper asking for a demolitions expert in s1. book fans know that is a little reference to wylan.

signaling is: the fight for control of the dregs. show fans immediately recognize it as a version of the scene from crooked kingdom. in fact, the dregs coming up at all is a signal.

god i sure hope i’m explaining this well, because it feels like second nature to me as both a writer and reader. sometimes it’s just a reference only fans will understand, sometimes it’s outlining plot points that really should get shown in depth—if they weren’t already known by the audience, that is. the show bends over backwards to do this, sometimes twisting things a little bit awkwardly (implausibly?) to set up the right conversation or conflict. again, that feels like fanfiction, that specific suspension of disbelief to allow for the flashy colors and familiar phrases we all love, so we can point at them, so we can say “i understood that reference.”

i’ve actually been thinking about this—signaling—recently because of a different project, the way fanfic has the freedom to tell huge stories in short amounts of words, because all they need are the keyframes and the things they change, if any. which is helpful, when you only have 8 hours to tell a story that spans four countries and involves like 20 major characters.

so, tl;dr: it’s fanfic because it feels fannish. it’s an alternate universe, a series of hypotheticals and answers, a chance to rewrite parts of canon and do something new.

now, it is 1 in the morning and i this thought came to me half-baked midway through my watch, so forgive me if my points are not entirely coherent. and PLEASE add your thoughts whether you agree or disagree, because i’m very curious and also probably going to be thinking about this for the next week.

is the shadow and bone show fanfiction? discuss

[himbopierrot]

if I could animate, it would be OVER for y'all. if I could project the animation memes of my ocs I make in long car journeys onto a computer screen then the movie industry would collapse

[sillystringzwormemporium]

Hey, I don't see much for middle regressors on here, especially for older kids >.<

I slide from 12-14, and here's some things I like to do in middle space ^-^

Tv Shows:

Sailor moon (the original series... it's just better I'm sorry)

Madoka Magica (spooky... watch with caution!)

Victorious/Icarly

Any Ghibli film

Fnaf/bendy/any mid-2010's nostalgia game let's plays (not a tv show, I know, but they're so underrated...)

Friendship is Witchcraft- a fun and edgy My Little Pony parody. You can watch all the episodes on youtube! Plus, they have some pretty banger songs.

Books I reccomend!

any collection of Foxtrot comics, they're just really good <3

What Would Emma Do by Eileen Cook (features religious themes, mostly about questioning the things you've been brought up with)

Ghoul Next Door- one of the poison apple books from scholastic book fairs. I also recommend Curiosity Killed The Cat

School Spirit: Suddenly Supernatural by Elizabeth Kimmel

Hobbies/ Activities

Sticker making! All you need is some scissors, paper, and tape

baking- I like making cookies from scratch. Also maybe just me, but I like doing the dishes while the cookies cool. Plus, as a middle, you can probably do that on your own ^-^

Picrews! I LOVED making random OCs when I was 14, and dress up games are just that, but quicker

Hanging out at a mall or cool shopping center- I never got to do this as a kid, so I'm super glad I can now <3

Writing fanfic! I like to try to make mine as "cringe" as possible, just because it's fun. Write all the weird self-insert stuff you want, it's a blast

On the topic of writing: keeping a roleplay journal. (not as weird as it sounds, I swear) I have a sparkly notebook that I journal in about a make-believe middle school I go to. There's drama, you make pretend school notes, plus obv more OCs... it's something that really helps me get into the headspace and relax. Don't knock it till you try it!

[interact-if]

Addendum: since this interview, the author has left their religion and consider themselves agnostic.

Day 1 of the Religious Diversity Month interviews has arrived! Please welcome the absolute sweetheart... Nemo!

Nemo, author of Frostford’s Mystery

Religious Diversity Month Featured Author

Despite the name, the city of Frostford has always been quite the warm,  welcoming, and frankly calm place, most people living here know each  other, for better or for worse that is, the most dangerous crime  committed here would be a group of loud teenagers shoplifting and the  most chaos would be a cat getting stuck on a tree, as cliché as that  sounds.

Frostford’s Mystery demo | Read more about Miscalculated [here]

Tags: mystery, supernatural, suspense, thriller

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: Tell us a bit about your project! 

