#i mean i have already written that scenario like... two or three times but now i can actually make it fit in canonically so-

[amchara]

brb daydreaming and writing fic about Kit FINALLY learning to use his powers from Tessa/Jem/Kieran/Magnus/random faerie or whoever.

Also- he goes to therapy.

[catscidr]

Hiii I just found your acc and really like your stuff! Can I pls request lazy morning sex with Jing Yuan (and any character you think might fit this prompt) I just looked and there is not one fic like this of this man when he's like... right there. He's like so perfect for this scenario. Thank you sm and have a great day/night! <3

i just finished writing this its 3am i think i blacked out. everybody give it up for my man jing yuan i need himSO BAAAAD AAHHH i hope u like this nonnie ♡♡ cw: nsfw, mdni. semi-clothed sx, soft dom jy, clt stimulation, size kink if you squint, praise, pet names, slight overstimulation, cuddling n fucking face-to-face, riding, creampie. /not proofread ill do that in the morning. dies/ includes: fem reader, jing yuan, fu xuan mentionned wc: 3,2k

You loved and hated waking up next to Jing Yuan in the morning. On one hand, the rhythm of his beating heart lulls you to sleep, and he makes for a wonderful personal heater; but on the other... he’s a little too comfortable. So much so that every time you sleep with him, you, without fail, end up being late for work. That, or you barely make it in time. At times you would point your finger at him and accuse him of being a wholesome, sleepy version of an incubus, and he would laugh in that smooth, baritone voice of his. 

Regardless. 

This morning was one of those mornings, of course. Jing Yuan came back home for the first time in two weeks the night before- being the general of the Luofu means that he would occasionally have to leave for an unknown amount of time to take care of business. Every time he had to leave, you’d linger around him a little longer than usual, wrap your arms around him tighter than you normally would and let your lips linger on his cheek long enough for the sun to rise completely. 

He’d come back so late last night that you were already sleeping in your shared bed, legs haphazardly thrown over the bed sheets in a poor attempt to regulate your body temperature. The button-up shirt you wore made his heart lunge in his throat in the best way, but the last thing he wanted was to wake you. So, he’d carefully remove his armored uniform, take his shirt off and slip into the bed with you with nothing but his briefs on, and pull you into his chest. You had unconsciously nuzzled closer to him, your body craving the warmth of his body you had missed oh so dearly. 

Which explained the situation you were now in. The dilemma you found yourself stuck in. Jing Yuan was back; you had your face mere millimeters away from his plush chest, his arms held you tight against him, and his soft snores almost convinced you to fall back asleep. Keyword; almost. 

As much as you loved him you knew that he’d be here once you came back from work, so with as much resolve as you could muster, you try wriggling your way out of his grip. With him being as big as he was, though, it didn’t surprise you when he tightened his hold on you, treating you as if you were his plushie threatening to fall off his bed and he was a child.

You let out a quiet oof from his strong grip and reevaluate your options. There weren’t many options, but at least you had choices; either you wake him up, convince him to let you go and then get to work early enough that you don’t risk getting written up again, or you let him hold you and... arrive at work late. Again. Which was the last thing you wanted, given the fact that your boss had specifically told you that she couldn’t allow you to miss another meeting. 

Step one was to summon the ability to be even more stubborn than your lover. Step two is to carefully wriggle your arms up, high enough that you can move your hands and you can use them to your advantage against the beast. It took you some time, given the fact that they were stuck between his and your body, but you succeeded, nonetheless. And you only got one displeased grunt from the sleeping general in response. 

As you’re about to proceed with step three, Jing Yuan cracks an eye open and buries his head into the crook of your neck while curling into you, effectively trapping you between his plush muscles and the duvet. 

Could have gone better. 

“Jing Yuan,” you huff, your voice sounding more like a whine than anything. The general doesn’t respond, leading you to believe he fell asleep again, but his morning voice graces your ears before you have the time to curse him out. “Mhm, I’m up,” he hums, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck in a false apology. 

You wriggle in response, grunting from the sheer effort. One of the downsides that came with cuddling with Jing Yuan was the way he could keep you right there with him as long as he wanted, curse his strength. 

Seeing as he wasn’t going to budge, you decide that two can play that game. You stare into his silky mop of silver hair, pondering whether you should negotiate your freedom or if you should play dirty- but where's the fun in trying to talk your way out of this predicament? You bring a hand up to gently brush his bangs away from his face. He makes a soft noise of contentment at the feeling of your fingers delicately brushing against his face and, before he can grow too comfortable, you lean in and bite his cheek. 

The general makes a noise of surprise, grunting as he pulls away from you to narrow his eyes at his perpetrator. His pout morphs into a lazy smile as he holds your glare. “If you wanted to play you could have just said so, sweetheart,” he says lowly, moving his free hand from your back to letting it rest lazily on your hips, thumb rubbing gentle circles on the exposed skin. 

You stick your tongue out at him stubbornly, “Not now, I have to get up.” Unfazed by your headstrong attitude, Jing Yuan shifts one of his legs to come between yours- his strong thigh sandwiched between your soft ones. A surprised gasp leaves your lips in response to the smooth way he molds his body to yours, but you refuse to allow yourself to be swayed by him. 

“Aeons- ‘Yuan please,” you huff quietly, but he notices the way your voice catches in your throat. His golden eyes briefly shine with what could only be described as mischief and, with a smooth motion, Jing Yuan grabs ahold of your shoulder and swivels you around so that your back is against his chest. A surprised oof rips from your throat as you bounce lightly on the bed from the impact- he lowers his face to yours, a rich, deep chuckle echoing in your ears as your resolve begins to melt away. 

Taking advantage of the new position, Jing Yuan throws a leg over yours to trap you in and, in turn, grinds his growing bulge against your ass. If he wasn’t hard at the sight of your face in the morning when he first woke up, he sure was now; while he slowly ruts against you, he allows his hands to wander down to the hem of your shirt. 

You stifle a moan as the metaphorical dam in your head begins to crumble apart. Sure, you would see him when you would get back home later, but you were with him now. Laying here with your lover, safe and comfortable in his arms while his clothed erection lazily thrusts up into your heat. 

As you let out needy whines that you aren’t even aware you’re voicing, Jing Yuan brings his lips closer to your ear. “Five more minutes?” he asks with a knowing smile, his own breath becoming more and more rugged the more he rubs up against you. Gods, he could feel you throbbing through his sweatpants and your panties. 

You swallow thickly and whine in response, your head already fogging up with desire. Going a whole two weeks without sex wasn’t particularly hard; you had your trusty toy with you and your hands if it happened to run out of battery and you were that desperate. But you weren’t- and during these past two weeks you had felt just fine, totally not pent up or even the slightest bit sexually frustrated. Your job had kept you busy, but when you’re stuck in Jing Yuan’s arms after not feeling him for so long, after not feeling his cock twitching inside you, you felt like something snapped inside you.

Distantly, you think about how pathetic this must look for him; only a few lingering touches and his hips pressing up against yours from the back and that’s all it takes for you to drench your panties. But really, you couldn’t care less. You knew he was just as pent up as you were. 

You bring one of your hands down to fumble with the hem of your panties to quickly take them off, down your legs. Hearing Jing Yuan’s hoarse breathing in your ears only made you even more eager to feel his skin right up against yours. Maybe part of the reason why you were so incredibly turned on was because of how tired you still felt, but either way, you needed him. And he needed you just as badly. 

The general’s hands leave you temporarily to slide his sweatpants down to his thighs, low enough for his cock to leave its confines. Precum builds at the tip, swollen and pulsing with the need to bury itself inside you. He sighs, one of his hands coming up to stroke his length, thumb sliding over the slit every time his fist comes up. You whine at the loss of his hands on you and reach back to take his hand, bringing it between your legs to rub your clit. He laughs at your impatience, shifting his weight on his other arm to lean over you properly. 

“Someone’s impatient and greedy,” he goads. “I thought you wanted to get to work, darling,” he purrs in your ear, his middle and ring finger coming together to tease your bud, riling you up further and making a mess between your legs. A strained fuck leaves your lips as you back your ass up into him, his hard cock tucked between your thighs, rubbing into your arousal. “Please just-” a whimper interrupts you as Jing Yuan increases the pace of his fingers, “-inside. I-I need to feel you,” you huff, feeling too empty. He considers teasing you some more, listening to the wet sounds of your pussy bounce off the walls of your shared bedroom, but his own patience was also waning thin. 

A quiet noise of protest leaves you when the man takes his hand away from your bud. He brings his fingers up to his lips to lick your slick off of them, moaning at the taste. Your thighs clench in response, jerking the general’s cock unintentionally. 

“Fuck,” he growls into your ear, hurriedly taking his length into his hand to guide it into your soaking wet cunt. Your mouth hangs open when you feel his tip slip between your lips, needy noises slipping from your mouth. Inch after inch he sinks into you, slowly letting you accommodate to his girth. He finally bottoms out, stretching your hole as you keen and whine from the satisfaction of feeling so full. 

He waits a few beats to allow you to get used to him, your hoarse breathing matching his own. When he feels you clamping down on him less, he starts to thrust- pulling out slowly and thrusting back in sharply. You moan aloud, mouth agape as his cock bullies your spongy walls relentlessly. 

“Jing Yua-aan,” you whimper, hands gripping onto his forearms weakly, nails forming crescent shapes into his skin. He reduces you to a sleepy, blabbering, moaning mess as the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the bedroom. With one hand splayed across your lower tummy, he presses down, making you arch your back into him from the sudden added pressure and pleasure. 

“Y’ like that? You missed me, huh?” he taunts, though his own voice trails off into a needy moan the more he feels the drag of your walls along his cock. “I know I’ve- fuck, m-missed you,” Jing Yuan stutters, thrusts becoming increasingly sloppy as he feels a familiar coil form in his abdomen. His thigh muscles clench as he wills away his orgasm, needing to feel you all around him for a bit longer. 