I have two current WIPs! 

Frostford's Mystery is a mystery supernatural WIP novel about how your life was practically very normal and boring, you were working a day job as a detective in Frostford, a town where nothing exciting ever happens until one day all hell breaks loose. It all starts with an unusual encounter with someone who seems to know you and your mother, and well, it's kinda up to you to fix the mess that's gonna happen and save the day, have fun and enjoy your time at Frostford!

Miscalculated is a time-traveling adventure WIP novel where your dream since you were a little kid is to be the first person who travels in time, and after gathering a team and working for years, during and after college you did, you actually did it! You finally achieve your goal, you finally travel back in time, but you might have miscalculated a couple of things on your way there...

Q2: Why did you settle for interactive fiction? What drew you to this format?

Honestly every time I read a novel I'm always like "Oh but imagine if they did this" or "Imagine if this was the ending" or "I wish the protagonist did this and that". So for me interactive fiction is the perfect way I could achieve that, a way I could write/read a story that would end in many many ways, not restricting the reader to one ending or one protagonist, keeping the reader engaged as they control the story, not the other way around.

Q3: How have your identity and beliefs influenced your work?

I'd say they impacted my work greatly, to be honest! It's mostly with Frostford's Mystery at this point, two of the main characters who are part of the team, Salman and Malak Issam, known as the Issam twins, are canonically Muslims, and it's a very big part of who they are because not many characters in novels and TV shows who are Muslims, let alone Muslims who are known pranksters, big ol' doofuses, and joke around all the time, I must admit I kinda based them on my own personality a little bit.

Q4: What aspects would you like to be more explored or represented in media involving your religion?

The image portrayed in TV shows and Novels most of the time puts all Muslims in a light that shows them as very restricted and strict which is completely not true, there are a ton of Muslims around the world, and putting them all in one container just doesn't make any sense and that's what the Issam twins represent, they're Muslims, yes, but they're still people with personalities and hobbies outside of that. Also as a Muslim female, I made Malak's character canonically wear a hijab even tho I myself don't, because many non-muslims don't know/refuse to believe that wearing a Hijab is an option, you don't have to wear it if you don't want to, I don't wear it but my OC Malak does and truth be told I'm really really really excited for y'all to meet those goofy twins!

Q5: What are you most excited about sharing related to your project?

For Frostford's Mystery I'm very excited to write about and see everyone trying to crack the big case because OH BOY does it have twists and turns and for everyone to meet the characters. For Miscalculated I'm VERY VERY excited to write about different eras, one of them in specific hits very close to home, and to see the shenanigans I can come up with involving that!

Q6: A tiny bit unrelated, but, what's your favorite religious holiday?

Oooooh, honestly I'd say my favorite is definitely Eid al-Fitr, like it starts right after Ramadan and for us it's mostly get-togethers and going out with friends, eating Eid sweets all the time, buying a small lantern, and hanging it next to the door, and hearing fireworks outside as everyone celebrates, it's just a wholesome atmosphere every time! 

Q7: Any other thoughts or advice you'd like to give to fellow authors or readers?

I know this is gonna sound super duper cliche but if you ever feel burned out, take a break! I know your brain may convince you that if you keep going you'll get to finish and then you can take a break but don't do that! Take as many breaks in between as you need, if your creative battery runs out you need to recharge it, so rest, take breaks and enjoy what you're doing, don't let it become a toxic thing!

[skyfallslayer]

Maybe I Will (Not) See You Tomorrow

(Part 1 of The Captain, The Soldier, The In Between Series)

SERIES MASTERLIST

Main Masterlist

Summary: An old forgotten photograph leads to some bittersweet memories for Steve and Bucky.

(Post Endgame; Pre FFH and TV Shows, except everyone is alive in this AU)

Rating: Teen and Up

Pairings: Bucky x Rogers!OFC; Platonic Steve x Rogers!OFC; Hints of Steggy & Romanogers

Warning: Angst; Mentions/References to death; Mentions/References to sex; Period Typical Sexism implied; Alcohol; Scenes that could be seen as slight depression.

This also features Soft!Bucky, and he may seem (And Steve too) ooc. Just a heads up.

Author's Note: Let me know if I missed anything. This can also be read as Y/N if you like. I do NOT own anything Marvel related, nor the gifs that are in this picture. Just the story plot and my OC. Enjoy!

The cool spring air wisped through the Captain’s hair as he took in the last bit of the sunset from his room’s balcony. The sky was a beautiful orange and gold, and it reflected off the lake the HQ was right up against. It calms his nerves when times get tough, and it even would sometimes get him a spark of creativity for drawing. But that wasn’t the case for tonight. Tonight was just him wanting to take a deep breath and enjoy the peace.

He was so deep into a trance that he almost missed the sound of someone coming into his room.

Almost.

“I thought you would be out there in the lounge with everyone?” Bucky said, coming in with a six pack.

“Nah, not in the mood to watch a movie tonight.” Steve replies, glancing backwards as his friend stood in the balcony door frame. “How about you? What’s your excuse?”

“Same as yours.” He hands his friend a new beer bottle, seeing that the one Steve grabbed earlier was already empty. “Plus, Clint wants to watch Hunger Games again.”

Steve smirks and takes it. “It’s probably because of the bow and arrow.”

“See! That’s what I keep saying, and everyone looks like I’m crazy.”

He chuckles, holding up his drink. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

They clink their bottles together and take a sip, the beer was only good enough for the taste since neither of them could get drunk (which was a con in their eyes sometimes). The two of them stayed quiet as the sun was finally disappearing over the horizon, and the cool breeze turned colder, and the outside light on the wall turned on brightly, shining on their semi-exhausted faces.

It’s been a long couple months since the reverse snap, and with the base finally rebuilt the team took this time to reconnect and get well deserved rest when they had the chance. Whether it was sleeping in, watching a movie, or relaxing by the lake, they all made sure not to go into overdrive until the next mission.

The breeze blew again, stronger than the last time, making Bucky reach up and brush his newly cut bangs away from his face. He finally made the game changing decision by cutting his hair, similar to his style in the 40s, something he’s secretly proud of doing. Yet another breeze causes his attention to go elsewhere, diverting it to his surroundings.

Soon, his navy eyes catch something on his exploring, then gestures it with his drink. “What’s that?” He asked, pointing to a large box he saw through the transparent sliding door.

Steve followed his gaze, deflating a little. “Oh, that? A government official dropped it off yesterday, saying it was in storage from my time in the war.”

“Really?” He says surprised, while getting a nod. “Then how come you’re getting it now? The last time I checked you didn’t come out of the ice yesterday.”

“Well… I mean when I did come out of the ice they weren’t sure if they could trust me yet. Then there was the whole thing with SHIELD and HYDRA, then there was Ultron and the Sokovian accords, and the-”

“Okay, okay. I think I get it.”

“So… yeah. I haven’t opened it yet.”

“I can see that.” Bucky continues, before getting an idea. “Oooh. What if your old stage uniform is in there?”

Steve gives him a look. “Bucky-”

“Come on, we have nothing else to do. I’m curious.” He raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

The blond pursed his lips, before giving into the mischievous glint of his best friend. “Alright. You win.”

Bucky kept his expression as he set his bottle down and walked inside, all while Steve waited patiently on the outside couch. Soon the box was placed on the table, the lid coming off in a flash. The smirk on the brunette’s face grew a bit more as he snorted at his finding.

“Oh, god. No…” Steve said, wanting to crawl under a rock forever.

“Oh, yes.” Bucky said, pulling out the infamous first suit of America’s hero, the one with the flashy tri-colors. He examines it closely, remembering just like it was on the flyers that hung around town. “Damn, Rogers. I can’t believe you wore this.”

“Neither can I.” He said, before digging inside himself, letting the domino effect happen.

It was definitely a trip down memory lane to say the least. There were metals and awards that he had won over the years for his service. Old newspapers from the day he tested out his newfound abilities, the one in black and white, and he was holding onto a detached car door. The flag he snagged from the top of the pole. Some maps he drew on for war plans and so much more.

There were also photos tucked inside too.

Lots of photos. Which was honestly the most bittersweet part of the journey. The items dug deep and struck all the different cords hidden away. Something that both of them haven’t experienced in a long time.