Unable to respond you simply nod dumbly, the words leaving your brain as it’s reduced to mush. Your lover hums, a smirk stretching his lips, “Yeah?” He brings his face closer to yours, your breaths tangling with each other before he smashes his lips against yours, the angle awkward and uncomfortable. But you don’t care- the added stimulation makes you melt as you crane your head back to kiss him properly, your lips occasionally leaving his from the force of his thrusts. 

Jing Yuan moans into your mouth and breaks the kiss. He looks at you with pure lust swirling in his golden eyes, your face sinful and needy. An idea pops up in the general’s mind and he smiles down at you, pressing one last chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“Ah, w-what are you-” you slur, your sentence interrupted by the general manhandling you to switch positions. He kicks the sheets off completely and places both of his large hands on your waist, gripping you firmly as he lays on his back, placing you on top him. His cock slips out of your walls with a wet shlick and you whine at the feeling of being so suddenly empty, twisting your body so that your thighs straddle his hips. Jing Yuan looks up at you with a small, cat-like smirk and your breath catches in your throat. 

His silky hair splayed out on the pillows beneath him, cheeks flushed, and eyes piercing into yours made your knees buckle and you suddenly froze in your movements. Feeling your pussy throb against him, Jing Yuan chuckles heartily, one of his hands leaving your waist to stroke his hard cock, your slick dripping down on him. 

“Lift your hips up and sit on my cock, darling,” he orders softly, a stark contrast to the way he looks at you- with pure, unfiltered lust and adoration. Your body moves automatically as you obey, hovering your tight pussy over his swollen tip, and lower yourself down. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, and you feel his girth stretching you out again as you begin to bounce on his hard cock. 

“Yeahh just like that,” he hums, the hand that held his length moving up to rest on your stomach, thumb jutting out to rub tight circles over your sensitive clit. You squeak in surprise, your body jolting forward, and place your hands over his plush chest for balance. “Feels good, baby? Feel how deep my cock is?” 

A moan leaves his kiss-bitten lips and you swear you physically felt yourself get pushed closer to your nearing orgasm, the noises leaving his lips amplifying your pleasure tenfold. “Taking me so well, look at that pretty pussy,” he coos, and you keen as his half-lidded eyes burn into yours. He feels your walls clench in response to the praise and flashes you a dangerous smirk; he places his feet flat on the bed and tightens his grip on your waist to buck his hips up, making you topple over him. Your gaze is unfocused and blurry as you look down at him, heavy breaths leaving your lips, tears threatening to roll down your rosy cheeks from the pace he set. 

“And look at you,” he whispers lovingly under his breath. Jing Yuan throws his head back deeper into the pillows, keeping his eyes on you as he watches you lose yourself to the addicting feeling of his cock bullying your sopping cunt. “Y-Yuan,” you whine, your climax threatening to rip through you as you bite your lip to stifle your needy moans. He tuts, leaning up to bite your lip to pull you out of your pleasure-filled daze. 

“Pay attention to me darling. Thaat’s it, let 'em out for me.” The general huffs, brows furrowing in concentration to focus on the feeling of your warm walls surrounding him, sucking him in endlessly. His thumb presses down onto your clit roughly to bring you closer to your orgasm; you whimper in turn, a chorus of oh fuck and please’s leaving your puffy lips. “I-I’m so close,” you whine, eyelids fluttering shut as you feel your control leaving your body, the tight coil of your orgasm threatening to snap. 

Jing Yuan groans, hips bucking up into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as he keeps up the pace, persistent. “Come on, give it to me, pretty girl.” He coos, voice breaking into a whine, close to climaxing himself. His thrusts become sloppier, and he bites his bottom lip to stifle a string of hearty, needy moans. 

His hips still up into you as he cums, thick ropes of his seed painting your walls white. Jing Yuan’s thumb flicks your puffy clit until you climax as well, your cunt milking his sensitive cock. You whimper, feeling your clit buzz with overstimulation as he keeps rubbing it with purpose. “S-Stop, stooop,” you cry, your eyes burning with tears as the dull pain turns into pleasure, “Aeons you’re so tight.” Your lover slows down his movements, easing the tension in his muscles, until he stops circling your clit and gently places both of his hands on your waist. His hands slide up and down your sweaty skin, soothing the bruises that will inevitably form.

Your body slumps, exhausted and utterly spent, arms caging him as you rest your face in the crook of his neck. You both feel sticky and sweaty, but the warmth you shared made up for the need to jump in the shower to wash yourselves off. Jing Yuan shifts his hips so that his softening cock slips out of you; he inhales sharply, his cock still sensitive. 

“I missed you,” you mumble quietly, voice muffled from the way you're pressed into him and the pillows and press a chaste kiss to his neck. “Yeah? I never would have guessed,” the general chuckles, arms coming up to hug you tightly, one hand placed behind your head to cradle you close to him. You hit him with a huff but then sigh, content. 

“Mmh, but I missed you too, darling,” Jing Yuan replies softly. He holds you as your eyes droop, exhaustion taking ahold of your tired body. His own eyelids droop as he listens to your soft heartbeat, and soon enough, you’re both sleeping, legs tangled together while Jing Yuan’s strong arms keep you laid atop of him. 

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

You’re not sure what time it is when you wake up, but you hear a phone ringing loudly in your ear, jolting you away from your peaceful dreams. You don’t recognize the tune, and as you’re about to wriggle your way out of the dozing general’s arms, he swings one arm over to the nightstand next to your bed and answers it without looking at the caller ID. “Jing Yuan speaking,” he says in a hoarse voice, eyes still closed. 

Even without his phone on speaker you could make out a very loud, very shrill voice from the other side of the line, yelling out two hours late, a single mission and get your ass over here. Jing Yuan doesn’t react, the same sleepy, cat-like smile on his face as he listens to the person rant. They eventually let up and hang up, saying something you couldn’t quite catch. Your lover haphazardly tosses his phone somewhere on the bed and loops his arm back around you, nuzzling into your neck. 

“Who was that?” you ask, voice cracking from how much you abused your vocal cords (apparently) two hours ago. He scoffs, amused, and pulls away just enough to speak clearly. 

“Lady Fu Xuan,” he says slyly. “I should get dressed before she decides to read into my divination and sees things she probably shouldn’t.”

[shallyouobeyme]

For the “spicy” prompt im imagining Platonic Yandere Batfam discovering your internet history, and having a confrontation about how you’re far too young for such things (reader is a full adult, not that the Batfam sees it that way).

I sadly already have something written out for today, but I really love this idea so I decided that I'd just go into the concept a bit as well - I mean I make the rules to this so I might as well use that power.

Okay, so I don't really write smut as of now because I don't read it and I do have not a lot of real-life experience so I figure it might just be a lot of cringy blabbering. But let's go with the 'spicey' meaning that horny adolescents will probably think of when reading the word in the context of fanfiction.

Now you're probably somewhere in the span of 16-20 in this scenario, old enough to live independently on your own, but young enough that the batfam can somehow justify it in their mind to treat you like a precious, fragile, little toddler. Sure, some of them logically know that you're basically a grown-up, but with how much effed-up shit they see every day they don't really wanna admit that to themselves and rather chose to act all 'I do not see'. And while that's all fine and dandy for them to do, it doesn't change the logical facts. Fact number one: You grew out of binkies and blankies like a decade ago, for god's sake Dick stop trying to make me take ten naps a day with them. Fact number two: Like I said, you're kind of (definitely) an adult and assuming that you have not always been the coddled little Wayne-baby that the Batfam wants to see you as you've probably been exposed to adult things before and aren't sensitive with seeing them. Like, guys, I was reading the news daily before you crazy people kidnapped me - stop talking about international crises as if the countries are people who have minor disagreements, okay? Fact number three: there comes a time in an adult's life when they might be craving a somewhat more intimate partner in their life - and no, Damian, I don't mean the bestest friend in the whole world forever, I mean a guy or a gal or a nonbinary pal who can rock your shit, if you get my drift (never dare say that to Damian out loud tho, you will be having your mouth washed out with soap). So while it might be a giant oversight on your part to not realize that all your precious internet time is completely monitored, you still probably haven't expected to be sat down by Bruce, Dick, Jason and Alfred and get a lecture on how you're way too little to look up these kinds of things (you looked up TikTok videos and happened to watch a few with TikTokers dancing in slightly less covered clothing) and how your mind is too undeveloped to grasp these big things you searched for (you looked up a statistic on the rate of kidnapping victims to get killed) and how you should keep playing your safe games instead of these violent ones (you looked at a game trailer for Cyberpunk 2077).

All your arguing falls on deaf ears. They just don't wanna hear that you're not their little, innocent baby. The only good thing is that they don't think you have enough logical thinking skills yet to properly grasp the situation so you'll be punished very lightly (a month without internet privileges). Once you're allowed to go online again though, you'll have to make do with the special kiddy-pad they got you with all the safety features and parental controls installed. So yeah, might wanna get used to being without the internet from now on...

[ithaca-awaits]

"#love every time we made dave a question and he went all fanficcy #this one and the post-survival one" hello i have a BURNING need to know..... which post-survival question did he answer?

Hi! Sorry for the month-long delay in answering this! I don’t usually get asks on this account so I kept forgetting and say I’d answer as soon as I got to check Dave’s Q&As again, which I kept not being able to check. Anywho, the question I was referring to here was made by Liv on the Q&A session that took place on the 25th of June. You can find the complete recording and transcripts here (along with other fantastic fan-curated resources if you’re new to the fandom.)

Q: If the expedition had been rescued around, say, episode 8/9, and made it home, how do you think the various relationships that developed on screen would have fared back in ““civilization””? Would the intimacies some of these men formed between them persist? I’m also curious to know if you think any of them would resign from the Navy, be it for whatever reason: ethical, practical, physical, to explore other parts of themselves, etc.