“We really outlived these people.” Bucky said, after looking over the Howling Commandos photograph. It was one just after Steve had banded them together. All dressed neatly in their uniforms before they headed back out into the field.

Dum Dum. Jim. James. Gabe. Jacques. Happy Sam. Pinky. Junior.

All good men. Now they have fallen either in the war or with age. It was something that saddened both of them very much. Outliving a friend while they still look physically in their late 20s, early 30s hit deeply.

“Well, we are a hundred years old, Buck.” Steve said, sarcasm strong, but there is still a hint of amusement.

“105 and six to be exact. And looking damn good, too.” Bucky says, smiling as he shuffles to the next one. A familiar woman with lips the color of cherries. “Ah, it's the Great-Aunt of the Niece you kissed under the bridge.”

Steve bit his tongue, shaking his head. “You really love torturing me today, huh, Barnes?”

Bucky hums, tilting his head at Peggy next to his friend. A bit of sorrow washed over at him as he glanced away. “I’ll say this again, I’m surprised you didn’t go back to her.”

Steve stares off too, feeling the same way but for a different reason. “I did. For a dance I owed her.” He sighs quietly. “I realize it would be weird if I just stayed knowing what would happen in history, and not being able to do anything about it. Plus-” He looks at the other soldier, lips curling up a little. “I’ve made too many friends to just leave them all behind.”

The brunette returns the expression, pleased that he’s finally got a clear answer after so long. “Til’ the end of the line, right?”

“Til’ the end of the line.” Cap repeats, grabbing his drink again for a sip.

Bucky hums again, the mischievous look returning for a split second. “At least you have that red head you can look forward to.”

That comment made Steve choke on his drink, beer dripping off his chin and bottle as he started coughing. Bucky continues with his look, as the blond man gives his chests a few pats until he’s simmered down the fit.

“Buck, what the hell?” Steve manages to croak, as he wipes his jaw clean with the back of his hand.

He holds his hands up in defense. “Hey, I only speak the truth, pal. I’ve seen the way you look at her.” Bucky replies, earning a glare.

“We’re just friends.”

He rolls his eyes. “Friends? Yeah, right. Friends my ass, Steve.”

Steve waves him off. “Okay, whatever you say, man. Can we just move onto the next picture?”

“Sure, sure. Will do.” The soldier flips to the next one, and this time was a picture of Captain America next to Howard Stark, looking like they were planning something together. “Huh... Another love interest.”

“Alright, Bucky.” Steve says, smacking him with the couch throw pillow, making him burst into a fit of laughter.

“Hang on, Stevie. Let's see the next one.”

“I swear, if it’s another person…”

And it was.

Except this one made them both become like a deer in a headlight.

Their surroundings grew mute, minus the tiny sounds of the crickets below, and the sound of the television down the hall.

It was a bit eerie.

A bit uncomfortable.

This was a person that hasn’t crossed their minds in a while.

Three figures cased in black and white, dressed in uniforms that weren’t quite military, but it was their own style.

Two blonds and a brunette.

One navy colored eyes that could be compared to an ocean view.

A set of eyes like the sky, and even had a dash of everforest green.

And orbs that were a mixture of cocoa and chestnut with a swirl of honey.

Standing in what appeared to be a mechanic’s garage, the person in the middle wore his stars and stripes proudly; On his right with a five o’clock shadow, and button up in blue and with a cocky grin; On his left was a woman in a jumper, copying the Captain’s smile as she leaned against an oversized mechanical leg.

Anyone could see the pure joy radiating off the picture, which is why it made these two friend’s hurt so much inside. Because they certainly weren’t feeling that way right now.

They stayed hushed for a long time, trying to stay strong for one another. But even these super soldiers needed a chance to break down to a certain low level.

“I haven’t thought about her in a while.” Bucky said, just above a whisper. His voice is soft and -tries to be- comforting to ease away the trembling before it even starts.

“Yeah… me neither.” Steve says, slowly holding onto the picture as well, taking her in. There was a spark of happiness in his features. A spark, but it was there. “I remember when this was taken. It was right after we started going after all the HYDRA bases. I think Howard took this one.”

“I think you’re right. See-” He points to a corner of the photo. “He always had at least one figure in front of the lens.”

Steve chuckles dryly. “I remember that now.” He tilts his head, studying it some more. “I think this was in the base’s garage, right?”

“Yep. Stark helped build that giant robot for her.” Bucky points to the metal leg in the picture. “What was it called again? The HYDRA Stomper?”

Steve pinches his eyebrows together. “I thought it was Crusher?”

“No, it was Stomper.”

“I don’t think so.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to pinch his brows. “What are you talking about? She flew around and stepped on anything that was the enemy. Where are you getting Crusher from?”

“Because, you can-” He makes a smushing motion with his hands. “Crush things with your feet too.”

“Oh my god…” The brunette shakes her head. “You don’t even know your own sister’s name.”

Steve’s grip on the photo immediately tightened, and his eyes fell over with a shadow. This whole conversation just did a 360.

Bucky’s whole face falls. Guilt hitting him like a truck. Regretting the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. His body starts to slack, as he immediately wraps an arm around his friend’s body, pulling him close. He hears the blond man taking a shaky breath, letting the world grow silent again.

The picture finds itself resting on their thighs, like it was too hot to touch and would burn away their flesh if they held onto it for any longer.

Or maybe the memory was just too painful to hold onto?

“Sorry, man.” Bucky finally said, gently, afraid of stepping over a line again. He feels the man leaning into the touch, starving for some warmth. Hungry for some love and solace.

This kind of reminded him of the time after Sarah died. The neediness he needed without saying a single word. A look was all it took for Bucky to be there for him.

He felt Steve shake his head, dismissing his apology that he didn’t owe.

“It’s okay. It’s just-” Steve begins, sighing. “I promised her I would come back.” He felt his friend’s arm give him a pleasant squeeze, telling him it’s all right. “On the race to the plane, she got hurt and hitched a ride with Peggy and Colonel Philps. I remember we took each other's hands, and she asked me to be careful.”

He chuckles quietly, and continues. “I told her I’d come back, and left. If she wasn’t injured, I think she would have gone with me. Probably freeze together. But nothing hurt worse when she came on the radio in those last few moments.”

Bucky’s eyes fall onto the woman again, heart hurting all over again. “Did she cry?” He asked, mouth feeling dry.

Steve’s frowns deepen, his eyes also falling back onto the picture. “Of course she did. You know how she is.”

Blue eyes casted a glance, worriedness building up immensely. “Would you have been okay if she came with you?”

“Maybe…” He fiddles with his hands. “I don’t know.” Cap meets his stare, confliction and confusion on his face. “Is that a horrible thing to say?”

“Steve, she’s your sister. Your twin. It’s okay to have conflicting thoughts. Especially the life with both lived, it’s bound to happen.” Bucky’s face softened a little, but the sadness was still there as he picked the delicate item back up, making a point. “And there’s pros and cons either way. If she stayed back there, and if she came with you-”

He shrugs and continues. “Who knows. She could have been just living her life in the modern day, or become an Avenger with her face plastered around the world. Nobody knows what could have happened.”

Steve lets that sink in, a bit of weight was lifted from his shoulders, only to be weighed down seconds later by underground anger. “Do you think she would’ve been recognized if she had come with me?”

Puzzled by his words, Bucky shifted in his spot to look at the blond better. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shifts too, back resting against the arm rest as his friend sets the photo down again. Bucky listens carefully, picking up the glimpse of bitterness he saw in Steve’s posture.

The blond weighs on how he was going to phrase this, thinking slowly before creeping up on an idea. "Before I found out you were still alive, I went to the Smithsonian, curious about what people had thought of me. It took me about… a few hours to see everything, and… I just remember being so angry at the end."

The hurting tone had returned, and Steve tried to swallow it before speaking, "It was like… she didn't exist. My sister… just gone. Not even her name was mentioned once. I even looked to see if maybe they had put up her fake last name, 'Kingsman', but there was nothing. It was like they didn't want anybody to know that the giant robot was driven by a woman."

Now Bucky understood what he meant. Now he understood the anger his best friend had, which just added to a long list of why Steve Rogers was skeptical at everything government related. It reminded him that they were trying to erase an important part of Captain America’s life. No wonder he always declined trips to the museum when it was suggested by their teammates.