I’m gonna try to be as brief as possible because Dave gave a very long response (find the non-abridged version in the link provided above), but this was the meat of it:

Crozier and Blanky would talk endlessly about quitting the Navy but only Crozier would. This doesn’t mean that Blanky would do this comfortably, as he’d already have survived two naval expeditions that turned out badly, so maybe he’d join a whaling ship, even if that would also have gotten under his skin.

He doesn’t think any of the surviving Lieutenants would have come back anywhere close to the poles, but he does think that most of them would have succumbed to the calling of fame and glory, i.e. wanting to return to the sea now that they had been named Commanders or Captains of their own vessels.

He’s not sure if Fitzjames would have been brave enough to stay aside of the Navy, even if during those three months he learnt a lot more about himself that what keeping the same persona for thirty years had brought him. He thinks Fitzjames would have written a “hell of a memoir” as well as a “hell of a military career, and that he would have stayed friends with Crozier, even if some of the things that happened in the Arctic would never have been mentioned again.

Goodsir would return to visit Silna “as often as possible.” Not for romantic reasons, but because there’d have been “a friendship there”. (also, taking into account he is making up all these scenarios after 8 or 9 the tuunbaq would have lived.)

“I think Bridgens and Peglar [smiles] would have worked like dogs to be able to afford some goddamn privacy where they could be together for the rest of their lives. [laughs]”

Pilkington and Des Voeux would have stayed friends.

“Little and Hodgson would be in one another’s lives.” They’d help each other patch themselves up after what happened because they’d both be in denial about everything that went down, helping create “a more palatable story about themselves”.

Sophia would feel like she’d have to choose between Lady Jane and Crozier and would chose the former, especially after the loss of her uncle.

Jopson would have stayed close to Crozier, they’d stay best friends for the rest of their lives.

Golding would commit suicide at some point, he was not equipped to deal with everything that happened and much less to go on living carrying it with him.

David Young’s ring would have been delivered to his sister. (with one of the crystal diamonds having fallen off during the journey.)

Mr Diggle would have been fine and stayed friend with some of the AB’s and midshipmen, but not with anyone else further up the hierarchy.

Collins would have lived a very quiet life, as most of what troubled him was PTSD.

Hartnell would have had a family and lived a quiet life. He’d have stayed close to Manson and from time to time he might have met with Crozier.

Hickey would have ended up in prison if he managed not to ger executed. If Tozer and him had ended up in the same prison they would have avoided each other for years, until they realized they were the one’s more suited for each other’s rest and protection. It’s tricky for Dave to say if they’d have become lovers because he is unsure about Tozer, but it’s prison so HE’LL LET US DECIDE. [ten seconds later he changed his mind] Tozer would have turned to Hickey for that kind of comfort and ended up murdering him, while Hickey convinced himself that he was the one letting himself be murdered. (This is already a very long ask, if you want more details on Hickey’s Vermont sex-cult, ping me and I’ll expand on it, because it was an answer from a different day and I don’t currently have it at hand.)

Gibson wouldn’t have wanted nothing to do with anyone. He might have found some new expedition or a house where he could work in as a domestic servant, but he wouldn’t have told anyone.

Hope this helped!

[emeraldgreenbeautiesstu]

MATT X READER PLS.

Then book shopping n it’s all cute n stuff 😻😻‼️

Bernard's & Noble

(see what i did there)

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Word count: 749

Alexis speaks! : hey guys! thank you for the request (the more requests, the more stories i post 😉) i'm honestly not very proud of this one, but i've deleted it four times already and this is the best i got 💀 once again, comments and likes are greatly appreciated, it helps me know if yall like my style or if i need to change anything! pls don't steal my work, love yall!

-

"Matttt?" i whined from my spot on the floor. i was bored out of my fucking mind. Matt wanted the day to be a 'lazy day' and by that he means he wanted to scroll social media and youtube all day. that was not my idea of fun, i've always been a hands on person whether that be going outside for hours, to the lake, reading, anything other than being lazy at home.

"whattttt?" he mocked, sitting up from his bed, his hair all messed up and funny looking.

i chuckled. "your hair looks great." i smiled, climbing to straddle his lap and fix his bed head. "better" i smiled, kissing him on the cheek. "i have a business proposal."

matt sighed, "what do you want." he rolled his eyes with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

i hopped off him, standing at the foot of his bed. "i vote we go to barnes and noble today, my book case is baren." i joked. four out of the five of my bookshelves were full completely. but you can never have too many books.

"y/n you have more books than i think i've ever seen anywhere else in my life." he laughed. matt pretended to be annoyed, but he knows the answer is yes. and not just to this scenario, the answer is always yes to everything y/n wants. she had him wrapped around her tiny little finger. "when do you want to go?" he gave in.

i jumped around the room a couple times, silently celebrated with myself. "right now silly." i said. i trotted into his bathroom where i have my own drawer of toiletries and such. i touched up my makeup and threw on my shoes. "ok i'm ready." i beamed up at him. matt basically towered over me. he's 5'8 and i'm 5'3, so there's a pretty noticeable height difference.

he slipped his own shoes on. "i'm ready." he smiled, grabbing his keys.

i just looked at him. "matt babe." i looked at his outfit. "we are not going anywhere when you are wearing basketball shorts and a wife beater. please change." i said, false seriousness evident on my features.

-

"oh my god i'm literally gonna shit my pants i love barnes and noble." i said, climbing out of the passenger seat. I made matt carry my three tote bags i have designated for my favorite hobby, book shopping.

"do i really have to come in." matt complained.

-

we had been at barnes and noble for an hour already, two out of the three of my tote bags were full. so full we had to put them by checkout because they were too heavy to carry. About 15 minutes in i had made a joke that i thought was hilarious, matt didn't really think so.

-

"haha, bernard's and noble." i chuckled to myself, but matt heard me.

"y/n i swear to god i will leave you here."

"deal."

-

i was finally ready to go, the final tote bag full. i couldn't find matt though. i wandered through the multiple sections of books, matt no where in sight. "maybe he did leave me here." i mumbled under my breath. until my eye caught matt. he was crouched down, one hand on the shelf, the other hand occupied with a book.

"whatchya readin?" i smiled over him. my heart melted when he looked up at me, a small smile on his face. i took this time to take in his beauty. the way his slight curls fell over his eyebrows, the way his middle part accentuated his face shape, the way his blue eyes went so well with his outfit. he was wearing the white shirt with 'whatever' in bold print written across it, and baggy light wash blue jeans, his keys dangling from his belt loop.

"some poetry book, i might get it it's kinda fire." he smiled.

"you read poetry?"

"i like finding the good ones and printing them out, i like to look back on the really influential ones." matt said. he stood up and took my bag, his hand resting on the small of my back.

"matt i don't deserve you, you're so sweet." a cheesy grin creeping onto my lips.

"y/n you deserve the world." he smiled down at me, kissing my forehead.

"ok now how are we gonna get all of these in the car?" i laughed.

-

tag list!

@cupidzsq

[afewfantasies]

COMING SOON - 🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - VI

Authors note: I've been working on Feyd's Blade on and off for the past week and have written 2 different scenarios of how things play out, I think I've decided which one I want to go with and a new chapter should be out sometime this weekend. For now heres a snippet. Let me know wha you think in the comments and/or poll below 🖤

MASTERLIST

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - VI - SNIPPET

Feyd’s eyes are not his own. The set of his jaw is hard and he doesn’t speak. He pulls you into the room you entered weeks ago with contraptions and straps. There’s no time to freshen up, he doesn’t push you into the bathing chamber. Tears prick your eyes and it breaks him. He stops pulling open his drawer. There are no words to warn you about what is to come, there’s nothing he can do to salvage what the two of you have right now. There’s he can only protect you in small ways. Grabbing the chastity belt he comes close clasping the heavy chains on your body. Looking at the contraption you realize he’d safeguarding you against brutality and cringe inward. It signals to him being incapacitated, incapable of being able to protect you. He moves efficiently attaching a breastplate made of the same hard material. It nearly crushes you under its weight. Feyd-Rautha moves quickly fastening all the locks knowing his uncles cruelty knows no bounds. Finishing he brings a helmet putting it on your head and fastening the neck into all three of the contraptions. It’s a metal monstrosity, a cage of sorts placing on a shield he taps it to ensure you cannot be made vulnerable.

“Feyd” you whisper but your words come out like a croak cracking.

“I will be find, you are not to say a word under any circumstances” he says and you panic.

“But-”

“No” he snaps silencing you as your body trembles.

“What’s happened?” You ask and he goes to wipe your tears but his hand is singed by the active shield. You disable it and reach for him.

“Promise me” he says cupping your face, more tears stream. You shake your head in fear knowing his hesitation means whatever is to come will me an unheard of level of horror. “Promise me” he growls close to breaking already.

“Promise” you agree and he nods stepping back. Your steps are slow as you maneuver the contraption only to be dressed by a concerned Leia. There’s no time for questions as she moved quickly.

“Put one on yourself” Feyd tells her pointing to the contraption. 

“Why do you have so many” you ask as Feyd finishes dressing you in the Bene Gesserit regalia to conceal your garment.

“For hostages, to protect them against the men” Feyd says plainly, the brutality makes you queasy. You want to kiss him but the steel around your mouth is solid.

“Feyd what’s happening” you ask taking his hands, his hard eyes soften a touch.

“My uncle will try to break me in front of you and the men.” He sighs.

“Because of me?” You ask feeling a wash with panic.

“No, because of him. Because he wants to show his power” Feyd snaps.

Because of me.

The voice in your head says. More tears fall and Feyd leaves without a goodbye unable to manage your emotions with the energy required to withstand the consequence for his distraction. Time passes outside of your perception until you find Leia dressed beside you her eyes mournful. Her hands holds yours as large brutish men await your exit. You leave the room and Leia asks what’s happened many times. Fear and exhaustion overwhelms you to the point of despondence as the pod travels through the dreadful palace of Giedi Prime. Anger mixes in with the fear and you can feel Leia’s hand in yours. You take note of the scores of men all heading where you are. 