His eyes fall far away again, his mind wandering off too as he starts to regain some hidden emotions buried deep inside.

“You know, I always hated that exhibit too." Bucky begins, getting Steve's attention. "After I pulled you out of the water, I went there trying to remember everything. Even before I got my memories back, I always hated it for some reason, and it took me a long time to know why." He exhales, recalling something else. "It's on display, but do you remember when that film crew took a video of us laughing?"

Steve nods slowly, a tiny smile ghosting his lips. "Of course. You made some corny joke about sleeping on the ground again. You had us all dying from it."

Bucky copies his expression with a small chuckle. "Yeah, that day." Then it falls flat again. "When I was in Romania it just hit me when I was roaming around. I realized… they edited her out." A knife to the heart for the both of them. "I think… that was the first time I cried since our fight on the helicarrier."

Steve hums at his tale, taking in each and every word he spoke. "That war really fucked everything up for us, hasn't it?"

"Sure fucking did."

Silence overtook again, a very long one this time as they zoned out to be trapped in their own minds. But as the alarm clock inside glowed a late hour, and the crickets seemed to start to grow quieter, Bucky couldn't have missed the whisper of laughter and smile from his friend.

Cocking his head, amuse by the sight change, he asked, "What? Did you remember something happy?"

Still smiling, he nods for the millionth time tonight. "I did." Steve begins, meeting his eyes once more. "We were on a tour for the musical, and I remember about the third time I put the stupid costume on, she said 'You should've stayed home, Stevie. This get-up is probably not what you imagine you'd be wearing for war'."

This made Bucky burst out laughing at Steve's poor attempt at sounding like a girl.

"R-Really?" Bucky said, trying to calm himself. "J-Just like that? And in that voice?"

"Of course! How else is it supposed to sound like?"

"Uh… not like you're strangling a cat? Geez…" He scratches his stubble, before snapping his fingers at a memory. "Oh! You remember in the fifth grade, and that punk Tommy Scotts tugged on her pigtails, and before you could confront him she turned around and gave him a shift kick between the legs?"

Steve snorted, that image was still fresh in his mind. "I remember. She was worshipped like a God for the rest of the school year. Kids were bending over backwards for her."

"Oh, yeah. Some were willing to do her homework if it meant she kept Scotts away."

Bucky reaches for his half drunk beer, with a dorky look on his face. It kind of reminded Steve of a love struck puppy. It was a look he hasn’t seen since the army.

"Can I ask you something that's been on my mind for a long time?" Steve asked, watching him shake his head 'yes' as he brought the bottle to his lips. Like the troll the blond could be sometimes, he says, "Did you sleep with her?"

Karma was definitely a bitch, and this time Bucky was the one choking on amber liquid, the contents making a waterfall to the deck's flooring.

It took the man a second for it to fully register again, and finally, with a look of betrayal, he replies with, "You ass. You waited until I took a sip."

The Captain shrugs. "Maybe."

Bucky sighs. "Steve, why would you-"

"Buck, I don't care if you did, I just wanted to hear it from you. Was it a one time thing?"

His face got hot, and his ears started to burn which made his words slur next. "Well… n-no. It was… I mean w-we did it more th-than once… I mean…” He shakes his head, debating on if he should just jump off the balcony and make a run for it. “W-Why are you asking?"

“Because you loved her.” Steve gave him the most obvious look ever after he tried to deny it. "Bucky, I saw how you looked at her. That was not a look a friend gives another."

Bucky purses his lips, trying to hide his red face (He’ll just keep lying to himself and say it’s the alcohol). “You’re just twisting my words from earlier…”

“Maybe…”

He raises an eyebrow, noticing the look. “Wait… did you know?” Bucky gets a nod as confirmation. “Since when?”

“I started to really notice around highschool.” Steve said, nonchalantly.

“And you never said anything?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It wasn’t my place.”

Bucky’s tensed shoulders fall, a bit worried though. What if he disapproves? “Steve-”

“She told me everything after you fell from the train.” Steve begins, and makes sure he’s listening before continuing on. “She cried for you and it wasn’t like the time a friend of hers died in highschool from pneumonia, it was different.”