It will be a spectacle.

TAGLIST:

@elf-punk @dvmb4ssbiatch @thegabbyh @fanfiction-addict22 @meetmeatyourworst @jojoclown69 @lillypink @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @avidreader73 @emeraldsgirl33 @strawberryfieldsforevermore @rose-are-royal @delusionsofnostalgia @szapizzapanda @palomavz @mcswan02 @slutforsmut4ever @emeraldsgirl @jackiekae @sarahhelpimsinking @maat-the-prescriptive @moonsoulk @katherineswiftie2017-blog @melancholicmelanin @littlebugs @alexa4040 @unicoreads @mimsie95 @mamawiggers1980 @miaraised @7-reblogs

[krisdreaming]

Counting Stars

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x gn!reader

Warning: Reader has lighter skin / faint freckles, so not as inclusive as I usually try to be!

WC: 471

A/N: So this is a tad bit more self indulgent than usual ahaha don't hate me. I know this scenario is as old as time itself but I couldn't resist. PS kiss requests are coming later this week, I already have a few written up :3

The movie is over, but neither you nor Tetsurou can be bothered to extricate yourselves from your tangle of limbs. Throughout the course of the movie, he had pulled you closer and tucked his legs around yours. Now that it's over, he turns you so that he's nose to nose with you, his back to the still-glowing tv screen. The light reflects on your face, and his eyes trace it in silence for a few moments.

"Hey," He says in a whisper, "Did you know that you have these really faint freckles?" His fingertips lightly skim your cheeks, making you shiver.

"I mean, I've looked in a mirror a time or two," You chuckle softly.

"Funny," He breathes back with a huff of his own laughter. "But I don't think I've ever noticed them before." His brow puckers slightly, and he studies your face more closely.

Slowly, he begins to dot his fingertip in the barest touches across your cheek. It tickles, and you crinkle your nose. "What are you doing?"

"Counting them," He murmurs, "And you just made me lose track." A smile slides across his lips, and you sigh. "Hold still," He prompts, the fingertips of one hand steadying your face as he dots across it again with the other. "One, two, three..." He continues counting, traveling across the bridge of your nose to your right cheek. "Twenty-three." He finishes with a quick peck to his final dot. "You have twenty-three freckles on your face." He announces seriously.

"Oh?" You hum, unable to keep the smile from your own face.

He nods, his hand still steadying your face. "And..." He traces out a small pattern on your left cheek. "Those ones look like Cassiopeia." His fingers drift across your nose. "And there's Orion's Belt."

"Isn't that one just three stars in a row?" You quirk an eyebrow.

"Yes," He says, "And it's right here on your face." He traces it again, and you can't help the soft laughter that slips out.

"You're such a nerd," You poke him in the chest.

"I prefer, 'you have such a well-rounded base of knowledge.'" He laughs, nudging his nose against yours.

"Too many words," You murmur, feeling yourself being lulled closer to sleep by his gentle ministrations. His expression is unbearably soft, and you can't resist surging forward to press a kiss to his lips. He returns it, fingers sliding into your hair as he deepens the kiss.

"I guess I'll accept that," He says under his breath after he pulls away, his thumb skimming your cheek. You let yourself linger somewhere between asleep and awake, the pathways of his fingertips across your skin still tingling pleasantly.

"Oh, twenty-four," He says suddenly, breaking the silence. "I missed one, right here." He presses his lips above your right eyebrow to the final freckle.

[theelderhazelnut]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @aceghosts @nightbloodbix @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn <3

I’m one hour late lol. Okay so this is what I have written so far for the first chapter of “Rise of Villains: The Shadow”. Atoosa (Ombra) has lost everything, and she meets Raiden for the first time. (Güney is a minor character)

Also, this is not proofread!

I had never truly felt it until that night when I was sitting beside the road. I had never wished to be anyone else, even that middle-aged man making tea for his customers, but this lost little girl. What did people do when their parents are suddenly killed in an airpalne shot by two rockets, and when they were suddenly left with nothing but an old luggage?

I stared at my fingers, trying so hard not to bury my face in them because then my life would magically go deeper into this abyss. What was I supposed to do really? A psychiatry student in a foreign country who had lost her financial support last week and her rented apartment this morning.

I went into my pocket to check the time, but remembered that my phone had just died. I took a deep breath to protect my sanity for just a few more seconds until I arrive at the restaurant, the temporary workplace I opt because I wanted to be this independent woman. The money it provided me for working there part-time would never heal any scars, but it was better that nothing. But now it was everything I had left.

I pushed glass door open after walking for fifteen minutes, and dragged my luggage behind me. There were only two couples left out of all the customers. Güney, the cashier, looked at me up and down.

“Where are you going?” He continued chewing his gum while his dark eyes were begging to be shut.

“Can I stay the night?” It was weird to hear my own voice after hours of silence in the pavement. Also when I was trying to hide the pleading tone shaking my voice.

“Uuum-yeah you can sleep in the kitchen, but why? Are you okay?” He raised his eyebrows in concern.

Güney was never the friendliest collaege to me, and I definitely did not need his sympathy right then.

“I-my landlord kicked me out I’ll just stay one night I promise I’ll fix everything and-“

“What do you mean he kicked you out?!”

“Because I didn’t pay the rent.” Even talking about what happened this morning made me feel ill and dizzy. I shook my head and walked up to the kitchen.

“You could stay at my place.” He offered in a low, cautious tone, standing awkwardly in the doorframe. Trusting a stranger I see almost everyday? Nope. Never.

I stared at him dead in the eyes. “I’m good. Thank you.”

He creeped out of the dark room with measured steps. And I was, once again, left alone. I sat on the counter for the next couple of minutes, staring at the distance while the fridge continuously beezed in my ears. I would lie if I claimed that I wasn’t scared to be all alone in a restaurant at midnight. Surely, the doors were locked, but my mind was a bastard who enjoyed visualizing diverse scenarios of a psychopath suddenly breaking in. Fortunately, the knives and axes were at reach, hanging gravely from the rank.

I tightened my grip around the edge of the counter. I could hear the already ruined house of my life collapsing into the deep abyss of misery. I would turn into a poor girl drowning in povert while she carries her dead dreams on her hunched shoulders. I would be useless. I would fail.

A vague, booming sound from afar rang in my ears. I found myself totally frozen when I only moved my eyeballs towards the door. I greeted my teeth as though it would magically create a shield for me. The sound was heard again; now three times in a row like knocking. I held my breath to hear every single noise resembling footsteps.

Knocking again. In utter silence, I picked one of the huge knives, and [walking silently] out of the kitchen. White knuckling the handle, my nails were penetrating my sweaty palm.

Before I knew it, a thunder striked just a few meters away. My eyes went blind and my ears went deaf for a brief moment, my heart skipping a beat. I stumbled, but maintained my balance by holding onto one of the tables. Gathering my mind, I aimed the tip of the knife to where it just exploded. But to my shock, evrything was in its place. Not even a single crack could be seen on the windows.

Instead, there stood a tall, masculine figure. Due to darkness I could only see the blackness of his robe and a triangle on his head. Two balls of blue light were shining intensely where his eyes supposed to be. Even though he seemed to be totally alright, tiny fractions of electricity lit up his fists, and occasionally connected the edge of that triangle to his neck.

My lungs begged to empty themselves, but even a small noise was deadly threatening. Was he an alien?

“Atoosa Aryan?” He called.

My heart dropped down to my belly. My thoughts stuck in a tight knot, and so did my tongue.

“I am Raiden, the god of thunder.” He lifted his gloved hand. “There is no need to be afraid. My mere intention is to save you.”

A few minutes later, I found myself sitting before him on one the tables.

“Do we know each other?” I mumbled weakly, afraid that if I blinked for a second, he would rip my throat out.

“I am certain that you have never heard of me untill this moment.” There was a soothing hint of patience in his nonchalant tone. “However, I have heard about you many times in the past two decades. I am well aware of your iron-bending power, Miss. Aryan.”

My heart skipped a beat. He knew too much about me, even the tiniest bit of control I have over iron which I had concealed even from myself. Was he really a god? No, it would be too stupid of me to believe him. He was probably a very professional thief who had taken his job a bit too seriously. What did he want to steal from me though? I had nothing.

He continued. “I am here to offer you a place among the defenders of the realm.”

If he wasn’t a well-trained thief, the he was definitely a psychopath. But that didn’t make sense considering how everything about him seemed too real.

In the next half an hour he took his time to explain about how those defenders defend our realm which he called Earthrealm. He was a god whose main responsibility was to protect this realm. And seemingly, one of his minor duties was to find miserable people like me - with supernatural powers - and train them to be fighters.

That was ridiculous. But a part of my heart begged my brain to believe it.

Writing Taglist(to be added/removed): @vivilovespink @scentedcandleibex @darialovesstuff @confidentandgood @spacestephh @takiisieju-moved @inafieldofdaisies @carlosoliveiraa @shegetsburned @bloody-arty-myths @zoetheneko @hi-thisiszira @admin-pipes @mitsuko-saito @malewifefirestar @krysta-cross @elderglocks @breakfwest @middlechildwhoescapedthebasement @ninibear3000 @sinclxirx @gavincruikshanksexhusband @voidika @orbitinytheworld @strangefable @bihanspookies @valyrra @simonxriley

[honeysuckleharringtons]

Part Seven: "Pour Over" ~ S. Harrington

Summary: (Then) Between postpartum blues and her baby's needy coos, Reader's having a hard time adjusting to her new life. But she quickly learns that sometimes you get by with a little help from your friends. — (Now) After dealing with her fussy child all night, the last thing Reader wants is a complicated day at work. Luckily for her, a certain nurse knows just how to make her day a little easier.