Steve could still picture it till this day, and it both hurts yet brings a bit of joy to it all (in a non-morbid way of course). He finishes it with, “She said she loved you, but I already knew that.”

Bucky went quiet, both hands clasped around the bottle as he weighed in his thoughts. They never actually got the chance to say it to one another, especially during their time in the army, so hearing what she actually said indirectly strikes a lot of different places.

He shifts in his seat, deciding to reveal a bit of a secret.

“I was going to marry her, Steve.” He replies, the knot in his stomach loosening and tightening. He felt his friend’s eyes on him again, gentle like last time. “I had a ring picked out, it was.... Small and gold with a… a butterfly. When I scrunched up enough cash, I bought it. Left it with my older sister at home until the time was right. Originally it was going to be the night I’d left, but I couldn’t do it. Too scared of making an empty promise. Too scared to… ‘widow’ her before we even got married. It’s stupid… isn’t it?”

“No. Not even close, Buck.” Steve said, patting him on the back. His hand lingered on his shoulder afterwards for comfort. “I think it was smart to think about the situation beforehand. You did good on that part.” He smiles. “And she would have loved that ring. You even remembered she likes butterflies like a good ‘husband’ you could’ve been.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah. Anybody close to her could remember that.”

“That’s the thing, Bucky. She had a lot of friends, and besides me, you were the only one that remembers the small details. That’s why I consider you my best friend, and I think she would too. Trust me on that.”

He hums, finally glancing back over. “Would’ve you given me your blessing?”

Steve looks a bit taken back, but he shouldn’t be surprised how considerate he was being. “Of course. You’d be the one person I know that’ll take good care of her.” He grins, patting him on the back again. “Plus, having my best friend as my brother-in-law would be pretty great.”

That got Bucky to copy the grin. “Yeah, that would be.” He said, shifting the bottle into one hand, raising it slightly. “To a sister.”

Bittersweetness came back, but the Captain still reached over to pick up his drink again, doing the same. “To a lover.”

“To Jayden Rogers.”

“To Jayden Rogers.”

They clinked their bottles for a second time tonight, the beer tasting a little flat but they didn't mind as they took in the warm and cold atmosphere. Time went by smoothly, silently, but that was alright with them.

The gentle breeze brushed against the photos, and Bucky’s attention went back to the garage one, recalling another distant memory that makes him want to relive it all over again.

“Hey.” He says, getting Steve to look over, a smile plastered onto his face. “Do you remember when we first met?”

(Part 2 )

Taglist: @fangirllife98 @ginger-swag-rapunzel

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela​

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela​ for @jtargaryen18 ‘s  Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide. 

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone. 

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.  

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue. 

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. 

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound 

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood. 

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you. 

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places. 

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the  gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host. 

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream. 

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. 

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall. 

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne. 

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. 

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background.  And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. 

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway. 

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.  

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his. 

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes.  With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!" 

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet. 

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away. 

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask. 

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system. 

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked. 

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow. 

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with  the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission. 

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did. 

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even, 

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his 

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby. 

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. 

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his. 

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought. 

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

[pankomako]

there's probably like a million others out there already, but since im seeing a lot of my friends hop on tumblr due to the twitter situation i figured i'd give this a go. so, welcome to

panko's guide to tumblr!

i've been using this site for almost a year now, so i suppose i'm at least somewhat qualified to do this. i mainly just want to do this for fun honestly. i think lots of people have covered more of the setup and what to expect from tumblr as a whole so i think i'll focus on more of the usage of this site, because it's definitely much different from twitter, and, in my opinion, FAR better, plus that's the thing people seem to be the most confused about. so, here we go!

Post Features

the first thing you may notice is that tumblr has no character limit on posts! if you want to post a 10,000 word essay on the motives of your favorite character from the video game or tv show you're super into right now, nobody's stopping you. already so much more convenient than making threads on twitter.

there's a variety of options you can use to make your text more visually interesting, add emphasis, and/or organize your post! when you highlight text (at least on browser, i dont use the app), these options will appear above what you highlighted. you can make your text bold, italicized, bigger (on a new line), smaller, crossed out, or even colored! under the drop-down list there are other options too such as cursive text and lists. you can also add hyperlinks to text if you want. (this is all in the rich text editor, you can also switch to HTML or Markdown by going to your post settings.)

you can also add plenty of other media to posts! you can add up to 30 images which you can arrange however you please, although from my experience arranging images is kinda clunky, but still way better than twitter lol. you can also add gifs, videos (one per post), audio files (10 per post), and embed links. you can also add a cutoff line where everything under that line is hidden under a "read more" button, which is very useful for longer posts.

when you make a post, there is a space to add a title, but it's not required. most people don't add titles unless it helps with formatting.

you can also schedule a post to be posted at a certain time, queue posts to be posted on a consistent schedule, change who can reblog a post, and even save posts as drafts if you want/need to come back to them later.

Tags

Under every post you make/reblog, there is an option to add tags. these are in their own section under the post itself. you can add as many as you want afaik, but they can only be so many characters long. on tumblr, tags have multiple uses.

you can add tags that correspond to your post such as the topic or fandom (and characters/people involved), or whether it's art or photography, for example, to try to help get your post out there. it's preferred and just better in general to only add tags that are relevant to your post. don't tag character fanart as sports or food or pop music, but ESPECIALLY not an unrelated fandom.

you can also use tags to organize your blog and make it easier to find specific posts. you can tag your own art as "my art" and art you reblog from friends as "friends' art", and even create your own tags for specific topics you frequently post about, such as your oc world or a fandom fic or au you have. i personally don't use tags for organization much, but i do have my own tags for the two oc worlds i have. (you can do this even if you're not a fandom-goer or artist, these just serve as an example bc im both lol)

you can even use tags to add extra comments to a post. lord knows i do this a lot myself. lots of people will use tags to sort of ramble off-handedly under a post when it's not the main content of said post. this is especially common under reblogs - more on that later. since you can add spaces within tags, writing full sentences in the tags is easy and a very common practice. just be careful when using commas; adding a comma starts a new tag.

Notes

similarly to how twitter has likes, retweets and comments, tumblr has likes, reblogs and replies. however, these are all combined into one sum of notes. all notes on a post are compiled under the source post. by clicking on the number of notes under a post, you can see a list of all replies, likes and reblogs on a post, if you're curious like me.

on tumblr, likes act as more of a bookmarking tool. you can look at a list of all the posts you liked, and you can have this list displayed on your blog if you want, but likes do NOT increase the visibility of a post. if you want to help a post gain traction, you need to reblog it. if you don't want that post on your blog, but you want to let the person know that you've seen and enjoyed their post, you can leave a like as a small but kind gesture if you want. if you were playing minecraft, liking a post would be akin to punching a mob, but reblogging would be like using a sword. it may not necessarily be a powerful diamond sword, but it does more than a one-damage punch. i should also mention - you can only like a post once; if you like a reblog of a post, you like the source post and can't like separate reblogs of the post.

reblogs are the core of tumblr's functionality. this site does not have an algorithm, so reblogs are the only way for posts to circulate. it's probably pretty easy to figure out, but reblogs put another person's post on your own blog and on your followers' feeds. this is likely the biggest difference between tumblr and twitter: you can reblog a post as many times as you want, and you can add on to a post directly by reblogging, which is much different from a quote-tweet on twitter. also different from quote-tweets, all notes on reblogs are notes contributed to the source post. in a reblog, you can add a comment either in normal text or in the tags, and you can add images and gifs as well. it's common courtesy to put comments that don't contribute to the post in the tags, such as saying you think a post is funny. lots of famous tumblr posts are chains of reblogs - unlike on twitter where you can only retweet one tweet/reply at a time, you can reblog these reblog chains. you can also add the tags of the person you reblogged from to your own reblog if you want, though usually people just say "prev" if they liked the previous reblogger's tags.

replies are a convenient way to have a conversation under a post without repeatedly reblogging. although convenient, replies are limited in what you can do with them. they're text-only and have a character cap. but they're still a good way to add a quick comment to a post if you don't want it on your blog. you can also reply directly to a person in the notes of a post by mentioning them in your reply. replies can be deleted from a post or be turned off for a post entirely by the original poster.

I think that's about all you need to know to get started posting and reblogging, but please feel free to add on if i did happen to forget anything. thanks for reading and happy tumbling! :D