Pairing: Nurse!Steve Harrington x Fem!Byers!Reader

Word Count: 1,640

Content Warning: postpartum talk, anxiety talk, mentions of vomit (nothing in detail though), very mild swearing, mild hospital talk, mentions of food, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: yall i am so so so sorry that this took me so long to finish, more on this later but rn all i have to say is the world's biggest apology 😭

Originally Written: 01/06/2024 through 01/23/2024 (i'm so sorry)

honeysuckleharringtons main masterlist can be found here!

'brew and me' series masterlist can be found here!

[ Then, February of 1988 ]

At this point, you weren't sure how you hadn't died from sleep deprivation.

It had been a whole two weeks since the baby was born, and you were pretty sure you hadn't slept a wink since. One sleepless night had turned into two, and well… now you couldn't remember the last time you had slept.

The clock on the wall told you it was nearing three in the morning, the blackness outside the windows further proving that fact. The baby was once again crying, and no amount of midnight feedings or diaper changes or rocking her in the rocking chair had done the trick. You were warned about colic, but nothing could've prepared you for what it would be like in real time.

Another new nightly ritual was a tired Joyce stumbling into your bedroom, eyes heavy and feet shuffling. You knew exactly what she had in mind, but your Byers genes were far too stubborn to accept her offer.

“Mom, we're fine,” you insisted from your spot in the rocking chair. But even you knew that to the naked eye, you surely didn't look fine. Unwashed hair, blanket tossed messily over your lap, purple spots nearly black underneath your eyes.

Joyce just sighed from her spot in the doorway. “Honey, you are clearly not fine. Don't take this the wrong way but you're a mess.” The comment almost hurt you, though you supposed you appreciated your mother's honesty.

“I'll be okay,” you insisted. “It's not my first sleepless night.”

She moved to sit on the edge of your bed, across from the newly placed rocking chair and crib. “That's the problem, honey. You need sleep. You can't properly be there for her if you-”

“I can't leave her.”

“Don't get enough sleep and-”

“Mom, I can't-”

“You need to eat something too, honey. I mean, when was the last time you-”

“Mom!” you raised your voice this time, effectively cutting her off. “I cannot leave this baby.”

Joyce let out a long sigh, running a hand through her already messy hair. “If you don't take proper care of yourself, exhaustion is gonna hit you like a freight train. Then what?”

You supposed she might be right. But still, her comments couldn't make you see past your postpartum anxiety, worst case scenarios running rampant through your mind.

“What if something happens to her while I'm asleep?” you asked, voice weak. “Or what if she thinks I left her, just like…” you couldn't finish the statement before tears began to prick your eyes.

“Y/N, you know that me and Will would never let anything happen to this baby.” You could tell by her tone that she was being genuine, though both of you knew her words were useless when it came to your anxiety. “We love both of you. We would never let anything happen to her.”

Tears pricked your eyes as your panicked thoughts ran rampant. “What about Dad?”

She nearly fell off the bed after hearing your question. “Dad? What does Lonnie have to do with-”

“I keep having this weird feeling in my gut that Dad is gonna try something with her,” you explained, tears fully soaking your cheeks now. “Like he's going to try and take her from me.”

“I would never let that happen.” Joyce's words weren't a suggestion. She said them with such finality that you were tempted to believe her. “Lonnie walked out of here seven years ago. He hasn't gotten in here yet and I will make damn sure he doesn't get in now.”

Your heart was racing a million beats a minute. You weren't really sure why—other than postpartum anxiety—that Lonnie had been on your mind. But just the thought of him sent shivers up your spine and tears down your face.

Clinging harder to the bundle in your arms, careful not to hurt her but still holding her closer, you rocked gently in the chair in hopes of calming both yourself and the baby. Her cries had yet to subside, if anything they'd just grown louder.

“Mom, I'm so scared,” you finally broke. Even you could hear the weakness, the brokenness, the defeat in your voice. “What if I'm doing this all wrong?”

Joyce stood again, with that same finality as her words from earlier. “I'm not here to tell you how to raise your baby. You're the mother now and you know what's best for you and her,” she started, the words stern but gentle. “But I am here to give you advice as a mother myself. Babies can sense things. Maybe she's upset because you're upset.”

And with that, Joyce was stepping toward the door, reaching for knob, and then-

“Okay.” The word came out as defeated as you felt. “I'll let you have her just long enough for me to shower and eat something.”

She turned to face you with a small smile, not one of smugness or one of someone proving a point, but one that showed you that she was simply just glad to help you out. She left a soft kiss on your forehead as she took the baby from your arms, quickly taking your place in the rocking chair as you headed over to your dresser.

“Mom?”

Her smile went a little sideways as she looked up from the baby to you. “Yeah?”

“I love you. Don't ever forget that, okay?”

With a small nod, Joyce replied, “I won't. Don't you forget that I ditto.” A phrase that had been around since you were little. You weren't sure who started it, but in this moment you were thankful for it, five letters meaning the absolute world to you.

You walked over, leaving a peck to the prickly hairs you'd been seeing so much of these days, warmth filling the entire expanse of your body. “I love you, bub.”

“I'm sure she dittos you too, honey.”

[ Now, January of 1992 ]

A loud yawn sounded from the other side of the counter, breaking you from your own mess of sleepy thoughts. “Me too,” you chuckled as you looked up, a yawn slipping between your own lips. Dark hair and round glasses met you, purple spots thick underneath his eyes. “You look about as tired as I feel.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “I wouldn't have known it if you hadn't mentioned it,” he said. A crease formed between your brows as you wondered what he meant. “You look as nice as you always do.”

He set a new record for how quickly he'd ever made butterflies go off inside you. “Careful, Doc, or I'll think you're flirting with me,” you said through the crimson blush that had started to appear on your cheeks.

“Sorry,” he said sarcastically, “Must be the sleep deprivation from the double I just pulled.”

You cringed at his words, knowing all too well what that felt like. “I know the feeling. I might as well have pulled my own double after staying up all night with my dau-”

The word got caught in your throat as you realized what you were about to say. “Dog,” you covered quickly, hoping your lie flew over Steve's head.

On the outside, you were hoping to appear calm and cool. On the inside, you were face palming. You'd been sleep deprived many times before, considering you once had a baby on your hands who had colic from the day she was born. Not to mention being a mother made you miss sleep in many ways of its own. But you couldn't recall a time where you'd been so sleep deprived that you almost spilled your biggest secret to a practical stranger, much less a practical stranger who you were actively avoiding telling the secret to.

“I didn't know you had a dog,” Steve said with furrowed brows, his voice bringing you back to reality.

Even though you hated to lie to him, you were thankful that your job had given you the ability to think fast. “Yeah, she must've eaten something she wasn't supposed to. She was up all night throwing up.” The real story was that Mandy had snuck into the kitchen to eat the rest of her leftover Christmas candy after you told her not to, but Steve didn't have to know that.

“Plain rice helps.”

His reaction caught you off guard. “Huh?”

“Plain rice can help a dog's upset stomach,” he explained. “If it keeps happening though, you should definitely take her to a vet.”

Steve's suggestion was oddly sweet, and honestly tugged at your heartstrings a little bit. “Thank you for the tip. Out of curiosity though, how do you know about caring for a sick dog?”

His broad shoulders shrugged, and you tried not to drool at the sight of them. “I almost went to vet school. Boy, would that have made my dad mad. Not that med school has made him any less angry.” As if realizing he was rambling, an awkward chuckle slipped between his lips and he turned his attention to the menu. “You didn't ask. Anyway, what do you recommend?”

“Nice try,” you answered, rolling your eyes. “But for you, I recommend going home and getting some sleep.”

Steve chuckled, and the sound went straight to your belly. “Hey, you don't have to tell me twice. I just pulled a double and I have to be back on campus for classes in about five hours.”

Part of you wanted to tell him to just take the night off and get some rest. Another part of you wanted to drive him home yourself and tuck him in. “I do not envy you,” you giggled. “To answer your original question though, how does a strawberry smoothie sound?”

He met you with a closed-lip smile, one that had started to feel so comforting and oh so familiar these days. “That sounds perfect.”

So this is about a month late...

I want to apologize for being gone with no announcement or explanation. Lots of things have happened in the past couple weeks that have taken a severe toll on my mental health and I just haven't really had the time to write, much less the energy.

I am feeling a little better and I have talked to my boss about my hours so I'm hoping that'll help somewhat. I really miss giving you guys content and I miss interacting with you guys.

Anyway, I hope you're all doing well! ❤️

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @ducky-died-inside @awkotaco24 @liberhoe @princesseddie @corrodedseraphine @manuosorioh @esoltis280 @hazydespair @frostandflamesfanfic

[lost-inanotherlife]

"I Do" or when Kate and Jack almost got (figuratively) married

I've previously stated that I don't find "I Do" particularly excellent when it comes to Kate's flashback story. I still stand by that. From a creative point of view Kate reiventing herself as Monica and getting married to a police officer doesn't exactly scream "genius". Conversely, the idea for her flashback in "Left Behind" is way more compelling and allows us to see sides of Kate that aren't necessarily related to her interior romantic love life (in that episode Kate and Cassidy teams up to "con" Kate's mother in order for Kate to have a moment with her without getting arrested).

Having said that, "I Do" is, overall, a fucking great episode. Everything and I mean EVERYTHING is written and shot to perfection so I thought to write a little meta about it.

Now, before we move on to the analysis, let's please consider that the previous Kate-centric episode is S2E9 "What Kate Did". I wrote an extensive meta about it and you can find it here. For the sake of this meta, though, all you need to know is this: what Kate sees in Sawyer is herself, specifically what she thinks she is in the present moment based on the things she's done in the past, i.e. a "bad" person or a person capable of doing "bad" things; what Kate sees in Jack is her potential self, what she thinks she can become in the present moment and simply be in the future because she intimately thinks she's capable of being "good" and doing "good" things.

In "What Kate Did" she chooses the black horse representing her "dark" self, therefore she chooses Sawyer. In "I Do" she symbolically chooses Sawyer again but things get a litte bit more complicated because this time Jack says his "I do" and Kate finds that she can't quite say "I do" back yet, but she can't say goodbye to her potential either: in other words she can't leave Jack/her potential behind. You'll see what I mean in this meta.

ACT ONE.

The episode opens with the song "Slowly" in the background. We hear the following lyrics:

Tell me you love me again but this time slowly 'Cause you're talkin' too fast, baby, much fast Come on and squeeze me again but this time slowly 'Cause I like your grasp but it's much fast

You said that our love will grow together 'Cause your mine all mine

Foreshadowing: this episode will be about "I love yous" and about something that's growing.

It'll also be about make-believe as we see a 50s-styled Kate opening a box containing a wedding veil. A man knocks on her door and we see the following dialogue:

MAN: Police, open the door. KATE: [Nervously] Um. Everything's alright in here. MAN: Ma'am, we have reason to believe that someone extremely dangerous is in the motel. We're conducting a room-to-room search. KATE: [Starting to smile] I'm alone, officer. MAN: The person could be holding you at gunpoint, forcing you to say that. Please open the door. KATE: I don't think I should. MAN: Then you have three seconds before I break this door down. One... two... [Kate stands by and opens the door right before he says "three", revealing the policeman, Kevin.] KEVIN: Hey. Wanna get it on? dialogue from https://lostpedia.fandom.com

We the audience (who already know about Kate's past) are already tipped off to the fact that this is all fake. Kate is clearly wearing a mask, she's being someone else, someone who perhaps she'd like to be or, at least, she's putting on a new persona-dress to see if it fits. Spoiler alert: it doesn't. However, this is also extraordinarily real because Kate's indeed a fugitive, she might as well be "the dangerous someone in the motel" herself. Ironically, in the scenario where Kate is the dangerous person in the motel, she's also the person who's holding at gunpoint... herself, forcing herself to say stuff. Interesting, right? In other words, the show is telling us to pay close attention because the episode will play with the line between fiction and reality.

In the very second scene there's a defeated Sawyer throwing rocks without purpose. Kate sees something's wrong with him, he's slowly giving up. She tells him to get a fish biscuit for her, implicitly telling him: "Provide for me, be here for me, don't give up". Sawyer's not stupid and immediately retorts with a "Psh. What, you trying to keep me feeling productive?".

In the last scene of Act 1, we're introduced to the final protagonist of this episode, Jack, and we discover what's growing as the song alluded in the very first scene: "JACK: [To Ben] The tumor on your spine is borderline inoperable. And at the rate it's growing, that borderline goes away in about one week".

By the end of Act 1 we have all the info we need to understand this episode: it'll be about love, it's gonna make us believe things that are not true and the thing that's growing on Ben's spine will be the keystone to put all the pieces of the puzzle together.

To be continued!

[bropunzeling]

For never have I ever, second chance romance (either they had something, it ended for whatever reason, and now they have a second chance some time later, or there was never anything but there *could've* been something, and now some amount of time later, they have the chance to actually seize that missed opportunity.)

If you've already written it but also have another scenario you want to talk about as well, I am here for it :D

oh gosh what a great prompt anon!!!!! i think don't ever be a stranger very technically counts under the second definition but since i didn't THINK about it that way i am going to take this as an excuse to talk about a scenario, because i fucking LOVE a second chance romance. i LOVE when the love was there, or could've been there, or was almost so so close to being there, only then something happens and the chance is lost - or so you thought!!! and personally i think there is a great brady/quinn scenario in this, to wit:

so brady and quinn were close as teenagers. obviously. lived in each other's pockets, practically - quinn nominally had his own space but tkachuks don't believe in personal space and brady certainly didn't. anything quinn was up to, brady was there; anything brady was up to, quinn got dragged along.

of course quinn had a crush. of course. kind of impossible not to when you're fifteen and figuring out that maybe you're into boys and your best friend is all over you, all the time, but also, like, paying attention to you. caring what you want, what you think, because brady cares a lot. who could resist in the face of all that?

and there's period of time before they go off to college where quinn half thinks, half hopes that something is going to happen. they spend all their free time together instead of most of it. they keep talking about the future, mostly excited but kind of anxious, too. one night, they stay up way too late, three in the morning even though they have school the next day, just talking as quinn lies on the couch and brady on the living room floor, and half of it is the silly nonsense you come up with at three in the morning but half of it is sincere - worrying about college, about the draft, about leading the way for your brothers, about following in other people's footsteps.

at one point, brady says in a whisper shout, you have to call me every week. promise, yeah? i don't know how i'm gonna fucking do it without you around.

quinn leans over the edge of the couch. in the dark, it should be hard to see brady's face, but there's just enough light that he can find it. i promise, he says, and then, i don't know how i'll do it without you either.

brady sits up on his elbows. for a moment, hanging over the couch, quinn thinks brady's gonna--

from big walt's room, there's an enormous, log sawing snore. quinn jumps. when he looks at brady again, he's flat on the floor. like he never moved at all.

cut to years later. they're both captains. both successful. brady's dated; was engaged, once, but then it got called off. quinn's dated, too, but more quietly. no one's ever been the right fit. they still talk all the time, but they're only in the same place for two games and a couple weeks in the summer; less, now, that they're older.

brady calls quinn. he was going to go on a trip with matthew but plans fell through. he has reservations that are non-refundable, all of them for two. he says, i feel like we never hang out anymore.

quinn says yes. he misses brady, of course he does. brady's his best friend. they really don't spend enough time together. and he's gotten over his teenage crush. it'll be a good time.

and it is a good time - the beach, eating out, bickering with brady, relishing his company - like falling back ten years in time. like it hasn't been a decade since they were seventeen and whispering in the dark about the future. quinn's relaxed, happy.

which means he doesn't expect it when, three nights in, he looks across the table and catches brady watching him, smiling softly, and quinn's heart does a backflip and lodges in his throat. he may not have a crush anymore, but that's only because the word is too small for how he feels about brady now.

[ginneke]

for the fanfic end of the year asks, number 3!

(Fanfic end of the year asks available here: link)

Oh, thank you for the ask! And there’s really one passage that stands out to me as a favourite of 2023, which hails from Corrigendum – the self-indulgent, entirely unnecessary third part of my series Keepsakes.

But first, as single lines go, it has to be this:

"Why," says Revali, his voice lifting in shrill distress, "do you never pay the slightest bit of attention to me?"

(from A Study In Patience. Part 2 coming soon!)

(…What, did you think it would be that line from the end of A Seed of Song chapter 4? While that is certainly a favourite line, it was technically my favourite line of 2022 – it was already written all the way back in Feb ‘22, even though it was another 16 months before you would see it.)

—

Anyway. Corrigendum. Chosen passage and a brief recap/rationale below, under a cut for length and for varying degrees of spoilers for, somehow, all three of Keepsakes, Pinesong, and Moonlight:

Keepsakes was originally a two-part meditation on the piece of cloth Revali tied to the Great Eagle Bow, which always remains on it no matter how many times you break it and have it rebuilt, and the following line of Harth’s in the first Keepsakes story, Memento: “Where things are kept, what they are kept with, that has a meaning.”

Memento and Lacuna were both set within the boundaries of canon, focusing on Link’s possession of the Great Eagle Bow and more than a small dose of headcanon about the Paraglider; Corrigendum, meanwhile, played on the famous amnesia plotline of @ghirahimbo’s Pinesong, with a little of my and @heleentje’s answer to the Alive!Champions scenario in our Moonlight series baked in: if there were stasis chambers in the Divine Beasts, just like how the Shrine of Resurrection was revealed to be part of a Divine Beast in the Champions’ Ballad DLC, then was it not possible that the revived Champions might suffer a similar level of memory loss as Link did: i.e., total?

That’s the context with which the following scene between Revali and Zelda needs to be read. (A small section relating to Zelda’s personal feelings of guilt and regret has been cut for length.)

There was one person she hadn't mentioned, of course. Revali wondered whether she would comment on it of her own accord, but she seemed willing to speak only of others. If he had to pry the words from her, so be it. "I cannot help but notice someone missing from your account, pri- Zelda," he said, correcting himself at the last second. It felt strange to address her without titles: a hundred years and his memory removed from such formality, and yet it still seemed like an overstep. Next to him, Zelda went very tense. "What do you mean?" Honestly. Must he spell it out for her? "You," he said, as though it should be obvious. To him it was: it seemed its own sort of hellishness, to have so many memories that nobody else shared. "How are you faring?" Her look of surprise – had he truly shown so little concern for her in the past, that she was taken aback by his questioning now? – faded into something more sombre. "I... cannot complain," she said at last, which seemed to be all she was willing to say on the subject. [...] Zelda inhaled a steadying breath. "...About Li–" Her words lodged like ice. Revali cut her off: "Don't." He couldn't bear to speak of Link. Not now. Perhaps not ever. Certainly not while he was so incapable of reconciling the words in his diary with the roiling confusion left in their wake. Even thinking of that knight brought a wave of weariness over him. Though Zelda had done nothing wrong, Revali no longer had any wish to continue the conversation.

Revali and Zelda come into this conversation from incredibly disparate positions, and they're on completely different pages. Firstly, Zelda has the advantage of memory, but in some ways Revali has a clearer view of what their relationship from 100 years ago was actually like, thanks to his diary (the contents of which are alluded to or outright paraphrased in the opening part of this scene). Secondly, Zelda has full knowledge of what happened to Link -- at least up until he disappeared after the thought of re-boarding Vah Ruta (as Zelda wanted to do in the 'true ending' of BOTW) proved too much for the Keepsakes version of Link. (Yes, Link’s disappearing act is another small nod to Pinesong.) 

But Revali does not.

From Zelda’s point of view, Revali’s comment about ‘some[body] missing from [her] account’ sounds like a not-so-subtle dig at the missing Link. I actually tried to thread this idea through even in his narration: 'she seemed willing to speak only of others', is meant to tread that thin boundary line of which person he's actually talking about, Zelda or Link. 

Her reaction is therefore wary: she wonders how much Revali now remembers, and how much of his comment is a continuation of his century-old dislike of Link. — After all, she wasn’t privy to the scene in Lacuna’s flashback; and despite that interlude, Revali and Link’s relationship didn’t change all as much as they might have hoped. (Or as much as Link wants to believe, by the end of Memento/Lacuna—the true backstory there was one of might-have-beens instead of let’s-do-betters.)

She’s surprised, then, by Revali’s question being not about Link, but about herself. And this is something that I would have loved to delve into a little, but the nature of the story kept me bound tightly to Revali’s perspective: Zelda is doing well only in that she’s throwing herself into distractions, trying to adjust to the circumstances of being a hundred years displaced from the world she’s familiar with.

(Sidenote: I toyed with that dichotomy of the post-Calamity world being utterly uncanny to her – at once familiar and yet also somehow alien – in another story I wrote this year, catharsis, which had Zelda finally reuniting with Impa after a century.)

And she has ample distractions with the other Champions, who – as her recounting of events implies – she’s spent rather a lot of time around, and considerably more time than she has with Revali. She wouldn’t even be at Rito Village now if it wasn’t the home of Kass, the only person she thought might be able to find Link. 

Perhaps, if she had taken a little more care to visit him, Zelda would be aware of the narrative Revali has been constructing, piece by piece, while he’s been left to fend for himself…

To an extent, Revali's own diary was held against him. His words are taken as a primary source of insight into his character, rather than at least part of his writing being a continuation of his attempts to define and shape his future legacy (his 'legend', as the diary's forepage none-too-subtly declares). 

Yes, Harth did come to the conclusion of something existing between the Rito and Hylian Champions of a century ago (incidentally, that's why he makes the offer of showing Revali the same sheaf of papers he shared with Link in Memento – providing an alternative source of information), but Teba has a different focus. Harth is interested in the truth of the story; Teba is protective of the people involved, and with only circumstantial evidence to suggest that Champion Revali had at least some positive feeling towards that knight, and significantly more evidence to suggest Revali didn't care at all for Link, he deflects and puts it off for now. 

Nobody expected Link to be AWOL for months.

And that brings us back to this passage, the first real opportunity for the truth to come out; and so Zelda takes the initiative, trying to bring up Link. 'If you want to know how we're all doing,' she's thinking, 'then I should tell you about him as well.'

But Revali is of the belief – entirely logically, based on the facts he knows! – that Link is long dead. Whether 100 years ago, or at some point in the decades since. Hylian lifespans just aren't long enough for him to still be around. We only need to look at the oldest Hylians living in Hateno, who weren't born until after the Calamity during the Era of Burning Fields, to know that 80-90 seems to be the Hylian limit.

—

Here's another thing: In the time since writing Corrigendum, I saw a post here on tumblr suggest that grief is a topic that's fairly impossible to write about, because grief doesn't end as long as you remember it, and it's the sort of thing that hits you, over and over, in often mundane ways that look bizarre to the outsider. Yet -- not to put too high a declaration of quality on my writing, but I honestly do believe that I achieved that in Corrigendum, while staying true to the character in question. 

Yes, it was deliberately under-written, circled around instead of facing it head-on -- even the early use of the word 'grief' was shied away from, declaring it only 'something like grief'. That felt far more 'Revali' than giving in to sentiment. So far, most of this emotion has been in the gaps where he's confronted with knowledge of the past, of something missing, of something more to Link; he's seeing Link better in this patchwork recollection, able at last to look beyond '[the] sword that drew the eye and distracted from the man that bore it'. And it's in these moments that his true feelings linger, even if he can't (or won't) give voice to them.

—

Link has always been a touchy subject. Once, they might have been on a similar page regarding that (their mutual complicated feelings about a boy around their age to whom things seemed to come so easily).

In reality, they still are — and it's a different page to the one they shared before, of resentment and frustration and trying to figure out their own place. Link has long become a person to them—Zelda openly, as seen throughout the original game; Revali less obviously, but still apparent through his post-Blight dialogue and particularly in the DLC content, as well as the additional background and memory/ies I created for Memento/Lacuna.

But this Revali – a Revali who still has only a partial sense of his own identity, who doesn't necessarily like the person he'd been even if he can't figure out who else he could be – this version of Revali can't yet acknowledge or confront the truth of what he's experiencing.

What I wanted was to challenge Revali to say it out loud and admit to it — "I am grieving." This, here, is the closest Revali can currently get... Ice. Roiling confusion. Something unbearable. Weariness. Within his narration, the raw, aching wound of grief is clear, but aloud, the only thing he can think to do is to cut Zelda off and prevent her from saying what he cannot yet confront. 

"Don't." Don't bring him up. Don't make me hear this. Don't make it real. 

Characters frantically back-scrabbling away from open and frank communication, in the interests of protecting their own fragile hearts, is something that can be so delightful.

—

Zelda, who isn't privy to the struggle Revali is going through, can only hear this rejection at face-value and back off, assuming that things are as they were 100 years ago. This is something that can only be repaired by finding Link himself – and so she'll continue with her original plan, enlisting Kass to help track the wayward swordsman down.

(And Revali will finally give voice to what he's been feeling… when a certain someone arrives in Rito Village :3 )

[distortedclouds]

I'm here for the writer's ask game :)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5,6, 7, 8, 11, 12, 15, 16, 27, 28, 29, 30, 37, 39

Well, hello there! :D

Questions 1,3,5,6,7:

Answered here

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Memory loss, but also growing old together. I think both tropes would require a lot of care and nuance to go into characterization that'd be very interesting to me

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Quite a few, actually! A couple of one-shots I'm working on, but also long-fics that I'm not sure whether I'll have the time or energy to tackle

The one most likely (still unlikely) to see the light of day is a post-rumbling, fake-dating fic because everyone's trying to get the new ambassador of peace to marry their daughter and Armin is (and Annie) just getting sick of it all

I mostly want it to be Armin-centric, everything that "Take my hand" fic was meant to be but couldn't (sorry Moon)

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

This probably wont' be the most honest/accurate answer, but since my brain has been flooded with ch 20 for the past 2 weeks-ish straight, it's gotta be this:

“I knew it, you and your plans,” Annie breathes with a small laugh, and it’s enough to make him smile, too. It always is. “What? You’re planning on marrying me on a remote beach somewhere?” “I will,” he promises. “You’ll get sand in your shoes.” She smiles. “Our friends will all be there.” He hopes. “The cake will get dirty.” She frowns. “I’ll promise to love you,” he vows. “We’ll spend the whole night brushing sand out of our hair instead of anything fun.” she pouts. “Yeah.” “I think I’d like that, Armin,” she murmurs, voice soft in his ears as she shuffles closer.

Dialogue is already not my strongest suit, so whenever I find myself writing bits that just flow between the two characters, I'm immediately pleased!

11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

Is there a difference between the two? I've been writing stuff and imagining worlds and scenarios since as far back as I could remember. I find writing to be an excellent practice of empathy and compassion, for not only people I may otherwise not fully understand, but also extending it to myself and how I may be feeling at specific times but having a hard time realize

definitely a passion!

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

I wouldn't say an episode/chapter, since I'm mostly consuming aot as whole arcs. But definitely the final arc, not only for aruani, but also as a life philosophy, if that makes sense lol

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

I mean... I wanna saw BW, since that's the apple of my eye, but I also fail to see how so much internal monologue and emotional writing can be distilled into an image (but then again, I'm not well versed in the visual arts)

It's gonna have to be I'm begging for you to take my hand

16. If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

I may be biased to my current writing, but I can totally see myself exploring a wide variety of human emotions and circumstances with Armin and Annie in the aot universe and outside it

27. How do you feel about collaborations?

Never been in one before. It's intriguing but also the perfect opportunity for my imposter syndrome to step in and fear of disappointing other writers I may be working alongside

28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

It'd be hypocritical not to mention @/you first! Not only is your writing incredibly poetic and artistic in nature, it also delves into the very depths of a character's emotions. It feels like I'm writing something that should be categorized as literary, instead of just writing or fiction

@moonspirit (come get yo praise!)

It's the movement and animation in your writing that always captures me. Everything always feels so vivid and alive even if it's inanimate! You're like of Ghibli studio was a literary publishing house

@/ackermom on AO3

the emotional pull is out of this world HOLLY FUCK! I can't just casually read any of their fics, I need to mentally prepare (maybe even have a full day off :| )

29. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

@dudewhy3 give us more of deep cuts!! (no pressure :) )

30. Do you accept prompts?

Yes and no. When I do I usually only do it for very short drabbles just as an exercise in writing and have some "mindless" fun so I don't have to stress over every single word I write

37. Talk about your current wips.

Well, I wanna finish BW sometime within the next month or so, A couple of... one-shots that I wanna write (IYKYK) but I also really wanna get back into Slow and Steady

39. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

If it's on tumblr:

Similarly on AO3, I just don't give them the time of day. People like that 99% of the time are just looking for a reaction because they have nothing better to do IRL and want to feel important online. I just don't engage

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Hi, I'm curious, which of the three endings do you think will be the best? Which one do you know you'll be most proud of?

ooohhhh, this is a very hard question, I love it.

Its hard to say. It's like trying to pick your favorite kid when one of them hasn't even been conceived yet. By that I mean I've got scenarios 1 and two completely written out but scenario 3 is only planned out in my head right now.

At least with the two I've gotten written I like them both for different reasons. The Quaritch family vacation scenario is way more tense. I feel like it plays more as a hostage situation/ mind game with a lot of back and forth between both Spider and Quaritch.

I'm currently working on the scenario where Spider gets extremally sick forcing Quaritch to take Spider back to civilization. This one is a very slow burn drama where Spiders health deteriorates over time from pneumonia that is severely worsened by his asthma. I think I like the characterization much better in this one then I do in scenario 1 and its actually made me want to go back and tweek some things in that ending so that alone probably gives this one the edge but it's also the one I'm working on now. I finished scenario 1 like two months ago so I need to go back and re read it and see how time has effected my opinion on it. The same thing will happen with scenario two when I eventually move on to scenario 3.

I haven't started scenario 3 yet but I do have it planed out. This one will either be the most difficult one for me to write or the darkhorse for my favorite because I already know this one will be ANGESTY. This'll be the one where the cabin is found by the Sully's private investigator and Spider is rescued. I've been trying to look up the protocol for what happens to a kidnapping victim after they're found so if I'm wrong someone please send me some sources so I can better educate myself, but since Spider is technically a ward of the state, after he's found he's going to immediately be put into a mental health facility to receive daily therapy for everything he's been through. He'll of course get tones of visits from his loved ones but I think this ending will be laser focused on Spiders feelings as he goes back and forth with his Stockholm syndrome and abandonment issues.

So yeah, I think my finally answer is they'll all be good for different reasons and each one will probably have things I like better in comparison to the others. As for which one I'll be the proudest of? Honestly I think I'll just be proud to finish them all. They're getting so long that I feel like I'm writing a Game Of Throes novel. So yeah just finishing them, writing the best story I can, and finally sharing them with all of you, will make me the proudest. 💞

[jamiesfootball]

2, 11, and/or 30 for the ask game!

2. Favorite part of writing.

Aside from putting characters in situations, it's a dead tie between 'finding increasingly specific ways to describe something' and 'finding ways to sneak in jokes'.

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

Ooooh-OOOH. OH. Ok ok jot that down- what was that? Oh, okaaaay. Huh. That's a good start- what do you mean there's more? That's, no. No, I said we have other things that we're working on- okay, no, you're right that is a really good idea and it would be emotionally satisfying, Alright, I'll jot this down, but then we're definitely writing it this time, ok? We are going to focus, we will not leave another project unfinished- where are you going?

It's like that. But here's a more coherent answer.

Step 1- I have an idea. Perhaps it's a scene. Something I would like to see happen, out of pure need or a spiteful malaise from not seeing it happen, whichever.

Ex: I saw Mom City and the Finale and decided I hated what they did with Jamie's dad. I thought up a scene where Jamie and Roy talk about that.

Step 2- I spin the giant wheel in my brain. Without consulting me, it finds an unrelated topic. I then hold the first bit - the THING I want to write - up next to the second bit. I cross my eyes until I figure out what pattern exists between the two that my brain wants me to use.

Ex: The scene with Roy and Jamie talking about Jamie's dad + Roy going to therapy = There are two angry men in Jamie's life. Both of them have taken a step towards becoming better, but I only believe that one of them means it. Why?

Step 3- I start figuring out the whys. I think about which scenarios will strain the narrative. I find the uncomfy bits of dialogue that other authors skip over, and I make the characters talk about it at length until I figure out what the problem is. Slowly, a form comes together in the shape of a narrative. I usually have my climactic moments drafted from the start. I usually have a beginning. If I do not know the end, I find it soon enough. The rest I build with sticks. If dramatic moment one happens, what caused it? What tracks need laid to get me there. I sketch those in. Eventually, I have an outline.

Ex: The dissatisfaction from the end of season three becomes where the post season fic starts. The climactic bits breed out of the Roy Jamie conversation I began with. An ending takes shape- this is the final goal, the place I'd like my character to be. From there I work my way in, tying the moments together, until I can say 'yeah, that looks like a full story'.

Step 4- By exploring all of these scenarios and building a narrative architecture, a theme starts to emerge. I use that theme, and reflect it back on the vague bits I don't have written yet.

Ex: At this point I have realized that the entire impetus of the post-season fic is to stack ammo in the discussion of 'should Jamie's father be allowed back in his life?' The answer is no. What began as a simple comparison in step 2 has now become a multi-armed demon, fleshing out the motivations and backstories of every character it touches. The theme is family--born, found, and made--and so now every other character (Roy, Colin, Isaac, Sam, Keeley, Dani) has their family history being dragged into the light to serve as an example.

Step 5 - Legos. I have my outline (the sketch). I have my themes (the paint). Now I have to write it. Fuck. This step lasts forever.

Step 6 - I just keep trying. Because the story exists already, you know? It's not told, but it exists. I just have to keep putting in the work to make it into the physical world.

Step 7 - I print the things out and I scribble on them until I feel better. Then I take the scribbles, and I put them back into step 5.

Step 8 - Repeat steps 5-7 until you are out of legos. Then you are done, for now.

Step 9 - Walk around in a daze, feeling like you're about to cry. Keep repeating to people, "I can't believe it's over." It is never over. That feeling never truly goes away. You are forever surprised that you created something.

Step 10 - Become annoying to everyone you know by blogging about it online.

Ex: In progress

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

Oh, I have lots. Shameless self-plug though, everything I wrote about Moe on his quest to do spoken word poetry in chapter 1 of the post-season fic was a goddamn delight. Up to and including the Machiavelli quotes.

One of my other other favorite parts goes to Isaac in the epilogue. It is the bookend to Moe's poetry. I'm literally so excited about it.

Actually I take that back. I just realized I do have a favorite line, and it's a stupid one.

Right now my favorite line is a running joke, wherein I the author put in the placeholder '[whatever Higgins said]' into Roy's internal monologue about being a better person. This in regards to the scene in the finale where the Diamond Dogs talked about learning how to be better, not perfect. Higgins made some good points. I meant to go back and pull the quote from the episode. It was going to be in italics, the way you do when you're bringing back quotes into an internal monologue.

The only thing is I, uh. Did not do that. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that Roy, who got the gist of what Higgins was saying, maybe didn't necessarily jot down the exact phrasing in his head, the way he does with other lines (the ones that are detrimental to his emotional health and well being.) Also it made me laugh. So now it's just peppered in sometimes, when Roy is trying to be a better person.

'Whatever Higgins said.'

Like I said at the start- I love to sneak in a joke.

[chirpsythismorning]

Would a potential writers strike actually affect Stranger Thinks production at all? The fact that the actors are all over the place for scheduling (unsurprising, they're all amazingly talented) it's very doubtful they will be filming episodes chronologically. Schedules have to be created from scripts in order to say who would be on set which days so wouldn't that mean all the episodes are written already? They've had since 2020 to work on the episode outlines (the part that takes the longest amount of time). The writing of a script from an outline usually only takes a couple of weeks (per the Duffer Brother's own masterclass lessons). Writers room may only have re-opened SM accounts last year after S4 aired but I imagine this far into the series run, writers room should just be airing out the final kinks with each ep under one/two writer's care.

It’s standard practice to have the writers still writing the final episodes while starting to film the first ones. The Duffer’s did talk about this within the last year and basically confirmed it is usually the case for them, admitting the writing process for s4 was unique bc obviously they had a lot of time on their hands to focus on it with the hiatus.

They started filming s4 in Feb 2020. Hiatus put filming to a halt, I think it was March 8th 2020 or sometime around then. Then in June they posted a picture of the s4 scripts complete. And filming didn’t start up again until Sept/Oct 2020. So it still took them another couple months, even with hiatus, to officially finalize writing those last episodes, despite starting filming already.

I think Noah’s comment about the first three scripts a couple months ago (right?) could mean that at the very very least the first three were quite finalized at that time, enough to warrant sharing with the cast to prep.? By now they could have up to the 5th-6th more finalized at least. But maybe more?!

When it comes to the writers strike, I honestly can’t say for certain.

I would hope with how hands-on they are in including fans by informing us about certain milestones in the production process (they will definitely announce when s5 is officially in production on their social media), that they would disclose how this could affect s5, if a strike does in fact come into effect.

I would hate it if the strike started and they just went MIA for a month+. I know the longest strike in recent history was like 3-4 months I think? So that’s a fear that I have I guess, of them just disappearing and not even giving us crumbs to go off of in the mean time for fun.

But the duffers are also show runners and producers and directors, so I wonder if that means they’d just use them in place of the writers while filming? It would really just come down to solidarity and wanting to stand beside the people supporting the strike, which I assume the duffers fully support, so would they even undermine the strike and work despite it? I don’t know honestly.

Best case scenario, if a strike does happen, perhaps they would focus on the most fleshed out parts they already have written and don’t need rewrites for. Early s5 scenes are also what they are gonna prioritize filming anyways bc when it comes to marketing and promo they need that stuff filmed before the rest so they can have spoiler free content to share sooner than later, whereas only filming like the major stuff near the end, would mean little to no promo with canon content for them to share as time goes on. I mean, have you ever seen an official trailer use mostly later content from the season to promote it? It’s not unheard of to have some later stuff thrown in, but more often than not it just works out bc they don’t want that later stuff to be spoiled before the early stuff.

The promo we get the soonest will likely be from scenes in the first few eps so I do hope that with all things considered, there’s a possibility they could get the ball rolling and film a few things. Especially if they had so much planned out while filming s4, like s5 opener I could see being something they want to get out of the way asap especially if they have that the most fleshed out with concrete plans set in stone more than like a random scene near the end of the season, which still warrants some edits and doesn’t need to be finalized anytime soon anyways.

With how active they are rn, posting every Friday with a little assignment for the fans, has me hopeful they are planning ahead and don’t have the intention to step back and disappear even in the worst case scenario? You’d think they are aware of the worst case scenario rn and yet they’re just keeping it simple and having fun. And all the while filming rumors are already starting.

I’m not trying to stress about it bc it’s out of anyone’s control unless they manage to meet an agreement that’s worthy of not striking. I support them regardless of my bias to have ST start filming asap. Writers and a lot of aspects of this field deserve to be compensated for their hard work and I stand by that. If it takes a strike to make them get some results, so be it.